“She? Which she? Vivian, Belinda, Yolanda or Satima?” Harley asked. She propped herself up on an elbow to look down at him.
“Satima. I mean Satima,” he said. “As for Yolanda, I think she just wants to keep her nose clean. She hates it that something connected to the Department of Antiquities has negative baggage attached to it. I’d swear she just doesn’t want to get involved with the ugliness of it. Egan is working the diplomatic channel to get her to come and talk to us. As far as we can tell, she’s still in the States. She may not have anything for us, but I’d still love to talk to her myself.”
“McGrady could have turned her off American law enforcement forever and ever,” Harley said.
“Sad thing is, he might have been a decent cop. You don’t get to be a detective unless you come up through the ranks or know someone. He has no patience.”
“And no ability with people,” Harley put in.
Micah shrugged. “I want to talk to the missing girl, Satima, as well. And now we have a number for her that we didn’t have before—thanks to you knowing where to dig. So to speak.”
“Ah, yes...dig. The crime scene people would’ve found that phone. I don’t know why Arlo had it where he did—or why he thought he needed a special phone.”
“It’s a chip phone, good around the world. Maybe that was the intent,” Micah suggested. He sighed, bringing her closer. “I keep feeling we’re looking at a giant puzzle and we should be able to see what it is, what the whole picture represents. Except there’s one piece missing. If only we had that piece.”
“We will have that piece,” Harley said confidently. “You and Craig, the FBI, NYPD. You’ll find that piece. It’s like...”
Her voice trailed off.
“Like?”
“Well, you know my main role in the expedition was to find more clues as to what might have happened to Amenmose. He was murdered. He was buried hastily by someone who loved him. There are many suspects, of course. He was a threat to Ay, who was regent for Tut, and who did become pharaoh in his own right. He was also despised by Tut’s sister and brother-in-law. But nothing I’ve found in any of the ancient stories or records suggests that one of those people killed him. He had a family, and servants, so I guess the suspects are endless. I feel the same way about that as you do—as we both do—about our current case. Suspects everywhere, but it seems impossible to get the real motive pinned down. Or to determine the whereabouts of each suspect at the crucial times.”
“Process of elimination,” Micah said. “Joe Rosello. People did see him all day long.”
“Vivian Richter. She got out of the hospital late that morning.”
“I’d still like to find out if she was home the rest of the day!”
“But...”
“Something might occur to her,” Micah said.
“Everyone, including you, seems to believe that Arlo Hampton is guilty. That he poisoned himself trying to poison others.”
“Hey, I keep an open mind! You say the mummy who touched you on the street was someone different. I believe you.”
“We don’t know where Jensen Morrow was today. Or Belinda.”
“Or—at this moment—Vivian or Ned Richter. Or Roger Eastman. But we’ll know soon.”
“We will?”
He smiled at her. “Of course. Craig and I are just cogs in a giant machine, a machine that doesn’t stop. Anyway, I agree with you. Something still isn’t right. First thing I want is a conversation with Satima Mahmoud. Then Ned and Vivian Richter. Then...”
“It’s about motive,” Harley said.
“Motive,” he repeated.
He was done talking.
He pulled her back into his arms.
And she lost herself in the feel of him against her.
Chapter Eight
Micah woke to the sound of his phone ringing—somewhere.
He remembered that he’d shed his clothing downstairs.
He leaped out of bed and hurried down the winding wrought iron staircase, glancing at the picture windows that looked out over the night, the city and Grace Church.
He sped across the room, thinking they had to remember to buy drapes—major drapes—before night fell again. Of course, that was being presumptuous, but...
He couldn’t force his thoughts in any other direction.
His phone. He dived for his jacket and caught it on the eighth ring.
“Fox.”
“Fox!” It was Richard Egan. “We have Yolanda Akeem down here. She’s going to be returning to Egypt later this morning. She’s with a friend of mine from the State Department. I suggest you get in quickly. I’ll inform Frasier, too.”
“Yes, sir!”
Micah turned off the phone and ran around finding the rest of his clothing. He tore up the stairs.
Harley was sleepily beginning to rise.
“What is it?” she asked anxiously. “It’s not even seven,” she murmured. “I guess that’s not so early.”
“I have to go. Now. They’ve got Yolanda down at the FBI office. She’s leaving for Egypt, and she’s with someone from the State Department.”
“Go!”
He ran for the shower. She didn’t follow him.
They both knew why that wouldn’t be a good idea.
In a few minutes he was dressed and heading for the stairs. Harley had slipped into a robe to accompany him down. “We should’ve set coffee to brew last night,” she murmured, opening the door so he could leave.
He paused to kiss her quickly on the lips.
“We weren’t thinking about coffee. Personally, I’d forgo the coffee for what we did last night. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything. You’re not working today, are you?”
“No, nothing for Fillmore,” Harley said. “Maybe I’ll hang around and read for a while.”
“Sounds good. Talk soon,” he promised.
Then he was out the door. The office wasn’t far, and once there, he could leave the car with a young agent in the street. No more than thirty minutes had passed since he’d answered his phone to Egan, but he couldn’t help being a little afraid Yolanda might already have left.
She was returning home; this was his chance.
To his great relief, she was there. He learned from the receptionist that Egan was with her in the conference room. He hurried there—just in time to fall in step with Craig Frasier, who’d arrived, as well.
“Think she has anything?” Craig asked hopefully.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Micah shrugged. “But anything she does have might be worthwhile.”
“Too true, when we keep stumbling in the dark. Literally. In the basement and below at the museum.”
“Someone knows the museum—and knows it well.”
They’d reached the conference room. When they entered, Egan and the handsomely dressed man who had accompanied Yolanda Akeem rose to meet them. Yolanda started to rise; they quickly urged her to remain seated.
“Gentlemen, Ms. Yolanda Akeem and Mr. Tom Duffy from the State Department,” Egan said. “Special Agents Craig Frasier and Micah Fox.”
Everyone sat then.
“Thank you for being here,” Micah told Yolanda. “We know you don’t have to speak with us. We’re grateful that you’re willing to do so.”
Yolanda Akeem was an attractive woman, probably approaching fifty. Her eyes and skin were dark, a testament to a rich and diverse background. Her appearance was dignified, almost regal.
She nodded. “I would have spoken earlier, if I’d thought I had something of value to say,” she said. She wrinkled her nose. “I spoke with that silly policeman when Vivian Richter was attacked. He wanted to know if I believed that mummies could come to life—if I thought that curses were real! They are real, of cou
rse, when we are cursed with foolish people!”
“We weren’t in charge of the investigation then, Ms. Akeem,” Egan said.
“Yes, I know. And I spoke with Special Agent Fox before, when we were both reeling from the loss of a dear friend.” Yolanda Akeem looked over at Micah and smiled sadly. “So, so sad. So much trouble. Such a terrible time.”
“Yes, a terrible time,” Micah agreed.
Yolanda waved a hand in the air. “Everyone running and rushing—and Henry barely cold. And then, of course—the insurrection! Children mewling that they are not privileged enough. A mountain out of a molehill. But...safety first, always. Yes, it’s a tough world and there are very real terrors and threats. But in this case...”
“Yes.”
“My friend, Special Agent Fox, believes that something about this entire situation, and about the tentative conclusions we’ve managed to reach, isn’t right,” Craig said. “Frankly, we may be looking too hard at the wrong suspects.”
Yolanda Akeem hesitated. “I wish I could say, ‘No, you’re wrong.’ But, you see, there’s a bad taste in my mouth, although I don’t understand why. The expedition was going well, or at least I thought so. Henry had worked in my country many times before. We loved him. And his students...they were charming. I was happy to work with them, too. The people from Alchemy...well, I overheard them having arguments with each other over money now and then. How much was being spent, where they needed to save. Of course, it was funny because Mr. Richter was the on-site CEO for the company and he was watching pennies, while his wife... She’s a true dreamer and scientist, I believe. Money meant nothing to her.” She grinned. “Henry ignored them all. Arlo Hampton tried to remind everyone that he was the main Egyptologist for Alchemy. Still, despite the little spats, it all seemed to be going well enough. But then... Henry died.”
“You were at the camp that night?”
“I was. Belinda was going to go into town with Harley and Jensen, but she’s engaged, you know. They will marry soon, I hope. Video chatting with her fiancé was a highlight for both of them. Belinda used my equipment for her chats. I was doing paperwork, and she was with me.”
Micah glanced at Craig. It seemed that they could definitely scratch Belinda off any list that had to do with Henry’s death.
“But you saw Henry.”
“I saw Henry. Just for a few minutes early in the evening. I also saw our young interpreter, Satima Mahmoud, with Mr. Rosello. Joe, yes, Joe Rosello.”
Micah nodded. Joe was already off their list. He’d been on the zombie walk—and he’d been costumed as a zombie, not a mummy.
He couldn’t believe he was even thinking that way!
Yolanda suddenly frowned. “Perhaps trouble was in the air. I heard Satima arguing with Joe. They didn’t usually argue. They were beautiful people, you know? Both of them. But that night Satima was tired. She just wanted to go home. Joe kept saying that he wanted to finish the work. She said the work wouldn’t go away, and she had family she had to see. So it was...a hot, troubled evening. Yes, hot in the desert, of course. But the Richter husband and wife were arguing, and Satima and Joe were arguing. Henry was busy with his new treasures. Arlo wanted a bigger role, and I think he saw Henry as a means to that end, but he knew he had to leave him at some time. He was testy... That evening I wanted nothing more to do with any of them. Satima was...almost nasty to me! If I’d hired her, I would have fired her right then and there. I speak many languages. My father was Egyptian, but my mother was Mexican and French. I can interpret nicely. I wish I’d been the one doing that job.”
She looked at them all and released a long breath.
“I will admit that I wasn’t crazy about Vivian Richter, but I’m sorry she was hurt. Arlo... I’m sorry he was hurt, too. After Henry’s death, he got his own way with Alchemy and the exhibit, but he did not seem like a bad person. Did he do all this? Why? For position? For glory? They say that he is going to die, most likely. He was not found as quickly as Vivian.”
“We don’t know if he was guilty,” Egan said. “Or if he was a victim.”
Yolanda shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know nothing more. And I did not mean to be...unhelpful. You may feel free to call me with more questions if you wish. I am returning to Cairo, but I will be accessible to you, if I can be of any more help.”
Everyone rose, bidding one another goodbye.
Then the man from the State Department and the Egyptian liaison were gone. Egan, Craig and Micah were left to look at one another.
“This is the first I’ve heard of everyone fighting,” Micah said. “Even when I was in Cairo, it didn’t come up. Of course, everything was chaos then.”
“That could explain,” Craig began, “why Ned Richter wasn’t sitting at his wife’s side the entire time she was in the hospital. If they’d been fighting, I mean.”
“And maybe he wasn’t with her yesterday,” Egan said. “Check into it. And also, we’ve got people hot on the trail of the interpreter, Satima Mahmoud. Let’s hope they’ll be able to find her. They work hard at keeping up good communications with the police, here and abroad.”
“What about Arlo Hampton?” Micah asked. “Anything? He made it through the night?”
“He’s alive, yes, hanging on. Unconscious,” Egan said. “Doctors... Well, I’m used to speaking with medical examiners. Seems I understand them a lot better than the guys who treat the living. Anyway, Arlo Hampton’s still alive but they’re not sure about neurological impact.”
“The guy could end up a vegetable,” Craig said.
“He could pull through all the way. They had to put him in a medically induced coma. When they bring him out of that, we might learn something. Anyway, he’s alive, but he’s sure as hell not going to be working soon,” Egan said.
“Let’s trust that he makes it,” Micah said quietly.
“I guess maybe we should try speaking with Ned Richter and Joe Rosello again,” Craig said.
“Rosello came out squeaky clean,” Egan reminded them.
“Yes, but I don’t think our missing interpreter is so squeaky clean,” Micah said.
“You really think this Egyptian woman—who isn’t even in this country—is involved?” Egan asked, puzzled.
“Yes. But I haven’t figured out how. She can’t be found. I’m hoping that doesn’t mean she’s dead,” Micah said.
“Joe wasn’t playing a mummy yesterday. We know that. But I agree with Micah,” Craig said. “It’ll be interesting as hell to find out what was going on between him and Satima Mahmoud.”
* * *
“I’M SO SORRY. You sound terribly depressed,” Harley told Jensen.
He’d called early, right around eight. Of course, by eight, half of New York was already bustling, but with no real plans, Harley had actually thought she’d be able to sleep in.
And simply enjoy the fact that she lay in sheets where they’d been together, where Micah’s scent still lingered.
But she was glad to hear from Jensen; he was still trying to function, despite all else.
“Well, of course, I’m depressed,” Jensen Morrow said over the phone. “Cops all over the place. It’s necessary, I guess. Vivian came around fast—got better, survived!—but I understand Arlo’s in bad shape. On the other hand, if Arlo did kill Henry and tried to kill Viv, he deserves whatever’s happening to him.”
“I don’t think he did it, Jensen. He didn’t commit any crimes yesterday, at any rate. I saw the mummy in the street, or a mummy in the street, and—”
She broke off. She suddenly knew what had been different about the mummy in the street and the pictures of Arlo Hampton as a mummy, passed out, almost dead, on the museum floor.
She wasn’t sure it would be wise to share that information with anyone other than Micah, Craig and the police.
Jensen d
idn’t seem to notice that she’d abruptly stopped speaking. “I’m here at work,” he continued. “Let’s see, Ned Richter is due in, and—you’re not going to believe this!—Vivian Richter is coming with him. She’s barely out of the hospital. She may be a bitch on wheels, but she’s a trouper, I’ll give her that. The woman loves her Egyptology! Needless to say, Arlo won’t be here. And it’s lonely without him. None of our buds are around. Belinda and Roger are busy with their own work. Talked to Joe—he left town this morning. He’s scared. He thinks the mummy in the crowd was after him. And that might be true. Who knows? But if the mummy was Arlo, then none of us has anything to worry about. Right?”
The mummy in the street had not been Arlo Hampton. Arlo was tall. The mummy hadn’t been very tall.
“Jensen, I don’t think Arlo was guilty of anything.”
“Some criminologist you are! You want to believe the best about everyone,” Jensen muttered. “Are you going to come in and keep me company and help me ward off mummies?” he asked.
“I—I was going to spend some time with Craig’s girlfriend.”
“The lovely Kieran. So the two of you are going to dig deep into all our minds and figure out which one of us is the sicko? Whoever it is has to be crazy as a bat. I can see the defense in court. ‘The bacteria made me do it!’”
Harley couldn’t help smiling. “Defense attorneys. It’s their job. But, yes, bacteria. It can affect the mind.”
“Should I leave town?” Jensen asked her seriously. “Man, I love this place. I know I can come off as a jerk sometimes, but I love this city and this museum. I loved the expedition, too—until Henry was killed. But I can’t let all our work fall apart, Harley. It meant too much to Henry. And it’s too important for future generations.”
“You’re right,” Harley agreed. “The cops—”
“Are idiots. Whoops, sorry. Maybe the Feds are better.”
“Killers make mistakes—and they get caught,” Harley said.
“And sometimes they don’t.”
“This time, they will.”
“You haven’t seen the half of it. The stuff here, Harley, it’s ironic that it all started with a murder, isn’t it? Amenmose, I mean. Maybe you can figure out who killed the guy. That was the major thing for you on our expedition, right?”