The Exhibits in Mrs Salmon's Waxworks

by Tim Ellis

  'Then there's the decapitated body of Marie Antoinette; Albert Einstein; C-3PO from Star Wars; Fidel Castro; Shrek; and Guy Fawkes.'

  'And there are duplicates of these exhibits somewhere in the waxworks?'

  'That's the general consensus.'

  Sergeant Lockley started to get up.

  'That's not all, Sergeant.'

  'Sorry, Sir.' He sat back down again.

  'We have eight dead bodies so far, and no idea whether they died of natural causes, or were murdered before or after they were brought here. As such, we could simply be looking for a mad waxwork figure creator, or a dangerous serial killer. In other words, tell your men to be careful and keep their wits about them. I don't want any loss of life.'

  'Understood, Sir.'

  'As far as we know, this has been going on for at least five years, probably longer, so the duplicates, and even the person who's swapping the wax figures over, are not going to be in plain sight. You're looking for hidden doors, passages, rooms . . . Check everything.'

  'Will do, Sir.'

  Mitch reappeared breathing heavily. 'Got them, Inspector Taggart,' he said, putting a handful of visitor maps down on the desk.

  'Thank you, Mitch.'

  Sergeant Lockley helped himself to the maps. 'Anything else, Sir?'

  'No, that's it, Sergeant. Stay in contact.'

  'Yes, Sir.' He stood up and left to begin the search.

  'What about me?' Mitch asked.

  'Coffee and chocolate bourbons could save you from the cells, Mitch.'

  'I'm your man, Inspector Luther.'

  ***

  She let herself into the operations room and headed towards Li Xue's desk. Li had previously been employed as a Cyber Operations Specialist at GCHQ in Gloucestershire, but when her mother got sick she returned to London.

  Ruth pulled up a chair and sat down next to Li's desk.

  Li stopped what she was doing, swivelled her chair slightly to face Ruth, put her hands on her lap and interlocked her fingers. She was only twenty-three years old, had shoulder-length straight black hair and an attractive face, but she was as thin as a wraith. After being targeted by Chinese security for hacking into the Communist Party's central computer system and deleting masses of data they had stolen from the United States government, she was smuggled out of Hong Kong to England with her family.

  'Are we fully utilising your skills?'

  The corner of Li's mouth creased upwards. 'Five percent at most.'

  'Why do you think that is?'

  'The police aren't covered by the 2016 Investigatory Powers Act. Only GCHQ, MI5 and SIS are. I am limited in what I can do here.'

  'What if I could obtain special dispensation for your work to be covered by the Act? This operation would fall under "preventing or detecting serious crime".'

  'Then I could make a difference.'

  'What if they will not give us special dispensation?'

  'We'll never stop these people. I have both hands tied behind my back and I am operating the keyboard with my tongue.'

  Ruth nodded. 'Unless we break the law.'

  Li stared at her and then said, 'Is that what you want me to do?'

  'How would you feel about that?'

  'I don't want to go to prison, or be sent back to Hong Kong.'

  'That would never happen. We are going after criminals, not the Chinese Communist Party.'

  Li bit her lip and fiddled with her fingers.

  'Speak your mind, Li.'

  'My mother needs expensive treatment in America.'

  'That should not be a problem.'

  'Then I would be prepared to do as you ask.'

  'Good. I am working with someone on the outside . . .'

  'Jack Neilson?'

  Ruth raised an eyebrow.

  'I have done my research. None of the others know.'

  'Yes, Jack Neilson. He says that the only way to stop these people is to take their money.'

  'He's right. That is what we did at GCHQ. Well, not take their money until the courts approved, but we froze their accounts and assets. What about Jack Neilson's daughter – Lucy?'

  'Why do you ask?'

  'I like her work.'

  'I will put you in contact with her, if you want?'

  'Yes, please.'

  'Maybe the two of you can work together?'

  'I'd like that.'

  'Then, that is your job now. Find all their money, but do not take any of it yet. Jack will say when to make it disappear.'

  'All right.'

  'Also, the team are collecting data on the Board of Directors and the European Investors. I will tell them to put all the information into a central database that you will create. Work out a way to let Jack and Lucy have access to it without anybody knowing.'

  'I can do that.'

  Ruth squeezed Li's hand. 'Go ahead and organise your mother's trip to America.'

  'Thank you.'

  Ruth stood up and asked for everyone's attention. 'Li is going to create a searchable database where you can input all the data you collect on the people you have been allocated. We need to know everything about these people. Nothing is too trivial. The Board of Directors cancelled their planned monthly meeting at the Chives, so when and where are they meeting now? We need to know, so that we can prepare. The more data we collect, the better chance we have of obtaining evidence against them. I want you to examine their lives – everything they do. Sooner or later, we will find the places where they all interconnect.'

  They nodded.

  It was as Jack had said, the police were paralysed by the law, and wasn't that how it had all started? The justice system as a whole, was mostly ineffective in making criminals pay for their crimes. They could literally get away with murder. They hid behind the Human Rights Act and other such liberalist laws, which were designed to protect the rights of individuals. But now, criminals had more rights than their victims. In the end, one had to ask what the justice system was for.

  If it wasn't for Jack, she probably would have resigned from her position. Director or Communications was not really a job for an investigative journalist. By accepting Rowan's offer, she had put the tape over her own mouth and the handcuffs around her own wrists. Now, as part of the system, she was shackled and impotent. But she'd no choice. He'd threatened her and her family. She didn't think he was involved in the criminal enterprise in any way, he simply wanted to keep his job and to prevent the government from being toppled on his watch, but she now realised that she couldn't trust him. He had demonstrated that his job was more important than the people under his command.

  Police corruption was a valid topic for an investigative journalist, but the endemic corruption within the MPS was far too sensitive and dangerous to report on. Not just for her, but for the police also. And if the police couldn't police themselves, then someone else had to do it for them. Using Jack in that respect was not her first choice, but what other options did she have? DCI Dixon had made it quite clear what would happen to her and her loved ones if she didn't stop the investigation. Of course, she could just walk away and let them get on with it, but that was not who she was.

  ***

  Jack returned to the factory at Catherine Wheel Yard to find DCI Dixon exactly where he'd left him. The man had a few lacerations around his penis and scrotum from struggling against the razor wire, but nothing that would prevent him from acting as a sperm donor if he ever got the chance. Unfortunately, he would never get that chance. Once he'd given up his secrets, there was no other option but to kill him and dispose of the body.

  'Ready?'

  'I have a wife and three children.'

  'Trying to appeal to my better nature is a waste of time – I haven't got one. Not only that, it was your responsibility to think of them, but you didn't, so why should I?'

  He stared at Dixon, but the man declined to answer. 'So, here's what will happen. I ask you a question, you answer. It's that simple. If you choose not to answer, then I'm going to take a leaf out
of my daughter's twisted book of torture and shoot 200,000 volts into your genitals. I've never had the pleasure myself, but from what I understand, it's quite painful. Of course, there are other methods of torture to get you to speak if electrocuting your genitals doesn't work, such as waterboarding; a knife pushed under the fingernails; removing fingers and toes one at a time; kneecapping; nail gun . . . I have a long list if you're interested?'

  'They'll get you, you know.'

  'I'm sure they'll try, but that won't help you here and now, will it? Tell me how you fit into the structure?'

  'I don't know anything. I was simply asked to deliver a message.'

  Jack sighed. 'It's going to be a long night, isn't it?' He pushed the stun gun into Dixon's scrotum and pulled the trigger.

  Dixon grunted, pissed himself, spasmed as 200,000 volts travelled through his body and then lost consciousness.

  While Dixon was sleeping like a baby, he opened the rear doors of the van and began preparing everything for the arrival of his ten recruits by laying out the military-style black clothing and equipment on the camp beds he'd previously set up in the tent.

  Chapter Nine

  Had he covered everything? The search of the waxworks was underway; Doctor Solberg was dealing with the bodies; Perkins and his people were inspecting the rest of the exhibits to find out the extent of what they were dealing with; Rummage was conducting background checks and interviewing all the staff; Mitch had brought him another pot of coffee and a packet of chocolate bourbons; the forensic officers were still wading through the files relating to the waxwork figures containing dead bodies . . . What else? He still needed the original blueprints for the building. When he received them, would he know what to look for? Probably not. He should invite an expert to come and compare the drawings with the actual building layout.

  He walked along the corridor to speak to Mrs Berkeley.

  She looked up when he walked into her ad hoc office. 'Are you anywhere near solving the mystery, Inspector?'

  He was non-committal. 'We're making headway, which is all I can say for the time being.'

  'I understand. Was there something you wanted?'

  'I asked you about the original blueprints for the . . .?'

  'That's right. I'm afraid I don't have them, not even a copy. I've been informed by our architectural consultants that because the dental hospital was a municipal building and the responsibility of the Office of Works the original blueprints by Sir John Burnet & Partners are held by the National Archives in Kew.'

  'But you have copies coming?'

  'Our architects are trying to locate them. They'll send them over once they have.'

  'I'd like an architect to bring them, if that's at all possible? I know nothing about detailed architectural drawings, so I'd be grateful if someone who does know what they're talking about can interpret them in-situ.'

  'I'll call the architects and let them know. It'll probably be tomorrow morning now though.'

  He nodded. 'Yes, that's fine.' He walked back along the corridor and stuck his head round the door to see how Rummage was getting on.

  'Three more to go,' she said.

  'Anything?'

  'No.'

  'Disgruntled past employees comes to mind,' he suggested.

  She flopped back in the chair and sighed. 'Have you asked Mrs Berkeley for their names?'

  'I'll leave that to you.'

  'Any coffee going?'

  'Do I look like the tea lady, Rummage?' He didn't wait for a response, but shut the door and returned to his temporary office.

  The forensic officers had left, but a female Sergeant was lounging in an easy chair eating one of his chocolate bourbons. She was tall and gangly with rosy cheeks, black hair knotted in a bun at the back of her head and black stud earrings in her earlobes.

  'Theft is a serious crime, Sergeant Coveney.'

  'I knew you wouldn't mind, Sir.'

  'If stolen biscuits translated into points on the Inspectors' Chart, then I'd be more than happy for you to have a single biscuit.'

  'No such luck, Sir.'

  'I didn't think so.' He liked Angela Coveney, but he was less than happy about his absence from the Inspectors' Chart. What had happened? Why wasn't he on the chart anymore? Trying to find out what the categories consisted of was like searching for Blackbeard's treasure. 'When did they give you the stripes?'

  'Last month.'

  'Congratulations.'

  'Thanks, Sir.'

  'So, have you just popped in to mastermind the theft of my chocolate bourbons, or are you here for another reason?'

  'The mobile command centre is outside.'

  'That's good to hear. Is it operational yet?'

  'Another thirty minutes and it will be.' She brushed the biscuit crumbs off her uniform. 'Me and the girls can't believe Inspector Wright let you have another command centre after you destroyed her last one.'

  'You know very well that wasn't my fault, Coveney. I was a victim of circumstance. Who have you brought with you?'

  She smiled. 'The old team are back together again, Sir. The same people you had at Grisly Park – Constables Helen Hanson and Stephanie Amies during the day. The night-shift consists of Diane Cheal, Claire Simcox and Amanda Lay.’

  'It's good to have you all here, Sergeant.'

  'Thanks, Sir. I'll let them know.'

  'Don't forget to stock up on the Hobnobs.'

  'Got them in already. You owe me nine pounds twenty-five.'

  'Excellent.' He took out his wallet and gave her a ten pound note. 'Keep the change.'

  'Very generous,' she said, using sleight of hand to make the banknote disappear. 'There's a rumour that Inspector Wright is pregnant?'

  'At her age? I find that difficult to believe.'

  'Either that, or she has an alien parasite growing inside her.'

  'I'd be more inclined to believe the alien parasite explanation. Those aliens get everywhere.'

  'Your name has been mentioned, Sir.'

  'As a replacement for Inspector Wright? No, I don't think so. I'm a murder detective, not a hoarder of mobile command centres.'

  'As the person who implanted the alien parasite into Inspector Wright.'

  'That's a preposterous idea, Sergeant. Do I look like a man who has sex with old aged pensioners?'

  'I'm just telling you what's doing the rounds in the station.'

  'Well, next time that rumour comes around, you know exactly what to say, don't you?'

  'And then there's Sergeant Ada Sage . . .'

  'Never heard of her.'

  'And Mandy the post girl.'

  'She's barely out of nappies! What do you take me for? I'd never have any time to do my job if I was responsible for all the impregnations that people think I am, Sergeant. There are other men in the station, you know.'

  'Like Miss Tinkley, you mean?'

  'Really? I never would have guessed. I mean, she looks the real deal.'

  'Everyone knows what happened in the lift, Sir.'

  'Absolutely nothing happened in the lift, Sergeant.'

  'If you say so.'

  'I do say so. In the strongest possible terms. Nothing whatsoever happened in that lift.'

  'Well, if you want a reason for your recent non-appearance on the Inspectors' Chart, that's it. All the girls knew about Miss Tinkley, and they were shocked that you didn't.'

  'I was shocked I didn't as well. Anyway, don't you have a command centre to organise?

  Sergeant Coveney stood up. 'Yes, I do.'

  'I'll come down in about an hour and let you all know what's happening in here.'

  'Okay, Sir. The girls are looking forward to working with you again.'

  'And who can blame them?'

  Once she'd gone, he thought about the incident with Miss Tinkley in the lift. It was a disaster of epic proportions. He'd been hoping that no one would ever find out, but it now appeared everyone knew. If he couldn't tell the difference between the sexes, no wonder they'd removed his name from
the chart. He was like an unguided missile with rogue code. What was to become of him?

  Rummage appeared, sat in an easy chair, and helped herself to coffee and two chocolate bourbons. 'Finished, Sir.'

  'And what did you discover?'

  'Nothing particularly enlightening about any of the current employees. There's a woman having affairs with three other employees – two men and a woman – and none of them know about the others; there's a man who hasn't paid his car tax for ten years and is also claiming disability benefits that he's not entitled to; there's a woman who's in witness protection . . . I always find it interesting what we uncover when we take a random sample of people and carry out background checks on them – nobody is innocent, everybody's got something to hide.'

  He grinned and said, 'Except me and my monkey – The Beatles double white album from 1968.'

  'Even you, Sir.'

  'I'm an open book, Rummage.'

  'I heard about the incident in the lift.'

  'It was a simple misunderstanding, so the less said about that, the better.'

  She looked wistful. 'That's what I'm talking about. There are rattling skeletons everywhere.'

  'Even in your closet, Rummage?'

  'I don't have a closet, Sir. I live out of a suitcase.'

  'That's an interesting confession. Do you want to tell me about that?'

  'No.'

  'If you do need to bare your soul, you know I'm here for you.'

  'Very kind, Sir.'

  'So, you haven't uncovered any leads then?'

  'Mrs Berkeley gave me the names and addresses of three past employees in the last ten years who were sacked. One for persistent lateness; one for striking another employee during an argument; and the last one for installing a hidden camera in the ladies toilet.'

  'That's disgusting.'

  'That's men for you.'

  'Not all men are like that, Rummage.'

  'Most are.'

  'Not in this room.'

  'However, if the body inside George Washington has been there for at least five years, then only two of those employees are relevant, the other one left three years ago.'

  'What about the other two? Could either of them have made the duplicate wax figures?'