The Matador's Crown. Alex Archer

site was raided, he claims, by the Cádiz police.”

      “What? Really? That doesn’t make sense. The authorities have always proved helpful to me.” She heard the familiar sound of a fingernail tapping a watch crystal. “Don’t you suspect it was a lie? The man is shifty.”

      “Not sure. The dead body in the dig pit makes me wonder. Crockett said the police killed Simon Klosky, his assistant. Did you know Simon?”

      “No, sorry. Another dead man?” The pause on the line was disturbingly long. She had second thoughts about revealing this information to Harlow, but his knowledge of the city and the local archaeological digs and personnel could help her. He finally asked, “Where’s Crockett now?”

      “Said he’s going to pack up and get out.”

      “Did you call the police?”

      “I left a message about finding the dead man. This links me to the two deaths. I worked on the dig for two days. I handled the bull statue before it was stolen.”

      “Right. I didn’t think of that. You could also be implicated. But still...you had to call in a report.”

      “It’s my duty.”

      “So the product circulates in a close range,” Harlow said. “Interesting. Though it could be a starting point for something larger. I can’t pinpoint a source. I suspect they must be operating close to shore, for shipping, perhaps. I haven’t gone so far as to cruise the area, mind you. Skulduggery is not my strong suit. Besides, I imagine there are countless illegal operations in the

      area. Always seem to be in rich archaeological geography.”

      “Can you run some kind of background check on all of Crockett’s other digs?” she asked. “See if there have been other robberies?”

      “Sure, gladly. In fact, I’ve been looking into Crockett since you brought him up yesterday. I’ve got records for most of his work in the area, but I haven’t been able to come up with anything for the past year. He hasn’t turned in any field reports or catalogs. Hence, the reason I suspect him in dirty dealings. Will you be coming to the museum tomorrow?”

      “That’s my intention. I still have some final notes to make on the coins. Thanks, James. I’ll talk to you soon.”

      When she should have felt relieved to have discussed the details with someone else who could relate, Annja was now uncertain if James Harlow was the man to share that information. He hadn’t sounded gung ho about tracking the looters. Maybe he wasn’t as on board with the idea of refusing artifacts without provenance as she had assumed?

      Or maybe it really was a rivalry between the two men, and he was more focused on slandering Crockett’s name than the real issue.

      Clicking over to the Photos file on her laptop, Annja opened the six shots of the bronze bull she’d taken on-site and studied the few details in the Moorish carvings around the neck.

      Online, she turned to archaeology.net and uploaded the photos of the Baal statue. She was calling it a Baal statue, but really, it could have been made to represent anything, not necessarily the mythic Canaanite god of fertility. She usually got a few replies to her queries, and some often led her to the truth about the particular item she had posted.

      “Let’s hope the bull can be traced.”