The Mayor's Abduction

by Noah Alexander

  “No, nothing much,” said Maya, “Can you tell me what time it is?” she asked.

  “I am sorry madam,” said Khudabaksh taking out a gold chain from his trouser pocket, “I think I lost my watch while latching the horses today. I hope to find it in the barn at my house. You can imagine how difficult it is for a cabman to keep reservations without the aid of a watch.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry,” said Maya handing him the watch, “I found it for you.”

  Khudabaksh examined the watch and was visibly pleased at having it back, before realizing the implications of Maya’s discovery.

  “I thought you left home from here on the road. What then is your watch doing in the wilderness?”

  “I….I don’t know, madam. I agree it is quite strange.”

  “Until you suddenly remember something else that you need to tell me about this whole affair, I think it is time that we go to the Sophia Gaol so that I can ask the Longstaffs to interrogate you.”

  “But why madam?” said Khudabaksh acting like he was the most honest man in Cardim.

  “You know why,” snapped Maya, “Don’t try to fool me, I can see through your lies. Tell me what have you done to Kerry?”

  Khudabaksh began to sweat profusely.

  “No madam, no,” he said jumping off the cab and joining his hands in surrender, “Pardon me for lying but I did not do anything to the girl, it was that man. The bald man. He shot her.”

  “Shot her? Who?”

  “I don’t know about the man,” said Khudabaksh, his hand still folded, “I lied to you earlier because I did not want to get involved in this affair. But I am not lying now. Trust me. Kerry madam disembarked from the cab here and went to the trail that I pointed. I turned the horses to make my way back, but then curiosity took the better of me. I was just interested to see what brought the young girl here. Actually, let me confess, she was a pretty girl and I thought she was here on business, you know what I mean, so I thought why not warm my eyes for a bit. It’s a lonely job, driving cabs around, and a little bit of entertainment is what I was after. So I walked over that same trail and I stopped a few yards from the clearing where the girl was standing. I hid behind a shrub and it was too dark for the girl to see me here. She paced up and down that clearing for 5 minutes and I got so tired of just sitting there that for a moment I considered leaving. But then a man made an entrance. He actually walked just past me. I could not see him clearly but, in the moonlight, I could make out that he had no hair upon his hatless head. I figured that he must be the girl’s client, but that wasn’t the case. The two talked for a few moments and suddenly a scuffle broke out, the two shouted at each other and just as I was planning to go and help the girl, I heard a gunshot and the girl dropped to the ground. She was dead.

  The sound of the gun scared me out of my wits and I didn’t know anything better to do than run. I made my way to my cab and didn’t look back.”

  Maya scratched her head. A gunshot? Had Kerry been killed by the bald man? But then where was the body?

  She turned back towards the trail, if there had been a shooting in the clearing, there were bound to be more clues.

  NINE

  The Dragon Cartel

  “Mrs. Sinclair,” said Leonard Rostum getting up from the sofa in the living room of the mayor’s residence, as Amina Sinclair entered the room. The director had kept interviewing the mayor’s wife for the end of the day, partly to let the woman overcome the shock of her husband’s kidnapping and partly because he wanted to be very clear in his head while talking to the first lady of Cardim.

  He took her hand and gave it a peck. “I am sorry to have to trouble you,” said Leonard trying to sound honest, “I understand fully the duress that the disappearance of your husband has caused you. But it is necessary for me to ask a few questions from you, they would aid a great deal in the investigation.”

  Amina Sinclair nodded understandably. She was a pale, thin lady with a tall frame and long silver hair which she had tied in a loose bun upon her head. Her face had the freckles of a lifetime of worry and her eyes were swollen and red from grief. She adjusted her pale grey dress and took up a Bergere armchair in front of Director Rostum. On the right side of the chair, on a small circular table, was a collection of glass vials and bottles filled with multicolored pills and tinctures. Amina Sinclair was known to be frail of health and survived on a daily dose of medicines.

  “You can ask whatever you want, director,” she said slowly and with effort, “but please find Norman. Every passing hour in his absence makes me wearier. I don’t think my sick body would be able to bear this torment for long.”

  She took a handkerchief and wiped a forlorn drop of tear which had rolled down from the corner of her left eye.

  “I am trying my best, Mrs. Sinclair,” said Leonard, “But I need you to be brave. I’ll be quick about this, but you’ll have to tell me if at any point you feel a need for rest and we will break for the day.”

  Amina nodded.

  “Is there anything that you want to tell me about this incident,” asked Leonard Rostum taking out his notepad. He had gotten rid of his assistant for the meeting with the mayor’s wife. He thought it better to keep the meeting as private as possible, “Anything at all. If you saw something suspicious in the last few days, or if you have any idea about who could have done it. Anything that you think might be related to this affair?”

  Amina Sinclair moved her dull brown eyes away from the director and focused them on the crimson Persian rug which covered the living room floor.

  “I cannot seem to think of anything which gave me any hint of what was to come,” she said after some time, almost disappointed at having remembered nothing to help the director, “I usually leave Norman alone during the day. More so during the last month as he was busy in his election campaign. I saw very little of him during this time, he kept mostly in his office, or out on the road campaigning. I am sorry but I don’t think I know anything which might help you in this incident.”

  “No worries, Mrs. Sinclair,” said Leonard scribbling in his notepad. He realized that employing a secretary to do all the writing for him, had made him rather slow in taking notes.

  “Did you witness any changes in the mayor’s behavior over the last week or so, which might indicate that something was on his mind or was troubling him?”

  “Frankly speaking, director, I always get that impression with Norman. He keeps himself busy in politics and his duties as a mayor, so there is always something on his mind which weighs it down, makes him broody or twitchy, or even irritable. But he keeps these from me, knowing how frail of health I already am, he rightly believes that I could do without all the daily troubles that he faces. But having said that, I don’t think I found him any more troubled than usual whenever I saw him during the last few days.”

  Leonard nodded. This interview wasn’t going as he had planned. He had expected to find at least a few leads worth pursuing, but it seemed like the secretaries and assistants of the mayor knew a great deal more about him than his wife. “All right, Mrs. Sinclair…”

  The door to the living room suddenly burst open and a young Greycoat strode in confidently towards Leonard, his face betraying a distinct feeling of triumph. But his appearance greatly upset the director who had specifically asked two men on the door to not let anyone in till he had finished his interview with Amina Sinclair.

  “I asked everyone to wait outside till I finished this interview,” he breathed angrily to his subordinate.

  “I am sorry, sir,” said the young man, taken aback by Leonard’s response, “but I found this letter in the posts confiscated from the mayor’s office and I thought that you should see it immediately.”

  Leonard snatched the letter and glanced impatiently through it, apparently convinced that it held nothing of importance. When he realized otherwise after half a dozen lines he started the letter again, this time slowly.

  Norman Sinclair,

  It has come
to our notice that you are determined at bringing down our collective smuggling businesses that employ more than 100 thousand poor men and women. Not only have you tried to bring in policies which have made our operations harder, but you have also instructed High Guards to act violently and often without provocation against our men. Your actions are immoral as well as illegal. We are only trying to do honest trade and have done nothing wrong to warrant this reaction. Why don’t you focus your energy on trying to bring down the capitalists who fund you and all those filthy politicians in your Council.

  Let us tell you that your zealous attitude against our brothers does not bode well for your personal wellbeing, nor of your family. We are writing to warn you for the first and the last time to change your course and meet our below demands if you expect to live a long and happy life.

  Stop raiding our warehouses immediately and let us continue our honest enterprise in peace.

  Release the 65 men from our organization that the Peacocks have arrested in the last couple of months. These poor men have done no crime other than to keep bread on their family’s dinner table.

  Drop the legislation that we believe you are planning to introduce in the council which would make smuggling an offense equivalent of treason.

  If you do not agree to our demands, the consequences would be terrible and immediate. We don’t need to tell you that we mean every word of what we say.

  Your Well-wishers

  There was a gold dragon embossed on the back of the letter, the insignia of the Dragon Cartel, an association of half a dozen of the biggest smuggling syndicates operating in Cardim.

  “This is very interesting,” said Leonard, “When did it arrive?”

  “The date mentions Monday last week, so seven days ago.”

  “It seems they meant it when they said that the consequences would be immediate.”

  He handed the letter to Amina Sinclair who glanced through it slowly and with fear.

  “Do you know anything about it?” asked Leonard once she had finished the letter.

  “Not specifically about this letter,” said Amina, “But Norman often received these types of threats. From many people – merchants who were unhappy with his tax policies, disgruntled citizens, relatives of convicts as well as other businessmen and politicians looking to influence the council policies. He often read some of the less threatening ones to me and laughed over them.”

  Leonard Rostum looked unconvinced by Amina’s brushing away of the letter as insignificant, but he did not voice it.

  “We will investigate a bit further, and let’s see if anything comes out of it.”

  He took the letter from her and kept it in his coat pocket.

  “Coming back to our earlier conversation,” said Leonard once the young Greycoat had taken his leave, “I think I have covered most of what I wanted. But I want to ask you one last question. Do you suspect anyone of having a hand in this kidnapping? I mean someone who had an enmity with the mayor, or disliked him, or had a quarrel with him recently.”

  Amina Sinclair kept quiet for a long time.

  “I don’t know, Director,” she said finally, “There are a lot of people who disliked Norman but I find it hard to believe that anyone can hate him enough to harm him.”

  TEN

  Ernst's Theory

  Lieutenant Ernst Wilhelm paced restlessly outside Norman Sinclair’s living room. Two young Greycoats, the same ones that he had encountered in the morning at the gate to the building, stood guard outside the door to the room barring anyone from entering inside. Leonard Rostum, who was busy interviewing Norman Sinclair’s wife, had given strict orders for no one to disturb him. And yet when one among their own folds, a Greycoat, came sauntering in carrying a letter and said that he had something very important to show to Director Rostum, the guards allowed him through. Ernst, who had been waiting for 20 minutes, couldn’t believe what he saw and remonstrated feverishly with the two men. But to no avail. They did not share his enthusiasm for the clue that Ernst carried in his head.

  Ernst sighed irritably and went back to pacing the hall. It did not matter what these foolish Greycoats thought, in his own opinion, Ernst had stumbled upon a lead which was infinitely more significant than whatever that Greycoat had in his hand. It had the potential to solve the case in no more than a couple of hours.

  After the conversation with the mayor’s driver, Ernst had left Leonard Rostum and his tribe of detectives to venture into Norman Sinclair’s office. It had already been scavenged by the Greycoats and lay in a state of utter disarray. Papers, books, and stationery were scattered on the carpeted floor as if the room had been ravaged by a storm. The men had also stripped the large portraits of a few prominent ex-mayors from the wall and put them in a heap in a corner of the room leaving the cream-colored walls dull and bare. Ernst forded through the rubbish, idly picking up pieces of papers and envelopes to look for any clue that the men had left behind. After a worthless toil of five minutes, he found a small diary that had escaped the notice of the Greycoats as it had slipped under a large cupboard. The notebook turned out to be the mayor’s personal appointment diary and as Ernst studied its contents he found something which he felt could prove to be a most important insight in the case.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Sinclair, for braving through this, I know how difficult it must be for you.” Ernst heard Leonard’s voice from inside the room as the director took his leave from the mayor’s wife. He smiled for a moment, then turned and acquired once more his usual grim demeanor while striding out of the room.

  “Sir, wait a moment,” Ernst caught up with Leonard, “I was looking through the mayor’s office and I believe I have stumbled upon something very important.”

  Ernst handed the diary to Leonard who flipped through its pages impatiently.

  “This is the appointment notebook of the mayor,” Ernst explained, hardly able to contain his excitement, “I think it will point us straight to the kidnapper.”

  “How?” snapped Leonard, “Did you find an appointment with the kidnapper in the diary?”

  Ernst got a strange impression that Leonard did not take him seriously. It seemed like the director was anxious to brush him off and move over to things and people that he considered more worthy of his attention.

  “If you flip the diary to yesterday’s date, the day that the mayor was kidnapped,” said Ernst determined to prove the director’s impression wrong, “you’ll see that he made just one entry for the whole day. A meeting in the morning at 10, with some representatives of the British Embassy. I enquired with the assistant of the mayor and he said that Norman Sinclair was very particular about updating entries in the notebook. Since there is no mention of any meeting in the evening in the council office, this means that the mayor’s plan was formed in haste. This is nothing in itself but we need to combine it with the fact that the kidnappers had planned in advance about apprehending the mayor’s carriage and so already knew that the mayor was headed to the council. This knowledge though, as the appointment diary tells us, was not known to a lot of people. In fact, only three people knew that the mayor was headed to the council office on Sunday evening. The mayor himself, his driver, and the person that the mayor was scheduled to meet in the council office. I believe we have enquired the driver enough to conclude that he had no involvement in the kidnapping, which leaves us with only one suspect, the person that the mayor wanted to meet in the council office. Since it was a Sunday evening and not a lot of people come to the council at that time, we should be able to find him. I think that would give us a major lead.”

  Ernst took a huge gulp of air upon finishing his theory. He was confident of his hypothesis and felt that there was a marked change in Leonard’s demeanor.

  “My dear Lieutenant,” smiled the director, “I like your energy. But please don’t let your excitement cloud your judgment. There are a lot of loopholes in your theory and if you sit down and take some time to ponder over it I am sure you would realize that if the man in the c
ouncil, the suspected kidnapper, had just wanted to get the mayor kidnapped, he wouldn’t have taken the trouble to head over to the council office to make a meeting which he knew would never happen. There are a few other major problems in your hypothesis which I would ask you to figure out yourself. Now look here,”

  He handed Ernst the letter of threat that the mayor had received.

  “The mayor received this letter a few days ago. And this indicates the involvement of the smugglers. You may not know, but we have found loads of other evidence which points that Norman Sinclair had been taking a personal interest in the investigation to bring the smuggling syndicates down. It is sufficient evidence for me to believe that the kidnapping is an act by the Dragon Cartel who would, without doubt, make some demands regarding the release of prisoners or a change in the policy against smuggling in the coming days. So, instead of following your hypothetical kidnapper who awaits you in the council building, I would ask you to coordinate the effort that we are planning against this organization. We want to raid all known hideouts of smugglers, arrest men with any links to the syndicate, and sooner or later some of those urchins would lead us to the mayor.”

  “But, sir…” Ernst tried to protest but was cut off.

  “Focus on this work, son,” said Leonard grimly, “and leave the investigation to us. We are the experts there. You do what you are expert at, following orders.”

  Leonard patted him on the back and strode away leaving Ernst with his theory in tatters and his face red with anger and humiliation.

  ELEVEN

  Kerry's Lover

  The Green Cloud was a small restaurant, a stone’s throw away from the Ulysses square in Vasco. Its façade was painted olive green, with small scarlet clouds among which white birds dawdled cheerfully. A brass bell hung upon the door jingled as Maya walked inside the restaurant at around 6 in the evening. The place, lit by the slanting dusk light entering through two large windows, was shorn of any crowd. A single elderly man occupied a table in the corner, busy solving a crossword puzzle in a newspaper with a tumbler of coffee in front of him.