[Lady Justice 17] - Lady Justice and the Pharaoh's Curse Read online

  “Who, your pimp? Not interested. We probably have him on our radar anyway.”

  “No, bigger than that. Much bigger.”

  “Let’s hear what you’ve got and then we’ll talk.”

  “Sure, do you remember that guy who stole the thing from the King Tut exhibit and wound up dead from a snakebite?”

  Rollins nodded.

  “Well, your only suspect was that Lester Figg guy who wrote the book about the mummy’s curse. You had to cut him loose because he had an alibi. Well, I was his alibi only I wasn’t with him that night. It was all a lie. He paid me to say I was with him.”

  Rollins thought about it. “I don’t know. That’s homicide. I’m vice. I really don’t give a rat’s ass about their cases. I’ve got enough on my own plate.”

  “There’s more --- a lot more.”

  “Go on.”

  “I was with the creep several times after the kid showed up dead. Sometimes Figg could get it up and sometimes he couldn’t. Some guys are like that and when they can’t perform they try to bullshit their way out of it by trying to impress me. Anyway, on one of the nights his weenie wouldn’t wiggle, he started telling me about this Anubis thing that the kid took from the exhibit. He said he had it hidden away and that it would probably be worth a lot to the King Tut people to get it back. That’s all I know.”

  She had Rollins attention. “Tell you what. I won’t book you until I’ve had a chance to look into this. If it pans out, I’ll give you a pass, but if you’re bullshitting me, well, we have our little conversation on tape. Give me your number and we’ll be in touch.”

  “I don’t know, Phil. Are you sure we want to get involved in this thing? We’ve been partners a long time and I respect your judgment, but sometimes you come pretty close to the line. Maybe we should just give the information to Blaylock and let him handle it.”

  “Come on, Gary. All we’re going to do is take a look. What can it hurt?”

  “Well, first off, we’re going to have to sign in to get a look at the case evidence. We’ll be on record. If something goes south, how do we explain that?”

  “Easy, we just say we got a tip from a hooker and we wanted to make sure there was something to it before we got other people involved. You know how these gals lie. It’s an easy sell.”

  “Okay, I hope you’re right.”

  After receiving the Bernard Maloof murder box from the evidence clerk, they began taking inventory of its contents.

  “Not much here,” Gary said. “Looks like mostly personal effects they found on the body.”

  “There’s something on the bottom,” Rollins replied. “Looks like an old journal of some kind.”

  “Hmmm,” Rollins said, flipping through the pages. “Looks like the kid’s uncle actually made the Anubis thing that got stolen. Maybe the kid wanted it for a keepsake.”

  “Some keepsake,” Gary replied. “It got him killed.”

  Rollins continued flipping through the pages. Close to the end he took a deep breath.

  “Holy shit! It wasn’t the statue that got him killed, it was what was in it.”

  “So tell me,” Gary said, peering over his shoulder.

  “According to the ledger, this Maloof character swiped gold and gems from the original artifacts and hid them in the belly of this Anubis. The kid must have found the journal and read about his uncle’s secret.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Gary said. “I’ve been following this case and I don’t remember ever hearing a word about any treasure.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t. Undoubtedly the only people that know about it are Blaylock and the cops that found the body. I can see why they wouldn’t broadcast a thing like that. Every crazy in town would be ripping off a piece of the exhibit hoping to find more treasure.”

  “If your hooker friend is right and Figg has the Anubis, I wonder if even he knows what he has.”

  Rollins smiled. “It doesn’t really matter whether he knows or not. What matters is that we know.”

  “Come on Phil. I don’t like the sound of that. What are you thinking?”

  “Well, Partner, I’m thinking that we’ve found our ticket out of this rat race.”

  “Surely you’re not ---!”

  “Yeah, Gary, I am. Think about it. We’ve been busting our butts and putting our lives on the line for ten years for a lousy sixty grand a year. We may get another five grand before we retire if we live that long. I’ve got a mortgage, a car payment and credit card debt out the wazoo. I’m almost under water and I don’t want to go down without a fight.”

  “But Phil, if we cross that line, there’s no turning back.”

  “If we pull this off we won’t have to turn back. We can move forward. If all that treasure is in that statue, we can be on some Mexican beach drinking margaritas before you know it.”

  Phil could see that Gary was considering the possibility. “Let’s take this one step at a time. First we get to Figg and see if he really has the Anubis. If he does, we’ll check it out. Up to that point, we can still turn this thing around. We don’t have to decide until then.”

  Phil smiled. “I can live with that.”

  “But why do I have to go?” Rhonda moaned. “I told you all I know and I gave you Figg’s address.”

  “Because if you’re standing right there in front of him saying you lied to the cops about his alibi, he’ll have to believe it. Besides, if you want to skate on that solicitation rap, you need to play ball with us. Kapish?”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  “Good. We’ll pick you up at eight.”

  Lester Figg couldn’t have been more surprised when he opened his door and saw two strange men standing on his porch with Rhonda Reams.

  “Mr. Figg, we’re Detectives Rollins and Fricke,” Phil said, holding up his badge. “I think you know Ms. Reams. We need to have a word with you.”

  “Certainly, Detective,” Figg replied, stepping aside. “What’s this about?”

  “I think you know what this is about. We’ve been chatting with Ms. Reams and it seems there’s some inconsistencies in your alibi for the night that Bernard Maloof was murdered.”

  Figg looked questioningly at Reams.

  Rhonda shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry, Lester, a gal’s gotta do what a gal’s gotta do. I’m just lookin’ out for number one.”

  “I should never have trusted a damned hooker,” he muttered.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Figg,” Rollins said. “There’s another matter we need to discuss.”

  When everyone was seated, Rollins continued. “Ms. Reams also told us that you have the Anubis in your possession.”

  “You little bitch!” Figg muttered, lunging at Rhonda. “You shouldn’t ---!”

  Rollins intercepted Figg and shoved him back into his chair.

  “Hey,” Rhonda retorted, “you were the one that couldn’t get it up. Don’t be blaming me!”

  “Back to the Anubis, Lester. Where is it?”

  “Why should I tell you? If the Anubis is so important to you, maybe we can make a deal.”

  “So you wouldn’t mind giving it up if we could work something out?”

  “Of course I wouldn’t mind. I only hid it to help perpetuate the mystery and sell more books.”

  Rollins turned to his partner. “He doesn’t know. That makes it all the better.”

  Lester was confused. “Know what?”

  “Never mind. Now where’s the Anubis?”

  “What about my deal?”

  “No deals. Just tell us where it is or else.”

  “Or else what?” Figg said defiantly. “You’re cops! What are you going to do? Beat it out of me. You can’t do that!”

  Figg watched in horror as Rollins pulled a throw-away pistol from his jacket and put a bullet in the center of Rhonda’s forehead.

  “Phil! What have you done?” Gary asked, as Reams slumped to the floor.

  “What I had to do partner. Looks like there’s no turning back now.”

 
Rollins aimed the pistol at Lester’s forehead. “So tell me again what I can’t do. I want the location of the Anubis. Now!”

  “Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you. Just don’t shoot me!”

  Figg pulled a key with a tag from his pocket. “Here. It’s a storage locker. The address and the locker number are on the tag.”

  Rollins took the key and turned to his partner who was still in shock. “Tie him up, gag him and bring him to the car. Let’s find this Anubis and see what we’ve got.”

  Rollins rolled up the door of the storage locker. The beam from his flashlight hit the head of the Anubis, and the obsidian eyes reflected the light back to the trio standing in the door.

  “Jesus!” Gary said. “That thing gives me the willies.”

  “Go get the toolbox,” Rollins replied, “and we’ll see if he gives us anything else.”

  “What do suppose are in all these boxes?” Gary asked, pointing to several rows stacked along one wall.

  “Let’s find out,” Rollins replied, ripping open the closest box. “Books! Must be hundreds of them.” He turned one over. “He sells them at his personal appearances. $32.50 a pop. The little shit murdered two kids just so he could sell a few more books. Curse of the Pharaohs! Hmmm, gives me an idea of how to take care of Mr. Figg. Now go get that toolbox.”

  Gary returned with the toolbox and pulled the overhead door closed.

  “Let’s turn this thing on its side and see what we’ve got.”

  They turned it over, exposing an indention that had been filled with plaster.

  “Just like the ledger described,” Rollins said with a grin. “Let’s see what’s inside.”

  With each tap of the hammer and chisel, the hole grew larger until finally the last piece of plaster fell away, exposing the cavity in the belly of the beast.

  Rollins tipped the Anubis and the treasure of the pharaoh, King Tut, spilled out onto the concrete floor.

  The three men stared at the glittering gold and gemstones.

  Finally, Rollins spoke. “So Gary, how does that Mexican beach look to you now?”

  “I can almost taste the margaritas,” he replied, smiling. Then he remembered Figg, who had stepped back against the wall of the unit. “What about him?”

  “Mr. Figg is the one who started this nonsense about the pharaoh’s curse and sensationalized it with the deaths of those two young men. I think it’s only fitting that the legend be perpetuated by his own demise. When they find his remains it will certainly add another chapter to the mystery of King Tut.”

  Hearing his impending fate, Lester Figg slumped to the floor, and the last thing he remembered was gazing into the obsidian eyes of the Anubis.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Did you read the headline in this morning’s Star?” Ox asked as we headed to our cruiser.

  “I assume you’re referring to the one announcing the resignation of Victor Carson from his council seat.”

  “That one for sure, but I also read that his wife has filed for divorce. Seems she’s not too happy about his dalliances with Ms. Veronica.”

  As I slipped into the cruiser, my attention was drawn to a cardboard Christmas tree dangling from the rear view mirror emitting the crisp scent of pine needles.

  “So what’s with the Alpine deodorizer?”

  Ox rolled his eyes. “If you EVER take time off again, I’m going too.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Geno Sullivan was assigned to ride with me until you got back.”

  “So what’s wrong with that? Geno’s a good cop.”

  “I’ll say! Good and gassy! We hadn’t gone two blocks when the most god-awful odor I’ve ever smelled filled the car. It was a cross between rotten eggs and sour milk. I didn’t want to embarrass the guy so I just cracked my window and let it ride. About the time we hit Union Station, there it was again.

  “I almost gagged. ‘Geno, I said, what the hell?’ He says, ‘Sorry man, it’s my wife’s fault. She’s always trying these new recipes. Last night she served up some Chinese thing with all kinds of weird spices. I’ve been like this ever since. She made me sleep on the couch.’ ”

  “Sounds like a fun day,” I replied, trying to stifle a smile. Ox wasn’t exactly flatulence-free himself, so if he was disgusted, it must have been pretty potent.

  “We stopped by Wally Crumpet’s pharmacy and picked up some Bean-O. When that didn’t work, we tried Gas-X. Nothing helped. We spent the whole day with all four windows rolled down.”

  Suddenly, it occurred to me that my kiester was firmly planted on the exact spot where Geno had spent the day emitting his noxious vapors.

  Ox continued. “When our shift ended, I dropped Geno off and bought a bottle of Febreze and that Alpine air freshener. I used the whole bottle and bought another one. Then when I walked in the door last night, Judy told me that I smelled like a porta-potty at a rock festival. She made me change my clothes in the hall and take a shower before she would touch me.”

  I was about to compliment him on a job well done, when the radio came to life.

  “Car 54, what’s your 20?”

  Ox keyed the mike. “We’re heading south on Troost, just past 63rd.”

  “Swing over to Prospect. The owner of the Empire Landscaping Company will be waiting for you. Says he found a body.”

  “Copy that.”

  We pulled into the parking lot of the landscape company and a guy in bib overalls was standing beside a Bobcat Track Loader.

  “Officers Williams and Wilson,” I said. “What have you got?”

  He pointed to a huge mound of sand. “A customer came in for a scoop of sand. When I pulled the bucket back, that thing popped out.”

  We took a closer look. A hand and a leg were sticking out of the mountain of sand.

  “I’ll call it in,” Ox said. “You set up a perimeter for the CSI team. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a homicide.”

  An hour later, the crime scene boys were busy with brushes, scoops and sifters, looking for evidence as they exposed the body.

  “Better take a look at this,” Ox said, as the face of the victim was uncovered.

  “Holy Crap!” I muttered. “That’s Lester Figg!”

  “Holy Mother of God!” the CSI guy exclaimed, pointing to Figg’s mouth. “In fifteen years, I’ve never seen anything like this!”

  We leaned in for a closer look and saw a pointy thing protruding from his swollen lips.

  The CSI pried open Figg’s mouth exposing a huge scorpion.

  “Oh, man!” Ox muttered, turning away. “That’s just gross. Why would someone do something like that?”

  I noticed the top of something stuck between Figg’s legs and pointed it out to the CSI guy who brushed the sand away.

  It was a copy of Figg’s novel, The Curse of the Pharaohs.

  “That’s why,” I replied. “It’s the curse. Whoever killed Figg is trying to perpetuate the curse.”

  “I don’t get it,” Ox said, shaking his head.

  “Symbolism. It’s all symbolism. The sand is the desert. The scorpion undoubtedly refers to the Scorpion Kings of ancient Egypt.”

  “Scorpion Kings?”

  “Surely you saw the movie, The Scorpion King, it came out about 2002, starring Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson. It was about a warrior, Mathayus, who conquered Egypt way before the time of the pyramids. He comes back to life later in The Mummy and The Mummy Returns. In 3067 BC, the Scorpion King leads his army on a campaign to conquer the world. Seven years later, the Scorpion King and his army are defeated and exiled to the desert of Ahm Sher. His men die of heat exhaustion, leaving only the Scorpion King. Vowing to give Anubis his soul for the power to defeat his enemies, an oasis is created to hide the Scorpion King's pyramid and giving him a legion of humanoid jackal warriors to seek revenge. The Army of Anubis sweeps across Egypt, destroying everything in its path, but once their task is finished Anubis claims the Scorpion King’s soul and his army.”

  Ox looked at me like I was a crazy
man. “How could you possibly know all that stuff?”

  “I checked out the movies,” I replied sheepishly. “All this stuff about the King Tut exhibit, the missing Anubis, the weird deaths of those two boys, the curse --- well, it all fascinated me, so I watched the movies.”

  Ox shook his head. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into this curse crap!”

  “Let’s just say that I’m keeping my mind open to all possibilities. When Maggie and I were in Hawaii, we went to the state park at the top of Haleakala on the island of Maui. Haleakala is a dormant volcano. The last eruption was in the late 1,700’s. During the time it was active, the native Hawaiians believed that Pele, the Goddess of Fire dwelt in its caldera. It was forbidden to take any of the rocks from Pele’s home. Supposedly a curse would befall anyone doing so. We talked to one of the park rangers who had been there for years. She said that in spite of the warnings not to take the rocks, many people just can’t resist grabbing a souvenir. She said that it was unbelievable how many packages they have gotten from tourists, returning the rocks and asking that they be returned to the volcano’s summit to bring to an end the bad luck they had experienced since returning to their homes.”

  “So you’re saying that bad things happened to these people because of an ancient Hawaiian curse.”

  “All I’m saying is what the park ranger told me. I’ll let you form your own conclusion.”

  Ox turned back to the mound of sand where Figg’s body was now completely exposed.

  “My conclusion is that we’ve got another dead body tied up in this pharaoh’s curse thing. We thought all along that Figg was responsible for the other two murders, but we couldn’t prove it. Now that Figg is dead, there is obviously another player out there and we don’t have a clue who he is or what his motive might be. We’d better let Detective Blaylock know what was buried in our little sand box. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

  ‘Thrilled’ wasn’t exactly the word I would have used when Blaylock heard that Figg had been found dead with a scorpion as his last supper.