Exotic #02 - The Hieroglyphic Staircase

by Marjorie Thelen

  Dominic said to the officer, “Would you let the inspector know Dominic and Elena came by to see him? He can find us at the medical clinic. We have important information for him. Please tell him.”

  The officer nodded. “Sí, cómo no?”

  Elena hurried back to her room, brought up Skype, and dialed into her department at the university. An assistant answered.

  “Is Dr. Roulade in? This is Elena Palomares calling from Honduras.”

  “Hello, Elena. It’s Linda. Dr. Roulade is traveling. She’s gone with some of the other professors to the dig in Northern Peru. I’m not sure when she expects to be back. Where they are communication will be difficult, although she said she would try to check email when she can find an internet café.”

  Rats. She remembered Dr. Roulade mentioned such a trip was in the offing but she didn’t think it would be so soon.

  “Who’s taking her place? I need some guidance. We’ve got an unfortunate situation here. There’s been a murder at the archaeological site, and I’m caught in a bit of politics. The director of the project has told me to leave, but since I found the body, I’m part of the investigation. I don’t know what kind of a flap this is going to cause.”

  Linda said, “No one’s in charge with Dr. Roulade gone, and classes out for the summer. It sounds like you might want to get out of there. Take a break. You can always go back.”

  “True. No one thought anything like this would happen. I expected to spend a quiet summer studying hieroglyphics.” She hesitated. “There’s one problem. I’m a suspect.”

  “You? How absurd. Will they allow you to leave the country?”

  “I don’t know. Can you track down some legal advice for me? I don’t relish getting caught in a foreign legal system.”

  “You bet, Elena. I’ll see who’s around that can help. What’s the number where we can reach you?”

  Elena gave her the information and closed the connection.

  Now to find inspector Oliveros and have a serious talk with him.

  Seven

  “Estúpido!” said the thief called Emilio. “Why didn’t you kill the kid when you had the chance? Since you killed Jaime, you might as well have added the kid to the list. Estúpido!” He growled and slammed his dirty baseball cap onto the ground.

  “Look, boss, the good thing is Jaime is out of the picture. He didn’t come straight on all the loot he was filching and where he was hiding it, so we’re even in my book.”

  “We’re thieves, you idiot, not murderers. We smuggle antiquities. Easy to get loot, easy to sell to nice rich people in New York and Hong Kong and Paris. Now you’ve screwed it all up. Don’t you understand? This will make us pariahs.”

  “What’s a pariah?” asked Jorge, who stood arms crossed, glaring at his boss.

  “Estúpido! It means no one will do business with us now. Do you understand? We’re untouchables.”

  “Ay,” said Jorge. “It’s all the fault of that bitch they have working on the Staircase. If she hadn’t started noticing things, snooping around, if they hadn’t brought her in, we’d still be moving stuff out of there. We could have gotten lots more carved stones without anybody noticing.”

  Emilio paced back and forth in the sweltering heat of the shed. Sun blazed through cracks in the corrugated walls and roof.

  “Boss, why don’t you sit down? You’re making me nervous. It ain’t that bad. We just lay low for a little while till this blows over.”

  “Blows over?” He whirled on Jorge and shoved his fist into his chest. “This ain’t gonna blow over. You don’t seem to understand. There’s a dead body involved. A dead body that could be traced back to us.” He muttered more obscenities. “I don’t know why I put up with imbeciles like you.”

  “Stop using them big words I don’t understand. If I’m estúpido, then I’m estúpido. Call me something I understand.”

  “That’s the problem with you, Jorge. Your head is so thick it would bust a brick wall.” He held up his hands two feet apart to show how wide the wall would be.

  “Well, what do you want me to do? Go back and take care of the kid?”

  Emilio fished in his shirt pocket for a cigarette, didn’t bother to offer one to Jorge. He took his time lighting it, then blew the match out with a breath of smoke. “Yeah, do that. Get rid of the kid. Now you started, what you got to lose?”

  “No problem.”

  “And Jorge. After that, you disappear, ‘cause there ain’t no work for you here no more.”

  * * * * *

  The inspector had not shown up, so Dominic slipped over to the Catholic relief house to see how Gordo was doing. Miguel accompanied him but refused to go inside.

  “I will wait for you here.” He saw down on the cement step at the entrance.

  “But your friend is here. Don’t you want to see him?”

  “When he comes out,” he said and turned away.

  “You’ll wait here for me?” Dominic said to the back of his head.

  The boy nodded.

  “You won’t run off?”

  “No, señor.”

  Dominic hesitated. The question was one of trust. Could Miguel trust him, could he trust Miguel? Well, it had to start somewhere. He shook his head and went inside.

  The cool interior of terrazzo floors and painted cinder block walls was stark and smelled of pine antiseptic. Dominic found Sister Rita in her office at the end of a hall lined with classrooms.

  “Buenas días, Sister Rita. How are you and how did Gordo pass the night?”

  Sister Rita wearily looked up from the stack of paperwork before her. Paper covered every inch of her small desk. Permanent dark circles made her eyes look sunken.

  “I am sorry, he is not here.” She sighed and shook her head in apology. “He slipped out during the night. You know, señor, we do not have bars on the doors and windows here. They don’t stay, young ones like him. They are wild as the wind.”

  Dominic thought of Miguel sitting outside.

  “I understand,” he said. “At least, we were able to get some medicine and food into him and provide a place to spend the night.”

  “Yes, we must thank our merciful Lord and Savior for what we can do. The boy ate well at dinner and seemed better when I put him on his pallet. He fell asleep immediately. I didn’t have time to check on him again. We have several children sicker than he was, and I was up most of the night attending to their needs.”

  “Thank you for taking him in. I’ll see if he’s back under the bridge.”

  “Que vayan con Dios,” she said.

  Dominic strode toward the entrance along the glass enclosed corridor, craning his neck as he hurried along, to see if he could see Miguel on the steps outside.

  He stopped at the entrance door.

  Miguel was gone.

  * * * * *

  Elena found Dominic on the steps of the relief house.

  “Miguel disappeared,” he said without preamble. “Help me check the area in this block. Maybe he’s talking to some kids or something. Circle the block that way. I’ll meet you back here.”

  Their search turned up no newly transformed Miguel. The street vendors had seen no freshly washed boy of Miguel’s description.

  “He just disappeared,” Elena said back in front of the relief house. “I can’t believe it. Do you have the same sinking feeling I have?”

  His unsmiling face told her he did. “I was hoping we’d be able to protect him from whoever is looking for him. He might be able to identify the man he saw.” He shook his head. “We were so close. I never should have left him here in front of the door by himself when I went in to check on Gordo.”

  “Don’t be hard on yourself,” she said. “Something probably spooked him, and he went into hiding. He’s awfully jittery and deathly afraid of that man.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “How’s Gordo doing?”

  “He’s gone, too.”

  “What’s with these kids?”

  “Bad e
xperience, no home, no parents, no love. Should I go on?”

  Elena shook her head. “Heaven help them. We certainly haven’t been able to.”

  “I’ll check the clinic on the outside chance he went back there. Then I’ll drive out to the bridge. Not that I think they’ll be there, but I need to at least go through the motions.”

  “I’ll go with you. My frustration factor is around one hundred percent right now. My boss is in Peru, incommunicado, and I need to talk to her. Did Oliveros show?”

  “No.”

  “We’re getting nowhere fast.”

  Inside the clinic they found Corazón at the end of a short line of people. Dominic swept the clinic with his gaze, searching.

  “Hola, Corazón,” he said. “Has Miguel or Gordo come back?”

  She shook her head over the shoulder of a woman she was giving an injection.

  “Can you spare me for a few more minutes?” he asked. “I want to try to find Miguel. He’s disappeared. Gordo, too.”

  “No hay problema. I can handle this.”

  Elena followed Dominic to the Jeep and hopped in. He gunned the motor as a warning to people walking across the street. The people hurried aside, and Dominic pulled into the line of traffic. They traveled slower than usual, both stretching their necks, searching for any sign of Miguel or Gordo.

  “He’s probably going to lay low,” said Elena, “since he doesn’t want to be caught. A kid like him has to have a thousand hiding places.”

  Outside of town a car whizzed around them, honking, the driver brandishing his fist at their slow pace. The landscape was full of low, densely packed shrubs, bright green. The vegetation was so abundant and overgrown that a child or adult could be hiding easily within its confines.

  Dominic slowed the Jeep as they came to the bridge. He stopped and switched off the motor. “Be right back.”

  He checked under the bridge and turned back. That told Elena all she needed to know. The kids weren’t there. She hoped to heaven some angel was protecting them from whatever menace was out there, because they surely were not.

  Dominic got back in the Jeep and blew out a breath. “I’m at a loss. You have any ideas?”

  She shoved her sunglasses up on her head and didn’t immediately respond but stared straight ahead. The rays of the sun beat hot on her scalp. She patted away beads of perspiration from her upper lip.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I have the uncomfortable feeling of not being in control.” She waved her hand over the lush landscape surrounding them. “Miguel and Gordo could be anywhere. Anywhere. I hope this same vegetation that could be hiding them from us protects them from whoever is looking for them.”

  Dominic didn’t respond. She turned to look at him. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses, and his eyes were almost closed against the glare of the sun. His light brown hair fell across his forehead. It was darker by his temples, wet from perspiring. His gaze shifted to the field of wild green vegetation beyond her.

  “Do you want to see Oliveros?” he asked.

  “Later. Without Miguel, the punch goes out of my confrontation. Since we’re this far, could you drop me at Archaeological Park? I want to poke around again. Maybe I’ll find something else. I won’t stay long, just look around. Then I’ll take the religious medallion to the inspector, and we’ll have our chat. Maybe the boys will appear before then. I can be ever hopeful.”

  “I’ll give you a ride, but I worry about your safety. I’d like to go with you, but I should get back to help at the clinic.”

  “I’ll be fine at the Park. There are guards all over the place.”

  Dominic dropped Elena outside the main gate to the Park.

  “Thanks, Dominic. I appreciate the lift. I’m sorry we didn’t find the boys. I’ll keep an eye open for them.”

  “Do you want me to come back for you later?”

  “Not necessary. I’ll get a scooter taxi back.”

  She waved as he drove away, watching till the vehicle was out of sight. He was a good man, Dominic was.

  She turned toward the Museum. She intended to call on the director and tell him that she was still here and available, if he needed help. It would probably fall on deaf ears, but at least she could offer. He was acting funny, and maybe a conversation with him would shine some light on the reason for his strange behavior. He had some secrets of his own.

  As she walked the path to the Museum, she worried about her career. She had come out on the losing end before when a sneaky colleague had accused her of plagiarism, then had used her work in his book without giving her credit. What a scandal that had caused in her department before it was all straightened out. She wondered if the inspector and the director were in cahoots since they both seem to have it in for her. What if she were framed again? The thought made her insides twist into a tangle of jungle vines.

  She hadn’t planned anything else for the summer. The Hieroglyphic Staircase project was to last until the middle of August. If the project was incomplete, she wouldn’t have anything definitive on which to write an article that would enhance her credibility in her field. Solving the mystery of the correct order of the hieroglyphs in the Staircase would be a real career boost. The solution was to persuade the director to let her keep on working.

  Armando was sweeping the path, and she stopped to say hello.

  “Cómo va, Armando?” she said. She found his bashful smile and humble manner of speaking endearing.

  He pulled off his hat. “Hola, doctora. I am well. How are you today?”

  “As well as can be expected. And your wife and children?”

  His face drooped along with the bushy mustache he sported. “Ay, the little ones, they are sick. La señora she is not feeling well either.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” She made a mental note to prepare a basket of food for them. She knew where they lived in the San Pedrito barrio in a tiny tin structure more like a shed than a real house.

  “I’ll visit your family this evening and bring them some food. Do you need medicine for the children?”

  Armando smiled. “They like when you visit. My wife goes to the clinic today to get some medicines. We will look forward to your visit. Gracias, doctora.”

  She continued on, crossing the shaded section of the walk where tall trees formed arches and cast dappled sunlight on the path. She trudged into the cool interior of the Museum, whose doors stood wide open even though there were no visitors.

  The floor guard named Edmundo winked at her as she walked to the back corner where the director’s office was located. Why did she feel like she was approaching the guillotine every time she came to see him? She pressed on her solar plexus to calm the butterflies that had taken wing there. The man tried to intimidate her and that made her hackles rise. Why did he have to be so difficult? Or was she the one being difficult?

  She almost turned around and left. Why go through this? But a little do-gooder voice inside said, well, maybe she could help. And she needed to finish the project to keep her career on track. She kept going.

  The outer office was abandoned. No secretary in residence. Maybe she had quit. She hadn’t seen the girl in more than a week. She could understand why she had, if the director treated her like he did Elena.

  The door stood slightly ajar. Elena pushed on it with her fingertips. She peeked around the door. No one in. She pushed the door open further. There was a small lavatory off the office. The door was closed. Maybe he was taking a bathroom break. She retreated to the secretary’s desk in the outer office and sat down to wait.

  But she couldn’t shake a feeling that something wasn’t right. Everything was too quiet.

  After a few minutes, not hearing any stirrings from the director, she walked back into his office and gazed about. Everything seemed in order. Nothing amiss. No books on his desk but that was not out of the ordinary. All the books on the shelves behind were neatly lined up. No magazines, no papers lying about.

  But something was wrong.

>   Should she knock on the narrow lavatory door? Maybe he was having a seizure, or an attack of some kind. He hadn’t looked well the last time she saw him. Maybe if she knocked to ask if he were okay. She stepped to the door and was just about to raise her hand when her foot slipped.

  She glanced down, expecting to see water. Instead she saw a smattering of red on her boots. She patted her vest for a tissue and stooped to clean the tip of her boot. The stain wiped off in a bright red streak. Her knees weakened like someone had hit them from behind with a baseball bat.

  “Oh dear God,” she said. “Not the director.”

  She rapped on the door. “Director. Director. Are you okay?”

  No sound. Nothing.

  She rapped again, harder. “Director, are you sick? Are you okay?”

  Maybe she should call the guard. But what if the director were okay? He would be furious with her. What if he were just having a long session in the lavatory, and she interrupted him? That would be embarrassing.

  But what about the red stain?

  She backed away and hurried out the door, leaving little red smudges on the floor in her wake.

  “Hello, hello,” she called into the vast space of the Museum. “Is anyone there?”

  The guard, Edmundo, popped his head around a stela and waved.

  “Please could you help? I think something may have happened to the director.”

  He hurried toward her. “Sí, doctora.” He delighted in teasing her, and his laughing eyes said he thought she was playing with him.

  “Please,” she said, “can you check the lavatory to see if maybe the director is sick? I think there is blood under the door.” She pointed to her foot.

  Edmundo glanced at her foot. The smiled disappeared from his face. He strode into the office, his hand on the holstered gun at his side. Elena followed but kept her distance.

  Edmundo pounded on the door. “Director? Are you all right?”

  When no one answered he eased open the door an inch, but it would not budge more. He pushed harder. The door didn’t move. He placed an eye to the narrow opening, trying to see what was stopping the door. He sniffed the air and jerked back.