Marjorie Thelen - The Hieroglyphic Staircase

“Yes. A category three hurricane is churning out in the Caribbean Sea, and it’s projected to hit Honduras on its present track, but the forecasters aren’t sure where it will make landfall. There’s talk of closing the airport at San Pedro Sula soon.”

“Geez-oh-man,” said Elena. “Let’s hope it goes somewhere else. Honduras doesn’t need another Hurricane Mitch.”

After she hung up, Elena decided she couldn’t worry about a hurricane right now. She had to worry about a frightened little boy.

Dominic had Miguel tucked into the extra bed when she returned. The room was sparsely decorated — twin beds with orange floral bedspreads, bedside table with wrought iron lamp, tall chest of drawers. Above the chest of drawers on the wall was a simple wooden cross, the only sign of Dominic’s past life as a man of faith.

“Is the window locked?” asked Miguel. He pulled the sheet and bedspread up so they almost covered his head, even though the evening was close.

“It has bars,” Dominic said, gesturing to the high windows above the beds. “You’ll be fine. We’ll wait until you fall asleep.”

Elena sat with Dominic on the other bed, and he turned out the light.

“No,” said Miguel. “Please, can we have the light on?”

“Sure,” said Dominic. He turned the low watt lamp back on.

“ Gracias ,” said Miguel. He closed his eyes.

Dominic and Elena sat, side by side, watching the boy.

After a while she said in a whisper, “His breathing sounds pretty even”. But she was reluctant to move. She liked the feel of Dominic beside her, the stillness of the night, the soft breathy sounds of a child falling asleep.

“I hope I can keep him from running off.”

“Poor kid. He can’t keep on living like he is. Can you keep him here, let him live with you for a while till all this gets settled?”

“I was thinking along those lines. Gordo, too, if we can find him.”

“I’ll help you.” She paused and thought about all that had happened. “I feel like I’ve lived a thousand years since I arrived.”

“Maybe you have.”

They tiptoed from the room. In the living room he turned to face her. “Thanks for your help.”

“It is the least I could do,” she said with a smile. “I’m as concerned about the boys as you are.” Her smile widened. “Besides, we’re a team. Now I’d better go. I’ll walk by the hotel on the way home and check in with my mother. I talked to her while you were helping Miguel. She and doña Carolita were frantic.”

“Take the Jeep. I’d drive you, but I don’t want to leave Miguel here by himself.”

“I’ll be fine walking. By the way, my mother said a category three hurricane is headed this way.”

“Like we need more excitement. This used to be a quiet, sleepy town.”

“Not anymore.”

Over coffee the next morning Elena and doña Carolita sat in the living room and watched the news on TV. The lead story was the impending hurricane, and the trajectory looked bad for Copan Ruinas. Although the town was three hours inland, they might be in for some rough weather — high winds and a lot of rain. Flooding might do the most damage.

The second big story was the unexplained deaths in Copan that the news reported as murders. Then, horror of horrors, Elena’s picture was on screen from the day the reporters had accosted her outside doña Carolita’s house. They portrayed her as some sort of femme fatale. Did she do it or didn’t she? Speculation was running rampant.

Elena went to the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee. Her hand trembled as she poured. She stopped and set the cup down. Get a grip, Elena Palomares. Get a grip. Of course, there’d be speculation. She should get a lawyer. The thought reminded her to check email to see if there was any help forthcoming from the university.

A list of unread emails awaited her. One from Dr. Roulade she opened first. She was still in Peru, was having trouble making travel connections and with the hurricane wasn’t sure when she could get there.

No immediate help from that quarter.

The next email was from the department assistant. She reported that a university lawyer would be contacting Elena. His name was Jeff Stuart. His email was farther down the list. He said he had contacted the embassy, and they would investigate and get back to him. He thought it best to stay and cooperate with the authorities to bring the case to resolution. He’d let her know what he heard from the embassy folks.

At least legal help was forthcoming. Elena felt a bit better. But her improved mood changed a few minutes later when inspector Connie Lascano arrived in her skirt and blouse uniform. She declined to sit and have coffee, and Elena stayed standing. She didn’t like the frown on Connie’s unlined face.

“I’m sorry, doctora Palomares, I’m afraid I bring disturbing news. A small boy has been found face down in the river.”

A boy. It wasn’t Miguel. He was with Dominic. Then who? Not Gordo, surely.

“Do you … do you know who it is? A name?”

“We don’t have positive identification yet. I understand you and Dominic Harte have been seen with a small boy. One of the homeless boys from town, I believe?”

“We found Miguel, the one who saw the murder, at the Museum last evening. Dominic is caring for him. His life is in danger. Inspector, I don’t think Miguel should know because he’s scared. If it was one of his friends, it might not be good for him to know. But he has agreed to talk to you.”

“I must speak with him immediately,” said Consuela Lascano. “ Doctora, I must ask you, do you have an alibi for last evening?”

She didn’t like the ramification of the question. “Yes, I was with Dominic and Miguel all evening.”

“Good,” Connie said. “I need to get back to the police station. Will you bring Miguel pronto ? It may be that someone murdered the child we found and thought it was Miguel. This is terrible business.”

Connie paused at the door. “Elena, do not go to the Archaeological Park today. The Museum is closed, pending the outcome of our investigation. We do not want anyone wandering alone at the Park, especially not you. It is not safe. Not with the murderer still on the loose.”

“Then I’m not a suspect?”

Connie shook her head. “No. But you could be the next victim. I think whoever perpetrated these crimes is trying to silence anyone connected. Hurry. Come to the station as soon as you round up Dominic and the boy.”

Elena moved into action. She had dressed for a day of work at the Hieroglyphic Staircase and didn’t bother to change. She grabbed her back pack, told doña Carolita where she was going and headed for the clinic. It was after seven, and Dominic and Miguel would be there by now.

From a distance she could see the usual crowd standing outside the clinic, but they were milling about, more agitated than usual. Fear gripped Elena’s heart with icy fingers. They couldn’t have heard about the child found in the river. Miguel could not know about this or he might disappear again. She broke into a run.

The Jeep was not parked before the clinic. She sprinted down the side street that led to Dominic’s house, hoping that he hadn’t left, that she would be able to head them off and not let Miguel learn what had happened. She ran the few blocks to Dominic’s house. The Jeep wasn’t parked on the street in front of the house.

She slowed to a walk and took time in the last half block to catch her breath and compose herself. She didn’t want Miguel to see her winded and scared. She had to appear calm and reassuring. In front of the gate she stopped. The Jeep was parked in the driveway. The front door to the house stood wide open.