Death And The Art Of Pyramid Selling

by Rossi

Chapter Four: Many Meetings.

***

"So nice to meet you at last. I've heard so much about you."

The welcoming smile was all gloss and shine, but no substance, echoing the cold emptiness in the china blue eyes. Geraldine Markham reminded one of a doll in a display cabinet, or a child beauty queen, all artificial perfection and untouchability. Now she crossed the thickly maroon carpet (matched, of course, by the drapes and various other fittings in the tastefully opulent office) to where her guests stood. "Yes, indeed, it is truly a pleasure."

"Thank you." Sharon cleared her throat nervously, looking across at her best friend and fellow-Distributor-Of-The-Month, Carla. "Um, we were very surprised to get the invitation."

"Ah, but why should you be? Surely you realised that we would notice the wonderful job you do for our little enterprise?" Geraldine smiled again, and Carla shivered a little, unconsciously drawing a little closer to Sharon. There were too many teeth in that smile, shining white. The older woman looked... _hungry_. "It's only right your efforts should be recognised."

"Really, it's nothing to make a fuss about," Sharon said, resisting the urge to grab Carla's hand and get the hell out of there. "We _like_ working for Cottage Magic."

Carla nodded vigorous agreement. "And the networking is fun – you meet so many people."

If their words were meant to curb Geraldine's enthusiasm, they failed miserably. "_Exactly!_" she beamed, her smile increasing seemingly beyond the limits of human physiology. "That's exactly what this company needs, keen young blood. Which is why we asked you here for the All Districts Regional Meeting – seeing two young things like yourself go Gold will be _such_ an incentive to the others. Especially after Deborah Carvan's _dreadful_ 'accident'. Such a waste..." Geraldine plucked a fragment of lace-edged linen masquerading as a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes with it – meticulously avoiding smudging the layers of eyeliner and mascara encrusting her eyes. When she looked up again, there was no trace of tears in those eyes. "Unfortunately, there's a _teensy_ bit of paperwork to be done, to make things all official. You girls don't mind signing some things for me?"

Carla barely suppressed an eyeroll at Sharon. _Now_ they were on familiar ground – everywhere you turned, there was another form Cottage Magic wanted you to sign, in triplicate. Everything nice and proper. They followed Geraldine to the massive mahogany desk and what seemed to be a ream of forms.

"Nothing much," Geraldine said with another of those hungry smiles, and handed Sharon a pen. "Just where it's marked."

The ink was a thick, dark red, and Sharon looked at the pen inquiringly. "Are you sure this pen's okay? Most official documents insist on blue or black. Otherwise it's not legal." Her brother was a law clerk, and liked to drop these little details to show how clever he was. Sharon personally thought it showed what a prat he was. Glancing down at the papers again, she missed the brief hardening of Geraldine's doll-like mask, the venomous flash in her eyes.

"Of course it's legal, my _dear_ girl. It's just a little quirk of mine – colour co-ordination is _so_ important, as you _surely_ understand." With a flutter of her hands she indicated the decidedly red-themed room.

"Oh, yes, how silly of me." Sharon flushed, picking up the subtle admonition. So the old cow was hinting she didn't know how to co-ordinate, was she? She signed the papers marked for her signature, the pen digging into the thick creamy paper. "Here you go, Carla."

Carla took the pen as gingerly as if she'd been offered a snake or a spider. "I'm not sure..." she murmured, looking to Sharon for guidance, as she had done since their school days. "There's something strange here, Shar..." Unwilling to look a further fool in front of this creepy biddy, Sharon sighed with impatience.

"Don't be such a goose, Carla. It's just paperwork. What harm can signing your name do?" She nudged her friend closer to the desk. "Just do it, and then we can go back to our room and get ready for tomorrow, okay?" Carla hesitated a moment longer, but dreading the look of contempt she knew would soon appear on her best friend's face, it was only a moment. With fingers trembling slightly, she touched pen to paper.

"_Excellent_," Geraldine beamed at them, clasping her hands together in front of her ample chest. Her tongue flickered out briefly and wetted her lips, and Carla took a small, startled step backwards, a tiny, frightened squeak escaping her. "Now everything can proceed as planned. It shall be _such_ an event."

***

There was a crystal ball on the table.

Constantine didn't even bother masking the sneer of contempt on his face as their host busied herself making tea. "None of that herbal muck," Phil had warned her, and it seemed a wise caution to make – the place reeked of patchouli oil and incense and home-dried herbs, and there was no telling what 'healthy' concoction you'd end up with. Further examination of the tiny cottage's front room only confirmed Constantine's worst fears; crystals and dreamcatchers hung in the window, dolphins and whales cavorted in an impossibly-blue painted ocean in the poster above the mantelpiece, and pentagrams featured heavily in the upholstery pattern. There was even a unicorn collection. He turned a pained look to Phil.

"You've lost your sodding marbles, mate."

Phil's expression was palpably malicious. "What? I thought you'd feel right at home in a place like this. Right up your alley, ain't it, being a fellow-magician an' all."

Constantine snorted. "_Magician_? Phil, the most magic this bint could manage is making the money disappear from the wallets of the terminally gullible having a particularly stupid day."

"Sounds familiar. Remember what you were doing when I first... 'met' you? Rigging fruit machines, wasn't it?"

"That's not the same thing and you know it. Besides, it wasn't as if I did it on purpose. And I never got involved with all this..." Constantine waved his hand at the room. "All this _crap_. I'd be willing to bet money there's a shrine to the Mother Goddess somewhere in here."

"It's in the kitchen, actually. The feng shui was most auspicious there," came the smooth interjection. Copper and silver jewellery jangling slightly, the slim dark-haired woman placed a laden tea tray on the silk-covered coffee table and sat with a swish of scarves in the arm chair closest to it. "Please, do sit down, Mr Constantine. I can assure you, your wallet is safe with me, even if you do seem to be having a particularly stupid day."

Constantine merely smiled. It wasn't a particularly nasty smile, but something about it evaporated the witch's air of smugness. "So, Phil," he said again, "Why are we bothering with Glinda here?"

"Because sometimes you need to make the most of what resources are available to you," Phil replied, smoothly, cutting off 'Glinda's' retort with a small shushing gesture. "And Jessica here has done quite a lot already. A lot of the information we have comes from her."

"I do my best, Uncle Phil," Jessica said, blushing slightly. She wasn't above giving Constantine a small smirk. 'See?' her expression seemed to say, 'I'm not as useless as you would think.'

"'Uncle'?" Constantine gave Phil an amused look.

"Yeah, she's Marjorie's niece. When Chrissie was killed, it was Jessica that found out that Cottage Magic mob had something t' do with it."

"It's in the cosmetics – the herbal compound they use weakens the will, opens the subject up to suggestion. Mixed with the usual pyramid-scheme dogma, it's a very powerful combination. People start off as occasional customers, and before they know it, they're so far in it's almost impossible to get out."

"An' so they top themselves?" Constantine's brow furrowed in thought. "Nah, there's something missing here. Why go to all that trouble just to sell cosmetics?"

"It's a fairly big operation, John," Phil pointed out. "Quite a bit of dosh involved. Some people will do pretty much anything when there's large amounts of money to be made."

"You're still thinking like a plod, mate. The kind of magic involved... there's got to be some other kind of reward. Something else to gain." He dug through his pockets for a cigarette and lit up, ignoring Jessica's frown. "Helps me think," he told her. "Problem is, we need more info, someone on the inside."

"Not an easy job, mate," Phil told him, sipping at his tea. "They're paranoid, this lot. They're pretty well up on the security side of things. It'd be possible to sneak someone in, but we'd need a couple of things – a willing body and a distraction."

"I might be able to help there, Uncle Phil," Jessica cut in. "Seeing how neither of you fit the Cottage Magic profile, I could go in..."

"No go," Phil cut in before Constantine could. The magician gave the former policeman a puzzled look.

"Why not? Seems to me she's perfect. Look right proper in one of those little pink suits."

"They know her face – we've already tried going in once, remember?" Jessica made a dismissive gesture.

"Yes, but I could easily cast a glamour..."

"And have this lot sniff you out in five minutes, I don't think so," Constantine jeered. "The calibre of craft they've used on this whole thing, I doubt they'd miss you and your little spells. An' not everything's about magic, my girl – the sooner you learn not to use it, the better off you'll be."

"What about the distraction? You said you could help with that?" Phil's interruption neatly forestalled a debate on the ethics of magic.

"There's a big gathering, some kind of morale boosting exercise. I think the sheep are getting nervous, what with the deaths recently, and so the big bosses are putting on a party for them at the Big House," said Jessica. "I thought with so many people on the site, it might be a good time for someone to slip in unnoticed."

"Not a bad idea, love," Phil beamed. "How did you find that out?"

"The mystic arts allow me to know a great many things..." Jessica began, but caught Constantine's mocking expression and sighed. "Fine. Auntie Marjorie told me. She has a friend whose daughter works for a local catering firm, and was telling her all about it at the shops a few days ago. She told me when I went around yesterday for morning tea."

"Nothing like local knowledge." With a grunt Phil levered himself up from the chair he'd been sitting in. "Well, that's the distraction covered, but who are we going to send in? Not Marjorie – besides the fact I wouldn't ask her to put herself in danger, she'd forget where she was and start blabbing about everything like she was at her book club meeting."

"Don't you worry, Phil, old mate. I think I've got a candidate for you. Just the right type, level-headed, and, if I've got her pegged right, she'll jump at the chance to get closer to this whole mess." The smirk was positively indecent in its glee. "And you're going to owe me big time for this one."

"When don't I?" Phil asked rhetorically as he followed Constantine out of Jessica's small cottage. "Bye, love, thanks for the tea."

Jessica waved from her doorway, wind whipping at her flowing skirts and loose hair. "You're welcome, Uncle. Don't let that smug git take advantage, you hear?" she called back, heedless of whether Constantine heard her.

He did. "I could say the same myself, love. Keep that kid out of this – she's too young to be getting mixed up in this shit."

"But..." Jessica began.

"Don't give me that guff about natural talent and being able to handle it. You're not much more than a child yourself, and you've got absolutely no idea what you're fucking around with. Stay away from Phil's grandkiddy. Or you'll have to answer to me." With that, Constantine led the way back across the wind-swept hillside.

***

Michaela lay her cosmetics kit on the top of the pile of clothing in her suitcase and closed the lid, snapping the clasps with a little more vim than necessary. Lips pressed into a thin line, she lifted the small case from the bed and set it by the door. Two weeks, lost. Months of investigation, wasted. And all because of her idiotic weakness for a bit of playtime in the shape of a tumble with some shifty bloke in a ratty trench coat. She wasn't sure who she was angrier with, herself or that highly irritating man she'd had the misfortune to meet. Obviously she couldn't stay in this town, not after the scene he'd made, not without her every move noted and discussed over shop counters and over tea tables the length and breadth of the place. And sooner or later, word would get to her quarry, and then the game would be well and truly up.

Just as she was scooping up the pile of case files (that had taken her the good part of a day to re-arrange, after their demolition by her 'guest' – she really was going to have to bring this problem of hers up at her next session...), there was a knock on the door. Not the polite genteel tapping of her landlady, or the ponderous slow thud of that worthy's husband, but a confident, almost arrogant, rapping.

"Yes?" she asked, opening the door just slightly ajar – she still had case files spread all over the bed.

The bad news from the night before grinned at her. "Hello, love."

"Fuck off," she replied, and tried to slam the door in his face. Instead she managed to slam it on the foot that suddenly appeared in the gap. "I mean it, you shit. Fuck off or I really will call the police this time."

"No need, love. I brought my own." Michaela opened the door slightly wider, and Constantine's faced was joined by another, older and far more familiar. And no more welcome for all that.

"Shit. Kingston."

"Guv? What the hell are you doing here?" Phil seemed totally shocked to see her, which was good. Obviously her cover hadn't been completely blown – yet.

"Now, then love, are you going to invite us in, or do we have to conduct business in the corridor? No skin off my nose, either way, but you might feel the locals have had enough entertainment at your expense already." That infuriating grin still in place, Constantine pushed the door wider open, and she reluctantly let him. Best to see what the cocky little bastard wanted. And he was right – the locals had seen more than enough already.

"Fine," she said flatly. "Help yourself." The files didn't matter with these two – Constantine had already gotten his sticky fingers all over them and their exposure to Kingston might actually be a help rather than a hindrance to her task.

"What the hell are you doing here, guv?" Kingston repeated. His retirement had vanished from his mind, and he fell easily back into the old terms. They'd never really gotten on – he was firmly of the old school of policing, whilst she was one of the bright young stars, university trained and groomed for command – but there had been a degree of grudging respect there. Michaela had been sorry to see him go after the cock-up with the paedophile deaths, but relieved at the same time. If he proved an obstacle to her case, she'd go right through him, respect or not.

"Thought I'd take the country air," she told him blandly, and he frowned, brow furrowing even further and adding to the years already stacked up on his face. He'd aged, badly, in the time he'd been rotting up here. Then he caught sight of the case files, and the frown became concentrated.

"You're after the Cottage Magic mob?" he asked. Before she could answer, Constantine piped up from where he was sitting in the small room's only chair, feet propped up on the tiny dresser.

"She's been doing a bit of extracurricular work, haven't you, love?"

Michaela ignored the suggestive tone and the leer, but it was not lost on Kingston. He gave Constantine a half-amused, half-disgusted look. "Figures." His gaze focussed back on Michaela. "So, I wouldn't be wrong in thinking it was you who found out my source at the Met?"

She allowed herself a small satisfied smile. "Barton got sloppy and left some papers in the photocopier. I got curious about what he was up to, and did a bit of digging on my own. You'd be surprised what I came up with."

"Yeah, well, you've got all the resources, haven't you? I've been doing it DIY up here." Kingston lowered himself slowly onto the bed, clearing a space first. He shuffled through the files, reading the names embossed on the covers. "This many? They've gotten at this many?"

"Cottage Magic has a wide reach, yes," she told him dispassionately. "As pyramid schemes go, it's pretty successful."

"Expect for the nasty habit of offing the odd Avon lady," cut in Constantine. Michaela gave him an irritated look, but swallowed the emotion in favour of keeping things professional. Especially after the... unprofessionalism of the night before.

"You said something about business?" she asked him crisply.

"What would you say to the opportunity of getting a better look at this crew?"

"Go on."

"We need someone on the plot, someone who can go undercover," Kingston elaborated.

"And you thought of me? No guesses whose idea it was." Michaela said slightly sourly. She tapped her chin with her forefinger, appearing to ponder the offer, even though her mind was already made up. "And obviously it's dangerous, or you'd have used someone else, someone closer to that extended family you have up here, Kingston." He made no move to contradict her, and she nodded. That was the thing about Phil Kingston, he wasn't one to try and sugar coat things. "All right, you've got yourself a cosmetics salesperson. When and how?"

***

Geraldine sat back in her plush maroon desk chair, careful not to let the phone receiver pressed to her ear disarray her hair.

"So, they've finally decided to stop skulking in the background and make a move, have they? How interesting." She paused, listening to the person on the other end of the line. "A new player, you say? Goes by the name of John Constantine?" Geraldine's face sharpened, became more predatory. The expression that crossed her features could have been one of anticipation, or possibly alarm. It was hard to tell, beneath the masking foundation. "Describe him."

The tinny squeak of the voice on the other end of the line went on for some time, getting somewhat animated and punctuated by Geraldine's "uh-huhs" and "hmm-hmms". When at last the voice stopped (or possibly paused for breath), the make-up mogul cut in. "This man is not entirely unknown to us. In fact, we have found him to be something of an... irritation in the past." A chuckle. "Yes, he is an annoying little insect, isn't he? You did well – I'll handle it from now on. No sense showing all our cards just yet; you might be useful later. I'll be in touch."

Hanging up, Geraldine pondered for a moment, tapping a perfectly-painted nail against her chin. Then she came to a decision, and pressed a button on her intercom. "Sally? Send Elaine in, will you?"

"Certainly," came the reply, only slightly distorted. Geraldine had wanted everything state-of-the-art, and that hadn't come cheaply, but it was worth it. Besides, money wasn't exactly a factor, at this stage of the game.

The door opened, admitting a woman who could have been Geraldine's younger sister, right down to the mask-like make up. "You summoned?"

Geraldine smiled, not even attempting to mask the teeth. They gleamed in the dim light, long and sharp. "I need you to fetch something for me. It's time our errant ex-police officer discovered what he's up against. First hand."

Elaine's answering smile was no less toothy. "Who? The wife or the grand-daughters?"

"Grand-daughter, I think. Children are so much more... portable. The bigger one."

There was the slightest hint of a pout on Elaine's face. "Not the little one? She's so _delicious_, I could just eat her up."

"Which is precisely why I'm sending you for the other – I need a hostage, not a snack." Seeing Elaine subside into mutinous obedience, Geraldine smiled again. "And besides, you can always have her later. Once I'm finished with her. As a treat."

Elaine's eyes gleamed red. "You're too good to me, mother."

[next part]

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