This was my 100th
published short story, released in the Costa TV
Times, 2010.
A playful whodunit in
1,000 words:
THE MUSEUM OF INIQUITY
Nik Morton
Egyptian sarcophagus - Wikipedia commons
There are enough red herrings here for a fish supper,
Inspector Macdonald thought ruefully. They had uncovered ancient grudges,
lurking secrets, pure hatred and - classic flipside of the hatred coin -
overwhelming love. None of it explained why, or how, that hauntingly beautiful
corpse had turned up inside the Egyptian Sarcophagus.
A golden
arrow pierced her heart. Nearby was a quiver full of arrows. "Oh!"
exclaimed the Hungarian professor, Gregore Kane, "it's the president's
daughter!"
Inspector
Macdonald glared at Detective Sergeant Christina Rosenthal.
She enlightened him. "He
means Sir Ignatius Colvin, the Geographic Society's president, sir."
"So?
What's Kane doing here gawping?"
She
shrugged. "I thought he might be able to identify the victim."
"Well,
he’s done that, I suppose," said Macdonald grudgingly.
Kane said,
"What shall we tell the president?"
"You
could try the truth!" exploded another stranger who ignored the yellow Do
Not Pass plastic tape and stormed in to the crime scene.
"And
who are you?" Macdonald demanded, beginning to lose his patience.
"I am
Ricardo Abel," the man announced proudly, "the Curator of this museum
of antiquity."
Macdonald
sighed. "Is there anybody else in the woodwork, Rosenthal?"
"Me!"
came the response from behind a case containing a painted Chinese statue.
"Oh,
no, not the fifth estate as well!" Macdonald recognised Audrey Blevins the
reporter.
She was
blonde, tall and dressed in a trench coat. "Come on, Henry, you owe me one
after that successful murder hunt."
By now
Inspector George Henry Macdonald was having difficulty getting his breath.
Suddenly, Henry's hiccups started, an embarrassing side effect of his stomach
ulcer, the constant broken routine, the general stress of his job and his ill
nature. Rosenthal made no secret of the fact that she often wished his nature
would get better, but it never did.
"How
about it?" persisted Audrey Blevins. "An Exclusive?"
"This
is police business!" Macdonald snarled. "You don't barter with me,
young lady. Victims are not for sale!"
"Have
it your way, Henry - but you know what they say, one man's meat..."
"Get
out!"
**
"You seemed a bit harsh on Audrey, sir," Rosenthal
said.
"A
matter of principle."
They were
eating in The Luncheon, a restaurant whose a la carte meals would not strain
their expense accounts; if they’d been politicians, it would be a different
story – and restaurant.
"What
have we got so far?" asked Macdonald.
"Kane
and Abel hate each other. A family thing, going back about a hundred years when
their ancestors were on the same dig in Egypt. Arguments over who first
discovered the tomb - but the facts got blurred during the coup."
"So
they were grave-robbers?"
She nodded.
"Quite normal for the time, sir. Reckoned only the British were capable of
preserving ancient culture for posterity. Called it the Steal of the
Century."
"By
God, they’re thieves, the lot of them!"
"Honourable
members of parliament too..."
Macdonald
shook his head and growled, "There's no honour among thieves."
"Anyway,"
she went on, "the result was the display in the Pharaoh's Chamber exhibit
– now containing the prodigal daughter's corpse."
He screwed
up his face. "Why prodigal?"
Rosenthal
shrugged. "She upped and left her father Sir Ignatius when the old coot
took in a Page Three model, photo-shoot name of Dolores Devine. She didn't mind
his one night stands, but she drew the line at living with a bimbo."
"Interesting,
Rosenthal, interesting. Now tell me, why's he called 'clean sweep
Ignatius'?"
She smiled.
"When his wife left him last year he cleared everything out of their home
- and sold her possessions."
"Did
she resent that?"
"Don't
know, sir. She left the country with a Colonel Ranatoro."
"One
officer who wasn't the perfect gentleman, eh?"
**
"Checkmate, Dolores!" Sir Ignatius chuckled.
Dolores Devine - what was her real name? - was hopeless but infinitely more
preferable to look at than most chess buffs. "That's €1,800 you owe
me!" He eyed her lecherously. "Cheap at half the price, eh?"
She fished
inside her amply filled blouse, producing four €50 notes. "I've only got
€2,000, Iggy."
He
remembered when his old love, his first wife, had used that endearment; it
sounded better on the delectable lips of Dolores. "I'll change it for you,
my dear. Mind you, I insist it's not a penny more, not a penny less." He
opened the drawer and blanched. What was a revolver doing there? He'd disposed
of his weapon after committing the perfect murder - killing his cheating wife
and Colonel Ranatoro, her stuffed-shirt paramour.
**
A chapter of accidents produced the first miracle in their
investigation then everything fell into place. For Macdonald it was a matter of
honour: he'd never failed to catch a murderer.
The weighted-down bodies of Mrs
Colvin and her Colonel were discovered during the long hot summer when the
reservoir dried up; the gun too; and the mud had preserved fingerprints.
Some time
later, experts revealed that the Sarcophagus was not the real thing. Certain
documents disclosed that Abel sold the original to a private collector years
ago. But the investigation also discovered that Ignatius knew, yet kept quiet.
Rosenthal found a few
incriminating letters in the museum’s desk: Ignatius's daughter was
blackmailing her father over her mother's disappearance.
"I think Ignatius killed her
in the museum," said Rosenthal. "He was hoping to pin the murder on
Abel beyond reasonable doubt."
"Seems like something out of
a Greek tragedy," said Macdonald. "Get Abel arrested for fraud,
Rosenthal."
"Yes, sir. Then what?"
"We need to get to the
Ignatius mansion – and quickly!"
"Yes, sir."
The journey was only fifteen
miles as the crow flies, but it took them too long through busy traffic.
When they
got there, ex Page Three girl Dolores stood over Ignatius Colvin's body, the
smoking revolver in her hand. "An eye for an eye," said the dead colonel's
daughter.
THE END
(With apologies to Jeffrey Archer for using in the text 36
titles from
his novels, short stories and plays)
More tales, laced with pain, humour and truth, can
be found in
Spanish Eye, which
can be purchased post-free world-wide from here
and the Spanish Eye
e-book bought from Amazon com here
or bought from Amazon co uk here
Blood of the
Dragon Trees e-book can be bought from Amazon com here
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