The Mutilated Merchant (The Edrin Loft Mysteries Book 1)

by Jon Evans

  "Hardly, I think that was the jar our unfortunate shopkeeper meant to hurl at his murderer only it was in the wrong place," Loft explained then reached out to put his hand over the stopper.

  "No, don't open it, it smells quite strong, and I'm not sure it's actually for food." Gardener raised an eyebrow at that but gently put the jar down.

  "So, shall we go and see the body then? You may want to rub some of this under your nose by the way," Gardener said as he unscrewed a small pot, dipped his finger in and wiped it over his top lip. He grimaced, blinked twice as if he'd been chopping onions, and held it up to Loft.

  "What is it? Judging by your expression it's not too pleasant," Loft asked cautiously.

  "It's an anatomy class trick, harmless and quite pungent but far less so than rotting body. If you'd rather puke out of the window again, though," Gardener trailed off, leaving the conclusion unspoken.

  Loft nodded and copied Gardener's motion. Pungent was a description that rather downplayed things. There was a hint of mint and whatever else was in it made his eyes water for a moment. He handed the pot back to Gardener and wiped his finger on his shirt, at which his friend winced, producing a rag before wiping his own.

  "I hope you didn't like that shirt; you'll never get the stain out. Mind you, it doesn't look like anyone has tried to get the other stains out either, so you're probably not that bothered," he said in an obnoxiously jocular manner.

  "Wonderful, thanks for the warning. Also, thank you so much for the complete loss of my sense of smell, I was just thinking that I could do with losing an important sense today. How long does this stuff last?" Loft responded as sarcastically as he could manage.

  It didn't faze Gardener, "Oh about half an hour? Depends on how big a dollop you used. I wouldn't go to any fancy restaurants or wine tastings today if I were you."

  Loft snatched the rag out of his hands and wiped his finger off more thoroughly. "Follow me then, let's get this going," he said. He led the way up the stairs, glancing at the curiously shattered lock as he passed it.

  Dr Gardener walked into the room and set his bag down near the door. He stared at the body for a moment then sighed gloomily, "Was he like this when you found him?" he asked.

  "Do you mean dead or on his back? If the former, yes but we rolled him over to try and see his face. There are wounds in his back as well," Loft said.

  Gardener leaned down and looked closely at the guts that had spilled from the wound. "This is neatly done, I can't see any nicks on the intestines. The wound was deep enough to slice open the belly but didn't puncture his organs," he said.

  "Which tells you what?" Loft asked.

  "Which tells me very little. I could speculate that whoever killed him had done it before, or knew something about anatomy if this was the intended result. It does tell me he didn't drive his knife in and then rip it across the abdomen. This wasn't a stab wound. It was a cut with the edge of an extremely sharp knife. I suppose that tells me he wasn't using a table knife or his worn out pocket knife. Probably not a dagger either but something else, likely with a curve to the blade," Gardener mused.

  "That's actually quite a lot, doctor. Knowing that he used a weapon with a cutting blade and not a plain dagger could be helpful. Go on," Loft suggested.

  "Very well. Fetch me the chamber pot, would you?" Gardener said as he moved around the bed to look at the mutilated merchant's face.

  Loft shuddered but went to the hallway and picked up the chamber pot, doing his best not to look at the contents again. Sense of smell or no sense of smell, he wasn't sure the sight of those glistening orbs wouldn't have him retching again. He held it out to Gardener without a word.

  The doctor had his finger in the eye socket of the corpse, rummaging around without apparent distaste. He hummed the tune to a popular bawdy song as he worked and Loft wondered at what point in a medical man's career they got like this.

  Finally, the doctor stood up and wiped his hand on the bed sheet. He took the chamber pot and looked inside, holding it up toward the morning light streaming through the window.

  "Thoughts, Doctor?" Loft prompted.

  "What?" the doctor said absent-mindedly, "Yes. Of course, you want to know about the eyeballs? This is very strange, Edrin. See here on the outer surface of the eyeball there's not really much sign of damage?" he asked, pushing the container toward Loft's face so he could get a better look.

  "I'll take your word for it, Doctor," Loft said, leaning away from the grisly contents.

  "Really? That's trusting of you Edrin, if only you were that way when we're playing cards. Anyway," he said pulling the pot back and smiling, "This isn't easy to do, you know. Eyeballs aren't supposed to come out of heads, that's rather the point, and that's why they have this 'eye cord' that you can see dangling off the back."

  Loft could see, and he really didn't want to. He tried to look anywhere else but in the chamber pot as the doctor went on. "That's the bit that holds your eyeball in. Did you know, that every animal has one, goes right inside the head all the way into the brain? It stops the eyeball just popping out if you get a hard hit to the head you see? Once it's cut, the eyeball comes out a lot easier," Gardener explained excitedly.

  "That's fascinating Doctor, and I'm glad to hear that my eyeballs are held on by a piece of string, so I needn't worry about them falling out anytime soon. That's something I hadn't worried about at all until you suggested it actually. Does this lecture have a point though?" Loft asked.

  "No, it's just fascinating anatomical knowledge that everyone should know. What it does mean is that the person who took this eyeball out had probably done it before. He scooped it out, I would guess with a spoon-like instrument such as," the doctor gesticulated wildly for a moment, trying to find the right word, "Well, a spoon. Then once it was free of the socket, he gripped the eye cord and wrenched it out. Grisly work but expertly done. When you're studying anatomy you usually snip the eye cord so you can study the eyeball itself which is an amazingly complicated piece of equipment."

  "So what you're saying is, that our killer opened up his guts with a single cut that's precise enough not to cut open his intestines and was able to scoop out his eyeballs without damaging them? Both of which you feel means he has some practice at this. A doctor for instance?" Loft suggested.

  "Not likely. You see, I believe we earn a lot more than murderers if we treat the right patients. Plus as a rule, we only do this sort of thing with people who are dead or unconscious. I'm certain this poor chap was alive when his belly was opened, and he might even have been alive when his eyes were removed," Gardener said.

  That sent a shiver down Loft's spine. Alive while his eyeballs were scooped out and then the eye cord was snapped? Loft could think of very little that would be more terrifying than that. "Can you tell me anything about his throat?" he asked.

  "Oh yes, I've seen that before plenty of times. He's been garrotted, though not to the point of death. You said he was stabbed in the back, yes?" Gardener asked, "I'd roll him to look for myself, but I'm afraid more of him would spill out." Loft nodded in answer to the question.

  "Well then, at a guess I'd say from the blood on the stairs they were fighting already, they reached this room, and somehow the assailant stabbed him in the back. Perhaps they grappled, perhaps he turned his back to try and back off. Either way, he slipped the knife into him which would be quite painful I'm sure," Gardener said.

  "Then he switches to his garrotte and strangles him. The cut you can see is because a proper garrotte is more like a cheese wire than a thick cord. It's gone deep enough to cut the skin but not through the structure of the neck. I've seen victims practically have their head cut off with the things, but you need time to do that. Once it's tight though, you start to have difficulty breathing, and the laceration indicates it was very tight indeed," Gardener mimed the actions he was describing as he talked.

  "He had full control at that point, the victim was bleeding and in shock from stab wounds, could hardly breathe or
was close to unconsciousness. Ever been winded when you get punched in the kidney?" again, Loft nodded, not wanting to interrupt.

  "Well, there you go then. Imagine how vulnerable you were when that happened. He can't stop the murderer wrestling him to the bed, and it's there that he reaches around him and opens the belly. Actually no, I imagine he flops him on the bed, then does his eyes first, he'd have to to get access. If he'd cut his belly first his intestines would have flopped out, as they obviously did when you rolled him over," Gardener finished, then he'd be wandering the streets of Kalider with blood and guts all over him.

  "Thank you, Doctor. That's most helpful. Can you tell me anything more?" Loft asked.

  Gardener pondered that for a moment, "Well, I can't do much more here I'm afraid. If I had him in an anatomy classroom, I could get a better look at things. I'm not sure what would be useful, but then again I don't know anything about your job."

  "If I found you a place to work, you could find more out?" Loft pressed.

  "Look, Edrin, I'm not an expert on this. To be honest, I'm not sure anyone is. Broadly speaking, yes, I could tell you more, but I've no idea if it'll help. For instance, you say he was stabbed in the back. If I could turn him over and get a proper look, strip and wash down the body, I could tell you how many times. Maybe I could tell you something about the knife from the wounds. Was it the same knife as used on the belly?" he said, without much enthusiasm.

  Loft didn't respond, just let the silence go on until Gardener relented. "I can't do much more here without making a terrible mess. If you want, I can stitch his guts back inside him and then we should be able to move the body without him flopping all over the place. Do you have somewhere I can work then?" the doctor asked.

  "Yes, I have just the place. Lots of room, easy access, plenty of light and it's not too far," Loft supplied happily. With any luck, Libult would have the cart here soon.

  "Why don't you make a start on getting him ready and I'll go and organise some transport and look around a bit more, hmm?" Loft said.

  Gardener nodded and went to his bag to fetch supplies. Loft considered watching for a moment and then realised that he didn't want to see a man restuffed like poultry at a banquet. He excused himself and went downstairs.

  Chapter Four

  The condition of the lock on the door had been another thread of the nagging thought that bothered him earlier. It wasn't just the spice jar and what that might tell him.

  He'd noticed when he first arrived this morning that the lock of the door separating the shop from the rest of the building was far more badly damaged than you'd expect from a shoulder to the door. It was in pieces, and most had fallen to the floor.

  Loft played with the door a moment and quickly realised why that would be. There wasn't a huge amount of space between the wall and the counter; nevertheless, the door opened into the shop rather than the corridor. If the shopkeeper were fleeing his assailant, he'd have pulled it shut behind him and locked it.

  He cast his eyes about and saw a large, iron key lying on the floor in the corridor behind the door. If the murderer wanted to get through, he couldn't just put his shoulder or boot to the door and smash it open at the lock. He'd have to smash the door down or destroy the lock itself. Loft thought it was a pretty safe assumption the shopkeeper had fastened the door behind him.

  He walked over to the kitchen and found a couple of large mats on the floor, a sturdy boot scraper and a fair amount of mud. It looked like the merchant came in through the back door in the mornings and probably exited that way too. Thus he'd avoid tracking mud inside if the streets were as filthy, as they normally were. He probably left the key in that door all the time.

  Not particularly secure, but at least if someone broke in the front they couldn't get back into the rest of the house easily, though Loft couldn't see any reason they'd want to. The kitchen door had a good sturdy lock on it too, and the garden wall was high enough to deter casual thieves. There was a gate at the back which also had a lock.

  So the door from from the shop had been locked behind the escaping shopkeeper. Why didn't he just go out the back then? Why not just lock the door to keep the man away, then flee through the back of the house?

  Loft closed his eyes and visualised himself trying to dash out of the building. He was frantic, he threw the jar and ran for the door, slamming it shut and locking it behind him. Upstairs? No, that was suicide.

  He pictured himself reaching the back door and then grabbing his keys. Then his eyes came open. There were no keys near the door. They weren't in the lock or on the floor. Loft hadn't seen any in the bedroom. He went back to the shop and looked around. There was shelving under the counter, except where the hinged section to let someone through was.

  Beneath the till there was a hook with a bunch of keys on it. He grabbed them and went to the door that led to the garden. Sure enough, they unlocked it. Loft felt a pang of sympathy for the victim; he'd probably done exactly what you'd expect. Rushed back here thinking he might have a chance, then realised he'd left the keys behind the counter.

  With the door locked in front of him and his intended victim getting away, the killer would have been set on getting past the door. That meant he'd been forced to deal with the lock.

  Loft crouched down by the damaged door, to look at what remained of the lock. It had been made of good quality brass, old but perfectly serviceable and quite sturdy. The key was simple, and the handle was worn but would once have been quite expensive. There were telltale signs throughout the house that this had been the dwelling of someone of considerable means when it was built, maybe a hundred years previously.

  The state of the lock was surprising then. Every other time that Loft had seen a building broken into, the lock had been picked with precision tools, and you couldn't tell it wasn't opened with a key. Failing that, a crowbar was used, and the lock was levered from the door. As a rule, the lock itself was largely intact or bent out of shape.

  The story here was quite different. There were fractures through the brass plate, the shaft of the door knob and the brass doorknob itself. Loft prodded the lock and bits of metal fell off, in sharp chunks. Shattered was the only way he could describe this. Frowning, he stood and looked around for a second before walking into the kitchen.

  He returned with a mallet for pounding meat and the sturdiest looking skewer he could find. Carefully he rested the end of the skewer against the brass plate that was still screwed to the door, then tapped the end with the mallet. The point of the skewer skittered across the surface. He tried again, shifting his grip and hitting it harder. Nothing. Again. Still nothing. After a few minutes, all he'd managed to do was narrowly miss his own hand and make some deep scratches in the metal.

  That left him with only one conceivable way that the lock had been shattered like this. The metal was in fragments, every part of it, on either side of the door once he took the time to inspect it. The wood of the door was intact though it showed no sign of a blow heavy enough to break the metal of the lock.

  Loft wasn't even sure what tool could do it, a sledgehammer might but he pictured that crushing the handle and leaving dents. In any case, what knife and garrotte wielding murderer would wander around with a sledgehammer anyway?

  He grimaced. He didn't really like where his mind was going with this puzzle and, if he was right, he had just found something even more disturbing than the eyeballs.

  A rattling on the cobbles outside announced the probable return of Constable Pelunt with the requested cart, and he stood up with a sigh. He had to leave this quandary for later as he left the shop to organise moving the body.

  Chapter Five

  When Loft got outside, he found Pelunt had returned with a horse-drawn cart, and Sergeant Gurnt was leaning against the wall, looking somewhat worse for wear. She was noisily crunching her way through a bright, red apple. He looked her up and down, opened his mouth to speak, reconsidered, and decided to deal with Pelunt first.

  "I borrowed this f
rom Jake at the Bell and Truncheon, Sir. I hope it'll do," Pelunt said, "No charge either."

  "Yes, that should do nicely. Thank him for me when you return the cart, please," Loft said.

  He turned back to face his entirely dishevelled second, "Now, Sergeant Gurnt. Care to explain what happened to you?"

  "Well, it's like this, I went looking for a goldsmith who could identify that lump of gold," Gurnt said.

  "Yes, I do recall. That somehow resulted in you being drenched head to foot, getting a black eye and being covered in bruises, mud and… is that vegetable soup? Please tell me it's soup," Loft asked.

  "That's right, Sir. Soup it is. So, I was…" Gurnt began to say before Loft held up a hand to stop her.

  "Sergeant, is this going to be a long story?" he asked.

  "Yes, Sir but it's a good one," Sergeant Gurnt replied.

  "No doubt. Perhaps we could save it for another time and for now, you could stick to the pertinent facts?" Loft suggested.