The Puzzle of Piri Reis (18 page)

"That's why I want you to come up in ten minutes.
Of course," I added, "this bozo could be perfectly legitimate, but I don't want to take any chances."

Entering the Cattleman's lobby, I felt as if I had
stepped back into an earlier century. The walls were
festooned with western artifacts. Longhorns sporting
needle-sharp horns spanning over eight feet peered
down from the walls. Glancing around, I saw about
half a dozen people in the lobby all wearing ten-gallon hats, a couple at the registration desk, a couple
more ensconced in plush leather couches reading the
newspaper, and two more heading into the Cattleman's Bar through a large arch. I climbed the wide
stairs leading to the second floor, and found my way
down the carpeted hallway to room 223.

I froze. Around the corner came a chambermaid carrying an armload of linens. Impossible, I told myself.
Moments later she passed with a short nod and a bright
smile. "Afternoon, sir." Sheepishly, I watched her disappear around the next corner.

Glancing up and down the empty hall, I knocked.

No answer.

I knocked again, and still no answer. My pulse picked
up. Tentatively, I tried the doorknob. I wasn't surprised
to find it turned easily.

Glancing up and down the empty hall once again, I
hesitated. My good sense told me to get out of there as
fast as I could, but the idiot part of me insisted I follow
through on what I had come to do.

Like the imbecile, there is always one more idiot out
there than you thought. This time, I was it. I pushed the
door open and stepped inside and froze for the second
time in as many minutes.

There, sprawled across the bed, lay Lamia Sue
Odom. I'd seen enough corpses that I knew she was
dead, but I shook her gently anyway, noting her arms
were still warm. There were red marks on her throat. I
checked her carotid. No pulse. I laid my ear to her
chest. No heartbeat. I guessed she'd been dead less
than an hour.

In that instant, I knew for certain Bernard Odom
had been murdered just as I knew for certain someone
had strangled Lamia Sue. I glanced around the room.
There was no sign of struggle, which perplexed me. A
victim just doesn't offer her assailant her throat and
stand there. Maybe she'd been so toked up ...

At that moment, an insistent honking from outside
broke into my thoughts.

Then, through the open door, I heard thudding footsteps, and in the background, sirens.

Without hesitation, I raced to the sliding doors, threw
them open, stepped onto the balcony, then hastily closed
them. Across the narrow street was the Alamo and its
grounds, on which a large gathering of women were
seated listening to a speaker. Down the street, I spotted Jack in the Caddie. He waved and, with smoke pouring
from his tires, sped toward me.

I swung over the balcony and, hanging by my fingers, dropped to the sidewalk. Luckily, those on the
walk had heard the sirens and raced toward them.

Jack squealed to a halt and I jumped in. Moments
later we were lost in the traffic.

"What's going on?" he shouted, whipping around the
first corner, then pulling into the middle of the traffic.
He worked his way to the outside lane, and then took
the first street off the thoroughfare.

"You were right. It was a setup. You remember the
young woman we talked to last night on the River
Walk?"

Keeping his eyes on the traffic, he nodded. "What
about her?"

"She's dead. Strangled"

He whistled. "And someone wanted you to take the
fall, huh?"

"Looks that way"

"Where to now?"

"Back to the hotel" I had to find a refuge somewhere, where I could figure things out.

When Jack dropped me off, I paused before closing the car door. "If I were you, Jack, I'd get back to
Austin. Someone might have got a description of your
car."

With a sly grin, he retorted, "So? I was sightseeing
downtown. I didn't do nothing illegal."

"All right, but listen. Anyone should ask, you called
me to go sightseeing. We just drove around San Antonio
for an hour or so, then spent another hour or two on the
River Walk, nowhere in particular. Got it?"

"Yeah. I got it."

Climbing the stairs to my room, I grimaced at the
fate of Lamia Sue. The Piri Reis would do her no good
now. As soon as I could, I'd contact Ted and inform him
of her death.

The light on my bedside phone was blinking. I called
the operator. It was Dean Coggins from the university.

I called him back.

The dean was at a conference in Dallas. He bubbled with excitement. "I received word you wanted
to speak with me about a donation to the department,
Mr. Boudreaux. I'll be more than pleased to answer
any questions you have. May I ask what you had in
mind?"

"You're already familiar with it, Dean Coggins. The
Piri Reis Map. As I understand it-"

"The what?"

"The Piri Reis Map. An ancient map from the sixteenth century." I paused, waiting for his response.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Boudreaux, but I've never heard of
it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said I'd never heard of this map, whatever it is."

Sounding as contrite as I could, I apologized and explained. "My secretary must have made a mistake, Dean Coggins. Perhaps it was the University of San Antonio
who had asked for the Piri Reis. I'm sorry"

I hung up and leaned back, staring at the receiver.
Papa Poggy had lied. He had told me the dean said the
university could not pay such an exorbitant price. And
that same dean had just told me he had never heard of
the Piri Reis.

So why was the good father lying? And where was
he those nights he left the classroom for a couple of
hours?

Good questions all, and I planned to find out.

At that moment there came a knock at the door. I
opened it, and a young bellhop handed me a sealed portfolio. "This just came for you, Mr. Boudreaux"

I tipped him a couple of bucks, then hurried back inside and opened the portfolio. The prints. Ted was on
the ball.

Father Bertoldo Poggioreale's office was closed when
I arrived at the campus. I stood outside the darkened
office in frustration.

"The father's gone for the day," a cracked voice behind me said.

I looked around and an elderly woman in jeans and
sweatshirt and holding a mop grinned at me, revealing
two missing teeth in her uppers. "Just my luck," I said.

She cackled. "Ten minutes sooner, and you woulda
caught him. He's been in his office all afternoon"

"You saw him, huh?"

She gestured to the spotless hallway. "Been stripping the floor. I been here since noon"

Well, at least, it appeared the good father had nothing to do with Lamia Odom's death. "You wouldn't
happen to know where he lives, would you?"

She gestured out the door, the joints on her crippled
hand knotted with arthritis. "Yes, sir. At the faculty
dorm. Last one on the west end"

The sun had set by the time I found the dorm, and the
wind had shifted to the north. A nip was in the air. Ten
minutes later, Father Poggioreale stepped into the front
lounge, a combination living room and recreation room.
He grinned when he saw me. "Ah, Mr. Boudreaux.
More questions?"

I went straight to the point. "First, the university
knows nothing at all about the Piri Reis Map, which
means obviously you wanted the map for yourself. And
second, where did you disappear to those nights you
left your evening class for a couple hours?"

His eyes wide in surprise, he inadvertently took a
step backward. He parted his lips to speak but no words
came. Finally, he managed to say, "I don't know what
you're talking about. I-"

"Hold it, Father. Whatever is going on here is getting serious. There's a dead woman that someone is
going to answer for, and it sure isn't going to be me"

His face blanched. "A-a dead woman? Who?"

"Someone who wanted the Piri Reis as much as you.
I have proof you lied to me. Now, either come clean or
I'm dumping all of this in the lap of the cops. You can
play your silly little games with them"

He glanced around the cavernous room. No one else
was present so he indicated a couch in the far corner.

After we sat, he whispered frantically. "I don't know what's going on, but I had nothing to do with anything, and that's the truth."

"Then where were you those nights you left the
classroom? October second to be specific."

His hands began to shake. "All right, I left the classroom but I didn't do anything."

"On October second, Bernard Odom died. I think
he was murdered, and someone stole the Piri Reis. You
wanted the map, and you have no alibi from seven thirty
until nine forty-five."

Sweat popped out on his forehead, and he ran the
tip of his tongue over his dry lips.

I added a little fuel to the fire. "A scandal would
ruin you at this university. What parent will permit a
child to go to a school with someone even suspected
of murder and theft?"

He buried his face in his hands. "I didn't do anything. That's the truth."

"So, where were you?"

After a moment, he looked up, his face haggard with
fear. "The truth is-if I tell you the truth, you won't tell
the university, will you?'

"I don't make deals, Father, but if the truth has nothing to do with the maps or Odom, I can see nothing to
be gained by mentioning it."

He nodded jerkily. "Okay, okay. Well, there's this
young woman and-"

Immediately, I knew where he was going but I let
him continue.

"And we've become very, ah, attached"

"Intimate?"

He hesitated then dropped his gaze to his lap. "Yes.
We meet in the gym on Monday and Wednesday nights."
His face was growing red. "And, well, you know"

"What's her name?"

Father Poggioreale grimaced. "I, ah, I can't say. It
would ruin her."

"Not if it has nothing to do with the map" I hesitated, then gave him a figurative kick in the stomach.
"But I'll ruin you if you don't tell me"

He grimaced in anguish. "Veronica Kinton. She
teaches English here at the university."

I jotted her name down.

"What was it, Father? Just a physical thing between
you two?"

His face blanched. "Oh, no. We're going to marry.
With the profit from the map, we planned to move to
the Cayman Islands where we would both teach. Interest income would make up the cut we would be taking
in salaries."

I couldn't help admiring his ambition, but not the
devious means for achieving it. "She lives in one of the
dorms?"

He nodded. "The women's faculty dorm, next door."

"All right, and now the map. Why did you want it so
bad as to make three offers?"

A chagrinned look spread over his face. "Three years
ago in Spain, I met an industrialist who wanted the map.
He would pay me a commission. He was willing to go
as high as three million."

I frowned. "Hold on." I thumbed through my cards
until I found the one for which I was searching. "According to Ted Odom, you offered two million for the
map. Why not the full amount?"

His eyes held firm a moment. Then his gaze wavered and dropped to the floor.

"Oh" I understood. "You were planning on pocketing the difference plus the commission."

The good father nodded briefly.

"Who is this industrialist?"

He stared at me for several moments.

"You have to know?"

"If you don't want the cops in on this."

"Jorge Salazar in Madrid. He owns dozens of manufacturing firms"

I jotted the name on my notepad. "How can I contact him?"

The good father hesitated, then supplied me the information.

"That's all I need," I said, pushing to my feet.

He looked up hopefully. "You're not going to the
police, are you? My reputation will be ruined if you
do"

"Don't worry. If this holds up, there will be only
three of us who know-me, you, and your conscience.
No, make it four. Your lady friend. Now, let's go"

"Go? Where?"

"To the women's dorm"

He pushed to his feet, an obstinate gleam in his
eyes. "Why?"

I shook my head. I felt no compassion or sympathy
for the man. To me, the priesthood was a true calling from
God, and to see someone desecrate that holy mission
filled me with disgust. "Come on, Father. You think I'm
going to take a chance on letting you call her and set up
a story? No way. Now, are you coming, or do I call the
police?"

Ten minutes later in the parlor of the dorm, Papa
Poggy introduced me to Veronica Kinton, and then as
I had previously instructed, left without another word.

Half a dozen ladies watched a TV in the corner. Another half dozen or so sat around the parlor. I suggested
we go onto the porch.

She assured me Papa Poggy was telling the truth.
"For the last few months, we've met like that."

"Haven't missed a night?"