Exotic #02 - The Hieroglyphic Staircase (6 page)

He glanced over at Elena, and they laughed together.

“I’ll bring it up the next time I see him,” she said.

It was almost dark when they got back to the clinic. The line of mothers with babies and children, old women and men had dwindled.

“Would you like to get something to eat?” asked Dominic. “I’ll finish up here, and we can walk to a restaurant.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll call it a day. You’ve been very kind. Will you find out about the little boy who came to the clinic to get Dr. Hidalgo as soon as you can? I have a hunch he may be key to clearing my good name.”

Four

Dominic helped Corazón with the last of the people in line at the clinic, writing down names, essential details, nature of complaint. Corazón treated those she could and made appointments for others to see Dr. Hidalgo. The doctor came in close to evening closing time. As Dr. Hidalgo examined a small boy with a broken arm that Corazón had set, Dominic remembered his promise to Elena.

“Who was the boy with you this morning, Doctor Hidalgo?”

The doctor handed a pain prescription to the boy’s mother and a lollipop to the child whose tears turned to smiles as he followed his mother from the clinic. The doctor put down his pen and sat back in the chair.

“What a day,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “The boy is called Flaco. He works the tourist population at the pyramids, selling chewing gum. He lives under the bridge on the road to the Archaeological Park.”

“He was the one who came to get you, right?”

“Yes, he knows me because I sometimes treat him and the other homeless boys for fleas and lice and other childhood maladies. Those boys are pretty wild. Why do you ask?”

Dominic shrugged. “Elena thought she saw a child running from the Park this morning before she found the body.”

“That may have been him. He scavenges the grounds in the evening and early morning, looking for things the tourists drop or throw away.”

“Do you know where he went after we arrived?”

“No. I lost track of him in the excitement. Have you seen him?”

“No, but I might try to track him down in the morning. Thanks, Doctor. Go home and get some rest. You look like you need it.”

Dr. Hidalgo smiled. “
Gracias, señor
. I will take your advice.”

Dominic left in the Jeep and drove down a narrow street to the south edge of town where he rented a modest one story home. He unlocked the black iron grilled gate of the entrance to the patio where he parked the Jeep for safekeeping every night.

He wondered about Elena. He worried that she might not be able to sleep, tormented by the day’s events. He was glad she could laugh on their ride together.

As he locked the gate, inspector Oliveros drew up in front and parked his Jeep. Dominic re-opened the gate and waited.

“
Hola, señor Dominic
,” said the inspector. “I am pleased to find you home. May I speak with you?”

“Yes, of course,” Dominic said and opened the gate wide so the inspector could pass inside.

After securing the gate, Dominic led the way though the small garden in front of the house with lantana blooming in bright yellow. The driveway extended to the back of the house and was covered at the end by a roof of corrugated plastic. Fuchsia bougainvillea cascaded down the walls at each side of the house.

The grilled gate to the front of the house was not locked. The housekeeper, Leyla, had not left for the day. She had five children and a husband who did not make enough money at his hotel maintenance job to support them. She was a good cook, which Dominic appreciated since he wasn’t much of a cook himself.

He showed the inspector to the tiny living room and excused himself to find Leyla, who was in the kitchen.

“
Hola, Leyla
. Have you left me anything to eat?” He always asked but he knew she would have prepared something for him.

“
Sí, señor, verdura, arroz, frijol y carne
,” she said as she lifted lids on the stove to show him.

“
Gracias
.”

He asked her to prepare coffee before she left which she agreeably did and served them. The inspector helped himself to sugar for his coffee. They sat facing each other in heavy dark wood chairs, carved Honduran style with Mayan heads, flowers, and village houses in low relief. Yellow cushions mitigated the hardness of the seat. A carved coffee table matched the chairs and supported a tray of coffee and shortbread cookies of the kind sold in plastic wrap in the small stores that peppered every street in Copan Ruinas.

“Tell me,” said the inspector, “about the child who came to the clinic to fetch the doctor. No one has seen him since the murder. I regret the late hour, but you understand that a murder is very serious for our town. Such things do not happen here. It is bad for the tourist business.”

Dominic leaned back in the chair. “Dr. Hidalgo says the child’s name is Flaco. He lives under the bridge on the road to the Archaeological Park.”

The inspector’s black eyebrows pushed high into his broad forehead. “I know of this band of boys. So it was one of those.”

“Yes, the child was near hysteria when he came running into the clinic.”

“I need to find him. I have not had a chance to question the doctor, but I will see him as soon as we finish.”

So much for Dr. Hidalgo’s restful evening.

“This
doctora
Palomares. What do you know of her?”

So they came to the main reason for this evening’s visit. Dominic shrugged, wanting to appear as nonchalant as possible. “Like I told you earlier, I first met her last night at the clinic party. This morning I brought her back to town. I tried to help her get through a traumatic experience.”

“I see. She’s very pretty, don’t you agree?”

Dominic smiled inwardly. What was the inspector up to? “She is. And she appears intelligent, honest, bright, and cooperative.”

“I see,” said the inspector. He refused the offer of a second cup of coffee. “I still have much to do before I can go home to my family.”

Dominic showed him to the door and watched the inspector drive off, concerned about the man’s probing questions about Elena. To consider her a suspect was ludicrous. Dominic didn’t know her well, but from his years of pastoral counseling, he knew when someone was lying. Elena wasn’t lying, and he was going to prove it. Something told him he should find Flaco before the inspector did.

* * * * *

Elena arrived at the morgue the next morning, sleep deprived and in bad humor. Even after three cups of
doña
Carolita’s espresso, she was unable to clear the fog that engulfed her head. After hours of tossing and turning, she had taken the sedative, then had been unable to wake up when the alarm rang at 5:00 A.M.

She had every intention of going to the Archaeological Park early that morning to get the workers back on track. But she hit the alarm so hard it fell off the night stand, and she had gone back to sleep.
Doña
Carolita had awakened her around seven. The day was off to a bad start. Plus she’d have to identify a dead body. She hoped they had closed his eyes.

They had. The man lay in repose, his wound no longer visible, as he was face up on a metal table on wheels. He didn’t look like the same man. Maybe they had switched the body. But the medical assistant assured her that he was the same and showed her the wound, which had been cleaned. Elena was glad she had passed on breakfast. The assistant seemed particularly fascinated with the wound.

“I have never seen such a wound. I myself cleaned it. Here, look, you can see….”

Elena interrupted him before she became ill, and the smell of formaldehyde in the lab overpowered her. She preferred an archaeological dig with shriveled ancient skeletons, if any.

“Thank you,” she said, “but I’m in a bit of a hurry. Are there papers to sign?”

“Yes. Here they are. Personally, I believe the instrument used was not a steel axe. I think it was axe-like but with a dull blade. An axe with a steel blade would have….”

Elena interrupted him again. “What do you mean? Where would a duller axe come from?”

“From the
indios
in the villages. They still use the old Mayan style axe made from stone, or it could have come from the Museum. Mayan warriors made good use of axes in warfare.”

She leaned closer and examined the wound, curiosity winning out over queasy stomach. Thoughtfully, she said, “If I come across such a weapon in the Mayan arsenal, I’ll let you know.”

Inspector Oliveros came in as she was signing the forms that said she was sure the dead body was the same man she had discovered yesterday morning at the Temple of Inscriptions.

“Thank you for coming,” said the inspector. “Is there anything more you remember that might help our investigation?”

“No, inspector, I have told you everything I can remember.”

“I have been searching for the little boy that was with the doctor, but I have been unable to find him. His friends have not seen him. Please, if you find him, tell him to come to the police station.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, thinking the last place that young boy would want to be was near the police. Saying goodbye, she left.

A three-wheeled open-air taxi cruised by, the driver honking his horn. She flagged him down for a ride to the Archaeological Park. She was on her way to see the director, a visit she did not relish. She found him in his office at the Museum and entered unannounced, as the receptionist seemed to be on coffee break.

His appearance shocked her. His hair, normally slicked back, fell over his forehead. He wore a ripped T-shirt and tan shorts, the kind with pockets on the legs. They were torn and dirty, like he had been rolling in the dirt, uncharacteristic of his normally fastidious exterior. He was in a state of great agitation, flipping through a large stack of papers on his otherwise immaculate desk.

She cleared her throat, and his head jerked up. He seemed surprised that anyone should interrupt his frenzy.

“I gave you the day off,” he said with a scowl. “What are you doing here?”

He remained in a half-crouched pose over the papers, his head in an upraised twist.

“Excuse me, director, but I assumed I would report to work this morning after I visited the morgue to identify the body. I tried to come early this morning to help the workmen get started on the Staircase, but I overslept. I’m sorry. I plan to work longer this evening.”

She hoped she sounded sufficiently contrite. On the other hand maybe she sounded too subservient. She never seemed to be able to strike the right balance with this man.

He straightened slowly and smoothed back the hair that had fallen in his red-rimmed eyes. He must not have slept well either.

“I see,” he said. “It is better you didn’t come early.” He stopped like he was unable to continue or had started a line of thought he no longer wanted to pursue. “I’ve been doing some investigative work myself, you see.” His hand swept his untidy person.

Elena nodded, still perplexed over his changed demeanor and his state of agitation.

He set about tidying the stack of papers, trying to bring them back to order. He looked at her.

“You don’t have to watch me,
doctora
, I am perfectly capable of arranging things. Please, take the rest of the day off. I think it will be best for you. This is nasty business, and you do not look well.”

She could almost feel him give her a patronizing pat on the head. She struggled to keep the lid on her temper. In her best neutral voice she said, “No, director, I like to keep busy. I need to get back to work. It will help me sleep better, I assure you.”

She turned to leave before she said anything to regret.

“No,” he said and hobbled toward her. “You will not go to the Staircase today.” He looked around the room as if searching for the reason why she shouldn’t go. “It is too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous? Surely you don’t think the murderer is still lurking around here?”

His eyebrows struggled to convey his meaning. “We do not know, do we? Until the police come to some conclusion about what happened and until we solve who is taking the hieroglyphs, I am shutting down the project you work on. Talk to your department head in the United States about working somewhere else.”

“Shut down the project? But I have invested so much time and effort in this, and the workmen, who will pay them? They depend upon this work for their livelihood.”

He ignored their plight, her work, her future. “Do not trouble yourself about the workmen. I will shift them to another project. Now contact your university, advise them of the problem, and make arrangements to leave. Yes, that will be the best course of action.” He spoke as if he had just come up with the whole scheme and had convinced himself of its merit.

“But….” said Elena.

He waved her quiet. “No, listen to me. It is too dangerous to continue with the study of the hieroglyphs. You must leave for your own safety. We do not know the motivations of this madman who has killed or stolen the hieroglyphs or,” and his eyes got bigger and whiter, “there may be more than one, maybe a gang of thieves and murderers. You must go.”

Elena couldn’t figure the guy out. He was not making sense. But she relented. “I’ll call Dr. Roulade to inform her of the circumstances. I did email her but I haven’t heard back. I’ll try to phone her.”

“Yes, do that. Now if you will excuse me, I have much to do.” He stood guard over his stack of papers, and Elena had no recourse but to leave.

Outside the Museum she did not turn toward town. Rather she walked toward the pyramids. She wanted to visit the Hieroglyphic Staircase to see if it would yield any more secrets. She wanted to do a little investigating of her own.

Five

Dominic pulled the Jeep to the side of the road onto a turnaround just before the bridge. He was on a mission to find Flaco. He awakened that morning with the boy on his mind. After a shower and a quick cup of coffee, he hopped in the Jeep and headed for the bridge. Maybe at this early hour he might find the boys there.