by Frank Zafiro
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.
Silence. 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 conf
iguration 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.”
Moore leaned forward. “Those are Director Leavitt’s numbers. The first one is his home and the second one is his cell phone.”
“So the guard got no answer at home and he tried the cell,” Finch said, more to himself than anyone else. He turned to Moore. “What time were you called?”
Moore thought for a moment. “A little before six, I think. I know I was here by a quarter after six.”
“0613,” Adam said, “if the alarm system’s clock is accurate.”
“Sounds about right.”
“And who was already here at that time?”
“Director Leavitt and Eric. Eric told me what happened. Director Leavitt was busy on the phone, calling you guys and getting Dr. Ingram and Mike down here.”
“Is the basement level alarmed?” Finch asked.
Moore shook his head. “No. The only way to the basement is through the main floor, so there’s no need for an alarm.”
Finch considered his answer for a moment, then returned his attention to Adam. “Anything before 0613?”
“Yes. Another disable at 0559.”
“Leavitt?” Finch asked, glancing at Elias.
Elias nodded. “Has to be.”
Adam nodded in agreement. “That makes sense. Now look at this.” He switched windows again, bringing up the alarm screen. “Prior to 0512, the last activity was at 0100 this morning. Someone disabled the alarm at the front door and then re-enabled six minutes later on a sixty-second delay.”
“Which code was used?”
“Looks like the main code,” Adam replied. “Before that, a separate code was used to set the alarm at 2257.”
“That’d be the janitor leaving,” Elias said. “But who came in at one in the morning?”
Finch glanced at Elias. His partner jerked his head toward the hallway and the two stepped outside.
“What do you think?” Finch asked.
“Could be any of them.”
Finch nodded. “Leavitt’s wife was in a separate bedroom. And Moore’s wife said he didn’t get home until two o’clock.”
“The janitor has zero alibi.”
“And the professor’s alibi is her girlfriend, who’s biased.”
“And the security guard screwed up the tapes, so we don’t have squat,” Elias said glumly.
Finch rubbed his chin. “Well, we do know when the mummy was most likely taken—around one in the morning. Maybe we need to go at each of them again. See who’s alibi breaks up when we try to pin them down a little more.”
Elias nodded in agreement. “The only trouble is, more than one of them is lying.”
“Who do you figure?”
Elias held up a finger. “Moore, for sure. He said he went straight home, but his wife puts him there at 0200. That’s a straight-up lie.”
“All right. Who else?”
Finger raised a second finger. “The janitor is hiding something. Did you see how he got nervous when we closed the door?”
“Could just be a reaction to the closed space.”
“No way, Finchie. The guy did time. He might not like it, but he’d be comfortable in a broom closet. No, he’s nervous because he’s hiding something.”
Finch shrugged. “Okay, maybe. How about the professor?”
Elias frowned. “Well, she was sorta over the top about being helpful….”
“Maybe she wanted to clear her name.”
“Maybe. Or maybe she’s not as smart as we thought. Maybe she’s just as arrogant as we think and believes we won’t figure it out.”
Finch considered. “I don’t think so.”
“She stands to gain if Leavitt gets canned.”
“True. But I don’t think she’s the one. At least she’s got an alibi.”
“You crossing her off the list?”
“In pencil, yeah.”
Elias shrugged. “She’s the number five horse, anyway. What about Leavitt?”
“You tell me.”
“I think he’s still a possible, though I don’t see what he’d gain from it. But his alibi isn’t backed up by anyone, so I guess he’s the number four horse for me.”
“Behind Eric, the security guard?”
“You bet! The kid says he fell asleep, but what if he just let the tapes run and rewind on purpose?”
Finch cocked an eyebrow. “If he did, then he knows who the thief is.”
“Or he is the thief,” Elias said.
“We’ll start with him, then.”
“P-p-prison?” Eric stammered. “But I only fell asleep!”
Elias shook his head, his eyes cold. Watching on, Finch felt a brief welling of sympathy for the college student, but he brushed it aside.
“You fell asleep”—Elias made air quotes with his fingers—“at a very convenient time. While you were sleeping”—more air quotes—“the mummy was snatched. And just as conveniently, the tape ran and re-ran, erasing the best evidence of the crime.”
Tears welled up in Eric’s eyes. “I screwed up. I know it. But—”
“You didn’t screw up, Eric,” Elias said. “You committed first degree theft by accomplice. That is a class-A felony. You can get up to twenty-five years for that crime, did you know that?”
“Twenty-fi…?” Eric’s mouth fell open. The tears brimmed over his eyelids and streamed down his cheeks.
“What are you now, twenty? So if you did the maximum, you’d be forty-five when you get released.” Elias shrugged. “I suppose you could go back to college. Lots of people do it these days. What do they call it? Oh, yeah.” He held up the air quotes again. “A non-traditional student.”
Eric’s shook his head rapidly from side to side. His mouth moved but no sound came out. Finch felt another stab of pity.
Elias leaned forward and patted Eric comfortingly on the shoulder. “We don’t think you planned this, Eric. We figure you were just brought aboard by someone else. That makes you less of a bad guy here. And if you come forward now and cooperate, we can testify to the judge that you were helpful. That could make a big difference in your case.”
Eric let out a hitching sob and hung his head. Finch handed him a box of tissues while Elias patted him on the shoulder. The security guard wept in deep, uncontrolled sobs. “Oh, I screwed up so b-b-bad,” he cried. “And then I l-l-lied to you.”
Elias shot Finch a quick glance over the top of Eric’s head. He winked.
“Tell me the truth, Eric. What did you lie about before?”
Eric sniffled and wiped his nose. He struggled to regain his composure, looking Elias directly in the eye. “Can they send me to jail for lying?”
Elias nodded. “Especially if you let the lie stand.”
Eric shook his head. “No, I’ll tell the truth now. I never should’ve tried to lie about it to begin with.”
Elias patted his shoulder again. “Good, Eric. Good. Now, what do you want to tell me?”
Eric took a deep wavering breath. “I…I…” He let out the breath in a whoosh and shook his head apologetically, his face red.
“It’s all right,” Elias said. “Take your time.”
“I…well, um…that wasn’t the only time I fell asleep at work.” He swallowed. “In fact, uh, I pretty much slept most of the night. Every night.”
Elias let out a barely discernible sigh. His eyes flicked to Finch. Finch winked. Elias clenched and unclenched his jaw.
