Murder on the Cathedral Express (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 9)

by P. J. Thurbin

  “It would be easy for someone to fill in for someone who was off sick for the day and get aboard the train,” Ralph suggested.

  Linham’s view was that unless there was someone who knew all the staff rotas and the train schedules as well as the seating arrangements and bookings, it would be an impossible task to target one person so accurately. If it had been an insider, then that did not fit the case of the murder of the man on the Surbiton train. The Inspector admitted that for now he was stumped, and people at a high level wanted answers.

  Ralph decided that it was time to tell Linham about his visit to Prague and own up to having been in Cambridge. The Inspector listened as Wilson took notes. He also explained what Leon Riggs had said about Jenisis, and his suspicions about their wanting to get hold of his son’s work.

  “That robbery at New Cross at James Riggs’ flat is still under investigation,” said Linham. ”But, if it’s as you suggest, and these people are engaged in some sort of industrial espionage, then I’m afraid that’s not a priority right now. I’ve three unsolved murders to deal with, Professor. Family squabbles and people wanting to get ahead in the world of art is not something that grabs my attention. I presume you see my point?”

  Ralph conceded that the murders were the priority. But he still felt that all of these events were connected in some way. The Inspector thanked him for coming in and said that they would be in touch.

  As Ralph drove through Kingston, he felt for Linham. If he failed to catch the killer, or at least make some progress in that direction, then they would take the case away from him and it would be a blot on his career. With retirement not too far off, this could be an opportunity for senior management to make him a scapegoat. He could even lose his job and part of his pension. The Police Union might provide some protection, but Ralph doubted it.

  As he waited at the traffic lights by the old cattle market in Kingston, he decided to call in on Molly Riley. The next left turn would take him to the Knights Park campus. Although it was ‘Reading Week’, she might be at work. He knew that IT staff liked a chance to do some serious work without the noise and distractions of a normal term week.

  He walked along the deserted corridors. It was now getting dark and the lights in the laboratories and empty classrooms paid little deference to the push to conserve energy. It was as bright as tinsel town, he noted. Molly spied him looking in the window and waved. She released the security lock and he went in. He could see that she was distressed about something.

  “Thanks for stopping by, Professor Chalmers. It would have been fine if you had just called. I know you’re busy. Your secretary said you were at an important conference.” Janice just being Janice, he thought. Trying to make him sound more important than he was.

  ”No that’s okay. I was driving past anyhow and thought I’d pop in. What can I do for you?”

  “It sounds silly, but I’m scared. Bob thinks I’m just being neurotic.”

  “Why? What’s frightened you like this?”

  “It’s all these killings. I saw in the paper about that American being killed. The papers said it was another poisoning, just like with the other two judges.”

  “You know how those newspapers like to exaggerate things,” Ralph said. “It’s what sells papers.” He knew that it sounded trite, but he could see that she was really scared by all of this, even though she was not involved.

  “I’m afraid I could be next.”

  “Why would you think that? These people who were murdered were all judges at the Turner Prize. You had nothing to do with that. I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Well, I think I do.” She raised her voice. “It’s Leon who’s behind all of this. He’s devoted to James, and I know he hated what those judges did to him. He blames them.”

  “He may blame them, but I’ve talked to him and he agreed with me that whoever is behind these murders must be a maniac. I know that Leon’s a bit eccentric, but there’s no way he could have committed any of those murders. I was on the train when two of those people died, and believe me, Leon was not there.”

  Ralph decided to say nothing about his suspicions that Jenisis could be behind the murders.

  “He could have hired someone to do it,” said Molly.

  “That’s all fantasy drummed up by the films. Real life isn’t nearly so cloak and dagger.”

  “Do you think I should say anything about what I just told you about Leon to the police?”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, Molly. At the very least they’d want some proof that Leon had committed a crime or that he’d threatened you in some way.”

  “I know he doesn’t want me to be with James or even visit him in hospital. He as much as accused me of having encouraged James to take drugs. He said that I might have given James some drugs at that dinner at the Tate and that had made him fall in front of that taxi.”

  “I know that Leon’s a bit odd, but you know how distraught he is with what happened to his son and the Turner Prize, and the Project. He’s even been in a clinic. I think the best way you can help James is to continue to visit him. Keep playing those DVD’s and the music. That’s the best way for you to help him break out of that coma. And by continuing to work on the Project, you’ll be helping him for when he recovers.”

  “You’re right. I am being a bit silly. I’m not usually this easily upset. James would laugh if he heard me talking like this.”

  “Look, I have to go now. If you’d like, I’ll walk you to your car,” said Ralph. “It’s a bit deserted out there with the students away for ‘Reading Week’.” They both laughed.

  “I don’t drive, but thanks anyway. I’ll lock up and walk out with you to the bus stop if you don’t mind?”

  “My pleasure. Can I give you a lift?”

  “No thanks. The bus goes straight to Wimbledon I can get one from there to the hospital. I’ll feel better once I’ve seen James and Bob. Bob’s there every night as well.”

  As he drove home Ralph realised that his theory about the judges having been bribed was looking less plausible. Parnov was a wealthy New Yorker and well connected in the art world in America and Europe.

  Ralph decided that what he needed was a run and a chance to clear his mind of what had turned out to be a pretty stressful day.

  _______________________

  Chapter 9

  Ralph had received a phone call from his friend Allan Moss who said that he was going up to Burlington House to do some research and would Ralph like to come along. Allan had mentioned that he intended to expand his areas of expertise as a guide now that the Royal Academy was high on the tourists’ list of ‘places to see’

  Ralph was intrigued to see just what all the fuss was about Michelangelo’s Taddei Tondo that had caused so much trouble when Riggs had decided to use it for his Moving Images exhibition at the Tate.

  At first sight Ralph was struck by the size of the Tondo, which was between three and four feet in diameter. Allan had explained that Tondo meant ‘round’ in English.

  “The bird that St John the Baptist is holding is believed to be a goldfinch,” Allan said. “They’re alleged to eat thorns, so the symbolism is pretty strong. It was never completed, and when James and I saw it he was struck by the idea that someone had described it as ‘the sculptor discovering the form which lies within the marble’. He wanted to produce an animation that emphasised that idea.”

  Ralph recalled that Allan had told him that he and James Riggs had met at the Academy some time back.

  “But surely he realised that it would provoke an outcry from the religious community, if not the academics and the art world.”

  “Of course. But I think that’s exactly what he hoped for in order to make an impact. You know, grab peoples’ attention. It’s believed that Michelangelo was only about 29 when he created it; close to James’s age. James had read various interpretations about the meaning of the piece. He told me that most of the commentaries suggest that the infant chi
ld is deliberately depicted turning to his mother because he saw his fate. And he also told me that the stance of his cousin, John the Baptist, with arms crossed symbolised the crucifixion that was to come.”

  Ralph began to understand how James had latched on to the idea of animating this unfinished work. And his tutor at Norwich, Barry Jones, must have agreed with him that it would demonstrate his skills both as an artist and as someone who was not afraid to push the boundaries of modern art to the limit.

  “Do you know if Barry Jones was a religious man, Allan?”

  “I couldn’t say. But I can tell you that he was passionate about helping James to become famous.”

  They walked around the other galleries and admired the works by Turner, Constable, Raeburn and Hockney. It was only a small sample of the more than a thousand masterpieces in the collection. Allan said that he would love to see the hundreds of sculptures and their collection of prints and drawings that ran to around 25,000, but they settled for tea in the cafe.

  ***

  “We need to let Chalmers know about this,” said Inspector Linham as he flicked through a file that lay on his desk. “It’s planned to the last detail, but I want him to do something for me. It’s not a big thing to ask and there’s very little risk. Get him on the phone for me, Wilson.”

  The Inspector had been told that both Sir Robin Goodman and Mario Santori, the fourth judge on the Tate panel, would be at an opening of a big exhibition of art at The Mall galleries in London.

  While he waited for Wilson to make the call, he read through his notes. The Met would handle security. They had acquiesced to his request to attend only because the two celebrities were linked to his case. But only to ‘check out’ those in attendance, as the Met superintendent had put it. His own boss had emphasised that low key presence was the order of the day.

  Linham had told Wilson to put on his best suit and make sure his shoes were polished. Wilson had taken him seriously and you could fairly see your reflection in his shoes. His wife had laughed when he told her he would attend the exhibition, but she took more interest when he mentioned who would open it. She told him that all the glossies had been running stories about the big society wedding of Sir Robin’s son and Santori’s daughter. This raised alarm bells for the Inspector. It meant that there were bound to be a lot of people there, and the idea of crowds outside the exhibition spelt trouble. If there was an assassin hired to eliminate the Turner Prize judges, then he or she would be thrilled to have such a large audience.

  “He’s on the line, sir,” said Wilson as he handed his boss the phone.

  “Professor Chalmers. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad moment?”

  “Not at all, Inspector. How can I be of help?”

  Inspector Linham did not come directly to the point. He chatted for a few minutes about things in general until he felt it was time to make his request. He was not surprised when his request met with an affirmative response.

  “That’s very good of you, Professor. I know it’s a bit of an unusual request, but this is the best opportunity we’ll get to see if there are any guests that you might recognise from the incidents you witnessed. We weren’t able to trace that doctor you spoke to on the Canterbury train. But if he were involved in the murders in any way, he may yet show up.”

  “So how will this work, Inspector? Will I receive an official invitation?”

  “No, you won’t need one. Just turn up at the desk and the security people will let me know you’ve arrived. You’ll need some ID, of course.”

  “Of course,” Ralph replied. “Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of. Oh, you do know how to get there? It’s just beyond Admiralty Arch towards Buckingham Palace, and it’s on the right.”

  When he had hung up the Inspector looked up at Wilson.

  “This one is going to be a bugger, Sergeant. But Our hands are tied. We’ll just have to rely on the people from the Met and our friend Professor Chalmers to keep things secure and stop a fourth murder. But If it all goes pear-shape, then you know who they’ll hang out to dry. Yours truly. You mark my words, lad.”

  “The Met have a lot of experience at protecting high ranking diplomats and the Royal family,” Wilson said. “I’m sure they’re up to the job.”

  “My concern is Professor Chalmers.”

  “But you did ask him to be there, Sir.”

  The Inspector grunted. “Don’t’ point out the obvious, Wilson. Our Professor is not one to sit back and let the professionals do their job. He’s likely to leap in and tackle our villain if he so much as moves a muscle.”

  Wilson kept his council.

  “I’ll get some tea, Sir.”

  ***

  Ralph walked from Waterloo station to the Mall. He wanted to avoid the crowds on the tube. It was also a chance to look at some of London’s best statuary. As he approached the Mall, he glanced over at the one of Captain Cook and across the road to the Duke of York’s tall column. He had read that it was only 20 feet shorter than Nelson’s column. He passed the memorial to the Royal Marines which had stood there since 1903. A lot had happened since then. The people who were at the unveiling ceremony could never have imagined what ordeals and daring deeds lay ahead for the Marines that would follow on.

  Once he had been cleared by security, he made his way down the steps to the main gallery area. He was well aware that if he recognised someone who had been at the scene of either of those horrific murders, then it was likely that they would recognise him as well. He gave an involuntary shudder. There was no way he was going to eat or drink anything today.

  People stood in small groups admiring the paintings and made suitable comments to their companions. One lady turned and asked him if he thought the blue background was too dominant, before she realised that her companion had moved to the next painting.

  He was not sure if Inspector Linham had said he would be there or not. In such a crowd this large, it would be difficult to find anyone, let alone recognise someone he had only had a glimpse of before. He walked up the steps that led into the upper gallery. More crowds still, and a table with wine and food around which people stood as they shared their views on the miniatures that adorned the walls and filled the glass cabinets. Linham had told him that the Met police were responsible for security. As he looked around, he tried to pick out who they were. There were a few rather burly types that he assumed must be part of their force, but a number of the women also looked capable of flattening you with one blow.

  A man who he assumed to be Sir Robin Goodman was engaged in deep conversation with a sunburned individual. Ralph used his suspect stereotyping criteria to conclude that this must be Mario Santori. As he edged closer, he detected an Italian accent.

  Across the room he saw Leon Riggs dressed in what looked like a morning suit. He even sported a red carnation in his lapel and leant on that ebony walking stick of his. Riggs seemed to be drawing some attention as he gesticulated with his stick. A man walked up, who Ralph assumed was a Met officer, and said something to Riggs. There was an argument and voices were raised.

  “Damned impudence. I’ll have you thrown out.” Leon was now the centre of everyone’s attention.

  Suddenly Ralph spotted his man. It was the surly steward that had been on the Cathedral Express to Canterbury. He was dressed as a waiter: white shirt, tie and a neat black waistcoat. He handed a tray with two glasses to Sir Robin and Mario Santori. Ralph leapt forward and shouted – “STOP! “ as he knocked the tray to the floor. Afterwards people said he had also called the man a ‘damned bastard’. But Ralph thought not.

  Pandemonium broke out. Ralph was pushed aside as what seemed like at least ten large men fell on the waiter. Sir Robin and Santori were bundled away as was the waiter. It was all over quite quickly.

  A few minutes later, Sir Robin, looking calm and collected as though nothing had happened, returned and declared the Exhibition officially open. When he looked around, Leon was walking towards him.

 
; “Professor Chalmers, I’d like you to meet Professor Barry Jones,” he turned to a man who looked more like a front row forward for the Welsh Rugby team than an academic who he remembered Sarah saying was a world expert in his field.

  Leon continued.

  “Professor Chalmers is from Kingston University where James did his undergraduate studies. Professor Chalmers was telling me that he supported your campaign against the Turner Prize process.”

  Ralph was not sure that those were his exact sentiments when they had spoken at the Mayfair galleries. It was Leon that had put that proposition forward.

  Professor Jones smiled. “That’s not the official Kingston position, I assume.” Ralph immediately warmed to him. “You’ve got the Stanley Picker Gallery going quite well down at Kingston, I understand. And of course, Dorich House Museum; so you’ll need to tow the party line.”

  “I’m not in the Art Faculty, actually. Business School,” Ralph replied as the two men shook hands.”

  They chatted on about how the whole judging process was flawed. Barry explained that he favoured just letting the ordinary people decide what they like. He felt that by issuing prizes it had become elitist and enabled the people in power to decide what was art.

  “It keeps the poor sods who have no money or influence at the bottom. James was cut out of the running. We made the mistake of underestimating the power group. Probably my Welsh nationalism coming through,” he laughed.

  It was a deep laugh that had its roots in the Rhonda Valley, thought Ralph. But he could see that Barry Jones was passionate about the things he valued and would be a tough adversary if you were against his views. He struck Ralph as a somewhat over-zealous man who might be capable of taking the law into his own hands. He had gotten no further in his analysis when Leon interrupted to take Barry over to meet some other people.

  ***

  Ralph was grateful to get out into the fresh air. He was slightly surprised that the police had not taken any statements or asked for names and addresses. They must have seen me or heard me shout, Ralph mused as he walked across the walkway alongside Hungerford Bridge and headed for Waterloo. Perhaps they had already spotted the man and were ready to pounce when I saw him? No doubt one of them has already written his report on the whole incident, he muttered.