The foot protruded from under the duvet, his toenails hoary and jagged, his toes greenish-white. Wasn’t that the universal fear? That if one’s foot slips from beneath the covers, something terrible is waiting to take hold of it?
“About our victim,” Tony began. “I’ve searched my memory, but the name Barnaby Galen doesn’t ring any bells.” “Let’s return to our old friend, Officer Google.” Swiping at his mobile, Paul read off the screen, “‘Barnaby Galen, a diversified multimillionaire, made the bulk of his fortune in the payday loan industry. Mr. Galen, 72, has never married. He has no children. He resides in Knightsbridge, London, in a house once owned by Victorian train designer and steam engineer, John Covetly Cooper. In the early 2000s, Mr. Galen’s payday loan company, Ye Olde Money Man, was targeted by the pressure group Humanity First. This group alleged that the company had flagrantly predatory lending practices, such as £35 interest per month for every £100 borrowed….’” Kate made a disgusted sound. “Lord. That ought to be illegal. Isn’t it?” “These days, yes,” Tony agreed. “When I was a young man, that sort of naked usury wasn’t permitted, either. You know how the cycle goes. The lending industry is regulated, over-regulated, set free to do absolutely anything for a period, and reined in again.” “He picked the right time to profit, I guess. Is there anything else?” Kate asked Paul. “Not really. His name has appeared on the Forbes list at least once, and if you search for the company name, Ye Olde Money Man, it links back to some investigatory journalism and op-eds about income inequality. That’s as much as a quick look with Officer Google can reveal. Gulls will dig up plenty more in the next few days, I promise.” “Multimillionaire,” Tony repeated. “He must’ve lived like a hermit. Not on the board of any charities, never seen at gallery openings or political fetes.” “Should I know who John Covetly Cooper is?” Kate asked. She always felt a bit thick when the conversation turned to historical personages she’d never heard of. Tony shrugged. Paul said, “I don’t think he was famous, apart from railway enthusiasts, maybe. But doesn’t he sound like a character in a steampunk TV show? Lieutenant Major J.C. Cooper at your service, milady,” he said, slipping into his Colonel Blimp voice. “‘I can steer this airship and fight duels with my rapier. But alas, my heart is only a cold clockwork mechanism, powered by aether.’”
“Should I call a doctor? Have you taken leave of your senses?” Giana asked, placing Paul’s lager before him. “No, no, just fine,” he said, tasting his drink. He didn’t even try to catch Giana’s eye as she set down Kate and Tony’s pints, then retreated. It was true; the earlier flirtation had been an act. “I got to see the kitchen lot,” Kate volunteered, after they’d all had a moment to savor the round. “There was no time for me to talk to any of them, and honestly, they might not have been in a fit state. They were giving poor Kincaid a right royal time. Gulls said the neighbors are quite friendly with one another along Holywell Street. But they weren’t fond of Mr. Galen.” “Certainly not,” Paul said. “Remember when one of you asked if the old man was a sort of neighborhood project? The sad, lost little pensioner who everyone looks in on? Well, it was just the opposite. They watched out for Galen, the way you watch out for a rabid dog. None of them even pretended to be surprised that someone would murder him.” “What did he do to them?” Kate asked. “I didn’t get the comprehensive list. I imagine Kincaid did, though. But mostly it came down to rudeness,” Paul said. “Shouting when a dog was walked past his front garden. Calling the police on harmless parties. Dumping slop-pots in other people’s yards.” “Oi,” Kate muttered. “Quite the charmer.” “But were they surprised by the method?” Tony asked. “Did any of the neighbors say anything interesting on that score?” Paul considered the question. “They did… only because they didn’t, if you know what I mean. It’s hard to be certain. But when I arrived on the scene and saw Granny, I shrieked. And so did you,” he told Kate. “Only a little.” “Even Tony got pale. He said something like, ‘It’s not real,’” Paul said, imitating Tony as if he, too, were Colonel Blimp. “And poor Trevor, the M.E. who looks like Ronan Farrow—” “Oh, you’re right, he does look like Ronan Farrow,” Kate cried. “I don’t sound like Colonel Blimp,” Tony said. “Nor do I know who Ronan Farrow is. But do you mean to say, the neighbors were sort of, well, blasé about a human skeleton that rode up from under the bed on miniature train tracks?” Kate burst out laughing. “It was Lieutenant Major J.C. Cooper’s ghost. He did it! Death by a steampunk skeleton.” “Well, that’s it. You’ve cracked it. Time for me to pack it in,” Paul said with mock despair. “And I thought Tony was onto something with the kitchen lot. They all thoroughly despised Galen. They didn’t need psychiatric triage after taking in a completely bizarre death scene. Maybe because they were all in on it? Meaning we’d finally achieved….” He paused, taking a breath. “A Murder on the Orient Express crime,” Kate, Tony, and Paul said in unison. They laughed again, and finished their pints. “Quattro Formaggi,” Giana announced, placing a large pie in the center of the table. The moment Kate laid eyes on it, she realized how very hungry she actually was. She and Tony had grabbed a quick lunch before boarding the train to London, but that had been hours ago. Worries over the scale or her personal numerical value, as determined by the size of her knickers, went up in smoke. She ate with gusto. “This is amazing. There’s no decent pizza in Shawbridge, just the frozen stuff Henry and Ritchie like,” Kate said. “I didn’t know how much I missed the real thing until I took a bite.” “I didn’t realize how much I missed the real thing until I set foot inside it,” Tony said. “To London,” Paul said, lifting his glass. “To London,” Kate said. “To London,” Tony said, with feeling. Kate smiled at him, and he patted her thigh under the table. “So, what did you discover when you made that last circuit around the house?” Kate asked, getting back to her pizza. “No security system with motion detectors, I assume?” “From what the kitchen lot said, Galen was far too frugal for anything like that,” Paul replied. “Even the CCTV cameras mounted beside the front and back doors were fakes,” Tony said. “Bad enough when they film night and day, but aren’t properly monitored. These are obvious dummies. The flimsy, bargain-bin kind.” “Were any of the doors forced?” Kate asked. “No,” Tony said. “The windows were in good shape, too. I think it’s likely someone gained easy access to the house, either with Galen’s permission or with a duplicate key.” On that thought, they suspended the conversation until they’d reduced the pizza to a smattering of crumbs on a scarred pie plate. Then came another round of pints and a deeper discussion of what Kate really wanted to focus on: Granny. “I want you to have a look at my pictures,” Kate said, bringing up the images on her iPhone. “I crawled around on that disgusting carpet to get them, so you could study Mr. FX’s handiwork.” “Mr. what?” Tony looked blank. “F.” Kate drew the letter in the air. “X. As in the abbreviation for special effects. You know. The cinema.” “Mr. FX. A fitting name,” Paul said, leaning back in his chair the way Tony often did when contemplating a case. Paul, however, kept one hand on the table, lest he get wrapped up in his thoughts and overbalance. “You know, I watched a documentary about haunted attractions not long ago. The American kind, with actors in costumes, where they really try to terrify the patrons. Did you know haunted houses were invented in England?” Tony looked up from his pint to find Paul awaiting an answer. “Why are you staring at me?” “Oh, I thought you might have attended the opening. The Orton and Spooner Ghost House was wildly popular in 1915.” Tony said nothing. He also forgot nothing, as Paul very well knew. Kate giggled at the face-off. “I suppose it was here in London?” “No,” Paul said. “It was in Liphook. Still is, I reckon. As coincidence would have it—assuming there is such a thing as coincidences in this world—the Orton and Spooner Ghost House was a marvel of steam power. Possibly right up the real John Covetly Cooper’s alley, unless he was the dull sort who hates flights of fancy,” Paul added. “The floors rocked. The patrons felt ghosts brushing by them. Blasts of steam, actually. The whole place vibrated. And since they walked through it in total darkness, it was just scary enough to be a hit with the general public.” “Sounds like you absolutely devoured this documentary,” Kate said. “It was fun. Really all I remember are two things—the Orton and Spooner Ghost House, and the term, ‘startle scare.’ That’s what Granny looks like to me,” Paul said. “When you go through haunted houses, there are usually dark corridors where something brushes against you, like the steam blasts in the Orton House. Then there are tableaus, where you see a terrible scene, vampires feasting or so forth. But what makes a haunted house great are startle scares coming along at deliberate intervals. They usually drop down or spring up.” “I think Granny—the skeleton component, I mean—folded flat while under the bed,” Kate said, passing her mobile to Tony and Paul so they could study her image of the under-bed tracks. “Then once she was out, the platform slid backwards, tipping her body upright.” “Diabolical,” Tony murmured. “Anyone who could get that sort of access to the man’s bedroom could have hidden in one of that house’s disused rooms, then come out and strangled him in his sleep. Not to mention the fact Galen kept his essential medications out in plain sight. The killer could’ve switched the pills and had him dead in a matter of days. Plus, that sort of demise would very likely be written off as natural in a man Galen’s age.” For what felt like a long time, no one spoke. Then Kate said, “I suppose we’re dealing with a true psychopath. Another true psychopath.” “I would’ve preferred the Orient Express scenario, if I’m being honest,” Tony said. Paul began to hum under his breath. The tune was “Jingle Bells.” “That’s your answer? ‘Jingle Bells?’” Kate kicked him under the table. “Ow! Violence in the workplace! You’ll end up in an MPS reeducation camp, and you’ll deserve it,” Paul said. “I’m caroling because this case is Scrooge all over again.” Tony set down his near-empty pint with a bump. “You’re right.” Kate didn’t see it. “You mean, with Tiny Tim and Bob Cratchit and whatnot?” “Yes. Think about it,” Paul said eagerly. “Galen’s a rich old man. He has no family. He has no friends. He got wealthy lending money but he doesn’t enjoy his riches. He lives alone in a wreck of a mansion. One night a terrible specter visits him in his bed. Except in this case, he doesn’t learn a valuable lesson. He drops dead.” “We don’t know that Galen had no friends. Gulls said his P.A. was gutted over the murder. We also don’t know that Galen didn’t enjoy his money,” Kate said reasonably. “He might have hired a cleaner,” Tony said. “If I’ve learned one thing from my service on the Toff Squad,” Paul said, blazing on as if neither of them had spoken, “it’s this. Rich people never go it alone. Not even if they’re full-on paranoids and misanthropes. Galen might have been too much of a skinflint to pay for things like cleaners. And plumbers. And authentic CCTV cameras. But I promise you, he had one dogsbody. One miserable, downtrodden, afraid-of-his-own-shadow employee. Enter the P.A.” “His Bob Cratchit,” Tony said. “You’re probably right.” “I am,” Paul said breezily, signaling Giana for the check. “Now we just need to find out who in Galen’s life fancied playing the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come, and we’ll have the case wrapped in time for Christmas lunch.”
~~~
I'm not convinced that this book should be related to Christmas even if the time is near, lol--rather, Halloween... Sure Scrooge was a miser and quite unpleasant, but even he didn't get murdered or live in a cesspool of a home that defied a quick description! Think no working plumbing, no attempts to make a home out of a house, and certainly not worth his neighbors involvement.
On the other hand, there are wonderful romantic scenes by two of the main characters--Lord and Lady Hetheridge. Lady Hetheridge is a cop and the Lord is a consultant as times. Key is that Kate has been on leave due to what happened to her during an investigation... So her husband had done everything to help her get her mojo back to normal. One of the reasons was that he missed being in London, working...
But just like the Christmas Carol, there was one man who had worked for this multimillionaire and he also had a son who was often in his house... But all three of the officers on the case decided that they couldn't be involved in the murder, even if there were many clues and reasons that they "could" have wanted to do it... they went deeper and deeper into the lives of neighbors and those with whom Barnaby Galen had been involved, including some criminal acts through the years.
Now here's the things that put a delay in tracking the killer... it involved a part of a real skeleton, a fake plastic skeleton hand, bones from multiple people, a female head with a plastic cap glued to it and an extremely hard job of trying to find clues in a sewage-based floor, sheets that were so dirty they were gray, curtains that fell apart when touched... you get the idea...
Reminds me of another Christmas song who probably became a creature developed in this man's house with black mold as its base...
So why was he murdered? You know, I just had to change the "flavor"
of the play list to match what was happening...
of the play list to match what was happening...
Now before we get too far ahead of the book, you should know that a man who was worse than the Grinch, or Scrooge was indeed murdered and discovered in his bed. Seems he was scared to death... Let's face it, this guy was neither naughty nor nice. He was dead. And there was nobody grieving, nor were there any significant clues...
This is my first book by Emma Jameson. Her creativity in the murder scene is worth your reading... Plus, watching Kate get back into her role as a police officer was both informative and tragic, recognizing that it was a similar tragic incident that led her to, at one point in this book, losing track of everything around her. I've had this happen to me just one time and it was a devastating event, even though it wasn't caused by the activity in which I was involved. Let me just say, that I applaud the author for creating a storyline that is both amazing, as well as, quite effectively done! Highly recommended!
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