by Alehandro
“Gustavo? Gustavo? What’s wrong?”
“I have to go, Raul Martinez is sprawled on the sidewalk! I’ll call you back!”
He sprinted down the steps and ran to the sidewalk.
“What happened?”
“Mr. Martinez said he is having a heart attack!” a police officer informed him.
“A what?” Gustavo asked, his eyes widening. He quickly bent down to look closer at Raul. “Mr. Martinez? Raul? What’s wrong? Can you hear me? Talk to me!”
Raul writhed in agony, whispered something to Gustavo and then was still.
Gustavo stood slowly. “He’s dead.”
“What did he say to you, Mr. De Leon?”
Gustavo stared blankly at the sky for a moment. “He said ‘I’ve been shot!’”
“What about the man on the bicycle?” one of the officers asked.
Gustavo snapped out of his trance. “What? What man?”
“The man on the bicycle,” the officer replied. “He sped past us just before Martinez fell.”
“What did he look like?”
“Well, he had a baseball cap on, but all I could see of his face was the black beard and the big sunglasses.”
“Was he fat, was he thin, dark, light?”
“I, I couldn’t tell if he was thin or fat, his shirt was puffed out by the wind. He was dark though, I think.”
“Did he have a gun?”
“No, both hands were on the handlebars.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, I think he was smoking a cigarette.”
“A cigarette? That’s it?” Gustavo asked.
“I’m sorry Mr. De Leon, that’s all I saw. He was riding really fast, I mean really fast.”
“Which direction did he go?”
The officer pointed, and Gustavo took off running. Ignoring the pain that shot through his leg, he ran faster as he approached the corner where the residential neighborhood changed into a commercial district. He turned the corner and stopped abruptly. The street was packed: pedestrians and cars.
He bent over and rested his arms against his thighs, gasping. As soon as he thought he could speak, he approached one of the pedestrians.
“Excuse me sir, did you see a bearded man on a bicycle pass through here?”
“I didn’t see anybody.”
Gustavo grimaced and hobbled down the sidewalk. His old leg wound was throbbing something terrible. At the next corner he came to a taco vendor.
“Excuse me sir, did you happen to see a bearded man pass by here on a bicycle?”
The man looked at him with a suspicious expression. “Who wants to know?”
Gustavo flashed his PI badge. “I do.”
The vendor scratched his neck. “I might have seen someone like that.” He paused expectantly.
Gustavo threw a wad of pesos on the chopping block. “Where did he go?”
The pesos disappeared instantly into the man’s shirt. “He seemed to be in a hurry.”
“What did he look like?”
“Loose clothes, big sunglasses, big beard, I’ll throw this in: I think the beard was fake. He threw his bike into the back of an old red truck and shot out of here like a bullet.”
“Yeah,” Gustavo grunted. “Thanks for the ‘tacos.’”
He slipped into an alley and leaned against the wall, rubbing his injured leg. He closed his eyes and tried to think.
There was just too much going on, and Gustavo felt lost. What did all of this mean? Why were his suspects dying, one by one? Why were they saying that they had been shot? Who was the mysterious man on the bicycle that seemed to show up in both cases? If he was the murderer, if indeed murder had been committed, then where was his weapon? What did Raul see in a documentary that made him understand the Mayan riddle? And where in the world was the map? None of this was making any sense to Gustavo.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “Hello, doc?”
“Gustavo! What’s up?” Dr. Hernandez asked.
Gustavo grimaced as he rubbed his neck. “My new prime suspect just died, exactly like the first one.”
“I assume we no longer think it was a heart attack.”
“I don’t. But you’re the expert. I need you to expedite both autopsies. Martinez’s body is on its way to the morgue as we speak.’
“You just became my top priority, Gustavo.”
“Thanks, doc. Please call me as soon as you find anything. Bye.”
Gustavo arrived home, and performed what was now becoming his custom, to throw the keys on the bed and lay himself down in what seemed an air of defeat.
“Miranda, my love?” he asked as he rubbed his tired eyes.
“Yes, Gustavo?”
“Will you tell me why I wanted to become a private investigator?”
“Let me see…your position in the military was too stressful, you wanted to make your own working hours so you could get enough rest, you knew you could solve most crimes in no time at all and you wanted to set your own prices and make a better living.”
“Ha…well, one out of four isn’t bad. If I ever do solve this tangled nightmare, Octavio promised a big fat check.”
Miranda bent over and kissed his forehead. “Well, I have some news that might help. Three days from now you’re picking up Chauncy Rollock at the airport.”
Chapter Nine
Gustavo spent the morning, even during breakfast, re-reading every single note and reviewing every recording. On a large sheet of paper he drew a chart of everyone and everything related to the case and found every possible connection. Hanging it on the wall, he sat, staring, while he drank his coffee.
He drained his cup with a silent prayer that caffeine would accomplish what the many days of footwork and thinking hadn’t.
It was early afternoon when it finally came to him.
He walked into the kitchen where Miranda was preparing his lunch. She knew by the expression on his face that he had something. “What is it?”
Gustavo dropped the thick case folder onto the table and pointed at it. “I know who has the map. I know who’s had it all along!”
“Well?”
“Patience; let’s see if you can follow my reasoning. I want to make sure there’s no flaw in it.”
Gustavo walked around the table, holding up a finger as he made each point. “First, Antonio Barrios went to the hacienda on Saturday afternoon and got in with his key. The map was already gone.”
“Yes, that’s his story.”
Gustavo smiled. “Exactly, but I’m convinced he was telling the truth. So then we have Raul Martinez coming Sunday morning. From outside the house he saw that the map was gone.”
“Right.”
“Then Octavio Mendoza came back Sunday evening. And, of course, he went to the study and found that the scroll was gone. Miranda, the map was taken by someone else before Antonio Barrios came to the hacienda.
“Who could it possibly be?”
Who else had keys to the house?” Gustavo asked.
“Are you saying that Mrs. Sova took the map?” Miranda replied.
“Exactly! Mrs. Sova took the map! She had the original keys!”
“But why didn’t she take it before she sold the house?”
Gustavo sat down and opened the folder. He flipped partway through the stack of papers.
“Let me read to you what she told Barrios: ‘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.’ Did you notice that she confessed her financial situation and only wanted her clothes and some personal documents? Think, Miranda, what if she arrived in France and remembered the map? She is in debt, and she knows that the scroll can make her rich. So she returns to the hacienda, uses her keys, and takes it. She was back in France before they knew it was gone.”
“Brilliant deduction, but I have a question. How did she get past the groundskeepers? Wouldn’t they have told Octavio that Mrs. Sova
was snooping around?”
“Those men worked loyally for Mrs. Sova for years and they had no reason to be suspicious.”
“Okay, but what about the two deaths?”
“If I don’t move quickly, there will be three. Octavio Mendoza is the next victim in line.”
“What do you mean?”
“Consider: Mrs. Sova has the map but the other three have knowledge of the treasure. She knows that if they get to it before she does, the map is useless.”
Miranda looked troubled. “That’s terrible. Mrs. Sova, a murderer? I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right.”
“Greed can have a powerful grip on people. I have seen what the love of money can do, trust me.”
“Shouldn’t we warn Octavio?”
“Once the autopsies are completed, I don’t want Octavio running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I’m leaving for Yucatan today to talk to the caretakers and check the hacienda myself. By the way - “
“Yes, yes, yes, I know. You want me to find Mrs. Sova in France, right?”
“I love you, Miranda,” Gustavo said with a sheepish grin, as he closed the door behind him and left the house.
Miranda was sitting at the table, idly picking at her food. Her forehead creased as a morbid thought came to her. Octavio may be in danger, but so are we. Gustavo and I know about the treasure, and so does Chauncy Rollock. We may be next in line to die.
It was another beautiful day in Yucatan. Gustavo chartered a plane to Merida. There he rented a truck for the long drive through the jungle. Mendoza had given him keys to the hacienda and precise driving directions.
The bumpy road did nothing to shake De Leon from his thoughts as his truck burst out of the jungle. There was the hacienda. He whistled softly. All three had mentioned the beauty of the place but now he knew why.
He came to a stop as two men approached the wooden gate.
“Good afternoon, Senores. My name is Gustavo De Leon, and I am a private investigator.”
“Buenos dias, Senor; welcome. I’m Lucio and this is Jose.”
After stepping from the truck, Gustavo looked around. “Is Miguelito here?”
Jose pointed. “Yes, he is over there Senor, under the tree.”
“Excellent. I’m investigating the theft of an important document from Mr. Mendoza’s office. After I look around the office, I’ll want to speak with all three of you.”
“Si, Senor, of course.”
De Leon left the men and walked slowly around the yard. A careful inspection of every window and door showed no evidence of forced entry, just as he expected. He returned to the window of the study and looked in. The scene was exactly as Martinez had described it.
Satisfied that there was nothing else to learn outside, he entered the house and went into the study. Everything was larger than he had imagined: the room, the collection of books, the Mayan wall hangings and artifacts.
He visualized Dr. Sova bent over his desk, analyzing a glyph inscribed on a piece of stone. He imagined the master linguist digging through references, writing paper upon paper on the meaning of the glyph and how it fit into the Mayan language as a whole. It saddened him to think that, if greed hadn’t interfered, the world would have benefited from the work that had gone on in this room.
Locking the front door of the hacienda he stepped across the porch. The two caretakers had joined Miguelito under the large tree.
Jose and Lucio were visibly nervous. De Leon didn’t take that as a sign of guilt. Living in the middle of nowhere they weren’t used to dealing with people from La Capital, Mexico City, let alone a private investigator.
Miguelito, on the other hand, just sat in a dilapidated rocking chair, with a fixed smile and a stare, as he was holding on to his cane.
Gustavo smiled at them. “Hola Muchachos. You’ve kept this place looking beautiful.”
“Gracias, Senor.”
“Mr. Mendoza has asked me to find a very important document which may have been stolen. Did any of you see Antonio Barrios visit the hacienda a few Saturdays ago?”
Lucio nodded. “Si Senor, we saw him come on a Saturday. He said that he needed to get something for Mr. Mendoza. He showed us the keys and entered the house.”
“How long did he stay inside?”
Jose answered, “Just a few minutes; four or five, Senor.”
“And when he came out was he carrying anything?”
“No, no, Senor. His hands were empty.”
“Yes,” Lucio said. “He was very angry, shouting and swearing. He got in his car and left in a hurry.”
Gustavo nodded. It was what he had expected. “What about Sunday?”
“We go home on Saturday night. We’re never here on Sunday.”
“You all leave?”
“No, Senor, Miguelito is always here,” Jose said. “He watches over the property. There is a little hut behind the horse stalls where he lives.”
De Leon knelt down next to the old man. “Miguelito, did you see anyone here that Sunday?”
Miguelito answered, but not in Spanish. Lucio turned to De Leon. “I have to translate, Senor, he only speaks the Mayan language.”
Lucio spoke to Miguelito, who answered slowly. “He said: ‘yes I did.’”
“Who was it?”
“‘It was Martinez,’” Lucio translated.
“What was he doing?”
“‘Walking around…around the house.’”
“Did he go in the house?”
“‘No, he never entered.’”
All of a sudden the older man broke out into a long speech. Gustavo could tell that the old man was repeating something over and over again in the Mayan language:
“K” inich Aha, Quetzalcoatl, K” inich Aha, Xibalba.”
“What’s he saying?” Gustavo asked.
Lucio laughed. “It’s just nonsense.”
“What kind of nonsense?”
“Something about ‘Flying serpents will show the way and the sun god will be swallowed up.’” Lucio said.
Gustavo stared at the old man. “What? Wait a minute, where did he learn that phrase? Ask him.”
“Miguelito said ‘that is what the other men always talked about. It was funny.’”
The poor old Mayan sat rocking back and forth, smiling as he repeated the phrase over and over again. “K” inich Aha, Quetzalcoatl, K” inich Aha, Xibalba.”
Gustavo nodded. “Of course, it makes sense. One last question; did Mrs. Sova ever come back to the house to visit or take anything?”
The two men seemed perplexed. They looked at each other and then at Gustavo. “Mrs. Sova? No, she never came back, never.” Jose said.
“Really? Are you sure? Ask Miguelito.”
“We are sure. Miguelito also says that Mrs. Sova never returned.” Jose answered.
Gustavo’s temper was starting to rise. “You’d better not be lying to me! Do you realize how horrible jails are in Mexico City?”
Both men visibly twitched. “Please believe us. We never saw her after she sold the house and left!” Lucio chimed in.
The conversation was interrupted by the ringing of De Leon”s cell phone. ‘Excuse me for a moment. Hello?’
“It’s me, Miranda. I have information on Mrs. Sova.”
“Talk about perfect timing. What have you got?”
“I found her. But it won’t do you any good.”
“Why not?”
“She’s in a cemetery. She died in a car accident as soon as she arrived in France. I have a copy of the newspaper obituary online.”
Gustavo let out a long sigh of frustration.
After a moment Miranda spoke again. “Gustavo, are you there? Did you hear me?”
“Yes, yes I did. I’m finished here. I’ll just come home.”
Crestfallen, Gustavo closed his cell phone and turned to address the men. “Gentlemen, thank you for your cooperation. Adios.”
He got into his truck, put the key in the ignition, and sat back, without starting
it. He had been so sure about Mrs. Sova. Now what? he asked himself. What am I going to do? I’ve exhausted all my leads. All my suspects are dead. I’m back where I started. What a complete failure! He rubbed his face with both hands. What am I going to tell Octavio?
He started up his truck and drove slowly down the jungle road. His cell phone rang again. In a foul mood, he didn’t wish to speak to anyone unless it was an important person.
He checked his phone and it was someone important. “Hello, Dr. Hernandez?”
“Hello Gustavo. I have some bad news.”
“So what else is new?” Gustavo smirked.
“Those two men: Mr. Martinez and Mr. Barrios? We have confirmed that they didn’t die of natural causes. They were both murdered.”
“Murdered? How?”
“I can’t say over the phone. Come to the morgue, I have something to show you.”
Gustavo’s thoughts were spinning. “Uh, yeah, I’m in Yucatan, I have to fly back to Mexico City.”
Chapter Ten
The airliner Chauncy was flying in descended into the smoggy blanket that covered Mexico City. As usual, Chauncy gripped the armrest with apprehension. It was the same old feeling again: an unknown, inexplicable fear of descending in an airplane. This time though, Chauncy had to chuckle to himself. He realized how unfounded the whole phobia really was. After all the life-and-death situations he had been through, this was the least of his worries.
His mind came back to the reason he was again visiting Mexico.
He pulled out an envelope from his pocket and twirled it in his hands. It’s time. He thought. It’s time for the truth to be told.
It was dark when De Leon arrived at the morgue. He passed through security and walked down the corridor to Hernandez’s office.
“Come in, come in,” Hernandez said, glancing up.
“This better be good,” De Leon said.
“Oh, I think you’ll find this very interesting” Dr. Hernandez answered, as he handed Gustavo a pair of thick gloves. “Put these on, and be very careful how you handle this!” He opened a drawer and slowly pulled out a small plastic bag. “Exhibit A,” Hernandez said as he passed the bag over to De Leon.
De Leon held the bag up to the light. “It looks like a small thorn - from a cactus, maybe.”
“Correct, it’s a cactus thorn. But most cactus thorns haven’t been dipped in poison! We found this thorn in Barrios” neck and another just like it in Martinez”s. Same poison, same type of thorn, same method.”