Blood Red Star

by Mark Walker

  The voice of one of the detectives called urgently from the back of the shop. “We’ve got company coming, Guv’! A couple of goons on their way in.” A look of fear came to the eye of the rat-faced shopkeeper.

  Riggs grabbed Pratt’s necktie, pulled him forward, and got full in his face, whispering harshly, “Now, look, play along with them and I’ll see it goes easier on you. If you don’t—you’re finished. Understand?”

  Holding the Fox and Hound cane, and with a murderous look in his eyes, Inspector Riggs could be quite convincing. The detectives quickly faded into the background of the shop, taking cover behind what items they could. Even so, there was another scurrying going on, and once again, the building seemed alive. Even Sergeant Bellows managed to squeeze his girth behind a fur-draped mannequin, displacing a six-inch rat that scurried on its way. They all held their breath as boisterous noises came from the back of the shop.

  The burlap curtains parted and two burly men entered. These were emissaries of the Black and Blue Hand, and they had come to tie up a loose end. The detectives were about to witness something seldom seen by anyone other than the participants: the delivering of the Hand itself. A Black Hand meant almost certain death. A Blue Hand meant a beating, with a warning.

  The burly men accosted the rat-faced man and plainly stated their mission. “So, Pratt.” Pratt cringed into a corner. “The boss wants to know what happened. Then you have to pay, see?” The burlier of the two pulled a black glove out of his coat. He faced the glove’s palm toward Pratt—it was blue.

  “The Blue Hand has found you. And the Blue Hand commands!” The man slapped the glove on the counter.

  Pratt scrabbled as if wanting to climb the wall. “No, no, not that!” he burbled. The other man pulled a pair of brass knuckledusters out of his coat pocket and proceeded to place them on his meaty fist.

  Leering grins appeared on their faces as they pulled Pratt out from the corner to dole out his punishment, but Pratt could stand it no longer and cried out in terror for Riggs. But before he, Bellows, and the others could intervene, one of the detectives stepped on a large, hairy rat that squealed in pain. With this warning, one of the thugs punched a constable, who fell into one of the detectives, who fell into a stack of wedding china. The ensuing crash brought forth more squeals, and the fight was on. Pratt shrank unto a corner, as the men wrestled and fought. They bashed and knocked about the shop, raising clouds of dust, and sending hundreds of rats fleeing the mayhem.

  A few minutes later, after the members of the Hand were subdued and in cuffs, Riggs said, “Well, that told us some of what we needed to know, but certainly not all.” He gave the prisoners a hard look. “These officers will escort you to the Yard. I can’t wait to discuss this in detail with you, and your little friends, too.”

  They were taken away, and Kelly Riggs turned to Sergeant Bellows with an ironic smile. “In the meantime, Fred, let’s take this place apart and see what we find. I think all the rats are gone for now.”

  chapter fourteen

  Inside Look

  WHILST RIGGS AND BELLOWS were tracking down clues and rousting rats, the tour continued for Brendalynn, Toby, and the children. WPC Hopkins explained as they walked. “This entire building is devoted to the C.I.D.—the Criminal Investigation Department. The C.I.D. is responsible for solving crimes such as robbery, burglary, larceny, fraud, counterfeiting, assault, and murder, all in conjunction with the Metropolitan Police.

  “The Metropolitan Force is the uniformed force you see every day. Our job in C.I.D. is to solve crime, and the uniformed branch’s is to try to prevent it. But when a crime does occur, that’s where we come in.

  “On this floor we have offices of the other detective inspectors and chiefs, like Chief Inspector Riggs. There are ten detective chief inspectors altogether, fourteen detective inspectors, thirty-six detective sergeants, and four superintendents. Then there’s Chief Superintendent Makepeace who’s in charge of them all. And, as you can see, lots of files. Files everywhere, and there are still more on the floors below that you’ll soon see. But those files contain the information we use to catch the crooks. This way we can cross-reference different cases, comparing methods and learning new information that will help with our inquiries.

  “There are two investigative departments here at New Scotland Yard—the C.I.D., that’s us, and the Special Branch. Special Branch is located in the other building, across the courtyard, and their job is solving crimes that affect our national security. Protecting the king and queen, all the royalty, the various ministers of the crown and important visitors from abroad; to stopping terrorists and anarchists, and rounding up spies.”

  “Spies! How exciting!” exclaimed Michael.

  Mandy’s dreamy expression indicated she agreed.

  “Yes, it does sound glamorous, but most of our work is tedious, dogged determination and fact-finding. Come along with me and we’ll take a look at the C.I.D. in action.”

  She led them down a wide corridor with offices to either side, speaking as they walked. “Now, there are nine branches of our department: the Central Office, the C2, the Fingerprint Department, the Criminal Records Office or C.R.O., Housekeeping—which is not a maid service, by the way; it keeps track of in-house paperwork and awards, the Fraud Squad, the Detective Training School and the famous Flying Squad. Of course now there’s the new Scientific Lab.”

  Mary Hopkins smiled down at them. “Any questions?”

  The children were too numb to speak.

  “We’re going to the Incident Room. It’s sort of like a war room, with different inspectors and their teams working on several different cases all at once. All the information gathered on a case is brought here so that the detectives can have ready access to it. Here they can share bits of information and have all the puzzle pieces right in front of them. Remember, one of the most important aspects to crime solving is teamwork. Right. Now you must be very quiet so we won’t disturb them. We’ll just have a bit of a peek.” She gave a conspiratorial wink as they entered through large swinging doors. These were obviously soundproofed, for the cacophony of many voices buffeted them loudly as they entered.

  The Incident Room was huge and bustling with activity. Ranged about the walls hung great bulletin boards with information on current cases; pinned to them were photographs, timetables, maps, notes, and reports. Several detectives huddled in front of each one discussing a particular case.

  Mary Hopkins explained over the noise, “The St James’s Case, as we are now calling it—your case—occupies the far corner there. As new evidence comes in they’ll post it on the board. At least we certainly hope so.”

  “Can we go help?” the normally shy Jen asked excitedly.

  “Well, I think the best thing to do is let the real detectives solve the case.”

  “But I want to be a ’tective.”

  “Oh, but you already are, my dear,” said Constable Hopkins. “You’re already helping to solve the case just by looking at the Rogues Galleries. Besides, if you stopped to help out here, you’d miss the rest of the tour!”

  Their next stop took them up one flight of stairs to the top floor of the building, and the Communications Center. “This is where all the incoming reports come in from the Metropolitan Police, the Flying Squad, all of England, and abroad. This is where we track suspects, log information, and issue instructions.”

  In the center of the room there were two gigantic tables, rather like pool tables with shaded lights hanging low over them. They were covered with detailed maps of London and surrounded by groups of women moving small wooden cars about with long-handled push sticks. They were being instructed by other women wearing headsets, who received reports relayed from the rows and banks of switchboard operators that filled two sides of the long room.

  Against another wall was a raised platform containing the central command post, behind which were other large maps of the city with hundreds of tiny pins and flags and blinking lights glittering from their surfaces.
Opposite, stretching the length of the room, a bank of clocks with glowing, greenish faces gave the time in every capital in the world.

  A hum and clatter emanated from the room—a combination of the low murmur of voices, machinery, typewriters, and teletypes—creating a sense of urgency and excitement that infected the visitors.

  “Ooo, look at the dinkies! Don’t you want to play, Michael?” teased Mandy, referring to the toy cars.

  “I want to play, too,” cried Jen.

  Michael, being ever so embarrassed, responded, “They’re not to play with, cretin. Are they, Constable Hopkins?”

  “You’re quite right, Michael. Each of those toy cars represents one of our radio patrol cars, and as they report in their positions, we track them on the maps. If they are following a suspect, for example, our cars can use a radio beam aimed at the suspect’s car along with two other radio patrol cars, setting up a crossfire or triangulation pattern. By connecting the beams, we can track the suspect’s vehicle using the map, and know exactly where he’ll be. In the same way, we can follow him to a hideout or any other address in the city, for that matter.”

  “What happens if he goes outside the city?” asked Michael.

  “Then our job becomes much more difficult. But from this room we can communicate with police forces all over Britain. The local police coordinate from here through the Central Office, as do several other countries. Do you see the PBX operators on the bridge there?” She indicated the command center. “Those are our special lines to the Sûreté in Paris and the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Washington, DC. That’s Commander Nicholson up there, the one with the grand moustache. Used to command a destroyer in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, so to humor him we call the command center the bridge, so he’ll feel right at home.”

  Next they took the lift down and were introduced to the Criminal Records Office, which took up two floors that contained shelves from floor to ceiling, lined with row upon row of files and books, much like the British Library.

  “This is where the Rogues Gallery books came from,” said Mary Hopkins.

  Next, she showed them the Crime Classification files. “They house everything about a criminal or crime, from the distinguishing characteristics of the criminal, such as scars, tattoos, or deformities, to whether a criminal uses a particular modus operandi, such as breaking and entering by using a lock, pick, or a crowbar, or escaping by bicycle or on foot.”

  Down another floor, they were shown the Fingerprint and Photographic Department, where hundreds of thousands of fingerprints were stored, analyzed, and photographed.

  “There are different classifications of prints, as well,” said Mary Hopkins, indicating a wall of large posters of single fingerprints. “There are four basic types: arches, loops, whorls, and composites. As you can see, they are very complex.

  “Sometimes we’re lucky enough to receive a full set of prints, but often we have only a single or partial print. However, even when we get a print without a match, we keep it on file for that special day when we do get one. That means a criminal may have committed a crime some time ago but wasn’t caught. When he slips up later on, the single print that has been on file will be waiting to trip him up.

  “And photography is becoming more and more important to our job, not just with fingerprints, but with other evidence and crime scenes, as well. You’ll be particularly interested in these, the Crime Scene kits: boxes with everything a detective would need to collect evidence at the scene of a crime.”

  Each kit contained graphite and grey powder, magnifying glasses, brushes, tweezers, gloves, tools, measuring tapes, droppers, evidence phials, boxes, envelopes, collection bags, and a small chemistry set. The fully stocked wooden kits, like small square suitcases, were lined up on shelves ready for use at a moment’s notice.

  The children were full of questions, which Constable Hopkins deftly answered, but now the tour was over and more serious business lay ahead.

  chapter fifteen

  Parade at Scotland Yard

  EXITING ON THE FIRST FLOOR, Constable Hopkins took them to a door in the hall, where she said solemnly, “We are to meet Inspector Riggs here in a few minutes, and there is something very important he thinks you must see. We are going to be holding an identity parade for the witnesses in St James’s Square. Johnny Glams will be in the parade. Although you don’t need to identify the suspect, the inspector wanted you to watch the process and think hard about getting involved in criminal activity.”

  “Shall we have balloons at the parade?” asked Jen seriously.

  Mary Hopkins and Brendalynn Welles smiled sadly at each other. “No, it’s not that kind of a parade, dear,” said Brendalynn.

  “No, I’m afraid it’s not a very happy parade, either,” added Constable Hopkins.

  At that moment, Riggs and Bellows appeared, back from their outing to the librarian’s and to Pratt’s. “Well, young friends, I hope you enjoyed your tour today.” To which they all replied enthusiastically in the affirmative.

  “We bring interesting news from the front. Sergeant Bellows?”

  Sergeant Bellows removed his hat. “The news is quite interesting and only between ourselves, so you are all sworn to secrecy. Your librarian was not exactly what she appeared. We suspect Miss Chillglass was in reality a banker or paymaster for the gang of the Black and Blue Hand. She may have received stolen goods and property, and laundered cash by stashing it along with valuable goods inside of hollowed out books, and distributing them through the lending library.”

  There was a gasp from the group, and even Constable Hopkins was impressed. “The Black and Blue Hand are some of the worst bunch of crooks and racketeers in all London!” she exclaimed. Riggs and Bellows went on to tell them about what they had found in her rooms, and then about their adventure at Pratt’s.

  Then it was time to go through the heavy wooden doors for the identity parade. There were already about a half a dozen people in the room, and a few more entered from another door. The large room was dark, with light emanating from a giant one-way glass window that looked in upon a brightly lit room beyond. The other room held a shallow stage about two feet high that had a backdrop with a row of numbers that indicated various heights, measured in inches.

  A constable came over to Riggs, whispering, “We know we’ve got the right one, sir. This is more a formality than anything. He’s already an expert pickpocket, sir. He’s been trained in the old gypsy method of the bells.”

  “The bells?”

  “Yes, sir, they tie little bells with strings onto mannequins or stand-ins, and try to pick pockets and lift purses without ringing a gauntlet of bells. Very tricky it is, sir, and when they’ve mastered it, they’ve mastered thievery.”

  “Ah, yes. Did he have a minder checking up on him?” asked Riggs.

  “No, he seems to have been on his own. Just took advantage of his friends being there and the ready-made crowd for the concert.”

  Riggs directed his group along the near side wall, so as to make plenty of room for the other witnesses. A detective announced, “They’re ready.”

  The room on the other side of the glass came alive as two constables entered. One motioned to the stage, and in filed eight boys, all about the same age and height, wearing similar clothes without caps. Each carried a cardboard number. Yet it was all too obvious who the guilty party was, as each witness in turn came to the window and made their identification. Number four. Number four was Johnny, who looked remorseful and scared, but determined not to let it show a crack. Brendalynn held Jen up so she had a better view. Riggs studied the children’s reactions and those of Toby Knockknees. He admired the sensitive profile of Brendalynn Welles reflected in the glass as she shook her head sadly. Their eyes met.

  Then it was all over, the witnesses filed out one by one, and Bellows left with the detectives and the witness statements. Through the glass, number four was asked to step forward and the rest were dismissed. He was left alone in the room with the two consta
bles, who asked him to come down. They spoke in low tones to him, telling him he was to be arraigned before a judge.

  Mandy suddenly felt intense pity for the boy and asked, “May I please speak with him, Inspector, for just one minute? Please, it’s partly my fault he was accused of hurting the librarian. Please?” she begged earnestly. Riggs looked long and hard at Mandy, and then, inquiringly, at Brendalynn. Her dark eyes flashed “I think it would be all right,” she said. “As long as she’s not alone with him.”

  “Then let’s see him now.”

  They all went next door, and Riggs said to the boy, “There’s someone here who wants to say something to you.”

  Mandy came forward, looking him in the eye, “Hallo, Johnny. Look, I saw you running about after the concert and thought you must have been the one who hurt the librarian. I know you didn’t now, but not at first. I really didn’t mean to tell fibs on you. I’m really, truly sorry, I am.”

  Now Johnny became manly, despite biting his lower lip, “Aw, that’s okay, Miss, really. I ’ad it comin’. Thanks for speaking up for me, Miss, really.” He gulped and blushed slightly as he was escorted out. Mandy hugged Brendalynn Welles, and let out a huge sigh. “I’m glad that’s over with!”

  If only that were true, for there was much left to come.

  chapter sixteen

  Featured on the Gloom and Doom Report

  EVENTS WERE ALREADY TUMBLING like dominos in a line. Riggs pulled Toby Knockknees aside.

  “You said you might want to help?” His eyes were never more penetrating.

  “Of course I do,” answered Toby eagerly.

  “You start your job at the theatre tonight. Right? You and the two songbirds, Miss Sparrow and Miss Warbler? Well, you all should keep your eyes and ears open and see what you hear about our mysterious Lady in Black, and any connection to the theatre or the show. Here’s my card with my number. Miss Welles,” he looked inquiringly at her, “can act as your other go-between. How’s that, Miss Welles?”