Human Sacrifice

by Cindy L Hull

  Some commotion erupted as a second small square table materialized to accommodate the newcomers. Claire studied the two elder female anthropologists, opposites in appearance but so much alike in their personalities: Madge, gray hair as rumpled as her mismatched clothing, exemplified the 1960s love-child; Evelyn, hair lightly tinted and neatly styled around wireless eyeglasses, was Gloria Steinem, long skirts, boots and flowered scarf, even in the Yucatecan heat. But both represented women of their generation—dedicated feminists raised in a time when women had to fight for their place in academia.

  A waitress came to the table and took their drink and dinner orders. Steven asked that his and Evelyn’s dinners be held until the newcomers received theirs.

  “So, Evelyn,” Madge said when the waitress left, “when do you leave for the Lacandón Jungle?” She knew this question would irritate Evelyn’s department chair, and that was exactly why she asked it.

  Indeed, Steven blushed as Evelyn responded, “I leave from here on Saturday. I’m just getting my marching orders and my curfew from my boss.” She smiled as Steven’s blush deepened, reaching to his receding hairline.

  Accepting the good humor in which Madge had asked the question, he responded, “Like I could ever give Evelyn an order.” Evelyn, at least ten years senior in age to the department chair, was known for her independent streak. “I keep trying to get her to take my job as department chair, but she refuses.”

  “And sit in a chair all day sending emails and writing reports to the dean? Never!” Evelyn laughed.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Madge said. “Every department chair I have known has retired in complete exhaustion after resigning from their position.” She paused. “And George will probably be next.”

  When their drinks arrived, Tanya, who had been quiet during this exchange, said, “I’m Tanya Petersen.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Claire said. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know each other.” She introduced them. “Tanya is a linguist who has also worked in Chiapas.”

  “She also studied the Palenque hieroglyphs,” Madge added. “Sorry, Tanya.”

  Tanya shrugged and pressed her lips together. “It’s okay,” she said in a petulant tone. “Chiapas is a big state. There’s no reason why we should know each other.”

  “Where did you do your linguistic work?” Evelyn asked.

  Tanya sipped her beer and bit her lip again. “I lived in the city of Palenque,” she said. “I studied Tzotzil, Tzeltal, but especially Ch’ol, the language spoken by the original inhabitants of Palenque.”

  “And studied the hieroglyphs, also,” Evelyn said. “I’m impressed. That’s like two careers.”

  “The hieroglyph research arose because of my knowledge of Ch’ol,” Tanya said. “Local archaeologists asked for translations of Mayan texts held at the university library. I enjoyed that work, and if I had the chance would love to pursue curation.”

  Tanya gave a sideways glance at Madge before turning her attention to Evelyn and Steven. “But everyone is distracted by Paul Sturgess’s death.” She paused, her eyes brightening. “We knew him.”

  Evelyn leaned forward. “We heard he interviewed with you yesterday.”

  “Yes, can you believe it?” Tanya said.

  Evelyn straightened in her chair and looked briefly at Steven, then turned back to Claire. “How did the interview go?”

  This seemed an odd question, given the fact Paul would never become a member of their faculty, but before Claire could respond Tanya blurted, “He knew a lot about our research…perhaps too much?”

  Claire caught a quick glance flit between Evelyn and Steven. Madge caught it too.

  “What?” Madge asked. “Did you know him?”

  “He interviewed with us last year,” Steven responded. He gave a glance at Evelyn, as if in warning, but his colleague sat forward, eager to speak.

  “In our one-on-one meeting, he hinted that I might be a secret Zapatista, one of the Sub-Comandante Marcos’s female comrades, Sub-Comandante Evelyn.” She laughed at the idea. “Later, I found out he did similar things to others, like he was trying to get a job through extortion.”

  “We thought the same thing!” Tanya exclaimed. “But he had things wrong,” she added. “He insinuated that I had an affair with my faculty advisor.” She blushed at this unintended admission. “Which wasn’t true…well, we dated, but he was separated at the time.” She blushed again but blundered on. “He also knew things about Brad and Jamal, but they aren’t talking.” She turned to Madge and Claire, anxious to move the conversation away from herself. “What about you two?”

  Madge took a gulp of her margarita. “Nothing other than remarking that I conducted my archaeological research during colonial times—little twerp, but I considered it youthful arrogance.”

  Tanya turned to Claire. “What about you, Claire? ‘Fess up. Did he know any of your deep, dark secrets?”

  Claire thought that Tanya acted agitated, too talkative. She pondered her response. “He made some strange comments about my faith, but interview-by-extortion doesn’t seem to be a viable strategy.” She turned to Evelyn and Steven. “Why do you think he did this?”

  “We decided he was just immature,” Evelyn said. “He thought if he demonstrated that he knew our work and could critique it, or, us…” she nodded to Tanya, “then we would see him as an equal. It certainly doesn’t make sense, but I don’t think he meant to blackmail anyone. It seems he didn’t learn his lesson if he used the same technique with you.”

  “He seemed very enthusiastic about working with us and joining our department,” Steven added. “I didn’t think he was threatening.”

  They were saved from further deliberation on the topic by the arrival of their dinners. Gratefully, conversation moved to other topics such as the sessions, most of which the Keane College contingent had missed.

  During dessert, discussion turned to Eduardo’s gift to Keane College. Steven congratulated them. “Must be nice to have friends in high places,” he said.

  “A mixed blessing, I think,” said Madge. “It would have been better to wait a few years until we had a more developed program and museum protocol.”

  “Oh, Madge,” said Tanya, “don’t be so negative. I think it’s great!” She pushed her custard around with her spoon. “I think Brad is a genius, setting this up for us. We’ll be the envy of all the big universities.”

  When the busboy appeared to clear the table, conversation returned to Evelyn’s work with the Zapatista movement, and her promise to Steven that she would return to campus at least one week before classes started.

  As the group rose to leave, Madge and Tanya retreated to the restroom. Claire, Evelyn, and Steven exited into the cool night air. When Steven walked down the street to smoke a cigarette, Evelyn pulled Claire aside, speaking softly.

  “I might be wrong, but I think I know something about Tanya.”

  Claire moved closer to Evelyn. “What do you mean?”

  “Where did she earn her Ph.D.?”

  Claire told her. “Why?”

  “When she foolishly disclosed her relationship with her advisor, I remembered something.” She looked back toward the restaurant entrance. “A colleague of mine told a story about an archaeologist who had worked with a graduate student at Palenque and had an affair with her. I never learned her name, but the assignment and Tanya’s admission of their affair are similar. He later agreed to be on her dissertation committee. I think he eventually divorced, but he shouldn’t have been on her committee.”

  Evelyn looked back over her shoulder again. “There’s something else that I don’t remember clearly. It has something to do with some of the stone fragments they had worked on together. They disappeared, and the translations couldn’t be corroborated. The archaeologist claimed he didn’t know what happened to the segments—I guess they were relatively small chunks of hierog
lyphs. I think one of the graduate students working on the site dropped out of the program.”

  Claire felt her heart pound; she looked back before speaking. “That couldn’t have been Tanya. There are teams of graduate students at many sites. It might not even be the same team,” Claire protested. “Besides, she successfully defended her dissertation.”Evelyn straightened quickly as Madge and Tanya came out of the restaurant. She whispered, “I think you should watch Tanya.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The two groups separated at the plaza where the street traffic had lessened to taxis and a small number of vehicles. Claire took in deep breaths. Competing aromas from open-air restaurants replaced the fumes from car exhaust. A blanket of stars shone high above the muted street lights. No one spoke, and Claire let her mind wander in the quiet. She thought about what Evelyn had disclosed and what it might mean.

  As if reading her thoughts, Tanya said, “I guess I made a fool of myself.”

  “What do you mean,” Claire asked, unnecessarily.

  “About having a relationship with that professor,” she said, biting her lip. “I just wanted to make a point about Paul…that he was investigating us…it really wasn’t a big deal, and the professor was separated from his wife anyway.” She was agitated, and her sharp tone disturbed the serenity of the night.

  “I’m sure it happens all the time,” Madge said. “I don’t recommend it as a career move, though, Tanya.”

  “It wasn’t,” Tanya protested, “but you all probably think so because of me and Jamal.”

  “What about you and Jamal?” Madge said.

  “We’ve been dating, that’s all,” Tanya insisted. “Jamal wanted to keep it quiet. He said George wouldn’t approve, but I think it was more that Brad wouldn’t like it.” She bit her lip again. “Like either of them is my father.”

  Madge said, “It causes complications sometimes, especially if the relationship sours and warfare ensues.” Madge tipped her head up to look at Tanya. “Believe me, I’ve been around long enough to know.”

  “We’re not even in the same department,” Tanya complained. “We wouldn’t be voting for each other’s tenure or anything.” Tanya paused for Madge to catch up with them. “Jamal has been moody and distracted. He says he needs space.” She made quotation marks with her fingers. “That’s so male. Personally, I think it’s Brad. He hates me, and Jamal is his little puppy dog.”

  Claire wondered about her shifts between adulation and rebuke regarding Brad.

  “I don’t think either of those things is true,” Madge said, “but that proves my point.”

  The trio walked in silence until they approached the hotel. As the automatic hotel doors opened, Tanya exclaimed, “Oh, I almost forgot!” She pulled her companions away from the door as it closed behind them. “I have something to tell you.”

  Claire and Madge exchanged glances of disbelief. Tanya had more to reveal?

  Tanya herded her companions to the lobby lounge, where they huddled together on a brightly upholstered sofa. Tanya paused for dramatic effect, looking around the room. “I think that the great Brad and powerful Eduardo had a falling out.” Her eyes widened in excitement, her words a forced whisper.

  “What do you mean?” Madge asked.

  Tanya scanned the room again. “I overheard them in the Exhibit Room after Eduardo’s lecture.” She looked at the scowl on Madge’s face and the questioning look on Claire’s. “I was passing by and couldn’t help hearing. I…stood just outside the door.” She paused again, reconsidering her statement. “Actually, I could see them too,” she confessed. “They stood behind the display case looking away from the door.”

  She paused and looked at her colleagues, expecting further comment. Receiving none, she continued. “Eduardo opened the display case to put the statue inside. They turned toward me, so I stepped back and didn’t see anything else.”

  “They didn’t see you?” Claire asked, in a whisper.

  “I’m sure they didn’t.”

  “Well?” Madge prodded. “What did you hear?”

  “Eduardo said something to the effect that Brad should appreciate the gesture…and Brad said he, Eduardo, shouldn’t have done it. But he didn’t say it in a positive way, like it was too generous, but angry, like a growl.” Tanya paused again, pressing her lips together. “Eduardo swore, and then I heard a sound, like the case being closed and locked. I had the sense that Eduardo thought he had done Brad a favor, and Brad didn’t appreciate it. Eduardo sounded miffed…like it had been a big favor.”

  “Like loaning a small museum collection to an unappreciative recipient?” Madge said.

  “I don’t know,” Tanya said. “It sounded more personal.”

  The conversation halted when Madge’s eyes widened, and she tapped her mouth with her index finger. Tanya and Claire followed her gaze to see Brad and Jamal approaching from the front desk. Tanya blanched and fumbled with her purse.

  Claire wondered if the two men had overheard their conversation, but they seemed preoccupied with folded notes, reading them as they walked.

  “Did you get one of these?” Jamal asked the women, waving his paper in the air. “They’re notices from the Merida Police Department. They must have been hand-delivered.”

  “We just got here.” Tanya held her hand out to take the note, but Jamal handed it to Madge who read it aloud: ‘“Detective Roberto Salinas requests that you meet with him tomorrow, Tuesday morning at eight o’clock in the Exhibit Room.’ What does this mean?”

  “It must be about Paul,” Tanya said. “I knew it…there is more going on here.”

  Claire, who suspected it concerned the computer, suggested they all check their boxes. They followed Brad to the front desk phone. “I’ll call George,” he said.

  Claire stopped at the session board located near the desk, where an announcement had been posted next to the daily program schedule. It requested, in English and Spanish, that anyone with information about Paul’s death meet with the Merida police the following morning.

  Claire joined her colleagues at the desk. Madge and Tanya had received the same message as Jamal; Claire claimed the note from her box and saw similar folded notes sticking out from other mail cubicles, including George’s. When Madge asked Claire if she got the note, Claire said she had, but she lied. Her message asked her to call Detective Salinas at his personal cellphone number.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Claire called Detective Salinas from her room. She grabbed her handwoven shawl, a gift from her comadre, the mother of her goddaughter. She headed back out to the cool Merida evening. She knew El Caracol because it had been Aaron’s favorite bar, located away from the hotel and the central plaza, near the section of the city called San Francisco. It was owned by a gay Canadian couple and was popular with the American and Canadian ex-patriot community.

  Detective Salinas stood at the entrance, dressed informally in blue jeans, a light-weight jacket over a button-down shirt, and sandals. Claire could visualize a younger version of the face, now a bit thickened with age, but with the same dark eyes and expressive eyebrows.

  “Good evening, Detective.”

  He smiled, but his eyes were wary. “I’m glad you came. I thought you might stand me up…again.” Salinas led Claire up a narrow staircase leading to the second floor of the building. “And don’t call me ‘Detective’ unless you want me to call you ‘Professor.’”

  It had been four years since she had been here with Aaron, but she remembered the walls, multicolored in bright oranges and greens and vibrant Mexican murals. In a far corner, a small group of twenty-something locals watched a soccer match between the Yucatán Venados and the Hidalgo Cruz Azul on a large flat-screen television. A cheer arose, followed by a chorus of “Gooooal!” as the Venados scored. Beer bottles tapped together in congratulatory toasts.

  The owner, a young man in his mi
d-thirties, waved at the detective from the bar. “¡Hola, Berto! ¿Cómo está?” The bartender winked at him, a gesture that Claire did not miss. Detective Salinas was clearly a regular here.

  “Feliz, Todd,” the detective answered, to which the bartender winked again.

  The waiter led them to a small table away from the television, in a corner where bright orange and red paint met. Along one of these walls, an artist had painted a mural depicting a rural village with thatch homes under a bright Yucatecan sun, women in traditional dress, and children playing in the park. Claire had already imbibed a margarita at dinner and hesitated to order another drink, but the waiter encouraged her to try a white wine that Todd had brought from Canada. Claire agreed, and the detective ordered beer for himself and an appetizer platter.

  Claire clasped her necklace, then folded her hands in her lap, conscious of the wedding ring she still wore. “I was surprised to see you at the station, and under these circumstances. You have done well—a detective.”

  “You have done well also,” Roberto said, his eyes studying her with an intensity that made her look away. “An anthropologist, no less.” He tented his hands in front of his face. “But what I really want to know is why you left Mexico without telling me.”

  Claire’s hands went to her necklace again. “I am so sorry. You knew I was leaving.”

  “But I thought we had things to talk about…to say.” He paused as the waiter brought their drinks and retreated. “I thought there would be more. And you never wrote. I never had your address.”

  Claire sipped her wine, stalling. “I was wrong, and I am sorry.” She sipped again, holding the wine glass to control her hand shaking. “I didn’t really think that you were serious…that you meant it to be more than a fling with an American student…I thought you wouldn’t care.”