To no one’s surprise, there hadn’t been a response to the invitation they had left the quack for a meeting. They did, however, get a stoppered bottle which smelled like flowers. It claimed to soften the hair and make it grow longer. The same scent came off of Samira’s hair right now as they waited for the coroner to open the door.
“Can’t believe you fell for that.”
“For what?”
“That quack’s hair remedy.”
“It’s a Macassar oil and I’ll have you know it works wonderfully for curly hair.”
Bobby blinked. The curls shone, as if wet, most of them tucked into a braid that she wore like a tiara, some pocked out around her face. He didn’t see a difference. “Nothing’s changed.”
“Because I always wear Macassar oil, just not the flower-scented ones.”
He couldn’t believe a grown woman would fall for it, but he kept his mouth shut. It didn’t hurt anyone… and smelled kind of nice. “Whatever makes you feel pretty.”
She glared at him, and he shrugged. Pretty was something she didn’t take as a compliment. His wife loved being called pretty. Why was this woman so difficult?
“What’s with the outfit anyway?”
Today, Samira wore her emerald suit. “Green complements my hair,” she said dryly.
The door opened, and that was the end of that. Bobby had hoped they would visit the morgue, find the body, and it would have been over in a day. Maybe two. The silver jingled in his pocket.
No such luck.
The morgue attendant, a young man primarily consisting of knees, elbows, and a large Adam’s apple, told them, with an impression of a shocked pigeon, that the coroner wasn’t here.
She asked the basic questions, and Bobby observed the young man. “What was she wearing?”
“Nothing special, really. Blue dress.” The attendant licked his lips at Samira, as if wondering what she would look like after he cut her open.
“Did the body have any distinguishing marks on it?”
The boy shook his head.
“Can we see it?” Bobby interrupted.
The victim, the boy had confided, was buried already. Which could be done if you had a heavy purse —or important connections— but was not customary. Closed casket. Which, according to Mr. Adam’s apple, had smelled something fierce. Which was surprising, as bodies needed at least three days for some semblance of rotting, and she had only been missing for a day. At least, according to her husband. It was the first lie they caught him on.
Bobby didn’t mention it as he shivered in the cold room that felt like a prison cell. The body was gone.
“Where is your report?”
The young man leaned back, resting against the cold wall. “The coroner has it. Said he needed it for a special observation.”
“What does that mean?” Samira asked. “According to the Policeman’s handbook, a coroner is to keep a body for three days for family and friends to confirm the identity of the body. Unless the body is in the eh… ‘ripe’ stage. The guidelines say nothing about ‘special observation’.”
The boy examined his fingernails.
Bobby knew what it meant. It wasn’t for prying eyes. This case was getting filthier by the day. Mr. Adam’s Apple mumbled something about the body stinking up the place and being happy it was taken away.
Bobby and Samira had thanked the young man for his time, and Bobby hoped he would never have to return. Mr. Adam’s Apple asked if he could call on Samira sometime; her horrified face was all the answer the boy’s ego could handle. Bobby chuckled merrily as they made their way out. Samira told Bobby she was going home to bathe, and they would meet each other at the office. However, for Bobby, it was clear what they had to do now.
The corpse needed to be exhumed.
Samira’s expression had shuttered. Bobby had expected her to go on a tirade about the moral wrongness of it all. Kudos to her. She kept her opinions about it to herself.
***
It took three days to find the right grave. Bobby had assumed she would have been laid to rest in the first circle’s graveyard, as befitted her status and name. A peaceful place that resembled a garden with little stone sheds.
That was not the case.
Bent by years of tending the graves, the woman keeper said there was a crypt under the name of the deceased woman. To their surprise, there hadn’t been anyone buried in it for thirteen years. She offered a polite smile that rang as hollow as a street dog’s bone and suggested they take their search to ‘less sought-after resting places’.
“What about you, dear? Have you thought about where you want to spend eternity?” she asked Samira with gold coins on her mind. Samira looked over the tended grass and the black headstones. Not for the first time, her eyes hovered over things his eyes couldn’t see. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but he had to shake the eerie feeling from his shoulders.
“My family has a private yard. I suppose that will be where I lie.”
The keeper inspected Samira’s clothing. Today, the color was yellow, with flaring trousers and an orange coat. As if Samira herself decided to be the sun, now the celestial thing wouldn’t show its face.
With pursed lips, the keeper asked, “Are you sure?”
Bobby thanked her for her service and steered Samira out of there. It was unsettling that people kept prodding her about these things. She was a lady after all. Maybe it was the clothes that made people act as though she were a man. Maybe she dressed this way on purpose. Bobby couldn’t fathom why.
The second circle didn’t have its own graveyard, for there were only two circles when the they were constructed. Those with a little more coin to spend brought their dead to the first circle, those who didn’t to the third. So it was easy to go straight to the third. The graveyard was located behind a few farms in the third circle against the natural cliff of the outer edge of the old volcano.
By the time Samira and Bobby found the grave, a lightcaster was already turning on the torches around the grounds, casting their surroundings in an eerie glow. Bobby watched as the worn man lit a match in his gloved hand, and with a few movements of his fingers, multiple torches burst into flame, seemingly of their own accord. A feat Bobby had never mastered.
Bobby tapped his hat to the man as Samira pretended to be an inconsolable friend. Howling and sobbing on Bobby’s shoulder. It left his shoulder wet and him alarmed. The man touched his heart to let them know he sympathized. “You are too good of an actress.” Bobby told her as the man left.
She smiled as she dabbed her tears away with a handkerchief. “I’ve had some practice.” Which was even more troubling to Bobby than the fact that she could cry on demand. Luckily, the ground at the graveyard hadn’t frozen solid yet, but the dig was time-consuming. Yet, he had worse days. The activity warmed him while Samira stood shivering on the lookout. The night smelled like wet dirt and rotten leaves. The sound of metal hitting the dirt, or sometimes deflecting on a rock, didn’t stir anybody. Just another hole to be dug. Nothing to see here.
Until his shovel made a wooden thud. He scraped the last dirt from the casket. It was made of cheap pine. Samira inched closer to the hole in the ground, her eyes wide. “Is that it?”
“That’s it.”
“Well, guess we found her.” Relief flooded her face in the candlelight.
“We have to be sure if she’s in there.” Bobby pointed out as if talking to a five-year-old.
A film of sweat shone on her skin. She swallowed. “Why? If she’s bloated, she won’t resemble her picture anyway.”
“She’ll still have the same hair,” Bobby pointed out. He broke the wood with ease. He held his nose and turned his face away, waiting for the rotting smell. It didn’t come. Somewhere above his head, Samira retched. With a smile, he said, “You should take in a deep breath.”
He hit the hole. The wood gave way with a loud crack.
The light shone directly into the casket. Is was empty.