Free Night of the Jaguar by Joe Gannon Page B

Sorry, Gladys. We’ve got to objectify the corpse. It’s just ground to be searched for clues.” He ran his fingers through its hair again. “And I do feel a bump on the back of the head.”
    Gladys perked up, suddenly interested. “Maybe someone did bash his head in?”
    Marta ran her fingers over the same spot. “I don’t think so.”
    Ajax pulled his glove off. “Tell me his story, Marta.”
    Marta pulled her gloves off, crossed her arms, and looked at the corpse like a sculptor at uncut stone. “He’s a ladino. Mid-fifties. Got calluses on his hands, but not enough to be a laborer. With his good clothes and body fat I’d guess a farmer or rancher, but a landowner, not a worker. You saw the discoloration on the back of the left knee?”
    Ajax nodded, lifted the leg to show Gladys.
    â€œIt’s pre-mortem. By the color, a bruise from a blow delivered just before death. Maybe a kick. I found some loose hairs on the back of his head, so I’d say he was struck on the back of the leg. That brought him to his knees, then his hair was yanked to put him on the ground. That’s when he got the bump on the head. The killer then straddled his chest and delivered the blows with a knife.”
    Ajax smiled, more self-satisfied than self-righteous. “We went over that very scenario at the crime scene.”
    Marta shrugged. “The blade was about three inches wide.”
    Ajax grunted. “Three inches across is a big knife.”
    â€œDoubled-edged, too. Straight down and in. Ninety degrees to the neck and chest. See?” Marta took a pen and slid it into the chest wound. “You should notice this, Lieutenant.”
    Gladys grimaced, took the pen, and slid it up and down into the wound. Ajax did the same.
    â€œHow many wounds, Marta?” Ajax asked, but he’d already counted them. He was hoping he was wrong.
    Marta waited before answering. “Three. Once in the neck and twice through the heart.” She looked into Ajax’s eyes as if she wanted him to speak next. Instead they both just stood in silence.
    Gladys looked from one to the other. “That important?”
    â€œNo.” Ajax realized he’d spoken too fast, but he wanted to cut off Marta’s response. If he was right, he wasn’t yet ready to share the info with Gladys. He had a hunch she’d been assigned his partner to keep an eye on him. “No, no, it’s not important.” He realized he’d said too many no’s. “Well, thank you, Dr. Jimenez.” Ajax felt his heart beat faster in a familiar way; his thoughts spun like a chance wheel at a carnival. This is how the Contra execute people.
    A sudden commotion in the outer office brought him out of himself. The three of them froze. Marta pointed at the connecting door, mouthed, It’s locked .
    She and Ajax slipped to the door. Marta showed him a place where the mortar in the cinder block had cracked. He had a long look through it. A tall, blond gringo was haranguing one of the State Security guards. With him was a campesino with the hawk nose and high cheekbones of a mountain peasant. He was dressed in his Sunday whites, looking at the floor.
    â€œHe is the man’s cousin.” The gringo spoke slowly to the State Security guard as if to a child, the way they all did when not getting their way. As if his being denied something could only come from a misunderstanding. “The man is missing. Do you understand ‘missing person’? We just want to know if there are unclaimed bodies here. We want to speak to someone.”
    The guard wiggled his index finger. “No bodies here, señor.”
    â€œThere are no bodies in the morgue ?”
    Then the gringo turned and seemed to look right into the spy hole. Ajax recognized him. He took a half step backward as if pushed by a memory. He glanced back at the corpse—back at the crime scene his instincts had told him