Free Sunken Pyramid (Rogue Angel) by Alex Archer Page B

handwriting on them and more smudges. There was a photocopy of an old fishing map, with words scrawled on it that were so small they were impossible to read with the car moving and the rain coming sideways now. Difficult to read practically anything at all except the large print, the way Detective Rizzo kept changing lanes and speeding and slowing, tires sluicing with the deluge.
    But what she could make out intrigued her— sketches of Mayan symbols—birds, creatures that were half man, half jaguar, feathers, suns—and Edgar’s annotations all around them. Lakeside was circled at the bottom of one page, along with names and phone numbers that at the moment were undecipherable.
    “Why are you letting me see this?”
    Detective Rizzo didn’t answer immediately, changing lanes instead and adjusting his rearview mirror. They were a few miles beyond the edge of the city now, headed east. “I figured you’d want to...being a close friend of Professor Schwartz’s and all. I remembered you telling me that, more than once, about the ‘close friend’ part.”
    “What about your regulations and Lieutenant Greene?”
    He shrugged, his shoulders seeming too broad for the car.
    “Are you going to get in trouble for taking me with you?” She liked the detective and it concerned her that her presence might cause problems for him.
    “’Cause I didn’t bother having you sign any papers for a ride-along?” He snorted. “I’ve filled out more than my share of paperwork.”
    “I’d just hate—”
    “For me to get my wrinkled ass handed to me? Lady, I’m sixty-six, the oldest officer on the whole damn force, and the higher-ups have finally coaxed me into retiring. Suggested I be reassigned to nothing but desk duty if I don’t hang it up. So I put in my request. I’ve got exactly two weeks until my retirement party, where I’ll—”
    “—turn in your badge and gun.”
    He grinned. “Nah, the badge is a keepsake. Once you get a badge with a number on it, well, it stays with you through your whole life. It gets retired along with you. And as for the gun.” He patted the one in his shoulder holster. “The Glock is my personal sidearm.”
    “I bet it will be a good party.” She returned to examining the contents of the folder.
    “Same day as my birthday—sixty-seventh. Saves them the expense of two cakes. No, I’m not too worried about regulations at this point.” He paused and changed lanes again. “I do, however, give a very big whoop about solving the murders of two archaeologists...maybe three depending on what happens with that Mrs. Hapgood. Nice note to go out on, don’t you think? Solving a double? Or a triple? Might get me a commendation or some such, picture in the paper and all of that. Might show Lieutenant Greene that age and smarts can win out over youth and pigheadedness.” His expression paled slightly. “No offense to you, Miss Creed, about the youth part. But this’d be a fine note for my swan song.”
    “Call me Annja, Detective Rizzo.”
    “Only if you call me Manny.”
    “All right, Manny.” She pawed through more of the documents, finding a yellowed dot-matrix printout that seemed to have some age to it. A sentence was highlighted, and when she gripped the paper hard and brought it up to her face, she managed to read: “Three Mayan pyramids at the bottom of Rock Lake.” Then she and the words were bouncing again, as Detective Rizzo swerved the unmarked Impala around a semi and stomped on the accelerator.
    “Where is Rock Lake?”
    He smiled. “It sits right next to Lakeside, which is the town. Rock Lake is the...well, Rock Lake is the lake. And from all this rain, I’d say it’s turning into a huge lake.”
    She tried to read more of the printout, but it was a lost cause. She would insist they stop for “linner” so she could get a better look at the material.
    He leaned down to reach a small computer that rested low on the dash between the front seats. He typed in some