Conspiracy to Murder Page 11

  “When I saw her, she informed me that the others had left. She had just gotten to Cairo herself when I was trying to head out to the expedition site,” Micah told him. “I’m very interested in what she may know. Or more specifically, what she knows that she didn’t share at the time. She was the one who first sounded the alarm about the uprising. Everything was pure chaos when I was there, which I’m sure you remember, Wiley. But, yes, if you find her, I’d very much like to speak with her.”

  “We’re on it from this end—with the Egyptian police, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “We get the impression that they’re perplexed about the situation. She’s disappeared.”

  “Thanks for letting us know,” Micah told him.

  There were a few more exchanges, and then they ended the video call.

  Egan looked thoughtfully at Micah. “To be honest,” he said, “I’m not sure what you can learn from this woman—or what you could prove—this late in the game. Crews are still going through whatever evidence they could find at the museum after Vivian was attacked, but…”

  “I know, sir,” Micah said. “But it’s only been a matter of days. And I’m pretty convinced that Vivian Richter’s attack relates back to Henry’s death. And if not, well, we still need to know who the hell would attempt to murder a woman with nicotine-soaked linen wrappings.”

  “Yes, and we will find the truth,” Egan said with conviction. “I’ll inform you of anything we learn through our people here and in Egypt, and through any chatter they pick up.” He hesitated. “If they can’t find this woman…”

  “There’s always the possibility that she’s dead,” Craig finished.

  “Why kill an interpreter?” Egan mused.

  “There’s also the possibility that she’s alive—and more of a player than we’d imagined,” Micah said. “Or that very fact could account for her death. If that’s what happened.”

  “When you talked to her, did you get the feeling that she was involved in any way?” Craig asked.

  “She seemed harried, frightened and glad to be back in Cairo. But I was still trying to catch up with the Americans involved. Now I realize I should have given her more attention then. The entire situation was terrifying, so of course it seemed reasonable that she’d be upset. And I still don’t see her with a motive of any kind to strangle Henry.”

  “You never know,” Egan told him.

  “Except we do know that she’s definitely not in the States,” Craig said. He suddenly began to feel his pocket, which was apparently vibrating. “Phone,” he muttered. “Excuse me, two seconds. This may be important.” He answered the call, taking a step back from Micah and Egan.

  “She’s not in this country that we know of, anyway,” Micah said to Egan. He hesitated, speaking carefully. “I still don’t think she killed Henry.”

  “But you think she might know who did?”

  “I think she knows something,” Micah said. “She’s Joe Rosello’s alibi for the time Jensen Morrow and Harley Frasier were away from the camp. What if she lied because he either cajoled her or bribed her?”

  Egan nodded. “That’s a possibility.”

  “You’re talking about Joe Rosello?” Craig asked, putting away his phone.

  “Yes,” Micah said.

  “That was Kieran. She’s going to Times Square with Harley. And it’s about Joe Rosello. The man’s an actor, and he’s in a zombie walk today. Not sure I actually get it, but Kieran knew about it because of her twin, Kevin. He’s one of the performers hired on as an improvisational actor and guide for the walk.”

  “Sounds like a good time for us to get to Times Square and see just what he’s up to,” Micah said.

  “Zombie walk?” Egan asked, shaking his head.

  “They’re all over the country now,” Micah told him. “The power of television and mass media today. The popularity of certain television programs can create some strange circumstances.”

  “There’s a show on TV about mummies?”

  “Mummies, zombies, walking dead. Close enough, I think. Let’s head on out,” Micah said to Craig. “With your blessing, sir, of course,” he added, addressing Egan.

  “Go, sir, with righteousness!” Egan said. “And get the whacked-out son of a bitch, will you? Speaking of media—they’re having a heyday with this. Mummies! As if we didn’t have enough of the plain old walking, living, flesh-and-blood kind of criminals!”

  * * *

  A MAJORITY OF the “zombies” there for the walk and to support the charity were dressed up.

  They wore zombie makeup, tattered clothing and many looked as if they’d rolled in the dirt.

  Luckily, not all the participants were dressed up, and since it was a charity walk, whatever one chose to wear was fine. Joining the walk cost ten dollars. The fee included a comedy “zombie” performance at the end, with the bleachers reserved for those who’d paid. Anyone could see the show, but since the entry fee went to charity—three of the major children’s hospitals—virtually no one was going to mind paying.

  “This would’ve been fun no matter what,” Kieran told Harley, surveying the crowd. “A lot of the costumes on the walkers are really cool. Oh, there, at the sign-up tables. There’s Kevin.”

  Kieran started walking ahead; Harley quickly followed.

  Kevin Finnegan was an exceptionally good-looking man, tall, with great bone structure, a toned body and broad shoulders. He and Kieran were clearly related, but of course, they weren’t just siblings—they were twins. Like Kieran, he had deep auburn hair and his eyes were a true blue.

  Harley waited while Kieran greeted her brother with a hug and a kiss; she then greeted him, as well.

  “I’m so glad you came out. I know how you feel about crowds in Times Square,” Kevin told his sister.

  “It’s…well…” Kieran began.

  “Ah. I’m being used,” Kevin said, but his smile was affectionate. “What do you need? How can I help?”

  “We signed up legitimately, don’t you fear,” Kieran said. “But do you know a Joe Rosello?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “No? Oh, I guess you don’t know everyone working here today,” Harley said.

  “Actually, I do.”

  “Oh! Well, supposedly, Joe’s working.”

  “Maybe he works under a different name. SAG rules mean you can’t use a name if someone else has it already. Or even if he’s not SAG, he might be using a stage name,” Kevin said.

  “That’s him! That’s him right there!” Harley exclaimed.

  “Oh, so that’s your guy. His name is Robbie. At least when he’s here it is. Nice guy, or so it seems.”

  Joe—or Robbie Rosello, as he was calling himself for the day—was standing over by one of the tables. As Kevin had been doing, he was posing with people who wanted their pictures taken with a zombie.

  He was dressed in tatters. Not like a mummy, just in tatters. His skin was painted white and he had very effective makeup that darkened his eyes and made his cheeks sink in.

  As Joe so often did, he was flirting.

  “Yep, that’s him!” Harley said again.

  The girls with whom he’d been posing moved on, and Harley ran over to him. He turned to look at her and his eyes widened with surprise, alarm—and wariness.

  “Harley!” he said. “Um, what are you doing here? You’re a zombie fan?” He sounded skeptical.

  “It’s a good cause, right? You know, I was shocked to find out that you’re an actor.”

  “Oh, well…” He smiled at her awkwardly. “I’m not really an actor, more of an ‘I love the movies’ kind of guy who likes to get work as an extra. I don’t hide it, but I guess I don’t talk about it at work. There are people who don’t think you can be a serious academic if yo
u…if you do things like take part in a zombie walk.”

  “That’s silly.”

  “Yeah? Well, we both know the world can be full of silliness, some of it malicious.”

  She nodded. “I guess, but if this is something you love, you shouldn’t have to be afraid that others won’t approve.”

  He frowned. “I agree.”

  “I guess we have to work on convincing the rest of the world.”

  “The academic world, anyway. How did you even find out about this?”

  “You remember Craig Frasier, my cousin? He’s dating Kieran Finnegan. And her brother, Kevin, is an actor—”

  “Kevin is a serious actor. He actually makes a living at it,” Joe said. He grimaced. “I don’t think I’d be able to do that, so I have to be a serious academic instead.”

  “By the way, you look great,” she told him.

  “Thank you.”

  “Is the costume yours? Do you have many…costumes?”

  “Oh, no. No,” he said firmly, apparently figuring out just where she was going with her question and why she was really there, “No! Emphatically no. I’ve never dressed up like a mummy.” He hesitated. “I swear, I’d never have hurt Henry, and I did nothing to Vivian Richter. I swear!”

  “Hey, Robbie! Zombie dance thing starting up,” someone called.

  “Excuse me, gotta go. Don’t worry. I’ll have thousands of witnesses for my every move today,” he assured Harley.

  “Have fun!” she said.

  He gave her a thumbs-up and joined a number of other actors, Kevin Finnegan among them. Someone struck a chord on a guitar, and the group went into a shuffle dance, akin to the one in the music video for Michael Jackson’s old “Thriller.”

  The song was very clever, and the words had to do with giving generously to fight disease.

  And when it was over, Kevin—the head zombie, apparently—stepped out from the group and announced they’d be walking down Broadway. Volunteers with water were positioned along the route. The walk would end at the bleachers, where some of the entertainers would then be performing.

  Harley turned and looked around until she finally saw Kieran. Kieran saw her at the same time and hurried toward her as a sea of people—some in zombie rags and makeup, some not—came between them. They were almost carried along by the crowd. Kieran shrugged and waved at her from a distance, then laughed as they were both pushed along.

  Harley tried to thread her way through the would-be zombies.

  Kieran did the same.

  Now and then, they’d come across another kind of creature, something from Disney or perhaps one of Jim Henson’s characters from his movies or television shows.

  Harley ran into some comic characters she didn’t recognize. A man in a very large banana suit struggled to maneuver to the side.

  He fell over.

  She tried to reach him, but he was helped up by a group of grapes. Police were everywhere on the street and they also tried to help the banana; the grapes were just faster.

  It was Times Square, after all.

  And Times Square on an especially crazy day. It reminded her why she usually avoided the area. But a lot of the theaters were down here, too, and she did love going with Craig and Kieran to see plays when Kevin was in them—and even when he wasn’t!

  But today…

  “Hey there!” Kieran called. She was walking parallel with Harley, a few feet to the left.

  “Hey!” Harley called back, grinning.

  But then she saw the mummy.

  On a day like this, it was difficult to discern the differences between costumes; many were tattered white, and appeared to have been made from linen strips.

  But this…

  This was a mummy.

  It was a mummy that looked exactly the way Vivian Richter had looked when she’d staggered into the midst of the gala. It might’ve been created by the same costume artist! Or would-be costume artist…

  The thing was behind her, lurching along. Harley scanned the crowd. The mummy seemed to be walking alone.

  And walking in a casual manner that brought it closer and closer to Harley.

  “Kieran!” she screamed.

  At first, her friend turned to her with a broad smile. Then she saw the mummy. And she began to stride aggressively over to Harley—with the mummy between them.

  The mummy sensed pursuit and headed toward Kieran. But then, it headed back in Harley’s direction with a purpose and a vengeance, no longer staggering.

  “Come on, come on, I’m ready for you!” Harley thought. “Police! Police!” she cried.

  And then the thing was upon her, placing a hand on her chest. It looked right at her, but she couldn’t see its eyes. They were covered in the same linen gauze that stretched over the body, dirtied and rendered old, as if—mummy or zombie—the creature had long been dead.

  * * *

  THE THRONG OF people was impressive, particularly for a charity event.

  Micah assumed many people were out just for the entertainment value and, of course, the fun of dressing up as a zombie.

  But it made for a massive crowd—tens of thousands at the very least, and maybe many more considering the size of New York City.

  “I see Kevin Finnegan,” Craig said.

  “Where?”

  “Leading the zombie charge.”

  “You’re sure that’s Kevin?”

  “Yes, and if so, Kieran is near him, and if she is…”

  “Then Harley’s near Kieran. Let’s go!”

  Wending their way through the horde of people wasn’t easy. Apparently, no one had thought to tell the regular performers who thronged Times Square daily in costume, charging for tourist pictures, that zombies would be ruling the day.

  Maybe it didn’t matter. As they hurried past the Times Square Marriott, Micah saw a zombie posing with a Disney figure and with one of the imitation “naked” cowboys who’d staked a claim on the street.

  He kept up a brisk pace, saying “excuse me” almost every other second.

  And then he saw Kevin Finnegan, laughing, talking, making announcements through a speaker and pointing to the bleachers ahead.

  He also saw Joe Rosello dancing along with a group as he moved forward in costume—ragged jeans, ripped rock band T-shirt and heavily made-up face and body.

  And there…

  A mummy!

  A mummy, standing in the street, touching Harley, touching her with wrapped hands that appeared to be wet, soaked in something.

  “Stop now!” he shouted.

  He barely avoided knocking over a teenager playing zombie-on-a-crutch. In a circuitous route, he cleared a number of teens. As carefully as he could without losing speed, he continued to press forward through and around people.

  The mummy saw him—and turned to run.

  He heard Harley shout. She was starting to run after the thing.

  “No!” He caught up with her.

  “We have to catch that mummy!” she said.

  “No, no—get your shirt off!”

  “What?”

  “Your shirt. Get your shirt off.”

  “Here? In Times Square?”

  Craig, gasping for breath, had reached them. “Get your shirt off! The hands—the mummy’s hands were covered in something. Get it off now. Harley, damn it, there could be poison on your shirt. Get it off before…”

  She cried out, all but ripping the shirt from her body. It fell to the ground.

  There were creatures of all kinds gathering around them.

  “Way cool!” a passing zombie said.

  “Yeah,” said another. “It’s legal, you know. Men can go topless, and women can go topless! New York City, man. What a great place.”


  “Maybe she’ll take off her bra!”

  “Moron!” Harley breathed, swinging around.

  “I’ve got the shirt,” Craig said, slipping into gloves and reaching down.

  “The mummy’s probably shedding poison with every step,” Micah said. “Cops. Get cops over here. Warn them there’s a hazard…gloves, bags…”

  He didn’t need to talk; Craig knew what had to be done as well as he did. Micah had already begun moving, and as he did, he swore. The “mummy” was indeed shedding, leaving what was likely poisoned and hazardous material every few steps.

  But the trail of wrappings at least gave him a direction to take, as clear as tracking any animal, human included, in a forested wilderness.

  “Look!” a girl cried. “It was a mummy! A mummy!”

  She’d picked up some of the shredded linen that had been cast on the ground. Micah swore again, using his gloved hands to snatch it from her.

  “Hey!” she protested.

  “Get to a cop. Get to a doctor. That might be poisoned material,” Micah said. A man quickly appeared at the child’s side, holding her, and taking Micah more seriously than she did, apparently.

  “Cop! Doctor!” Micah ordered.

  “Yes, sir!” the man said, clutching his daughter.

  Micah hurried on.

  Cops were filling the area. Craig had gotten to Kevin Finnegan, and Kevin was announcing the problem, warning people not to touch the linen, to get to a cop, hospital, or doctor if they had.

  Micah kept running. He saw more of the linen along the road. Swearing, he knew he’d have to stop and add it to the growing cache he stuffed into a large evidence bag as he hurried along.

  The “mummy” had planned well, knowing that the police and FBI were fully aware that poison—using poisoned linen—was his or her talent.

  And that they’d definitely be delayed in their pursuit, trying to keep others from becoming victims of possible illness or even death.

  The last piece of linen was in front of an alley that led from Times Square down one of the side streets.

  Micah swung around the corner, racing down the street. And then he stopped.