Cities of the Red Night by William S. Burroughs Page B

but—” He paused. “It looks like scarlet fever.”
    â€œWe are checking all hospitals and private clinics for scarlet fever admissions,” Dimitri put in, “… or any other condition that could produce such a rash.”
    I turned to the doctor. “Doctor, would you say that the amputation was a professional job?”
    â€œDefinitely.”
    â€œAll questionable doctors and clinics will be checked,” said Dimitri.
    The preservative seemed to be wearing off, and the body gave off a sweet musky smell that turned me quite sick. I could see Dimitri was feeling it too, and so was the doctor.
    â€œCan I see the trunk?”
    The trunk was built like an icebox: a layer of cork, and the inside lined with thin steel.
    â€œThe steel is magnetized,” Dimitri told me. “Look.” He took out his car keys and they stuck to the side of the trunk.
    â€œCould this have had any preservative effect?”
    â€œThe doctor says no.”
    Dimitri drove me back to the Hilton. “Well, it looks like your case is closed, Mr. Snide.”
    â€œI guess so … any chance of keeping this out of the papers?”
    â€œYes. This is not America. Besides, a thing like this, you understand…”
    â€œBad for the tourist business.”
    â€œWell, yes.”
    I had a call to make to the next of kin. “Afraid I have some bad news for you, Mr. Green.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œWell, the boy has been found.”
    â€œDead, you mean?”
    â€œI’m sorry, Mr. Green.…”
    â€œWas he murdered?”
    â€œWhat makes you say that?”
    â€œIt’s my wife. She’s sort of, well, psychic. She had a dream.”
    â€œI see. Well, yes, it looks like murder. We’re keeping it out of the papers, because publicity would impede the investigation at this point.”
    â€œI want to retain you again, Mr. Snide. To find the murderer of my son.”
    â€œEverything is being done, Mr. Green. The Greek police are quite efficient.”
    â€œWe have more confidence in you.”
    â€œI’m returning to New York in a few days. I’ll contact you as soon as I arrive.”
    The trail was a month old at least. I was fairly sure the murderer or murderers were no longer in Greece. No point in staying on. But there was something else to check out on the way back.

FEVER SPOOR
    I stop over in London. There is somebody I want to see there, if I can find him without too much trouble. Could save me a side trip to Tangier.
    I find him in a gay bar called the Amigo. He is nattily dressed, with a well-kept beard and shifty eyes. The Arabs say he has the eyes of a thief. But he has a rich wife and doesn’t need to steal.
    â€œWell,” he says. “The private eye.… Business or pleasure?”
    I look around. “Only business would bring me here.” I show him Jerry’s picture. “He was in Tangier last summer, I believe.”
    He looks at the picture. “Sure, I remember him. A cock-teaser.”
    â€œMissing-person case. Remember who he was with?”
    â€œSome hippie kids.”
    The description sounds like the kids Jerry was with in Spetsai. Props. “Did he go anywhere else?”
    â€œMarrakesh, I think.”
    I am about to finish my drink and leave.
    â€œOh, you remember Peter Winkler who used to run the English Pub? Did you know he was dead?”
    I haven’t heard, but I am not much interested. “So? Who or what killed him?”
    â€œScarlet fever.”
    I nearly spill my drink. “Look, people don’t die of scarlet fever now. In fact, they rarely get it.”
    â€œHe was living out on the mountain … the Hamilton summer house. It’s quite isolated, you know. Seems he was alone and the phone was out of order. He tried to walk to the next house down the road and collapsed. They took him to the English hospital.”
    â€œThat would finish anyone off. And I suppose