2 A Reason for Murder

by Morgana Best

  "Yes, exactly. I suppose you could say that the ti bon ange is like our understanding of the conscience. On the other hand, the gros bon ange is like our understanding of the soul, only in a way more separate and distinct. Are you familiar with the Western theories of personhood or the soul?"

  It was my turn to shrug. "Not really, but I have read Lucretius' De Rerum Natura in Latin and I studied Plato's Theory of Forms when I was here as a student."

  Professor Dolan beamed. "That's wonderful."

  I waited for him to continue, and when he didn't, I asked, "Are those theories of any help in understanding govi?"

  "Not at all. The belief is that when a person dies, the gros bon ange goes to the underwater place. After they have been in the underwater place for one year and one day, his or her relatives can recall the gros bon ange and send them on to rest. This isn't easy to do, as it is expensive and often requires an animal sacrifice. My understanding is that the pots-de-tete is a vessel used to hold the gros bon ange and the govi is used to hold the ti bon ange. This is not my field, so you had better check with someone who knows."

  I was kicking myself for not asking Chris, but thought I had it figured now. "Ahh, so a govi houses the spirit of someone who died and was recalled by that person's relatives, but with a nkisi, it is anyone who died, and their spirit is trapped by someone who doesn't have to be a relative."

  Dolan regarded me pityingly, and then spoke more slowly. "No, that's not it at all. The spirit within the nkisi is someone who was killed by black magick, before their time. If someone is killed by black magick, they are a potential zombi. Did I mention a govi is a small earthenware bottle with a lid? That's another difference, but the main difference is that the govi are not generally used to trap spirits against their will. At least, not as far as I know, but I'm not a practitioner and many of these matters are only known to initiates. Devil traps and witch bottles are more in my field of research."

  I opened my mouth to speak but the professor hurried on. "One thing I am fairly sure of, is that the govi is used to hold the ti bon ange, and it is in fact the ti bon ange which can be captured by a bokor and turned into a zombi, or so the belief goes."

  My head spun with information overload.

  Professor Dolan paused and turned his screen around so Jamie and I could see it. "This is the Proceedings for the Society of Biblical Archeology from 1890. It's only photographs of the journal so it's hard to see. Can you make it out?"

  I squinted at the page, adjusted my reading glasses, and nodded.

  "It mentions a so-called 'Babylonian Devil Trap,' a clay dish used to protect the user against Lilith and other hostile night spirits," the professor said. "Hebrew inscriptions were written around the bowl. This is nothing to do with containing spirits in a jar or bowl; I'm digressing somewhat. However, in my view, it's significant that many cultures across the ages have associated spirits with bottles and jars. You have the blue bottle trees in some parts of Africa and in both Haitian and New Orleans voodoo. You should google the images of blue bottle trees at some point as they can be quite beautiful. They're believed to trap evil spirits. You know about witches' bottles?"

  I nodded. I didn't confess that I had two buried in my yard. "Lilith" rang a bell, too. I was sure Gavin had mentioned her to me.

  "Archaeologists have dug up these in significant numbers. They're invariably filled with sharp objects, such as pins, nails, broken glass, and often urine. You studied Classics here?"

  I nodded again.

  "You may be interested to know that there is Roman and ancient Greek precedence for trapping spirits in a similar way to a zombi bottle. Do you know what sit tibi terra levis means?"

  I wrote it down, and figured it out, more or less - mostly less. "Something about the ground sitting briefly on someone?"

  Dolan was visibly disgusted by my effort. "It means, 'May the ground press lightly on you.' It was such a common writing on Roman tombs that it was simply abbreviated as 'STTL.' That was a reference to spirits being able to get out of the grave. They believed that if the ground pressed too heavily on a grave, the spirit would be trapped in the grave. A famous example is from Quintilian's Tenth Declamation." The professor turned to Jamie and added, "That's a literary genre, a speech."

  It was Jamie's turn to look blank and nod.

  Dolan continued. "Quintilian's Tenth Declamation tells of a mother who had the vision of her dead son on the night of his funeral. When she told her husband, he became alarmed, and sent for a sorcerer. The mother was unaware of this. The sorcerer visited the grave and spoke binding words, and finally threw himself on the grave saying more spells, reducing the boy's spirit to a mere shade. The sorcerer then said that his words weren't enough, and ordered the grave bound with iron as well as stone. The wife found out and brought a lawsuit for cruelty against her husband. The speech ends with an appeal to the sorcerer to release the boy's spirit. I have the quote ready for you, here. 'You are able to summon the spirits that serve you and to act as their pitiless, cruel jailer. Listen to a mother's prayers and let them soften your heart.' My translation, of course."

  I nodded. "Of course. So even back in Roman times, it was believed that sorcerers were able to trap spirits?"

  The professor nodded fiercely and for along time. "Precisely. And what's even more interesting, the spirits of those who died an untimely death were the very ones invoked. We have a whole bunch of inscriptions where such spirits were given certain instructions and ordered to carry them out. I can email you a list of them if you'd like?"

  "Thanks, but it probably won't be necessary. I just want to..."

  Dolan cut me off. "Here's one where the spirit of a dead man was summoned. Misty, write down the reference, 'ZPE 14.' It's a wooden tablet dating to the forth century. A man summons the spirit of a dead man and tells him to avenge himself on someone who has robbed his tomb. He says that Osiris will listen to him because he has died 'untimely.' In fact, the papyri provide us with much evidence that those who died by violence were believed especially open to spells and to have special powers to do harm. The distinction between those who have died by the hand of humans and those who have died by the hand of God persists in many different cultures over the history of humankind."

  The professor drew a deep breath, and then continued. "There is one papyrus I must tell you about, as it involves a wax doll. This is my translation of this section of Papyrus 574 of the Bibliotheque Nationale.

  "'Take wax from a potter's wheel and make two small figures, one male and one female. Having done that, take a flat piece of lead and write the spell on it. Having bound the leaf of lead to the figures with a thread from the loom, make three hundred and sixty five knots, and say, "Abrasax, prevail!" Do this when as the sun is setting near the tomb of one who has died untimely, or by violence. Then put flowers of the season beside it. The spell is written in the following manner, "I entrust this magic binding to you, gods of the world below, Nesemigadon and Koure Persephone, Hermes Katachthonios, and Anoubis the powerful, to him who has the keys of the regions of Hades, to the spirits under the earth, and the gods, to youths and maidens who die untimely year by year, month by month, day by day, hour by hour.'

  "There's more to the spell but I can email it to you. The important thing to note is the use of a wax doll with spirits who have died by black magick. Plato speaks about such things in his Laws. I'll read you a section. The context is poisoning. Plato is saying that some people are poisoned by natural means and others by magical means. I'll quote.

  "'Different from this is the type which, by means of sorceries, incantations and spells, as they are called, not only convinces those who cause harm that they really can do so, but also convinces their victims that they are surely being harmed by those who have the power of sorcery. It is not easy to ascertain the actual truth of such matters, and if one does ascertain it, it is not easy to convince others. It is pointless to approach people who view one another with dark suspicion if they come across images of molded
wax at doorways, or at points where three ways meet, or at the tomb of an ancestor, in order to urge them not to take these matters seriously, when we ourselves have no definite opinion about them.''

  Dolan paused, just as Jamie kicked me under the desk and showed me the time on his phone. I looked up, but Dolan appeared not to have noticed.

  "Now let me give you guided tour of the Museum of Antiquities. It's a wonderful collection, objects such as a plaster shabti, that's an Egyptian funerary figure, a bronze figure of Vishnu in the Cambodian style, a carved wooden ancestor figure from the Sepik region of Papua New Guinea, and an aboriginal woomera, that's a spear thrower, from the Kimberley district in Western Australia. W, o, o, m, e, r, a."

  Jamie spoke firmly. "Another time, perhaps, professor. We're late for another appointment. Thank you so much for your time. Misty will be in touch by email." With that, he took me by the elbow and steered me to the door.

  I was relieved that we had finally made good our escape from Professor Dolan. We headed to Armidale Maccas on our way home.

  "Could they fit any more traffic circles in this city?"

  "Traffic circles? Oh you mean roundabouts or rotaries." I laughed. "We call them roundabouts in Australia. Armidale is known as the city of roundabouts. Only two sets of traffic lights, but countless roundabouts."

  "So what did you think of Dolan? Do you think he was much help?"

  "H, e, l, p?"

  We both laughed. I took a right turn off Dumaresq Street onto Marsh Street at the Wicklow Hotel. Back when I was a student, it had been called the "Pink Pub." Since then it had been painted a more visually friendly, creamy yellow color.

  "Well, now I know what a govi is," I said. "I found it fascinating that so many different cultures for over two thousand years have beliefs that someone who died an untimely death can be summoned or otherwise used to work magick."

  Jamie still looked a little blank. "Can you connect any of it with Morpeth?"

  I shook my head, and took a left into the Maccas car park, narrowly avoiding a car with Queensland license plates that was coming out of the "In" driveway.

  "Let's look at what we've got," Jamie continued. "Someone has been texting you the word 'govi.' We now know that a govi is a jar that contains a spirit. We also know that someone is trying to kill you. You have four suspects: Scotty, plus the man you suspect pretends to be a ghost on Gavin King's tours, plus Gavin King himself, plus David Crawley. What else do we know?"

  I turned off the engine and processed my thoughts. "I don't know if it's relevant, but I don't feel any ghosts in Morpeth. Since I've become the Keeper, I can sense ghosts most places. I felt them all over Maitland when I stayed there; I feel them everywhere I go. It freaked me out at first, but I'm getting used to it now. The thing is, Morpeth is known for its ghosts, but I just can't feel them there at all. That has to be significant."

  Jamie looked keenly interested. "Do you think someone is doing something to stop others sensing ghosts?"

  I considered the possibility. "Perhaps, I'm not sure."

  "How do we connect what we do know? Is there any way to connect it all, even if it seems far-fetched?"

  Epiphany. I do have them sometimes. "What if there are no ghosts; what if someone has got them all and put them in govis?"

  "For what purpose?"

  "No idea, but that's the only thing that connects everything we know so far. That makes it the simplest solution. You know, Occam's Razor and all that; the simplest explanation is often the best." I was going to quote Occam in Latin, but thought the better of it. If only life could be footnoted.

  We both got out of the car and Jamie turned to look at me over the roof. "You could be onto something there."

  "It is a very inconvenient habit of kittens (Alice had once made the remark) that, whatever you say to them they always purr."

  (Lewis Carroll)

  Chapter Seventeen.

  Jamie and I were sitting in my tiny kitchen opposite each other at my old, wooden table that I had bought some time ago for $5 at the local Salvation Army store and then shabby chiced. It went nicely with my white painted walls and old, dark, tallow wood floorboards. Diva was sitting on Jamie and purring loudly, while occasionally shooting me glares. I still hadn't been forgiven for leaving her with Melissa, clearly.

  My head was in a spin. I had figured out that it was Joe Crawley who had murdered poor old Baxter Morgan. Yet who had tried to kill me? And were these incidents, over one hundred and fifty years apart, somehow related? On the surface, that would seem a ridiculous proposition, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were. I was also a little uncomfortable with Jamie in my home.

  I jumped when Jamie spoke. "Misty, did you hear what I said?"

  "No," I answered truthfully, and then frowned when he winked at me. "I was thinking about Scotty," I continued. "He said I had to find out who killed Baxter Morgan, and it’s obvious to me that it was Joe Crawley. I mean, he had the most to gain, so I wouldn't be surprised if he was the one who falsely accused Baxter Morgan. I just can't shake the feeling that there's more to this, though." I didn’t know whether I should tell him that the letter also instructed me to solve the murder of Baxter Morgan. He did know about the letter, but given the fact that he had not mentioned the contents, I thought I should keep quiet about that, at least.

  Jamie nodded. "But Joe Crawley's descendant, David Crawley, can hardly object to you finding out. That’s no reason to try to harm you; who would care about a murder that happened two hundred years ago?"

  "It wasn't quite two hundred years ago."

  Jamie shrugged and changed the subject. "Fake Ghost Man's name is Mason Halls. He has no criminal record. Gavin King, on the other hand, has convictions for shoplifting, possession of cannabis, and being drunk and disorderly in a public place, but that was all years ago. Nothing since. Crawley has no criminal record, and I couldn't find Scotty's actual name." Jamie shut his laptop.

  I scratched my head. "Thanks for that. Is there anything else?"

  "That's all I've got, apart from the fact that Mason Halls is Gavin King's brother-in-law. He's married to Gavin's sister Lucy, and they have three boys under the age of seven."

  "Aha. Any of them ADHD?"

  "Shouldn't be too hard to find out; we can ask around town. We don't know for sure that you were given Ritalin, though," Jamie cautioned. "I could have been one of any number of things, although Ritalin does seem the most likely."

  "Suppose. The connection with Gavin is interesting, though." I leaned over the table, paper and paper in hand. "Okay, what do we have? We need to formulate a plan. Ask around about Mason Hall's kids, find out Scotty's full name, and then what's our next move?"

  Jamie tapped his pen. "How much of a look did you get at Crawley's house?"

  I tried to recall. "I saw every room. I didn't get down to the barn though, as David Crawley turned up when I was in the room with the African art."

  "It stands to reason that he wouldn't have anything out on display. It would be hidden away from anyone doing viewings."

  I nodded. "And as it's up for sale, he may have moved it all to his Newcastle house."

  "Still, it's worth a good snoop around."

  I raised my eyebrows. "How? I can't go back, as the realtor will likely tell David that I'm there for a second viewing. Plus we can't break in, because he has a security system. Unless you know how to disable it?"

  Jamie looked a little smug. "Won't have to. It's still for sale isn't it?"

  I nodded again, and then added, "As far as I know."

  "I'll call the realtor and say I want a viewing. You can hide in the car. I'll tell him I want to see the barn or something at the back of the house, and text you when it's safe to go in. Then you can have a good look around that room. If David Crawley's implicated, you will surely find something."

  I thought it over. It seemed foolproof, but I had a sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach. "I'll have to be fast, because the realtor will turn on the security sy
stem when he leaves."

  Jamie considered that. "You can text me if you need more time and I'll delay the realtor, but try to be as fast as you can. Take lots of photos, and video. Aim to be in there for no more than five minutes."

  "I suppose." It sounded easy in theory, but I wasn't used to such things.

  Jamie said he would call for me and then we would drive to Morpeth the following day, and then he left abruptly. I went to my laptop in my office. Diva was sitting on the computer keys. "Diva," I sighed, "can't you find somewhere else to sit?"

  Diva let out a loud meow.

  I carefully picked up Diva and set her on the floor, but she jumped back up onto my desk. She looked at me and then tentatively reached out a paw for the laptop while keeping an eye on me.

  "Diva, no!"

  Diva glared at me and sat on my desk next to the laptop. I shook my head at her. I sat down and looked at my blank screen, hoping for inspiration, and I was surprised when it came. I tapped myself on the head. Why hadn’t I thought of that that before? It seemed so obvious now. Baxter Morgan was a well known man; whatever happened to him would have to be in a newspaper. I knew the Maitland newspaper with the long name was founded two years after Baxter Morgan's death, but there was surely an earlier newspaper in existence.

  After a solid five minutes of googling, I had only found out that The Maitland Mercury and Hunter River General Advertiser, which was started two years after Baxter Morgan's death, had been the first newspaper in the entire district, but to my delight, I discovered that the first newspaper in the state was The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser. Clearly they were into long newspaper names back in the day. It was founded in 1803 and continued until 1842.

  In no time at all I had found scans of every edition of the Sydney newspaper. I hoped it would have some mention of Baxter Morgan. It was hard to read, even with zoom. I was distracted for a while reading about bushrangers and fugitives, and had almost given up hope when I found an entry entitled Accidents.