Golden Relic (11 page)

"My word yes. Giving things back is quite an alien concept for a professional collector."

Sam called into Anton's office after leaving Prescott and asked him to compile a
list of past and present employees with possible grievances.

"You don't really think one of us killed the Professor?"

"It's a sad fact, Anton, that murderers usually kill someone they know. But I actually need this
list for something else. Are you aware of the postcard Mr Prescott received?"

"Everybody knows about that," Anton replied. "He thought it was a sick joke but it upset him
enough to send an office email stating that he did not appreciate the humour, and if he ever found
out who sent it, that person would be jobless. Is the postcard connected to the murder?"

"We're not sure. I have asked Mr Prescott for a similar list but I suspect…"

"The Assistant Director wouldn't know what to look for or who to consider," Anton agreed.

"That reminds me," Sam said, "why are we dealing with the AD? Where is the Director?"

"Mr Buchanan hasn't been well. He took long service leave and left Mr Prescott in charge."

"Detective Diamond, I mean Sam," Rivers began, as they took the lift down to the carpark. "I hope
I wasn't out of line asking questions when you were interviewing Prescott."

"No, of course not," Sam assured him. "That's what we're here for - to ask questions."

"Good, 'cause I have to say my money's on that windbag Prescott being the murderer."

"You're not serious," Sam laughed.

Rivers shrugged and grinned. "There's something really suss about a bloke who's so obsessively
neat. There was nothing on his desk, it makes you wonder what he does all day."

"It doesn't mean he goes around knocking off his staff," Sam said. "Personally I think the man is
a victim of the end-of-the-century paranoia virus. He's got the particularly virulent strain that
makes him irrationally suspicious but completely clueless." Sam rubbed her forehead and lowered her
voice to mimic Prescott: "I am nonetheless fearful that there is a saboteur at large bent on ruining
our conference. Lloyd's death alone is proof of that."

"How the hell do you do that?" Rivers asked, as they exited the lift and headed for his car.

"Do what? I didn't sound anything like Prescott."

"No, how do you remember all that stuff? I can recall the gist of something but I have to refer
to my notes for the specifics. But you remember names, titles, dates and when you refer to what
someone said you repeat it verbatim. I know, because I checked when you asked Prescott about the
cultural stuff on the conference agenda."

"The cultural 'stuff'? See, you do remember what he said."

"Yeah," Rivers snorted, "the 'stuff' but not the substance."

Sam smiled. "Well, I'm good with the substance. I don't take notes because I don't need to,
that's why Jack assigned you to do the rounds with me. Mind you, I doubt he meant for you to record
every word of every conversation. He just wants the facts."

"I haven't worked with Detective Rigby before," Rivers said, unlocking his car, "so I don't know
what he wants. He did, however, tell Barstoc this morning that 'everything' is relevant. So until I
know, what is and isn't…" he shrugged. "Besides, it's good practice."

"True, but while you're practicing, you're listening and writing, not hearing and
processing."

"Processing? Is that something they teach you at the Bureau?" Rivers asked.

"No, I've always been a processor. Plus I've got a lot of RAM and a huge hard drive."

Rivers laughed, and made a left turn out of the carpark onto Lonsdale St. "Where to now?"

"The Alfred Hospital. Jack wants us to talk to Gould while he finishes up at the Library."

Haddon Gould appeared remarkably fit for someone who'd undergone an emergency
appendectomy the day before, but then the man was also considerably younger than Sam had expected.
She'd wrongly assumed that the three 'professional collectors' were peers in age as well as
occupation. Professor Marsden had been 61 although his face, racked as it was by the poisons that
killed him, made him look closer to 80; and Robert Ellington had muttered something about what he'd
do with his retirement package in three years.

Gould, on the other hand, wasn't a day over a hale and hearty 50. His hospital gown, usually an
item of clothing about as far removed from a fashion statement as a garment can get, looked like it
had been designed especially to let him show off his tanned and muscled arms. His blue eyes matched
his Nordic blonde hair but his face was otherwise quite plain.

"Ah, the police, I assume. My wife said you'd be calling to talk about Lloyd."

"I'm Detective Diamond, this is Constable Rivers. I promise we won't take too much time."

Gould waved his arm towards the visitor's chairs. "I'm not going anywhere."

"We'd like to verify the time you saw Professor Marsden on Wednesday."

"Well, we ignored each other while having coffee in the tea room around 2 pm," Gould stated.
"Duncan Jones was there too, because I remember Lloyd telling him he had to go over to the
Exhibition Building to see the curator and Peter. Lloyd then left with Sarah Collins. Later…"

"Just back up a sec, please Mr Gould," Sam interrupted. "Peter who?"

"Oh, what's his name?" Gould drummed his fingers on the tray table. "Ah! Gilchrist. Lloyd's
assistant. He's a student. A very focussed and driven young man, but a tad peculiar."

Sam glanced at Rivers whose expression indicated he'd never heard of Gilchrist either.

"You said 'later' Mr Gould. Did you see the Professor again that day?" Rivers asked.

"Yes. Later in the afternoon I went looking for him to talk about his Peru trip."

"What time was that?" Sam asked. They'd only known about Gould, and indeed Sarah Collins from the
PR department, because of the statement given by Duncan Jones, after he'd found the Professor's
body.

"Maybe just after 5.30," Gould said vaguely.

"Really?" Sam said, unable to mask her surprise. "Did anyone see you talking?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Why, what difference does it make?"

"Until now, the last known person to see the Professor was a security guard at 5.20. You may have
been the last to see him alive."

"Oh dear. Um, I should perhaps tell you then, I don't know whether anyone heard us, but Lloyd and
I had a very loud argument. Well, I was loud; Lloyd was being irritatingly pacific."

"What were you arguing about?" Sam asked.

Gould ran his hands through his hair. "I was just about to go home when I heard, from Sarah, that
Lloyd had decided to up and fly off to Peru. I was annoyed. No, I was extremely angry. I let him
know, in no uncertain terms, how irresponsible he was. He was on the ICOM committee yet he was just
going to piss off to South America on a whim."

"I take it you're on the committee," Sam commented.

"No I'm not," Gould replied bitterly. "That's was why I was angry. Lloyd got my place on that
committee, yet he didn't give a damn about it."

"I see," Sam said. "During this loud argument, Mr Gould, did you strike the Professor?"

"Of course not!" Gould was appalled. "And I certainly didn't kill him, if that's what you're
implying. Lloyd was very much alive when I left him, at about quarter to six."

"Do you recall if anyone saw you leave?"

Gould closed his eyes for a moment. "There may have been a couple of people left in the offices
on the way out and there were a few milling in the Library foyer." He shrugged. "I can't remember
anyone specifically and I've no idea whether they noticed me."

"Why do you suppose he volunteered that information?" Rivers asked, feeding coins into a drink
machine in the hospital hallway.

"Because he's got nothing to hide," Sam suggested. "Or because a witness to that argument may
turn up, and he no doubt thinks it's sensible to be up front from the start."

"I'd say he just made the top of the suspect list," Rivers whispered.

Sam nodded. "He's got motive, petty as it might be, and obviously opportunity. It's the means we
have to investigate now. Gould certainly has the physique to be able beat the crap out of someone
like Marsden, but the poison is another issue."

"Search warrants?" Rivers asked.

"Search warrants," Sam agreed. "But not yet. I think we - Jack, you and I - need to go over
everything we've got first. Gould is almost too obvious for my liking."

"And there's the guy, the student," Rivers reminded her.

"Yeah, the 'Peter Gilchrist' guy," Sam enunciated, reminding Rivers he'd been note taking instead
of processing again.

"Detective Diamond, you look like you could do with a nice strong coffee."

Sam had been quite lost to her surroundings as she examined a life-size photo of a burning body
on a small funeral pyre beside a river, in which red-saried women were standing apparently washing
their hands. She turned to find Adrienne Douglas offering her a mug.

"Black, no sugar," Adrienne verified. "I heard you tell your offsider yesterday.

"You're a lifesaver, thank you," Sam said, accepting the mug.

"I gather you don't get Saturdays off when you're investigating a murder."

"Not this early in the investigation," Sam stated. "I don't suppose you've seen my
offsiders?"

"The big guy was with Enrico near the yoni display, but I don't know where they went."

"Did Professor Marsden mention his trip to South America to you, Adrienne?"

"Yes. When was that? Oh, I think it was the same day, you know the day he died."

"What did he say exactly?"

"We're hosting a dinner tomorrow night. It's a PR exercise, sort of a pre-opening thank you to
all the people who've helped with the exhibition and to your Museum for having us here. I asked the
Professor if he was bringing his wife, or whatever, and he said he couldn't make it, because he was
flying to Peru on Saturday. That's today."

"Did you think it odd that Marsden was just taking off like that when he was supposed to be
helping you get this show off the ground?" Sam asked.

"Not at all. The Professor was basically a liaison officer but a very efficient one. We'd gone
over all our concerns with this site, and talked about the things that had gone right and wrong in
other cities. He introduced us to everyone who could provide help or support at short notice."

"I see there's no rest for the forces of law and order." Dr Marcus Bridger had appeared by Sam's
side without warning; she could certainly have done with one. Although her reaction to his presence
wasn't as drastic as the day before, she nonetheless had the oddest sensation that her blood had
just turned to hot treacle.

"Detective Diamond isn't it?" he said.

"Yes, Dr Bridger," Sam replied calmly. "I must say I'm impressed by how fast the exhibits are
being put together."

"We've had a lot of practice," he stated, smiling warmly. "This is our eighth venue in 18 months,
and we've still got Wellington and Montreal to go."

"It helps that we're ahead of schedule because you managed to get the exhibits here a day earlier
than expected," Adrienne commented.

Dr Bridger acknowledged the statement, but returned his attention to Sam. "I was most distressed
to learn of Professor Marden's tragic death," he said. "He was such a gentleman, a rare breed
indeed, and most generous, I hear, with the time he gave to our exhibition."

"You did meet him then, Dr Bridger?" Sam queried.

"Yes, we all dined together on…oh. What day was that, Adrienne? I've lost track."

"Wednesday. The day we all first arrived, and the night before you returned to Paris."

"Who was at this dinner?" Sam asked.

"My team, the Professor of course, Daley Prescott and a few other people whose names escape me
I'm afraid," Dr Bridger replied.

"I spoke to a dear old fellow called Robert for a while," Adrienne volunteered. "But the
Professor himself didn't stay very late. He left about nine because he wasn't feeling well. Remember
Marcus? It was just after you and he had been talking."

Dr Bridger looked like this was news to him. "I don't recall. I do remember having my ear all but
talked off by Daley Prescott," he said, and then added, "Ah, I gather you've had a similar
experience, Detective Diamond."

Sam had tried unsuccessfully not to laugh so there was no point denying it. "The full treatment,"
she said. "I know more than any detective ever needs to know about museums."

"There's your partner in crime detection," Adrienne said, pointing over Sam's shoulder.

Sam thanked Adrienne again for the coffee and excused herself to join Rigby.

"I hear Enrico," Sam said, rolling the 'r', "has been bending your ear yet again, Jack."

Rigby sighed. "He told me Barstoc returned to their hotel at 2 am the night of the murder."

"Why did he tell you this?"

"Because he overheard Barstoc telling us he'd returned at midnight."

"And because he's trying to be helpful," Sam added.

"As best he can," Rigby laughed. "Why are we here again, Sam?"

"To track down a Peter Gilchrist. Didn't Rivers tell you about him?"

"I haven't spoken to him today. I left instructions for him to go over Marsden's office again, to
see if there's anything we overlooked."

"Like what?"

"Like…I don't know. If I did, we wouldn't have to search for it," Rigby said. "But if he was
into the horses he might have owed money. Maybe his bookie bumped him off. This Gould character has
gone to the top of my list though."

"I thought you said you hadn't spoken to Rivers," Sam said.

"I haven't," Rigby stated. "But yesterday I spoke to a researcher who wasn't in the old Museum
the day Marsden's body was found, but was there late on Wednesday. She overheard…"

"…An argument between Professor Marsden and Haddon Gould," Sam finished. Rigby looked like his
thunder had been stolen. "He told us all about it, Jack."