Frank Zafiro: The Bastard Mummy

Detective Finch watched his partner, Detective Elias, walk into the Major Crimes bullpen at 0645 hours. Elias rubbed his bleary eyes and reached for his coffee cup.

“Don’t even bother,” Finch said, seated at his desk.

Elias paused in mid-reach. “Huh?”

Finch smiled humorlessly. “We’re catching. And you’re going to love this one.”

Elias grunted. He finished reaching for his cup, filling it halfway. “Run it for me.”

Finch didn’t reply, but held his plastic smile.

Elias took a giant sip of his coffee. He stared at Finch. “So?”

“You ever work a mummy case before?” Finch asked.

On the way to the museum, Elias shook his head in disbelief. “You’re serious? A real mummy? As in King Tut?”

Finch nodded, his lips pressed together tightly.

Elias shook his head again. “But we’re Major Crimes detectives.”

“I know.”

“We work homicides,” Elias said. “Robbery. Serious assault.”

“I know.”

“So tell me this, then. Why are we going out on this case? Was this mummy murdered way back when and we’re supposed to solve the case?”

“That’d definitely be a cold case,” Finch observed dryly. He turned onto Boone and headed toward Birch.

“I’m serious, Finchie. From what you said, this is a theft case. Maybe a burglary at best. I thought those cases got worked in the GD.”

Finch shrugged. Elias was right. Most property crimes were worked by the general detectives. It took a special reason for Major Crimes detectives to get assigned to a property crime. And Finch had a pretty good idea what that special reason might be.

Elias pushed his lower lip out and retracted it thoughtfully. “How much you figure one of those mummies is worth, anyway?”

“Good question. Millions?”

“Gotta be that,” Elias said. “Or maybe it’s the international angle. Something political, though. Gotta be.”

“Probably.”

“Mummies are from Egypt, right?”

“Mostly,” Finch said. “But they’ve been discovered in other places, too. Peru, for instance.”

Elias shot him a glance. “That was kind of a rhetorical question, partner.”

Finch shrugged. He took a left onto Birch and headed for the bridge.

“And when did you get to be such a professor, anyway?” Elias asked him.

“I watch the History Channel once in a while.”

Elias snorted. “Whatever. You probably jumped on the internet as soon as the lieutenant made the assignment.”

“Channel forty-seven,” Finch said.

“What?”

“The History Channel. It’s channel forty-seven.”

“Oh, leave it alone already. What did Lieutenant Crawford say?”

Finch crossed the Birch Street Bridge. The Looking Glass River sparkled below, the morning sun winking off the wide swath of water that cut through the valley. He allowed himself a quick glance to take in the scene before answering.

“He didn’t say much. He handed me the slip of paper with the address and said that it involved a mummy.”

“That’s it?”

Finch half-nodded, half-shrugged. “He said we’d get the rest at the museum from the director. And not to screw it up.”

Elias frowned. “He’s only saying that last part because of the two-fer.”

“I know.” Finch rubbed his temple absently. Right after Christmas, they’d arrested a heavyset woman who’d clocked both of them in the head, leaving visible bruises. “And we didn’t screw that up. That case cleared.”

“Not how he likes it.”

The two men remained silent the rest of the way to the museum.

Located in Browne’s Addition, River City’s once-proud residential district that was now home to subdivided homes and newly erected apartment buildings, the Richard Ardis Museum was a sprawling complex of buildings splashed across three acres. Finch pulled up in front of the main building and parked.

“Who are we supposed to meet?” Elias asked.

Before Finch could answer, a tall man dressed in a blue suit exited the front door and strode purposefully toward the car.

“Him, I figure,” Finch said.

“Is this how it’s going to be all day?” Elias asked. “You pointing out the obvious?”

“I wouldn’t want you to miss something.”

Elias tapped the butt of his service pistol. “Oh, I won’t miss.”

“You sure do get surly when you don’t get your full cup of coffee in the morning.”

Both men exited the car. The man in the blue suit approached Finch. The museum’s crest was embroidered above the jacket pocket and he carried a small yellow Nextel phone in his right hand.

“Tony Moore,” he said, shifting the phone to his left hand and sticking out his right. “Head of security.”

Finch shook his hand. “Detective Finch. That’s Elias.”

Elias nodded his hello.

“What’s the situation here?” Finch asked.

Tony shifted uncomfortably, a hint of red coloring his cheeks. “I…uh, better let Director Leavitt fill you in on that.”

“We’d like it if you did,” Finch said, “seeing how you’re head of security.”

Moore eyed them both carefully, then shook his head. “Director Leavitt was clear,” he said. “He wants to brief you on the bastard. So if you’ll follow me, please.” He turned and headed toward the door.

Finch’s eyes narrowed in surprise at the profanity, but he shrugged it off and headed after the security head. Elias fell into step beside him.

Moore led them through the front door and into the main entrance. While he pulled the door shut and locked it, Finch glanced around. A large sign on an easel declared:

One month only-Ancient Egypt on display!

Pedubastis I revealed!

Moore turned and walked past it without pause, but Finch spent a moment studying it.

Elias stopped. “See something about that guy on the History Channel?” he whispered.

Finch shook his head.

“How about the internet?”

“I didn’t use the-” Finch started to say, then stopped. Elias was already three steps away, following Moore down the hall.

Finch suppressed a smile and followed. The tapping of the three sets of footsteps echoed throughout the seemingly empty museum.

Moore led them to an elevator, down two floors to the basement and then through another short hallway. He stopped at a thick wooden door marked with the nameplate “Edward Leavitt, Director” and rapped on it.

“Come!” came the immediate reply from within.

Moore opened the door and stood aside for the detectives, who entered. Leavitt sat behind a huge desk. Several ornaments adorned the desktop, along with an empty in-basket. A single gold pen lay in front of the man, pointing directly at the door. Leavitt himself was a compact man who looked, to Finch’s eye, about fifteen pounds overweight. Probably forty-five years old. Thinning hair, combed meticulously. Glasses that had once been stylish rested on his narrow nose.

The man reminded Finch of Lieutenant Crawford, despite being a physical opposite of the lieutenant. Maybe it was the air of superiority he detected before Leavitt even spoke.

“Are you the detectives they sent to find our artifact?”

“Yes, sir,” Finch answered.

“And there are only two of you?”

“You only lost one mummy, right?” Elias asked.

Leavitt shot him a look that clearly stated humor had no place in his office. Then he brought his gaze back to Finch. “Will they be sending more? And a forensics team?”

Finch changed his mind. Leavitt reminded him more of Lieutenant Hart, the weasel in charge of Internal Affairs. “We have the resources of the entire department at our disposal,” he told Leavitt, struggling to be diplomatic. “But we need to get a feel for what happened first.”