Frank Zafiro: The Bastard Mummy

“But who knows which code?”

“Oh, sorry. Uh, I think I’m the only one who knows both codes. Maybe Director Leavitt, too.”

“All right. Now, I’m assuming there’s video security as well?”

“Of course.”

“All the entrances?”

Moore nodded. “And the main exhibits.”

“Do you keep the surveillance tapes?”

“Sure.” Moore fidgeted. “We keep them thirty days.”

Elias flashed Finch a smile. “Well, let’s just take a look at the tape.”

“We can’t.”

Elias’s smile faded. “Why not?”

“Eric didn’t change the tape last night.”

“He what ?”

“He forgot to change the tape. It’s on a two-hour loop. When I pulled it this morning, it had a start time of 0403 hours. The last tape on the shelf ended at 2358 hours.”

“So you’re missing two tapes.”

He shook his head. “No. The tapes themselves are numbered sequentially and the one in the VCR was the very next one.”

“Then what happened?”

“Eric must’ve forgotten to change the tape. If you don’t change it, the tape automatically rewinds and starts taping again.”

Elias opened his mouth in surprise. A quizzical grunt escaped his lips. He looked over at Finch, a combination of anger and disbelief visible in his eyes.

“So midnight to four in the morning has been-” Finch began.

“Completely taped over,” Moore finished. “That’s right.”

Elias’ surprised silence was short-lived. “Why in the hell did he do that?”

Moore looked away, squirming in his seat. “I don’t know exactly. You’ll have to ask him.”

“We will.” Elias leaned forward in his chair. “But tell me something, Tony.”

Moore eyed him warily. “What?”

“Did you come back to the museum at all last night?”

“No. Not until Director Leavitt called me this morning.”

“When?”

“About six-twenty.”

“Where’d you go after work?”

Moore bit his lip slightly. “I drove around for a while. Then I went home.”

“Drove where?”

“Just around. It helps me unwind.”

“What time did you get home?”

His face flushed. He gave Elias a hard stare. “I don’t know. Maybe midnight. What’s this have to do with what happened at the museum?”

“Just covering all our bases,” Finch told him.

Moore glanced over at Finch, then back at Elias. Then he shrugged. “It was around midnight. Like I said.”

“Can anyone verify that?” Elias asked.

“My wife was asleep. She might’ve woken up enough to tell what time it was.” His voice remained sullen. “I don’t know for sure.”

Elias watched Moore for a minute, then turned to Finch. “Eric? Or the janitor?”

“The janitor,” Finch said.

Elias looked back at Moore and raised his eyebrows expectantly. The security head rose from his desk and led the detectives out of the room.

“He’s hiding something,” Elias whispered to Finch as he passed.

“Now who’s being obvious?”

Elias scowled but without much energy behind it. The two detectives followed Moore to a utility room. A man sat at the utility desk reading a car magazine. His overweight frame reminded Finch of a man who might have once been a body builder but then let things slip.

“Mike?” Moore said.

The man looked up with bleary eyes. When he saw the three men, he set the magazine on the desk and stood, offering his hand to Finch, who was nearest.

“Michael Booth,” he said, squeezing Finch’s hand. Finch struggled not to wince. The man’s strength radiated from the handshake. Finch murmured his own name and introduced Elias. Booth gave Elias the same firm shake.

Finch leaned toward Moore and whispered, “We’d like to interview him alone, if that’s all right with you.”

Moore gave him a dubious look. “I don’t know. I’m supposed to stay with you guys.”

“We’ll come straight back to your office,” Finch assured him.

Moore considered, then left reluctantly. Finch closed the door behind him. He noticed that Booth shifted uncomfortably once the door was shut. He caught sight of faded blue tattoo lines on Booth’s forearm.

“How long have you worked here, Mr. Booth?” he asked.

Booth shrugged. “Almost two years.”

“The museum hired you?”

“No. I work for a janitorial service. This is one of our contract sites.”

“Are you the only one who cleans here?”

He nodded. “’Cept for special events, yeah.”

“And you worked last night?”

“Yeah. Gotta work tonight, too.”

“What time did you finish your work in the museum?”

Booth paused, thinking. His eyes drifted up and to the left. “I was probably done by midnight. I usually am.”

“Did Eric see you leave? Or log you out?”

“Nope.”

“Is he supposed to?”

Booth shrugged. “Supposed to? I don’t know. I just know he didn’t.”

“So no one can say when you left for sure?”

“No person. But I set the alarm when I left, just like I’m supposed to. You could probably get the time off of that.”

“Where’d you go when you left the museum?”

“Home.”

“Do you live alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyone see you?”

“No,” Booth said. “I ain’t got no alibi, so you can stop poking around for one.”

Finch regarded him for a moment, then asked, “Where’d you do your time?”

Booth’s eyes narrowed. “What do you care?”

“Just asking.”

“Well, don’t worry about it. I did my time and left that place behind. I’ve got a new life now.”

“I’m glad rehabilitation works,” Elias said lightly.

Booth cursed and looked away. “I can see where this is going. Pin it on the ex-con, especially if he don’t have no alibi.”

“We’re not looking to pin it on anyone,” Finch said. “We just want to find the mummy.”

“Well, I didn’t take it,” Booth snapped. “I finished up here and I went home. That’s where I was when Tony called me and told me to come down here if I wanted to keep my job. So I’m here.”

“Any ideas who might have taken it?”

Booth smiled coldly. “I’ll tell you one thing. I did three years. And in that three years, the one thing I learned was to keep my mouth shut.”

They left Booth to his magazine. On the way back to Moore’s office, Elias asked, “Think he’s involved?”

“He’s got the right history.”

“And he’s not exactly helpful, either.”

“Of course, that is exactly what he would’ve learned in prison.” Finch shrugged. “And he looked up and to the left when he answered his questions.”

“And that’s supposed to convince me he’s telling the truth?” Elias rolled his eyes. “You put too much stock in that new-wave lingo stuff.”

“It’s neurolinguistics,” Finch corrected him. “And you should educate yourself on the subject.”

“I’ll just wait for the TV documentary.” Elias grinned. “Speaking of which, do you think they get the History Channel in the slammer?”

Moore had Eric waiting for them in his office upon their return. He stepped outside and left the two detectives alone with the night watchman.

Eric Giles was a tall and lanky twenty-three-year-old. His uniform hung off of him loosely and needed ironing. He reminded Finch of a puppy that hadn’t yet grown into its own paws.

Eric swallowed once, the sharp point of his Adam’s apple raking up and down his narrow throat. “Am I in trouble?” he croaked.

Finch pulled a chair up close to Eric. Elias sat on the edge of Moore’s desk and crossed his arms.

“Why would you be in trouble, Eric?” Finch asked.

Eric licked his lips and let out a squeaky, nervous laugh. “Duh. I was on duty when the kid mummy was stolen.”