Death in Damascus: A 1920s Murder Mystery with Heathcliff Lennox

by Karen Baugh Menuhin

  There was a day bed on our rooftop too, it was hung with light muslin cloth, which wafted in the breeze. Actually the whole place was given over to lounging in general. Wrought-iron sofas were strewn with colourful cushions set in secluded spots. The centre of the rooftop was scattered with circular tables and chairs and, anywhere there was space, pot-plants had been clustered in gaily coloured groups.

  Jamal had trotted over to a small jungle while I’d been gazing about. He returned, closely followed by an apparition draped entirely in black.

  ‘Here is number one wife of bath-draw boy.’ He smiled.

  ‘Erm… Greetings.’ I bowed in the direction of the robes.

  ‘You have dollars?’ Jamal asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, fingering the bills tucked snuggly in my pocket.

  There was a lot of huffing and puffing coming from within the drapery. The poor lady must have been extremely hot under the voluminous fabric. I must say, they took mourning very seriously in this country.

  ‘Jamal…’ I began. ‘Doesn’t happen to speak any English does she?’

  ‘Oh no, effendi. And widows must not speak to strange men in any language.’

  ‘Um, right.’ Actually given some of the terrifying women I’d come across, that seemed like a jolly good custom.

  The widow was broad, short and heavily built. There was a slit cut into the fabric which would have rendered her eyes visible but even this was covered by a veil. She thrust a pudgy hand in my direction.

  The dollars were in ones and fives. I tugged two off the roll and placed them in her palm. The palm remained extended, so I added another and carried on. Apparently a dead bath-draw boy is worth twenty American dollars, and that was just for wife number one. I should have demanded a higher day rate for Foggy.

  ‘Jamal,’ I called to him, as he was about to follow the widow down the steps.

  ‘Effendi?’

  ‘Could you give a message to Miss Carruthers?’

  ‘Ah, this is not allowed. Expressly ordered from the Colonel. I offer my apologies, effendi, but the Colonel must be obeyed. The French are high and mighty.’

  Hum, only according to the French, I thought.

  ‘The bath-draw boy was the same chap who witnessed the first attempt at shooting Miss Belvoir, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Indeed, effendi, it was he! He was guard, but he failed in his duty and was made lowly. But, now he cannot be witness, nor tell no tales.’ Jamal smiled, then departed in the widow’s wake. It all seemed just a little too convenient to my mind.

  I gazed into the distance, wondering where Greggs and Fogg would be and how their unlikely movie-making venture was going. Apart from roofs and gardens there wasn’t much to see, so I leaned over the parapet to take a look at the stone walls of the hotel. There were rows of windows on each floor. One of them would be Persi’s, but it was a sheer drop and impossible to climb either up or down, and it was a damn long way down. I watched the activity on the street below me, where passing locals dodged donkeys, goats and chickens. I sighed and went to find Swift.

  I found Hamid instead, he told me Swift had spoken to him earlier but had apparently gone off somewhere and no-one knew where. I walked through the courtyard, where Harry Bing was perched on a barstool working his way through another bottle of whisky. It crossed my mind to join him for a quick snifter, but I decided it was probably a bit early.

  A light breeze blew in from the arched tunnel leading to the open gateway, I turned toward it. Perhaps they sold local maps at the souk? If I was right about the medallion being a treasure map, it would seem like a jolly good idea to identify where it was a map of. And besides, I was in need of a new toothbrush.

  Outside the hotel, the streets and alleyways twisted and turned, I wandered about until I got my bearings, then made my way in the direction I assumed the souk to be. Every other house was a shop and I was politely harried by merchants in striped tunics and red fezzes offering their wares as I made my way. I was tempted by a monkey in a felted waistcoat, but thought it would probably cause havoc back home and Greggs would be bound to raise objections.

  The souk was a jostling throng of buyers and sellers haggling noisily. Souk shopping, it seemed, consisted mostly of shouting. I wove my way through the crowds, searching for stalls selling either maps or toothbrushes. After an hour in the stifling heat and mass of people, I’d had enough. I spotted a well-populated cafe in a leafy arcade and wound my way over. An aproned waiter escorted me to a metal-work table, served coffee then left. I sat back quietly and watched the activity.

  The stall opposite me was formed from wonky poles topped with a yellow awning fringed with beads. Under its shade, an array of bowls was set on a rickety table, guarded by a stooped chap with bright eyes and a trusting smile.

  A tall thin man in a faded blue tunic approached to examine the wares then began a noisy exchange with the stall-holder. From their jerky gesticulations and furious shouts I expected a fight to break out, but suddenly they both stopped and smiled as though they were the best of friends. An olive-wood bowl changed hands for a fist full of coins and the buyer went off, happy as Larry, while the vendor looked around for more customers to wrangle with.

  I realised I hadn’t seen any uncloaked ladies among the multitudes of men. There were numerous black-swathed widows, which made me ponder the fate of their husbands. I imagined the wars must have cut a scythe through the tribal warriors as war seemed a perpetual state of affairs here. Having thought about it, if one man had four wives, it meant three-quarters of the male population was surplus to requirement. Or even if they only had two, it was still half. So it was no surprise they spent time waging war, because they can’t have had much else to do.

  I was mulling the peculiarities of foreign mores when I spotted Dreadnaught making his way in the direction of the cafe. He pulled a chair out and sat opposite me without bothering to ask if I minded.

  Now what? I thought.

  Chapter 11

  ‘Good day, Major Lennox.’ Dreadnaught greeted me, a smile on his handsome face.

  I frowned at him, he laughed.

  ‘I was a pilot in the war too, you know.’ His accent was light, he actually spoke English extremely well when he wanted to.

  ‘Um…’ I muttered without encouragement.

  ‘You were in the Royal Air Force. Perhaps we crossed swords in the air.’

  Having considered him a block-headed Boche, I was suspicious of the apparently friendly overtones. ‘Perhaps,’ I replied. ‘What colours did you fly?’

  ‘Bavarian blue with a red tail. I was not difficult to spot,’ he laughed.

  I smiled. Many German pilots were scions of aristocratic families and had decorated their fuselage in heraldic colours. We Brits stuck to dull camouflage and lasted rather longer because of it.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘in Northern France, near Amiens. I remember you. You flew close to the wind.’

  ‘Too close, one of your chaps shot my red tail off. The crash landing left me with a broken leg and at the mercy of your Tommies. They carried me to hospital and I was eventually detained at your King’s pleasure.’ His laughter tailed off and his handsome face turned grim. ‘The war was a profanity, it destroyed my family. I was forced to kill my own friends.’

  That gave me pause. ‘How?’

  ‘I had been sent to school in England, at Rugby. My mother was English, my father was Bavarian.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘Once my education was complete, I returned to Germany and then the war started. Naturally I joined up.’

  ‘For the Kaiser?’ I asked.

  ‘He was a friend of my father so it was expected, old fellow.’ Dreadnaught smiled wryly. ‘I was not sorry to be captured, despite my broken leg.’

  The aproned waiter returned.

  ‘Would you take lunch with me, Major?’ Dreadnaught asked.

  I realised I was hu
ngry and could smell food cooking in some distant kitchen so I decided I may as well partake. It came very quickly. We were each served with a platter of small dishes filled with pastries, spiced meat and roasted vegetables, which were far tastier than the over-boiled mush we had back at home. It all came with side dishes of fermented cream-dips and sauces accompanied by jugs of mint tea. I must say the food here was marvellous.

  We watched the market while we ate. Awnings had been pulled down over narrow alcoves where the vendors kept their jumble of merchandise. A gentle lull fell over the place, as shoppers and sellers alike paused for sustenance.

  ‘You came here to spy, Major,’ Dreadnaught turned to the subject that he’d no doubt come to discuss.

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ I replied between mouthfuls.

  ‘Oh, come along! Your government sent you and the Detective Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Absolute nonsense. Did yours?’

  ‘Ha! I am not welcome in my own country, Major.’

  ‘So, why do you think we’re from the British Government?’ I asked.

  ‘Because there are so many new Britishers here now. First the spy, Charles Langton, followed by his fiancé, then two English ladies and now you and the Chief Inspector. You secret agents are gathering like bees around a honey pot.’

  ‘I am not a spy,’ I said rather too loudly because heads turned to look at me. ‘And nor is Swift or Miss…’ I spluttered to a stop. ‘Look Dreadnaught, Harry Bing has opened up, so you may as well tell me what you know.’ I exaggerated a bit but thought I’d get away with it.

  He laughed as though I’d said something highly amusing. ‘I see my error, Major Lennox, you cannot possibly be a spy. You are an innocent abroad.’

  ‘And you’re a traitor,’ I snapped back, then felt ashamed of saying it.

  Dreadnaught’s tone turned cold. ‘Nein, I am not, or rather.’ He paused, then dropped the indignant tone. ‘I am no longer. Please, Major, the war is over. Our activities during that time are finished. Do not rake it over; it will gain you nothing.’

  ‘What happened to Charles Langton’s sister?’ I wasn’t ready to give up. ‘She was called Beatrice, wasn’t she?’

  He sighed in irritation. ‘If you spoke to Bing you already know that I was interned in France in one of your prisoner-of-war camps at the time. So why do you ask me this?’

  ‘Because you were one of Josephine Belvoir’s informants. You would have heard about it.’

  He pushed his lunch aside. ‘I met the girl only once.’ He frowned and looked away, then continued. ‘They came to the camp to film us. We were working in the fields, like happy peasants. It was for propaganda.’

  ‘Did you meet all the film crew? Including the Vincents?’

  ‘No, they made the film from the distance, then took tea with the British commander in charge of the camp. We men spotted the ladies and we called out to them. We had been in captivity for a long time, you can understand we were keen to have a talk with them.’

  ‘And they came over?’

  ‘Yes, both of them. Josephine had the attention, but I liked the little one, Beatrice…’ he paused and I saw a cloud pass over his face. ‘She was gentle and kind, she reminded me of my mother. I spent a long time talking to her, but then Josephine distracted me and made the pretence she liked me. I was flattered.’ He laughed harshly. ‘I didn’t realise for a long time it was just an act. It was very stupid of me.’

  I refrained from nodding agreement. ‘Were you well treated in the camp?’

  ‘Ja, although food was scarce,’ he replied as a waiter removed his half eaten meal.

  I remember how scarce it had been, everything was scarce almost all the damn time. ‘What did you hear about the betrayal of Beatrice?’

  ‘Merely that she had been taken.’ He suddenly sat back in his chair, as though trying to move away. ‘It saddened me, she would have suffered before her execution and it was all for nothing.’

  I tried another tack. ‘Something happened more recently didn’t it?’

  He hesitated again, then nodded. ‘Very well, Major Lennox. You seem determined to play the sleuth. After we arrived here, Josephine began to send out, how do you say – lures? We’d had a brief affair when we first arrived in Hollywood, but it was not long lasting, and she did not capture my heart, not like the foolish Bing. When she made her eyes at me, I thought it would be a pleasant entertainment. But then…’

  ‘Then…?’ I waved my hand in encouragement.

  ‘Mammie had a talk quietly with me. She said she did not want complications.’ He looked down at his manicured hands. ‘She said this movie was important, no time for playing. I laughed her off, but she was most insistent. And then she said to me, ‘Josephine betrayed the girl.’ She was most clear. It was Josephine who had placed the information about Beatrice Langton’s activities.’

  His face was grim and drawn, I suspect mine was too.

  ‘Did Mammie say why?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘And you didn’t confront Josephine?’

  ‘No, she would only have lied.’ He folded his arms. ‘It may only be a few years ago, Major, but I am sickened by the past.’

  ‘When did Mammie say it happened?’ I persevered, although I could see the tight lines in his face.

  ‘Almost at the end of the war.’

  I nodded, that tallied with Bing’s account. ‘Before the Vincents returned to Paris?’

  Dreadnaught shrugged. ‘I was not there. I cannot tell you.’

  ‘When did Langton arrive here in Damascus?’

  ‘Shortly after we did,’ he replied. ‘But you know this already and you have rather spoiled my lunch, old fellow.’ He stood up.

  ‘Yes, well it didn’t do much for mine either,’ I said. ‘And I’m sorry, Dreadnaught, for calling you a traitor. It was infra dig.’

  ‘I accept your apologies, Major.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘You see, I have learned the lesson of humility.’

  I didn’t think he’d learned it terribly well, but wasn’t about to say so.

  ‘Wait,’ I called after him. ‘Did anyone else know about Josephine’s betrayal of Beatrice?’

  ‘I do not know, I have not told anyone.’ He bowed with a sharp nod and walked off.

  I remained seated for some time, pondering on his disclosure and wondering why he had come to join me. Was it to set me on a trail, or divert me from one?

  The market was once more bustling; bargain hunters had returned to the fray, refreshed and ready to hone their bartering skills. I remembered my own quest and launched back into the scrummage. Toothbrushes appeared to be in short supply in Damascus and it didn’t help that I couldn’t speak a word of the local lingo. My efforts at acting out the desired object were met with laugher and incomprehension. No-one seemed to have any maps either, although there was no shortage of baubles, rugs, curtains, perfume, cushions and domestic whatnots. I was contemplating a prayer mat when I realised I was being followed.

  I took a fast paced saunter behind a few stalls, then ducked into a narrow shop selling pointy-toed shoes. A beggar leaning on a crutch had been hobbling in my footsteps since I’d left the cafe. He was the sort who stood out in a crowd – grimy skin stretched over bone, one foot wound in rags, black hair resembling a dead hedgehog, a hooked nose and a toothless grin.

  As I waited for him to pass, the shop owner began holding up various cobbled confections for my consideration.

  ‘Try my most beautiful shoes, oh lofty one.’ He stroked a red velvet slipper as though trying to entice a genie out of a bottle.

  I watched the beggar from behind the door post as he halted to survey the teeming masses then he limped off, his gaze darting this way and that.

  ‘Effendi?’

  ‘What?’

  The shoe seller had an armful of shoes.

  ‘Umm… how much
?’

  ‘Only one dollar, sometimes two.’ His kindly old face smiled up at me with hope in his eyes.

  After much haggling I paid him three dollars for a pair of red velvet Turkish slippers that might fit my Uncle Melrose should he shrink any further with age.

  I set off to return to the hotel before anyone began to think I was a soft touch.

  ‘Lennox, I’ve been looking for you.’ Swift spotted me as I was depositing my purchases with Hamid.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Colonel Fontaine asked me to search Josephine Belvoir’s rooms and you could have helped.’

  ‘Did you find anything?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t have been much help, would I.’

  ‘Lennox…’

  I cut him off. ‘Did he say anything about Persi?’

  ‘Come to the terrace and I’ll tell you.’

  Gin and tonic with fresh sliced lemons arrived with the next waiter; I realised it was exactly what I needed. There was a low hedge of bougainvillea running alongside the terrace with pink and red blooms on their thorny tips. I eyed the folly as I took a long sip of the ice-cold G&T and wondered if the French Colonel was lurking within its fragrant walls, but couldn’t see any signs of life.

  I turned back to Swift. ’Why did Fontaine let you into Josephine Belvoir’s room?’

  ‘I think he wanted to see what I did,’ Swift replied.

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘To check if I knew the police routine.’

  ‘Oh.’ It seemed rather odd to me. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘The usual of course!’ He was in a tetchy mood. ‘They’d obviously searched it. I carried out the standard procedure, except dusting for fingerprints because I could see it had been done.’

  ‘And there wasn’t anything at all?’

  ‘Not of any interest,’ he calmed down as he sipped his gin. ‘She had all the usual feminine clutter; too many shoes, frocks, handbags, suitcases, scarves, and more cosmetics than I’ve seen on a pharmacy shelf. But nothing out of the ordinary, apart from the perfume. Someone must have dropped a whole bottle of the stuff on the walkway outside. Everywhere stank of it.’