The Mayor's Abduction

by Noah Alexander

  Rodney gaped at Maya.

  “What now? How do we find this woman?” he asked.

  “Well that is not possible,” shrugged Maya getting ready to step out of his house, “We still don’t know enough to find this lady in the 15 million inhabitants of this metropolis.”

  FOURTEEN

  The Minister of Order

  Ernst had been to the Ministry of Order only once before, two months ago, to get a few files signed from the Minister of Order. And his memories from that visit weren’t particularly pleasant. He had to spend five hours waiting in the visitor’s hall as his files were shunted from office to office until they reached the minister, who unceremoniously declined to sign them citing improper format.

  But Ernst was sure that today wouldn’t go so bad. Not for him at least. He had, after all, very little role to play in the emergency meeting that he was attending. Claude Labarthe, the Minister of Order, who was also the Deputy Mayor of Cardim and had taken over the reins of the city upon the disappearance of Norman Sinclair, had called the meeting to review the progress made in the mayor’s kidnapping. Ernst did not know why he needed an army of people to tell him the news that the whole city knew. No progress had been made. Nothing that really mattered, anyway.

  Director Leonard Rostum, who was leading the efforts to find the mayor, was convinced that the clue to the mystery lay with the smuggling syndicates, so he had divided Cardim into zones and asked the High Guards in each zone to raid and arrest known or suspected smugglers.

  Ernst, who had been greatly affronted by the director during his visit to the mayor’s mansion, had lost all zeal in the case. He had not pursued his theory that the kidnapper had come to the council office on the evening of the incident, nor had he made any effort to go out of his way to investigate the case any further. In fact, he had even told Horace Ibrahim, the director of the Vasco Constabulary, that he would like to have nothing to do with the case and with this arrogant army of Greycoats. But Horace Ibrahim, who cared nothing for Ernst’s opinion, had still made him responsible for the Vasco zone of Leonard’s plan. And for that purpose, he had been invited to this meeting along with a dozen of the most powerful men in Cardim. They included the chief of all the 8 divisions of Cardim High Guards, Junior Minister of Order, the Head Whisperer or the Chief of Intelligence, as well as Leonard Rostum.

  The group was seated in the Tunnel, the central chamber of the Ministry of Order, so called for its long cylindrical shape, lack of windows, and jet black walls. A row of portraits of gloomy-looking men gleamed towards the long central table from the wall. These portraits were of previous Ministers of Order.

  Claude Labarthe stood at the end of the table in front of his own imposing portrait. Once all the men had assembled in the room, the tall pale man with grizzled hair and a long nose surveyed the assembly with a long keen glance, moving his eyes from one to the next till they came to halt on Leonard Rostum who sat immediately to his right.

  “It’s been more than 48 hours since the mayor went missing,” said Claude, “I don’t need to tell you that the newspapers have already branded me and all of you involved in finding Norman, failures. And they have a point as well.”

  Claude paced from side to side looking down at the floor.

  “Don’t mistake me. I do not care for the newspapers and what insults they publish about me. What I really care about is Norman. I might be the Minister of Order, but more than that I am his friend, and every passing moment that he is not with us, my heart shrivels further.”

  Claude stopped pacing and looked once more at all the men in the room, most of who could not bear to meet his glance and shifted their eyes to study their reflections on the polished surface of the central table.

  “All of you,” said the minister raising his hands and pointing successively at each corner of the table, “Claim to be the brightest and most competent men in Cardim. Each tick of the clock lays a valid question mark on that belief. Now tell me, what information do you have about Norman and when will I meet my friend again? Leonard, you are leading the efforts. Tell me what progress you have made.”

  “Sir,” said Leonard in a crisp well-practiced voice, “First of all, I reflect your concern for the well-being of the mayor and it is my belief that with a friend like you, no harm can come his way. Talking about progress, we have already surveyed and collected evidence from the mayor’s office and residence and have interrogated all the people connected to him. Based on the evidence that we have gathered, we can say with reasonable confidence that the mayor has been kidnapped by the Dragon Cartel.”

  “The smugglers?” the Minister seemed slightly surprised.

  “Yes sir, we have strong evidence to prove the involvement of smugglers. And not just any troupe, the Dragon Cartel, you would already know, represents the biggest and most influential of all the smuggling syndicates. We have already started hitting them hard. Over the last 24 hours, we have raided 30 known hideouts of the smugglers, including warehouses, opium dens, pubs, and houses, leading to the arrest of 433 people at the last count. All of these men have been kept in special detention centers and more than 50 detectives are interrogating them right now. I am certain that before long we would have some concrete clue about the mayor.”

  “I truly hope so,” said Claude, “the council elections are due in two weeks. If he isn’t found by then we would need to postpone the elections and I do not want the political processes of the free city to be jeopardized by a group of ruffians. Anyways, coming back to the smugglers, the 400 people that you have captured, are they all foot-soldiers or have you got some men of importance as well – the chiefs and the gang leaders. Only they would have the knowledge, if any, of Norman’s capture.”

  “We do believe that we have some of these important men in our custody, but only a thorough interrogation can bring out the complete truth.”

  The minster nodded. “And what is the objective of these men. Why do you think the smugglers captured Norman?”

  “They were scared, sir. Based on the evidence and the documents that we have found, and probably you would know this as well, the mayor had been planning a very harsh legislation on the smugglers which would have sounded a death knell for their organization.”

  “Yes,” said the minister of order, “I am aware of that. But if indeed they kidnapped the mayor to influence this legislation, why haven’t there been any demands from them. Isn’t it logical that they put forth some demand in return for the mayor?”

  “I am concerned about that as well, sir. Though I don’t know for certain why there hasn’t been a letter of demand from them, there is a possibility, and I feel convinced of it, that our prompt and massive action on their hideouts forced them to re-contemplate their decision.”

  “I don’t care about your theories director,” said the Minister of Order firmly, “I want results. I want Norman back.”

  “We are onto it, sir. It’s just that we are dealing with some very influential men here and they have planned the job well. But we have our best men on this case and soon there would be a breakthrough.”

  “Good. Keep me informed. I need hourly reports on this.”

  Claude Labarthe looked at his pocket watch and then again at the assembly.

  “Gentlemen,” he proclaimed passionately, “Norman Sinclair’s kidnapping is not any normal crime. It is a direct attack on the Free City of Cardim and its democratic structure. In fact, I have no hesitation in stating that this is an act of war, and like in the past, Cardim will not sit still and bear the perpetrators meekly, she will strike and strike hard.”

  With that, he put on his top hat and stormed out of the room

  FIFTEEN

  Kerry's Well-wisher

  The public carriage jerked to a halt in the central square of the small country town of Old Salem in the south of Cardim. The town, a three-hour ride from Sophia, was a quiet collection of motley houses and hutments in the middle of sprawling maize farms and mango orchards.

  Maya wa
s the only passenger left in the carriage and she couldn’t wait to jump out. The long journey had fatigued her greatly. That three women, sickened from the bumpy roads of the countryside outside Cardim, had thrown up two hours into the trip hadn’t helped. She stepped on the cobbled road and breathed deeply. The hot, stuffy carriage cabin had made her nauseous. Maya looked around the quiet square trying to take in the surroundings. Apart from a few hawkers settled under a sprawling tamarind tree, selling roasted corncobs and lime sherbet, as well as a single hand-pulled rickshaw, the place was bereft of people. It was around dusk and the sun, peeking very slightly from between the grey clouds, had cast a light crimson hue above the post office of Salem, the biggest structure of the town. The sprawling mango tree in the post office compound was abuzz with the chirp of sparrows, mynas, and parrots.

  Maya did not think she had been to a more peaceful place before. She found the lack of commotion slightly disconcerting. She preferred the bustle of Old Cardim to the serenity of this town, there was something medicinal about the hubbub of crowded localities.

  Maya ignored the unsettling silence of the place and focused her attention on her objective. She was here to find Salome Mariner, the author of the mysterious letters which Kerry received every year on her birthday.

  Though she had told Rodney that she did not think that there was any way to trace the author of the letter, she had managed to do just that when she had reached her room yesterday night. It had proved easier than expected. She had already narrowed down her search to a middle-aged woman with initials SM, who lived alone in a farming town outside of Cardim and taught in a school. Maya then opened a map of Cardim and figured out all possible towns which fit the criteria. Only three did. Then in the morning today, she went to the Emilia Public Library to search through a list of community-run schools in Cardim and found that only one of the three towns had a school. She even managed to find an old council document about all the schools and their staff and on the page for Old Salem school, she found a teacher named Salome Mariner. The initials matched those in the letter. She had found the author.

  Maya approached an elderly man under the tamarind tree, who had been observing her ever since she had gotten off the carriage. He had dug a small pit in the ground and was roasting corncobs on burning coals.

  “Do you know where Salome Mariner lives?” she asked him.

  The old man observed Maya gravely upon her question.

  “Salome Mariner,” Maya repeated suspecting that the old man was hard of hearing.

  “Who are you?” asked the old man who had surprisingly white and complete dentures for a man of his age.

  “I am Maya,” said the detective, not entirely sure why the old man was acting so suspicious.

  “Are you her relative?”

  “No… Actually yes, she is my distant aunt. I am here to meet her for the first time.”

  The old man rocked his head and looked at Maya with pity.

  “I don’t suppose you know, dear girl,” he said tenderly, “but Salome is no more. She was found murdered a week ago.”

  SIXTEEN

  Salome Mariner's Story

  Maya stood in shock for a few minutes upon hearing about Salome’s death. The corncobs roasting in the fire crackled distinctly in the silent town square.

  “Murdered!” she exclaimed finally, gathering energy to speak, “by whom?”

  The old man rocked his head yet again as if to convey that he did not approve of the incident.

  “No one knows for sure. But villagers say that they had seen a man enter her house, and then there was an argument before Salome’s scream reverberated the town. When the neighbors came into the house, they found her dead and there was no one around. But the police have already issued a lookout for the man. Let’s see what happens. Very sad business this. Earlier these things happened in the city, now even the villages are in danger.”

  The old man clicked his tongue in disapproval before realizing that the cobs on the coal were burning, he hastily turned them even as Maya stood stunned, still digesting the news.

  Salome dead? Did her murder have something to do with the bald man? And how were she and Kerry related?

  Too many questions.

  “But I reckon the police will not be able to find him,” the old man continued once he had turned the corncobs, “they never can. By the way, if you want to know more about her, the police station is just beside the post office building. Ask for the chief directly, the Longstaffs are all too lazy.”

  “Thank you,” Maya said, “Can you also tell me where Salome lived.”

  The old man pointed towards a thin cobbled track on the right. “Take this road and walk to the end. The last house on the right is Salome’s.”

  Maya thanked him again before starting towards the dead woman’s house. She was still in shock and felt difficulty in concentrating. Kerry’s disappearance had taken another turn and this time it was rather tragic.

  Salome’s house, just like the others on the street, was a small single-story structure made of yellow stone and with a small garden in front. A beautiful jasmine bush grew in the midst of a bunch of other plants, tomato, chili, eggplant, and mint.

  The door to Salome’s house was shut with a heavy iron lock with police seal upon it. Maya stood in the garden, pacing up and down making her mind if she ought to break into a house sealed by the police. Suddenly the sky rumbled and a huge drop of rain splattered upon her head. It was followed by others, and soon the little farm town was engulfed in a thunderous rain. Maya accepted it as a divine signal from the heavens and hurriedly took out the hoop of skeletal keys from her bag.

  The house was in chaos, the local police had rummaged it thoroughly for their investigation. Cupboards had been emptied on the floor, table drawers pulled out, and the bed upturned. Salome’s was a small house with two rooms - a bedroom with space only for a large bed and a cupboard and a living room with four wicker chairs and a low table. The bed had been stripped of its mattress which now lay on the floor and a large patch of dark brown, caked blood told her that Salome had been killed on the same bed. The amount of blood and its position on the mattress meant that her throat had been slit. Maya looked away from the mattress and onto the floor which was covered in the contents scooped down from the cupboard. There were books - academic books majorly, a few novels, and a Bible along with a bundle of loose papers. Maya picked up a blank paper and compared it with one of the letters that Kerry had received. There was no doubt, the paper was the same. She found a notebook hidden under the pile of papers and books. It was an accounts book where Salome recorded her monthly expenses. Maya compared the handwriting from the letters, and that matched as well. The last line in the accounts for the month of July left little doubt that Salome was indeed the one who sent Kerry those letters. Written below the money allotted for Milk and Eggs was the entry

  For Kerry’s birthday - 70 Cowries.

  She hadn’t been able to send that amount, someone had got to her first. But who?

  Maya forded through the junk on the floor and found an old leather folder. It was filled with more loose papers, cards, and newspaper cutouts.

  The newspaper cutouts were from diverse places, she had preserved an article about her school annual function which had been covered in a local newspaper, as well as the visit of a council minister in the town. There were cutouts related to the mayor elections and the inauguration of a cobbled road from Dorado to Salem. At the very bottom of the file was a leather folder. Maya opened it to find a couple of legal documents and another small newspaper cutting dated 15 years ago.

  Killer of 21 People Sentenced to Life in Prison

  Flea Market, 2nd December 1864

  Thaddeus Cormac, a 28-year-old man working as a carpenter in the Mustapha Lane Market was convicted today on charges of mass manslaughter, for setting fire to an apartment building in Parsi Lane in Old Cardim, which led to the death of 21 people including his brother in law and niece. His wife Salome Cormac testifi
ed against her husband saying that Thaddeus was a drunkard and opium addict and had a history of beating her and her 4-year-old daughter. Troubled by his violence, Salome and her daughter had shifted to the house of her brother Andrew Barnett, who ran a successful fishing business in the Old Harbor area, on the 2nd of September. When Andrew confronted Thaddeus regarding his conduct on the next day, the two had a violent altercation in Thaddeus’s workshop. According to eyewitnesses, Thaddeus threatened to kill Andrew as well as Salome during their scuffle. On the evening of 7th of September, while Salome Cormac was away, visiting a friend in the neighborhood, Thaddeus, apparently under the influence of alcohol, came to the door of Andrew’s apartment, doused it in oil and set fire to it while Andrew and his niece were still inside. The apartment building, built more than 4 decades ago, was soon engulfed in flames. Thaddeus himself could not get out of the building in time and suffered major burns to his face and body. Before the fire department could make it to the crowded street, the fire had spread to two other buildings while Andrew’s apartment building had collapsed, killing 21 people and injuring many more. Thaddeus confessed to the charges in court and was sentenced to 39 years in prison. The council has already declared a compensation of 10,000 Cowries for the kin of all the deceased. Among those dead are four members of the English Embassy, and the East India Company officials, apparently not satisfied by the life sentence, are believed to have submitted a request to extradite Thaddeus to Bombay where they want to try him in the English Court and hopefully get him executed.”