“Wait,” Maya halted the doctor’s narration, “Was he usually alone when he supplied the bodies?”
“Yes,” said the doctor, “he generally came on a horse cart with the body laden on the back in a wooden box.”
Maya jotted it down on the pad and motioned the doctor to continue.
“Since that day, and that was one year ago, I have been receiving cadavers from him regularly. There had been no issues so far, about the quality or the supply time, he was generally very punctual and I received a body every two or three weeks.”
Maya read her notes once more when the doctor had finished his narration.
“Did you say he gave you a license of his affiliation to the morgue?” she asked.
“Yes he did, let me get it for you.” The doctor got up and disappeared from the room. Maya took the time to give her surroundings a bit more thought. She found, however, the figure of Rattan Singh lurking past the large picture window in the hall. Had he been trying to eavesdrop?
Maya drew her eyes away and focused on the notes. Finding if the man was a grave robber or not should be fairly straight forward. She could just go to the Sophia Morgue to enquire about him. She was more interested in the second part of the mystery, the note was what interested her, but the doctor had refused to hand that mystery over to her. Though Maya did not think that would stop her.
Charles Melcrose made his way back into the room with a piece of yellowed paper.
“This is the agreement that we made,” he said handing Maya the piece of paper, “At the bottom, you can find his license number and his signature.”
Maya helped herself with a quick glance at the sheet. It did look fairly official and real. The doctor had also brought another notebook which he extended towards Maya.
“This is my cadaver index book,” he said, “It has a record of all the bodies that I have received, with careful documentation of the origin of the bodies. Whenever Bernard Knowles supplied me with a body he had this information ready with him and I have captured it in one place.”
Maya flitted through the slightly damp pages. Each page had a name at the top, possibly of the dead person, and then some details about the body –the area that the body was found or the prison that the person was executed or the hospital that the person died.
“Can I keep the license and the notebook?” she asked.
The doctor thought for some time, “I suppose you can,” he said finally, “but you need to be careful. If Mr. Bernard supplied me with bodies from graveyards, then I would need them both to save my neck.”
Maya nodded, keeping them in her bag.
“When was the last time you saw Mr. Bernard?”
The doctor looked at the ceiling thinking for some time.
“Four weeks ago.”
“And you mentioned that he generally supplied bodies every two weeks. That would mean that there has been a delay this time?”
“Um… Yes,” said the doctor, “You can say that there has been a delay this time.”
“I wonder if this is also related to the note,” Maya mused biting her pen and thinking if she had any more questions. She seemed to have none. Maya gave the notes in her pad another consideration then got up. “I think I have enough information to pursue the mystery,” she said, “I believe I would need to make a few more trips to your house when more questions come up.”
“You would be most welcome,” said the doctor warmly leading her to the door, “But please be careful. I do not want anyone to have a sniff of the matter.”
Maya nodded and stepped out of the door.
10
The Shoe Salesman
As soon as he saw the High Guard, Odoi Eto, who was lying down on a stone slab in the corner of the dark jail cell in the Vasco Constabulary, got up, brushed his frame of dust, and straightened the sleeve of his shirt. He then parted his hair to the side, tightened his Navy blue tie to his neck and waited for Ernst Wilhelm in anticipation.
Odoi Eto was a shoe salesman and for him, making a good first impression was the key to a lasting relationship. That he was in jail and the other person was a policeman changed nothing.
Ernst eyed Odoi suspiciously; The High Guard did not remember the last time he had bathed and felt embarrassingly ill-dressed in front of the prisoner.
The middle-aged black man smiled broadly at the High Guard, he also attempted to get up and greet him but was pulled back by a chain which clasped him firmly with a hook on the wall of the jail cell. Ernst pulled a wooden chair to the cell and settled in front of Odoi. An oil lamp resting in a niche in the wall threw an orange glow upon their face.
“Hello sir,” Odoi greeted Ernst brightly, “your shoes seem to be in need of a change.”
Ernst glanced at his black boots. The sole of his right shoe was beginning to come off at the heel, and his toe was poking out slightly from a gash in the front. In his two months in the force, Ernst had already consumed three pairs of shoes. He wondered if he was entitled to any more pairs or if he would have to spend his own money to buy police shoes. He also wondered that if he failed to find the thief of the Ladder’s skull in two weeks, could he give the director his busted shoes as proof of his efforts?
“Police shoes are lousy,” said Odoi, “I know the supplier well. Not many swindlers worse than that man. He will think nothing of ripping his mother if he could help it. I've tried to sell the Police Red Indian shoes for a lifetime now. Sturdy boots these, top class.” He raised his trousers to show him the pair of red boots that he was wearing. The pair seemed to be new.
“I wear these all the time,” beamed Odoi, “these are exactly the kind of shoes that men like you need. But those people who sit in the supply department, they know nothing about shoes or leather.”
Ernst nodded. Odoi’s salesman talk had made him forget what he was here for. He shook his head and made a mental note of taking some sleep tonight, lack of slumber had made him very sluggish.
“I agree about the shoes Mr. Odoi,” he said finally “but, I'm here for a different purpose.”
“That I know, Sir,” said the man smiling, “and you must allow me to express my extreme concern. I am yet to fathom why I have been arrested. I can vouch for my honesty, Sir. I am a law-abiding citizen of Cardim.”
Ernst raised an eyebrow at the man.
“You have been arrested,” he said lethargically, “for the illegal possession of a finger which belonged to a man called Manohar Singh, also known by his stage name of The Ladder. You also set up a stall in Church Gate in Old Cardim charging people a Cowrie each to see that stolen artifact.”
“But so far as I know of the law, that is hardly a crime, Sir,” said Odoi, “that is merely an endeavor of entrepreneurship.”
“I think you know that the body to which the finger belonged was the property of Mr. William Slughorn’s Museum of Absurdities. That ought to count as a crime”
“I'm sorry,” said Odoi grinning, “I had no knowledge of that. I was merely trying to make an honest living, Sir.”
Ernst glanced outside the jail cell. The guard at the door was still listening intently to their conversation. If he wasn’t there, Ernst might’ve considered getting up and punching Odoi’s stupid grinning face.
“And quite frankly,” continued Odoi “I have a distinct feeling that the guards are overreacting. You seem like a sane man, Sir. So, I ask you has there been a sudden shortage of crime in Cardim that the police have suddenly decided to punish innovative and honest enterprise. I must repeat for your benefit, Sir, I have not swindled anyone, nor stolen anything nor defrauded anyone. I am an honest man, or at least as honest as any man can afford to be in this city.”
Ernst wiped the sweat from his brow. He needed to take this conversation to where he wanted it to go or the shoe salesman would take his whole day and they would reach nowhere. Ernst had just 14 days to catch the thief and each moment was precious.
“I understand your thoughts,” he said quickly so that Odoi could not interrupt him,
“and they might even be valid. But, what I ask of you now, is to help me for your own benefit. I want you to tell me how you came to be in the possession of that piece of bone.”
“I was lucky, Sir, simple and plain. It was a lucky day and I won it.”
“Can you please elaborate,” Ernst took out his notepad and pencil.
Odoi cleared his throat before speaking,
“It was a week ago Sir, Sunday. I remember it distinctly because it was a good day. I had managed to sell a consignment of Red Indian shoes, the same ones which I showed to you earlier, to a merchant in Old Cardim. I sold 10,000 shoes, which meant a reasonable commission. Not as much as I would have liked but a good deal nonetheless. Now, sir, I'm not a big drinker. Never the one to indulge in unruly habits, but that was a different day. It’s not often that you sell 10,000 pairs of shoes, so I decided to head to a nearby pub and gift myself a relaxing evening. I walked over some streets, it was dark and I wasn’t all that sure where I was walking but I found a pub. Which one? I am not sure. It was dark and I did not bother for the name. Come to think of it, I don't even know the street, it was somewhere in old Cardim, let me say. I stepped into this place, found a table, and order a few pints. Two beers down, I was having a good time when suddenly I was joined by three men who desperately wanted to play a game of Three Kings but were one man short. Against as I am of gambling, that day was special and I had had two beers already, so I decided to be a sport. As I said to you sir, it was a fortunate day, one of those days when if you stumble and fall down on the road, you land on a Cowrie note. I hit jackpot that evening. I won game upon game till one of the three men had nothing to bet. So, what did he do? He scrounged his pocket and produced a finger bone, the longest finger I have ever seen. You have it now in your possession so you must agree, never on this earth has a longer finger been found. He bet that finger claiming that it belonged to the dead circus man the Ladder. I thought he was lying but I was having a good time, so I agreed and I won the finger as well. The man had nothing to bet, so he left and I had won enough and drunk enough, so I guess I too must have headed home. Though I cannot be certain, I do not remember how I made it back home, I only remember waking up the next morning with this bony finger in my pocket.”
Ernst looked up at the man.
“How did the man who gave you the finger looked?”
“It was dark in the pub sir, so I did not get as good a look as I would have liked but I saw that the man was short in stature, he might’ve reached your shoulder if he stood on his toes. He did not have much hair, and on his right cheek, there was a scar, like someone had used a knife on him. He was also dressed very shabbily, had mud on his dress.”
Ernst nodded.
“And what about this pub. Do you have any idea about its location?”
“No clue sir. Old Cardim is a maze. I would not find that pub in a hundred years if I looked for it again. I turned so many times that it is no good even trying to remember. I’ll manage only to pucker my mind. And as I said, I don’t remember how I managed back home, so, I cannot even say which tram or carriage I took. I only know that it took me around half an hour to walk from the shop of the merchant I sold the shoes, to that pub. And the shop was on Fatima Lane.”
Ernst sat quietly for some time trying to think if he had any other question. He had none.
“Thank you,” he said and got up to leave.
“Sir,” called Odoi as he reached the door, “I’ll continue to impress your seniors regarding the suitability of Red Indian shoes for the police force, but till that time I think you should buy a pair for yourself. Costs 3 Cowries only. Bargain. I’ll give you half a Cowrie discount. What do you say?”
Ernst tried to speak but he was too tired to open his mouth. So instead he walked out of the cell and closed the iron door behind him.
11
Sophia Morgue
The Sophia Morgue was a five-minute stroll from Maya’s office at Messrs. Grington and Basse. It was a big, yellow sandstone building, with a large open compound in front which was paved by people. Policemen with sticks skittered about the lawn trying to maintain calm but without success. Their voices were lost in the multitude of haggard men and women trying to find their way about the place. Maya observed a throng of morgue workers dressed in white coveralls lugging dead bodies on stretchers in and out of the building and was suddenly troubled by the number of people who died in Cardim every day. How many graves dug each day, how much scope for grave robbers to rip the dead, and make a living.
She waded through the crowd towards the door of the building. A queue of at least two dozen people obstructed the main door. A tired guard stood at the gate and was letting people in one by one after listening to where they needed to go. The morgue closed for public at 5 and Maya doubted she would make it inside in time if she followed the queue. She had to find some other way.
Maya adjusted her blouse so that it was tucked neatly inside her skirt, retied her hair in a bun, took out the license document that the doctor had given to her, and confidently strode over to the door. She shoved the paper in the guard’s hand.
“I am an inspection official from the Council. Mr. John, the director of the Morgue is expecting me.”
The sentry studied the document for a fleeting moment before the mention of the director piqued his interest.
“The director you say, but he sits in the head office in Dorado not here.” said the guard eyeing her suspiciously, “and if I am correct his name is Marvin Jacobs, not John.”
Maya shuffled her feet. It was the first time she had tried the trick and failed. This was not anticipated. She glared aggressively at the guard and snatched the paper from his hand.
“Don’t try to teach me, mister,” she spat at him, “The director is called John Marvin Jacobs and he is sitting in this office today anticipating my appearance for a crucial inspection of the facility. If you stop my way a moment more or try to ask any other silly question I would be forced to appropriate the reason for my delay as the insolence of a gatekeeper who thought that he was a Greycoat.”
The guard was visibly flustered by Maya’s outburst.
“I am sorry madam,” he mumbled bowing his head, “so many people nowadays use some or the other trick to gain entrance ahead of the queue that it becomes hard not to grow suspicious of people. Please don’t mention anything to the director, or my job might come on the line. I have a family to feed. My youngest kid just started school.”
He quickly opened the door for Maya.
“Thank you,” said Maya entering the building, “and be careful the next time.”
The gate led to a big circular hall which was as crowded as the compound outside. All over the edge of the hall were a dozen servicing booths, each for a different purpose and manned by a single Morgue official. Each servicing window had a queue of its own. Maya strolled around the hall looking for a window suitable for her query but failed, so she decided to approach the least crowded one. The board above the window said Senior Citizen’s Pension and an elderly lady occupied it along with a small boy who sat in her lap sketching on a blank piece of paper.
“Hello,” said Maya smiling.
The old lady propped her spectacles upon her nose and observed Maya carefully.
“This row,” she said in a drone, “is for elderly people only, you should move away.”
“Oh, all right, I didn’t notice the board,” said Maya studying the board above the window, “By the way,” she added with a flourish, “I must tell you that your grandson is the most beautiful kid I have seen in a while.”
The old lady smiled, baring an army of missing teeth, “He is my grandnephew. I have not handled a naughtier kid all these years.”
Maya bent down closer to the window,
“How could he be your nephew, he looks just like you. I could bet that nose is an exact replica.”
The lady touched the kid’s nose.
“Well that nose is a family heirloom,” she said delighted that May
a had noticed, “Everyone in my family has that.”
“That is so nice,” said Maya moving away, “take care, I would join in the row for my age.”
“Wait,” the old lady called her, “the office closes at 5. I doubt you would get anywhere close to the window by that time. What do you want? I can help you.”
Maya smiled.
“Thank you. I am the assistant of Dr. Charles Melcrose and he wants to source cadavers from the morgue for research. He has been informed that a certain Mr. Bernard Knowles who works here as a licensed supplier can help him. But I cannot find him anywhere.”
The old lady scratched her chin.
“I am sorry to tell you that I don’t think your doctor can get cadavers from here. There are just not enough bodies. All that there are, go to more influential men, and even they are not many.”
“Oh,” said Maya slightly disappointed, “and what about Mr. Bernard Knowles, can I get to talk to him.”
“Never known anyone that name here,” said the lady, “I think you have gotten the name wrong, I’ve been working here thirty years, nobody called Knowles ever worked here. In any case, there is no licensed supplier of cadavers. People who have permission to get bodies need to come here to claim them. Nobody has enough time to lug dead men all over the city.”
“You mean there are no licensed cadaver suppliers here.”
“None at all. Though if your doctor needs bodies urgently you could look around the compound for the agents. They claim to supply bodies as well. God knows where they get them from, not here certainly but you can ask them.”
The Anatomist (Maya Mystery Book 2) Page 6
