Case of the Fleet-Footed Mummy

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “Come with me,” Don curtly answered, pulling my arm to guide me toward the school’s main entrance. “You were asked to help because of me, I’m sure. I’ve known Vance for years. His father and I are good friends. We speak all the time.”

  That drew me up short. We arrived at the main entrance where the principal began closing the six main doors that had been propped open. I hurried over to the closest door, kicked the wedge of rubber that had been jammed under it to keep it from swinging shut, and moved to the next.

  “Okay, that still doesn’t explain why I’m here. You and I don’t really know each other, right?”

  Principal Reezen nodded, “Correct. However, I am a fan of your dogs. More specifically, Sherlock.”

  “My dogs?” I repeated, confused. “What about them? What do they have to do with anything?”

  “Vance told me all about your case a few months ago,” Don told me as he closed the last door. He retrieved a key ring from one of his pockets that would make a janitor proud and began locking the doors. “I heard all about how your little dog kept locating clues where no one else could find any. He essentially kept you out of jail, did he not?”

  I stared at the principal in shock. That’s why he wanted me here? He wanted to see if Sherlock could shed any light on the missing mummy and the pendant? How was that going to look when all of a sudden a guy with a couple of corgis shows up and lets them sniff around the area? I could see the headlines now:

  Dogs Send Local PD to Doghouse!

  “Are you sure that’s a wise idea?” I asked. “The local PD and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms. If Sherlock can find clues where they cannot, do you have any idea how that’s going to make them look?”

  “The police can run their own investigation,” Don informed me, dropping his voice down low.

  A couple in their mid-fifties had appeared. They were headed toward the door. I moved to intercept.

  “I’m sorry,” I began, “but we all have to stay put until we’re given the green light by the cops.”

  “By what cops?” the man asked, puzzled.

  I was standing nearly six feet away from the guy and I could instantly smell what these two had been doing. A strong pungent, earthy aroma was emanating from these two. I instantly thought of skunk, but not as nauseous. I glanced over at the principal. I could see that his nostrils were flared. He smelled it, too.

  “Been enjoying yourselves?” Principal Reezen asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Whatever do you mean?” the woman asked, trying to act confused.

  “You two are a disgrace,” Don muttered. “It’s bad enough that you smoke marijuana, but to do so here? In a school? You know better than that.”

  Both heads fell.

  “Go back and wait with the others,” Principal Reezen ordered. “And I’d suggest you start praying that I don’t press any charges.”

  “We’re not students here,” the man snapped. “And I have a legal prescription for it, so there.”

  “You both do?” I asked, looking over at the woman, who refused to look me in the eye.

  “Be that as it may,” Principal Reezen snapped, “marijuana is, by definition, a controlled substance. Under no circumstances whatsoever will controlled substances be permitted on school grounds. Now get with the others or I will have the police notified. What will it be?”

  The couple hastily retreated, disappearing down the hall toward the auditorium.

  “I really think we ought to let the police conduct their own investigation,” I suggested as Principal Reezen locked the last door. “I don’t want to get in their way.”

  “You won’t be,” Vance’s voice broke in, startling me. I turned to watch the detective approach. “I’ve already spoken with the chief. Jerry and Rob – they would be our crime scene techs – are still in Portland at a conference. They’ve already been notified but won’t be here until tomorrow morning. So if you and Sherlock are gonna do your magic, it’ll have to be tonight.”

  “Our magic?” I repeated. “Vance, for all we know, that was a one-time thing. There’s no guarantee Sherlock can find anything.”

  “Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt, shall we?” Vance suggested.

  “What about Medford?” I protested. “Can’t they send someone over to start processing this mess? I can’t imagine the chief is okay with leaving this scene as it is, with a chance of it being tampered with.”

  “He’s not. He’s posting men here for the night to make sure no one bothers it. Besides, we’ve already tried. Medford has their people in Portland, too.”

  “Medford is much larger than PV,” I persisted. “They must have techs to spare, don’t they?”

  “They have a large enough staff to leave one person behind,” Vance confirmed. “However, he’s tied up with an attempted bank robbery. They wouldn’t be able to send him out until tomorrow, which is when our own guys will make it back. So for now, we have to wait.”

  “I also don’t want to get you into any trouble,” I added. “Wouldn’t there be hell to pay if it became known that you allowed me and a couple of dogs inside an active crime scene?”

  “It’s easy,” Vance explained. “Look, but don’t touch. If you find anything, or should I say, if Sherlock finds anything then I’ll pass it off as a discovery I made.”

  “And take the credit for something you didn’t discover?” I asked, frowning as I said it.

  “Would you like me to add Sherlock or Watson’s name to the final report?” Vance asked, throwing in a healthy dose of sarcasm. “Look, Zack. I’m asking for your help. I know what this is going to do to Tori. She helped to push these people to set up shop in PV. I don’t want any fingers to start pointing in her direction. She’s already stressed enough. So, will you do me this favor? I’d like to see if there’s anything Sherlock notices before the crime scene boys arrive tomorrow. Will you help me?”

  “What about all the witnesses?” I asked, perplexed. “They’re going to know you allowed a dog to come in here and check things out.”

  “Let’s do this. Tori will take you and Jillian home. Come back here in about an hour, okay? I’ve called in two other cop friends of mine who will help me search the guests and lock everything down for the night. Then we’ll let Sherlock do his thing.”

  I looked over the principal and raised an eyebrow.

  “I must admit I am insanely curious to see if your dog finds anything,” Don confessed.

  “We’re talking about a dog here, fellas,” I reminded everyone. “A dog.”

  “A very smart dog,” Vance added, drawing a nod from the principal. “Go. There’s Tori and Jillian. Be back here in an hour.”

  Almost an hour later I pulled my Jeep up to the high school. I saw a couple of cop cars parked outside. Several strips of yellow crime scene tape were stretched across each of the school’s six entry doors. I unloaded the dogs and hesitantly approached the police officer who had been watching me ever since I parked.

  “You must be Zack,” the officer said. “I’m Eric Knudsen.” He squatted down to pet Sherlock and Watson, who were both gazing up at the strange man with rapt fascination. “Which one is Sherlock?”

  “Him,” I said, pointing at the tri-color corgi. “He’s the one with black on him. Watson is the red and white.”

  “Hello, Sherlock.” The cop held out a hand. Sherlock rewarded the kind gesture with a lick. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I hope you’re able to find something, buddy. Watson? Your other dog is named Watson? That’s clever.”

  I smiled, “Thanks. I’m surprised. I would have thought you’d want the cops to take credit for the case, not a pair of dogs.”

  Eric looked left, then right. He lowered his voice to a whisper.

  “Between you and me? Both of the crime scene techs are pains in the asses. Just because they’re CSTs they think they’re better than everyone else. I personally would love to see them knocked down a peg or two.”

  “Whatever happened to team spirit?�
� I asked.

  “It went right out the window when Jerry insinuated I belong directing traffic. Pompous prick.”

  That was all the convincing I needed.

  “Sherlock? Let’s go do your thing. Come on, Watson.”

  Eric lifted the strip of crime scene tape and allowed me to duck under to enter the school. The hallways were illuminated, as though I expected to hear a bell toll at any minute. Doors would bang open, kids would begin screaming, and then there’d be nothing but chaos running rampant through the halls until the bell sounded again, signaling the beginning of the next class.

  Ah. To be back in high school. I wouldn’t wish that hell on my worst enemy. It was hard enough to be a kid, and even more so nowadays. There was pressure to maintain your grades, pressure to not fall in with the wrong crowds, pressure to spend time with your family, and, for the older kids, pressure to find a job so that they could earn some spending money. All I had to worry about when I was that age was to keep my grades up. Even then I never worried about it too much. I had always received good grades. They probably could have been better had I studied more. Then again, I was a teenager. I already thought I knew everything.

  At the moment, though, the hallways were empty. My footfalls echoed noisily as I retraced my steps from earlier in the evening back to the auditorium. The hall I was following was lined with a double row of small lockers. I hesitated only long enough to inspect the size. I swear the lockers I used back in my school in Arizona were twice the size of these. I doubted these would hold more than three or four books each.

  Sherlock tugged on his leash. He sniffed loudly and lifted his nose into the air. Watson turned to give him a questioning look. Moments later she, too, had her nose in the air and was pulling on her leash. Did the dogs smell something? Had Sherlock already zeroed in on some type of clue? Both corgis were pulling on their leashes, threatening to drag me along whether I wanted to accompany them or not.

  I led the corgis into the auditorium. Vance and a second man I didn’t recognize were there, chatting with a very harassed Dr. Tarik. The three of them turned to watch us approach.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Dr. Tarik sputtered. “I was expecting to see an officer with a genuine police dog. But this? Did you borrow those two from her Royal Majesty the Queen? What business have they in a crime scene?”

  “I’ll vouch for both the guy and the dogs,” Vance gently told him. “You’re upset, I get that. Let us do our job, okay?”

  We were waved over.

  “Zack, this is Dr. Asiz Tarik, head curator at Egyptian Exhibitions. Dr. Tarik, this is a friend of mine, Zack Anderson. Down there are Sherlock and Watson.”

  “I am still not amused,” Dr. Tarik said, rather gruffly.

  I shook the doctor’s hand. His skin was weathered and calloused. The grip was firm and unfaltering. This was a man who spent a lot of time outdoors.

  “Nice to meet you,” I offered.

  “What are your qualifications?” Dr. Tarik immediately asked.

  “I’m a writer,” I answered.

  Dr. Tarik threw his hands up in the air.

  “Isn’t it just like you Americans? Let me venture a guess. You have watched too many of your American police television shows and you now think you are an expert on the matter. No offense to you, Mr. Anderson, but I want a professional here.”

  Vance scowled, “As you wish, Dr. Tarik. You may leave now.”

  The curator puffed out his chest and several veins appeared on his forehead.

  “Excuse me? I will do no such thing. I can see now that it was a mistake to come to this little town. We were assured we would have adequate security to protect our collection. Where is that teacher? The one who campaigned to bring Egyptian Exhibitions here? I’ll wager she knows something about what has happened.”

  “Whoa,” Vance snapped. “Cool your jets, buddy. If you’re insinuating that Tori Samuelson is somehow responsible for this mess, then you are dead wrong.”

  The curator’s angry face swung over to the Vance’s.

  “Do not take that tone with me, detective,” Dr. Tarik said, throwing as much venom as he could into his voice. “I am a distinguished archaeologist and am at the top of my profession. What about you?”

  “Why you pompous ass!” Vance snarled, taking a few menacing steps toward the curator.

  Sherlock started barking. Watson added her two cents for every fourth or fifth bark of Sherlock’s. I decided an intervention was in order before Vance ended up doing something that would get him kicked off the force. Or someone’s ankle was bitten. I inserted myself between the two glaring men and held up my hands in surrender.

  “Gentlemen, please. Vance, get a grip. Relax. We have bigger fish to fry. Dr. Tarik? Take it easy. We’re trying to help you. I know it doesn’t look like it but Sherlock has a unique ability in locating clues. Let us look around. I would even encourage you to come with us. That way you’ll see that we won’t touch anything we’re not supposed to.”

  The simple request of being allowed to accompany us took much of the wind out of his sails. The doctor’s angry red face softened and he finally nodded. He looked down at the dogs and actually smiled.

  “Very well. You may look, just don’t touch.”

  I nodded and offered a smile in return, “No problem. Sherlock? Watson? Let’s go look around, shall we?”

  I led the dogs to the open sarcophagus first. Sherlock lowered his nose to the ground and sniffed along the base of the casket, moving left. Watson mirrored his actions, only she moved to the right. As you may have expected, both corgis came to an abrupt halt when my arms couldn’t extend away from my sides any farther than they already were. Both arms were yanked in opposite directions.

  “Ouch, guys. Really? Is that how we’re going to play this? Pick a direction. Left, right, I don’t care, only pick the same direction.”

  Sherlock turned to look at Watson. Almost immediately Watson changed course and followed Sherlock. Together they circled the entire casket. Sherlock then moved to the broken case.

  “Careful, boy,” I cautioned, drawing up the slack in his leash. I didn’t want him treading over broken glass. “You’re not getting any closer than that.”

  Sherlock sniffed once and then turned to look at the squat black wooden display stand. He stretched his neck up and over the large pieces of broken glass and nudged the base with his nose. He turned to look at me and then looked pointedly back at the base.

  Vance, who had been watching intently, gingerly approached the broken display case and squatted down low. I stepped away from the case and pulled the two dogs close. Vance stared at the display stand then back and Sherlock.

  “Alright, what about it?”

  “You talk to the dogs, too?” Dr. Tarik skeptically asked.

  “Awwooooooo!” Sherlock howled.

  It was low and quiet, and surprisingly enough, wasn’t directed at the detective. I looked over at the curator, as did Vance. Dr. Tarik, to his credit, was smiling as he looked down at Sherlock. He extended a hand, which Sherlock sniffed, then licked.

  “Was your dog howling at me?” the curator asked, still watching Sherlock. “I see why the queen is so infatuated with the breed. I will admit they are adorable.”

  Watson approached, sat, and lifted a paw.

  “Very well. You are not to be overlooked, kind sir.”

  Watson blinked her eyes as she returned the stare.

  “Watson is a ‘she’,” I told Dr. Tarik.

  “You named her ‘Watson’?” the curator asked, baffled. “That is a name for a male, not a female.”

  Vance gave me a triumphant look, “Hah!”

  “Shut up, dude,” I said. Both corgis turned to look at me. Sherlock’s expression was more piteous while Watson had nothing but loving adoration in her eyes. “We’ll get into that later. Right now we need to find out why he’s looking at the wooden base there.”

  Vance straightened and slowly walked around the wooden stand. On the f
lip side of the case, the part that was hidden from the audience’s view, Vance stopped. He squatted, peered closely at something, and then absently patted his pockets. He was still wearing his tuxedo. He clearly didn’t have whatever gear he usually carried with him.

  “What do you need?” I asked. “What do you see?”

  “There’s a tiny strip of something here,” Vance reported, pointing at the base of the stand. “The stand has a small split in the wood. It looks like something has snagged in it. I wanted a pair of tweezers so I could pull it out.”

  I patted my belt. I had my handy-dandy multi tool – complete with a pair of needle-nose pliers – tucked away in its pouch on my belt. I pulled it out and unfolded the tool, almost like I was whipping out a butterfly knife. The pliers appeared. I presented it handle first to the detective.

  “Here. Use this. I was able to change back into my normal clothes. I always carry this thing around on my belt. Will it work?”

  Vance took the tool and studied it.

  “Well, it isn’t tweezers, but it’ll do. Let’s see what we have here.”

  He gingerly pulled the tiny scrap of material from the split in the wood and held it up for a closer inspection. I watched Dr. Tarik squat down next to the detective. His eyes opened wide.

  “Where did you get that?” the curator demanded.

  Vance pointed out the tiny imperfection in the wood base.

  “Right there. Why? Do you know what this is?”

  Dr. Tarik nodded. He immediately looked over at the open sarcophagus. I groaned and felt the blood drain from my face. Was he thinking what I think he was thinking?

  “This is a scrap of linen from Meriptah. Look. The linen has been coated with resin. This came from a mummy.”

  Vance gave the curator a neutral look and cleared his throat.

  “Are you trying to tell me that the mummy woke up, ambled over here, broke the display case open, and stole some necklace?”

  “Pendant,” Dr. Tarik corrected. “I know how this looks and how it sounds. For the record, that’s not what I’m suggesting at all. However, no one knew about the pendant.”