Murder on the Cathedral Express (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 9) Read online

  “Well when James has recovered you can make the announcement,” said Ralph. But as he spoke he realised how ingenuous it sounded. It was most unlikely that the young man would ever recover. And even if he regained consciousness, he might never be the same person that she had known before the accident.

  “The week before the prize-giving, James and I had a row. It was stupid. Bob and I had been to a Conference in Dublin and James got jealous. He accused us of having an affair. It wasn’t true. Bob is a dear friend, but nothing more. James said that he didn’t want to get married and told me that we were finished. Don’t worry, Professor Chalmers, I’ve done all the crying I can. It’s just that speaking about it to someone helps.” Ralph didn’t know what to say so he said nothing.

  He and Molly shook hands goodbye and he said that he’d keep in touch. As he drove back to the Gypsy Hill campus he thought about Barnes and those two young people. They had all worked so hard on the Project. They had hoped that they would make history, or at least a major contribution to their profession. Then it had all collapsed. Their protégé and friend finished up in a coma, and two people had already been murdered. Either the killer was a coward or crazy, he mused. The engine idled quietly as he waited at a traffic junction. The bugger must be callous and cold blooded. Killing to order. The more he thought about it the more certain he was that this was not about vengeance or someone working off a grudge. There were lots of people who had reason to dislike or even hate the judges, but that was hardly sufficient motive for murder. A crime of passion, whether in a fit of jealous rage or because someone was pushed to breaking point were all excuses that people had used when they took another person’s life. But this was different. To administer cyanide on a crowded train was a cold and calculating act. It would have had to be carefully planned and executed. No these were no crimes of passion. They were deliberate acts of murder for the sole purpose of making a lot of money. His theory about someone wanting to get Riggs’s system at a knockdown price looked more promising by the minute.

  ***

  As Ralph climbed the stairs to his office, he met Margaret as she came out of Granger’s.

  “Dean Granger’s been trying to contact you all afternoon, Professor Chalmers. He wants to see you right away.” She sounded even more officious than usual.

  He went in through the door that she held open for him. He and Granger were about to lock horns and he wanted to take the initiative.

  “Come in, Ralph. Shut the door”. Granger stood up clutching the desk. He was obviously in a rage. “Now what the hell’s going on? The VC tells me you got Barnes off. Acted like you were his defence lawyer, according to the HR Director. I told you to play this one down. So what happened? And more importantly, what do you intend to do about it?”

  Ralph balanced himself the way he did in a storm aboard his sailboat, Gypsy Lady. It was going to be a rough few hours. He was ready for a knockdown drag-out fight, if that’s what Granger wanted. He knew he had done the right thing and he had no intentions of changing his position. Diplomacy be buggered. He’d had enough.

  ___________________

  Chapter 7

  Katie agreed with Ralph that he needed to meet with Leon Riggs. Ralph wanted to check out Gregg Barnes’ story that he and Riggs were personal friends and that he had asked Barnes to keep the artistic interpretation part of James’ work a secret. After his recent spat with Granger it looked as though the Disciplinary procedure with Professor Gregg Barnes was not finished yet. If he was going to have to defend the actions he had taken at the meeting to the VC, then he wanted to have his facts clear because Granger was determined to fight Ralph on this one.

  Ralph also wanted to find out a bit more about Webber GmbH. They did not fit his conspiracy theory. They already had a large investment in the project and their best interests would be met by finding a way to help Leon Riggs take the Moving Images System to market. There had to be other people involved, and he wanted to find out who they were.

  Katie had leapt at the invitation to go out to lunch and visit a top Fine Art showroom. Since she and Cynthia had become friends, she had been to various exhibitions at the Dorich House Museum as her guest and become quite a connoisseur of classical art. Ralph had phoned Leon Riggs and explained that he had been talking to Professor Barnes and some of the people on the Project and would value an opportunity to hear more about James’ work and see it first hand, if at all possible. Leon had been reluctant at first, but he relented when Ralph said that he thought that the Turner Prize team had some questions to answer about their decision and that he knew about Professor Barry Jones’ campaign to have the committee’s selection process investigated by an independent panel of members from the Royal Academy. That last comment, although not strictly true, seemed to do the trick.

  “Milburn Fine Art in Bruton Street, just off Mayfair,” Ralph called through the window to the cab driver. They had jumped the queue of people waiting for a taxi at Waterloo station. Ralph was not strong on patience and Katie had given up nagging him about this most unseemly habit. It avoided arguments and she could focus on the decisions that mattered.

  “This is near the Royal Academy, Ralph. Cynthia and I went there last year. There’s a lot of galleries around here. We went to one that promoted themselves as the premier Old Masters gallery over on Old Bond Street and another one that showed only contemporary art. Not my cup of tea. Women depicted as some sort of space age pin-ups. But people seemed to be interested and they were selling a lot.”

  “I prefer the Old Masters, said Ralph. You remember when we went to that auction and some of them sold for five million. Don’t you remember? That pencil sketch went for 2 million. But I think James was aiming at a different market. Applications. That’s what I think they were onto. Imagine what it would be like if they made an app for your Iphone where you could select a painting or sculpture, download it and then see it animated to some tune or classical piece that you selected.”

  The cab pulled up outside a splendid but not over ostentatious Georgian building. Ralph paid the fare and told the cabbie to keep the change. They saw a bell and accepted the invitation to ring. Obviously security conscious, thought Ralph. If they had objects worth millions in there then they’d be wary who they let in.

  “He said 11. We’re right on time,” said Ralph. “I’ll give him another minute and then try him on the mobile number he gave me.”

  “Ralph. Just wait. I hear someone coming now.”

  When the door opened, they were both surprised at the spectacle of a rather threatening looking man whose bulk covered almost the entire doorway. They stepped back.

  “Professor and Mrs. Chalmers?”

  “Yes. We phoned.”

  The hulk moved back. Once they were inside he quickly closed the door behind them.

  “Mr Riggs will be right along. He asked if you would wait in the room over there.”

  Ralph had expected to see an elegant showroom with pictures hung around the walls, soft lighting and a few discrete spot lights. This was more like a dentist’s waiting room, but expensively furnished in what he recognised as an Edwardian style. They were left to seat themselves.

  “I’m not sure this was such a good idea, Ralph. I hope you told him that we’re not here to buy anything.”

  “Sorry to have kept you both waiting. I am Leon Riggs. Welcome to the Milburn Gallery,” said the tall figure dressed in Edwardian attire as he leant on his expensive black cane. He wore a grey single breasted morning coat with a black velvet collar, a starched white shirt, formal grey and white checked waistcoat and a black bow tie.

  After a short round of introductions he led them in to what was obviously the main gallery. He offered them some sherry and apologised saying that he would have liked to have taken them to lunch but he had a previous engagement with an old friend to discuss a recent acquisition. He pointed to a painting that Ralph recognised immediately. Their host stepped forward and gave a mock bow. “Caravaggio,” he said pointing. “Ab
raham and the sacrifice of Isaac. Not the original of course.” He smiled obsequiously.

  Ralph recognised Leon’s style. Many of his friends at Cambridge had lived two lives. One for their intimate friends and family members, and the other when mixing with the ‘hoi polloi’. Leon Riggs had put them in the latter category.

  “I understand that you are a friends of my son, James. Unfortunately I am unable to show you his work just now. I hope that you will not be too disappointed. You see we are in a bit of a difficult situation at the moment.”

  Ralph thought it best to accept Leon’s explanation. What he really wanted was to ask about Webber and to get an idea if any other parties had shown an interest in obtaining the rights to the Moving Images process.

  Their host went on to talk about how his son was destined to become the leader of a renaissance in modern art. It struck Ralph as most odd that he never mentioned the accident or that his son was in a coma. But then an Edwardian, as he obviously saw himself, would never talk about personal or family problems in front of strangers.

  “The establishment were against us from the start. I advised my friend, Professor Barnes against using the Taddei Tondo. you know about that of course?”

  “Of course,” Katie replied as she glanced at Ralph.

  “When the exhibition went on at The Tate, the pundits had a field day. I think that’s the expression.” He glanced at his watch, seeming to gauge whether he should waste any more time on them.

  “St John holding the dove and then having it fly over to the infant child, to music, you understand, was a bit too much for some of the more religious groups. It was all done in good taste. But the Royal Academy members were alarmed that we had used their prized possession, even though they had granted permission to use the photographs. But they still objected. The charming Elizabeth Price won the prize in 2012 with her Woolworth Choir of 1979. At the time it was seen as quite a breakthrough, but no outcry. Perhaps James took his exhibit too far.”

  Ralph decided to move things along before they were ushered out.

  “But there is a view that the judges may not have actually seen the work that your son exhibited in the 12 months leading up to the award. I hear that Professor Jones is trying to get the whole process of the judging reviewed.”

  Leon hesitated and looked away. He was obviously affected by what Ralph had said.

  “It’s kind of you to mention that, and I’m grateful. But it is all too late, I am afraid. The damage has been done, and no review will put things right.”

  “But the Moving Images Project will continue?” Katie interjected.

  “Perhaps, my dear. Perhaps.” He sighed.

  “But surely the German firm will want to continue. From what I understand, a lot of investment is at stake,” Ralph said.

  Leon suddenly changed tack and dropped the Edwardian posturing that Katie found so annoying.

  “Herman Muller, Webber’s CEO wants to continue. He tells me that there is a lot of interest in the Project, particularly from a Czech firm called Jenisis. They’re based in Prague. Their Director is dreadful, according to Herman; man by the name of Jenchic Dvosnich. He wants to buy the entire system. I’m convinced that they are the ones behind the recent burglary at James’ apartment in New Cross. All his computer work and the patent documentation that he was working on was stolen.”

  “What did the police say?” Asked Ralph.

  “The usual. That they were making enquiries. They do nothing to catch these people. That’s why I employ my own guards.”

  Ralph took a chance and put a direct question to their host.

  “Forgive me for asking this, Mr Riggs, but do you think that the recent deaths of those two judges could be linked to the break-in or to someone who wanted revenge for what they might see as an injustice in not awarding the Turner Prize to your son?”

  “A ridiculous suggestion. The incidents are entirely separate. Anyone who would go to such lengths as to murder those judges must be a maniac. Some people are against the whole focus of the Turner Prize, but it has been going now for 30 years, and I’m certain that there have been disagreements as to the outcome in the past without anyone resorting to murder. It’s simply a coincidence that the press want to exploit for their own reasons. The burglary was, as I said, an attempt by Jenisis to get hold of my son’s work. To steal his ideas.”

  Ralph persisted.

  “Do you think that any of your son’s friends would go to such extreme measures as a way of getting back at the judges for what had happened to him?”

  “That is preposterous. Although I have my own views about the company that my son kept, they were his friends, after all. I admit I didn’t care for his attachment to Molly Riley, but she would never do such a thing. I believe that both she and that Wilkes man encouraged James to take drugs. I am not naïve, in spite of appearances, and I know some artists take mood enhancing drugs. They always have. But not my James. He was a genius. He did not need stimulants in order to produce his unique breakthrough ideas.”

  Ralph thought that Riggs was no different than thousands of other parents who would say the same about their off-spring. The reality, from what he saw, was that modern youths were not as pure as they would like to you to believe.

  “Would it be possible for me to talk to your friend at Webber, Mr Riggs?” Asked Ralph.

  He wanted to see just how far Webber and Jenisis, the Czech company, were involved in all of this. Jenisis and Webber must be rivals, and from what Leon had intimated, Jenisis might be capable of what is referred to as ‘dirty tricks’.”

  Leon gave him his card and said that he would be happy for Ralph to mention to Herman Muller that they had spoken together. Then he pointed out that he had another appointment and wished them a good day.

  It was a pleasant day for January. They decided to walk back towards Oxford Circus and try to find a small restaurant for lunch. They settled for a little Greek place in a side-street by the tube station.

  “I don’t know about you, Ralph but that guy gave me the creeps. That get up, and all that fidgeting with his cufflinks. And I wouldn’t be surprised if that cane he ponced around with was a sword stick.”

  “He’s probably just one of those eccentrics. And no doubt a lot of it’s an act to get his customers to pay big bucks. You could hardly expect him to be in a sweatshirt and jeans.”

  “Well I didn’t like him. And what about that painting. Surely he could see the irony. A father prepared to sacrifice his son. Perhaps that’s how he saw his relationship with James.”

  “That’s pretty far-fetched, Katie. More likely someone was coming to look at the painting and we just happened to be there. I thought I was the one you always accused of having conspiracy theories. Linham told me that Leon had suffered a breakdown when he saw his son in the Atkinson Morley. Poor bloke’s only been out of the Priory for a few days.”

  “Maybe, but he still gives me the creeps. And that so called guard of his was a bit of overkill, wouldn’t you say? I wouldn’t want to bump into him on a dark night.”

  “You’re just hungry. I’ll tell you what I’m thinking while we have our lunch.”

  Katie was not best pleased when she heard what he had in mind.

  “Look Ralph, you know your Inspector Linham will say that you’re interfering in police business.”

  “I just want to talk to Herman Muller and find out about that Czech firm; that’s all. If it looks like they were involved in the break-in at Riggs’ flat, then I’ll tell Linham.”

  “All right. But promise you won’t try and bypass the official channels. I know you, Ralph. Once you get an idea, you try to resolve everything single-handedly.”

  After lunch Katie caught a cab back to her office at UCL as she had some lecture notes to review.

  Later that week Ralph phoned Katie with what he thought was good news. He had contacted Herman Muller and was satisfied that Webber were deeply committed to completing the Moving Images Project. But Muller concurred with L
eon’s suspicions that the Czech firm, Jenisis, could have been involved in the break-in at Riggs’ flat. Furthermore, he told him that Jenisis were trying to pressurise his company into selling them the rights to James’ work, or, failing that, making them a full partner in the venture. So said that so far he had managed to hold them off.

  He gave Ralph the contact number for Jenisis’ Director, Jenchic Dvosnich. A quick phone call and a few white lies suggesting that he was interested in talking with them about the Project gained him an appointment to meet at the Jenisis head offices in Prague.

  Katie was more than delighted at the prospect of a weekend in Prague. She finally conceded that Leon had made a stunning entrance, although she still insisted that a little bit of his affectations went a long way.

  ***

  BA flight 0856 departed Terminal 3 at Heathrow at 16:25. In under two hours they touched down at Prague Airport. They had hardly had time to drink the complimentary champagne. Ralph had booked First Class tickets as a New Year’s treat, to ‘start the weekend in style’. The temperature hovered below freezing when they landed and it was snowing heavily. Clearing customs, they exited Terminal 1 and joined the queue for a cab. After the usual negotiations, which Katie handled, surprising the cabbie with her command of Russian, they were soon gliding silently through the snow covered suburbs. The city was well used to harsh winters so they kept the roads scraped and salted, but Ralph suspected that the Mercedes had steel studded tires as well to reduce the chances of a skid and a pile-up.

  “What’s the name of our hotel, Ralph? All I told the driver was Malna Strana.”

  Ralph leant forward and spoke to the driver.

  “Alchymist Hotel, Trziste 19. It’s near the American Embassy.”

  He explained to Katie that it was across the river by the old castle.