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door. Air-conditioning hummed and rattled as it came on.
    “Looks like he hasn’t been here for a while,” Jase said. “But I’m not going to open that fridge to check expiration dates.”
    “How long?” Hunter asked.
    Jase understood the rest of the question. “Feels like days. Maybe more.”
    “It smells bad, but not dead-body bad. Back room?”
    Nodding, Jase headed farther into the apartment.
    “Unmade bed,” Jase said, looking into the tiny bedroom.
    “I’d be surprised if it was made.”
    Jase pushed the door wide open, flat against the wall. Nothing
    “No obvious signs of struggle.”
    “Just the everyday fight to keep in beer, cigarettes, and lotto tickets,” Hunter said. “No sign of any artifacts either.”
    “Man, I really don’t want to wreck this place to find them,” Jase muttered. “Just standing here makes me want to wash my hands.”
    He pulled a wad of exam gloves from his jacket pocket and handed a pair to Hunter. Both men snapped them on. Jase opened what he could of the closet’s sliding door before it jammed on the gritty rails.
    “A few shirts, pants, some of the clothes have DeWatt janitorial service logos,” Jase said quietly. “Ratty tennis shoes. Flip-flops. Dirty socks.”
    Hunter was glancing around the coffin-size bathroom. No cupboards. Drawers half open, empty of everything but used razors and crusty soap. The bathtub held the rest of the dirty laundry, but there wasn’t enough of it to hide anything interesting underneath.
    “Do we toss the place?” Hunter asked neutrally.
    “Son of a bitch,” Jase snarled, ripping off his hat and slamming it onto the dirty linoleum floor near the bed. A faint ring of dust rose and spread from the impact.
    “Take it easy,” Hunter said, approaching Jase. “We’ll find the artifacts. If not here, somewhere else.”
    He crouched down, reaching for Jase’s hat. As he grabbed it, he spotted something.
    “We need a warrant to take anything from under the bed?” Hunter asked.
    “You thought you saw a scorpion run across your shoe, stomped, and crouched down to make sure you nailed it,” Jase said instantly.
    “Oh, right. Huh, the bug got away. But lookee here.”
    Hunter hauled out a dark blue duffel bag.
    “He can’t have had it long,” Jase said. “It’s clean.”
    Manufactured by some company called Élite, the duffel was crisply cut from a thick, woven nylon that looked like it could stop a bullet. A cardboard sales tag still hung on one of the handles, fastened by thin nylon line. Academy Sports.
    “About a mile from here,” Jase said. “Big place. Sells cheap. Open the damn thing.”
    “The artifacts won’t be inside. Not heavy enough,” Hunter said, turning the top flap over.
    Jase kneeled down and rooted around in the bag. He pulled out wadded-up paper towels. All of it came in three-sheet segments.
    “Spread it out,” Hunter said. He took a double handful of the stuff and smoothed it over the dirty floor. “We’re not going to have the time or money to CSI this stuff, are we?”
    “That’s only for big murder cases, not my-ass-is-in-traction moments.”
    Hunter looked over the towels. There wasn’t much to see. “Even if the artifacts were wrapped up in these, there wouldn’t be much evidence of it. The obsidian wouldn’t shed and…”
    “What?” Jase demanded when Hunter’s voice died.
    “Most worked obsidian is sharp. It would tear the paper towels. See? This bunch of towels has little slits, like maybe they were wrapped around something sharp and it cut through.”
    “Hey, there’s some dirt or something on this one!” Jase said, pouncing.
    “Dial it down,” Hunter said. “The walls are listening. What do you have?”
    “Looks like a piece of…pottery?”
    “Wrap it up. I know an expert who can tell us.”
    While Jase took care of the find, Hunter undid all seven zipper compartments in the duffel and ran his hands around the slick interior of the nylon. He found nothing but an