Aaron Elkins: Curses!

"Wait,” Julie said, “could we just hold on a minute? I'm all for having Howard the bad guy in the piece too, but how does the fact that these were typed on the same typewriter prove Howard typed them both?"

"It's his typewriter,” Abe explained. “A Brother EP-20, a little portable; the kind you can fit in an attache case. Believe me, I know the police report by heart. When he ran off, the typewriter went with him, isn't that right, Gideon?"

"That's right. He doubled back to his room and got it, along with a few other things."

"But how can you be sure he took it?” Julie persisted. “For all you know somebody else-"

"No,” Gideon said. “That letter he sent us-you know, regretting the unfortunate little affair of stealing the codex-was typed on it. The police established it at the time.” He tapped the note on the table. “And now here are those crooked as again. He's here all right."

Julie took this in, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She turned slowly to Gideon, one eyebrow raised dangerously. “Am I imagining it, or haven't I been saying since last week that he was here? And didn't you give me a hundred reasons why he wasn't here, why he couldn't be here, why-"

"A good scientist,” Gideon explained, “modifies his operational hypotheses to accord with fresh data. When additional-"

"Why don't you just say you were wrong?” Abe said.

"I,” Gideon said humbly, “was dead wrong. All wet. In the right church but the wrong pew."

"Yes, you were,” Julie said, “and pretty snide about it, too, as I recall."

"Well, I apologize. Sincerely. We should have listened to you."

"We?" Abe said. “When did I get involved in this?” He laughed brightly, then wondered aloud: “But what's he doing here? What does he want?"

"The codex,” Julie said.

Abe stared at her. “What?"

"That's another one of Julie's hypotheses,” Gideon said. “She thinks the codex might still be down there under the rubble, and now Howard's come back for it."

"But that's impossible. We know he took it-he said so. And we heard reports from all over. And-"

"That's just what Gideon said,” Julie replied smugly.

"Anyway, even if it was there, why would he come back for it now, of all times? Why wouldn't-"

"Gideon said that too. It was part of the same lecture in which he patiently explained to me how there couldn't be the slightest possibility that Howard was within a thousand miles of here."

"Yes, but…” Abe paused, then nodded, his lips pursed together, a man seeing the light. “Well, it would sure explain the digging, wouldn't it? Maybe even this foolishness with the curse."

Abe's theory about the curse was simple and cogent. Assuming that the codex was really still there, Howard would have been shaken by the Institute's decision to resume the stairwell excavation, and become increasingly desperate as the dig progressed. What better way to protect his unclaimed treasure than for the Institute to lock up the temple again? And what better way to get the Institute to do that than to engineer the phase-by-phase fulfillment of an ancient curse? An article in Flak might not raise their hackles much, but how long would it have been before the story was picked up by the more responsible press as well?

And if implementing one of those phases also happened to result in the violent death of his old enemy Gideon Oliver on the ramparts of the Chichen Itza ball court, so much the better. If not, well, the point was still made, and another opportunity might always arise.

"You know,” Gideon said slowly, “this goes a long way toward explaining Ard's murder too."

"You think Ard found out he was here, maybe even that he was behind the curse?” Abe asked.

"'Return to the scene of the crime'-that was in his notebook. Who else could it refer to but Howard?"

Julie made one of her inexact attempts at finger snapping. “And what about that little blurb about the next installment? ‘The Strange Case of Howard Bennett and the Tlaloc Codex,’ or something like that. Stan must have found out Howard was here-maybe even that the codex was here too-and Howard killed him to keep him from talking about it."

"You know, it could be so,” Abe said. “So far, nobody's come up with anything better."

Another small piece dropped suddenly into place for Gideon, one that he should have fitted in hours before. He snapped his fingers.

"Show-off,” Julie said.

"The gun!” Gideon said. “The one Ard was shot with-Marmolejo said it was a. 32-"

"-which is what Howard had,” Abe said. “He had it with him when he went up to the temple that night. Nobody ever saw it again. An old Smith amp; Wesson, according to the report."

"That's right. That's right!" For the first time Gideon began to let himself believe it deep down. “Damn, it is Howard. He's right here in Yucatan. Do you realize this is the first time since the theft of the codex-"

"The attempted theft,” Julie said. “The alleged theft."

"-that we've known for sure where he is? And he doesn't know we know. It's our first decent chance of getting hold of the bastard. And of getting the codex back.” He nodded respectfully to Julie. “Unless the codex has been down there waiting for us all along, of course."

"Wouldn't that be something?” Abe said softly.

Gideon waved over a waiter hovering unobtrusively at the side of a pillared arch. "Tres copas de brandy, por favor. Tiene Cardenal Mendoza?"

When the drinks came, the three of them clinked glasses and Abe burst into a happy laugh. “Now I know I'm surrounded by crazies,” he said, his pale blue eyes alight. “A man gets a death threat, and he finally figures out it's from a murderer who's going around shooting people. What would a normal person do? Hide in his room, put on a fake beard, get the next plane. What does this guy do? He orders a round of cognac. Cardenal Mendoza, yet."

"Which you very willingly join him in,” Gideon pointed out.

"Did I say I wasn't crazy too'? Listen, where's Marmolejo? We got a lot to tell him."

"That's a relief,” Julie said. “I thought maybe you two were planning to catch him on your own."

"Us?” Abe's mobile eyebrows soared. “What an idea. What are we, detectives?"

Marmolejo looked at the copy of the threat for all of ten seconds, then laid the paper down next to the brandy he had accepted but not yet touched.

"Yes,” he said around his unlit cigar, “it's the same typewriter.” He sat back in his chair under a wooden relief based on a wall painting from Bonampak, absently fingering his glass. “The question is: Why?"

"The codex,” Julie said, looking puzzled. She had just gone through it with him. “It must still be-"

He waved her silent. “No, I mean the letter under the door. Why threaten your distinguished husband in this childish manner? Why not simply kill him?"

"To get the satisfaction of frightening him,” Julie suggested. “Considering that Gideon was the one who started that committee, Howard would probably get a lot of pleasure out of terrifying him. Not,” she added loyally, “that Gideon was terrified."

"You think so?” Marmolejo said. “I wonder. For me to get satisfaction from terrifying you, it would be important that you know it was I and not someone else who hunted you. But did Dr. Bennett sign the note? No; he gave no clue. For all we knew, it might have been anyone."

"But he couldn't afford to let anybody know he was here,” Julie said. “We've already established that."

"All right,” Marmolejo said agreeably, “but if he killed the reporter to keep his presence a secret, as you suggest, why call attention to himself this way?” He turned to look at Gideon. “If he wanted revenge, why not simply bash you over the head with the wrench-forgive me, Mrs. Oliver-and be done with it? Why risk identification with this letter?"