Exotic #02 - The Hieroglyphic Staircase (3 page)

“
Hola,
” said Corazón, the nurse trying to help the growing stream of people from the surrounding villages seeking medical care. Her office was the table that had served as the buffet the night before. Several villagers stood patiently in line at the door.

The need of these humble people was overwhelming at times. One step at a time, Dominic told himself, one day at a time. They were thankful for Dr. Hidalgo, the town physician, who helped in the afternoons. But he was overworked in his own practice.

Señora
Martinez, up bright and early, bounced into the clinic, exclaiming over the success of their celebration.

“
Señor
Harte, we raised $300 of your American dollars from the collection basket at the bar. I don’t know yet how much we brought in from other donations.
Ay, madre mia
, what a night. Did you dance as you promised with Elena?”

“No, she had to leave early.”

“Well, the next time. We will have more fundraisers.” She clapped her hands like a flamenco dancer and whirled in a circle.

Dominic got a reprieve from any more probing questions when Dr. Hidalgo, a spare man, graying at the temples, came hurrying in. A small child on spindly legs followed close behind, running to keep up.

“Corazón, Corazón, please, quickly,” said the doctor, “I need your help. There has been an accident at the Archaeological Park. A mishap of some sort. Go with me, please. My nurse is sick today.
Señor
Harte, will you drive us in the Jeep? Come, both of you, hurry.”

Without waiting for a reply the doctor turned and rushed toward the door, white lab coat fluttering, stethoscope hanging around his neck, black bag in hand. He nearly collided with the small boy when he turned back to see if the others were following.

Catching the child’s arm to steady him, the doctor said, “You did well coming for me, Flaco. Now hurry to the Jeep.”

Dominic strode after the doctor with Corazón right behind him, neither questioning the need for urgency. Dominic’s first thought was for Elena. He hoped nothing had happened to her after what she had told him last night. He climbed into the driver’s seat of the open top Jeep parked before the door of the clinic.

A small crowd of townspeople had gathered and were speculating on the nature of the accident. A wrinkled old woman with black shawl pulled tight over her shoulders said, “It was a tourist. They never are careful.”

A man with gold rimmed teeth and spiked hair said, “The ghosts who haunt the ruins have taken vengeance. The spirits of the Mayans don’t like their temples molested.”

Dominic started the Jeep, anxious to be off. Corazón threw an apologetic look to the people waiting in line and hopped into the back seat of the Jeep with the child. The doctor climbed into the front with Dominic.

“What happened?” asked Dominic as they sped along the paved road to the Archeological Park. He shouted to be heard above the roar of the wind and the engine.

“I don’t know,” said Dr. Hidalgo. “The child came running into my office to fetch me saying only there had been a terrible accident.”

Dominic could feel his stomach balling into a fist. What if Elena had seen someone stealing stones and tried to stop them? What if they had had a gun and shot her? Things were still wild in the rural areas of Honduras, in the capital city, Tegucigalpa, for that matter. Gangs deported from cities like Los Angeles came back home, armed with their newly acquired gang skills. What if some kind of gang was operating in the area? He pressed down on the accelerator. The doctor looked over at him in mute agreement, and they drove on in silence until the Jeep screeched to a halt at the entrance to the Park.

“The doctor is here,” Dominic said to the guard. “He was summoned to some sort of accident.”

“
Sí, sí, pasen ustedes
.” The guard waved them through. He pointed toward the Acropolis where the pyramid of the Hieroglyphic Staircase loomed.

No, thought Dominic when he saw the direction the guard indicated. Let it not be Elena. He guided the Jeep as fast as possible across the manicured grounds and around low stone walls. The boy, standing in the back, shouted and pointed to a group of people almost hidden by a thicket of leafy shrubs and trees to the side of the Temple of Inscriptions, the tallest structure in the Acropolis. Because the pathway narrowed and climbed through the ancient stones, Dominic halted the Jeep a short distance away. He could see only the backs of onlookers. He scanned the group but saw no shining dark hair. What would she be wearing? A safari hat and pants? Shorts?

They hurried up the path to the group.

“
Permiso, permiso
,” said Dr. Hidalgo, his voice booming.

The people parted for him. One gentleman in an official tan uniform with visor cap stepped forward. “Doctor, a man was found with a terrible wound on his head.”

Dominic’s anxiety eased. It wasn’t a woman. He was now able to see the faces of the onlookers. He found Elena’s under a wide brim canvas hat. She hadn’t noticed him.

The doctor bent to examine the fallen man while the people huddled in a circle, murmuring to each other. He rose. “I’m afraid he is dead, felled by a blow to the back of the head with …” he paused and considered. “… a blunt instrument. Does anyone know this man?”

No one spoke. Several people shook their heads, including Elena.

Dominic peered at the figure stretched on the ground. He wore neat black pants, seams pressed, white running shoes and a long sleeved white shirt. Someone you’d see on the streets of a bigger town, any day, except for the bloody mass of black hair on the back of his head.

No one knew him. A tourist perhaps? Or the thief who was stealing artifacts and got caught in the act by someone who wanted the artifacts, too?

The guard spoke up through the mutterings and side conversations. “I need everyone’s name for the investigation. Do not touch or move the body. The police will be here soon.”

With an important flourish he drew out a tablet and pen and motioned to the man nearest him. One by one they gave their names. Elena was the only woman. After she gave her name she stepped to the edge of the group, alone, apart from the rest.

Dominic eased toward her. “Elena,” he said in a loud whisper.

Her head jerked in his direction, her eyes wide and troubled.

He stepped to her side. “I’m glad you’re all right. I was concerned that you were involved.”

“I was involved,” she said, barely audible. “I found him.”

She was trembling. He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. He could feel her shivering against his side even though his shirt was sticking to him with the heat and humidity. He had never been at the scene of a murder and struggled for words of comfort. The horror of having come upon a dead body early in the morning at one’s work site would be enough to send anyone into shock. They stood for a few silent minutes, watching the little group of workers mill around the guard.

“Why don’t you get in the Jeep,” Dominic said, “and I’ll take you back to town. You’ve had a terrible shock.”

She shook her head and pulled away. “I need to give a statement to the police and talk to the Museum director. Someone went to fetch him. He should have been here by now. Could you give me a lift to the Museum? Maybe I can find him.”

“Sure, I’ll be glad to help.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell the guard we’re leaving and where we’re going.”

After she spoke with the guard, Dominic guided the still trembling Elena to the Jeep. She slumped into the passenger seat, removed her hat and used it as a fan against the still air.

“What a nightmare,” she said, hardly above a whisper. “I can’t believe I found that man.”

Dominic didn’t start the engine. He leaned back in the seat. “Tell me what happened.”

She bit down hard on her lip. Her eyes grew bright with tears which intensified the green of her eyes. In a halting voice she said, “I was walking alone across the courtyard toward the Staircase. It was around 6:00 A.M. and just getting light. I wanted to arrive early to check the Staircase while the workmen weren’t here. The morning was lovely so I decided to go up to the top of the Temple of the Inscriptions by the back path. It’s easier than trying to climb the narrow front steps. The view over the Park is spectacular.

“I found the body on the path, lying where it is now. I thought at first it was one of the workmen, sleeping, and was going to walk around, when I noticed the clothes and stopped. They weren’t the type the workers wear, they were much neater. His face was turned away from me, so I leaned over to say something. I caught a glimpse of the back of his head, and then I saw his eyes.”

She covered her face and pressed her fingers into her eyes like she was trying to erase the picture in her mind.

Dominic waited, watching her, wanting to hold her and smooth her hair, sooth away the ugliness of the scene she was reliving. But he held back. Such a gesture would be too familiar, more for people who knew each other well, who were good friends, even lovers. The retelling would be difficult but cathartic. Tears would wash away some of the horror of the scene.

“The worst was the eyes,” she said at last. “They were bulging, sightless.” She looked at Dominic. “He was dead.”

The pathos in her voice moved him to place his hand on hers. “Do you have any idea who he was?”

“I’ve never seen him before,” she said, staring into the distance.

“Do you think a gang is involved, drugs?”

“I don’t really know.” She looked at him with a sad smile. “I’m an epigrapher. I spend my life looking into the past. I’m horribly deficient in current events, including the latest addictions of humankind.”

The sound of an approaching vehicle made them look around. Another Jeep, old Army issue, jerked to a stop beside them.

Elena brushed away tears with her fingers and repositioned her field hat, as if in those gestures she made the world right again.

Two policemen in dark blue uniforms alighted. The taller one nodded.

“
Buenos días
,” he said. “I am inspector Oliveros. What happened here?”

“There’s been a horrible accident,” said Elena. “A man lies dead over there behind the Temple.” She pointed in the direction of the huddle of people gathered around the body and gave a brief sketch of the morning’s tragedy.

“You say you found the body?” asked the inspector.

Elena nodded.

“Please will you accompany us to the site?” He indicated with a gesture of his hand that Elena should lead the way.

The group of onlookers parted to allow the police to examine the body. Dominic stayed close to Elena. More people arrived -- the curious, those drawn to stare at the abnormal and macabre. The police took the list of names and asked the guard, Elena, the doctor, Corazón and the onlookers more questions.

On orders from the inspector, the park guard started taping off the site and ordering people to leave if they were not directly involved. Elena took a seat on a large hewn stone by the path. Dominic sat beside her. In silence they watched the proceedings. He was having trouble coming up with words of comfort, which was unusual for a man with experience in comforting others. But he no longer felt like a priest. That was in the past and far away from the site of this murder. He could not call on his faith. He had none.

Elena sat up straighter and peered off toward the entrance to the Park. Dominic followed her gaze and saw an odd-gaited figure coming at what, for him, might be a run. A limp in his left leg gave his effort a rolling appearance. His jacket flapped in the breeze he created, because none existed that day in the Archaeological Park.

“It’s the director,” said Elena. “He has a crippled leg. That’s odd. Why is he on foot? Why wouldn’t he come in the Museum van?”

They stood to get a better view. The heat was taking a toll on the man. Dominic could see he was laboring for breath. He looked like he might be the second victim of the morning.

Elena walked toward him and Dominic followed, curious to meet the man who didn’t like this bright, beautiful woman. It was evident by the director’s contorted face that he was either in a great deal of pain or he was very angry about something, maybe both.

“Director, have you heard what happened?” said Elena.

“Of course, I have heard, but not from you. Why have you not informed me?” His brown complexion had taken on the rosy hue of exertion and indignation.

“I found the body. The police would not allow me to leave.” Elena’s jaw set in a line as hard as the lines in the stone pyramid.

“What body?” asked the director, who had stopped before Elena.

“Someone was murdered. I found him on the way to work this morning.”

“Who?”

“We don’t know. Someone outside of the area, judging by his clothes. The police are collecting evidence now.”

“How did it happen? Did you use any of your analytical skills to assess what might have happened?”

“My skill is deciphering ancient text, not in reading the evidence in a crime scene.”

Dominic could hear the irrational argument building between them and interjected. “We should see if the police need Elena anymore, and then perhaps I could drive her to town. She has been through hell this morning, sir, and needs to rest.”

The director turned slowly, stiffly, taking hobbling steps with one leg and using the other as a pivot. “Who are you?” he asked without the slightest hint of social amenity.

His rudeness surprised Dominic, who was used to sunny, Honduran graciousness and hospitality. With a friendly voice he introduced himself, explaining about the clinic and his work there.

“I see,
señor
Harte,” the director said, his tone more conciliatory. “Then I need to thank you for helping
doctora
Palomares. This event has us all upset.” He turned to Elena. “
Doctora
, you should rest. I will see what is to be done. I am sorry you had to be involved in this terrible event.”

Dominic took Elena’s arm before astonishment had a chance to register on her face. With a firm grasp on her elbow, he pushed her ahead of him before she could say anything else and steered her to the police to see if they could leave.