Exotic #02 - The Hieroglyphic Staircase (18 page)

“We’ll take care of you,” Dominic said, gently. “You’ll have food, and you won’t go to jail. I promise. But you have to promise to stay and not go running off. We can’t protect you if you are running wild. Is it a deal?”

Miguel looked down into his coffee cup. He started to cry, big tears streaking tracks through the dust on his cheeks. He nodded.

Elena scooted next to him and took him into her arms. “You’ll be all right. You’ve had a bad time of it, but things are going to be better.”

“I’m scared,” he said and started hiccoughing.

She rocked him in her arms until his hiccoughs quieted. “Hey, how about Dominic helping you clean up? Then I think you should lie down and get some sleep. I imagine being on the run was pretty tiring for you. Tomorrow will look a lot better after you’ve gotten some rest.”

Dominic rose and picked up the boy. “There’s an extra bed in my room. You can sleep there. Elena, can you see to making up the bed? Sheets are in the linen closet. I’ll take him to the bathroom and see what we can do.”

As she made the bed, Elena remembered they were to have dinner with her mother. And
doña
Carolita would be worried.

She dialed
doña
Carolita’s number on the phone in the kitchen.

“
Doctora
, are you safe?” said
doña
Carolita, who had picked up on the first ring. “You mother is here, and we were about to call the police.”

“We’re fine. I’m with Dominic at his house. We have Miguel with us, and we’re taking care of him.”

“Elena?” Her mother had grabbed the phone. “Are you all right? Where are you? We were really starting to worry. Honestly, the lack of information here is nerve wracking, and nothing seems to be happening except what the news people dream up. The inspector came by here, asking questions.”

“Wait, one question at a time. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I was tied up all afternoon with the inspector, then Miguel showed up, and we’re trying to calm him down. I’m sorry about dinner. Why don’t you go back to the hotel? I’ll call you in the morning. Have you heard anything on the news about a hurricane?”

“Yes. A category three hurricane is churning out in the Caribbean Sea, and it’s projected to hit Honduras on its present track, but the forecasters aren’t sure where it will make landfall. There’s talk of closing the airport at San Pedro Sula soon.”

“Geez-oh-man,” said Elena. “Let’s hope it goes somewhere else. Honduras doesn’t need another Hurricane Mitch.”

After she hung up, Elena decided she couldn’t worry about a hurricane right now. She had to worry about a frightened little boy.

Dominic had Miguel tucked into the extra bed when she returned. The room was sparsely decorated -- twin beds with orange floral bedspreads, bedside table with wrought iron lamp, tall chest of drawers. Above the chest of drawers on the wall was a simple wooden cross, the only sign of Dominic’s past life as a man of faith.

“Is the window locked?” asked Miguel. He pulled the sheet and bedspread up so they almost covered his head, even though the evening was close.

“It has bars,” Dominic said, gesturing to the high windows above the beds. “You’ll be fine. We’ll wait until you fall asleep.”

Elena sat with Dominic on the other bed, and he turned out the light.

“No,” said Miguel. “Please, can we have the light on?”

“Sure,” said Dominic. He turned the low watt lamp back on.

“
Gracias
,” said Miguel. He closed his eyes.

Dominic and Elena sat, side by side, watching the boy.

After a while she said in a whisper, “His breathing sounds pretty even”. But she was reluctant to move. She liked the feel of Dominic beside her, the stillness of the night, the soft breathy sounds of a child falling asleep.

“I hope I can keep him from running off.”

“Poor kid. He can’t keep on living like he is. Can you keep him here, let him live with you for a while till all this gets settled?”

“I was thinking along those lines. Gordo, too, if we can find him.”

“I’ll help you.” She paused and thought about all that had happened. “I feel like I’ve lived a thousand years since I arrived.”

“Maybe you have.”

They tiptoed from the room. In the living room he turned to face her. “Thanks for your help.”

“It is the least I could do,” she said with a smile. “I’m as concerned about the boys as you are.” Her smile widened. “Besides, we’re a team. Now I’d better go. I’ll walk by the hotel on the way home and check in with my mother. I talked to her while you were helping Miguel. She and
doña
Carolita were frantic.”

“Take the Jeep. I’d drive you, but I don’t want to leave Miguel here by himself.”

“I’ll be fine walking. By the way, my mother said a category three hurricane is headed this way.”

“Like we need more excitement. This used to be a quiet, sleepy town.”

“Not anymore.”

Fourteen

Over coffee the next morning Elena and
doña
Carolita sat in the living room and watched the news on TV. The lead story was the impending hurricane, and the trajectory looked bad for Copan Ruinas. Although the town was three hours inland, they might be in for some rough weather -- high winds and a lot of rain. Flooding might do the most damage.

The second big story was the unexplained deaths in Copan that the news reported as murders. Then, horror of horrors, Elena’s picture was on screen from the day the reporters had accosted her outside
doña
Carolita’s house. They portrayed her as some sort of femme fatale. Did she do it or didn’t she? Speculation was running rampant.

Elena went to the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee. Her hand trembled as she poured. She stopped and set the cup down. Get a grip, Elena Palomares. Get a grip. Of course, there’d be speculation. She should get a lawyer. The thought reminded her to check email to see if there was any help forthcoming from the university.

A list of unread emails awaited her. One from Dr. Roulade she opened first. She was still in Peru, was having trouble making travel connections and with the hurricane wasn’t sure when she could get there.

No immediate help from that quarter.

The next email was from the department assistant. She reported that a university lawyer would be contacting Elena. His name was Jeff Stuart. His email was farther down the list. He said he had contacted the embassy, and they would investigate and get back to him. He thought it best to stay and cooperate with the authorities to bring the case to resolution. He’d let her know what he heard from the embassy folks.

At least legal help was forthcoming. Elena felt a bit better. But her improved mood changed a few minutes later when inspector Connie Lascano arrived in her skirt and blouse uniform. She declined to sit and have coffee, and Elena stayed standing. She didn’t like the frown on Connie’s unlined face.

“I’m sorry,
doctora
Palomares, I’m afraid I bring disturbing news. A small boy has been found face down in the river.”

A boy. It wasn’t Miguel. He was with Dominic. Then who? Not Gordo, surely.

“Do you … do you know who it is? A name?”

“We don’t have positive identification yet. I understand you and Dominic Harte have been seen with a small boy. One of the homeless boys from town, I believe?”

“We found Miguel, the one who saw the murder, at the Museum last evening. Dominic is caring for him. His life is in danger. Inspector, I don’t think Miguel should know because he’s scared. If it was one of his friends, it might not be good for him to know. But he has agreed to talk to you.”

“I must speak with him immediately,” said Consuela Lascano. “
Doctora,
I must ask you, do you have an alibi for last evening?”

She didn’t like the ramification of the question. “Yes, I was with Dominic and Miguel all evening.”

“Good,” Connie said. “I need to get back to the police station. Will you bring Miguel
pronto
? It may be that someone murdered the child we found and thought it was Miguel. This is terrible business.”

Connie paused at the door. “Elena, do not go to the Archaeological Park today. The Museum is closed, pending the outcome of our investigation. We do not want anyone wandering alone at the Park, especially not you. It is not safe. Not with the murderer still on the loose.”

“Then I’m not a suspect?”

Connie shook her head. “No. But you could be the next victim. I think whoever perpetrated these crimes is trying to silence anyone connected. Hurry. Come to the station as soon as you round up Dominic and the boy.”

Elena moved into action. She had dressed for a day of work at the Hieroglyphic Staircase and didn’t bother to change. She grabbed her back pack, told
doña
Carolita where she was going and headed for the clinic. It was after seven, and Dominic and Miguel would be there by now.

From a distance she could see the usual crowd standing outside the clinic, but they were milling about, more agitated than usual. Fear gripped Elena’s heart with icy fingers. They couldn’t have heard about the child found in the river. Miguel could not know about this or he might disappear again. She broke into a run.

The Jeep was not parked before the clinic. She sprinted down the side street that led to Dominic’s house, hoping that he hadn’t left, that she would be able to head them off and not let Miguel learn what had happened. She ran the few blocks to Dominic’s house. The Jeep wasn’t parked on the street in front of the house.

She slowed to a walk and took time in the last half block to catch her breath and compose herself. She didn’t want Miguel to see her winded and scared. She had to appear calm and reassuring. In front of the gate she stopped. The Jeep was parked in the driveway. The front door to the house stood wide open.

That was odd.

She pushed through the gate and walked into the house. “Dominic?” she called in a loud voice. “Miguel? Are you here?”

Dominic walked out of the kitchen. “Hi, I was cleaning up, and Leyla just arrived. Is the door open? She must have thought we were ready to leave. Sorry, we’re a little behind today. I hadn’t bargained with getting both of us out of the house in the same time it took me.”

His smiled faded when he saw her face.

“Where’s Miguel?” she asked.

“In the bathroom. What’s wrong?”

She pulled him through the open door to the patio outside and whispered. “A child has been found face down in the river. The new inspector wants Miguel brought to the police station for questioning immediately. I don’t want Miguel to know what happened. It will frighten him.”

Dominic’s eyes searched hers. “They don’t know who the child is?”

Elena shook her head.

“Miguel might be able to identify him.”

“Maybe later. Not now.” She paused. “Connie asked if I had an alibi for last evening. She said I’m not to go to the Staircase or the Museum because I might be the next target.”

“Let’s get going. I’ll get Miguel, and we’ll all go together to the police station.”

“I hope he hasn’t run off. The door was wide open when I arrived.”

She followed Dominic as he hurried down the corridor to the bathroom. Dominic knocked on the door. “Miguel, are you ready? It’s time to go.”

They heard the water running. “I told him to brush his teeth.”

He knocked again. “Miguel?”

The water stopped running. Miguel opened the door, face wet. He smoothed a towel over his mouth.

“I’m ready. Look at my teeth, see how clean they are.” He barred his teeth. For a street child he had good, straight teeth with a slight part in the middle.

“They’re very clean, Miguel. Good job,” said Dominic. His shoulders had relaxed when the boy opened the door. “Look who’s come to see us this morning.”

“
Buenas días, doctora
,” said Miguel.

“I hope you slept well,” said Elena. She felt like crying, she was so glad he hadn’t run off.

“
Sí, doctora
.”

“He did sleep well,” said Dominic. “I had trouble waking him this morning. That’s why we’re running late.” He took Miguel’s hand. “Come, we’ll go in the Jeep. Elena has arranged for us to see the new inspector at the police station.”

Miguel halted. He looked from one to the other. “Must I go?”

They nodded their heads in unison.

Elena said, “The inspector’s most anxious to meet you. She’s very nice. You’ll see.”

* * * * *

Connie Lascano was waiting. She placed a chair beside hers and patted it, indicating to Miguel where he was to sit. She motioned Dominic and Elena to two chairs in front of the scarred wood desk that served as her office.

“Would you like some juice or a soft drink, Miguel?” Connie asked with a soft smile.

“Juice,
por favor
.”

The aide at the next desk over, a slim young man, smiled and rose to get the refreshment.

“Now, Miguel,” Connie said, “tell me how old you are.”

Miguel wrinkled up his nose and shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know. Can you guess?”

“Maybe I have this many years.” He held up six, then seven fingers.

“I see,” said Connie. “Where do you live?”

“Here in Copan Ruinas.”

“Do you have a house?”

“Not exactly. I sleep under the bridge or out in the forest.”

“I see.” The juice in a box arrived, and Connie handed the small container to Miguel who pulled on the straw like he hadn’t had anything to drink in days.

“Elena tells me you were in the Archaeological Park the day that unfortunate man was found.”

“
Sí, señorita
.” He played with the straw and looked big eyed from Elena to Dominic.

Connie picked up on his fear. “We do not think you killed this man. We know it would be difficult for a six year old boy to hit a man with such force that it killed him, especially on the back of the head.”

“Maybe I am eight years old.”

“Okay,” said Connie, “you are eight years old.”

“I didn’t kill that man.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“But I saw who did.”