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buyers. 
    “In our world, demand begets supply,” said Dichter.  “Do you remember the James Ossuary from a few years ago?”
    I vaguely recalled the story:  something about a box of bones that supposedly belonged to Christ’s brother. 
    “It got so much publicity because if authentic, it would have been the first physical reference to Jesus directly traceable to the first century,” said Dichter. 
    “But not long afterward, the IAA – the Israel Antiquities Authority – raided a warehouse owned by the ossuary’s discoverer.  Inside, they found dozens of so-called artifacts, along with the tools the man and his associates had used to create them.  Later investigations revealed that this gang had been running a forgery ring for twenty years.” 
    “That crew was in it for the money, but sometimes, people conduct hoaxes for more personal reasons,” Lavon added. 
    “When we start out in this business, we all dream of excavating spectacular ruins and recounting our finds to rapt audiences of society’s movers and shakers at the Met.  But not everyone’s career turns out the way they expected it to in graduate school.  It can be awfully tempting to cross that line, even if it’s just to make somebody you don’t like look like a total fool.” 
    I sighed.  “Like now, for instance.” 
    “Yes,” said Dichter, “though I can’t imagine who could be behind this.  None of us have publicized our findings, and the only artifacts found at the site, other than the skeleton and what’s left of the clothing, were a handful of Roman coins.” 
    I glanced at Lavon, who walked over to one of the laptops and tapped a few keys before turning the screen toward me. 
    “An authentic Roman denarius ,” he said.  “Ten bucks on eBay.” 
    “They’re nothing special,” said Dichter. 
    This was news to me, though it would explain how Bryson had obtained them – if these bones truly were his. 
    “You mentioned other anomalies?” I asked. 
    “I’m not sure I’d call them that,” said Dichter.  “It’s just that whoever this man was, he was remarkably healthy for someone in the first century.  Obviously he was a member of the upper class, but even for this type of person, I’ve never seen a skeleton so free of any signs of infectious disease.” 
    “You can tell that from the bones?”
    Both Lavon and Dichter nodded. 
    “Amazing,” I said. 
    And it truly was.  I had no idea the science had advanced that far. 
    “Just out of curiosity, how old was this man when he died?” 
    “I’d say late forties, early fifties, thereabouts.”  Dichter replied. 
    He directed my attention back to the skull. 
    “These zig-zag patterns are called ‘sutures.’  The skull of a newborn is flexible, to make birth easier, and the sutures join up and fuse as the person grows older.” 
    The assistant adjusted the light so I could see them better. 
    “The frontal suture, this one, closes when a child is quite young.  Others begin to close between the ages of twenty and thirty, and the last ones, back here, don’t fuse completely until the person reaches seventy.” 
    Once again, this was in the ballpark. 
    I racked my brain trying to come up with alternative explanations for what I was seeing, but this proved to be a futile exercise.  I simply couldn’t think of any. 
     

Chapter 7
     
    We tossed ideas around for a little while longer and then I bought Jonathan and his crew lunch, to thank them for their trouble.  Afterwards, Lavon and I hopped in the car and headed for Jerusalem, less than forty miles away. 
    I didn’t expect to learn anything new at their dig site, but I needed to be able to say I had crossed every “t” and dotted every “i” before writing my final report to Markowitz, assuming I decided to write one after all. 
    We didn’t say much to each other along the way, but eventually, Lavon couldn’t resist asking me what I really thought of it all.  
    I can’t