Stolen Souls

by Sackett, Jeffrey

  "The what?"

  "The Chi-Rho. You've seen it, Tommy. It looks like a P superimposed on an X."

  "Oh, sure. I've seen that in churches. That's Greek?"

  "Of course. It's the first two letters of the word christos." She turned to the others. "See? Perfect example. Tommy is a well-educated man coming from a civilization rooted in the culture of ancient Greece, and he doesn't know what the symbols mean."

  "Be fair, honey," Sawhill said. "Greek civilization was a long time ago."

  She shook her head in disagreement. "Two thousand years separate us from ancient Greece. Three thousand years separate the New Kingdom of Egypt from the preliterate period. See?"

  Sam laughed. "I can see why you impress your students, Harriet."

  She blushed. "Hey, I'm sorry I've been monopolizing the conversation. I get carried away whenever I talk about Egypt. It's been my passion since childhood."

  "Don't apologize!" Suzanne exclaimed. "We asked you to explain mummification. And it was fascinating. Don't you think it was fascinating, Your Lordship?"

  Roderick had been sitting in silence, paying absolutely no attention to the conversation. He looked up at Suzanne. "Hmmm?"

  The expression on his face concerned her. "Is something bothering you?"

  "Oh, no, no, nothing." He paused. "Well, there is, actually. I called my solicitor before to ask him about this Hadji fellow."

  "Oh." Harriet was immediately on her guard, feeling her prize exhibits threatened anew. "And what did he say?"

  Roderick shook his head. "I spoke to his secretary. My solicitor has been murdered."

  Silence hit the small group. No one spoke for several minutes. Then Sawhill said, "That's horrible!"

  "You mean Mr. Pearson?" Suzanne whispered. Roderick nodded. "Oh my God! I just saw him yesterday at the airport. What happened?"

  "The police aren't certain," Roderick replied. "His secretary found him in his office this morning with his throat cut."

  "Oh, that's terrible, terrible," Sam said, shaking his head. "The poor man. I'm so sorry, Your Lordship."

  "Yes, me too," Sawhill said. "Please accept my sympathies. Did he have a family?"

  Roderick shrugged. "I have no idea. I never asked."

  The festive mood which had existed earlier in the evening had dissipated. Sawhill looked around at the others and asked, "Does anyone want coffee or dessert?" Those who chose to respond shook their heads, and he called for a check.

  "Hey, Tommy," Harriet said pensively, "didn't that Hadji person say that he had been negotiating with Lord Selwyn's lawyer?"

  Sawhill's head, which had been bowed in the direction of the money he was removing from his wallet, snapped up. "Shit, that's right! Your Lordship, do the British police know about him?"

  "No, but by God, Gladys—Pearson's secretary—said he had an appointment with an Easterner. Do you think it was Hadji?"

  "It makes sense. You'd better call London again, Your Lordship. They have to know about this guy." He turned to Harriet. "And we'd better tell Jasper."

  "Yeah, right away. If he killed the Earl's lawyer, he might very well steal the exhibits."

  "Harriet, for God's sake, I'm not worried about the mummies! He might do something to you!" He took her hand when he saw her face blanch. "Easy, easy. Let's get to Jasper's right away."

  "Yeah, don't worry, Har," Suzanne said with assurance. "There's nothing to get upset about." The look that she and Thomas Sawhill exchanged indicated that neither of them believed that last statement.

  "Perhaps I should go back to the hotel and place the call to Scotland Yard?" Roderick suggested.

  "No, wait," Sawhill said. "Let's all go to see Jasper. He's going to want to talk to your police anyway, and I'm sure they'll have a few things to discuss with him too." He tossed some money down on the table, and they all rose to make their ways to the door.

  It was a bit chilly outside, and they all drew their collars tight around their necks. Harriet got into Sawhill's Saab while Suzanne and Roderick followed Goldhaber to his battered old station wagon down the street. "Maybe we should call the state police," Harriet said as Sawhill slid into the driver's seat and shut the door.

  "Let Jasper decide about that. I'm sure that there are standard procedures he has to follow when stuff like this happens." He paused. "Let's not jump to conclusions. For all we know, Hadji has nothing to do with what happened in London."

  "God, I hope not," she muttered. Harriet nervously chewed on her nails as Sawhill pulled away from the curb with Goldhaber's car a few yards behind him. "I know that museums can be competitive, and the CairoMuseum's people are almost fanatical because of all the things the West stole from Egypt. But murder!"

  "The more I think of it, the less sense it makes to assume a connection," Sawhill said. "I mean, what purpose would be served by killing the lawyer?"

  "Get rid of a witness?"

  "Not when the next day he identifies himself to seven people, two of them police officers." He shook his head. "I think we're just acting a little skittish because of the way Hadji acted."

  "But we're still going to see Jasper, right?"

  "Oh, yes, of course. Better safe than sorry." They drove the rest of the way in silence. Sawhill stole an occasional furtive glance to his right and was disturbed by the obvious worry which was furrowing Harriet's brow.

  They reached the police station in a few minutes. The small town hall was of late nineteenth-century design, and the police station (which was added years later) seemed conspicuously out of place attached to the side of the building. The steeple-topped wooden town hall contrasted unpleasantly with the squat red-brick annex which, Jasper always joked, had been thrown up in haste by the lowest bidder.

  They alighted from their cars and gathered before the door of the police station. "Now listen," Sawhill cautioned them. "Let's not act too paranoic. Jasper has a ton of experience with serious crime and serious criminals. He'll know what to do, and he'll also know if we're acting foolish, so let's not embarrass ourselves. Okay?" His warning was greeted with nods of assent all round.

  Sawhill opened the door and found Jasper sitting behind his desk. Will Foster and Gus Rudd were seated in front of the desk. The scattered poker chips, beer cans, pretzels, cigarette and cigar butts, and playing cards told Sawhill immediately that it had been a slow, quiet night in Greenfield.

  "Hiya, Jasper," he said. "Will, Gus."

  "Hey, Tom, come on in." Jasper looked behind Sawhill and saw the others trudging in nervously. "Hi there, folks. Something wrong?" He stood up. "It isn't the museum, is it?"

  "No, no," Harriet said quickly. "At least not yet. It's just that—well—" She turned to Sawhill.

  "Lord Selwyn called London a little while ago to talk to his lawyer. He was informed that his lawyer was murdered. The police over there don't seem to have any leads, not any that he heard of on the phone anyway."

  "Yes?" Jasper asked. His tone of voice said "So what?"

  "His lawyer's secretary told him that Mr. Pearson—that was the lawyer's name—had an appointment last night with what she described as—an Easterner?" He looked at Roderick for confirmation of the description.

  "Yes," Roderick said. "An Easterner. Like that boorish fellow who caused all that unpleasantness this morning. It could be he."

  Jasper Rudd placed his poker hand on his desk and leaned back in his chair. "Any reason to think they're one and the same?"

  "Well, he did say that he had been negotiating with Mr. Pearson, didn't he?" Harriet said. "And you saw yourself how excitable that man is."

  Jasper nodded. "Have any of you seen this guy since this morning?" They all shook their heads. "Hmmm. Well, it's possible. Anyway, the London police should be informed." He reached over to the telephone and dialed for the operator. "This is Chief Rudd in Greenfield. I want the overseas operator. Yes, I'll hold." He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and said, "I wouldn't worry about this, folks. Calling somebody an Easterner could mean anything. Coulda been a H
indu or a Chinese, coulda been a Russian."

  "There are many Indians in London," Roderick said, nodding. "Many Pakistanis and Chinese as well. I hadn't thought of that, actually."

  "Sure," Jasper said. "It doesn't necessarily mean—Yes, operator. I need to be connected with Scotland Yard in London. No, I don't know the number. Please look it up. Yes, this is official business. Yes, I'll hold." He looked back up. "Yeah, it doesn't necessarily mean that this Hadji is dangerous."

  "Shit," Will muttered. "That little asshole couldn't scare a mouse away from cheese."

  "He doesn't seem dangerous to me," Jasper concurred. "I don't—hello? Scotland Yard? Oh, I'm sorry, operator." He looked up. "London operator." Sighing, he repeated, "This is Chief Rudd of the Greenfield Police in New York State, U.S. of A. I need to be connected with Scotland Yard. Yes, yes, I'll hold." He shook his head. "Goddamn phone companies."

  Sawhill's medical eye noticed Will Foster rubbing his hand. "Hey, Will, that hand any better?"

  Will shook his head. "No, Doc, it's worse. I can't hardly move it."

  Sawhill walked over to where Will Foster was sitting. "Here, let me have another look at it." Sawhill extended his hand and Will placed his own in it. Sawhill frowned as he ran his experienced fingers over the injured member, turning it over and examining it carefully. Will's hand seemed to have stiffened and grown cold. The skin seemed to be stretched tightly across the bone, and the veins stood out clearly, blue against the white. "You can't move it?"

  "No. You know what it feels like when you fall asleep on your arm and it's all numb when you wake up? It's sorta like that, 'cept it isn't limp. It's all stiff."

  "Well," Sawhill said with a certainty he did not feel, "it's probably just a severe muscle strain. Look, Will, if it doesn't feel any better tomorrow, drop over to the office and see me, okay?"

  "Yeah, sure, Doc."

  Sawhill turned his attention back to Jasper, who had already begun to explain to the London police what the situation was in Greenfield. "So when Mr. Selwyn—yes, I'm sorry, Lord Selwyn—told us what he'd heard on the phone, I figured I'd better get in touch with you." Jasper paused for a moment and then laughed at something said on the other end of the line, prompting Sawhill to reflect that police officers, regardless of nationality, speak a common language born of similar experiences. "Yeah," Jasper went on. "His name is Hadji."

  "Ahmed Hadji," Goldhaber reminded him.

  "Of the Egyptian National Institute of Reclamation," Harriet added.

  "Ahmed Hadji," Jasper said into the phone, "of the Egyptian National Institute of Reclamation." Pause. "Beats the hell out of me. Something to do with archeology." He paused again, a very long pause which he interrupted only with an occasional "Uh-huh." Then he said, "Well, I really appreciate that, Inspector Sheldon, I really do. Yeah, my number here is U.S. area code 315; number's 682-9696. Thanks again." He replaced the receiver.

  "Well?" Harriet asked.

  Jasper did not reply immediately. He was staring pensively off into space, his eyes narrowed with concentration and concern. At last he said, "Real polite people you got over there, Earl."

  Roderick smiled. "We endeavor to be cooperative."

  "I'm not interested in their manners!" Harriet snapped. "What did they say?"

  Jasper sighed. "I think we got a problem here, folks."

  "You mean Hadji?" Sawhill asked.

  The policeman nodded his head slowly. "That guy may be a foreigner here on a legitimate passport for legitimate purposes, doing nothing illegal. But everything in my experience as a cop tells me that there's more to it than that."

  "Oh, Jasper, for Christ's sake!" Harriet said with annoyance. "What did they tell you on the phone?"

  "Well," he said slowly, "for one thing this Pearson fellow wasn't just killed. His throat was slit and he seems to have been drained of blood. There was blood at the murder site, but not enough to account for the body's blood loss. They said it looked to them like some sort of ritual murder."

  "Good God!" Sawhill said.

  "Yeah," Jasper continued, "and there's more. While I was talking to Inspector Sheldon he had a quick computer check run of this institute. No record of it exists in their files."

  "You mean it doesn't exist?" Harriet exclaimed. "Hadji's a fraud?"

  "Not necessarily," Jasper said. "You can't expect their computers to have entries for every little organization in every country of the world. But it doesn't look good to me, that's for sure. Since the possibility exists of this murder being connected to an Egyptian national now in the United States, Sheldon says they can call on the help of Interpol. He's gonna keep in touch with me and let me know whatever they let him know, if anything."

  "What should we do?" Sam Goldhaber asked.

  Jasper turned to his brother Gus. "You go to that grounds building at the college and camp out there. I want those exhibits kept a close watch on. And keep your gun at the ready, you hear?"

  "Okay, Jasper," Gus said.

  Jasper Rudd turned to Harriet and Sawhill. "It isn't any of my business, but I know that you two are engaged. Can I assume that you're, well, real close, if you know what I mean?"

  Sawhill was amused by Jasper's attempt at delicacy, and he repressed a grin. Harriet was in no mood to be amused by anything, and she simply replied, "Yes. So?"

  "So I think tonight might be a good night for you to stay over at Miss Langly's, Doc. On the couch, of course."

  "Of course," Sawhill laughed softly.

  "I'm not trying to imply anything—" Jasper began.

  "Oh, cut it out," Harriet said, clearly irritated. "You're not a dorm mother! Besides, what do you think we do at night, shake hands?"

  "Yeah, right," he said, turning to Sam. "Professor Goldhaber—" he began and was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. "Gus, get that, will you?" As Gus picked up the phone, Jasper continued, "Professor, I don't know what your budget is at the college, but I suggest you hire somebody full time to guard those exhibits."

  Sam seem surprised. "Well, Chief, isn't that really your job? I mean—"

  Jasper shook his head. "I can have Gus keep an eye on them tonight, and they'll probably be safe tomorrow during the day. But I'm short of manpower. It's just me and Gus. I'm sure you understand. You folks at the College have to see to your own long-term security."

  "Yes, I suppose so," Sam said dejectedly. He knew the school's budget quite well. There was no money for security guards.

  "Earl," Jasper said, turning to Roderick, "I don't know if this Hadji fellow was involved in your lawyer's murder, but it may be that he was. I don't think it would be wise for you to spend the night alone in a hotel. Savvy?"

  "Pardon?" Roderick asked. He did not notice Suzanne's eyes widen as a small grin spread over her face.

  "Do you catch my drift?" Roderick's look of utter incomprehension caused Jasper to sigh with annoyance. "Stay someplace else, for your own safety."

  "Oh!" Roderick said as he caught the meaning of Jasper's suggestion. "Oh, yes. Very well." Then he muttered, "I'd rather not," but was ignored.

  "Jasper?" Gus said seriously. "We got another problem."

  "What now?"

  "That was Mrs. Lewis on the phone. You know Jack Lewis, the real estate guy down on Elm?"

  "Yeah. What's happened?"

  "He's been killed."

  There was a deep quiet in the room for a moment. Then, before he rose from the seat behind his desk, Jasper Rudd opened a drawer and took out his gun. "You folks go home," he snapped. "I got work to do."

  "You want I should come with you?" Gus asked.

  "No. You get your ass over to that college and do what I told you to do." He thrust the revolver into the holster which had been hanging empty from the belt around his waist. "If I need you, I'll call you on your radio." To the others he repeated, "You folks go home, and stay there."

  They muttered their assent and stood back as Jasper walked out of his office, a look of grim determination upon his frowning face. Gus coughed a
nd said, "Well, I guess I'll go over to the college now. You folks gonna be able to get home okay? I mean, does anyone need a lift or anything?"

  "No," Sam said, "I can drop Miss Melendez and the Earl off at their hotel. Thanks anyway, Gus." Sam held the door for the ladies and followed them out, followed by Roderick and Thomas Sawhill.

  The five of them stood outside in the slightly chilly night air for a few moments before Harriet said, "Well, I guess I'll see you in the morning."

  "Yeah," Suzanne replied. "See you, Har. Night, Tom."

  "Sleep well," Sawhill said, and then extended his hand to Roderick. "Sorry again about your friend, Your Lordship."

  "Yes," he said as he shook Sawhill's hand. "Ghastly thing, absolutely ghastly."

  "Yes, terrible," Sawhill agreed. "See you, Sam."

  "Good night." Sam walked over to his automobile and unlocked the doors for Suzanne and Roderick. As they entered he said, "One hell of a night."

  "Yeah," Suzanne said. "I thought this kind of thing didn't happen in small towns."

  "So did I!" Sam laughed grimly. "But you know what they say. The big cities get the junkies and the street crime, and the small towns get the axe murderers and the chainsaw massacres."

  "Charming!" Roderick muttered. I'll bet my chauffeur and butler are watching Disney's fireworks right now, he thought dejectedly.

  Sam drove the few miles to the Huguenot Hotel and bade his passengers a good-night which was cheerier than he was. He had known Jack Lewis fairly well for the past few years. Indeed, he and Jack Lewis had assisted new faculty members, Harriet included, in finding housing in Greenfield, and not a few students had availed themselves of the LewisAgency when the dorms at Winthrop were filled to capacity Poor guy, Sam thought. What a terrible thing to happen.

  Sam Goldhaber watched as Suzanne and Roderick entered the old colonial building which had once housed a Dutch patroon, but which was now one of the region's best known country inns. They're both so young, he reflected. So many years ahead of them. Lord knows what their futures will hold.