Map of the Dead: A mystery thriller that's a page turner
Page 12
“So Carter didn’t become rich?”
“Not immediately. But six weeks later Carnarvon was dead, allegedly from pneumonia and septicaemia from an infected mosquito bite.”
From the hamper she removed a selection of ready-made sandwiches and cartons of fruit juice. She shrugged apologetically.
“It’s great,” he said, selecting a crayfish and rocket sandwich.
“Back to Carnarvon then,” she prompted. “So the curse was made up?”
“I think that was all for the newspapers. They were going crazy with the excitement of the find, and the theory of Tutankhamen taking revenge was just something else to be lapped up. It also helped Carter, who made his fortune from selling his story and doing an international roadshow.”
Alex’s phone rang, but he ignored it.
He continued: “I’m hoping the trip to Oxford will prompt something. I’m going tomorrow.”
Vanessa said, “Oh that’s a shame. I’d come with you but I’ve got other plans.”
Alex’s phone rang again. He pulled it from a pocket. Number withheld. He answered.
A voice said, “You aren’t at the address in Hammersmith.”
“Detective Dixit, how nice of you to call.”
Dixit ignored the sarcasm. “Where are you, Mr MacLure?”
“At this moment I’m having a picnic in Richmond Park… with a pretty girl.” He winked at Vanessa, who responded with her cute crooked smile.
“Tell me your whereabouts exactly. I’ll be there as soon as I can. You said you wanted to help. Well, we would like your help now.”
Alex smiled. “Of course, but meet me where I’m staying.” He gave Dixit the address of Simon’s café and suggested they meet in an hour.
“Great,” Dixit said. “Then we can talk. It’s about the missing item.”
TWENTY
DC Dixit looked like a defeated man as he entered Simon’s café. He sat at Alex’s table and ordered a white coffee.
“What’s up?” Alex prompted.
“Why didn’t you tell us you had moved?”
Alex studied the detective and wondered why he seemed so angry. It had only been a couple of days and it wasn’t as though he was trying to hide from the police. “I just hadn’t got round to it. It wasn’t deliberate and I’m happy to help with your investigation. You called me. I answered. I’m here now.”
Dixit grunted. “Have you seen the latest article by your pal Milwanee?” When Alex said he hadn’t, the detective continued. “She’s claiming to have evidence of links between you and the Polish mafia. Are there any?”
“Absolutely not!”
They sat in silence for a while as Alex read the article on his smartphone. Aysha Milwanee reported that Alex was suspected of aiding the break-in at Highclere and that the plan was to sell the items on to the Polish. It mentioned the crime scene in the East End and the discovery of all of the stolen items as well as three bodies. All executed.
“That triple murder in West Ham… is that linked?”
Dixit said, “It certainly looks like that’s the gang who stole everything.”
“I don’t get it,” Alex said eventually.
“Quite honestly, I don’t care if you get it. More importantly, though, the case has been taken over by the NCA. They’ve got it because of organized crime and it’s being considered as gang war.”
Alex finished his own drink and let his annoyance die down. “So, Detective, you wanted to see me—it’s about something else, isn’t it?”
Dixit’s eyes twitched and he straightened as though trying to hide his state of mind. He forced a smile. “First of all, I have an update for you. We believe we have identified the person responsible for Ellen Champion’s death.”
“Who?”
“One of the victims in West Ham. His DNA was found on Ellen’s skin.”
Alex tried to shake the image from his mind. The guy had touched her. What had he done? Alex desperately wanted details but at the same time he didn’t. Eventually he just said, “That’s good news.”
“Yes.”
Then it occurred to Alex that if the case was solved and the gang’s murder was being investigated by the NCA, what was Dixit doing here? “There’s something else.”
Dixit’s eyes twitched again.
Alex waited for a customer to pass the table out of earshot before he leaned forward and said, “Come on, man. Let’s stop playing games. If you are no longer interested in the murder, what’s this about?”
“Stolen goods.”
Alex shook his head. “You don’t still think I was involved in the burglary.”
Dixit hesitated then said, “No, I don’t.” Emphasis on the I. “Let me run this by you. The gang disabled the cameras and got in through the emergency exit. They took some stuff from the main exhibit, although they didn’t take King Tut’s bust or the golden woman statue.”
“Isis. The statue is of the goddess Isis. But they’re so obviously fake. There was no security alarm on the statue. If it had been solid gold, it’d have had a permanent guard, I suspect. So they left them because they weren’t stupid.”
“Yes, they appear to have had at least some knowledge of what was genuine.” All of a sudden, Dixit looked serious. “There’s a small room after the black curtains. A room with the small artefacts in display cabinets—all around one side and a couple of free-standing ones.”
“That’s actually the first exhibit.” Now Alex returned the seriousness. “Detective, why don’t you just tell me straight?”
Dixit thought for a moment. “All right. They took all the stuff in that small room. It seems that was their main target, although they showed their knowledge of artefacts elsewhere because they took all the genuine British Museum stuff.”
“And?”
“The important thing is not what we’ve recovered but what we haven’t. The British Museum have identified everything that’s theirs. It’s the Highclere Estate that report an item missing.”
Suddenly it made sense. The thug with the aviator sunglasses had wanted to know where the other item was. Alex said, “Jesus! The gang didn’t steal everything. There was something missing!”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“What is it?”
Dixit pulled out a notebook and checked it. “The Estate describe it as a ceremonial funerary block.” He made the shape of something about a foot square and a hand’s grip deep. I’m not sure what that means, but the Estate say it’s genuine but not particularly valuable.”
“I know which one you’re talking about. It was for the embalming process, the preparation of the body prior to mummification. A religious artefact. A block of stone with ruts and holes for collecting and separating bodily fluids.”
Dixit pulled a face. “Sounds like the description.”
Alex pictured the religious artefact in his mind. “Surely it was a mistake. Like you say, it’s not especially valuable or interesting. Could the gang have taken it and it’s just not been found?” As he said it, he knew it didn’t make sense. “Or is the Estate mistaken?”
Dixit said, “We’re pretty sure the gang never had it. They catalogued everything else. As for the Estate making a mistake, I don’t know. Of course, there’s another option.”
“Which is?”
“That you took it when you snuck in a few days before the robbery.”
Alex could tell the detective didn’t believe it. His body language was all wrong. He said nothing.
Eventually Dixit spoke again. “By the way, the coroner has released the body of your friend. I don’t know if you’ve been told but I understand the funeral is at 1pm on Monday.” He gave the address of a cemetery near Southampton on the south coast. Ellen’s parents lived in a village close by.
Dixit stood to go and said, “Good luck.” Then he surprised Alex by holding out his hand.
TWENTY-ONE
After Dixit left, Alex rang Nadja. She was stressed by all the media attention.
“
They are saying I’m prostitute,” she said, her voice brittle, as though she were on the verge of tears. “And I don’t know this Slimowicz man. They say he is criminal.”
Alex said he was sorry for causing her all the trouble. After the call he rang his mother and arranged for her to pick up Topsy.
“How long are you going to stay in hiding?” his mum asked.
“As long as it takes to blow over.”
“Will you go to Ellen’s funeral?”
He wanted to, but if the press were still reporting this nonsense, it would just be fuel to the fire.
On his laptop, Alex searched for images of the ceremonial block.
Alex didn’t see Vanessa that evening, but exchanged texts and finally received a Goodnight with a kiss. In the morning he caught the underground at Putney East to Paddington. He wore a beanie and sunglasses and avoided eye contact. At Paddington station he bought a ticket and caught the 9:35 to Oxford.
The journey should have been an hour for the four-carriage commuter train, but at Didcot Parkway, overlooked by monolithic cooling towers, the passengers were asked to leave the train. Work on the signals meant the final stretch was by coach.
The coach arrived at Oxford station later than the scheduled train and Alex jogged the half-mile to the Griffiths Institute. He’d envisaged an old building, typical of Oxford colleges, or perhaps something extremely modern. He was therefore taken aback by the row of Georgian houses. A small brass plaque declared he was at the correct property and so he knocked on the white front door.
A young man in a navy blue sweater promptly opened the door and smiled.
“Alex MacLure to see Professor Thompson.”
“Yes, yes, come in.” The young man stepped aside and beckoned Alex into the hall. “Up two flights and you’ll find the documents in the first room on the left.” He closed the door and disappeared into a side room, leaving Alex alone in the hall.
The wooden floor had a long Persian-style rug that led to the stairs. As instructed, Alex walked to the stairs and ascended two flights. There was no sound except for an occasional creak like the timbers of a galleon on the high seas. He stopped at the door and his knock seemed loud and intrusive. After a moment without response, he opened the door to find a reading room with tables and chairs. On one table Alex counted six cardboard boxes. The first contained three lever arch files marked as Howard Carter’s Diaries (Photocopies) and the excavation seasons. The other boxes were topped with a list of contents in chronological order, being the original notebooks with other documents, photographs, sketches and letters.
Alex waited for five minutes in case the professor was about to join him. When no one appeared, he sat down and opened the first folder and began to read.
The notes became sketchy after the initial exploration of Tutankhamen’s tomb. They even lacked detail about the official opening of the burial chamber on 16th March. When Carnarvon became ill, the entry read:
Found Ld. C. very ill with an acute attack of erysipelas and blood poisoning.
When he died fifteen days later on 5th April, Carter simply wrote:
Poor Ld. C. died during the early hours of the morning.
Unusually for Carter, he’d made no entries in the preceding five days except for the numbers 973 750. Later in 1923 there were strange codes with monthly headings, such as Oct. 3 11 4 7 35. Alex stared at the codes for some time but no inspiration came as to their meaning.
There were short entries that tended to relate to cataloguing and packing items to be shipped to the Cairo Museum and longer entries related to politics and frustration with the Egyptian government and officials. Interspersed was another code that had people’s initials and a name, which may have referred to a ship or may have been something else entirely.
Alex was disturbed from his reading by the creak of floorboards. Moments later, the door opened and a small man, possibly in his eighties, entered the room and smiled.
“Professor Thompson?” Alex stood.
The man used a walking stick in each hand and Alex met him halfway, waited for the sticks to be transferred before shaking hands. He noted Thompson smelled of burnt toast.
“How are you getting along?” the professor asked, his silver-grey eyes sparkling with life and enthusiasm that was a contrast to his frail body.
“I’ve just got to the end of 1925.”
The professor nodded and indicated they should both sit.
“Good, good. So what do you think, young man?”
“I was hoping you would tell me what my friend Ellen Champion discovered.”
“All in good time. First I would like to know what you have discovered today.”
“I knew Lord Carnarvon took items for his collection at Highclere Castle, but based on the use of codes in his notes, I’d guess Carter was also smuggling antiquities out of Egypt.”
“Of course he was! And directly under the noses of the authorities. They caught him at it you know. In February 1924, the Service des Antiquities, under orders of the Ministry of Public Works to inspect the tombs, found Fortnum and Mason packing cases in the tomb of Ramses VI—used as a storeroom by Carter. One, a red wine case, was found to contain a beautiful wooden statue: the boy Tutankhamen’s head emerging from a lotus flower. It was packed in cotton wool and medical gauze and was clearly intended to be shipped back to England because there was no catalogue entry for it. It is well known that many of the items Carter later claimed were held back from being sent to the Cairo Museum for scientific purposes are now housed in New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art.”
Alex nodded.
The professor said, “What else did you discover?”
“I think he entered the tomb before he was allowed.”
“He was supposed to be accompanied by a government official, but it certainly looks like they went in and reclosed the entrance. They explained it as a robber’s hole made in antiquity and repaired, but the repairs look too new and disguised.”
The professor’s eyes glistened and creased with a smile. “Anyway, that’s not why you are here. You want to know what Ellen was investigating. Sometimes you should look for what is not there.”
“What does that mean?”
“Have you eaten?”
Alex looked at his watch and was shocked to see it was almost five o’clock.
The professor said, “The institute will be closing soon. Why don’t we get a bite to eat and talk about the missing papyri?”
TWENTY-TWO
They settled in a bijou café off Broad Street, which was busy with the noise of chattering and crockery. Looking like eager co-conspirators, the two men sat close just so they could hear one another speak.
The professor said, “What do you know about the missing letters?”
“Nothing.”
“Lord Carnarvon wrote to a friend and later the British Museum and mentioned a box of papyri.” Thompson nodded to himself. “And a few days later he gave an interview with The Times and said:
One of the boxes contains rolls of papyri which may shed much light on the history of the period.
Although at the same time Carter said nothing about them.”
Alex sat up. Documents from the period would certainly be of interest to Ellen. “Were they in code?” he asked.
“We’ll never know. Like I said, they are missing. But more than that, no one ever said what was written on the papyri.”
“Oh, so Carnarvon was mistaken then?”
“In Carter’s book, published at the end of 1923, he goes out of his way to stress there were no papyri but rather rolls of linen. He explained the discrepancy based on dim candlelight.”
Alex said, “That’s not true! They had power from the tomb above and set up electric lights. It’s in his notes.”
“Precisely. Such an exciting find would have been checked immediately.” The professor nodded. “Lord Carnarvon would have known straight away.”
“So do you think Carter or Carnarvon kept the papyri?”
Alex said, “What did Ellen think?”
“She agreed that there would have been something. There were documents and they’re missing.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I think they held sensitive information. Carter and Carnarvon were heard arguing shortly after the find. Carnarvon dies and Carter keeps schtum—until he loses his temper with how he’s being treated. Remember, he was out of money and the Egyptian government were taking all the artefacts. He went to the British High Consulate in Cairo and threatened to expose the truth about the Exodus.”
Exodus! Suddenly the dots were being connected. Missing papyri, secret codes, Moses and the Exodus. No wonder Ellen was excited.
The professor was still talking. “It was a sensitive time for Britain in Palestine. They saw the establishment of the Jewish National Home as guaranteeing stability in the Middle East.” The professor shook his head. “Ironic really. Ellen found something else in Carter’s diary.”
Alex waited.
Thompson said, “There are a great many contradictions in the records and there’s a huge political one. Carter says that the high commissioner in Cairo was in perfect sympathy with his case. There’s no mention of the outburst. And then a few days later on 4th December 1924, Carter’s diary has an entry: letter to Rothschild. Lord Carnarvon’s father-in-law was Alfred de Rothschild. But Rothschild can’t refer to him because he was already dead so we think Rothschild refers to the House of Rothschild itself.”