04 - Carnival of Criminals (14 page)

What with lunch (a pretty decent ploughman’s) and several
glasses of quality ale (for Tommy), it was getting late in the afternoon by the
time they reached home and Clara was considering settling down in her favourite
chair to look through the newspaper with a cup of tea when she entered the
front door. She had barely taken off her coat when Annie hurried up to her.

“There are two gentlemen waiting for you in the front
parlour. They’ve been here over an hour.” She said.

Clara glanced at Tommy, then back at Annie.

“Who are they?”

“Well, one is that police inspector, the other had a very
peculiar name which I don’t dare pronounce in case I get it wrong.”

Clara hung up her coat.

“I better see what this is all about.”

She went into the parlour and found Inspector Park-Coombs
sipping tea and eating a fruit scone, while next to him sat the permanently
jovial Dr Deáth. Clara completely understood why Annie was afraid of saying his
name.

“Good afternoon gentlemen, what brings you here?”

Inspector Park-Coombs put down his teacup.

“There is a mummy in the morgue.” He said sternly.

“I believe we were both aware of that fact.” Clara
responded, hooking a chair away from the parlour table and turning it to face
her two visitors before sitting down, “Is he causing a nuisance?”

Deáth chuckled to himself.

“You might say that.”

Clara looked at him quizzically.

“There was an attempted break-in.” Park-Coombs clarified,
“Some fellows were after our good friend Mervin Grimes. We suspect they are the
same chaps who have been causing bother at the fairground.”

“Ah, three men, two older, one younger?” Clara said.

“As usual you appear to know what’s happening at my own
police station.” Park-Coombs answered with more than a hint of sarcasm.

“I spoke with the gentleman in charge of security at the
fair and that was his description of the culprits.”

“The question is,” Deáth’s glasses sparkled in the late
afternoon sunlight, “why do they want his corpse?”

“My first thought was they were trying to take the body
before it could be identified and cover up a murder. But after this length of
time I rather suspect it is more a case they are after this.” Clara reached
into her pocket and drew out the Seylon ring.

“Grimes’ ring?”

“Not just any ring Dr Deáth, rather ghoulishly it came
from a corpse prior to it adorning Mervin Grimes’ finger. Joshua Romulus
Seylon’s finger to be precise. He is buried in a vault at St Andrew’s Old
Church in Hove. His resting place is sadly falling to pieces and it appears
Grimes learned how to slip inside.”

“Why doesn’t it surprise me he would steal from a dead
man?” Park-Coombs sighed, he had long ago concluded the criminal mind would
sink to any depths.

“The thing is inspector, this ring seems to attract a lot
of attention. Someone wanted it badly enough to try and cut it off Grimes’
finger before he was dead. It’s a pretty bauble, but not worth that much effort
unless it has another importance.”

“Like?”

“Many of the people I have spoken to keep telling me that
Grimes had a secret stash, a nest-egg hidden somewhere. There was a key to it,
now you could take that as a literal key, for instance to a safety deposit box.
Or you could take it metaphorically.” Clara turned the ring over in her hand,
“Had I more nerve this afternoon I might have taken a closer look at Seylon’s
coffin to see if Mervin left us any other clues there.”

“I think you should come to the station Miss Fitzgerald.”
Park-Coombs abruptly stood up.

“Right now?” Clara said in astonishment.

“I want to break these thugs, so far I can’t get a peep
out of them. Maybe that will change when they see that ring.”

Clara sighed.

“I’ll get my coat.”

Clara had not been in the interrogation rooms of the
Brighton police station before, but she was unsurprised to find them rather
plain with barred windows and a single table in the middle. Park-Coombs offered
her a chair while they awaited the arrival of the first prisoner.

“I’m aiming for the weakest link first.” The inspector
commented as he made himself comfortable as best he could in his chair, “His
name is Sam Fawkes, small-time thief. I think we’ve arrested him four, no, five
times over the last few years. Nothing spectacular. As far as I am aware he
works to his own tune and doesn’t run with any gang.”

“He is the youngest of the trio?”

“Yes, and, in my opinion, the most scared of the lot. He
hasn’t been out of prison all that long and he is not keen on going back.”

“Then he shouldn’t commit crime, should he inspector?”
Clara pulled the ring out of her pocket and placed it on her finger, “I do
apologise Mr Seylon for using your ring, but it is for a good cause.”

“Are you talking to the dead, Miss Fitzgerald?” The
inspector said with a smirk.

“It is invariably more satisfying than talking to the
living.” Clara shrugged.

The door rattled and Sam Fawkes was half pushed through
the door. He did look, as the inspector had remarked, scared. Clara tried not
to let her softer side feel sorry for him as the police constable shoved him
into a chair opposite the inspector.

“Ah, Mr Fawkes.” Park-Coombs rested his elbows on the
table, “Still sticking to your story that you only accidentally broke into the
police morgue?”

“Billy was sure as sure can be that that was the basement
we had been told to clear out on account of this old dear dying and no one leaving
a key. We had to break in, was just the wrong door.”

“Naturally Mr Fawkes. Did it not trouble Billy that the
‘basement’ did not appear to be attached to a residential property?”

“Billy never was good at addresses and stuff.”

“And when we found you opening the doors to the little
compartments where the bodies are stored?”

“They looked like cupboards all right.” Sam gave a little
shiver, “Look, do you think I would have gone into a morgue on purpose? I’ll
have nightmares for weeks.”

“You are a good actor Mr Fawkes.”

While the two men chatted Clara had placed her hand
bearing the ring casually on the table. Sam had not appeared to notice it.

“What were you really looking for, Mr Fawkes?” Clara
asked to draw his attention to her.

Sam looked at her as if he had not been aware of her
presence.

“Wasn’t looking for anything. We do house clearances,
that’s Billy’s line of business.”

“Rather appropriate for a burglar.” Park-Coombs said.

“He’s an honest man, is Billy Brown.” Sam staunchly
defended his friend.

A bell rang in Clara’s head.

“His name is Billy Brown?”

“Yes?” Sam looked at her as if this was a trick question.

Clara gave the inspector a look but said no more.

“Ever heard of Mervin Grimes, Mr Fawkes?” The inspector
continued.

“No.”

“He vanished in 1905.”

“I was just a wee nipper then, you can’t pin that on me.”

“No, quite.” Park-Coombs rapped his fingers on the table,
“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to sell out your colleagues? Really, it
would not be beyond you.”

“Inspector!” Sam gave an almost genuine look of horror,
“I am an honourable man!”

“Yes, and I’m a monkey’s uncle.” Park-Coombs waved a hand
at the constable by the door and Sam Fawkes was removed from the room, “So
Clara, what was that look for?”

“Billy Brown. I mean there could be more than one, but
Billy ‘Razor’ Brown was one of the Black Hand gang. In fact he is down in your
police file as having been murdered by a rival London gang in 1905.”

Park-Coombs thought about this.

“I couldn’t say how they made the identifications.”

“But say this is Billy Brown, a surviving member of the
Black Hand, one who was thought dead. Could it be that he had an interest in
murdering Mervin Grimes for his share of the money?”

Again there was a lengthy silence as Park-Coombs
considered this idea.

“Even if he didn’t, he might have learned about Grimes’
stash.” Theorised the inspector, “And he would be in the perfect position to
identify the corpse from the ring.”

“And to know the ring was the key to Grimes’ hidden
loot.”

Park-Coombs started to grin.

“Let’s have a word with Mr Billy Brown.”

Billy ‘Razor’ Brown was a man of hard edges and sharp
corners. There was no softness about him, no gentleness. He walked into the
room like a man prepared to fight anyone who looked at him wrong. He had no
shame about being in handcuffs nor, clearly, any remorse. He sat at the table,
his arrogant, lined face sneering at them. He had nasty, black eyes that
pierced into a person. Clara took an instant dislike to him.

“Razor Brown.” Park-Coombs said calmly.

“Who?” Billy said without emotion.

“I apologise, I was informed your surname was Brown.”
Park-Coombs said without looking up.

“It is, but I ain’t heard of this Razor fellow.” Billy
snarled.

“Well, it has been fifteen years.” Clara interjected, “I
wonder if Mervin Grimes’ mother would recognise you?”

“Who’s the bird?” Billy assessed Clara with icy eyes. She
noted they flashed briefly onto her hand and took in the ring.

“Morgues, Mr Brown, let’s concern ourselves with them.”
Park-Coombs changed the subject.

“I don’t know anything about morgues.” Billy snorted.

“You were in one today.”

“I mistook the address, it happens.”

“You appear to mistake addresses quite frequently Mr
Brown. A dozen times in the last five years to be precise.”

“Do you ever get to London these days, Mr Brown, or do you
prefer to avoid the Capital?” Clara dug in again, “I know some find the people
there rather unwelcoming.”

Brown gave her a wicked look that must have scared more
than a few people witless in their time. It certainly gave Clara pause for
thought.

“Are you one of these women police? I don’t hold with
women doing that malarkey, you should be at home looking after a husband.”

“I prefer not to take advice from criminals.” Clara
responded.

“If you were my woman, I wouldn’t let you talk like
that!”

“Mr Brown, can we return to topic?” Park-Coombs’ rapped
the table with the intended result of Brown’s eyes once more being drawn to the
ring, “Why were you in the morgue?”

“I was lost.”

“You were looking for the body of Mervin Grimes.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were, just as you were looking for it in the
fairground.”

“Why would I want a body?” Brown grunted a laugh.

“Mervin Grimes was not a friend of yours?”

“Never knew the man.” Brown folded his arms and sat back
in his chair, “You have nothing on me.”

“Except your presence in the morgue.” Park-Coombs
reminded him.

“Won’t stand up in court, I was lost.”

“You really are a very arrogant man.” Clara said
abruptly, annoyed with the creature before her.

“Don’t she talk fancy?” Brown grinned at her, it was not
nice, “What’s your name, darlin’?”

Clara did not reply.

“Mr Brown, you are mistaken. I have a good case against
you.” Park-Coombs waved for the man to be taken away.

Brown threw them both a sneer as he left, and winked at
Clara.

“He was horrible.” She said as the door closed.

“He doesn’t know who you are Clara, and he is safely
trapped in the cells here.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Clara groaned, “He noticed the
ring.”

“I saw that, I think you are right and he wants it. I
don’t think he killed Grimes though.”

“No?”

“He was clearly too busy making it seem as if he was
dead, so as to avoid being killed by the London gangsters he and the Black Hand
had diddled.”

“So who did they kill?”

“Another member of the Black Hand, probably someone we
had no file on.  Or some dupe Brown came across.” Park-Coombs shook his head,
“You would be amazed what a man with no conscience can achieve.”

“What about the third man?”

“I don’t think it’s worth bothering. They clearly have
their stories straight. I’ll let them stew for a bit then try again. I still
think Fawkes is our best bet.”

“Then might I go home and enjoy the last part of my
Sunday?”

“That you may, Miss Fitzgerald.”

Clara went home but she was worried. Things didn’t feel
right, she had answers, but not the right questions. The murderer of Mervin
Grimes was proving just as elusive as ever. Supposing, she asked herself, it
had nothing to do with the Black Hand or its criminal activities? Where did
that leave her? Penny Palmer? No, that didn’t fit. So who was left?

She arrived home and fully meant to relax for the few
hours that were left in the afternoon, but first she had a letter to write. She
grabbed some paper and a pen and hastily scribbled out a note;

“Dear Mr Donovan Ruskin…”

Monday morning brought a policeman to the doorstep. Clara
didn’t recognise him, he looked fairly new and rather shame-faced.

“Can I help?” She asked, wondering if the inspector
wanted her to return to the station.

“I’ve come to deliver a bit of bad news, the inspector
says not to worry, but last night Billy Brown escaped.”

Clara felt her heart beating faster.

“How?”

“Don’t know miss. The inspector is raving about it. No
one can say how Billy got the key to his cell.” The policeman suddenly
brightened, “Don’t you worry, we’ll nab him soon enough. His sort don’t go
far.”

Clara thanked the policeman for his optimism and quietly
closed the door. She was very still for a moment. Then she went to the parlour,
wrote out a note, and called for Annie.

“Annie dear, please could you deliver this.”

Annie took the note and read the name and address on the
front.

“I was going to take the post after dinner.”

“I rather feel this needs to be taken now, please.” Clara
said, masking as much of her anxiety as possible.

“I’ll just pop my hat on then.” Annie eyed Clara
suspiciously, then vanished.

Clara paced the parlour for a moment after she had gone.
Then she went to the dining room and sat at the table. Scattered around her
were various things she had written on the case at hand, and it had been her
plan for the morning to go through everything and see if she could start making
sense of the matter. Now she felt too distracted to concentrate.

Outside it was a warm, sunny day. Clara would have liked
to retire to the conservatory to enjoy the sunshine while it lasted, soon the
taste of autumn would be in the air. Instead she rested her elbows on the table
and placed her head in her hands, for a while all she did was sit there like
that. Then she made a decision. She stood and grabbed a poker from the
fireplace. Returning to her chair she carefully laid the poker on the seat
beside her.

Midday came and went. Tommy had another appointment with
Dr Cutt and Clara made a fuss about Annie going with him. They both seemed to
notice her agitation, but couldn’t understand the cause. She was relieved when
they left.

Clara sat at the dining room table and placed Mervin
Grimes’ ring (or rather Joshua Romulus Seylon’s ring) before her. It was an
ugly thing. She was beginning to doubt the stone in the middle was a true
sapphire, or for that matter anything valuable. It had the shiny quality of cut
glass. Having spent the morning going through her father’s old books on the
peerage, she could hardly imagine the ring was anything more than a cheap
bauble.

The Seylons had once been powerful and rich, the sort of
powerful you get from being chummy with royalty and the sort of rich you get
from crushing the poor underneath you without any qualms. But they had also
been Catholics; all very well until the turbulent years of the Reformation when
kings and queens changed the country’s religious preference faster than you
could say Mass. The Seylons hung on to their old faith with the doggedness they
had once been famed for in battle. On this occasion it served them badly. The
country became Protestant and Catholics were under threat. The Seylons had made
dangerous enemies and the next century saw them fighting a losing battle to
keep their lands and power. By the time things had settled the Seylons had lost
most of their fortune and had returned to a crumbling mansion in the
countryside around Hove. There Joshua Romulus grew up and eventually died. The
last of a long line who knew the type of poverty only the formerly rich can
know. As he watched each year pass, he ignored the old house crumbling about
his ears and took solace in the old Seylon library (which he bequeathed to
Brighton) spending his time compiling a rather dull and long-winded volume on
the family. As luck would have it Clara’s book-obsessed father had a copy.
Though the densely printed pages did not tell her anything useful for the case,
they did at least pass the time and Joshua had rather helpfully inserted an
engraved portrait of himself on the front page. There he sat, staring at the
reader sadly, a large ring on the hand he rested on the arm of his chair. Proof,
if ever Clara needed it, that this was his ring.

She turned the ring over in her hand. It had obviously
meant something to Joshua, perhaps a relic of the past? Something he could use
to conjure memories of happier times. The last of the Seylons had died leaving
nothing but debt. Within a decade of his death the old mansion had collapsed
into rubble, helped here and there by local builders salvaging what they could.
And then one day a boy had crawled into the old family vault to gawp at the
corpses and in the process stole Joshua’s ring.

Clara closed the book on the Seylons, deposited the ring
in her pocket and paused. There was the faintest of sounds coming from the
hall. Had she owned a cat or dog Clara would have put the noise down to the
animal moving about. She owned neither, which meant there was no reason for the
noise. Clara did not rise from her seat; instead she opened her book and
pretended to read. The creaking noise sounded again. Empty houses were surprisingly
good at carrying sounds, Clara concluded. She stared hard at the picture of
Joshua Romulus, her heart starting to pound harder and her breath coming
faster. The dining room door flew open.

Clara raised her head and looked across at Billy ‘Razor’
Brown. She had positioned herself near to the window but facing the door. Billy
took a step into the room and stood at the diagonally opposite corner of the
table.

“I was expecting you.” Clara said calmly.

Billy gave an unpleasant grin.

“A little bird told me where you lived.”

“And I imagine you want this?” Clara drew out the ring
and placed it on the table.

Billy’s eyes went to it at once, then he looked at her.

“Give it to me and I won’t hurt you.” He said.

“I hardly believe that.” Clara sighed, “Besides, I am
rather annoyed at having my house broken into. I presume you came though the
conservatory?”

“I levered up the window.” Billy cackled with pride,
“Took me a while to do it quiet like.”

“What a shame, I left the door unlocked for you.”

Billy’s smile evaporated.

“You think you are right clever, don’t you?”

“Next to you?” Clara gave him an assessing look, “Yes,
rather.”

Billy flicked out a hand. There was a cutthroat razor in
it.

“I was going to be nice, now I think I won’t. I’ll be
taking that ring now.”

“Do you even know what to do with it?” Clara asked, not
moving from her seat.

“I’ll figure it out, or maybe you’ll tell me after I take
that smile off your face.”

“Were you the one who tried to cut this off Mervin’s
finger?” Clara waved the ring at him.

“Mervin was never good at sharing.” Billy laughed, “A
razor has a lot of uses if you can just get a man drunk enough!”

There was a sudden yell. Billy cried out as a large body
smashed into him and pinned him onto the table.

“You would hurt my poor pal Mervin?” Bob Waters shouted
in Billy’s ear.

Billy gave a yelp then he flung back his hand and slashed
Bob’s arm. Bob’s grip on him loosened and the gangster jumped up to face him.
Clutching at his bleeding arm Bob moved back a pace. Billy snarled at him and
leapt forward, swinging out with his razor, scattering Bob’s blood on Clara’s
wallpaper. Bob tried to tackle him, but the strength had gone out of his
injured arm, and the pair wrestled for barely a moment before Billy was free
again and dangerously close to cutting Bob’s throat.

“You were always a fool Bob! Mervin used to laugh about
you!” Billy cried.

Clara raised the poker in her hand and slammed it down
hard on Billy’s head. There was a dull thud. Billy staggered forward, his mouth
a gaping ‘O’ of surprise. Then he slammed face first into the floor.

He awoke half an hour later with a very sore head. His
first reaction was to raise a hand and inspect the painful spot on the back of
his skull, but his arm wouldn’t move. He tried to lift the other arm but that was
equally immobile. It was then his senses regrouped enough for him to understand
he was tied to a chair. He opened his eyes to see Clara standing over him, her
arms folded and the poker still in one hand. Bob was just behind her with his
arm bandaged and in a makeshift sling.

“I really do not like being threatened in my own home.”
Clara told Billy sternly, “So this is the deal, you answer my questions and
then I call the police.”

Billy snorted at her derisively.

“That’s hardly a bargain.”

“You misunderstand me.” Clara tapped the poker against
her arm lightly, “The faster you answer my questions, the faster you will be
safely back in the hands of the police and away from
me
.”

Clara pointed the poker at Billy’s weasel nose.

“I have a very bad temper at times.” She waggled the
poker and Billy found his eyes irresistibly drawn to it.

“You won’t do anything.” Billy said.

“Won’t I? What exactly is that bruise on your thick skull
Mr Brown?”

“You won’t torture me.” Billy pulled at his ropes, “Isn’t
your style.”

“Maybe she won’t.” Bob Waters moved behind Clara and
towered over Billy, “But I owe you one for Mervin.”

Bob’s hand moved fast and he punched Billy before the man
had a chance to react. Billy gave a groan as his head went back and the room
spun unpleasantly. When his vision restored itself he was feeling less
self-assured.

“What do you want?” He asked, painfully aware that Clara
was tapping the poker again.

“What happened to Mervin Grimes?” Clara asked.

“I don’t know. We split after the race fixing. Them Londoners
were after us.”

“How were you still a part of the Black Hand after having
tried to cut off Mervin’s finger?”

Billy made a hissing noise.

“Mervin didn’t remember who was around the night I almost
had his finger. He was so drunk that night. Only reason I didn’t finish the job
was the bone was tougher than I thought. Should have used an axe.”

Bob’s fist swung out again, fast, and Billy whimpered in
pain.

“Don’t do that!” He whined, “Miss, call the police,
please miss, before this madman kills me.”

“So when did you last see Mervin?” Clara ignored the
plea.

“At the race track, he was off home. That was the last
time, I swear!”

“Now what about this ring?” Clara held up the piece of
jewellery that had caused all this drama, “Tell me why it is important?”

“Mervin had a secret stash where he kept his money.” Billy
talked fast, “The ring is the key. Once you have the ring you can open the
stash. Penny got drunk one night and told me.”

“Do you know where the ring comes from?”

“Mervin bought or stole it, I reckon.” Billy struggled
with his ropes, “Let me go!”

“Not yet, it was the ring that led you to identify king
Hepkaptut as Mervin, yes?”

“Yes! Never expected to see that ugly mug again!”

Bob reacted before Clara could stop him. Billy reeled and
moaned.

“Now, I think, is the time to call the police.” Clara
told Bob, and the big man reluctantly left.

Alone with Billy, Clara stared at her would-be attacker.

“If you ever dare come back here…”

“I won’t!” Billy insisted.

“Just say, you do. I won’t hesitate to do more with this
than just knock you on the head.” Clara indicated the poker, “I am a reasonable
person, but I won’t be threatened, do you understand?”

Billy nodded miserably. His head hurt in a strange way,
like someone had stuffed it full with cotton wool, then shaken it up, before
smacking him between the eyes. It was hard to imagine that the small woman
before him had done that much damage in one swing. Billy had been in a fair few
pub brawls in his time, but never had his head throbbed like this. Nor had he
ever seen someone so furious with him that it burned deep in their eyes. He had
absolutely no intention of ever coming back to this house. For that matter, he
never wanted to see Brighton again.

Bob returned.

“Police are coming.”

“Thank you. I suggest we keep Mr Brown tied up until they
arrive, just in case he thinks about escaping and I get the urge to use this
again.” Clara patted her poker.

Billy spent the next twenty minutes anxiously awaiting
the arrival of the police. It was a first for him. He was tremendously relieved
when Inspector Park-Coombs entered the house and glowered at him.

“She hit me with a poker.” Billy said in a voice that
sounded so plaintive and pathetic it made him ashamed of himself.

Park-Coombs tutted.

“Mr Brown you are under arrest yet again. Should you fail
to obey me this time I’ll let Clara loose on you, she looks about ready to beat
nine bells out of you.”

Billy whimpered again. Two police constables worked for
several minutes to undo the knots Clara had so efficiently tied. Then they
picked a rather shaky Billy up from his chair and half hauled, half helped him
out the door.

“Sorry about that Clara.” Park-Coombs said as soon as
they were gone, “I’ll find out how this happened and heads will roll.”

Clara gave no answer, she was still brimming with pent-up
fury, about ready to explode at anything. The inspector said his goodbyes and
left. It was all Clara could do to close the door without slamming it. She
found herself in the hallway trembling all over.

“Are you all right?” Bob asked gently.

“Yes.” Clara answered stiffly, “I’ve just never been so
angry before. I really feel I could have killed him and not even cared.”

Bob gave a nod.

“Yes, but that’s what makes me and you different from
poor old Mervin. We resist that feeling.” Bob took her arm softly, “I’ll make
us some sweet tea.”