Stolen Souls

by Sackett, Jeffrey

  "Don't you want it from the side that's got the problem?"

  "No. I don't want to break the skin until we know what we're dealing with." He tied a thin rubber cord tightly around Will's upper arm and then gently plunged a syringe into a vein. He drew out the necessary amount of blood and then, releasing the cord with a quick tug, wiped the puncture with alcohol. "Okay, all done." He placed the bottle of blood in another plastic bag and called out, "Millie. Come here for a moment, please."

  His secretary leaned in the door. "Yes, Doctor?"

  Sawhill was writing Will's name on the second plastic bag. "Run these over to the hospital on your way home, will you? Mr. Foster is checking in there tonight for a series of tests, and I want them to get the blood and urine analysis done before he gets there."

  "Sure thing," she said. "Anything else you need before I leave?"

  "No, that's all. Thanks." She took the two plastic bags and closed the office door behind her as she left. Sawhill turned to Will. "Look, Jasper wants me to meet him over at the museum to give him a statement about the theft."

  "Theft?" Will asked with an obviously low level of interest. "What theft?"

  "Oh, you don't know? One of the mummies was stolen last night."

  "No shit? Hey, that's a damn shame." He shook his head. "Dr. Langly must be frantic."

  "Yeah, she was very upset. Anyway, I'm going over there now. You want to come along? Might help take your mind off things."

  "Sure, why not? Got nothing else to do." Sawhill held the door for Will, who shuffled painfully out, nervously rubbing his right cheek as if the action might restore sensation.

  Sawhill attempted to make light, banal conversation as they drove to the museum, and Will tried to respond as if nothing were amiss. Neither man succeeded. Sawhill's feigned cheerfulness did not cheer his patient, and it was of course impossible for Will to forget that one half of his body seemed to be rotting on the bone.

  Sawhill parked his car as close to the museum as possible out of consideration for Will. They walked slowly to the doorway. Sawhill made an instinctive attempt to assist Will by taking his arm, but Will waved him away. "I can still walk, Doc," he said. "I ain't no cripple, not yet."

  "Sorry, Will. I didn't mean—"

  "Yeah, skip it. Listen, I don't really want to stand around in there, have everybody stare at me and stuff. I'm gonna hang around out here, maybe sit down under a tree and relax."

  "Sure, Will, of course. I understand." He left Will near the grass of the campus quad and entered the museum alone. He found Jasper and Gus dusting the empty sarcophagus for fingerprints as Harriet, Roderick, Suzanne, and Sam looked on with obvious concern. "Good afternoon," Sawhill said.

  "Tommy!" Harriet exclaimed. "I didn't know you were coming here."

  "Yeah, Jasper called me and asked me to drop by." They kissed perfunctorily. Harriet's mind was on the theft of one of her precious exhibits, and he was concerned about Will. "How's it going, Jasper," he asked. "Any clues?"

  "Not a damn thing," Jasper Rudd spat. "Not here, not at Lewis's office, either. Whoever did this was goddamn careful." He pointed to the storage room. "The thief came in through a window in the back. Must have left the same way. Door's okay, no damage to it. Seems to me that he was probably hiding in there when you and Miss Langly showed up here last night."

  "Isn't that creepy?" Harriet said.

  "It's infuriating," Sawhill replied. "If we'd only known—"

  "If you'd known, you'd both probably be dead right now,"

  Jasper said. "We ain't dealing with kids stealing hubcaps."

  "Do you still think the theft is connected to the murder?"

  "Can't prove it. Right now I can't prove a goddamn thing, but every instinct I have tells me that they're related, and that Ahmed Hadji committed both crimes."

  "No word on his whereabouts, either?"

  "No, but that Inspector Sheldon from Scotland Yard called me back. He did a little digging, called Interpol and the Egyptian consulate over there. Got a little background on our suspect."

  "Really?" Suzanne and Harriet said simultaneously. "You never mentioned that," Suzanne added.

  "Didn't want to have to repeat myself when the doc showed up. It seems that this Mr. Hadji is a multimillionaire connected to some import-export company called Luxor Limited. Deals in antiquities and manufactured copies. Apparently they import the antiquities and export the copies."

  "And the institute?" Harriet asked.

  "Exactly what he said it was. Egyptian National Institute of Reclamation. It's a private organization, though. No connection with the Egyptian government. They try to get back museum pieces from all over the world. It's a nationalist thing, I suppose."

  "That's discouraging," Sam Goldhaber muttered.

  "Why?" Sawhill asked. "If he's legitimate—"

  "If he and his institute are legitimate," Sam finished for him, "then it reduces the likelihood of his having stolen the mummy or killed Mr. Lewis. And that leaves us worse off than we were before, if we lose our only suspect."

  "There's some funny things about that institute of his, though," Jasper added. "Sheldon told me that the board of directors for the institute are the same people as the board of directors for Hadji's import-export company. That's the info he got from the Egyptian consulate's computers, anyway. They're both run by a man named Haleel Haftoori, and neither of them has what Sheldon called a tradition of hereditary devolvement."

  "What the hell is that?" Harriet asked.

  "Hereditary devolvement," Suzanne explained, "is the passage of property ownership from father to son or mother to daughter—parent to child, basically."

  "Right," Jasper said. "According to the records he was able to dig up, none of the people involved in the business or the institute—and they're the same people, remember—are married or have any kids. The business goes back about a hundred years, the institute about seventy years, and no one has ever left any of their interests in either of them to an heir. None of them has ever had an heir."

  Harriet thought this over. "Do you think that means anything?"

  Jasper shrugged. "Beats me. It's weird, though, ain't it?" He resumed dusting the sarcophagus. "I wish I could get my hands on Hadji. I can feel in my bones that he did all this, whether it makes sense or not. I have a lot of questions to ask that little man."

  "Then perhaps you should begin to ask them," Ahmed Hadji said.

  They spun around, startled by the sound of his voice. Hadji, dressed in a plain blue business suit, strode casually into the room. "Hold it right there," Gus said, drawing his gun. "You're under arrest."

  Hadji ignored him. To Jasper, he said, "I have come to reassert my right to the ownership of these mummies. I have spoken to the Egyptian embassy in Washington, and our ambassador plans to—"

  "Where were you last night, Mr. Hadji?" Jasper asked. To Gus he said sharply, "Put your gun away." Gus reluctantly complied.

  "I see no reason why I should respond to such an impertinent question!" Hadji snapped.

  Jasper moved slowly, threateningly closer. "You're gonna respond to it because I'm the one who asked it, you understand? Now, where were you last night?"

  Hadji shrank slightly from the close proximity to Jasper

  Rudd. He was clearly intimidated. "Well—at what time?"

  "All night, Mr. Hadji. The whole goddamn night."

  "I was in my hotel room, but for the brief time I went out to eat."

  "What hotel?"

  "The papier-mâché monstrosity on your Main Street."

  "You mean the motor inn?"

  "I believe that is its name."

  "And where did you eat?"

  "In the small restaurant—a diner, I believe you call it?— near the railroad station."

  "That's right across the street from Jack Lewis's office!" Gus said excitedly.

  "I know that, Gus," Jasper said. To Hadji, "You got any witnesses who can corroborate that?"

  "Witnesses!" Hadji was the epitome o
f wounded honor. "Why on earth should I need witnesses? What is going on here?"

  "As if you don't know," Harriet said darkly.

  Hadji turned to her. "Madam, I have no intention of—" His eyes went wide with shock when he saw the empty sarcophagus. "Where is the mummy? What has happened to the mummy?" He rushed at Jasper and grabbed him by the collar. "What has happened?!"

  Jasper dislodged him easily and pushed him back a few steps. "You keep your hands to yourself, my friend. You're in enough trouble right now without adding to it."

  'What has happened?' Hadji shouted.

  "You tell us," Jasper said. "Tell us what happened to the mummy. Tell us what happened to Jack Lewis."

  "Jack Lewis! Who is Jack Lewis?"

  Jasper looked at him closely, suspiciously, but doubting his own suspicions. "There's been a murder. And a theft."

  "Not the mummy! Oh, God, not the mummy! It has been stolen?" Jasper nodded slowly, never moving his eyes from Hadji's face. Hadji leaned dramatically against the wall and shook his head. He covered his eyes with his hands, and when he removed them tears were running down his cheeks. "You stupid fools! I knew something like this would happen! You can't keep exhibits of such value in a broken down barn like this!"

  "Who do you think took the exhibit, Mr. Hadji?" Jasper asked.

  "A rival museum, of course. Who else—" Hadji's eyes shone forth with sudden understanding. "You suspect me?! You think that I would so lower myself as to—" His face grew red with indignation. "I shall report this to my embassy! I shall formally complain to your State Department! How dare you make such a loathsome accusation!"

  "You can complain all you want to whoever you want. Don't make no difference to me. I got a murder and burglary, and you look good for both of them."

  Hadji became suddenly, icily calm. "Am I to assume that I am under arrest, as your fool assistant put it?"

  "We'll see," Jasper said. "First I want to know if you have any witnesses."

  "Ah, witnesses," Hadji said slowly. "May I ask you what evidence you have discovered linking me to these crimes?"

  "We'll find some soon enough," Gus said heatedly, "just you wait!"

  "Gus, will you shut up?!" Jasper bellowed. Nothing like letting a suspect know when you don't have any hard proof, he thought angrily.

  "So there is nothing," Hadji said. "Am I to assume that the mere fact that I am a foreigner is sufficient cause for my detention?"

  "Don't get wise with me, Hadji," Jasper spat. "I've got enough on you right now to lock you up."

  "Come now, sir. I know enough about Anglo-Saxon jurisprudence to be well aware of the fact that you do not. Tell me, was this murder committed here, in conjunction with the theft?"

  "You tell me."

  Hadji laughed. "Such clever dissembling! I assume that the murder was committed elsewhere. What connection have you discovered between the murder and the theft?"

  "He can't question you, Jasper!" Gus whined.

  "Gus, will you shut up?!" Jasper repeated.

  "Gentlemen, we are wasting time," Hadji said with exaggerated weariness. "You obviously have no concrete grounds upon which to suspect me, other than the fact that I have a legitimate claim to possession of the antiquities which you are apparently unable to protect. I have come here once more to reason with you. If you do not turn the remaining exhibits over to me, I shall initiate official protest and legal proceedings. I assure you that you will indeed lose possession of these exhibits, and you will find the process of losing very expensive and extremely unpleasant."

  "That may be," Jasper said, "but in the meantime I'm gonna lock you up."

  Hadji emitted a sound halfway between a sigh and a yawn as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a square orange booklet. He tossed it to Jasper, saying, "I think not."

  Jasper opened the booklet and examined it. "Goddamn it! Shit!" escaped from his lips.

  "What is it, Jasper?" Harriet asked.

  "It's a goddamn diplomatic passport!"

  "Exactly," Hadji said. "And as I am certain you know, sir, international agreements prohibit you from doing anything other than holding my passport in anticipation of a State Department ruling of persona non grata status. If indeed such a ruling would be forthcoming, which it is not."

  "Yeah, yeah, I know the law, you son of a bitch," Jasper replied. "And I'm gonna do just that. I'm holding on to this goddamn thing and calling Washington."

  "That is of course your prerogative." He turned to Harriet and Sam Goldhaber. "Can I assume that you persist in your refusal to relinquish possession of the remaining mummies?" He emphasized the word "remaining."

  "We do," Sam said with finality.

  "Very well. I shall proceed through official channels." He turned and began to walk out of the room.

  "Wait!" Suzanne shouted. Hadji stopped and turned as she said to Jasper, "You can't just let him walk out of here! It's obvious that he stole the exhibit!"

  "I'm sorry, Miss Melendez, but there's nothing I can do." Jasper seemed to be infuriated by his own admission.

  "I don't want to have to report to my employers that the suspect was in your presence and you just let him waltz away!"

  "You report whatever you goddamn want to! My hands are tied. I can't lock him up, and only the State Department can throw him out. It ain't my choice. I only enforce the law, and that, Miss Melendez, is the law."

  "Precisely," Hadji said contentedly. "You know where I am staying, sir. I shall await your response to my embassy's actions." He turned on his heel and walked out.

  "Son of a bitch!" Jasper said.

  "This is incredible!" Sawhill exclaimed. "Do you mean to tell me that he can do whatever he wants, and we can't do a damn thing about it?"

  "Pert' near," Jasper nodded. "That little bastard could commit murder in the sight of a dozen witnesses, and the worst thing that could happen to him is that he'd be sent back to Egypt."

  "I don't believe this," Harriet said desperately. "He has my exhibit. I know he does!"

  "Of course he does," Jasper agreed. "I'll search his room at the motor inn, but I doubt I'll find anything. He's a smart little prick. "

  "But we have to do something!" she cried. "We can't just sit around doing nothing."

  "I know, ma'am. I'm sorry, but right now all I can do is finish up looking around in here and then take your statements." He shook his head. "Diplomatic immunity. Shit!" He paused. "Gus. Come here . . ."

  Outside the museum, Ahmed Hadji was standing motionless, staring at Will Foster. Will was sitting beneath an elm tree, worriedly stroking his right cheek. His right arm hung stiffly from his side, and his right leg was thrust forward from his body as if the knee would not bend. And now, Hadji thought, to the purpose of my visit to this ramshackle barn these idiots laughingly call a museum.

  Hadji watched Will Foster for a few more moments, making careful note of his condition. Then he walked over to him and said, "Good morning. Or is it afternoon?"

  Will looked up at him quizzically, and then recognized him. He began to shout, "Jasper! Jasper! That Arab guy—"

  "Calm yourself, my friend," Hadji said quickly. "I have already spoken with your policeman friend. Everything has been straightened out."

  Jasper Rudd leaned out of the doorway of the museum and saw Hadji standing near Will. "What the hell's going on out here?"

  "Nothing, sir," Hadji replied. "I was merely attempting to extend my apologies to this good fellow for having angered him so yesterday." He turned back to Will. "I was very angry at you for hitting me. But I realize that my behavior was offensive, to say the least. Please accept my regrets." He extended his hand toward Will. Seeing this, Jasper withdrew back into the museum.

  Will looked at Hadji suspiciously. "You apologize to Professor Langly? It was her you insulted."

  "Of course I have," Hadji lied. "That's why I am here right now. I behaved abominably yesterday, and I wish to make amends." He thrust his hand closer to Will, knowing that he could not shake it. Will could no
t move his right arm. He reached over with his left hand and grasped Hadji's hand. Putting on an expression of concern, Hadji asked, "Whatever is wrong with you, my good fellow? Are you ill?"

  "It's nothin'," Will muttered, not wishing to discuss his ailment with a stranger.

  "Oh, but it looks serious. Wait—wait—did you by any chance—yes, yes, I remember. You touched the mummy, did you not?"

  "Yeah. So?"

  "Why, you poor fellow! You have contracted the holachmay bacterium."

  "The what? The hol—the what?"

  "Yes, it is quite common, and easily treated. Have you seen a doctor?"

  "Yeah, sure, Dr. Sawhill, just a little while ago. He says I may have scleropia, or something. I have to go to the hospital tonight for tests."

  "Oh, nonsense, nonsense. This condition does not require hospitalization. It is quite common in the Mideast."

  Will's eyes went wide with hope and relief. "No shit? It isn't serious?"

  Hadji had gauged him perfectly. He had assumed that Foster would be confused and terrified by what was happening to him, this horrible degeneration without warning or explanation. He knew also that whatever help he sought would be unable to discover the cause. He knew that drowning men clutch at straws, and he began to throw some to Will Foster. "No, no, not serious at all. Of course, it isn't to be expected that an American physician would be able to recognize the symptoms. The holachmay bacterium thrives in the rotting linen on mummies. It can be a serious source of infection, but prompt treatment always effects a total cure."

  Will tried to get to his feet, but unaided was not able to do so. "I gotta tell Dr. Sawhill. He's gotta find out how to cure it."

  Hadji generously extended his hand again and helped Will to his feet. "No need to bother the doctor. He doesn't have access to the salve required anyway. He's busy with the policeman inside, and it would be unwise to disturb them."

  "But—"

  "And unnecessary as well. I have an ample supply of the salve back in my hotel room. I always carry it with me when I am engaged in work involving antiquities. Just a precaution."