Read Online The Lost Army of Cambyses by Paul Sussman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul Sussman
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gloves, the rubber making a
snapping sound as it peeled from his hands.
'OK, first things first. He died from shock and
loss of blood, both a result of the injuries you see
before you. There was comparatively little water
in his lungs, which means that he didn't drown
and then receive the injuries afterwards. This
happened to him on dry land and then the body
was dumped in the river. Probably not that far
away from where it was found.'
'It couldn't have been a boat propeller, then?'
'Absolutely not. You'd have a completely differ-
ent type of wound. Less clean. The flesh would
have been more churned up.'
'Crocodile?'
'Don't be stupid, Khalifa. This man has been
deliberately mutilated. And anyway, for your
information, there are no crocodiles north of
Aswan. And certainly none that smoke.' He
pointed at the man's arms, chest and face. 'Three
burn marks. Here, here and here. Cigar probably.
Too big for a cigarette.'
He fumbled in his pocket and removed a bag of
cashew nuts, offering them to Khalifa. The
detective refused.
'As you like,' said Anwar, tipping his head back
and pouring a rush of nuts into his mouth. Khalifa
74
watched, wondering how he could eat with that
ripped face only a few metres away.
'And what about the cuts? What caused those?'
'No idea,' grunted Anwar, chewing. 'Some sort
of metal object, sharp obviously. Possibly a knife,
although I've seen all manner of knife injuries and
none that looked quite like this.'
'How do you mean?'
'Well, the wounds aren't neat enough. It's hard
to explain. More a gut feeling than proper science.
It was definitely a sharpened blade of some sort,
but not one with which I'm familiar. Look at this,
for instance.' He pointed to a slash on the man's
chest. 'If a knife had done that the wound would
have been narrower and not quite so . . . what's
the word . . . chunky. And look, it's slightly deeper
at one end than at the other. Don't ask me to be
more precise, Khalifa, because I can't. Just accept
that we're dealing with an unusual weapon
here.'
The inspector pulled a small pad from his
pocket and scribbled a couple of notes. The room
echoed to the sound of Anwar's chewing.
'Can you tell me anything else about him?'
'Well, he liked a drink. High levels of alcohol in
the blood. And he would seem to have had an
interest in ancient Egypt.'
'The scarab tattoo?'
'Exactly. Not the most common of designs. And
look here.'
Khalifa came closer.
'You see this bruising around the upper arms?
Here, and here, where the flesh is discoloured.
This man has been restrained, like this.'
75
Anwar went behind Khalifa and grabbed his
arms, his fingers digging into the flesh.
'The bruising on the left arm is more extensive
and extends further round the arm, which suggests
he was probably being held by two people rather
than one, each gripping him in a slightly different
way. You can see by the depth of the bruising that
he put up quite a struggle.'
Khalifa nodded, bent over his notebook. 'At
least three altogether, then,' he said. 'Two holding,
one wielding the knife or whatever it was.'
Anwar nodded and, crossing to the door, put his
head out into the corridor and shouted to some-
one at the far end. A moment later two men
appeared pushing a trolley. They lifted the body
onto it, covered it with a sheet and wheeled it out
of the room. Anwar finished his nuts and, going to
a small basin, began washing his hands. The room
was silent apart from the purr of the fan.
'I'm shocked, frankly,' said the pathologist, his
tone suddenly devoid of its usual jocularity. 'I've
been doing this job for thirty years and I've never
seen anything like it. It's' – he paused, soaping his
hands slowly, his back to Khalifa – 'ungodly,' he
said eventually.
'I didn't have you marked down as religious.'
'I'm not. But there's no other way to describe
what happened to this man. I mean they didn't
just kill him. They butchered the poor
snapping sound as it peeled from his hands.
'OK, first things first. He died from shock and
loss of blood, both a result of the injuries you see
before you. There was comparatively little water
in his lungs, which means that he didn't drown
and then receive the injuries afterwards. This
happened to him on dry land and then the body
was dumped in the river. Probably not that far
away from where it was found.'
'It couldn't have been a boat propeller, then?'
'Absolutely not. You'd have a completely differ-
ent type of wound. Less clean. The flesh would
have been more churned up.'
'Crocodile?'
'Don't be stupid, Khalifa. This man has been
deliberately mutilated. And anyway, for your
information, there are no crocodiles north of
Aswan. And certainly none that smoke.' He
pointed at the man's arms, chest and face. 'Three
burn marks. Here, here and here. Cigar probably.
Too big for a cigarette.'
He fumbled in his pocket and removed a bag of
cashew nuts, offering them to Khalifa. The
detective refused.
'As you like,' said Anwar, tipping his head back
and pouring a rush of nuts into his mouth. Khalifa
74
watched, wondering how he could eat with that
ripped face only a few metres away.
'And what about the cuts? What caused those?'
'No idea,' grunted Anwar, chewing. 'Some sort
of metal object, sharp obviously. Possibly a knife,
although I've seen all manner of knife injuries and
none that looked quite like this.'
'How do you mean?'
'Well, the wounds aren't neat enough. It's hard
to explain. More a gut feeling than proper science.
It was definitely a sharpened blade of some sort,
but not one with which I'm familiar. Look at this,
for instance.' He pointed to a slash on the man's
chest. 'If a knife had done that the wound would
have been narrower and not quite so . . . what's
the word . . . chunky. And look, it's slightly deeper
at one end than at the other. Don't ask me to be
more precise, Khalifa, because I can't. Just accept
that we're dealing with an unusual weapon
here.'
The inspector pulled a small pad from his
pocket and scribbled a couple of notes. The room
echoed to the sound of Anwar's chewing.
'Can you tell me anything else about him?'
'Well, he liked a drink. High levels of alcohol in
the blood. And he would seem to have had an
interest in ancient Egypt.'
'The scarab tattoo?'
'Exactly. Not the most common of designs. And
look here.'
Khalifa came closer.
'You see this bruising around the upper arms?
Here, and here, where the flesh is discoloured.
This man has been restrained, like this.'
75
Anwar went behind Khalifa and grabbed his
arms, his fingers digging into the flesh.
'The bruising on the left arm is more extensive
and extends further round the arm, which suggests
he was probably being held by two people rather
than one, each gripping him in a slightly different
way. You can see by the depth of the bruising that
he put up quite a struggle.'
Khalifa nodded, bent over his notebook. 'At
least three altogether, then,' he said. 'Two holding,
one wielding the knife or whatever it was.'
Anwar nodded and, crossing to the door, put his
head out into the corridor and shouted to some-
one at the far end. A moment later two men
appeared pushing a trolley. They lifted the body
onto it, covered it with a sheet and wheeled it out
of the room. Anwar finished his nuts and, going to
a small basin, began washing his hands. The room
was silent apart from the purr of the fan.
'I'm shocked, frankly,' said the pathologist, his
tone suddenly devoid of its usual jocularity. 'I've
been doing this job for thirty years and I've never
seen anything like it. It's' – he paused, soaping his
hands slowly, his back to Khalifa – 'ungodly,' he
said eventually.
'I didn't have you marked down as religious.'
'I'm not. But there's no other way to describe
what happened to this man. I mean they didn't
just kill him. They butchered the poor
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