“I don’t know where Sir Henry is.” Tommy replied, still fixated on Professor Riley’s dead body.
“Son, have you never seen a dead body before?” Reynard said impatiently. “Why didn’t I get this telegram earlier? Peter might still be alive…”
“Professor, as you can see, it was sent to Ismailia. That’s over 100 kilometers up the Suez Canal. Look here,” Tommy pointed to the address on the paper the professor was now waving in his face. “The messenger told me he went to that site yesterday, but Bridget… I mean Miss Adams… told him to find you here. He was real angry, too. Said this mistake cost him a day’s wages…”
“I don’t understand,” Reynard said cutting him off. “Why on earth would Peter send it to the Ismailia excavation?” Shaking his head, he extracted a handkerchief and wiped his damp brow. “Tommy, listen carefully. I need you to alert the authorities. Tell them there’s been a murder.”
“Yes, sir!” the boy said obediently. Then, delaying only a moment to steal one last hesitant glance at Peter’s body, he hurried back toward the city of Suez.
Reynard considered whether he should send Bea back with Tommy, but decided she’d only slow the boy down. On foot, the trip from camp to Suez would take two hours, at least. He hoped Tommy would go straight there, and not get sidetracked. He’d often thought the young man suffered from a short attention span, especially when the girls of Suez were around. He also prayed the police arrived swiftly. They were notorious for slacking off; spending their days playing cards and drinking stale, bitter coffee in the cafes on the main strip. At least they’ll be easy to find, he thought dryly. Reynard looked uneasily at Peter’s body, painfully aware that every minute that ticked over the sun’s elevation continued to climb. In the heat of the day, in the middle of an Egyptian summer, the corpse would quickly decompose. He shuddered at the thought of seeing his friend’s body decaying before his eyes and wondered how long it would be before the first vulture began circling overhead.
His thoughts turned back to Peter’s telegram and Sir Henry Goldsworthy. If he was in Egypt, where was he now? Did he wait at the train station with Peter? Was he the last to see him alive? And what was meant by the words ‘Don’t do anything for heaven’s sakes’?
None of it makes sense, he thought, what am I missing?
“Professor, look!” Bea said suddenly, pointing to the spot where she was standing.
A small piece of metal protruding from the sand had met the morning sun with a glint of light. Reynard took a pen from his pocket and used it to pick up the gleaming metal object, revealing what looked to be a silver and gold Rolex watch. On closer inspection, though, he realized it was a fake - like those sold by many of the dubious looking vendors who littered the streets of Cairo.
“Well, this isn’t Peter’s, that’s for sure,” the professor said. “It’s a knockoff. He was such a fan of good craftsmanship; I can’t imagine him ever wearing an inferior timepiece.”
“Maybe it belonged to whoever killed poor Peter,” Bea offered.
Normally he would tease her playfully for such a silly response, something like ‘Well done, Sherlock, nothing gets by you.’, but he let the opportunity pass without a word; not even a raised eyebrow or knowing smirk passed through his somber demeanor. Bea was still visibly shaken.
“Well, the clasp is broken. Perhaps you’re right. Peter could have struggled with his killer before he died.”
With the preservation of fingerprints in mind, Reynard opened his leather tool case and grabbed a plastic envelope from the inside pocket. Using the pen, he gently inserted the watch and sealed the bag. Taking another sterile bag, he preserved the bloodied, green fabric within. As soon as the police arrived, he intended to hand them over for evidence. In the meantime, Reynard decided to comb the area for anything else that could help in the investigation. The Suez police force will need all the help they can get, he thought.
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