The Exhibits in Mrs Salmon's Waxworks Read online

  'Sorry. I couldn't resist. My name is Mavourneen Duffy. You left a message for Quigg this morning. I'm actually the paranormal investigator, so that's why I'm returning your call.'

  'Oh! I see.'

  'What seems to be the problem?'

  'How much do you charge for your services?'

  That was a good question. She hadn't actually reached that part of the course yet. How much should she charge? She didn't want to sell herself short, but then she didn't want to overcharge either. She was telling the woman she was a paranormal investigator, when the truth was a lot less than that. She'd taken over the demonic possession case at 66 Copperfield Street, but her input had been limited to a smattering of research. Someone else had spotted the missing room on the blueprints; DC Rummage had carried out the exorcism; and Quigg had sorted everything out afterwards.

  'Fifteen pounds an hour plus expenses,' she said. She could increase her prices when she had more successful investigations to her name.

  'That's reasonable.'

  'So, can you tell me why you need me?'

  'I held a séance last night between eight and ten o'clock, but something went terribly wrong.'

  'What?'

  'A woman disappeared.'

  'Disappeared!'

  'Yes. Gone. I was trying to make contact with the wife of a client when one of the other women at the table suddenly vanished. Sometimes, the entities come back from the other side, but they never take the living to the hereafter – it's forbidden.'

  'Is that what you think happened?'

  'I don't really know what happened. That's why I'm asking for your help. I have a video recording of the séance, and you can clearly see that the woman is there one minute and gone the next.'

  'I'd better come round and investigate then, hadn't I?'

  'Yes, please.'

  'What's your address?'

  'I live at 34 Severus Road in Battersea, which is not far from Clapham Junction station.'

  'I'll be there in about an hour and a half.'

  'I'll see you then.'

  She ended the call, stripped off her nightdress and climbed into the shower.

  It was all right saying she was a paranormal investigator, but already she was having doubts about whether she could actually do the job. What was she going to do when she got to Rita's house? Listen to a more detailed version of Rita's séance story, watch the video recording and then what? She should probably inspect the room where the séance was held and check for any secret tunnels, hidden trapdoors, random switches and so forth. There were lots of tales about charlatans and their rigged rooms and paraphernalia. No doubt Rita would expect her to turn up with some equipment, but she didn't have any. She could explain that it was a short visit only to get the lay of the land, and find out how she was going to proceed – that would be believable. So far, she had no idea what she was dealing with.

  As she picked out her clothes and got dressed, she wondered whether she could and should be doing it on her own. She'd feel much better if she had a partner. It couldn't be Quigg, Ruth or Lucy, they all had their own work to do. During the course online sessions, she'd noticed a name that kept appearing – Harry Hudson – who also lived in London. She went online and messaged him:

  Harry,

  I have a client – a woman vanished from a séance. Are you interested in working with me?

  Duffy

  Almost immediately she received a response.

  Hi Duffy,

  Yes. Tell me when, where and what I need to bring?

  Harry

  A wave of relief washed over her. The only equipment she had was a notebook and pencil, but if her paranormal career was going to take off, then she'd better obtain the relevant equipment and learn how to use it. She sent a message back:

  Harry,

  That's great. 34 Severus Road in Battersea at twelve o'clock. Bring your EMF meter, EVP digital recorder and a thermal camera.

  Thanks,

  Duffy

  Duffy,

  On my way. See you there.

  Harry

  She only knew Harry from the online sessions and group chats, so she hoped she was doing the right thing. She had no idea who he was, what he looked like, or anything else about him. Oh well, if she didn't like him, or he was a crazy person, then she could simply walk away.

  After a bowl of Muesli, she went into the nursery to kiss Márie goodbye and found Lucy in there with two men who looked suspiciously like builders.

  'What's going on, Lucy?'

  'Nursery extension.'

  'Does Quigg know?'

  'He's the one who told me to organise it. If it was up to me, I'd have sold the ankle biters on eBay.'

  'Okay.'

  'We're also employing a new nanny to help Amanda.'

  'Good idea.'

  'Yeah, that was my idea. Seems like I'm the only one who has any ideas around here. Where are you going all dressed up like a dog's dinner? Got yourself a hot date?'

  She'd put on a warm block-coloured woollen jumper, jeans and her fur-lined boots, which was hardly food for dogs. 'I have a client. A woman vanished at a séance.'

  'People don't vanish. It'll be a trick.'

  'Maybe. But if it is, why would the medium contact me and ask me to investigate?'

  'To verify it wasn't a trick. She'll then use your independent investigation as proof she's the real deal.'

  'Well anyway, I'll go there and assess the situation. If I think it's a set-up, then I don't have to take the case.'

  'Good luck.'

  'Thanks.'

  Lucy was a strange one all right. It was true that people viewed the world in different ways. She was a glass half-full type of person, whereas Lucy was a glass half-empty or less type of person. Of course, she knew very well that their outlook on life depended on a person's childhood. She'd come from a loving family, but Lucy refused to talk about her childhood. She knew that Lucy's father – Jack Neilson – had not been there for her, but that's all she knew. What had happened to Lucy to make her so distrustful of people?

  ***

  'Well, I suppose we'd better go and talk to Mrs Salmon, Rummage.'

  Perkins cleared his throat. 'Mrs Salmon died in 1931, Sir.'

  'Is everybody dead in this place?'

  'No. There's a wax figure of Mrs Salmon in an alcove by the entrance if you really want to talk to her, but the current manager is Mrs Virginia Berkeley. She is very much alive and is waiting for you in her office.' He pointed to a door with a sign that read:

  PRIVATE

  WAXWORKS STAFF ONLY

  'We'll keep Mrs Salmon as a back-up should we get no sense out of the current manager.'

  'Good idea, Sir.'

  They wandered through the staff entrance to the rear of the waxworks and found the manager's office.

  Quigg knocked on the open door and spoke to the woman sitting behind a desk. 'Mrs Berkeley?'

  'Yes.'

  He held up his Warrant Card. 'Detective Inspector Quigg and Detective Constable Rummage from Hammersmith Police Station. We need to ask you some questions, if that's all right?'

  'Of course, Inspector.' The woman was in her late forties and looked more like a housewife than the manager of a large popular London attraction. She had light-brown wiry hair to her shoulders, thick-framed oval glasses, very little make-up and wore a frumpy wishy-washy brown patterned dress with an elasticated waist that emphasised her large droopy breasts. She stood up, pointed to a table and chairs in the corner and said, 'Please, take a seat. Can I order you any refreshments?'

  Quigg nodded. 'A coffee would be good.'

  'Not for me, thank you,' Rummage said.

  She made an internal call and then came and joined them. 'How can I help?'

  'I hear Mrs Salmon is dead?' Quigg said.

  Berkeley smiled. 'A long time ago, I'm afraid. There have been fifteen waxwork managers since Mrs Salmon was last here.'

  'And you're the sixteenth?'

  'Yes.'


  'How long have you been here?'

  'Four and a half years.'

  'Who was the previous manager?'

  'Horace Little, but he's dead now as well. In fact, all the previous managers are dead.'

  'Except you?'

  'Except me.'

  'What can you tell us about George Washington?'

  'He's been here six years.'

  'Did you know there was a dead body underneath the wax?'

  'Of course I didn't. As far as I, and all my staff knew, the older exhibits were all created from wax.'

  'According to the pathologist, the dead body has been here for at least five years, so how do you explain that?'

  'I can't.'

  'Who created George Washington?'

  'I'll have to consult the records, but it isn't just one person who creates a wax figure, it's a team. Yes, there's a principal wax sculptor who has to sign off on the figures, but we often have a team of seven different specialities working on one figure – it's a collaborative process. So, one person didn't cover a dead body in wax and then sculpt George Washington, that would be impossible.'

  'So, the whole team are in on it?'

  'That wouldn't be possible either.'

  'Then, you tell me how a dead body ended up beneath George Washington?'

  'I can't. It's not possible.'

  'So, we're investigating an impossible crime?'

  'I guess you are.'

  'And that's another thing, as well. The pathologist has suggested that the wax covering the corpse might be wax that has been made from human remains. Have you anything to say about that?'

  'No. We use modelling wax to create the figures. Our accountant and storeroom manager have complete records.'

  'We'll need to interview everybody.'

  'Of course.'

  A woman in a caterer's outfit knocked, came in carrying a tray of refreshments and placed it on the table.

  'Thank you, Mary,' Berkeley said.

  The caterer left and closed the door.

  'Help yourself, Inspector.'

  He did. He also helped himself to two chocolate bourbons on a small plate that had his name on them. 'You should also know that I have forensics testing all of the exhibits. My partner has suggested that George Washington might not be an isolated case.'

  Virginia Berkeley screwed up her face. 'I've closed the waxworks today, but I'll need to re-open tomorrow. We can't afford to lose the income. I have a board of directors and shareholders to answer to. Although we're still a popular London attraction – with two and a half million visitors annually – it's getting harder to entice visitors in each year.'

  'The waxworks is a crime scene now, Mrs Berkeley. We'll do our best to conclude our investigation by the end of the day, but I can't promise anything. Also, if forensics do find anything else, then I'm afraid we'll have to close the waxworks down completely for an indefinite period of time. You might want to warn your board of directors and shareholders of that possibility. Now, if you could provide us with the records relating to the creation of George Washington, that would speed things along. We'll also need a complete staff list as well.'

  Berkeley went to her desk, dialled an internal number and issued instructions. 'One of my clerical team will bring those in for you.'

  'Thank you. What we'd like to do is take a look around the place where the wax figures are created, and talk to the team who work on them.'

  'We have a young apprentice called Mitch. I'll task him to act as your guide, because it's easy to get lost in the waxworks. He'll show you where everything is. We can't have you wandering around on your own behind the scenes getting lost, can we?'

  'No, we don't want to waste any time getting lost. That wouldn't expedite our investigation.'

  Chapter Three

  The doors to the elevator opened into the basement of New Scotland Yard. She turned right and walked along the corridor to the covert operations room. There were only eleven people who knew about the room – her; the Police Commissioner; the seven police officers on the team who she'd inherited: DCI Harvey Dixon, DI Dominic Carroll, DI Bill Ryan, DS Sam Doherty, DC Mick Cripps, DC April Gunn and DC Roger Stone; a civilian computer specialist – Li Xue; and clerical assistant – Heidi Jackson.

  As well as the Met's new Director of Communications, she had also been appointed as the head of the covert team investigating the endemic police corruption in the Metropolitan Police Service, but it just wasn't working. It had been three weeks and the police members of the team weren't happy that a civilian had been brought in and put in charge of the investigation. Especially as the DCI had been in charge of the team for two months prior to her arrival. She didn't like any of the team members, and she guessed the feelings were mutual. They all had a macho attitude – even DC Gunn. She'd had to pull them up for swearing all the time – it just wasn't necessary. Also, they fought among themselves; didn't trust each other; were unfocused; turned up when they felt like it . . . And it was getting worse by the day instead of better. As the team leader, she knew she had to do something about the situation.

  She used her access code and went inside.

  Li Xue and Heidi Jackson were sitting at their desks working.

  The officers were waiting for her to arrive in the briefing area and chattering among themselves. They continued to ignore her until she banged a file down on the table at the front of the room.

  Begrudgingly, they stopped talking and turned to face her.

  'DCI Dixon – you're fired,' she said. 'Please leave.'

  He laughed and looked around the others for support. 'Yeah.'

  'I'm in charge of this team,' she reminded them of what the Police Commissioner had said to them on the first morning. 'I have total authority. Now, get out, Chief Inspector.'

  Dixon glared at her and stood up. He was a tall man with short cropped brown hair that had begun greying at the temples, and she'd felt threatened by him since that first day. He had the habit of invading her personal space when he spoke to her. She objected to his spittle spattering her face. 'Are you sure you want to do this?' he said with an edge to his voice.

  She half-sat on the table and crossed her arms, but didn't bother responding.

  Once he'd gone she said to the others, 'Anyone else who does not want to be here? Who objects to a civilian, a woman, a journalist, or a foreigner being in charge, please leave now?'

  Nobody said anything or moved.

  'We have wasted three weeks so far. From now on, we will act as a team. I expect you to trust everyone else in the team; bring any issues to me; be committed to what we have been tasked to do here; be accountable for your actions and behaviour; and focus on results. Does anybody not understand what is required of them?'

  Nobody said anything.

  'DCI Dixon no longer works in this team.' She called to Li sitting at her desk. 'Li, can you change the door access code and the computer directory password and let everyone know the new ones?'

  Li Xue nodded.

  Ruth half-turned to point at the large interactive whiteboard that stretched the whole length of the wall. There was a plethora of corruption offences highlighted on the board. These included: drug crimes; bribery; theft; fraud; sexual misconduct; abuse of authority; misuse of systems; planting and fabricating evidence; and unauthorised disclosure of information. Beneath each crime was a long list of officers' names. 'We are not here to duplicate what the IOPC are doing.' She cleared the board with the press of a button. 'We are interested in those crimes,' she said, indicating the blank whiteboard.

  'What crimes?' DI Bill Ryan asked looking at the others. 'There's nothing there.'

  'Exactly. The crimes we are interested in are those you cannot see.' She signalled Li to display the criminal organisational chart that Lucy had partially created on the side of a Transit van. 'You are all aware of my investigation before the Commissioner persuaded me to come and work here.'

  DC April Gunn grunted. 'The confessions of the tortured officers, you mean?'


  She stared at Gunn, who was short and squat with thighs like a rugby player. 'Do you feel sorry for them?'

  'They were police officers.'

  'Who were going to kill me, my family and my child. If you or anyone else in here feels sorry for these people, maybe you need to follow DCI Dixon out of that door, DC Gunn.' She looked around the room, but nobody moved.

  'I'm not condoning what they did or planned to do,' Gunn said.

  'I am glad to hear that, because as far as I am concerned they were criminals, not police officers. They got what they deserved.' She moved to one side and indicated the organisational chart, which had been added to and improved from Lucy's photograph by re-creating it using charting software. 'As you can see, we made significant progress in identifying the criminal organisation being run by DCI Victor Thackeray, but he was merely a cog in the machine. You all know that it is easy to identify the grunts on the ground – the constables, sergeants and inspectors . . .' She pointed to the long list of names that had been revealed by Lucy's forced confessions, some of whom had been crossed out, because they were now missing and presumed dead:

  Commander Andrew Wyatt; Inspector Paul Raynham; Detective Sergeant Andrew Pratt; Sergeant Bob Carlton; Detective Constables Raymond Laidlaw, John Binnington, Phillip Martin, Basil Murphy, Mathew Scott and Valerie Cowley.

  Each part of the organisation had a director of operations. For example, DI Bill Hendriks from Vine Street Police Station was responsible for all drug smuggling activities; Inspector Julianne Mills from Paddington Green Police Station was responsible for all cover-ups; DI Austin Crowe from Wellington Arch Police Station was responsible for bribing local and government officials, lawyers, judges and others; DCI Kevin Horne from Winchmore Hill Police Station headed up the people trafficking operations; Inspector Marissa Wyk from Fishmongers Arms Police Station was responsible for prostitution and escort services; Inspector John Clayton from Golders Green Police Station was responsible for organ trafficking; Inspector Kelly Ward from Gipsy Hill Police Station was responsible for arms smuggling . . . The names continued for fraud; control of the bankruptcy courts to seize assets by inflicting personal problems on innocent people; misdirecting legitimate funds into criminal activities; false charges; perjured testimony; blocking reports of criminal activities; protection racketeering; usury; theft, robbery and burglary of targeted cash from security depots, bullion, treasury bonds, gems and jewellery, art, banks, safe deposit boxes, high-security warehouses, cash clearing centres and vehicles.