The Exhibits in Mrs Salmon's Waxworks Read online

  There was a shadow organisation behind the public face of the Metropolitan Police Service. As well as section heads, group leaders, specialists and workers, there was also an information and communications technology section, an accountancy unit, special operations, disposal of goods, a legal department . . . Lucy had obtained not just telephone numbers, bank accounts, details of drug networks and prostitution rings, but also how the organisation moved money around.

  'All this information has been handed to the IOPC. We are not interested in the foot soldiers.' She brought up another list of names above DCI Thackeray. 'The higher up we go, the less there is to find. Document trails peter out into nothing; money trails disappear into black holes; security footage is sanitised. We have eight names, but zero evidence of their involvement in any criminal enterprise. These people know how to operate behind a veil of secrecy and they have the money and resources to be able to do that as well. 'These are the seven people we are interested in – the Board of Directors.' Delilah Garrett had been crossed out, because she was missing presumed dead:

  Sir Lionel Campbell, Chairman and CEO of the Thames Redevelopment Group;

  Muradija Ahmed, CEO of GreyMatter Technologies;

  Andrew Pottsboro, CEO of Cheetah Risk Management and Security International;

  Martin Goodacre, CEO of Lancelot Public Relations;

  Lord Sylvester of Rugby and Deputy Head of the Civil Service;

  Dame Zoe Corrigan, Special Parliamentary Advisor;

  Delilah Garrett, Non-Executive Director of the Independent Office for Police Conduct who was the wife of Old Bailey Judge – Hunter Garrett;

  Dr Lionel Blackman, Second Secretary to the Treasury.

  'Due to the disappearance of DCI Thackeray, Delilah Garrett and my brief television report, a lunch and Board Meeting scheduled to take place in the Chives dining room on the 38th floor of the Gherkin building on the second Thursday of last month was cancelled.'

  Next she brought up another list of names above the Board of Directors that Lucy had found on a hidden SIM card inside a gold charm that resembled a book on Delilah Garrett’s key ring.

  'We are also interested in these people.' She brought up a list of five names above the Board of Directors. 'I have called them the European Investors:'

  Benny van Winkel – CEO and founder of BVW – a global supplier of mobile wireless technology based in Belgium;

  Karen Konig – CEO and owner of the KK restaurant chain based in Holland;

  Yves Legarde – CEO and owner of Capital Dredging – the global leaders in the dredging sector based in France;

  Norma Parr – CEO and founder of Hyland Pharmaceuticals based in Ireland;

  Alf Faager – CEO and owner of Human Engineered Software based in Sweden.

  'These people are leading entrepreneurs in the countries specified and seem to be involved in some way, but it is not clear how.' She turned to face them. 'This isn't simply a few corrupt police officers we are dealing with, or even the police taking over from the criminals, it is a European-wide criminal conspiracy of epic proportions. Crime is worth billions. From now on I want you to work in pairs collecting information and evidence against these people. We need to know the full extent of the corruption. Foot soldiers can easily be replaced. We have largely dismantled this criminal organisation from the bottom up, but now we need to cut off the many heads of this monster.'

  She split the team up to work in pairs and allocated names for each pair to investigate:

  DI Dominic Carroll and DC April Gunn: Sir Lionel Campbell, Muradija Ahmed, Benny van Winkel and Yves Legarde;

  DI Bill Ryan and DC Roger Stone: Andrew Pottsboro, Martin Goodacre, Karen Konig and Norma Parr;

  DS Sam Doherty and DC Mick Cripps: Lord Sylvester of Rugby, Dame Zoe Corrigan, Dr Lionel Blackman and Alf Faager.

  'We'll meet here again on Wednesday morning at ten o'clock. In the meantime, DCI Dixon isn't a member of the team anymore and you should not divulge anything we discuss in here with him. Maybe you have some loyalty to him, I do not know. But if he approaches you for information, you should let me know. Are you all clear about that?'

  They nodded.

  'Any questions?'

  Nobody had any.

  'Good.' She picked up her file and made her way out of the room and back up to her office on the fifth floor. Had she solved the problem? Only time would tell. She would come back later to talk to Li Xue and Heidi Jackson. First though, she needed to talk to the Commissioner and tell him that she had fired DCI Dixon.

  ***

  Duffy caught the next train from Goldhawk Road to Hammersmith, and then jumped on an eastbound District Line train to Earls Court. After changing platforms, she hopped on a southbound train to the next station, which was West Brompton and from there changed to the overground and caught the waiting train to Clapham Junction. All in all the journey took her forty minutes.

  Outside the station, it was a short three-minute walk along Falcon Road to Rita the Medium's Victorian terraced house at 34 Severus Road. A man in his mid-forties with curly ginger hair, freckles, thick-rimmed glasses, a parka jacket, and a bulging stained and frayed canvas bag hanging by a long strap from his shoulder was stamping his feet and trying to snuggle deeper into his parka.

  'Harry Hudson?' she enquired.

  He smiled, took a gloved hand with the fingertips missing out of his jacket pocket and offered it to her. 'And you must be Mavourneen Duffy?'

  She shook his hand. 'Yes. Just call me Duffy. Thanks for joining me, Harry.'

  'A woman in distress and all that . . .'

  'Me or the client?'

  'Well, you of course.'

  'I didn't want to come on my own.'

  He nodded. 'It's always better in pairs, or teams. So, is this your first one?'

  'No. I was recently involved with a case of demonic possession.'

  'Goodness! That must have been interesting?'

  'Yes, which is why I'm doing the course. Have you been involved in many cases?'

  'Three or four, but nothing on the level of a demonic possession. And to be honest, I haven't had a bite so far. I'm looking forward to finding my first ghost.'

  'Maybe we'll get lucky here.'

  'Let's hope so,' he said. 'A vanished woman sounds positively spooky.'

  She aimed herself in the direction of the front door and said, 'Shall we?'

  'Lead the way, Chief Investigator.'

  She smiled at the thought, and banged the brass gargoyle knocker on the door.

  'I hope it's warm in there,' he said.

  It didn't take long for the door to open.

  A small overweight squat woman in her late fifties with triple chins, short spiky pink hair, pink-tinged glasses with pink rims and an abstract multi-coloured dress was standing there.

  Duffy said, 'Rita the Medium?'

  'That's my work name. My real name is Alice Piper, but I suppose it would be easier if you just call me Rita. And you must be Mavourneen?'

  She shook the woman's hand. 'Yes, but everyone calls me Duffy. Mavourneen is a bit of a mouthful.'

  'Yes, I suppose it is.' She glanced at Harry.

  Duffy noticed the direction of Rita's gaze and said, 'Oh! This is my associate Harry Hudson.'

  Rita and Harry shook hands.

  'Pleased to meet you, Rita,' Harry said.

  'Likewise, I'm sure. Please, come in.' She stood to one side and ushered them into the hallway, which still had the original Victorian patterned tiles on the floor. The stairs were to their right, a closed door to their left, and they could see a roaring wood-burning fire in a room at the end of the hallway. She pointed to a row of hooks on the wall behind the door and said, 'Hang your coats on the hooks provided and we'll go into the living room.'

  After wriggling out of their coats and hanging them up, they followed her into the room with the burning fire.

  Rita indicated a four-seater sofa. 'It's cold outside, isn't it?'

  'Freezing,' Harry agreed.


  'Can I offer you any tea or coffee?'

  Duffy glanced at Harry who shook his head. 'No we're both fine thanks.'

  'How do you want to do this?'

  'If it's all right with you, Rita,' Duffy said. 'What I'd like to do is ask you first to explain what you do . . .'

  Harry interrupted. 'And I'll record your account, if that's okay?'

  'Of course.'

  Duffy continued. 'We'll then take a look at the video recording you say you have of the séance to see exactly what happened, and then we'll inspect the room where the vanishing occurred.'

  'I have nothing to hide.'

  She laid the palm of her right hand on top of Rita's hand and said, 'We're not here as sceptics, or to debunk your séances, Rita. We both believe in ghosts and the hereafter.'

  'Definitely,' Harry agreed, taking his equipment out of the bag and setting up the digital recorder.

  'Well, whether you do or you don't, I still have a missing woman.'

  'Have you tried to contact the woman?'

  'All I had was a phone number. I tried calling, but it had been discontinued.'

  'No home address?'

  'No.'

  'Just describe what you do, Rita.'

  'There were eight of us last night – seven clients and myself. The number eight represents beginnings, resurrection, salvation and abundance. Everyone had arrived by seven-thirty . . .'

  'We'll need a list of the clients,' Duffy said.

  The psychic's brow furrowed and she said, 'You'll be discreet, won't you?'

  'What type of investigators would we be if we weren't discreet?'

  Rita stood up, found a pad and pencil, wrote the clients' names down, tore the top sheet off and passed it to Duffy. 'I've put my name on the list, so that you can see where everyone was seated around the table. Lord Wolff was opposite me:

  Howard Alexander

  Sir Aaron Reid

  Joanna Patterson

  Rita

  Amy Lohman MP

  Laura Farrell

  Estelle Adams

  Lord Albert Wolff

  'Thank you. Who was the lady that disappeared?'

  'Estelle Adams.'

  'And they were all here to contact loved ones who had passed?'

  'Yes.'

  'Did you contact the police? I mean, a woman disappeared, didn't she?'

  'I didn't know what to do for the best. I've been a psychic for seventeen years and nothing like this has ever happened before, but I can imagine what the police would say. That's why I sent Inspector Quigg a message. If anybody ever did ask me if I contacted the police . . . Well, yes I did. Inspector Quigg is a police officer, isn't he?'

  'Yes, I suppose he is. What about Miss Adams' relatives?'

  'She hasn't got any. Her husband passed away three months ago and she came to me in the hope of contacting him to ask him a question.'

  'Did she say what question?'

  'No, she didn't get the chance.'

  'Okay. Sorry for interrupting.'

  'Once the clients had all arrived, I ushered them into the front room, which is where I hold the séances and readings.'

  'The door we passed?' Harry said.

  'Yes. We'll go in there afterwards.'

  'That's fine.'

  'While everybody was getting to know each other, I set everything up. In the center of the table I place a clear glass bowl filled with olive oil and a single drop of fresh blood from the finger of a volunteer. During the séance, I tell people to focus on the bowl of oil and blood. Nostradamus used a bowl of blood, which was later replaced by the crystal ball. Two lit candles are positioned on the north and south sides of the bowl. A bible is opened to 1 Samuel, Chapter 28, the text of which details a communication with a spirit, and that will be positioned on the west side to draw good spirits. It is also the point of the setting sun and rising moon and symbolizes the land of the dead. A single piece of quartz will rest on the open bible. On the east side of the bowl, we will place a lily, which is a flower of death, and the fresh scent will draw good spirits. Vile scents draw demons. Outside the circle, we will position a bell, which drives away spirits, a steel knife with an edge to repel spirits, and some rock salt is thrown into the fire to drive away spirits, including demons. Those things are used to defend the participants from any mischievous apparitions.'

  'You don't use a Ouija board?' Harry asked.

  'Sometimes, but because I'm a spirit medium. I am able to act as an intermediary between the dead and the living.'

  'Do you go into a trance?'

  'Yes. I allow the spirits to control my mind.'

  'Thanks,' Harry said.

  'After introducing everybody we sat down around the table in the places I'd previously allocated them to.' She pointed to the list of names Duffy was holding. 'I then explained the rules. During the séance they should:

  Not speak unless invited to do so by me;

  Remain serious and respectful;

  Not laugh. The dead can't laugh with joy, so levity offends them;

  Not break the circle by moving their hands;

  Focus their attention on the bowl of oil and blood;

  Remember, the spirit may be perceived through any sense;

  Be aware of scents, feelings, sounds, and sights;

  And if, at any point, they feel anxious, remember, they can be protected with the bell, the steel, and the salt in the fire.

  I use a technique from ancient Greece, with some later Christian additions. I never have just five people around the table, because Christ was murdered with five wounds. Five is also symbolised by the pentagon and the pentacle, which draws sinister forces. And did you know, that the victims of Jack the Ripper in nineteenth century London were positioned to form a huge pentagon in the city?'

  'No, I didn't know that.'

  Harry pulled a face. 'Nor me.'

  Rita continued. 'I begin by saying a prayer to keep everyone safe. When I've finished, I thank the spirit, close the bible and the following morning I ring a bell throughout the house to clear it of all entities.'

  'It seems fairly straightforward,' Duffy said.

  Harry switched off the digital recorder. 'Until last night.'

  Rita agreed. 'Yes, until last night.'

  Chapter Four

  Mitch the apprentice was nineteen years old and resembled a wax figure himself. He had pasty skin, big ears, an elongated neck and moved like a discontinued robot.

  'Hey, Inspector Clouseau!' Mitch said. 'I hear you want the backroom tour?'

  'Hello, Mitch.' He indicated Rummage. 'This is DC Rummage.'

  The apprentice licked his lips. 'I didn't know they had babes in the police force.'

  Rummage's face creased up. 'Babes!'

  'Yeah! If you wanna grab a bite to eat, or go clubbing sometime, then I'm your man. I expect you've heard of the punisher? Well, the ladies call me the satisfier.' He grabbed his crotch, so there was no misunderstanding about exactly what he meant. 'Know what I mean?'

  Rummage smiled. 'Is it big?'

  'A schlong!'

  'Do you think it would fit into a mincing machine?'

  'Don't even think it, lady.'

  'Then keep your mind on your job and not on me. Otherwise, your schlong will become a schlort – understand?'

  'Loud and clear.'

  'Lead the way, Mitch.'

  'You got it, but if you do change your mind, you know where I am.'

  'I won't.'

  'Just saying.'

  He led them along a corridor deep into the building to a large room with a high ceiling, thick arches, pillars and a concrete floor. There were seven people standing or sitting at long tables scattered about the room, which was cluttered, but not dirty. There was a large wooden storage unit against one wall beneath the large arched windows with heads, hands and other clay pieces stored in their own spaces. There were a couple of small radiators, but it was a cold room.

  One of the seven people, a woman in her mid-fifties, approached
them. She had long silver hair tied in a ponytail, glasses perched on top of her head, a blue and white shemagh looped around her neck a number of times and a thick blue woollen jumper beneath a brown apron with a phrase in black printed on the front:

  People cannot be moulded like clay

  Mitch said to the woman, 'The police have come to arrest you, Mrs Grimaldi.'

  'But I haven't murdered you yet, Mitch.'

  The apprentice laughed. 'You don't mean that.'

  'Every word.'

  'I'm the best apprentice you ever had.'

  'The best apprentice at disappearing. Where have you been all morning?'

  'Here and there.'

  'Doing what?'

  'This and that.'

  'I have a long list of jobs for you.'

  'You know I'd love to help, but Mrs Berkeley has already told me to show the police where the bodies are buried.'

  'Go and stand somewhere I don't have to look at you, Mitch.'

  'You got it, Mrs Grimaldi.'

  She turned to Quigg and offered her hand. 'Yvette Grimaldi, principal sculptor. Sometimes, I feel as though I'm in a parallel universe when I'm talking to that boy. They took him on because he has creative flair, but the only creative flair I've seen is his ability to disappear for hours on end at the mere mention of work. So, you're here about George Washington?'