04 - Carnival of Criminals (6 page)

‘Mummification methods’ was one of those topics the
Brighton library card catalogue did not appear to cover. Clara found this
highly annoying, but she was not deterred and a visit to the local rare
bookseller’s shop provided her with a volume from 1878 on the processes used by
the ancient Egyptians. She read it while sipping tea and consuming cucumber
sandwiches in a nearby teashop. The author, a member of the landed gentry
turned Egyptian scholar, had spent many years exploring the old tombs of the
pharaohs. He had experimented to produce his own mummies and demonstrate how
the Egyptians had done it. All this work had then been combined into a rather
heavy-handed text that explained in 200 pages what exactly mummification was.
Filtering out the worst excesses of the author’s bad prose, Clara found herself
learning that the main components for mummification were heat and a lack of
moisture. Early Egyptian corpses had merely been buried in the dry sands of the
desert and this had effected the process, though not as well as the later
techniques devised by the embalmers. Even today animals and even people were
sometimes found mummified in the dry heat of Egypt.

Closer to home, though mummification was rarer in
temperate climates, it was not unheard of. The author cited the many finds of
mummified cats in wall cavities. These unfortunate creatures had perhaps
climbed into the space between two walls after a mouse and become trapped. The
insulating nature of the gap, perhaps combined by the warmth of a nearby
fireplace dried them out rapidly and caused the tiny bodies to be mummified.
This gave Clara her first idea of how Mervin Grimes had come to be so oddly
preserved. He clearly had not been in a desert, but perhaps his body had been
concealed in a wall, somewhere warm, and by chance he had become a mummy.

Clara dredged another cup of tea out of the teapot and
mused on her findings. What were the odds the killer had deliberately intended
Mervin’s corpse to become mummified? For that matter, where would he have
gotten the idea? Gangsters were not renowned for their intellectual prowess, so
would one of them have even thought about mummification as a means of disguising
a corpse? Equally, there was no obvious reason for how Mervin had ended up as a
fairground attraction, unless it really was a case of the murderer hiding the
corpse in plain sight. Clara’s mind went back to the break-in the other night.
Was that coincidence or something else?

Whatever it was, it really was time Clara paid a visit to
the police.

Clara strolled down the road to the police station,
carrying her new book under one arm. Life, she mused to herself, could be very
peculiar sometimes. She found her least favourite desk sergeant on duty and
gave him her brightest smile. Clara’s theory was that all miserable people had
a breaking point, if you just kept on being nice and jolly to them eventually
they would crack and smile back.

“Good afternoon, might I speak to Inspector Park-Coombs?”

The desk sergeant glowered at her.

“Miss Fitzgerald, isn’t it?”

“Quite right. Is the inspector in?”

The sergeant huffed.

“Is he expecting you?”

“I couldn’t say.” Clara answered vaguely, “He’s a
perceptive man after all, and it is entirely possible he witnessed me walking
here from a window.”

“What?” The desk sergeant stared at her with a hint of
annoyed bemusement.

“I said he might be expecting me, but the odds are he is
not.”

Her attempt at light-hearted banter earned nothing more
than a stern stare.

“If you haven’t got an appointment I can’t do anything.”

“Stop right there sergeant, now surely you have known me
long enough to realise I don’t wander into police stations on idle business. I
have a suspicious death to report and I think the inspector would like to hear
about it.”

“I have a form for that.” The desk sergeant said stiffly,
he reached under his desk and produced a thick folder. With irritating slowness
he thumbed through its contents, “Here it is, form 190. Suspicious death of
person or persons.”

“I would much prefer to speak to the inspector in
person.”

“That you might, but this is how we do things around
here.”

Clara caught herself before she lost her temper. Since
her first introduction to the world of Brighton crime, her bane had been the
paperwork-obsessed police who barred her way at every turn. Despite proving to
them on at least two occasions that she was not an idle gossip or busybody,
they still caused her all manner of bother whenever she tried to report a
crime.

“This won’t do sergeant. I must speak to the inspector.”

“Name?” The sergeant licked his pencil and hovered it
over the form.

“Clara Fitzgerald.”

“Named of deceased, if known?”

“Mervin Grimes, look sergeant…”

“Reason for believing the victim to have died under
suspicious circumstances?”

Clara gave a sigh.

“He has a bullet wound in his chest.”

The sergeant gave her an odd look.

“And where did you see this body?”

“Last time I checked he was on my dining room table.”
Clara was pleased to see a spasm of shock cross the desk sergeant’s face, “Oh,
and he was mummified. Do you have a section on your form for that?”

The desk sergeant put down his pencil.

“I think you ought to see the inspector?”

“Really?” Clara beamed her brightest smile, “Because
there is clearly more form to fill in as yet.”

The desk sergeant rang a bell on his desk and a constable
appeared from a back room.

“Take this lady to inspector Park-Coombs office.” He
ordered, “But don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Thank you sergeant.” Clara said as she went to follow
the constable.

The desk sergeant gave another huff, then started ripping
up his defaced suspicious deaths form.

“Mummified indeed!” He puttered.

Inspector Park-Coombs had just refilled his teacup and
was inspecting the tin in his top desk drawer for biscuits when the constable
tapped on his door and presented Clara. Park-Coombs gave a sigh and shut the
drawer.

“Miss Fitzgerald, did you have a good holiday?”

“Mostly, aside from the murder.”

“Yes, I heard about that. Rather attract them, don’t
you?”

Clara gave him an offended look.

“Just don’t take a holiday around May time in Blackpool,
that’s when me and the missus like to go there. I would rather not have a
murder to solve when I am trying to relax.”

“I don’t go looking for murders, you know.” Clara said,
taking the chair in front of Park-Coombs’ desk even though he had failed to
offer it.

“Certainly not, they just seem to have a knack of finding
you. Anyway, what is this all about?”

“I am quite hurt inspector, I might almost consider not
telling you what I came here for.”

“Then again…” The inspector took a sip of tea.

Clara, who was neither hurt nor offended, knew not to
take the inspector too seriously. She rested her elbows on the desk and gave him
a grin.

“You already know about this one.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, because Oliver Bankes reported it, but there was
not enough evidence for the police to do anything.”

The inspector gave this some thought.

“I don’t recall Mr Bankes reporting a crime.”

“It probably went through that desk sergeant downstairs.”
Clara pulled a face, “He still thinks I am a nuisance.”

Park-Coombs raised his eyebrows, as if to imply he wasn’t
too sure he didn’t agree with the desk sergeant on that. Clara wisely chose to
ignore him.

“I have a mummified corpse lying on my dining room table
at home.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Clara carried on before the inspector was
distracted too much by that thought, “His name was Mervin Grimes. He died
around fifteen years ago and somehow his body became mummified. This is where
things get puzzling. His mummified corpse ended up in a fairground attraction
called the House of Curios, where Oliver spotted him.”

Inspector Park-Coombs stretched backwards in his chair,
his face a contortion of confusion.

“We are sure this is a real body?”

“Yes.”

“The real body of Mervin Grimes?”

“Yes, he still bears a personalised ring he always wore.
His killer couldn’t get it off his hand. Oliver has a picture of Mervin showing
him wearing that ring. I’m sure, if necessary, we could find other proof. He
had some nice dentistry work for instance, perhaps we could find his dentist?”

“Definitely murdered?”

“I’m fairly confident. There is a bullet hole in his
chest, though of course it might be post-mortem. Only your coroner might be able
to say for certain.”

Inspector Park-Coombs whistled softly through his
moustache. He was starting to feel the need for something much stronger than
just tea.

“That name, Mervin Grimes, rings a bell.” He stood and
went to the wooden filing cabinet by his window. He opened a drawer and ran a
finger through a set of cardboard folders stored under the letter G, “Fifteen
years ago I had just been made an inspector.”

He pulled out a folder and brought it across to the desk.

“Ah yes, Mervin Grimes, petty criminal. Lowest of the
low, in my opinion. Ran with the Black Hand gang. Usual stuff, fixing races,
drug dealing, prostitution. Mervin was a bit handy with a knife and too quick
with his temper. We never caught him, but we were closing in when he vanished.
Around 1905 a big deal went down at the racetrack. A filly staked at 200 to 1
romped home and won. Needless to say people were suspicious, doping was
suspected. Mervin and other members of the Black Hand went home with bulging
pockets, which only confirmed our suspicions. Nothing we could do though. Quite
frankly I was rather glad when this Grimes fellow vanished. About the same time
the Black Hand disbanded and the members all went their merry ways.”

“Does that mean you are not interested that he is dead?”

“Not really. It solved a problem. So one criminal killed
another? In the scheme of things that makes my life easier and I have far too
many crimes involving law abiding citizens to want to waste my time on a
criminal who wound up dead.” The inspector tapped a thick forefinger on the
folder, “This is one to stay out of Clara.”

“Whatever the nature of the man, he was murdered.”

“Stay out of it. Criminals kill each other all the time.
Sometimes we nab the killer, a lot of times we don’t.”

Clara appreciated the inspector’s sentiments, but she
also knew Oliver was not going to let this rest, and she also suspected she
would find it difficult to sleep at night until she had settled the tragedy of
Mervin Grimes. Whoever he was in life, his corpse told a pretty depressing
tale. Murdered and then presented as a carnival attraction. However you looked
at it that was not a very respectful way to treat the dead. Mervin might have
been a thug, but if you only meted out justice to the righteous what sort of
person did that make you? What sort of society? Clara fully understood the
inspector had more cases than he had time to solve them in, and he had to pick
and choose which occupied him the most. But that was not the same with her. If
she turned down Mervin Grimes’ case, what was her excuse other than she
couldn’t care less about a dead thug? Clara felt that would make her a pretty
poor detective.

“Does that folder mention next of kin?”

“Clara, this is not a case you want to involve yourself
in.” Park-Coombs was pleading now.

“I just wondered if there was a family who might like to
know what became of Mervin. Maybe even to bury him.”

Park-Coombs knew that wasn’t the full story, but couldn’t
argue with her compassion. He flicked open the folder and then wrote out a name
and address on a slip of paper.

“His mother. Don’t get into trouble.” He said as he
handed it over.

“The man has been dead 15 years, what trouble could there
be?” Clara slipped the paper into her handbag, “Does that file say what the
police thought had happened to Mervin?”

“I think official opinion was that he had gone to London.
We reported this to the boys at Scotland Yard, just in case he caused his usual
brand of trouble in the Capital and left it at that. Gangs are part and parcel
of Brighton and there are plenty more thugs where Mervin Grimes came from.”

“Never mind inspector, you do your best.”

“Thank you.” The inspector answered the double-edged
compliment through gritted teeth.

“I shall be on my way again, but I don’t suppose I could
impose on your coroner to remove Mervin Grimes’ corpse from my dining room to
his morgue? At least until I find out what the family want to do.”

The inspector gave a funny snort.

“I’ll give him a call. Perhaps he can pop around this
afternoon?” There was a snide hint to his tone.

“Very good inspector, I’ll expect him after 3 o’clock, if
you don’t mind.” Clara was at the door, one hand on the handle.

“I don’t mind at all. Now Clara,” Park-Coombs paused her
as she was about to leave, “Take care, all right.”

Clara was touched by his concern and gave him a smile.

“I always do inspector.” And then she was gone, back on
her mission to solve the death of a gangster.

Clara caught an omnibus headed in the direction of West
street, aiming to speak to Mervin Grimes’ mother before she went home. If his
mother still lived at that address, of course. West Street was a long line of
small terraces, one end being slightly smarter and more upmarket than the
other. There was even a policeman or two living in the better part of West
street, but the other part, the part where houses jostled each other’s
shoulders and doors opened straight onto the road, was only a few steps up from
a slum. Yes the doorsteps were clean and the windows mostly sparkled, but it
would not take much for many of the families living in these houses to find
themselves unable to pay the rent and headed for the darker, grimmer parts of
town where children played without shoes and rubbish collected in heaps in the
gutters.

Clara alighted at this end of the road and located number
68, the home of Sarah Grimes, mother of the infamous Mervin. Clara took a
moment to survey the front of the house before knocking on the door. Fronts of
houses could tell you a lot about the owner. This one was clean, but without
the ornamentation some of the neighbours had tried to brighten their living
spaces. There was no box of flowers on the windowsill like at 66, or a
hand-carved wooden boot scraper as outside number 70. The front window
displayed an empty glass vase, but no flourish of bric-a-brac as in the window
of number 64. The whole appearance gave Clara the impression of sadness, a
house where the basics were tended to, to keep it smart, but where anything
beyond that was just too much. Clara wondered if the person within would
confirm her assessment.

She rapped on the door. There was no knocker. It was a
long while before anyone answered.

“Yes?”

“Are you Mrs Sarah Grimes?”

“Yes?”

Mrs Grimes was younger than Clara had expected. Imagining
that Mervin would now be about 35, she had expected Mrs Grimes to be well into
her fifties, instead she was probably only in her forties. Her hair was still
auburn and barely streaked with grey. With it tied back in a plait she almost
looked school-girlish. Her eyes were a deep brown and only showing the first
signs of crow’s-feet, her face was narrow, ending in a sharp chin that jutted
out a little and gave the impression of petulance. She could not have been more
than five foot tall and Clara had to look down at her.

“Might I come in Mrs Grimes? I have some news about your
son.”

Clara had not expected much of a response from the woman
and she wasn’t disappointed. Mrs Grimes merely gave a nod.

“This way then.” She led Clara into a narrow hall and
into the second room down where a broad-shouldered gentleman was sitting squashed
into a floral armchair that barely contained his girth.

“All right Mrs Grimes?” He asked suspiciously as Clara
entered, putting down a dainty cup and saucer that looked straight out of a
child’s tea set in his hands.

“This lady says she has news on Mervin.” Sarah Grimes
said in a dull voice. She sat down in another armchair without looking at
Clara.

“Clara Fitzgerald.” Clara held out her hand to the large
gentleman.

He shook it after a moment’s thought.

“Bob Waters.” He introduced himself, “What is this about
Mervin?”

“Were you a friend?” Clara asked cautiously, aware that
anyone in Mervin’s circle of acquaintances could be his killer.

“His oldest friend.” Bob said staunchly, a hint of pride
in his tone.

Clara wondered if she was facing one of the former Black
Hand gang.

“I’m afraid the news I have to tell you is not good.”
Clara said carefully.

“He’s dead.” Sarah Grimes said flatly, “I’ve known that
for the past 15 years. My Mervin wouldn’t up and leave me unless he couldn’t help
it.”

“He disappeared suddenly?” Clara asked.

It was Bob that answered.

“Just gone overnight. Not a word. I always said it was
foul doings. He ran with a bad lot, did Mervin.”

Clara decided to chance her luck.

“With the Black Hand gang.”

“Yeah, how you know that?” Bob said in surprise.

“I hear things.” Clara shrugged, “Were you a member too,
Bob?”

Bob gave her a lopsided grin.

“Not on your life. My ma would have skinned me alive if I
had joined them, God rest her soul. Not that I’m a saint mind.” Bob winked.

“My Mervin never knew how to keep out of trouble.” Sarah
Grimes sighed heavily, “Ever since he could walk he was into mischief. I didn’t
know about the gang till after he was gone. Knew he was in trouble, that’s all.
After he vanished I had all these mean-looking fellows hammering at my door
after him. If it hadn’t been for Bob I don’t know what I would have done.”

Bob gave a gesture that implied he hardly could not help
his best friend’s mother.

“Done a bit of boxing in my time.” He said, clenching up
his fists, “Best fight is always after the match when the losing punters try to
take on the winning ones and anyone else who happens to be in the way.”

Clara found herself warming to Bob and his enormous
frame.

“Pity Mervin didn’t stick with you Bob.” Sarah said
quietly.

“Ah, he never had any sense, you know that.” Bob
grimaced, “So what’s the news you have brought us Miss Fitzgerald.”

“It’s a tad complicated, but I think I have found his
body.”

Sarah Grimes gave a little start, but Bob merely looked
sad.

“After all this time?” Sarah said, “Where?”

“I’m sorry to say in the fairground.”

“The one on the seafront?” Bob looked puzzled, “What was
he doing there? If he was back in Brighton why didn’t he come to see his old
mum?”

“I didn’t explain myself well.” Clara apologised, “He has
been dead these fifteen years, but his body was recently found in the
fairground. It is a tad unpleasant, but it appears Mervin was mummified.”

Bob looked blank.

“What’s that mean?” He said.

“Like ancient Egyptian mummies.” Clara explained, “It’s a
very strange thing.”

“Miss Fitzgerald,” Sarah Grimes spoke up, her voice
tight, “Perhaps you could explain what you have to do with my son at all. What
is it any of your business how he died?”

Bob looked away at the sharpness of Mrs Grimes’ tone,
perhaps thinking he had been too cheerful and chatty under the circumstances.
Clara wasn’t sure how to explain her presence concisely, she was also very
aware that she had not been offered a seat or a cup of tea. Either Mrs Grimes
was a neglectful hostess or Clara’s visit was deeply unwanted. She suspected
the latter.

“I was asked to identify the body.” Clara finally said,
withdrawing a card from her purse and handing it first to Sarah Grimes.

“Haven’t got me glasses on.” Sarah wrinkled her nose, “And
these squiggly letters people print stuff in make my eyes go queer.”

She gave the card to Bob, almost throwing it at him. Bob
held it as close to his nose as it was feasible to get. Clara wondered he
wasn’t going cross-eyed trying to read it at that distance.

“Pri-vate de-tec-tive.” He read carefully, before passing
the card back to Clara.

“You see, the body was spotted by someone who suspected
it was that of Mervin Grimes. But it wasn’t clear, so they asked me to track
down evidence that it really was Mervin before proceeding further.”

“Why didn’t they just come to me?” Sarah Grimes puttered,
“I’m his mother, ain’t I? I could have told ‘em if it was Mervin.”

“I’m afraid Mrs Grimes that mummification makes a body
difficult to recognise. However Mervin was wearing a large ring marked with
what appear to be an S, beneath a domed piece of sapphire. It was from that we
identified him.”

“That bloody thing.” Mrs Grimes snorted, she was
beginning to lose her earlier indifference and instead sounded very angry, “He
won a little on the dogs when he was sixteen and bought himself this ring.
Tawdry little bauble it was, but he thought it made him seem quite the gent. He
never took it off. Oh my poor Mervin.”

Sarah Grimes sniffed and stared away into the small
fireplace

“What happens now, miss?” Bob asked sadly, “Are the
police going to come calling.”

“The police…” Clara hesitated, tact was called for,
“believe that after such a long time it will be virtually impossible to find
the killer.”

“You mean they don’t care because my Mervin was a
gangster.” Mrs Grimes snapped, her tears no longer in evidence, “Well he was a
gangster, but a good lad too. He never done any real harm. But the police don’t
care tuppence for that, do they? Just another one they don’t have to worry about.”

“I’m sorry Mrs Grimes, really I am.” Clara almost reached
out to the women, then thought better of the gesture, she still felt unwelcome
in the house, “At least now Mervin can have a decent burial.”

“Hah!” Mrs Grimes glared at her, “Decent? On what little
money I have? You must be out of your mind. And I suppose you want to charge me
for this little visit too, Miss Fitzgerald, private detective?”

“This was purely courtesy.”

“Or bloody nosiness! Do you think I need you coming
around here telling me my son is dead? Do you think I am too stupid to realise
that after all these years? Swanning in, in all your fancy clothes, looking
down at my little humble home. Does it make you feel better to know a
gangster’s mum is virtually destitute? Crime doesn’t pay and all that, bet the
police are having a good laugh over my son’s body!”

“That’s enough Mrs Grimes.” Bob stood from his chair; his
size suddenly became even more pronounced as he filled the whole room with his
broad, thick shoulders, “That’s enough. I’ll see Miss Fitzgerald out. You need
to start thinking what you want doing with poor Mervin’s body.”

“And what will I do, hey?” Mrs Grimes had started to sob,
thick tears rolled down her cheeks, “Can’t even bury my only son properly. Oh
the shame of it.”

“Come on.” Bob gently took Clara’s elbow, “Once she
starts like this it will be hours before I can talk sense to her again.”

He led Clara into the cramped hall, which only just
seemed wide enough for him, and opened the front door. Clara stepped back into
the fresh air and sunlight, rather relieved to be out of the oppressive
atmosphere of the Grimes’ house.

“You have to excuse Mervin’s mum.” Bob hovered on the
doorstep uncomfortably, “She hasn’t been right since Mervin vanished. Never
really got over it. He was the only thing she had, what with Mr Grimes leaving
them when Mervin was only a little boy. They never had much money. That’s why
Mervin got into crime in the first place.”

“I’ve very sorry to hear that.” Clara said politely.

“That night Mervin just disappeared, that was hard.
Things were just starting to go right for ‘em. Mervin had won a good bit of
money on the horses, I don’t say it was legal, but when you is that poor you
don’t really care. Anyway, last I see Mervin he is wearing a new bowler and is
taking his mum out for a slap-up meal. Mrs Grimes was all a dither, like they
say, giddy as a schoolgirl, that was her. Mervin turns to me as they were going
out and says ‘this is the start of new things Bob, me mum’s going to be all
right now.’ And the next day he was gone.”

“Do you suppose it was another gangster who murdered
him?”

“Who knows.” Bob shrugged those huge shoulders, nearly
taking out the door frame in the process, “It was a lot of money Mervin won.
Maybe he screwed someone over for it. I don’t know, as I say I was never into
that stuff.”

“Oh well, thank you anyway Bob.” Clara turned onto the
pavement, “Give Mrs Grimes my regards when she calms down.”

She had walked a few paces away, thinking what a sorry
world some people lived in, when she heard a heavy footstep behind her. Bob had
caught her up.

“Look, I can’t pay you or nothing, but…” Bob looked
agitated, he was shifting his weight from foot-to-foot, “you and I know the
police have no interest in finding who killed Mervin Grimes, they are just glad
he is dead. But I would like to know and his mum would too. I remember Mervin
before the bad stuff, he was a good friend. I owe him for that. I could do some
work for you to pay the bill, I’m employed as a carpenter.”

Clara gave Bob a smile.

“I will see what I can dig up, but I don’t expect
payment.”

“No?”

“Sometimes I am just nosy.” Clara gave a wink, then she
turned away and headed for the nearest omnibus stop.

“If you need anything just ask.” Bob called after her,
“You know where to find me.”

He scuffed his feet on the ground, wondering if he had
done the right thing. As an after-thought he shouted out.

“And do be careful!”