by Jerold Last
“When and where were the first three of the killings you’ve found on record?” she asked.
“About three years ago, in Arequipa, Peru.”
“And when and where were the middle three murders?”
“About two years ago, in Santa Cruz, Bolivia.”
“And the most recent ones?”
“Last year in Santiago, Chile.”
“Did the small biochemistry society meet during the previous year or two, that is four and five years ago?”
“Yes, it did. Five years ago it met in La Paz, Bolivia and the following year it met in Antofagasta, Chile.”
“Can I assume you looked long and hard for killings that match in those two places at the right times?”
“Yes we did, and there weren’t any.”
“So, we can make a few guesses. The first theory is that something happened three years ago to trigger the killings, and they started then. The second possibility is that something happened four years ago to trigger the killings, but the murderer didn’t want to poop where he eats, which would make anybody from northern Chile our top suspects. The third possibility is that the killer is young enough that he only got his first opportunity to join the biochemistry group three or four years ago. In that case, we should be concentrating on the younger generation of scientists at the meeting. We can actually use this approach to triage our possible suspects when we get to Lima.”
“Very good, Suzanne. Your logical mind has just given us a very reasonable game plan for when we get there.”
"OK, we're in. There aren't any classes I'm teaching this quarter so I should be able to get away for a week at an international scientific meeting pretty easily. It would help with my cover story if you got me that invitation from Paraguay to South America as a speaker, even if it's only to give a poster presentation on our work at the meeting. That would give me exposure to all of the meeting attendees and legitimatize Roger being there on a free vacation since they would assume my research grant was paying for our travel. I assume this invitation is on our dime, right Eduardo?"
"Sadly, yes, Senora Bowman," he answered with mock formality.
"Fortunately, that's not a problem, as you already know", she replied. "With our two salaries and my inheritance from my father, we can certainly afford to take the occasional vacation, and we both want to see more of South America than we've seen so far. Two of the three countries involved, Peru and Chile, are at the top of our wish list to visit next."
"Have you thought about how the logistics will work so we can stay in contact?" I asked Eduardo.
"You'll just join the group at the meeting by invitation,” he replied, “and I'll be Suzanne's distant cousin from Paraguay taking a vacation to join you guys and spend some time with her. Nobody you are investigating could possibly know who I am unless they're from Asuncion, so we can meet openly and spend some time together. In the extremely improbable event that I'm recognized by someone, I'm still Suzanne's distant cousin."
The rest of dinner was spent making small talk. I asked Eduardo where he was staying.
"I don't know yet. My flight landed about an hour before I got here. I just had enough time to take a taxi from the airport to the restaurant. My suitcase is stored behind the front desk here."
"Nuestra casa es su casa," I replied. "And to be absolutely correct about it, Suzanne's house, now our house, is where you'll be staying tonight. Don't worry, there's plenty of space."
We drove home to Beverly Hills together.
In a masterpiece of understatement, Eduardo said "Nice house, Suzanne. Are they paying professors more than they used to or is this the inheritance you mentioned?"
"It's part of the inheritance. My father was very well off before he was murdered and I'm his only heir. His killing was how I met Roger and what brought us to South America the first time. Roger and I went to Salta, Argentina to find out why he was killed and who killed him. That's the case that Roger likes to call The Empanada Affair."
"Were the killers ever caught or identified?"
"Publicly, no. Privately, I think we were able to figure it all out. But that's all ancient history by now. What would you like to drink?"
Over brandy we discussed the case a little more.
"What do you think, Eduardo? Is one guy doing all of the killing or does he have help?"
"We think it's the work of one person, Roger. All of the details on the M.O. match. But we can't rule out multiple killers working together yet, or even a very good copycat killer. You know how much South American newspapers and TV love to show pictures of killings and give as much detail as possible about the gory aspects of any murder."
"Have the police been able to hold back any details that only the actual murderer would know?"
"Two that I'm aware of. The first is the “no mas” signature. That’s probably enough to screen out any false confessions. And the second is that there's forensic evidence from several of the bodies that weren't too badly burned that he used some kind of fast-acting paralytic drug on his victims. We haven't been able to identify the drug yet, but it's probably a plant extract of some sort."
"Have you any suspects among the people we'll be meeting?"
"No, not specifically. But my gut feeling is that he's killed before this set of murders, and killed before more than once. Either that or he was taught his M.O. by a professional. He's too good at it to be an amateur. But we haven't found anything with the same M.O. in the older files in any of the three countries where this round of killings occurred, and there's nothing in the Interpol or FBI files on killings with this M.O. We're probably looking for someone who did some torture and killing during the military dictatorship in his country thirty years ago, or someone who trained the guys who did the killing and torture. And most of the trainers were your countrymen from the CIA. That could rule out the Bolivians, but it keeps both Chile and Peru as possibilities.”
On that cheerful note we decided it was time for bed and said our goodnights.
Once we got to bed I admired for the thousandth time the tiny miracle that was forming inside Suzanne. I stuck a hand on her tummy but it was far too early to feel anything. I kissed her and we stretched out to go to sleep.
"Suzanne, in recognition of our once again being international detectives, tonight's pun is in honor of Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective ever to detect."
Sherlock was, as always, trying to catch the evil Professor Moriarty. Holmes carried a basket of lemons, which he threw at Professor Moriarty's door until the door opened.
Watson asked, "Holmes, what did you just do?"
Sherlock answered, "Lemon entry, my dear Watson, lemon entry."
Chapter 3. Should I or Shouldn't I?
Another year, which meant another meeting for him to go to. This year they would meet in Lima. Pretty close to home. Should he or shouldn't he spice up the meeting with a little extracurricular activity?
"Could he just play it by ear?" he wondered. That would mean getting everything he needed in Lima rather than risking flying to the meeting with the stuff he needed. Or should he plan on not doing anything other than attending the meeting, learning some science, and playing it safe?
He had been taught to plan ahead, to have alternative plans in case things went wrong, and above all not to take unnecessary risks. Could he just play it by ear this time?
What would he need to get in Lima for another killing that could leave a trail back to him? He could buy a machete and whatever else he needed for cash anonymously. The only real risk would be renting a car. If he rented the car for cash and used a fake ID he'd be reasonably safe from leaving a trail back to him. So he could improvise once he got to Lima if he just took enough cash and a set of false ID, preferably Peruvian ID including a Peruvian driver's license.
What else would he need? First, a few cc syringe and a needle. No problem, those could be purchased new over the counter at any drug store in Lima or bought used on the street. The drug he would need could travel a
s an innocuous looking powder in a small bottle of aspirin he carried. The disposable coveralls, face shield, machete, and gasoline or kerosene could be bought for cash after he had the car to store them in. Was there anything else? It didn't matter; he could improvise if he had to.
He thought about it all day. Final conclusions: the risk was acceptable if he could stay under the radar at the meeting and come and go unnoticed, if he planned ahead and brought extra cash and false ID, and if the only people at the meeting were the usual attendees plus anyone else who actually belonged there. Nobody who might be an undercover cop should be there or else Plan B, no killings, should take over.
"Yes," he thought, "I can improvise once I get to Lima."
Chapter 4. Lima, Sunday
For a welcome change we flew to the west coast of South America on the Pacific Ocean rather than to the Atlantic coast far to the east. That meant a direct flight to Lima, Peru from LAX and a much shorter trip. We had reserved electronic tickets for American Airlines Flight #7734, code shared with LAN Peru Airlines, departing from Los Angeles at 12:50 PM local time, arriving in Lima at 11:25 PM. Given the time difference of two hours, that made it a total flying time of 8 hours and 35 minutes. Not bad by comparison to our previous trips to Salta and Montevideo that took almost three times that long when we included the time spent during layovers between flights. Suzanne's almost daily episodes of morning sickness were finally over and we both looked forward to this trip.
The lines for passport inspection in the Lima airport were marked "Peruvian Citizens Only", “Mercosur”, and “other”. Most of the passengers went to the Mercosur line (Uruguay, Argentina, Chile, Paraguay, Brazil---the equivalent of a South American Common Market) or to "Peruvian Citizens Only", while we went to the "Other" line. Our carry-on baggage still had to be cleared by customs after our passports were checked, but we were at the head of the short line passing through passport control, with no hassles and courteous Peruvian federal agents in the booths. The rest of the "Other" passengers stood around waiting for their baggage to be unloaded from the flight, while we were cleared to enter Peru.
We walked a short distance from the passport inspection booth and got to play South American “airport roulette” at the customs inspection area. I pushed a button that randomly lit a red or green light bulb. A red light would earn us a luggage search. The roulette gods granted us a green light that pointed us to a line that said “nothing to declare”. We passed through customs with our baggage untouched and changed a few hundred dollars into Peruvian sols at an exchange rate of almost three to the dollar. A taxi in front of the terminal, only a few minutes walk from where we cleared customs, was waiting for passengers from our flight. I tried the name of our hotel in Spanish. The driver replied with the address in excellent, if heavily accented, English, and off we went to the south and east on brightly lit crowded avenues through industrial and residential neighborhoods clogged with traffic even at midnight.
Our hotel was in the affluent Miraflores neighborhood on the Pacific coast. Check-in was quick and efficient and we were in our large room with queen-sized bed by 1 AM local time. Today, Sunday, when we woke up later would be a relaxing day for tourism and body time adjustment. Suzanne's meeting was scheduled to begin on Monday.
Eduardo had taken advantage of the local police resources and had coordinated with the conference hotel to "borrow" the passports of all of the guests who were attending the meetings. The police had sent us the names and photos of half a dozen biochemists from Chile and Bolivia who would attend the Lima meeting and stay at our hotel. We scanned the breakfast crowd and spotted two of the Bolivians, fortuitously sitting together. Suzanne and I agreed that this would be an excellent opportunity to try to eliminate two of the least likely candidates from our list of suspects.
After introducing ourselves, we joined them for breakfast. Professors Rogelio Vasquez from Cochabamba, a good looking man of medium height who was about our age, had short dark hair, wore glasses, and was courteous to the point of courtly with Suzanne. His cousin Eugenio Vasquez from Santa Cruz, who looked quite a bit like Rogelio except his dark hair was longer, he was heavier, and he didn’t wear glasses, was about the same age as Rogelio. Eugenio made small talk with us while deciding that Suzanne shared several scientific interests with them. Both were quite charming and seemed worth getting to know better. Both spoke good English albeit in Rogelio's case very formal English with a strong Spanish accent. They eventually accepted our invitation to join us for an afternoon of visiting local museums and getting a better sense of the city of Lima.
We actually got started on tourism after lunch. The Vasquez cousins, Suzanne, and I took a taxi to the Gold Museum of Peru. As the cab passed through Miraflores and the edge of the central city on the way to our destination, Suzanne and I found ourselves comparing Lima with the other South American cities we had visited previously. It was different, as were all the various Latin American capital cities from each other.
"There's no way to mistake Lima for Montevideo, Uruguay," observed Suzanne. "The buildings in the affluent sections are a lot newer and a lot nicer. There seems to be a lot more money here. The streets are cleaner and the city seems to be a lot more modern. There are a lot of large apartment buildings and a lot of hotels. All of the apartment buildings down here are built with concrete in the European style rather than wood, so they don't look like California at all. I guess that's because it makes them fireproof and insect proof, and construction-grade lumber is scarce and expensive here. Wooden construction in this climate would become instant termite food so American style construction is totally impractical."
"I wouldn't mistake Lima for Buenos Aires either," I added. "None of the super-wide streets and avenues, much less ostentation in the design and image of the buildings, and less obvious wealth. The people on the street look different, much more typically Andean South American with native blood and much less European. Everywhere I look there are crowds, shops, and people doing things. Lima has wide avenues and lots of traffic too, but driving around the downtown area doesn't seem as insane as it does in Buenos Aires. Offhand, first impression, I like it better here. It makes me believe that finally I really am in exotic South America. And Lima's totally different from Salta in Argentina. I feel like I'm in the 21st Century here in Lima. The Peruvian economy is booming. Salta was built as a Spanish Colonial city almost 600 years ago. You can still see that architecturally, especially in the central Plaza, and feel that in the slow pace of life in general.
"And, of course, we're right on the Pacific Ocean here so there are beaches and ships to look at and fresh caught seafood to eat."
The cab finally dropped us off at the museum. We paired off quite naturally to view the collection, Suzanne and Rogelio speaking Spanish and Eugenio, who had studied a few years in Australia, and I speaking English. As I subsequently found out, there was a substantial minority of the scientists at the meeting who were completely bilingual that I could hang out with since my Spanish skills are pretty rudimentary, and Eugenio would help me gain entry to this group. Suzanne, who is fluent in Spanish, would be interacting with the rest of the meeting attendees who were essentially monolingual in Spanish. During the afternoon I came to appreciate Eugenio's company, and especially his dry sense of humor and infinite supply of Foster's Beer jokes. His time in Australia had obviously been well spent.
Rogelio was a goldmine of information about the Incas. His hometown, Cochabamba, is on Lake Titicaca high in the Andes and close to the heart of the sacred centers of the Incas. He was the perfect tour guide in this museum, entertaining us with Inca stories and anecdotes that brought the many exhibits to life. My Spanish was adequate to follow what he was saying when he spoke slowly, and he was courteous enough to take pains to do so.
"What do you know about the Incas?" he asked us.
"If you start by assuming absolutely nothing, I won't be offended," Suzanne replied for both of us.
"The Incan Empire, which incredibly lasted f
or only about 100 years despite its profound influence on all of Andean South America, has roots that stretch back to about 1200 A.D. when the Inca tribe moved into the region of Cuzco. The major expansion into an Empire that stretched from modern-day Chile to Colombia is usually dated to the 1430s. The small Spanish army unit under the Conquistador Francisco Pizarro was fortunate to arrive in the middle of a civil war between forces loyal to either of the two sons of the Incan ruler, Huayna Capac, who had just died. Armies commanded by his two sons Atahualpa and Huascar fought for control of the Empire. Atahualpa won the civil war, but he won what was left of an empire weakened by the war that was easy pickings for Pizarro and his Conquistadors, who had horses and guns. Pizarro ambushed and captured Atahualpa, held him for ransom, and executed him in 1532. The end of the now leaderless Incan Empire came in 1533, with the capture of Cuzco by forces under Pizarro. Remnants of the Incas continued to resist the Spanish invasion until 1572, but the Empire fell with the fall of Cuzco."
"It seems incredible to me that a few Spanish Conquistadores, even if they had guns and horses, could defeat such a huge and well organized Incan Empire half way around the world from Spain," observed Suzanne. "How on earth did they pull that trick off?"
