1978 and the corpse of twenty year old college student Charlie Lowe from South Korea. He was found lying face down in a pool of his own blood. Homicide was naturally suspected since Lowe’s throat had been cut. His closet-sized room looked like a slaughter house.
‘Jesus, this isn’t pretty.’
Have you even been to a homicide that was Neil?
Photos were taken, residents of the student complex were it occurred interviewed – no one saw or heard a thing – and trace collected. Finally the body was bagged and sent to the morgue.
Two hours later Neil was standing within inches of the autopsy table. The Chief Coroner Nigel Rogers was in the process of removing his gloves. ‘It’s not a homicide Neil. The boy committed suicide.’
Neil stared at the gaping wound. ‘You’ve got to be kidding, right?’
‘Trial cuts, here, here and here: often called hesitation cuts. It’s a suicide – sorry to spoil your day Neil.’
‘God in Heaven.’
‘God must have been in Heaven because he wasn’t with him.’
He did not dare to breathe a prayer,
Or give his anguish scope:
Something was dead inside of him,
And what was dead was Hope.
‘Thanks for that Nigel. Now you’ve really spoiled my day.’
*****
Hours later Nigel Rogers’ verdict was confirmed when a suicide note was found tacked to the bulletin board in the students’ lounge. It had gone unnoticed for no one knows how long.
Why did Charlie Lowe kill himself? Three reasons – unrequited love, poor grades and parents. When Charlie Lowe senior was informed of his son’s unsatisfactory academic performance, he ordered the boy to abandon all hope of higher education and return home to Seoul immediately.
‘I guess he didn’t want to,’ Neil whispered as he signed off and closed the file.
*****
Neil checked the time. Victor Yakinchuk’s friend Stan Munroe was dropping in soon.
‘I’ve got a surprise for you Neil.’
Perry didn’t like surprises but he liked Stan. They had met at Victor’s funeral which was one horrible fucking nightmare. Stan was Victor’s college buddy and best friend as well as his best man at his wedding.
Both Stan and Neil tried very, very hard not to break down but God in Heaven how could such a thing happen? It just didn’t make sense.
‘What the hell were you doing in Morocco Vic?’
9
‘Her name is Sarah,’ Munroe said as he set his coffee cup down, ‘and it was because of her, I think, that Vic was in Morocco.’ Perry just stared, willing Munroe to continue. ‘Her full name – are you ready for this Neil – Sarah Winthrope Churchill Develin Capritzo Sarquazi Rose.
‘Develin, as in Richard Mayfair Develin?’ The Irish connection was coming through loud and clear.
‘Richard Develin was her first husband then she married Merhot Capritzo then Yusuf Nessim Sarquazi of Morocco. After he died she married an Alan Rose, whoever he is.’
Perry grabbed the case file he had been reading and began to rapidly scan through the pages. ‘Did this Alan Rose work for the Develin Pharmaceutics Research and Development Laboratory?’
‘Rose was married at Cavendish Hall, the Develin family ancestral home so it’s not surprising that he should … What’s the matter Neil?’
Perry handed Munroe the file then picked up the telephone. ‘Put me through to Doctor Rogers please.’ He waited a moment. ‘Nigel, Neil Perry here. The body that was brought in late last night … Yeah, that’s the one. Has it been positively identified?’ Perry frowned. ‘This Doctor Meaker, he works there so he …sure, I’ll hold.’
Munroe looked up from the report he held in both hands. ‘Neil, this can’t be a co-incidence.’
‘I bet you a dollar to a doughnut that both Capritzo and Sarquazi were Muslims and … They’re good at slitting throats, practicing with small animals during their annual blood fest before moving on to bigger stuff – like human beings. Shit!’
‘Capritzo and Sarquazi, they’re twin brothers and guess who their half brother was – Richard Develin.’
‘And the world just shrunk to the size of an acorn. Yes Nigel, I’m here. You’re positive? Okay, thanks.’ Perry hung up. ‘It’s Alan Rose all right. He was not only the Director of the Develin Pharmaceutics Research and Development Laboratory but Richard Develin’s godson.’ He stared straight ahead. ‘That’s why he was knocked unconscious first.’
Nothing personal you understand, but you’re in my way – slice.
‘What do you know about Sarquazi, Stan?’
‘He was a close friend of the King of Morocco.’
‘Oh, that’s nice.’
Munroe placed the photograph of Sarquazi and the King of Morocco in front of Perry. Beside it he set the photographs of Develin and Capritzo. ‘Right Neil, introductions. This is Yusuf Sarquazi Mauphet Benghazi and beside him, King Hassan of Morocco; Richard Mayfair Develin and Merhot Mauphet Capritzo: twin brothers and half-brothers.’
Perry frowned. ‘And this Sarah Churchill, she married all three?’
‘Yep.’
‘Do you guys want to know what she looks like?’ Munroe and Perry looked up sharply. Ted Southerly was standing at the doorway smiling, his resemblance to a gnome accented by the worst possible taste in fashion. Who in their right mind would wear a plaid jacket and a tie with flying ducks on it?
‘Sorry I’m late – traffic.’ He took a seat just inside the door then rifled through his briefcase.
Munroe noticed that he was wearing Doc Martens. ‘Geez Ted, get a grip or better still, buy a mirror.’
Munroe made the necessary introductions. ‘Ted, if she’s surrendered her American passport, what is she travelling on, assuming she’s travelling?’
‘Her Moroccan passport I assume, under the name Sarquazi.’ He pulled a folder from his briefcase then opened it. ‘Are you guys ready for this?’ He dropped Sarah’s passport photo on top of the others.
