The mews flat where Joan Sperry lived was in St John’s Wood. Regency villas surrounded Hamilton Mews, its cobbles slick and wet today. Lords Cricket Ground was a short walk away.
Dan and Bill had arranged to interview Ms Sperry themselves and driven from the Cotswolds to London.
‘Evidently plastic surgery pays well,’ Dan commented. ‘Even the trusted nurses. This place must be worth a bomb.’ They parked against a high stone wall at the back of the house where former owners would once have kept a horse and carriage stabled beneath Ms Sperry’s flat.
‘We’re a few minutes early,’ Dan said. ‘The best way to do this is with a lot of respect and gratitude. You agree?’
Bill clicked his tongue. He hadn’t been keen on doing this interview but Dan had rushed them out of Folly without discussion. ‘You know how I feel about not being in the driver’s seat. I do agree with you but I hope she’s not a talker. And I hope she isn’t eating up a chance at some fame or what she thinks could be fame.’
‘We won’t know till we get in there,’ Dan said. ‘It’ll be obvious if that’s the story. Did someone get back to us on Carmen Hill?’
‘Back at some fancy school she goes to. She did go early but some of the girls do that to settle in. That’s the school’s story and I don’t think they’ll budge. I think the parents wanted her out of the way, though.’
‘Let’s go.’ Dan pushed open his door. ‘Keep your mobile on so you can step out if you need to.’
The door in the left lower part of the property, 2A, opened before Dan and Bill got there. Joan Sperry must have been watching from one of her upstairs flat windows and run downstairs to greet them.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
They took out their warrant cards and Dan made the introductions.
‘In you go then,’ Ms Sperry said, standing aside to let them precede her up the stairs. ‘To the right past the kitchen. The sitting room is at the end. Make yourselves comfortable. Will you have tea or coffee?’
‘Tea would be good, thank you,’ Bill said although Dan’s preference was for getting on with interviews minus the almost inevitable wait for refreshments.
‘I’ll also have tea,’ he said.
The sitting room, long and narrow with a small marine style stove set into a red brick fireplace and radiating heat, was a room any reader would love. Dark green leather armchairs, footstools, strategically placed tables supporting books and magazines, a window seat upholstered in green and red tartan and partially hidden by heavy curtains in matching fabric, hung from a brass rod and looped back on either side.
An open book and a pair of glasses lay on the slightly sagging seat of a single fabric-covered wingback. Joan Sperry’s chair, no doubt. She was reading short stories by someone named Flannery O’Connor, a vaguely familiar name to Dan.
‘Do sit down,’ Ms Sperry said, entering the room behind them. ‘Just move anything in your way, please.’
She poured tea, added milk as requested, and left the mugs on the brass coffee table she’d used. Dan was glad not to be presented with fiddly china cups and saucers.
‘I’ll let you take the lead,’ the woman said, sitting on the edge of a chair that threw her face in the shade and left Dan and Bill squinting toward the window. ‘So, fire away and I’ll answer what I can.’
From her tone, she was used to being in charge, even when she was telling someone else they were in charge.
‘You recognized artist’s sketches of Beverly Irving,’ Dan began.
‘I believe so.’
‘Did you work at a busy practice?’
‘That depends on what you mean by busy. We were an exclusive practice but there were never any open appointments.’
Dan glanced at Bill who hadn’t written anything in his notebook yet. He stirred and said, ‘Roughly how many patients did the doctor see in a day?’
‘Surgeon,’ she corrected Bill. ‘That varied. He operated in the morning so there were no consultations until the afternoon. Clients required different lengths of consultation.’
‘Depending on how much they were having done?’ Bill said, finally jotting something down.
‘Depending on the procedure being considered,’ Ms Sperry said.
Dan barely stopped himself from remarking that she’d repeated Bill’s question.
‘On average?’ Dan said. ‘Four, perhaps?’
‘Rarely. Two or three.’
‘Still, two or three new people an afternoon. That’s a lot of people to remember over the years since you think you saw this woman. I congratulate you on your recall.’ Dan smiled at her.
‘I have a better memory for faces than names.’
Apparently she wasn’t a talker, nor easily flattered.
He picked up the file he’d carried in and slid out copies of the police artist’s sketches. ‘These are as clear as they get,’ he said, passing them to her.
She put on her glasses and looked at each one carefully. ‘I’ve seen her and I’m sure she was a client. Yes, she was definitely a client.’
‘When a client came for a consultation, photographs were taken?’
‘Yes. Always.’
‘How long did it usually take between that appointment and surgery?’
‘That depended.’ The skies darkened and Ms Sperry turned on a lamp beside her.
‘On what?’ Bill asked bluntly.
She didn’t smile even a little. ‘On whether the case was for medical reasons, as in post-surgical reconstruction or perhaps a child born with an issue. Those were done quickly.’
‘And then?’ Bill kept his eyes on his notebook.
‘Then the importance of the procedure or procedures.’
‘Importance?’ Still Bill didn’t look up.
‘I think you can work that out, sergeant. One doesn’t like to mention money, does one?’
‘This one is perfectly happy mentioning money, Ms Sperry,’ Dan said. ‘You’re saying that if the patient is going to spend enough money, that buys a better place in the line?’
‘As I said, you can work out these things.’
‘And did Beverly Irving get treated quickly?’
‘As far as I remember, she did. It really was a wonderful job. Eyes, nose, mouth, cheeks, jawline. Reconstruction, that is. There was a complete facelift of course. Naturally we didn’t do the teeth. She was sent elsewhere for that.’
Bill glanced up and around the room. ‘What did you say was the name of the surgeon you worked for?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘May we have his address?’
‘That won’t be possible.’
Dan sighed. ‘Impeding the law can be a very serious thing, Ms Sperry.’ They could find out the details without her help.
‘I’m not impeding the law. I remember this woman because she was transformed. It was amazing. I had never seen anything like it and I’ve seen many, many extensive plastic surgeries.’
‘What we need most are the photos taken after the surgery. As Beverly looked when all the work was finished and as she presumably looks now.’
‘Full healing takes longer than just “after surgery” as you put it. I think you mean after full recovery.’
‘Yes, Ms Sperry, I do.’ Dan gave her another smile.
‘There aren’t any photographs.’
The desire to groan overwhelmed him. He clamped his teeth together.
‘What does that mean?’ Bill asked.
‘If memory serves, the patient would not be photographed after recovery. When the transformation is that extensive, patients quite often refuse to be photographed.’
Dan considered his next move. ‘In that case and since this could well become a most serious crime case, I must insist on contacting the surgeon.’
‘He wouldn’t be able to give you as good a description as I can. His magic was a rare one – seeing the before and after and how to get there in his mind. He died seven years ago. Only the records of medical cases were retained. I shouldn’t even be telling you that but I’m doing my duty as best I can.’
‘You’re an extraordinary woman, Ms Sperry, and I’m grateful for all the help you’re giving us.’ And why didn’t you tell us these things before?
‘I’m glad to be of any help I can. The patient underwent an impressive number of procedures. I think I could do better if I wrote down everything I can think of. If I’d had more time before you came, I would have tried to get it ready.’
Dan took a card from his inside pocket. ‘Please contact me the moment you’re ready with your description. Call me at any time if you have a question.’
Joan Sperry studied the card. ‘I can say she had liposuction – a lot of it. And breast augmentation – also extensive. She wanted to be unrecognizable and that was an accomplishment.’
This time Bill drove and Dan gave directions. ‘The Duke of York,’ he said, ‘Queen Anne’s Terrace, I think. Find the St John’s Wood tube station and we’ve got it made. The station is on the corner with Acacia Road. If I’m remembering it correctly, you take the first right off Acacia.’
‘When did you get to be an expert on London pubs?’
‘When I lived here for a couple of years. I had a friend with a flat somewhere around here. Wonder what happened to her.’
Bill saw the tube station in question ahead. ‘Her? Another one let you get away, you clever dog.’
‘She was the one who got away.’
Bill looked sideways at him. Perhaps Dan O’Reilly of the granite heart looked a bit sad. But anyone who knew how much he regretted his divorce, and the constant struggle to get more time with his son, Calum, knew that O’Reilly’s brittle shell was just that, a shell that could be cracked.
‘I used to go to Lords for cricket with a couple of the other young constables. We’d go to this pub afterwards. Go down here. It’s on the corner of St John’s Wood Terrace. There you go. Painted green with green awnings. Great to sit outside but not on days like this.’
They parked and went inside for a full-bodied pint apiece and servings of roast beef and potatoes with vegetables. ‘Knives are optional for this beef,’ Dan said.
Hungry and tired, they treated themselves to another half each with the reminder that they didn’t have to hurry back to the car.
A call came in on Dan’s mobile followed by a series of short answers on Dan’s end. ‘Go ahead,’ he said, almost at the end. ‘Get the results to me as quickly as you can.’
Bill gave him a questioning look.
‘Joan Sperry,’ Dan said. ‘Says she knows a sketch artist who could give us a picture of the new Beverly Irving. The artist works very fast, as the witness speaks. Joan says she has a clear picture of her in her mind now. Apparently, that’s unusual for her. She sounded excited. We won’t hold our breath.’
Dan drove this time and for streets he hadn’t seen in years he made the route seem very familiar.
‘Are we going to let this Beverly issue hang for a day or two?’ Bill asked. ‘Clearing up three murders—’
‘Yes. That’s what we’re going to do. So far we’ve got to follow up Bob Hill, Grant Hill, and whoever placed the call trying to finger Esme Hill as Lance Pullinger’s lady – the three of them with more than casual connections to Lance and probably Darla. The thorn in my side is Winifred Sibley. Nothing about her fits in with the other two – not really.’
‘What about Gladys Lymer and Frank?’
‘Yes,’ Dan said. ‘They belong on the pile, too. And much as I don’t like saying so, Lily does as well.’
‘But not Alex?’
Bill enjoyed irritating the people he liked best – something Dan didn’t understand. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Put her on the list, too.’
Bill mumbled to himself and shut up. The drive became very silent.
They were passing Bourton-on-the-Water when the sound of Dan’s mobile ringing startled Bill. Dan answered, waited, and said, ‘You wouldn’t call me if you weren’t worried, Tony. Look at it like this. At Knighton, they’ll know Alex is visiting because Esme invited her over. So, they’ll also know there’s no mystery about her being there. Relax. Spay an extra dog or cat. Or do a crossword puzzle. She’s been there about half an hour, right? Right, so let it be. You have no reason to make a fuss because Alex is at Knighton. But thank you for letting me know. We’ll be back in Folly shortly. I’ll check in with you when we get there.’