Cartwright put his hand up. ‘The locations are less than a mile apart.’
‘Good, Inspector Cartwright.’ He wrote ‘less than one mile apart’ on the blackboard. ‘Anything else?’
Danilov was becoming tired of this. ‘Both areas are open. The murderer wanted us to find them. He knew both areas intimately, having access to both a private and a public place. He could leave the bodies without being seen, indicating…’
‘Slow down, Inspector, I can’t write that quickly.’ Chief Inspector Rock scribbled as quickly as he could on the blackboard. ‘Anything else, Inspector?’
‘A van was heard in the vicinity of the War Memorial before the bodies were found.’
‘I don’t understand. What do you mean, Inspector?’
‘I interviewed a blind beggar whose patch is opposite the War Memorial. He told me he heard a loud engine noise around 6.30 in the morning. An engine noise louder than a car but not as strong as a lorry.’
Cartwright snorted. ‘So we’re to listen to a blind beggar and his imagined noises now, are we, Danilov? You’ll be telling us a couple of flying elephants reported the murders next.’
He was nudged by Meaker. ‘Good one, George.’
‘Actually, the murder was reported at 6.45 by a street sweeper. A French constable on his beat passed the area at 6.15 and saw nothing, which gives us a window for disposing of the bodies of thirty minutes. During that time, the beggar heard the van stop and three men get out and place the bodies at the base of the War Memorial.’
‘So a blind beggar can see three men, can he? Smells funny to me, Danilov.’
‘No, Inspector Cartwright, he cannot, but he can hear them, and I trust the man’s hearing over your nose.’
Rock held his hands up once more. ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen. We are a team. This case will only be solved with teamwork. Inspectors Cartwright and Meaker, what did you find out?’
Cartwright rubbed his nose. ‘The body at the Shanghai Country Club was found at approximately 12.30 by one of the boys sweeping the path. It wasn’t there earlier that day when the gardener walked past the area so the murder must have been committed between those times and the body placed there.’
Danilov looked across at him. ‘Did you not check behind the tree?’
‘What tree? There are lots of trees in a garden, Danilov,’ said Meaker.
‘The tree behind the bench. We found the ground had been pressed down in the shape of a body,’ said Strachan.
‘So, what’s it to do with us, Detective Sergeant?’
‘The body had been placed there earlier in the day and moved into position just after noon. You did ask about the snake at 12.10, didn’t you?’
Cartwright looked at Meaker. ‘What snake?’
‘Chief Inspector, there was a hue and cry in the far corner of the compound at ten minutes past twelve. I think this was started by the killer to move everybody away from the scene so he could place the body.’
‘Sounds calculated, Danilov.’
‘It was. Planned to the minute. The body had been lying in the undergrowth since the morning, waiting to be placed in position.’
‘But… but that’s monstrous,’ said the Chief Inspector.
‘And the victim wasn’t killed at the Country Club but moved there and displayed for us to find. The killer wanted us to discover it. There’s one other thing. I found two pieces of stone at the scene, one on the path and the other lodged in a tree.’
Rock flicked through the pages of Strachan’s report. ‘There’s nothing in here about any stones?’
‘I’m sorry, sir, the lab only gave me their report this morning. I’ve only just passed it to Inspector Danilov,’ said Strachan.
Danilov coughed. ‘I wanted to check both of the finds, sir.’ He opened the brown folder and scanned down the single page inside. ‘Apparently, both stones are fairly common examples of marble used for gravestones, funerary displays and suchlike.’ He placed his finger on one line in the text. ‘What’s interesting is both the pieces contained traces of embalming fluid on their surface.’
‘Embalming fluid?’
‘As used by a taxidermist or an undertaker, sir. Apparently, the formulation is twenty-two per cent formaldehyde, forty-three per cent methanol and eight per cent glutaraldehyde. Not so common.’
Rock stood in silence for a moment. He handed the chalk to Danilov and the pen to Strachan. ‘Inspector, we will save a lot of time if you tell us what else you have found so far.’
50
When they had finished, the white paper on four of the easels was covered in notes. The blackboard was still relatively clear, and the black crosses on the map had been replaced by pictures of the victims.
‘Thank you, Inspector Danilov and Detective Sergeant Strachan.’ Chief Inspector Rock stood up and took the pen and chalk. ‘We are dealing with a far more dangerous criminal than I thought. We have to find the answers to four questions, gentlemen.’ He wrote the numbers one to four on the blackboard.
He held his hand up and touched his first finger. ‘Who is the victim at the Country Club?’
Strachan stuck his hand in the air. ‘All we know is he’s American, sir.’
Cartwright snorted again. ‘And how do we know that, Strachan? More jiggery pokery?’
‘Not really. Sally Chen had the character for America carved into her neck.’
‘So?’
Danilov interrupted the argument. ‘I believe our killer carves the characters for the country of the next victim on the body of his previous one. Sally Chen had America carved into her neck. Our body in the Country Club had France carved on his corpse, and the next murder victim was from France.’
‘Do you make all this up as you go along, Danilov?’
‘I assure you, Inspector Meaker, this murderer has a plan with every killing.’
‘And what is the plan, Danilov?’ asked Cartwright.
‘If I knew that, Inspector, I would be arresting him as we speak.’
‘But you haven’t arrested him, because no such plan exists, Danilov. He’s just picking on his victims at random. Like Jack the Ripper, he kills whoever comes along.’
‘Jack the Ripper most definitely had a plan, Inspector Cartwright. My investigations when I was in London made it clear to me that…’
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen…’ Rock held up his hands to get control of the meeting again. ‘Can we focus on the task in hand?’ He wrote the number two on the blackboard. ‘Second, where is the murderer committing these crimes? He must have a hideout somewhere, if neither the unknown man nor the lieutenant and his mistress were killed where their bodies were found.’
‘Dr Fang believed the last two victims were killed in a cold store. Detective Sergeant Strachan has produced a list of possible locations.’ Danilov passed the list to Chief Inspector Rock who pinned it to the To Do board.
‘Third, why is he committing these crimes? We seem to be no closer to a motive linking the victims. We haven’t found the pattern yet, gentlemen. When we do, we will be able to answer the fourth question.’
‘What’s that, sir?’ asked Meaker.
The Chief Inspector paused. ‘Who is our murderer?’
‘I believe I can answer, Chief Inspector,’ said Danilov quietly. ‘These atrocious acts are being committed by Thomas Allen, otherwise known as the Character Killer.’
Cartwright threw his arms up in the air.
Meaker laughed.
Chief Inspector Rock stood there. ‘How can you be so certain he is committing the murders, Danilov?’
‘All the clues point to its being him. The methods of killing, the types of victims, the careful placement of the bodies.’
‘No, it can’t be,’ said Cartwright. ‘You said yourself, Danilov, you shot him dead on Garden Bridge. How can someone come back from the dead?’
‘We never found the body, Inspector. And if all the clues point to the impossible, then, however unlikely, the impossible must be possible.’
‘Russian bollocks…’ said Meaker under his breath.
‘There was one final clue the doctor found on the body of Lieutenant Deschamps.’
‘And what was that, Danilov?’ sneered Meaker.
‘A box of sweets; French violets to be precise.’
Both Meaker and Cartwright burst out laughing. ‘So we’re to base our whole investigation on the discovery of a box of sweets?’
‘Don’t forget they were French violets, George. That’s an important clue, that is,’ Meaker sniggered once more.
Chief Inspector Rock held up his hands. ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, please.’ The laughter stopped as Cartwright and Meaker settled down, the latter staring across at Danilov and shaking his head. ‘It does seem a step too far to hang our whole investigation on one piece of evidence, Inspector Danilov. Particularly when that evidence points to the murderer being a man who is already dead.’
‘But, sir…’
Rock held up his hand. ‘We’ll keep an open mind at the moment on the question of the murderer being a reincarnated Thomas Allen. We have many more things to investigate before we can be so bold as to pinpoint a particular name.’
‘And meantime, the man will go on killing, sir?’
The smile on Rock’s face vanished. ‘I don’t think I like the tone of your voice, Inspector Danilov. We will continue our investigations, is that clear?’
Danilov sighed audibly. ‘Yes, sir, but…’
Chief Inspector Rock interrupted. ‘Let’s move on, we have a lot to do.’ He turned towards the two inspectors on his left. ‘Meaker and Cartwright, I want you two to discover the name of the victim in the Country Club. This is imperative. There must be a connection between the victims; find the link and we solve our crime. You can also follow up on the chess pieces. Where were they made? Where purchased? Anything and everything about them. Finally, check out the embalming fluid. Who uses it? How common is it? Where would one buy it?’
‘Anything else, sir?’ Cartwright said sarcastically.
Chief Inspector Rock carried on writing on the action list pasted to the wall. ‘No, that’s all for the moment. I’ll call you if I think of anything else.’ He turned to Danilov and Strachan. ‘You two can follow up on the van. Did anybody actually see it that morning? Strachan, as you’ve compiled the list of ice stores, I want you to check them out. Let’s discover the location of the murder of the French lieutenant and his woman. Perhaps the killer left a trace.’
‘But sir, I think we should begin looking for…’
Rock stood taller and puffed out his chest. ‘You have your instructions, Danilov. I’ll liaise with the French. Somebody has to grab the short end of the straw.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It is 10.15 now, gentlemen; let us meet at nine tomorrow morning to report back.’
‘But, Chief Inspector…’
‘You have your orders, Danilov.’ Rock looked towards the door. A round figure was outside the glass, listening. ‘Miss Cavendish,’ he shouted.
The door opened and the tea amah came in wheeling her trolley.
‘Where is the bloody woman,’ said Rock as he bustled back to his office. ‘How am I expected to know the number of Major Renard?’
51
‘Where’s your list of cold stores, Strachan?’
The detective sergeant took the sheet of paper from his file and passed it to Inspector Danilov. There were seven addresses on the thin onion paper.
‘Neatly typed, Strachan; how many fingers are you using these days?’
Strachan held up his index fingers. ‘Just two, sir, but I’m making fewer mistakes.’
‘You need more practice, Strachan. I’ll ask the other detectives if they need help.’
‘Thank you, sir. I’m sure it’s not necessary. You and the Chief Inspector provide me with all I need.’
Danilov scanned down the list of addresses with Strachan’s notes typed beneath each one. ‘I think we can eliminate those in the old Chinese city, Strachan.’ He took a black pencil and crossed out two of the addresses. ‘This man is operating in either the French area or the International Settlement.’
‘That leaves five, sir. Shall we go round and check them?’
‘No, I think we can also eliminate the godowns of Caldbeck MacGregor, and Butterfield and Swire.’
‘Why, sir?’
‘Your notes say these are in present-day use. Our killer doesn’t want people coming and going all the time; he wants somewhere quiet to do his work where he won’t be disturbed. If I were him I would choose this one.’ Danilov prodded one address with his pencil.
‘The Burlington Hotel, sir? Why there?’
‘A former fur store, now unused, in the grounds of a large hotel. Your note says it was recently leased out.
Strachan stood up and looked over the inspector’s shoulder. ‘That’s right, sir.’ He grabbed his notebook. ‘The lessee was the Bishop Trading Company.’
Danilov looked at his young detective sergeant. ‘I think it’s time you went for the car, don’t you, Strachan?’
52
The Burlington Hotel was large brick built hotel at 1225 Bubbling Well Road on the outskirts of the International Settlement. It had recently been purchased by Silas Hardoon and was in the process of being renovated.
Despite the scaffolding surrounding the building, it still had an air of middle-class opulence. Danilov and Strachan were greeted by a Portuguese manager, who bowed and scraped as if they were gods.
He spoke with a slight lisp, which only accented his performance as the consummate host. Each sentence was perfectly constructed with just the right amount of servility etched into the words. ‘Of course, gentlemen, only too delighted to help. If you would follow me.’ He held out his hand like a matador holding the cape for the bull.
Danilov duly charged. ‘When was the cold store leased?’
‘I have checked the records provided by our accountant and it seems it was rented at the beginning of this month for a period not exceeding thirty days.’
‘And who leased it?’
The Portuguese manager held an outside door open that led to a quadrangle, open on one side. ‘It was, I believe, the Bishop Trading Company.’
‘Any dealings with them before?’
‘If you mean, had they been guests or booked any of the facilities offered by the hotel? Then the answer is no.’
‘Yet you still allowed them to lease one of your cold stores?’
The manager shrugged his shoulders elegantly. ‘They paid in advance; who are we to reject guests simply because we do not know them? If we did, ninety per cent of our rooms would be empty.’
They arrived outside a large brick building at the rear of the hotel. The manager took out a jangling bunch of keys and selected one of the largest. He inserted it in the padlock and turned. ‘There are two cold stores in this building, both rented by the Bishop Trading Company.’ He opened the door. They were facing a small entrance hall with two metal doors set side by side. ‘On the left is a food store and on the right is one reserved for furs. Our guests demand…’
Danilov brushed past him and gestured for Strachan to open the food store.
Strachan took hold of the metal handle and levered it upwards. The door swung open to release a cloud of cold air into the atmosphere, instantly turning into a thick white mist.
Danilov waved it away with his hands.
‘That’s strange.’ The manager pointed to a temperature dial set to one side of the door. ‘It’s set to maximum. I wonder why they did that?’
The cold mist began to clear. Danilov stepped inside a large, empty room. It was completely empty save for a single white chess piece sitting in the middle on its own bed of frost.
‘Get the lab boys and photographers here, Strachan. We’ve found where the lieutenant and Miss Gurdieva were murdered.’
‘A murder in my hotel? What will the guests think?’
53
‘Good morning, Miss Cavendish. I hope you slept well.’
&nbs
p; A man loomed over her. She could see his shoes, Oxford brogues, and the sharp crease in his pinstriped trousers. She lifted her chin off the earth and looked up to his head at the end of a long stretch of black cloth. A black head, glossy, without mouth or eyes.
The man had no eyes.
‘You will no doubt be wondering how you came to be here.’
There was no mouth, yet she heard words. His words. His English words.
‘You are still a little groggy from the sedative my associates gave you last night. But not to worry, the effects will soon wear off. We would like you to be compos mentis when you make your choice.’
The voice again, slightly muffled. She recognised the voice. Who was it? And what was the scratching sound behind him. Every time he spoke it became louder.
She tried to shake her head but her chin scraped along the earth.
The earth? Why was her head so close to the earth?
She tried to move her body to the side and look down, but she couldn’t.
Where was her body? Why couldn’t she see her body?
The voice started speaking again. ‘I can see you are wondering where you are?’
How can he see with no eyes?
‘It’s rather a pleasant place, brings back wonderful memories for me. From the time before I began my work, of course.’
She began to struggle, trying to break free from whatever was holding her.
‘You can’t break free, Miss Cavendish. You won’t know yet but you are buried up to your neck in the ground. We took the precaution of tying your hands and feet before we buried you.’
She struggled once more but all she succeeded in doing was shaking her head; nothing else moved.
‘Good. And now for your choice, Miss Cavendish. We all have to make choices in life. This will be yours.’
He stepped aside to reveal two cages only fifteen feet away. One was full of brown, hairy bodies, scrabbling over each other to get out.
Rats. It was full of rats.
She could see the hair on their whiskers and the pink of their feet. One of them was attempting to gnaw through the wire bars, its teeth white against the steel.
The Murder Game Page 16