The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [77]
I always enjoy the trip across the river; it is like watching a motion picture unreel, as the structures on the East Bank seem to move ever nearer and clearer. On this occasion, however, impatience tempered pleasure. As soon as we docked I disembarked, instructing Sabir to wait for us.
The gardens behind the Winter Palace are normally a scene of peace and beauty. Paths wind through close-clipped greensward and beds of bright blossom in the shade of exotic trees. Such was not the case that morning. It was as I had feared. Ayyid had left two constables on guard, but they had been bribed or intimidated into turning a blind eye to the depredations of ghoulish sightseers. Cameras clicked and one lady was sawing at a flowery spray with a pair of nail scissors.
My loud but ladylike expostulations dispersed most of the ghouls. The others simply backed off and began photographing ME. I took my own little Kodak from the pocket of my coat, wishing I had insisted on Nefret accompanying me. I have always had a bit of trouble with cameras.
The spot where Mrs. Petherick’s body had rested was not under a rosebush or bougainvillea, though both grew nearby. At the base of a splendid specimen of dom palm lay a mass of twining vines which had enveloped the lower four feet of the trunk and climbed farther up it. The plant, I believe, was not indigenous to Egypt, but it flourished here, forming a tapestry of green and vivid pink, the flowers being small but profuse. Part of the plant had been rudely torn away. The broken boughs were already withering. The area they had once covered was bare ground, without so much as an indentation or outline to show the location of the body. The only visible marks were those of shod feet—the ghouls’, I presumed. Kneeling, I focused my camera and took several photographs of the spot, hoping the lens would bring out more detail than was visible to the naked eye. I was photographing the wider area when a hail from one of the constables caused me to turn. Coming toward me was Inspector Ayyid.
“You need not bother taking photographs, Mrs. Emerson,” he said. “I did so this morning before and after the body was moved.”
“Was there any sign of a struggle?” I added, in some vexation, “The area has been so disturbed that even I cannot tell what damage was done by whom, and when.”
“It was necessary to cut away the vines before we could examine the body.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, making a mental note of the fact that he had not really answered my question. “What is the name of this pretty pink vine?”
Ayyid looked blank. “I do not know, Mrs. Emerson.”
“No matter. Were you looking for me, Mr. Ayyid, or is this a fortuitous meeting?”
“One of my men told me you were here. I expected you would be.”
There was the hint of a smile on his stern face. I smiled back at him. “How is the investigation proceeding?”
“The authorities have been persuaded that the circumstances are unusual enough to justify a postmortem. We await only the agreement of Mrs. Petherick’s heirs. They are…not pleased at the idea.”
“Many people find the idea repugnant,” I said—though I would not have supposed the Pethericks to be so sentimental about their stepmother. “I will have a little chat with them. I had intended to do so in any case. I would also like to question the gardener who found the body.”
“That can be arranged.”
In fact there was no way he could have prevented it. I had observed a man in an earth-stained galabeeyah hovering nearby.
I thanked him, nonetheless, and went on, “Will you be good enough to tell Miss and Mr. Petherick that I will call upon them shortly?”
Recognizing this as a courteous dismissal, Ayyid nodded and walked away. I turned to Sethos, who had not—for a wonder—uttered a word.
“Did you observe any clues?” I asked.
“No more than you, I fancy.”
“Hmmm.” I beckoned to the gardener, who came limping to me, hopeful of baksheesh. He was a lean little man, probably in his late thirties, though he looked older. I deduced that his limp was caused by rheumaticky knees, probably a result of kneeling