Blood Red Star

by Mark Walker

  “Ah! Yes, then,” he said, eyes twinkling, “please do, my dear.”

  Brendalynn beamed. “Well, forensic means anything having to do with a court of law, so a forensic scientist is someone who obtains scientific facts and presents them to the court as evidence. Just so, a forensic doctor presents medical evidence to the court, and so on.”

  Snuffy Franks was impressed. “Exactly right! Now allow me to demonstrate.”

  He knelt down in front of the children and pointed to Mandy’s shoes. “Now, young lady, for example, if we needed to, we could look at your shoes and find out all sorts of interesting things, not just about the shoes but about the wearer. Such as how old a girl you are, your height and weight, where the shoes came from, and where you had been walking in them, for a start.”

  Mandy’s eyes glowed. “You can tell all that? Why, it’s fascinating!

  Snuffy Franks rose and said, “Now, children, come along to the biology lab. I want you to meet our chief scientist, Doctor Craig Scott, or Scotty. He is one of the most brilliant scientists in the country. His assistant is Doctor Rupa Kumari, from India. Our first female scientist.”

  This greatly impressed and lit a spark in the heart of young Amanda Prescott, and also in the rarely impressionable Brendalynn Welles. He took them back through several rooms containing row upon row of tables, to a small nook where a tall man sat upon a stool, staring intently into a microscope, whilst a petite, dark-haired, golden-skinned woman stood at his side, busily writing down figures. Snuffy Franks introduced the visitors.

  Doctor Craig Scott, or Scotty, was a boyish man, bit older than he looked. He had longish, dark hair that fell in slight disarray over his right eyebrow, and tortoise-shell spectacles that sat on his long nose. He wore an impish, sleepy-eyed expression, as though he were privy to some secret or joke, but he also had the studious air and eccentric manner of a scientist. He was very tall, his thin, reedy frame covered by a white lab coat, the pockets full of the accoutrements of the scientist: pencils, charts, notes, and various flotsam. Doctor Scott bent down to consult Doctor Kumari’s notebook.

  “Just a moment and I’ll be with you.” He spoke a few quiet words to her as she finished scribbling furiously, and turned to them with a satisfied sigh. He indicated the microscope with the two glass slides that lay side by side for comparison.

  “If you’ll look at each exhibit, you can see they are similar, but not identical. Have a look for yourselves.” He grinned and gave a nervous chuckle. “Now that we can compare samples scientifically, no matter what, the crooks don’t stand a chance. This is solid evidence, a matter of fact that cannot be refuted. Either it is, or it isn’t. It’s as simple as that, and it’s rather exciting!”

  In turn, the children climbed upon his high stool and looked through the microscope. Doctor Scott looked on beaming. “Doctor Kumari, why don’t you explain?”

  In soft, beautiful, lightly accented English, Rupa Kumari explained, “This is an actual sample from the makeup we found on the little piece of chain. Next to it is a sample of normal cosmetic makeup like Constable Hopkins here wears…”—the constable blushed—“…or you, Miss,…”—she indicated Brendalynn Welles—“…and you can see that the two don’t match. But I also have a slide with theatrical makeup on it, and you can see that they match very closely.” She put the new slide under the microscope, and the visitors each had a look.

  “Theatrical makeup?” inquired Riggs. He and Sergeant Bellows gave each other a thoughtful look.

  Scotty jumped in, “Not only can we make a visual comparison, but also a chemical one, as well. We call it quantitative chemistry.”

  “Quannawhat?” asked Michael.

  Doctor Scott gave his Cheshire cat smile, for he was in his element. “It’s when we analyze the chemical properties and components that make up an object or clue that the Glamour Boys bring us, and compare it to the chemical structure of other clues and samples.” He looked at little Jenny and cocked his head sideways. “And you don’t have a clue as to what I’m talking about, do you?” he said grinning.

  “Who are the Glamour Boys?” asked Michael.

  “Oh, that’s just our fond term for the detectives, like Chief Inspector Riggs and the other boys from C.I.D. and Special Branch since they usually get all the glory,” replied Scotty rather smugly. Doctor Kumari laughed despite herself.

  “That’s right,” added Snuffy Franks, “but we really don’t mind. Some are born to be the stars onstage, while others like us prefer this type of work out of the limelight. Well, we’d best be letting these two geniuses get back to it. There’s something else I need to show you.”

  They said good-bye, leaving Scotty and Doctor Kumari, heads together, twittering over their discoveries.

  “Come with me,” said Snuffy Franks. He led them into a large corner office, with two walls of windows looking back into the lab. He sat down behind a cluttered desk. “Now, you weren’t directly in on investigating the theft of the Blood Star from the Royal Academy, and since there may be a connection, and you said you wanted to learn more about rubies… Well. Here’s a crash course. I have plenty of reading material, but I know you want the condensed version, so you can go on crashing about up there.” (Everything to Snuffy was “up.”)

  “So, here’s what we know. The closest witnesses to see the ruby all commented on it being large, lustrous, and having a milky star pattern.” He had marked a book and opened it to a photograph, which he propped up on the desk for all to see.

  “The star pattern is called an asterism, which is actually a deviation of the minerals. These kinds of rubies are extremely rare, and very, very expensive. Depending on the size and purity of the stone, and the clarity of the asterism, a ruby this large could well be worth thousands and thousands of pounds. These are some of the rarest jewels in existence. You see, there are many perfectly ordinary diamonds in existence, but there are far fewer rubies, so rubies are often much more valuable than their more famous counterpart. And one like the Blood Star, that was extraordinary in all other respects, would hold even more value. And as an identical pair, they are almost priceless.

  “Now, your witnesses all described a ruby that was huge, about half the size of a golf ball or larger, or the size of a small lump of coal. A ruby that size might be up to 250 carats, possibly even more. Did you know our English word carat comes from the Greek word keration, or “little horn,” which refers to the shape of seedpods from the carob tree, St. John’s Bread? These pods were used to weigh precious stones in ancient times due to the relative uniformity of their weight. It also has an Arabic form, qirat, or quirate in Old Portuguese.

  “Now, there are such things as synthetic rubies. They are quite well done, and can even fool an expert in imperfect light or under poor conditions. And although it would seem likely that’s what the victim had, I have to wonder, like you, if it might not be our missing Blood Star. The descriptions fit all too well, and the missing Blood Star was encased in a golden pendant setting. It would be easy enough to add a chain. Then I started to wonder to myself—what about the other Blood Star—the one that was stolen thirty years ago?

  “I did a little digging. Been on our books ever since. Stolen from a collector here in London, and the collector murdered. The killer got away with only the one ruby that was part of the pair, known as the Blood Stars of India. Not to be confused with the Star of India, a comparable sapphire that’s in the American Museum of Natural History in New York. But the Stars are also known for the purported curse that has attached itself to them: every time the Blood Stars are together, people die.”

  The crease between Riggs’s dark eyebrows deepened, as did the color in his steely grey eyes.

  Snuffy continued, “Here’s a picture of the Blood Stars together, taken in 1904 before the theft and murder. I’m sure you saw this in the papers at the time of the robbery a few weeks ago. Until the one Star showed up, the Blood Stars haven’t been seen together or at all, ever since.” He held up another photog
raph of the Blood Stars, this time in color and shown actual size, with a pair of measuring calipers and ruler nearby for comparison. “From the exhibition; for you, Inspector—pass that round to your eyewitnesses.” He handed the photo to Riggs, who then showed it to Jen.

  “What do you say, Jen?” inquired Riggs.

  The little girl thought for a moment and said truthfully, “I’m not sure. Maybe, but it all happened so fast.”

  “Of course it did,” replied Riggs understandingly, patting her shoulder. He looked at Doctor Franks. “So, Snuffy, are you saying you definitely think our ruby could be one of the missing Blood Stars?”

  His magnified eyes were bright. “Well, let’s make it a definite possibility, and certainly one I recommend you shouldn’t ignore.”

  “That would explain why it was taken, and in such a violent fashion,” said Riggs, looking at Bellows.

  “Yes sir, it would be a powerful motive,” said Bellows.

  Riggs frowned in concentration. “And yet, what would a low wage earner like our librarian be doing in possession of such a valuable star ruby? Right. Well, thank you, Snuffy. You’re a blessing and a font of information—what would we do without you?”

  “Just the same, Inspector,” replied Snuffy Franks, “we’re all in this together. Besides, it’s up to you Glamour Boys to run our information to ground.”

  “Oh, we shall. Time to be on our way. Constable Hopkins, if you would, please escort our guests on the rest of their tour, and Sergeant Bellows and I will get on to some of the new evidence that Doctor Franks and his team have come up with for us.”

  It was nearly eleven when he returned to his office, whilst Bellows, having collected Inspector Blaney in the Incident Room, went out to investigate the life of the late librarian.

  chapter twelve

  A Secret Life

  MISS MINERVA CHILLGLASS—the late Minerva Chillglass—had lived in a dumpy little flat off Chicksand Street in Spitalfields. The search by Sergeant Bellows and the two other detectives, aided by Blaney, yielded a few surprises. Despite the neat, prim, and proper demeanor described by her associate librarians, Miss Chillglass’s abode itself was rather dingy, and completely disorganized as well. Quite surprising for a librarian. For indeed, it turned out that Miss Chillglass, librarian at one of London’s oldest and most reputable libraries and institutions, kept large amounts of cash in tins and boxes, well hidden round her flat. In a built-in bookcase, the detectives also found a volume called The Complete Voltaire that was hollowed out and filled with pound notes totaling nearly £500. They found several other hollowed-out volumes as well. The more they examined the rather shabby world of Miss Chillglass, one thing became clear: she was not as she had appeared in life.

  Riggs joined them soon after, and they eagerly showed him the fruits of their search so far. Riggs wanted to look more closely at the flat, and started his eyes roving over the latter part of the small bed-sit.

  Something drew him to a set of table-top pictures. There, along with several others, he noticed a small, framed photo of an attractive young woman standing next to a dark man with tall hair. Riggs thought there was a slight resemblance between the woman in the photo and Miss Chillglass, but this young lady was very attractive, almost glamorous. Her mother, perhaps? The sister? He felt a tingle of excitement race up his spine. There was definitely something here.

  Then Bellows called excitedly from in front of a bookcase, producing a new discovery. It was a black scrapbook, devoted exclusively to the life and career of the notorious, but hitherto uncatchable East End gangster, club owner, and racketeer, Boss Bruno Stilton.

  “Isn’t he the one they call the King of the Cosmo Cocktails?” asked Bellows.

  “Indeed, Sergeant, it’s the signature of his new Tip Top Club.”

  They set the scrapbook on the coffee table, sat on the sofa, and began slowly thumbing through it. On one of the first pages, they found a faded clipping, dated some sixteen years before. It held the same photo as the one in the frame. The caption read: Bruno Stilton and Minerva Chillglass to Wed this Spring. Well, well, didn’t that beat all!

  “So, Miss Minerva Chillglass was once engaged to Bruno Stilton, and she still kept up with him after all these years. What the hell happened? It was after the war … another woman?” The rest of the pages were filled with society pages, news accounts, and photos.

  Riggs looked carefully at the photos. “Notice anything, Fred?”

  “Great Galloping Gollywhoppers!” replied Bellows. “But I do spy with my little eye—it appears someone has been clipped out of some of these photos with Boss Stilton.”

  “Right,” answered Riggs. “And the captions blacked out. Bruno Stilton has had many girlfriends. Never married. I wonder who he’s with these days. I suppose we should go back through the newspaper society columns and check. But now I’m more interested in his most recent companions.” Finally, on one of the last pages of the scrapbook was a crushed, black rose. Riggs’s eyes brightened, and once more he felt as if they were on the verge of a significant discovery.

  Moving decisively, Riggs went into the small bedroom and opened the wardrobe. He removed each piece of clothing and examined it separately. Most were plain dull suits, almost identical to each other and to the one in which Miss Chillglass had met her fate. But then toward the end, he found what he thought he might find. A thin-strapped evening gown of very high quality, and a mink fur stole. He examined the bottom of the wardrobe carefully and, as he expected, besides the plain shoes, there was one pair of women’s dress shoes that would go with the gown. But there was another surprise as well: a pair of men’s slippers. Beyond the gown, hung a plain black suit—for a widow? There were two shelves with hatboxes. In the fourth box, he found a black hat with a dark veil. Well, well.

  He went to the worn bureau and checked the drawers, with the same sort of results in her underclothes. Most were plain and simple, but on the bottom was one pair of fancy nightwear. And a pair of men’s silk pajamas. And yes, on top of the bureau was a small lacquered box containing lipstick, makeup, and a bottle of highly expensive perfume. A tight smile formed under the twin slashes of dark moustache, as a vision of the sensational paperback version of her story flashed through Riggs’s mind. The secret life of a librarian!

  The detectives also discovered several roughly written receipts from Pratt’s Pawn and Loan. Bellows had already dusted one for prints, comparing them with the ones he had obtained from Miss Chillglass’s corpse earlier that morning at the Women’s Hospital. They matched. The writing on the receipts was indecipherable, so it was impossible to determine exactly what it was for. Was it indecipherable on purpose? Was it possible that this was for the ruby pendant, if it had indeed been a cheap synthetic stone? It appeared as though Miss Chillglass had had a number of dealings with Pratt’s. The constable, familiar with the area, said in a low tone, “If you’ll excuse me, sir, this Pratt’s Pawn and Loan is suspected to be a front for the Black and Blue Hand.”

  “Ah, I see! You’re welcome, Constable!” said Riggs with a nod and a salute. “The Black and Blue Hand, eh? The scrapbook. Boss Stilton. The head of the Black and Blue Hand. That would explain many things. Well, I think this pawnshop deserves a visit. Inspector Blaney, organize a Flying Squad car to come here and collect our evidence and yourself. And another to meet us at Pratt’s Pawn and Loan.”

  “Thanks very much, sir,” said Blaney gratefully, and he went to the hall phone to arrange it. He’d been going for over fourteen hours and was ready for a break. He left, and went back to the Yard to fill out his report.

  chapter thirteen

  The Rats at Pratt’s

  THE DETECTIVES HAD ONLY A few minutes to wait before the officers came to collect Blaney and the evidence. Then they were off to meet the Flying Squad, thankful to be quit of the dank and stuffy tenement building. Not that Pratt’s, in nearby Whitechapel would be much better.

  In fact, it turned out to be worse. Pratt’s Pawn and Loan was a sagging b
it of ruin, with warped wooden timbers and plaster dating from the Tudor age. To Riggs, the façade resembled the face of a snaggle-toothed old man, blackened and stained with grease and soot, sagging into heavy jowls that grew out of the pavement. The neighborhood was very poor, with reminders of scarcity and privation everywhere.

  As they pulled up, another Flying Squad car wheeled round the opposite corner and screeched to a stop. The sign indicated Pratt’s was open for business, but this was belied by the dark diamond-paned windows that stared blankly at them. They crossed the road and stood regarding the frontage. Riggs had the men go around back while he, Bellows, and the constable entered through the creaking front door. A bell tinkled, and they found themselves in a dimly lit interior that smelled musty and mildewed. It was a low-ceilinged room, crowded with items for sale hanging from every crooked beam, post, or sagging wall. There was a scrambling, scratching sound somewhere in the background, as though the building were alive. Bellows and the constable started to look around. Seeing no one in attendance, Riggs strolled up to the counter and rang the bell. A few seconds later, the soiled burlap curtains behind the counter parted, and a very thin man with a rat-like face entered.

  Riggs showed his warrant card. “Mr. Pratt?”

  “Yus, that’s me. And what d’ya think the Rozz would want with me—Richard Leslie Pratt?” He had deep-set, heavy-lidded eyes on a gaunt, olive face. His rat-like countenance was enhanced by the long nose and greasy black comb-over on his balding head. His brow was lined and worried.

  “What is your connection to a Miss Minerva Chillglass of Chicksand Street, and about your business with her.”

  “Why, sir, now I’m not sure I recollect a lady by that name. Surely you don’t mean to imply I’m seeing a woman of, shall we say, low character. Ha, ha.” Despite his flippancy he was worried, but he continued to give vague and noncommittal answers as Riggs pressed him.