Stolen Souls

by Sackett, Jeffrey

  "That's right," Sam agreed. "And from the way Jasper sounded on the phone, he isn't in the mood to be crossed." Sam followed Sawhill down the steps, and Roderick, heaving a sigh, followed Sam.

  The basement of the hospital was strangely quiet, as only those places dedicated to death can be. Hospitals are places devoted to life, to its preservation and improvement, and despite the sterility and ominous atmosphere which hospitals occasionally exude, the underlying current of hope and possibility seems always present. But the section of a hospital where the bodies of the dead are stored pending final disposition partakes of no such feeling. The cold stone walls reflect the fluorescent light starkly, and the soothing colors painted in hopes of dispelling the gloom fail in their purpose.

  Sawhill and Sam made a few desultory comments as they approached the door to the morgue. Roderick made no attempt at conversation whatsoever. The repository for the bodies of the deceased was not demarcated in any special way; rather, the simple identification B5 stood out in black against the cream-colored door. Sawhill pushed the door open and leaned into the room. He saw Jasper sitting beside the desk in the morgue anteroom, bent over, his head resting in his hands. "Jasper?" Sawhill said softly. "Are you all right?"

  Jasper's head snapped up. He stared hard at Sawhill through narrow, bloodshot eyes. "Sam and the Earl with you?"

  "Yes," Sawhill replied, entering the room. Sam Goldhaber and Roderick Fowles walked in behind him. "Are Harriet and Suzanne here?"

  "Can't find Miss Langly," Jasper said. He rose to his feet. "Come with me. I have something to show you." He led them back into the cadaver storage room which the orderlies referred to rather irreverently as the meat locker. The room was constructed in the standard manner of all morgues: rectangular drawer cases on rollers, recessed into the walls on three sides of the room.

  Jasper walked over to one of the drawer cases and grasped the handle. Sawhill thought he saw Jasper take a deep breath and squeeze his eyes shut quickly before pulling on the handle. The drawer slid out silently on the rubber wheels. Jasper pulled it out all the way, instead of the three feet customary for simple identification of the deceased. He reached down and swept back the sheet which covered the cadaver.

  Sawhill and Sam walked forward and peered into the compartment. Roderick maintained a discreet distance, not wishing to view the body, but straining his neck to see out of an irrepressible curiosity. Sawhill's mouth dropped open.

  "It's Gus," Jasper said brokenly as tears began to stream down his cheeks.

  Sawhill shook his head numbly. "It can't be Gus."

  "It's Gus. His clothes, his wallet. And I even recognize him, even though he's—like this." Jasper's hand made a jerky, involuntary movement in the direction of the corpse's head as if he meant to stroke his brow.

  "That's impossible!" Sawhill said. "I'm sorry, Jasper, but this just can't be your brother."

  Jasper Rudd walked to another drawer and wordlessly pulled it out from the wall. He lifted the sheet and said, "Suzanne Melendez." The three other men crowded around the drawer and stared down at the corpse. Then Roderick muttered, "I'll be damned!"

  "Jasper, are you sure about this?" Sawhill asked. "These people have been dead for—well, Jesus, I don't know! They look like . . ." He paused.

  "Yeah, I know what they look like!" Jasper suddenly shouted. "They look like those goddamn mummies!"

  "Jasper—"

  "This is Miss Melendez," he said loudly. "And that's my little brother over there, and they're both dead and I want to know how and why!"

  "Jasper, an autopsy—"

  "Yeah, I already talked to Harrison. There's gonna be an autopsy. But I want some information from you first, Doc."

  "From me! Jasper, I don't know—"

  "You know what was wrong with Will Foster, don't you? Didn't you tell us that he had some kind of rot disease?"

  "I don't recall saying anything about—"

  "Back when we was investigating the theft, back at the college. You said you'd scheduled him for a whole lot of tests because of some disease he had, and then he just upped and disappeared. Remember? Well, what's the disease?"

  Sawhill closed his eyes for a moment. "Jasper, I know what you're thinking, but it's absolutely impossible that—"

  "Don't tell me you know what I'm thinking," Jasper shouted. "You got no goddamn idea what I'm thinking! Just answer my question."

  "Jasper, you've got to calm down," Sawhill began. "It won't do any of us any—"

  "Listen, Doc, I'm investigating a couple of unexplained deaths here," he bellowed. "Just answer the goddamn question!"

  The last thing he needed to deal with just then was a hysterical and hostile policeman, so Sawhill decided to humor him. "I made a very tentative diagnosis of scleroderma, but—"

  "What? What? Scler—what?"

  "Scleroderma," he repeated, "a degenerative tissue disease. But listen to me, Jasper. I can't be sure until I find Will and run those tests. His blood and urine tests were negative. And even if he does have scleroderma, you have to realize that it isn't a contagious disease. And even if it were, there is no degenerative tissue disease, none at all, which could have done this to these two people in so short a period of time." He looked down again at the grinning skull of Suzanne Melendez, her still shiny long black hair flowing incongruously from the taut, withered leather which was pulled tight around her skull. "I can't think of anything—"

  "Well, I can!" Jasper shouted. "Some goddamn Asiatic disease you people"—and he shot a look at Sam—"brought over here with those goddamn mummies! I know enough about corpses to know that they can carry disease, and God knows what germs those things have running around in them!"

  Sawhill tried not to smile at the absurdity of Jasper's conclusions. "Jasper, those mummies have been dead for thousands of years! They're no more germ-ridden than an old vase or dinosaur fossil!"

  "Okay, then you explain it! You got three people with the same disease—"

  "Jasper, this is not the result of a disease!"

  "—and all three of them had contact with those goddamn mummies," Jasper continued, ignoring Sawhill. "Isn't it obvious—"

  "Damn it, Jasper, will you listen to me?" Sawhill shouted. "It is impossible, I repeat, impossible for any disease known to medical science to have done this to Gus and Suzanne in one day. It is absolutely impossible! We don't know what Will Foster has—we don't even know where the hell he is. And, look, just because these bodies are wearing clothes and have identifications which lead you to think that they're Gus and Suzanne doesn't mean that they are! From the looks of them, they could be almost anybody."

  Jasper stared at him, long and coldly. Then he said softly, "I know my little brother, Doc. And if you don't recognize that pretty girl's hair, you ain't got much of an eye for women. This is Miss Melendez, and that's Gus over there." He put his hands on his hips and leaned forward. "Now, what the hell happened to them?"

  Sawhill shook his head. "You'll have to wait for the autopsy results. When is Doug going to do them?"

  "In about an hour. Look, Doc—"

  "Jasper, don't try to connect the mummies with whatever the hell this is. They do not carry disease: They're dried up leather, like belts and shoes, that's all."

  Jasper turned slowly from Sawhill to the open drawer in which Gus Rudd's remains lay. He burst out in tears and sobbed, "My brother! My little brother!" Sawhill placed his hand on Jasper's shoulder and squeezed it supportively.

  "Jasper, why don't you wait upstairs, go get a cup of coffee or something? You're just upsetting yourself by staying here."

  He shook his head. "Gus's the only family I got. I'm staying here."

  "You shouldn't be here during the autopsies, Jasper. You know that as well as I do. It isn't—"

  "Doc, if you want to stay here and help out, that's fine. But I'd rather you go out and try to find Foster." He wiped a tear from his cheek. "If he's still alive, I mean."

  "Of course he's still alive." Sawhill could not t
hink of anything to say. Even with his own patients, he fell mute in the face of death. Finally he turned to Sam and Roderick. "I think I'll go and check out some of Will's hangouts. You want to come along?"

  "I'd just as soon go back to bed, if it's all the same," Roderick said, a hint of petulance creeping into his voice.

  How the hell can you go back to sleep after all this? Sawhill thought, but he said, "Fine. We can drop you off. Sam?"

  "Yeah, I'll go with you. Let me drop my car off at the college, and we can cruise around in yours." He turned to Jasper, who was still standing over the remains of his brother. "You gonna be okay, Jasper?"

  "Yeah, sure," the policeman muttered. "Terrific."

  The three men stood awkwardly for a moment, each feeling that something more needed to be said but none of them able to find the appropriate words. Then, silently, they left the room and passed through the anteroom to the hallway. Once back in the corridor, Roderick said, "Horrible thing, actually."

  "I can't understand it," Sawhill said, shaking his head. "I've never seen of or heard of anything like this."

  "They do rather look like mummies, don't they?" Sam mused. "Say, Tom, you don't think that there might be some sort of disease—"

  "Sam, don't be ridiculous! Mummies carrying a virus that turns people into mummies? Come on!"

  "Yeah, I guess it's a silly notion." He frowned. "But what happened to them? What could have done that to them? They look like they were dried up by some incredible heat, dry heat."

  "I know," Sawhill agreed as he opened the stairway door and began to mount the steps with the other two men behind him. "But what sort of heating process could do that without burning the flesh?" He sighed. "It's beyond me. I just don't understand it."

  They walked up the rest of the way without speaking. As Sawhill opened the stairway door and walked out into the corridor of the main floor, he saw Dr. Douglas Harrison walking toward them. "Doug!" he called out. "Got a minute?"

  "Just a minute," Harrison said. "I have a hell of a schedule today."

  "I've just seen the bodies down there, the ones that Jasper brought in. He's convinced that they're his brother and a friend of ours."

  "Yes, I know," Harrison nodded. "He may be right. I don't know if we can get any fingerprints from them, their fingers are so withered. We'll try to get a set of prints before I start the examination."

  "Who found the bodies?" Sam asked.

  Harrison stared at him for a moment and then nodded in recognition. "Professor Goldman, isn't it? From the college?"

  "Goldhaber," he corrected him, "Sam Goldhaber. And this is His Lordship, the Earl of Selwyn."

  Roderick smiled impatiently and extended his hand. "How do you do?"

  As Harrison shook his hand, it was clear from the expression on the doctor's face that he was rather skeptical of the identification of the unwashed, slovenly young fellow. Harrison turned back to Sam and answered his question. "Two boys were fishing down by the Walkill and found them lying on a sand bank. They were pretty shaken up."

  "Sure," Sam nodded. "It would shake me up, that's for sure."

  "You have any ideas about them?" Sawhill asked.

  Harrison shook his head. "Not a one. Jasper was hoping that you might be able to shed some light on the situation. You have any ideas?"

  "No, of course not. Jasper has this crazy notion that they contracted a disease from some mummies the College museum just purchased."

  "That's absurd!"

  "Course it is. But Jasper's not thinking straight just now"

  "Can't blame him. Well, I'd better get down there and get to it. I have a full day ahead of me. Take it easy"

  "Bye." As Harrison opened the stairway door, Sawhill called after him, "Oh, Doug."

  "Yeah?"

  "One of my patients, Will Foster, was supposed to come in here last night for some tests. Have you seen him or heard anything about him?"

  "Sorry. Don't know the guy." He disappeared behind the closing door.

  "Shit," Sawhill muttered. A loud and pointed yawn from Roderick brought him out of the reverie he was beginning, and he said, "Well, let's get His Lordship home and then go look for Will."

  "Sure," Sam said. "Where are we going to look for him?"

  Sawhill shrugged. "I know a few bars where he hangs around. We can start there."

  The three men left the hospital and got into their respective automobiles, with Roderick joining Sam in his. Sam started his car and pulled out from the curb and Sawhill followed in his own vehicle close behind him.

  I know I should spend the morning looking for Will, Sawhill thought as he drove along, but it's Harriet I'm concerned about. Maybe she's at the college. Maybe when I called there before she was en route. Yeah, sure, she's probably there right now, working on her exhibits. We can stop in when we drop off Sam's car.

  Sawhill was still busily engaged in convincing himself that she was all right when they pulled into the main parking lot near the faculty tower. He waited as Sam and Roderick left Sam's car and walked toward him, Sam's obvious attempts at conversation apparently eliciting nothing from Roderick other than a few irritable grunts. Sawhill rolled down the window as they approached him, saying, "Hey, Sam, if you don't mind I'd like to take a spin over to the museum and see if Harriet's there, okay?"

  "Sure. But weren't the two of you together last night? I mean, I'm not trying to get personal, but—"

  "Yes we were," he said matter-of-factly, "but she was gone when I woke up this morning. I called the museum earlier, but there was no answer."

  "Probably called before she got there. You mind a little detour, Your Lordship?" he asked Roderick.

  "Oh, no, of course not," he replied untruthfully. What am I doing here? he thought to himself. Why can't we just sign the bloody papers and be done with it so I can get to Florida? Then he remembered that the person who was to have supervised the transfer of ownership was lying in the morgue.

  "Good," Sawhill said. "Hop in." Sam opened the rear door and climbed in, allowing Roderick to sit up front. As they pulled out of the parking lot onto the main road through the campus, Sawhill said, "This has been one hell of a week. Murders, burglaries, deaths—" He shook his head. "Not your customary Greenfield experience."

  "I know. But this business with Gus and Suzanne—if it really is them, I mean—this is the most bizarre thing yet." Sam leaned back in the seat and sighed. "I'm starting to reconsider my plans to retire here."

  Sawhill laughed. "Don't jump the gun, Sam. It still beats Manhattan. If all this stuff happened in New York City, nobody would notice it." He decided to try to draw Roderick into the conversation. Sawhill was growing annoyed at the vacuous presence of the young nobleman and decided that anything Roderick said that was not a complaint, a request, or an expression of strained politeness would be an improvement.

  "How's the crime rate in London, Your Lordship. As bad as American cities?"

  Roderick sniffed and yawned. "I can't say, actually. I spend most of my time in the country. Dirty place, London."

  "I guess the English countryside is as quiet as ours, right?"

  He shrugged. "I suppose."

  Sawhill gave up.

  As they rounded the turn which would take them to that side of the quad where the museum stood, Sawhill slowed down and peered intently out the window. "I don't see her car anywhere."

  "Does she have a van?" Sam asked.

  "No. Why?"

  "Well, there's a van over there by the grounds building. I don't recognize it. Could it be Will's?"

  "No, he doesn't drive a van. He—" Sawhill stopped the car. "Hey! Isn't that Hadji?"

  Sam leaned forward from the back seat. "I believe it is. Who's that with him?"

  "I don't know," Sawhill replied. "I've never—wait a minute! Look at that!"

  "Son of a bitch!" Sam muttered. "In broad daylight! What gall!" Ahmed Hadji and Yuya were carefully carrying a mummy out of the grounds building. Hadji was holding the mummy by the shoulders and he
gently placed it head first into the back of the open van. Yuya then slid the body in the rest of the way, and they both turned and walked back into the grounds building.

  "That's unbelievable!" Sawhill said as he began to drive toward the building. "As if he has every right in the world!" He grew suddenly concerned. "Harriet! She might be in there!"

  "I doubt it," Sam said. "If she were here, her car would be here too, and it isn't. Don't worry about that, Tom. She must be elsewhere."

  "Well, I'm going to give that stupid son of a—"

  "Hold it, wait. I think we should pull back. Stop the car, Tom, now! Please!"

  Sawhill did as he was requested, but the look he then gave Sam Goldhaber was not one of agreement. "Pull back! Are you nuts?"

  "Listen to me. There's been at least one murder, not including the bodies in the morgue. Who knows what happened to them. But it's obvious that we're dealing with some dangerous people here. I think we should wait, let them leave, follow them, and then, when we can, call Jasper or the state police."

  "Look, Sam, there's three of us and only two of them. We can—"

  "We can get ourselves killed if we aren't careful. I'm not a young man, Tom, and the Earl here—pardon me for saying this Your Lordship—isn't exactly a pugilist. Let's watch them and follow them and then call the police. Pull back, away from here. Please, Tom!"

  Sam's arguments made unwelcome sense, and Sawhill threw the car into reverse and backed away onto the road. They sat quietly and watched as Hadji and his companion brought another mummy out of the building and placed it into the back of the van, and then another, and yet another. As Hadji and Yuya shut the rear doors of the van and climbed into the front seat, Sam muttered, "That seems to be all of 'em." The van began slowly to move onto the main campus road and Sawhill began to follow the other vehicle. Hadji drove away from the quad toward the campus exit and Sawhill followed at a discreet distance.

  "Not too close," Sam said. "We don't want him to see us."

  "He won't," Sawhill said, biting his lower lip. "He's probably so nervous he won't even look in the rearview mirror."