Selected Detective
SATURATED AUTOPSY

DR IBRAHIM ANWAR, Chief Disease Expert at Luxor Hospital, has many bad habits, not to mention his refusal to be disturbed by work affairs in the midst of exciting domino games. anwar's passion for what he calls the “ board game of the gods” has delayed many investigations over the years and this happened also in the case of Jansen. He had carried out a preliminary examination of the body found in Malqata and sent it back by river to Morque outside Luxor General. Instead of performing an autopsy on the same afternoon, as Khalifa had expected, the disease expert delayed him from participating in an interdepartmental domino competition. As a result, it was almost noon the next day when he finally called the police station and reported there was an autopsy result.

“Sucan time,” said the detective, while turning off the fifteenth cigarette furiously into an already full ashtray.

“Actually I was hoping to get this result last night.”

“All good things are given to those who patiently wait,” Anwar said with a cheerful face, laughing amusedly. “After all, this is an interesting case. Very ... tickle the mind. But my secretary just finished typing this report. I can send it to you or you can come here and get it yourself. It's up to you.”

“I'll come,” said Khalifa, knowing that if handed over to Anwar, he may have to wait for days until the report is in his hands.

“Please just tell me if it was an accident or a bad deed.”

“Oh, obviously evil deeds,” replied the expert of this disease.

“Truly cheating and vile, although perhaps not as you imagined.”

“What does that mean?”

“Tell me it's like a complicated story, and a story with a bit of a sting in the end. Come quickly and everything will be revealed.I think you'll assume I've done an amazing job on this case, Khalifa. Really great.” The detective issues the ******* irritated and tells Anwar that he will arrive at the hospital in twenty minutes, just wait.

“Si the damn disease expert,” grumbled Khalifa. “Final right.”

“It's done with the autopsy?”

“Newly. The man couldn't move any slower if he was a fucking turtle. I'll take the report now. Any progress?” While Khalifa was in her office waiting for a phone call from Anwar, Sariya had spent the morning continuing what her superior had found at the victim's home the night before.

“Not much,” he replied, while going to Khalifa's desk and sitting in the work chair. “Bank Egypt has been sending a facsimile of a copy of its statement for the past hour and I have gone to the phone company to get the details of the phone connection it made in the same period. I've also been trying to track down her housekeeper.”

“There's something?”

“About how to best insert molochia more than you can know. About Jansen, almost nothing. The manager comes in for a few hours, twice a week, cleaning, shopping for his master. Jansen cooks himself. Turns out he never went to the barn. Not allowed.”

“Testament?” ask Khalifa. “Are you talking to the benefactor gatherers?”

Sariya nodded. “She has certainly done so because her benefactor gatherers watched. Despite this, she has no copies. Said Jansen holding one for himself and giving the other to his friend in Cairo.” Khalifa sighed and stood up, grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair.

“Good. We're starting to study Jansen's background, how? How long he had lived in Egypt, where he had come from before, what he did when he settled in Alexandria. Anything you can dig. There's something wrong with this guy. At least something is not right. I can feel it.”

He put on his jacket and walked. When he got to the door, he turned around.

“By the way, you haven't found out where Arminius' name came from, ’kan?”

“Actually already,” said Sariya, looking happy. “I did a search via internet.”

“Dan?”

“Actually it was an ancient German man. National hero, actually.” Khalifa flicked her fingers to recognize the information.

“I know. I've heard that name before. Good work, muhammad. Very good.” He stepped towards the door and down the corridor, hands in his pants pocket, wondering why on earth someone from the Netherlands would call his dog a German national hero.

Sure enough, Anwar was not in his office once Khalifa arrived fifteen minutes later. When a nurse in a green uniform went looking for her, the detective stood by the window looking at the hospital yard below, where a group of workers were digging a trench along the lawn. The rhythm of the sound of the hoe echoed up to the ear. His lungs hurt from cigarettes, but he could still hold it. Anwar is completely anti-smoking. And lung pain, however uncomfortable, is much better than one of his lectures, “If you want to poison yourself please just do but do not do it near me”. He even bit his nails and opened a window, propped up with his chin on a window sill, while watching a boy chasing butterflies around the parker area of a hospital car.

Something's wrong here. He tried to tell himself that he was imagining things, reading too many situations, but there was no difference. Every little element, each shard of the image of the sacrificial stick, his hatred of the Jews, the house on the side of the Temple of Karnak, the strange feathered hat all add to the unease within him, so that what was originally a vague stimulus about uncertainty has now developed into a corrosive panic that feels painful inside the stomach.

Indeed, he always experienced an adrenaline rush at the beginning of the case, a mind work that was too heavy as he struggled to master all elements of the problem and arrange them into familiar patterns. However, this is different, because what is the problem for him is not just the investigation he is doing, but more on the previous thing, many years ago, right at the beginning of his police career. A murder, the first he dealt with, a terrible and brutal affair. Schlegels.

Her name was Hannah Schlegel. An Israelite.

Jewess. A terrible case. And now, all of a sudden, out of nowhere. Nothing is concrete. There was nothing he could hold with any certainty.just coincidence, a temporary flash in the darkness of the past. The wand, the Jewish scoundrel, Karnak, the feathers—the words kept buzzing in his ears like a spell, drilled, went into his skull.

“This is crazy,” he said to himself, while biting his thumb nail. “At that time, fifteen years ago, for God's sake. Finished already!”

However, even when he declared it, he felt that this was not finished at all. Instead, he had the unpleasant feeling that something had just begun.

“Damn you, Jansen,” murmured. “Sial you died this way.”

“My sentiment is definitely,” said the voice behind her. “Although if he doesn't die I won't have the satisfaction of unpacking this case for you.”

Khalifa turned around, annoyed that her mind was disturbed. Anwar was already standing at the door holding a steamy glass.

“I didn't hear you.”

“I'm not surprised,” said the disease expert. “You seem to be miles away from here.” He sipped his drink and raised the glass, while looking at the pale yellow liquid color inside.

“Yansoon,” he said with a smile. “The best in Luxor. One of the housewives made it for me. An amazing substance. Very soothing. You should try it.” He blinked at Khalifa, then headed to his desk and sat down. While putting the glass on one side, he began to handle the pile of paper work in front of him.

“Now, where do I put that thing? I've ... ah, here it is!” He sat back down, holding up a thin type document.

“Report of autopsy findings Mr. Piet Jansen,” said, reading the title at the top of the document. Another win Anwar. He looked towards Khalifa, smiling with a grin. The detective reached into his pocket to pick up some cigarettes, but he stopped his hand, and instead placed his hand on the edge of the window.

“Continue,” said. “Tell me the whole thing.”

“By pleasure,” said Anwar, sitting in his chair. “To begin with, I can say that this man was killed.” Khalifa somewhat advanced her body.

“I can also tell you that I am quite certain of the identity of the guilty party.They, I suspect, acted in self-defense, although it did not reduce the magnitude of the crime at all, also the fact that Jansen died an unpleasant and very painful death.” Anwar paused for a moment to give a dramatic effect. He has learned this, thought Khalifa.

“Before I reveal the name of the killer, it may be a good idea to recall how exactly the circumstances were when Jansen's body was found.” Khalifa opened her mouth to say that she remembered the situation very well and perfectly, but dropped out due to the long experience that Anwar would do things his own way. No matter how many complaints Khalifa make, it will not be able to change them.

“To you,” murmured, while moving his hand, resigned.

“Thank you. I don't think you'll be disappointed.” The doctor gulped his drink back and lowered his glass.

“So,” he continued, “it happened this way. The body of this man, you must remember, was found lying face down on the floor in a rather unsightly state, an iron nail plunging into the pocket of his left eye. As well as the intense trauma to the zygomatic, sphenoid and lachrymal bones, and to the entire left side of his cerebrum brain, frankly, just, like a bowl of crushed eggplant he also suffered considerable scratch wounds on the right part of the skull, slightly above

He sipped the last remnant of his yansoon and, with a slight burp, placed the glass on the edge of the table.

“Three meters from the body,” he continued, “saw signs of disturbance on the surface of the desert, such as certain fight scenes, and also stones with traces of blood on one end. Two hundred meters from it, the victim's bag and stick were found next to a mud-brick wall filled with images, so he was shown to be in the process of dismantling. To achieve this it seems that he removed the block of stone with a hammer and chisel, then tried to pull it with his hands, then there was a trace of mud on his nails.” Anwar then placed both his elbows on the table and put his hands together in front of him.

“Quite a lot of settings of the incident earlier. The question is how do all the different parts of this image actually relate to one another?” Again, Khalifa's hand, as if it were free from another part of the body, reached into her cigarette. And again he held it at the last minute, then put it again in his pantalon pocket.

“Ya, just say.”

“Of course I will reveal,” replied Anwar. “Let's see each of these image pieces separately, how? First, the metal nails. The injuries caused by him were of course fatal. However, this is not a cause of death. Or, Jansen will definitely die anyway, regardless of whether he has fallen or not on it.” Khalifa's eyes narrowed. Despite his wishes, he became interested.

“Forward.”

“Scratch wounds on the sides of the head like red herrings. This must have been caused by a stone with blood stains. Yet this is unlikely to harm even in people as old and weak as Jansen. There were no injuries or damage to the skull underneath, and there were no significant bruises. It was just a wound to the flesh, nothing more.

“So, if he doesn't die because of a blow to the head, and he doesn't die because his brain is stuck in nails, then how did he die?” Anwar patted his chest.

“Myocardial infarction..”.

“What?”

“Heart attacks. This man had massive coronary thrombosis and his subsequent heart attack. It could be that he was dead before getting stuck in the nail.” Khalifa took a step forward.

“So what are you going to say? Someone knocked his head with a stone and his heart gave up?” The disease expert grinned, enjoying the game.

“Nobody knocks his head with a stone. The scratch wound was just an accident.”

“But you said he was killed.”

“Ya indeed.”

“Then how?”

“She was poisoned.” Khalifa slammed her hand against the wall in anger.

“Damn it, Anwar, what do you really want to say?”

“Persis like what I've said. Piet Jansen's killer poisoned him, and the poison, directly or indirectly, triggered a heart attack that killed the poor man. I can't explain this more clearly. What do you still not understand?” Khalifa gritted her teeth, deciding not to be provoked by the patronizing tone of this disease expert.

“And who exactly plays this mysterious poisoner?” he asked, trying to keep his voice.

“You said you knew who he was.”

“Oh, of course,” said Anwar, with a laugh. “I'm sure once.” Again, he paused for a moment to give a dramatic effect.

Then, while thrusting his body, he turned his palm upwards. He folded it into a fist, straightened his index finger and, with a sharp jerking motion, he pulled his finger again.

“His villain name,” he mentions it with full gesture, “is Mr. Akarab.” He repeated a strange jerking motion, sticking his middle finger into the surface of the palm.

“Akarab,” reset Khalifa, while gawking. “you mean....” The disease expert smiled. “Accurate once. Our friend Jansen is stung by akarab. Scorpion.” He curled his finger, imitated the movement of the scorpion's tail and fell to the back of his chair, laughing out loud.

“I told you this is the story of the sting in the tail,” he said.

“Just wait until I tell the kids about this. The story of the Malqata Poisoner! Or should it be the tail of the Malqata Poisoner? ha, ha, ha!”

“That's funny,” Khalifa grumbled, sharing a forced smile. “I suspect the swelling on the bottom of his thumb is..”.

“Place he was stung,” said Anwar, while trying to catch his breath. “To be precise. judging from the color and extent of the sting, it seems this sting is quite strong. The scorpion is an adult, not a child. Pain not a bitch.” He then stood up and, still laughing, walked towards the hand wash in the corner of the room, turned the cold water button and poured the drinking water into the cup.

“My guess, roughly it happened like this. Jansen went to the malqata to steal some of the decorated mud stones. He loosened one mudstone with his hammer and chisel, then reached into the hole to remove it and. bang! Stung by Mr. Scorpion. So sick, he did not have time to swat his bag and hammer and staggered to step into his car.

After several hundred yards, the sting caused a deadly heart attack. He fell down, his hands and knees and head hit the rock. He may have just had a heart attack after a fall. Or, he limped and finally managed to stand up, continued walking a few meters and then fell down again. This time his eyeballs hit the peg and.. Goodbye Mr. Jansen!” Khalifa digested the sequence of events in her head. He was troubled by Anwar's persistence in resolving the case.It was, however, a relief too. No murder means no criminal investigation, and although the antiques inside Jansen's warehouse clearly need to be looked at further, it felt like there was no need to take care too much in the man's past. This is good news, because if he is honest with himself, Khalifa is afraid of what he is doing

maybe he'll meet in the past.

“oh, well,” said, while issuing a deep complaint, “at least it is enough to explain.”

“Yes, it was like that,” Anwar said, finishing his glass and returning to his desk, where he took an autopsy report and handed it to Khalifa. “Everything is there, along with some other small observations, who knows you are interested.” Khalifa flipped the pages.

“What kind of observation?”

“Oh, only general medical examination. On the one hand, he had advanced prostate cancer and may only survive a few more months. And there's a lot of old, damaged tissue on his left knee, which might explain why he used a cane. He also lied about his age. At least on his identity card.” Khalifa looked at him question mark.

“I admit, I am indeed not an expert in this,” said Anwar.

“But according to KTP, he was born in 1925, which means he is now 80 years old. If you look at the state of his teeth and gums, I bet he is at least ten years older than that. it does not change anything, but I think I have to declare this.” Khalifa considered this for a moment, then with a nod, slipped the report into his jacket pocket and headed for the door.

“Good work, Anwar,” said. “I hate to say this, but I'm really impressed.” He arrived at the door, and was about to step into the alley when Anwar called him.

“One funny thing!” Khalifa turned her body.

“I do not want to bother writing this in the notes, also it feels irrelevant to anything, but our friend this one suffers from syndactylism on the legs.” The detective took a few steps back. His face looked confused.

“What does it mean?”

“Basically, this is the innate incorporation of his toes. Very rare. In layman's terms, the man had feet that were like nets. It's like..”

“Katak.” There was no hue whatsoever on Khalifa's face.

“You okay?” ask Anwar. “You look like you just saw a ghost!”

“Indeed,” whispered the detective. “The name is hannah Schlegel and I have done something terrible. Really terrible.”