It Takes an Archaeologist

by Edward Kendrick

  Actually, Quint would hand the job off to Gideon. But he wasn’t going to tell Cole that, since Gideon had asked him not to let Cole know he was still involved in the case.

  As soon as they hung up, Quint placed a call to Gideon. He was sent directly to voicemail, so he left a message relating what Cole had said. With that accomplished, Quint got back to the current cases he and his partner were dealing with. “Which are more than enough to keep us busy until hell freezes over,” he grumbled, picking up the top file on his desk and setting to work.

  * * * *

  Gideon listened to Quint’s voicemail, nodding as he took notes. He trusted Cole’s instincts about Stuart Franks, so he provisionally crossed the man off the list. Then he set to work on finding the missing Lee Phillips. He agreed with Quint that the dead email address could be classified as strange, but not altogether unusual—if Phillips had moved and changed ISP services in the process.

  It took him half an hour, but he finally tracked Mr. Phillips down. Interestingly enough, Phillips was living in New York City, which worked well, since Gideon was there too, at the headquarters of his business.

  He went downstairs from his office to his computer lab. After a brief discussion with one of his forgers, he waited while the man came up with the proper identification to make it appear that Gideon—or rather Jack Carlson, according to the ID—was an investigator for the BLM. With that in hand, Gideon left the building, heading to Phillips’ place of employment. From what he’d found out, the man had started working at a gallery handling American primitive art approximately three months after the looting of Cole’s dig. Gideon wondered if working at galleries handling historical artifacts—or owning one—was a second job for a lot of archaeologists when they weren’t in the field, if they weren’t university professors. He suspected that was possible.

  The background check Gideon had run on Phillips had come back clean. But then it would have, in his estimation, given that the man worked on sites where he might possibly find articles of great value. Any company, museum, or university would be stupid to hire someone without the proper accreditation for the job.

  When Gideon walked into the gallery, a woman came over, asking if she could help him. He asked for Lee Phillips, and she pointed to a man at a desk at the back of the room.

  Once he’d introduced himself to Phillips, as Jack Carlson from the BLM, he got down to business.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware, but two of the men who looted the dig you worked on with Dr. Newell have been apprehended.” He watched Phillips carefully as he said that. The man’s reaction was what it should have been—interested and relieved.

  “Have you found the stolen artifacts?” Phillips asked.

  “Yes. Most of them. A few are still missing—ones that were taken by the third man in the gang. Unfortunately, his partners murdered him while attempting to find out what he’d done with them.”

  “Good Lord!” Phillips seemed honestly shocked. The reaction was one that Gideon would have expected from someone who hadn’t been involved with the looting. If Phillips had been the man who let the others into the site, he was very convincing in his response.

  “The dangers of being a criminal,” Gideon said dryly. “The only person who hasn’t been apprehended is whoever gave them access to the site.”

  “Meaning whoever had keys to the gates,” Phillips replied with a small smile. “There were seven of us, as I’m sure you know by now. I’ll tell you straight out, it wasn’t me. I loathe looters with a passion. The damage they do to a site while searching for artifacts is unconscionable. You couldn’t pay me enough money to allow one of the bastards into a dig.”

  Again, in Gideon’s opinion, the man was reacting as expected, so he asked, “Is there anyone among the key holders you think might have?”

  “No. We were…are all dedicated archaeologists. I’m quite certain all the others feel the same way I do about looters. In fact, I know they do. God only knows we talked about it often enough after those men got into the site. So, no. However they gained entrance, it wasn’t because one of us let them in.”

  “No one other than the seven of you had a key…or access to one?” Gideon asked.

  “Not as far as I know. I think we were all very careful with them. I know I was. The only time mine wasn’t on my person was when I was sleeping. Then it was in a drawer of the nightstand in my room.”

  “Not to get too personal, but did you ever have female guests?”

  Phillips chuckled. “That is rather personal, but no. I’m happily engaged to be married and I wasn’t about to endanger that by hooking up with a local female. That’s the reason I moved out here from Oregon—to be close to her.”

  “Congratulations. All right. I have no further questions at the moment. If you think of anything I should know, feel free to give me a call.” Gideon handed him a card with the Carlson name, but his own private phone number—one of several numbers he had for just such occasions.

  “I will,” Phillips replied.

  * * * *

  Gideon called Quint when he got back to his office.

  “Unless Mr. Phillips is a consummate actor or conman, he’s not our guy,” Gideon said, then related the details of his talk with the man to Quint.

  “Which pretty much leaves us empty handed.”

  “True, unless…” Gideon nodded to himself. “Unless we should be looking at Keith Brooks, the man who worked with Cole, supervising the dig.”

  “He’s the only other one we haven’t checked who had a key. But why would he endanger the site by letting Alvarez and company in?”

  “Why would anyone? Money. What he could make off the sale of the things the looters took.” While he talked, Gideon did an online search for archaeologist salaries. He quickly came up with some figures, relaying them to Quint. “On average, an archaeologist working with a museum or university makes between forty-nine and fifty thousand dollars per year. Not exactly a job that will make them wealthy.”

  “So the lure of extra cash, if a man is greedy,” Quint said, “could possibly make him forget his preservationist principles.”

  “I’d say that’s a definite possibility. I’ll start looking at Mr. Brooks and see what I can come up with, above and beyond the normal information his employers would have on him.”

  “All right. Thanks. Again.”

  “No problem. It is what I do.” Gideon hesitated before asking, “How’s Cole doing?”

  “Fine, as far as I can tell,” Quint replied, sounding a bit surprised at the question.

  “Good. What happened would have been traumatic for a civilian, so I was worried he might be, you know…” He let his words peter out.

  “I’ve only talked to him a couple of times, but he doesn’t seem to be jumping at shadows from what I can tell. You could call and ask him yourself, you know.”

  “No. If you say he’s okay, I’ll take your word for it. I’ll start digging into Mr. Brooks and let you know if I find anything interesting.”

  * * * *

  “And that’s where things stand at the moment,” Quint told Clay over dinner that evening. He’d kept his partner apprised about the case. He often did that, especially if it was one that involved any facet the art world.

  “So Gideon thinks this Keith Brooks hired Elliot and the others?”

  “At this point, it’s a logical conclusion—at least in his mind. Everyone else seems to have been eliminated.”

  “Unless one of the looters got their hands on a set of the keys,” Clay pointed out.

  “True. Or…”

  “Or?”

  Quint shrugged. “One of the guards at the site was involved. I’ll have to ask Cole if they had keys, too, although I think he’d have said something, if they did.”

  “Then they probably didn’t. They were there to keep anyone from getting inside, which wouldn’t have necessitated them being able to open the gates. They were probably supposed to call Cole or Mr. Brooks if they saw someone insid
e the fence.”

  “Good point.” Quint took another bite of the lasagna Clay had made, then said, “I’m beginning to wonder something about Gideon.”

  “Oh? What, and why?”

  “When I was talking with him today, he asked how Cole was doing.”

  “And? After what Cole went through, from what you’ve said, that’s a logical question.”

  “That was Gideon’s excuse for asking. But I’m not sure I’m buying it. I think it was more personal, from the tone of his voice.”

  “Quint. Honestly.” Clay shook his head. “The man’s straight as an arrow, and you know it.”

  “Actually, I don’t know anything of the sort. Sure, according to rumor, he is. But since according to Rory he’s reclusive outside of work, who’s to say one way or the other. Right?”

  “Yes, Mr. Romantic.”

  Quint snorted. “I’m about as romantic as…as a turnip.”

  Clay broke into laughter. “A turnip?”

  “It’s the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment. Still, I’m betting it’s fifty-fifty if Gideon’s straight, gay, or maybe bi.”

  “That would thirty-thirty-thirty plus a bit—each.”

  “Technicalities. You know what I mean.”

  “I do.” Clay gave him a hug. “Even if you’re right, and having met him, I don’t think you are, it’s none of your business, Mr. Detective. So don’t pry.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it. Honest. Still—”

  “Shush and finish eating. We’ve got plans for tonight that won’t—”

  “I’m eating. I’m eating, oh bossy one.” Quint grinned when Clay flipped him off, saying, “Later, my man. Much later.”

  Chapter 6

  “Keith Brooks? Yes, I know him. He was a professor at the university for the past five years,” Dr. Allen, the dean of the Archaeology department said when Gideon asked. “He taught here and was also in charge of the summer field schools.”

  “Meaning exactly what, in his case?” Gideon asked. He had been surprised that the dean was available on a Saturday, having expected he’d have to leave a message for the man to call him on Monday.

  “He supervises archaeological dig projects, which our students can, and should, participate in. Last summer, for instance, he was working at an ancient Anasazi pueblo site in southwest Colorado. May I ask why you’re interested in him?”

  “His name came up during an investigation of looting at the dig you just mentioned.”

  “That was horrible,” Dr. Allen replied. “Poor Keith held himself responsible for what happened, although it wasn’t his fault.”

  “How so?”

  “He and Dr. Newell were in charge of the dig—Keith being the primary because he worked for the university. Ergo, he was the one who made decisions, such as who would have access to the site.”

  “Meaning who could get into it?”

  “Well, all the students could, of course, since that’s why they were there. But there were also professionals in the field, working the site and monitoring the students. Five men that Keith had chosen, due to their expertise. They had keys to the gates. The ones for the fence that protected the site from trespassers and looters. But then, if you’re investigating the looting, you should already know that.”

  “I do, although I wasn’t aware he was the one who brought in the others. I was under the impression they were hired by the university.”

  “Oh, we paid them, but they were people Keith had worked with in the past.”

  “You said he was a professor. He’s not any longer?”

  “No. He quit right before the fall semester began. Put us in a bind, as it was quite sudden.”

  “Did he give a reason why?”

  “Not specifically. He said he had personal problems he had to attend to and wouldn’t be able to handle them and still give his full attention to his work here. If you want my opinion, he was shaken by what had happened at the dig. As I told you he felt he was somehow responsible. The loss of so many priceless items…” Gideon could imagine the dean shaking his head in dismay.

  “Have you been in contact with him since he resigned?” Gideon asked.

  “No. He appears to have dropped out of sight.”

  “After picking up his last paycheck, I presume.”

  “I have no idea,” Dr. Allen replied. “You would have to check with our HR department about that.”

  “All right. Does he have a wife and family?”

  “No. He went through a bad divorce approximately a year ago.”

  If he is our man, that could be the reason he needed more money than he probably made from the university.

  “Did he live in town?” Gideon asked.

  “Yes. After the divorce, he moved to an apartment not far from campus. You can get the address from the HR department.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do that. While he was with the university—or, more specifically, overseeing digs, had he had any problems before this last time?”

  “Absolutely not. Of course, the digs he oversaw were smaller ones—two here in the States, two overseas.”

  “He was good at what he did?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Allen said. “We wouldn’t have kept him on if he wasn’t. That’s why his resignation came as such a surprise. He worked hard and seemed quite happy here.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me about him?” Gideon asked.

  After a pause, Dr. Allen replied, “Not that I can think of. Surely you don’t think he had something to do with the looting at the dig?”

  “At this point, we’re just finding out everything we can about the principals involved with it. One of the looted items has shown up and we’re trying to determine who is responsible for that.”

  “The looters, I’d think,” Dr. Allen said in surprise.

  “Undoubtedly,” Gideon agreed, knowing that was the truth. “But we have to look into all possibilities. Thank you for your patience, Dr. Allen. If I have any more questions, I’ll be in touch. Have a good weekend.”

  “You, too,” the dean replied before hanging up.

  Gideon immediately picked up the phone again, placing a call to one of the best hackers he had on his payroll. “Thad,” he said, when the man answered, “I need you to get into the HR files at ASU and look for any possible addresses for one Keith Leonard Brooks.”

  “On it,” Thad said. “How soon do you need it?”

  “Yesterday?” Gideon replied.

  “Uh-huh. As always. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out anything.”

  Gideon knew that could be ten minutes or ten hours, depending on how well protected the files were. Three hours later, Thad called back.

  “The most recent address for Brooks is the Vortex Complex.” He gave it to Gideon, as well as the phone for the onsite manager.

  After thanking him, Gideon called the complex manager.

  “Mr. Brooks?” the man said once Gideon had introduced himself as Jack Carlson of the BLM and told him what he needed. “He lived here until…Let me check the exact date.” There was a pause then the man was back. “He moved out on August twentieth of last year.”

  “Did he happen to leave a forwarding address?”

  “Not with me, although he did mention he was heading up north, to use his words.”

  “To the north side of the city, or did you get the feeling he meant farther than that?”

  “If I was to hazard a guess, I’d say he meant out of state.”

  “Thank you. That’s all I needed to know.”

  Gideon was back with Thad a minute later. “Track him down, if you can.”

  “Meaning Mr. Brooks? This could take time.”

  “I know. Start with Colorado, if that helps.” Gideon told him what the apartment complex manager had said. “If he is involved with the looting of the dig and he’s found out about the arrests of his cohorts, he might try to get in contact with them, one way or the other.”

  “Will do.”

  Aft
er they’d hung up, Gideon stared off into space.

  If Brooks is in Denver, do I want to pursue this by going there, too? I’m sure Quint’s quite capable of finding him, if I give him a location. Presuming Thad can pinpoint one. Gideon ran his hand through his hair. He knew the answer to his question. He did want to go back to Denver. Not only to help apprehend Brooks, but to see the man who had started his interest in the case. The man who had—much too Gideon’s dismay—been too often in his thoughts since he’d come home. I wonder if he’s been thinking of me—other than as someone who tried to help him? Would it really matter if he did? I’m hardly someone he’d want to know on any sort of personal level. Even if I was ready to…to put the past behind me.

  * * * *

  “I’ve located Keith Brooks,” Gideon said, as soon as Quint answered his phone Tuesday morning.

  “More than I’ve been able to do,” Quint replied sourly.

  Gideon chuckled. “Well, you don’t have my resources. Anyway, I’ll be in Denver late this afternoon.”

  “I take it that means he’s here in town.”

  “According to the information I have, he was as of a week ago. Not under his own name. He’s going by Leonard Keith.”

  “May I ask why you’re coming back?”

  “To help? To give you all the information I have in person so we can decide what to do next? Presuming you agree with me that he’s our man.”

  “Okay. That works.” There was a trace of what Gideon could only classify as amusement in Quint’s voice. As if the detective suspected there was more than that as to why Gideon wanted to come out there.

  There’s not. Gideon tried to convince himself of that—again. Hell, who am I kidding? Not Quint, I think. And for damned sure not me. I want to see Cole again and this is the perfect excuse to do it.

  “I should land at five-fifteen and be at the hotel by six-thirty at the latest,” Gideon said.

  “The ART?”

  “Yes. Why change up now?” Gideon replied with a small laugh before ending the call.

  * * * *

  Cole was surprised to see Quint walk into the gallery. As far as he was aware, his involvement in the case was over, as the remaining looters were in jail. Sure, we still don’t know who was behind them, but I don’t know anything that would help.