The Second Case of the Carmichael Ruby

Finn figures out what really happened, but he might be too late.

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Author’s note: This is Episode 4 of “A Game of Corpse and Robbers”. Here’s the full index so you can catch up on the story. Also, starting this week, I’m going back to a weekly schedule with new posts coming out once a week on Saturdays. Enjoy!

Photo by Joshua Fuller on Unsplash

Where was I? Right. I helped my friend, Inspector Faiza Ahmed, retrieve the stolen Carmichael Ruby. Then I ran into my estranged sister Freya, who told me that her husband, Roger Walters, had been killed and not by her (it’s a hobby of hers, killing husbands). She sent me to the sole beneficiary of his will, an establishment for rich Egyptology enthusiasts that Roger frequented called the Seti Club. There I was knocked out by a man called Freddy and barked at by a dog called Anubis, which was in turn owned by fabulously wealthy jewellery mogul Oscar de Laurent.

From the club, I was picked up again by my sister and her driver, who drove me miles outside the city and revealed that the remains of Mr Walters were in the boot of their car. What’s more, it turns out Freya was poisoning her husband after all; she just didn’t actually kill him. Almost immediately after I made this discovery, Inspector Ahmed called me with the news that the Carmichael Ruby had been stolen. Again.

She wanted to come over and discuss the case. Luckily, I’m quick on my feet.

“You can’t come here, I’m at church,” I said. “Wait, did I say church? I meant the opera. I’m at the opera.”

“You’re at the opera?” she asked, sounding a bit doubtful.

“Okay, I’m not at the opera,” I admitted. “Look, just tell me what happened.”

She did, and the scales fell from my eyes. The sun was just setting on the horizon but in my mind, it was the dawn of a new day. I hung up the call and started to laugh. Freya took my temperature and asked me if I was alright.

“I solved the case,” I told her. “You were right after all.”

Her eyes lit up. “You mean Oscar de Laurent killed Roger so the club could get his money?” she asked.

“Oh no,” I said, “It’s far worse than that. I don’t have all the pieces yet but right now, I need a ride back to the city, and you need to get rid of that body. I’ll explain everything on the way.”

As we drove back, I told Freya what Faiza had just relayed to me. Last night, after collecting the ruby from the police, Mr Carmichael and his security consultant took the jewel back to his house. But Mr Carmichael, a naturally suspicious man, did not go back to sleep right away. A few hours later, three men broke into the house and stole the ruby. They didn’t set off any alarms but Mr Carmichael heard them as they were leaving and he shot at them with a gun he kept for deer hunting. He swore he must have hit at least one of them, but the thieves managed to escape with the goods.

I laid out my theory about what really happened, and Freya was less than impressed.

“It makes no sense,” she said. “Why should Freddy King and Oscar de Laurent want to steal the Carmichael Ruby? They’re both fabulously wealthy.”

“Are they?” I asked. “You’ve never actually seen the books, have you? No, I didn’t think so. Tell me, when did Roger become the Seti Club’s treasurer?”

“About six months ago, after the last one died. No, don’t look at me like that, he had a perfectly normal heart attack. And what does that have to do with Roger’s death, or with the Carmichael Ruby?”

“Simple,” I said. “Mr Carmichael’s security consultant, the man who collected the ruby with him, was none other than Freddy King, head of the Seti Club dining committee.”

Photo by Frankie Lopez on Unsplash

Freya and Rachel dropped me off around the corner from the Seti Club. I’d already called Faiza and she was waiting for me with some papers when I walked up to the establishment.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” she asked. “You know I don’t like this cloak-and-dagger routine, Finn.”

“All will be revealed,” I told her. “Can I see those?”

She handed me the papers, a list of all past and present members of the Seti Club. I quickly scanned the names from page to page, then handed them back to her. It was precisely as I thought.

“Is this about Mickey Hill?” Faiza pressed. “The Dope King? We know he’s a member but you don’t think he’s involved, do you?”

“He’s a dangerous man,” I shrugged. “So are most of these people, if you get on their bad side. Like, say, if you stole their money.”

I got the feeling that Faiza might punch me if I didn’t speak plainly. The inspector is a deceptively strong woman and you do not want to be punched by her. I speak from experience.

“This is the Seti Club,” I said as we walked into the building. “A haven for rich patrons who share an affinity for Egyptology. Very private, very exclusive; they don’t even have a sign outside. So what’s wrong with this picture.”

Faiza thought for a moment and said, “Where’s the doorman?”

“Exactly,” I said. “They let almost all the staff go, probably within the last six months.”

“Can’t be money trouble,” said Faiza. “They’re all rolling in it.”

We were in the lobby now. I found a light switch and turned it on.

“You see all those Egyptian artefacts lying about?” I said. “They’re all fake. I think they used to have real stuff but they had them replaced with duplicates so no one would know they were selling them off.”

“But they didn’t need to,” the inspector insisted. “I mean, I’m sure this place must have cost a fortune to maintain but the members could certainly afford it.”

“It’s all a lie, Faiz,” I said. “It’s a front. The Seti Club is a front for one of the biggest money laundering schemes in the country and it has been since 1892. Everything was going smoothly until their treasurer died six months ago. The new treasurer, Mr Roger Walters, discovered that the dead man had been embezzling from the club’s off-the-books accounts.”

“Of course,” Faiza exclaimed. “They had to make the money back.”

“Exactly,” I smiled. “It must have been a lot too. Only three people knew about it: Walters, Oscar de Laurent, and Freddy King. They tried to cover it up by putting their own money in but it wasn’t enough. Then Freddy King was hired by Mr Carmichael, and a plan began to form. First, they hired a small-time thief to do the job, but he got caught. The second time, they did it themselves. Walters got shot but they still managed to make off with the ruby. Then de Laurent cut the jewel and embedded it in a cheap ceramic statue, which he placed right on that mantle there.”

I pointed behind me to where the Ra statuette was sitting. Faiza looked in that direction but seemed disconcerted.

“Finn,” she said. “There’s no statue on the mantle.”

(Image via Pexels/Edited on Canva)

We were too late. The ruby and the figurine it was affixed to were nowhere to be seen. It was clear what had happened. My visit must have spooked de Laurent, so he and King took the ruby and ran away. And there was nothing we could do.

“We could find this Walters, the one who was shot,” Faiza suggested. “He might confess.”

I said, “No, he’s dead.” Then, realizing my slip-up, I added, “They couldn’t take him to a hospital so they probably let him die and got rid of the body.”

Roger Walters’ body could, theoretically, solve everything. Ballistics could easily prove Mr Carmichael shot him during the robbery and I was sure there would be DNA evidence tying the corpse to de Laurent and Freddy King. But if I turned it over to the police, they would also find the arsenic in his system and put my sister in jail for attempted murder. Most days, I’m not sure if I love Freya, or even if I like her, but there’s no way I would let another family member go to prison on my account.

“Do you hear that?” Faiza asked, breaking me out of my thoughts. I listened intently. It was a dull thumping sound, growing fainter by the minute, and it was coming from the back of the club. Faiza and I followed the sound to the office I’d met de Laurent in just a few hours earlier. The room seemed less like an office and more like a store room now without de Laurent and his dog Anubis. All sorts of curios were strewn around, most of which were out of place but familiar. One thing, however, was new.

It was a large stone sarcophagus sitting in a corner of the room. It was elaborately painted and carved with hieroglyphics, bearing the golden visage of some long-forgotten pharaoh. The sound was coming from inside, there was no doubt about it.

With a dreadful feeling in the pit of our stomachs, Faiza and I pushed the heavy lid off the sarcophagus. Inside was the bandaged body of a large man who barely fit into the ancient coffin. There was a dark stain on his forehead, fresh blood dying the yellow-white fabric of his ritual wrappings.

The Mummy groaned and raised its head, and I screamed.

To Be Concluded