by Cora Buhlert
“It pooped all over the floor, too.” Devi Patel made a face.
“So let me get this right…” Helen said, “…you recognised that the robber had fled through the fireplace, because the sounds he made reminded you of a bird who’d flown into the store through the chimney once?”
“Well…” Sarah Green blushed ever so slightly underneath her make-up. “…sort of.”
“When there was no more shooting, just scratching sounds, we peeped over the counter to take a look,” Devi Patel said, “We saw the robber was gone, but there was ash raining from the chimney into the fireplace.”
“Sarah and Devi told me what was happening…” William Smythe offered, “…so I got up and went over to the fireplace to see if I could stop the robber.”
“Weren’t you worried?” Helen asked, “After all, you knew the robber had a gun?”
“I never considered what might have happened,” William Smythe replied, “And besides, I figured the robber wouldn’t be able to aim and shoot, while stuck inside a chimney.”
“So you stuck your head into the fireplace?” Helen wanted to know.
“I realise it must seem foolish…” William Smythe said, “…but yes, I did. I stuck my head into the fireplace, looked up and saw the robber’s boots and legs dangling a few metres above me. I tried to grab him, but he was already too high and I couldn’t reach him anymore.”
“Do you have any idea how the robber managed to climb the chimney?” Helen asked, “Did he use a rope or ladder?”
“I’ve no idea, unfortunately,” William Smythe answered. He turned to Devi Patel and Sarah Green. “Did you see anything?”
The two women shook their heads.
“I didn’t even know it was possible to climb through a chimney,” Devi Patel said, “I always thought that was a myth, a fairy tale.”
“Well, it obviously wasn’t,” Sarah Green snapped.
“So you actually put your head into the fireplace to go after the robber, Mr. Smythe?” Helen repeated.
“Yes, I already told you that I did,” William Smythe replied, more than a little irritated.
“I imagine the fireplace would have been quite dirty, even if it hasn’t actually been used in ages,” Helen continued.
“It was,” William Smythe said, “And your point is?”
“My point is that I don’t notice any ash residues on you,” Helen said calmly.
“Oh that.” William Smythe shrugged. “I changed clothes and cleaned myself, while we were waiting for your people to arrive.” He shrugged again. “I simply felt so dirty with all the ashes on my body, you know?”
“Believe me, Mr. Smythe, I understand your discomfort. But we will still have to examine your clothing.”
“Why?” William Smythe countered. “The clothes were completely ruined, so I threw them away.”
Strange. Either William Smythe was simply too posh to tolerate ever being seen in ash-soiled clothes or he had something to hide.
“Your clothing might contain trace evidence that could be vital for apprehending the robber…” Helen said calmly, “…which is why we must examine it.”
“Of course. I… I understand.” William Smythe’s hand went to the knot of his tie to loosen it. “I threw my soiled clothes in the garbage. I trust this is not a problem?”
“Not at all, Mr. Smythe,” Helen assured him, taking note of how nervous he seemed. Of course, it might just be shock. Or it might be something else. “My people will collect your discarded clothes.”
She sent PC Walker to do just that. Rank had its privileges, after all, and one of them was never having to sort through other people’s garbage. Then she turned back to the three witnesses.
“So what happened after the robber escaped through the chimney?” she wanted to know.
“I saw that I couldn’t stop the robber from escaping through the chimney, so I called the police,” William Smythe said, “And then your people arrived.”
“What about the other robber? Did you check on him?”
“Well, he was obviously dead,” William Smythe said, “And I didn’t accidentally want to contaminate the crime scene or however you people put it.”
“And you didn’t even check if he was really dead?” Helen repeated.
“I think I felt his pulse, briefly,” William Smythe replied, “And I kicked his gun away, just in case.” He turned to Helen. “Was that wrong?”
Helen shook her head and decided not to tell him right now that the gun had never posed a risk in the first place.
“How long did the robbery take?” she asked.
The three witnesses exchanges glances.
“I’m not sure,” William Smythe finally said, “Not very long. A few minutes maybe.”
“It all happened so fast,” Devi Patel whispered.
“Mr. Smythe, according to our logs, we received an emergency call from this address at four twenty-three this afternoon.”
“Yes, that’s possible I guess,” William Smythe admitted, “I didn’t exactly check my watch afterwards.”
“But you yourself said that the robbers entered the store exactly at four o’clock,” Helen pointed out, “Which means that the robbery must have taken approximately twenty-three minutes.”
Devi Patel shot a questioning glance at her boss. “Was it really that long?”
“It seemed much shorter,” Sarah Green added.
“Well then, maybe it was twenty minutes,” William Smythe snapped, “Or maybe the robbers came after four. What does it matter? My store was still robbed.”
Smythe’s defensiveness certainly was interesting, Helen thought.
“We’d like to reconstruct what happened as closely as possible,” she said calmly, “And twenty-three minutes, even give or take a few minutes, does seem like an uncommonly long time for the course of events that you’ve given us.”
“What are you insinuating?” William Smythe demanded.
“Nothing at all,” Helen countered, her voice perfectly calm, “I merely wanted to make sure that your statement is correct. It could be important in prosecuting the individual who robbed your store.”
“Well, our statements are correct,” William Smythe snapped. After a second of hesitation, both Sarah Green and Devi Patel nodded in agreement.
“Fine then. That’s all for now.”
William Smythe was tugging on his tie again, clearly nervous. Interesting.
“I’m sorry, Inspector,” he finally said, holding out his hand, “It’s been a long and troubling day, so my fuse is a little short.”
“Understandable,” Helen said, “And rest assured, Mr. Smythe, we will do everything in our power to apprehend the person who robbed your store.”
She paused. “One more question. What happened to Wilkinson? Your store is called Wilkinson & Smythe, but Wilkinson is nowhere in sight.”
“Wilkinson?” William Smythe repeated, “My great-great-great-grandfather bought him out in 1867, I think. We just kept the name for reasons of tradition. Is that all, Inspector?”
“Thank you, that’s all,” Helen said, “For now.”
Back in the store proper, Dr. Rajiv’s assistants were just carting off Father Christmas, quietly chattering and giggling among themselves.
“Got a photo sans beard and hat,” PC Walker said, holding up his cell phone.
Seen up close, Santa didn’t look like much. Just a skinny white man with a bad case of acne. He did match the rather vague description given by the three witnesses, though.
“Great. I’m going to show it to the witnesses and see, if they recognise him.” Helen sighed. “Maybe their memory is accurate for once.”
“Bad witnesses?” PC Walker asked, a sympathetic grin on his face.
“Contradictory witnesses,” Helen said, “For starters, their account doesn’t match the data we have. Unless this sudden surprise raid really took twenty-three minutes.”
“They might be mistaken,” PC Walker said cautiously, “Witnesses often are.�
�
Helen walked over to the big fireplace. There was a small heap of dust and dirt in the grate, but otherwise you could hardly see that this very fireplace had just been used for the most daring escape in a long time.
One of the forensics people, a young woman named Charlotte Wong, was dusting the fireplace and the mantelpiece with fingerprint powder and a fluffy brush.
When she noticed Helen standing beside her, she pushed up her goggles. “No prints, Inspector,” she said, “I guess Santa was wearing gloves.”
“Good job, Ms. Wong.”
Helen regarded the ornate gilded clock on the mantelpiece, a clock that was as posh and elegant as the rest of the shop, and checked the time against her own wristwatch.
“This thing really seems to be accurate,” she said.
“Any reason why it shouldn’t be?” PC Walker wanted to know.
Helen shook her head. “Just checking, cause one of the witnesses said that the clock struck four just before the robbers stormed into the shop.”
“And?”
“They didn’t call 999 until four twenty-three. So what happened in those twenty-three minutes?”
“That’s the one million pound question, isn’t it?” PC Walker said, “Or however much the stolen jewellery was worth.”
Helen regarded the fireplace once more. “Someone will have to climb in there and check out the surviving robber’s escape route for evidence. And I’m nominating you, Constable.”
“Aw, that’s not fair,” PC Walker said, “I already dug through the garbage for Mr. Smythe’s discarded clothes.”
“Oh yes, what happened to those clothes anyway?”
“Forensics took them away for analysis,” PC Walker said. He cast a doubtful glance at the fireplace. “Must I really, boss?”
“Constable, please,” Helen said, deliberately intoning the “please”, so it was a command rather than a request.
And so PC Walker squeezed his lanky frame into one of coveralls used by the forensics team with the help of Charlotte Wong, who had more than enough experience with coveralls, considering Helen had never seen her without one. PC Walker didn’t even seem to mind being made to climb up the chimney that much anymore, though Helen suspect that the rather charming Miss Wong had a lot to do with that.
Once PC Walker had suited and roped up, he stepped into the big fireplace and ascended into the chimney, accompanied by quite a lot of groaning and cursing as well as ashes and dirt raining down into the grate.
“Oh, fuck, it’s fucking dark in here,” PC Walker exclaimed, his voice echoing down the chimney.
Charlotte Wong bent down, careful to avoid the rain of ash. “Is everything all right up there?” she yelled into the fireplace.
“Yes… uhm… no… uhm…” PC Walker stammered and Helen could almost see him blushing, even though he was following the treacherous Father Christmas up the chimney.
“Hey, I think I found something,” PC Walker exclaimed, “Looks like Santa lost his… — Oh, shit!”
“There was a loud rumbling noise, then something came tumbling down the chimney. Helen halfway expected to see PC Walker falling into the fireplace or at least partway down the chimney, since he had a security line.
But what came tumbling down the chimney was not PC Walker. It was much smaller for starters, a small dark object. A pistol, Helen recognised a split second before the gun struck the grate and a shot went off.
Both Helen and Charlotte Wong instinctively dove for cover. The bullet hit the inside of the fireplace, ricocheted and finally embedded itself in one of the mahogany counters.
“Shit! Everyone all right down there?” PC Walker yelled down the chimney.
“We’re fine,” Charlotte Wong called up the fireplace, “What about you? You weren’t hit, were you?”
Rather unlikely, Helen thought, considering that the bullet had lodged itself in a counter halfway across the shop, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
“Would you please pick up the weapon, Ms. Wong…” she said instead, “…before another accident happens?”
“Of course, Inspector.” Charlotte Wong reached out with a latex-gloved hand, carefully picked up the pistol and placed it into an evidence bag.
“Hmm, a Webley Mark VI revolver,” Charlotte remarked, “A real antique. Probably seventy years old or so. Our Santa is a collector.”
She handed the bag to Helen, who accepted it and examined the weapon.
“Or maybe he simply inherited it,” she said, “And since it was likely a service pistol, this means that the original owner should be easy enough to trace.”
“My grandfather had one of those…” Charlotte Wong volunteered, “…when he was an inspector with the Hong Kong Police Force. He said they lasted forever, much longer than the American pistols they replaced them with.”
“This one has certainly held up well…” Helen said, “…considering it was used to shoot Father Christmas in the year 2014.”
“Uhm, I found something else,” PC Walker called down the chimney.
“Could you please let it down gently this time?” Helen replied, “Ms. Wong and I would rather not be shot at again.”
“You’ll like this, boss,” PC Walker’s voice echoed down the chimney, “Looks like our Father Christmas had a very bad day.”
“Worse than being shot dead with an antique revolver, you mean?”
“Both Santas had a very bad day,” PC Walker corrected, “Cause one is dead and the other lost both his gun and the loot.”
“You found the loot?” Helen called up into the fireplace.
“I found a bag with glittery stuff”, PC Walker replied, “So unless Father Christmas has been stashing Sparkle Barbies or glimmer bling ding stuff in the chimney, I guess I found the loot.”
“What the hell is glimmer bling ding stuff?” Charlotte Wong whispered to Helen. Apparently, she had little contact with pre-teen girls.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Helen whispered back.
PC Walker eventually made it back down the chimney in one piece, though covered over and over in ash and grime. He even managed to bring down the bag he’d found up there without dropping it like the revolver.
Upon closer examination, it turned out that PC Walker had indeed been correct. The glittery stuff inside the bag was the stolen jewellery or at least part of it. It didn’t look any worse for wear either.
“Mr. Smythe will have to confirm whether this is all of the stolen jewellery,” Helen said, “Nonetheless, it seems your expedition up the chimney was a success, Constable, because we’ve now found the murder weapon and recovered the loot. Unfortunately, we still have no trace of the robber himself.”
“We’re looking for a bloke dressed as Father Christmas…” PC Walker said, coughing up some stray particles from his lungs, “…who’s covered in ash and soot besides. He can’t be that difficult to find. Even if it is Christmas.”
“We’ll begin by seeing if we can trace the weapon,” Helen said, “It’s a service revolver from approximately World War II, so contact the Ministry of Defence and ask if it’s one of theirs and if they can find out to whom it was issued. Ms. Wong can give you the serial number.”
Charlotte Wong beamed at PC Walker, who flashed her an awkward grin back.
“In the meantime, I’ll show the photo of the dead robber and the recovered loot to Mr. Smythe and his employees,” Helen said.
William Smythe, Sarah Green and Devi Patel were still cooped in the little backoffice of the shop and not exactly happy about it.
“Far be it from me to criticise our esteemed police force…” William Smythe said in his poshest voice, “…but when will your people be finished in the shop? We’re losing money every hour.”
Helen had her doubts about that, especially considering that no customers had even attempted to enter the shop ever since the police arrived.
“Our forensics team is still collecting evidence,” Helen said, “After all, your shop is a crime scene now.
We’ll let you know when forensics are done.”
William Smythe said nothing, but then he didn’t need to. His face was eloquent enough.
“Can we at least leave now?” Sarah Green wanted to know, “I mean, if we can’t go back into the shop and if we’re not needed here either…”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Green, but we still have a few questions for you and your colleagues.”
Sarah Green crossed her arms over her chest, clearly displeased.
“What… what was that loud noise a few minutes ago?” Devi Patel wanted to know, “It sounded almost like a shot.”
Maybe because it was, Helen thought.
“One of our constables found the robber’s weapon, which unfortunately discharged,” she said.
“You found the gun?” William Smythe interjected, “The gun of the dead robber, you mean?”
“No, we found the gun of the robber who escaped.” Helen raised an eyebrow. “It was found lodged in your chimney together with some of the stolen items.”
William Smythe grew pale. “You… you found the gun? And the stolen merchandise?”
He exchanged a look with Sarah Green and Devi Patel that was almost panicky.
“Oh God, that’s… that’s wonderful. You found the stolen merchandise! When will we get it back?”
“Your merchandise is currently considered evidence…” Helen said, “…and you will have to identify it, of course. But I’ll do my best to make sure that your property will be returned to you as soon as possible. In the meantime…”
Helen pulled out her cell phone, called up the photo of the dead robber sans beard and hat and handed the phone to William Smythe and the two women.
“…do any of you recognise this man?”
“Is… is this him?” William Smythe wanted to know, “Is this the robber?”
Helen nodded. “This is the man who was shot to death in your shop.”
William Smythe, Sarah Green and Devi Patel all crowded around Helen’s cell phone.
“It’s him. That’s the man who came in asking for engagement rings,” Devi Patel exclaimed.
