MAGGIE MADDISON ON THE CASE A Criminally Good Christmas
Baby Jesus is being held to ransom! Can Maggie find the cathedral thief in time to enjoy her romantic break?
Snow on December the fifteenth, deep and crisp. Maggie found herself humming an earworm of a carol as she walked the High Street picking up the few last presents she needed.
Half of her was madly excited about Christmas this year, only the other half was terrified. She was going to be spending three whole days with Lance Ryan. Unusually for a firefighter, he’d been given leave from Christmas Eve through to Boxing Day.
She was used to being on call over Christmas too, but now her nursing days were over, she was her own mistress. All her private investigations were finished or on pause until after the holidays. She could dedicate herself to cooking, wrapping gifts and taking long walks by the river in Winchester. She loved winter.
She just hoped it hadn’t been a mistake, agreeing to spend the holidays with
Lance. It had been a long time since she was in a relationship. She’d lost someone she loved very much, a few years earlier. The prospect of falling in love again was tantalising and troubling in equal measure.
Her mobile rang as she passed the Buttercross monument. She paused beneath a shop awning to take the call. “Maggie Maddison,” she said breezily. “Hello, this is Heidi Jessup. I’m the media and communications officer from Winchester Cathedral. I understand you can handle problems… discreetly?”
“That’s right. How can I help?”
“If you’re free now, could you meet me in the Cathedral? We have a situation.”
“I’m two minutes away. See you by the front entrance,” Maggie said.
Heidi Jessup was waiting as Maggie walked up, easy to spot in her neat suit without a coat.
“Come to the Lady Chapel,” Heidi said. “There’s something I want you to see.”
At the end of the chapel, in a wooden makeshift stable, the Nativity scene was softly lit, exuding peace and love.
“It’s beautiful,” Maggie said.
“It should be,” Heidi replied. “The figures are Italian marble, each about a foot tall, and over a hundred and fifty years old. Priceless and irreplaceable. They’re placed in here as a matter of trust and history. We do ask that no one crosses the barrier or touches them, and we have staff patrolling constantly. Take a closer look at the baby Jesus. Feel free to enter the restricted area.”
Maggie passed the ornamental rope and peeked at the figure in the crib. Only a tiny part of his face was showing – and on closer inspection it appeared to be plastic. “Is that a doll?” she whispered to Heidi. Heidi nodded and sighed.
“A police complaint would attract publicity and we don’t want that. It’ll detract from the meaning of Christmas and the work we do here. The problem is that the baby Jesus is being held to ransom. We need to get him back.”
On her desk, Maggie had a plan of the Cathedral and the passwords that would allow her access to the security footage. In addition, Heidi had emailed her a copy of the ransom note and details for a payment to be made.
We have your Jesus figure, the emailed ransom note said. Pay £20,000 in Bitcoin by December 20 at noon if you want him back. Some of your congregation should be able to help. Account details below.
Attached was a photo of the marble statuette on a brown leather seat, a variety of detritus around it, but unharmed.
The carving had disappeared on either the twelfth or thirteenth. Prior to that, a journalist had been in to write an article about it and taken clear photos of the genuine object. The theft was discovered late on the thirteenth when a member of staff had stepped over the rope to remove a blob of chewing gum from the floor of the chapel and realised a crime had been committed. The ransom demand had been received the following morning.
Maggie checked the address from which the email had been sent. It was a jumble of numbers and letters, and would have been sent via a router that had it pinging through thousands of computers across the world to make it untraceable.
Bitcoin. That was clever. No need for suspicious visits to the bank. No publicity. No concerns about sequential bank note numbers. This indicated a kidnapper with advanced computer skills – no ordinary thief, and not an easy crime to solve.
Her next three days were spent reviewing CCTV footage from the entrances and exits to the Cathedral, as well as areas such as the gift shop and donations box. There was no coverage of the Lady Chapel though, and the hours Maggie spent watching the various comings and goings were fruitless.
The article written by the journalist shortly before the statue’s disappearance didn’t help. Before its publication there were relatively few people who might have realised the value of the Nativity figures. Thereafter, it would have become a target for anyone seeking extra cash in the most expensive season of the year.
Taking a more proactive approach, Maggie went back to the Cathedral with Heidi’s permission, and interviewed members of the staff and clergy. No one had seen anything. There was an uncomfortable conversation with Heidi while Maggie ascertained if every staff member’s references and criminal records had been checked, but they were all in impeccable order.
The one thing that occurred to Maggie was the Cathedral building itself. Late at night on December the eighteenth, as the Cathedral was closing, Maggie hid herself away in a corner and waited to see how good the security checks were.
Footsteps came and went, security did what they’d been trained to do… but if you were determined and sly enough, you could certainly hide yourself as the Cathedral was being locked up.
Maggie phoned Heidi and asked her to unlock the doors and let her out.
“I get it,” Heidi said. “All security systems have flaws. But why get yourself locked in? Surely that’s more risky than trying to sneak the statue out.”
“That wasn’t really the point,” Maggie explained. “If I can hide myself, then someone could easily have hidden the statuette overnight, as well as the doll it was swapped for. Keeping the marble carving in the Cathedral until it was safe to remove – maybe when the place was very crowded or security were distracted – would have been sensible.”
“We’re still looking for a needle in a haystack,” Heidi said. “I’ll have to go to plan B. We’ll pay the ransom. We’ve approached our donors, many of whom have expressed a willingness to help, and all of whom will get a tax advantage from making a charitable donation to the Cathedral. We’ve been honest with them about what’s happened.”
“I have to advise you not to do that. There may not be a life at risk, but if you comply once with these sorts of demands, you’re leaving the door open to be blackmailed again in the future.”
“We know that, but these figures come as a set. When one is missing – particularly this piece – they’re worthless. More importantly, there’s the historical value and religious significance. Honestly, the price that’s been asked is low in the circumstances. I suppose we’re slightly taken aback that we weren’t told to pay more. It’s as if whoever is responsible has no real concept of the value, or what we might have been willing to pay.”
“Small mercies,” Maggie said. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to help.”
“Surely getting locked in is more risky than sneaking the statue out”
Midnight on December the twentieth came and went. Heidi notified Maggie that the statuette had been left in a shoebox next to the donation box. Given the foot traffic to the Christmas market, identifying who had left it was an impossible task.
Lance and Maggie wandered around the stalls, drinking steaming mulled wine and eating roasted chestnuts from tiny boxes. Choir boys skated on the central ice rink, crimson robes flowing. The air smelled of cinnamon and frost. It was pure magic – until Maggie realised where
she’d seen the colour of the robes before. It wasn’t in the choir stalls.
“I need to get home,” she told Lance. “Fancy a pre-Christmas take-away? I feel like dim sum before turkey season.”
Back at her flat, while Lance dished up dumplings and duck pancakes, Maggie checked the image of the stolen statuette.
“Something wrong?” Lance asked, peering over her shoulder.
“Only a hunch. Nothing that can be done about it tonight though. Let’s eat.”
The next morning, Maggie revisited the Cathedral. The choir was practising for its punishing Christmas service schedule, and the usual hush of the ancient building had been replaced with an excited buzz. A news crew was outside the front doors, members of the public crowding round. Maggie went to watch.
“So all in all,” the presenter was saying to camera, “Winchester’s charities have benefited to the tune of thousands of pounds worth of goods. Sleeping bags and clothes for homeless shelters, supplies for soup kitchens, presents delivered to the children’s home and hospices, as well as supplies for families escaping domestic violence delivered to local safe houses.
Receipts were sent with all the goods, totalling exactly twenty thousand pounds. All from an anonymous donor. Now that really is what Christmas is all about.”
Maggie sighed. She had a difficult decision to make.
She’d provided nursing services to the choir school for years; getting access to speak to the staff wasn’t a problem. The issue was finding the boys responsible.
The house master walked the halls with her, passing the time as Maggie cast sidelong looks into dorm rooms under the pretence of needing help with a social media issue. Finally, she saw what she was looking for in a common room.
The Hood Project, the title read. Which team can come up with an effective way to redistribute wealth and help the most people? This will be our Advent countdown. Post photos and reports here.
There was a scheme that approached local supermarkets to distribute food that was nearly out of date, another that had used restaurants’ end-of-day leftovers, others that collected unwanted clothing from school parents. All good causes. But Maggie knew there was one scheme that had been grander and more successful than all the rest, and much less legal.
“So as I was explaining – if I had a computer problem,” Maggie said,
“something really technical, is there one particular boy here who might help?”
“Ah yes,” the housemaster said. “Danny Yates is your boy. He’s a genius. Heading straight out to work for Google when he’s done here, no doubt.”
“That’s impressive. Could you introduce me to Danny?”
The housemaster led the way. Danny was chatting with friends. They all stood as she entered, offering to leave.
“Actually, anyone who was on Danny’s team for the Hood Project can stay,” she said quietly. “I’ll need to speak to you all.”
There were several blushes and a few panicked looks. Five boys sat back down.
“How did you find us?” Danny asked, the least perturbed of them all.
“The photo you sent had a flash of one of your robes in the corner. It also had the edge of a pack of chewing gum. The cleaner who realised the baby had been swapped crossed the rope to get chewing gum off the chapel floor.
“And it had to be someone on the inside who could hide the doll and make the swap after the public had left. I guess there’s plenty of room beneath the choir stalls. And the request for payment in Bitcoin indicated blackmailers of a certain age. It was rather impressive.”
“You can’t prove it,” Danny said.
“Nor do I want to,” Maggie replied. “Your actions were misguided. They may have been well-intentioned, untraceable even, but you still broke the law. You all have successful careers ahead of you and you don’t want criminal records.”
“But we didn’t take a penny for ourselves,” another boy said.
“Quiet,” Danny told him. “The point is that plenty of people around here have the money to help others. It’s just a piece of marble. Human beings matter more.”
“They do. If I were handing out awards for embodying the spirit of Christmas, you’d all be top of the list. But charity should be freely given, not under threat.” “What will you do?” Danny asked. Maggie folded her arms. “I’ll go home to enjoy my Christmas. I’ll assure myself you’ve learned your lesson. You’ve made a lot of people happier and safer. But don’t ever pull a stunt like that again.”
Maggie relaxed on the sofa in Lance’s arms and closed her eyes. “You’re thoughtful,” he said.
“Just contemplating the thin line between right and wrong,” she said. “I’m glad I didn’t get paid for my work with Winchester Cathedral. It would have put me in a difficult position.”
“How so?”
“Ah, if I told you that, I’d have to throw you out and never speak to you again.”
“Then don’t say a word,” he replied. “It’s taken me long enough to get you to trust me. I’m not going to mess it up now.”
“I’m looking forward to Christmas,” Maggie said. “More than for a long time.”
“Me too,” Lance said. He looked down at her, pushing a long curl away from her face before kissing her slowly and gently.
“I hope this is the first of many Christmases together, Maggie Maddison. You’re an extraordinary woman. Difficult, sarcastic, independent to a fault…”
“Hey!” Maggie laughed.
“And I wouldn’t have you any other way,” he finished. “Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas, Lance,” she said. And that time, she kissed him.
There were several blushes, afew panicked looks. Five boys sat down
NEXT MONTH More exciting action and adventure with our sleuth Maggie Maddison.
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