The Khamsin Curse (23 page)

“Temple of Harendotes.”

“That’s nowhere near your
camp?”

Moran immediately noted that
the Eastern advocate knew where his camp was. “The wind was pushing
from the east. It was easier to travel west than fight against the
Khamsin. I was heading for the Coptic Church but we got pushed
further west than I thought. When we hit the girdle wall I figured
the Temple of Harendotes was the next best place to head.”

Gideon pulled out the map Moran
had sketched for them on a napkin during breakfast when he first
suggested mounting a search. “That’s way beyond the girdle
wall.”

Moran’s dangerous eyes flashed
fire. “What are you saying?”

“The Temple of Harendotes is
close to the mammisi. Lorna Baxter could have slipped in here while
you slept.”

“I told you I’m a light
sleeper.”

“So you say.”

“Watch your mouth,” threatened
the big game hunter, noting for the first time how the Eastern
advocate had the build of a professional wrestler rather than a
bean-counter.

“It wouldn’t have taken long if
she had an accomplice.”

Moran tossed his half-spent
cigarette on the stones and ground it into the dust with the heel
of his boot; one got the impression he would like to do the same to
the man questioning his veracity. “Are you accusing -”

Gideon jumped in early. “I’m
not accusing anyone. I’m just trying to figure out what happened
here.”

“What’s it to you if the
American is dead?” challenged Moran, noting the way the advocate
squared his shoulders and bunched his fists in an effort to
maintain that stiff upper-English-lip. The size of the bare
knuckles was impressive and lethal.

The Countess decided to
intervene before the mood turned ugly. “Mallisham is also dead.
He’s in another chamber.”

Moran looked surprised for the
first time. “Mallisham!”

She nodded. “Same manner of
death as Jefferson Lee.”

Moran insisted on taking a
look. They followed him back to the other chamber. There was no
question both men were killed using the same method. Mallisham also
had a small gash to the back of his head.

“Someone was mighty busy last
night,” he said with typical understatement. “And like I said
straight off, if you try and pin this on me, you’ll be wasting your
time. This isn’t my modus operandi.”

Gideon kept his mouth shut but
they all knew what he was thinking. Maybe Moran didn’t do the
urinating but he sure as hell would have been a handy accomplice to
have on-side. If a woman needed someone to drag two, heavy,
half-conscious men into a chamber and tie them down, he would be
that man.

Moriarty spoke for the first
time. “We’re all assuming the killer is a woman.”

The Countess had been thinking
the same thing. “Yes, just because the Pashtun ritual involves
women doesn’t mean it’s a woman in this case. If a man wanted to
deflect suspicion it would be a good way to go about it. The ties
are black fabric. I’m guessing it’s the same sort of fabric that is
used for burqas. Again, it suggests a female garment. But why would
a woman want to leave evidence that pointed directly to her own
gender?”

“Why indeed?” muttered
Moriarty, pleased to have her agree with him. “How many women on
the ship? And I don’t mean maids. This isn’t about robbery. These
deaths are, as the Countess said earlier, about humiliation.”

“Discounting the Countess and
Mrs Baxter, for the moment,” supplied Gideon with emphasis,
wondering what was keeping Dr Watson, “there are three.”

“That’s not many,” said
Moriarty hopefully. “Three suspects.”

Gideon shook his head firmly.
“They’re all on the slim side of petite. And we have two dead
bodies,” he reminded ruefully. “What did they do with Lee in the
meantime?”

“Even so,” said the Countess,
unable to discount anything for the time being, no matter how
unlikely, “do you know where they spent the night? Did they make it
back to the Sekhmet with the others?”

“Before I answer that,” said
Gideon, “let’s get out of here. The smell is making me sick.”

They moved to the mammisi on
the western side of the Inner Courtyard. There was no point going
too far or they would miss the return of Dr Watson. After settling
on random stone blocks, Gideon answered the question.

“Hypatia, Daisy and Ursula were
all aboard the Sekhmet when I got back this morning. They were in
the saloon with…”

“Hang on a minute,” interrupted
Moran. “Where were you all night?”

Gideon’s handsome features
contorted into a tight grimace. “I was searching for my weapon in
the Kiosk. It flew out of my hand when a crocodile came flying
through the air.” He flashed Moriarty a dirty sideways look.

“I wondered why you had a Smith
& Wesson,” remarked Moriarty, overlooking the filthy eyeball.
“Where’s your Webley?”

“Like I said. It flew out of my
hand. I couldn’t find it. I gave up after a couple of hours and
dragged myself to the Hathor Temple. There was no one there. I
decided to grab a couple of hours sleep. I was back on the Sekhmet
by nine o’clock.”

Moran recalled his own phrase
about using someone else’s gun. He decided to get in early by
making his case stronger. “That gave you plenty of time to kill two
men. We’ve only got your word for it that the Temple of Hathor was
vacant. Maybe Mallisham and Lee were inside.”

“They weren’t,” snapped Gideon.
“You’ll have to take my word for it.”

Moran gave a cynical snort and
picked up on Moriarty’s off-hand comment. “Webley? For a
bean-counter you seem to have a strange fondness for a service
revolver. You don’t look like the sort of chap who sits at a desk
all day. I thought there was something not right about you the
first time I saw you.”

Moriarty kicked himself for
exposing Gideon to the spotlight. “We’re getting off the point. Who
else was in the saloon when you got back?”

“And how did they look?” added
the Countess quickly to deflect from Moran’s astute observation.
“Dusty? Exhausted? Had they been to sleep? Were they still in
costume?”

Gideon pictured the saloon as
it was when he first walked in. “Hypatia was bawling her eyes out.
She was wearing her costume. She didn’t look like she’d gotten any
sleep. He face was smudged with khol. She was worried about her
father.”

“So she already knew he was
missing?” reasoned Moriarty.

“Yes,” replied Gideon. “Ursula
knew her uncle was missing too. She must have been to his cabin to
check.”

“What about Mallisham?”
continued Moriarty.

“I can’t remember when his name
was mentioned or who said it. But they all knew he was missing too.
There were three men missing.”

“What was Ali Pasha doing?”
asked the Countess.

“He was smoking a cigar and
drinking coffee. He looked like he’d slept in the same chair in the
saloon all night. He looked bored and tired.”

“Tell us about the others,” she
encouraged. “What did you notice?”

“Hayter was wearing a dressing
gown. He looked like he’d just crawled out of bed. He had bare legs
and he was bare-footed. He looked in bad shape.”

“Was Dr Watson there?” pursued
the Countess.

“Yes, he looked the best of the
bunch. He had obviously changed out of his costume and had gotten
dressed. He looked tired and stiff with worry. His buttons were
misaligned on his waistcoat. His hair hadn’t been brushed.”

“What about the women?” pressed
Moriarty.

“Miss Clooney was wearing…I
cannot remember…but she was biting on a fingernail. She looked like
she’d been to bed but not slept well.”

“And the other one?” pressed
Moriarty.

“Miss Graf looked, well, quite
fetching. She had taken the time to brush her long golden hair and
she was wearing a beautiful Morocaine kaftan. She looked rested.
Yes, she looked rested. She asked about her uncle but she didn’t
seem too concerned.”

The Countess tried to picture
the scene in the Kiosk just before Moriarty took her by the hand.
“Didn’t Ursula and Daisy set off with Herr Graf? How did they both
make it back safely without him?”

Gideon tried to remember
snippets of conversation. “Graf stopped to vomit. The two girls
probably walked on to save him embarrassment. They must have got
separated that way.”

“You’re just guessing!” accused
Moran. “You’re filling in details using your imagination where
there are blanks!”

Reluctantly, Gideon conceded he
couldn’t exactly say how the two ladies got back without Herr Graf.
“The fact Ursula Graf wasn’t crying her eyes out doesn’t make her
guilty,” he said defensively before realizing he was now standing
up for the attractive fraulein. It was a common trap that men in
his line of business fell into.

“What about Hypatia?” prompted
the Countess; noting his change of heart. “She left with Mallisham
and her father. Each man was supporting her elbow, so how did she
make it back alone without them?”

“I remember that bit,” he said
decisively, glad to remember something clearly. “Hypatia said they
stopped at the Temple of Hathor to get out of the wind for a
moment. Mallisham heard a voice calling for help. He went off and
never returned. The voice kept calling. Jefferson Lee went off to
check and he didn’t return either. Dr Watson happened along,
presumably with Hayter and Ali Pasha in tow because they set off
together. He escorted Hypatia back to the ship.”

“You only have her word for
it,” sneered Moran. “I bet she stands to inherit a fortune as the
only daughter of America’s fourth richest man!”

“No, no, no,” said the Countess
firmly. “Why do people always assume murder is about inheritance?
Why would she kill Mallisham as well?”

“And why in that manner?” added
Moriarty. “Not that I’ve met her but wouldn’t it be easier to just
hit the old man over the head with a rock. No one would even
suspect murder. Why go to all the trouble of staging a pissing
contest? And who was in on it with her?”

“Mallisham might have been in
on it with her,” suggested Moran. “He might have helped her do away
with the old man and just when he thinks he’s now set to marry into
a fortune she changes her mind about spending the rest of her life
in the desert funding lost causes, and turns around and does the
same to him!”

The theory sounded plausible,
which just showed how baffled they truly were.

The Countess was still shaking
her head. “But she would have needed double everything in advance.
And she wouldn’t have had them on hand if she decided to kill
Mallisham on the spur of the moment.”

“Double everything?” quizzed
Moriarty.

“Two sticks, two chambers,
eight stone blocks, eight black cloths. Whoever killed the two men
knew they needed those props in advance. The chambers must have
been prepared earlier with the four stone blocks set in place. Two
people could have moved these blocks, even two women if they didn’t
have to lift them. There are plenty of random blocks lying around.
The killer or killers wouldn’t have had enough time to race around
in the dark to locate four blocks and cart them into place. And
they had to find blocks which were heavy enough to keep the men
pinned. Someone must have checked out this site and chosen these
chambers for that reason.”

“First and third chamber,” said
Gideon, “because the stones were already here.”

“The blocks were then spaced
for the height of the men,” finished Moriarty, visualizing the
bodies laid out on the stone floor, “before they were dragged here
and tied down.”

Moran nodded. That was the
first thing that made sense. Not much else made sense. First the
crocodiles in the Kiosk. And then the Pashtun ritual. He looked
dubiously at the bean-counter. Why would a bean-counter spend all
night searching for his weapon? Why not just borrow one from the
gun cabinet on the ship? That must be where he got the Smith &
Wesson. So, once again, why spend all night searching for a
Webley?

“We still haven’t found the
body of Jurgen Graf,” reminded Moran. “I ran into Ali Pasha and
Azrafel before coming here. They hadn’t come across his body
either. If he’s been killed in the same manner it puts a different
slant on motive.”

“How so?” asked Moriarty.

“If Jurgen Graf is dead it
makes the murders about archaeology, or should I say skulduggery.
Rivalry between archaeologists is big business. There’s a lot of
money to be made selling artifacts, especially fake ones.”

Gideon expanded on Moran’s
reasoning, surprised to find himself in agreement with a career
criminal. “That would put Ali Pasha in the frame.”

The Countess nodded in the
affirmative. “Jefferson Lee owed him money. He came to Philae
hoping to get paid.”

Gideon recalled seeing Ali
Pasha at the papyrus workshop in Luxor. “Ali Pasha must be involved
in the trade of fake artifacts and Mallisham found out about it and
threatened to expose him. Lee may simply have been in the wrong
place at the wrong time as I pointed out earlier.”

“No,” said the Countess. “Two
murders were planned here from the start. Double everything,” she
reiterated. “However, it brings to mind the matter of Herr Graf’s
brother. Rhinehart Graf committed suicide because he sold fake
artifacts to a German museum. If Mallisham was involved and Herr
Graf wanted to avenge his brother, he could not have done a better
job of it. Though, I admit, that theory doesn’t explain the death
of Jefferson Lee.”

Moran was still thinking about
the missing German. “We’re presuming Jurgen Graf is still alive. If
he is alive, questions have to be asked as to where he was all
night. He seems a more likely suspect than Ali Pasha simply because
he was here in the afternoon and could have set up the eight blocks
of stone.”

Gideon nodded. “If Herr Graf is
alive it would link the murders to archaeology. In other words,
they’re not personal, or as the Countess pointed out, related to
humiliation, but let’s not forget this island is a sacred site.
When I was visiting the construction site yesterday there was a lot
of rumbling among the workforce about the arrival of the Sekhmet.
Some of the natives don’t appreciate Mallisham poking his nose into
their temples and they don’t appreciate Lee using the island for a
birthday party.”