Chapter 31
Detective Bart Romanski rapped on the door of Dr. Hitch Baker. The door was ajar, and it eased open at his touch. The doctor was expecting him, but Romanski still felt intrusive as he stepped inside. A ding resounded in the house as his feet crossed the threshold.
“Bart, you can’t just let yourself into other people’s houses,” his husband, Nick Wu, exclaimed from behind him.
“Dr. Baker told me to. Said he’d be gardening out back.”
Nick tentatively stepped halfway through the door after him, and Romanski grabbed his hand and pulled him the rest of the way in. The door’s mechanism dinged again, which Romanski hoped alerted the historian to their presence.
“Calm down. You’re always an anxious mess, babe,” Romanski said with a wink, squeezing his arm.
Normally, Bart would not have brought his husband along on semiofficial CBI business, but Nick had begged and pleaded to have a tour of what he called the “Jack the Ripper museum.” He had always had a gruesome imagination.
Nick crossed his arms, and a faint smile appeared on his lips. “Got to keep you out of trouble.”
Dr. Baker entered the house through a back door, brushing at the dirt caking the front of his bib overalls.
He was a plump fellow, with a congenial air about him that put Romanski at ease.
His cheeks were ruddy and his nose was threaded with a web of veins that spoke of drink.
He waddled forward with a grin emerging from the center of a bushy white beard.
“Hello, hello!” the man said in a jolly tone of voice. He held out a filthy hand for Romanski to shake.
Romanski stared at it, hesitating.
Nick strode past him to shake the doctor’s hand. “Nick Wu. This is my husband, Bart. Thank you for seeing us today.”
“Of course, of course. When you learn, teach; when you get, give,”
Dr. Baker intoned, and raised his eyebrows at Romanski expectantly.
He stared blankly back.
“Dr. Maya Angelou,” said Nick.
Romanski was suddenly grateful he had brought his husband along.
“Excellent!” Dr. Baker said as if praising a student.
“So,” he continued, eyes glinting with interest and sliding to each of them in turn, “you’d like to know more about the Spanish Inquisition and its devices, eh?
A fraught subject. Makes a man wonder what for?
Curse of being an academic, ever curious—-some might call it snoopy. ”
Romanski hesitated. The fact that a Spanish boot had been used to torture the victims hadn’t been released to the public. “It’s just part of an investigation we’re doing, looking into a few things.”
“A few things … Very well then, don’t tell me why you’re interested. I understand. You are here to see my, shall we say, cabinet of curiosities. Are you familiar with the concept?”
Romanski shook his head.
“There are many books depicting such cabinets. The book Origins of Museums is a fascinating historical account of sixteenth--and seventeenth--century cabinets. Then there is The Cabinet of Curiosities, a fictional version. A thriller.” Dr. Baker turned his nose up slightly.
“I don’t usually read them, plagued with cheap thrills and tropes, and that trash book is no exception. ”
“Right.” Romanski cleared his throat, not caring to hear more about thriller writers or history books. “Could we see your, ah, cabinet?”
“Follow me.”
They threaded their way through the home. It was a rambling, endless old place.
Baker unlocked a door in the back. “Many of these objects are quite valuable,” he explained.
They stepped through the threshold.
Romanski looked around, feeling like he was being transported back to the Middle Ages.
An orange glow from the early--morning light lit up a bizarre collection of artifacts, relics, bijoux, and odd--looking antiquities.
A medieval book of hours stood open on a pedestal in a glass case, and Romanski paused to admire the vibrant hues, gilding, and sweeping strokes of ink that decorated its pages.
A full--sized suit of armor stood at attention in the corner.
A marble bust was engulfed in a tapestry next to it.
Dr. Baker led them through the room and down a hall lined with books, past a bookcase housing old pottery shards, and into a dustier section of the house.
“Ah, here’s something you might like.” He stopped in front of an old scroll framed on the wall.
It depicted a mechanical woman covered in spikes, stalking down a cobblestone street while peasants cowered in fear.
“The Apega of Nabis. A machine the king of Sparta made in the image of his wife, which patrolled the streets of the city to extort money from citizens. If they refused, it would hug the victim, impaling them with spikes. Marvelous, isn’t it?
I believe this to be one of the earliest depictions of a robot—-excluding of course the mechanical bird powered by steam proposed by Archytas of Tarentum in the fourth century BC. ”
“How romantic,” Nick murmured. He slid his arm through Bart’s and propelled him forward.
“Charming, I’m sure,” said Romanski.
“And here, the infamous thumbscrew.” Dr. Baker opened one of the glass cases that lined the walls, pulling out a curious metal contraption.
He smiled, holding it aloft with excitement.
“The thumbs would go there and would be compressed by a metal bar through twisting this screw. The bones in the fingers would be crushed. One of the most common torture devices used during the Spanish Inquisition—-and very effective. Agonizingly painful. Could be used on the toes too.”
Nick raised his eyebrows in interest over Dr. Baker’s shoulder. “Cool.”
Romanski inwardly grimaced, sorry he’d let himself be talked into bringing Nick, who seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much.
Nick peered into a particularly lavish case housing an enormous emerald necklace next to a strange, A--shaped metal frame contraption.
“Ah, I see you’ve discovered one of the more obscure devices invented during the reign of King Henry VIII.
” Baker scuttled across the room and placed a loving hand on the device resting on its velvet pillow.
“The head of the victim is strapped in here at the top of the A point, the hands here, and legs here. The frame folds and compresses the body until the victim bleeds from the nose and ears. Would you like to try it out? Without folding it, naturally.” He directed this question at Nick.
“Well—-”
“We don’t have time,” Romanski interjected quickly.
“Are you sure? It’s not every day you get to see a Spanish tickler in person.
I sometimes bring these devices on my LARPing trips—-that stands for live--action role--playing—-to make the experience more authentic.
LARPers love it. Almost as if you personally were awaiting trial in some dark catacomb, knowing you would be found guilty no matter what you told your captors. ”
Romanski said, “Actually, Dr. Baker, I’d like to see the garrote now, if you don’t mind.”
“Ah yes. We mustn’t get sidetracked, of course.” Baker, looking crestfallen, led the way even farther to the rear of the house.
“Spanish tickler,” Nick leaned over to hiss in Romanski’s ear, winking.
They were led farther back, the neglect of this wing of the house becoming more evident.
“Here is what you’re searching for. The garrote vil.” Dr. Baker grasped the edge of a white sheet and flicked it off its resting place like a bullfighter. A cloud of dust billowed through the air, and a smell of mildew overwhelmed Nick’s cologne.
Underneath was something that looked almost like a simple wooden chair.
An iron ring, large enough to support one’s neck, was nailed into the post, with smaller rings for the hands and feet.
A large crank was attached to the larger iron neck ring.
This particular version of the garrote was lacking the spike that Romanski had seen on websites online.
He wondered how it worked. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“This is a Spanish garrote vil actually used by the Inquisition. The seat constrains the condemned person, and the executioner tightens this crank here and suffocates the victim. This type of execution lasted until 1978, when Spain abolished the death penalty.”
“The ones I’ve seen online have a spike.”
Dr. Baker’s lips thinned. “The ones with spikes are called Catalan garrotes, used as late as 1940. They incorporate a spike directed at the spinal cord to quicken the breaking of the victim’s neck.
The Philippines was captured by the United States after the Spanish--American War in 1898.
The Catalan garrote continued to be used there to execute prisoners until 1902, when the US finally put a stop to it.
Frightening how long it took to eradicate such a vicious practice. ”
“How many of these things still exist?”
“Impossible to know. As you can see, they are fairly simple to make, and I couldn’t tell you how many are in museums and private collections around the world.”
“What about a Spanish boot and a Maundy gag? You have those in the collection?”
A troubled look now marred Dr. Baker’s happy demeanor. “Are you working on a case where these were actually used?”
Romanski didn’t answer, and Dr. Baker shook his head.
“I don’t—-those two are rather uncommon.
It’s one thing to read about the depravity of the Inquisition in history books.
But to think of someone inflicting this level of pain on an innocent human being today, if that’s why you’re indeed inquiring … Good heavens!”
Romanski nodded, images of the crushed and mangled foot of Castillo, dismembered and bobbing in waters of a mountain lake, flashing across his mind’s eye. “A terrible thing indeed, Doctor.”