The Curious Case of the Missing Head

by Gabriel Farago

  Fabry, a quick lateral thinker, was already coming up with a possible solution to this thorny problem.

  ‘Normally, we do not take visitors behind the scenes, so to speak, and show them how we prepare the bodies, or how we obtain them,’ he said. ‘This is a delicate subject. As you can imagine, there are ethical and legal issues involved here.’

  ‘Exactly our point,’ Jack said.

  ‘However, in this case, I am prepared to make an exception,’ continued Fabry. ‘But please keep all this confidential,’ he added, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone.

  ‘Of course,’ said Isis.

  ‘Only yesterday, we received the body of a fisherman who was badly injured at sea and drowned,’ said Fabry. ‘His body has been donated to us by his widow. We are preparing it right now for vivification. Parts of the body will be used in our exhibition and for anatomical teaching purposes in universities. I will show you the consent documents and the body, and explain the procedure. I will also show you our extensive donor registry. Would that help?’

  ‘It certainly would,’ said Isis.

  ‘I hope you are not squeamish.’

  ‘No, we are not,’ said Jack, making eye contact with Tristan.

  ‘In that case, please follow me.’

  Fabry led the way down into the bowels of the ship. A large space next to the engine room had been converted into what looked like a laboratory with large vats, freezers and all kinds of strange-looking pipes and equipment. It reminded Jack of an exotic boutique brewery he had visited recently in France. Several technicians in white coats were bent over a steel table lit up by strong floodlights from above.

  ‘This is where we prepare the body,’ said Fabry and pointed to the table. ‘Come, have a look.’

  ‘What happened to the head?’ asked Jack, looking at the naked, headless cadaver.

  ‘The head was badly damaged and had to be removed,’ said Fabry. ‘We will use the rest of the body, in this case the heart and the lungs, in situ. We have a specific request from a university in the US for this. They will use the specimen in their anatomy classes. Much more effective than dissecting recently deceased cadavers. And, of course, reusable.’

  Tristan stared at the headless body. Certain images were floating into his mind’s eye with alarming clarity, but none of them had anything to do with drowning. He could see a shaved head being removed from the body and carried away. It wasn’t damaged, but seemed strangely alive. He also saw something else: a bullet entering the body. Tristan took a step closer and looked at the side of the chest. He could just make out a bruised area that looked like a small wound. Tristan closed his eyes, trying to focus to see more, but the image drifted away, leaving behind a strange feeling of sadness and loss.

  ‘So, what’s the first step,’ asked Isis, ‘in preserving the cadaver?’

  ‘There are four steps in this process,’ said Fabry, sensing that his visitors were impressed and interested. ‘Fixation, dehydration, forced impregnation in a vacuum, and hardening. But before we do any of that, one of our surgeons will be dissecting this body to expose the chest cavity as requested by the university. After that, the specimen will be placed in a bath of acetone in that vat over there.’ Fabry pointed to a large, cylinder-shaped container. ‘This will draw out the water.’

  Tristan turned to Jack. ‘It’s him,’ he whispered. ‘I can feel it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This is Stolzfus.’

  ‘You can’t be serious!’

  ‘I am. Have a close look at the right side of the chest. Bullet wound.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  Fabry continued to explain the complex vivification procedure in detail, addressing each of the four steps. It was obvious that he was passionate about the subject. ‘I will now show you the consent documentation and our donor register if you like. It’s upstairs.’

  Fabry turned to the technicians standing around the table. ‘All right chaps, we’ll do the rest in the morning. You can finish now, but leave the body where it is.’

  One of the technicians pulled a plastic sheet over the headless body and took off his gloves.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jack. ‘Absolutely fascinating. I think we have seen enough here.’

  Used to reacting quickly under pressure – a skill acquired from his days as a frontline war correspondent – Jack made a snap decision. He waited until no-one was looking, stooped down a little, quietly dropped his phone on the floor and then kicked it under the vat as he went past.

  Fabry smiled as he looked at the table in front of him. He could just see the outline of the truncated body under it. Thank you, Professor. A million dollars US for the transplantation, and a million pounds in donations from a gullible rock star with more money than sense. Not bad for a day’s work, he thought. And the rest of his body would be immortalised for teaching purposes tomorrow. No waste here! Fabry then turned around and followed his visitors up the stairs.

  29

  Port of Valletta, Malta: 24 June, evening

  Fabry was in his element. After leaving the Caritas, he insisted on showing his guests some of the main historic attractions of Valletta before they were due to return to the airport and fly back to London. He first took them to the Upper Barrakka Gardens to show them some of the city’s old fortifications, with splendid views of the Grand Harbour and across to the towns of Vittoriosa, Cospicua and Kalkara. Then he took them to the spectacular St John’s Co-Cathedral, ending up at the Grand Master’s Palace in the centre of town.

  ‘This spectacular palace was commissioned by Master Fra Pietro del Monte in the sixteenth century as a residence for the Knights of Malta and contains one of my favourite battle scenes,’ enthused Fabry. ‘Come, let me show you.’ Fabry led the way to the staterooms on the upper floor.

  ‘I know you will like this,’ he said to Isis. ‘Especially with your interest in the Great Siege of fifteen sixty-five.’ Fabry pointed to a series of murals depicting dramatic battle scenes of the knights fighting the Ottoman Turks.

  ‘And then I must show you a portrait of the Grand Master Jean de Valette, the founder of our city. It’s right here ...’

  Jack turned to Tristan standing next to him. ‘Let’s do it now,’ he whispered. Tristan nodded.

  Jack had briefly discussed his improvised plan with Tristan when they had found themselves momentarily alone in the cathedral.

  ‘Oh no!’ said Jack,’ holding up his little notebook with the rubber band around it he used for taking notes. ‘I don’t believe it!’

  Fabry looked at him, surprised. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘My phone; I must have dropped it. I usually carry it in my back pocket with my notebook. Damn!’

  ‘Where could you have lost it, do you think?’ asked Tristan, right on cue.

  ‘I had it on the ship, I’m sure of it. When I pulled out my notebook to jot down something about that fascinating vivification process ... I’m sure it was still in my pocket.’

  ‘Could you have lost it then?’ asked Fabry, trying to help. The last thing he wanted was for the visit to end on some sour note, like losing a silly phone.

  ‘Yes, that’s quite possible, come to think of it. So much was going on ... the phone sometimes gets caught in this rubber band here. Stupid, I know.’

  ‘Let’s go back to the Caritas and have a look,’ said Fabry. ‘It’s on the way.’

  ‘Could we?’ said Jack. ‘I feel naked without my phone. And losing it would be such a nuisance ...’

  ‘No problem. I know what it’s like. I’ll call the captain right now.’

  Jack winked at Tristan and smiled.

  The captain and one of his officers were waiting for them on top of the gangway. Isis had decided to stay in the car and Fabry stayed with her to keep her company.

  Perfect, thought Jack. So far everything had gone exactly to plan.

  ‘We already had a quick look around in the lab,’ said the captain. ‘Unfortunately, nothing.’

 
‘Could we please go back there? I’m sure I had it with me then. What if we call my number? That could help. If we don’t find it there, perhaps we can quickly retrace our steps?’

  ‘Good idea,’ said the captain. ‘Follow me.’

  Illuminated by dim, flickering ceiling lights at the end of a dank corridor, the deserted laboratory looked eerie, the strange shapes of the vats and the many pipes casting crazy shadows across the slippery steel floor.

  It’s just as we left it, thought Jack as he looked at the polished steel table with the covered body. He walked over to the table and stood directly next to it. ‘I stood right here when I took out my notebook,’ he said. ‘Tristan, could you please call my number?’

  ‘Sure.’ Tristan pulled out his phone and dialled Jack’s number. Within moments, a dial tone – a cheerful rendition of Waltzing Matilda – could be heard coming from somewhere in the lab.

  ‘It’s here!’ cried Jack, pretending to be surprised. The captain and the officer turned instinctively towards the sound, listening to see where it was coming from. Tristan quickly stepped forward and stood between them and Jack, who by now was bending over the table. As the phone kept ringing and it became apparent that the sound was coming from somewhere under one of the large vats, the officer went down on his hands and knees to have a closer look.

  Now! thought Jack, and quickly reached his left hand under the plastic sheet covering the body on the steel table. He could clearly see the outline of the body under the sheet and dug his fingernails deep into the soft flesh of the neck stump, tearing away as much tissue as possible. It was all over in a second and Jack quickly withdrew his hand.

  ‘Here it is,’ said the officer, and handed the phone to Jack.

  ‘Thank you so much, gentlemen,’ said Jack and turned off the phone. ‘I feel such a fool.’

  As he walked towards the waiting car, Jack held up his phone. ‘Found it,’ he said.

  ‘Excellent,’ replied Fabry, pleased. ‘That didn’t take too long.’

  ‘No, it didn’t. But it sure made a difference. I don’t know how to thank you.’

  One hour later, Pegasus was in the air. Isis opened a bottle of champagne and Tristan carefully wrapped a clean bandage around Jack’s left hand, making sure the tips of his fingers were completely covered to avoid contamination. This was a precaution suggested by Cesaria to preserve the integrity of the tissue sample.

  ‘I don’t know how you keep coming up with these ideas, Jack, but I must say, this was absolutely ingenious,’ said Isis, letting the cork pop. ‘This deserves a toast.’

  ‘I knew we needed proof. Tristan’s intuition may be enough for us, but I don’t think it would be enough to convince the Squadra Mobile, or MI5 for that matter.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘But they do understand DNA. And that’s what we’ve got. Right here under my fingernails.’

  ‘Classic defence wounds stuff,’ Tristan cut in. ‘Very effective.’

  ‘Do you know how many murderers have been convicted because their victims had some of their attacker’s DNA under their fingernails?’ said Jack.

  ‘Very clever,’ said Isis and filled the glasses.

  Jack had called Cesaria in Florence as soon as they were in the air and explained the situation. Lola had changed Pegasus’s flight plan and they were due to land in Florence in just over two hours. Cesaria would meet them at the airport and take Jack straight to forensics to extract the tissue from under his fingernails for DNA testing.

  Jack had also called Rebecca in New York and told her the sad news. In all probability, her brother was dead, and his mutilated body on the Caritas in Malta. However, to make absolutely sure that was the case, her DNA was needed for comparison. Rebecca said she would catch the first available flight and meet them in Florence.

  ‘I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve had so much fun,’ said Isis, lifting her glass. ‘Thanks for making me part of the team.’

  ‘Never a dull moment with Jack,’ said Tristan. ‘How I’ve missed this!’

  ‘So, you don’t mind bumming around with an incorrigible rascal then, guys?’ said Jack, grinning.

  Isis lifted her glass. ‘Let’s drink to that. To our very own incorrigible rascal. Cheers!’

  30

  Chief Prosecutor’s office, Florence: 26 June

  As one of the most tenacious and successful Mafia hunters still alive in Italy, Chief Prosecutor Grimaldi thought he had seen just about everything and that nothing could surprise him. Yet, when he looked at the whiteboard behind his desk he used for making notes and working out connections in ongoing cases, he had to admit that the latest intelligence regarding certain activities involving the Giordano family in the alleged abduction of Professor Stolzfus, seemed almost too far-fetched to be believed.

  Grimaldi had read the report prepared by Cesaria Borroni, acting chief superintendent of the Squadra Mobile, several times overnight. Borroni was one of his finest officers and certainly not one known for speculation or hasty conclusions. And Jack Rogan had proved himself many times over as a reliable and trustworthy, albeit unconventional, source. Grimaldi had worked with Jack on the notorious Gambio case two years ago and would trust him with his life.

  When Grimaldi didn’t understand something, he always followed a golden rule: he asked the officers involved to explain it to him in person.

  Grimaldi listened to the familiar bells of Santa Maria del Fiore announcing the hour, and smiled. There will be a knock on the door just about now, he thought and stood up.

  Cesaria looked at Jack and Tristan standing next to her. ‘Ready?’ she said. ‘This is it, boys.’

  Jack nodded. Cesaria knocked and opened the door.

  ‘How is it when you two come to see me, remarkable things seem to happen?’ said Grimaldi. He walked over to Jack and embraced him.

  ‘It’s his charm,’ said Cesaria. ‘Villains find it irresistible.’

  ‘Ah. That must be it. And this must be Tristan,’ said Grimaldi, letting go of Jack. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, but we’ve never actually met. Ars Moriendi and Lorenza da Baggio?’

  ‘And I’ve heard a lot about you, sir. In fact, for the last day or so, Jack hasn’t stopped talking about you,’ said Tristan. He stepped forward and shook Grimaldi’s hand.

  ‘Take a seat and let’s start from the beginning,’ said Grimaldi. ‘You can take it I’ve carefully read your report, but I want to hear it all from you.’

  Cesaria had expected this and was ready.

  ‘As we know, Professor Stolzfus was abducted in London on fifteen June. All indications so far seem to suggest that the Mafia was behind it; the Giordanos, to be precise.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Grimaldi.

  ‘Frankly, we don’t know.’

  ‘That worries me. The Giordanos do nothing without a good reason. Certainly not something so high profile and risky.’

  ‘That worries me too, but there it is.’

  ‘Please continue.’

  ‘You will remember what first alerted us to a possible Mafia connection was that satellite photo showing the Caritas and Nike meeting in the middle of a storm off the coast of France?’

  ‘It’s right there,’ said Grimaldi and pointed to the photo stuck on the whiteboard. ‘But we searched the Nike in Monaco and found nothing.’

  ‘Wiped clean.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Grimaldi sounded sceptical.

  ‘That’s where the matter rested until now,’ continued Cesaria.

  ‘Ah, yes. Jack and Tristan’s adventures in Malta,’ said Grimaldi, shaking his head. ‘Unbelievable stuff, I must say. Private jet, famous rock star and all.’

  ‘You better hear the rest from Jack,’ said Cesaria, ignoring the remark, and sat back in her chair.

  Jack described the recent trip to Malta with Isis and Tristan, and how and why the meeting with Fabry had been arranged to gain access to the Caritas. He described the discovery of the grisly headless body in that strange laboratory, and
told Grimaldi how Tristan’s intuition and the discovery of a possible gunshot wound had led them to believe it could be Stolzfus.

  ‘Let me get this right, Jack,’ said Grimaldi. He lit a small cigar and let the smoke curl towards the open window. ‘Tristan here sensed something when he looked at the headless corpse, and that was the reason you pursued the matter further?’

  ‘Yes. Tristan has certain psychic powers. I have seen them at work many times. It would be a mistake to dismiss them as fanciful nonsense. I certainly don’t.’

  ‘And neither do I,’ Cesaria cut in. ‘As you will see in a moment, Tristan’s intuition led to certain incontrovertible evidence about that body’s identity.’

  ‘All right. Let’s hear it.’

  ‘You would have read in the report how I obtained that DNA sample,’ continued Jack.

  ‘I certainly have. It read like something out of a movie: Bruce Willis meets science fiction.’

  ‘But true nevertheless,’ said Cesaria. ‘It is a reliable chain of evidence.’

  ‘We could do with a little imagination like that in the Squadra Mobile from time to time. What you think, Cesaria?’ said Grimaldi. ‘When we get really desperate.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I have no officers of Jack’s calibre on the force who could pull off something like that.’

  ‘I suppose not. Go on.’

  ‘Professor Stolzfus’s sister arrived yesterday and gave us a DNA sample. A forensic comparison has been made with the DNA extracted from the cadaver tissue under Jack’s fingernails.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Here’s the report,’ said Cesaria. ‘I just received it.’ Cesaria opened her briefcase, took out an envelope and placed it on the desk in front of Grimaldi.

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘Perfect match: brother and sister. The body belongs to Professor Stolzfus. There can be no doubt about it.’

  For a long moment there was utter silence, only broken by the sounds of the familiar church bells chiming in the distance and the tourist hum drifting up from the busy street below. Grimaldi stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray and looked at Jack. ‘Extraordinary,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I just don’t understand it. Something is missing here. Something big, and that worries me. This isn’t like the Mafia at all.’