The Vault

by Karen Long

  “How about the conjoined skulls?” he asked tentatively.

  “No, they can’t be found either,” she sighed.

  “How long have the thefts been going on for?”

  Isabel shook her head. “So far I’ve only been back three years. It’s an enormous operation to go back further because we changed the system three years ago, from a basic single entry one to, ironically, a more accountable double entry.” She pushed herself back in her chair and rubbed her brow. Laurence waited. “Due to the complications of setting up another system and the time-consuming nature of the project, we decided to take on an extra set of hands.”

  Laurence raised his eyebrows and flipped open his notebook. “His name?”

  “Enda Miller,” she said uncomfortably.

  “And this is the person you suspect of squirreling away these artefacts?”

  There was an embarrassed pause before Isabel nodded. “All roads appear to lead back to Enda.”

  “Explain how?”

  She sighed. “He was responsible for the cataloguing system and had free access to all materials both actual…”

  “As in, keys to the vault?” interrupted Laurence.

  She nodded and continued, “… and the paper chain. His laptop, as far as I’m aware, was password protected and if it was accessed by someone else they would have been doing it without him noticing over a three-year period.”

  “Does he have access to the entirety of the museum’s collection?”

  “Not really. My section employs Enda and fifteen other individuals and it deals mainly with the history of mankind, the bird displays and is predominantly situated on this floor.”

  “Can you give me his personal details please?” asked Laurence.

  “Yes of course.” Isabel opened her laptop and began to access her personnel files. The printer at the back of the room began to shudder into action.

  Laurence placed the forensic sketch of the decorative hair combs in front of Isabel. “Is it possible that these could have been part of one of the museum’s collection?”

  Her brow wrinkled as she scanned through the sheets, running a finger along the list. Suddenly the finger stopped and paused. Laurence held his breath but the finger carried on. “Sorry no, nothing like that.” Isabel frowned. “Could you tell me why these items have been brought to your attention?”

  “Is Mr Miller in today?” Laurence asked.

  Isabel shook her head. “It’s his half day. Do you wish to speak to him?”

  “Not quite yet. Both Detective Inspector Raven and myself will be doing that in the very near future. Until that time I’d be very grateful if neither you, nor any colleagues that you may have included in this matter, mention anything about our intentions.”

  Isabel shook her head. “Of course not.”

  Laurence stood up. “Thank you for all of your efforts. If you discover any other items that may have gone missing over the past couple of years, or even before that, please call me immediately.”

  Isabel took his card with a worried expression. Noticing the sketch she picked it up as Laurence opened the door. “You’ve forgotten…”

  “Keep hold of that. If you could run a discreet check for me I’d be grateful.”

  As he reached for the door handle again there was a knock. Laurence opened the door to reveal a heavy-set man dressed in off-white linen trousers, a pale blue short-sleeved shirt buttoned up to his throat and held there tightly with a navy blue cravat. His features were pudgy and unnaturally pale for a Torontan summer resident. He was overly doused in eau de cologne, which made Laurence recoil slightly.

  “Do come in Toby,” said Isabel with a slight tightness in her voice. “The gentleman is just leaving.”

  Laurence nodded to Toby politely, noting that his eye infection would probably respond well to a course of Chloramphenicol.

  “Where are you?” asked Laurence.

  “I’m just driving Tyler back from the hospital and then I’ll head over to see Susan,” Eleanor readjusted her headset as she manoeuvred through the sluggish lunchtime traffic. “News?”

  “We got a definite on the snake and skulls by the look of things… and a name.”

  “That’s fantastic.”

  “It gets better. There were two phone calls from a public call box fifty feet away from her workplace, on the date Parminder Kaur was murdered, to the museum switchboard. Both calls correspond to her working hours but can’t be traced to any specific department. They could have been tourist enquiries though.”

  Eleanor felt a heaviness lifting off her chest. Things were beginning to slot into place. “What about the combs.” She glanced at Tyler but he was staring out of the window, his face a blank.

  “No joy I’m afraid… Listen, I’m going back to run this name through the system and see you later.”

  “What is the name?”

  “Oh, Miller. Enda Miller.”

  Noting that the street directly in front of Tyler’s house was occupied by a group of teenagers loafing around, Eleanor drove round the corner and pulled in out of sight. Tyler didn’t move. “You ok?” she asked. He turned to look at her with incomprehension. “Will you be ok?” she asked.

  “Did you kill him?” he asked, slowly.

  Eleanor’s earlier lift in spirits took a plunge back into the darkness. “No. His heart gave out… but no doubt the stress of you being taken into custody didn’t do him any favours.”

  There was a long silence.

  She stared ahead. “I’m sorry that he’s gone. Will you be able to manage without him?”

  He shrugged and resumed his waiting.

  “Tyler, I need you to help me. There’s something I don’t understand.”

  He looked at her. “I didn’t do it.”

  “I know.”

  “What do you want to know then?” he said slowly.

  “When you prevented Laura’s body from being buried and had relationships with her. What did you feel?” she asked carefully.

  Tyler sat in silence, working his jaw. He then quietly opened the door and stepped out into the sunshine, closing it behind him. Eleanor was about to restart the engine when he put his head through the open window and stared at her angrily. “I felt love,” he spat.

  Isabel closed the lid of her laptop and placed a book on top of the papers she had been looking at. “Yes Toby,” she asked irritably. “How can I help you?”

  “It’s our weekly meeting,” he said, uncomfortably.

  Isabel looked at him for a second or two. “I’m so sorry, of course it is.”

  Laurence and Susan Cheung were deep in technical conversation when Eleanor arrived. “How are you?” asked Susan.

  “Good,” replied Eleanor, as breezily as she could.

  Susan scowled at her. “There are a couple of those protein drinks in the fridge.”

  Eleanor was prepared. “I’ll help myself then.”

  Susan’s expression softened. “Ok, first thing is that Tyler Baxton’s macaw is preserved in nothing more dangerous than household dust and anti-mite spray. I’m only just getting back results from the Michelle Brown trace evidence haul. Most of it is indistinguishable from the surrounding landfill, apart from a small collection of dog hairs. These were only found on the body and none in the surrounding debris. I’ve run a trace and feel fairly confident that she came into contact with an Irish setter post mortem and here’s the really interesting bit. Those dog hairs register pretty high on the arsenic scale.”

  “Where did you find the arsenic specifically?” asked Laurence.

  Susan smiled. “None in the medulla, all on the cuticle.”

  “The hair was dusted with arsenic?”

  “That’s how you could interpret that,” replied Susan.

  “So whoever embalmed Michelle Brown had an Irish setter that had been taxidermied and treated with arsenic, to prevent parasitic infestation?”

  “It’s a possibility,” said Susan. “I’ve finished with the Richard Leslie Baker boxe
s and have compiled a list for you. Nothing of particular interest, you’ve already had the confirmation of a DNA match between Richard’s skeletonised remains and his mother. Oh the photographs…” Susan disappeared into an adjoining room and brought in a tray with ten photographs on it. “This was the one you were most interested in.” She selected a rather blurred image, that now had a more clearly defined bandstand in the left hand corner of the frame and in the foreground the outline of a thickset man his features obscured by his hand, which he’d thrust in front of him just as the shutter snapped. “Guess he didn’t want to be photographed,” said Susan. “Anyway, that’s all folks! Got a deadline to meet, anything else I’ll buzz you.”

  “Thanks Susan,” said Eleanor, her brows knotted tightly.

  “You think that’s him?” asked Laurence.

  “Well if it is, his secret’s safe for a while longer,” replied Eleanor, peering closely at the image.

  “What’ve we got on Mr Miller?” asked Eleanor, as they headed over to her car.

  Laurence skim-read the pages Johnson had handed to him, shaking his head. “He’s never been arrested…had a couple of parking fines…”

  “Anywhere interesting or sensitive?” interrupted Eleanor.

  “No. He recently renewed his Vulnerable Sector Police Screening and it went through unchallenged. He’s clean. Ideas?” said Laurence, rubbing his beard mechanically.

  “We’ve got nothing to link him with either the thefts or the murders, so it’s pointless even trying to get a warrant. However, an unexpected visit to his apartment might be enlightening don’t you think?” said Eleanor. “I want his fingerprints, so let’s get the images we want explaining in plastic document cover and see if any match the ones we’ve got so far.”

  Toby was a little agitated. It had always been a possibility that his casual pilfering over the years would either be discovered or curtailed in some way but he’d laid plenty of evidence to inculpate Enda. This would have the added benefit of ensuring that Enda would be axed from his position and may also face the possibility of criminal prosecution, a win-win situation. To that end, he imagined that the young man who had been in Isabel’s office had been an investigator of some description. That was all fine, nothing he hadn’t prepared for but now the thing was real he was concerned that he may have left a loophole

  He’d been so preoccupied with these matters that when he opened the front door and stepped into the cool of the entrance hall, he was momentarily confused by the muffled screams emanating from the basement. His acquisition of Little Tommy had completely vanished from his conscience and it took him several seconds to adjust to circumstances. Suddenly, the whole notion of becoming a parent felt exhausting. He had planned originally to keep the child alive for a couple of days, in order to reduce the burden of keeping Tara’s acetone saturation topped up and filtered. If he embalmed Little Tommy before finishing Tara’s preparation, he would be constantly switching the filtration system from the freezer unit to the tank and with the best will in the world he didn’t think it was up to that challenge. One at a time would be the best way forward but this new turn of events was making him nervous and unhappy. Only one thing would clear his mind and soothe him. Taking his jacket off and placing it carefully on the coat stand, so it wouldn’t crease, he made his way up to the bedroom where Olivia was sleeping. He tiptoed in not wanting to disturb her. She looked so serene and perfect, her hair spread across the silk pillow. Toby knelt at the bedside and lowered his lips to hers, waiting for the stresses of the day to melt at her touch but there was to be no relief as the unmistakable sharp tang of putrefaction greeted him.

  “Mr Miller? Enda Miller?” asked Laurence politely.

  Enda nodded nervously. “Yes, who are you?”

  “Detective Whitefoot and Detective Inspector Raven,” said Laurence gesturing a hand in Eleanor’s direction.

  “Uh-huh. How can I help you?” he asked, puzzled.

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions with regard to your work at the museum,” said Laurence, making a move towards the interior of Enda’s small apartment. Eleanor noted with some interest that Enda drew back protectively against his front door, pulling it slightly closed as he did so.

  “Mr Miller, I imagine that you’d prefer the conversation we are about to have taking place in the privacy of your home, rather than have your business conducted in the middle of shared space where your neighbours can hear,” said Eleanor, raising her voice slightly.

  Enda hesitated for a second and then ushered them in. “Please…” he said, nervously beckoning them into the living area. As they passed him he surreptitiously pulled his bedroom door to, which wouldn’t completely close, due to a couple of cables running from a power point in the corridor into the room. A gesture not lost on either detective.

  “What do you want?” he asked, licking his lips and hopping from one foot to another. “Is there a problem?”

  “There have been some inconsistencies in your cataloguing at the museum,” said Laurence calmly.

  “Huh? What sort of inconsistencies?”

  “The sort that accompanies theft,” said Eleanor slowly. For a brief moment she registered a flash of confusion, followed curiously by relief on Enda’s face.

  “I don’t know what you’re referring to,” he said quickly.

  “There have been thirty-five items that have disappeared from the museum, all of which were your sole responsibility to catalogue and monitor,” said Laurence, reaching into a folder and drawing out the list of items. He handed the plastic wallet over to Enda, who hesitated briefly before taking it. “I don’t understand what this means,” he said, thrusting the list back towards Laurence.

  “Are you saying that you were not responsible for those items Mr Miller? Dr Drake thinks you are. In fact if you look at the header on the top left you will see that it has your name and personal ID clearly written.”

  Enda squinted at the page. “But what are you saying? I catalogue thousands of items every year. I can’t remember each and every one of them.”

  “Mr Miller, have you misappropriated these items?”

  Enda curled his lip and made a snorting sound. “Of course not!”

  Eleanor let the silence run on.

  “How do you know these are missing? Have you looked for them?” he asked.

  “Dr Drake has and she’s sure that they are gone,” said Eleanor.

  “Well, it could have been anyone!” he replied, becoming notably more flustered.

  “Explain how? You are the only member of Dr Drake’s team that has responsibility for the cataloguing of items. Isn’t that true?”

  “Yes – but only onto the computer system. Anyone could steal something before its initial paper logging…” his voice trailed off as he thought through the possibilities. “Someone could have seen the thing brought into the basement and then just pocketed what they liked. I’d be none the wiser.

  “So, there’s no paperwork indicating an object’s origin from or arrival in the museum?” asked Laurence with surprise.

  Enda was flailing. “Look, where’s there’s a will there’s a way,” he offered hopefully.

  Eleanor leaned forward slightly. “Mr Miller it looks to us and to the powers that be at the museum, that you have been spiriting away items of great value over the past three years.”

  Enda shook his head vigorously, his eyes wide with fear. “I haven’t. I look after the collections I don’t steal them!”

  “Perhaps you’d let me and my partner look around, so you can prove to us that you haven’t got any items stashed away,” said Eleanor with quiet authority.

  Enda began to sweat noticeably. “No. I… I want a lawyer.”

  “We’re not arresting you yet Mr Miller.”

  “If you are innocent, then inviting us to look around your home would be the first step towards exoneration,” coaxed Laurence.

  “No!” shrieked Enda. Then more quietly, “I think you’d better get a warrant first.”
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  Eleanor smiled politely and then stood up, reaching for the list. “Thank you, we’ll be in touch.”

  “What are you thinking?” asked Laurence, as they both climbed into the car.

  “He’s behaving like a guilty man who’s hiding something but I don’t think it’s anything to do with the museum thefts. Let’s run those prints and see whether we’ve got enough to get a warrant.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  At first glance the crush appeared empty and it was only when he was several feet away that he saw the child curled foetally at the bottom. The smell of vomit and urine clung tartly to the boy but Toby never let these more visceral issues bother his sensibilities. He couldn’t tell whether the child was dead or not and held his breath, as he pushed a finger through the bars and poked the flesh on his back. The child began to groan and tried to lift his head but immediately began to shake and dry heave. Toby watched with interest as the boy held his head in his hands, his stomach lurching in and out with the effort. A faint sugary smell cut through the vomit and he could only assume it was the chloroform being ejected from his system. Toby placed the small, ten-millilitre syringe on the floor carefully and spoke reassuringly to the child. “I don’t want you to feel concerned anymore Tommy. I am here to look after you. The child’s body became rigidly taut and slowly he lifted his face. Toby took several involuntary steps backwards in shock. “What have you done?” he gasped. “What happened to your face?”

  The boy stared at him in horror and disbelief. “Where’s mummy?” he sobbed. “Please…”

  Toby couldn’t understand what was wrong with the child’s face. He had been perfect when he arrived the night before, his skin unblemished; pure. Now it was blistered and bloody, as if acid had been poured on him. Toby took a step closer and peered at the child, who was pressed against the back of the crush, his eyes and nose streaming. “Where’s mummy?”