"Hard to say," she said. "It looks like a man, but the features are rather effeminate. I don't know the couple at al However…" She peered at the photograph, then went t get something out of her bag. "I'm afraid I'm beginning t need this from time to time," she said, holding up a little magnifying glass. "This or longer arms."
"Alas, I know that very well," I said. "What are you peering at?"
"Ibelieve I'mlooking atthe SanPedro rongorong
tablet," she said after a pause in which she pressed the magnifying glass to the photograph.
"Are you sure?" I said.
"No, but I think it is. I've only seen one rongorongo tablet, and I think this is the one I've seen. As you know, I had a pretty good look at it yesterday."
"You recognize the rongorongo?" I said.
"No, I recognize this," she said, pointing to one end of the tablet. "The one I had in my hands was rotted away a bit on one end, just like this one. You see, it's kind of a V-shaped cut into this end, where it's broken off."
"I see," I said. "And you're saying that the San Pedro had the same cut."
"That is exactly what I'm saying," she said.
"That's what Gordon meant," I said.
"Are you going to explain this?" Moira said.
"Gordon said the San Pedro tablet was authentic. He was absolutely definitive about it, even though he admitted Rory wanted to do some testing on it. Gordon also said that it was not from Chile. It was from Rapa Nui. I asked him how he knew and he wouldn't say. If this tablet in the photo and the one Jasper presented at his talk are one and the same, then Gordon knew it was authentic because he was here when it was found. Isn't that what this photograph looks like to you? They're all having their photo taken because it's a special occasion, and obviously the tablet is front and center here. This picture is to mark the discovery of the tablet."
"That's what it looks like. When and where was this picture taken?" Moira asked.
"According to the note on the back, August 10, 1975. You know where it was taken. You've been there."
She peered at it. "It's Rory's guest house, Maria and Felipe Tepano's place. Where did you get this?"
"Maria gave it to me. I'm not sure her husband knows this, so if you're back there, mum's the word, okay?"
"Okay," she said. "What does this mean? If this is the same tablet, then Jasper was presenting something as coming from Chile, when it actually came from here."
"Yes," I said.
"Did he know he was doing that, or did someone play a trick on him? I mean who are these other people?"
I told her my fears, my belief that the deaths were tied to something that happened the summer the four men were here as students. I told her how I'd gone to see Felipe Tepano in hopes he would tell me, but that he wouldn't and that his wife had given me this photograph as a result of her husband's refusal. "She's trying to tell me something without disobeying her husband directly," I said.
"I have a feeling this photograph explains everything, if only I could understand it. I am also wondering if the missing photograph, the one Dave kept in his safety deposit box, is similar, maybe even a duplicate."
"There are two photographs?" she said. I told her about Seth's ramblings, at least that's what I'd thought they were at the time. "So Seth said he'd have destroyed the photograph and assumed someone else had?" she asked.
"Right," I said. "Is it too far-fetched to assume we may be looking at a copy of it? Maybe they all got one."
"I don't know," Moira said. "But it's all there is. Why don't I ask Rory if he knows anything? I'll go back and see if they'll let me see him again."
"Let's leave it until tomorrow," I said. "I want to think about this some more. You know what bothers me most about this? It is that whoever is doing this is prepared to kill someone like Gabriela, who could not possibly have anything to do with 1975. She wasn't even born then."
"That may mean this is about something else entirely," Moira said.
"Then why won't anyone tell me about the summer of 1975?" I said.
"Good point," she said.
The next morning, Moira headed for the police station to see Rory, and I went back to the Internet cafe. Being the technologically backward person that I am, I had to get help, but within a reasonable period of time I had scanned the photograph Maria had given me and had it on a CD. This I took back to my friend, Brian Murphy. "Can I see this on the screen, bigger, I mean?" I asked him.
"Sure," he said. "An old photograph, I see. Is that Jasper Robinson?"
"I think it is," I said.
"Could that be Dave Maddox?" he asked.
"Yes, and that would be Seth, and that would be Gordon Fairweather."
"No kidding," he said. "They knew each other a long time."
"They did," I agreed.
"Who are these other people? Is it a man or a woman?"
"Now that I'm able to see the picture better," I said, putting my nose right up to the screen. "I believe it is Muriel Jones."
"I don't know her," he said.
Actually you do, I thought, but I kept that thought to myself.
"Here I am again, Cassandra, or Muriel, or whatever your name is," I said, approaching Cassandra a few minutes later.
"Leave me alone," she said.
"Not going to happen, Muriel," I said. "I want you to tell me about the summer of 1975."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.
"How about you have a look at this photograph?" I said. "I can show it to you blown up on Brian's computer screen if you like, in case you don't recognize yourself as a guy."
If Cassandra had gone green the last time we'd talked, I don't know how you'd describe the color he or she was now.
Her hands were trembling badly, and there was a little tick throbbing near one eye. "Are we going somewhere private?" she said.
"Okay. Let's go sit under that umbrella and look at the sunset," I said.
"You're going to kill me out there in front of everyone in the dining room?" she said.
"I don't kill people," I said. "I just want to talk to you."
"You can't tell anyone," she whispered.
"I can understand your concern. If someone recognized you, you might end up dead like the rest of them."
The gypsy slumped in her chair. "Please, don't," she said. "Let's go outside."
"Cassandra, Muriel, what is your name, anyway?" I said.
"Andrew Jones," he said.
"Okay, Andrew," I said. "Tell me what—"
"Please," he said. "Call me Cassandra."
"Cassandra, if you don't tell me what I want to know, right now, I'm going to make an announcement at dinner about who you really are."
"Why are you doing this to me?" he said.
"People are dying, in case you hadn't noticed. Other people's lives are at risk. Gordon Fairweather won't tell me, Felipe Tepano won't tell me, but believe me, you are going to."
"We should never have come back here," he said. "I don't know why we did."
"Would it surprise you to know that is exactly what Seth said before he died?"
"Please!" he said. "I didn't think anybody would recognize me. The more outrageous you look, the less people look at you. I know that, believe me. Can we go to my room so I can take this wig off? My head aches."
"No," I said. "Start talking. No one can hear you out here by the water."
"I can't," he said.
"Okay, then, it's back to the dining room for my announcement. I think just about everybody was in there, weren't they? Anakena would have to be there."
He groaned. I waited. "Do you know the story of Ana o Keke?" he said at last.
"I know it's a cave," I said. "Something to do with virgins. One of your Moaimaniac pals uses the name."
"Cave of the White Virgins is what a lot of people call it," he said. "But do you know what happened there in the 1860s?"
"No," I said. What the 1860s had to do with all this, I didn't know. It was 1975 I was interested in.