Human Sacrifice

by Cindy L Hull

  Claire looked at Cody’s face, frozen in fear, then studied her companions. Madge’s belligerence hadn’t worked. Tanya’s flirtatious manipulations nearly succeeded, but not quite. Claire decided to take George’s path—skeptical and practical. She said, “Then you need to inform the consulate.”

  Chan stepped closer to Cody. “He doesn’t need the consulate.”

  Sergeant Juarez softened the message. “There is no reason to fear. The detective needs information about Señor Detwyler’s friend.”

  Claire picked up her purse from the floor and stood defiantly. “I’ll go with him to translate.”

  Deputy Chan’s authoritative façade wavered in the presence of the persistent women. “That’s not necessary. The detective speaks English.”

  Sergeant Juarez handed a card to Claire, and she stared at the name. “If you wish, you can come to the police station on your own, to pick him up,” he said. “Ask for Detective Salinas.”

  “I’ll go too,” declared Madge. She picked up her purse, pushed her straw hat down on her head, and rearranged her pink hibiscus blouse.

  Claire turned to Cody, who stood, barely able to hold himself upright. “You should go with the officers. We’ll be right behind you.”

  “A-Are you sure? You’ll come right away?”

  “We’re on our way,” Claire said.

  Once Cody and the policemen had left, conversations surrounding them resumed, quietly at first, then returning to normal volume. People continued to glance toward their table; as newcomers joined them, they were filled in on the excitement.

  “Let’s go,” said Tanya, her face flushed and eager.

  Claire gave a sideways glance to Madge, which Madge missed, but Tanya saw.

  “What?” she said. “You don’t want me to go?”

  Madge said, “We don’t all need to go. You can return to the conference. You’ll benefit from that more than a trip to the police station.”

  “Don’t patronize me. I want to know what’s going on with the case, too.”

  “There’s no case, Tanya,” said Claire. “It’s just questions.”

  “Why you two and not me?” Tanya complained.

  “Cody seems to trust Claire,” Madge said. “She should go, but not alone.”

  “Well, I want to go. Besides, I’m the one who thinks something is suspicious about this case.”

  “No case,” Claire repeated, but she too thought something was amiss.

  “I’m going.” Tanya said, and pulled her small purse over her shoulder.

  Outside the hotel, three taxis in varying states of disrepair lined up along the circle drive of the hotel, awaiting fares. Claire bypassed the first taxi, its passenger side doors dangerously askew, and approached the next cab in line. The driver, surprised at his fortune, jumped from the driver’s seat to negotiate a fare.

  Madge and Tanya followed Claire, as Madge fumbled in her bag and pulled out her phone. “I’m calling George. He’ll wonder where we are.” She tapped a number, and after a few seconds clicked off. “He didn’t answer,” she said. “I’ll call him later.”

  Claire helped Madge into the front seat, and she and Tanya settled into the back. As the driver edged his way between the other waiting cabs, Madge pointed toward a black Ford Escape pulling into the driveway that led to the parking lot behind the hotel.

  “There’s Eduardo Ramirez,” Madge said. “Maybe he wants to come too.”

  Claire recognized the sarcasm, but Tanya responded in her own sharp tone, “I’m sure he has more important things to do.”

  Madge snorted. “Like finishing up his lecture on the murderous Maya.”

  Their taxi pulled away from the curb as the driver, who had been ignored, lay on his horn in anger and frustration. Claire was certain that, while many cars ran without mufflers, tailpipes, turn signals, or operating windows, they all had working horns.

  The city traffic, horrendous at any time of the day or year, hindered their progress. The three women held a collective breath as the taxi wove around multiple obstacles, braking for light changes or to avoid a collision with something or someone.

  Once they passed the plaza and turned away from the central district, the traffic lightened. They passed through neighborhoods where stucco houses shared narrow streets with house-front businesses, mechanic shops, and grocery stores. Through their open windows, the aroma of freshly baked pastries and tortillas competed with car exhaust. Finally, the taxi screeched to a halt in front of the police station, jolting the women in the back seat, unencumbered by seat belts, up against the front seat.

  The station, constructed from huge limestone slabs, stood high above the street, accessible by a vast cement stairway and guarded by men in military uniforms wielding rifles. Claire could imagine the awe inspired by such colossal buildings, likely built by the Maya themselves for their new masters. It seemed to Claire that whoever the masters happened to be, the Mayan peasants had built temples and monuments for them.

  “Estamos,” the taxi driver said. We’re here.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Tanya led the way up the wide, stone staircase, Claire following as quickly as her middle-aged knees would carry her. Madge hobbled behind, moving with determination if not ease. At the front desk, Claire and Tanya asked the desk sergeant where the young man had been taken.

  The sergeant lay her romance novel, open and faced down, on her desk. “Which young man?”

  Claire gave his name. “I think he is with Detective Salinas.”

  “Ah, the American,” she replied. “Your names?”

  Claire handed over her university business card as Madge caught up with them at the desk. The sergeant punched buttons on her phone and spoke briefly to someone at the other end, reading Claire’s name off the card.

  Hanging up, the sergeant pointed to a tall, colonial wooden door. “Por ay, y entences directo…directo…”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Gutierrez,” Claire said, reading her badge.

  The sergeant nodded and picked up her book, Amor Prohibido, the cover of which featured a scantily attired, light-skinned blonde in an erotic pose.

  The trio started off in the direction the sergeant had pointed, but immediately became lost in the confusion of hallways and rooms. They passed through several corridors lined with offices whose massive doors were open to allow for air flow. Large standing fans stood in doorways, moving the hot air around and causing a white noise that followed them down the hallway. Finally, after several wrong turns, they entered another reception area.

  Claire explained their mission to another female sergeant, whose name tag identified her as Detective Sergeant Rosa Garza.

  “Profesora Aguila?” she asked, reading off her notepad.

  Claire nodded. Sergeant Garza made a phone call and, within moments, a tall man wearing black slacks and a white guayabera shirt came to greet them. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties, with a mass of thick, black hair, turning gray at the temples. Unlike the stoic policemen who took Cody away, this officer smiled slightly as he assessed the women through horn-rimmed glasses. He introduced himself as Detective Roberto Salinas, and, when he turned his attention to Claire, her heart stopped.

  He directed them to an office, larger than the others they had hurried past. A computer sat on a large wooden desk, surrounded by stacks of file folders. A bookshelf held replicas of Mayan pots next to a ceramic Virgin of Guadelupe. Claire stared at a photograph of the detective with his family, his wife and two children, situated next to a photo of an elderly couple, presumably his parents. The Mexican flag stood in the corner of the room, and a photograph of the Mexican President adorned the wall behind Salinas’s desk, just above his head.

  Claire’s gaze went back to the family photograph and to the man looking at her with interest. Oh, no, she thought. Now what?

  Detective Salinas motioned M
adge to a worn, leather chair with a slight rip along one seam. Claire and Tanya sat in wooden chairs, all facing his desk.

  Claire spoke first, in Spanish. “We came to pick up Cody Detwyler.”

  “Of course,” Salinas responded in English, his hands opening as in praise, palms up. “Don’t worry, he is fine. We had a brief chat, and now he is writing his statement.”

  “Can we take him to the hotel?” Claire asked.

  “Ahorita,” he responded. Ahorita—a word Claire knew could mean ‘right this minute’ or ‘sometime next week.’

  Madge asked, “The fall was an accident, correct?”

  “We have no reason to believe otherwise. But I do need to close the file.”

  “Do you need to talk to us too?” Tanya asked, fingering her hair, worn long today, blonde waves brushing her shoulders. “We were all there.”

  “Since you are here and willing, I may have a few questions,” he mused, “but, I don’t want to make trouble where there is none.” Salinas straightened a few files on his desk. “However, now that there is a video of a death at one of our most famous archaeological sites…” he sighed heavily, returning his hands to his desk. “It won’t be long before media spin—is that what you say?—makes it into something sinister.” He sighed again.

  “Video?” said Claire.

  Salinas pushed a button on his desk intercom. “Rosita, please bring in your computer.” He smiled apologetically at the women, adjusting his glasses. “Sergeant Garza will show you.”

  Garza entered the room with a small electronic notebook, clearly her personal computer. Photographs of children and family members had been taped to the lid, and an enlarged photograph of two beautiful children graced her wallpaper screen.

  In stilted English, Garza explained, “My son, he saw this on YouTube. He doesn’t read English well, but he saw ‘Uxmal’ in the title.” She clicked on the media player. “He made a copy and sent it to me.”

  Within moments, they were looking at the Magician’s Pyramid. The anonymous photographer scanned the crowd before aiming his camera at Paul Sturgess, lying on the ground in deep shadow after being turned over. Luckily, his face had been covered. Yet, the idea that someone would record and share this appalled Claire. As the video played, she watched the crowd scenes. She saw Madge, hugging her huge bag, George pursing his lips, Brad pacing back and forth, and Tanya peering, her eyes wide with fascination. Claire stared, dismayed, as the camera caught her squatting near the body and taking photographs.

  “Oh, my God,” Claire exclaimed, watching herself contaminate the scene.

  No one else spoke as the video camera returned to the crowd, panning over a study of faces from the horrified to the curious. The title of the video was “Tourist Falls to his Death at Uxmal, Mexico.”

  Salinas turned to Claire. “So, you see, I could have a few questions for you, Doctor Aguila.”

  Claire nodded, her hands clammy with perspiration.

  After Sergeant Garza left the room, Salinas continued, “There weren’t any close-ups of the body, Gracias a Diós, and the video has been taken down.” He folded his hands on the desk, lost in thought. “But, because it exists, my captain has assigned me to investigate further, so we can assure tourists that it was an accident and nothing else.”

  Claire hadn’t thought of this but knew it would be true. The presence of the drug cartels in Mexico had done enough damage to the tourist industry. A suspicious death of a tourist would be a further disaster.

  The detective turned to Claire. “Why did you take photographs?”

  Embarrassed, Claire folded her hands in her lap to hide their shaking. “I had planned to take night photos of the pyramid, so my camera was on my mind. When I noticed the footprints and…a few other things…I thought I should take the photographs in case the police got involved.” Claire paused for breath, breaking eye contact with the detective. She looked at Madge for encouragement, and then forced herself to return Salinas’s unflinching gaze.

  “The two Uxmal deputies asked for my camera or memory card,” Claire added, “but I refused. I hope I’ve not made a mistake.”

  Salinas said, “No, you did right, but I would like to see the photos.” He paused and tented his fingers. “You can call Sergeant Garza, and someone will pick them up.”

  A long silence ensued, during which everyone looked at their watches.

  Madge finally said, “Will Cody be here soon?”

  “Ahorita,” the detective repeated. He gave Claire a look again, and she lowered her eyes to avoid his gaze.

  Claire sighed gratefully when Garza knocked on the open door and entered with Deputy Chan and Cody. Cody’s hair was disheveled, and dark stains under his arms suggested either a warm interview room or tense interrogation, or both. His eyes, puffy and red, had sunk into his face. He looked warily at the detective but brightened when he noticed his rescuers.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said nervously, his lip twitching.

  “We said we would,” said Madge.

  Salinas took a folder from Deputy Chan, who glanced quickly at Tanya before leaving the room. Salinas directed Cody to sit next to Claire. Garza sat next to the detective and took a small notepad and pen from her pocket.

  After skimming Cody’s statement, Salinas asked the women for a summary of what they knew about the incident. Since Claire had been designated the official spokesperson, she recounted the scene at the pyramid as she remembered it.

  She spoke in English for Cody’s benefit, but Salinas held his hand up and turned to Garza. “¿Entiendes?” She nodded.

  During this narration, Cody sat quietly. He started to sob again as Claire described the scene at the foot of the pyramid. Madge handed Cody a tissue packet that she pulled from the depths of her purse, and Cody took it in a pathetic gesture of thankfulness and grief.

  Salinas asked, “Did anyone touch the body?” He glanced quickly toward Cody, who reacted with a sharp gasp at the reference to his friend as ‘a body.’

  “I touched him to take the photographs.” Claire shuddered as she remembered the revulsion she felt as she removed the jacket from Paul’s face and moved his head to take the photo.

  Tanya said, “Brad Kingsford checked Paul for breathing.” She paused, looking toward her companions. “And he turned the body over.”

  Cody pulled another tissue from the packet and blew his nose.

  “Did anyone else come close?” Salinas asked.

  “An elderly couple from Michigan hovered along the inner edge of the circle, Dale and Lois Stuart. We had met them earlier,” Claire explained. “They saw Paul on the pyramid before the program but didn’t see anyone with him.” She paused. “I think they stayed at the Hotel Chac.” She looked to her colleagues for confirmation but received only shrugs in return. Claire added, “They took a photo of our group earlier in the day. The Uxmal officers have their contact information.”

  Salinas nodded. “Yes, Sergeant Garza has it.”

  Madge cast a sideway glance at Cody. “Could it have been suicide?”

  Cody’s head jerked up. “No! He wouldn’t kill himself! He had his whole career ahead of him! He had me…” This last statement became lost in another burst of sobs and sniffles, the tissues now just shredded wads in his clenched fist. He pulled out another tissue, the last one in the small packet.

  Claire glanced at Salinas before asking Cody a question. Receiving an intense gaze in return, she asked, “Cody, why would Paul climb the pyramid in the evening, just before the show started?” Salinas gave her an appraising look but said nothing.

  “He liked to be alone, to write notes or to think,” Cody said. “We are alike that way. It would be like him to do that. He had no fear of heights and would have ignored the barricades.” He sniffled and rubbed his nose with the wad of tissues.

  Detective Salinas tented his fingers and turned to Madg
e. “Perhaps the elderly couple and the photographs may help me clear up—how do you say—the loose ends, but I hope to conclude my investigation within a few days.” He brought his hands back down to the desk. “The Uxmal police gave me your contact information. I may call on you again.”

  “Are we done?” asked Tanya.

  “Yes, for now. But, please, if you think of anything else, or if your friends know something, they should call me.” He handed a card directly to Claire, the recipient of privileged information. “You can take your friend back to the hotel.”

  Outside, Cody clung close to the women, as if afraid he might be snatched up and sent back to the interrogation room.

  “Now what?” said Madge. She looked at Claire. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Claire said, trying to control her breathing.

  Tanya looked at her watch. “The morning sessions will be ending soon, but I’m in no mood for meetings.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Madge reprimanded, but she too had lost all interest in the conference.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When George left the breakfast table, he had no other thought but to escape Tanya’s incessant chatter. He returned to his room, changed from his flip-flops to walking shoes and exchanged his tweed jacket for a short-sleeve shirt more agreeable to the weather. He took the conference program from the dresser and skimmed the sessions for the day. Seeing nothing archaeological until Eduardo Ramirez’s lecture, he decided to take a walk and clear his head.

  Brad joined him as he waited for the elevator. In shorts, a university T-shirt, tennis shoes, and straw hat, Brad resembled a graduate student more than a faculty member, especially with his hair tied back in a ponytail. His sunglasses hung from a strap around his neck, and he carried his backpack over his shoulder.

  In the elevator, Brad pushed the button for the first floor. “Sorry, George, but I’m playing hooky this morning. I’m going to Progresso Beach to rework my speech and get away for a while…you know…I can only take so much departmental drama.”