Frank Zafiro: The Bastard Mummy

Lieutenant Crawford stood talking with Elias. An unlit cigar hung from his mouth. “He was gonna lose his job, you’re saying?”

Elias nodded. “The museum was losing money. And on the personal front, he was already having trouble paying the taxes on the house he lived in, so he was getting desperate.”

Crawford frowned. “So sell the house.”

“He couldn’t,” Finch broke in. “His uncle left it to him with the proviso that if he didn’t live in it or if he died, it went to the museum.”

Crawford grunted. “And the mummy was in a spare locker the whole time?”

Finch nodded.

Crawford motioned toward Special Agent Payne, who was a dozen yards away, talking to a news reporter on camera. “And that FBI guy who’s taking credit over there didn’t find it?”

“No. He showed up just as we found it.”

“How’d you figure out it was in there?”

“Lucky guess,” Elias said.

“Probably not far off. Elias said you got the guy to confess with some techno mumbo-jumbo about videotapes and computer hard drives.”

Finch nodded.

“Any of that true?”

“It’s true about hard drives. Not videotapes.”

Crawford grunted and glanced at his watch. “I gotta go tell the chief what happened so that he can tell the mayor so the mayor can tell everyone else who cares.”

Finch and Elias said nothing.

Crawford removed the unlit cigar. He spit a small piece of tobacco onto the asphalt while he regarded the stogie. “Anyway, nice work, you two.”

“Thanks,” Finch said.

“Yeah, El-Tee. Thanks.”

Crawford contemplated the cigar. “At least you didn’t get beat up by any women on this one,” he said. He thrust the cigar back into his mouth and ambled off toward his car.

“Ouch,” Elias deadpanned. “That’s really no way to talk to world-famous mummy hunters.”

Finch shrugged. “That’s Crawford.”

“Well,” Elias said, “if he thinks I’m mentioning his name during the Discovery Channel interviews, he’s crazy.”