I then googled Gordon Fairweather and found he was listed on the faculty at the University of Melbourne in Australia. It took a little fiddling around, but I did find his CV as well—Ph.D. in archaeology from the University of Southern California in 1982, as well as his Master's degree in 1977. His undergraduate degree came from something called Veritas College in Wisconsin in 1975. My, my, Jasper and Fairweather did go back a long way, thirty years in fact.
I couldn't find anything about Dave Maddox specifically, but I did find his construction business in Orlando. I emailed them to say I was writing an article about him for the local Rapa Nui newspaper and wondered if they would mind sending me a copy of his CV. I could find nothing about Seth Connelly.
By late afternoon I was back at the Internet cafe, and lo and behold there was a lovely email from someone by the name of Dolores, who said they were all devastated by Dave's death, and she was happy to hear that someone was going to write something about him. She said he'd only rated a three-line obituary in Orlando, as well as a news squib about how a local man had died in the Easter Islands.
I didn't bother telling her there was only one lonely Easter Island in this part of the world.
Dave's CV listed at length all the projects he'd accomplished in his building days. The last line said he had a BA from Veritas College in Wisconsin in—wouldn't you know?—1975.
It seemed almost unnecessary at this point, but just to make sure, I turned my attention back to Seth. First, I tried rongorongo. There were a mere 9,270 entries on that subject, a rather daunting prospect, but then I keyed in his alias, "Rongoreader," and lo and behold, there he was. Rongoreader explains rongorongo, the brief description provided said. On the site itself there was a great deal of information, photographs and drawings of the script and so on. At the end there was a little blurb on the mysterious Rongoreader. I've been interested in rongorongo for thirty years, ever since I visited Rapa Nui as a student in my junior year at college in Wisconsin, the biography said. There was more, but that was all I needed to know.
Something had happened on Rapa Nui in 1975 when four men had been here as students. The problem was that three of them were dead, and the fourth wasn't talking. I tried a few more searches on archaeology on Easter Island. There was lots of material but nothing useful. I thought long and hard about how to get closer to this event, whatever it was, and also to narrow my search. Rapa Nui was a small island under normal circumstances, but it seemed rather large now.
I was back at the hotel, staring at the ocean and worrying this problem to death, when I realized I was looking at a potential solution—literally. Felipe Tepano, the man Rory said had been a key feature at archaeological projects for almost forty years, was working away on the grounds about fifteen yards from where I sat. I waited until he was finished and had packed up his truck, and then I followed him home.
Home for Felipe Tepano was a guest house on the far side of Hanga Roa, out past the museum. It was, I knew, Rory Carlyle's home while he worked there. I parked down the street and walked up to his door.
"Mr. Tepano," I said. "My name is Lara McClintoch."
"I know," he said. He didn't seem even remotely surprised to see me, but here was a man who evidently foresaw the future. I hoped he liked the look of mine.
"I would really like to talk to you," I said. He gesture toward a chair on the patio, and we sat looking at the sunset. His wife, a plump woman with a lovely smile that h introduced as Maria, brought us some fresh juice and sat down with us.
"This is Sefiora McClintoch," Felipe told his wife. "She helped Gordon Fairweather."
Maria smiled warmly. "I have heard about you, from Victoria and Rory and also my husband. I have also met you friend Moira when she was here with Rory."
Were they comparing tattoos? Now I had something else to fret about, but it would have to wait until later. "You’ve been working with Gordon and other archaeologists for many years, haven't you?" I said.
"Yes," he said. "Many years."
"Thirty-seven," his wife said proudly. "Gordon told m that we wouldn't know nearly as much about Rapa Nui a we do if it were not for Felipe."
"Mr. Tepano, I don't know a gentle way of putting this: What I want you to tell me is what happened here I 1975."
"A lot of things happened in 1975," Felipe said, choosing his words carefully. "Wasn't that the year we got electricky?" he said, turning to his wife.
"I think so," she said. "About then. You might have to narrow this down a bit," she said with what I took to be an encouraging smile.
"What happened at the Veritas College archaeological project here in 1975?" I said. "In fact, what happened at Anakena in 1975?" It had to be that, didn't it?
Felipe Tepano rocked back and forth in his chair. "I know of nothing like that," he said finally. His wife shifted in her chair.
"Do you like Gordon Fairweather, Mr. Tepano?" I said.
"Yes," he replied. "Very much."
"I do, too," I said. I waited.
"Felipe," his wife said. He shook his head.
"Three people are already dead," I said. "I presume you have heard what happened to Gabriela as well."
Maria almost sobbed when I mentioned Gabriela's name. "Please, Felipe," she said.
"I gave my word," he said. "I will not break my pledge."
"Do you know who is killing these people?" I said.
He hesitated. "No, I do not," he said. "If I did, that I would tell you."
We chatted for a few minutes longer, but I knew it was hopeless. I thanked Maria for the juice and went back to my car, completely discouraged. I had to do a u-turn to go back because the only way I'd find my way to the hotel was to retrace my steps, and when I took the first corner on my way back to town, Maria was at the side of the road waving at me. She must have gone out the back door and across a neighbor's yard to get there.
As I pulled up beside her, she thrust an envelope into my hand. "I have made no such pledge," she said. "My husband has forbidden me to speak of it, but you look at this." In a second, she was gone.
I stared for a very long time at the envelope's contents. It was getting too dark to see properly, but I'd seen enough. I went back to the hotel and showed it to Moira. "This is something you need to see," I told her.
The colors of the photograph had deteriorated rather badly, leaving the sky an unpleasant greenish yellow. Bu you could see the people—a tall, thin, distinguished man in shorts and a whitish shirt open at the collar, maybe fifty o so; a younger woman with reddish hair in a sun dress, cu straight across the top with wide straps and a big skirt and sandals. She was holding the hand of a little girl in a similar sun dress, with blonde, almost white, hair. There was some thing about the way the woman stood, a certain rigidity to her stance perhaps, and some anxiety in her expression, that made me think she was very tense. Beside them was a man of about forty in work boots and trousers, his chest bare Five young people, late teens, early twenties, I'd say, clustered behind these four. The older man was holding some thing, and they were all smiling at the camera.
"Isn't this adorable? That has to be Jasper, and this one I almost certainly Dave. He looks the same only a bi younger. The tall one with all the hair must be Gordon, but I'm not sure about the rest of them, although the one wit! his head down looks familiar," she said.
"Seth Connelly," I said. "He often stood with his head like that. The man in the work boots is Felipe Tepano. don't recognize these other two people, do you? I assume this is a couple with the child, even if there is a considerable difference in their ages. They look as if they belong together. I don't recognize this other young person. Is that man or a woman?"