Aaron Elkins: Curses!

As for Gideon, his clock had run out the moment the watch had been uncovered by Marmolejo's men. God, how Leo must have panicked at that point-but of course Marmolejo had given him another night's grace when he'd put off digging it out until the next morning. And Gideon himself had told Leo just how to put that night to good use; he had forthrightly proclaimed his intention of doing a thorough skeletal analysis the next day…after getting his tools from the work shed.

Sealing his own doom, Ard would probably have called it, and the flea in Leo's ear had been enough. All he'd had to do was go to the back gate at Chichen Itza, buy a cute little poisonous snake in a cute little basket from one of the cute little kids (even with a vocabulary of bueno-bueno, how hard could it have been?), return to the site the same afternoon, stuff it in the storage bin with the basket lid loose, and leave it there all night to grow more and more agitated and enraged. Then when the blissfully unknowing Dr. Oliver returned in the morning…

"Question,” Julie said, putting a tray down on the table. She set out cardboard bowls of clam chowder for both of them, along with crackers, plastic spoons, and two cups of cocoa, then slid into her seat across from him.

"I've been giving this a lot of thought,” she said, “and what I don't understand is why Leo was working so hard to make it look as if Howard was behind everything. I mean, he knew it was just a matter of days before we got to the skeleton. The minute Howard's body was identified, all that fancy footwork wouldn't count for anything."

"Ah, but he didn't expect Howard to be identified. You know, that clarinet-playing business was just a freak bit of luck. And Howard didn't have any identification on him."

"No, but Leo couldn't be sure of that."

"Yes, he could,” Gideon said. “I was thinking about what went on after we found the codex in ‘82, and I remembered that the foreman asked for the workmen's pay. Howard said he couldn't give it to them because he didn't have his wallet on him. Well, if he didn't have his wallet, it was pretty unlikely that he had any ID. There wasn't any reason for him to have a passport tucked in a pocket. I'm sure that didn't get by Leo."

He paused for his first taste of the smooth white chowder. Plastic spoon, cardboard bowl, and all, it was wonderful, redolent of the sea and the Northwest. It was very good to be home.

"Besides that,” he went on after a second spoonful, “Leo knew Howard had been wandering around Central America for over a decade, so no one was too likely to identify him through his dental records. No one was too likely to identify him, period."

"Except you."

Gideon demurred. “Luck,” he said again. “And the fact that I knew the guy. But once I was out of the way, Leo would have been free and clear. No one to recognize the watch, no one to identify the body. How could a Mexican pathologist who didn't know Howard ever figure out those bones were his? The corpse would be listed as unidentified, and poor Howard would be blamed for that murder too-his own-on top of everything else."

"But you'd already identified him. Killing you wouldn't-"

"But Leo didn't know that, remember? Marmolejo didn't want the crew to be told."

"Mm, that's right,” Julie said.

For a while they attended quietly to their meal. Outside the window a misty drizzle spattered the metal deck. It looked cold. It looked good.

"Gideon, what do you suppose it was all about? What did Leo have in mind in the first place? Why did he attempt to steal the codex? What kind of plans did he have for it?"

"I don't think it was that kind of thing at all, Julie. No carefully worked-out plan, no complex motives. Nobody even knew a codex existed until almost five o'clock, and by nine Leo had already made his stab at getting it."

He shrugged. “I suppose Leo just heard Howard say he could get two million dollars for it-'easy,’ I think he said-and that was enough to set him off. Sneak back to the site, remove it without anyone seeing him, have it blamed on the bandidos, and then look into peddling it at his leisure. Or at least that's what he must have had in mind."

He pushed his empty bowl away. “There is one thing I still haven't figured out. The gun. How did Leo get it out of the country in 1982 and then get it back in through airport security? And what for? It was a hell of a chance to take."

Julie concentrated on chewing and swallowing a particularly tough piece of clam. “Oh, I know the answer to that one. He didn't."

"You mean he hid it somewhere around the site for five and a half years? I don't know, that seems-"

She shook her head. “No, I mean the gun got caught in the cave-in too, and then turned up in the rubble some time during the last few weeks. Leo must have been keeping a pretty sharp eye out for such things, and he probably grabbed it before the workmen even realized what it was. Using it on Stan was probably just an afterthought; one more way to incriminate Howard."

Gideon considered this. “Good thinking."

"It's Inspector Marmolejo's thinking. The gun turned up a few days ago, conveniently tossed under a bush just fifteen or twenty feet away from where Stan was killed. Inspector Marmolejo says there was limestone dust in all the crevices. It'd been buried, all right"

"Ah, good old Marmolejo. You're frowning. Something's still bothering you."

She nodded, spooning up the last of her chowder. “Well, what do you suppose that curse business was all about? Was it some sort of smoke screen? Was it a plan to upset Dr. Villanueva enough to close down the dig again? Leo couldn't really think anyone-besides Emma-would take the curse seriously, could he? Or could he?"

"I don't think so,” Gideon said. “And I don't think he was trying to make it look as if the curse were coming true; I think he was trying to make it look as if a desperate, demented Howard Bennett was trying to make it look as if the curse were coming true."

She nodded sagely. “That's just clever enough and crazy enough to be right. Hence the message from the gods on Howard's typewriter.” She pulled the lid from her cocoa, sipped, and grimaced. Chowder was the Washington State ferry system's long suit; the cocoa came out of a packet that you stirred into a Styrofoam cup of tepid water.

Above them the ferry's horn hooted, loud and deep and throaty, and the big ship began its majestic turn into the Kingston ferry dock. Behind the little port town the rich green flanks of the Olympics rose and disappeared into the mist. It was snowing up there.

"Home,” Julie said with satisfaction. “Had enough hands-on anthropology to last you for a while?"

"You better believe it,” Gideon said. “You know the first thing I'm going to do when we get back?"

"Yes,” she said with her no-nonsense look, “you're going to stay in bed for a few days, the way Dr. Plumm told you to."

"After that."

"Let's see. Build those bookcases?"

"Nope."

"Finish that monograph?"

"Nope. I'm going to straighten up my office. Everything in its proper place."

"Good."

"I'm cleaning up my act. I'm a new man."

"I'm glad to hear it."

He drained the last of his cocoa. “Besides,” he said, and smiled, “did you ever stop to think what might be lurking in there under all that junk?"