The Mayor's Abduction

by Noah Alexander

  Claude Labarthe stopped and wiped his eyes of invisible tears.

  “Based on my discussion with the police chiefs of Cardim,” continued he in a grave voice, “we now believe that dear Norman is no longer with us. It seems like he was captured to be used as a leverage, but the kidnappers became panicked from our response and instead of negotiating a deal, they killed him. You cannot imagine how much it agonizes me to think of my poor friend Norman. The end that he met and the fact that I could do nothing to stop it…”

  “Are you sure that is true, Mr. Minister,” a voice rang across the hall and Claude Labarthe stopped speaking. There was a flurry of footsteps across the hall as Leonard Rostum, the chief of Tripoli Force marched in, followed by a dozen more men.

  The Minister of Order, as he saw the policemen, had a queer feeling of the floor giving way beneath his feet. It was inexplicably spontaneous. He wasn’t sure what told him that, perhaps it was the audacious way the Greycoats barged into the room, or the smirk on the face of Leonard Rostum, or perhaps it was just the letter in his pocket. But he was certain that his plan had unraveled.

  Claude Labarthe only wished that the Director should at least have allowed him to finish the speech he had so painstakingly prepared.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The Conspiracy

  Ernst had thought that they would wait for Claude Labarthe to finish his briefing and fake portrayal of grief before arresting him for conspiring to kidnap the mayor, but Leonard Rostum had other plans. He wanted to make an entry in the middle of the briefing, in front of reporters of all the major newspapers of the city. A dramatic flourish. That’s the skill on which my reputation is based dear boy, he had candidly confessed to him. Personally, Ernst felt that Leonard was too desperate to arrest his direct senior, perhaps he figured that his sensational act would add to his legacy as the most shrewd detective and policeman in Cardim.

  It was strange that the evidence and theory that Ernst thought would allow him to prove Leonard wrong and humiliate him, had been turned cleverly into an object to further the director’s success. Perhaps that was the skill of Leonard Rostum and the ingredient of his distinguished career.

  The files that Ernst had found in Norman’s safe were damning evidence of Claude’s involvement with the Dragon Cartel. The mayor had received concrete intelligence inputs that Claude not only had links with the smugglers, but he also had a major stake in all the smuggling transactions happening in the city. The Minister of Order influenced the police to be lax on the dealings and had even contributed in the escape or pardon of some high profile smugglers.

  If Claude was involved with the Dragon Cartel and the mayor had proof of it, that would have been a severe blow to his political aspirations. So, in all likelihood, when he got a whiff of the evidence in the mayor’s hands, he planned to get him kidnapped with the help of his smuggling contacts. He must have arranged the meeting on Sunday evening and conspired to get the mayor picked up from the middle of the street.

  When Ernst showed the proof to Leonard, the director underwent a major transformation. He invited him to his cabin in the Tripoli House and spent an hour with him going through all the proof that he had in his possession. At the end of the hour, the director, visibly elated, congratulated Ernst on his great work and even offered to write a letter of recommendation for him to become a Greycoat (which Ernst politely declined). The pliability of the director greatly surprised Ernst, but he had no complaints. At least now Leonard Rostum treated him as a man deserving of praise rather than rebuke. That was enough for Ernst to forget the earlier admonishment.

  However, there was a problem. Though the files proved Claude’s links with the smugglers, they were not sufficient to accuse him of conspiring to kidnap the mayor. So Leonard Rostum decided to put the Minister of Order under surveillance. He put his most trusted men undercover, disguised as bearers and sweepers and gardeners all over his residence as well as office. These men tracked all the people that the minister met, overheard the conversations that he had with his family and close aides, and even intercepted letters that he received. For two days the men got nothing to indicate that Claude was involved in the disappearance of the mayor. But in the morning today, a letter arrived which left little doubt about his involvement. The bearer who handed the letter to the minister had actually received it a few hours ago and had already read it and informed Leonard. The director had then readied his team, got an arrest warrant issued, and reached the Minister’s office just in time for his dramatic entry.

  Ernst read the fear on the face of Claude Labarthe as the group entered the hall. It was almost as if he knew why all the men were here. Leonard took long confident steps to the podium even as all the reporters, their pens frozen upon their notepads, watched him intently.

  “Do you need me, Leonard,” asked Claude in a sincere tone, “should I postpone this briefing?”

  Leonard smiled. “That wouldn’t be necessary Minister. I think I will take care of the briefing from here.”

  Claude looked on startled as Leonard prodded all over his coat before shoving his hand in the inside pocket to produce the letter from his accomplice.

  “I think this letter should be discussed as well,” said Leonard.

  The minister’s eyes widened.

  “Oh that is a strange letter that I received today?” said he, “I don’t have a clue about it. Do you happen to know anything?”

  “I most certainly do, Minister, and I suspect you do too.”

  Claude tried to speak but couldn’t. The newspaper reporters, who had suspected the hint of something sensational in the air, sat transfixed, pens firmly in hand ready for any explosive revelation.

  “I am glad that all of you are here,” said Leonard to the reporters, “that saves me from arranging a briefing myself. To those who don’t know me, I am Leonard Rostum, director of the Tripoli Force and in-charge of the kidnapping case of Norman Sinclair, the Mayor of Cardim. I have some very important information to share with you. As is common knowledge, the smuggling syndicates had a hand in kidnapping the mayor. It has now come to our notice that the mayor had stumbled on some vital evidence which implicated a few very important men in the council of involvement with the smugglers…”

  “I think I don’t feel well,” said Claude suddenly getting up, “I would like to have some rest.”

  “Before long you would have plenty of that, Minister,” said Leonard holding Claude’s hand and pushing him back upon his chair, “I have a feeling you would want to hear what I am about to say. So, where was I… yes the mayor had proof against some very influential men of their involvement with the smugglers. Among them, the most prominent name was that of the Minister of Order, Claude Labarthe. We now have proof that the Minister, scared of the impact of the revelation on his political aspirations, arranged to get the mayor kidnapped with the help of his smuggler friends. A letter that he received from an accomplice this morning proves beyond doubt our theory. Based on all the evidence, the magistrate of Sophia has issued an arrest warrant against Claude Labarthe for conspiring to kidnap and cause bodily harm to a public servant. He would be produced in front of the magistrate tomorrow. We plan to interrogate him to find more about the mayor and hope that we would soon have some good news. That was all I had. Thank you very much for your time.”

  There was a huge din as Leonard put the shocked minister’s hands in cuffs and the reporters in the room burst with questions.

  But Ernst heard none of it. He stood behind Leonard and basked in triumph. It occurred to him quite suddenly, as the minister was pushed out of the room, that he should meet Maya and thank her.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  An Unexpected Discovery

  Maya followed the orange splatter marks to the door where Rodney had disappeared. It was a small single-story house much like the others in the crowded locality. A gas lamp that flickered on the street in front of the house threw an accusing glare on its dull blue walls. Maya tiptoed to the door and tried it gently. It d
id not budge, the door was locked from the inside. She then put her ears upon its rough surface attempting to listen to what might be going on inside, but apart from the faint shuffling of feet, which convinced her that Rodney was inside, she failed to make out anything significant. She had to find a way in. But how?

  She trundled over to the only window of the house looking for any opening, but that too was shuttered fast. Maya pushed the wooden shutters in vain then collapsed upon the road in disappointment. The blood from her nose hadn’t stopped and her failure to find a way in was irritating Maya considerably. Could she dig her way in? That was too far-fetched. A better proposition would be to break open the door, but that would alert Rodney and he wasn’t a pushover as he had proved on the street.

  Maya was contemplating her options when the door to the house suddenly opened and a head popped out. It was Rodney’s. He peeked out through the door and gazed towards the main road on the other side to where Maya crouched, possibly making sure that she hadn’t chased him to his hiding place. This was her chance. Maya held her pocket knife firmly in her hand and tiptoed silently behind the young man. A yard from him, Rodney turned and stumbled back in shock upon noticing his assailant. But Maya was too quick for him. She kicked him firmly on his injured leg and clenching her hands in a fist punched him right on his nose.

  “This is for hitting me,” she said, her rage pouring out in a violent outburst. She then punched him once more, “And this is for lying to me.” But Rodney had not heard her last sentence. Two successive blows to his face were too much for him and he had bundled on the ground, his nose bleeding profusely. Maya took off his paint-smeared shirt and tied his hands behind his back. She then dragged his limp body into the house. The place had just two rooms, a small parlor where the main door opened and another room to the left. Maya took out a match from her bag and lit it. The house was curiously unfurnished and seemed to be devoid of any other person. Leaving Rodney near the door, she carefully tiptoed to the other room in the hope of finding some water to bring Rodney back to consciousness. She was certain that Rodney was responsible for Kerry’s disappearance and if she could coerce him to talk, the mystery wouldn’t take long to resolve.

  But she did not find water in the next room. Actually, she didn’t even bother to look for it, there was something much more interesting inside. Two figures lay sleeping on the floor in the room. One among them was the Mayor – Norman Sinclair and the other, undoubtedly, was the girl that she had been looking for the past week.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The Orphan's Tale

  Maya could not help a gasp at her unexpected discovery.

  Kerry was alive, and so was her uncle, the mayor. Even more startling was the fact that the two were sleeping peacefully on separate cots on the floor on either side of a small table. The table was laden with a couple of plates of half-eaten food, a paper package of what seemed like bread and vegetables, and an empty bottle of red wine. A basket of cutlery and a small leather case rested under the table along with some newspapers. It didn’t look like the two were being held against their wishes. If they were indeed in captivity, the captor was a generous man.

  But they weren’t the only people in the room. Maya jumped up in fright when she turned to the other side of the room and the flickering light of her match fell on the most frightening face that she had seen in a while. The man in front of her was bald and the right side of his face, pink and scarred, looked like it had spent considerable time inside an oven. Even more interestingly, Thaddeus Cormac sat tied to a chair, a rag stuffed in his mouth and his head hanging to one side.

  The light from the match had disturbed the sleeping mayor and he shrugged in his slumber. Maya’s mind struggled to deal with the consequences that the three people in the room had on the theories that she had formed over the last week. She had suspected that Kerry was dead, shot by Thaddeus Cormac who had also kidnapped the mayor. But this room suggested otherwise, it was the supposed captor who seemed to be captivity and Kerry as well as the mayor were completely unharmed. What had happened here?

  Maya lit a candle lying on the window sill and in its light decided to study Thaddeus Cormac. Was it possible that this man had indeed kidnapped both Kerry and Norman Sinclair but had recently been overpowered by the two and somehow tied to the chair? That was a far-fetched proposition and one that she quickly rejected.

  The rope marks on the man dug deep into his skin, which meant that he had been in this state for a long time. The marks of violence on his face and hands also seemed at least a few days old.

  Maya was confused even further when she found a letter, written in black ink and weighed down by an inkwell, resting on the windowsill.

  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

  What did this letter mean?

  Maya’s shuffling seemed to have woken up Norman Sinclair, who stretched himself languidly, eyes still closed, unaware of the intruder in the room.

  “Mr. Mayor,” whispered Maya, “Is that you?”

  “Who’s there,” said Norman Sinclair jerking up abruptly from his cot and staring at Maya in alarm.

  “No one you should worry about, sir,” said Maya, “I am detective Maya Mitchell and I am pleased to meet you.”

  The mayor’s face betrayed the absolute confusion that he was in right now. He looked around the room as if to check if there were any other trespassers in the house.

  “But how did you come inside?” asked the mayor, “Rodney, where are you? Why did you let this woman in the house?”

  “Rodney is unconscious now,” said Maya turning to the mayor, “I punched him in the face.”

  Norman Sinclair’s face contorted even further in bewilderment. He shuffled on his cot, unsure of what he needed to do. Their conversation woke up Kerry as well who folded her legs and sat up against the wall, her perplexed eyes fixed at Maya.

  “Hello Kerry,” Maya said to her, “I’ve been looking for you ever since you wrote the letter to me. But I must confess that I didn’t expect to find you in such good spirits.”

  Kerry did not bother to reply, instead turning her questioning eyes towards the mayor.

  “Why are you here?” the mayor ventured again, “What do you want?”

  “As I said, I was looking for Kerry. She sent me a letter stating that she was in danger, I have been trying to locate her ever since.”

  The mayor rocked his head in disbelief.

  “I don’t know how you got here, but now that you have seen Kerry is safe, I don’t think you should be here any longer. This is not the right place for you.”

  “On the contrary, this is just the place that I wish to be right now. And apologies for trespassing but I cannot leave this room.”

  “But why?”

  “You see, sir, my head is clogged with countless theories about this whole affair, about Kerry's disappearance and your kidnapping. But a lot of what I see in this room contradicts those theories. I cannot leave this place before clarifying some questions which have popped up in my head.”

  The mayor sniggered.

  “Who are you, a Greycoat?”

  “No, sir. I am a private detective.”

  “Well Miss Detective, I don’t think you know anything about this affair. So, it would be better if you just leave this place and no one needs to know.”

  “You are partly correct,” Maya said, “I don’t know everything about the affair. However, I do know a few essential facts. For instance, I know that while the whole city thinks that you have been kidnapped and quite probably murdered, actually you are in sound health and have been in hiding for this last week. The newspapers under your table tell me that you are perfectly cognizant of the distress that your disappearance is causing the city, and yet you remain hidden, which means that
you planned this exercise. You want the city to believe that you have been kidnapped. As for Kerry, I know this house belongs to her, and she too is not in danger as her letter to me suggested but is hiding here on her own accord. Rodney, Kerry’s friend, is part of your plans and has been helping you in hiding, supplying the food which lies in this room as well as the newspapers. Coming to the man tied to the chair, I know that his name is Thaddeus Cormac and that he had been convicted to 39 years in prison for burning down an apartment building which killed 21 people. However, he managed to come out of prison recently and did not take much time to commit a murder more. This time he killed a woman called Salome Mariner, his wife, who lived in Old Salem. After killing her he turned his attention to Kerry, and was loitering around the orphanage with an intention, no doubt, to harm her. Kerry, scared by the man, wrote to me as well as some other detective agencies seeking help. However, with no help forthcoming, something made her meet Thaddeus on the riverbank. The two met in a secluded wilderness near river Kali and apparently were involved in a scuffle in which, based on my understanding, Thaddeus shot Kerry. On the same evening, Mr. Mayor, you too disappeared while on your way to the council building.

  I also know the reason for Thaddeus’s apparent urge to kill Kerry and harm you. Thaddeus Cormac is Kerry’s father and you, Norman Sinclair, or should I call you Andrew Barnett, are his brother in law. And more importantly, the 21 people that Thaddeus had been convicted of murdering, included the two of you. He is seeking vengeance for his false conviction.