04 - Carnival of Criminals (18 page)

“Billy Brown.” Clara muttered to herself, then, “I
apologise Mr Dawkins, the name rang a bell.”

“In any case that is who I bought the mummy from.”
Dawkins continued, “He was in this house almost two years, then I was diagnosed
with this awful illness and it became plain that I was going to have a great
deal of difficulty maintaining my museum. I decided to sell off my collection
before I became too ill. As each room was emptied I had it locked up, so I need
not see all my things gone. In my imagination, you know, I still picture those
rooms as they were. It brings me some comfort.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Clara said honestly.

There was little more to be said and Mrs Grebe arrived
precisely after half an hour, as she had promised. Clara said her goodbyes and
thank yous to Mr Dawkins and then followed the housekeeper downstairs. As she
was putting on her hat Clara turned to the woman.

“Such a shame.”

“I know.” Mrs Grebe’s face fell, “I think this winter
will be the end of him.”

“Thank you again, for letting me meet him.”

“Well,” Mrs Grebe said stiffly, “Maybe it cheered him up
a bit.”

Clara said a final goodbye, then headed out purposefully
towards Brighton police station.

“Well, well, here we are again.” Inspector Park-Coombs said
to Billy ‘Razor’ Brown who sat before him in handcuffs.

Clara had very briefly informed the inspector of her
latest piece of information and insisted she speak to Brown. The inspector,
dubious as always, allowed the interview on the condition that he be present at
all times. Clara did not hesitate to agree, she would have suggested his
presence had he not offered it.

“So this time its assault we are dealing with.”
Park-Coombs fluttered a piece of paper at Brown.

“She assaulted me! Nearly killed me!” Brown glowered at
Clara indignantly.

“You appear to forget you were in my house.” Clara said.

“Doctor says you could have cracked my skull!” Brown
complained.

“You mean I didn’t?” Clara gave him a perplexed look, “I
really thought I hit you quite hard. You must have a thicker skull then I
imagined.”

Brown snarled at her.

“Could we do this without the bickering?” Park-Coombs
raised an eyebrow at them both.

Clara quickly regained her composure.

“Tell me about the mummy you sold to Mr Dawkins’ museum
in 1912 Billy.” She said.

Billy was caught off-guard.

“What?”

“You sold Hepkaptut, or rather Mervin Grimes, to Mr
Dawkins in 1912. He kept a receipt from the sale.”

Billy went into moody silence.

“I should add,” Continued Clara, “That this proves you
did not know about the significance of the ring back then, unlike how you
explained things to me. You must have learned of the ring more recently, from
Gregory Patterson, for instance?”

Billy glared at the table, saying nothing.

“Really Mr Brown,” Sighed the inspector, “Silence is more
unhelpful to you than us. Patterson has told us everything about his plan, he
is very afraid about going to prison. Do you really intend to keep silent for
people who don’t give a damn about you?”

Brown had a grimace on his face. He was quiet for several
moments, then a little voice inside him asked the same question the inspector
had, why was he keeping mum? They already knew enough to put him in a lot of
hot water, if he said nothing those who got him into this mess would go free.
Brown slowly raised his head.

“All right, Patterson approached me. Knew me from the
days when Penny was still alive. She had told him about the ring, but he didn’t
know everything. In any case, he had been at that fair wandering about the
stalls, and suddenly there was this mummy wearing Mervin’s ring. He didn’t
really give much thought into whether the mummy were real or not. Just got in
touch with me and asked me to steal it.”

“But you knew that the mummy was Mervin Grimes, yes?”

“Bit of a shock seeing it there. I got rid of the thing
in 1912 and after that I gave it no thought. But there was Mervin in a glass
case, screaming at everyone. Soon as I saw him I knew I would have to do more
than just steal that ring.”

“But the ring was the priority.”

“Always. Patterson said we would split the stash.”
Brown’s eyes flicked about the room, his mind was on the double-cross he had
planned to do to Patterson. It didn’t matter now, of course, “Yeah, seeing
Mervin like that was unsettling.”

“So who gave you Mervin to sell in the first place?”
Park-Coombs interjected.

“Haven’t you worked that one out?” Brown laughed at them,
“It was his ma, weren’t it? She came to me one day and said she had a job for
me. She had a body to sell. To sell? I says. You don’t sell bodies! But this
one she reckoned she could because of the condition it was in. She had this
plan to fool an old fella who ran a private museum. She showed me the body,
didn’t say it was Mervin, naturally, but I only had to see that big old ring to
guess. Could even still see the mark where I tried to hack it off! Anyway, we
tarted him up as some ancient pharaoh and I put on my best suit to fool this
old codger in his museum. It worked too.”

Clara slipped back in her chair. So all along it had been
Mrs Grimes. No wonder she was so sure he was dead, she had killed him! Clara
closed her eyes for a moment, running back through that first conversation with
the woman. Had there been a clue there? All she could remember was the woman’s
apparently genuine grief.

“I think that’s all we need from you today Brown.”
Park-Coombs nodded to the constable at the door, “Take him back to his cell,
and if he escapes again heads will roll!”

Brown gave them a sneer as he was led away.

“Was that what you expected?” The inspector asked Clara
as soon as he was gone.

“Not really.”

“We have no real evidence except Brown’s testimony, and I
can tell you how much that would count in a court of law.”

“You don’t need to say it inspector, to catch Mervin
Grimes’ killer we would need a confession.”

“And how do you propose we get that?”

“Ask?” Clara suggested.

The inspector laughed.

“So simple?”

“A mother who kills her child must feel something, one
would hope. Perhaps a sympathetic ear would unleash her guilty secret?”

“So you’ll go speak to her?”

“Worth a try?”

Park-Coombs thought over the matter.

“I’ll send a police constable as back-up or to make the
arrest should she confess.”

“He must remain out of sight.”

“Absolutely.” Park-Coombs agreed, after a moment he
grinned at her, “I wish I had seen you bash Billy Brown over the head with a
poker.”

“I’m rather glad you didn’t. I suspect you would have
enjoyed it too much.”

Clara returned to the bleak terrace house where it had
all begun. It seemed months rather than days ago she had stood on this doorstep
wondering what reception she would receive from Mervin Grimes’ mother, and all
along, as she had discussed the discovery of his body, the woman had remained
stony-faced, never revealing even a hint that she knew all too well what had
become of her son. It was almost unbearable.

Clara rapped on the door, her heart beating faster than
she had expected. She admitted she was a little afraid in a way she had never
been before. Mrs Grimes had murdered her son, hidden and then sold his corpse.
That takes a kind of coldness that has no qualms about killing a nosy stranger.
When the door opened Clara almost expected a gun. Instead there was Mrs Grimes
looking as small and worn as before.

“You again.” She said dully.

“I have news about your son’s case.” Clara explained.

Mrs Grimes gave a slow shrug.

“Better come in then.” She allowed Clara through the
front door and started to shuffle down the hallway.

Clara found she had an irresistible urge not to move away
from the door, her only exit.

“I don’t imagine anything I say to you will be
surprising.” She said without moving.

Mrs Grimes turned and looked at her. There was neither
sadness or guilt in her expression.

“I know Mrs Grimes, I know about it all. I’ve spoken with
Billy Brown.”

Mrs Grimes gave a sort of half-smile, at least the corner
of her mouth twisted up and down.

“Is Billy well?”

“He is in the police cells, telling them all he knows.”

“Oh?”

“Mrs Grimes, I know you killed your son.”

Mrs Grimes shook her head.

“No, wasn’t me.”

“Then how did you come to have his body? You killed him,
hid him somewhere and then, for God knows what reason, you decided to sell
him!” Clara had lost her patience, the woman was despicable, that was the only
word for it.

Mrs Grimes gave a long sigh but said nothing. Then Bob
appeared from the back room. He stepped solemnly into the hallway and stared at
Mervin’s mother.

“Is it true?”

Mrs Grimes knitted her hands together before her and
stared into nothingness.

“I tried to be a good mother.” She mumbled.

“Is it true?” Bob demanded, his temper rising a fraction
so Clara took a pace forward.

“Please Mrs Grimes, you might as well explain how it
happened.” She said.

“My Mervin was never grateful for what I had done for
him.” Mrs Grimes cocked up her chin, a proud look on her face, “I spent my life
working my fingers to the bone for him, and what did I get in return? Nothing!
Just trouble. Twenty years looking after that lad and when he came old enough
to look after me, did he? Did he care? No! Just wanted to go out with that
fancy girl of his. Never a penny for his mother, never a little something so I
might treat myself to a new hat or pair of gloves. Ungrateful he was,
ungrateful!”

Mrs Grimes’ hands dropped to her sides in fisted balls.
Clara watched her apprehensively, she was, after all, a murderer.

“What happened that night? Why did you shoot him?” She
asked.

Bob was watching from the other end of the hall, his
expression a mixture of bafflement and fury. Clara had her eye on him too.

“That night!” Mrs Grimes snorted, “Mervin comes home
proud of hisself. The horses come good, ma, I’m loaded now, he says. Loaded,
says I, so can I have a bit for a new hearth rug? He laughs. Always thinking of
the money aren’t you, ma? You could give me a bit, says I. And you would only
fritter it away and be as poor as the day you were born, says he, no, I’ll keep
a hold of it. Come on, get your hat, we’ll go for dinner.

“So we did. Off to some restaurant he says is posh. I
weren’t impressed, my potatoes were cold and my gravy too thin. I says as much
and Mervin gets angry. I bring Penny here, he snaps, and she likes it. She
would! I say, she hasn’t got no taste. And Mervin loses it there and then, but
he won’t do anything in that fancy restaurant, but I know what’s on his mind.
He’s hit me before you know, what sort of a way is that to treat your mother?”

“So you came home?” Clara asked.

“I left the table. I said I was sick of this fancy food,
all air and nonsense. I wanted decent food and Mervin was furious ‘cos I was
making a scene. But I didn’t care. I stormed out and walked home. How is that,
a son letting his old mother walk home alone at night? I told you, ungrateful.
He always was, not like Bob here. Bob is a decent lad, my Mervin didn’t know
what decent was and to think I raised him with my own two hands. I tried to
bring the lad up right, but he was wild!”

There was a pause, Clara was tempted to fill the silence,
but she could see something working behind Mrs Grimes’ eyes, so she kept her
mouth shut. Bob started to speak but she gave him a glance that signalled he should
stay quiet. It was another moment then Mrs Grimes began again. Her voice was
choked, but it was difficult to say whether that was through grief or rage.

“I come back to this house and I takes off my coat and
sits in the back room. I pick up some socks I been darning, Mervin’s socks,
mind! I was always good to him and he knew it. He took advantage. It must have
been an hour before he slammed open the door. He were drunk, took after his
father in that regard. Mother! He shouts. I ignore him until he stumbles
through the door of the back room. You embarrassed me! He snaps. I say nothing,
I was furious. How could a son talk to his mother like that? Would have been a
time I would have slapped him one, but he was too big for that. He staggers
into the room. I’m sick of your games! He yells. Games? I say. You treat me
like a fool! He snaps, you think of no one but yourself. Well that riles me and
I jump up. Speak for yourself Mervin Grimes! You is nothing but a selfish,
spoiled brat that I is ashamed to have called my own!

“Mervin grows more agitated, he is pacing now. You want
me to hit you, don’t you? He cries out, you always push me too far. I wags my
finger at him. You know nothing my lad, nothing! I have given everything to you
and look how you treat me! He paces faster. I could kill you some days! He
snaps, pointing his thick finger at me. They might as well try me for murder as
for the other stuff I’ve done. You wouldn’t dare, you’re a coward, I yell back.
I’m not scared of you! You should be! Well, I’m not! Who would be afraid of a
street urchin who talks big, but is nothing more than a low level thug without
principles! Penny’s proud of me! Mervin screams. Penny is little more than a
street walker! I yell back, and then he really loses it. He comes at me, pushes
me hard. I stumble and turn over a side table. The drawer falls out as I hit
the floor and there is this pistol just inside. Mervin is almost on me, fists
clenched, I shout at him to stay back, but there is this fury in his eyes.

“So I grab up the gun. Stay back! Stay back! You aren’t
going to shoot me mother! I will! I WILL! I have my finger on the trigger and I
pull it back. Such a simple thing. There’s a bang. Mervin grabs at his chest.
What have you done? He slips to his knees and there he is dying, shot by his
own mother. He stares at me a while longer, then he slumps forward and gurgles
on the carpet. I nudged him with my foot, but he was gone.”

“Where did you hide the body?” Clara asked.

Mrs Grimes gave a shrug.

“I thought about it for a while. Must have sat there
looking at his body for an hour or so. The light had completely faded anyway. Upstairs,
in Mervin’s room, there is a cupboard built into the gap between the fireplace
and the side wall, and I thought maybe that’s where I would put Mervin. So I
dragged Mervin upstairs and squeezed him into the cupboard.”

“Wherever did you get an idea like that?” Bob said,
utterly aghast.

“My husband.” Mrs Grimes shrugged, “He was building a
similar cupboard in our bedroom upstairs when he…”

Mrs Grimes shook her head.

“It was self-defence!”

“Up until the point you hid the body, and what about
selling Mervin’s mummy? That was hardly a very motherly act.” Clara snapped,
losing her rag with the woman.

“You don’t know how it is!” Mrs Grimes yelled, “I had no
money and I used to go peek at Mervin from time to time and his body had gone
all strange. There was an article in the paper about these Egyptian mummies and
Mervin looked just the way they were described. I had to do something!”