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Hinkle hesitated for a moment, but then he grasped the head with spidery-veined, age-spotted hands and strained. It scraped across the table and tilted up, but he couldn’t lift it. “I’m sorry. Could you come around here?”
Hez squeezed past Hinkle and picked up the head. He guesstimated its weight at twenty-five pounds. No more than thirty. He turned it over and saw a University of Alabama museum catalog sticker. He put the head back on the table. “Thank you for your time, Professor Hinkle. I have no further questions.”
Hez retraced his steps through the obstacle course covering the floor while Savannah said goodbye and got Hinkle to promise to check out the artifacts in his office.
Once they were back in the hall, Hez turned to Savannah. “Well, it wasn’t him. He’s not strong enough to pick up that head. There’s no way he could have knocked you out and dragged you off the path.”
She nodded while staring at the pictures on her phone. “True, though he does have three of the pieces I noticed were missing.” She stopped and frowned.
Hez stopped too. “What is it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. There’s something off about these pictures of the warehouse. I feel like I’m missing something, but I don’t know what. This stupid postconcussion brain fog makes it hard to focus.”
Hez looked over her shoulder, catching a faint whiff of the tropical scent of her shampoo. With an effort he focused on the pictures rather than her. They showed a dimly lit room lined with metal shelves, which were mostly full of boxes and crates of different sizes. One shelf held a row of old ledger books. A utilitarian table and a few chairs stood in the middle of the room, presumably for use in examining artifacts from the boxes on the shelves. “For what it’s worth, nothing looks strange to me.”
She sighed and pocketed her phone. “Maybe it’s nothing. Okay, let’s talk to Tony Guzman next.”
Chapter 10
Guzman’s office was as spartan as Hinkle’s was cluttered. Three large windows and spotless white walls gave the room a bright, airy feel. A small bookcase held an American flag in a case flanked by two small Mexican flags. There were also several pictures of Hispanic men in uniform, including a photo of Guzman in uniform shaking hands with a gray-haired officer. The credenza held only a computer, two large monitors, and a phone. Hez suspected he could do the white-glove test on any surface and not find a speck of dust.
Guzman sat behind a neat and almost empty desk. A muscular, fit man about Hez’s age of thirty-seven, he clearly had the strength to knock out Savannah and carry her several yards. And based on his pictures, he had at least some combat training. Savannah had also mentioned that she and Guzman were competing for the same tenure spot—could that be related to recent events somehow?
As soon as they finished introductions, Guzman said, “I’m glad you stopped by.”
Savannah arched an eyebrow. “Why is that, Tony?”
“Because the so-called Willard Treasure has bothered me for years. It contains thousands of priceless artifacts—the looted heritage of an entire city of my ancestors—and no one has ever even done a proper catalog of them. You could steal half of what’s there and no one would ever notice. So I’m glad someone is at least investigating missing items.”
Guzman’s choice of words caught Hez’s attention. “You said ‘looted.’ Do those artifacts rightfully belong to the university, in your view?”
Guzman didn’t hesitate. “No, they rightfully belong to the people of Mexico, especially the native inhabitants of Veracruz. Do you know the story of how all those artifacts wound up here?”
Hez shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Savannah fidgeting with her bracelet, which she often did when something bothered her.
“A gambling debt.” Guzman’s dark brown eyes flashed, but he kept his voice even. “Our esteemed founder, Joe Willard, liked to gamble in New Orleans. He won a lot, and a number of powerful men owed large debts to him. One of those was an exiled Mexican general. Willard let it ride. When the political winds shifted in Mexico, the general went home to become governor of Veracruz province.”
“I think I’ve heard you mention him,” Savannah said.
Guzman ignored her. “By that time Willard had founded his university and was trying to raise its prestige. One way to do that was to give it a museum stuffed with spectacular artifacts, so Willard wrote to his old gambling buddy and said that they’d be even if Willard’s school could have exclusive rights to a top-notch Mexican site. The governor happily agreed and found Willard a pristine Aztec site deep in the jungle. Willard sent down a huge team with pickaxes and shovels.”
Guzman shook his head. “The place looked like a war zone when they left. They shipped back a literal boatload of artifacts—intricate gold work, enormous stone carvings, and frescoes torn from the walls of tombs. The flashier items went into the museum, but a lot of the ‘boring’ artifacts went into boxes labeled ‘Assorted pottery from northeast building’ and stuff like that. They went straight into storage, where they’ve stayed ever since.”
“I see,” Hez said. “So in your view, it all really belongs to the people of Veracruz, especially the descendants of the Aztecs.”
Guzman nodded. “Exactly.”
“Like you.”
Guzman gave Hez a pointed stare. “What do you mean?”
Hez shrugged. “Well, if it belongs to you, then you’d be entirely within your rights to take a few pieces, wouldn’t you?”
Guzman’s face darkened. “So that’s where this is going. Look, if I took any of those artifacts for myself, I’d be just as bad as Willard. Worse actually—I’d be stealing from my own people. They belong in a museum where they can be studied and people can see them, but that museum should be in Veracruz.”
Savannah leaned forward. “I understand how you feel, Tony. We’re just trying to figure out where the missing artifacts might have gone. We have evidence that you recently visited the warehouse where they were kept. Would you mind telling us what you were doing there?”
“Not at all.” Guzman’s color started to fade back to normal. “I was making a catalog. It’s been over a century—it’s time someone finally did it. You’re welcome to a copy of what I have so far. Maybe it will help with your investigation.”
