The Exhibits in Mrs Salmon's Waxworks

by Tim Ellis

  'Something's been nagging at me since we watched the recording of the séance. Did you notice the clock on the mantelpiece behind Rita?'

  'That's where she had the bell, the knife and the rock salt, wasn't it?'

  'Yes.'

  'No, I don't recall seeing the clock.'

  'It was a Victorian black slate mantle clock with a small timepiece in the centre. When we were in the room before, I noticed that the second and minute hands were moving normally and the time was correct, so it obviously works.'

  'Okay.'

  'In the recording, the minute hand on the clock jumped about ten minutes at one point. Because the timepiece is so small in the clock, it was hardly noticeable, but the elapsed time on the video continued as normal.'

  'I don't understand.'

  'I think more time elapsed than was evident on the recording.'

  'Ah! You mean the recording has been altered?'

  'I don't know, but I do know someone who might know.'

  'That would explain the disappearance, wouldn't it? She simply got up and left, and then the recording was doctored to make it look as though she'd disappeared. It must have been Rita. She's the only one with access to the tape. Probably a marketing ploy. Next thing is, she'll be contacting Psychic Weekly and Paranormal News to tell them about the disappearing woman, and we'll be caught up right in the middle of it all.'

  'Let's not jump to any conclusions, Harry.'

  'So, where to now?'

  'I'm going home. I think we've done enough for one day.'

  'I could buy you lunch?'

  'One thing you should know about me is that I have a man I love and a daughter called Márie.'

  'No, I wasn't implying anything like that. It was merely lunch, nothing more.'

  'Thanks for the invite, but I should get home. I'll message you tonight and we'll talk more then, and thanks for coming with me and bringing all your equipment, Harry.'

  'My pleasure. It's turning out to be an intriguing investigation.'

  'It is, isn't it?'

  They parted company at Clapham Junction. She caught the next train to West Brompton. Harry lived in Lambeth, so he went in the opposite direction to Clapham North and the Elephant & Castle.

  Chapter Six

  'So, Rummage. What do we know?'

  They were in the waxworks canteen having lunch. It wasn't ideal, but it would no doubt save them time and effort. Quigg had the lasagne with a side salad and garlic bread. It was barely enough to feed a church mouse. Not only that, it tasted like plastic. Rummage ordered the chicken salad, but after pulling a face at the smell she didn't touch it.

  'Not a lot. As far as everyone's concerned it's an impossible crime and couldn't possibly have happened.'

  'And yet, here we are.'

  'Here we are.'

  'It that all you've got to offer?'

  'Yes.'

  'Well, impossible crimes are what we specialise in.'

  'You, not me. I don't know anything about impossible crimes. In fact, I should probably take the rest of the day off and go back to bed with a hot water bottle.'

  'Am I likely to agree to that? Anyway, what's going on with you, Rummage? You seem distracted. You're acting strange, weird and bizarre. Is there something on your mind that I should know about?'

  'No.'

  'Something bothering you?'

  'Such as what?'

  'I don't know. Maybe you came back to work too soon?'

  'Are you not happy with my work?'

  'Don't turn it around on me. I'm just being a caring boss. And besides that, you haven't actually done any work yet. If there's something bothering you, then now would be a good time to come clean before I find out by myself. I am, after all, a detective.'

  'There's nothing.'

  'Well, eat up. You'll need the protein. We have more work to do.'

  'Making a waxwork figure is a collaborative process,' Rummage said.

  'You're not telling me anything new.'

  'And it doesn't seem possible that a dead body could be used as a framework for a layer of wax derived from human remains.'

  'Still nothing new, Rummage. Don't think I'll classify repeating what others have said as work.'

  'I think there are two versions of George Washington.'

  'Two!'

  'Yes. There's the one the team originally constructed, and then there's the one with the dead body inside.'

  'No! Peddling conspiracy theories is not work either. In fact, I would classify that as sedition, rather than actual work.'

  'Both Philip and Chantal said that the George we were describing was not the George they had maintained, which suggests there are two versions of George Washington. We have the one with the dead body inside, but the original figure is somewhere else.'

  'Do you realise how ridiculous that sounds?'

  'Yes, but how else can you explain why no one has noticed a dead body inside George for five years?'

  'Well, that's why we're here investigating, Rummage.' Aryana's warning came to mind. He took her postcard from his inside pocket and re-read the first line: Don’t stray too far into the waxworks. What did she mean by that?

  'A postcard?'

  'If you'd have worked that out before I took it out of my pocket, I might have been impressed.' He slid the card back into his inside pocket. 'So, your theory is that there's another George Washington standing around here somewhere?'

  'Yes.'

  'Have you noticed any CCTV in the building?'

  'No.'

  'We'd better instruct Mitch to give us the complete guided tour then.' He looked around. 'Where is he anyway?'

  'Practising his creative flair for disappearing I should imagine.'

  'Go and see if you can find him, will you?'

  Just then, his phone vibrated.

  'Quigg.'

  'It's Perkins, Sir?'

  'Where are you, Perkins?'

  'Still in the waxworks.'

  'Doing what?'

  'If you recall, you asked me to check all the figures to make sure there were no other dead bodies.'

  'And you're calling to tell me that you've done that?'

  'Yes and no.'

  'Meaning?'

  'We've found another seven so far, Sir.'

  'Seven! For God's sake! Have you got nothing else better to do? Seven what?'

  'Dead bodies.'

  'That's impossible, Perkins.'

  'So I believe.'

  'And what do you mean by "so far"?'

  'We're only half-way through our inspection of the exhibits. There could be more bodies, Sir.'

  'This is not good, Perkins.'

  'I know.'

  'Where in the waxworks are you?'

  'Marie Antoinette has just been decapitated by the guillotine.'

  'Very helpful!'

  'Follow Louis XVI's cries of "I am lost".'

  'I've often thought about asking for another forensic scientist you know, Perkins.'

  The call disconnected.

  Rummage stared at him. 'What?'

  'Perkins and his people have found another seven bodies – that's eight in total, and they're only half-way through the exhibits.'

  'That's impossible.'

  'So, we now have eight impossible crimes. Are you still suggesting that there are eight duplicate figures hidden in here somewhere?'

  'It's the only rational explanation.'

  'Rationality is overrated.'

  He'd finished his lasagne, but Rummage hadn't touched her salad.

  'Are you not eating?'

  'No.'

  'Maybe you're in love, Rummage?'

  'What do you know about love?'

  'Not a thing.'

  'I don't like men.'

  'A woman then?'

  'I don't like women either.'

  'I hope you're not thinking that it's my fault you were deprived of the rape, sodomy by multiple perpetrators and the decapitation that was your deserved reward by that sex cult, because I arr
ived in the nick of time to save you, Rummage?'

  'None of those things are on my bucket list.'

  'I'm glad to hear it. MITCH!' He used the Chief's technique to gain the apprentice's attention. 'I HAVE AN EMPTY CELL WITH A BLOCKED TOILET AT THE POLICE STATION. IT HAS YOUR NAME SCRIBBLED ON THE OUTSIDE.'

  Mitch appeared. 'I was just waiting for your call, Inspector Cluedo.'

  'Has the waxworks got any CCTV, Mitch?'

  'No.'

  'Why not?'

  'A mate of mine fits security cameras for half the price of the real thing. I offered his services to Mrs Berkeley, but she passed on the offer.'

  'Take us to Marie Antoinette.'

  'Sacre bleu!'

  'Do you speak French?'

  'Not a word. They tried to force me to speak it at school, but I knew my rights.'

  'I'm sure.'

  'So! You ready then, Inspector Gadget?'

  'You lead, we'll follow, Mitch.'

  He grunted. 'Yeah! It'll be like the blind leading the blind.'

  'This is a big place,' Quigg said to nobody in particular as they wandered along the wide walkways.

  'It's like Warehouse 13,' Mitch responded.

  'Is that in London?'

  'It's a TV series about a storehouse with infinite capacity where they store objects that have dangerous powers. Such as, the Honjo Masamune, an ancient samurai sword that can split light and make the user invisible; the Spine of the Saracen, which turns you into a superhero, but there are consequences; and then there's Harriet Tubman's Thimble, which gives the wearer the appearance of someone else. Imagine that huh!'

  'Imagine!'

  'Some of the objects are so dangerous that they're kept in the Dark Vault.'

  'I expect they would be. So, the warehouse isn't real then?'

  'No, but it's similar to the enormity of the waxworks. People need a map and a compass in here. Did Babs on the entrance not give you a map when you paid your entry fee?'

  'We're police, we don't pay.'

  'That'll be it then. No money, no map.'

  ***

  On her way back down to the operations room to speak to Li Xue and Heidi Jackson about their roles, she took a detour into the toilet to powder her nose. While she was washing her hands, she checked her hair and make-up in the mirror above the washbasin. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw DCI Dixon's face come into focus behind her.

  What was he doing in the ladies toilet?

  He grabbed her by the back of the neck with an enormous left hand and squashed the side of her face up against the mirror.

  She was just about to let out a blood-curdling scream when the DCI revealed a knife in his right hand and held the blade against her cheek.

  'Scream and I'll disfigure you,' he whispered.

  She let the scream die in her throat. 'What do you want?'

  Still holding the knife, he ran his right hand down over her firm breasts, her flat stomach and rubbed her crotch.

  It had been some time since she'd given birth to Luke and she'd worked hard to get her body back into shape. She still retained her beauty. Her black hair fell naturally to her shoulders in ringlets that matched her black eyes. She had full lips, even white teeth and a glowing copper brown skin.

  She tried to wriggle free.

  He pushed his head level with hers and licked her neck.

  The smell of stale tobacco made her feel sick and his stubble scratched the side of her face.

  'I know what I'd like to do to you, Ruth Lynch. Maybe another time. Something to look forward to if you don't heed my warning.'

  'What warning?'

  'Leave them alone?'

  'Who?'

  'You know who. If you continue to go after them, then you and everyone you love will die.'

  'You're one of them, aren't you?'

  He didn't answer her. Instead, he grunted and collapsed onto the bathroom floor behind her.

  She turned to find a stooped old female cleaner in a grey overall with wisps of grey hair escaping from a head scarf. In her right hand she was holding a handgun.

  'Who are you?'

  'It's Jack. Don't you recognise me?'

  She let out a laugh. 'It that really you, Jack?'

  'I happened to be passing the toilets.'

  'Is this your day job?'

  'An old lady with five cats has to earn a living in some way.'

  'Did you hear what he said?'

  'I heard. No wonder the covert team weren't getting anywhere, he was working for the enterprise.'

  'What about his threat to kill me and everybody I love?'

  'Just a minute.' He went to the door, opened it, hung an OUT OF ORDER sign on the handle and then locked it. 'We don't want people interrupting us, do we?' As he was putting restraints around Dixon's wrists, ankles and a strip of duct tape over his mouth Jack continued. 'You were right earlier.'

  'I was?'

  'Yes. We do need to be smarter than them. Lucy and I made a dent in their operations, but that's all it was – a small dent. They've already recovered, and it's business as usual. It's not enough to take these people out. As you've already identified, they'll simply replace like with like and continue as if nothing had happened. We need to destroy the enterprise by not only eliminating the people, but by taking their money as well.'

  'The money is always key.'

  'I know some ex-soldiers from the old days who are down on their luck. They'd like nothing better than to have a new purpose in life. What I need from you is information about these people.'

  'Which is what my team are doing right now. I'll let you have everything we get as soon as we get it.'

  Lucy will help us take their money.'

  'Lucy will help us take their money.'

  'Have you asked her?'

  'Not yet.'

  'I have someone on the team who could help us.'

  'Can they be trusted?'

  'I think so.'

  'You'll speak to them and let me know?'

  'Yes.'

  'I want your team to act as a smoke screen to conceal my activities. The Board of Directors and the European Investors will think you're coming after them with search warrants and other legal means. As such, your team will need to be the backroom staff providing us with information, because ultimately they're hogtied, hamstrung and hobbled by the law. My people will have no such restraints. It'll be a match made in the ladies toilet.'

  'What are you going to do with DCI Dixon?'

  'Don't worry about him, Ruth. DCI Dixon is going to tell me everything he knows, and then I'll decide what to do with him.' He handed her a small black Nokia phone and said, 'Use this from now on. My number and your driver's number are in it. Ask Lucy to sanitize your other phone. There should be no record of me or our conversation in there.'

  'All right.'

  'Any information you acquire, either contact me or ask Lucy to send it to me.'

  'I will.'

  'You'd better go now and let me get to work.'

  'Me also.' She hugged him. 'Thanks, Jack.'

  'Don't thank me just yet. We still have a long way to go.'

  He opened the door and let her out.

  Not for the first time, she was torn between right and wrong. Had she not just become one of the people she was fighting – a corrupt person in public office? Oh, she could try and convince herself that she was doing what she was doing for the right reasons, but was doing the wrong things for the right reasons ever justified? Did the ends ever justify the means? Is it ever acceptable to breach moral, ethical, or legal boundaries to achieve some perceived greater good?

  She was sanctioning torture, murder, theft and any number of other crimes as a means to an end. Didn't her actions serve the greater good? If she did her work within the restraints of the law, then she knew she would fail in her task of bringing these people to justice and closing down the enterprise. If she was to have any chance of success, then she needed to fight fire with fire.

  The five
core principles of ethical journalism were truth and accuracy; independence; fairness and impartiality; humanity; and accountability. How many of those principles was she discarding for the greater good?

  ***

  On the train journey between Clapham Junction and Goldhawk Road she wrote her notes and observations of the investigation so far in her journal in preparation for writing a detailed report for the website. She also made a start on a report of what had happened at 66 Copperfield Street.

  Next, she phoned Lucy.

  'This is Lucy Neilson's phone.'

  'I need some addresses.'

  'I'm sorry, Madam. The switchboard have put you through to the wrong extension. This is not the address department. What you want is extension treble-two for addresses.'

  'Quigg would get into trouble if he used police resources to find out people's addresses for me, but you could find them out.'

  'Or you could do it yourself you lazy bitch and leave me the hell alone?'

  'Or you could do it for me?'

  'Which part of "sod off" don't you understand, Duffy?'

  'I'd be grateful.'

  'How grateful?'

  'What do you want?'

  'A doner kebab with double salad, double chilli sauce and a can of coke.'

  'I'll call in on my way home.'

  'How long will that be?'

  'About twenty-five minutes.'

  'Then you might get your addresses when you arrive here with kebab in hand. I hope it's a short list?'

  Duffy reeled off the names.

  Lucy made a strange noise and said, 'I need my head testing.'

  The call disconnected.

  She opened up the folder containing the Title Deeds to Rita's house and examined the floorplan. It looked like an accurate representation of what they'd seen earlier, but from her experience at Copperfield Street, she knew that you could never tell. A floorplan was significantly different from the architect's drawings in that there were no measurements. Without measurements, how could anyone check that a room hadn't been shortened by a couple of feet? She'd been lucky with Copperfield Street, because the house had been designed and built by architect Sir Horace Jones and the drawings donated to the National Archives at Kew. However, she now knew that in most cases there were no original architect's drawings. If the owners wanted them, then they had to commission their own from an architect or land surveyor.