Marjorie Thelen - The Hieroglyphic Staircase

“I thought about that,” he said, “but that’s not like Elena. At least, I don’t think it is. She’d have stayed put. I have a bad feeling about this. Can you spare someone to help me search? Someone who knows the area well?”

Connie sank into her chair. The damp and bedraggled looking crowd before her all started talking at once.

She held up her hand. “ Silencio, por favor . I’ll be right with you.”

She looked at Dominic but what he saw on her face was not encouraging.

“We were unable to find this guy Jorge at the hotel. The clerk said that no one by that name or description was registered.”

“Oh, no,” said Dominic. Dear God, let them be safe.

“We picked up the yellow car with only one headlight parked on the street near the hotel. It’s a stolen car.”

Fear cut through Dominic’s gut, burned and zigzagged its way to his heart.

“Do you have any leads?” he asked. “Do you know who the guy is?”

She ran both hands back over her hair which was barely contained in the ponytail she wore. Dominic noticed for the first time the lines of strain around her mouth, the dark shadows under her eyes.

“Nothing.” She sighed. “Elena or her mother might be able to identify him through photos. But we have to get through this storm first.”

“Can you spare anybody to help me look for her?” he asked again, trying hard not to sound desperate, but he had to have help. There wasn’t much time.

Connie looked around her, like extra help might miraculously show up at any moment. She threw up her hands. “You see how crazy it is.”

“Connie, he’s a murderer.”

“Okay, okay. I can’t leave, I wish I could. I’ll give you two plainclothes guys who’ve been working the case. Now all I need is to find them.”

“Paco, José,” she shouted to be heard above the din of the crowd.

Two men in jeans and T-shirts, looking as harried as their boss, appeared from behind the crowd.

“Elena Palomares and the little boy, Miguel, have disappeared, and that guy I had you tracking down might be involved. Go with Dominic to help find them.”

“ Sí, sí , inspector,” said Paco.

“This guy might be the killer we’re looking for.”

“We’ll find them,” said José.

“Good, get going,” Connie turned back to help the next person in the crowd clamoring at her desk.

Paco stopped Dominic at the open door. Lightning flashed in the clouds off in the distance, outlining the mountains. A rumble of thunder shook the building. Hurricane Bob was circling Copan Ruinas.

“Describe this man again,” Paco said. José crowded close to listen.

“He’s tall, thin, dark hair. That’s what Elena told me. Miguel, who saw the murder, says the guy was tall and thin. Not a Honduran type.”

“Spaniard type, perhaps?” said José.

Dominic nodded. He repeated what he thought had happened. He described Elena and Miguel and what they were wearing.

“I know this lady. She’s very pretty,” said Paco. “Let’s go first to the clinic. Maybe they have returned, if we are lucky.”

As far as Dominic was concerned, luck didn’t have much to do with it. They were in the hands of the Almighty.

He led the way, dodging obstacles, guided by intermittent moonlight and his flashlight. He fought to control fear and to keep his head clear. He tried to imagine where Elena and Miguel might have gone, and how he could find them. He was terrified he might never again see them alive.

Jorge forced them to run along a narrow bush trail threaded with vines. Elena limped on her injured leg and held fast to Miguel who ran beside her, his little legs pumping to keep up.

“Faster.” Jorge shouted, and he punched the nose of the gun into her back.

Her head was swimming from the blow from the gun, and she could feel her cheek swelling without even touching it. One eye was partially closed. Rain spattered them and made it impossible to see. She ran on adrenalin and sheer terror.

Little Miguel kept glancing up at her. She knew he was concerned about her face, and she had made him run on her good side. He seemed paralyzed with fright, and she had to keep tugging him along. She didn’t know this path to the Park. But Miguel did. Jorge, too. That’s how they had traveled back and forth to town without anyone seeing them.

Thank heaven for the moon. There was enough light to see the trail but that wouldn’t last long. She could see the lightning around the mountains, and thunder reverberated along the ground. They were captives of a madman in a hurricane without shelter. Hell couldn’t be much worse than this.

Dominic, Paco and José divided up and searched every inch of the clinic for clues.

Paco found mud stains from a man’s shoes under the open window at the back of the clinic. Dominic’s theory that a man was involved appeared correct although it gave him no comfort. The man was wearing some type of athletic shoe or boot with deep groves in the sole, caked with mud.

“Judging by these partial sandal prints, it looks like two people left by the side door,” said Paco. “The question is, where did they go after that? And where is the boy?”

Dominic said, “There’s more water than mud in the streets. Where would he encounter this kind of mud in the storm?”

“He’d have to leave the confines of town,” said Paco, “where everything is concrete. If there are only two sets of prints, maybe one of them was carrying the boy.”

The three of them stood huddled by the back door peering at the floor where Paco’s flashlight illuminated the shoe prints. Outside, the wind approached howling stage and spurts of rain blew in.

“I doubt the man came from the main entrance to town,” said Paco. “We found the car abandoned on this side, if it’s the same guy. If we can find where he was hiding during the first half of the hurricane that might be where he took Elena and Miguel.”

“Where do the roads turn to dirt on this side of town?” ask Dominic.

“There are two paved residential streets,” José said, “that dead end.”

“There are those two,” said Paco, “and the road to the Guatemala border, and the road to Los Sapos. They are all paved. Maybe he was using a dirt path from some hiding place to come into town. Where would be a good hiding place for someone like him in a hurricane?”

José said, “He could have broken into any number of houses where owners left because of the storm.”

“But those would not have mud,” said Dominic. “Most of the homes around here are well manicured.”

“Wait a minute,” said Paco, tapping his forehead. “What about that abandoned warehouse on the road to Los Sapos that sits back off the road, hidden by the brush. It’s not far, and he could have found shelter there. The homeless boys take refuge there sometimes.”

“I know the place,” said Dominic. “It’s worth a look.” Hope began to shine through the dark clouds of the hurricane. “Let’s go.” He headed out the door with the other two close behind.

“Wait,” Paco said. “We can’t walk there in this weather. We can’t drive there either. Too many obstacles in the road.”

José said, “We have bicycles at the police station. We can use them.”

He led the way to the police station and around to the rear where a stand of bikes was located. He brought out a key ring and searched for keys to the bike locks. He managed to get two unlocked. Dominic jumped on one, Paco on the other, and they took off. Neither stopped to see if José was following.

Dominic peddled with everything in him, squinting his eyes against the rain that came in squalls. He was soaked, but the ever increasing wind and blowing rain cooled his hot skin. His anxiety and fear for Elena and Miguel burned in him like hot coal. He had no fear of Hurricane Bob. What could happen to Elena and Miguel made him peddle faster and faster and faster. An occasional flash of lightning or a glimpse of a cloud-troubled moon lighted his path off and on. Still he peddled faster.