Deadvent Calendar - December 11th
The detectives go to a meeting. And a pre-meeting. And a de-brief. Mind you, it’s possibly a good thing none of these people get anything done.
Deadvent Calendar is a seasonal murder mystery told in 24 crimes. It follows the adventure of amateur detective Shilo Coombes and his companion as they try and unravel a sinister plot to murder the unChristmassy - a plot that doesn’t seem very Christmassy itself.
Death by a thousand cuts.
Ms Margaret Sangster, junior minister, inveterate haunter of tabloids, crusader against what she called ‘waste’ and ‘scroungers’, whose Christmas had apparently been made by being able to announce gleeful social service cuts at the beginning of the month, found stark naked, trussed up with string, slathered in fat and left out for the birds. At least she finally did something to provide joy and sustenance to overlooked, poor and needy. Even if they were just sparrows.
December 11th
I finally persuaded Shilo to give up the search for the Deliveroo rider and let me go home to bed through the time honoured negotiation tactic of falling to my knees and weeping on Liverpool Street Station concourse.
I woke early the next day to find a note from Shilo saying he had gone out to watch the old factory again, because he likes playing detective more than he likes central heating, but there was something still niggling in the back of my mind about the building we had the mysterious rider had been outside of the previous morning. There was something I had seen, as Shilo would have put it, but not observed. And so back to the City of London.
I stood on the pavement opposite not quite believing what I was finally observing: the name of the building. North Pole House.
I was beginning to doubt the genius part of ‘mad genius’. I called Shilo. He sounded damp and cold.
“Come here,” I said, “I think you’ll like it.” I went inside.
Inside a security guard sat at a reception desk. Behind him was a perspex board listing the companies inside. Slapped over floors three and four was a sticker reading ‘The Krampus Agency’.
Definitely more the ‘mad’ part, I thought.
“I’m just waiting for a colleague,” I said to guard, “We’ve got a meeting with Krampus.”
He gave me a little paper badge with my name spelt wrongly on it and I went to sit on a cracked leather sofa and waited.
Young people with facial hair and over-sized glasses drifted past, flashing passes at the guard. Men in too large hoodies and too expensive trainers, women in violent print dresses and tablets peeking out of their handbags. Shilo sloped in looking somewhat less than shevelled and the security, with some misgivings, let them know we were here.
“Let who know?” asked Shilo.
“I guess we’ll find out,” I said.
A young man with the fresh complexion and neatly pressed jeans of a public school boy advanced on us across the lobby.
“Hi,” he said, “Tom, great to see you, thanks for coming in.”
“Al,” I said, “This is Shilo.”
“Super,” said Tom, leading us to the lifts, “Great. Really terrific, you’re just in time, actually - we were just about to have a little huddle, get our ducks in a row before the meeting.”
Krampus’ reception area had a huge artificial Christmas tree in it and perky corporate ukulele versions of Christmas songs were playing softly.
“Tim and Penelope are in the kitchen area,” said Tom, negotiating us past the tree, “Mallory and Tesh are going to drop in for a little pre-meeting. Amelie can’t be in the actual meeting but Todd will bring her up to speed on everything. Coffee?”
Four more people in various kinds of dress down were making anodyne chit chat at a bar were a barista was trying to hide from them behind clouds of steam.
“Great,” said Tom, “Super, so Tim, Tesh, Mallory, Penelope, this is Al and…”
“Shilo,” said Shilo.
“Shilo,” said Tom.
“Great name,” said either Penelope or Mallory.
“Yeah, great name,” said either Tim or Tesh. Or possibly Tom.
“So I thought it was worth just getting our heads together before the meeting, just to make sure we were all happy with the agenda,” said Tom.
“Great idea,” said either Tesh or Tim. “Absolutely,” said either Mallory or Penelope.
“So I thought we’d kick off, basically, with introductions,” said Tom, “As is traditional,” and he smiled to show that this was a sort of joke, “Then, basically, run through where we are, as a kind of update thing, so we can then do actions, basically, to take away.”
“Introductions, absolutely,” said the one I resolved was a sort of Penelope.
“Updates, great idea,” said probably Tim.
“Actions,” said Mallory.
“Makes sense,” said Tesh.
“What actions?” whispered Shilo, “What are they talking about? Is this some kind of exercise thing? Calisthenics?”
“Super,” said Tim, “I think I booked a room, but who knows, right?”
“Who knows,” said everyone, “Room booking. Right. Total nightmare.”
There was a plate of biscuits in the centre of the table that Shilo immediately commandeered for himself while everyone else passed out yet more coffee and tried to figure out where they were sitting.
Just as we were settling another clean cut young man pushed open the door, followed by bustling woman with biros stuck in her bun.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, knocking over a coffee cup.
“No worries,” said Tom, “We were only just starting.”
“Great,” said the woman, sitting down and waving at me like she knew me, “Hi. Super.”
“So I thought we’d kick off, basically, with introductions,” said Tom, who was evidently determined to stick to his very carefully hashed out agenda, “So I’m Tom, obviously.”
“Obviously,” said everyone.
“So from our side we’ve got Tim, Tesh, Ted, Persephone, Penelope and Mallory, and then we’re joined today by Al and…”
“Shilo,” said Shilo.
“Great name,” said Persephone.
“Isn’t it?” said Mallory.
“So, great,” said Tom, “Updates - Tesh, I don’t if you want to start?”
“Well,” said Tesh, “I think that Tim knows more about this than I do, but…”
“Well,” started Tim.
“Oh, you go on,” said Tesh.
“No you,” said Tim, “It’s fine.”
“Honestly,” said Tesh.
“Well,” said Tim, “Basically…”
“Basically we’re on track,” said Tesh, “Wouldn’t you say, by the timeline?”
“By the timeline,” said Tim, nodding, “We’re on track.”
“Great,” said Tom, “Persephone?”
“Well,” said Persephone, the biros in her hair gradually working themselves loose as she spoke, “We’ve finalised Phase 2 of the SOW, which I know you’ll be glad to hear, Mallory.”
“Yay,” said Mallory. Ted started clapping, then, realising no one else was, stopped again.
“And I know Penelope has been doing some preliminary outlining on Phase 3,” said Persephone, “So we should be good to go next week.”
“Monday?” said Mallory.
“Next monday?” said Persephone, “Not last Monday? Yes.”
“Terrific,” said Tom, “So, actions.” Shilo stiffened in his chair.
“Well, I guess for us,” said Persephone, making a circling motion, “It’s Phase 3 on Monday.” “Then we can push ahead with the scoping for Phase 4,” said Tim.
“And Mallory can start the wrap-up on Phase 2,” said Tom.
“Yay,” said Mallory. It was hard to tell whether she meant it.
“Great stuff, everyone,” said Tom, “Thanks, so much. Guys,” he said, turning to Tim and Tesh, “Quick debrief?”
“Mind if I sit in?” said Persephone as we followed Tom out.
“Not at all,” said Tom, “Just by the whiteboards,” and then to us, “You guys alright to stick around for a quick strategy debrief?”
“Sure,” I said, curious to find out what one of those might be.
“What the hell is going on?” hissed Shilo at me, “What are these people talking about?”
“I have no idea,” I said, “But if it’s any comfort, I don’t think they do, either.”
Tom led us to a little niche full of soft furnishings. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with whiteboards on which people had been drawing diagrams full of circles and arrows and writing words like ‘synergy’ and ‘cross-platform communication’.
Three people were already sitting on the sofas, staring at the whiteboards in contemplative silence.
“Bethany, Emory, Todd,” said Tom, “Tim, Tesh, Persephone and I are just going to have a little debrief from the meeting, probably helpful if you overhear, actually. This is Al and…”
“Shilo,” said Shilo.
“Great name,” said Todd.
“You guys don’t mind if these guys listen in, do you?” said Tom, but I wasn’t listening. I was staring at the central whiteboard, and not in quiet contemplation. In astonishment.
Someone had stuck pictures of people all over it. Headshots of apparently random members of the public. Only they weren’t random. I recognised them. Rammage, the man electrocuted by the Christmas tree, Constantinou, the man exploded by the cracker. The woman who fell from the roof of a house, the man decapitated by the sleigh. They were all there. Everyone of the Christmas murder victims was there. Under each picture was written the name of the victim and, at the top of the board in big red capital letters, were the words ‘HIT LIST’.
“Oh,” said Shilo, “That’s what they’re talking about.”