Who is Killing the Great Capes of Heropa(31)
“Very nice to meet you,” the anaemic man said, shaking Jack’s hand with the kind of jellyfish grip his dad had always warned him about. “Please call me Exegesis, if you don’t mind. I’m very lenient with the Brick’s iconoclastic behaviour, but I prefer not to encourage it in others. Bravo with the flag.”
“Um — cheers.”
“Exy found our body. He an’ the corpse’re old Grail Quest buddies.” The Brick caught Jack’s eye. “Don’t ask.” He turned back to the other Cape — which is what Jack now realized the man was. “So, whadda we have here, bub?”
“I do think it’s best if I show you.”
“Lead on, Duff Beer.”
Exegesis frowned, but then busied himself manoeuvring little dogs out of the path — expertly using a broom — as he led his two visitors down a corridor, stopping at a closed door at the very end. This he opened with great flourish.
Beyond was a rather large bathroom, poorly lit, that had dozens of burning tea candles arranged helter-skelter on the floor, the toilet seat, and on a bench by the basin.
Slumped within a bathtub in the centre of the room was a naked man.
The diorama rehashed the famous painting, by Jacques-Louis David, of murdered French revolutionary leader Jean-Paul Marat, right down to the towel wrapped around his head and the slit throat — except this particular dead démagogue was holding a biro instead of a quill.
Exegesis put a warning hand on Jack’s shoulder, stronger this time.
“Stay away from the water. It’s electrified.”
He pointed at a chrome and black metal rotary fan submerged beneath the man’s legs, with the cable winding out and up to a plug in a socket. Jack hadn’t noticed that in the flickering candlelight.
The Brick rubbed his chin, thoughtful-like. “Classic overkill.”
While he did this rubbing, Jack flicked the power switch. God knows why Exegesis hadn’t done this before. Probably, he liked his sense of the dramatic.
“So, who’s Marat?” Jack asked.
Exegesis glared at him. “Rabble Rouser. The man’s name was Rabble Rouser.” He pondered for a few seconds, before speaking again. “And one might think this were an accident — if not for the note.”
“And the fan.”
“Well, the fan could have fallen in by itself.”
“True.”
“What was the bugger writing?” the Brick asked.
Before anyone could answer, he bent over to take a piece of paper from the man’s left hand. It was wet and the ink had smudged, but they could read the four words there fairly easily: ‘I am a fraud’.
The Brick shoved the note into his overcoat pocket. “He got that right. There’ll be no fancy funerals here.”
“Suicide?” Jack suggested, dubious.
“Not the best way to enter the Lord’s domain,” said Exegesis, “and Rabble Rouser was not your standard suicidal personality. I’d say this incident has more in common with the death of Marat, already alluded to by Southern Cross.”
“Murder.” The way the Brick uttered the word made it more statement than question. “Given he had his throat slit, on top o’ the live-wirin’.”
“I would further allude that that fiend Doctor Satan is involved.”
“Course you would — yer always do. Any proof this time?”
“Sadly, no.”
“Then what’s bugging you ’bout him? —‘Side from the name, I mean.”
Exegesis gazed heavenward, channelling some mysterious rapture. “Let me quote to you from Matthew 24:27: ‘For as the lightning cometh forth from the east, and is seen even unto the west; so shall be the coming of the Son of Man’.”
“Eh?” said the Brick. “Who’s comin’ from the east?”
“He does not mean to affirm that the ‘Son of Man’ will come from the east.”
“West, then? And who’s he? Doc Satan?”
“Of course not! You are entirely missing the point. He is Matthew, as in the Matthew from the New Testament. In the Gospel of Matthew, he is described as a tax collector and was one of Jesus’s original disciples in all four gospels and in Acts.”
“The guy wrote and starred in these shenanigans? Bit of an Orson Welles, huh?”
Exegesis had ditched cloud nine for visible bristling and a great gnashing of teeth.
“It is highly unlikely the two Matthews are the same, and this has absolutely nothing to do with Orson Welles. My God. Matthew-the-Apostle lived decades earlier than Matthew-the-scribe. Now, back to my point: The ‘Son of Man’ won’t come from the west, but He will come in a sudden manner, like the lightning — rapidly, unexpectedly, in an unlooked-for quarter will be His coming.”