Can you solve this mini-mystery? BREAK-IN
AT THE MUSEUM By
Richard Ciciarelli My
partner Larry and I had been assigned
the night shift that week. We checked in at midnight on Friday and less
than a
half hour later the phone rang. “This
is Jack Bennett,” the caller said.
“I’m the curator of the city museum.” “What
can I do for you, Mr. Bennett?” I
asked. “I
was on my way home from a party and I
swung by the museum. I noticed the delivery door at the rear of the
building
was ajar and the wires of our alarm had been cut. Someone may be
inside.” “We’ll
be right there.” I
hung up and told Larry the situation. “Museum?”
He asked. “Strange place for a
break-in. I don’t even think I’ve ever been there. Why would anyone
want to
break in?” “We’re
about to find out.” At
twelve-forty we pulled into a lot
behind the museum. Jack Bennett’s silver sedan was there. He climbed
out as we
approached. “I
didn’t dare go in,” he said. “That
was smart. Follow us. Stay behind
and make as little noise as possible.” The
three of us slipped through the open
back door, Larry and I waving our flashlights back and forth in the
pitch-dark
building. The
whole place was as quiet as a tomb,
our muffled footsteps echoing
in the darkness. As
I flashed the beam from my light to
the left, Bennett tapped me on the shoulder. “There,”
he whispered. “That door to the
antiquities room. It should be closed.” My
flashlight revealed an open large
double door. “I
don’t hear anyone,” I said. “I think
we’re safe talking out loud.” We
made our way across the floor and
through the double doors. I flashed my light around while Larry pulled
aside a
wall tapestry to our left and flipped the light switch. It
took a few seconds for our eyes to
become accustomed to the brightness, and once they were, we saw the
damage. Several
glass cases in the middle of the
room were smashed. Whatever had been in those cases was now missing.
Only
purple velvet with some irregular indentations remained. “The
Egyptian artifacts!” Bennett
exclaimed. “They’re gone.” “What
kind of artifacts?” I asked. “Solid
gold rings and amulets,” Bennett
answered. “Scarabs and miniature tablets inscribed with hieroglyphics.” “Who
would steal that stuff?” Larry
asked. “You’d
be surprised,” Bennett said.
“There are private collectors out there who would pay a fortune for
things like
these. And they wouldn’t ask any questions about how the seller got
them.” “But
surely they couldn’t put ads in the
newspaper or on an internet auction site,” I said. “No,
but there are places on the dark
web where buyers and sellers can go to make illegal transactions.” I
pulled out my cell phone. “I’ll
call the station and report this.
The entire museum will have to be closed tomorrow while our forensics
people
dust for fingerprints and go through their entire regimen of tasks. I
don’t
hold much hope, though. I’m betting our thief wore gloves.” Saturday
morning found me at the station
early, looking through our files on all the people in our city who had
been
previously arrested for burglary. “Any
luck?” our captain asked. “I
have a couple of names I’d like to
check,” I said, “but none of these guys ever dealt in Egyptian
antiquities.” “There’s
a first time for everything,”
the captain said. “You never know what someone will do for money.” I
don’t know why, but that remark
sparked an idea. “Captain,
I’d like you to call a judge
to get a search warrant. I think I know where we can find those stolen
artifacts.”
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2020 Richard Ciciarelli. All rights reserved.
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