The Kukulkan Manuscript

by James Steimle

  Walking up to the witness stand with his eyes on the ground, Comer put his hands in his pockets. He had an easy job, and Porter realized the man needed to finish this. Attorneys are paid by the case, Porter thought, which meant that if this trial ended, both Comer and Sowerby could move onto another.

  “Mr. Porter,” Comer said, looking up. He examined the student with honesty in his drying eyes. “Do you have KM-2.”

  “You asked me that before,” said Porter without enthusiasm. He hated lying, but he didn’t have to do so with this question. Of course he didn’t have KM-2. He didn’t even have KM-3, really. But that should have been the question. Why hadn’t anyone brought up the latter document? Didn’t they know? Someone did! Kinnard had personally held photos of Porter looking at the third codex just after KM-2 was no more.

  “For the record,” Comer said, lifting his hand.

  Another odd thing: How had Alred fallen between the cracks. She’d been little more than a witness so far. Why had all the blame fallen to Porter? Someone was trying desperately to bury him, one way or….Actually, Porter didn’t want Alred involved. She’d had enough of this tribulation already. “KM-2 was returned to Stratford University on the twenty-ninth of April.”

  “Did you return the document,” said Comer, walking closer to the jury.

  “No—we’ve gone over this,” said Porter. He knew that if the Prosecuting Attorney pushed further, Alred would get involved. Porter didn’t want to drag her down with him anymore.

  “Who then?”

  Porter froze. Direct question. No way to dodge it. Porter’s brain went numb. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You have my pardon! But not the judge’s yet. Who returned the artifact to Stratford University? Be consistent Mr. Porter, your words are being recorded.”

  Porter looked at the man typing each word with what looked like a very old calculator the size of a shoe box. They still used those in the computer age? Porter gazed into the audience, but wouldn’t lock eyes with the red head. He found Clusser’s patient gaze. The missionary companion from years ago simply nodded as if to say, “The truth man! Tell him.”

  “Erma Alred.”

  Comer’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you sure of that?” The attorney was calm and drew himself up with a quiet breath. Porter wondered if Comer thought the defendant was resorting to fictionalization.

  “I was furious about it!” Porter said. It was emotion. But logic was fleeing fast. He tried to buckle down but would only know how well he’d battened the hatches when next he had to speak, which was immediately.

  The attorney scratched his low forehead. “Is that an affirmative answer?”

  Porter breathed. “Of course.”

  “Ms. Alred did not return it at your behest?” said Comer, looking in Alred’s direction.

  “No.”

  With his narrow nose, Comer pointed at Porter while putting his hands in his pockets. “You wanted to keep it. Didn’t you Mr. Porter. Be honest.”

  Silence. The inset lights hidden in the high ceiling shined an almost orange light down on the menagerie of words. It was a trap of army ants, brawling with little movement, biting with their voices, all ready to jump in Porter’s direction and maul him to death. Clusser stood against the dark wood wall in the rear of the courtroom. An American flag hung limply on a pole between him and the two doors with an exit sign glowing red letters of escape. And yet Porter knew he wouldn’t make it much farther than the high wall around him and the platform elevating him near Judge Panofsky’s seat. The floor, a black marble mirror, reflected the lights above. Porter felt it all close in around him, tighter, smothering him. He had to speak. Everyone was listening and the judge would only move faster away from thinking Porter was anything more than another crooked man in his court. “I wanted to keep KM-2, but that doesn’t mean—”

  The prosecutor spoke over Porter’s words. “If you had a choice, you would keep it. Let me ask you again, Mr. Porter, are you sure Alred gave the document to the University? Were you there at the time? Do you know for certain that the hand-off occurred?”

  With eyes looking earnestly into the seated crowd for help, Porter at last let them settle on Alred. She sat in a business suit, gray from the shoulder pads to the edge of the knee-high skirt. Her mouth was small and red, but her eyes said nothing for or against his answer. She would expect the truth in this case. And yet she still had KM-3 and really should be as guilty as ever they might find Porter.

  When Porter opened his mouth…he said nothing.

  “Mr. Porter,” said Judge Panofsky, his voice deep and somehow refreshingly cool, but also as chilled as the icy metal of a stabbing knife. “Answer the question please.”

  Like a robot on automatic, the words came from Porter’s mouth in a near mono-tone. “Alred gave KM-2 back to Stratford University.” His white face laced with a thin layer of liquid glaze, his thin lips quivering, all his visible emotions shouted the ghastly reality. Alred would sense it. Clusser would notice. The jury…the judge…the Prosecuting Attorney….

  Porter had no idea what had really happened to KM-2.

  * * *

  3:56 p.m. PST

  “Ms. Alred, allow me first to acknowledge that no charges are being brought upon you. However, you are under oath to tell the absolute truth. To do otherwise will result in grievous consequences.”

  “Do you expect me to lie, Mr. Prosecutor?” Alred said with raised eyebrows and a strong face. She looked relaxed in her gray suit but sat with statue-like posture, looking over the courtroom from the witness stand for the second time. She could smell the judge’s Afta lotion.

  Comer smiled at the ground and waited as if reconsidering his approach. “Ms. Alred…how long have you worked with John D. Porter.”

  “Approximately one month.”

  “And you both used the foreign document termed KM-2.”

  Alred lifted her chin. “Correct,” she said, though Porter had dominated the handling of the manuscript from the beginning.

  “How would you describe Porter’s attachment to the document,” said Comer.

  Alred took a long breath through her petite nose. Her green eyes shimmered without emotion. “Porter has been…highly intrigued with KM-2. Perhaps—”

  “Obsessive?” said the attorney.

  With a sharp gaze, Alred answered his question, while silently making it clear that she would not allow herself to be cut off again. Her voice picked up in volume, but not in pitch. “Anyone who knows Porter’s eccentric attitude toward his studies might deem him obsessive about anything in which he involves himself.”

  Turning away, Comer said the words in a calm voice, “Intrigued! Eccentric! Obsessive!” so they would be noted and run through the judge’s mind again.

  “He had good reason for excessive enthusiasm concerning KM-2,” said Alred.

  Comer looked up with fake intrigue emanating from his face. “Tell us why.”

  “Stratford University offered Porter an ultimatum: Complete a doctoral dissertation by May 21 or fail out of the University. Only a few weeks ago, the aforementioned deadline was moved to May 5; today. Obsessive, yes. Porter has worked as hard as I have, if not more so, in order to make the due date. Now, because of this legal run-around, neither of us will get our Ph.D’s. All the work for nothing. When we could have proven to be Stratford’s best doct—”

  “Ms. Alred, did you give Stratford University the document, KM-2, at Porter’s behest?” said Comer, looking at the ground. The Prosecuting Attorney likewise would not allow this Federal Court to be treated rudely.

  Her mouth still open, Alred shifted her thoughts to answer the question. “I took the codex from Porter’s office as soon as the board asked for it.”

  “You mean Mr. Porter didn’t keep KM-2 in a safe, glass cabinet, or locked drawer someplace? An important relic like that, which could make or lay waste both of your doctoral theses? Or did you both have keys to a common lock?”

  Alred surely must have realized her answer
could be the bite on a hook Comer would use to reel her into the same cage Porter now found himself. But in this case, the truth would prove to be the best shield. “Porter stored the codex in an air vent so it couldn’t be stolen.”

  “Why,” said Comer, his hands again in his pockets.

  Alred’s quick words sounded yanked from the middle of a lecture she may have given to a freshman class. “Perfect hiding place. The dry air wouldn’t hurt—”

  “No, why did Porter hide KM-2 in a vent? Why did you go and fetch it when…the University called for it?” The end of Comer’s sentence sounded like playful words of appeasement rather than acknowledgment of the event.

  Alred let a myriad of thoughts spin noticeably in her head as she waited for her mind to bring forth the best reply. The facts were plain enough, she thought, and the trial shouldn’t be focused at all on KM-2. It was as if the Prosecutor had an agenda unrelated to the possibility that Porter was engaged in some form of theft or illegal possession. But she chose to dart away from the subject in order to steer the congregates from realizing the existence of KM-3. “After all of the sacrifices we’ve made to complete our time at Stratford, I knew that what the board required—the return of Ulman’s codex—would be emotionally trying for Porter. I made the decision for him.”

  Comer cocked his head to the side, went to his desk, lifted a clip board, read a note, dropped it, turned back to Alred, and said, “Who is on this board?”

  “Five people called me to work with John Porter on Ulman’s find. Four of those professors were…present when I returned the codex,” said Alred.

  “Who.”

  “Masterson, Goldstien, Kinnard,” Alred took a breath, “and Arnott.”

  “Why do you think they requested the return of KM-2?” said Comer, glancing to his desk to be sure his assistant scrawled the names on a legal pad.

  Alred lifted herself again, balancing her shoulders before speaking. She chose her words carefully. “I assumed they came to the realization that the University had not procured the codex through proper means. If so, Stratford students should not have been dealing with KM-2, and they had been treated unfairly. Also—”

  “What—” said Comer, thinking without listening to Alred’s words. He quickly amended his minor show of amateur behavior. “No, go ahead.”

  “Also,” said Alred, irritation clear in her powerful voice, “it seemed to me that some of the professors may have been wary about certain deaths possibly connected with the aforementioned codex.”

  “Whose deaths?” said Comer, making up for stepping on this would-be attorney’s small feet.

  “In his office, Dr. Wilkinson was found with his own letter opener protruding from his back. He was one of the five on the board, but dead before the meeting in question. Dr. Christopher Ulman would never make a name for himself as a hidden archaeologist selling stolen goods from one of the world’s greatest finds. He found it. Now he’s disappeared and the only explanation is his death. Whether in North America or outside of the States must be based on future investigation. Dr. Albright of Ohio State University, who coined the term KM while in Guatemala…is also dead.”

  Comer waited, regearing his thoughts. “How do we know you gave this ancient document to this board, Ms. Alred. Stratford University pressed the issue this morning that Porter still has KM-2. Porter had other figurines in his car,” Comer said as if his last sentence ended the debate.

  Calmly, Alred set her hard eyes on the attorney. “Someone is obviously lying. I recommend interviewing the four men I mentioned who were present when I returned the codex.”

  The prosecutor pulled back and smiled at Alred’s strength. He turned away and focused on his attack plan. “How would you describe your relationship with Porter.”

  Alred thought for a moment. Such an interesting question. She would have answered it differently after each week since she’d met Porter. Had Comer asked three weeks ago, Alred would have done her best to make sure Porter would hang. Now…how exactly did she feel? “We…get along,” she said. “We are friends. We worked together with different agendas regarding Ulman’s find. I suppose I found myself mostly at odds with Porter. But I respect him…as a scholar.”

  Comer touched the fingertip of his right index to his lips. He removed it to say, “Do you think he is capable of murder?”

  Alred seriously considered the question as the Defense Attorney jumped with the words “Objection! My client’s not on trial for murder.”

  Then she said, “No I do not.”

  * * *

  May 6

  3:06 p.m. PST

  Standing with his right hand raised, Dr. Masterson said, “I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Have a seat,” said Mr. Comer. “Dr. Masterson, you know John Porter and Erma Alred?”

  “Very well,” said the tight-skinned old man with the smile of a skeleton and the wise eyes of a deadly king. He was dressed in a new suit, which he had likely bought for the occasion. Comer smiled.

  “Dr. Masterson…did you ask them to return KM-2 to the University?”

  “I did not.”

  “Why did they have it?” said the Prosecuting Attorney.

  “Dr. Kinnard, overseeing Porter’s doctoral studies, gave Porter the codex while under the misunderstanding that it had come into his hands in a legal fashion.” Masterson sat back in the chair as though he were a doctor or psychiatrist accustomed to adding his professional expertise in the trials of criminals. He did his best to look comfortable on the stand.

  Comer kept his head down. He glanced back at Mr. Sowerby, the Defense attorney. The young man had done little to help Porter and no doubt would only make a fool of himself when he questioned Dr. Masterson. Porter had kept his forehead in his hands since the beginning of this session. He didn’t know how lucky—or unlucky—he was to have his trial progress so quickly. He wasn’t wanted for murder, so he didn’t face a cold chair somewhere. But Porter looked as guilty as a wet boy caught naked near a pond and accused of skinny-dipping.

  The Prosecuting Attorney had to get this over with. It was an embarrassing trial, and after interviewing three of the four professors who were supposedly present when KM-2 was returned to the school’s hands, it would all be finished. “Did Alred or Porter ever return KM-2 to Stratford University.”

  “Not to my knowledge,” said the old man with little enthusiasm. He looked as if ready to spout a great discourse he’d prepared the night before, but fortunately saved his exuberance for the classroom.

  “Did Alred give the codex to you, Dr. Masterson?” said Comer.

  “Certainly not.”

  “One last question, Dr. Masterson.” Comer lifted a legal pad. “Does a Dr. Arnott work at Stratford University? Do you know this man?”

  Masterson squared his shoulders and looked the attorney right between the eyes, but not directly into the pupils. He took a powerful breath. “No.”

  * * *

  3:18 p.m. PST

  Comer put his palms together as if praying, touching his fingertips to his chin. “So, Dr. Goldstien…you’re saying you never sat in a room with Kinnard, Masterson, and Arnott as KM-2 was brought into your presence by Erma Alred.”

  Goldstien smiled, wiped his hands on the left and right pockets of his hazel blazer, and looked in Alred’s direction. “I would remember if she came into a meeting with us!” He flaunted his interest in her, for he wasn’t the one on trial. He knew his smile would detract from the focus of the question. His words would be recorded, and that was the important part. “As for the KM-2 codex…never saw it. I don’t know this Arnott fellow you’re talking about.” He quickly added with a raised finger, “If Ms. Alred is saying she brought us the codex, I would enjoy going along with her story. But I fear she has fabricated her testimony in order to serve John Porter’s best interests.”

  “No…further…questions….”

  * * *


  3:26 p.m. PST

  “Dr. Kinnard, you’ve heard the story so far.” The Prosecuting attorney looked at Judge Panofsky, whose eyes wandered across pages on his desk and glided to the high windows hidden on the east side of the courtroom. “I mean the fable,” he said with a raised voice. Kinnard noticed each of the lawyer’s movements and flinched—not enough for anyone else to notice, surely—as Comer looked again into the witness booth. “Who is telling tales? That is for you to help us conclude.”

  “I’ll do my best,” said the professor with a gruffness in his throat. Kinnard had heard the other testimonies. In fact, he’d been present from the beginning, eyeing Porter’s wimpy defender, Alred’s steady focus and terrible silence, the judge’s decision already determined behind the thin spectacles.

  Kinnard had received the same phone call from Arnott which had altered Masterson’s and Goldstien’s testimonies. It was a simple message following a short salutation. Like a conscience, Arnott told him Alred had never returned KM-2 to the University. And Arnott didn’t exist. Arnott explained that the authorities would not find a “Peter Arnott” in any database, so to even mention him would sound like a falsification of testimony.

  Porter was dying and didn’t have a single opportunity to fight. Kinnard blamed himself. He had presented this paranoid eccentric with the ancient manuscript that could have made him famous. No. Kinnard blamed John Porter, who should have had his dissertation prepared long before the last semester of his seventh year at Stratford. No. He blamed Ulman, the oaf with the knack for trouble who’d finally found a way to collapse a small corner of the world. Ulman had probably gotten killed before he could even see the damage.