"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?"
Chapter 19
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?"
They were good questions. Gideon hadn't yet had a chance to think about them. “Well, of course he'd never expect Abe to compare the documents."
Marmolejo received this with a noncommittal shrug. “He might think that we would. Eventually."
"So what's your theory, Inspector?” Abe asked.
The inspector shook his head, rolling the cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Dr. Oliver, have you ever received threats from him before?"
"No."
"But then he gets so many that it's hard for him to keep track,” Julie said.
Marmolejo took this in the spirit it was intended. “Then why,” he asked, “does he suddenly begin now? Why not years ago?"
More good questions. “Maybe he never risked coming back to the States?” Gideon ventured. “Maybe this is the first chance he's had at me."
Another shrug from Marmolejo, and a change of subject. “Dr. Goldstein, if the codex is still buried at Tlaloc, I think our common interest would be best served if we retrieved it as quickly as possible.” He produced a small matchbox, removed a tiny waxed match, and applied it to the end of his cigar. Marmolejo with a lit cigar was a rare sight. He was feeling expansive, and no wonder. The retrieval of the Tlaloc codex for his country would be a stunning accomplishment.
"I couldn't agree more,” Abe said cautiously. “But the faster you dig the more risks you take. You wouldn't want to take a chance on damaging the codex."
Of course not; that went without saying. But was it not possible to speed up the digging without such a risk? What if he provided some of his own reliable men to help?
Abe, perfectionist that he was, was reluctant, but Marmolejo was persuasive. However dedicated the police protection might be, there was no way to provide foolproof security for either people or objects. Wasn't the fate of Ard proof of that? As long as the codex was down there, there was some risk that Howard might find a way to get at it, or even destroy it, deranged as he obviously was. And what about the danger to the crew's safety? Who could tell who was next, and when? But remove the codex and you remove Howard's raison d’ etre, or at least his primary reason to do anyone harm.
Abe wavered, then gave in. Starting the next morning, two of Marmolejo's men would report for duty in the temple, under Abe's supervision of course. With Abe's permission, Marmolejo himself would be there as well.
Abe, who knew when he didn't really have a choice, gave his permission. “But you know,” he said, “there's something that's bothering me here. Garrison translated the curse last week on Monday night. The press conference was Tuesday, so it wasn't in the papers till Wednesday. And yet on Wednesday night Howard's already here, slipping notes under the door. How did he find out so fast? How did he get here so fast?"