Ned Richter had been a CEO with a pharmaceutical company for nine years before joining Alchemy, where he’d been in charge of “Exploration” for over a decade.
His work record was spotless. He’d graduated from Harvard.
He’d married Vivian Clifford, a graduate of Cornell, a decade ago. When not working, the couple loved to vacation in historic places, including Peru, Mexico, Egypt and Greece. The couple had no children, but seemed devoted to each other.
Arlo Hampton had no criminal record, not even a parking ticket. He’d received his doctorate in Egyptology from Brown. He’d been with Alchemy for nearly eight years and had been hired by Ned Richter.
She looked up Jensen next. He’d gone to NYU. He was a New Yorker through and through.
He had a ton of parking tickets.
Nothing else on him.
Roger Eastman had been arrested once; he’d been protesting commercial testing on animals.
He’d received probation.
Belinda had no parking tickets—she didn’t drive. She’d never been arrested. She’d been valedictorian of her high school class and had gone to Northwestern before arriving in New York for graduate work.
Joe—Joseph Rosello—had also been born in New York City, in the Bronx. He’d gone to Ithaca, in Syracuse, and then finished at Brown. However, she found something she hadn’t known or even suspected. He’d paid his way through college by working as an extra in movies and doing a stand-up comedy gig at a place in Times Square.
According to his social media pages, he still enjoyed dressing up and playing parts.
She should have known this. And, of course, she would have—if she’d just spent more time on social media. So...he played roles.
Would that include the part of a mummy?
* * *
HARLEY WASN’T EVEN sure what she was doing at first when she reached for the phone; then she knew. She called Kieran and asked for Kevin’s number, since Kevin was a working New York actor.
Naturally, Kieran wanted to know what was up. Harley told her.
“Kevin’s performing at some kind of zombie walk today in Times Square. What’s your guy’s name? I can see if he’s taking part,” Kieran said.
But Harley didn’t need Kieran to check it out for her; she’d keyed in some more information and had come up with Joe’s status for the day.
“Yes!” she exclaimed. “They’re both taking part in the zombie walk. The walk’s for charity, and Joe’s one of the performers doing pictures with people. Hey, do you feel like heading down to be in a zombie walk?”
“Sure,” Kieran said. “I’ll be a good sister. What the heck, we can support a charity and investigate what’s going on. Sounds like a plan to me.”
They agreed to meet at a restaurant off Times Square—quieter and not as much of a tourist attraction—and get lunch before joining the zombie walk.
And watching the players.
A waste of time? Harley wondered.
A lot of investigative work was a waste of time; that was part of the process of elimination, as Micah had described it. But Kieran was right. If nothing else, their entry fees would go toward charity.
* * *
MICAH HAD NO intention of denying anything; he really cared about Harley—and Harley certainly behaved as if she cared about him. Was it forever and ever? How could they tell? Did he want to see her again?
Touch her again, breathe in her scent, be with her again and feel her, naked, against him?
Well, yes. That was a definite yes.
But he’d never been in precisely this situation before.
Was Craig supposed to ask him about his intentions? Or maybe he was supposed to give Micah a good left hook to the jaw.
“You’re sleeping with her, right?” Craig asked.
“Define sleeping,” Micah said. “I only knew her as your cousin and a voice on the phone until two days ago. Last night, yes. We were together.” He hesitated and then admitted. “I actually tried to leave. Probably not hard enough.”
Craig lowered his head, obviously amused.
“Just keep her safe,” he said.
And then, before either one of them could say any more, the phone in the conference room rang.
Craig picked it up and frowned as he listened to what was being said. He hung up slowly, rising as he did. “Come on, Egan’s office. He’s got a video call up with one of our agents in Cairo.”
“Already? They have Satima Mahmoud?” Micah asked.
“No, but they have some kind of information,” Craig replied.
They strode rapidly down the hall. Egan’s secretary waved them in and they entered his office. He was speaking with someone via his computer; they both walked around behind his desk.
Micah had met the agent on the screen. His name was Sanford Wiley, and Micah quickly greeted him. Egan introduced him to Craig.
“So, we got your inquiry just now and I happened to be in the office,” Wiley said. “I don’t know whether it means anything or not, but I wanted to get back to you right away with what I have. The local police are looking for Satima Mahmoud. Now, they’re not always entirely forthright with us, but from what I’ve been able to gather, she’s suspected of having something to do with agitating trouble—and insurrection. She was under suspicion by the Egyptian police, who are now helping our people with the investigation, we believe, as well. They’ve been searching for her for several days. We’ll start our own line of investigation, since she’s a witness or person of interest to you all. Fox, I know you had some interaction with her. Do you suspect her of being involved in Henry Tomlinson’s death?”
“When I saw her, she informed me that the others had left. She had just gotten to Cairo herself when I was trying to head out to the expedition site,” Micah told him. “I’m very interested in what she may know. Or more specifically, what she knows that she didn’t share at the time. She was the one who first sounded the alarm about the uprising. Everything was pure chaos when I was there, which I’m sure you remember, Wiley. But, yes, if you find her, I’d very much like to speak with her.”
“We’re on it from this end—with the Egyptian police, of course.”
“Of course.”
“We get the impression that they’re perplexed about the situation. She’s disappeared.”
“Thanks for letting us know,” Micah told him.
There were a few more exchanges, and then they ended the video call.
Egan looked thoughtfully at Micah. “To be honest,” he said, “I’m not sure what you can learn from this woman—or what you could prove—this late in the game. Crews are still going through whatever evidence they could find at the museum after Vivian was attacked, but...”
“I know, sir,” Micah said. “But it’s only been a matter of days. And I’m pretty convinced that Vivian Richter’s attack relates back to Henry’s death. And if not, well, we still need to know who the hell would attempt to murder a woman with nicotine-soaked linen wrappings.”
“Yes, and we will find the truth,” Egan said with conviction. “I’ll inform you of anything we learn through our people here and in Egypt, and through any chatter they pick up.” He hesitated. “If they can’t find this woman...”
“There’s always the possibility that she’s dead,” Craig finished.
“Why kill an interpreter?” Egan mused.
“There’s also the possibility that she’s alive—and more of a player than we’d imagined,” Micah said. “Or that very fact could account for her death. If that’s what happened.”
“When you talked to her, did you get the feeling that she was involved in any way?” Craig asked.
“She seemed harried, frightened and glad to be back in Cairo. But I was still trying to catch up with the Americans involved. Now I realize
I should have given her more attention then. The entire situation was terrifying, so of course it seemed reasonable that she’d be upset. And I still don’t see her with a motive of any kind to strangle Henry.”
“You never know,” Egan told him.
“Except we do know that she’s definitely not in the States,” Craig said. He suddenly began to feel his pocket, which was apparently vibrating. “Phone,” he muttered. “Excuse me, two seconds. This may be important.” He answered the call, taking a step back from Micah and Egan.
“She’s not in this country that we know of, anyway,” Micah said to Egan. He hesitated, speaking carefully. “I still don’t think she killed Henry.”
“But you think she might know who did?”
“I think she knows something,” Micah said. “She’s Joe Rosello’s alibi for the time Jensen Morrow and Harley Frasier were away from the camp. What if she lied because he either cajoled her or bribed her?”
Egan nodded. “That’s a possibility.”
“You’re talking about Joe Rosello?” Craig asked, putting away his phone.
“Yes,” Micah said.
“That was Kieran. She’s going to Times Square with Harley. And it’s about Joe Rosello. The man’s an actor, and he’s in a zombie walk today. Not sure I actually get it, but Kieran knew about it because of her twin, Kevin. He’s one of the performers hired on as an improvisational actor and guide for the walk.”
“Sounds like a good time for us to get to Times Square and see just what he’s up to,” Micah said.
“Zombie walk?” Egan asked, shaking his head.
“They’re all over the country now,” Micah told him. “The power of television and mass media today. The popularity of certain television programs can create some strange circumstances.”
“There’s a show on TV about mummies?”
“Mummies, zombies, walking dead. Close enough, I think. Let’s head on out,” Micah said to Craig. “With your blessing, sir, of course,” he added, addressing Egan.
“Go, sir, with righteousness!” Egan said. “And get the whacked-out son of a bitch, will you? Speaking of media—they’re having a heyday with this. Mummies! As if we didn’t have enough of the plain old walking, living, flesh-and-blood kind of criminals!”
* * *
A MAJORITY OF the “zombies” there for the walk and to support the charity were dressed up.
They wore zombie makeup, tattered clothing and many looked as if they’d rolled in the dirt.
Luckily, not all the participants were dressed up, and since it was a charity walk, whatever one chose to wear was fine. Joining the walk cost ten dollars. The fee included a comedy “zombie” performance at the end, with the bleachers reserved for those who’d paid. Anyone could see the show, but since the entry fee went to charity—three of the major children’s hospitals—virtually no one was going to mind paying.
“This would’ve been fun no matter what,” Kieran told Harley, surveying the crowd. “A lot of the costumes on the walkers are really cool. Oh, there, at the sign-up tables. There’s Kevin.”
Kieran started walking ahead; Harley quickly followed.
Kevin Finnegan was an exceptionally good-looking man, tall, with great bone structure, a toned body and broad shoulders. He and Kieran were clearly related, but of course, they weren’t just siblings—they were twins. Like Kieran, he had deep auburn hair and his eyes were a true blue.
Harley waited while Kieran greeted her brother with a hug and a kiss; she then greeted him, as well.
“I’m so glad you came out. I know how you feel about crowds in Times Square,” Kevin told his sister.
“It’s...well...” Kieran began.
“Ah. I’m being used,” Kevin said, but his smile was affectionate. “What do you need? How can I help?”
“We signed up legitimately, don’t you fear,” Kieran said. “But do you know a Joe Rosello?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“No? Oh, I guess you don’t know everyone working here today,” Harley said.
“Actually, I do.”
“Oh! Well, supposedly, Joe’s working.”
“Maybe he works under a different name. SAG rules mean you can’t use a name if someone else has it already. Or even if he’s not SAG, he might be using a stage name,” Kevin said.
“That’s him! That’s him right there!” Harley exclaimed.
“Oh, so that’s your guy. His name is Robbie. At least when he’s here it is. Nice guy, or so it seems.”
Joe—or Robbie Rosello, as he was calling himself for the day—was standing over by one of the tables. As Kevin had been doing, he was posing with people who wanted their pictures taken with a zombie.
He was dressed in tatters. Not like a mummy, just in tatters. His skin was painted white and he had very effective makeup that darkened his eyes and made his cheeks sink in.
As Joe so often did, he was flirting.
“Yep, that’s him!” Harley said again.
The girls with whom he’d been posing moved on, and Harley ran over to him. He turned to look at her and his eyes widened with surprise, alarm—and wariness.
“Harley!” he said. “Um, what are you doing here? You’re a zombie fan?” He sounded skeptical.
“It’s a good cause, right? You know, I was shocked to find out that you’re an actor.”
“Oh, well...” He smiled at her awkwardly. “I’m not really an actor, more of an ‘I love the movies’ kind of guy who likes to get work as an extra. I don’t hide it, but I guess I don’t talk about it at work. There are people who don’t think you can be a serious academic if you...if you do things like take part in a zombie walk.”
“That’s silly.”
“Yeah? Well, we both know the world can be full of silliness, some of it malicious.”
She nodded. “I guess, but if this is something you love, you shouldn’t have to be afraid that others won’t approve.”
He frowned. “I agree.”
“I guess we have to work on convincing the rest of the world.”
“The academic world, anyway. How did you even find out about this?”
“You remember Craig Frasier, my cousin? He’s dating Kieran Finnegan. And her brother, Kevin, is an actor—”
“Kevin is a serious actor. He actually makes a living at it,” Joe said. He grimaced. “I don’t think I’d be able to do that, so I have to be a serious academic instead.”
“By the way, you look great,” she told him.
“Thank you.”
“Is the costume yours? Do you have many...costumes?”
“Oh, no. No,” he said firmly, apparently figuring out just where she was going with her question and why she was really there, “No! Emphatically no. I’ve never dressed up like a mummy.” He hesitated. “I swear, I’d never have hurt Henry, and I did nothing to Vivian Richter. I swear!”
“Hey, Robbie! Zombie dance thing starting up,” someone called.
“Excuse me, gotta go. Don’t worry. I’ll have thousands of witnesses for my every move today,” he assured Harley.
“Have fun!” she said.
He gave her a thumbs-up and joined a number of other actors, Kevin Finnegan among them. Someone struck a chord on a guitar, and the group went into a shuffle dance, akin to the one in the music video for Michael Jackson’s old “Thriller.”
The song was very clever, and the words had to do with giving generously to fight disease.
And when it was over, Kevin—the head zombie, apparently—stepped out from the group and announced they’d be walking down Broadway. Volunteers with water were positioned along the route. The walk would end at the bleachers, where some of the entertainers would then be performing.
Harley turned and looked around until she finally saw K
ieran. Kieran saw her at the same time and hurried toward her as a sea of people—some in zombie rags and makeup, some not—came between them. They were almost carried along by the crowd. Kieran shrugged and waved at her from a distance, then laughed as they were both pushed along.
Harley tried to thread her way through the would-be zombies.
Kieran did the same.
Now and then, they’d come across another kind of creature, something from Disney or perhaps one of Jim Henson’s characters from his movies or television shows.
Harley ran into some comic characters she didn’t recognize. A man in a very large banana suit struggled to maneuver to the side.
He fell over.
She tried to reach him, but he was helped up by a group of grapes. Police were everywhere on the street and they also tried to help the banana; the grapes were just faster.
It was Times Square, after all.
And Times Square on an especially crazy day. It reminded her why she usually avoided the area. But a lot of the theaters were down here, too, and she did love going with Craig and Kieran to see plays when Kevin was in them—and even when he wasn’t!
But today...
“Hey there!” Kieran called. She was walking parallel with Harley, a few feet to the left.
“Hey!” Harley called back, grinning.
But then she saw the mummy.
On a day like this, it was difficult to discern the differences between costumes; many were tattered white, and appeared to have been made from linen strips.
But this...
This was a mummy.
It was a mummy that looked exactly the way Vivian Richter had looked when she’d staggered into the midst of the gala. It might’ve been created by the same costume artist! Or would-be costume artist...
The thing was behind her, lurching along. Harley scanned the crowd. The mummy seemed to be walking alone.
And walking in a casual manner that brought it closer and closer to Harley.
“Kieran!” she screamed.
At first, her friend turned to her with a broad smile. Then she saw the mummy. And she began to stride aggressively over to Harley—with the mummy between them.