2 A Reason for Murder (11 page)

I nodded. "Of course. So even back in Roman times, it was believed that sorcerers were able to trap spirits?"

The professor nodded fiercely and for along time. "Precisely. And what's even more interesting, the spirits of those who died an untimely death were the very ones invoked. We have a whole bunch of inscriptions where such spirits were given certain instructions and ordered to carry them out. I can email you a list of them if you'd like?"

"Thanks, but it probably won't be necessary. I just want to..."

Dolan cut me off. "Here's one where the spirit of a dead man was summoned. Misty, write down the reference, 'ZPE 14.' It's a wooden tablet dating to the forth century. A man summons the spirit of a dead man and tells him to avenge himself on someone who has robbed his tomb. He says that Osiris will listen to him because he has died 'untimely.' In fact, the papyri provide us with much evidence that those who died by violence were believed especially open to spells and to have special powers to do harm. The distinction between those who have died by the hand of humans and those who have died by the hand of God persists in many different cultures over the history of humankind."

The professor drew a deep breath, and then continued. "There is one papyrus I must tell you about, as it involves a wax doll. This is my translation of this section of Papyrus 574 of the Bibliotheque Nationale.

"
'Take wax from a potter's wheel and make two small figures, one male and one female. Having done that, take a flat piece of lead and write the spell on it. Having bound the leaf of lead to the figures with a thread from the loom, make three hundred and sixty five knots, and say, "Abrasax, prevail!" Do this when as the sun is setting near the tomb of one who has died untimely, or by violence. Then put flowers of the season beside it. The spell is written in the following manner, "I entrust this magic binding to you, gods of the world below, Nesemigadon and Koure Persephone, Hermes Katachthonios, and Anoubis the powerful, to him who has the keys of the regions of Hades, to the spirits under the earth, and the gods, to youths and maidens who die untimely year by year, month by month, day by day, hour by hour
.'

"There's more to the spell but I can email it to you. The important thing to note is the use of a wax doll with spirits who have died by black magick. Plato speaks about such things in his
Laws
. I'll read you a section. The context is poisoning. Plato is saying that some people are poisoned by natural means and others by magical means. I'll quote.

"'Different from this is the type which, by means of sorceries, incantations and spells, as they are called, not only convinces those who cause harm that they really can do so, but also convinces their victims that they are surely being harmed by those who have the power of sorcery. It is not easy to ascertain the actual truth of such matters, and if one does ascertain it, it is not easy to convince others. It is pointless to approach people who view one another with dark suspicion if they come across images of molded wax at doorways, or at points where three ways meet, or at the tomb of an ancestor, in order to urge them not to take these matters seriously, when we ourselves have no definite opinion about them.''

Dolan paused, just as Jamie kicked me under the desk and showed me the time on his phone. I looked up, but Dolan appeared not to have noticed.

"Now let me give you guided tour of the Museum of Antiquities. It's a wonderful collection, objects such as a plaster
shabti
, that's an Egyptian funerary figure, a bronze figure of Vishnu in the Cambodian style, a carved wooden ancestor figure from the Sepik region of Papua New Guinea, and an aboriginal woomera, that's a spear thrower, from the Kimberley district in Western Australia. W, o, o, m, e, r, a."

Jamie spoke firmly. "Another time, perhaps, professor. We're late for another appointment. Thank you so much for your time. Misty will be in touch by email." With that, he took me by the elbow and steered me to the door.

I was relieved that we had finally made good our escape from Professor Dolan. We headed to Armidale Maccas on our way home.

"Could they fit any more traffic circles in this city?"

"Traffic circles? Oh you mean roundabouts or rotaries." I laughed. "We call them
roundabouts
in Australia. Armidale is known as the city of roundabouts. Only two sets of traffic lights, but countless roundabouts."

"So what did you think of Dolan? Do you think he was much help?"

"H, e, l, p?"

We both laughed. I took a right turn off Dumaresq Street onto Marsh Street at the Wicklow Hotel. Back when I was a student, it had been called the "Pink Pub." Since then it had been painted a more visually friendly, creamy yellow color.

"Well, now I know what a
govi
is," I said. "I found it fascinating that so many different cultures for over two thousand years have beliefs that someone who died an untimely death can be summoned or otherwise used to work magick."

Jamie still looked a little blank. "Can you connect any of it with Morpeth?"

I shook my head, and took a left into the Maccas car park, narrowly avoiding a car with Queensland license plates that was coming out of the "In" driveway.

"Let's look at what we've got," Jamie continued. "Someone has been texting you the word
'govi
.' We now know that a
govi
is a jar that contains a spirit. We also know that someone is trying to kill you. You have four suspects: Scotty, plus the man you suspect pretends to be a ghost on Gavin King's tours, plus Gavin King himself, plus David Crawley. What else do we know?"

I turned off the engine and processed my thoughts. "I don't know if it's relevant, but I don't feel any ghosts in Morpeth. Since I've become the Keeper, I can sense ghosts most places. I felt them all over Maitland when I stayed there; I feel them everywhere I go. It freaked me out at first, but I'm getting used to it now. The thing is, Morpeth is known for its ghosts, but I just can't feel them there at all. That has to be significant."

Jamie looked keenly interested. "Do you think someone is doing something to stop others sensing ghosts?"

I considered the possibility. "Perhaps, I'm not sure."

"How do we connect what we do know? Is there any way to connect it all, even if it seems far-fetched?"

Epiphany. I do have them sometimes. "What if there are no ghosts; what if someone has got them all and put them in
govis
?"

"For what purpose?"

"No idea, but that's the only thing that connects everything we know so far. That makes it the simplest solution. You know, Occam's Razor and all that; the simplest explanation is often the best." I was going to quote Occam in Latin, but thought the better of it. If only life could be footnoted.

We both got out of the car and Jamie turned to look at me over the roof. "You could be onto something there."

"It is a very inconvenient habit of kittens (Alice had once made the remark) that, whatever you say to them they always purr."

(Lewis Carroll)

Chapter Seventeen
.

Jamie and I were sitting in my tiny kitchen opposite each other at my old, wooden table that I had bought some time ago for $5 at the local Salvation Army store and then shabby chiced. It went nicely with my white painted walls and old, dark, tallow wood floorboards. Diva was sitting on Jamie and purring loudly, while occasionally shooting me glares. I still hadn't been forgiven for leaving her with Melissa, clearly.

My head was in a spin. I had figured out that it was Joe Crawley who had murdered poor old Baxter Morgan. Yet who had tried to kill me? And were these incidents, over one hundred and fifty years apart, somehow related? On the surface, that would seem a ridiculous proposition, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were. I was also a little uncomfortable with Jamie in my home.

I jumped when Jamie spoke. "Misty, did you hear what I said?"

"No," I answered truthfully, and then frowned when he winked at me. "I was thinking about Scotty," I continued. "He said I had to find out who killed Baxter Morgan, and it’s obvious to me that it was Joe Crawley. I mean, he had the most to gain, so I wouldn't be surprised if he was the one who falsely accused Baxter Morgan. I just can't shake the feeling that there's more to this, though." I didn’t know whether I should tell him that the letter also instructed me to solve the murder of Baxter Morgan. He did know about the letter, but given the fact that he had not mentioned the contents, I thought I should keep quiet about that, at least.

Jamie nodded. "But Joe Crawley's descendant, David Crawley, can hardly object to you finding out. That’s no reason to try to harm you; who would care about a murder that happened two hundred years ago?"

"It wasn't quite two hundred years ago."

Jamie shrugged and changed the subject. "Fake Ghost Man's name is Mason Halls. He has no criminal record. Gavin King, on the other hand, has convictions for shoplifting, possession of cannabis, and being drunk and disorderly in a public place, but that was all years ago. Nothing since. Crawley has no criminal record, and I couldn't find Scotty's actual name." Jamie shut his laptop.

I scratched my head. "Thanks for that. Is there anything else?"

"That's all I've got, apart from the fact that Mason Halls is Gavin King's brother-in-law. He's married to Gavin's sister Lucy, and they have three boys under the age of seven."

"Aha. Any of them ADHD?"

"Shouldn't be too hard to find out; we can ask around town. We don't know for sure that you were given Ritalin, though," Jamie cautioned. "I could have been one of any number of things, although Ritalin does seem the most likely."

"Suppose. The connection with Gavin is interesting, though." I leaned over the table, paper and paper in hand. "Okay, what do we have? We need to formulate a plan. Ask around about Mason Hall's kids, find out Scotty's full name, and then what's our next move?"

Jamie tapped his pen. "How much of a look did you get at Crawley's house?"

I tried to recall. "I saw every room. I didn't get down to the barn though, as David Crawley turned up when I was in the room with the African art."

"It stands to reason that he wouldn't have anything out on display. It would be hidden away from anyone doing viewings."

I nodded. "And as it's up for sale, he may have moved it all to his Newcastle house."

"Still, it's worth a good snoop around."

I raised my eyebrows. "How? I can't go back, as the realtor will likely tell David that I'm there for a second viewing. Plus we can't break in, because he has a security system. Unless you know how to disable it?"

Jamie looked a little smug. "Won't have to. It's still for sale isn't it?"

I nodded again, and then added, "As far as I know."

"I'll call the realtor and say I want a viewing. You can hide in the car. I'll tell him I want to see the barn or something at the back of the house, and text you when it's safe to go in. Then you can have a good look around that room. If David Crawley's implicated, you will surely find something."

I thought it over. It seemed foolproof, but I had a sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach. "I'll have to be fast, because the realtor will turn on the security system when he leaves."

Jamie considered that. "You can text me if you need more time and I'll delay the realtor, but try to be as fast as you can. Take lots of photos, and video. Aim to be in there for no more than five minutes."

"I suppose." It sounded easy in theory, but I wasn't used to such things.

Jamie said he would call for me and then we would drive to Morpeth the following day, and then he left abruptly. I went to my laptop in my office. Diva was sitting on the computer keys. "Diva," I sighed, "can't you find somewhere else to sit?"

Diva let out a loud meow.

I carefully picked up Diva and set her on the floor, but she jumped back up onto my desk. She looked at me and then tentatively reached out a paw for the laptop while keeping an eye on me.

"Diva, no!"

Diva glared at me and sat on my desk next to the laptop. I shook my head at her. I sat down and looked at my blank screen, hoping for inspiration, and I was surprised when it came. I tapped myself on the head. Why hadn’t I thought of that that before? It seemed so obvious now. Baxter Morgan was a well known man; whatever happened to him would have to be in a newspaper. I knew the Maitland newspaper with the long name was founded two years after Baxter Morgan's death, but there was surely an earlier newspaper in existence.

After a solid five minutes of googling, I had only found out that
The Maitland Mercury
and
Hunter River General Advertiser,
which was started two years after Baxter Morgan's death, had been the first newspaper in the entire district, but to my delight, I discovered that the first newspaper in the state was
The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser
. Clearly they were into long newspaper names back in the day. It was founded in 1803 and continued until 1842.

In no time at all I had found scans of every edition of the Sydney newspaper. I hoped it would have some mention of Baxter Morgan. It was hard to read, even with zoom. I was distracted for a while reading about bushrangers and fugitives, and had almost given up hope when I found an entry entitled
Accidents
.

Under an entry about a servant who fell off the side of a cart and broke his arm, and another entry that said that police constables were loading their muskets to go after fugitives, when one of the muskets accidentally went off and killed a laborer, there was this entry:
On Monday last, as Mr. Joseph Crawley, of Morpeth, was walking along the Morpeth River with Mr. Baxter Morgan, Mr. Morgan slipped and stumbled backwards into the river. Mr. Crawley reported that Mr. Morgan's body was carried down the river. His body has not been recovered
.

Aha! "That was no accident," I said to Diva. "I've solved the mystery! Joe Crawley murdered Baxter Morgan to get the inheritance." Sure, there was no concrete proof, but the pieces fitted together. I was quite pleased with myself.

A loud knock on the door startled me.

I hurried to the front door, wondering if it could be Jamie. I wasn't expecting Melissa, and I couldn’t imagine who else would visit on a Saturday morning.

I opened the door to find Julie, the post parcel lady.

"Misty!" she exclaimed. "I don’t have a parcel for you."

"Yes, I know," I said. "It's Saturday."

Julie thrust a small, dirt encrusted, plastic pot at me. "I was just returning this."

"Oh, no need to do that. I said you could keep it or throw it out." I had given Julie a cutting of one of my French lavenders about two months ago.

"I can come inside and wash it for you."

I shook my head. "No, that's fine. Thanks."

"Do you have a boyfriend? I saw a man leaving your house earlier."

I tried not to roll my eyes. So that's what this visit was about. If Julie saw him, it would soon be all over town.

"No, he's not my boyfriend."

"Who is he then?"

I had to think fast. "He's my editor's boyfriend," I lied. "We're working on an article together." The thought of Jamie being Skinny's boyfriend made me shudder. My stomach churned.

Julie took a step closer to me. She had never been good about not invading one's personal space. "Misty, are you all right? You've gone white."

"I suddenly feel quite sick." I wasn't completely lying. "I’d better go. Bye, Julie. I'll talk to you later."

Julie looked disappointed but removed her foot from the door and handed me the dirty, plastic, plant pot.

I hurried to shut the door, and then waited until I heard Julie's van drive away. I shuddered and shook my arms to disperse the thought of Jamie and Skinny together. "
Ewwww
!" I said to Diva, who had been watching the conversation.

I threw the pot in the recycling bin, and then walked back to my laptop and tried to blow the cat hair off the keys. How did I tell the Society that Joe Crawley was responsible for Baxter Morgan's death? They had blocked out the return address on their letter. I mulled it over, but then decided that the letter had told me to solve the murder, not to report the results back to them, as strange as that was. I shrugged. I had done what they asked.

Now I just had to figure out why someone was trying to murder me.