A dark cloud descended on Ramirez's brow. “Poachers. Wood cutters and burners. The latest are men who collect valuable plants for medicine. They would kill anyone who got in their way.”

“How could a lone Indian be a threat?” Gamay asked.

Ramirez shrugged.

Gamay said, “I think that in a murder investigation you are supposed to start with the corpse.”

“Where did you hear that?” Paul said.

“I may have read it in a detective novel.”

“Good advice. Let's take another look.”

They walked back to the river and uncovered the body. Paul rolled it over onto its stomach. The smaller entry wound indicated that the man had been shot in the back. Trout gently removed a carved pendant from around his neck. It showed a winged woman holding her hands in front of her as if she were pouring from them. He passed it to Gamay, who said the figure reminded her of Egyptian engravings of the rebirth of Osiris.

Paul was taking a closer look at the reddish welts on the dead man's shoulders. “Looks like he's been whipped.” He rolled the body onto its back again. “Hey, check out this strange scar,” he said, indicating a pale thin line on the Indian's lower abdomen. “If I didn't know better, I'd say he had his appendix out.”

Two dugouts arrived from across the river. The shaman, whose head was adorned with a brilliant crown of feathers, announced that the grave was ready. Trout covered the dead body with the blanket, and, with Gamay at the tiller, they used the inflatable to tow the blue-and-white canoe to the other side. Trout and Ramirez carried the body a few hundred yards into the forest and buried it in the shallow hole. The shaman surrounded the grave with what looked like various dried chicken parts and solemnly warned the assemblage that the spot would be forever taboo. Then they towed the empty canoe to midstream, where the current would catch it, and set the dugout adrift.

“How far will it go?” Paul asked as they watched the blue and-white craft wheel slowly on its final journey.

“There are rapids not far from here. If it isn't broken up on the rocks or caught in the weeds, it could continue on to the sea.”

“Ave atque vale,” Trout said, quoting the old Roman salute to the dead. “Hail and farewell.”

They went back across the river. As Ramirez was climbing from the inflatable, he slipped on the wet bank.

“Are you all right?” Gamay said.

Ramirez grimaced with pain. “You see, the evil spirits have already begun their work. I've apparently twisted something. I'll put a cold compress on it, but I may require your assistance to walk.”

He limped back to the house with a hand from the Trouts. Ramirez said he would report the incident to the regional authorities. He didn't expect a response. A dead Indian was still considered a good Indian by many in his country.

“Well,” he said, brightening. “What is done is done. I look forward to our dinner tonight.”