wound again, at the curving, yellow plate of frontal bone that was visible through the thickening blood. There was something odd...
'Now, as to what did happen,” Plumm was saying. “I think it's fairly clear. From those marks on the ground you can see where the chair had been standing, and that its back was only a few feet from the fence. He was obviously sitting there and—Do you mind if we stand up? My joints aren't what they were.'
Neither were Gideon's. They both rose, snapping and creaking. Plumm rubbed the small of his back. Gideon massaged his ribs.
'At any rate,” Plumm went on, “inasmuch as he was shot in the back of the head, his killer had to have been on the other side of the fence. That would seem to suggest—although hardly prove—that it was an outsider; that is, not a fellow-guest at the hotel, but someone who wished to conceal his presence here.
'I understand,” Gideon said.
After a moment, Plumm continued. “But you know, this raises several intriguing questions: The murderer must have been lying in wait, probably in those bushes. How could he know that Ard would accommodate him by coming this way, sitting down right here? How—'
Hurrying footsteps scraped on the flagstone walk behind them. The young police officer stiffened, and Gideon and Plumm turned. Marmolejo, accompanied by two men in civilian clothes lugging a two-handled metal trunk between them, was rounding a curve in the path.
The homicide scene-of-the-crime crew of the Yucatecan State Judicial Police had arrived.
* * * *
One of the civilians immediately began taking pictures with an old-fashioned press camera. The other snapped open the metal case and began selecting his tweezers, brushes, and powders. Marmolejo stood looking impassively at the body for a long time, rolling his dead cigar from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue. He looked sidewise at Gideon. “And what might you be doing here, may I ask? Not that I'm anything but delighted to see you.'
Plumm replied, “I specifically asked him to assist me. I thought—he's a world-famous homicide authority, you see. Er, Dr. Oliver here is'—Gideon cringed; he knew what was coming.—'the Skeleton Detective.'
'Mm,” replied Marmolejo. He held out his hand to Plumm. “I'm Inspector Marmolejo, Doctor. What can you tell us?'
With a nervous look at Gideon, the physician began a hesitant, near-verbatim repetition of his analysis, gaining confidence as Marmolejo listened intently, head down, staring hard at the body.
'Thank you,” Marmolejo said at the conclusion. “That's very helpful.'
'Would you like me to put my, er, findings in a written report? I'd be delighted, if it would be of service.'
'Very good. The sooner the better. Could you write it now? Officer Hernandez will give you a form.'
When the excited Plumm had gone off, Marmolejo remained where he was, studying Ard. One of the two men in civilian clothes was now sketching in a pad; the other was on his knees, burrowing beetlelike under the fallen leaves, and now and again putting invisible things in plastic envelopes or paper sacks that he handed to the uniformed officer.
Gideon waited until he was sure that Plumm was out of earshot. “Uh, Inspector, this really isn't my field —'
'Very true, very true.'
He was decidedly less warm than usual, and Gideon couldn't blame him. World-famous experts were well and good in their place, but who really liked them horning in uninvited? Or even invited?
'Still,” Gideon said carefully, “there are some things I'd like to point out.'
'Dr. Oliver, I'm going to be very busy here for a while, so perhaps you would be good enough to put your conclusions in a report too? I'll look forward to reading it.” His expression didn't suggest much enthusiasm over the prospect. He was looking at Gideon with his eyebrows lifted and his eyelids lowered, almost closed. His long mouth was turned down, with the cigar deep in one corner. “Will that be satisfactory?'
Gideon was being dismissed, and none too subtly.
'Look, Inspector,” he snapped, “you don't have to worry about satisfying me. You want to do it all by yourself, do it all by yourself. The hell with it.'
Before Marmolejo could respond he had turned and walked—strode, he hoped—away down the path.
He was thoroughly embarrassed before he'd gone ten steps. Was this the way world-famous authorities acted? Since when did the Skeleton Detective resort to childish snits when his vanity was pricked?
No, he would repent and humbly—well, dispassionately—submit the report that Marmolejo had asked for. The fact that the inspector happened to be irritable this morning was no reason for Gideon to shirk what was, in a sense, a duty.
Because, except for the time of death, Dr. Plumm had gotten it all wrong. Every bit of it.
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Chapter 17
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It wasn't that Javier Marmolejo didn't like Gideon Oliver. Far from it. Oliver was a very likeable man. In 1982, when the naive, semihysterical
