Phantoms of the Pharaoh (A Lady Marmalade Mystery Book 4)

by Jason Blacker

  "Even the smallest fulcrum can move the world with a lever long enough."

  "Is this becoming a classics quiz?" asked Florence, laughing with her friend. Frances nodded.

  "No. But never doubt the importance of small things in explaining the largest ideas."

  "Very well then," said Florence, continuing. "As I was getting ready, I thought everyone had left the cabins before me. Then, just as I was getting ready to leave my cabin, I heard another cabin door open and close. I took a look through my peephole, and I saw Maurice leaving. Then moments later, I heard what seemed to be the same cabin door open and close and then Samuel walked by. Now I couldn't quite see up towards Samuel's cabin, but I'm fairly certain that's where they both came from. That or Maurice's. It sounded like it was the same cabin."

  "I know," said Frances. "And it likely was the same cabin to be sure."

  "Oh well, perhaps it wasn't important just like I thought."

  "Oh no, my dear Flo, it explains a great many things."

  Just off to their right, Frances and Florence heard great bounding of someone coming up the stairs in a great hurry. They looked to see what all the commotion was. It was Anton. He rushed up to them.

  "Thank God, I found you. Please come quickly. Lady Pompress has been murdered."

  Florence looked back at Frances in horror. Frances gritted her teeth and cursed under her breath.

  "This shouldn't have happened," she said to herself.

  Anton hadn't even waited for their response. He ran up to the helm, waving and gesticulating like a madman. Fowler came rushing out as Anton explained to him what had just happened.

  "How can it be?" he asked, looking at Anton. "We never saw anyone leave their cabins during the night, did we?"

  Anton nodded.

  "I don't understand," he said to Perry.

  "It happened before," said Frances, as the two men rushed passed the women and headed downstairs.

  "What?" asked Anton, as he started after Perry who was in the lead.

  Frances followed him and Florence followed her. They made quick work down to the main deck where the cabins were. On the third last cabin on the starboard side they all entered and Frances saw Captain Wainscott on the floor. He was up against the bed and his legs were at all awkward angle with his feet pointing to the door while his head faced the side table. In his lap he cradled Lady Pompress' head. She was looking towards the door with dead eyes, her right ear resting on his thigh. He was inconsolable and rocking gently back and forth.

  "My dear sweet darling," he kept saying over and over again between the sobs.

  He was stroking her brown hair with his right hand which was now stained with blood. Frances went up to him but he didn't acknowledge them at first. Lady Pompress' head was a mess of wet and clotted hair and blood just above her left ear.

  On the carpet just where Lady Pompress' head must have lain before Timothy picked it up and put it in his lap was a large pool of burgundy blood on the sandy colored carpet. Next to it, up against the bedside table was the lamp which should have been on the table. The base end of this brass lamp stand was dented slightly and tinged with the blood of Lady Pompress. The lamp shade was ruined and the bulb broken.

  Florence looked at Frances and brought her hands to her mouth.

  "Surely not?" she asked, looking at Frances with wide eyes.

  Frances gritted her teeth and slowly nodded her head. Captain Wainscott looked up at her, his eyes wet with tears, his mouth upturned, a pink gash of sadness.

  "If I hadn't gotten drunk. If only I'd have come to bed when I should have."

  Frances bent down and squeezed him on the shoulder.

  "You can't blame yourself for this," she said. "I'm sorry to say it was planned for before you got to your cabin."

  "I don't understand," he said, looking up at her, the pain still vibrant red rivers in his wet eyes.

  "You will."

  Frances turned to Anton.

  "Is everyone else counted for?" she asked.

  He looked at her and frowned.

  "Well, yes, I think so."

  "Do you know so, or do you think so?" she demanded, more forcefully this time.

  "Well I... I think so."

  "Please make sure, Anton. Make sure everyone else is alive and well."

  He nodded and ran out and started counting those guests he could find. He went up to the second deck where the dining room was and he went to the top deck too.

  "We're going to have to put her into the other bathtub in the main suite," said Frances, looking at Fowler.

  Fowler nodded and walked up to Captain Wainscott. He was slowly beginning to regain his composure. Frances walked up to him.

  "Could I have a word, Captain?" she asked.

  Addressing him by his title she hoped that he would act the part. And it helped, to some degree. He slowly laid Lady Pompress' face down on the carpet and stood up. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the blood that was on his right hand onto it. It smudged like streaks of rouge lipstick. He clumped up the handkerchief and put it into his trouser pocket.

  "Can you tell me exactly how she was when you found her?" asked Frances.

  She was trying to take his mind off of the emotion and steer him towards facts. She wasn't doing it for her own good. She could see plainly how the poor woman had been murdered. She had likely been taken by surprise by a blow to the back of the head, and more than one from the looks of it. She also knew who had done it. The purpose of this line of questioning was to help Captain Wainscott get a hold of himself.

  "I... um, I uh, found her lying there," he said, pointing at the spot where she still lay. "Almost exactly like that."

  "And the bed?" asked Frances, looking over at the bed which was immaculately made. "Was it undisturbed as it is now?"

  Captain Wainscott turned around to look at the bed. He nodded and turned back to face Frances.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Have you had a look everywhere else in the cabin to see if anything is missing?" she asked him.

  He shook his head.

  "I... I didn't think to."

  "It's all right," she said. "This has been quite a shock. Where did Lady Pompress keep her medication?"

  "In the bathroom, I think."

  "Would you mind coming with me?"

  Captain Wainscott followed Frances into the bathroom. Everything was neat and tidy except for the sink and medicine cabinet above the sink. There were vials of insulin that had fallen into the sink. One was broken and its contents gone. Another was whole and as Frances picked it up she noticed that it held very little insulin. A syringe was in the sink too, along with several envelopes of Somunol. The medicine cabinet door was still ajar. Frances looked inside it.

  "Can you tell if anything is missing?" she asked him.

  He looked into the medicine cabinet and started counting the vials of insulin and the syringes and needles. He looked down at the sink at the broken one and Frances passed him the other one she had picked up from the sink. He nodded at her.

  "I can't tell about the Somunol," he said, "but there is one syringe and needle missing and this vial of insulin should be full."

  "Are you sure?"

  Captain Wainscott nodded. He took another vial out of the medicine cabinet and showed it to her.

  "This is the one I used last night before dinner to give her her injection of insulin. You can see there is about a third of it left. I had started using this one on Monday."

  Frances nodded. She didn't like the thought of where it was going. Why was insulin missing? Frances looked at one of the vials, and she guessed that the empty syringe lying in the sink before her could likely take most of the insulin in a single vial.

  "Do you think somebody stole a syringe and some insulin?" asked Captain Wainscott.

  Frances nodded at him as they walked out of the bathroom.

  "But why on earth would someone do that. Diabetics are very careful about making sure they have their medication with th
em at all times. Worse case, they should have just asked if they needed some. I know Abby wouldn't have minded helping a fellow diabetic. They didn't need to kill her for it."

  Timothy looked down at Lady Pompress as her lifeless body lay on the floor in front of them. Frances gently took him by the elbow and led him towards the door.

  "She wasn't killed by a diabetic looking for a shot of insulin," said Frances.

  "But then why?"

  Their conversation was interrupted by Anton barging into the cabin. He look flushed and breathless.

  "What is it?" asked Frances.

  Anton paused for a moment, leaning over with his hands on his knees, taking in great big, quick breaths. He looked up at her.

  "I can't find Mr. Warrant," he said, in a gasp.

  "Albert?"

  Anton nodded. Frances shook her head. Perry had joined them by this time.

  "What's going on?" asked Fowler.

  "Albert is missing," said Frances.

  Anton started to straighten up now, getting a handle on his breath.

  "We need to search all the cabins for him," she said.

  Fowler and Anton nodded. They all exited the cabin and walked to the bow of the ship. On the port side was Lady Marmalade's cabin and starboard held Florence's.

  Moving up towards the stern of the ship, the next cabin on the port side was empty. The one on the starboard side just past Florence's cabin had been designated as Albert's new cabin for the night before. Fowler tried the door and found it open. He walked in tentatively expecting to see something. Anton followed in after him, then followed by Frances, Florence and Captain Wainscott. The room was empty, the bed still made. They looked into the bathroom. It too was empty. The whole cabin looked like it had been unused. The only telltale sign of any life was Albert's suitcase on the bed. It was unopened.

  "I don't understand," said Fowler, "where could he be if not in his room?"

  "We're going to have to search from stem to stern," said Frances. "He must be here somewhere."

  "Unless he's been thrown overboard," said Anton.

  Frances shook her head.

  "He hasn't been thrown overboard."

  "I mean, if he's ended up like Lady Pompress, God forbid, they might have thrown his body overboard," said Anton.

  Frances shook her head quickly.

  "No. If, God forbid, he has been murdered, he'll be onboard."

  "How can you be so sure?" asked Fowler.

  "Because I know who committed these first two murders."

  "I see," said Fowler, moving past Frances and heading back into the hallway. "We best search quickly then."

  Fowler moved across the hallway towards Samuel's room on the port side. He opened it and walked in. The room was immaculate. It was clear that no one had slept in the room the night before. The bed was still made. Samuel's suitcase was at the foot of the bed and in the bathroom his toiletries were nowhere to be found. There was also no sign of Albert.

  Fowler crossed back to the starboard side and entered Orpha and Mahulda's room. Both beds had been slept in and the covers pulled back over in haste. The bathroom contained toiletries of both Orpha and Mahulda and their suitcases had been unpacked. In the closet were their clothes. There seemed to be nothing unusual about the room. There was also no sign of Albert.

  Fowler, leading again, exited the cabin and crossed the hallway, heading stern and port he entered into Maurice's room. This room was a mess. The bed was unmade and a pile of clothes was crumpled up in the corner of the room by the entrance to the door way. The closet contained Maurice's clothes and his suitcase was up against the end of the queen sized bed. The bathroom contained two toothbrushes, two colognes and two jars of pomade. But there was no sign of Albert.

  "This is getting ridiculous," said Fowler. "Perhaps he threw himself overboard, riddled with grief about the loss of his sister."

  Nobody said anything to that. They followed him out and across the hallway towards Albert and Abigail's original room. Fowler hesitated for a moment before entering. He turned to Frances.

  "Surely he wouldn't be back in here," he said.

  "One never knows. We should be thorough nevertheless," she said.

  So he opened the door, but something caught it halfway. He pushed at it more vigorously but it wouldn't budge. He squeezed himself in through the crack. He took a quick breath.

  "My God," he said, "I've found him."

  "Don't move him just yet," said Frances, squeezing herself into the room.

  Albert lay on his stomach with his head facing the door and his arm outstretched as if he were reaching for it. His face was bloated and ruddy, and turned to his left. Anton came in after her, followed by Florence and then Captain Wainscott.

  "Would you mind pulling him into the room so we can turn him over?" asked Frances.

  Fowler grabbed his ankles and pulled his heft back into the room. Frances looked around the room. It was in disarray. All the doors that could be opened were. The only one that was closed was the closet door by the entrance, and that was only likely due to Albert's body having bumped against it to close it. The doors and drawers of the side tables at both beds were opened and rifled through. The main closet in the room had its contents flung out onto the floor, and the bottom drawer pulled out. The contents being mostly Abigail's clothes.

  Frances walked into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet door was opened and most of the contents pulled out where they had crashed into the sink. In the wastebasket was the item that Frances was looking for. It was the missing syringe with needle attached.

  Frances came back out and waited until Anton and Fowler had turned Albert onto his back. She kneeled down by his body, looking for any telltale signs.

  "What happened to him?" asked Anton.

  "He was murdered," said Frances, "with this."

  She handed the syringe to Perry.

  "Please keep it safe."

  "My God," said Timothy. "So that's what happened to the syringe."

  "This is yours?" asked Fowler.

  "No. It was Abby's. I noticed it missing from the bathroom when Frances asked me to take a look."

  Frances looked carefully around Albert's torso and on his right side just under his ribs was a small red stain against his shirt. Frances lifted it up and against his bloated skin she saw a small red dot of blood. It marked the injection point. She pointed at it.

  "This is where he was stabbed with it," she said.

  Fowler and Anton kneeled down and looked at it.

  "Murdered by insulin?" asked Fowler, looking at Frances.

  Frances nodded. It was what was available.

  "But why?"

  "He wasn't supposed to be here. If he hadn't have been, he might still be alive. I think whoever was in here, wasn't expecting to see him, or at least, that wasn't their primary goal."

  Frances looked at her watch. It was six thirty.

  "Can we get everyone upstairs, please. The Cairo police will be here any minute and I want to insure that they are given the murderer by the time they arrive."

  Frances got up and started to walk out of the cabin.

  "What about the bodies?" asked Fowler.

  "They'll be all right for the next little while. The coroner is coming along with the police, and he'll take over when he gets here. It's time to catch this unrepentant criminal."

  They followed her upstairs to the second floor where everyone was seated and making good work on their breakfast. They all looked up at her as she entered.

  Twenty-Seven

  Fowler leaned in to Lady Marmalade and whispered in her ear.

  "Do you want to have something to eat?" he asked.

  Frances shook her head.

  "There isn't time," she said. "But you'd be a friend for life if you could manage a cup of tea for me."

  She smiled at him. He nodded at her, grinning. They walked together to the stern side of the dining room.

  "Ladies and gentleman," said Fowler, pausing to meet with everyon
e's gaze. "The Cairo police and coroner are on their way. In fact," he said, looking down at his watch, "they should be here any minute. If you'd give us your attention, Lady Marmalade has some words."

  Fowler turned to her and she smiled and nodded at him. Behind her was a dumb waiter. Her friend Florence stood to her left. Frances took a small step towards the room. She took her time not saying a word, looking at each of them in turn.

  "I'm angry," she said. "In fact, I am very angry. My dear friend, Florence, has wanted to holiday in Egypt for over fifty years. And here we are in Egypt, finally fulfilling her wish, and I get dragged into a murder investigation by the most selfish, childish and unrepentant murderer I have ever had the misfortune of meeting."

  Frances looked around the room. She was met with blank faces for the most part. Samuel was eating his bacon, and Maurice was toying with his scrambled eggs. Nigel sat defiantly, looking at her with his arms crossed over his chest. Simon was frowning slightly, as was Mahulda, while Orpha sipped on her tea. Captain Wainscott had just sat down and was being served a plate of sausages and eggs. Ishaq was pouring him a full cup of dark coffee.

  "More appalling than the murder of Ms. Abigail Beckles which occurred on Thursday evening is the discovery of the bodies of Lady Pompress and Mr. Albert Warrant, Ms. Beckles' brother."

  Frances paused for a moment to judge the crowd. Bewilderment stung most of the faces as if a nest of hornets had just been released amongst them.

  "Good Lord!" exclaimed Nigel, his façade softening.

  Frances nodded.

  "What happened?” asked Orpha.

  Frances looked at her.

  "Lady Pompress was bludgeoned to death with a lamp stand and Albert was injected with a lethal dose of insulin."

  "That's awful," she said.

  Frances nodded solemnly.

  "What has been upsetting to me, above everything has been the constant web of lies that most of you have fed me. I came here to holiday with my friend, and instead I got a web of lies from most of you, even those of you not related to the murder, which only made things that more difficult. In fact," she said, "if you had been honest with me, I might not be here discussing three murders with you, but rather just the one. One, mind you, which is still too many."