A Twist of Fate:
The Case of the Soap Mummy
By
A. Rhea King
Was that the secret of life? Forsaking material desires for something as abstract as loving a child? The love may not pay Egon's bills, but he survived as a happy, content man.
In darkness the dead man sat alone. In the intense silence it was easy to hear the faint sound of footsteps crunching gravel approaching from above. Overhead there was a loud scraping and then light burst into the darkness. The removal of the cover above let in more than light – nearby there were the sharp, distinct notes of a morning bird, a couple dogs barking, somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed and there was the soft lowing of cows asking to be fed. Almost sixty feet above four faces were silhouetted against a sky full of colors – Warrick, coroner David, State Patrolman Kevin Shoemaker, and Farmer Dell. They stared at the mummified corpse sitting at the bottom of the dry well. Like the sides of the well, it covered with limestone residue that has leached through the walls of the well with water and solidified as the water evaporated.
"See. I gotta mummy in my well," Jack told them.
Warrick, David and the Patrolman Shoemaker looked at him. The old farmer chewed on the end of his toothpick, staring at the corpse at the bottom.
Warrick moved his flashlight and it glinted across residue on the skin of the body.
"That's not a mummy," Warrick told Farmer Dell.
"Looks like one."
Warrick didn't argue that it wasn't a mummy. It was kind of exciting to think he actually found a mummy, if it was one.
"We'll have to see what created it," Warrick commented. "David, see if you can get us a biohazard bag for transport, or it'll fall apart once we get it out of there."
David trotted off toward the coroner's van.
"I don't care if r you carry him out in pieces. I want him out of my well!"
"Even if we remove him, the well is still considered a crime scene until I can clear it," Farmer Dell ordered.
"I want my well back and I want it back pronto. Can your nigger ears understand that?"
Warrick and Patrolman Shoemaker both looked up at Farmer Dell. He didn't show any remorse for his racial remark.
"Yeah. I heard you," Warrick snapped.
Jack walked away.
"Wow…" Patrolman Jack watched the old man walk away. "Some people don't flow with the times."
Warrick leaned over, bracing a hand against one knee. He saw something at the bottom of the well.
"Is that money?"
Patrolman Shoemaker leaned over, bracing his hands on his knees.
"Sure looks like money."
Warrick stood up. "Great!"
"What?"
"I'm not all too excited about going into a small hole in the ground."
Patrolman Shoemaker smiled, patting him solidly on the shoulder. "Ain't it great being a CSI? You get all the fun jobs."
Warrick smiled. "Yeah. Right."
The two headed back to their vehicles.
#
On an exam table, in a bright white clean room, laid the corpse from the well. The body was pale. The skin was supple and gleamed like it had been formed from wax. In one of nature's rare mysteries, the body fat had been exposed to moisture and high concentrations of alkali, turning it into soap. Warrick surprised himself when he remembered that exposing the corpse to the dry, arid heat of Nevada would have caused it to disintegrate before his eyes, taking all the evidence with it. Grissom had confirmed that when he'd called to tell him he needed his boss to beg, plead, or bargain with the hospital director to let him keep the mummy in one of their clean rooms.
Working in a clean suit wasn't the most comfortable thing Warrick had ever done, but it was loose enough that it let him collect tissue samples and photograph the corpse. Warrick heard the airlock door open and looked up. The other person, also in an environmental suite, had their back to him. They attached an air hose from overhead to their suit and turned. Warrick smiled at Grissom.
"Couldn't stay away, could you?" Warrick asked.
"I haven't had an adipocerous corpse before, so no." Grissom circled the mummy with a smile. "He is nicely preserved. It looks like he was laid to rest yesterday. Has the hospital director given you any trouble about keeping him here?"
Warrick chuckled. "Hardly. He even came in to see this guy. They're just as fascinated. He has been pushing me to get Ecklie to release him to the hospital once the case is closed."
"Is there any sign of purification?" Grissom asked.
"Haven't found any yet. This happened fast. I wonder if he was under water before the well dried out."
"Was it sealed?"
"Yeah. Until this morning when the farmer reopened it to drill."
"Why was it sealed?"
"Well…" Warrick leaned on the counter behind him. "The farmer said that when he was a kid, they were always pulling dead things out of the well, but they didn't use it much then because the grove hadn't gotten that far. One day his dad came in mad because the board covering it was broken again. That's when he was probably sealed in." Warrick paused, looking up at Grissom. "I'm thinking this was the last thing to fall into the well."
"Do you like the farmer for this?"
"Naw. The guy's a jerk, but I don't suspect him of being involved. His dad… Maybe. But he died five years ago from cancer, so not much to move on there." Warrick stood up, staring at the corpse's face. "But there was a whole bunch of gold coins at the bottom of the well. I had to leave a State Patrolman to secure the area 'cause we had to get this guy here before he started falling apart. I'll go back later to get those, but I tell ya, Grissom, I think this may be a dead end case."
"Aren't you jumping to conclusions? You've just begun."
Warrick smiled. "Always the optimist."
"I've been accused of that. Have you talked to Nick tonight?"
"No. Why?"
Grissom sighed. "Do you remember when you two were rookies, and I gave him that case where the girl had been raped and almost killed by the same guy five times, and the last time he killed her?"
Warrick thought for a moment. He slowly shook his head, frowning. "He's in that mood again, huh? What set him off this time?"
"I don't know. I need you to do whatever you did last time to get him out of it."
"I can't, Grissom. This just has to run its course. He'll get over it."
"It was a week last time, Warrick. With the way things have been around here these last few months, Nick can't be like this for a week."
Warrick looked at his mummy. "I'll try to talk to him. I can't promise anything."
"Thank you."
Warrick nodded.
"Oh. Ask Greg about the coins. He's a numismatics hobbyist."
"I'd forgotten about that. Thanks."
Grissom turned to go, and then turned back.
"For adipocere to be these complete, this mummy has to be over two years old," Grissom pointed out. "And keep a very open mind with this case. The adipocere is likely to throw all your tests off."
"I'll keep it wide open."
Grissom left Warrick to continue processing the mummy.
#
Warrick carefully set up the rigging over the well and then slipped into a rappel harness. He looked up at the Patrolman Shoemaker standing nearby, and then behind him. Farmer Dell was watching him with the evil eye. He hadn't been shy about expressing, again, how angry it made him that he couldn't start drilling his well right now.
Warrick fastened the carabineer onto the harness, fastened a small back of equipment to the rope, and lowered himself into the well. He began a slow descent into the small shaft, watching the ground below him. At the bottom he spread his legs, avoiding stepping on the ground any more than he had to. David had been careful when he'd come down to collect the mummy, but he'd hidden many of the gold coins by accidently shifting the dirt.
Warrick pulled off his padded gloves and pulled on latex gloves. From the pack he pulled out a spade, small hand strainer, and a clear nylon bag with a carabineer. He fastened the clear bag to a rope hanging nearby and then leaned over to sift through the loose dirt. As he collected the gold coins, he discovered that the water table was only a few inches below the surface.
He finished with the coins and put the tools back in his pack. He pulled out plastic test tubes with stoppers and a small metal spoon. Warrick scraped the stones, catching the falling silt and minerals in the tube, and then carefully dug down into the ground to collect soil samples. From the bag he pulled out a long suction tube, pushed it into the ground, and pulled out a sample of the water. Warrick filled a tube with it, stopped it, and held it up to the light too look at it. He lowered it, staring at Farmer Dell standing at the edge of the well overhead.
"You're not supposed to be on this side of the tape, sir," Warrick told him.
"It's my property. I want my well back!"
"I'm working as fast as I can."
"Sir, you can't be behind the tape," he heard the Patrolman Shoemaker tell Farmer Dell.
The officer appeared, laying his hand on Farmer Dell's elbow.
"It's my property!" Farmer Jack yanked his arm away, stepping closer to the edge of the well.
The two walked away, the officer explaining, "I know it is. This will go much faster if you let the CSI do his job, sir."
Warrick put the tubes into the bag, zipped it shut, and started climbing out of the well. He reached the top and found the Patrolman Shoemaker and Farmer Dell still arguing about how long the investigation was taking.
Warrick just smiled and shook his head, turning to pick up his gear. He had thought about leaving the repelling tripod there in case he had to go back down, but with the way that Farmer Dell was acting, he didn't feel like leaving anything behind. Warrick pulled the bag of coins up and worked it free from the line.
"Did you get those coins from my well?"
Warrick looked over his shoulder. Once again Farmer Dell was ignoring the cordon tape and charged under it at Warrick.
"Yes. What do you know about them?" Warrick answered.
"They're mine."
Warrick turned, facing the man at his full height. Sometimes that was all he needed to disarm an angry person. But Farmer Dell kept charging like an angry boar.
"They belong to me."
"Do they? Tell me about them."
"You found them in my well! They belong to me!"
Warrick realized this man had not legal claim to these coins, other than 'finder's keepers,' which didn't amount to squat when it came to any claim of ownership in a possible murder.
"I'm sorry, sir, but until I've cleared them, they're evidence. If you would like to fill out—"
"I ain't filling out shit! Give them to me right now."
Warrick looked up as the Patrolman Shoemaker stopped on the other side of Farmer Dell.
"Sir, for the last time, even if this is your property, you have to stay behind the tape until the CSI has cleared the scene."
"You're going to listen to him?" Farmer Dell demanded of the Patrolman Shoemaker.
"As a matter of fact, yes. Now come on." The officer motioned off toward the grove, out of the taped area.
"Well you can listen to a nigger, but I ain't." Farmer Dell turned his angry, beady eyes on Warrick. "Give me those coins, you damn nigger."
Warrick was surprised that the comments weren't making him angry. Instead they made him smile. The anger behind the words was forced and unpersuasive and an attempt to instigate a fight.
"Sorry. You'll have to fill out the proper forms." Warrick said.
Farmer Dell grabbed for the bag and Warrick dodged his hand with a side step. The old man had expected Warrick to stay put and fell into the well. He grabbed the rope and slid to a stop on it a few feet from the bottom. He let go, dropping onto the ground, and then turned his angry, beady eyes to them.
"GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
"Do we have to?" the Patrolman Shoemaker whispered to Warrick. "He's out of the way down there."
Warrick turned fast to keep Farmer Dell from seeing him smile. "I'll go call for a fire truck."
The Patrolman Shoemaker cleared his throat and called down, "We're calling a fire truck to bring a ladder, sir."
"There's one over at the shed. Go get it. Get me out of here!"
"I'm sorry, sir, but now that you're down there I can't leave the area. The CSI has to return the evidence back to the lab. That's if you want this cleared up quickly. You do still, don't you?"
Warrick closed his eyes, fighting to keep his laughter silence. He started walking fast toward his Denali.
"YOU ARE A COMMUNIST IDIOT!" Farmer Dell screamed.
"Why thank you, sir. Thank you very much. Just sit tight. That fire truck is going to take a while to get here. We are pretty far from town."
Warrick threw open the door and dove in, busting a gut as soon as he had the door closed. He didn't call the fire truck until he was able to calm down and sound serious – which took another twenty minutes.
#
Warrick slowed to a stop as he walked into the lab. Nick hadn't seen him yet, he was too busy with the microscope. It gave Warrick time to decide if he was ready to try talking to Nick.
Warrick walked over to the counter next to Nick and sat the tubes of soil and water in a test tube rack, and the bag of coins on the counter. Warrick pulled a pair of gloves out of the box and began preparing slides. He didn't acknowledge Nick when he glanced at him. This was a poker game and he had to play his hand right or he'd never get Nick to hear what he knew Nick needed to hear.
"I'm using this microscope," Nick snarled.
"The others are being used too. I can wait. I have to prepare slides anyway and try to identify these coins."
"I'm going to be a while."
Warrick looked right into Nick's icy glare, unmoved by it.
"Guess I'll have to wait."
Nick started collecting his evidence.
Nick turned to leave.
"I got this friend…" Warrick waited until Nick turned his icy glare back to him. "Once, he dumped out these pills I was hooked on. He's a pretty decent friend."
"And what about this friend?" Nick asked in a dark, angry voice.
"Well, there were these two times he got in this 'I hate the world' mood. He's in one of those moods right now. I didn't give up on him then, I won't now either. Maybe I should tell him if he needs help with whatever, I'm here for him. What do you think?"
Warrick held Nick's glare.
"I think he'd appreciate knowing that," Nick quietly told him.
"I hope so."
Nick walked out of the lab.
Warrick watched him until he turned a corner. He sat down on the stool in front of the microscope and slid a slide of the water under the clips. He focused on it and smiled when he saw the number of bacteria and diatoms in the water. They may help give an idea about how long the mummy had been in the well. He removed the water slide and put the slide of soil on. There was silica from sandstone or mudstone, a few pieces of shells from thousands of years ago, small chunks of conglomerate and… Basalt. Warrick sat up with a smile. That wouldn't tell him when the man died, but it may help solve the adipocere mystery.
"Good evidence?" Greg asked, suddenly appearing at Warrick's side.
Warrick smiled. "I'm getting somewhere on a dead end case. What's up?"
Greg handed him a large envelope for developed X-rays. "Robbins said he'd normally call you down, but he's backed up and the radiation sped up deterioration."
Warrick pulled out the x-rays and walked over to a light table. He flicked it on and laid them out.
"Aren't you supposed to be working on a case?" Warrick asked.
Greg heaved a sigh. "Yeah. But the tar won't come off! Robbins and David are both working on it now. When I tried to help they practically screamed no at me. I'm getting the distinct feeling this may end up being a John Doe case. I can't even see the guy's face."
Warrick looked up, confused for a moment. "Then how do you know it's a guy?"
"They were able to get the tar off that part of him."
Warrick nodded. "Oh. So then you're free right now?"
"I am. What's up?"
"Those coins over there. See what you can make of them."
Greg looked at the bag. He pulled on gloves and walked over to the counter, emptying the coins out on the counter. He held them up and tried brushing the caked dirt off with his thumb. When that didn't work he grabbed a dissection pan and bottle of sterile water, and began gently washing a dozen of them.
"Oh wow!" Greg said with a grin.
Warrick glanced at him. "Are they worth anything?"
"They're gold!" Greg held up one of the gold coins. It was darkened with age, but still had much of its original luster.
"You mean they're solid gold?"
"Well, probably not wholly. This one's a US Eagle. It's only 92 gold. And this one," Greg held up one with a Maple leaf. "Is a Canadian Maple. It's 99.99 gold." Greg carefully moved each coin onto the counter. "This collection is from all over there world. There's some Kruggerrand, Chinese Pandas, an Australian Lunar, and—"
"I don't know what any of that means, Greg. Are these currency coins or bullion?"
He held up a coin, pointing at the embossed image on it. "Bullion. They're called coins because they look like coins.
"What's their worth?"
"I can't really say. Normally that would be judged by their weight in gold, but some of these are rare, so they'd be worth more than their weight."
"Let's pretend they're all worth the same. Give me a ballpark."
Greg moved the coins onto a scale. "This isn't an accurate measurement because these are measured in troy ounces instead of avoirdupois ounces." He turned to Warrick. "Roughly, they're worth about two hundred and fifty thousand. What was your mummy doing with these coins?"
Warrick shrugged. "Falling into wells, apparently. Thanks, Greg."
"Nothing else?"
"Naw. Gave the rest to Hodges. Sorry, man."
Greg sidled up to Warrick, looking around the other labs. "Hey, do you know which way Nick went? I saw him in here before I came in."
"And let me guess, you pretended to busy until he was gone?"
"He hates me."
"He doesn't hate you. His case is just getting to him. He was walking toward A.V. last I saw."
"Okay. See you later." Greg headed out the door furthest from A.V.
Warrick watched him go, risking a smirk when Greg had his back turned. He looked down at the x-rays. With the bones nearly deliquesced was hard to figure out what had interested Robbins. He leaned over the films and finally saw it. The fat-turned-soap almost masked what looked like a wallet, something that had worked its way into the body as it had changed from living tissue to soap.
#
Warrick carefully pulled items from the wallet and moved them onto a tray lined with wax paper. He carefully washed the items with sterile water, cleaning away the soap and residue.
"Got something for you," Hodges said as he walked up. "The soil and water sample was high in alkali. That water is so hard they could clean Mount Rushmore with it."
Warrick smiled at the joke. "Just set those there." Warrick motioned to the spot with his head.
"This can't be good," Hodges said.
Warrick looked at him and then where he was looking, seeing Grissom rush past. He turned his focus back to the wallet. One of the cards he pulled out was still in tact and as the water washed it clean, he realized he was holding a driver's license.
"An I.D." Warrick said.
Hodges leaned in also watching at the writing became visible. He chuckled a little when the name was readable.
"Edith Stuckley?" Hodges said, looking at Warrick. "The dude has a girl's name."
Warrick smiled. "Ed-ith, not Ee-dith."
"That's a girl's name."
"I don't care. I have a name and a matching face."
Hodges looked back at the driver's license. "I dunno. He seems to have gained weight since this picture was taken."
Warrick looked up at him and Hodges grinned. "Gotcha!" Hodges walked away laughing at his own joke that Warrick hadn't found all that funny.
Warrick turned to a computer behind him and sat the license next to the keyboard. He pulled off the latex gloves and entered the information in.
The computer screen populated with information about Edith Stuckley. He was brother to Ronald Stuckley, owner of the Lucky Strike Casino. The casino wasn't one of the larger ones but it pulled in a nice profit and had outlived most of the smaller ones around it. There was no indication about Edith's last known whereabouts, but his brother had filed a missing person's report in 1999.
Warrick glanced at the coins, changing thought gears. He glanced up when he saw Nick rush past. Warrick stood to follow, but he glanced back at the table of evidence. He couldn't leave it. Warrick sat back down, pulling up the police report database and threw in some keywords: gold, coins, bullion, 1999. The computer started chugging away.
Warrick pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and took the driver's license over to a camera on a tripod. He snapped off a couple pictures, and then began putting the evidence away.
"Warrick," Grissom said behind him.
Warrick glanced at him. "Yeah?"
"Have you seen Nick?"
Warrick motioned toward the stairs. "He's in his thinking spot."
"Thanks."
Grissom left. Warrick watched him go into the stairwell. Had things come to a head finally? Warrick's concern was derailed when the computer displayed a few dozen results. Warrick finished putting his evidence away and sat down to wade through the results.
#
Warrick followed the security guard through the silent, unseen halls at the back of the Lucky Strike Casino. The man stopped outside a pair of doors and tapped the intercom next to the door on the left.
"Mister Stuckley, that CSI that phoned earlier is here to see you."
There was a pause. "Send him in."
The guard motioned to the door. Warrick walked into an office that was no different from the larger casino owner's: plush carpet, expensive décor, a huge desk to compensate for something, and a black haired, graying, well dressed, obese man sitting behind it. He was surrounded by men that looked like they were all in the mob. Warrick was leery about the situation, but he continued walking.
"Ronald Stuckley?" Warrick asked.
He nodded. "You said you had some questions about my brother?" The man's voice cracked as he looked up at Warrick. Warrick saw hope. Ronald was probably praying for good news.
Warrick pulled the photo of the license he'd taken and sat it down on the desk. "Is this your brother?"
Ronald stared at the photo. Warrick recognized the cold shock he'd seen on the faces of so many people forced to accept that their family member was deceased.
"He's dead, isn't he?" Ronald softly asked.
"Yes. I'm sorry for your loss, sir." Warrick meant it.
Warrick had unearthed a lot about Ronald before meeting with him. He donated thousands of dollars to the Search and Rescue, had bought several of the search and rescue, narcotic and bomb dogs, and made it possible to maintain two helicopters for search and rescue. It made sense, Warrick deduced. He wanted his brother found, and figured that if they were well funded, one day they would bring his brother home. They hadn't – some cranky, racist farmer had – but the effort was proof the man wasn't all bad.
"I called him Edie. He hated Edith."
"When was the last time you saw him?"
Ronald looked up at Warrick. "You know that. You saw the missing person's report."
"I have to ask. What he was like when you last saw him. I read he was accused of burglary several times. Did he mention someone who might have wanted him dead? Maybe a partner that—"
Ronald pointed an accusing finger at Warrick. "Edie never, not once, hurt anyone when he stole. He never even carried a gun. He did it for the thrill. He didn't do it for the money. And I compensated everyone that he stole from!"
"Including his last job?"
"What last job?"
"Edie was found with nearly three hundred thousand in gold bullion. Did you give that to him?"
"No. I don't know where he would have gotten that. Are you sure he took it?"
"That's my suspicion. Did he know anyone who had a collection of gold bullion coins?"
Ronald began shaking his head. He thought for a moment.
"There used to be rumors that Egon McAllister had converted his life savings into gold coins that he kept hidden in his house."
"Egon McAllister?"
"Yeah. He and his wife bought a house from my father back in 1980. In fact, he made most of the furniture you see in here. He just sort of shut down after his wife died. Even lost his kid to the system for a while."
"To social services?"
"Yep."
"Did he have anything against your brother?"
"Not that I know of. Edith really liked the guy."
"Do you know where Egon lives?"
"Yeah. The same place Dad sold him. Do you think he killed my brother?"
"I'm checking all leads at this time."
Ronald smiled. "Is that cop talk for no, yes, or maybe?"
"That's cop talk for I don't know anything at this time. I'm a scientist. Saying yes with certainty is something we try not to do. Can I have his address?"
Ronald opened a drawer, taking out a pad of paper and pen, starting to write down an address.
"You'll come back and tell me if you have some certainty, won't you?" Ronald tore off the paper and held it out.
Warrick took it but Ronald didn't let go. "Edith was a screw up, but he was my blood-related screw up."
"Thank you for your cooperation," Warrick answered, pulling the paper away, and leaving a small piece in Ronald's hand. So there was a mobster casino owner in there. So much for the illusion of a good guy.
Warrick walked away. If Ronald wanted to know what happened to his brother, he could ask or use whatever dirty cops he had in the department to find out.
#
Warrick turned onto a one lane road. On one side a white fence ran the length of the road, keeping in a herd of cows. He didn't know what the black and white ones were called and didn't really care. He'd figure it out when or if he ever had a case that involved the breed. One the other side was a field of wheat just starting to stretch from the dark soil.
Moapa Valley was a rare spot in Nevada, one that tourists and locals alike rarely saw. It was hidden between two stunted ranges of mountains – he'd seen mountains, these were not what he considered mountains. The valley floor was fertile with a very low water table. As rare as it was for him to see it, this was the fourth time in three days he was coming back, but this time he wasn't headed toward racist Farmer Dell's property. This time he was looking for Egon McAllister to see if he knew how Edith Stuckley ended up at the bottom of a well with his bullion.
At the end of the road the property gave way to a small, two story farm house. There were two outer sheds, and four large Cottonwood trees shading a green front yard. Inside one of the sheds was an old, dirty pickup that had been repaired rather than maintained through its life. Running through a sprinkler was a black-haired thirteen-year-old, two border collies, a golden lab missing one leg, and two unidentifiable mop looking dogs. Warrick smiled as he got out. He grabbed the folder off the passenger seat and shut the door. For some reason, the door of his Denali shutting caught the attention of the dogs. As a group they turned and charged Warrick barking as loud as they could. He hesitated with his hand on the handle, not sure if he should stand or jump back in his Denali. But then they all came to a stop around him and jumped up on him or waited with tails wagging. There was nothing vicious about these pets. Warrick laughed, trying to push them away.
"Get down! Get off!" Warrick laughed, pushing dogs away.
"GUYS!" the girl cried, running up. "No! Off! OFF YARDLY! Sam, no, stop it. Stop it you guys." She grabbed as many collars as she could in both hands and pulled them back. "Sorry. They like company."
"That's okay. I'm looking for Egon McAllister."
"Dad's inside working on something."
"Do you mind getting him for me?"
"Who are you?"
"Warrick. I'm a criminalist."
She stood, putting her hands on her thin hips. "Criminalist? You've been in jail?"
"No." Warrick grinned. "I put people in jail."
"Is Dad in trouble?"
"I need to talk to him Can you get him for me?"
"About what?"
"I have to talk to him… What is your name?"
"Madelien, but everyone calls me Madi. If Dad's not in trouble, why can't you tell me why you want to talk to him?"
"I'm sorry, Madi, but I can't. Can you get him for me?"
"He's busy and won't stop working until supper. Come on."
She turned and started toward the house with the pack of dogs following her. Warrick followed behind, watching them. Madi stopped them at the door repeating sternly 'no' as she let Warrick in, and then followed in behind him.
"Dad!"
"In the shop, honey," Warrick heard a voice call from the back.
Madi led Warrick through the house to the kitchen and through the back door into an atrium. The room had been converted into a wood workshop with vine plants hanging overhead to provide soft green shade from the sun. A tall, thin, blonde man stood at a lathe, slowly shaping a long block of wood into a rounded leg for something. Half finished furniture was scattered through the room. Madi fell into a rocking chair missing an arm.
"I like this one, Dad. Are you selling it?"
Without looking up and in a mellow voice, he replied, "Missus Jefferson. Who's this?"
"He's a criminalist named Warrick. He wants to talk to you, but he wouldn't tell me what it's about."
Egon glanced at Warrick. "A criminalist huh? Well, pick a chair and tell me what you've come to ask to me about."
Warrick walked to the end of the lathe table. "Have you seen this man?" Warrick pulled Edith's photo from the folder and held it out.
Madi jumped up and ran over to her dad, standing up on her toes to see the photograph. Egon smiled, but it was sad. Did it mean guilt?
"That's Edith Stuckley."
"Edith? That's a girl's name!" Madi told him.
Egon started working again, telling her. "Ed-ith is a variation of Edith. Like Sam for Samantha or Samuel."
"Oh." She looked between her dad and the photo. "I'd never call my son Edith. Imagine how much he'd be picked on!"
Warrick really wished Madi would go do something.
"I knew Edith," Egon admitted. "He was drunk most of the time I knew him, and unpredictable. He broke into people's houses to steal just for fun, and then his family would pay the people off so they wouldn't press charges."
"Did he steal from you?" Warrick asked.
"No. Edith was always nice to us. After we adopted Madi, he'd bring bags of diapers or formula. He loved her. He'd always tell us that if he ever had a niece, he'd want one just like Madi. Edith would never have stolen from us."
Warrick was thrown off by the answer.
"You're sure?" Warrick asked.
Egon nodded. He sat the lathe down and started sanding the wood. "Someone stole a coin collection I was building for Madi. Edith knew about it. There's no way he would have stolen from her."
"Who else might want them?" Warrick turned his attention back to Egon. "Why would they want them?"
Egon shot him a look like Warrick had just asked the world's dumbest question. "Of course I know why. They were gold. They were valuable. It and a silver necklace I gave my wife were the only things they took. They had to search for that drawer though. I didn't make it easy for someone just looking at it to find. As for who, I don't know. I filed a report, but nothing ever came of it. Whoever has them has probably spent it on something worthless or drugs."
Warrick pulled out the photographs of the coins and laid them down one by one in front of Egon. As he did, he saw the man's recognition. Egon sat the sandpaper down and picked up one of them.
"Madi, isn't it time to feed the dogs?" Egon asked.
She looked at her watch. "Yep. I'll be back."
Madi jogged to the steps going into the kitchen, bunny hopped up them, then skipped away. Warrick looked back at Egon once she was gone. He was feeling the wood he was shaping.
"Are these the same ones I reported? Do the numbers on them match?" Egon asked.
"Yeah. They do."
"Where on earth did you find them?"
"Three days ago at the bottom of a well next to Edith Starkly."
"Are you sure it was Edith? He had to be bones and dust by now. That was over ten years ago!"
"He was in a preserved state. I'm sure it is him."
"When I met my wife, Camarilla, I though the world would never get better," Egon told Warrick. "Then we found out we couldn't have children, so we adopted Madalien. It must have been fate that she was supposed to be ours – the adoption went through in a week. Our attorney said she'd never had an adoption go through so fast." Tears started to well up as he went on. "Then Camarilla got sick and died." Egon looked at Warrick. "All I could think about was those damned coins. I ignored Madalien, didn't take care of her. Someone told Social Services and I lost her too. That only made it worse for me. I blew up at work, lost my job. That day Edith showed up real angry at me for losing it because I'd never get Madi back without it. He told me I was going to lose my coins next if I didn't stop drinking. I guess he was warning me, but I was drunk. I didn't hear him. And then my coins were stolen… The night my coins were stolen, I had drunk myself unconscious, so I really don't know what happened. Losing those cursed things was the best thing that happened to me. I finally woke up, fought to get Madi back, and gave up working for the government for woodworking." Egon smiled, looking at the wood in front of him. "Doesn't pay as much, but at least I'm always here for Madi. That's all that matters."
Warrick collected the photos, sliding them into his folder. Egon was innocent. Warrick's certainty lay in Egon's disinterest in the gold bullion. He was grateful that Edith Stuckley had taken his fortune and forced him to realize he loved his daughter more. Was that the secret of life? Forsaking material desires for something as abstract as loving a child? The love may not pay Egon's bills, but he survived as a happy, content man. In that truth about Egon, Warrick had no doubt that Egon was exonerated of causing Edith Stuckley's death. Warrick looked up at Egon.
"It could take a few weeks or a few months to get your property back to you. I'll be in touch when I know more."
Egon nodded. "Has anyone told his brother what happened?"
"I spoke to him, but I wasn't able to give him details."
"When his brother went missing, it tore Ronald up. He even picked up Edith's gifts to Madi. Every Christmas he sends her three hundred dollars. He never signs the card, so I just tell her it's from Santa Claus – even though she stopped believing me when she was nine. Ronald should know how his brother died."
Warrick almost told Egon that he believed Ronald suspected him of killing Edith, but he refrained. In his mind he'd already written the closing comments to this case: Edith Stuckley had fallen into the well by accident, likely intoxicated or otherwise under the influence. He was either dead or unconscious when the well was later sealed. Cause of death is accidental. Case closed.
"I'll let him know," Warrick promised. "Thank you for your time."
"You're welcome."
Warrick headed back through the house. He reached the front door as Madi raced in.
"Are you leaving?" she asked. "I was about to start supper. We're going to have French toast and bacon."
Warrick smiled. "Thank you, but I can't stay."
She held out the coin to him. "Do you need this?"
"No. Thanks for asking."
He held out his hand and she shook it.
"I'll see you round," he told her.
She narrowed her eyes, leaning in. "Not if I see you first!"
Warrick laughed, walking out of the house. He passed through a maze of dogs noisily eating their supper and climbed into his Denali. Warrick started it and headed back down the drive. He slowed near the end when he saw a black car blocking the exit, stopping several feet from the car. The driver got out, walked around, and opened the back door. Ronald Stuckley stepped out.
Warrick rolled his window down, but kept his vehicle running, in gear, and the door locked. Ronald walked up to his side of the vehicle, staring down the road at the house now hidden by the contours of the land.
"Did Egon kill my brother?" Ronald looked at Warrick.
"I can't—"
"Mister Brown, you have not made friends in your past," Ronald reminded Warrick. "And you are not really in a good position to be dodging a simple, very basic question."
"You wouldn't believe me if I answered it."
Ronald looked at Warrick. "Was my brother drunk when he fell in the well?"
"His body wasn't in a state I could determine that."
"What state was that?"
"A mummy. Not the pharaoh of Egypt kind. He looked more like a wax doll."
"Looked?"
"Once we removed the corpse, it began decaying. There's not much left of it now. I'm sorry, I couldn't help that. It's a natural process."
"Did Egon do it?"
Warrick hesitated. He didn't want to tell this man anything. That was against protocol and he was trying to keep his nose clean; however, telling Ronald was likely to protect Egon and Madi.
"No. Egon wasn't responsible."
Ronald nodded, glancing at the house. "Did everything seem okay when you were in there?"
"Okay how?"
"Madi. Was she okay? Did she look cared for?"
Warrick's brow dipped. "Why are you asking about his daughter?"
Ronald looked at Warrick. "Did the child seem okay?"
"Yeah. She was fine. Now why?"
Ronald nodded. "Any mention of money?"
"Yes. Why?"
Ronald turned to the driver that had followed him. "Put in some more orders for chairs. Top dollar." He glanced at Warrick. "Have a good night, Mister Brown."
The two went back to the car, got in, and the driver pulled away. Warrick watched it disappear, confused by the conversation. Slowly, the pieces clicked. Egon had said: Edith used to tell us that if he ever had a niece, he'd want one just like Madi. Edith would never have stolen from us.
Warrick looked in his side mirror in the direction of the house. Madi was Ronald's illegitimate daughter, which explained why Edith had taken such an interest in Madi, and why Ronald was now concerned about her welfare. At some level the casino tycoon wanted to be her father, and he was doing it the best way he knew how. Warrick sighed. He wanted to hate Ronald for what he was, but everything layer on the man kept revealing there was a human underneath it all.
Warrick pulled out onto the road, heading toward the highway and back to Las Vegas. Right now his concern was closing the case of the juicy mummy.
#
The minute he hit the door, the entire bar started welcoming Nick. He smiled, laughed, passed out hugs and a few kisses to women, handshakes to men. Warm, caring Nick had returned, marked by only a few red dots where the vanished pustules were still healing.
Warrick and Greg trailed in behind him.
"You just had to let him pick the bar tonight, didn't you?" Greg yelled over the music.
Warrick smiled. "Hey, I'll suffer a night at some hick bar if it means Nick'll come to work in a good mood in two days. Wouldn't you?"
Greg thought about that a moment. "Is that a trick question?"
Warrick laughed.
Nick suddenly emerged from the crowd in front of them. "There's a table over there." Nick pointed them in the direction. "I gotta a rain check I gotta pay up on."
"With who?" Warrick asked.
Nick pointed over his shoulder at a red head in a tight tank top, jeans, and cowboy boots. Everything about her curves was a head turner. Warrick and Greg both smiled.
"Gillian. She's been asking me to dance with her for weeks."
"You want us to order you anything?"
"Naw! I'll get something when I come over." Nick disappeared into the crowd with Gillian.
Warrick and Greg made their way to a table and sat down on tall bar stools. Greg leaned over the table.
"Have you ever seen Nick in a mood like he was in?"
"Yeah. Back when we were rookies. The first time it happened, we damn near got into a fight at a crime scene. I finally got tired of it and called up his oldest brother up – Nick does whatever James tells him to so I was hoping he'd talk some sense into Nicky. Instead he tells me that not even God himself could bring Nick out of these moods. He said it only happened when something got a hold of him in the wrong way, and only he could figure out how to get free from it. But when he did, he told me to take him to a country bar and let him dance till he dropped, or hire him a hooker for the night. The bar's cheaper!"
Greg laughed.
"Hey, are you two Warrick and Greg?"
The two turned, staring at the women watching them. One was a blonde and average. She wore a western cut shirt with rhinestones and silver studs, a miniskirt and boots. Her friend was a tall African-American, flawless smooth skin, long curly hair, a midriff tank top, and tight blue jeans revealing her long legs that ended in pearl white boots.
"Yeah," Greg and Warrick answered.
"Nick said you two don't know how to do the Cotton Eyed Joe," the blonde said. "He asked if we'd teach you. It's the next song."
"What's the Cotton Eyed Joe?" Greg asked.
Warrick reached over and smacked the back of his head. "Say yes to the lady."
"I mean yes," Greg said with a smile.
Warrick slid off the stool and held out his arm. The dark woman slid her arm into his and they disappeared. Greg waited until Warrick disappeared.
"You know Nick Stokes?" Greg asked the blond.
"Honey, everyone here knows Nick Stokes," she answered with a smile. "All the guys wish they were him, all the girls wish they were his. You coming?"
"Right behind you."
She led him to the dance floor as the Cotton Eyed Joe started.