“You do? Okay, well see that makes no sense, the theory of the ovens. I venture to guess that this only happened because the crewmen and officers tried to get warm, sir, and that is all that means. As far as the amount of years they had been reportedly been cased up in the ship, the time frame could accommodate such regression. However, that is the only factor, and cannot achieve mummification without the other contributing factors. No matter how hot the kitchen and boiler rooms may have been, sir, the temperature would have to be a lot hotter and drier over this span of time to achieve what we see here.”
Purdue stared into space, trying to unravel the mystery with the limited amount of knowledge he possessed when it came to forensics. Sam zoomed in on Nina, who raised her head on the same thought that Purdue exhibited. A moment passed when all were caught up in contemplation.
“What would you suggest?” Purdue eventually asked Harris. “What, in your professional opinion, would be the closest explanation?”
The scientist’s eyes combed the entire specimen on the slab in front of him before he shook his head slowly and replied, “That is what I meant by that I cannot seem to find anything, sir. I have no explanation for their condition. Look, over half a century of being dead leaves most in a state of skeletal waste with some hair and papery skin, depending on the environment. That we know. But sir, given that these bodies were basically under the water, it is unlikely for them to have achieved this state. The humidity and cold of the ocean would certainly have caused some rudimentary decay visible as mold, for instance. There is absolutely no indication that they were in an aqueous environment at all, which just makes it…” he hesitated as his eyes jumped between the others, “creepy.”
“Now that, I can side with,” Nina mumbled from her microscope.
3 The All-Nighter
Purdue was not satisfied being left unsatisfied, so to speak. There had to be some explanation as to the desiccation of the bodies, aside from resorting to the absurdity of old mariners’ tales and man-witches.
“You do know that most legends and myths, no matter how far-fetched, have some sort of root based in reality,” Nina reminded Purdue. The tall billionaire was running his hands through his white hair, glaring intensely at the body on the slab, the sixth one that could deliver no better explanation than those before it. “Purdue, we don’t know what kind of substances were on that ship back then. I mean, Jesus, people used to use cocaine for toothache and had cupboards full of poisons. Who knows what they could have taken! It has been so many decades that all evidence to their fate has to have been destroyed anyway.”
“I get that, my dear Nina,” he replied, still in deep thought. “What I do not believe, as an avid follower of the scientific principle, is that these men could have been subjected to mass hysteria. I refuse to embrace any theory that a ship full of able officers and soldiers could fall victim to some… some spell!”
“Look, is there any way to prove that they could have starved to death anyway?” Sam asked, looking mostly at Harris. The man who looked like a Stormtrooper shrugged, “I doubt it. After so much time in that submarine environment, salt erosion and decomposition would probably not leave us any clues.”
“What about submitting the more substantial tissue to a more specialized lab?” Nina suggested. “I mean, the skin is like animal hide by now, but what if we search the intracranial areas for a bit more…”
“Meat?” Sam jested.
Nina winced. “Aye, kind of. Maybe we will find toxins or drugs in tissue that was not exposed to the outside elements during decay. Just be aware that I am talking through my ass right now,” she sighed. “I am just grasping at straws in a scenario where straws are pretty damn meager.”
Harris looked at his employer. “Could work, sir. Shall I tell Sharon that we are hitting overtime tonight?”
Purdue had new hope between the dedicated freelance forensic experts and Nina’s ass-talking. It was a viable hypothesis, he reckoned, and one worth pursuing, as a last resort. After this, if nothing came up, he would have no choice but to conclude the case and live with the mystery. Purdue could not help, even after all he had seen, but to rebuke lazy suppositions basted in the esoteric.
“Alright,” he smiled with a clasping of hands, “let’s do that then. How soon can we submit the samples?”
“If we work on gathering material through the night, I’d say…,” he sang as he measured out his time frame, “we can have it tested within the next two days. I will make sure the lads at the big lab at St. Petra make it priority.”
“Good man,” Purdue said affirmatively. He looked at Sam, and walked out of the room with his arm around the journalist’s shoulder. They spoke in hushed tones as they disappeared down the hallway toward the flight of stairs that led up to the main entrance hall. “Have we anything to send to Spain about the dive yet, Sam? Have you managed to compile footage from that collar mounted camera of yours?”
“Aye, I have edited a special edition for the world to see, omitting the small detail of, you know, us being there at all,” Sam replied with his trademark cocky charm.
“Good, good,” Purdue said, happy with the necessary deceit. “We don’t need our contribution to clash with the story we told the authorities.”
“We can trust Capt. Sanchez, boys,” Nina assured them. She had been trailing them since they left the lab downstairs.
“Good God, Nina! You’ll give me a heart attack,” Sam gasped. “I’m going to have to put a bell around your pretty neck. Just like a cat,”
Purdue and Nina cackled at Sam’s fragile fright reflex. “Oh,” he added quickly, “Purdue, I hope you don’t mind that I had Bruich brought over. I fear the neighbors had quite enough of playing babysitter by now.”
“No, it is fine. Where is the old devil?” Purdue asked.
“On his way, I hope,” Nina smiled.
“Aye, as we speak,” Sam affirmed. The petite historian had a soft spot for Sam’s large, lazy pet, aptly named Bruichladdich. The ginger feline had kept her company in her lonely historical house in Oban many a time before, and she missed his overweight body on her lap during cold nights.
“I must tell you, I am too hyper to sleep,” Purdue admitted, to no-one’s surprise.
“I am not,” Nina shrugged. “I am turning in, alright?”
“Shall I send Bruich up to your chambers, my lady?” Sam joked, but Purdue could see the bitterness in his dark eyes. He missed being Nina’s lover. Although it seemed like eons ago, Purdue lamented the same loss. She had become successfully untied from romantic notions about either of them. Even though it was generally accepted to be a thing of the past, Sam and Purdue were still, in essence, jostling for her affection. Even if they, themselves, had not noticed, the savage practice made civilized by camaraderie, would never cease.
“Aye, Sam, send him up to keep me warm, will you?” she teased, and without another word, she ascended the first lavish staircase to the first floor of the ancient manor. The two men looked at each other. Purdue curled his bottom lip in a devil-may-care way.
“Billiards?” he asked Sam.
“Single malt?” Sam checked. Purdue nodded, and the two men sauntered into the bar room with its profoundly high ceiling for a bit of inebriate ball and stick.
The next morning, Purdue woke up on the sofa in the grand old bar room. Through sandy, thick eyelids, he regarded the room in search of his drinking partner. In the hearth, the last embers of the fire still hissed. Upon sitting up with hefty labor, Purdue found Sam. Dark, wild tresses hid the journalist’s attractive features, but every drag of air that thundered in a snore lifted his hair like a flap from his face. Sprawled across the thick goat fur carpet, Sam lay flat on his back. To his side, one arm was outstretched, still clutching his tumbler. The other arm rested comfortably on his stomach, tucked in under the huge napping cat that settled on Sam’s gut during the night.