Human Sacrifice

by Cindy L Hull

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Tuesday Morning

  Sergeant Rosa Garza and Detective Salinas arrived at the hotel early to prepare for the meeting. Garza aligned several rows of metal chairs at the center of the Exhibit Room. Nearby, Detective Salinas examined a large poster Garza had prepared, featuring an enlarged photograph of Paul Sturgess.

  Garza paused in her chore, located Officer Chan near the door, and asked Salinas in a whisper, “So you’re telling me you had a cita romántica, a date, with a suspect last night?”

  Detective Salinas had never attested to having insight into the mind of women, especially women like Rosa Garza who were difficult to read, serious in nature, and professional to a fault. That she had made this comment indicated either criticism of his behavior or a softening in her touch. Unfortunately, he had no idea which possibility was correct.

  “It wasn’t a date, Sergeant,” he said. “It was an informal interview.”

  “And it involved food and drink?” she pressed.

  “Perhaps.”

  “That’s a date. I know. I used to have dates…then I got married, had children, got a divorce, earned my sergeant stripes…now I have no time for dates.”

  Salinas’ hand paused as he wrote on the poster board, the Sharpie pen soaking into the paper. Was this a quip, sarcasm, or an attempt at collegial conversation? Mierda.

  “It was an informal interview with a social element.” He explained how he and Claire had met, omitting the details. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Hmph,” Garza said, and unfolded a few more metal chairs. “Are we ready, sir?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Salinas turned the easel so that the photograph was clearly visible to those entering the room.

  Garza motioned to Officer Chan, who had sidled over to the exhibit cases, feigning interest in the artifacts so he could overhear their conversation. On her command, he returned to the Exhibit Room door, and opened it.

  Salinas watched the faces of the scholars as they entered and saw the photograph. Some approached the easel; others, engrossed in private conversations, ignored the image of Paul Sturgess altogether. They slipped into chairs and continued their conversations quietly; others paused, looked at the photo, and moved along.

  Professor Madge Carmichael entered with a colleague whom he recognized from Claire’s photograph as Professor George Banks. Madge nodded to Salinas as she and George approached the poster. Salinas identified the other Keane College faculty members as they arrived together: the tall and striking blonde Tanya, whom he had met at the police station; the two men he recognized from Claire’s photograph, Jamal Kennedy and Brad Kingsford. They joined Professors Carmichael and Banks at the easel, spoke together for a moment and then found seats near the center of the room. There was no sign of Claire, Cody Detwyler, or the mysterious Eduardo Ramirez. At that moment, a tall Mexican man entered, distinguishable by his black suit, pink shirt, and leather shoes. So, this was the great Doctor Ramirez.

  Claire had told Madge she overslept and would meet the group at the Exhibit Room, but the truth was more complicated. She feared how she might react when she saw Roberto after their meeting the night before. She felt embarrassed: by how she had treated him years ago, by her conflicted feelings for him now, and by the ease with which he had persuaded her to discuss her colleagues.

  Claire was surprised to see Cody Detwyler just outside the Exhibit Room, peeking around the corner, his face blotched, his eyes red.

  “What is it?” Claire asked when she reached his side.

  He pointed into the room and Claire saw the large photograph of Paul.

  “I can’t go in,” Cody whispered. “Those cops are here too.” He pointed his finger at Sergeant Juarez and Officer Chan, who stood nearby.

  “I’ll go in with you,” she said.

  The atmosphere was funereal. It wasn’t just the image of Paul pinned to the easel, but the pockets of people either standing at the photograph or sitting uncomfortably facing it. Cody did not approach the photograph, but dipped into the back row, near Laura. Eduardo Ramirez also sat in the back row, one ankle crossed over his knee, casually watching the detective at the front of the room. Claire joined her colleagues, taking a seat next to Brad and Tanya.

  Detective Salinas stood before his audience, wearing an American-style suit and tie. Sergeant Garza stood next to him. Claire found it difficult to look at him and not remember his words of the night before. She had deflected them successfully, she thought, but they hung there in the air, nonetheless. Roberto’s gaze skimmed over the audience and his eyes fell on Claire, but only momentarily. It seemed to Claire that Sergeant Garza stared at her for a long time.

  When the room quieted, Salinas motioned Chan to close the door. He thanked the group for their attendance and introduced himself and the other officers.

  “As you all know, Doctor Paul Sturgess died at Uxmal Sunday evening. Mr. Sturgess’s parents and his friend, Mr. Detwyler, are understandably concerned about his death, and certain facts have come to our attention that suggest further investigation might help us understand what happened that night.”

  As Garza and Chan handed out clipboards and pens, Salinas continued, “Rather than interview you individually, I am asking that each of you write a statement, in your own words, focusing on what you know about the events of that day and evening.”

  Salinas held up a copy of the questionnaire he had attached to the clipboards. “I ask that you use the questions to organize your thoughts. Please print your name, hotel, and phone number clearly on the top of the sheet in case we need to talk to you in person.

  “I assume you have come today because either you received an invitation, or you attended the excursion and might have some information about Mr. Sturgess or events surrounding his death. If you weren’t at Uxmal but know something about Mr. Sturgess that might be important, please fill in the comment section at the end of the questionnaire.”

  Salinas continued, “I have also asked you to outline when and where you saw Mr. Sturgess on that day or evening, whom he was with, or a description, what he wore, including if he had a backpack, jacket, or other identifiable clothing, so we know you saw Mr. Sturgess, not someone who looked like him.

  “If you spoke with Doctor Sturgess, please summarize your conversation. Don’t speculate on what you have seen or heard. Finally, fill in the comment section with any additional information you might have and indicate if you have any photographs that might be helpful.”

  Salinas paused and looked around the room. “I know this is difficult, but I know you are all trained observers, and I have no doubt some of you saw something that might help us understand how Doctor Sturgess came to be on the pyramid, and how he fell.”

  Salinas scanned the audience again. “You might know that someone posted a video of the accident scene…” Voices erupted around the room at this information. “Quiet, please,” Salinas said. “It is no longer online. But if you saw the video or posted it yourself, we would like to know.”

  Claire looked back at Cody and saw a look of horror on his face as he heard about the video. Salinas continued, “When you are finished, please sign and date your statement and give it to Sergeant Garza before you leave, with your clipboard and pen. Does anyone have any questions?”

  An elderly man in the back row broke the tension when he asked, “Do you prefer the answers in English or Spanish?” Several people laughed, but Salinas held his hand up. “As you teachers always say, there is no such thing as a stupid question.” He smiled at the man. “Either language is fine…but we prefer you not answer in Maya.” The audience laughed again.

  Claire could feel the mood of the room lighten as the group settled into their task. She understood Salinas’s attempt to put people at ease, but she worried about how the levity would affect Cody. She turned around to look at him again. His head was bowed over the questionnaire. He
chewed on the end of his pen, like a student concentrating on a difficult exam.

  Within fifteen minutes, the potential witnesses lined up at the door where Garza stood with a large cardboard box at her feet. The Keane College faculty joined the end of the line that wound alongside the exhibit case where the corn-god seemed to stare at them in judgment.

  Behind her, Claire heard Tanya ask her companions what they had written.

  “It’s none of your business,” Brad said.

  “I’m just curious,” she said, and turned to Jamal. “Can I see your statement?”

  “No, Tanya. It’s my statement, not yours.”

  The men held their clipboards to their chests as Tanya walked between them, her mouth set in a pout.

  The witnesses approached Sergeant Garza with trepidation. A small group of anthropologists huddled near the sergeant, correcting errors or filling in information. The mood of the group was generally jocular, as those who had successfully passed her station teased their colleagues and friends for their predicament.

  “I haven’t been that scared since Catholic school,” said Brad as the group walked together to the lobby. They joined the remaining conference participants, who maneuvered through the crowd toward the meeting rooms.

  “What now?” Tanya asked.

  She sighed. “I have to find two elderly needles in a haystack. I hope you all can enjoy a few sessions.” She turned and headed toward the elevators.

  In her room, she called the Stuarts in Michigan using the number that Roberto had given her but was unable to make the connection. She opened her computer, searched for Lake Odawa, and sent an email message to the township supervisor. She could only hope that the township officials read their email. On impulse, she Googled Eduardo Ramirez and Galerías Indígenas and found several links to his family museums and art galleries. One of the sites provided a virtual tour of the Ramirez collections.

  She skimmed the photographs of statuettes, pottery, and other artifacts his family had accumulated over the years for their various museums. The massiveness of the collections both impressed and worried her. How does one family gain access to such treasure? As she considered this, her finger froze on the computer mouse. She clicked on an image and an enlarged photograph appeared. It was the original of the statue that Eduardo had presented to Brad yesterday. Its provenance was listed as: anonymous donor, from Dzibichaltún, circa 800 A.D. Dzibichaltún was the archaeological site closest to the locations where she, Brad, Jamal, and Paul had done their research.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “What’s with her?’ Tanya asked, as she watched Claire join the throng of anthropologists congregating at the elevators.

  “She’s lovesick,” said Madge. She had observed the amount of time Claire and Salinas had spent trying not to look at each other, both at the police station and the meeting they had just left.

  “Lovesick?” said Tanya. “How old-fashioned.” She raised her eyebrows at Jamal, who clenched his jaw and flashed his dark eyes in her direction.

  “What?” Brad said. He had been studying his own program. “Who’s lovesick?”

  “Keep up, Brad,” Tanya said. “Where’s everyone going now?” She turned, seeking out Jamal, who had disappeared from her sight.

  Brad said, “To eat. I missed breakfast this morning.” He looked at his watch. “If I hurry, I can hear the end of Keith Kramer’s talk on looting Mayan sites.”

  George said, “Madge and I are going to Samantha Sanchez’s field report on Guatemala archaeology. Do you want to come?”

  Tanya caught a glimpse of Jamal heading toward the hotel entrance. “No thanks. I’m going shopping.” She gave a backward wave as she sprinted toward Jamal.

  “Wait for me.” Tanya caught up with Jamal at the entrance. He stood back so others could pass through ahead of him. “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Taking a walk before the afternoon sessions on ethno-botany.”

  “Come with me to the market.” She reached for his arm. He started to pull away but relented and allowed her hand to rest in the crook of his elbow.

  They pushed past a cluster of University of Yucatán students who stood just outside the hotel entrance, engaged in excited discussion about the police meeting.

  Disentangling from the crowd, Tanya said, “I need to talk to you.” She moved closer to him. “I have a theory about Paul’s death. I didn’t tell the detective everything in my statement. I want to know what you think.”

  Jamal looked at her, confused. “What do you mean, a theory you didn’t tell the police? Why hold back?”

  “He said not to speculate, remember?” She pulled on his arm again, smiling up at him in the way that used to warm his heart, but now chilled him to the bone.

  “What’s your theory?” Jamal asked.

  “Later,” Tanya teased, a sly smile returning to her face. She quickened her step as they wove their way past vendors selling palm-leaf crosses in front of the cathedral. “Why did the detective call us all together?” she asked. “Don’t you think that was strange?”

  Jamal sighed. “He explained it to us. If it were my son, I’d want to have answers, especially if it happened in a foreign country, wouldn’t you?” He looked at Tanya with questioning eyes. “Besides, it’s likely the YouTube video got them moving on it. I’m sure they don’t want negative publicity.”

  “I saw the video,” Tanya said. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “When?”

  “At the police station. It was a copy.” Tanya opened her eyes wide. “Ah, now you’re interested.” She pulled him closer.

  “Did the video show the body?” he asked.

  “It was dark,” she admitted. “You could see him, but he was covered with a jacket by then, thanks to Brad.”

  “I’m glad it was taken down from the site,” Jamal said thoughtfully. “I can’t imagine seeing my dead child on an online video.”

  Pedestrian traffic increased as they approached the market. They turned onto a brick street that was closed to traffic. Tanya peered into shops and, at her insistence, they entered a leather shop at the end of the street. Inside, the powerful odor of leather accosted them, as did the relative cool of the shop’s interior. Once they assured at least three aggressive salesmen that they were just looking, they moved toward the back of the shop.

  Tanya, examining a variety of leather belts, whispered to Jamal, “I’m thinking about opportunity and motive.” She pulled Jamal to a display of leather purses along a side wall. “I think opportunity is more important, don’t you? It had to be someone who could have climbed the pyramid during a short period of time.”

  “There were hundreds of people there,” Jamal protested.

  “But how many knew him? How many could have lured him to the top of the pyramid?”

  “Only Cody, I think,” Jamal said.

  “Perhaps, but it’s something that someone said that night, at the show. I don’t think it happened that way.” She picked up a leather belt with a jaguar buckle and took a place in the check-out line.

  “What do you mean?” Jamal asked, looming over her as she counted her pesos.

  “Someone wasn’t where he said he was.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t remember, but the backpack is the key.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “The backpack?” Jamal asked. “What backpack?” They had crossed a small plaza lined with horse-drawn carriages.

  Tanya sighed, impatient. “Detective Salinas mentioned it,” she said. “It must mean something. If you had been there, you would have seen that Paul’s backpack wasn’t there…on the ground.”

  Jamal’s hand shook as he took Tanya’s arm and led her across the busy street and into the market, where the bright colors and blended aromas of fresh vegetables and fruits greeted them. Mayan women stood at tables, care
fully stacking their produce into neat, impossible pyramids of oranges, grapefruits, mangoes, and papayas.

  “I was there. I saw a backpack.”

  “That was Brad’s.”

  “Why is that important?”

  “His computer, Jamal.”

  Jamal pulled Tanya to him. “Are you saying that someone took the backpack with Paul’s computer? Do you know for sure he had it with him?”

  “He had it at the reception.” She snorted, “And you call yourself a trained observer.”

  Jamal frowned. “That means someone killed him for the backpack?”

  Tanya shrugged. “Maybe.” She smiled at Jamal. “And that brings me to motive.”

  “Cody is the only one who could have motive,” Jamal protested. “We didn’t even know Paul before this week.”

  “Perhaps, but I have a theory…two theories actually.” Jamal followed Tanya past the produce into a section dominated by household goods, plastic buckets, hardware, and kitchen utensils. “At the Uxmal department meeting, you said that you felt interrogated by Paul. What did that mean?”

  “It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it. I assumed he did the same to others.”

  “Yes, that’s it. Paul seemed to know things, or hint that he knew things, about our work. And it’s not just us.”

  “Who else?”

  “There’s this anthropologist at Central Wisconsin, Evelyn Nielander. Have you heard of her?”

  “Sure. She works in Chiapas, with the Zapatistas. I read her book.”

  “I guess Paul implied that Evelyn had joined the Zapatistas.” She laughed, her eyes wide. “Can you imagine? Evelyn looks like one of those beautiful senior women I’ve seen on television advertising osteoporosis medication.” She pulled on Jamal’s arm again. “Maybe that was his modus operandi.”

  They skirted the fresh-meat section of the market where the mingled odors of beef, pork, fish, and fowl collided in a putrid stench that permeated the air. Averting her eyes from the long wooden tables laden with animal heads and piles of offal coated with flies, Tanya turned to Jamal, meeting his eyes. “What do you think of Laura Lorenzo?”