Free The Bone Conjurer by Alex Archer

interested in a crusty old skull?”
    “Exactly. Jewel thieves don’t usually go in for anything they can’t immediately fence.”
    Annja leaned against the desk. “There is gold on the skull, but I doubt that would amount to any more than a few hundred bucks in value.”
    “You didn’t mention gold before. An infant’s skull with gold on it? I’d have to stretch the definition of colored stuff to think it would interest a thief who has only stolen jewels.”
    “Maybe he was hard up? When was his last big job?”
    “That we know of? In 2003. It’s been years, which means little. The man could have changed his M.O. So if we allow he’s changed his habits, or had just added artifacts to his repertoire, there’s still one question. Why do you think Marcus Cooke chose to contact you, Annja? Have you ever heard of this guy or come in contact with him before last night?”
    She remembered Serge expressing his surprise the thief had come to her. You’re just an archaeologist.
    Just. As in no better than any other.
    It was true. Just because she hosted a TV show didn’t make her better than half the archaeologists who devoted all their time to their passion. But the way Serge had muttered it had offended her. And she didn’t upset easily.
    “He saw me on TV and probably thought I looked trustworthy.”
    “Professional thieves do not fence stolen goods with television personalities, Annja.”
    “Oh, so now I’m a fence?” She toed a plastic file of recipe cards detailing notes from a dig in Wales that had toppled on the floor. “Bart, please. Like I told you, I exchanged a few e-mails with the guy, then bam.”
    “You always arrange to meet strangers?”
    “Not always. Sometimes they arrange to meet me.” Or she found them waiting in her living room with nasty tools and a taste for bone. “You know I can’t resist a mysterious artifact, Bart. A skull to me is like a cache of stolen credit cards to you. Yes?”
    “I hate credit-card scams. So much paperwork involved. All right, so we’ll agree the answer to why the thief chose you will never be solved. And he probably didn’t intend to make you a fence, just wanted your opinion on its value.”
    “Agreed.”
    “You get a clue on the skull yet? Someone killed for it. Is it made completely of gold?”
    “There is some decorative gold between the cranial sutures. Total? Probably less than a few ounces. I left it with Professor Danzinger at Columbia this morning. He’s unable to date the thing because they don’t have the proper equipment at the university, but he did find some interesting markings on the skull interior.”
    “Inside it? How does a person get anything inside a skull?”
    “Very carefully.”
    Should she tell him about Serge’s visit?
    Annja was always cautious about telling Bart too much about the fiascos she found herself involved in. But she wasn’t stupid. If having a detective back her up would advance the case, and she read Bart’s mood as helpful, she’d ask.
    She wasn’t sure if police involvement was wise at this point in the game. It may hinder her by requiring she turn over the skull as evidence.
    On the other hand, Serge had hurt her. The stab wound still pulsed with a dull ache. But what had he been trying to accomplish with the weird instrument?
    She’d have to see if she could find a match on the Internet. If she knew who used a tool like that, and what for, that may give clue to who the heck Serge was. But what would she look under? Bone core samples? Bone biopsy tools?
    She did not like knowing someone was walking around the city with a literal piece of her. Her DNA. The last time someone had gotten a piece of her DNA she’d come close to being cloned.
    “I need a look at the evidence you have, Annja.”
    “Of course. I’ll pack up the tools and get them to you.”
    “What about the skull?”
    “Not in my hands at the moment.”
    “So you’re going to sit tight until you get word from the professor?” Bart