Chapter 2
“An item, say an Anasazi bowl, could be a poly-chrome one from around twelve-seventy-five AD, with no restoration, valued at between two-fifty and three-fifty—dollars, that is, not thousands of dollars. Or it could be a poly-chrome bowl from fourteen to sixteen AD that, even with some minimal restoration, is valued at four-thousand or more. The rarity of the item counts for more than the condition or age.”
“Makes sense. What makes something legally acquired?”
“That’s a complicated issue,” Cole replied. “Is the item from public lands or private? Are they grave goods or made from an endangered species? Does the seller have good title to the item? Is it stolen?” Cole paused to take a drink of coffee. “When it comes to grave goods—objects from burial sites—or sacred items, then legally the items must be returned to the tribe or Native American group they came from. That’s call cultural patrimony.”
As he talked, Cole watched Gideon. From his expression, Cole had the distinct feeling Gideon knew most of what he’d told him, so he asked if he did.
“I’m far from an expert,” Gideon told him. “But while I was in school—way too many years ago—I took a couple of courses in archaeology. For one of them, we spent a month on a dig. It was definitely edifying. I knew about grave robbing, of course, but to have it happen there…” He shook his head. “Do they still call them pothunters?”
“We do, although ‘looters’ is the preferred description.”
Gideon nodded. “Whoever did it at the site destroyed it, looking for marketable artifacts. We found a shovel, some screens, and a rake they left behind in their hurry to get out of there before anyone caught them. Unfortunately, what they left wouldn’t have covered the sale price of a potsherd.”
“I’m sure.” Cole shook his head. “That’s what I face on every dig I work.”
“You’re an active archaeologist, as well as running your gallery?”
“You bet. That’s where my training is. That and appraisals. The gallery…Well, it’s not a hobby, per se, since I’m there when I’m not off on a dig. But my primary focus is on the digs themselves.”
“All right,” Gideon said. “Now that we’ve covered the generalities, what is the problem?”
Cole opened his bag, took out a box, and handed it to Gideon. In it, wrapped in cotton batting, was a black and white bowl with a red design on the interior. “Anasazi-Four Mile Poly-chrome,” Cole told him. “Circa thirteen-twenty-five.”
“Stolen?” Gideon asked.
“Yes. From a dig I was on last summer. Looters hit it twice in three days.”
“How do you know this is one of the items?”
“I recognize it. Or I should say, I saw part of it. We were in the process of unearthing it, and several other pottery items, as well as shards, when it got too dark to continue.”
“You didn’t have anyone guarding the site?” Gideon asked in surprise.
“Of course we did. But it was a large area, approximately twelve acres, with perimeter fencing. The looters obviously knew what they were doing, since they were able to get inside through one of the gates, without the two guards patrolling the site seeing them.”
“If they used a gate, doesn’t that presuppose they had an inside contact among the people working the dig?”
Cole nodded. “Unfortunately, it does. The problem, of course, was determining who.” His expression tightened. “While we narrowed it down to five people, we couldn’t get any further than that.”
“How did you acquire this?” Gideon asked, tapping the bowl.
“A man brought it in on Friday to be appraised. He said he found it in his grandmother’s attic, after she died. I knew better.”
“When is he supposed to return for it?”
“Tomorrow morning, at eleven,” Cole replied.
Gideon drummed his fingers on the box. “Since you know it was stolen from the site, why come to me and not the Bureau of Land Management? Shouldn’t they be handing this?”
“I have no proof, other than that I knowI saw part of this particular bowl in the spot we were working. I figured bringing them in would take time, and I’m aware of your reputation for recovering stolen art. I’ll admit that I didn’t expect to find out you were here in the city. I just hoped you’d have someone you could send to be at the gallery when the man returns for the bowl and my appraisal.”
Gideon smiled. “Well, I am here, and I’d willing to join you tomorrow when he shows up.”
“Thank you. What will you do, when he does?”
“I can’t arrest him, obviously. However, I can try to put the fear of God into him, to find out where he has the rest of the stolen items. Or, who has them, if it comes down to that.” Gideon chucked. “I’ve been known to impersonate peace officers when the situation warrants.”
“Probably fairly well,” Cole said, eyeing him. “You have that commanding look.”
“I do?”
“Yes. Like you won’t take shit from anyone.”
Gideon laughed. “According to my people, that’s sometimes the truth. All right. What time do you open your gallery?”
“At ten.”
“I’ll be there by ten-fifteen, to be on the safe side. It wouldn’t surprise me if he tried to sell you the bowl, once he gets your appraisal. Did he have whatever verification papers he needs to prove legal ownership?”
“Not that he said, but then, as I told you, he claimed he found it in his grandmother’s attic, so it’s unlikely he would.”
“A good cover story for not having them.” Gideon handed Cole the box with the bowl. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
After putting the box back in his bag and then giving Gideon one of his business cards, Cole stood. “Thank you for being willing to help. I hope…” He shook his head. “It would be nice if you really can convince him to give up the rest of what was stolen.”
“I can be very persuasive, when I have to be.”
“I’m sure you can,” Cole replied with a smile before getting his coat and leaving Gideon’s suite. 2
Gideon arrived at the gallery at ten-fifteen, as promised. Cole greeted him, escorting him into his office. On one wall there were shelves holding a variety of Native American artifacts—from bowls to arrowheads to what appeared to be tools and axe heads. Bookshelves lined the second wall. A quick perusal showed Gideon that most of them related to Cole’s line of work. No surprise there.