The Exhibits in Mrs Salmon's Waxworks

by Tim Ellis

  ***

  She felt even worse this morning than she had done yesterday. Her headache had gone, but everything else hurt more – her arm, her hand, her crotch, her rib cage. After brushing her teeth, she decided that she was clean enough and didn't need a shower.

  Ramona had already gone.

  Feeling hungry, she walked along the connecting hallway to the kitchen in her skimpy panties and a baggy sleeveless top that hid nothing, put four pieces of bread in the toaster and switched the kettle on.

  Jessie Doll wandered in. 'Oh! Hello, Lucy.'

  'You look good enough to eat,' she said. 'Did you meet Quigg this morning?'

  'Yes.'

  'Did he try to eat you?'

  She smiled. 'I could see him undressing me with his eyes, but he had to go to work.'

  'That doesn't normally stop him.'

  'I will not be having sex with him. I have a boyfriend who is a bodybuilder.'

  'That doesn't normally stop him either. If he begins to pester you too much, just let me know. I've told him that if he has sex with you, he'll lose his penis.'

  'I wouldn't want to be the cause of that.'

  'So, keep your panties on.'

  'I will.'

  She wasn't sure that it had been a good idea to employ a really attractive German nanny, but her and Quigg should only cross paths first thing in the morning, when there were other people about. She didn't live here like Amanda Oliver, so there was no opportunity for Quigg to sneak about in the middle of the night trying to sow his seeds. No, Quigg could look, but he couldn't touch. And if he did, he knew what to expect.

  Ruth appeared in her dressing gown.

  'I thought you worked for a living?' Lucy aimed at her.

  'I resigned. That bastard was going to suspend me when he saw the videos of Quigg doing what he was doing.'

  'You do know that it wasn't Quigg, don't you?'

  'It definitely looked like him.'

  'Not down below. That guy was hung like a horse. Quigg's is a pimple on a monkey's arse in comparison. But anyway, I made some pornographic videos of your boss and Quigg's boss, posted them online and hey presto! Quigg's got his job back as long as I remove the videos, which I'll have to get round to doing soon, I suppose. You could get your job back if you wanted to?'

  'I do not want to.'

  'So, you're going to be a lounge lizard like me?'

  'I am going to be an investigative reporter, which is what I have always been.'

  'Good for you.'

  'Did Li contact you?'

  'Ninety-seven billion pounds anonymously donated to good causes around the world.'

  'That is good. Also, I promised Li money to take her mother to America for treatment, which was why she helped me.'

  'How much?'

  'I do not know.'

  'Leave it with me. I'll organise an open-ended credit card for her.'

  'Thank you.'

  Lucy buttered her four pieces of toast and then smothered them in peanut butter.

  'I cannot believe how you stay so skinny, Lucy. If I ate like that, I would be as big as an elephant.'

  'Who says you're not?'

  'Ha, ha!'

  'Later.' She took the toast and the coffee back to her room and logged onto the system.

  First, she deleted the pornographic videos and extremist posts, which was a shame, because she felt it was some of her best work. Next, she organised an open-ended credit card for Li on one of the slush fund accounts, arranged for the card to be delivered by courier to New Scotland Yard later and contacted her by email:

  Li!

  Credit card coming by courier this afternoon for your mum's treatment. Use what you want, when you want, and thanks for saving my life.

  Lucy

  Li replied:

  Lucy!

  Ruth has left. All the police officers have been re-assigned to other departments, and I have been moved to the typing pool. Thank you for the card, I will be leaving for America with my family soon. I'm glad you are alive and well.

  One last thing before I go. I hacked into the database where they are keeping the EncroChat transcripts and found something interesting that might be useful to you in your search for the Chairman and the Shadow Board. Two people spoke of a "Hanging Breakfast" on Thursday morning at ten o'clock. It piqued my interest, so I did some research. They serve "Hanging Breakfasts" at the Viaduct Tavern in Holborn. It used to be a pub near Newgate Gaol and has prison cells in the basement. They also mentioned a password, but they didn't say what it was. I don't know if this is helpful, but it's all I found.

  It was great working with you.

  Stay in touch.

  Li

  She replied:

  Li,

  Great working with you as well. I hope your mother's treatment is successful.

  Good luck

  Lucy

  A password! She had a password – Vulture77. Could the "Hanging Breakfast" be a high-level meeting of the Chairman and the Shadow Board? Even if some, or all of them, had been arrested, it was likely that they would have been released under investigation, so the scheduled meeting might still go ahead. It was all she had. Not only that, as the two people who held her in that container had mentioned the password, they might be there as well. A smile cracked her face. Yes, she'd like to get her hands on those two.

  She called Jack.

  'How are you feeling this morning?' he asked.

  'A double-decker bus springs to mind. But that's not important. What is important is that I might have something.'

  'Oh?'

  She told him about Li's analysis of the EncroChat transcripts and the mention of a "Hanging Breakfast" at ten o'clock on Thursday morning at the Viaduct Tavern in Holborn that required a password.

  'Vulture77?'

  'My thoughts exactly.'

  'Sounds promising. And we have nothing else, do we?'

  'Not a sausage.'

  'That's tomorrow morning, I have work to do.'

  'You should also know that, between Li and me, we took all their money and donated it to good causes across the world.'

  'Very generous, but they'll soon be slushing around in money again. If we can eliminate the Chairman and the Shadow Board, then that will be an end to it.'

  'I might come along later and get my bike.'

  'See you then.'

  She crawled back into bed, drifted off to sleep and dreamt of making a pornographic movie with Quigg, Rachel and Jessie Doll.

  ***

  'Ah! Just the very person,' Jack said when Petty Officer Romana Relish walked into the factory. 'I have a job for you.' He'd already sent Valerie Zepp and Kenny Kincaid to the Viaduct Tavern in civilian clothes to act as tourists and take a video of outside and inside, so that he could draw up a plan.

  'What's that, Sir?'

  'I expect you met Quigg at the house last night?'

  'In passing.'

  'Well, it turns out that his partner – DC Jezebel Rummage – is addicted to painkillers, and has been for quite a while. Her addiction has resulted in her being made homeless, owing twenty thousand pounds plus interest to a drug dealer, and she's also in immediate danger of losing her job if the addiction isn't sorted.'

  'We all know what being homeless and penniless feels like, don't we, Sir?'

  'Exactly. Which is why I agreed to help her. So, she's here for three weeks of rehabilitation and I'm putting you in charge of her treatment.'

  'I don't mind, Sir. I've dealt with drug addicts before.'

  He took her to a room at the far end of the factory, unbolted the door and opened it.

  'Please,' Rummage said, crawling towards them on all fours on the dirty oily floor. 'I promise I won't take any more pills. Just let me out. You'll see. You can trust me.'

  'See what I mean?' he said to Relish.

  'I see.'

  Rummage's face contorted into something resembling a gargoyle. 'You'd better let me out of here. If you don't, I'll summon all the demons of Hell to de
stroy you . . . Please!'

  'Hello, Jezebel,' Relish said. 'My name's Ramona. I'm going to be taking care of you.'

  'Yes, you can take care of me. Go and speak to my dealer at the Dog & Duck in Kensington. His name is Paolo.'

  'Paolo at the Dog & Duck in Kensington?'

  'Yes. That's right. He'll let you have my fentanyl. Tell him it's for Jezzie.'

  'Jezzie?'

  'Yes. Or, you could just let me out, Ramona?'

  'In three weeks' time.'

  'You fucking bitch. Let me out now before I arrest you. I'm a police officer, you know. I could make your life a living hell. In fact, I think I will. Just let me walk out of here and . . .'

  They left and bolted the door again.

  Rummage screamed and cried. 'Please don't leave me in here.'

  'Quigg wants her back in one piece.'

  'Understood, Sir. Do I have carte blanche?'

  'Yes.'

  'I hate to do it, but she'll need chaining up. I don't want to be attacked every time I open the door.'

  'Do what you have to do.'

  'Thanks, Sir.'

  'How's my one and only?'

  'Still a bit tender, but she'll survive.'

  'Thanks for what you did in that container, Relish. I won't forget it.'

  'That's what you got me here for, Sir.'

  'Yes, but still . . .'

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  'Good morning, ladies,' he said as he stepped into the command centre.

  'Good morning, Sir,' Sergeant Coveney replied.

  The other three giggled in response.

  'You do know that it wasn't me in those videos, don't you?'

  'It certainly looked like you, Sir,' Hanson said.

  'Well, it wasn't. And even if it was, I'd like to know how you would know it was me, Hanson?'

  Hanson put a mug of coffee and two hobnobs in front of him. 'People talk, Sir.'

  'Talk is cheap ladies, which is why I'm back at work.' He glanced at the new constable and said, 'And who might you be?' She was probably a bit younger than Amies, but just as attractive. It crossed his mind that Nicky Wright might be sending him young nubile women like the temptation of Zeus.

  'This is Constable Caroline Cobb, Sir,' Coveney introduced her.

  'Welcome to the team, Cobb.'

  'Thank you, Sir.'

  He took a swallow of coffee. 'I know it's going to be difficult ladies, but I'd like you to forget all about my short career as a pornographic superstar and focus on what's been happening in the waxworks.' He tapped the whiteboard. 'Tell me about this whiteboard, potential detective Amies.'

  Amies grinned. 'I'm glad to be your temporary partner, Sir.'

  'You're welcome. Don't mess it up. Well?'

  'It was made in China and is . . .'

  'I could always swap you for a belly dancer, Amies.'

  'Sorry, Sir. Well, all our suspects have shrivelled up to zero.'

  'Thanks for reminding me.'

  'There's no CCTV inside or outside the waxworks; no leads about who purchased the embalming chemicals; no historical threats aimed at the waxworks or the staff; no obvious links to specialist long-term embalmers; the consultant architect found nothing out of place during her comparative analysis with the original blueprint; the officers stationed on each floor overnight have discovered nothing apart from the faint whooshing noises . . .'

  'And what did the extortionately expensive overnight acoustic engineer find?'

  'He's waiting to show you, Sir.'

  'Where?'

  'In the waxworks.'

  'So he has found something?'

  'Yes.'

  'Let's . . .'

  'I haven't finished yet, Sir.'

  'Okay. Carry on, Amies. I don't want to stunt your growth.'

  'We received the final report from Doctor Solberg first thing this morning.'

  'So, you know that all fourteen victims hidden inside the exhibits were murdered, and that the murder weapon was likely a metal spike pushed through the back of the head and into the temporal lobe of the brain?'

  'Yes, Sir. We also know that, according to the Roman numerals tattooed inside the victim's bottom lip, there are three bodies missing from the exhibits.'

  'And Perkins is adamant that they're not anywhere in the waxworks?'

  'He is. His people checked all the exhibits twice and couldn't find them. Also, there's the thirty-seven victims that have been reduced to wax, but Doctor Solberg has identified another twelve DNA profiles from the corpse wax, so that's forty-nine now and with the seventeen bodies in the exhibits, there are sixty-six victims in total.'

  He shook his head in disbelief. 'It's like something out of a horror movie.'

  'From those profiles, she matched two more missing people. So, six of the sixty-six victims have been identified. Doctor Solberg said that she's working with Missing Persons in trying to match more, but she's not hopeful.'

  'No. I suppose that if there's no corresponding match on the DNA database, then there's not a lot more she can do.'

  'Well, that's not strictly true, Sir. Officers have been sent out to collect DNA samples from the family members of missing people, and Doctor Solberg will make comparisons from there. It's going to take some time though.'

  'Yes, that's good. The more closure we can get, the better.' He screwed up his face. 'I was a bit mean to Doctor Solberg yesterday. I'll have to buy her some flowers and apologise when I get a minute.'

  'And chocolates.'

  'I wasn't that mean.'

  'We'd like chocolates as well, Sir,' Hanson said.

  'If I'm ever mean to you Hanson, I might see what I can find in the basement bargain bin. So, carry on, Amies.'

  She flipped the whiteboard over. 'As a potential detective, I took the liberty of re-creating the timeline that Doctor Solberg had included in her report and then overlaying it with other relevant information, Sir.'

  'I'm impressed, Amies.'

  'Thank you, Sir.'

  'At all the different coloured marker pens you've used. It's like a work of art. Maybe you should be thinking about a career dabbling in the creative industries such as a playschool teacher, a potter, or art therapist.'

  Amies smiled. 'Don't you like it?'

  'What's not to like?'

  'What's interesting is that one of the DNA profiles that Doctor Solberg found a match for goes back to 2001 – Maria Eden, October 11, 2001.' She pointed to the victim's name on the timeline. 'The other one is Cameron Stojko, May 15, 2005.'

  'And why is that interesting?'

  'Well previously, we only had evidence of the murders going back to 2011 – nine years. Now, we know they go back to 2001 – nineteen years.'

  'Okay. And?'

  'Well, I began to look again at what happened nineteen years ago, because the murders started around that time.'

  'Are you going to solve this case all on your own, Amies?'

  'I might.'

  'What did happen nineteen years ago?'

  'The high staff turnover of twenty-eight people.'

  'Rummage and I have already visited that.'

  'Yes, I know. I can see why you might have interviewed the four men, Sir.'

  'That's kind of you to say so.'

  'But there were other employees . . .'

  'We decided to re-examine the female employees if we had no luck with the males.'

  'No, I'm not talking about the women, Sir. I'm talking about the dead employees.'

  'They're dead?'

  'Are they, Sir?'

  'I'm giving you a lot of rope here potential detective, but you're getting very close to the frayed raggedy end.'

  'I have Angela and Helen double-checking that the dead employees are actually dead.'

  He shrugged. 'I suppose it can't do any harm.'

  'And that includes Judas Ransom.'

  'He died of a brain tumour in 2013, didn't he?'

  'Did he, Sir?'

  'It's not polite to answer a question with anot
her question.'

  'We obtained a copy of his death certificate.' She flipped the whiteboard over and pointed to it. 'The certificate was signed by a CA Thorpe, who was supposedly a physician at the Royal Brompton Hospital. We checked, and they never had a physician by that name working there in 2013. The certificate is real, and the serial number is a proper serial number, but the doctor's name is wrong. We're doing more checks, but what if Judas Ransom never died in 2013? What if he just wanted to disappear?'

  'It's a bit far-fetched, Amies.'

  'Isn't it all far-fetched, Sir? Seventeen embalmed bodies in some of the exhibits; graveyard wax harvested from forty-nine murder victims; a temperature-controlled environment for harvesting that wax; spikes pushed through the back of people's heads; swapping the exhibits over before and after they've been maintained . . . It's all mad dog crazy, Sir.'

  'I suppose so. Well, we have nothing else, so I'll let you indulge your fantasies. Right, time's moving on, so we'd better go and speak to this acoustic engineer.'

  'Okay, Sir. His name is Mathew Warner.'

  They left the command centre and made their way into the waxworks.

  Rummage had said that Judas Ransom was a perfectionist who shouted and screamed at his staff; left the waxworks by mutual agreement in January 2000; and then there was no sign of him until he died of a brain tumour in 2013. Maybe he and Rummage should have checked that gap in his history, instead of accepting it as fact. Was it possible that Ransom had falsified his death to enable him to disappear? Was Ransom the person they were looking for? Had potential detective Stephanie Amies solved the case?