The Goddess Legacy (5 page)

“You escaped from jail?”

Spencer shook his head. “They didn’t have enough to hold me, apparently. I kept demanding a lawyer or to speak to someone at the embassy, and they finally relinquished and escorted me back to the hotel, with the warning that I was under house arrest. They kept my passport, so it’s not like I can easily go anywhere.”

“You talk to an attorney?”

“Briefly. The guy was a weasel.”

“Well, he’s a lawyer…”

“No, it wasn’t that. I didn’t trust him. The cops assigned him to me, and I think he might be bent – as in working their side, not mine. He kept asking if I did it, telling me that it was okay to confide in him, that it was all confidential. He really seemed disappointed that I didn’t admit to it.”

“Then why run? You could lawyer up big time with your money.”

“One of the girls at the hotel tipped me off that the cops were on their way up for me, and I bolted. They must have found a judge or something willing to sign off on arresting me based on the circumstantial evidence. The lawyer warned me that the justice system here is pretty draconian, and that once I’m in the system, I’m pretty much hosed no matter who I am or how much I have. I didn’t want to risk that.”

Drake closed his eyes and hung his head. When he opened them, he couldn’t look at Spencer. “You think you can just bail on murder one?”

“Interesting choice of words. I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe I can figure out who killed Carson. Assuming it wasn’t random.”

“Is there a lot of random decapitation going on?”

“See, that’s what’s so weird. Why cut off his head? That’s just…I mean, it’s extreme, you know? But that was also one of the things the lead detective alluded to – that it was unlikely it was a local due to the physical strength required and because of how tall Carson was.” Spencer paused. “He was six four. A big man.”

They sat in silence until Drake cleared his throat. “You said you have Carson’s phone?”

“Yeah, but I can’t get into it. Some kind of security clearance required.”

“Do the cops know?”

Spencer’s eyes darted to the side. “I left that out. I didn’t want it going into evidence, where it would be lost forever, judging by the way things seem to operate around here, so I stashed it under the mattress.”

“Because nobody would ever find that in a thorough search.”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Why hide it?”

“It has some important stuff on it. Carson showed me.”

“Like what?”

“Satellite images. Maps. Research.”

“Ah. What kind of security does it use?”

“Fingerprint scanner.”

“Crap.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“No,” Drake said, eyeing his watch. “Crap, Allie’s going to be landing soon, not crap about the fingerprint – although that too.” Drake stood. “I’ve got to go meet her so she doesn’t walk into a firestorm.”

“I forgot all about Allie.”

“You have a pretty good excuse.” Drake looked him in the eyes. “Do you think Carson’s murder has anything to do with the treasure?”

“I don’t know what to think. I mean, why kill the guy?”

“Because he was getting too close. He knew too much. There are a lot of reasons. And you have to admit, it takes you out of the game, too, if the intention was to stop any hunt dead.”

“Good point.” Spencer groaned out loud.

Drake frowned. “The hotel has my passport. So I’m kind of screwed too.”

The only sound in the room was the muffled booming of the bass from the disco below.

“I’ve only got a couple thousand bucks,” Spencer said.

“With my four, that makes six. And I’m sure Allie will have some. But that’s not enough to buy our way out of the country, is it?”

“Wouldn’t work, I don’t think, even if we could get across a border. They’d extradite me,” Spencer fumed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have bolted.”

“If you hadn’t, you’d be in an Indian jail right now, playing prison bride with your new special friends. I guess you did the right thing. I’d have done the same. But that won’t get you out of the predicament. At best it only buys some time.” Drake didn’t have to say that it made him look guilty, too. “Look, you stay here. They aren’t looking for me. I’ll get Allie and we’ll put our heads together. There’s got to be a way out of this. We just aren’t seeing it.”

Spencer’s expression was glum as Drake did a quick wipe-down of his shirt and pants with a moist towel to get the dried mud off and then moved to the door. “I’m sorry about your friend, Spencer.”

“Yeah. He was a good guy.”

There wasn’t much more to say. Drake pulled the door closed, descended to the ground level, and hurried through the lobby in the hopes of finding a cab. He didn’t pause at the reception desk or he would have seen the clerk watching the news on the flickering TV screen, which at that moment featured Spencer’s passport photo and a stern warning that a gruesome murderer was on the loose and to report any sighting immediately.

Drake watched the city crawl by as the taxi made its way to the airport, his impression largely negative in spite of any effort on his part to see it through unbiased eyes. For every towering skyscraper there were thousands of bleak structures in various stages of disrepair and, even at the late hour, an unending stream of the destitute roaming the streets. The car rolled to a stop at a stoplight and a swarm of female beggars blocked the intersection, holding up obviously drugged babies, some of them deliberately blinded to elicit pity or with gruesome afflictions that made him squirm. The driver seemed unaffected by the parade of misery, and Drake wondered what it had to be like to be so used to the unthinkable that it simply didn’t register.

He periodically turned to look through the rear window, paranoid after Spencer’s account of being railroaded by the police, and even more so when he considered the decapitation. If it was connected to the treasure, then Spencer – and by extension, Drake – might well be at risk as well. From unknown adversaries who cut heads off in the middle of a major city. Who also might be following them, although how they might have tracked them to the hostel eluded him.

Drake swallowed hard at the thought and considered Spencer’s problem as dispassionately as he could. A murder suspect who’d bolted when the cops had come for him. Drake knew Spencer and understood he was innocent, but it couldn’t have looked worse to an outside if he’d bathed in the victim’s blood and taken a selfie. By running, he’d eliminated any doubt that he was the killer, certainly to the police; and if he was recaptured or turned himself in, it would be a minor miracle if he got a trial that didn’t hammer home his deliberate escape – the desperate act of a guilty man.

How could they get out of the trap? That was the question. With no travel documents and presumably an APB out on Spencer, how could he realistically leave India to argue his innocence from a safe distance? And what of his observation that he’d simply be extradited? Spencer was probably right, Drake realized. No country would harbor a brutal murderer if there was a treaty in place. He’d be on the first plane back to India once he surfaced –assuming he could enter any other country even if he did manage to slip across a border.

Drake forced himself to think calmly, struggling for lucidity in spite of the circumstances. Spencer hadn’t killed Carson, so there had to be evidence that someone else had. Maybe the police would eventually discover that evidence, and he would be cleared? His flight was a reasonable, if exaggerated, response to impending imprisonment for a crime he hadn’t committed – at any rate, that would be the argument. There was no blood, no forensic evidence that Spencer was guilty. Depending on the burden of proof the state would bear, that wouldn’t have been a convictable crime in the U.S. At least, Drake didn’t think so. Being in the same restaurant and leaving around the same time didn’t constitute proof, merely coincidence. If there was no eyewitness, no DNA, no murder weapon or unarguable forensic evidence, then what could the police possibly have other than a desire to declare a difficult case solved?

The taxi rolled onto the NH-8 highway toward the airport, and Drake sat forward.

“Doesn’t the AC go any colder?” he asked, wiping his brow with the back of his arm.

“Oh, no, sir. I’m sorry. That’s the best it does.”

The airport was brightly lit and buzzing with activity when Drake entered the arrival terminal, eyeing his watch with concern. He looked up at the monitor and saw that Allie’s flight had arrived twenty minutes earlier, which meant that she could be through immigration shortly unless she’d checked a bag. He glanced around the hall, searching for anyone suspicious, the back of his neck tingling as though he was being watched. Three police stood by the security exit that arriving passengers would pass through, and one of them seemed to be studying Drake. Several soldiers roamed the area near the doors, their machine guns anything but reassuring. Clumps of drivers with signs waited at a section of the floor with red paint outlining where they were allowed.

Drake ambled along, surveying the others awaiting arrivals to emerge from customs. His attention was caught by a dark-complexioned man in a beige tropical-weight suit who looked away as Drake’s eyes locked on him. The man made a show of pulling a packet of cigarettes from his breast pocket and moving toward the double glass doors, and Drake watched him go, the unease in his gut squirming like a startled snake. Could the police have figured out that Allie was arriving now, based on Spencer’s booking a room for her? He didn’t think so, but he didn’t know with any certitude. Maybe they had.

And maybe they had sent someone to intercept her.

Or to see who met her.

If the authorities had done their research on Spencer, they would have surely come across photographs on the web of the three of them after the Paititi find. So it was conceivable they would know what Allie looked like, as well as Drake.

The thought further unsettled him.

And what about the murderer? If his death was linked to Carson’s search for the treasure, if the killers knew Spencer was helping, wouldn’t they have access to the same information? Perhaps his biggest problem wasn’t the cops…

Drake started when something bumped him from behind, and he spun, nearly falling. Two children continued running, boys no older than six or seven, and he reflexively felt for his wallet, remembering Spencer’s warning about pickpockets.

Still there.

He slowed his breathing and tried to talk himself down. Sleep deprivation and adrenaline from their narrow escape were taking their toll on him, wearing at his imagination, causing him to see threats where none existed. That was the plausible explanation for his discomfiture, although rationalizing the anxiety he felt did little to mitigate it.

Something was off. He just couldn’t tell what it was. There were too many possibilities in the big terminal, too many…

His inner dialogue quieted when he spotted Allie passing through security, a single bag hanging from a shoulder strap. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, and all paranoid thoughts vanished as she looked around in confusion. Drake remembered how he’d felt when he’d arrived only hours before, at the seeming chaos, the unintelligible conversations, the fundamental foreignness of the place, and he rushed to meet her.

She spied him when he was only footsteps away, and her face broke into a broad smile.

“Drake!”

“Allie,” he replied, and took her into his arms, his lips crushed against hers.

The moment stretched as the connection strengthened, and when Drake finally opened his eyes, it felt as though hours had gone by. His attention drifted to where a pair of soldiers was looking their way, and the alarm he’d felt earlier returned as the men strode towards them. Allie seemed to sense the abrupt change and tried to pull back. He buried his face in her mop of dark curls and whispered in her hair as he continued to hold her close.

“Act natural. I think we have a problem.”

Allie stiffened at Drake’s warning, and then their reunion was interrupted by the voice of one of the soldiers.

“Miss?”

Drake and Allie pulled apart and she eyed the man. “Yes?”

The soldier looked her up and down and then pointed near her feet. “I think you dropped your passport.”

“My…” She looked around and spotted the blue cover lying on the floor behind her. “Oh. Thank you. It must have slipped out of my purse.”

Drake leaned down and scooped it up. “Yes. Thank you. That could have been a disaster.”

The soldier gave her a small salute as his companion looked disinterestedly at the other arrivals, and they walked away, returning to their position by the doors. Drake handed her the passport and she slipped it into one of her carry-on’s zippered compartments.

“You scared the crap out of me with your ‘act natural’ thing. What the hell’s wrong with you?” she said.

“It’s been a rough day. Take your bag?”

“I can handle it.” She blinked at him. “I didn’t expect you to meet me.”

“Yeah, well, we had an emergency.”

“An emergency?”

“Yes.”

“Like?”

Drake looked around slowly, and Allie gave him a dark stare. “Drake, you’re really freaking me out now. Stop it.”

Drake spoke in a low voice. “Spencer’s contact was murdered, and the cops are searching for him.”

“What?” she demanded loudly, her tone shrill, and several people turned to see what the fuss was. Drake took her arm and led her toward the exit doors, an untroubled smile plastered in place.

“Keep your voice down. We can’t go to the hotel.”

“Why not?”

They stepped outside and a blanket of heat enveloped them. He leaned into her and told her about the narrow escape from the police. Her eyes widened as he finished, and she stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?”

Drake grimaced. “I wish.”

She stood rooted to the spot and eyed him helplessly. “Well, what are we supposed to do?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“That’s all you’ve got?”

“All this just happened, Allie. I’m still digesting it.”