It Takes an Archaeologist

by Edward Kendrick

  “Meaning they had inside help?” Quint asked.

  “That’s what we decided. We narrowed the possibilities down to five people, but couldn’t prove which one it was, presuming we were correct in the first place.”

  “I don’t suppose you have names and addresses for them,” Quint said, taking out his notebook.

  “On my computer. Hold on while I find them,” Cole replied.

  While Cole looked for the information, Quint told them, “It appears that Elliot was attacked when he got to his car. The driver’s side door was open; his body was on the ground a few feet away. The glove compartment had been rifled through, the trunk as well, and his keys were missing.”

  “Obviously whoever killed him was looking for something,” Gideon said. “Possibly more of the loot from the dig.”

  “Now that I know why he got in contact with Cole, I’d say that’s probably the case,” Quint agreed. “We have no way of knowing if he had anything in his car, but the fact the keys are missing makes me think the attacker—or attackers—needed them to get into his home.”

  “Was it gone through, too?” Cole asked.

  “The addresses on the two licenses—for the Elliot name as well as the Ellis one—didn’t match. I sent officers to both apartment buildings and neither address was valid.”

  Gideon frowned. “But you said you identified him from his fingerprints.”

  “He was arrested and booked, three years ago, for petty theft. So we know the body is Owen Elliot’s. The address he gave at the time is the same one that’s on his Elliot license.”

  “So he moved since then and didn’t change it.”

  “Presumably, yes. The Ellis license is obviously a fake,” Quint replied.

  “But, the attackers know his real address,” Gideon said. “They must, or they wouldn’t have taken his keys.”

  Quint nodded. “Our finding out where he really lived could be a problem, especially since they won’t have to break in.”

  “Why kill him?” Cole asked.

  “Good question. Since they searched the car, he may have taken more than the bowl he brought to you. Presumably, he did that without their consent.”

  “A falling out among thieves. It happens in a lot of crime movies.”

  “In real life, too,” Quint said. “Did you appraise the bowl?”

  “Yes. As I told Gideon, I would have paid Ellis, umm, Elliot, around five hundred for it, knowing I could sell it here at the gallery for a thousand, give or take.”

  “Is there a black market for Native American antiquities?”

  “You better believe it,” Gideon said, before Cole could reply. “For any artifacts. Not just Native American. The FBI busted a ring out of Indiana a couple of years ago, recovering thousands of items.”

  “There was a two-year sting operation by the Feds, the BLM, and local authorities that stopped a ring in Utah, in 2009,” Cole added. “They found over six thousand items.”

  “Somehow,” Gideon said, “I doubt Elliot and his presumed compatriots are part of such a big operation. The way he was killed sounds like—well, as Cole said—a falling out among thieves. Petty thieves in the grand scheme of things.”

  “I agree, at this point,” Quint replied. “Elliot wanted to make a fast buck, for whatever reason and maybe he hoped the others wouldn’t realize things were missing from wherever they stashed their loot.”

  Gideon looked at Cole with a worried frown. “Where do you have the bowl at the moment?”

  “In the safe, of course. Why?” Then he obviously understood. “You think these guys might try to get it back.”

  “One way or another. Yes. Either one of them will show up here, claiming he’s Elliot’s brother, or some such, and ask for it and the appraisal, or they’ll try to break in, hoping you haven’t stashed it somewhere they can’t get to.”

  Cole snorted. “How dumb do they think I am?”

  “As dumb as they are?” Quint retorted with a bit of a smile. “Gideon’s right, though. They may well try to retrieve the bowl.”

  “My security on the building and the display cases is top of the line. I seriously doubt a couple of punk looters can breach it.”

  “Probably not,” Gideon replied. “That won’t stop them from trying—or doing something to make you give them the bowl.”

  “Like what? Grab me when I’m entering or leaving, then force me at gunpoint to let them in and hand it over to them?”

  “One scenario,” Gideon said, glancing at Quint.

  “That or walk in while you’re open, pull guns and threaten you and your employees if you don’t open the safe.”

  “For an item worth only a thousand dollars, tops?” Cole scoffed.

  Quint shook his head. “It could be they think Elliot brought in other items he took off with—if that’s what happened. Then we’d be talking more than just a thousand dollars.”

  Gideon started to pace. “There’s another possibility. They could be looking for a buyer for the whole lot.”

  “This long after the actual looting of the dig?” Cole said.

  “Letting things cool down some, first.”

  “Okay,” Cole said reluctantly, “I can see that, I suppose. So, Elliot gets tired of waiting, takes a few…probably bowls, since they’re very marketable. But he needs to know how much they’re actually worth.” He nodded slowly. “I can see him bringing in a couple more, once he gets the first appraisal, using the same story about his grandmother. Then he either offers them to me, or, if he’s halfway smart, he goes somewhere else, with the appraisals, and tries to cut a deal for them.”

  “Wouldn’t he need proof he obtained them legally?” Quint asked.

  “Not if he found them on private land,” Cole replied. “And Grandmother’s house would meet that criterion. Any experienced buyer, however, would want to know that Grandmother got them legally, even if it meant she dug it up in her backyard. The problem is, there’s really no way to prove she did, or didn’t, since dear old Grandma is dead.”

  “If you hadn’t recognized the bowl, would you have bought it from him, given his story?” Quint asked.

  “No. But then, I’m an honest dealer. Trust me. There are plenty who are willing to skirt the law if they think they can get away with it. That’s especially true if they have some clients who don’t care about the provenance of an artifact.”

  “As with any stolen art,” Gideon pointed out.

  “True,” Cole said. “But there’s a big difference between flogging a stolen Monet or Picasso and an Anasazi seed pot.”

  “Flogging?” Gideon said with amusement. “You lived in England at some point?”

  “Yeah. For a year, in 2006. I picked up that word and—” He shrugged.

  Gideon chuckled. “Thought it sounded interesting and made it yours.”

  “Yep.”

  “Back to the problem at hand,” Quint said. “The man—or men—who killed Elliot might believe you have more than the one bowl.”

  “Why would they think I’ve got it?” Cole asked. “Unless they were following him, in which case, why not grab him—and it—before he even came in here?”

  “The beating they dealt him might have been done to get him to tell them what he did with the loot,” Quint replied. “He might have told them he didn’t have—probably the bowl, singular—because he’d already given it you for an appraisal, trying to get them to leave him alone.”

  “Which didn’t happen, since he’s dead,” Gideon said dryly.

  “Unfortunately,” Quint agreed. “I suspect he died before they found out where he stashed everything else. Thus the missing keys, as I’ve said. They’ll try his home first and go from there.”

  “Meaning come here,” Cole said.

  “I’d say so,” Gideon replied. “No matter what, as we’ve already discussed, they’ll undoubtedly want the bowl back, and…” He paused, not certain he wanted to add to Cole’s worries.

  “Spit it out,” Cole said tightly. “Although
I bet I know what comes next. If the police connect me to Elliot—” he smiled dryly at Quint, “—and I tell them about the bowl…Well, Elliot’s accomplices wouldn’t want that to happen.”

  “Precisely,” Gideon said. He turned to Quint. “Has the killing made the news?”

  “No. It looked like a mugging gone wrong. Not terribly newsworthy in a city this size.”

  “Good. Can you keep it that way?” When Quint nodded, Gideon said, “We’ll need someone here, in case they do show up.”

  “Won’t a cop standing around be a bit obvious?” Cole asked.

  “A cop? Yes.” Quint replied. “Knowing Gideon, I think he’s got someone else in mind. One of his people, I suspect, who can pass as another clerk.”

  Gideon smiled. “I was thinking of me. I do know a bit about Native American artifacts, as I told Cole. I’m no expert, but I can muddle my way through with the average lookie-loo. If anyone needs an expert, or asks to talk to the manager, I’ll hand them over to you, Cole.”

  “What if the other scenario we talked about happens, and they decide to rob the place?”

  “I’ve been known to shoot a gun and hit my target,” Gideon told him with a dry look.

  “Really?” Cole said. “I didn’t realize finding stolen art would involve shootouts. Although I guess it makes sense, since the thief might not like the idea of being arrested.”

  “Yep. I’m not usually the one getting shot at, since I have operatives to handle that.” Gideon snickered. “Okay, that didn’t come out quite the way I meant it. Nowadays, I spend most of my time running an operation, not being directly involved with it. Back in the beginning, however, when I first decided there was a need for an organization like mine; I was involved in all facets of the business.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “I’m not sure I approve of you being the one to do this, Gideon,” Quint said. “It is police business.”

  “Do you have an officer or a detective who knows enough to pass themselves off as an expert?”

  “Good question. Probably not. At least not without some training, and I don’t think we’ve got time for that.”

  “Then let me do it. I promise I won’t go off halfcocked and take potshots at anyone I think looks suspicious.”

  Quint chuckled. “I would hope not. All right. We’ll do it your way, although I’ll have to let my lieutenant know what we’re planning. If he says no, then no it is.”

  “Understood. I need to go back to my hotel to pick up my gun, Cole. I should be back here in half an hour, tops.”

  “You brought one with you?”

  “I always do. An ingrained habit, though I don’t carry it on me unless I think I’ll need it.”

  “Okay.” Cole gave him a half grin. “If they do come in, guns blazing, I’ll try to stall them.”

  “No. Until he gets back,” Quint said, “put a sign on the door saying you’ll be closed for an hour, and tell your clerks…you need them to inventory a new shipment?”

  “Clerk,” Cole told him. “When I’m here, it’s only James. It’s not as if we have that much business the two of us can’t handle it. I did buy some arrowheads yesterday that still need descriptive cards and the selling prices before I can put them in one of the cases, so that will work.”

  “How will you explain Gideon to him?”

  “He’s…umm.”

  “An old friend from out of town,” Gideon said. “I’m planning on opening my own gallery, back home, and want to see what’s involved on a day-to-day basis.”

  “Weak,” Cole said with a brief smile, “but I guess it’ll work. If those guys don’t show up in the next day or two, I doubt they will.”

  “Probably not.”

  “All right,” Quint said, “I’ll leave first, then Gideon. Then you lock up, Cole, until he’s back.”

  “Will do.” As soon as Quint left, Cole said, “You probably didn’t expect to be playing bodyguard when you decided to take my case, or whatever you call it.”

  “Not really. But then I didn’t expect there’d be a murder involved, either.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

  “I wouldn’t have volunteered if I weren’t. Why don’t you introduce me to James, explain why I’ll be here—not the real reason—and why you’re closing for a bit, and I’ll get out of here.”

  Cole did, then, while Gideon watched from outside the shop, Cole put a Back in an hour sign on the door.

  * * * *

  “Well, this has been anticlimactic,” Cole said just after nine, when James had left for the day.

  Gideon smiled. “That’s often the case when you plan things down to the final detail. The perps have no clue it’s happened and go their own merry way.”

  “If that’s what they did, how the hell are we going to find them?”

  “For starters, we do this again tomorrow. They may be holding off until they think it’s safe to show their faces. When they realize Elliot’s murder didn’t make the news and that no one saw them, then they’ll come out of the woodwork. So do whatever you do before you leave, set the alarm, then I’ll follow you home.”

  The fact Gideon suggested the last part made Cole tense up again. And here I was beginning to relax, figuring I had until I got back here tomorrow before I had to start worrying again.

  “I doubt they’re out there, waiting to waylay you,” Gideon said, obviously having picked up on Cole’s renewed fears. “But I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  “Thanks. I should be ready in twenty, once I deal with today’s receipts.” After clearing out the register, he set the alarm, turned off the overhead showroom lights, then went into his office. Gideon followed, leaning against the doorjamb, his gaze swiveling from Cole to the darkened showroom and back several times.

  “You think they might try to break in?” Cole asked.

  Gideon lifted a shoulder. “No. At least not while you’re here.”

  Cole had the feeling Gideon wasn’t telling the truth, but he wasn’t about to say so. He felt safe with the man here. And that was what counted.

  When he was finished, with the cash in a bag to take to the night depository at his bank and everything thing else put away, Cole said, “Do you mind stopping for supper? It’s what I usually do before going home, since I don’t take time to eat until closing, other than a late lunch.”

  “Sounds good to me. What’s open at this hour?”

  “Places with bars,” Cole replied with a laugh. “There’s a pub that serves food, straight up Broadway from here—not all that far from your hotel, relatively.”

  Gideon chuckled. “Relatively is good. I’ll follow you.”

  Twenty or so minutes later, after a stop at the bank’s night depository, they parked their cars behind each other on a side street and walked to the pub. Being a Monday, the place wasn’t too busy, so they were able to find a vacant booth. They both ordered beer when their waitress came over to give them menus. When she returned with the drinks, Cole ordered the Shepherd’s Pie and Gideon, after consulting with Cole, opted for the Fish and Chips.

  They drank in silence while they waited for their meals to arrive until, needing to talk about something—anything that didn’t have to do with the gallery and the murder—Cole asked, “Are you married?”

  “Are you?” Gideon replied.

  “No.” Cole smiled wryly. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Because my private life is just that—private.”

  “Sorry.” Cole took a deep drink of his beer, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. It was obvious from Gideon’s cold reply that he’d hit a nerve.

  Maybe he’s in an unhappy marriage and doesn’t want to talk about it? Possible, I suppose.

  Cole resisted sighing in relief when the waitress appeared with their food. He dug in, commenting after a couple of bites, “This is as good as always. How’s yours?”

  “Not bad at all,” Gideon replied. “In fact, very good—for bar food.”

>   “Yeah. It’s a local hangout, but all the fancy—” he made finger quotes, “—restaurants are closed at this hour. One of the joys of keeping the gallery open until nine.”

  “Why eat out instead of making something when you get home?”

  “Because I’m a lousy cook?”

  Gideon laughed, replying, “That could present a problem,” and the tension Cole had felt between them vanished.

  Stay away from personal questions and we’re good, I guess.

  When they finished eating, Cole paid the bill, telling Gideon it was his treat, since he’d asked him to come along. As they left the pub, Cole noted Gideon scanning the area, as if he was making certain no one was interested in them. That sent a frisson of dismay through him. “Do you think they’re around?”

  “Doubtful,” Gideon replied. “How far do you live from here?”

  “About three miles. You don’t really have to follow me home, though. Your hotel is only a couple of minutes away. Beside which, they’d be crazy to think I’d have the bowl at the house when I have good security on the gallery.”

  “I think beating Elliot to death comes under the heading of crazy.”

  “Okay. Point made.”

  When they arrived in front of his house, they parked, then Cole went back to Gideon’s car to tell him thanks for escort home.

  * * * *

  Gideon turned the car off and got out. “I’m coming in with you.”

  “To make certain no one’s lurking?” Cole replied, looking as if he was uncertain if he should laugh at the idea, or be afraid.

  “Yes.”

  Cole shrugged, leading the way inside. He disarmed the security system with a slight smile. “I’m not totally naïve.”

  “So I see. That doesn’t mean they couldn’t bypass it, if they know what they’re doing. I doubt it’s even close to what you’ve got on the gallery.”

  “Well…”

  “I figured.” Gideon looked around the living room, noting the shelves of books, and the drawers under them and under the window seat. He wondered if they held a collection of artifacts. At the far end of the room was a short corridor next to the stairs leading up to the second floor. The furnishings looked comfortable—a long sofa and two armchairs upholstered in tan fabric which contrasted well with the oak floor and off-beige walls. Between them and the hallway was a small dining table with four chairs.