Exotic #02 - The Hieroglyphic Staircase (23 page)

“The water is rising in the river,” she said to the woman, “so you won’t have much time. Better leave now.”

The woman in tears turned and pushed through the crowd, a man following her.

Dominic used the space created by their departure to wedge into Connie’s attention zone. She was now on a walkie-talkie.

“All right. Come back in then.” She clicked off. “Who’s next?”

Dominic butted in front of everyone. “Elena and Miguel are gone. They disappeared from the clinic. I asked Elena to stay, and I know she would have if she could. Someone has kidnapped her. Maybe that guy from the hotel.”

Connie’s face was parked in a permanent frown. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“She, Miguel and I were riding out the storm at the clinic and during the lull I went outside to see if I could be of assistance and when I got back they were gone.”

“Maybe she went out to check on things. Maybe something happened, and she went for help.”

“I thought about that,” he said, “but that’s not like Elena. At least, I don’t think it is. She’d have stayed put. I have a bad feeling about this. Can you spare someone to help me search? Someone who knows the area well?”

Connie sank into her chair. The damp and bedraggled looking crowd before her all started talking at once.

She held up her hand. “
Silencio, por favor
. I’ll be right with you.”

She looked at Dominic but what he saw on her face was not encouraging.

“We were unable to find this guy Jorge at the hotel. The clerk said that no one by that name or description was registered.”

“Oh, no,” said Dominic. Dear God, let them be safe.

“We picked up the yellow car with only one headlight parked on the street near the hotel. It’s a stolen car.”

Fear cut through Dominic’s gut, burned and zigzagged its way to his heart.

“Do you have any leads?” he asked. “Do you know who the guy is?”

She ran both hands back over her hair which was barely contained in the ponytail she wore. Dominic noticed for the first time the lines of strain around her mouth, the dark shadows under her eyes.

“Nothing.” She sighed. “Elena or her mother might be able to identify him through photos. But we have to get through this storm first.”

“Can you spare anybody to help me look for her?” he asked again, trying hard not to sound desperate, but he had to have help. There wasn’t much time.

Connie looked around her, like extra help might miraculously show up at any moment. She threw up her hands. “You see how crazy it is.”

“Connie, he’s a murderer.”

“Okay, okay. I can’t leave, I wish I could. I’ll give you two plainclothes guys who’ve been working the case. Now all I need is to find them.”

“Paco, José,” she shouted to be heard above the din of the crowd.

Two men in jeans and T-shirts, looking as harried as their boss, appeared from behind the crowd.

“Elena Palomares and the little boy, Miguel, have disappeared, and that guy I had you tracking down might be involved. Go with Dominic to help find them.”

“
Sí, sí
, inspector,” said Paco.

“This guy might be the killer we’re looking for.”

“We’ll find them,” said José.

“Good, get going,” Connie turned back to help the next person in the crowd clamoring at her desk.

Paco stopped Dominic at the open door. Lightning flashed in the clouds off in the distance, outlining the mountains. A rumble of thunder shook the building. Hurricane Bob was circling Copan Ruinas.

“Describe this man again,” Paco said. José crowded close to listen.

“He’s tall, thin, dark hair. That’s what Elena told me. Miguel, who saw the murder, says the guy was tall and thin. Not a Honduran type.”

“Spaniard type, perhaps?” said José.

Dominic nodded. He repeated what he thought had happened. He described Elena and Miguel and what they were wearing.

“I know this lady. She’s very pretty,” said Paco. “Let’s go first to the clinic. Maybe they have returned, if we are lucky.”

As far as Dominic was concerned, luck didn’t have much to do with it. They were in the hands of the Almighty.

He led the way, dodging obstacles, guided by intermittent moonlight and his flashlight. He fought to control fear and to keep his head clear. He tried to imagine where Elena and Miguel might have gone, and how he could find them. He was terrified he might never again see them alive.

* * * * *

Jorge forced them to run along a narrow bush trail threaded with vines. Elena limped on her injured leg and held fast to Miguel who ran beside her, his little legs pumping to keep up.

“Faster.” Jorge shouted, and he punched the nose of the gun into her back.

Her head was swimming from the blow from the gun, and she could feel her cheek swelling without even touching it. One eye was partially closed. Rain spattered them and made it impossible to see. She ran on adrenalin and sheer terror.

Little Miguel kept glancing up at her. She knew he was concerned about her face, and she had made him run on her good side. He seemed paralyzed with fright, and she had to keep tugging him along. She didn’t know this path to the Park. But Miguel did. Jorge, too. That’s how they had traveled back and forth to town without anyone seeing them.

Thank heaven for the moon. There was enough light to see the trail but that wouldn’t last long. She could see the lightning around the mountains, and thunder reverberated along the ground. They were captives of a madman in a hurricane without shelter. Hell couldn’t be much worse than this.

* * * * *

Dominic, Paco and José divided up and searched every inch of the clinic for clues.

Paco found mud stains from a man’s shoes under the open window at the back of the clinic. Dominic’s theory that a man was involved appeared correct although it gave him no comfort. The man was wearing some type of athletic shoe or boot with deep groves in the sole, caked with mud.

“Judging by these partial sandal prints, it looks like two people left by the side door,” said Paco. “The question is, where did they go after that? And where is the boy?”

Dominic said, “There’s more water than mud in the streets. Where would he encounter this kind of mud in the storm?”

“He’d have to leave the confines of town,” said Paco, “where everything is concrete. If there are only two sets of prints, maybe one of them was carrying the boy.”

The three of them stood huddled by the back door peering at the floor where Paco’s flashlight illuminated the shoe prints. Outside, the wind approached howling stage and spurts of rain blew in.

“I doubt the man came from the main entrance to town,” said Paco. “We found the car abandoned on this side, if it’s the same guy. If we can find where he was hiding during the first half of the hurricane that might be where he took Elena and Miguel.”

“Where do the roads turn to dirt on this side of town?” ask Dominic.

“There are two paved residential streets,” José said, “that dead end.”

“There are those two,” said Paco, “and the road to the Guatemala border, and the road to Los Sapos. They are all paved. Maybe he was using a dirt path from some hiding place to come into town. Where would be a good hiding place for someone like him in a hurricane?”

José said, “He could have broken into any number of houses where owners left because of the storm.”

“But those would not have mud,” said Dominic. “Most of the homes around here are well manicured.”

“Wait a minute,” said Paco, tapping his forehead. “What about that abandoned warehouse on the road to Los Sapos that sits back off the road, hidden by the brush. It’s not far, and he could have found shelter there. The homeless boys take refuge there sometimes.”

“I know the place,” said Dominic. “It’s worth a look.” Hope began to shine through the dark clouds of the hurricane. “Let’s go.” He headed out the door with the other two close behind.

“Wait,” Paco said. “We can’t walk there in this weather. We can’t drive there either. Too many obstacles in the road.”

José said, “We have bicycles at the police station. We can use them.”

He led the way to the police station and around to the rear where a stand of bikes was located. He brought out a key ring and searched for keys to the bike locks. He managed to get two unlocked. Dominic jumped on one, Paco on the other, and they took off. Neither stopped to see if José was following.

Dominic peddled with everything in him, squinting his eyes against the rain that came in squalls. He was soaked, but the ever increasing wind and blowing rain cooled his hot skin. His anxiety and fear for Elena and Miguel burned in him like hot coal. He had no fear of Hurricane Bob. What could happen to Elena and Miguel made him peddle faster and faster and faster. An occasional flash of lightning or a glimpse of a cloud-troubled moon lighted his path off and on. Still he peddled faster.

Paco pulled up beside him and passed, showing the way to the abandoned warehouse. They wove around garbage cans, around downed poles, around pieces of roofing and at one point sailed across a small ditch swollen with rushing water.

Dominic had a good idea where the warehouse was. It was well hidden from the passing traveler in a car but someone on foot might see it, if they knew what they were looking for. Elena and Miguel had to be there. They had to be safe. They had to be.

The two men stopped some distance from the warehouse. The rain beat on their heads, and Paco said, “The door is open on this side. Dominic, watch that door. I’m going around back to see if there’s an entrance. Our exposure is too great if we try to go in on this side.”

Dominic nodded, edged closer to the building and stood behind the cover of the trees at the border of the small clearing. He had a good view of the open door, which appeared to be an old cargo door. It had a tall, wide opening. A wind gust pushed him sideways, and he hugged the nearest tree for support. He had never been outside in a hurricane. He imagined Elena and Miguel inside. At least they were out of the elements. They had to be in there, he kept saying to himself over and over. They had to be.

Before long Paco appeared at the door and waved Dominic over. He didn’t know what to think as he ran through the rain.

“What?” Dominic said when he gained the inside. “Are they here?”

Paco shook his head. His eyes would not make contact, and Dominic’s heart sank.

“What?” said Dominic, fighting down the urge to shake Paco. He scanned the inside of the warehouse but could see only dim outlines of boxes and crates strewn helter-skelter like the hurricane had whipped through the place.

“I found blood. I’m sorry. Come. Look. Better I show you.”

Dominic could barely put one foot in front of the other. Paco had found blood but no bodies. They could still be alive.

Paco showed him a large metal storage cabinet, maybe an old grain bin. Maybe big enough for two small humans. He pointed to the floor.

“There,” he said.

Dominic crouched down and studied the drops on the floor. Dark red drops.

“What do you think?” Dominic had trouble forming the words, his throat was so tight.

Paco didn’t respond. He pointed the flashlight on the floor around the box. Clumps of mud spotted the floor. A mixture of shoe prints cut into the clumps.

“I judge those mud prints to be the same as the clinic. I’m speculating that someone brought Elena and Miguel here not very long ago. One of them is hurt, and for some reason they left.”

“Did you make a thorough search? Maybe they’re tied and gagged in one of these old crates.”

Paco rubbed the back of his neck. It was obvious the strain of the day was catching up with him. “We’ll search, but the stuff in here hasn’t been disturbed in a long time.”

Each taking half of the space, they covered every inch of the dirty old warehouse. Dominic swept his flashlight by every crevice. In the end he had to agree with Paco. Nothing had disturbed the accumulated dirt for a long time, except in one corner, which was the driest, where he found an open empty crate lined with cardboard that had served as a bed for someone. Maybe recently.

Disheartened, Dominic went to find Paco. He was standing near the opening watching the storm toss the fronds of a palm tree around like a whirligig.

“Nothing,” Paco said. “You?”

Dominic shook his head. “They’re not here. Then where?”

He tossed the question to the wind wondering if it would respond. Where were Elena and Miguel, and who was hurt? The boy had to be with them.

Paco didn’t answer the question. “I wonder why José did not come. Maybe he got held up at the station.”

Dominic didn’t answer. He didn’t care about José. He wanted to find Elena and Miguel. How were they going to do that in a hurricane?

Paco asked, “Do you know why that guy might want the two of them?”

“That question has been gnawing at me,” said Dominic. “I knew Miguel was in danger because he saw the murder, and the murderer saw him. I had an uneasy feeling about Elena. She was visible and worked at the ruins. I think whoever this is thinks she knows something. Maybe. I don’t know. But he might think she knows something.”

Paco put his hand on Dominic’s arm. “Wait. You say she might know something. About what? Who committed the murders?”

Dominic pursed his lips. “Not exactly. She knows a lot about that Hieroglyphic Staircase, and someone was stealing stones from it. Her knowledge is about the ruins, not about the people involved.”

Paco snapped his fingers. “Then they might be on their way to the ruins.”

Dominic frowned. “But the entrance is way on the other side of town.”

Paco’s brown eyes glowed with excitement. “There’s an old trail that goes from this end of town out to the ruins. It comes in not far from here. The townspeople know about it. It’s a short cut to the ruins.”

“You think they went there?” asked Dominic. “In this madness?” He gestured to the fury that shook the walls of the rusty old warehouse. Water dripped from holes in the corrugated tin roof, and they couldn’t find a dry spot to stand.

“That or they went back to town. But why would they leave town then go back? Why would they leave here when it is a protected place for them to weather the hurricane?”