Treasure of the Mayan King (2012)

by Alehandro

“Let’s hear your story, shall we?” Gustavo put his recorder on the table and adjusted his notebook.

  “I don’t really have a choice, do I? But first, tell me something. How did you find out about me?”

  “My client, Octavio Mendoza, hired me to find the thief of the treasure map.”

  Barrios sneered. “That stupid wimp, of course he went crying to you. I am sure he claims I was the thief, eh? I tell you, that whiner didn’t deserve that map in the first place! Minutes after we signed the deal, and bang, he finds this incredible treasure map! It should have been mine! I admit it’s my fault for not searching the house thoroughly before selling it, but still…’

  He paused, taking a calming breath. “Anyway, as you probably already know, I am an auctioneer and I specialize in distress sales. Ninety percent of the time my clients are in a very big hurry to sell their properties due to many misfortunes. You know how life is full of surprises, don’t you? One moment you’re in the lap of luxury, and the next you’re scrambling for your meals. I have seen my share of troubles as a result of bad deals with customers.” Barrios shifted in his chair.

  “Take Mrs. Sova for example. I received a call from her a few months ago. She said she needed to sell her house as soon as possible since her husband was presumed dead. The next day I was at her hacienda in Yucatan. Now, in all my years of buying and selling property, I have met all kinds of people and personalities and I must say that I have rarely seen a person such as Mrs. Sova.”

  “What do you mean?” Gustavo asked.

  “She was such as spiteful person, you know? She really hated her husband. She said all she wanted to do was to sell the estate and hightail it to France. As we toured the house, all I got out of her was a hate speech about Dr. Sova and an account of his terrible antics. When we got to the hallway where the study was, she emphatically stated that she did not want to go in there because it reminded her of him. By then I had had enough of her and figured I could check it out later.

  “I endured an hour or so of this torture until we came to an agreement on the price. Once the papers were signed, she sighed with great relief, as did I, I can tell you. She then looked at me and said:

  “I curse the day I married that man! All I want are my clothes and some personal documents. As far as I am concerned the rest of this house can burn to the ground”

  “A week later, I received a call from Mr. Mendoza. He was looking for a home to buy for himself.”

  “Hmmm,” Gustavo said. “Wait a minute, back up a bit. Did Mrs. Sova mention anything about the map in the study?”

  “No, not at all. As I said before, she did not even want to go in the study.”

  “Very well,” Gustavo said, satisfied. “Continue with your story.”

  “Octavio has obviously told you about how we found the map. We were unable to translate the document, so we had to find somebody that could, but who? I didn’t want the entire scientific community involved.

  “I finally remembered Raul Martinez, an archaeological appraiser I had met through a client. Martinez confided in me that many of his appraisals were for sales requiring a certain amount of discretion, if you know what I mean. I called him and soon the three of us were deeply involved in the translation, working on it every day. Octavio’s greed and distrust were obvious from the start. He wouldn’t let the scroll out of his sight even when he went to the bathroom! Whenever he would leave the room, he would lock it up. Can you imagine that?”

  “I think I can,” Gustavo answered, trying not to smile.

  Oblivious to the sarcasm, Barrios continued. “Raul was constantly trying to convince Octavio to let him copy some portions of the scroll. It seemed the more progress he made on the translation, the more frustrated he became with Octavio’s distrust. He told us that he was beginning to understand some of the writing and its meaning, but that there was still much to learn from the scroll. We asked him what he could understand, and he said something about ‘winged serpents,’ strange shadows and the ‘sun god being eaten up.’”

  “What does that mean?” Gustavo interrupted.

  Barrios stared off into space and stroked his chin. “I, I don’t remember the details. It seemed like so much nonsense to me and I said so. He said that the riddle was written in metaphors, and once we found out what they meant we would find the treasure of the Mayan king.

  “As the days passed I was beginning to have second thoughts about continuing with the project. I was losing my trust in Raul. He did not seem as capable or educated as he had presented himself to be. There was a good deal of the charlatan in him. Most of the answers he gave came from Dr. Sova’s computer files.”

  Antonio paused to collect his thoughts. “Of course, if he did actually figure out the riddle that meant a trek into the jungle. I hate the jungle, Mr. De Leon. Then, we’d have to find a hiding place for the treasure until we found the right clientele. It would take considerable time to find somebody willing to purchase our goods. I’m a businessman, not an adventurer. There was just too much work and risk. I decided that it would simply be best if I stole the map and sold it myself. However, one day when I was driving Raul to the hacienda, he suggested exactly the same thing!

  “I panicked. He was going to ruin my plan! I told him that it sounded like a great idea, but we needed a little more time and patience. I knew, however, that it was time to act. That weekend I closed my office and moved here. The following week I returned to work at the hacienda. During a lunch break, Raul excused himself to the bathroom and Octavio walked outside onto the patio. While he was out there, I overheard him mention to a caretaker that he was going to be gone for the weekend.” Barrios talked with demonstrative gestures.

  “Saturday afternoon I drove up to the hacienda. I told Lucio that I was retrieving some documents for Octavio, showing him and Jose the spare keys I had made. They let me pass and other than the demented old man, there was no one else around. But when I got to the office - “

  He closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

  “Yes?” prompted Gustavo.

  “The treasure map was gone, Mr. De Leon, the secret drawer was open! Raul had beaten me to the punch, that little….”

  “Of course he had.” Gustavo sarcastically intoned.

  Antonio sprang to his feet, his face flushed red with anger. “I am not lying! I have told you nothing but God’s own truth, I swear it!”

  Gustavo stood as well. “Come now, Mr. Barrios. You admit to having a key to the house, and you admit to being in the place when it disappeared. Who else could have stolen the map?”

  “Raul could have broken in!” Antonio shouted.

  “Mr. Mendoza said that there was no evidence of forced entry. I don’t want to play games, Barrios.”

  “I am not playing games!”

  Gustavo sneered. “You will be hearing from me again. Don’t try anything foolish like running away.”

  De Leon shut the door leaving Barrios, fists clenched, glaring after him.

  Gustavo tried to focus on the hazy figure standing at the foot of his bed.

  “Wake up sleepy head,” the familiar voice said. “I brought you breakfast in bed.”

  “Wha…?” Gustavo said groggily as he propped himself up in bed. He was still half-asleep, but the smell of huevos rancheros was making its way past his wooziness. “Thank you, Miranda,” he finally managed to say. “That was very nice of you. What do you want?”

  Ignoring the question, Miranda put the breakfast tray in front of him. It was perfectly prepared, as always: two eggs sunny side up, stacked on a bed of lightly fried corn tortillas smothered with hot sauce and melted cheese. A healthy portion of refried beans on the side completed the meal.

  Miranda sat on the bed next to her husband and waited a few moments before speaking. “Too bad things didn’t work out with Barrios. Still empty-handed after all the work locating that dog!” she said.

  Gustavo shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully before putting his for
k down. He held his thumb and index finger barely apart. “I was this close; this close! But once I find Martinez, I’ll have it all wrapped up.”

  “Well, let’s hope. The good news is that we found Mr. Barrios. Mr. Mendoza now owes us a check.” Miranda replied with an optimistic smile. “I need to go shopping.”

  Gustavo brightened. “Yes, yes that is good. I forgot all about that. Remind me to give him a call today so we can get our second payment.”

  “Have you heard from Mr. Rollock?” Miranda asked.

  Gustavo wiped his mouth with his napkin as he quickly put the tray aside and jumped off the bed. “Let’s find out.”

  They entered Gustavo’s study and he sat at the computer.

  “There is his answer!” They both leaned forward to read it.

  To: Gustavo De Leon, Private Investigator

  From: Chauncy Rollock

  Dear Mr. De Leon,

  First, I would like to convey my heartfelt congratulations on your new endeavor as a private investigator! I wish you success.

  I am currently working on a project near Jerusalem where I am assisting another Bible archeologist. We are unearthing an ancient wall from the time of King Solomon. Now in reference to the Mayan case, I have kept silent concerning the treasure of the Mayan king for a long time. Like you, I feel that the treasure of King Chac should either be left untouched or be transferred to the Mexican authorities, not plundered for personal gain.

  I have information which I believe will help you. Experience has shown that the only safe course is to give it to you in person, face-to-face. Just give the word and I will book a flight out of Jerusalem.”

  Gustavo took a deep breath as he finished reading. “Well, well. It looks like we’ll be having a guest.” He proceeded to type the following:

  To: Chauncy Rollock

  From: Gustavo De Leon

  Thank you for your prompt response! We would be highly honored to have you come visit and assist us in solving this case. I would have preferred your visit to be under more pleasant circumstances. I am confident that whatever information you have will expedite justice. Please let me know when you will arrive at the International Airport in Mexico City so I can meet you.

  Thank you so very much!

  Gustavo smiled contentedly as he clicked the “Send” button.

  “Excellent! We’ll have this wrapped up in no - ” He was interrupted by his cell phone ringing.

  Miranda handed it to him.

  “Hello? Yes, I’m De Leon. What? You’re joking, right? Are you sure? What happened? Yes, yes I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  Gustavo ended the call and stared at the wall.

  “What’s wrong?” Miranda asked as she saw the look on her husband’s face.

  Gustavo slowly turned to her, a look of disbelief on his face. “Antonio Barrios is dead.”

  Chapter Six

  “What? How?” Miranda asked in shock.

  “From a heart attack of all things. The two undercover officers that I had trailing him said that this morning he had driven to a restaurant for breakfast. When he got out of his car, he grabbed his chest and fell to the ground. By the time they got to him, he was dead.”

  Miranda shook her head. “How sad. Something is very strange about this.”

  “I know. It’s not a good sign when your primary suspect dies right in the middle of the investigation. I’m going over to the morgue to talk to the police and look at the body. And you are going to find Raul Martinez for me, since that seems to be your specialty.”

  The morgue, a nondescript white building with few windows, lay hidden among many other government buildings in Mexico City. Ironically it teemed with life. Police officers, private investigators, reporters, medical students, doctors, lawyers, government workers and surviving family members filled the lobbies, hallways and offices.

  As a military captain, Gustavo De Leon had been no stranger to the morgue. Now, as a private investigator, he knew he would visit just as frequently. He walked briskly up a series of stone steps, passing the street vendors and newspaper sellers. The throng waiting to identify their dead loved ones spilled out onto the street. Despite his years of experience, De Leon had never fully come to terms with the sadness of the place.

  Inside he performed the ritual of showing his identification to a guard who knew him well but knew procedure just as well. Passing through the security doors, Gustavo entered a large room that contained only a table, a few chairs, three of them occupied.

  “Good morning gentlemen,” he greeted the three police officers. Nothing ever changes…the same furniture and the same echoes for the last twenty years, he thought.

  “Thank you for joining me; I realize that you’re busy and that I have no official status.” He opened a file that was sitting on the table and perused it. “According to this police report, and the report I received earlier, Antonio Barrios left his house at three minutes after seven this morning. He was then followed to a restaurant. As he got out of the vehicle he grabbed his chest, cried out something about being shot, and collapsed to the sidewalk. He was dead by the time anybody got to him.” He looked up at the policemen. “Does that sound right?”

  The three nodded in unison.

  Gustavo rubbed his forehead. “Well, gentlemen, which is it? The report says that he died of a heart attack, but he thought he’d been shot.”

  The officer who had been directing traffic at the scene spoke up. “The report is correct. There were no bullet wounds, no evidence of his being shot. Perhaps the pain was so severe he only thought he’d been shot.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps. Tell me anything you can remember that’s not in the report.”

  “Other than a cyclist in a big hurry, it was just business as usual.”

  Gustavo raised an eyebrow. “What cyclist?”

  “Just a man riding really fast on a bicycle - he came pretty close to Barrios. With his jacket fluttering, it’s hard to say anything about his size. But he was obviously athletic. I was startled by how fast he was moving.”

  “Did he interact in any way with Barrios?”

  “No, he did not.”

  “Is there anything else you men would like to add?” Gustavo asked.

  The response was a series of shrugs.

  Gustavo sighed and stood, as did the others. He raised his voice over the echoes of the sliding chairs. “Thank you. I’ll let you get back to work now.”

  Gustavo tucked his files under his arm and instead of following the officers to the exit, he went the other direction. He walked down a long flight of stairs. At the bottom, he opened a steel door and was greeted by a blast of cold air. Gustavo shivered and wrinkled his nose at the smell of formaldehyde.

  Starting down the long hallway he shouted, “Hey, Hernandez!” to a stout figure in a white smock sitting at a table.

  Dr. Emilio Hernandez answered without turning. “My, my, it’s Captain, I mean Investigator De Leon!”

  He finished the notes he was writing, stood up and turned and embraced De Leon heartily. “How are you doing, Gustavo? It’s been a while.”

  “Busier than I’d like. How have you been?”

  “I can’t complain,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “Business is good. Everybody is just dying to get in here.”

  Gustavo groaned theatrically. “At least, when your time is up, you won’t have far to go; you’ll already be here.”

  They both laughed. As they walked down the corridor toward the “crypt” as Hernandez called it, Gustavo couldn’t help but marvel at his friend. Throughout the years, Dr. Hernandez had maintained a cheerful attitude even though he was surrounded by so much death. Gustavo knew that the constant joking was how he coped.

  “So how is business, Gustavo?”

  “Well, it was going all right until my prime suspect checked into your hotel.”

  “Yes, yes, that’s what I heard. I suppose you came to visit him? I can assure you that he is getting proper rest.” They stopped in front of anot
her door. “You know the procedure; gloves and mask.”

  When both were ready, the doctor opened the door and they entered an even colder room.

  “So how is Miranda?”

  “She’s well. She’s helping me with my business, actually.”

  “Ah! So she is your partner in crime, then?”

  “If it wasn’t for crime, I would be working as a street performer.”

  “Thank God for crime, then.”

  Dr. Hernandez stopped and turned to study the names on the metal doors that were built into the walls of the large room. “Let’s see - B, B, Barrios, Antonio Barrios, here he is.”

  Pulling the drawer out, the two men saw that Antonio’s body was encased in a white bag. Hernandez unzipped the bag down to the navel.

  Gustavo came close and stared at the frozen and contorted face. Despite thirty years in the military, the sight of a corpse always gave Gustavo the same strange feeling. He remembered how full of life and vibrant the victims had once been, and now there was a body, so lifeless, so still.

  Dr. Hernandez adjusted his glasses again and pulled out a small file from the foot of the drawer. “Here is my initial report. ‘Cause of death: cardiac arrest.’ I see this every day, nothing out of the ordinary.” He returned the file to its plastic holder and turned nonchalantly to De Leon.

  “What are the scratch marks on his chest?” De Leon asked.

  The doctor casually took a glance. “Those, my friend, are the marks of his fingernails as he clutched his chest. The pain must have been intense.”

  “So there were no knife marks, no bullet holes, no other wounds?”

  “None whatsoever. I’ll bet his life the autopsy shows just another heart attack. It might take a few days before we get to him. If I discover anything unusual in the preliminary tests, I will inform you. However, if you find anything in your investigation, let me know. I can expedite the process for the autopsy - just call and say the word.”

  Gustavo nodded. “Thank you. Witnesses said that they heard him shout that he had been shot; any ideas?”

  “You have no idea of the pain. It is not the first time someone who has experienced a heart attack thought they had been shot.”