by Cindy L Hull
Garza brightened. “No, but he was here, before the conference started. He’s in the book.” She smiled as she turned the notebook around so Salinas could see the page she had been studying. “Paul and Cody came by bus and walked from town.”
Salinas raised his eyebrows. “Really? How did you learn this?” he asked.
“I interviewed Benito’s nephew, Justo, who works in the store. He remembered two men who fit the description of Cody and Paul. They came into the store on May third and bought a corn-god statue. Justo said the men showed Benito a drawing of the statue and wanted one like it. After they bought it, the dark-haired man asked to take a photograph of Don Benito with the statue.”
“Photograph?” Salinas said. “Did he have a camera?”
“He took it with his phone,” Garza said.
Claire and Roberto looked at each other. “Phone?” Salinas said. “We haven’t found a phone.”
“Or a statue,” Claire added.
“Is Justo still here?” Roberto asked.
“He’s with Juarez.” She pointed toward the back of the store.
Roberto and Claire passed by a small office and through a door that connected to the house where Benito had lived. It was a small cement-block house, cluttered but otherwise amenable to comfort. A small stove and refrigerator sat along one wall and a large wooden table served as both work and eating space. A young man in his late teens, wearing a Black Sabbath T-shirt and jeans, sat at the table with Sergeant Juarez.
Juarez stood, eyes widening when he saw Claire with Salinas.
“Who do we have here?” asked Salinas.
“This is Justo Suarez, Don Benito’s nephew. He worked with his uncle in the store.” Juarez introduced Salinas and Claire to the young man, whose eyes were red from crying.
The young man looked up from his chair. “Buenas tardes.”
A local deputy led Salinas to a small file cabinet that had been hidden in a locked closet. Claire heard the deputy say, “Documentos y papeles de certificación.”
Claire recognized Deputy Chan, Sergeant Juarez’s partner, in the doorway of a small room off the main living quarters and joined him there.
“Buenas tardes,” Claire said. He too looked out into the main room at Salinas, then back at her. Claire did not explain her presence.
“Look,” Chan said.
He motioned her into the room where another deputy squatted at a small refrigerator. The sweet smell left no doubt as to what had been stored there.
“So, he did have a side business,” Claire said.
“More than one, we think,” said Chan.
Roberto and the deputy joined Claire and Chan at the marijuana refrigerator. Claire moved away, allowing them to speak. She studied a photograph of a middle-aged couple that hung on a faded green wall. It resembled many old photographs she had seen in Mexico, the subjects staring at the photographer, their faces somber.
“Is this Don Benito?” she asked Justo.
“Sí,” he said. “It was taken before my aunt died.”
Roberto joined Claire at the photograph. Their eyes met, and she nodded. It was the man she had seen in the slide presentation, and she was quite sure it was the same man who had tried to sell her artifacts years before.
Salinas asked Claire to show Justo the Keane College faculty photograph. Justo took his time studying the faces. “I know Sergeant Garza showed this to you, but please look again, carefully.”
“I don’t recognize any of these people,” Justo said.
Claire flipped through the other photographs, locating a group photo Claire had taken at the reception. “Do you recognize this man?” she asked, indicating Paul.
“Yes, he’s the one who was here that day—with the other man. They bought a statue and took a photograph of my uncle.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“But,” he squinted to look at the photograph again and pointed to Laura, “I’ve seen her too.”
“Where?” Claire asked.
Roberto stood over Justo’s shoulder, his brow furrowed.
“In Motul.”
“Has she been in the store?” Roberto asked.
“I haven’t seen her here, just in town.”
Roberto and Claire exchanged glances. Claire flipped through her stack and extracted another photo. She showed it to Justo. “Have you seen this man here?”
“No.”
“Does the name Eduardo Ramirez sound familiar?” Roberto asked.
“Is that who this is?”
“Yes,” said Roberto.
“I’ve heard the name, but I don’t know him.”
They thanked Justo, and Claire looked at her watch.
“I have to go. I can walk to my car. It’s not far.”
“I’ll drive you.”
They returned to the store where Garza was still examining the accounting book.
“Sergeant,” Roberto said, “see if you can learn anything else from Justo about Laura Lorenzo or Eduardo Ramirez. It appears she has been to Motul.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Are you leaving?”
“I’m taking Professor Aguila to her car. I’ll be back ahorita.”
At a stop sign just inside the town, Claire said, “We have obsessed about Paul and now Don Benito, and who could have killed them. Have you forgotten about Tanya?”
“Not at all,” he said as he drove through the intersection.
“And what about Cody?” Claire persisted. “He was here. Could he have killed Benito, Paul, and Tanya?”
Roberto frowned. “I don’t see how he could come here alone, without Paul. He doesn’t know Spanish or the local geography, and it would be impossible to make a round trip on a bus before breakfast. But, you are right about one thing. I haven’t talked much about Tanya…” Claire studied his face, thoughtful and unexpressive, as he parked next to Claire’s car.
He turned to face her, his expression solemn. “I think I know who killed Tanya.” He reached over and touched her hand lightly. “And the dagger?” he said, raising his eyebrows, “Tanya stole it. Didn’t I tell you?”
Claire stared, her mouth open. “How do you know that?”
“You’re in a hurry,” he said, smiling. “I’ll tell you later. Now I know you’ll meet with me again.”
Claire barely remembered the drive back to Merida. Her head spun with Roberto’s words.
Tanya stole the dagger? Who killed her? How could he know, and she not have a clue? Worse, how could he spend all day with her and not tell her these important facts?
She arrived at the hotel a mere twenty minutes before Jamal’s presentation. She grabbed her travel bag, her gifts having been distributed to her friends and happily received. She hurried to her room to freshen up. A shower was not to be, but she took time to check her email. There it was—the email from Emily at Lake Odawa, with photographs attached. She glanced at them briefly before forwarding them to Roberto. She grabbed her purse and hurried downstairs.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Thursday afternoon
Sergeant Rosa Garza sat at her desk typing notes from her own investigation, murmuring as she typed. She speculated on a profession where one studies other people, teaches, and attends conferences when she worked fifty hours a week while her mother watched her kids. She wondered if it was worth it, struggling for ten years to prove herself to the men who controlled the police force—she was smarter than most, and more dependable. Then, after her promotion to sergeant, her husband, el conejo, left her for another woman, one who, Rosa assumed, would stay home and cook for him. Good. They deserved each other. Thank God Detective Salinas had taken her under his wing.
In fact, Rosa currently held all men in low esteem, except Detective Salinas. Those who might be murderers particularly irritated her, especially in cases like this one where she di
dn’t understand the motives. Lust, love, greed, revenge…these emotions she understood. None of the motives in this case seemed worth the effort—threat of blackmail? Smoking marijuana? Not getting a job you want? ¡Carajo! Why bother?
Personally, she preferred the artifact angle. Don Benito was into something, and he probably didn’t really understand the seriousness of what he did. He was the middleman between the source of the artifact and the purchaser. Yet her boss, Detective Salinas, had not pursued the person most likely involved in smuggling and even murder, Eduardo Ramirez. Her money was on him.
From her perspective, Salinas was wasting his time following Jamal, the handsome druggie, and the gay guy. Then of course, there was the pretty professor, Claire. Salinas was showing all the symptoms of love sickness: preoccupation, daydreaming at his desk, moodiness. She wondered what would happen when la professora returned to the United States. Life could get interesting around here. She pressed the print button and sent her report to the printer.
Roberto Salinas sat at his desk, typing up his own notes from the two days he had worked without his sergeant. He could hear Rosa mumbling as she worked in the next room. He admired his sergeant for all the challenges she had faced. She would be a good detective someday, but an attitude adjustment would benefit her progress.
A notification beeped on his computer and he opened his email screen to find the photographs Claire had forwarded. He opened the attachment and perused the Stuarts’ photographs, enlarging, rotating, and deciphering the location and people in each shot.
As he stared at the screen, Rosa knocked and entered with her report. Rosa always looked neat, the picture of professionalism. If only he could get her to smile periodically. He took her report and asked her to sit down.
“Que?” she asked as she sat stiffly in the chair opposite him.
“I am wondering, Rosa, what you think of this case?”
Rosa squirmed in her seat. “Do you think that Jamal or Cody are involved in the murders?”
Salinas shrugged. “We need to follow every lead,” he replied. “Jamal keeps lying to me, and I need to find out why. Cody keeps throwing evidence at me, which makes me suspect him.”
Rosa cleared her throat and said, “But the murder of Don Benito is something else. Cody had no reason to kill him, and we know of no reason for Cody to kill Tanya.”
“What is your theory?” Salinas asked.
“Jamal is harmless.”
“So why does he lie to me?”
Rosa shrugged. “Perhaps he is worried about his past…” She bit her lip. “Or, he is covering for someone else.”
“Who?”
She shrugged again. “Brad Kingsford?” Rosa bit her lip again. “If I can say so…?” She looked at her boss.
“Yes?” Salinas prompted.
“I prefer the smuggling angle.”
“And who do you think I should be looking at?”
“Eduardo Ramirez.”
“For smuggling or murder?”
“Smuggling for sure, but I think he could commit murder.”
“I don’t disagree with you,” he answered. “Smuggling is a serious crime, perhaps worth killing for.” He folded his hands on the table. “That’s why the Homeland Security Investigation Team, HSI, is here, working with our Federal Police. They are watching Doctor Ramirez.”
Rosa had been excused from part of Doctor Banks’ interview, and that of the retired professors at the Casa Montejo. She had resented it at the time. “Those old archaeologists are Homeland Security Investigators?” she said, amused. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”
“It was confidential then, but you are included now.”
She leaned forward. This case suddenly became much more interesting. “Ramirez may have gone to Motul early in the morning.”
“If that’s true, it means the agents lost track of him.” He furrowed his brow. “But we have no evidence that he has a history with Don Benito, other than the initials ER, which are very common in Mexico.”
Rosa said, “But Paul Sturgess has a history with Don Benito.”
“As do Jamal and Brad Kingsford,” he agreed, “but let’s put Jamal aside for now, as I agree with your assessment.” He tented his fingers. “According to the president of Tixbe, Brad, aka Jaime, knew Don Benito and had been to his store, despite what he told his colleagues.”
Salinas watched Rosa closely. He knew she was weighing the evidence. He gave her time to put the pieces together for herself.
“If Brad was involved in something illegal involving Don Benito,” Rosa reasoned, “and if someone knew about it—Paul Sturgess perhaps—he might be desperate, but we have no evidence of illegal involvement. But, if Doctor Kingsford was the man in the straw hat, Benito was already dead by the time he arrived in Motul that morning.” She paused, thinking. “Perhaps he made two trips—one to kill and a second to set an alibi.”
Salinas nodded. “But you are wrong in thinking I have not considered him, or Eduardo Ramirez, or even Doctor Kennedy,” Salinas said. “We know Doctor Kennedy went to Dzab on Monday, so he is likely the black man who stopped in Motul.”
“But he was there much later. Don Benito was already dead,” Rosa insisted.
Salinas smiled at his sergeant. “You and I will be interviewing Doctor Kennedy later today, and Doctors Kingsford and Ramirez tomorrow, after Doctor Kingsford’s keynote address.”
Rosa clenched her fists on her knees. “Aren’t you afraid the murderer might leave?”
“I have their passports. I am playing the professors and Doctor Ramirez differently than the other faculty members, primarily because of the American and Mexican interest in Ramirez. I would rather the anthropologists think we are incompetent Mexican policemen, chasing our tails, than to push one or all of them too soon.”
“Do they think that?” Rosa asked, frowning.
“They watch movies and the American news.”
He watched her deflate, sigh, and sit back in her chair. “What’s your theory?” she asked.
Salinas told her. When he finished, he folded his hands on the table, looking at his sergeant. “You don’t think much of this group, do you?”
“I think these people are muy estrañjos, very strange. They aren’t like real people.”
“Of course they are,” responded Roberto. “They are just like you and me.”
“We don’t go traveling around to sit in meetings.”
“Actually, I do that, and you will too, when you get rank. It’s part of being a professional.”
“The one professor, Claire, she wants me to like her,” Rosa said. “But I wonder if she should be involved. Can we trust her?”
“I thought we agreed that Professors Aguila, Carmichael, and Banks were reliable.”
“Yes, but…”
“You object to Doctor Aguila, because…?”
Rosa squirmed in her chair and looked at the photograph of Salinas’s family on the shelf behind his desk.
Roberto followed her gaze. “You think I am compromising the investigation for personal reasons?”
“No, but…”
“Rosa,” he said, “I met Claire Aguila many years ago. There has never been anything between us that would hinder my judgment. I promise you that I have investigated her connections with the deaths as carefully as the others, as have you. More carefully, in fact, as she always seemed to be in the center of the drama.”
Rosa shrugged and rose from the chair. “Is that all?” she asked.
“Yes…no.” He remembered the photographs. “I have forwarded an email to you from Doctor Aguila with photos. Can you print them off on regular paper for me now, and have photographs ready for our interview with Jamal this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir.” She moved toward the door.
“Sergeant,” Salinas said. Rosa stopped and turned back towar
d Salinas. “Mr. Detwyler should be here momentarily. Don’t scare him away, okay?”
She scowled, but Salinas thought he saw a corner of her mouth rise just a little.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Cody sat in the chair that Rosa had vacated, his hand shaking as he placed his backpack on the floor and crossed his legs. Rosa followed him in and sat next to Salinas, notebook in hand.
“Mr. Detwyler,” Salinas said, “I have learned more about the death of your friend, but I still have questions. The sooner I have answers, the sooner you can go home, and the sooner Paul’s family can have their son’s funeral.”
Cody looked from Salinas to Garza, and back to Salinas. “Do I need a lawyer? In the United States we can have a lawyer.” He shifted his ankle/knee posture, still trying for casualness.
Salinas leaned forward. “Remember, we have an agreement.” Salinas paused as Cody nodded. “Are you comfortable?” Cody nodded again.
“Good,” Salinas said. “You have been very cooperative. You completed a written statement with the group on Tuesday and you have spoken with my team twice. And you reported the missing computer. I believe you are telling the truth about your actions. Today, I hope you can help me visualize the events surrounding the deaths this week.”
“I told you the truth. I didn’t kill Paul or Tanya.” Cody blinked back tears.
Salinas studied the young man, Cody’s hands shaking uncontrollably. “Before we start, did you bring the items I asked for?”
Cody reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of tennis shoes and three statues of Mayan gods. He handed the shoes to Salinas and placed the statues on the detective’s desk.
“Did you find the cellphone?”
Cody gulped and shook his head.
“Would he have carried his phone with him that day?”
“He always carried it.”
Salinas opened his notebook and flipped through a few pages. “I’d like to start at Uxmal. I will summarize what I know. Please don’t interrupt unless you disagree with my understanding.” Salinas waited for Cody to nod agreement, then continued. “I understand you and Paul argued sometime after the reception, and you were also seen talking, perhaps arguing, near the pyramid before the Sound and Light Show.” Salinas paused, but Cody did not contradict him. “After the argument at the pyramid, you returned to the Cultural Center. When you heard that there had been an accident, you rushed back to the site.”