The Mayor's Abduction

by Noah Alexander

“But you don’t know anything about the case, how would you help me?”

  “I might not know anything about your case, but I do know a thing or two about evidence,” said the man hopping over the pile of papers and coming to the center of the room, “and I have helped many officers before you to ford through this garbage dump and find something useful.”

  He then stepped upon an upturned wooden crate and surveyed the room.

  “Usually,” said the man from his high perch, “the thing that you are looking for hides in plain sight. The key to using this place is not to lose your way looking for a needle in a haystack. For instance, I see that you are looking through those humongous boxes, sifting through tons of papers. I don’t think you would find anything there. Even if there was something important, your eyes would pass right over it, it is useless to spend your time looking through those. You should look at something that you can examine thoroughly, something small, and you should start with the place where you are most likely to find something of use. If I was you, I would pass over these boxes and first tackle that small red safe kept down there in the corner. People tend to keep important things in a safe. Then I would move to the box titled dustbin. I have seen cases where emptying the dustbin produced clues that nabbed the criminal. Go like that. After the dustbin choose the smallest box around and then move successively to the biggest box.”

  Ernst looked in the corner towards the safe. He remembered that the Greycoats had found it in the mayor’s office but couldn’t find its key. They had dumped it in this room, without even bothering to explore it, such was their conviction in their theory of the Dragon Cartel.

  “But I don’t have the key for that safe,” Ernst said.

  “It’s a tin box, sir, not a safe, I know that company. You punch it thrice on the side, then once upon the top and the door would open by itself.”

  Ernst smiled at the man’s conviction. He drained his tea in one go and made his way to the safe. Three firm punches on the side, one on the top and the door, just as the warden had said, creaked open. Ernst beamed at the warden, bending down to explore the safe. It had just three brown files, each with the illustration of a sparrow holding a twig, the insignia of the Mayor’s Office.

  The first one, which was the bulkiest among the three, said in its title – “Smugglers in Cardim”. Ernst flipped through the pages and found it to be a report on the practice of smuggling in the city. The history of the illicit industry, the products traded, tactics used to evade police, trade routes, and other major details about their practices. The report was confidential and on the first page of the file was written – “For the sole use of the Mayor”

  The second one, similarly confidential, was titled “Details of Prominent Smugglers” and held information about the major smuggling syndicates, their ringleaders, and prominent members.

  The reports were interesting. The mayor had gone to great lengths to get these details about the smuggling syndicates. But his latest discovery only furthered the theory of Leonard Rostum. The smugglers had taken cognizance of the mayor’s actions against them and to stop him had decided to abduct him. Was it possible that Claude Labarthe had nothing to do with the kidnapping of the mayor?

  The third file told him otherwise.

  It was titled “Involvement of council officials, guards and harbor office in Smuggling Syndicates” and as soon as Ernst turned over to the second page, his eyes found the name that they had been searching for.

  “You are a genius sir,” said he to the warden but the man had already left with the empty teacups.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The Burglar

  Norman Sinclair, the Mayor of Cardim was Kerry’s uncle and the man supposedly killed by Thaddeus Cormac in a fire!

  Maya’s head couldn’t bear the sudden addition of a whole new dimension in the case. She sat down on one of the long benches in the prayer hall to think over it. The mystery was no longer just about a missing orphan girl, it was also about the kidnapping of the mayor. The case that had bamboozled half the police in the city. It was incredible.

  Maya would have brooded further upon her discovery had not the house suddenly rung with a gut-wrenching scream.

  “Thief,” cried a girl’s voice, “there’s a thief in my room.”

  “That was Tracy’s voice,” said Mrs. Crompton gravely and rushed towards the stairs. Maya jumped up from the bench and followed the old lady.

  Tracy’s room (which also belonged to Kerry) at the end of the long corridor was open and the girl stood outside, huddled against the wall of the passageway. A few other girls from the neighboring rooms had also woken up and crowded around her.

  “There was a burglar here,” said Tracy, visibly terrified as she saw Maya and Mrs. Crompton, “he was on the window sill, trying to get in. I heard him say ‘Kerry’.”

  Maya rushed into the dark room but there was no one on the open window. The burglar had escaped, panicked from Tracy’s cry for help. She peered down the window and saw a black hooded figure clambering down a tall Mango tree whose branches were accessible from the window. This burglar had mentioned Kerry, could he have something to deal with her disappearance?

  Maya had only one way to find out. She had to catch him. Holding her skirt to her knee, she heaved herself upon the window, then jumped onto an extended branch, which swung wildly as she clung onto it like a monkey. Maya had a history of dangling on circus ropes during her time in the Gollum Circus, but a tree was something that she had little experience with. For the initial bit, she struggled to keep herself upon it, her grip slipped as she tried to slide towards the main trunk and the mango leaves and branch impeded her view. But in time, she managed to move a few yards down. She found that the burglar had already jumped down the tree and was bounding away. Determined not to lose a lead, Maya jumped from 10 feet above the ground. She was lucky that she had landed on soft mud and not on concrete. Getting up gingerly, Maya made her way towards the burglar who was running towards the Vasco road. He didn’t seem to have landed properly while jumping down the tree and was limping slightly. Maya doubled up her efforts, she had a good chance of catching up with him. Taking a deep breath, the young woman took long strides in the dark empty street. It had rained during the previous evening and silver puddles glimmered in the moonlight. The burglar did not run haphazardly, nor did he look around while running, which meant that he knew his way about this place as well as had a clear idea of where he wanted to go.

  A hundred yards from the orphanage, he turned to the left towards Ulysses Square. The square was one of the few places nearby where he could hope to find a carriage at this time of the night. If his aim was to take a carriage before his follower got him, Maya had to hurry. Panting heavily, and holding her baggy skirt in her hands, Maya pushed forward as fast as her bony legs could carry. But the man wasn’t headed to the square at all, a hundred yards from the bronze statue of the Greek King Ulysses on the square, he took a narrow by-lane on the left. Maya, who had spent a lot of time during her last two months memorizing the map of Cardim, knew the area like the back of her hand. The lane that the hooded man had entered continued for half a mile without any exits and opened onto the Kolaso Boulevard. If he did not hide in one of the houses on the street, he would emerge directly on the boulevard. Maya decided to take a risk and did not turn onto the street. Instead, she continued a dozen yards past the statue and then turned left. This was a shorter route to Kolaso Boulevard and if she was quick enough, she would cut-off the burglar before he exited the street that he had taken. Short of breath, her legs smeared with mud and her frame dripping with sweat, Maya halted at the junction of the by-lane with the Boulevard. She checked on the far side of the road, the burglar had not emerged out yet, and took her position beside the opening. A few minutes passed but there was no sign of him. Maya held her body against the wall and peeked into the narrow street. It was dark and there was no sign of the burglar. Did the burglar live in some house on the street? Maya stepped into the by-lane and wal
ked slowly. The half-mile stretch contained hundreds of houses, there was no way that she would be able to check all of these for the burglar.

  How could she narrow down her search?

  An idea struck her. It was still middle of the night and all the houses were wrapped in darkness. If the burglar had entered any place here, he was likely to have lit some light. If Maya was lucky that light would show through the window. Taking quick long strides Maya marched up the street glancing optimistically on the row of houses on either side.

  She didn’t have to walk long to find her target. Nor did she have to depend on light coming out of the windows. Around halfway into the street, Maya found a figure huddled on the side of the road, his back resting along a house, carefully examining his leg. The black dress told her that this was the same man who had tried to break into the orphanage. Apparently, he had taken a tumble while running through the street. A house in the vicinity was being repainted and a paint canister had leaked onto the street making a large orange puddle on the road. The man had slipped on the paint and was now covered in orange.

  As soon as he saw Maya, he struggled to get up, slipping once more and falling face down. The man had removed his hood in the apparent safety of the dark street and even in the dim moonlight Maya could recognize his face.

  “Rodney? Is that you?”

  It was without doubt Rodney, Kerry’s supposed lover, who had tried to break into Kerry’s room. What was he there for?

  Maya took out a small knife from within the folds of her dress and walked towards Rodney.

  “What were you doing in the orphanage?” she asked, standing clear of the orange paint.

  Rodney gingerly got up again.

  “I’ll tell you everything.” he said panting, “let me catch my breath for a moment.”

  He kept his hands on his knees and took a few deep breaths.

  “You are such a nosey woman,” he said after a while, standing up straight.

  “I don’t need you to tell me that,” Maya shot back, “Just tell me why you tried to break into Kerry’s room.”

  “I was there to get this,” said he taking a step towards Maya and pulling out something from his pocket. He extended his hand towards Maya and as she looked down to examine it, Rodney clenched his palm into a fist and before Maya could move had punched her straight on the face.

  “This should teach you to stay out of people’s affairs,” said he darting past Maya even as she stumbled and toppled back on the wet street, dazed from the attack.

  It took Maya half a minute to be able to see properly again. She felt a burning pain on her cheeks and warm blood flowed through her nose. Rodney had already gained a lot of ground on her and as she got up taking the support of the wall, she saw him turn left on the Kolaso Boulevard and out of sight. Maya slowly hobbled out of the street and saw Rodney turn once more in another street a couple of hundred yards down the road. Keeping her face hoisted up to slow the blood flowing from her nose, Maya jogged to the street but there was no trace of him. The place was empty. Maya kicked the ground in disappointment. She had lost him.

  She was about to turn back to walk away and give her nose some treatment when her eyes went to the orange splatter on the road. Rodney had made a paint trail all the way to his hiding place. And it led to a small single-story house in the middle of the street. Maya could sense her proximity to the solution of the mystery and the feeling gave her an inexplicable thrill.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The Minister's Conference

  Minister of Order, Claude Labarthe looked himself up in the tall mirror of his office and tightened his tie. He then took out a comb from his coat pocket and parted his hair for the third time in the last hour. The minister appreciated his well-groomed frame for a few moments more before smiling at himself and turning away. His speech for today’s event waited upon his table. The paper was crumpled and slightly torn at the edges, evidence that Claude Labarthe had spent a full day practicing it. It deserved the practice as well, the minister had reason to think that this speech would heave him to the mayor’s throne. He picked up the paper and a shiver passed through his frame, not unlike what must have passed through the hands of King Arthur when he had pulled the Excalibur from the stone. Claude Labarthe took great interest in mythology and it gave him immense pleasure to compare himself with one of his favorite characters. Tingling with anticipation, he glanced once more at the sheet of paper and put it in his coat pocket.

  The clock hanging in his office told him that it was time to go, his conference with the newspaper reporters was due to start in 5 minutes. Claude gave himself one final look in the mirror and suddenly noticed that he was smiling, beaming almost. Who could blame him? He was a mere speech away from writing political history. But that wouldn’t do, he had to control himself, he couldn’t look like he was bursting with joy and happiness. His speech was supposed to be somber after all. He was about to announce a piece of sad news to the people.

  Though the reporters sitting in the main hall of the Ministry of Order had no clue as yet, the main agenda of the briefing that they were invited to cover was the death of Norman Sinclair, the Mayor of Cardim. Claude had planned to devote the first quarter of his speech to the sad news. He had no proof for the mayor’s death, no physical proof in any case – no bodies found, no arrest or confession letters but he wouldn’t need proof. The whole city already believed that Norman was dead. It was illogical to expect them to believe anything else. A week had passed since his disappearance and no clue had been found of him, there had been no ransom letters, no demands, not even claims by the perpetrators. The Greycoats had rounded up all the criminals in Cardim but still had no clues to show for their efforts. The fact was already clear, today he would just make it official. But this was only the starting act, the real show would follow the news, the part of the speech that he liked the most. A stroke of genius.

  Claude Labarthe would summon the memory of his great adversary and use it for his own benefit. He would announce that Norman, his great friend, and colleague, would never have wanted the elections to be postponed because of the acts of some terrorists. That would be akin to surrendering the liberty of this great city to the pressure of thieves and cutthroats, and Cardim could not set that precedent. Given the circumstances, he would announce then, the elections for the post of mayor and the council would go forth as planned, next week.

  Simple. And incredibly effective. His greatest competitor gone and public sentiment now captured by his evoking of his dear friend Norman, there would be no obstacles to his path to become the Mayor of Cardim. He would romp to success, he didn’t think anyone else had won with the type of margin that he would win with.

  The thought brought a smile to his face and once more he had to subdue himself and be grim and grave. Taking a deep breath, his face in exactly the type of impression he wanted to carry into the hall filled with the newspaper reporters, Claude strode out of the room. But he was halted in his steps by his bearer.

  “I have a letter for you, sir,” said the bearer bowing and handing him an envelope, “this just arrived.”

  The minister was slightly irritated at being disturbed. He wanted to focus all his energies on the task ahead, with no distractions. It was an important next half hour, he didn’t want to fret over other things in that time.

  But there was something about the letter which would not let him ignore it. A big bold DELIVER URGENTLY TO THE MINISTER OF ORDER was written upon it.

  The minister checked his pocket watch and opened the letter while walking to the briefing hall.

  Dear Claude,

  I am writing to let you know that I have kept my side of the bargain, the mayor has been taken care of.

  I want to remind you, however, that you are yet to fulfill the promises that you made to me. I hope you remember them.

  TC

  Claude Labarthe stopped at the door to the hall, regretting opening the letter. After all these days waiting for some news from Thaddeus, he se
nds that now, at the worst moment he could possibly choose. And what did he think, writing him a letter? What if someone else had seen it? The minister rocked his head in displeasure. He was slightly annoyed at himself for ignoring the man till now. He should have done something earlier. But once Thaddeus Cormac had kidnapped the mayor (taken care of him, as he had promised when the two had their first and last meeting more than a week ago), Claude had not given him a lot of consideration. He did, initially, try to contact him and find out more about his actions, if he had kept the mayor somewhere or killed him, but he had no way to do that, and so, with time, he had conveniently decided to forget about him. It was foolish of course but he had other things upon his mind.

  But it did not matter now. No harm had come. He carefully folded the letter and kept it in the inner pocket of his coat making a mental note to destroy it at the first opportunity. It was also high time that he dealt with Thaddeus. But nothing of that right now. He had an important speech to make.

  Claude Labarthe took a deep breath and sauntered into the room and towards the podium.

  “Thank you all for coming here today,” said Claude once he had settled in front of the dozen newspaper reporters all of whom sat with pens quivering in their hands and notepads in their laps. “I am here to make a very important announcement today, an announcement which pains me immensely but which, unfortunately, I cannot escape from, given my responsibility as the Minister of Order and Deputy Mayor of Cardim. I know that you and indeed all the populace of Cardim have been waiting with bated breath about some information of our Mayor Norman Sinclair. I want to reiterate that we have left no stones unturned in finding the perpetrator and where they have kept my dear friend Norman. Just to summarize, in the last week, we have arrested more than 15 thousand suspects, raided more than one thousand criminal dens, and interrogated a further 30,000 people. Almost half of the police force of Cardim was involved in the extensive operation. But I am sorry to say, that even with our wholehearted efforts we have failed to find Norman or the perpetrators. We had suspected that the mayor had been kidnapped as a ploy to extract ransom or influence council policy, but we haven’t received any letters or demands stating so. This forces us to make a miserable conclusion.”