“I thought you said you weren’t a cook,” Gideon said with a trace of amusement when Cole took him into the narrow kitchen with its tile floor, oak cabinets, and stainless-steel appliances.
Cole shrugged. “I still have to fix breakfast.”
“Let me check the basement and the upstairs, then I’ll get out of your hair,” Gideon said.
The second floor held what he expected, two fair-sized, carpeted bedrooms—the larger one obviously Cole’s, which had a small bathroom with a shower. There was a second, larger bathroom at the end of the hallway.
“All clear,” Gideon said.
“Figured it would be, but thanks for making certain.” Cole chuckled. “If you had found someone, would you have shot first and asked questions later?”
“Possibly. Depending on whether they were armed or not,” Gideon replied seriously.
“Then I’m doubly glad no one was here. Blood is so hard to get out of carpeting.”
Gideon shook his head. “You know this, how?”
“I read a lot?” Cole gestured toward the bookshelves.
“At least it’s not from personal experience,” Gideon said, going to check. To his surprise, he found they held a lot of mystery stories. If asked, he’d have figured there would be more books like the ones at the gallery, dealing with archaeology and subjects related to Cole’s work. “I didn’t expect these,” he said.
“I’m not all about work,” Cole retorted. “The house is my respite from that, including my reading materials.”
“So I see. All right. I’ll leave you to it and see you in the morning. Wait for me to get to the gallery before going in, if you would.”
“I will,” Cole promised.
When he was back in his car, Gideon sat for a moment, looking at Cole’s house. He definitely keeps work and home separate. Not a bad thing. I wish I had that ability. Maybe things would have turned out differently if I did. If I hadn’t been, as Robin called it, ‘a fucking workaholic’ who didn’t get that there was more to life than my job. I’m still like that, but with reason—now.
Putting the car in gear, Gideon pulled onto the street, heading back to the hotel.
Chapter 3
Gideon arrived at the gallery at nine-forty-five Tuesday morning, after parking in the same lot he’d used the previous day. He saw Cole’s car a few spaces down, so he knew the man would be waiting for him. He was, pacing the sidewalk in front of the gallery.
Gideon unbuttoned his jacket and surreptitiously took his gun from the holster, holding it so no one could see it. Then he told Cole to unlock the door and turn off the security. “Wait here,” Gideon ordered, before beginning to search the gallery rooms then the office and storage areas behind them, for the possibility of intruders or an attempted break-in, although he knew he wasn’t likely to find anything—and he didn’t.
By the time he got back to the front showroom, James was there as well, looking puzzled, to say the least.
“You might as well tell him,” Gideon said to Cole, so Cole did.
Cole finished by saying, “You don’t have to stay here, if you’d rather not.”
“No. I’m fine.” James shrugged. “If anyone comes in that I think looks shifty, I’ll, umm, find something to do in back.”
“And call the police, I hope, if anything happens,” Cole replied dryly.
“Definitely.” James went to hang up his coat, then returned to take his place at the sales counter while Gideon and Cole went into the office.
“I really hope they do something today,” Cole muttered, turning on the computer. “Or better yet, that they’ve left town, figuring they’ll be safer somewhere else.”
“That would make it difficult to find them.” Gideon took out his phone to call Quint. When the detective answered, Gideon asked, “Do you know anything more about the men who killed Elliot?”
“We located Elliot’s last known address. He was still living there when he was murdered. We wouldn’t have found it so quickly if one of his neighbors hadn’t called 911 to report suspicious noises coming from the apartment. From the look of it, his killers had been there, because the place was torn apart. There’s no telling if they found what they were looking for. If they did, they took it with them.”
“No surprise. Did they leave any clues to who they are?”
“No fingerprints. There was the usual trace evidence, but it won’t be useful until we catch them.”
“Par for the course,” Gideon said sardonically.
“Is there anything that says they tried to get into the gallery?” Quint asked.
“No. No sign of them while I was here yesterday, and I did a walk-through this morning. Nothing.”
“Okay. You’re armed, just in case?”
“I told you I would be. I also checked Cole’s home last night. If they know where he lives, they didn’t try to break in.”
“All right. Be careful today. If they didn’t find anything at Elliot’s apartment, they might figure he left everything with Cole to be appraised.”
“We will be,” Gideon replied. “Did you talk with your lieutenant?”
“Oh. Yes. He’s okay with you being there.” Quint chuckled. “He said we’re shorthanded enough as it is, and with your reputation, he’s willing to let you be the point man at the gallery.”
“I have a reputation?”
“According to him, you do.”
“Go figure. Okay, I’ll call you if anything goes down here.”
“No. Call 911,” Quint said. “Faster response time, since who knows where I’ll be.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
They hung up, then Gideon relayed the information on the apartment break-in to Cole.
“If they found what they were looking for, they’d still want the bowl Elliot left here. Right?”
Gideon waggled a hand. “If they’re stupid. Yeah. If they didn’t find anything, then for certain they’ll pay us a visit. You don’t murder someone, then ransack their apartment only to blow town without the loot.”
“I hope they show. I’m already a basket case.”
“You’re doing just fine,” Gideon told him. “So take a deep breath and let’s pretend this is another normal day at Newell’s Southwestern Antiquities.”
* * * *
By early afternoon, Cole figured it really would be another normal day. He was watching the front while James went to lunch—and watching Gideon as the man talked with a customer who was interested in a Navajo coiled basket.
He’s very intriguing. He can charm a customer, be totally professional about his job and his business, and do his best to keep me calm when I’m ready to either blow a gasket, or fold under the pressure. I’m glad he’s here, even if it does make me feel stupid that I can’t handle this myself. It is stupid, damn it. I’m a grown man. I’ve worked digs in places the hell and gone away from society and never been afraid. Careful. Sure. That comes with the territory. He grimaced. Being in the sights of some crazy looters—if I am. Well, that’s still up for debate as far as I’m concerned, despite what Quint and Gideon think.
That brought him back to his original train of thought. It would be easy to fall for him. Useless of course, because I’m real sure he is, or was, married, even though he evaded the question. Maybe what he does is more dangerous than it seems. He does carry a gun—at least some of the time. I wonder…Yeah, that makes sense. He won’t talk about his personal life because he doesn’t want anyone going after his wife and family. I suspect he travels a lot. It would make them vulnerable when he’s not around, if someone he’s after, or has brought down, wants some leverage against him—or revenge.
Out of the corner of his eye, Cole saw the front door to the gallery open and turned to see if it was James, back from lunch, or another customer. It wasn’t James, so Cole went over to greet the casually-dressed man.
“May I help you?” Cole asked.
“Yeah. I’m looking for some Anasazi bowls to add to my collection.”
“Any particular age or type?” Cole replied cautiously.
“Yes.” The man reached under his jacket. When he withdrew his hand seconds later, he was holding a pistol. Then he looked across the room at Gideon and the man he was talking to. That, of course, made Cole look as well. The customer held a gun, pointed at Gideon. “My friend will shoot him if you don’t do exactly what you’re told,” the first man said to Cole. “I know a guy named Mr. Elliot brought in at least one Anasazi bowl for you to appraise. Probably more than one. I want them.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. No one by that name brought me anything,” Cole replied, trying to keep his voice steady.
“So he used an alias. Whatever. I know he was here. He told me.”
“Before you beat him to death?” Cole regretted saying that when the man scowled, shoving the pistol hard enough against his side that Cole grimaced in pain.
“Just give me what he gave you.”
Cole slanted a look at Gideon, getting a small nod from him. “It was only one bowl, and it’s in the safe in my office,” Cole said, not trying to disguise his fear as he pointed to the office door.
“Good. Let’s go get it.” The man gripped Cole’s bicep hard with his free hand, using the pistol to urge him forward.
Please, please, God, let Gideon do…something, or we’re both dead, ran through Cole’s mind as he and the man entered the office.
“Where’s the safe,” the man asked.
Cole paused, then had an idea. If it doesn’t work, I’m probably dead, but…“Over here,” he replied, going to the chest holding the coffeemaker—with the man right beside him. Cole had brewed a new pot of coffee less than an hour ago and it was half full and still hot. He grabbed the handle, swung around, then threw the coffee in the man’s face.
The man screamed in pain, dropping the gun as he scrabbled backward, trying to wipe away the scalding liquid. Above the screaming, Cole thought he heard a shout—then a gun shot. God, let that be Gideon shooting, not the other guy.
The screams from the man in Cole’s office died down, turning to moans intermixed with swearwords. Cole found the pistol the man had been carrying, aiming it at the door when he saw it start to open.
“I’d rather you don’t shoot me,” Gideon said dryly, followed by, “I take it he prefers his coffee without cream and sugar,” as he walked over to the moaning man.
“Where? How?” Cole managed to get out.
“Out like a light, behind the basket counter,” Gideon replied. “A bit worse for wear but alive. Before you ask, neither of us were shot, but one of the paintings might not recover.”
“Damn the painting, as long as you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” Gideon said, taking out his phone. “Keep the gun on him while I call 911.” He did, telling the dispatcher who he was, what had happened, and that he needed officers and an ambulance.
“I can’t see. I can’t see,” the man wailed as he curled up on the floor.
“And I care, why?” Cole spat out. He did, actually, despite the fact the man had probably intended to kill him. He hurried down the hall to the washroom, coming back with a wad of wet paper towels that he applied to the man’s face. By that time, he heard sirens, then vehicles screeching to a halt outside the gallery. A moment later he heard James saying, “I have no idea what’s going on, but I work here.” Cole figured his clerk was talking to the police and went to the door of his office, beckoning to the officers and the EMTs.
From there, things went pretty much as he expected. A pair of officers dealt with the man Gideon had left behind the counter, the EMTs loaded the scalded man onto a stretcher and left with another officer. The remaining officer began interviewing Gideon and Cole, asking for details on what had gone down and how.
Just as the officer finished with them, telling them they would have to stop by to the precinct to sign their statements, Quint arrived. He had the two men go through what happened one more time. “Good job,” Quint said at the end.
“Thanks,” Gideon replied. “It might not have gone as well if Cole hadn’t been quick on his feet.”
Cole shrugged. “More like, if there hadn’t been half a pot of hot coffee available. It was the only thing I could think of.”
“It worked.” Gideon smiled at him. “Now all we have to do is find out what happened to the rest of the loot from the dig. I’d say, from what the one man said, he and his partner don’t have it—or at least are missing some of it.”
“We’ll get search warrants for their residences, if I can’t convince them to tell me where they’ve stashed what they still have,” Quint said. “Cole, do you have any idea exactly what they took from the dig?”
“No. Quite a few pieces, from the number of places they dug up. But there was no way to tell exactly how much they got away with. It could have been half a dozen pots and bowls, or three to ten times that many, and undoubtedly there were other items as well. Arrowheads, shards, and what have you.”
“All right. That gives me something to go on, in case they try to claim it was just the one bowl, and that they were only trying to get back what Elliot stole from their grandmother’s house.”
“As if,” Cole muttered. “Hell of a way to go about it, if that was the truth.”
“No kidding,” Quint agreed. He asked Cole for the bowl Elliot had given him. While Cole got it from the safe, Quint asked Gideon, “Are you planning on staying in town until this is wrapped up?”
“I don’t think so. There’s nothing I can do at this point that you can’t. You have the men in custody. I presume you’ll be filing murder charges, as well as charging them for what happened today and for the looting of the dig.”
“We will be.” Quint took the box holding the bowl when Cole handed it to him.
“Then my being here would be superfluous.”
“What if they’ve already sold some of the pieces?” Cole said. “Don’t you have the right connections to find the buyers, Gideon?”
“I’m sure Quint can get that information out of them. He can offer them a deal. A lighter sentence in exchange for names of the buyers, if there are any.”
Cole snorted. “Even if he does get names, the buyers will deny they purchased a stolen bowl or whatever, since they won’t have the proper letters of certification, attesting to when and where the item was found.”
“A problem when it comes to retrieving any stolen art,” Gideon agreed.
“You’re the expert at that.”
“So I’ve been told,” Gideon said wryly. “In this case, as I said, Quint can do it just as well as I can, and he has the legal backing to force the issue with a possible buyer. If that doesn’t work, he can notify the BLM, and they’ll take over.”
“I might, anyway,” Quint said. “Right now, however, I’m going to have a long talk with the man we have in jail. I won’t be able to interview the other guy until the doctors have finished with him and he’s not doped up with pain medications.” He started to leave, turned, and said, “Don’t forget you have to sign your statements.”
“I’ll do it on my way back to the hotel,” Gideon promised.
“You’re planning on leaving today?” Cole asked when Quint was gone.
“I don’t see any reason to stay at this point. The killers are in custody. Quint will do what he can to find out where they stashed the rest of the stolen items, or who they sold them to, while I sit around twiddling my thumbs. It’s time for me to head home and deal with other problems that need my attention.”
“I understand. I’m glad you were here when I needed your help.”
“It made an interesting finish to my time in Denver. I’m sure I’ll be subpoenaed for the trials, so I’ll see you again when that happens.”
“There is that to look forward to,” Cole agreed ruefully. He wasn’t certain if he meant the trials or seeing Gideon again. “Don’t forget your coat,” he said when Gideon started toward the door.
Gideon thanked him, retri
eved it, then left. Cole went back to work. He didn’t realize James had been listening to the whole conversation until his clerk said, “You like him, don’t you?”
“Yeah. He’s a nice man.”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”
Cole nodded. “If things were different. If he wasn’t married. If he lived here, not…wherever.” He shot James a sardonic look. “If he was gay.”
“A hell of a lot of ifs.”
“No kidding. But that’s neither here nor there. We have customers.” He started over to greet a couple who had just come in, saying over his shoulder, “So be ready to handle all the questions we’re going to get about why the cops were here.”
* * * *
Gideon stopped at the precinct to sign his statement, then returned to the hotel. After making a reservation for a late flight out of the city, he began packing.
Gideon knew Cole thought he was married, despite the fact he’d avoided Cole’s question on the subject. It’s better that he thinks I am, than his knowing the truth. Gideon firmly believed that. His believing otherwise would only lead to problems. Ones I’m not willing to deal with—on any level.
With that thought, he closed his bags, and went down to the check-in desk to let them know he was leaving and pay what remained on his bill. Then he drove to the airport, where he dropped off his rental car, picked up his boarding pass, then checked the bag holding his gun. With his carry-on slung over his shoulder, he made it through TSA pre-check in record time and headed to his gate.
As he waited to board his plane, he thought about the—he had to admit to himself—very good-looking man he’d spent the last few day helping. For the first time in more years than he cared to admit, he’d felt a stirring of interest in another man. He smiled wryly. Despite how I came across to Lou, the first time we met, I am gay. I just keep that to myself since it’s really no one’s business. Lou was certain—still is, I’m sure—that I’m straight. Hell, he thought I was homophobic, too, if I don’t miss my guess. Although at least I quelled his fears about that.
It Takes an Archaeologist Page 3