
The Bastard Mummy

A River City Novella

by Frank Zafiro
The Bastard Mummy: A River City Novella

Frank Zafiro

(C) 2010 by Frank Scalise

The Bastard Mummy is an excerpt from the short story collection Dead Even, which contains more Finch and Elias short stories, and other River City stories featuring Detective Katie MacLeod, Officer Paul Hiero, and mobster Dominic Bracco.

# Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

The Bastard Mummy

About the Author

Other Books by Frank Zafiro | River City Series (Crime Novels) | From Gray Dog Press

Writing As Frank Scalise

# The Bastard Mummy

--------

Detective Finch watched his partner, Elias, walk into the Major Crimes bullpen at zero-six-forty-five 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 the 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 G.D."

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 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?"

"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 and sticking out his hand. "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. 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 for 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."

Leavitt considered his answer, then gave a curt nod. He motioned for Moore to close the office door. "And wait outside," he instructed.

Finch noticed the color rise in Moore's cheeks, but the security head complied without a word.

"Are you in charge of this investigation?" Leavitt asked Finch.

Finch glanced around the office for a chair and found none. "Uh, we're partners," he told Leavitt. "Major Crimes."

"Well, this certainly qualifies as one," Leavitt replied.

A tickle of frustration appeared in Finch's gut, but he ignored it. "Why don't you run down the events for us, Mr. Leavitt? That'd be a big help."

Leavitt furrowed his brow. "You weren't briefed?"

"Not fully. We like to get witness statements again, anyway."

"I'm not really a witness."

"Complainant, then."

"Fine." Leavitt pursed his lips. "What do you want to know?"

"This mummy," Elias interrupted. "What's his name, Pedobonik, Pedophilus--"

"Pedubastis," Leavitt said with a glare. "The First. And I don't appreciate your levity, detective."

"I'm not good with foreign names," Elias said. "And I don't watch the History Channel like some people."

"Do you read?" Leavitt asked acidly.

Elias opened his mouth to reply, but Finch interrupted. "Was Pedubastis stolen, Mr. Leavitt?"

Leavitt glared at Elias a moment longer, then turned to Finch. "No."

"No?" Finch asked. He and Elias exchanged a surprised glance. "We thought--"

"Pedubastis the First is still on display, perfectly safe. His bastard was stolen."

Finch and Elias exchanged another look. "His...bastard?" Finch asked.

"Yes," Leavitt snapped. "A child mummy. The bastard son of Pedubastis the First."

"We're looking for a baby mummy?" Elias asked, his voice incredulous.

"Not a baby," Leavitt said. "A child."

Elias blinked and said nothing.

"Dr. Ingram can fill you in on the specifics," Leavitt added.

"Dr. Ingram?" Finch asked.

"She's the Ancient Cultures department head."

Elias removed a notepad from his jacket pocket and jotted down a note.

"Can you tell us when this happened?" asked Finch.

"Sometime last night. Mr. Moore can supply you with more accurate times."

Finch and Elias exchanged a glance. "Uh, I was under the impression that you wanted to brief us on this case," Finch said.

Leavitt steepled his fingers and contemplated the two detectives with a superior air. "I will leave it to my employees to brief you on the relevant details of the case. Mr. Moore can fill you in on security matters and Dr. Ingram is more than capable of providing any facts about the exhibit you may need."

Finch stared at him, confused. "Then why--"

Leavitt interrupted. "I will, however, brief you about this situation. The situation is this: The Pedubastis exhibit is priceless. The stolen artifact alone is worth millions. The insurance company has been notified. The FBI has been notified. The Egyptian Consulate has been notified. Within hours, and certainly no more than a day, representatives from these respective agencies will descend upon this museum and they will all have a simple question: how is it that the police here in River City have allowed this to happen?"

Elias's eyes narrowed. "Hold on a minute--"

"I'm certain they'll be asking your Chief of Police that exact question," Leavitt continued. "It will be an international incident. So my suggestion to you, detectives, is to find the artifact before that happens."

Elias muttered something unintelligible, but Finch caught an 'r' sound and cleared his throat. "We'll do what we can, Mr. Leavitt."

Leavitt gave him an officious nod.

Finch and Elias turned to go.

Definitely a ringer for Lieutenant Hart, Finch decided.

***

Outside in the hallway, Moore looked sheepish as he led them to his own small office.

"That was worthless," Elias muttered along the way.

Finch agreed with a grunt. "Mr. Moore, can you give us the details of this case?"

"It's a situation," Elias reminded him.

"Whatever. Mr. Moore?"

"Sure." Moore slid a pair of plastic chairs from the wall to a position in front of his well-worn metal desk. It looked like an older, battered version of the desks in the Major Crimes unit. "You guys want to sit down?"

The detectives sat.

"The details," Finch said.

"Please," Elias added.

Moore settled into his own chair with a sigh. He ran his hand through his hair. "This is terrible."

The detectives sat quietly and waited.

Moore sighed again and reached for a notebook. He flipped it open and cleared his throat. "Uh, the museum closes at eight, but we really don't end up locking the doors until closer to eight-thirty. Eight o'clock is when we flash the lights and ask people to move toward the exits. It usually takes about a half hour."

"Any problems with that last night?" Elias asked.

"No. In fact, everyone was out by about twenty after. I did a final sweep of the premises and except for authorized employees, the place was empty."

"Which employees?"

"Me. Director Leavitt. And Michael, the night janitor."

"What about the department head?"

"Professor Ingram? No, she left around six that night, if I remember right."

"Do employees have to check in and out?"

"Not while the museum is open for business. But after hours, they're supposed to sign in." Moore glanced away quickly.

Elias caught the motion. "Supposed to? But they don't?"

Moore pressed his lips together. He gave a small shake of his head. "It's never been an issue before, so we've never really enforced it."

Elias waved his hand. "Okay. So at lock-up, it's just you, Leavitt and the janitor?"

"Yes. And I let Director Leavitt out myself."

"When?"

"About ten 'til nine."

"Leaving just you and the janitor."

Moore nodded. "Yeah. I waited at the main doors for Eric while Michael started cleaning."

"Who's Eric?"

"The night guy."

"Security?"

"Right. He patrols the inside of museum and mans the phones."

"When did you leave?"

Moore considered. "Probably about five after nine. Maybe a little later. Eric is usually running behind, so I have to wait."

"After you left, the only two people in the whole place would have been the night guy and the janitor?"

Moore nodded.

"How long does the janitor take?"

"He's done by eleven, except on Fridays. He does his weekly stuff on Friday night, so it takes a couple hours longer."

"But this was a Tuesday."

"Right."

"So he finished by eleven?"

"I guess so. Eric would know for sure."

"Where is Eric?"

"He's in the break room. I held him over. I figured you guys would want to talk to him."

Elias nodded. "Good. And the janitor?"

"I called him in, too."

"Excellent. Now, I assume the museum has alarms?"

"Yes."

"With coded key pads or something?"

"Exactly."

"Who has those codes?"

Moore listed names on his fingers, ending on his thumb. "Director Leavitt, Dr. Ingram, Me, Eric and Mike, the janitor."

"No one else?"

"No one."

"Everyone have their own code?"

Moore shook his head. "No. There's just two codes. A museum code and the contract code."

"Can you break down who knows which code for me?"

"Well, Mike uses the contract code since he technically works for the janitorial service. The rest of us use the museum code."

"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 oh-four-oh-three hours. The last tape on the shelf ended at twenty-three-fifty-eight 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 you'd 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 is 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 neuro-linguistics," 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.

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."

"Did you see anything?"

Eric looked away, shaking his head. "No." Then he glanced back at Finch. "They're going to fire me for this, aren't they?"

"I don't know. Should they?"

"Probably," Eric whispered.

"What are your duties here, Eric?"

Eric ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "I'm supposed to monitor the cameras from the security station. And do a perimeter check every two hours."

"How does that work with the alarm?"

"There's two different settings," Eric answered. "A system setting and a zone setting. While I'm in the security station, the whole place is on the system setting. If anyone enters through any door, it trips the alarm. When I go out to make rounds, I switch it to zone setting."

"What's the difference?"

Eric shrugged. "I don't know exactly. All I know is that when I switch it to zone, I can walk into each area and it gives me about a minute to get to the keypad. I enter the code and it shuts off that zone for five minutes or until I enter the code in another zone. Then it resets. That way, I can make my rounds without completely shutting down the security system."

"So theoretically, someone could time their entry to coincide with your rounds?"

"Huh?"

Finch repeated the question.

Eric gave him a quizzical look. "You mean come in through the door in a zone right after I walked past?"

"Yes."

"No."

"No?"

Eric shook his head. "The zone setting doesn't affect the doors like the system setting does. They're still alarmed. All it does is shut off the motion sensors inside the building."

"So someone breaking in would still set off the alarm?"

"Yeah. Unless they had the code."

Finch nodded while Elias made notes. "Is there video surveillance of the museum, Eric?"

Eric's face fell. His eyes dropped and his bony shoulders slumped. "Yeah," he whispered. "There's cameras on the doors and the exhibits."

"And they're taped?"

"Yeah. It switches from camera to camera every two seconds."

"So we can just pull the tape and see what happened?"

Eric's lip quivered. "No."

"Why not?"

"I...I screwed up." Tears sprang to his eyes. He brushed them away briskly, not making eye contact with either detective.

Finch leaned forward, closing body space. He sensed a confession coming. "What happened?" he asked. He kept his tone soft, not wanting to scare the kid into clamming up.

Eric swallowed. "I fell asleep."

Finch cocked his head, mildly surprised. "Fell asleep?"

Eric nodded glumly.

"When?"

"I don't know exactly. Sometime after eleven, I guess."

"Was Michael Booth still in the museum?"

"No. It was after he left." Eric buried his face in his hands and sobbed. "I'm overloaded on credits at school. I get a ton of reading and other homework, so I don't get much sleep."

Finch and Elias exchanged looks while Eric wept. Finch read the suspicion that still resided in his partner's eyes. He reached out and patted Eric on the shoulder. "When did you wake up?" he asked softly.

Eric pulled his face away from his hands, wiping away tears and sniffling. "At five-eleven."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I looked right at the clock and realized I'd screwed up. I knew the timing on the tapes would be off and if anyone checked the alarm logs, they'd see that I didn't do my rounds."

"Do they check often?"

"Never," Eric replied. "At least, not that I know of."

"Have you fallen asleep before?"

Eric's hesitation gave Finch the answer.

"How many times?" the detective asked.

Eric sighed. "A couple times. But never for this long. Just...cat-naps, really." He looked frantically from detective to detective. "I didn't mean to. Honestly, I didn't. I was just so tired and comfortable and I knew that the alarm would go off if--"

Finch held up his hand, stopping him. "I understand. What did you do once you woke up?"

"I figured I better go do my rounds, so I headed out."

"Did you see anything?"

"No. All the doors were secure. All the alarms were set."

"But the little mummy was missing?" Elias asked.

Eric shifted his gaze to Elias and nodded. "Yeah. When I saw he was gone, I called Dr. Leavitt right away."

"Why didn't you call Tony Moore?" Finch asked. "He's the head of security."

Eric eyed both of them, his face difficult to read. "That's not how it works here," was all he said. Then he asked Finch, "Am I going to jail?"

"Did you steal the mummy?" Elias asked, cutting in.

Alarm shot through Eric's eyes. "No!"

"Know who did?"

"No, sir!"

"Then I guess we'll see," Elias told him, clapping him on the shoulder. "In the meantime, don't leave town."

--------

After Eric closed the door behind him, Finch shook his head at Elias. "That was mean."

"And you're never mean?"

"Not if I can help it."

"What do you call sending Tower and Browning on a wild goose chase investigating that contractor when we worked the two-fer on Palmer Court?"

"That's between professionals," Finch argued. "This is different. You're making a college kid sweat. That's mean."

"Let him sweat. He fell asleep. Maybe he'll learn a lesson from it."

"Detective Elias, Teacher To The World," Finch said expansively.

"And what if he's lying?" Elias asked, ignoring Finch's sarcasm.

Finch considered for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't think he's lying."

"Neither do I," Elias admitted, "but we don't know for sure. And objectively speaking, he's our most likely suspect so far. He had the means and the opportunity."

"What about our ex-con? Or Moore?"

"I haven't decided yet." Elias rubbed his eyes while he spoke. "You call for Adam. Get him down here to do some computer work for us on that alarm system. I'll get Rene in Crime Analysis to run our principals through the computer for background. Then we'll meet the department head."

--------

Twenty minutes later, the two detectives sat in the museum foyer and exchanged notes.

"Adam should be here in half an hour," Finch said. "What did Rene tell you?"

Elias shrugged. "Not much. No one has a criminal record except for Booth. He did three years for possessing stolen property with a misdemeanor marijuana possession kicker."

"Which tells us what?"

"That he's a thief and a doper." Elias grinned. "Or that he was. He's rehabilitated now."

"Rene had nothing else?"

Elias shook his head. "Except for the addresses on all five, nada."

Finch frowned.

"What're you thinking, Finchie?"

"I don't know for sure yet," Finch said. "Too many unknowns. Let's go talk to the department head."

--------

Dr. Ruth Ingram surprised Finch twice.

The first surprise came when he first saw her. Instead of a matronly woman in black-rimmed glasses and a scowl, she turned out to be in her early thirties with dark hair in a long braid. Her trim, curvy figure filled out a pair of khakis and a white business casual blouse. The only expectation that remotely panned out was the eyeglasses--a stylish pair with a petite frame and thin gray rims.

Finch flashed his badge. Elias did the same.

Dr. Ingram was not impressed. "Have you found the relic yet?"

"Not yet," Finch admitted.

"I figured as much. The insurance company will send special investigators."

Elias raised an eyebrow. "Special ones, huh?"

Dr. Ingram eyed him coolly. "Artifact theft can be complex, detective."

"Burglary is burglary, theft is theft."

"Hardly." She adjusted her glasses. "Now what can I do for you? I assume you're here to question me."

"We're hoping you can help us with the case, yes," Finch said. "When was the last time you saw the mummy?"

"When I left last night."

"Which was?"

"Six o'clock or so."

"And where did you go?"

"I went straight home."

"Did you return to the museum?"

"Not until this morning. I assume by that question that you consider me a suspect?"

"Everyone is a suspect," Elias said with a tight grin.

"Preposterous," she snapped. "There was no forced entry into the museum, which means that whoever took Babafemi had the alarm code and a key. And since you haven't simply reviewed the video surveillance tapes, I gather that something went awry with that system, which doesn't surprise me at all."

Finch and Elias exchanged a glance.

"Why doesn't that surprise you?" Finch asked.

"Because this museum is run by absolute morons from top to bottom."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it is true." Her tone became matter of fact, with a tinge of iciness to it. "Director Leavitt couldn't manage a lemonade stand and yet he's in charge of the fourth largest museum in the state. Why? Because his uncle left an endowment when he died, contingent upon his imbecile nephew getting the position. All he's done since he took over is run the place into the ground. We have a third fewer visitors than last year. Our drawing power was never that good to begin with, not with Seattle and Portland being so nearby. Now, with our attendance down, we're in danger of being relegated to a strictly regional museum because we can't get any major exhibits."

"You got the mummy," Finch reminded her.

"And his bastard," added Elias.

"No thanks to Leavitt," Dr. Ingram said. "I was the one who made the pitch for River City to be part of the Pedubastis the First tour. It was my work, and frankly, my reputation that brought the exhibit here."

"You have a good reputation in the academic community?" Finch asked.

"Obviously."

"You ever been on the Discovery Channel?" Elias asked.

Ingram turned an eye toward Elias as if to determine if he were serious or not. Finch maintained a straight face, hoping his partner did the same. He wished Elias would stop with the comments, but he knew it wasn't likely.

"I was interviewed for a documentary once," she told Elias. "Though I'm not sure on which channel it aired. I don't generally watch television."

Elias nodded and scratched something on his notepad.

"I've never heard of a child mummy before," Finch said. "Can you tell me about this one?"

Ingram remained tight-lipped while she spoke. "It wasn't common. But Pedubastis the First had a consort that he cared for deeply. When she had a son by him, he named it Babafemi. It means 'loved by his father.'"

"Isn't that sort of a given?" Finch asked. "That a father would love his son?"

"Not always, detective. Particularly not in ancient times. And especially when the child is illegitimate."

"But the Pharaoh claimed him, right?"

Ingram gave a slow nod. "He acknowledged him, yes. And when he died, he left orders that the child be slain and mummified with him. He loved him that much."

"Loved?"

"Yes, loved."

"He loved his son so much that he had him murdered?"

Ingram smiled humorlessly. "To be mummified with the Pharaoh was a great honor, detective. It meant assurance of a place in the afterlife. And, frankly, the alternatives for the illegitimate son of a deceased Pharaoh were considerably less desirable."

Finch absorbed that for a moment. Then he said, "I'm curious, doctor. What will a theft like this do to this museum?"

"Financially, you mean?"

Finch shrugged. "Sure. And reputation-wise."

"Financially, it won't have a large impact. The exhibit is doubly insured. We'll likely need to increase our security measures to maintain our insurance, but that's probably all. Our reputation, however?" She shook her head grimly. "It will take several years to recover from a security lapse like this. And it will be a struggle to secure another exhibit of any consequence."

"Would the director be fired?"

She smiled coldly. "You've just struck upon the silver lining in this dark little cloud."

"That's a yes?"

"It certainly is. Leavitt's contract can be severed and he can be fired for gross negligence without endangering the endowment his uncle left."

"How do you know that?"

"I read the terms of the endowment," she said.

"Who would become director if Leavitt left?" Finch asked.

Dr. Ingram's smile broadened but did not grow any warmer. "Ah, and now we touch upon motive, don't we, detective? If Leavitt were removed, I imagine that I would be appointed as interim director while a search is conducted for a full-time replacement."

"Which could end up being you," Finch guessed.

Her smile sagged into a frown. "Possibly. If I wanted it. But I don't. I am quite content where I am. It allows me to do the work I was trained for and leaves me enough time to conduct additional research for publication."

"You said the museum was full of incompetents from top to bottom," Finch said. "Who else were you referring to?"

"I believe I said absolute morons," Dr. Ingram said. "And I meant everyone who isn't a scholar. The head of security is a nitwit, who wasn't even good enough to become a police officer. His night help is a juvenile college student who, when he isn't sleeping the night away, takes great pleasure in re-arranging the displays into suggestive positions. And the janitor is a convicted felon. Does that about summarize things?"

Finch took a moment to take in what she said. "Moore applied to be a cop somewhere?"

Dr. Ingram looked at him with contempt. "He applied to your agency and was turned down, detective. Haven't you done any research on your suspect pool yet?"

"It's in the works," Finch said, ignoring her tone as Elias bristled beside him. "One last question, doctor. Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts last night?"

"Just Diana," Dr. Ingram said. "My partner."

There was a momentary silence.

Finch cleared his throat. "Uh, partner as in...?"

Dr. Ingram smiled genuinely for the first time. "As in life partner, detective." She turned her gaze to Elias. "As in lover. Or girlfriend, if you prefer."

--------

In the hallway, Elias needled Finch. "Judging from the way your mouth was hanging open, I'm guessing you didn't see that one coming."

"Leave it alone," Finch said.

"It's a shame, though," Elias muttered on their way back to the security office. "Her batting for the other side. But I guess that explains why she's so snappy, at least."

Finch glanced at his partner. "What?"

Elias returned the look. "You heard me. She hates men, so that's why the attitude."

"I don't think her attitude has anything to do with her romantic preferences."

"Romantic preferences?" Elias shook his head. "Come on. When did you get so politically correct? What's next? You'll turn in your wingtips and your gun for a pair of Birkenstocks and a bouquet of flowers?"

"It's not about being PC. I just don't think that had anything to do with her attitude."

"Then what, Inspector Clouseau?"

"I think it was plain old intellectual arrogance."

Elias considered. "She's got her Ph.D., so the rest of us are dopes?"

"Or absolute morons."

Elias grinned. "That's pretty funny, Finchie. Why don't you share that humor with the world?"

"It's custom made for you," Finch said. "The bigger question, though, is do we still consider her a suspect?"

Elias nodded immediately. "Hell, yes. She had the access code, she has an axe to grind with Leavitt and she stands to gain personally if he's fired. Plus she knew about Eric sleeping and screwing up the surveillance tapes."

"That doesn't exactly strike me as a state secret. Something else bothers me, too."

"What?"

"I just don't know if she'd do something like this just to get back at Leavitt. It seems...I dunno, beneath her somehow."

A wide smile spread slowly across Elias' face. "You're buying into her superior bit, aren't you?"

"No."

"You are."

"No. I'm just trying to figure her out. I'm trying to figure all of these people out."

Elias rubbed his chin and glanced at his watch. "Well, get busy. Who knows how soon the FBI will be here to take over."

--------

Adam arrived five minutes later. Moore led all three men to the security center. He offered Adam the chair in front of the main computer terminal.

Adam took it. "What's your administrator log-in?"

Moore gave it to him.

"And the password?" Adam asked.

Moore hesitated.

"You can change it when I leave," Adam said wearily. "It's easier than making me spend fifteen minutes getting it with my code-breaker program."

"It's C-Y-L-A-S," Moore said. He glanced at the detectives. "That's the first name of Director Leavitt's uncle," he explained.

Adam typed the password and accessed a screen that looked like a gaggle of numbers to Finch.

"I'm pretty sure that's the column for zone," Moore said, pointing, "and that's the time stamp--"

"I'm familiar with this program," Adam told him in a curt tone.

Moore fell silent. All three men waited while Adam read the screen, tapped the keys and called up a new screen.

Finch tapped Moore on the shoulder and waved him away from the computer terminal. When they were several steps away, Finch asked in a low voice, "I understand you applied to our police department?"

Moore's cheeks flushed. "Who told you that?"

"It came up when we ran your name," Finch lied. "What happened?"

"You guys turned me down, that's what." Moore's voice became low and intense. "Twice, actually."

"Where were you in the hiring process when this happened?"

"The oral board. Both times."

Finch considered. Usually that meant a poor performance in the oral board interview, not a background issue. He nodded to Moore. "Okay. Thanks."

"This is going to take a while," Adam said to everyone in the room.

Elias reached out and tapped Finch on the shoulder. "We've got a couple other things to check out anyway."

--------

Mary Leavitt was a petite, quiet woman. She offered Finch and Elias coffee, then tea and finally ice water. When they'd politely refused the last, she sat primly on the small sofa in the sitting room and gestured to a pair of high-backed chairs.

"Please," she said.

The detectives sat. Elias flipped open his notebook. "Mrs. Leavitt, we're investigating the theft at the museum this morning."

"The mummy?"

"Yes, ma'am. You heard, then?"

She nodded. "Oh, yes. Edward called this morning. He was worked up into quite a fit."

"When did he call?"

"Around six, I would say. It was shortly after I got up."

"Did he wake you when he left this morning?"

Mary Leavitt gave him a curious look, then understanding flooded her features. "Oh, I see what you mean." She shook her head. "No, his leaving didn't wake me. Edward and I have separate bedrooms, you see. He snores horribly and I'm told that I move around quite a bit in my sleep. Neither of us were getting any rest, so we decided to take separate rooms."

"Did you hear the phone ring?"

"No, but I am a rather sound sleeper."

"Do you remember when Mr. Leavitt came home last night?"

She thought for a moment. "Well, we had a late dinner. It was around nine by the time we ate and that was very soon after he arrived."

"Did he leave at all last night?"

"Not that I could say," she said.

"When did you go to sleep, Mrs. Leavitt?"

"Around eleven, I believe." Her brow furrowed slightly. "Why are you asking all of these questions, officer? It rather sounds as if Edward is a suspect."

Elias shrugged. "As part of our investigation, we have to eliminate everyone. This is how we do it."

She pressed her lips together in a prim scowl. "Well, it seems like a waste of time."

"It can feel that way, but it has to be done." Elias leaned forward. "Mrs. Leavitt, if someone were to suspect Edward of being involved in this, what possible reason do you think they might give?"

Mary Leavitt's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in anger. "If someone said Edward was involved in anything criminal, they'd be a liar," she snapped. "Simple as that. And that, I think, is the last question I need to answer, detective."

--------

In the car, Finch applauded.

"Shut up," Elias growled.

"Nicely done," Finch said. "You just handled that one like a pro."

"She had nothing for us anyway."

"She had plenty."

"Like what? She didn't see a thing."

"Exactly," Finch said. "And that means that Leavitt has no alibi."

"Neither does the janitor."

"True, but the janitor doesn't live in a three hundred fifty thousand dollar house on the South Hill."

Elias considered that. "Leavitt probably comes from old money."

"The house didn't look like it."

"Whattaya mean? It was a huge house."

Finch nodded. "Sure, but hardly any furniture. And the lawn wasn't well kept, either."

"You think he's hurting for cash?"

"I'd like to get a look at his finances."

"So get a warrant."

"I might," Finch said, rubbing his chin. "Maybe later, I just might."

--------

Diana Applegate answered the door. She had a harried look on her face but invited them inside with an even tone. Finch got the sense that her stress was largely of the self-imposed variety.

The small house was sparsely decorated with austere but tasteful furnishings. Diana stopped just inside the entryway and turned to them, her thin arms crossed. "I received a call from Ruth a few minutes ago. I know why you're here."

"That's good," Elias said. "Why don't we--"

"I have explicit directions from Ruth," Diana said. "I am to verify this for you: Ruth returned home last night at six-thirty. She did not leave the house again until she received a call from Director Leavitt this morning."

"Do you know what time?"

"After six," she told him curtly. "And I am not answering any more questions."

Finch and Elias stood awkwardly for a moment. Elias withdrew a card and held it out to her. She didn't reach for it.

"If you think of anything else--" he began, but she cut him off.

"I'm also supposed to inform you that you may search the premises," she said. "Just don't make a mess."

--------

Back in the car, Elias glanced at his watch and sighed. "What a waste of time. That's an hour of my life I'll never get back."

Finch shrugged. "They offer, we search. It wouldn't be the first time a guilty suspect offered to let us search and then we find what we're looking for."

"I know. But those people are stupid. You know when someone smart like Dr. Ingram offers, we're not going to find anything."

"We still have to look."

"I know," Elias said. "And it's always a waste of time."

--------

Angela Moore didn't offer them coffee, tea or water--she offered beer.

The detectives politely refused.

Angela shrugged and lowered herself onto the afghan-covered couch, sipping from a can of Keystone Light. "Suit yourself."

"How long have you and Tony been married?" Finch asked her.

She laughed. "Too long."

Finch raised a brow. "You two having some marital difficulties?"

Angela took another swig of beer. "Marital difficulties? That's a nice way to put it, yeah. Another way would be that our marriage is a disaster."

"Why?"

Angela scowled. "None of your business. Look, I'll answer your questions, but don't go getting all personal, got it?"

Finch kept his expression neutral. "All right."

"Besides," Angela said, "you don't think Tony took this mummy, do ya?"

"We don't know who took it."

She waved her hand dismissively. "Tony didn't do it. He might be worthless as a husband, but he's not a thief."

"What time did he come home last night?" Finch asked.

"What time did he say he came home?"

Finch shook his head. "That's not how it works, Mrs. Moore. What time did he come home?"

She smiled slyly and took another pull from the beer can. "If I say he was home by ten o'clock, would that clear his precious name?"

"We want the truth," Finch replied. "That's all."

Angela shrugged. "The truth is, I fell asleep on the couch at ten. He wasn't home yet."

Elias made a note on his pad.

"But I woke up when he came home at two," she added.

Finch raised his brow. "Two?"

"Two."

"Any idea where he was?"

Angela finished her beer. She crinkled the can and sighed. "Why don't you go ask him? If you find out, call me. I'd like to know, too."

--------

On the way back to the museum, both men were quiet, thinking. Finally, Elias spoke up. "No alibi for Leavitt. No alibi for the janitor. No alibi now for Moore. The kid Eric supposedly falls asleep at the switch. And only the lady professor checks out." He turned to Finch. "We're getting nowhere, Finchie."

Finch opened his mouth to reply when the car's cell phone rang. He punched the button and spoke into the hands-free microphone clipped to the visor. "Finch."

"This is Crawford. Where are things on this mummy case?"

Elias rolled his eyes.

"We're making progress, Lieutenant," Finch replied.

"What kind of progress?"

"The spinning-our-wheels kind," Elias muttered.

"What's that?" Crawford asked.

"We're working on a timeline," Finch said. "And eliminating suspects."

"But still no mummy?"

"No, sir."

"And no bastard, either," Elias added.

"What did you say?" Crawford boomed.

"The mummy is actually a bastard son," Finch explained quickly.

Silence. Then, with disbelief, "You're kidding me."

"No, sir."

Crawford seemed to recover from his surprise. "Well, find the little bastard, and do it soon. I just got a call from the FBI and they have an agent on the way. He should be there within the hour. Plus, I got a call from some insurance agency and they're flying someone in tonight. So if you don't wrap this up pretty quick, you're going to be hip deep in help."

"We don't need any more help," Elias said.

"It's not a matter of need. It's politics."

Elias shook his head in disgust.

"We'll bring you up to speed when we know something else, Lieutenant," Finch said.

"Do that," Crawford grunted and broke the connection.

Finch glanced over at Elias. "FBI, huh?"

Elias still bore a disgusted look on his face. "How do you say 'Ruby Ridge' in Egyptian?"

--------

"This is interesting," Adam said.

Finch leaned forward. "What?"

Adam pointed at the screen. "First off, this isn't the greatest of security systems. It's really no better than your average residential alarm system."

Moore appeared at Finch's side. "We've been on a budget for a while. Besides, we've never had a major exhibit like Pedubastis before."

Finch ignored him. "What did you find?"

"The digital record shows when the alarm was set and disabled and by which code." Adam pointed at the screen. "Here, it shows that it was set at oh-five-twelve. It looks like they have some sort of zonal mode--"

"That's for doing the rounds," Moore explained. "Each zone is alarmed but disarming it only disarms that zone, instead of the whole museum."

Adam's eyes flicked to Moore, irritation plain on his face. "It's a common configuration for large buildings." He turned back to the screen. "After oh-five-twelve, you can see this long list here of compartmentalized disables and resets--"

"Eric was doing his rounds," Moore said.

"--as the security guard made his rounds. Then, at oh-five-forty-one, there is a system wide reset. I assume that means the guard was back as his regular post." Adam tapped a key and the window minimized, replaced by another. "This is the telephone log for that time period. There is an outgoing call at oh-five-forty-two, and another at oh-five-forty-four."

Moore leaned forward. "Those are Director Leavitt's numbers. The first one is his home and the second one is his cell phone."

"So the guard got no answer at home and he tried the cell," Finch said, more to himself than anyone else. He turned to Moore. "What time were you called?"

Moore thought for a moment. "A little before six, I think. I know I was here by a quarter after six."

"Oh-six-thirteen," Adam said, "if the alarm system's clock is accurate."

"Sounds about right."

"And who was already here at that time?"

"Director Leavitt and Eric. Eric told me what happened. Director Leavitt was busy on the phone, calling you guys and getting Dr. Ingram and Mike down here."

"Is the basement level alarmed?" Finch asked.

Moore shook his head. "No. The only way to the basement is through the main floor, so there's no need for an alarm."

Finch considered his answer for a moment, then returned his attention to Adam. "Anything before oh-six-thirteen?"

"Yes. Another disable at oh-five-fifty-nine."

"Leavitt?" Finch asked, glancing at Elias.

Elias nodded. "Has to be."

Adam nodded in agreement. "That makes sense. Now look at this." He switched windows again, bringing up the alarm screen. "Prior to oh-five-twelve, the last activity was at oh-one-hundred this morning. Someone disabled the alarm at the front door and then re-enabled six minutes later on a sixty second delay."

"Which code was used?"

"Looks like the main code," Adam replied. "Before that, a separate code was used to set the alarm at twenty-two-fifty-seven."

"That'd be the janitor leaving," Elias said. "But who came in at one in the morning?"

Finch glanced at Elias. His partner jerked his head toward the hallway and the two stepped outside.

"What do you think?" Finch asked.

"Could be any of them."

Finch nodded. "Leavitt's wife was in a separate bedroom. And Moore's wife said he didn't get home until two o'clock."

"The janitor has zero alibi."

"And the professor's alibi is her girlfriend, who's biased."

"And the security guard screwed up the tapes, so we don't have squat," Elias said glumly.

Finch rubbed his chin. "Well, we do know when the mummy was most likely taken--around one in the morning. Maybe we need to go at each of them again. See who's alibi breaks up when we try to pin them down a little more."

Elias nodded in agreement. "The only trouble is, more than one of them is lying."

"Who do you figure?"

Elias held up a finger. "Moore, for sure. He said he went straight home, but his wife puts him there at zero-two-hundred. That's a straight-up lie."

"All right. Who else?"

Finger raised a second finger. "The janitor is hiding something. Did you see how he got nervous when we closed the door?"

"Could just be a reaction to the closed space."

"No way, Finchie. The guy did time. He might not like it, but he'd be comfortable in a broom closet. No, he's nervous because he's hiding something."

Finch shrugged. "Okay, maybe. How about the professor?"

Elias frowned. "Well, she was sorta over the top about being helpful..."

"Maybe she wanted to clear her name."

"Maybe. Or maybe she's not as smart as we thought. Maybe she's just as arrogant as we think and believes we won't figure it out."

Finch considered. "I don't think so."

"She stands to gain if Leavitt gets canned."

"True. But I don't think she's the one. At least she's got an alibi."

"You crossing her off the list?"

"In pencil, yeah."

Elias shrugged. "She's the number five horse, anyway. What about Leavitt?"

"You tell me."

"I think he's still a possible, though I don't see what he'd gain from it. But his alibi isn't backed up by anyone, so I guess he's the number four horse for me."

"Behind Eric, the security guard?"

"You bet! The kid says he fell asleep, but what if he just let the tapes run and rewind on purpose?"

Finch cocked an eyebrow. "If he did, then he knows who the thief is."

"Or he is the thief," Elias said.

"We'll start with him, then."

--------

"P-p-prison?" Eric stammered. "But I only fell asleep!"

Elias shook his head, his eyes cold. Watching on, Finch felt a brief welling of sympathy for the college student, but he brushed it aside.

"You fell asleep," Elias made air quotes with his fingers, "at a very convenient time. While you were sleeping--" more air quotes "--the mummy was snatched. And just as conveniently, the tape ran and re-ran, erasing the best evidence of the crime."

Tears welled up in Eric's eyes. "I screwed up. I know it. But--"

"You didn't screw up, Eric," Elias said. "You committed First Degree Theft by Accomplice. That is a Class A Felony. You can get up to twenty-five years for that crime, did you know that?"

"Twenty-fi...?" Eric's mouth fell open. The tears brimmed over his eyelids and streamed down his cheeks.

"What are you now, twenty? So if you did the maximum, you'd be forty-five when you get released." Elias shrugged. "I suppose you could go back to college. Lots of people do it these days. What do they call it? Oh, yeah." He held up the air quotes again. "A non-traditional student."

Eric's shook his head rapidly from side to side. His mouth moved but no sound came out. Finch felt another stab of pity.

Elias leaned forward and patted Eric comfortingly on the shoulder. "We don't think you planned this, Eric. We figure you were just brought aboard by someone else. That makes you less of a bad guy here. And if you come forward now and cooperate, we can testify to the judge that you were helpful. That could make a big difference in your case."

Eric let out a hitching sob and hung his head. Finch handed him a box of tissues while Elias patted him on the shoulder. The security guard wept in deep, uncontrolled sobs. "Oh, I screwed up so b-b-bad," he cried. "And then I l-l-lied to you."

Elias shot Finch a quick glance over the top of Eric's head. He winked.

"Tell me the truth, Eric. What did you lie about before?"

Eric sniffled and wiped his nose. He struggled to regain his composure, looking Elias directly in the eye. "Can they send me to jail for lying?"

Elias nodded. "Especially if you let the lie stand."

Eric shook his head. "No, I'll tell the truth now. I never should've tried to lie about it to begin with."

Elias patted his shoulder again. "Good, Eric. Good. Now, what do you want to tell me?"

Eric took a deep wavering breath. "I...I..." He let out the breath in a whoosh and shook his head apologetically, his face red.

"It's all right," Elias said. "Take your time."

"I...well, um...that wasn't the only time I fell asleep at work." He swallowed. "In fact, uh, I pretty much slept most of the night. Every night."

Elias let out a barely discernible sigh. His eyes flicked to Finch. Finch winked. Elias clenched and unclenched his jaw.

"What else, Eric?"

Eric's brow furrowed. "What else what?"

"What else do you need to tell me?"

He gave Elias a confused look. "That's all. Look, I know I'm going to get fired and everything, but it's the truth." He glanced to Finch and back to Elias. "Am I going to jail?"

--------

"What if the thief knew Eric was sleeping the night away most nights?" Elias asked Finch in the hallway. "He could even have made a trial run or two to make sure."

"That's pretty risky. If the kid wakes up within two hours of the theft and changes the tape, the guy is nailed."

"Maybe he had a contingency for that."

"Like what?"

"I don't know exactly. Steal the tape or something."

Finch clicked his tongue, nodding. "Okay, so are we agreed the kid wasn't in on it?"

"Ninety-nine percent, yeah."

"And the professor?"

"Last horse still in the race."

"Agreed. So that leaves Leavitt, Moore and the janitor."

"Let's hit Moore first. He's the one with the bad alibi."

--------

Moore sat on the bench in the empty waiting area, hunched over and kneading his hands. "Why couldn't we do this in my office?" he asked.

Because we don't want you getting comfortable, Finch thought.

"Police reasons," Elias said.

Moore scrunched his brow. "I never heard of any kind of reason not to interview someone in their office."

"Well," Elias said briskly, standing over him, "you're not the police, are you?"

Moore's features darkened. He glared at Elias but said nothing.

Finch sat next to Moore on the bench. "What are we going to find when we pull your application file, Tony?"

Moore swiveled his gaze to Finch. "Huh?"

"You applied to River City PD," Finch said evenly. "You were turned down. What are we going to find when we have records pull your application and we review your background? Or when we read the oral board interview results?"

Moore shrugged. "Pull it and see."

"Why don't you just tell us?"

He smiled sourly. "I'm not the police."

Finch ignored his tone. "No, but you are the head of security here. That's a position of trust."

"So?"

"So, trust requires honesty. And you haven't been honest with us. So were trying to figure out if that was part of the reason you didn't get hired by the police."

He shook his head. "I've been honest with you. I want to find the mummy. I'll probably lose my job over this."

"Maybe you should," Elias observed coldly.

Moore eyes snapped to Elias. "What's your problem, man?"

"I don't like liars."

"Well, I didn't--"

"We talked to your wife, Tony," Finch interjected. "She told us when you got home."

"I got home at midnight," Moore insisted.

Finch shook his head. "No. You woke up Angela when you got home at two."

Both detectives watched Moore as his face changed from anger to denial to realization. "Two?" he finally rasped.

Finch raised his eyebrows and gave a short nod.

Moore remained silent for several seconds. Then he said, "She was probably drunk. She thought it was two but it was really twelve." He considered that for a moment, then nodded his head. "That must be it."

"No," Finch said. "She may have been drunk, but she's sure it was two. Tony, do you know what that means?"

Moore didn't answer.

"Near as we can tell," Finch continued, "the mummy was taken about one in the morning. And since you know the codes and since you didn't get home until two--"

"--and since you lied," Elias added.

"--that makes you a prime suspect," Finch finished.

Moore stared at his hands. Finch and Elias remained quiet, giving him a few moments to stew. Finch noticed that Moore's hands were trembling.

"Can you guys keep a secret?" Moore finally asked.

"It depends on the secret," Finch told him.

"It's got nothing to do with this museum or any of this that you're investigating."

Finch gave a half-shrug. "Then probably we can."

Moore sighed. "The reason I wasn't home until two is the same reason I lied to you guys about it. I was with someone."

"Someone?" Finch asked.

"My girlfriend. Tina."

Elias groaned.

Finch leaned forward and caught Moore's eye. "You spent last night with your girlfriend?"

"Yeah. Well, 'til two."

"And then you went home?"

"Right."

"And this girl Tina will back that up?"

"She should," Moore said. "At least, as long as she doesn't think it'll get me in trouble."

"Why'd you lie about this?"

Moore turned his hands up in surrender. "I didn't want you to tell my wife. She's about to divorce me anyway. This would put things over the top."

Finch didn't even consider exploring the relationship dynamics any further. If it were a rape or a homicide, they might be key components, but he didn't sense the whys of the situation mattered much. "Is that why you got bounced on your oral boards when you applied to the police department?"

Moore nodded glumly. "Like you guys don't fool around."

Finch ignored that and handed Moore his notepad and a pen. "Write down her number."

--------

Finch dropped the phone onto the cradle and frowned. "She backs his story, one hundred percent."

"Which puts him neck and neck with the professor for last in line."

"Can we stop with the horse-racing metaphors?"

"Would you prefer chariots? Since we're dealing with a mummy and all that."

Finch ignored the question by asking one of his own. "The janitor?"

"Yep."

--------

"I knew you guys'd be back," Michael Booth told them, putting down his magazine.

"Why's that?" Elias asked.

Booth smiled humorlessly. "Cops always come back."

"Profound," Elias muttered.

Finch pulled a plastic chair from the corner of the room. He sat near Booth and regarded him quietly for a moment. Booth stared back at him, unfazed. Finch continued to stare. After about a minute, Booth shrugged at him.

"What?"

"You are the only person in this investigation with a criminal record," Finch said.

"So what? That doesn't make me the only criminal."

"What's that mean?" Elias asked.

Booth glanced up at him. "What, I spoke Portuguese?"

Elias's face flushed and his jaw clenched.

"What are you driving at when you say that?" Finch asked.

"Simple," Booth replied. "Someone else took the mummy, right? And that guy's a criminal."

"What if that guy was you?" Finch asked him.

"It wasn't."

"But what if it was?"

Booth shrugged. "What if daisies were dollars?"

That one surprised both detectives and they gave him a questioning look.

Booth smiled broadly. "Well, if that were so, I'd have a million dollar field growing right in my front yard."

"You think this is funny?" Elias asked.

"No," Booth said. "But I know I didn't do it. And my answer will be the same no matter how many times you ask."

Finch tried a different tactic. "If you didn't do it, then you wouldn't mind taking a lie detector test, right?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't believe in them," Booth said.

"Ah," said Elias, giving Finch a wink. "A skeptic."

"They're not admissible in court, anyhow," Booth went on.

"A skeptic and a legal scholar," Elias observed. "When did you get your law degree, Grisham?"

"I spent some time in the law library when I did my stretch. Keeps me from getting jerked around by cops."

"We're not jerking you around," Finch told him. "We're trying to find the mummy."

"I didn't take it."

"So take the polygraph."

"Like I said, I don't believe in them."

Finch shrugged. "It doesn't matter if you believe in them. We do."

"That's your problem."

"Look, if you take the polygraph and pass, we believe you. If you take it and fail, it's not admissible in court. How can you lose? Take the test and clear your name."

Booth shook his head. "No."

"You know," Elias said conversationally, "if the museum thinks you had anything to do with this, they'll fire you."

"So? It's a janitor job. And it's contract work, anyway."

"So maybe they'll dump the contract."

"Let 'em."

Finch rubbed his chin and sighed. "You know, if I owned a janitorial service and some employee caused me to lose a contract, I'd fire him."

"And blackball him so he'd never get work in town again," Elias added.

Booth's smile returned. "You're breakin' my heart, guys. I'll never work in this town as a janitor again? Boo-hoo. I'll work construction. Better money, anyway."

All three men fell quiet for a moment. Booth watched both men, his face a mask of calm bravado.

Finch broke the silence. "Are you still on probation, Mike?"

Booth shook his head in disgust. "I wondered how long it would take you to get around to that. No way is my probation officer going to violate me because I won't take a lie detector test."

"Probably not," Finch said. "But no one is perfect. Everyone screws up, especially when they're bound by all sorts of rules."

"Like a guy on probation," Elias said.

"Sooner or later, a guy is going to screw up. Might be something small, but still a screw-up. And if anyone is watching that guy when he screws up..." Finch shrugged nonchalantly.

"He gets hammered," Elias finished.

"So, should I give your P.O. a call?" Finch asked.

Booth's gaze went back forth between the two detectives. Then he sighed. "Why are you guys hassling me? I didn't take the mummy. I don't know anything about it."

"You're hiding something," Finch said. "That's why."

Booth stared at him for a long while. Finally, he asked, "Look, if I tell you the truth, can I get a pass on some misdemeanor crap?"

Finch and Elias exchanged a glance. Elias gave Finch a short nod.

"Probably," Finch told Booth. "Depending on what it is."

"It's got nothing to do with this mummy or anything like that," Booth said.

"Then what?"

Booth sighed. "Follow me."

He led the detectives out of the utility room and down the hallway. Elias leaned close to Finch's ear. "Be careful he doesn't turn and rush us," he whispered.

Finch nodded. "At least if he does, we'll have a better story than last time."

Elias winced and grinned at the same time.

Booth pushed open a door marked 'Employees Only--Men.' Light reflected off the bright tile off of the locker room floor. A long row of blue lockers stood along the wall. A bench ran the length of the lockers. Booth stopped in front of number twelve. He turned to face the detectives, his face grave. "I'm trusting you guys here. I've been screwed over by cops before."

"We just want to find the mummy," Finch said. "What is it?"

"The thing is," Booth said, "I've got a lot of joint pain. Lifting weights in the pen got me really big, but then I didn't stick with it after I got out. There's a lot of pressure on my joints, but the doctor won't prescribe anything harder than Tylenol for it." He shook his head. "He sees ex-con, same as you, and probably thinks I'm scamming to get some oxycontin or something."

"What's this have to do with the mummy getting stolen?"

"Nothing," Booth said. "But--"

A Nextel phone on Booth's belt chirped. A tinny version of Moore's voice echoed in the locker room. "Mike? Where are you?"

Booth cursed and spoke into the phone. "Locker room."

"You with the detectives?"

"Yeah."

"Be there in a couple."

Booth cursed again, replacing the phone on his belt. "If he finds out about this, I will get canned."

"Finds out about what?" Finch asked.

Booth pointed to locker number four. A piece of masking tape on the front bore the name 'Mike' in black marker. "That's my locker there. This one here--" he pointed to twelve, "--is supposed to be empty."

"But it's not."

"No. It's not." Booth slipped a key into the lock and opened it. Then he stepped aside for the detectives.

Elias stepped forward first and examined the interior of the locker. Finch heard his long, loud sigh. Then he stepped aside for Finch.

Finch looked inside the locker. At first sight, it appeared empty. Then his eyes lighted onto the upper shelf. A rolled baggie of marijuana the size of two thick cigars perched halfway to the rear of the locker.

Finch groaned. "This is about some marijuana?"

"Yeah," Booth admitted. "I smoke it for the pain in my joints. I don't sell it, man. I just use it, you know, medicinally."

"Why is it here?"

"My P.O.," Booth explained. "He visits my house and tosses the place. And he comes here sometimes, too, and searches my locker. So I use the spare locker to store my stuff. Before I go home at night, I take a little with me. Just enough to get through."

"Great," muttered Elias.

"Are you guys going to arrest me on this?" Booth asked. "Because if you do, my P.O. will probably violate me. I've got seven months left to go on my sentence."

"Close that," Finch told him.

Gratitude flooded Booth's features. He shut the locker and snapped the lock into place. "Dude, thank you. Really. I mean it."

Finch ignored him and went to the sink, where he splashed some water on his face. Behind him, he heard Booth thanking Elias. Elias grunted.

When Finch turned back around, Moore strode through the door. Adam trailed behind, carrying a notepad.

"What are you guys doing here?" Adam asked. "I've been looking for you."

"The acoustics are better in here," Elias said.

Adam smirked at him. "Whatever."

"What do you have, Adam?" Finch asked.

Adam's smirk melted into a proud grin. "Something interesting. I cross-checked all of the door contacts against the alarm disables."

"If the alarm is off, how did you--"

"The current still runs through the contact on the door," Adam explained, "even if the alarm is disabled. Breaking the contact just doesn't set off the alarm, that's all. It still registers in the system as a contact break."

"Meaning you can tell when a door was opened, even if the alarm was off," Finch concluded.

"Right."

"Why didn't you check this earlier?" Elias asked.

Adam scowled. "The software doesn't display it. I had to go into the programming language and identify--oh, never mind. You wouldn't understand."

Before Elias could reply, Finch asked, "What did you find?"

Adam glanced down at the notepad. "The alarm was disabled at oh-one-hundred and forty seconds. Six minutes later, it was re-enabled with a sixty second delay."

"We know that already," Elias said.

Adam held up a finger, silencing him. "The door was opened at oh-one-hundred and twenty-eight seconds."

Elias twirled his finger, signaling him to hurry up.

Adam paused, seeming to savor the moment. Then, through a smile, he said, "The door wasn't opened again until oh-six-thirteen."

Finch and Elias stood still, absorbing the information. In the silence, the sound of water dripping from the sink reverberated throughout the locker room.

Finch cleared his throat. "I thought there was a disable before that."

"There was. The system was disabled at oh-five-fifty-nine."

"Which we figured was Leavitt. At then Moore a short time later."

"Oh-six-thirteen," Adam said. "And there is a corresponding break in the door contacts for Moore's arrival at oh-six-thirteen. But there isn't one at oh-five-fifty-nine."

Finch and Elias exchanged a knowing glance.

"Whoever it was that came in at oh-one-hundred never left," Elias said.

"Most likely Leavitt," Finch said. He rubbed his chin. Then he asked, "So where's the mummy?"

Elias gave him a confused look.

"If Leavitt never left," Finch began.

Realization flooded Elias's face. "Then neither did the mummy. Of course."

"So where is the little bastard?"

The five men stood in the locker in silence once more. Finch closed his eyes. He envisioned everywhere he'd been inside the museum. He considered and rejected Leavitt's office as a possibility. Too obvious. Dr. Ingram's office, perhaps? Too dangerous. Maybe inside another exhibit, where it could sit until the fervor died down and then he could retrieve it?

Finch tried to focus, but the dripping water faucet and the rattle of paper from Adam's notepad distracted him. Michael Booth coughed. Elias unwrapped a piece of gum.

Inspiration struck Finch like an unseen left hook. He opened his eyes and smiled. "You," he said to Booth.

Booth shifted nervously. "Me?"

Finch nodded and pointed to the lockers. "Open those."

"Huh?"

"The lockers. I want you to open them."

"All of them?"

"Maybe. But start with the spare ones."

Elias broke into a smile. "Could be, Finchie."

Finch shrugged. "We'll see. And since we're dealing with a mummy, you might as well start with lucky number thirteen."

The relief was plain on Booth's face as he fumbled with his master key. He unlocked locker thirteen. It was empty.

"Open number fourteen."

Booth did so.

Empty.

"Next one."

Fifteen was likewise empty. So were the rest of the teens, twenty and twenty-one. When Booth swung open number twenty-two, he let out a gasp and took a step backward.

Finch put a hand on Booth's shoulder. He pushed slightly and the janitor stumbled to the side. Finch stepped forward and gazed into the locker.

Inside, leaned casually against the locker wall, stood a two-foot mummy in a narrow, wooden coffin.

"You've got to be kidding me," Elias said, peering over Finch's shoulder.

Finch felt the presence of the other men in the locker room as they crowded near him to see what stood inside the locker.

"Thank God," whispered Moore.

"Thank Finch," Elias said.

Behind them the door swung open. All five men turned at once.

A sandy haired man in his early thirties stood in the doorway. His blue suit identified him before he even flashed his credentials to the assembled men.

"Special Agent Maurice Payne, FBI," he said in an anemic voice, swallowing his words. "I'm here to assist in the recovery of the antiquity that was stolen last--"

He broke off, his eyes drifting to the open locker. Confusion filled his eyes.

Finch glanced at Elias, who didn't even try to conceal his grin.

"I don't understand," Payne said. "My supervisor said that there was some sort of mummy stolen..."

"There was," Finch said. "A baby mummy."

"A bastard," Elias added.

Finch made a sweeping gesture toward the locker. "Special Agent Payne, meet Babafemi."

"It means 'loved by his father,'" Elias said.

Payne smiled hesitantly and gave the locker a small, uncertain wave. "Uh, so you've found it?"

"Just in time, too, it looks like," Elias said.

Payne's face pinched in confusion. "Wha--"

"Agent Payne," Finch asked. "Can you secure this scene for us? We have one more thing to take care of."

"Uh, sure."

"Thanks," Finch said.

"Nothing like local and federal authorities cooperating," Elias said, clapping Payne on the shoulder as he walked past.

"No one touches that mummy," Finch directed, and left the locker room.

--------

Leavitt's door was closed. Finch entered without knocking, Elias on his heels.

Leavitt looked up from his paperwork, his pen frozen in place. He bore the same haughty expression he'd had earlier in the day. "Yes, detectives? Have you found the missing piece yet? Because if you haven't, I--"

"Actually, we have," Finch said.

A flicker of surprise flared in Leavitt's eyes. "You did?"

Finch nodded.

Leavitt recovered, not missing a beat. "That's good news. I must confess, I am a bit surprised."

"Oh, I'll bet," Elias said.

Leavitt rose and offered his hand to Finch. "Well, then. Excellent work, detective. You'll have to tell me the details."

Finch ignored the out-stretched hand and didn't reply.

"We kinda thought you'd like to tell us the details," Elias said.

Leavitt's lowered his hand, his gaze remaining on Finch while he answered Elias. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Oh, I think you are," Elias said, leaning on the front of Leavitt's desk. "I think you can pretty much tell us how the whole thing went down. Not that we need to know. Not from you, anyway."

"I...I don't understand."

"I wouldn't recommend the 'I don't understand' defense. Unless you can get some psychiatrist-for-sale to testify that you're crazy, juries don't tend to buy it."

Leavitt broke away from Finch and stared at Elias. "Jury? Detective, I don't know what you think you know, but--"

"One chance," Finch said.

Leavitt looked back to him. "What?"

Finch held up a finger. "You get one chance to tell your side of the story. One chance for the judge and jury to know why you did it. If you blow that chance, that's your problem."

Leavitt started to speak, but Finch looked away and raised his hand to stop him.

"Don't answer yet," Finch said. "You only get one chance, so hear me out. All right?"

Leavitt swallowed. Finch saw the panic at the corner of his eyes, struggling to burst free. Leavitt kept it under control and nodded.

"Good choice," Elias said.

"You may think you came up with the world's best plan," Finch said. "But you didn't. We have the alarm codes. We have the contact breaks that tell us when the doors were opened and when they weren't. We know you came down here at one in the morning, disabled the alarm, stole the mummy and hid it in a spare locker. Then you reset the alarm on a sixty second delay and headed to your office."

Leavitt said nothing. A bead of sweat appeared at his temple. It rolled down to his jaw.

"I figure you did that because you didn't know how long Eric would be asleep, right? That's why he had to reach you on your cell phone when he realized that the mummy was missing." Finch furrowed his brow. "I wonder what your contingency plan was if Eric had been awake? Kill him? Abort the plan for tonight and do it some other night? Did you check on him when you got down here? I think you did. Just a quick glance into the security room to see if he were snoozing. Which, of course, he was."

Leavitt swallowed and gave no reply.

"After that, it was all cake. Let the security videotape get taped over, take the call from Eric and pretend to show up to get the investigation rolling. Then what? Wait until things blow over and sneak the mummy out in a gym bag or something?"

Leavitt opened his mouth to speak, but Finch held up his hand. "I'm not done."

Leavitt closed his mouth.

Finch smiled coldly. "You probably figured no one would search the place. And if they did, they probably wouldn't find the mummy. And if they did, they couldn't pin it on you, could they?"

Leavitt finally spoke, his voice wavering. "No. And neither can you."

"Oh, we can," chuckled Elias. "We can."

"He's right," Finch said. "We've got all the alarm evidence, plus you've got no alibi. And you've got motive."

"That doesn't prove--"

"Not to mention the other physical evidence," Finch said.

Leavitt blanched. "What other evidence?"

"We can always process the mummy and that little wooden coffin he's in for fingerprints. It would be really interesting if your prints showed up anywhere on there."

Leavitt smirked. "The Egyptian government would never allow it. You would destroy the artifact."

Finch cocked his head at Leavitt. "Oh, we have some very advanced methods of fingerprinting that are non-invasive. The Egyptians won't have any problem with it."

Leavitt snorted.

"But you probably wore gloves, right?" Finch said. "And so maybe that would be a strike out. But we don't need your prints on the mummy. Not when we've got the videotape showing you stealing it."

A look of shock spread through Leavitt's features. "I thought the tape--"

"Was recorded over?"

Leavitt nodded, swallowing hard.

Finch shrugged. "Well, yes and no. Did you meet Adam, our techno-specialist? He can pull data off of a videotape even if it's been recorded over six times. See, Mr. Leavitt, videotape works a lot like your computer hard drive. The entire tape isn't used for the data signals. When you tape over something, just like when you delete something off of your hard drive, all you really delete for sure is the marker that tells the device where the information is stored. The information is still there until the actual storage space it is in gets recorded over. That can take months on a hard drive. On a videotape, it takes six times, sometimes as many as eight."

Leavitt shook his head in mild protestation.

"All Adam has to do," Finch continued, "is go in and pull out the data. Sure, we won't have every single frame. But even half the frames will be enough to show you snatching the mummy. And that picture will convince a jury--" he snapped his fingers, "--like that."

Leavitt's breath had quickened. He swallowed again.

"All that's left," Finch said, "all that will make a jury understand, is knowing why you did this. And I'm giving you one chance to tell us that." He held up his finger again.

"One."

Edward Leavitt began to cry.

--------

Finch guided Leavitt's head past the doorjamb and into the back seat of the patrol car. He closed the door and gave the roof a tap. The officer pulled away, heading to jail. Finch turned and walked back to his car.

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."

The End

--------

Get more Finch and Elias stories

in

Dead Even: A River City Anthology

# About the Author

Frank was a police officer from 1993 to 2013. He is the author of numerous crime novels.

In addition to writing, Frank is an avid hockey fan and a tortured guitarist. He lives in Chattaroy, Washington.

You can keep up with him at <http://frankzafiro.com>.

Want a free book? If you'd like to review some of Frank's titles, contact him at frankzafiro@msn.com for a free copy of the ebook you'd like to review.

# Other Books by Frank Zafiro

# River City Series (Crime Novels)

# From Gray Dog Press

Under a Raging Moon

A violent robber is loose in River City. Meet the cops that must take him down.

Stefan Kopriva, a young hotshot. Katie MacLeod, a woman in what is still mostly a man's world. Karl Winter, about to retire but with one more good bust left in him. And Thomas Chisolm, a former Green Beret who knows how dangerous a man like the Scarface Robber can be.

These are the patrol officers of River City - that mythical thin blue line between society and anarchy. They must stop the robber, all the while juggling divorces, love affairs, internal politics, a hostile media, vengeful gang members and a civilian population that isn't always understanding or even grateful.

Written by a real cop with real experience, Under a Raging Moon is like a paperback ride-along. Enjoy the ride.

Under a Raging Moon is the first River City novel.

"Engrossing, fast-paced, suspenseful...highly recommended."

LJ Roberts, DorothyL Mystery List

"Gritty, profane, and compelling."

Lawrence McMicking, curledup.com

"If you like McBain, or any gritty police procedural, then Zafiro is someone for you to pick up, enjoy, and then wait for the next book."

PJ Coldren, Amazon.com review

"Under A Raging Moon is an extraordinary crime novel. Like Ed McBain's Isola, River City is a combination of the best and worst of the human species, and its cops are as complex and haunted as the criminals they battle each day. Frank Zafiro has created a gritty, totally authentic world with believable characters, nonstop action, and snappy dialogue (think Hill Street Blues in Washington state). Don't miss this book-It'll keep you turning pages well into the moonlit night."

John M. Floyd, award-winning author of Rainbow's End

"In Under a Raging Moon, Frank Zafiro doesn't tell you about the mean streets, he takes you to them with clear, concise writing as solid as the asphalt beneath your feet. You feel the tension between those out there to prey and those there to protect. You feel the anxiety of knowing every routine traffic stop could turn into a killing, and every junkie and pusher you bust wants you dead. He also takes you deep behind the badge. His ensemble cast of cops have issues within themselves and with each other and can't leave them at home any more than we can. You'll be there with them in the squad room, in the patrol cars and in their favorite watering hole.

"Frank Zafiro has woven a powerful story with realistic, memorable characters, a suspenseful plot and a climax that will leave you breathless. If you've ever wanted to know what it would be like to put on the blue uniform, wear a badge and carry a gun, this one is highly recommended."

Earl Staggs, Derringer Award-winning author

"Zafiro shows his readers some of the grim realities of law enforcement."

Brian Triplett, Examiner.com

Heroes Often Fail

The men and women of the River City Police Department are sworn to protect and to serve. But when six-year-old girl is kidnapped off a residential street in broad daylight, each cop must rise to heroic levels. Detectives scramble to solve the kidnapping while patrol officers comb the streets looking for the missing girl. Racing against time, every cop on the job focuses on finding her. Before it is too late. Before they fail her.

Heroes Often Fail is the second River City Crime Novel

"[a] complex police procedural with multi layered characters, a rich setting, and plenty of action."

Kevin Tipple, independent reviewer

"[An] affecting novel from a writer who knows not only the job, but the grueling toll certain cases can take on the victims and those charged with upholding law and order."

Russel McLean, Crime Scene Scotland.

"Strap yourself in for this citizen's ride-along! Frank Zafiro pits cop against perp in the race to save six-year-old kidnap victim Amy Dugger. The problem for the River City PD is that Amy's abductor isn't the only creep in town. Zafiro not only drops us right into the precinct during business hours, but he also succeeds at presenting the human side of cops. We come to know these men and women who risk everything to do their duty. We hope they become heroes. And we pray they do not fail."

Jill Maser, award-winning author of "Unspoken."

"Heroes Often Fail is a riveting, intimate account of a parent's worst nightmare and the men and women of the River City Police Department. The author skillfully portrays the protagonist's inner conflict. Moving and real. Impossible not to get caught up in the emotional roller coaster crafted by this talented writer."

T. Dawn Richard, author of the May List Mystery Series

"Heroes Often Fail delivers what we've come to expect from Frank Zafiro--sharp-edged dialogue, vivid characters, and an intimate knowledge of the way things work in an urban police department. A tense, frightening tale, and the best River City novel to date."

John M. Floyd, award-winning author of Rainbow's End

"Heroes Often Fail could be one of the most authentic police procedurals I've read. The story appears deceptively simple--a six-year old girl snatched from the streets, but as it jumps around between the lives of the detectives and uniformed officers trying to find her, it adds a more layered, sophisticated texture. Written in short chapters and lean, muscular prose, this is an exceptionally satisfying and engrossing read, and a book that would've made Ed McBain proud!"

Dave Zeltserman, author of Bad Thoughts

"A standout amongst police procedurals, Frank Zafiro's Heroes Often Fail does the job of not only showing the nuances of police work, but also the effects of crime on the victims. In a literary world populated (and dulled) by shiny lab technicians and ridiculously elaborate set pieces, Mr. Zafiro never forgets the dirt under the nails approach and the heart of any great story - the characters. The writing is brutally dark and jolting in places, hopeful in others, not an easy balancing act that Mr. Zafiro pulls off seamlessly. A small(er) town offspring of Wambaugh and McBain, it stands amongst the greats and finds enough room to be completely on its own terms."

Todd Robinson, editor of Thuglit

"A riveting, suspenseful novel in both the human condition as well as storyline. Excellent!"

Cynthia Lea Clark, FMAM Magazine

"[T]he book presents a realistic and depressing look at how crime affects both the victims and the police officers who try to protect the public."

Brian Triplett, Examiner.com

Beneath a Weeping Sky

River City is plagued by a serial rapist. His attacks are becoming more brutal and Detective John Tower is sure that he'll go from rape to murder if he isn't stopped soon.

Meanwhile, the rapes stir up ghosts for both Officer Katie MacLeod and Officer Thomas Chisolm. Both struggle to put those haunted memories to rest even as they are drawn into the center of Tower's investigation. When a series of mis-steps and near misses push the rapist even further, everyone involved must face their old fears...or be destroyed by them.

Beneath a Weeping Sky is the third River City novel.

"Frank Zafiro channels Ed McBain and Joesph Wambaugh in this taut and frightening thriller."

Simon Wood, author of Terminated

"Frank Zafiro's River City series succeeds where so many fail of late, in not only delivering whipcrack plotlines, but characters as real as the breath in your lungs. You feel with them, rage with them, and bleed alongside these cops. Mr. Zafiro's writing deserves more than comparison with the greats of the police procedural sect, it holds it's own amongst them."

Todd Robinson, editor of Thuglit

And Every Man Has to Die

Every city has organized crime. But only River City has a Russian gangster like Valeriy. He's meticulous, cunning, and willing to sacrifice anything--and anyone--to see his conquest through.

In Val's way are the men and women of the River City Police Department, including rookie B.J. Carson. She's trying to fill the shoes of a legend while the pressures of patrol and her own past catch up to her. She and her colleagues must unite and work together with a former River City cop turned FBI agent to face down the single biggest organized crime threat River City has ever seen.

In this novel, Frank Zafiro explores what honor and courage mean on both sides of the law, weaving a complex and engrossing story of crime, justice, and relationships. There are plotters and detectives, usurpers and leaders. Plans within plans. And in the end the price of victory and justice can both be high... and every man has to die.

And Every Man Has to Die is the fourth River City novel.

"The novel has a complex plot...that Zafiro has woven together with seeming ease."

Debbi Mack, author of Identity Crisis and Least Wanted

"Possibly the most complicated and hard hitting novel in the series...Frank Zafiro has created another gem."

Kevin Tipple, independent reviewer

"...the crime genre prides itself on pacing, and this is where Zafiro delivers."

The Inlander

"I've always been amazed over how well Zafiro handles the female perspective in the past books--mostly through MacLeod's point of view--and in And Every Man Has to Die he proves that strong believable characters is definitely his forte, no matter which gender they are. If you like well written, fast paced novel with great characters, then the River City series is definitely for you."

Asa Bradley, bark

"There are many wonderful things to savor in the novel."

Brian Triplett, Examiner.com

"This book should put Frank Zafiro on the fast track."

Wil A. Emerson, BookFetish

"This was a compelling read...even though I had to use a Kindle app on my PC. I soon forgot that as I scrolled faster and faster through the involving story. This book deserves wider recognition; perhaps someone will bring it to the attention of a film-maker, as it would make an excellent movie with its short, sharp scenes and rapid pace."

Karen Treanor, New Mystery Reader Magazine

Waist Deep

When disgraced former cop Stefan Kopriva is asked by an old high school classmate to find a runaway sixteen year old girl, he reluctantly accepts. Driven by guilt over a terrible mistake that drove him from the force more than ten years earlier, Kopriva battles old injuries, old demons and long ago memories as he unravels the mystery of the missing Kris Sinderling... and seeks his own redemption.

Waist Deep is the first Stefan Kopriva Mystery.

"A powerful tale of corruption and redemption."

Brian Triplett, Examiner.com

"This book...brought Humphrey Bogart to my mind. This is his sort of story, and if there were an actor of that type around today, this book could make a confronting and probably prize-winning film...definitely worth the price of admission."

Karen Treanor, New Mystery Reader Magazine

"Waist Deep is a hard-hitting story of a flawed hero trying to exorcise his demons. the subject matter explores dark moral territory, it's arguably not horribly shocking compared to certain real life situations taking place today. Further, in the best hardboiled tradition, finding the truth involves unearthing the scum from beneath the veneer of respectability."

Debbi Mack, author of Identity Crisis and Least Wanted

Lovely, Dark, and Deep

In this sequel to Waist Deep, a city councilman is dead of an apparent suicide. Ex-cop Stefan Kopriva finds himself drawn into the case, serving an unlikely client. Once involved, he discovers that things are not as they seem.

Kopriva is quickly embroiled in dirty city politics. Along the way, he encounters pimps, prostitutes, gangsters, contractors, and the police as he tries to get to the bottom of what happened, and why. That is something no one wants, so Kopriva must risk his own freedom and his very life to find the answers, no matter how deep the corruption goes.

Lovely, Dark, and Deep is the second Stefan Kopriva Mystery.

"Zafiro does a masterful job of taking noir detective genre conventions and turning them on their heads just a little. Kopriva wants to be like Chandler's Philip Marlowe, but he just doesn't quite have the skills or the moral fortitude to completely succeed at it."

Brian Triplett, Examiner.com

"Zafiro nails the truth like a properly thrown jab/cross combo. You won't see it coming until it smacks you in the nose."

Colin Conway, author of SOME DEGREE OF MURDER and A LITTLE HARMLESS FUN

"Stefan Kopriva, an ex-River City cop much reviled by his former colleagues, is intrigued when one day he witnesses a beautiful call girl make a package exchange between an old man and a vaguely familiar younger one. When the call girl is severely beaten and the younger man ends up dead, Stef is drawn into a mystery of murder, graft, and blame. Nearly accused of the murders himself, Stef takes a beating to prove his innocence to a bunch of cops who'd rather find him guilty.

Lots of twists and turns in this book to keep the pages turning. The writing is crisp and straight forward with fast-paced action and a touch of noir. Stef is a well-drawn character, his few friends are people you'd like to know, and the setting is spot on as Mr. Zafiro brings River City and its denizens to life."

Carol Crigger, author of THREE SECONDS TO THUNDER

Some Degree of Murder

A young woman has been murdered in River City. Police Detective John Tower is assigned to the case but there are few clues to go on. As he digs into the case, he's soon picking up hints that this murder may not be the killer's first ... or his last.

Virgil Kelly lives in the shadowy world of the criminal underground. He's just arrived in River City with a single-minded mission: find his daughter's killer and bury him.

In his search for a murderer, Tower uses his experience and training along with all the expertise of modern forensics.

In the hunt for his prey, Kelley uses intimidation and violence, tools which he wields with precision and anger.

Virgil Kelley and John Tower are on a collision course.

Somebody is going to die.

River City will never be the same.

"The story is as bleak and cold as a rain washed murder scene...if you're still in mourning for Robert B Parker, you might want to visit River City and see if that eases the grief a bit."

Karen Treanor, New Mystery Reader Magazine

"Some Degree of Murder by Frank Zafiro and Colin Conway couldn't have a better title...[it] entertainingly examines people, what human nature is, and just what people will do when they're pushed right to the edge of a cliff, whether it's anger, grief, greed, or simple survival. Once someone takes that final step over the edge, there's no telling how far they'll fall, and all their decisions are relative (a degree) of where they're currently at."

Books N Beans review site

"What could be better than a new book by a crime fiction author from Spokane? How about a collaborative work by two local crime fiction authors?...the novel's structure creates some interesting tension. Things that one narrator experiences help add important details to parts of the book told from the other narrator's point of view. The reader sometimes knows things already that the narrator doesn't, which may keep people on the edges of their seats during parts of the story...I highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys crime fiction, strong plots and great dialogue. Even people who don't normally read this type of story will find many things to love about Some Degree of Murder."

Brian Triplett, Examiner.com

"...a masterfully written account of River City crime, the intricacies of penetrating secret societies, and hidden relationships found along the way to solving crimes. So much raw emotion is exposed throughout the entire book, giving each reader an idea of what each character is feeling, from the victims to the families, the police officers and the suspects, the by-standers to the completely ignorant...Some Degree of Murder is a well-written story that is difficult to put down and keps you guessing from start to finish. Just when you think you know what's going to happen, another twist rounds the corner!"

Rhiannon Leppert, from an Amazon.com review

Blood on Blood

Blood on Blood is a hard boiled crime novel by Frank Zafiro and Jim Wilsky, the first of the Ania Trilogy.

Half-brothers Jerzy and Mick Sawyer are summoned to the prison where their father is dying. On his deathbed, he tells his sons about a diamond heist that he was part of and how some of those diamonds are still out there. He sets the two on a path of cooperation and competition to recover the jewels, each playing to his own strengths and against the other's weaknesses.

Jerzy is the quintessential career criminal, fresh out of a short bit and looking to get back into the action right away. Mick is the failed cop and tainted hero struggling to get by with a clean life that doesn't seem to ever pay off. Both men see this score as their ticket out. They have to work together, but the situation is, as one of the brothers observes, "part Hardy Boys, part Cain and Abel." Throw the sexy, mysterious Ania into the mix and you have all the ingredients of a classic, hard boiled story set in the Chicago of today.

"Blood On Blood is an intense and truly addictive thriller that captures you immediately and holds you bound until the last page. A fast paced, absorbing crime novel, with characters who still linger darkly on the edge of my thoughts."

Julia Madeleine, author of The Truth About Scarlet Rose

"Blood on Blood is a gripping tale of two brothers racing against time to find missing diamonds in Chicago...[t]he authors keep readers guessing in a very satisfying way."

Brian Triplett, Examiner.com

"[T]he last line...will hit you right between the eyes. I didn't expect the ending; the action was so relentless and fast-moving I didn't have time to consider the possible outcome--but it works, and works very neatly...This is one of the most brutal and violent books from Frank Zafiro yet. [Zafiro and Wilsky] have produced a book that will be popular with those who like their crime raw and hard."

Karen Treanor, New Mystery Magazine

Queen of Diamonds

Queen of Diamonds is a hard boiled crime novel by Frank Zafiro and Jim Wilsky, the second of the Ania Trilogy.

When Ania Kozak hits Vegas, she's only looking for a place to relax and lay low with her stolen cash and diamonds. But Sin City has other plans for "Annie."

Cord Needham is a poker circuit champion with an eye for the ladies and a dark secret in his past. Casey Brunnell is a former baseball player fighting the cards and running up debts to a local mobster. When Annie decides to play a dangerous game with both of them, the stakes go through the roof. Everyone scrambles to beat the odds and get out of town with the money...and their lives.

"Queen of Diamonds is the second collaboration between Frank Zafiro and Jim Wilsky and it's a partnership that runs like a well-oiled machine...I've read a lot of books set in Las Vegas, but there are very few I have enjoyed more."

-Chris Leek, independent reviewer

"They are able to capture that odd mixture of psychology, math skills and pure luck that can help people excel at Texas Hold 'Em in a way that anyone could understand. They show a strong understanding of the game and why some people treat gambling for money like a career...[the authors] are able to keep readers guessing right up until the last few chapters when their plot threads finally all come together. They manage to both frustrate some expectations readers may have and bring everything to a satisfying conclusion."

-Brian Triplett, Examiner.com

Closing the Circle

In Closing the Circle, Frank Zafiro and Jim Wilsky team up for the third installment in the saga of Ania Trilogy.

John Pearse is a loss recovery agent for an insurance agency. When a set of crown jewels that his company paid out on resurface in the middle of a Russian/Polish mafia war in Chicago, Pearse is sent in to find and recover the diamonds. Standing in his ways are gangsters, grifters, and cops, but the biggest obstacle will be the sexy Ania, who has managed to stay one step of everyone else...until now.

Andros Krol is muscle for the Polish mafia in Chicago, tasked by his boss to bring back more than just the diamonds. Strong and cunning, Krol is after the money Ania took, but his biggest priority is to deliver brutal justice and a final day of reckoning for Ania.

Pearse and Krol are locked into a race against time and each other as they pursue the wily Ania.

The circle is closing on all of them.

"Brings the trilogy that started with "Blood on Blood" and continued in "Queen of Diamonds" to an epic finale that is sure to satisfy...a very fun caper story that will appeal to mystery lovers, crime fiction buffs and anyone who loves a good heist movie."

-Brian Triplett, Examiner.com

"If you loved the first two books in this series you're going to love Closing the Circle as the third book in the Ania trilogy. It pulled all of the characters together from the previous two books into another suspenseful adventure trying to find the dangerously beautiful girl Ania Kozak.

What will Ania do next? Will the men chasing her find her? Will she get away this time? You'll have to read to find out!"

-Kara Hooper, from a 5-star Amazon.com review

At Their Own Game

Jake Stankovic has been flying below the radar for years, dealing safely in stolen property crime with his two-man crew. But times are tough, so he decides to step up to the big money with a drug deal. Everything that can go wrong, does. The deal goes bad, a vengeful detective sets his sights on Jake, one of his crew might be a turncoat, and a woman from a long past affair suddenly reappears. All of this would be complicated enough on it's own, but for Jake, it's even worse.

The woman is the detective's ex-wife.

And Jake Stankovic used to be a cop.

Now Jake must face new problems and old vendettas in an all-in proposition with lives on the line. He has to find a way to get his money back, keep the girl, and beat everyone involved...At Their Own Game.

"A suspenseful descent into darkness... [Zafiro] elevates the story beyond just an entertaining caper story to being a profound examination of good, evil, betrayal, revenge and many other things that have been central to human existence since the dawn of history."

-Brian Triplett, Examiner.com

"This story absolutely sizzles with intrigue."

-Beverly Clark, from a 5-star Amazon.com review

"The book was so captivating I couldn't put it down till I had finished the last page at 2:30 AM!"

-Thea Childs, from a 5-star Amazon.com review

"A brief, tight, criminally intense story of destructive behavior masked by "good" intentions, AT THEIR OWN GAME puts its finger right on the pulse of the ever-sinful human heart."

-Ned Hayes, author of SINFUL FOLK

"This taut tale, which moves at the relentless pace of a silver bullet, will keep fans of the genre quite happy."

-Anthony Venutolo, author of PALOOKAVILLE

"It is a compelling story, with great twists and turns, but one that makes us question our own morals."

-Shirley Ford, independent reviewer

The Last Horseman

Sandy Banks is the last of The Four Horsemen, a vigilante group of ex-cops determined to right the injustices of a broken court system. But now the project is disintegrating, putting him in the middle of chaos. Betrayed by his final partner, blackmailed by the project head and pursued by federal agents bent on busting the case wide open, Sandy scrambles to escape this mayhem with his soul intact.

"A fast-paced, suspenseful story about crime, corruption and street justice."

Brian Triplett, Examiner.com

"Frank Zafiro has stepped up his game considerably in this thriller/police procedural/crime novel. The plot is packed with startling plot twists, one after the other, that knit together as a whole as seamlessly as any book I've ever read...this book kept me turning the pages late into the night...highly recommended. As if I have to spell that out."

Debbi Mack, author of Identity Crisis and Least Wanted

"The kind of novel that sucks you up and takes you full-barrel on an action-packed adventure that feels gritty, authentic and engaging. Frank Zafiro has a talent for writing that captures the reader and makes you connect with the characters and story in an exhilarating way. The story is lush, vivid, thrilling and fast-paced..."

L. Collins, from a 5-star Amazon.com review

At This Point in My Life

Jack "Mac" McCrae is about to retire. Without children or any family, he looks back over his career and his life and finds himself wondering what, if any, impact he's had on this world.

Then a young woman reappears with a photograph of her mother -- and his old lover -- and an unknown child that might be her sister...and his daughter.

Mac agrees to accompany her to a small town in Oregon to get to the bottom of this mystery. Who is the little girl in the photograph? Is she his daughter? And where is she now?

But Mac discovers that no one in this small town wants to answer or even acknowledge these questions. He will have to find a way to overcome the stranglehold that the Tate family has on the town and work his way to the truth about who the little girl is.

"[A] powerful examination of love, loss, regret and justice."

\- Brian Triplett, Examiner.com

Chisolm's Debt

After two tours in Vietnam and 25 years as a police officer, Thomas Chisolm is looking forward to a quiet retirement. That hope is quickly shattered when Mai, a ghost from his past, finds him and demands justice for the horrors she suffered during the Vietnam War...horrors Chisolm couldn't save her from.

Now Chisolm must find the man responsible and bring him to justice to repay an old debt and in the hopes of putting his own demons to rest...once and for all.

Chisolm's Debt is written by River City author Frank Zafiro and features one of River City's iconic characters. Follow Chisolm on his search as he explores the nature of moral debt, war, forgiveness, and guilt on his way to an explosive ending.

The Trade Off

How deep into the sex slave industry will you go to save someone you love? How far will your duty take you?

On the surface, Heather Williams buys and sells young women in a burgeoning underground sex trade. But not everything is as it seems. She is really "Gus" MacIntyre, and undercover detective, targeting human traffickers and rescuing the desperate women they enslave. But how far will she go to stop them? And where does her job end, and duty begin?

"Bull" Porter seems like a prototypical macho hunter who owns a sporting goods store. But when his niece Taylor suddenly disappears, he plunges into the search for her with the same ferocity he stalks prey in the wilderness. The only difference is that this hunt takes place on the dirty streets of the city's underbelly, and the hunted can turn the tables in an instant. How far will Bull go to save his niece?

As Gus and Bull battle with human traffickers to recover Taylor, both must face their own struggles and secrets...and eventually each other. Faced with political pressure and a ticking clock, they soon realize that nothing is free in this world. Nothing comes easy. For everything, there is a trade-off.

The Trade Off is a crime novel written with Bonnie R. Paulson. The book is written in a dual first person narrative format, giving the reader the intimacy of the first person as well as the breadth of knowledge that comes with third person narrations. An additional point of interest for the reader:  the male character of Bull was written by Bonnie R. Paulson, while Frank Zafiro wrote the female character of Gus.

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Dead Even: A River City Anthology

Detectives and mobsters, missing mummies and a shootout with Gypsies - here are fifteen stories featuring major and minor characters from the novels of Frank Zafiro, now given their own chance to shine. The good, the bad, and the in-between of River City come together in this fast-paced collection of theft, mystery, murder and detection, where the heroes of River City will keep fighting until the scales of justice are once again...Dead Even. Some of these stories are action packed, others heart-rending, but all will leave you satisfied.

"The range of different character voices that Zafiro masters is amazing."

Asa Bradley, bark

"Frank Zafiro's work is the kind readers won't soon forget. It strikes deep into a reader's mind and heart creating people and situations so real, they stick with you long after you've read the work. From the details of a crime in progress to police banter on and off the job to the gritty particulars of life in River City, Zafiro is a winner. He becomes his characters and you see life and crime and police work through their eyes. It's impossible to choose a favorite in this collection, they are intertwined and work together in a way that creates a resonance in those who read these tales. Frank Zafiro's work is powerful and memorable, two things every writer strives for in their work."

Joseph R.G. DeMarco, author of Murder on Camac

"While Dead Even is a great introduction to the characters of Frank Zafiro's River City novels, it is also a superb collection of short stories. From the heartbreaking, "The Worst Door" to the lethal combination of "Pride Goeth" and "And a Fall Cometh", Zafiro has something for everyone. These aren't just crime stories, they are stories that touch on the human emotions of both the cops and the criminals while taking readers on a roller coaster ride through the streets of River City."

Sandra Seamans, short story author

"Frank Zafiro's stories possess a ring of realism that can only be created by someone who has actually lived the life of a police officer. For readers who are seeking to get as close to the action as possible without being exposed to the dangers of police work, DEAD EVEN: A RIVER CITY ANTHOLOGY will be a real treat. They'll be transported to a world where they'll be able to actually see, hear, taste, and smell what it's like to be a cop--but they'll get to live to tell about it. Frank Zafiro continues to impress with this one."

BJ Bourg, Chief Investigator, Lafourche Parish DA's Office

"Hyper-realistic fiction at its best. Come ride along with cops in DEAD EVEN: A RIVER CITY ANTHOLOGY by Frank Zafiro. It's like being in a squad car, taken to a crime scene."

O'Neil De Noux, SHAMUS and DERRINGER Award Winning author of the LaStanza New Orleans Police novels.

"It's rare to find a collection of characters where each one is fantastically well defined--and particularly rare in the case of crime fiction, where the crime often dominates. Better still, the crimes that Frank puts out for these characters are both plausible and intriguing--nothing rehashed or recycled. Compelling characters, engrossing plots, and overall, a fantastic collection of shorts, though I would expect nothing less from the author of the River City novels. I would have read it one sitting--and certainly tried--but my infant son doesn't understand why I don't want to put down the Frank Zafiro story I'm reading. At least not yet."

Clair Dickson, author of Bo Fexler mysteries

"Whether you're already a fan of the River City novels and stories or discovering Frank Zafiro for the first time, you'll love this book. Every tale provides exactly what his readers have come to expect: fascinating characters, authentic police work, and spot-on dialogue. Dead Even is an exceptional--and deliciously entertaining--collection of stories."

John Floyd, award-winning author of Rainbow's End, Midnight, and Clockwork

"[T]he characters are interesting and worth spending time with."

Mysterious Reviews

"Anyone who enjoys crime fiction should buy this book. Anyone who enjoys great dialogue, gallows humor or strong female protagonists should buy this book. Anybody who has ever driven through Hillyard should buy this book just to see how many places from Spokane they recognize."

Brian Triplett, Examiner.com

"Zafiro has consistently used his experiences as well as ones of other fellow police officers to make the characters he writes about alive for the reader...[He has] a terse writing style filled full with emotion and nuances."

Kevin Tipple, independent reviewer

No Good Deed: A River City Anthology

An ex-cop looking for redemption...an American man and an Irish lass intertwined in love and violence...a cop with a conscience that he doesn't always listen to...a retired cop looking to repair a broken relationship with his drug-addicted son...a Yankee cop in the West Texas...these are the characters you'll meet and explore in No Good Deed.

"Frank's style is akin to Dan Brown's and other writers who have "OMG - I can't put this down" quality - keeping you engaged and yearning for more about the characters and the story. The intriguing, well designed action moves you to want to know more about each of the people involved and how the stories end. THIS IS A GREAT READ!"

Tom Sahlberg, from a four star Amazon review

The Cleaner: A River City Anthology

A frustrated crime scene cleaner...an off duty cop in a jam...a patrol officer who believes in a strange fate...a holier-than-thou Internal Affairs whose world gets turned upside down...plus those that are crazy, surrounded in sadness or just trying to get by - these are the many and varied characters of River City, brought to life in 17 short stories by the author of the River City crime novels.

"This guy can write a story...Zafiro is exciting to read. I had a hard time putting the stories down and was always ready to go back to them. I will search out his other books."

Brian Howe, from a five star Amazon review

# Writing As Frank Scalise

The Hardest Hit:

A Sam the Hockey Player Novel

Eleven year old Sam Parker loves to play hockey. But this is the year that he will start body-checking. His natural fear of getting hit is temporarily overshadowed by finding out his parents are getting divorced.

Determined to keep them together by being a hockey superstar, Sam instead suffers a bone-crunching check from the school bully in his first game of the season. The resulting pain and fear brings out the worst in Sam as one difficulty after another piles on. Even his best friend, Jill, doesn't always seem to understand what he's going through.

When will his head stop hurting? Will he ever be able to play hockey again? How can he keep his parents together? Or can he? It will take everything Sam has to bounce back. Every one of his problems feel like ...the hardest hit.

The Hardest Hit is part of the Sam the Hockey Player series.

All That Counts

All That Counts is a novel about life and a man's discovery about what is truly important in it.

Graham Wilson is a thirty-something recreational hockey player who decides to follow a long-held desire to become a goaltender. His transition is both comedic and inspiring as he seeks to challenge himself in the midst of a mundane life. Also on display is the curious paradox of the recreational game in American culture (i.e., it means everything, but it is only a game, but it is more than a game, but...). When his team's regular goalie leaves, Graham steps unsteadily into the crease, causing conflict on a team that is used to winning.

Graham's journey is a microcosm of life. Humor, inspiration, camaraderie, love and spite all make their appearances both on and off the ice as Graham struggles to learn what truly is "all that counts."

"With a nod toward Spokane's long puck tradition, All That Counts is a book about life and hockey that you will love. Will Graham's vision quest is something we can all understand and cheer for and his inspiring journey reveals the wonder and absolute joy that hockey brings into this world."

Mark Rypien

(NFL Quarterback and Superbowl XXVI MVP)

"All That Counts is a must read for anyone who has ever laced 'em up. The locker room banter combined with the on ice antics are so true at all levels of hockey. The book made Eagles Ice Arena come alive in my hands. I can visualize the walk down the stairs and going down onto the ice. Nothing's better in recreational hockey after the game than a cold shower topped off with a cold one. Frank does a great job combining the real life and on ice drama. No hockey fan should miss out on this entertaining read."

Head Coach Bill Peters, Rockford Ice Hogs

(Spokane Chiefs, 1996-97, 1999-02, 2005-08)

"All That Counts by Frank Scalise is an intriguing read for any avid hockey player, hockey fan, or sports fan alike. His ability to incorporate the intangible, unique elements of hockey with the always changing aspects of life outside of hockey provides an exciting read from cover to cover. Frank's writing style provided an easy read, as well as keeping me hooked until the very end. People will be able to draw connections to their own lives through Graham's experiences. I enjoyed the story, and would recommend it to anybody that enjoys sports and good books."

Derek Ryan

(Spokane Chiefs, 2003-07)

"ALL THAT COUNTS is full of hard-hitting hockey action, great locker room banter, lots of laughs and realistic, touching relationships. Players at all levels, hockey fans and newcomers alike will enjoy this Spokane hockey tale. Scalise really captures how hockey is a one of a kind sport that brings people together in a way that can't be explained until you slap some skates on and see it for yourself."

Cam Severson

(Spokane Chiefs, 1997-99)

"Scalise knows what counts...from that insatiable itch that draws a wannabe goalie to the crease and into the inevitable struggles that come with the job. He's captured the essence of goalkeeping in so many ways: the first infuriating attempt at strapping on the pads, the never-ending study of the game, and agonizing over those big, blazing scoreboard numbers. The reader grows convincingly with Gray through his self-doubt, embarrassment, and finally to the grains of confidence which soon pile up into a mountain of swagger that separates the goaltender from the rest of hockey. As I read this book, I can smell the stink of used gear, hear the crunch of steel blades on a fresh sheet of ice, and feel the thud of a hard shot well stopped. But while Scalise is obviously at ease in the Rangers' raucous rec league locker room, he is not the least bit afraid to peel off the stinky gear and expose Gray's tender side while he and his wife embark on a life-altering journey. Scalise shows us that what's on the scoreboard is truly not all that counts."

Jill Maser

Goaltender, University of Pennsylvania (retired)

Author of the romance novel, Red Passion

"This was a great book. It really highlights the challenges of a new goalie and how to work through them."

Brad Moon

Former WHL goaltender

You can order any of these books from from any bookstore or outlet. Get the eBook edition in any format wherever eBooks are sold!

Also, look for Frank Zafiro/Frank Scalise titles in audio book format!
