A Bullet for Father Christmas

Detective Inspector Helen Shepherd wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or relieved when her cell phone rang, calling her away from the pre-Christmas shopping rush.

By the time she reached the crime scene, she had settled on annoyed, at least partly spurred on by an unseasonal downpour that had drenched her to the skin.

“Afternoon, boss,” PC Walker greeted her, an entirely too cheerful grin on his freckled face. He held up a paper cup. “I got you some latte. With cinnamon.”

“Thank you, Constable.” Helen took the cup, though truth to be told, she preferred her coffee plain, black and definitely without cinnamon. Honestly who in their right mind would pour cinnamon into coffee anyway?

“Oh, you’re going to love this one, boss,” PC Walker said, his face so full of jolly good cheer as if he was planning to give Father Christmas a run for his money, “Dr. Rajiv says he’s never seen anything like it.”

“It’s two days to Christmas, I’m wet and cold and on top of all that I’m supposed to get a Dancing Groot toy for my niece, whatever the hell that may be…”

“It’s a tree,” PC Walker volunteered, “A dancing tree. From the movie, you know?”

Helen glared at him and he shut up.

“…and now I’m being dragged away from the vital quest to procure that Dancing whatever toy. So no, I’m very definitely not loving this case.”

Helen scowled at the building. “Wilkinson & Smythe, Fine Jewellers,” the discreet gilded letters above the door read, “Established 1753”.

She ducked under police tape and stepped into the shop. The interior was as posh as the exterior suggested, all mahogany and chandeliers and a thick fluffy carpet that was currently marred by the body of Father Christmas lying on his back, blood staining his beard and the fur trimming of his suit, dead eyes staring up at the stuccoed ceiling.

“All right, this is… different.”

“See, I told you you’d love this,” PC Walker said, until a glare from Helen quieted him.

“He’s not the real deal, in case you’re wondering.” Dr. Rajiv pulled a thermometer from Father Christmas’ liver. “The beard is fake for starters.”

“Do we know who he was?” Helen asked.

“Kris Kringle…” PC Walker exclaimed. Helen glared at him.

“Uhm, sorry, boss,” PC Walker excused himself, “Actually we don’t know who Father Christmas here was, since he wasn’t carrying any ID. It’s probably not required at the North Pole.”

Helen sighed. It was going to be one of those days.

“So what happened here?” she asked, “And how on Earth did Father Christmas end up dead on the floor of a posh jewellery store?”

“Well, this particular Father Christmas was clearly naughty rather than nice…” PC Walker began and this time, Helen didn’t even find the energy to glare at him for the inappropriate pun, “…cause he tried to rob the store together with an accomplice and was shot for his trouble.”

“I thought Father Christmas was supposed to deliver presents, not steal them,” Dr. Rajiv piped in, clearly inspired by PC Walker’s irreverence.

Helen ignored him. “I see. And the accomplice?”

“Fled through the chimney, would you believe it?”

Helen glared at PC Walker who nodded eagerly. “No, boss, that’s really what happened. Three witnesses confirm that the accomplice escaped through the fireplace.”

Helen cast a glance at the fireplace. It was a big and ornate thing of red veined marble, the sort of fireplace you’d expect to find in Downton Abbey and not in a jewellery store in Central London, no matter how posh. Certainly big enough for a man to climb through, provided he had the right equipment. Plus, the fireplace looked rather clean, as if it hadn’t been used for decades, so Father Christmas and his accomplice might even have escaped without looking as if they’d fallen down a coal chute afterwards.

Only that Father Christmas hadn’t escaped. Instead, he was lying dead on the floor, his blood seeping into the expensive carpet.

“So who shot Father Christmas then?”

“The accomplice,” PC Walker said, “He shot Father Christmas and escaped through the chimney with the loot, all in front of the eyes of three terrified witnesses. Apparently, he had not yet grasped that sharing is the spirit of the season.”

Helen decided to let that last bit irreverence go. “Do we have a description?”

PC Walker pretended to consult his notes. “He looked like — I quote — Father Christmas,” he stammered.

“For the accomplice,” Helen snapped, “I can see what this one looks like, thank you very much.”

PC Walker blushed. “Ahem… the accomplice looked like Father Christmas as well,” he corrected.

“So let me get this right? Two men, both dressed as Father Christmas, storm into the shop, threaten the staff, grab the goods, then one shoots the other and escapes through the fireplace.”

PC Walker nodded. “That’s more or less it.”

Helen sighed under her breath. Christmas season. It was supposed to be a time of peace, love and understanding and all that jazz, but instead it just brought out the crazy in many people. Such as the brilliant idea to rob a jewellery shop dressed as Father Christmas.

“So the robbers come in…” She looked around the shop. “How?”

“Front door,” PC Walker said, “Just walked in according to the witnesses.”

“They threaten the staff with a gun, steal…” Helen looked at the display cases, now shattered and half empty. Even the jewellery the robbers had left behind was a lot shinier and pricier than anything Helen could afford. “…a really nice selection of bling…”

“The owner is preparing a list,” PC Walker said helpfully.

“…and then one shoots the other. Why? Was there a disagreement? Did they argue?”

PC Walker shook his head. “Not according to the witnesses. They all say the Santas barely spoke at all.”

“So why shoot your accomplice?”

“Greed,” PC Walker suggested, “It’s a common enough motive.”

“But why here, in front of witnesses and on a busy street where the shot might easily have been heard? Why not wait until you’re somewhere quiet?”

“Beats me,” PC Walker said.

“What about this Father Christmas?” Helen pointed at the body on the floor. “Was he armed as well or just the accomplice?”

“He was armed…” PC Walker held up an evidence bag holding a black handgun. “…with this.”

“If he had a gun, then why didn’t he use it to defend himself against the accomplice?” Helen wondered, “Why just stand there and wait to be shot?”

“He couldn’t,” PC Walker replied, still holding the evidence bag with the weapon, “It’s a toy gun.” He smirked. “Looks like Father Christmas snagged it from his stash of presents.”

Helen shot a stern look at PC Walker. “Constable, I’d appreciate it if you would refrain from making any inappropriate jokes or puns in the future,” she said, “So what about the CCTV recordings?”

“There are none,” PC Walker said, colouring ever so slightly.

“So the Santas disabled the CCTV cameras, too?”

PC Walker shook his head. “No, the store doesn’t have CCTV. They — I quote — believe it would infringe on the privacy of their customers.”

“Yes, because it would be so tragic to infringe on the privacy of tax dodgers, arms dealers and billionaires.” Dr. Rajiv rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Inspector, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s all right,” Helen said, if only because she shared the good doctor’s opinion regarding the customers of Wilkinson & Smythe, Fine Jewellers.

PC Walker pouted. “Why does he get to make inappropriate remarks and I don’t?”

“Because he’s got a doctorate and you don’t,” Helen said, “And now see to it that we get the CCTV recordings from all the cameras in the neighbourhood, if this shop doesn’t have any. Someone must’ve caught those Santas on video.”

PC Walker gave her a mock salute. “On it, boss. Uhm, what are you going to do now?”

“Now I’m going to talk to the witnesses,” Helen said.

The three witnesses were cooped up in a small office behind the jewellery shop, crowding around a desk and sipping tea some thoughtful soul had provided for them.

William A. Smythe, fiftyish, distinguished looking, salt and pepper hair, was the owner and manager of Wilkinson & Smythe, Fine Jewellers. Helen idly wondered what had happened to the second owner, Wilkinson, and made a mental note to check.

The two shop assistants were Sarah Green, a petite blonde of about thirty, and Devi Patel, an equally petite Asian woman in her late twenties. Except for their skin and hair colouring, both women might have been twins. They wore the same elegant dark blue suits, the same understated make-up and their hair was pulled back into the same tight bun. All in all, they were the sort of blithely superior shop assistants who always made Helen feel like a shoplifter.

“I realise how upsetting this whole situation must be for you, Mr. Smythe, Ms. Green, Ms. Patel,” Helen began, putting on her best compassionate cop face, “But there are still some questions we need answered.”

“Of course,” Mr. Smythe said, dabbing at his face with a crisp white cloth handkerchief, “We’ll do anything we can to help.”

Sarah Green and Devi Patel nodded in agreement.

“Could you repeat once again for me what happened? And start from the beginning, please.”

“It was exactly four o’clock,” Smythe began.

“Exactly? How can you be so sure?”

“The antique clock in the shop,” Sarah Green said, “It strikes every hour.”

“And it struck four times,” Devi Patel added, “That was maybe a minute or so before it happened.”

“And there were no customers in the shop?”

The three witnesses all shook their heads in unison. “Just us,” William Smythe said.

“Isn’t it unusual for the shop to be entirely empty?”

William Smythe and the two sales assistants exchanged glances.

“Not very unusual,” Devi Patel finally said, “We’re a destination retailer. We don’t get a lot of walk-in traffic.”

“A ‘destination retailer’?” Helen repeated, “Does this mean people who come here usually know what they want?”

“Not necessarily,” William Smythe said, “But most of our customers already know about us and they know that both our products and our services are of the highest quality.”

“We’re not H.H. Samuel,” Sarah Green added, “We’re a high end shop for high end customers.”

And quite arrogant about it, too, Helen thought.

“So you’d say that most customers who come into your shop already know about you. Does this include the robbers?”

“You mean…” Sarah Green’s eyes went wide with shock.

“…that the robbers might have been customers?” Devi Patel pressed a well manicured hand to her mouth.

“No,” William Smythe declared, “Our valued customers would never do such a thing.”

“What about someone who wasn’t a customer or at least not your usual customer?” Helen asked, “Did anybody come into the store recently who didn’t quite fit in? Someone who seemed unduly interested in your offerings, but didn’t buy anything?”

Once again, the three of them exchanged glances.

“There was such a person…” William Smythe finally began.

Devi Patel nodded and continued, “He came into the shop, supposedly to buy an engagement ring for his girlfriend…”

“It was obvious that he wasn’t… well, he wasn’t our usual class of customer,” Sarah Green said, “Worn jeans, beat-up leather jacket, cheap watch, cheap shoes.”

“I showed him a couple of our more… affordable engagement rings,” Devi Patel said, “But he wanted to see the whole selection.”

“And then he didn’t buy anything,” Sarah Green added with a sniff of disdain.

“When was this?” Helen wanted to know.

“Last week,” William Smythe said. “Maybe Wednesday or…”

“Thursday,” Devi Patel exclaimed, “It was Thursday.”

Five days ago then. Maybe the man with the cheap shoes and the cheap watch had really been just some poor slob who had the misfortune to accidentally wander into the poshest and snootiest jewellery store in all of London while looking to buy an engagement ring for his girl. Or maybe he had been staking the place out.

“Could you describe this person?”

“As I said, worn jeans, beaten up leather jacket, cheap watch, cheap shoes, no brand name items at all,” Sarah Green said.

“Actually, I was thinking of physical characteristics like age, hair colour, skin colour and so on?”

“He was white,” Devi Patel said, “In his twenties, maybe thirties. A bit skinny. Bad skin. His hair was sort of blond, a sandy kind of colour.”

Helen nodded at PC Walker to write the description down. “I see. Do you think you would recognise this man, if you saw him again?”

After some hesitation, they all nodded.

“You mean… you mean that was the robber?” William Smythe stammered.

“It’s certainly possible, which is why we would like to identify that individual.”

“Oh my goodness,” Devi Patel exclaimed with a shudder, “And to think I showed him engagement rings.”

Helen waved to PC Walker. “Constable, once Dr. Rajiv is finished with the preliminary examination, could I get a photo of Father Christmas sans beard and wig, so I can show it the witnesses?”

PC Walker nodded. “On it, boss.”

Helen turned back to the three witnesses. “All right, let’s continue. You said it was four o’clock when the robbers came in. How?”

“Through the front door,” William Smythe said. The two women nodded.

“At first I thought it was carol singers or something,” Sarah Green said hesitantly, “You know, people who dress up in seasonal costumes and collect money for charity. But then…” She broke off shuddering.

“Then he pulled a gun and said, ‘Gimme the bling.’ He said ‘bling’, like some rapper,” Devi Patel finished.

“He?” Helen repeated, “So did only one of the robbers pull a gun and speak?”

“No. No, of course not,” William Smythe replied hastily.

“They both had guns,” Sarah Green agreed.

“But only one spoke,” Devi Patel added, “The other one said nothing.”

“Which one? The one who’s dead or the other one?”

“The dead one…” Devi Patel stammered, “I… I think.”

“They both looked alike…” William Smythe said, “…and — well — they had guns.”

“I couldn’t tell them apart at all,” Sarah Green added.

“The one who spoke, did he have a notable accent, a speech impediment, anything like that?”

“Lower class,” Sarah Green said, not even trying to hide the condescension in her voice, “Very definitely lower class.”

“He used rapper words,” Devi Patel added.

“He sounded somehow… Northern,” William Smythe said.

Helen suppressed a sigh. So one of the robbers had been a Northern guy who sounded lower class according to Sarah Green, in whose ears probably everybody except the Queen and the Prime Minister sounded lower class. Yeah, that narrowed it down.

“So what happened then?” she asked.

“They… they opened their bags and gestured at us with their guns. One smashed our display cases with a hammer. And then they made us put our merchandise into their bags,” William Smythe said.

“Only the best and priciest merchandise, too,” Sarah Green added.

“They didn’t want the cheap products”, Devi Patel said, while Helen idly wondered what would count as cheap at Wilkinson & Smythe, Fine Jewellers. She had the distinct feeling that even the cheap products would still exceed her monthly salary.

“Did they say anything else?” she asked.

All three shook their heads in unison.

“So what happened next?”

“One turned his gun on the other and shot him,” William Smythe said, while his two assistants nodded.

“Was there an argument between the robbers or anything?” Helen wanted to know.

Devi Patel shook her head. “It all happened so fast, it was like a blur.”

“There was no warning at all,” Sarah Green added, “One simply shot the other.”

“The shot was so loud, my ears are still ringing,” Devi Patel said.

“The ringing will pass,” Helen said automatically to the shaken Devi, “So what happened after the one robber shot the other?”

“We all dove for cover behind the counters,” William Smythe said, “So we didn’t see much.”

The two women nodded.

“Understandable,” Helen said, “But you still saw the robber escape through the fireplace?”

“Well, ‘see’ is maybe not the correct word,” Sarah Green said hesitantly.

“It was more like we heard him,” Devi Patel added, “We were still crouching behind the counter, Sarah and I huddled together, and Mr. Smythe behind the other counter. We thought he was going to shoot us, too — the robber, not Mr. Smythe…”

“Obviously,” Helen said dryly.

“And then we heard this weird scratching sound…” Sarah Green continued, “…as if there were birds in the chimney. We had birds in the chimney once, you know? One got into the store and we had to call animal protection services to catch it.”

“It pooped all over the floor, too.” Devi Patel made a face.

“So let me get this right…” Helen said, “…you recognised that the robber had fled through the fireplace, because the sounds he made reminded you of a bird who’d flown into the store through the chimney once?”

“Well…” Sarah Green blushed ever so slightly underneath her make-up. “…sort of.”

“When there was no more shooting, just scratching sounds, we peeped over the counter to take a look,” Devi Patel said, “We saw the robber was gone, but there was ash raining from the chimney into the fireplace.”

“Sarah and Devi told me what was happening…” William Smythe offered, “…so I got up and went over to the fireplace to see if I could stop the robber.”

“Weren’t you worried?” Helen asked, “After all, you knew the robber had a gun?”

“I never considered what might have happened,” William Smythe replied, “And besides, I figured the robber wouldn’t be able to aim and shoot, while stuck inside a chimney.”

“So you stuck your head into the fireplace?” Helen wanted to know.

“I realise it must seem foolish…” William Smythe said, “…but yes, I did. I stuck my head into the fireplace, looked up and saw the robber’s boots and legs dangling a few metres above me. I tried to grab him, but he was already too high and I couldn’t reach him anymore.”

“Do you have any idea how the robber managed to climb the chimney?” Helen asked, “Did he use a rope or ladder?”

“I’ve no idea, unfortunately,” William Smythe answered. He turned to Devi Patel and Sarah Green. “Did you see anything?”

The two women shook their heads.

“I didn’t even know it was possible to climb through a chimney,” Devi Patel said, “I always thought that was a myth, a fairy tale.”

“Well, it obviously wasn’t,” Sarah Green snapped.

“So you actually put your head into the fireplace to go after the robber, Mr. Smythe?” Helen repeated.

“Yes, I already told you that I did,” William Smythe replied, more than a little irritated.

“I imagine the fireplace would have been quite dirty, even if it hasn’t actually been used in ages,” Helen continued.

“It was,” William Smythe said, “And your point is?”

“My point is that I don’t notice any ash residues on you,” Helen said calmly.

“Oh that.” William Smythe shrugged. “I changed clothes and cleaned myself, while we were waiting for your people to arrive.” He shrugged again. “I simply felt so dirty with all the ashes on my body, you know?”

“Believe me, Mr. Smythe, I understand your discomfort. But we will still have to examine your clothing.”

“Why?” William Smythe countered. “The clothes were completely ruined, so I threw them away.”

Strange. Either William Smythe was simply too posh to tolerate ever being seen in ash-soiled clothes or he had something to hide.

“Your clothing might contain trace evidence that could be vital for apprehending the robber…” Helen said calmly, “…which is why we must examine it.”

“Of course. I… I understand.” William Smythe’s hand went to the knot of his tie to loosen it. “I threw my soiled clothes in the garbage. I trust this is not a problem?”

“Not at all, Mr. Smythe,” Helen assured him, taking note of how nervous he seemed. Of course, it might just be shock. Or it might be something else. “My people will collect your discarded clothes.”

She sent PC Walker to do just that. Rank had its privileges, after all, and one of them was never having to sort through other people’s garbage. Then she turned back to the three witnesses.

“So what happened after the robber escaped through the chimney?” she wanted to know.

“I saw that I couldn’t stop the robber from escaping through the chimney, so I called the police,” William Smythe said, “And then your people arrived.”

“What about the other robber? Did you check on him?”

“Well, he was obviously dead,” William Smythe said, “And I didn’t accidentally want to contaminate the crime scene or however you people put it.”

“And you didn’t even check if he was really dead?” Helen repeated.

“I think I felt his pulse, briefly,” William Smythe replied, “And I kicked his gun away, just in case.” He turned to Helen. “Was that wrong?”

Helen shook her head and decided not to tell him right now that the gun had never posed a risk in the first place.

“How long did the robbery take?” she asked.

The three witnesses exchanges glances.

“I’m not sure,” William Smythe finally said, “Not very long. A few minutes maybe.”

“It all happened so fast,” Devi Patel whispered.

“Mr. Smythe, according to our logs, we received an emergency call from this address at four twenty-three this afternoon.”

“Yes, that’s possible I guess,” William Smythe admitted, “I didn’t exactly check my watch afterwards.”

“But you yourself said that the robbers entered the store exactly at four o’clock,” Helen pointed out, “Which means that the robbery must have taken approximately twenty-three minutes.”

Devi Patel shot a questioning glance at her boss. “Was it really that long?”

“It seemed much shorter,” Sarah Green added.

“Well then, maybe it was twenty minutes,” William Smythe snapped, “Or maybe the robbers came after four. What does it matter? My store was still robbed.”

Smythe’s defensiveness certainly was interesting, Helen thought.

“We’d like to reconstruct what happened as closely as possible,” she said calmly, “And twenty-three minutes, even give or take a few minutes, does seem like an uncommonly long time for the course of events that you’ve given us.”

“What are you insinuating?” William Smythe demanded.

“Nothing at all,” Helen countered, her voice perfectly calm, “I merely wanted to make sure that your statement is correct. It could be important in prosecuting the individual who robbed your store.”

“Well, our statements are correct,” William Smythe snapped. After a second of hesitation, both Sarah Green and Devi Patel nodded in agreement.

“Fine then. That’s all for now.”

William Smythe was tugging on his tie again, clearly nervous. Interesting.

“I’m sorry, Inspector,” he finally said, holding out his hand, “It’s been a long and troubling day, so my fuse is a little short.”

“Understandable,” Helen said, “And rest assured, Mr. Smythe, we will do everything in our power to apprehend the person who robbed your store.”

She paused. “One more question. What happened to Wilkinson? Your store is called Wilkinson & Smythe, but Wilkinson is nowhere in sight.”

“Wilkinson?” William Smythe repeated, “My great-great-great-grandfather bought him out in 1867, I think. We just kept the name for reasons of tradition. Is that all, Inspector?”

“Thank you, that’s all,” Helen said, “For now.”

Back in the store proper, Dr. Rajiv’s assistants were just carting off Father Christmas, quietly chattering and giggling among themselves.

“Got a photo sans beard and hat,” PC Walker said, holding up his cell phone.

Seen up close, Santa didn’t look like much. Just a skinny white man with a bad case of acne. He did match the rather vague description given by the three witnesses, though.

“Great. I’m going to show it to the witnesses and see, if they recognise him.” Helen sighed. “Maybe their memory is accurate for once.”

“Bad witnesses?” PC Walker asked, a sympathetic grin on his face.

“Contradictory witnesses,” Helen said, “For starters, their account doesn’t match the data we have. Unless this sudden surprise raid really took twenty-three minutes.”

“They might be mistaken,” PC Walker said cautiously, “Witnesses often are.”

Helen walked over to the big fireplace. There was a small heap of dust and dirt in the grate, but otherwise you could hardly see that this very fireplace had just been used for the most daring escape in a long time.

One of the forensics people, a young woman named Charlotte Wong, was dusting the fireplace and the mantelpiece with fingerprint powder and a fluffy brush.

When she noticed Helen standing beside her, she pushed up her goggles. “No prints, Inspector,” she said, “I guess Santa was wearing gloves.”

“Good job, Ms. Wong.”

Helen regarded the ornate gilded clock on the mantelpiece, a clock that was as posh and elegant as the rest of the shop, and checked the time against her own wristwatch.

“This thing really seems to be accurate,” she said.

“Any reason why it shouldn’t be?” PC Walker wanted to know.

Helen shook her head. “Just checking, cause one of the witnesses said that the clock struck four just before the robbers stormed into the shop.”

“And?”

“They didn’t call 999 until four twenty-three. So what happened in those twenty-three minutes?”

“That’s the one million pound question, isn’t it?” PC Walker said, “Or however much the stolen jewellery was worth.”

Helen regarded the fireplace once more. “Someone will have to climb in there and check out the surviving robber’s escape route for evidence. And I’m nominating you, Constable.”

“Aw, that’s not fair,” PC Walker said, “I already dug through the garbage for Mr. Smythe’s discarded clothes.”

“Oh yes, what happened to those clothes anyway?”

“Forensics took them away for analysis,” PC Walker said. He cast a doubtful glance at the fireplace. “Must I really, boss?”

“Constable, please,” Helen said, deliberately intoning the “please”, so it was a command rather than a request.

And so PC Walker squeezed his lanky frame into one of coveralls used by the forensics team with the help of Charlotte Wong, who had more than enough experience with coveralls, considering Helen had never seen her without one. PC Walker didn’t even seem to mind being made to climb up the chimney that much anymore, though Helen suspect that the rather charming Miss Wong had a lot to do with that.

Once PC Walker had suited and roped up, he stepped into the big fireplace and ascended into the chimney, accompanied by quite a lot of groaning and cursing as well as ashes and dirt raining down into the grate.

“Oh, fuck, it’s fucking dark in here,” PC Walker exclaimed, his voice echoing down the chimney.

Charlotte Wong bent down, careful to avoid the rain of ash. “Is everything all right up there?” she yelled into the fireplace.

“Yes… uhm… no… uhm…” PC Walker stammered and Helen could almost see him blushing, even though he was following the treacherous Father Christmas up the chimney.

“Hey, I think I found something,” PC Walker exclaimed, “Looks like Santa lost his… — Oh, shit!”

“There was a loud rumbling noise, then something came tumbling down the chimney. Helen halfway expected to see PC Walker falling into the fireplace or at least partway down the chimney, since he had a security line.

But what came tumbling down the chimney was not PC Walker. It was much smaller for starters, a small dark object. A pistol, Helen recognised a split second before the gun struck the grate and a shot went off.

Both Helen and Charlotte Wong instinctively dove for cover. The bullet hit the inside of the fireplace, ricocheted and finally embedded itself in one of the mahogany counters.

“Shit! Everyone all right down there?” PC Walker yelled down the chimney.

“We’re fine,” Charlotte Wong called up the fireplace, “What about you? You weren’t hit, were you?”

Rather unlikely, Helen thought, considering that the bullet had lodged itself in a counter halfway across the shop, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

“Would you please pick up the weapon, Ms. Wong…” she said instead, “…before another accident happens?”

“Of course, Inspector.” Charlotte Wong reached out with a latex-gloved hand, carefully picked up the pistol and placed it into an evidence bag.

“Hmm, a Webley Mark VI revolver,” Charlotte remarked, “A real antique. Probably seventy years old or so. Our Santa is a collector.”

She handed the bag to Helen, who accepted it and examined the weapon.

“Or maybe he simply inherited it,” she said, “And since it was likely a service pistol, this means that the original owner should be easy enough to trace.”

“My grandfather had one of those…” Charlotte Wong volunteered, “…when he was an inspector with the Hong Kong Police Force. He said they lasted forever, much longer than the American pistols they replaced them with.”

“This one has certainly held up well…” Helen said, “…considering it was used to shoot Father Christmas in the year 2014.”

“Uhm, I found something else,” PC Walker called down the chimney.

“Could you please let it down gently this time?” Helen replied, “Ms. Wong and I would rather not be shot at again.”

“You’ll like this, boss,” PC Walker’s voice echoed down the chimney, “Looks like our Father Christmas had a very bad day.”

“Worse than being shot dead with an antique revolver, you mean?”

“Both Santas had a very bad day,” PC Walker corrected, “Cause one is dead and the other lost both his gun and the loot.”

“You found the loot?” Helen called up into the fireplace.

“I found a bag with glittery stuff”, PC Walker replied, “So unless Father Christmas has been stashing Sparkle Barbies or glimmer bling ding stuff in the chimney, I guess I found the loot.”

“What the hell is glimmer bling ding stuff?” Charlotte Wong whispered to Helen. Apparently, she had little contact with pre-teen girls.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Helen whispered back.

PC Walker eventually made it back down the chimney in one piece, though covered over and over in ash and grime. He even managed to bring down the bag he’d found up there without dropping it like the revolver.

Upon closer examination, it turned out that PC Walker had indeed been correct. The glittery stuff inside the bag was the stolen jewellery or at least part of it. It didn’t look any worse for wear either.

“Mr. Smythe will have to confirm whether this is all of the stolen jewellery,” Helen said, “Nonetheless, it seems your expedition up the chimney was a success, Constable, because we’ve now found the murder weapon and recovered the loot. Unfortunately, we still have no trace of the robber himself.”

“We’re looking for a bloke dressed as Father Christmas…” PC Walker said, coughing up some stray particles from his lungs, “…who’s covered in ash and soot besides. He can’t be that difficult to find. Even if it is Christmas.”

“We’ll begin by seeing if we can trace the weapon,” Helen said, “It’s a service revolver from approximately World War II, so contact the Ministry of Defence and ask if it’s one of theirs and if they can find out to whom it was issued. Ms. Wong can give you the serial number.”

Charlotte Wong beamed at PC Walker, who flashed her an awkward grin back.

“In the meantime, I’ll show the photo of the dead robber and the recovered loot to Mr. Smythe and his employees,” Helen said.

William Smythe, Sarah Green and Devi Patel were still cooped in the little backoffice of the shop and not exactly happy about it.

“Far be it from me to criticise our esteemed police force…” William Smythe said in his poshest voice, “…but when will your people be finished in the shop? We’re losing money every hour.”

Helen had her doubts about that, especially considering that no customers had even attempted to enter the shop ever since the police arrived.

“Our forensics team is still collecting evidence,” Helen said, “After all, your shop is a crime scene now. We’ll let you know when forensics are done.”

William Smythe said nothing, but then he didn’t need to. His face was eloquent enough.

“Can we at least leave now?” Sarah Green wanted to know, “I mean, if we can’t go back into the shop and if we’re not needed here either…”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Green, but we still have a few questions for you and your colleagues.”

Sarah Green crossed her arms over her chest, clearly displeased.

“What… what was that loud noise a few minutes ago?” Devi Patel wanted to know, “It sounded almost like a shot.”

Maybe because it was, Helen thought.

“One of our constables found the robber’s weapon, which unfortunately discharged,” she said.

“You found the gun?” William Smythe interjected, “The gun of the dead robber, you mean?”

“No, we found the gun of the robber who escaped.” Helen raised an eyebrow. “It was found lodged in your chimney together with some of the stolen items.”

William Smythe grew pale. “You… you found the gun? And the stolen merchandise?”

He exchanged a look with Sarah Green and Devi Patel that was almost panicky.

“Oh God, that’s… that’s wonderful. You found the stolen merchandise! When will we get it back?”

“Your merchandise is currently considered evidence…” Helen said, “…and you will have to identify it, of course. But I’ll do my best to make sure that your property will be returned to you as soon as possible. In the meantime…”

Helen pulled out her cell phone, called up the photo of the dead robber sans beard and hat and handed the phone to William Smythe and the two women.

“…do any of you recognise this man?”

“Is… is this him?” William Smythe wanted to know, “Is this the robber?”

Helen nodded. “This is the man who was shot to death in your shop.”

William Smythe, Sarah Green and Devi Patel all crowded around Helen’s cell phone.

“It’s him. That’s the man who came in asking for engagement rings,” Devi Patel exclaimed.

“Are you sure, Ms. Patel?” Helen asked.

“Yes. I showed him engagement rings, so I talked to him for several minutes. And that’s him. That’s definitely him.”

Sarah Green bent down to take a closer look at the image. “I recognise him, too. That’s the man who came in last week and wanted to see engagement rings.”

“I’m not sure”, William Smythe said, “It could be him, but…”

“Thank you,” Helen said and took her cell phone back, “That was very helpful.”

Some time later, Helen was back at her desk at the Met, checking CCTV recordings with PC Walker for sightings of the criminal Santa duo. Which wasn’t all that easy, considering that there were dozens of CCTV cameras on the street where Wilkinson & Smythe, Fine Jewellers, was located. And this close to the holidays, people dressed as Father Christmas weren’t exactly rare either. There were at least half a dozen Santas operating on the street, collecting donations, handing out flyers and trying to entice people into the various stores.

After almost two hours of staring at CCTV footage of varying quality, Helen was actually glad when her phone rang and Dr. Rajiv called to give his preliminary report.

Once the call was finished, Helen was even more glad. For though she still didn’t have the toy her niece Olivia so desperately wanted nor any real idea what it was (hopefully no more glimmer bling ding stuff), she at least had an ID on the dead Father Christmas now.

She turned to PC Walker who was frowning at a security video.

“Dr. Rajiv just called to say that our dead Father Christmas has been identified as one Rudy Billings, age twenty-three.”

Helen called up Rudy Billings’ data on her computer.

“Mostly unemployed, a few temp jobs,” she read out, “A couple of arrests and convictions for theft and vandalism. Never anything that would have netted him more than community service. Hard to imagine that he was the mastermind behind this robbery.”

“So if we got Rudolph, then where is Santa?” PC Walker said. Helen glared at him. “Sorry, boss, couldn’t resist.”

“Dr. Rajiv also found the tag of a costume rental shop in the Father Christmas outfit and took the liberty to call up the shop. They said they rented out seven Father Christmas costumes to a promotion company. So Dr. Rajiv called up the company and learned that they had stuck some temp workers into the Father Christmas costumes and had them hand out flyers the past few days. They confirmed that one of the temps was Rudy Billings and that he’s missing together with his suit.”

“So that explains where he got the costume,” PC Walker said, “Maybe the missing accomplice was one of the other Santas hired to hand out flyers.”

“Good thought, Constable, but unfortunately wrong. The promotion company is only missing a single Father Christmas, namely Rudy Billings. All others are present and accounted for.”

“Damn. Still…” PC Walker pointed at the screen, which showed a crowded street, as filmed by the CCTV camera of the upscale boutique down the street from Wilkinson & Smythe, Fine Jewellers, “…that’s our man, isn’t it? The Father Christmas handing out flyers?”

Helen squinted for a closer look. “It certainly looks like him. So now we’ve got one Father Christmas, let’s see where else he pops up and if we can identify his accomplice as well.”

After another wearying hour of scanning CCTV footage, a pattern was beginning to emerge. Rudy Billings could be seen handing out flyers for several hours near the jewellery store, which matched the info given by the promotion company that had hired him.

“Probably staking out the store, while he was at it,” Helen mused, “He did have plenty of time, after all, considering he distributed flyers in the same spot for several days in a row. And who’d ever suspect Father Christmas of anything fishy?”

Then, almost at four PM sharp, Rudy Billings dumped the remaining flyers into the nearest garbage bin and crossed the street. He was last caught on camera just as he was about to enter Wilkinson & Smythe, Fine Jewellers.

“So…” Helen leant back in her swivel chair. “…we can reconstruct what Rudy Billings was doing from the moment he arrived to the moment he entered the jewellery shop. Except for one thing…”

“Where is his accomplice?” PC Walker completed.

“Billings doesn’t seem to make contact with anybody in all the time he was on the street.”

“Except for handing out flyers,” PC Walker pointed out.

“Indeed. But I’d say it is rather unlikely he used the flyers to communicate with his accomplice,” Helen said, “And the people wearing Santa costumes on the street are all accounted for at the time of the robbery.”

“Yes, but how can a bloke dressed as Father Christmas walk through a busy shopping street without getting caught on camera?” PC Walker scratched his head. “And how can he rob a store, shoot his accomplice, escape through the chimney and somehow get away in a soot-covered Santa costume, again all without getting caught on camera?” He shook his head. “It’s almost as if this bloke is a ghost.”

“I suspect, Constable, that you might be right about that.”

“That the second Santa is a ghost, you mean?” PC Walker ran a hand through his hair. “So now we’re hunting for the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future, too?”

Helen raised an eyebrow. “You really are a bottomless fount of Christmas related puns, Constable.”

“Sorry, boss.”

“To answer your question, no, we’re not hunting for Dickensian ghosts. But it is notable that the only evidence for the existence of Rudy Billings’ accomplice are the statements of the three witnesses inside the jewellery store. And we already know that their statements are contradictory.”

“So you think that the staff of Wilkinson & Smythe just made the second Santa up?” PC Walker wanted to know.

“The thought crossed my mind,” Helen said.

“But… why on Earth would they do something like that? And where did the pistol and the loot inside the chimney come from”

“That’s the one million pound question,” Helen said, “Or however much the stolen jewellery was worth.”

“Talking of which, boss,” PC Walker said, “I checked the finances of Wilkinson & Smythe and the shop isn’t going well.”

“No wonder, given their prices and their attitude,” Helen said dryly, “I guess a nice fat insurance payment would be welcome, which coincidentally would also be a good incentive to lie about the robbery and make up a mysterious second robber. But until we can prove that the second Father Christmas doesn’t exist…”

She took a gulp of coffee, noticed that it had gone cold and did her best to keep from spitting it out again.

“…we’ll have to up our efforts to find him.”

Now it was PC Walker’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “This doesn’t really make any sense, boss, you know?”

“Well, maybe this makes more sense, Constable,” Helen countered, “I want you to get the recording of every CCTV camera in a hundred metre — no, make that two hundred metres — radius around the jewellery store and check it for signs of our second Santa. Cause if the accomplice really exists, he had to get down from the roof somewhere, sooty and dressed in a Father Christmas costume.”

PC Walker made a face. “Oh, must I, boss? Cause you know, I was planning to meet Charlotte — Ms. Wong, I mean — for a drink and…”

“Your love life will have to wait, Constable…” Helen said, “…unless you want to explain to the superintendent why we’re not giving our all investigating a robbery turned murder and to my niece why she won’t be getting that Dancing Gloop toy she so desperately wants for Christmas.”

“Uhm, Groot, boss. The name is Groot.”

“Whatever.” Helen shot a speculative glance at PC Walker. “Since you seem to be so familiar with that dancing whatever toy, you wouldn’t happen to know where to procure one, would you?”

“Have you tried Forbidden Planet?” PC Walker wanted to know.

“I have no idea what that is…” Helen replied, “…anymore than I know what the hell this Dancing…”

“Groot, boss.”

“…toy is.”

Helen shot another glance at PC Walker that was rife with speculation.

“How about we make a deal, Constable? I’ll let you leave early, so you can make your date with the lovely Ms. Wong, if you in turn get that bloody toy for me.”

PC Walker seemed to consider for a moment. “I’m not actually your personal shopper, boss.”

“Just be thankful that it’s not another glimmer bling thing.”

PC Walker nodded. “Yes, I much admit that Olivia’s taste in toys has improved remarkably over the past year.” He held out his hand and grinned. “Deal.”

Helen shook his hand. “Deal.”

PC Walker would probably have taken off for his date with Ms. Wong right there and then, if the telephone on his desk hadn’t rang at that very moment and he had to answer it.

“Yes?” — “Yes, that’s right.” — “Oh, thank you. We’ve been waiting for that information.” — “Yes, I’m listening.” He scribbled something on his notepad. “Thank you, that’s very helpful indeed.” — “And happy holidays to you, sir.”

PC Walker beamed at Helen. “That was the Ministry of Defence. They’ve checked their records and identified the soldier to whom the murder weapon was issued.”

“So soon?” Helen said, “I’d have thought we’d have to wait until after Christmas, particularly considering the weapon and the records are so old.”

“But it gets even better,” PC Walker said, a huge grin on his face, as if Father Christmas � the real one � had come early for him this year, “Because the name of the soldier who was issued the pistol in question way back in 1943 is — drumroll — Lieutenant William Alexander Smythe. Who failed to turn in the service pistol he’d been issued, when he was discharged from the army in 1948.”

“Instead, the pistol spent almost seventy years lying under a counter in a jewellery shop in central London,” Helen said.

“But this William Smythe can’t be the same guy, can he?” PC Walker said.

Helen shook her head. “Most likely his grandfather. But it does crack our case.”

“It does?”

Helen nodded. “I think we’re ready to make an arrest or three.”

“All right, boss.” PC Walker rose to his feet, pushing back the swivel chair. “I’ll just get my handcuffs.”

Helen held up a hand. “Don’t you have a date, Constable, not to mention a toy to buy?” she said.

“Yes, but…”

“No buts. You go and meet Ms. Wong for that drink, while I take someone else.”

Helen looked around the office and hit upon a young black constable. He was new at the department and still seemed a little lost.

“You there, Constable… I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Jackson, ma’am. Martin Jackson.”

“All right, Constable Jackson, how would you like to accompany me to make an arrest?”

“It would be an honour, ma’am.”

On the way to the store, Helen brought PC Jackson up to speed on the details of the case. He nodded and grunted in acknowledgement.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Inspector,” he finally said, “But it’s great to be involved in such a fascinating case in my very first week at the Met.”

Wilkinson & Smythe, Fine Jewellers, was still not open for business, though the forensics team had finally left. Inside the store, William Smythe, Sarah Green and Devi Patel were busily cleaning up the remaining traces of the robbery and murder.

William Smythe paused in the middle of sweeping the floor, when Helen and PC Jackson entered.

“Inspector, Constable,” he said, not overly happy to see either of them, “You’re back already?”

“We’re sorry to trouble you and your colleagues again…”,Helen said, perfectly polite, “…but we have new information about the case.”

“Do you know when I can have my merchandise back?” William Smythe demanded.

“I’m sorry, but not yet,” Helen said, still keeping her tone neutral and polite, “Unfortunately, your merchandise is still considered evidence for the time being. However, you will be pleased to hear that we identified the robber.”

William Smythe and the two women exchanged a significant glance.

“So you’ve got the guy who did this,” Sarah Green cautiously.

Helen shook her head. “No, Ms. Green, but we identified the man who was shot to death in your shop. His name was Rudy Billings and he had a history of petty theft. It also turns out that he has been staking out your shop for several days.”

All three of them needed a moment to digest that piece of information.

“But what about the other one, the one who shot the first robber?” Devi Patel finally asked.

“Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to identify the accomplice yet,” Helen said and couldn’t help but notice the little sighs of relief that William Smythe, Sarah Green and Devi Patel emitted.

“But then I don’t think we will ever identify the second robber,” Helen continued calmly, “Because there was no second robber.”

“What… what are you talking about?” William Smythe demanded. Sarah Green grew pale, while Devi Patel had to grab the edges of the counter for support.

Meanwhile, PC Jackson took up station at the door, blocking the way out in case of any escape attempts. Not that Helen expected any, but it always paid to be prepared.

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Helen said, “Footage taken by CCTV cameras on the street clearly shows that Rudy Billings was alone when he entered your store. There was no sign of any accomplice.”

“But there were two men,” Devi Patel insisted, “Two, not one.”

“Your CCTV is wrong,” William Smythe insisted, “Or maybe there was a blind spot or something. At any rate, there were two robbers. Definitely two.”

Helen shook her head. “There was only one robber. And I think we should really drop this pretence now. So will one of you tell me what really happened or shall I?”

There was no answer, just a defiant crossing of arms.

“All right, so here is what happened: Rudy Billings entered your shop at four PM sharp, dressed in a Father Christmas costume, that much is correct. Once inside the shop, he pulled a gun, threatened you and began to smash up counters and display cases. Again, that much is correct.”

The three still didn’t say anything, they just stared at Helen defiantly.

“While Ms. Green and Ms. Patel were filling Rudy Billings’ bag with your merchandise, you managed to grab hold of the pistol you keep under the counter, Mr. Smythe. You aimed it at Rudy Billings. Maybe you didn’t even intend to shoot him. Maybe you simply wanted to threaten him and get him to leave. But in the end, you did shoot him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” William Smythe said, “I don’t even own a gun.”

“And what about the pistol we found in your fireplace?” Helen asked.

“I told you before, that’s not mine,” William Smythe insisted, “It belonged to the second robber, the one who shot the first robber. He must have dropped it during his escape.”

“If the revolver really belonged to the second robber — a person for whose existence we have no evidence save your statements — then why is it listed as having been issued to Lieutenant William Alexander Smythe, your grandfather?”

William Smythe grew pale, so Helen decided to twist the knife just a little bit further.

“Yes, Mr. Smythe, we checked the serial number with the Ministry of Defence. They keep very accurate records.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” William Smythe snapped, “Even if the gun belonged to my grandfather once, it’s ancient. It could have gone through dozens of hands since then.”

“But it didn’t,” Helen countered, “The Ministry of Defence specifically noted that your grandfather failed to turn in his service revolver after his discharge from the army. Like I said, they keep very accurate records.”

William Smythe said nothing, he just glared at her.

“Your grandfather kept his service revolver after his discharge from the army and put it under the counter in his shop as a deterrent against thieves,” Helen continued, “And there the pistol lay unused and undisturbed for almost seventy years, until Rudy Billings walked into your shop today.”

“But then how did the pistol get halfway up the chimney, where your people found it?” Sarah Green demanded.

“Because you, Mr. Smythe, put it there along with the loot,” Helen said, “I suspect you panicked once Rudy Billings lay dead on the floor of your shop. So you tried to hide the murder weapon and the loot. After all, it would look strange if nothing had been stolen during the robbery. Besides, the insurance payment would probably have been welcome as well, given your current financial difficulties…”

William Smythe grew even paler. Apparently, he hadn’t expected the police to check his finances.

“So you hid the revolver and the loot in the chimney. I don’t know what inspired you to use the chimney as a hiding place. Maybe it was even Rudy Billings’ Father Christmas outfit. But that’s how you soiled your clothing, though I suspect forensics will also find traces of powder on your shirt and jacket…”

“I soiled my clothing while pursuing the second robber,” William Smythe insisted, “The second robber you are not even trying to find.”

“There was no second robber,” Helen said calmly, “That’s just a story you, Ms. Green and Ms. Patel came up with to cover up the fact that you had shot Rudy Billings with an unlicensed firearm.”

“You have no evidence,” William Smythe declared.

“On the contrary, I have all the evidence I need.”

Helen nodded to PC Jackson, who pulled out three sets of handcuffs.

“William Smythe, Sarah Green and Devi Patel, you are under arrest for owning an unlicensed firearm, making false statements, perverting the course of justice and the murder of Rudy Billings. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

The handcuffs snapped shut around the wrists of the three suspects. It was only a question which one of them broke down first and talked.

The winner was Sarah Green. “You can’t arrest me,” she snapped, “I didn’t do anything. It was William who shot the guy and William who forced me and Devi to back him up. We didn’t do anything.”

“We never meant for him to die,” Devi Patel added, “It was self-defence.”

Not to be left out, even William Smythe decided to talk at last. “This is a gross miscarriage of justice,” he insisted, “This Rudy whatever his name was robbed my store and threatened me and my staff with his gun. I only shot in self-defence, so why am I suddenly the villain in this piece?”

“He had a gun,” Devi Patel added, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, “It was so horrible.”

“The gun Rudy Billings used to threaten you was only a toy,” Helen said.

“Well, how on Earth was I supposed to know that?” William Smythe demanded, straining against his handcuffs, “It certainly looked real enough.”

“I have no doubt that you felt genuinely threatened by Rudy Billings,” Helen said, “And if you’d called the police at once after shooting him, you’d probably have gotten off with a rap on the knuckles about the unlicensed gun. But instead you decided to cover up your deeds and commit a bit of insurance fraud while you were at it. And that’s why you’re going down.”

She turned to PC Jackson. “Take them away, Constable.”

Once the three prisoners had been booked, accompanied by a lot of whining and crying and complaining, Helen returned to the office to write up her report.

The office was largely deserted, since everybody was either home with their families or out Christmas shopping. The emptiness was actually soothing, Helen thought. No idle chatter to distract her from the job at hand.

On her desk, there were two parcels, one bigger and one smaller, both wrapped in paper that would have been festive, if it hadn’t been covered in little Daleks and Tardises. There was also a note, composed in PC Walker’s primary school perfect handwriting.

Hi boss,

I got the Dancing Groot toy for Olivia and since you can’t have Groot without Rocket Raccoon, I got Rocket, too. Hope she likes them.

I also picked up an extra for you, boss. I know you tend to kill houseplants, but Groot is rather hardy. Merry Christmas, boss.

PS: He likes Michael Jackson.

In spite of herself, Helen smiled. She picked up the smaller of the two packages and tore open the wrapping paper (Daleks? Really?). Inside was a box containing a flower pot, from which sprouted a vaguely plantlike plastic thing with a very unplantlike grinning face. Apparently, it danced if you gave it a push or so the box claimed.

Helen opened the box and put the pot onto her desk.

“Michael Jackson, eh?” she said to the thing, not even feeling silly about talking to a plastic plant, “Well, we’ll have to work on that. Let’s see how you like the Sex Pistols. Or maybe we’ll better start with The Clash.”

The End