Effigy

by Theresa Danley

  Derek lifted his hands in mock defense. “Fine. Have it your way. All I’m saying is be careful. Don’t let anyone take credit that belongs to you. And for crying out loud, take a little time to celebrate your accomplishments.”

  Lori liberated a relenting grin. “I guess I have been hitting the books a little hard.”

  Derek reached across the table and took her hand. There was a sudden warmth in his green eyes. “Don’t apologize for hard work. That’s one of the things I really like about you.”

  Lori watched his hand fold around hers. She liked the warm feel of his palm; the secure grip in his fingers.

  “So, how about it?” he asked. “Are we on for tonight?”

  She smiled. This time she knew she was blushing. “Fine,” she said. “You win. But not before I hit the lab.”

  Mexico City

  Agent Armando Diego of the Agencia Federal de Investigaciones took a sip of his lukewarm coffee and nearly gagged on the acrid taste. He’d all but sweated through his white broadcloth shirt and his throat felt parched like a wool serape in July, but he was bored off his ass and in desperate need of a caffeine jolt.

  Moments like these made him long for the good old days of the Policía Judicial Federal—those profitable days in the field along the border, far removed from regional directors and this dank closet jammed behind one way mirrors. The PJF had suited him well. That was, before the government restructured them into the stuffy AFI.

  Director Escaban stood beside him with arms crossed against his burly chest. “Do you think he’s the one?” he asked, staring through the glass at the man anxiously sitting behind the interrogations table in the adjoining room.

  Diego took a moment to dissect the lone man himself. He was small—small head, small hands, with slight and sloping shoulders and a pencil-thin neck. Everything about him was contrary to anything Diego thought a killer should be.

  “Es pequeño,” he said.

  “Hmmm.”

  Escaban couldn’t have sounded less convinced. It chafed Diego’s pride, but only for a moment. He decided the regional director was just frustrated and more determined than ever to find his man. At this point, Diego would have been satisfied taking anyone who’d pass as the Equinox Killer, but that wasn’t Escaban’s style.

  Diego hated that name—Equinox Killer. It had not only jerked Diego off his drug investigations, but Escaban’s nickname for the killer made it sound like they were on the hunt for some science nerd gone loco. Diego couldn’t tolerate the thought of being outwitted these past two months by an astronomy buff.

  The AFI became involved in the case when the killer’s third victim was discovered. The body of an eighteen-year-old boy had been found at the base of a pyramid in the archaeological ruins of Teotihuacan, some forty kilometers northwest of the federal district. The victim had rolled down all sixty-five meters of the massive pyramid some time after the sadistic killer had already carved his heart out. The heart was later found deposited atop a statue in Tula, a smaller archaeological site further north where the first two victims had been found.

  Despite the gory details, Diego wouldn’t be interested in the Equinox Killer at all had Escaban not taken him off the drug cases and assigned him to the murders.

  Homicides of all things!

  Diego had bigger fish to fry, but Director Escaban wasn’t backing down from his decision. And to prove his point, the son-of-a-bitch had assigned him to Tula that night after they collected the eighteen-year-old’s body.

  “I want you to nail him,” Escaban had ordered. “Catch the sick bastard that murdered my nephew.”

  The director’s nephew. Of all the teens who habitually sneak into Teotihuacan for their late-night parties, the killer just had to take Escaban’s goddamned nephew. That explained why the director was throwing all his resources into the hunt. But the aggravating fact remained that Diego suffered a long and ineffective stakeout in Tula for nothing. The Equinox Killer never returned and there hadn’t been another homicide since.

  That last fact seemed to be the true mystery—a killer of such nature doesn’t stop killing unless there’s a reason. Someone suggested Diego’s stakeout had been spotted and scared their man away. Regional Director Escaban preferred to believe the killer was already in custody, they just didn’t know it yet.

  During the investigation in Teotihuacan, a crowd had descended upon the crime scene. Each person within the mob wore a blanched white t-shirt with a glyphic design of a writhing snake printed on the front and back, and they all demanded access to the pyramid where the murder had taken place. Escaban wouldn’t have given them a second thought had they not threatened to impede the investigation with their damned persistence. At the end of his rope, Escaban ordered the mass arrest of the entire crowd. The intent was simply to get them out of the way, but when the murders suddenly stopped that night, the regional director decided the Equinox Killer might have been among the crowd, and therefore delayed the release of anyone.

  It had become a long delay, wrought in an endless parade of interrogations. Fifty-three people hauled in one-by-one to be questioned. Some were brought in two, three, even four times, bogging Diego down in endless hours of lukewarm coffee and mind-numbing boredom.

  It would have been one thing to be in the interrogation room face-to-face, pulling information, but no—Escaban had assigned him to the box behind the mirrors to listen, observe, and evaluate. So far, little had been worth even noting. If Escaban’s intent wasn’t to initiate him into a new field of investigations, then he certainly intended to try Diego’s patience.

  Unfortunately, every one of the fifty-three stories was the same. The suspects belonged to the Hidalgo chapter of a secret society called The New Age Followers of Quetzalcoatl. The name meant nothing to Diego but, as he learned fifty-three times over, the group was anticipating a fast approaching new world age. In short, they were a bunch of fanatics who converged upon Teotihuacan every equinox to observe their convoluted religion.

  The most interesting, and annoying, detail about the New Agers was that they all knew each other by code names, aliases, or whatever you wanted to call it—anything but their legal birth names. It was a strange technicality that proved frustrating when Diego tried cross-examining their statements.

  Most frustrating of all was that nobody made a mistake.

  None of the stories changed.

  Diego was ready to snap. If he didn’t throttle a suspect, then surely he’d choke the interrogators. He could hardly stomach their crawling progress, day in and day out. The fools were too manualized, too slow to react and follow up on details. If Diego had control of the interrogations, he’d have the suspects delivering information within hours, not months.

  Case in point: the little man sitting in the room right now hadn’t been among those arrested in Teotihuacan. His name was Mario Sanchez, code name Citlalpol to the New Agers, who’d surrendered clues that helped track him down. He was the leader of the Hidalgo chapter, but curiously enough he hadn’t attended their equinox meeting in Teotihuacan. Citlalpol proved adamantly selfish with his alibi and the interrogators were too incompetent to pull it out of him.

  Regional Director Escaban peeled his sleeve from his hairy wrist and checked his watch in the dim light escaping through the glass wall.

  “We’ll give him a couple hours to think things over,” he said in his usual husky voice.

  “We’re coming back to him today?” Diego asked.

  “Maybe by this afternoon he’ll have a breakthrough with his memory.”

  “We’ve gone around with him three times already,” Diego argued. “He’s not going to tell us anything. Not this way.”

  Escaban stood and, with a hand pressed to the middle of his back, he stretched his bulky frame. “He’ll give us something,” he said. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  Diego grew impatient with that prospect, but he chose to hold his tongue. He was ready for a lunch break and wasn’t in the mood to prolong it with argument.<
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  “I have confidence you’ll find the Equinox Killer,” Escaban said as he opened the door. The darkness of the room withdrew from the light pouring in over the rush of fresh, sweet air.

  “After all,” he continued. “We found Citlalpol, didn’t we?”

  Utah Museum of Natural History

  The soft evening glow filtered through the window across the darkened room, offering just enough light to find the security panel beside the heavy self-locking door. He swiped a plastic card down the reader with the practiced ease of a shop-aholic on a credit spree. He swiftly punched a seven-digit code into the key pad and with the flash of a green light, the doorlock clicked free.

  Pushing the door open with one hand, he felt along the inside wall with the other until his fingers brushed across a light switch. When he flicked it on, the windowless interior of a small storage room blazed to life with humming fluorescence.

  He swept past a table of amethyst geodes with their colorful crystals sparkling from central cavities and, ignoring the shelving of otherwise fascinating archaeological, biological and geological relevance, he headed straight for the half-dozen sturdy locker safes built into the nearby wall. He paused at locker three and reached for the heavy steel combination dial. It turned smoothly with each twist of his wrist until he heard the last tumbler fall into place. He inserted a key and the heavy galvanized handle turned freely. The safe swung open.

  A black, aluminum storage box filled the interior and he ever so carefully slid it from the secure tomb. It was quite sturdy but much heavier than the natural weight of a 20 X 40 aluminum box. That was all the confirmation he really needed, but he chose to set the container on the table beside a murky dolomite conglomeration and unlatched the lid anyway.

  The interior was thick with white foam specifically molded for the shape of the priceless artifact nestled inside. He carefully lifted the corner of the foam covering and peeked inside. The artifact gleamed with the faintest light slipping over its polished surface. He permitted his gaze to linger a moment, to admire the striking contrast of jade and turquoise swaddled like a robin’s egg within the foam molding.

  Satisfied, Anthony Peet gently replaced the cover and locked the lid securely in place. He found exactly what he’d come for.

  Laboratory

  Lori was slipping into her long white lab coat when Anthony Peet walked into the lab. She smiled as he approached. The gesture was too warm, he thought, like a castaway watching her rescue ship come in.

  “I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you,” she said. She opened a cupboard beneath the microscope counter and retrieved a porcelain mortar and pestle.

  She was all business, Peet noted, as she placed her tools on the nearby lab table. He followed her lead and slipped the aluminum storage container from beneath his arm and carefully set it down on the table beside her stack of books.

  “Always glad to help,” he said, and he meant every word despite the warnings blaring in his head.

  It wasn’t Lori specifically who gave the cause for alarm. He’d been living with caution ever since Snead called him into his office to discuss the fraternizing rumors circling through the campus. Rumors that were greatly stoked by the Faculty Roast headline: QUICKIE PEET DIGS HIS STUDENTS.

  Peet’s life had been miserable ever since that day, knowing Snead and the Board of Trustees were preparing to conduct a performance review at semester’s end. The review was only a week away now, the capstone to a semester spent under his colleagues’ constant observation, not to mention the unrelenting scrutiny from the students.

  So when Lori approached him only hours ago asking for time in the lab, Peet naturally felt apprehensive. Pulling a favor for a female student was the last thing he needed right now, and that instant reluctance to assist one of his brightest students sickened him down to the core. He was reminded of just how stifled his work had become. He was a university professor whose natural impulse to assist in research was now being fearfully held in check. The pressure left Peet feeling confined, like a spring squeezed tight and ready to recoil.

  But there had been something about Lori that tugged at his instinct to help. It could have been her interest in the effigy, but there was something more. She looked weary, maybe frustrated. She had the look not necessarily of defeat, but of someone trying to regroup. The simple fact was that without even trying, Lori possessed a gift of persuasion, and people with such power preyed upon Peet’s gullible side. That wasn’t to say Lori’s intentions were manipulative but her impeccable pursuit of academic knowledge was potent enough to render him vulnerable.

  Peet gave in to his empathy.

  As he unlatched the container lid, he noticed a copy of Modern Archaeology lying on top of Lori’s notebook. The pages had been folded back to the effigy article as though she’d paused from her reading. He spotted himself in the picture at the bottom of the page.

  There he was, standing at the podium, looking as though he knew something about the magnificent artifact he was revealing to the public. In truth, the only thing he knew for sure was that the effigy originated from ancient Mexico and all he had to offer the media was one “I don’t know” answer after another.

  How did the effigy get to Utah? “I don’t know.”

  Why was the effigy taken out of Mexico? “I can’t be certain.”

  Were the Anasazi adopting Mesoamerican beliefs? “More study is needed.”

  That was all it boiled down to. Peet needed more time to research and analyze. It was too early to give a press release, but Snead had been too anxious to keep the effigy a secret. “The artifact will give the anthropology department the credit it deserves,” or so the department dean argued. That was right before he informed Peet that as the archaeologist, it was his duty to inform and educate the public about it.

  Personally, Peet didn’t care for all the attention. Large crowds of reporters and cameramen were typically reserved for professional athletes and celebrities, not archaeologists. If there was any fame to be had, he preferred to receive it from fellow colleagues who could appreciate the extent of his research through archaeological reports.

  Peet stared at the photo a moment longer. He supposed he could have dressed up a little better for the occasion. After all, Dr. Friedman was complete with a tie and cuff links and Lori—well, she had made an impressive transformation of her own.

  Given her appearance at the conference, one couldn’t see the studious dirt-groveler with whom he had excavated the effigy. Her long blonde hair had been neatly pulled off her delicate neck and her multi-pocketed work khakis had been replaced by a full-length sheath skirt conforming naturally to her hips. The sleeveless field shirts were traded for a tasteful white blouse, the top button of which had been loosened to allow an enticing view of a sterling silver Kokopelli pendant dangling at her neck. As if overnight, Lori had become a professional, business-like—a transformation that demanded a second look, even from the pages of a magazine.

  “I should be done with the effigy tonight,” Lori said. “Tomorrow at the latest.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear but her attention was drawn to the aluminum storage container as Peet distractedly opened the lid.

  “Take all the time you need,” he said. “There’s no rush.”

  She eased her fingers into the foam lining and gently lifted the football-sized effigy from the container. They both paused to admire the artifact. Lori’s hands wrapped around the smooth contours of the jade as if to follow the glow of florescent lights washing over near translucent edges. The dirt had been painstakingly removed from each tiny crevice between the mosaic scales of turquoise and the cracks within the white shells of the effigy’s eyes had been sealed.

  The sight took Peet’s breath away, just as it had the day they’d pulled it from the earth.

  Lori lifted its dense weight to inspect the underside. There she found a slight imperfection, a lump in the otherwise flawless jade. “That should be all I need. You think anyone will notice?”
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  “Not if we’re careful,” Peet said, setting a piece of foam padding onto the table. “Besides, we’re sacrificing the sample in the name of science. It’s not like I’m letting you hack away at a priceless artifact for the fun of it.”

  Lori smiled, setting the effigy ever so carefully on its side upon the foam padding. “Gee thanks,” she said, picking up a small file. “That makes me feel so much better.”

  * * * *

  It was nearing nine o’clock when Derek downed his last shot and finally decided that the one person he least expected to stand him up, had done just that. The night was still young by all means, but it wasn’t like Lori to arrive an hour late. She was the type who showed up at least fifteen minutes early.

  So where in the hell is she?

  He should have known to push the issue when Lori refused to let him pick her up. Now, he supposed she was thinking that was a smart move on her part. But Lori wasn’t enough of a player to go back on her word, especially to an old friend. Nevertheless, he didn’t like being played a fool, especially on a Wednesday night when, aside from a couple of regulars playing a shoddy game of pool in the corner, the bar was empty. There wasn’t even a stranger around with whom he could salvage the rest of his night.

  Smart move, Lori, he thought. Or perhaps it was stupidity on his part to have chosen the bar in the first place. It wasn’t like he had plans of getting smashed. He knew Lori better than that. But he’d hoped to at least loosen her up, to give her a taste of the life she’d been whiling away behind books.

  Books and dirt. That was no life for a girl with Lori’s personality. She was unlike any other girl he’d known. In fact, she was the exact opposite. He supposed that’s why she affected him the way she did. She didn’t party. In fact, she was a total bore when it came to fun. Nobody was closer to her than her work and that, Derek found, was curiously sexy. She was proficient at playing hard to get without even realizing she was playing the game at all.