Lady Justice and the Pharaoh's Curse

by Robert Thornhill

  REVIEWS

  A stolen artifact, a string of murders, and the claim of an ancient curse are all intricately woven into this new book by Robert Thornhill. Are all these events related or is it merely coincidence? This riveting and well-written mystery delves deep into the past while remaining grounded in the present.

  This tale of mayhem and murder explores the past and present and takes the baffled Kansas City Police down a road with many twists and turns. The clues are all there, but will they make sense? Can the mystery be solved in time?

  Robert Thornhill has once again created a plot that will keep the reader guessing right up to the very end. His focus on events, interesting characters, and depiction of real-life situations is what makes the book come alive. The main plot is accompanied by subplots that come together to tell a fascinating story. This work of fiction is well-researched, compelling, and an all-around great read. Navigate through the twists and turns with Walt as he uncovers what could be the most perplexing mystery yet. Elizabeth Whitaker, Article Write Up.

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  An ancient Egyptian artifact (Anubis) is stolen from the King Tut exhibit. Soon people end up dead in mysterious ways. Some say that the "Pharaoh's Curse" is the reason behind these murders and won't be lifted until the items are returned to the Pharaoh's tomb. Walt and Ox are on the case.

  Another hit by Robert Thornhill. Fascinating facts and interesting photos of ancient Egypt/Pharaohs add to the delight of this read.

  Also the controversial subject of legalizing marijuana for medicinal purposes really leaves you thinking.

  Another fantastic installment in the Lady Justice Series. Sheri Wilkinson, Princeton, IL.

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  Curses or coincidences? Whichever one, it doesn't ultimately matter when murder after murder pile up under the watch of Officer Walt Williams and his partner, Ox Wilson. What does matter to their boss, Captain Short, is that they stop them and find out who's killing who, and why. ASAP!!

  Walt thinks back to the curse that almost killed him and his new bride, Maggie, in Hawaii (Lady Justice Gets Lei'd) and knows that dead is dead, no matter the reason

  Whatever is going on, this time, it almost lands him and Ox in prison for the dastardly deeds as they are perfectly framed by the real killers.

  Will Lady Justice come to their rescue? If you are a fan of Thornhill, then this newest addition to his collection will please you. Grab a glass of something cold, sit out on the deck in the warm sun, and enjoy an afternoon reading Walt's latest adventure!

  Christina Jones, Independence, MO.

  LADY JUSTICE

  AND THE

  PHARAOH’S CURSE

  A WALT WILLIAMS

  MYSTERY/COMEDY NOVEL

  ROBERT THORNHILL

  Lady Justice and the Pharaoh’s Curse

  Copyright June, 2014 by Robert Thornhill

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way, by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, incidents and entities included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events and entities is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America

  Cover design by Peg Thornhill

  Fiction, Humorous

  Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General

  PROLOGUE

  Valley of the Kings

  Egypt

  1323 B C

  Imhotep, a high priest in the court of Tutankhamun, Pharaoh of Egypt, took one last look at the vault that held the sarcophagus of his beloved boy king.

  His craftsmen had spent months preparing the body of the king and the vessels that contained his vital organs so that the Pharaoh could pass freely from this mortal life to the next.

  His last remaining task was to seal the tomb with its gold and precious stones to conceal it from the marauders, raiders and looters that roamed the desert hills.

  He stood before the Anubis, the jackel-headed god that had been the protector and guardian of the pharaohs’ tombs for centuries.

  Between the jackal’s paws, he placed a stone tablet inscribed with the words, “Death shall come on swift wings to him who disturbs the peace of the King.”

  The Anubis stood guard in the dark tomb for more than three thousand years. Then one day, the tomb was opened -----

  LADY JUSTICE

  AND THE

  PHARAOH’S CURSE

  Kansas City, Missouri

  2014

  CHAPTER 1

  Bernard Maloof pulled the dog-eared journal from under his mattress and carried it to the small dinette table in the kitchen.

  Although he had read the journal dozens of times, he needed to read it one more time to reinforce the decision he was about to make. He knew that if he acted on the information he had found there, his life would be forever changed. There would be no turning back.

  He took a moment to reflect on the events of the past year that had delivered the journal into his possession.

  Bernie was just an ordinary guy living an ordinary life.

  His parents had been killed in an auto accident. He was the sole beneficiary of a small life insurance policy and had used the money to enroll in the Metropolitan Junior College. After a year, the money ran out. He dropped out of school and found a job working on a custodial crew that cleaned office buildings at night.

  The job paid enough to keep a roof over his head and food on the table, but little else.

  Then one day, he received the call that would change the course of his life. It was from an attorney in Cleveland, Ohio. His uncle, Nasser Maloof, had passed away. Bernie, his only living relative, had been named executor of the estate. Nasser’s will had also designated him as the beneficiary. The call was to see if Bernie was available to come to Cleveland to settle his uncle’s affairs.

  Bernie knew very little about his uncle other than that he was a skilled craftsman and artisan. In 2003, Nassar had been contacted by Dr. Mostafa El-Ezaby, one of the most prestigious sculptors in Cairo, Egypt. Dr. El-Ezaby was putting together a team of craftsmen whose task would be to replicate the vast collection of treasures discovered in the tomb of King Tutankhamun by Howard Carter in 1922. Since the original treasures were no longer permitted to leave Egypt, the goal was to replicate a thousand of the most significant artifacts from the collection which would be presented on a world tour. Nasser Maloof had been invited to become a member of the team.

  The timing could not have been worse. Nasser’s wife, Anat, was too ill to make the journey to Egypt. Realizing that this was a great honor for her husband, Anat encouraged him to go and moved into a private nursing facility.

  The decision enraged Bernie’s father, Rashidi, who believed that family was more important than prestige. Nasser had been gone for almost a year when Anat passed away --- alone. Rashidi had not spoken to his brother from that day until he perished in the auto accident.

  Bernie took a leave of absence from his job and headed to Cleveland hoping that his uncle’s estate would put him back on his feet financially so that he could continue his schooling. He couldn’t have been more mistaken.

  Without insurance, the monthly fees for the nursing facility soon drained their meager savings account. Nasser mortgaged their home so that Anat could get the care she needed.

  Instead of a tidy nest egg, Bernie found a stack of unpaid bills and a house mortgaged to the hilt.
When it was all said and done, Bernie had just enough money for gas back to Kansas City.

  Two days before his departure, he had been boxing up clothing, dishes and other household items for the Salvation Army. That’s when he found a metal canister in the back of the closet. The journal, which he had just opened on his dinette table, was tucked away in the canister.

  Weary from his labors, he had taken a break to examine the journal. It appeared to be a diary of sorts, a day-by-day account of Nasser’s work replicating the artifacts from King Tut’s tomb. Much of the narrative was of a technical nature and beyond Bernie’s comprehension. He was soon bored with the technical stuff, but he kept reading because interspersed were Nasser’s personal feelings about how the work was progressing. Nasser was quite articulate and as Bernie read, he found himself fascinated by this family member he barely knew.

  The early entries were positive and optimistic, but as time went on, Bernie could sense a change in the tone of the entries. Although Nasser loved the work he was doing, it was obvious that he was missing his home and burdened with guilt having left his wife in her time of need.

  Nasser’s entry about the death of his wife brought tears to Bernie’s eyes. The anguish and remorse that Nasser felt was heartbreaking.

  It was at that point that the tone of the entries changed again, from somber and reflective to bitter and vengeful. He now saw his work as the culprit in his financial demise and the abandonment of his family.

  Following the account of his wife’s death, the entries in the journal were no longer about an artisan proud of his work, but about a clever plot to exact revenge on the entity that had ruined his life.

  Bernie had deduced that his uncle’s work involved taking epoxy resins, plaster, and original materials such as wood, stone, and gold leaf to make the replicas, instead of using the solid gold and precious stones of Tutankhamun's day. Nevertheless, over 5,000 original artifacts were at his fingertips on a daily basis as models for the replicas.

  Bernie read with fascination his uncle’s account of his final task on the team --- the replication of Anubis, the protector of Tutankhamun’s tomb.

  One entry read, “The statue of the Anubis, depicted completely in animal form was attached to the roof of the shrine. The jackal lying on the shrine is made from wood, covered with black paint. The insides of the ears, the eyebrows and the rims of the eyes of the reclining animal are worked in gold leaf as well as the collar and the band knotted around the neck. The whites of the eyes are made from calcite and the pupils from obsidian. The claws are in silver, which was more valuable than gold in Ancient Egypt.

  “I shall replicate the Anubis in every detail with one exception, the belly of the beast shall be hollowed out to accommodate the gold and precious stones which I will take from various artifacts over a period of time. Given the vastness and the age of the collection, the purloined items will never be missed.”

  The remaining entries in the journal detailed the items that Nasser had removed from the original artifacts, an emerald here, a ruby there, a bit of gold or silver from somewhere else. Everything was hidden in the hollowed belly of the Anubis and finally sealed.

  The last entry in the journal read, “My task is complete. While no amount of riches can bring back my beloved Anat or assuage the torment that I feel, I have, at the very least, struck a blow against the ghost that pulled me away from my family. These riches from the pharaoh’s tomb shall remain hidden until such time as I or a member of my family can claim them.”

  Bernie was dumbfounded. If what he had just read was true, and he had no reason to believe it wasn’t, somewhere out there was an artifact filled with gold, silver and precious stones and he was the only person in the world that knew of its existence.

  During the long drive back to Kansas City, he replayed the journal entries over and over in his mind.

  What his uncle had done reminded him of the old Johnny Cash song, One Piece at a Time. It was about a guy that worked on the assembly line at General Motors building Cadillacs. The guy had always wanted one but knew he couldn’t afford one, so he devised a plan to steal one piece at a time over a period of years.

  One verse said, “I’ve never considered myself a thief, but GM wouldn’t miss just one little piece, especially if I strung it out over several years.”

  In the end he put all the parts together from 1949 to 1970 and had one “Psyco-Billy Cadillac!”

  Bernie couldn’t wait to get home and research the tour which had been named,

  The Discovery of King Tut

  His Tomb - His Treasures

  The Breathtaking Recreation

  He was delighted to discover that the traveling exhibit was to be at Union Station in Kansas City in the near future.

  He had to get close to that exhibit and he figured out just the way to do it.

  Once back home, he made several trips to Union Station and discovered that many of the exhibits were manned by volunteers. He went to the Union Station website and clicked on the tab, ‘Volunteers.’ He read about becoming part of the team and clicked on the tab, ‘Click here to join now.’

  His night job with the cleaning company gave him his days free to volunteer at Union Station.

  That was three months ago. Since then, he had become a regular, spending every free minute volunteering and sucking up to the guy in charge. It had paid dividends. He had been assigned to the King Tut exhibit.

  He had helped unload the crates from the tractor-trailer rigs, helped clean the massive rooms that would house the exhibit and even gotten to help assemble the exhibit before opening day.

  He vividly remembered seeing the Anubis for the first time. It was everything he expected. It was beautiful. It was breathtaking. It was ferocious. It had been created by his uncle and as he stood there looking into the obsidian eyes, he knew that inside the black belly was a treasure that would soon be his.

  My partner, Ox, and I were just finishing our shift and heading back to the precinct.

  “So what are you and Judy up to this weekend?” I asked. I could tell by the forlorn look on my partner’s face that it wasn’t something pleasant.

  Ox grimaced. “Judy’s taking me to the fitness center. We’ve got that damnable recertification coming up and Judy has appointed herself to be my personal trainer. You know Judy. She won’t let up until she’s satisfied that I’m fit to pass.”

  Ox had that right. Judy was lean, trim and all muscle. She had served two tours in Iraq as an M.P. before returning to Kansas City and becoming a cop. Ox, on the other hand, had become the poster boy for middle-aged obesity.

  Ox had always been as strong as his namesake. I had seen him bench press more than I weigh. When I first joined the department five years ago, he was a comfortable two-twenty-five. I suspected that number was now just north of two-fifty. I was pretty sure that our daily stops at Krispy Kreme, Dunkin’ Donuts and Custard’s Last Stand had contributed to the excess baggage around his waist.

  I wanted to say something positive and supportive but in my heart I knew that in the weeks to come, Ox was going to pay the price for giving in to his sweet tooth.

  “Good luck with that,” was all I could muster. “You’ll feel better when it’s all over.”

  “Gee, thanks for the moral support,” he replied sarcastically. “You skinny guys just don’t get it. What about you and Maggie? Any plans for the weekend?”

  We were just approaching Union Station and I pointed to the giant statue in the corner of the parking lot.

  “King Tut. I get to see a mummy tomorrow.”

  “Really! I didn’t realize you were into archeology.”

  “I’ve always been fascinated by the pyramids and all the Egyptian stuff, but I probably wouldn’t be going if it weren’t free. The tickets are twenty bucks each, but the Professor scored a handful from one of his buddies in the history department at UMKC, so it looks like the over-the-hill gang is going on a field trip.”

  Now it was Ox’s turn to grin. “The
whole gang? Willie, Mary, Bernice, Jerry and your dad?”

  I nodded. “And the Professor, of course.”

  “Gee, the Five Stooges in an archeology exhibit. What could possibly go wrong with that? Are you sure you don’t want to come work out with Judy and me? There would probably be less pain involved.”

  I knew he was right, but I was already committed.

  I had just finished the newspaper and my second cup of coffee when Maggie remarked, “Remember the last time we had free tickets to an archeological exhibit?”

  I remembered all right. Maggie was a real estate agent and one of her clients had given us tickets to the Nelson Art Gallery. We wandered into an exhibit called The History and Culture of the Ancient Hawaiians. An old gentleman named Raymond Kalakoa was giving a lecture.

  That was just the beginning of a bizarre series of events that culminated in Maggie and me being abducted by Hawaiian zealots, drugged and hidden away in a burial cave in the caldera of an extinct volcano to appease Pele, the Goddess of Fire, who was apparently pissed because relics had been taken from the sacred burial cave.

  I had never put much stock in historical curses, but our experience on Maui made me at least consider the possibility that there was more to them than just folklore.

  “Once in a lifetime event,” I replied. “No way we could stumble into something like that twice.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she said, looking at her watch. “We’d better get ready. The gang will be here in less than an hour.”

  The Professor was the first to arrive. In my younger days, I had taken his psychology and philosophy classes at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. We became good friends and when he retired, I encouraged him to rent one of the apartments in my building on Armour Boulevard.