"It's recent,” he said simply.
But not that recent. There was no trace of rancidity left, nor any sign of the insects and vermin that had performed the cleanup. And the cartilage was brittle and brown. The conclusion was inescapable-and self- evident, given a moment's thought. When he looked up at the faces peering down at him with sharp, puzzled concentration, it was clear that no one had failed to grasp it. He said it anyway.
"Whoever this is was killed when the tunnel caved in. Not before, not after. There can't be any doubt about it."
Chapter 20
No one said anything for several seconds. The whirring of mental gears in the thick air was almost audible, Gideon's among them. Who was killed? Why? How? Had someone stopped Howard from stealing the codex, only to die for his efforts? Had there been a struggle? Had the weakened walls collapsed as a result, burying the codex and its defender together, so that Howard had had to slink off empty-handed, to wait for his chance to return? It was no more bizarre than some of their other theories, and it would explain a lot.
Only whose skeleton was it? Everyone was accounted for. Of the 1982 crew members, three were here on the stairway right now, two were at the hotel, and the others, those who had chosen not to return, were safe in the United States. Abe had talked to all of them by telephone when the dig started up. Then who…
It was Marmolejo who supplied the answer.
"So,” he said softly. “Avelino Canul, at last."
Avelino Canul, the doughty little Mayan foreman who had supervised the local laborers during the earlier dig. Avelino, who had disappeared the day after the cave-in. The police had tried to locate him, but only halfheartedly. Given the corrupt and incompetent Colonel Ornelas's reputation, there had been nothing extraordinary about a Mayan (or anyone else, for that matter) who chose to run off rather than stay for police interrogation, even if he was guilty of nothing. And Avelino, it turned out, had had a few scrapes with the law in the past as the result of a long-standing fondness for rum.
The general consensus had been that he had gone to ground in his village just over the Guatemalan border, and when Howard's letter had arrived to explain things-so they'd thought-they had abandoned the search for him. As the colonel had pointed out, if he wanted to stay hidden in his own village, among his own people, there was no way the police were going to find him-even a half-Mayan policeman like Marmolejo. And in Guatemala they had no authority anyway. They had left it at that, but Marmolejo had always been vaguely troubled; it had not satisfied his need for closure. More than once he had wondered aloud to Gideon about the fate of Avelino Canul.
"Mr. Partridge,” he said.
Worthy jumped. “Pardon? What?"
"Avelino and the other laborers were dismissed when the day's work ended. How do you suppose he got back here?"
"How do I suppose? What would I know about it?"
"You were here at Tlaloc, on guard."
"I-well, yes, but-it was dark. There wasn't any fence. The man was an Indian, used to the jungle. He knew the trails better than anyone. He could easily have come back without being seen."
"Yes, I suppose that's true. Well, why do you suppose he would do that? You think he wished to steal the codex himself? Perhaps they fought over it?"
"I'm sure I have no idea. Why ask me?” He swallowed hard. Marmolejo had frightened him.
"No matter, senor," the inspector said pleasantly. “I'm sure matters will become clear as we progress."
The rubble burying the bones was easy to remove, but it took an hour and a half because Marmolejo very properly insisted on exposing the skeleton bit by bit, layer by layer, with frequent photographs. The work was done by the two policemen, using their fingers as their main tools, and there was little for Gideon to do beyond observing and providing an occasional suggestion.
Meanwhile, Abe meticulously finished preparing the codex for removal and placed it with exquisite care in a padded crate supplied by the police. Simply getting it into the crate took twenty minutes. Quite a difference from the Howard Bennett approach.
When it was safely packed away, two other uniformed policemen-the entire Yucatecan State Judicial Police force seemed to be at Tlaloc-were detailed to carry it to the hotel safe to await the arrival of officials from the Institute. Abe, caught between curiosity about the skeleton and concern for the codex, opted for the codex and left with it.
Gideon and the others remained sprawled on the steps above, watching dreamily. An exhaust fan had been set up because of the celluloid-acetone fumes, and the air was now relatively cool and dustless. It was an oddly peaceful time, free-floating and slow-paced. There were still questions, but a big corner had been turned; they were now closing in on the answers instead of getting farther away. And of course there was the recovery of the great codex to be chewed over and relished.
By three, the skeleton was three-quarters freed, lying on its left side facing the ascending staircase, still partially embedded in the debris. Under the left wrist, the snapped metal expansion band of a wristwatch could be seen sticking out of the rubble. One of the policemen had reached to pluck it out, only to be stopped by a tart reprimand from Marmolejo. Didn't they know better than to pull things from the dirt? Everything would remain until exposed by careful digging. It was of great importance to view and photograph all objects in their natural relation to one other.
Gideon smiled to himself. Marmolejo would have made a hell of an archaeologist.
At three-thirty Marmolejo told the two policemen who had been doing the digging to quit. They had started early and it had been a long day; the rest of the job could wait until morning. They stopped gratefully and went to the landing above, settling down against the wall with the tea jug.
"Dr. Oliver,” Marmolejo said, “I wonder if enough is visible for you to look it over?"
"Sure, if you want.” He had begun to wonder when-or if-Marmolejo was going to ask him. This time he'd known better than to offer his services unrequested. He rose and started up the steps. “I'll go and bring my tools from the work shed."
"Ah, how long do you suppose your examination might take?"
"It depends. Three or four hours."
Marmolejo looked pained. He had been in the stairwell since before 7:00 a.m. “In that case,” he said reluctantly, “I think we might better wait until morning. We can have it fully ready for you then."
"I could take a preliminary look now,” Gideon said. He didn't want to wait until morning any more than Marmolejo did. “At least see if I can confirm sex and race. Age, maybe. That kind of thing. Then tomorrow I can get my stuff and do a more thorough job."
Marmolejo brightened. "Por favor," he said, then expressed to the others, firmly but discreetly, his reservations about having the Tlaloc staff remain as an audience, inasmuch as sensitive police business was about to be discussed. Perhaps they might continue their work in other parts of the site, or return to the hotel if they pleased?
When Julie got up with them, he signaled to indicate that she could stay, but she seemed relieved to go. Julie had a healthy enough interest in skeletal analysis (what choice did she have, married to Gideon?) but this was the first time she'd been in on the grubby nuts and bolts of it, and she hadn't been looking altogether happy about sharing a confined space with a freshly unearthed skeleton.
Marmolejo waited until they left, then nodded briskly to Gideon.