by Frank Zafiro
Ingram gave a slow nod. “He acknowledged him, yes. And when he died, he left orders that the child be slain and mummified with him. He loved him that much.”
“Loved?”
“Yes, loved.”
“He loved his son so much that he had him murdered?”
Ingram smiled humorlessly. “To be mummified with the Pharaoh was a great honor, detective. It meant assurance of a place in the afterlife. And, frankly, the alternatives for the illegitimate son of a deceased Pharaoh were considerably less desirable.”
Finch absorbed that for a moment. Then he said, “I’m curious, doctor. What will a theft like this do to this museum?”
“Financially, you mean?”
Finch shrugged. “Sure. And reputation-wise.”
“Financially, it won’t have a large impact. The exhibit is doubly insured. We’ll likely need to increase our security measures to maintain our insurance, but that’s probably all. Our reputation, however?” She shook her head grimly. “It will take several years to recover from a security lapse like this. And it will be a struggle to secure another exhibit of any consequence.”
“Would the director be fired?”
She smiled coldly. “You’ve just struck upon the silver lining in this dark little cloud.”
“That’s a yes?”
“It certainly is. Leavitt’s contract can be severed and he can be fired for gross negligence without endangering the endowment his uncle left.”
“How do you know that?”
“I read the terms of the endowment,” she said.
“Who would become director if Leavitt left?” Finch asked.
Dr. Ingram’s smile broadened but did not grow any warmer. “Ah, and now we touch upon motive, don’t we, detective? If Leavitt were removed, I imagine that I would be appointed as interim director while a search is conducted for a full-time replacement.”
“Which could end up being you,” Finch guessed.
Her smile sagged into a frown. “Possibly. If I wanted it. But I don’t. I am quite content where I am. It allows me to do the work I was trained for and leaves me enough time to conduct additional research for publication.”
“You said the museum was full of incompetents from top to bottom,” Finch said. “Who else were you referring to?”
“I believe I said absolute morons,” Dr. Ingram said. “And I meant everyone who isn’t a scholar. The head of security is a nitwit, who wasn’t even good enough to become a police officer. His night help is a juvenile college student who, when he isn’t sleeping the night away, takes great pleasure in re-arranging the displays into suggestive positions. And the janitor is a convicted felon. Does that about summarize things?”
Finch took a moment to take in what she said. “Moore applied to be a cop somewhere?”
Dr. Ingram looked at him with contempt. “He applied to your agency and was turned down, detective. Haven’t you done any research on your suspect pool yet?”
“It’s in the works,” Finch said, ignoring her tone as Elias bristled beside him. “One last question, doctor. Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts last night?”
“Just Diana,” Dr. Ingram said. “My partner.”
There was a momentary silence.
Finch cleared his throat. “Uh, partner as in…?”
Dr. Ingram smiled genuinely for the first time. “As in life partner, detective.” She turned her gaze to Elias. “As in lover. Or girlfriend, if you prefer.”
In the hallway, Elias needled Finch. “Judging from the way your mouth was hanging open, I’m guessing you didn’t see that one coming.”
“Leave it alone,” Finch said.
“It’s a shame, though,” Elias muttered on their way back to the security office. “Her batting for the other side. But I guess that explains why she’s so snappy, at least.”
Finch glanced at his partner. “What?”
Elias returned the look. “You heard me. She hates men, so that’s why the attitude.”
“I don’t think her attitude has anything to do with her romantic preferences.”
“Romantic preferences?” Elias shook his head. “Come on. When did you get so politically correct? What’s next? You’ll turn in your wingtips and your gun for a pair of Birkenstocks and a bouquet of flowers?”
“It’s not about being PC. I just don’t think that had anything to do with her attitude.”
“Then what, Inspector Clouseau?”
“I think it was plain old intellectual arrogance.”
Elias considered. “She’s got her PhD, so the rest of us are dopes?”
“Or absolute morons.”
Elias grinned. “That’s pretty funny, Finchie. Why don’t you share that humor with the world?”
“It’s custom made for you,” Finch said. “The bigger question, though, is do we still consider her a suspect?”
Elias nodded immediately. “Hell, yes. She had the access code, she has an axe to grind with Leavitt and she stands to gain personally if he’s fired. Plus she knew about Eric sleeping and screwing up the surveillance tapes.”
“That doesn’t exactly strike me as a state secret. Something else bothers me, too.”
“What?”
“I just don’t know if she’d do something like this just to get back at Leavitt. It seems…I dunno, beneath her somehow.”
A wide smile spread slowly across Elias’ face. “You’re buying into her superior bit, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“No. I’m just trying to figure her out. I’m trying to figure all of these people out.”
Elias rubbed his chin and glanced at his watch. “Well, get busy. Who knows how soon the FBI will be here to take over.”
Adam arrived five minutes later. Moore led all three men to the security center. He offered Adam the chair in front of the main computer terminal.
Adam took it. “What’s your administrator login?”
Moore gave it to him.
“And the password?” Adam asked.
Moore hesitated.
“You can change it when I leave,” Adam said wearily. “It’s easier than making me spend fifteen minutes getting it with my code-breaker program.”
“It’s c-y-l-a-s,” Moore said. He glanced at the detectives. “That’s the first name of Director Leavitt’s uncle,” he explained.
Adam typed the password and accessed a screen that looked like a gaggle of numbers to Finch.
“I’m pretty sure that’s the column for zone,” Moore said, pointing, “and that’s the time stamp-”
“I’m familiar with this program,” Adam told him in a curt tone.
Moore fell silent. All three men waited while Adam read the screen, tapped the keys, and called up a new screen.
Finch tapped Moore on the shoulder and waved him away from the computer terminal. When they were several steps away, Finch asked in a low voice, “I understand you applied to our police department?”
Moore’s cheeks flushed. “Who told you that?”
“It came up when we ran your name,” Finch lied. “What happened?”
“You guys turned me down, that’s what.” Moore’s voice became low and intense. “Twice, actually.”
“Where were you in the hiring process when this happened?”
“The oral board. Both times.”
Finch considered. Usually that meant a poor performance in the oral board interview, not a background issue. He nodded to Moore. “Okay. Thanks.”
“This is going to take a while,” Adam said to everyone in the room.
Elias reached out and tapped Finch on the shoulder. “We’ve got a couple other things to check out anyway.”
Mary Leavitt was a petite, quiet woman. She offered Finch and Elias coffee, then tea, and finally ice water. When they’d politely refused the last, she sat primly on the small sofa in the sitting room and gestured to a pair of high-backed chairs.
“Please,” she said.
The de
tectives sat. Elias flipped open his notebook. “Mrs. Leavitt, we’re investigating the theft at the museum this morning.”
“The mummy?”
“Yes, ma’am. You heard, then?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes. Edward called this morning. He was worked up into quite a fit.”
“When did he call?”
“Around six, I would say. It was shortly after I got up.”
“Did he wake you when he left this morning?”
Mary Leavitt gave him a curious look, then understanding flooded her features. “Oh, I see what you mean.” She shook her head. “No, his leaving didn’t wake me. Edward and I have separate bedrooms, you see. He snores horribly and I’m told that I move around quite a bit in my sleep. Neither of us were getting any rest, so we decided to take separate rooms.”
“Did you hear the phone ring?”
“No, but I am a rather sound sleeper.”
“Do you remember when Mr. Leavitt came home last night?”
She thought for a moment. “Well, we had a late dinner. It was around nine by the time we ate and that was very soon after he arrived.”
“Did he leave at all last night?”
“Not that I could say,” she said.
“When did you go to sleep, Mrs. Leavitt?”
“Around eleven, I believe.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “Why are you asking all of these questions, officer? It rather sounds as if Edward is a suspect.”
Elias shrugged. “As part of our investigation, we have to eliminate everyone. This is how we do it.”
She pressed her lips together in a prim scowl. “Well, it seems like a waste of time.”
“It can feel that way, but it has to be done.” Elias leaned forward. “Mrs. Leavitt, if someone were to suspect Edward of being involved in this, what possible reason do you think they might give?”
Mary Leavitt’s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in anger. “If someone said Edward was involved in anything criminal, they’d be a liar,” she snapped. “Simple as that. And that, I think, is the last question I need to answer, detective.”
In the car, Finch applauded.
“Shut up,” Elias growled.
“Nicely done,” Finch said. “You just handled that one like a pro.”
“She had nothing for us anyway.”
“She had plenty.”
“Like what? She didn’t see a thing.”
“Exactly,” Finch said. “And that means that Leavitt has no alibi.”
“Neither does the janitor.”
“True, but the janitor doesn’t live in a $350,000 house on the South Hill.”
Elias considered that. “Leavitt probably comes from old money.”
“The house didn’t look like it.”
“Whattaya mean? It was a huge house.”
Finch nodded. “Sure, but hardly any furniture. And the lawn wasn’t well kept, either.”
“You think he’s hurting for cash?”
“I’d like to get a look at his finances.”
“So get a warrant.”
“I might,” Finch said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe later, I just might.”
Diana Applegate answered the door. She had a harried look on her face but invited them inside with an even tone. Finch got the sense that her stress was largely of the self-imposed variety.
The small house was sparsely decorated with austere but tasteful furnishings. Diana stopped just inside the entryway and turned to them, her thin arms crossed. “I received a call from Ruth a few minutes ago. I know why you’re here.”
“That’s good,” Elias said. “Why don’t we-”
“I have explicit directions from Ruth,” Diana said. “I am to verify this for you: Ruth returned home last night at six-thirty. She did not leave the house again until she received a call from Director Leavitt this morning.”
“Do you know what time?”
“After six,” she told him curtly. “And I am not answering any more questions.”
Finch and Elias stood awkwardly for a moment. Elias withdrew a card and held it out to her. She didn’t reach for it.
“If you think of anything else-” he began, but she cut him off.
“I’m also supposed to inform you that you may search the premises,” she said. “Just don’t make a mess.”
Back in the car, Elias glanced at his watch and sighed. “What a waste of time. That’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back.”
Finch shrugged. “They offer, we search. It wouldn’t be the first time a guilty suspect offered to let us search and then we find what we’re looking for.”
“I know. But those people are stupid. You know when someone smart like Dr. Ingram offers, we’re not going to find anything.”
“We still have to look.”
“I know,” Elias sighed. “And it’s always a waste of time.”
Angela Moore didn’t offer them coffee, tea or water-she offered beer.
The detectives politely refused.
Angela shrugged and lowered herself onto the afghan-covered couch, sipping from a can of Keystone Light. “Suit yourself.”
“How long have you and Tony been married?” Finch asked her.
She laughed. “Too long.”
Finch raised a brow. “You two having some marital difficulties?”
Angela took another swig of beer. “Marital difficulties? That’s a nice way to put it, yeah. Another way would be that our marriage is a disaster.”
“Why?”
Angela scowled. “None of your business. Look, I’ll answer your questions, but don’t go getting all personal, got it?”
Finch kept his expression neutral. “All right.”
“Besides,” Angela said, “you don’t think Tony took this mummy, do ya?”
“We don’t know who took it.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Tony didn’t do it. He might be worthless as a husband, but he’s not a thief.”
“What time did he come home last night?” Finch asked.
“What time did he say he came home?”
Finch shook his head. “That’s not how it works, Mrs. Moore. What time did he come home?”
She smiled slyly and took another pull from the beer can. “If I say he was home by ten o’clock, would that clear his precious name?”
“We want the truth,” Finch replied. “That’s all.”
Angela shrugged. “The truth is, I fell asleep on the couch at ten. He wasn’t home yet.”
Elias made a note on his pad.
“But I woke up when he came home at two,” she added.
Finch raised his brow. “Two?”
“Two.”
“Any idea where he was?”
Angela finished her beer. She crinkled the can and sighed. “Why don’t you go ask him? If you find out, call me. I’d like to know, too.”
On the way back to the museum, both men were quiet, thinking. Finally, Elias spoke up. “No alibi for Leavitt. No alibi for the janitor. No alibi now for Moore. The kid Eric supposedly falls asleep at the switch. And only the lady professor checks out.” He turned to Finch. “We’re getting nowhere, Finchie.”
Finch opened his mouth to reply when the car’s cell phone rang. He punched the button and spoke into the hands-free microphone clipped to the visor. “Finch.”
“This is Crawford. Where are things on this mummy case?”
Elias rolled his eyes.
“We’re making progress, lieutenant,” Finch replied.
“What kind of progress?”
“The spinning-our-wheels kind,” Elias muttered.
“What’s that?” Crawford asked.
“We’re working on a timeline,” Finch said. “And eliminating suspects.”
“But still no mummy?”
“No, sir.”
“And no bastard, either,” Elias added.
“What did you say?” Crawford boomed.
“The mummy is actually a bastard son,” Finch explained quickly.
Sile
nce. Then, with disbelief, “You’re kidding me.”
“No, sir.”
Crawford seemed to recover from his surprise. “Well, find the mummy, whatever his parentage, and do it soon. I just got a call from the FBI and they have an agent on the way. He should be there within the hour. Plus, I got a call from some insurance agency and they’re flying someone in tonight. So if you don’t wrap this up pretty quick, you’re going to be hip deep in help.”
“We don’t need any more help,” Elias said.
“It’s not a matter of need. It’s politics.”
Elias shook his head in disgust.
“We’ll bring you up to speed when we know something else, lieutenant,” Finch said.
“Do that,” Crawford grunted, and broke the connection.
Finch glanced over at Elias. “FBI, huh?”
Elias still bore a disgusted look on his face. “How do you say ‘Ruby Ridge’ in Egyptian?”
“This is interesting,” Adam said.
Finch leaned forward. “What?”
Adam pointed at the screen. “First off, this isn’t the greatest of security systems. It’s really no better than your average residential alarm system.”
Moore appeared at Finch’s side. “We’ve been on a budget for a while. Besides, we’ve never had a major exhibit like Pedubastis before.”
Finch ignored him. “What did you find?”
“The digital record shows when the alarm was set and disabled and by which code.” Adam pointed at the screen. “Here, it shows that it was set at 0512. It looks like they have some sort of zonal mode-”
“That’s for doing the rounds,” Moore explained. “Each zone is alarmed but disarming it only disarms that zone, instead of the whole museum.”
Adam’s eyes flicked to Moore, irritation plain on his face. “It’s a common configuration for large buildings.” He turned back to the screen. “After 0512, you can see this long list here of compartmentalized disables and resets-”
“Eric was doing his rounds,” Moore said.
“-as the security guard made his rounds. Then, at 0541, there is a system-wide reset. I assume that means the guard was back at his regular post.” Adam tapped a key and the window minimized, replaced by another. “This is the telephone log for that time period. There is an outgoing call at 0542, and another at 0544.”
