The Puzzle of Piri Reis (15 page)

He pushed to his feet. "How about breakfast in the
morning at Pooky's?"

"All right, but I'm getting an early start. Seven
o'clock?"

"See you then"

After Jack left, I locked the door, flipped on the TV
and lay back on the bed, trying to sort the confused
thoughts tumbling through my head.

The niece, Lamia Sue Odom, had found herself a
somewhat profitable but highly unstable business in
dealing. She appeared to be a bright young woman,
which made her activities all that much more puzzling.

She was a small operator, probably one of the reasons she was still alive. The life of a drug dealer is usually measured in months, not years.

I glanced at the clock. Almost ten. Edna would be
gone. I made a mental note to visit her the next day. In
the morning, I would pay a visit to Father Bertoldo Pog gioreale out at L'Universita di Grazia e la Fratellanza,
the University of Grace and Brotherhood.

After a quick shower, I plopped into bed just in time
to join a late-night program of Forensic Secrets on TV.
The program was an anthology of autopsies on various
means of death: gunshot, strangulation, stabbing, clubbing, poison, and electrocution.

Somewhere between poison and electrocution, I
began dozing. I turned off the TV and dropped into a
dreamless sleep.

In the early morning hours, my eyes popped open,
and I stared at the ceiling above my head, a remark
from the TV program sticking in my head.

"No way," I muttered, jumping out of bed and stumping my toe on the nightstand. Amid a few sincere curses,
I hopped to the table and flipped on the lamp. I fumbled
for my note cards, hastily shuffling through them and
muttering to myself.

I hesitated, reminding myself I was venturing into a
forbidden aspect of the case, namely Bernard Odom's
death. According to both Teddy and Chief Ibbara, the
JP ruled it accidental.

I was asking for trouble if I stuck my nose in, but if
my idea was right, that would explain the attempts to
run me off the case. On top of that, it might mean that
Bernard Julius Odom's death was not accidental.

Finally, I found the card for which I was searching.
I read Cobb's words aloud.

"It was horrible. There was a bloody knot on his
head, and his eyes were open. I'll never forget the
look in those bloodshot eyes of his. It was like he
was staring at me, accusing me."

Bloodshot eyes!

I reached for my laptop. As I booted up, I remembered the distinctive characteristics that suggested strangulation and suffocation from the TV program.

In strangulation, there are marks obvious to the naked
eye on the neck: bruises, fingernail imprints, or ligature
marks. Obvious evidence suggesting suffocation would
be hemorrhages in the eyes, face, lungs, and neck area.

Could that be the explanation for the bloodshot eyes
Cobb witnessed?

As soon as my homepage flashed on the screen, I
pulled up a search engine and inputted physical evidence suffocation. I quickly discovered that I might have
been jumping to conclusions.

According to one source, any hemorrhaging that suggests suffocation is usually characterized by red dots
the size of a pin's head, usually in the eyes, face, and
neck areas. Bloodshot eyes could simply result from dehydration after death.

I reread the description, noting the qualifying words,
usually and could.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the laptop.
But what if that usually or could did not apply in this
situation? If Odom was murdered, it was around nine
o'clock, give or take thirty minutes. The killer had to
be someone he knew for there was no sign of struggle,
only the overturned coffee table. Someone could have
struck him on the back of his head, so that he fell forward, his forehead striking the coffee table. When his
assailant saw he wasn't dead, he suffocated him.

It was a neat little theory. And no way to prove it,
especially since the local fount of wisdom known as
the justice of the peace declared the death accidental,
thus eliminating any further forensic investigation.

The second little problem was the map. Over the last
few years, I had become fairly expert in body language,
and unless those I had interviewed were accomplished
liars, no one had discovered the map. So, why would someone kill Odom without learning the location of the
Piri Reis? Obviously, I told myself, the killer thought
he knew the location.

And now the efforts to run me off made sense. Murder would be reason enough for the killer to fear my
snooping might expose him. But, I reminded myself
ruefully, how do you prove it?

Suddenly, a flash of inspiration hit me. It doesn't
happen often but this time it was brilliant. They might
not have autopsied Bernard Odom then, but there was
no reason Ted Odom couldn't insist on exhuming his
father's body and performing one.

Excited, I reached for the phone. My eyes fell on the
clock. Almost four. Suddenly I was exhausted. My eyes
burned from lack of sleep. I could take care of everything in the morning. I booted off the laptop, flipped off
the lights, and climbed back into bed, but not before I
called the desk for a six o'clock wake-up call.

Jack was waiting for me at Pooky's. He had no plans
for the day. "Loaf around. Watch the women pass. You
know, all that important stuff." He paused. "Unless you
wouldn't mind me riding along with you today."

"Come on, Jack. Remember Bayou Teche?"

"Yeah, and the loup garou. Who could forget that?"

"It'll be the same thing. I'm going out to some university, then out to San Madreas. You'd be sitting in the
truck."

"Fine with me, but let's go in my Caddie. I'll sit in the air conditioning and drink beer while you're doing
all your private investigating stuff."

I cautioned him. "Remember. No beer while we're
driving."

He held up his hand. "Hey, would I do something
like that? That's against the law."

I snorted. "Since when did something like breaking
the law stop Jack Edney?"

He roared with laughter. "Don't worry, Tony. I'll be
a good little boy. I'll pick you up in front of the hotel.
Fifteen minutes."

Up in my room, I called the mansion. No answer, so
I left word on Ted's voice mail that I'd see him around
ten.

I wanted to visit with him about the exhumation and
then spend a few minutes picking Edna's brain. I was
curious as to what kind of financial support Odom had
arranged for Lamia Sue throughout her years in Europe.

An unpleasant thought had popped into my head that
the young woman might have herself so far in hock to
her supplier that she had to take extreme measures to
cover herself, those measures including the Piri Reis. If
that were true, then she must have known the location
of the map despite her assertions otherwise.

To my surprise, Jack pulled up to the curb in the same
Cadillac we had driven to Bayou Teche the previous
spring, an XLR with the 4.6L V-8 engine and five-speed automatic. Usually, he bought a new one every three
months.

"I'm puzzled," I remarked after closing the door
and buckling up.

He frowned. "At what?"

"Same Caddie." I laughed. "I figured Diane would
have talked you into a new one by now."

He flexed his fingers about the wheel. "If she had her
way, I would." He paused. "Tell me, Tony. When you
two were together, did she spend like she does now?"

I chuckled. "No idea. We didn't have the money to
spend."

He grunted. "Like I said, we've talked about marriage but the way she goes through money makes me
wonder."

The grounds of the University of Grace and Brotherhood sprawled over about forty acres in the middle
of a bustling commercial community twelve to fifteen
miles south of downtown San Antonio. Constructed of
white limestone from the surrounding quarries, the administration building perched on the crest of a hill. In a
circle about the ad building were eight or ten similarly
constructed buildings housing various educational disciplines. At the base of the gentle rise were half a dozen
dormitories.

At first glance, it was obvious the university enjoyed
the beneficence of generous endowments. Curving sidewalks lined with myriad flowers and shrubs crisscrossed
the lush lawn. Small gazebos dotted the campus, and oc casional fishponds offered moments of serenity for the
students. And no football stadium.

Father Bertoldo Poggioreale was a tenured professor
in the Department of History, in the Blythe Building.

His first class, European Medieval History, began at
eight on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I arrived
at the end of that class.

After his students left, I stepped into the classroom,
which was bright and airy, hardly the atmosphere in
which you would expect a drudgingly boring medieval
history class to be taught.

Father Poggioreale was seated behind his desk,
catching up on paperwork. I knew he was fifty-five, but
his black wavy hair, olive complexion and taut skin cut
twenty years off his appearance.

He smiled warmly when he spotted me. "Yes, sir.
Can I help you?"

"If you're Father Poggioreale, you can."

His smile grew wider. "Then I can."

I introduced myself. By now, students were drifting
in for the next class. "I'd like to find some time to visit
with you about the Piri Reis Map. I understand you are
an expert on ancient maps. And if my sources are correct, you were a student under the seismologist Reverend William Chanlin, whom the Naval Hydrographic
Office took to Antarctica to validate the map"

His broad forehead furrowed. "Ah, the Piri Reis. I
read about Mr. Odom. Such a shame"

More students filled the room. "Is there some time today when we could visit? I think your expertise might
prove very helpful."

His frown deepened. "I don't understand. How?"

"The Piri Reis has disappeared. I was wondering-"

"You were wondering if I took it?"

His candor surprised me. Something about the good
father didn't ring true but it was as nebulous as a puff
of smoke. "No. The truth is I'm looking for leads on
the map. I figured with your contacts, you might have
some ideas."

He smiled brightly. "Wait just a few minutes. This
is exam day for this class. An essay on Medieval Ethics
under the reign of Henry VIII. We'll have forty-five
minutes. We can talk here" He indicated a chair at the
side of the room. "If you wish, you can sit over there
until I get the class started"

A few of the twenty-odd students glanced curiously
at me. I studied Father Poggioreale as he spoke with
the students, but when he gave them their test assignment they all turned assiduously to the task.

After instructing the students on the exam, he pulled a chair up beside me where he could also watch the
class. Eagerly, he said, "Now, Mr. Boudreaux. What can
I tell you?"

He seemed too willing to help me. Or he might just
be one of those rare souls who are always ready to
offer assistance to anyone.

"Being an expert, and with all your contacts, can
you think of anyone so, ah, so-"

"Covetous?"

I grinned. "As good a word as any. So covetous as
to steal the map?"

With a slight shrug of his shoulders, he replied,
"No. Sorry. My life, as you can see, is fairly cloistered."
He nodded to the campus beyond the windows. "The
university and all"

At risk of my being labeled a cynic, the good father
seemed a little too noble for me. "Well, can I ask why
you wanted to buy it?"

My question caught him off guard, and for a moment
he hesitated. Then, regaining his composure, he replied
with smug assurance. "I knew the value of the map
but the dean said the university could not afford such a
price. I kept hoping Mr. Odom would reduce the price
to the point we could bring the map to the university. It
would have been a magnificent addition to our collection of various medieval artifacts. The map was drawn
in 1519, you know."