The Moai Murders

7

TWO DAYS AFTER we'd found Jasper propped up against the back of Ahu Akivi and the day Moira and I were to put our meticulously planned strategy into action, all hell broke loose. It started, though, like just another day trapped in paradise. Most of us had found ways of coping under the circumstances. Some found new places to visit in town or elsewhere on the island, others simply enjoyed the pool and the ocean view. Most got together in the bar from time to time to whine to each other about our situation. The Kent Clarke crew was in some disarray, given the demise of their star. Kent took her daughter sightseeing, and Mike, as usual, held up his end of the bar, joined as often as not by Daniel, and now by Brian, who was having trouble convincing someone to give him a job, now that most of the people he wanted to see were either under house arrest or nowhere to be found.

Some had more unusual pursuits: Cassandra set herself up to read tarot cards in the lounge for a fee. Yvonne and Enrique had taken to writing each other poetry and reading it aloud, something we all agreed was sweet even if the poetry itself was intolerably bad. Albert, with the help of Lewis, was gradually working his way through the hotel's wine cellar, keeping notes on every bottle he sampled.

Seth, though, pretty much kept to himself. Most of us, and I include myself in this, I regret to say, simply forgot about him. He'd not been the most sociable person to begin with, but the evening we'd sat drinking his wine in the lounge talking about rongorongo, I'd found him to be a very pleasant companion and certainly rather voluble once you got him on a subject that interested him, in that case, rongorongo.

I'd tried once or twice to elicit a comment from him on the San Pedro rongorongo tablet, but he wasn't doing much talking after Dave died, not just to me, but to anyone. Now, with the discovery of Jasper's body, Seth darted into the dining room the moment it opened, so he could get the same table every meal, a table for two only, although he never asked anyone to join him, and one that not only didn't have a view, but was in a dark corner. I realize now he was keeping his back to the wall. Meal finished, he'd dash out again, returning directly to his room. While I never saw it, I wouldn't be surprised if he moved furniture in front of the door. His room was in the same row as ours, and the curtains were pulled day and night. Once or twice, when I took the back route to the room, I saw the curtains move, so I guess he was at his post as watch guard. He was alone and acting like a caged animal, and I suppose he did what a caged animal would. Twenty-twenty hindsight is a wonderful thing, of course, but in looking back on it, I think I could have, perhaps should have, predicted what would happen.

Seth's plan wasn't bad, certainly no worse than the one Moira and I had been plotting. It was in the execution that it failed. He put it into action at almost the same moment we did. Moira and I had been sitting with some of the others looking out to sea, watching as the day's only flight came in. It was the occasion, almost every day, for some gnashing of teeth, with almost everyone saying how much they'd like to be on it when it left. Seth, however, was the only one of us who did anything.

Moira and I announced we were going into town and asked if anybody needed anything. The guard posted near the dining room barely noticed as we walked toward our Suzuki, parked not far from our room. As we sauntered in as nonchalant a manner as we could muster past one of the buildings, a door opened behind us, and Seth came out. We waved at him, but he didn't acknowledge our presence.

He was carrying one of the hotel laundry bags, and walking purposefully toward the reception area as if to drop it off. Before he got there, however, he abruptly turned and headed for a red Suzuki with rental stickers parked not far away. Upon reaching it, he tried to unlock the door. Unfortunately, he dropped the keys. Twice. By this time the guard posted at reception had noticed his nervous demeanor and started to walk toward him.

Instead of brazening it out, which would have been my inclination, Seth dropped the bag, which split open to reveal not laundry exactly, but a jacket, toiletries, and what looked suspiciously like a wallet, passport, and an airline ticket. The guard shouted at him to stop, but Seth wheeled around and started to run. By this time the other guard, roused by the shouting, had come around the corner, and immediately drew his gun. I was standing by the driver's side of our car, keys in hand, watching in a mixture of amazement and horror as Seth came straight at me.

"Don't shoot," Moira yelled.

"Don't do this, Seth," I said, but it was too late. As Seth slammed into me I could smell his fear, heard a desperate little gasp as he grabbed at the keys, which flew out of my hand and skidded across the pavement.

Seth made a dive for them at about the same time the guard did. Within seconds, Seth, nose bleeding, was pinned with his arms behind his back, as the other guard held a gun to his head.

The others by now had gathered round. "He could have been killed," Susie said, visibly pale. "How awful!"

"Are you all right?" Moira said, gesturing to my arm, which was already starting to bruise.

"I think so," I said.

"But what was he doing?" Yvonne asked.

"Making a run for the airport, I expect," Albert replied.

"I'm thinking it is not so intelligent to be doing this," Enrique said.

"You could say that," Lewis agreed.

"Or you could just call him an idiot," Brian added.

"Does this mean he's the murderer?" Yvonne said.

"Rather looks that way, I'm afraid," Albert said.

"What a pathetic excuse for a human being," Edwina said as Seth, now sobbing, was dragged away.

"Come on, let's have another drink," Mike said.

Thirty minutes later I had the unpleasant duty of translating Fuentes' words once again, notifying the group that we would all have to forfeit our passports and the keys to any rental cars we might have and were forthwith confined to the hotel. Hotel staff had been told they were not to arrange rental cars for any of us and to report to him if anyone attempted to leave.

"But if Seth is the murderer," Judith, the muffin's wife, and not one to be intimidated, said, "why can't we go home? I have a medical practice to attend to."

I translated. "He says we don't know that Seth is the murderer, and until Fuentes is satisfied of that, we're to stay."

"Come to think of it," Lewis said. "He doesn't strike me as a murderer, but then nobody does."

"We'll be told when we can go home," I concluded.

"There goes Plan A," Moira whispered, as dejected, we left the room.

"Is there a Plan B?" I asked.

"Does there need to be? I mean if Seth is the murderer… ?"

"I'm not sure, but let's assume we do need one," I said. It was just as well we did, because Saturday evening poor Seth was brought back to the hotel, but now confined to a room in the old part of the hotel, with no air-conditioning and no sliding doors at the back, with a guard on his room day and night. Meals were to be delivered to him at Fuentes' discretion and delivered under police escort. It seemed rather churlish to be sorry he wasn't arrested and charged, but I'm sure I was not the only person who would have been relieved if he had been.

The next day was Sunday. Moira and I were up really early and in the dining room stocking up on meat and cheese. At 8:15, we went out to Reception and asked them to call us a taxi. Fuentes appeared instantly. There must have been a little bell at the desk, or he had very good ears.

"You cannot leave the hotel, ladies," he said.

"We are going to church," Moira said. "We never miss Mass on Sundays. You cannot prevent us, surely, from participating in our worship." Have I mentioned Moira is Jewish?

Fuentes looked us over. We had each packed one dress for the trip, thinking we might have a fancy dinner out in Santiago, and we were wearing them, along with our sun hats. We also had our good sandals on. My dress, which fortunately was of the loose variety, covered a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. My running shoes were in my bag. The food was in Moira's.

"My officers would be happy to take you to the church,"

Fuentes said at last. "They will wait for you and bring you back."

"Thank you," we said.

The church was already filling up when we got there. The police dropped us right at the door and watched us walk in. I stood in the doorway long enough to see that they had shut off the engine very close to the door. They'd already put the seats back and were settling in. Within a few minutes, the church was packed with both worshipers and tourists. The front door was blocked by a group of people who had congregated there just to listen. It was standing room only.

As the singing began, Moira slipped the bag of groceries over to me, looked over her shoulder, and said, "Go!"

In a couple of seconds, I was out the side door. Plan A, and now Plan B, hinged on one thing: not one but two identical white Suzukis that we'd rented the previous day, initially intending to do a switch kind of operation, a plan scuppered by Seth's dash for freedom. One car was now at the hotel, under the watchful eye of the carabineros. The second was on a side street in town. While I'd been sitting in the window of the restaurant we'd entered shortly after we left the rental agency, pretending to talk to her, Moira had slipped out the back, picked up the second car, and parked it on the side street where I now headed. It was possible, of course, that the carabineros, who'd watched us go into the rental agency, would go in and find out we'd actually rented two. I didn't think they would. We'd gone into a rental agency and come out with a car. In five minutes, I was in the second car and on my way.

The rental agency was going to be none too thrilled with the state of the suspension on one of their vehicles, but I didn't care. I blasted up the road by the airport, turned inland at a trail, and bounced along for several minutes. I knew I had less than an hour to get to Gordon and get back to the church. The trouble was, I wasn't sure if I was on the right trail. Several cut off in different directions. I took one I was sure was it, but it just ended, not at the rock face I expected, but at a small copse of trees. After half an hour of this, I knew I was defeated. I was afraid I wouldn't even be able to find the main road again. Moira would be caught in the church without me, and we'd both be locked in our room. It wasn't in any of our interests to let that happen. I headed downward, hoping to pick up the main road, which I figured I had to come to eventually, looking left and right as often as I could without getting completely bogged down, to see if I could see the rock outcrop that contained the family cave. At last, when I was about to despair completely, I found the paved road, and headed back to town. It was the best I could do.

The last stragglers were leaving the church as I slipped in the side door and then walked out the front with Moira. "Wasn't the singing just marvelous?" Moira said as we climbed into our police escort's van.

"Lovely," I said. Someday I'd like to hear it. "I enjoyed it so much, I might like to go to Mass again tomorrow morning."

Moira paused for a moment. "Good idea," she said. "I'll speak to Corporal Fuentes about it."

"Tell me you found him and he's all right," she said, as we sauntered across the lawn to our room once the police dropped us off.

"I couldn't find the place," I said. "All the trails looked the same." There was a catch in my voice, and she put her arm through mine.

"Let's get into our bathing suits, go out to our favorite spot, and devise Plan C," she said.

"I've got to find a way to contact Victoria," I said, as we were back in our customary spots near the edge of the cliff. "Get her to draw a map to the cave. I know I started off right, but when I was with Gordon, he was giving me directions and I was just concentrating on not hitting a pothole so hard that I destroyed the truck. I didn't realize how many side trails there are. Some of them were pretty well traveled, so I figured it couldn't be one of those, but maybe it could. Maybe the carabineros have already been up to the cave, and it was their tracks I saw."

"But they would have found him if they'd gone up there," she said.

"Not according to Rory and Christian," I said. "And Gordon for that matter. They all claim he wouldn't be found."

"Victoria was not at Mass," she said. "I looked for her as planned, and I had the note ready to try to slip to her some way if I could catch her eye, but if she was there I couldn't find her."

"Did you manage the service all right?" I said.

"Sure," she said. "I did what you told me. I watched what everybody else did. I stood when they stood, I kneeled when they kneeled, and when they sang I just hummed along. It was gorgeous music by the way. They had a band even, with drums and guitars, and the hymns were in Rapanui. I loved it. Is it too late for me to convert?"

I smiled dutifully. I knew she was trying to cheer me up. "I guess the carabineros won't even let Victoria go to Mass. Do you remember that Gordon said she hadn't missed Sunday Mass in the five years he'd known her? I screwed up, Moira."

"Don't think that way," she said. "We'll come up with something."

After dinner, we went back to our room and at a reasonable hour turned out the light. By one AM, I was out the sliding door at the back, over the fence, and out on the road. Plan C was underway. I got past the guard without any trouble and then jogged into town. I found Gordon's house and slipped into the neighbor's yard. I knew there was a clothesline out back—indeed the clothes on it had lent Gordon and me some cover when we made our hasty exit. It was, as I'd hoped, the kind on a pulley. As quickly and quietly as possible, I pinned a note, in a plastic bag, to the line, and reeled it up to the house before slipping away. By 1:45 I was back in my bed.

The storm hit the next morning. Lightning streaked across the sky, and the rain came down in torrents. The airport was closed. The lawn where Moira and I had held our planning sessions was a sea of mud. We took to writing each other notes in our room while we talked about something else. I was sure Gordon was dead, that the day before had been my last chance to save him, even when Moira passed a note across to me that said all Gordon had to do to get water was to stand outside, look up, and open his mouth. The trouble was there was no reason for there to be clothes on a clothesline in this weather. We agreed, however, that I would head out again that night.

I was soaking wet by the time I got there, having had to slide past the carabineros to get to our second rental car once again. The clothesline was absolutely bare. I was debating whether to try to get into the house when I heard a creak, and the line started to move. A note in a plastic bag slid silently over to me. I looked at the window close to where the line attached to the house and thought I saw something move, but I didn't hang around. It was still dark when I got to the car, but dawn would be coming soon enough. The terrible weather, I hoped, would give me some cover. I headed out of town on to the main road, and when the coast seemed to be clear, I switched on Moira's penlight and had a look at the map. I tried to do the route without headlights, but eventually had to switch them on.

Despite the map, once again I could not find the cave. The tracks were almost obliterated in the mud as water poured downhill. I found myself back at the copse of trees again, borderline hysterical by this point. To my relief, Victoria had marked the copse on the map, and I was able to get my bearings at last. I almost screamed with joy when the rocky outcrop appeared.

I crawled into the cave and swept the interior with the flashlight, which didn't do much good, given it was only a penlight. There was no one there, but I remembered Gordon's instructions for Rory. "Gordon," I said. "It's Lara. I'm alone." Nothing happened. My heart was in my throat. He was dead. I hadn't gotten there on time. "Gordon," I said again, this time a little louder. "It's Lara." I waited, holding my breath. Seconds ticked by. No one came.

In a panic I started scrabbling away at a pile of rocks to one side of the cave. Lo and behold, an opening appeared. I shone the pathetic light into it, and saw it was a shaft of some kind. It had been used by humans because there was a length of rope that hung down into it by a couple of feet, held there by another rock on the floor of the cave and covered with smaller stones so that it couldn't be seen. The shaft looked longer than I was tall, and even with a couple feet of rope, I didn't think I could go down there. But then I heard what I was reasonably sure was a groan. "I'm coming," I called.

The shaft was too narrow for me to even crawl on all fours, and I knew I'd have to wriggle my way in. Headfirst was not an option, because if I got stuck, I'd be there forever. Even with the penlight, I could see that the tunnel curved in such a way that if I went down on my back, I wouldn't be able to make the turn. So I lay flat on my stomach, stuck my feet into the downward tunnel, grabbed the rope over my head, and started to slide, using my elbows to brake the descent.

My feet hit rock on the turn when I was only a few feet down. I had no way of telling what lay beyond, and had a minor panic attack. For some reason, this position was very frightening for me. I know I'm uncomfortable with heights, but I've never known myself to be claustrophobic, never, that is, until then. The rock surface was only about four inches from my nose, and the lower I went the narrower the shaft seemed to be, although it was possible my imagination was in overdrive. I felt as if I was going to choke, and I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to pull myself back up lying on my back with my arms over my head.

I just couldn't go any further. I did manage to pull myself up to floor of the cave again and just sat there, breathing heavily. Then I heard the sound again. "Gordon?" I shouted into the shaft, and I was almost certain I heard a reply. If he was down there, then this had to be doable. I took a deep breath and went back into the shaft. This time, when my feet touched bottom, I swung them out into the space. I didn't know if it was another shaft like this one or the entrance to the abyss. Frightened, I decided I just could not do this, no matter what, and began to push myself back up.

But it was too late. I started to slide around the turn in the shaft, and then I fell a foot or two. I landed in a shower of stones on rock. I was in another shaft, mercifully horizontal this time and larger, enough for me to simply crouch over and make my way along. The flashlight was broken, but it didn't matter, because I could actually see light ahead of me. I thought at first that Gordon must have turned his flashlight on for my benefit, but when I stepped into a larger chamber, one in which I could actually stand upright, I realized that dawn was breaking, and there was a window at the far end of the cave. Just enough light was coming in that I could see Gordon sitting, his back to the cave wall. The first thought I had was that he was dead, sitting as he was, just like Jasper Robinson, but then he groaned. I'd brought one bottle of water with me, and I was over to him in a flash, pouring some into his open mouth. He opened his eyes immediately, grabbed the bottle, and drank.

"Breakfast," I said. "Sorry I'm late." It was a poor attempt at a joke, but if I hadn't said something like that, I'd have cried. He made an effort to smile.

"I brought mail, too," I said, handing him an envelope from Victoria. "The flashlight has quit, so you will have to go over to the light, while I go back up and get the rest of the supplies." He nodded, but he didn't move.

I had to take that awful shaft back up, but buoyed by my success, I made it quickly enough. I didn't think I'd have the strength to haul myself out too many more times, but I did manage to do it often enough to get the water and the food down there. Gordon was still sitting where I'd left him. It was then that I noticed his arm.

"What happened?" I said.

"It's my shoulder," he said. "I stumbled somehow. I guess I was getting a little impatient and careless, and I've either dislocated it or badly bruised it. The point is, I can't pull myself up that shaft."

"Maybe I could," I said, but I knew I couldn't. I could barely manage hauling myself up, and there was no way I could pull him up, even if I were Charles Atlas, because there wasn't enough room for both of us. This was really not good. I carefully pulled his shirt off his shoulder. I wouldn't know a dislocated shoulder if I fell over it, but there was no question he had one of the worst bruises I'd ever seen.

I made my way over to the opening in the rock and looked out. The storm continued to rage outside, but there was some shelter from the wet in the rock opening. Carefully I leaned out slightly and looked down. Vertigo kicked in immediately, and I staggered back from the edge. Very far below was the sea, churning against jagged rocks. I edged forward again and this time carefully looked up. The top of the cliff was maybe twenty feet up with no path, no toe- or finger-holds that I could see.

"I can certainly see why this was a good hiding place," I remarked, in what I hoped was a casual tone. "Nice and roomy, large picture window, outdoor facilities, though, I suppose."

"You just have to remember not to pee into the wind," he said. "Will you read me the note?" I did. In it, Victoria told him she loved him, that she had called the U.S. Embassy in Santiago, they had recommended a lawyer, and that same lawyer was supposed to have been on that day's flight, which had been canceled because of the storm. She would send the lawyer with one of the family members to get him as soon as he arrived. She said Edith was fine, but missed her papa. She said that they were keeping Gabriela comfortable while they tried to figure out what was wrong.

Gordon closed his eyes for a moment when I finished the letter. He seemed quite overcome. Then he asked about Rory and Christian and I had to tell him why they hadn't been able to bring the supplies. I considered telling him about the San Pedro rongorongo tablet, but I didn't. I didn't think he'd kill anyone, but I wasn't so sure he wouldn't make off with the tablet.

"This is one fine mess, isn't it, Lara?" he sighed. "And it is all of my making. If I hadn't lost my temper up there at Rano Raraku, I wouldn't be here and neither would you. I hope you will forgive me someday."

"Forget that," I said. "Let's just figure out how we're going to get you out of here, and soon." I gave him the little bottle of painkillers I had taken to carrying in my cosmetic bag ever since the migraine and piled the food and water up where he could reach them. He told me he could move about a little, but the shaft was out of the question.

"If the police want me, they'll have to get me out," he said. I hated to leave him, but there was nothing else I could do. I had to get back before I was missed.

"I'll be back," I said.

He grabbed my hand with his good one. "Thank you," he said.

When I got back to town, it was light. I parked the vehicle closer to the hotel and on the side where I did not have to cross in front of the guard to get to the sliding glass door at the back of the room. It was open, of course, but the room was empty. I was chilled to the bone and got into the shower forthwith, then climbed under the covers and fell asleep.

I couldn't have slept more than a few minutes when the door opened, and Moira, with a policeman behind her peering over her shoulder, stepped into the room. "Are you feeling better?" she said. "I went to the gift shop and got you some pills for your tummy. I also brought you some breakfast and coffee," she said, "for when you're feeling up to it." The policeman looked at me, grunted, and left.

"You're good, Moira," I said.

"I know," she replied. She wrote me a note in which she told me she'd realized that the police were going to go door to door if people didn't show up for meals, so she'd gone and just told everybody I wasn't feeling well. The policeman had followed her back to the room, so she'd played her role to the hilt. While I was reading her note, she even took two pills out of the package and flushed them down the toilet in case someone checked to see if I'd taken anything for this tummy of mine.

"Details count," she said, as I devoured the breakfast she'd brought. I wrote her a very long note about Gordon, and she looked dismayed as she read it. At the end of it, I told her I'd be going out again that night.

"I sure hope this rain stops soon," she said. "For everyone's sake."

Victoria had written me a note as well. In it she said she was planning to have a fit of hysterics that evening and that she was going to insist the police accompany her to the hospital to see Gabriela. I was to be there about midnight if I could.

Moira was rolling up a blanket and placing it in my bed as I slipped out the back door again in the dark. "In case they do a bed check," she scribbled. Fortunately, given where I'd left the vehicle, I didn't have to jog into town this time, nor did I have to cross the hotel entrance without being seen. I parked a block or two from the hospital. It was a good thing Victoria had included a map of its location in her note, because I would never have guessed this low-rise building that looked like a school maybe, or a retirement home, was the hospital. The only clue was an ambulance parked out front. After locating the policemen that I knew would have escorted Victoria to the hospital—they were in their vehicle on the street—I crept behind the ambulance and slipped in.

Victoria was watching for me and quickly pulled me behind the curtain that surrounded Gabriela's bed. I told Victoria that Gordon was all right, that I'd managed to get him food and water, and would do it again if necessary. She flung her arms around me and held on tight. Then I told her about his injury, and she teared up a bit.

"I've got to go," I said. "I don't want to stay any longer than is absolutely necessary. How is she?" I asked, gesturing toward Gabriela. It was a stupid question. I'm not sure I would even have recognized Gabriela under different circumstances. Her face was so white as to be almost unreal, there were tubes everywhere, and somewhere just outside the curtain some machine was thumping along. I think it was doing her breathing for her.

"Not good," she said. "We're still waiting for tests. They had to send the blood samples to Santiago! The doctors say there was alcohol and sleeping pills in her blood, but not enough to do this. She doesn't drink, you know. I'm not saying she doesn't go out with friends and maybe have the odd drink. Maybe she does. She likes to dance, so she goes to the clubs sometimes. But no one has ever seen her drunk, and we have no idea where she would get sleeping pills. I cannot understand this. Anyway, it doesn't matter if she did this to herself or not, I just want her to get better. She did wake up from time to time the first day or two, but she hasn't in a while. The nurses tell us to speak to her, that she may know who is here. I hope she does."

Gabriela looked so terrible that I could hardly stand to look at her, but I reached over and took her hand for a minute. "She didn't do this to herself," I said. "There is something else going on. I don't know how I know this. I just do."

"I keep thinking it must be something else, too," Victoria said. "If there isn't enough alcohol and drugs to put her into a coma, what did?"

"Hold Edith safe," I said.

"I will," she said. "Thank you for helping us."

I let go of Gabriela's hand and saw something that gave me pause. "What's that on her arm?" I said.

"It's a tattoo," Victoria said. "Or at least the start of one. I guess she must have had it done just before this happened. The doctors thought at first it might be the cause—septicemia, you know, from a dirty needle—but it isn't that. It's just a tattoo. You can see the lines where the tattoo artist drew them to help with the design. It's a tattoo of a little bird."

That's strange, I thought, but it would take me a while to figure out why.

I slipped back into our room, waking Moira as I did so. "How did it go?" she asked.

"Mission accomplished," I whispered.

"Brava!" she said.

"You know something, Moira?" I said, completely forgetting, in my general relief, that I wasn't supposed to talk in the room. "Now that I've managed to get food and water to Gordon, I want to go home. Once the storm abates and the airport opens, he'll have a lawyer and the support of his embassy. I don't for a minute think he killed Jasper Robinson, or especially, for that matter, Dave. But there is nothing more we can do for him. He's someone else's problem now. It is a fabulous place, this Rapa Nui. The antiquities are unparalleled, the people lovely, the scenery rather breathtaking, once you come to appreciate its relative barrenness and begin to see the subtleties in the landscape. But I've seen it. Now it's time to go home."

"What do you think it will take to get us off the island?" she said.

"Maybe having Gordon turn himself in," I said. "I hate to see him charged with a murder just so I can go home, but it's beginning to reach that point."

"I'm beginning to feel the same way," she said. "I'd like to see Rory before we go, though. I suppose if Gordon is charged, they'll at least let the others leave for home."

"It's still raining," I said. "I hope they get that airport open soon."

"Go to sleep," she said. I did. I was deep in the dream in which Rob was telling me I'd overlooked something very obvious, when the still of the night was rent by a bloodcurdling scream.