It Takes an Archaeologist

by Edward Kendrick

  Not that I’ll do anything about my interest in Cole, even though I know he’s gay. That much, he’d gleaned from the information he’d gotten on Cole before meeting him the first time. Apparently Cole made no secret of the fact—when asked. Which Gideon hadn’t. It wasn’t germane to why he’d worked with Cole to find and stop the men who had raided the dig and stolen whatever they could get their hands on.

  He did wonder why Cole was still single and living alone—something that was readily apparent from his tour of Cole’s home. Well, that he lives alone. I really have no idea if he has someone in his life. He only told me he wasn’t married, not that he wasn’t seeing another man. Still, I have the feeling he’s not.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said aloud, earning him a startled look from the middle-aged woman sitting next to him. He smiled at her and shrugged. “I tend to talk to myself when I’m tense,” he explained.

  “You don’t like flying?” she asked.

  Gideon prevaricated, saying, “It’s not my favorite mode of travel, but a lot faster than driving halfway across the country.”

  “I love flying. I’m on my way to visit my daughter. I’m about to become a grandmother.”

  “Congratulations. The first one?”

  “Yes.” She positively beamed. “Do you have any grandchildren?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  She grinned. “Tell your kids to hurry up and give you some.”

  Gideon was heartily glad to hear the announcement at that point saying it was time to start boarding the plane. He was flying First Class, meaning he’d be one of the first people on the plane. He hoped he wouldn’t end up beside the woman, as he was in no mood to talk about potential grandkids—or anything else, as far as that went. He didn’t, and once he’d stowed his carry-on bag, he settled into his seat, closing his eyes—a surefire way he’d discovered from many years of flying to deter the talkers.

  When one of the flight attendants shook his shoulder to tell him they were landing he realized he’d actually slept through the flight. After deplaning, he got his bag, went down to baggage claim to pick up the other one, then took a cab home.

  Chapter 4

  The week following the arrest of the looters passed quietly. Or as quietly as it could, considering the arrests had made the news. Cole had been subjected to reporters wanting to interview him. He used the experience to talk as much as they’d allow him to about the problems with looters of archaeological digs, and how an unwary buyer could determine if the artifact was being sold legitimately. “I might as well get something out of this whole mess,” he told James dryly at one point.

  Quint showed up at the gallery the Tuesday following the arrests with news—good and bad.

  “The perps, Carl Davis and Tony Alvarez, agreed to plead nolo contendere to the charges of looting the dig, in exchange for telling us where the rest of the stolen items are. They were also offered a chance to plead to second degree murder in the Elliot case, on the condition they give up the names of the people they might already have sold some of the artifacts to.”

  “Are they going to?” Cole asked.

  “No. They’re claiming that didn’t happen—that they were still sitting on everything, waiting for the right buyer who would take it all off their hands. From what they’ve said, Elliot got antsy. He decided to go off on his own, taking several bowls and pots from their stash.”

  “I gather you haven’t found out where they ended up,” Cole said.

  “Not so far. We’ve contacted all the reputable appraisers and shops in the metro area, hoping he might have taken each of them in separately to be appraised, the way he did with you. So far, no luck.”

  Cole nodded. “Let me do some checking around. I have a few sources who might be willing to talk to me, rather than you, since I’m not associated with the police department.”

  Quint arched an eyebrow, but only said, “Have at it.”

  “Did they say who the inside man at the dig was?”

  “They’re claiming there wasn’t one.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Cole replied firmly.

  “Neither do I. They were too…evasive, for lack of a better word, when I talked with them about that. Not meeting my eyes when they said it was only the three of them, and they went over the fence to get in.”

  Cole snorted. “A fence topped with razor wire? I don’t think so.”

  “Given that it was, I agree. But they’re not backing down.”

  “Whoever the SOB is, he must have quite a hold on them. Did they seem afraid? Or just not willing to rat out a partner in crime?”

  Quint gave that some thought. “I’d say some of both, but more like they didn’t want to face the consequences of saying who it was.”

  “Why don’t I give you the names of the men we suspected might be responsible? You can run them by Davis and Alvarez and see if you get a reaction.”

  “Good idea.” Quint thanked him after Cole made the list for him, and left.

  * * * *

  Wednesday afternoon, Quint returned to the gallery.

  “I did as you suggested,” he told Cole. “Three of your five suspects are out of contention. From the way Davis and Alvarez acted, they had no clue who they were. However, despite the fact they claimed not to know Stuart Franks and Lee Phillips, I had the distinct feeling both names rang a bell.”

  Cole nodded. “Meaning they at least met them at some point, whether at the dig—which is highly unlikely since we didn’t let anyone in who wasn’t associated with what we were doing—or in town.”

  “I’d say that’s probably the case. They could have approached either man, felt him out about the possibility of, what? Getting a private tour of the site after working hours?”

  “Possible, although both Lee and Stuart should have shut them down real fast on that idea.”

  “Should have and did are two separate things, Cole.”

  “I know that. If one of them seemed even halfway willing and was offered the right inducement, they might have unlocked one of the gates for Davis and Alvarez, then turned a blind eye to why the men were there.”

  “Is that how you narrowed it down to your five suspects? They all had keys to the gates?”

  “Yes. Only seven of us did. Neither Keith Brooks nor I were on the list because we were supervising it for the university—him because he’s a professor there, me because they hired me to work with him. The other five were obviously men we trusted enough to give them keys, so they could let their teams in to work at whichever area they were in charge of.”

  “Are you willing to do what you can to narrow it down to one of the two men?” Quint asked.

  “Hell, yes!” Cole replied adamantly. Then he frowned when something occurred to him. “You said yesterday that Davis and Alvarez seemed afraid to tell you who let them into the dig. Right?”

  “To a degree, yes. Why?”

  “That’s my question. Why be afraid of him if they bribed him. That would have given them a hold over him, to keep him from talking. What if…” Cole nodded slowly. “What if he found them or knew them from somewhere? He chooses them, rather than the other way around. Hires them, and they loot the dig. Then, maybe, they take off with what they got, rather than turning it over to him. He’d be pissed when he finds out and could be looking for them. That would explain why it’s been over six months since it happened, and they still had everything.”

  “Possible. Yeah. Then Elliot gets greedy—or frustrated—and walks away with some of the loot. No wonder they killed him.”

  “I presume you’re not condoning it.” Cole grinned.

  “Of course not. But it does make sense. Elliot’s greed could have given the guy who hired them a way to find them, if and when one of the bowls or pots showed up on the open market.”

  “True,” Cole agreed. “Now I have some news for you. I talked to the people I mentioned who might have been interested in the stolen items. Elliot approached one of them with a pair of pots, using the
same story he did with me. This happened before he showed up here. The guy I’m talking about is, shall we say, rather lax about following the letter of the law. He did the appraisals then called Elliot and gave him a price for both of them. Less than what they were worth, but still nothing to sneeze at. Elliot didn’t return for the money, so the man figured he’d come out a winner and offered them to a collector back east a couple of days ago. The collector hasn’t contacted him yet, so he still has them. He’s willing to hand them over to me with the proviso I don’t mention his name.”

  Quint frowned. “Why would you accept his offer?”

  “We get the pots back? Actually, when he found out that Elliot had been murdered and that the pots were looted from my dig, he was eager to get rid of them. He might look the other way if he thought someone had trespassed on federal land and gotten lucky. Okay, he does that fairly often. His logic is, if someone finds something interesting, and they haven’t robbed a grave to get it, it’s fair game. But when it comes to despoiling a dig, he’s willing to—and has—turned the items and the info on how he got them over to someone from the BLM.” Cole chuckled. “His one saving grace, but it’s a big one.”

  “I guess.” Quint didn’t seem too happy about it, but obviously he didn’t intend on debating the point with Cole. “That’s it on locating what Elliot took?”

  “So far. The man promised he’d spread the word and, if nothing else, the rest of the looted items may appear mysteriously, as he put it, on the local BLM doorstep.”

  “Let’s hope he’s right. Okay, unless there’s something else, I’ll get out of here.”

  “One thing. Do you have any idea when Davis’ and Alvarez’s trials will happen?”

  “It’s too early on for that to have been decided. When it is, I’ll let you know.”

  “And Gideon. Right?”

  “Naturally. Both of you will be called as witnesses for what went down here last week.”

  “Good.”

  Quint eyed him, smiling slightly. “If I was to hazard a guess, from the look on your face, you like the idea that he’ll be back.”

  Cole tried for a casual shrug. “I enjoyed his company while we were working together.”

  “Cole, look. Personally I don’t give a damn if you’re gay and have a thing for him, which I think is the case. Hell, he’s an interesting man, from what little contact I’ve had with him. I’m gay, too, so I get where you’re coming from. The problem is, he’s straight.”

  “Yeah. I figured as much. Straight and married, I think.”

  “That, I can’t say. Gideon’s very close-mouthed about his personal life. To the point you wouldn’t think he had one sometimes, according to a man I know who works for him. So a word to the wise…Don’t get your hopes up, because it won’t happen.”

  Cole grimaced. “I know. Still…”

  “You can’t help what you’re feeling right now. Understood.” Quint patted his shoulder.

  “It’ll pass. But, it is a nice dream—and only that.”

  Cole wished it wasn’t. Since Gideon had left, he found the man was in his thoughts more than was logical, all things considered. I’m like a teenager with a crush on the hot jock who has a dozen girls hanging around him. Been there, done that, actually, and it wasn’t fun. But I got over it then, and I will now.

  “I’ll call if I find out anything more,” Quint said.

  “Okay. And I’ll see if I can figure out if it was Franks or Phillips who hired the men to loot the dig—if that’s what happened. Or which one of them the looters convinced to let them into the site.”

  “Good. Talk to you later,” Quint replied before leaving the gallery.

  Chapter 5

  Gideon adjusted his phone so he could take notes as he listened to Quint. When the detective finished updating him about what he’d learned—and hadn’t learned—from Davis and Alvarez, Gideon said, “Thanks for filling me in.”

  “No problem. I figured you’d want to know where things stood.”

  “Cole’s suggestion that someone from the dig might have hired them is definitely more logical than them convincing someone to let them into the dig in the middle of the night.”

  “I agree,” Quint replied. “Cole’s going to try and pinpoint which one. I did have another talk with Carl Davis yesterday. Of course, his lawyer was present so I didn’t get much out of him, other than the fact he and Alvarez were hired by someone. His lawyer shut him down after he blurted that out, so we’re still left with the problem of whether it was Stuart Franks or Lee Phillips.”

  “Or someone else.”

  “Only seven men had keys to the gates, according to Cole.”

  “Who? Give me names.”

  “Hang on,” Quint said. “I need to look them up.”

  Gideon drummed his fingers on his desk while he waited. Despite the fact the suspect list had been narrowed down to Franks and Phillips, according to Quint, Gideon wasn’t willing to eliminate everyone else. Not until he’d personally checked them out.

  Why do I want to stay involved? I’m sure, between them, Quint and Cole are quite capable of figuring out whether it was Franks or Phillips—if it was one of them. I’ve got no reason to think it wasn’t, from what Quint told me. Still, it wouldn’t hurt for me to run the other men as well. I do have connections neither Quint nor Cole has.

  Gideon knew himself well enough to understand that wasn’t the only reason he wanted to continue being involved. For the last week, despite his trying to avoid it, his thoughts had returned much too often to his time with Cole. No, not to the time, but to Cole. What is it about him that attracts me? No one has since…since Robin’s death. Why now? He didn’t have an answer for that.

  “Here you go,” Quint said, breaking into Gideon’s thoughts. “Do you have a pen?”

  Gideon chuckled. “Several. And paper. But why don’t you email the information. It will save time and my fingers.”

  “Will do. It includes names, their most recent addresses, and phone numbers. I got them from Cole.”

  “That’s a start.”

  “You don’t think it was Franks or Phillips?” Quint said. “Any reason for that?”

  “No. It could very well have been one of them. I just want to cover all the bases.”

  “I can do that,” Quint protested.

  “I can do it faster. Art theft is my specialty. I have databases and contacts I use when I’m on the hunt.”

  “All right. I’ll tell Cole you’re going to handle it.”

  “No!” Gideon tempered his tone. “No. He knows the two men—Franks and Phillips. Let him do whatever he’s planning. I’ll take a look at the others.”

  “Okay. Whatever you say. If he comes up with anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks.”

  They ended the call, then Gideon waited for Quint’s email to hit his inbox. When it did, he settled down to find out everything he could about the six men, excluding Cole, who’d had keys to the dig.

  * * * *

  Cole finally had the time, Thursday evening, to call Stuart Franks. He caught him at home, and after the not unexpected, “This is a surprise. How are you?” from Stuart, they went through the usual, if brief, exchange of what had been going on with each of them. Then Cole got down to business.

  “I don’t know if you heard. The men who looted the dig last summer have been caught.”

  “Finally,” Stuart said. “It’s about time. Did the police—or was it BLM people—find the artifacts they stole?”

  “The police. They recovered what appears to be almost everything, after the men told them where the loot was stashed. One of the men is dead, murdered by the other two.” Cole filled him in on why.

  “Damn.” Stuart sounded horrified. “But I suppose if you’re part of a gang of thieves and decide to double-cross your partners, you have to watch your back.”

  “Definitely. The only thing I still haven’t figured out is how they got into the dig in the first place.”


  “Well, they were thieves. My guess would be, one of them probably knew how to deal with locks.”

  “That, or someone gave them a key,” Cole replied.

  Stuart snorted. “Who’d be dumb enough to do that? Only a few of us had keys, so we’d be obvious suspects if that happened.” He paused. “We are, aren’t we?”

  “It did occur to me and Keith at the time. But as you said, if that was the case, whoever did it would be asking for trouble, especially if the looters had been caught in the act.”

  “No kidding. Well, I can tell you, with no hesitation, that it wasn’t me, if that’s what happened. I value my job and my reputation. I’m a scholar, not a looter. I hate those bastards. I didn’t give them my key, and I didn’t let them in. Hell, the first night they hit the site, I was in my room, with company.” He chuckled. “The female kind. She was damned good at what she did.”

  Cole laughed, while he tried to read the tone of Stuart’s words, wishing they were talking face to face. That wasn’t an option unless he wanted to fly to England, where Stuart was part of a dig at a fifth century cemetery. Not that he’d have minded going there, but it wasn’t in the cards at the moment.

  * * * *

  “As far as I could tell,” Cole said to Quint early the next morning, “Stuart Franks wasn’t lying to me. He sounded interested and nothing more. Not that I have a built-in lie detector, but I do know him. My feeling is that it wasn’t him who let Davis and the others into the site or gave them a key to get in.”

  “What about Lee Phillips?”

  “So far, I haven’t been able to get in touch with him. The phone number we had for him is no longer in service. The same with his email. Since he lives in Oregon, I can hardly go knock on his door.”

  “If he’s still there,” Quint pointed out. “Changing phone numbers happens, if someone moves. That’s not usually the case with email. I’ll do a little digging and see if I can find out where he is now.”