Golden Relic (4 page)

While the Assistant Director tried to collect his thoughts, apparently by rubbing his fingers
vigorously across his forehead, Sam gazed jealously out the huge window at the jigsaw of building
facades, rooftops and patches of blue sky.

The view was a far cry from the windowless cubicle she shared with Ben Muldoon. A calendar of the
world's most famous tourist sites, none of which she'd seen in person (nor was she ever likely to
given the pathetic state of her savings account), was the only non-work-related item on those dreary
blue felt walls. September was the 'Pyramids of Giza' which, as far as Sam was concerned, couldn't
be further away if they'd been built on Mars.

"This is dreadful," Prescott finally said, stating the obvious.

"Were you close?" Rigby asked, completely misunderstanding Prescott's anxiety. Sam, however,
could tell there was little, if anything, personal intruding on the man's concern.

"Close? No, not really. Not at all, in fact," Prescott replied. "It's just that the international
repercussions of this are, they're…"

"You keep saying that," Rigby interrupted. "What precisely are the repercussions or ramifications
of Professor Marsden's death?"

"I can't begin to imagine," Prescott said, annoyingly, and then frowned. "Actually, I think I'm
imagining the worst - in every possibly combination."

"Do you think you could be more specific," Sam requested.

"Marsden was on the ICOM committee," Prescott stated, as if that explained everything.

"Which is what?" Rigby asked.

"The International Council of Museums," Sam said, volunteering most of the information she'd been
given by her boss. "Melbourne is hosting the triennial Conference - next month."

"Now perhaps you'll understand why I'm in such a state," Prescott explained. "We've got close to
2000 delegates arriving in just over three weeks. They're coming from around the country and all
over the world. This is a disaster."

"All over the world? That explains the 'international' aspect of the ramifications," Rigby noted.
He looked at Sam. "Probably explains why you're here too."

Sam shrugged. "I'm here because the Assistant Director called the Minister. Why exactly did you
do that, Mr Prescott?"

Prescott started rubbing his forehead again. "I took one look at Lloyd's body and realised a
thing like this would send the media into a frenzy. I felt I had to act quickly to contain any
possible fallout," he explained. "And the best way to do that, was to go right to the top. To the
Minister. If Lloyd had died from a stroke, as first thought, then I would simply have apologised for
wasting your time. On the other hand if it was murder, which we now know to be the case, then my
actions would have been, and in fact are, the right ones to ensure that a lid is kept on this whole
affair."

Rigby looked unimpressed by Prescott's logic. "Why the Federal Minister?" he asked.

"This is an international conference, Detective. While it is being hosted by the Museum of
Victoria in Melbourne, its success reflects on the entire nation. At the very least this will have a
disastrous PR effect on the final preparations, and anything detrimental to the success of this
Conference is, in my opinion, of federal concern. Also, Jim Pilger is a friend of mine." Prescott
held up his hand to forestall any snide remarks about nepotism and turned to Sam.

"You are here, Special Detective Diamond. Whatever you may think, that says less about my
'connections' than it does about the fact that the Minister shares my concerns in this matter enough
to send his representative. And you already know about ICOM '98, so I assume you have been
briefed."

"Brief being the operative word, Mr Prescott," Sam admitted. "I do, however, understand your
concerns about the likelihood of the media turning this incident into a three ring circus.

I am authorised to work with both you and the police," Sam said, glancing at Rigby, "to exercise
damage control and minimise the fallout. We can't make this go away, Mr Prescott, but we may be able
to obfuscate matters so the media takes little or no interest."

"Un-bloody-likely," Rigby declared.

"I'm afraid I agree with Detective Rigby on that point," Prescott's defeated tone seemed to be
saying more than he was.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Sam asked.

"I believe that Lloyd Marsden's murder may have been a deliberate act of sabotage," Prescott
announced.

"Sabotage? Why?" Rigby was incredulous.

"I don't know," Prescott replied, searching his desk drawer for something. "But there are a lot
of sick individuals out there."

And paranoid ones, Sam thought, leaning forward to inspect the postcard of the Museum that
Prescott passed across the desk. Typewritten on the back was a limerick:

You're failure will be my success

The confrence will be such a mess

One by one you will fall

Till theirs none left at all

And the hole thing will cause you distress.

"I received that last Wednesday," Prescott said.

"And you didn't call the police?" Rigby asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or ring the
Minister?"

Prescott smiled humourlessly. "It is a dreadful limerick with atrocious spelling, but until this
morning I thought it was merely a joke in extremely poor taste."

"They may not be connected," Sam said.

Prescott looked at her as if she was daft. "You don't think 'one by one you will fall' is a
threat now made manifest by the body of one of my curators lying down there in the Library?"

"I'd like to ask you about that," Rigby said, changing the subject. "I'll have this analysed," he
added, picking the card up by the corner and slipping into his inside jacket pocket.

"Ask me what?"

"What was Marsden doing in the Library? Wasn't the Museum closed over a year ago?"

"Closed to the public yes, but the task of moving the collections is monumental and we have many
staff, and that included Lloyd, who still spend much of their time in the old building. Our
Collection Relocation Department is responsible for the move, but they have to liaise with the
curators and collection managers to ensure the safe packing, labelling and cataloguing of all the
items. So Lloyd has an office here, but his work is, was, there."

"But it's been 12 months, surely you don't have that much stuff to shift," Rigby said.

Prescott laughed. "You have to understand that, historically speaking, the curatorial staff of
this institution have, primarily, been 'collectors' and they have been collecting for 150 years. We
have about 16 million pieces of 'stuff', Detective. Moving them is not something that can be done
overnight. It is a logistical nightmare, although it has provided us with a unique opportunity to
assess, reorganise, catalogue and even photograph the entire collection. Everything is being moved
in sequence to our storage facilities, and each transit lot is barcoded and the information scanned
into a database so we know exactly where it is."

"Storage facilities," Sam noted. "That's something I don't understand. Why close the old Museum
before the new one is finished if it means everything is going into storage?"

"For the same logistical reasons. The new Melbourne Museum is not due for completion until the
year 2000. Preparation for this move actually began over two years ago, long before we closed the
doors on Swanston Street, and it will take another two. It's not simply a case of wrapping
everything in old newspapers, packing them into cardboard boxes and wheeling them a couple of blocks
across town."

"I realise that…" Sam started to say, but Prescott was obviously on a roll.

"A great proportion of our collection is extremely fragile and irreplaceable. We have something
like three million spiders, scorpions, ticks, mites, butterflies, beetles and other insects; over
30,000 mammal skins, mounts and skeletons; 70,000 reptiles, and the same number of birds including
thousands of eggs and nests. They all require completely different handling and even the packing
material itself has to be non-abrasive and acid free. As I'm sure you'll appreciate, we can't pack
and move the ornithological or insect specimens in the same way we pack and relocate the dinosaur
skeletons or a three tonne meteorite."

"Naturally," Sam managed to say, noticing that Rigby, who had given up trying to get a word in
edgewise, was sitting there with his mouth half open.

"And, of course," Prescott continued, "before any actual moving happens, we have to tackle the
problem of pest management - to ensure that the new storage areas, and ultimately the new Museum,
are not contaminated by things like borers and moths from the relocated items. So as you can see it
is not a simple procedure."

"Besides, the Library wanted the floor space, so you had to go somewhere," Sam stated.

"That is true," Prescott agreed, "but even so, it would never have been a case of closing the old
Museum doors on a Friday and reopening in the new building after a quick move on the weekend."

A knock on the door brought Prescott's lecture on removal practices to a halt. "Enter."

Prescott's personal assistant, a very personable young man with a large ruby stud in his ear who
had earlier introduced himself to Sam and Rigby as 'call me Anton', now ushered Constable Rivers
into the Assistant Director's office.

"Excuse me sir," Rivers addressed Rigby. "I've got a shortlist of people known to have had
contact with, or who were seen talking to the deceased at some time yesterday. There may be others
but you said you wanted something to go on as soon as possible."

"Good work Constable," Rigby said, taking the sheet of paper.

"Anton," Prescott recalled his assistant. "Did you manage to get in touch with Maggie?"

"Maggie has apparently been in Paris for the last two weeks for a conference on new technologies
and, I believe, she was involved in that Inca trinket fiasco. She is now on her way home, to Sydney
I mean."

"A simple yes or no would have done, Anton."

"Then yes and no, Mr Prescott," Anton stated calmly. "I left a message at Sydney University for
her to call you the moment she returns."

Sam watched Anton and Prescott as the latter tugged his earlobe then laced his fingers across his
chest. Anton turned and left the room, so Sam figured that one of those gestures had meant 'that
will be all', or 'thank you Anton, and I'm sorry for snapping at you'.

"Who can we talk to now?" Rigby was asking.

"These four - Robert Ellington, Haddon Gould, Sarah Collins and Trevor Brownie - are all in this
building," Rivers said. "Andrew Barstoc and Adrienne Douglas have allegedly gone sightseeing, and
this guy, Enrico Vasquez, is over at the Exhibition Buildings in Carlton - so I sent a car to bring
him back here. Vasquez was actually seen arguing with the deceased."

Rigby looked up at Rivers. "You sent a car?"

"Um, I thought it'd be easier to have everyone in the one place," Rivers replied hesitantly.

"That's fine, good thinking. You can go back…" Rigby stopped and took another long look at the
constable. "On second thoughts, don't go anywhere. Half my crew are on leave so I've just seconded
you to my team for this investigation. Get you out of that uniform for the duration, what do you
say?"

"That'd be cool sir," Rivers grinned.

"Cool?" Rigby repeated, suddenly feeling his age or rather feeling his youth repeating on him.
"Does that mean okay or groovy?"

"Both sir."

"Cool it is then," Rigby agreed, then returned his attention to Prescott, to whom he passed the
list of names. "Can you fill us in on these people?"

"Let me see," Prescott peered at the paper, "Trevor Brownie…Brownie. Oh yes, he's one of our
bean counters."

"An accountant?" Sam asked, wondering how many of his staff Prescott actually knew. "Financial
administrator. Assistant," Prescott replied. "Sarah Collins is one of our public relations people
and Haddon Gould is an Environment curator. Robert Ellington is senior curator in our Australian
Society Program and shares, sorry shared, an office with Lloyd."

"Which department did Mr Marsden work in?" Sam asked.

"Well, Lloyd was sort of his own man, really. His speciality was pre-Columbian Andean
antiquities, but he was our only full-time authority on Central and South America so he was in
charge of overseeing the resettlement of the whole collection. That's what he was doing in the old
building. He was also, as I mentioned earlier, on the ICOM '98 committee and he had been assigned,
as the Museum's representative, to assist Dr Marcus Bridger with his international travelling
exhibition that is due to open in six days time.

"Which actually brings me to the other people on your list. Enrico Vasquez, Adrienne Douglas and
Andrew Barstoc are all visiting Melbourne with that exhibition. I can't recall their titles, I'm
afraid, as I only met them briefly over dinner last week."

"Who is Dr Marcus Bridger?" Sam asked.

"He's not on your list," Prescott began and then realised he had mentioned the name. "This
touring exhibition, the 'Rites of Life and Death', is his project. It explores the fertility symbols
and funerary rites of cultures and societies from around the world and across time, from ancient
civilisations to the present day. It's a splendid collection."

"But who is Dr Bridger?" Rigby asked.

"He is a renowned English archaeologist, primarily attached to the British Museum but who,
through a variety of personal research projects and lecturing posts, also has affiliations with
several other museums and universities in Britain, the Middle East and the United States. He arrived
back in Melbourne this morning with the second shipment of artefacts for his exhibition."

"Arrived from where?" Rigby asked.

"Paris. The 'Rites of Life and Death' ended its run there at the end of August."

"What do you mean 'back' in Melbourne?" Sam queried.