Golden Relic (33 page)

Adrienne continued to talk about the show but when Sam noticed that Barstoc had joined Bridger
she turned half her attention to their conversation.

"Andrew, dear boy," said the silver-haired gent, "I was just telling Marcus I played 18 at
Sunningdale with your father last week."

"Really?" Barstoc asked, as if it was the least interesting thing he'd heard all night.

"Yes. He was telling me all about this new venture of his in Barbados."

"Really?" Barstoc said again. "I don't know anything about it, Edward. If you'll excuse me."

"I hope I didn't speak out of turn, Marcus," Edward said as Barstoc walked off.

"No, not at all Edward. Father still hasn't forgiven Andrew. I doubt he ever will."

Father? thought Sam. "Adrienne, could you excuse me a sec," she whispered, "I'll be right back."
Sam made a beeline for Maggie who was on the other side of the room.

"Sam, dear, I'd like you to meet Athol Porter," Maggie began.

"Hi, Athol," Sam said, "I don't mean to be rude but I need to talk to Maggie, urgently."

"What is it?" Maggie asked when they had retreated to a quieter spot in the room.

"Marcus and Andrew are brothers."

"No, they're not," Maggie laughed.

"Yes, they are," Sam insisted, and repeated the conversation she'd overheard.

"How very odd," Maggie muttered. "Who was Marcus talking to?"

When Sam pointed at the man, who was now talking to someone else, Maggie said, "That's Edward
Fisher. I'll have a word with him. You stay here."

Maggie was gone for five minutes during which Sam managed to avoid Daley Prescott again by
joining a nearby conversation about the discovery of an Inca crown in Cuzco. No one missed her from
the debate when she moved away to rejoin Maggie.

"Edward says that Andrew and Marcus are stepbrothers, Sam."

"Well, I'll be damned."

"Apparently Andrew had a falling out with his stepfather, Daniel Bridger, about 20 years ago. He
was disowned and disinherited. Edward said he'd heard they'd recently reconciled, otherwise he
wouldn't have mentioned Daniel in front of Andrew."

"What do you think this means?" Sam asked.

Maggie snorted. "I've no idea, Sam. It might mean nothing at all. Obviously the brothers are
still close, at least close enough to work together, despite the father's opinion of Andrew. There
could be any number of reasons why they don't acknowledge their relationship, although the most
logical might be they don't want to risk Marcus being disinherited as well."

"I suppose," Sam agreed. "But if Andrew is 'the one', do you think Marcus knows about it?"

Maggie shrugged. "Andrew said no one on the team knows about this investigative work he allegedly
does, but we know from Patrick that Marcus also met Noel Winslow, however briefly, in Cairo. So we
can only guess at what Marcus does and doesn't know. His mind is a bit of a vacuum when it comes to
other people's business and affairs anyway. If it doesn't directly concern him or, more importantly,
make him 'look good' he pays little attention. I could tell him right now that I'd been nominated
for a Nobel Prize, but he'd be surprised all over again if someone else told him the same thing
about me five minutes later."

"That explains the odd, 'who the hell are you and why are you here' look that he gave me when I
smiled at him earlier," Sam said.

"Anyway, considering what we went through in Cairo and Cuzco, I'm even more convinced Vasquez is
'the one'," Maggie stated, widening her eyes.

"But he's not…"

"Enrico dear," Maggie interrupted. "What a pleasant surprise."

Sam turned to find Vasquez and Adrienne approaching. "Señor Vasquez," she nodded.

"Enrico has only just arrived back," Adrienne explained.

"And how is your poor mother?" Maggie asked, all concern and no sincerity.

"My mother is recovering, thank you," Vasquez smiled knowingly. "But my time at home was plagued
by disaster. My poor cousin broke his nose and collarbone when his car hit a stationary truck. We
still can't imagine how he managed to have such a foolish accident in broad daylight."

"He must have been looking at something other than where he was going," Sam suggested.

"Perhaps," Vasquez agreed amicably. "Detective Diamond, I was wondering if I might have a word in
private with you about that matter I raised the last time we spoke?"

"Of course, Señor Vasquez," Sam agreed. "How about we adjourn to the bar downstairs?"

"Good idea. You're welcome to join us Maggie," he added, as if it was an afterthought. "You may
actually be able to help me out. Would you excuse us please, Adrienne?"

"Sure thing," Adrienne said, looking like she'd rather tag along to find out what the mystery
was.

"Was he really your cousin?" Sam asked, once they were settled in a booth downstairs, having made
sure none of the other customers nearby were Conference delegates.

"No," Vasquez smiled. "But you were quite right, he wasn't watching where he was going. But
enough said about your clever escape." He pulled a folded but crumpled piece of paper from his
pocket, smoothed it out on the table and turned it round so that Sam's handwriting was facing them.
"I found this in your hotel room, after you had checked out."

"So?" Maggie said, as if the list of names from the Manco City dig meant nothing.

"Maggie," Vasquez sighed, "I know you do not believe I work for my government but please do not
treat me like a fool. I recognised some of the names on this list so I made the assumption that the
others had some kind of professional connection. Would you like me to tell you what I
discovered?"

"If you wish Enrico, but I don't see the point," Maggie smiled.

"Then humour me," Vasquez requested. "Of the names I recognised, I knew that Pavel Mercier,
Alistair Nash and, of course, Lloyd Marsden were deceased. So I began with Noel Winslow. Being a fan
of his mystery novels I tried his publishers first and discovered he had died earlier this year. I
then started trying to trace the other names and discovered that Jean McBride had been killed in a
car accident. I began to think you had gone a little strange, Maggie, making this," Vasquez tapped
the page, "this list of all your dead friends."

"You get to my age Enrico and it hits you one day that all your friends are dropping like flies,"
Maggie sighed. "It gets a bit disconcerting."

Vasquez shook his head. "I am sure it does but when I found out that Louis Ducruet was alive and
working in Turkey and Sarah Croydon had recently opened an exhibition in Wellington I knew this was
not a list of the dead. I admit I have found nothing about Jones, Sanchez or Rockly - yet -
but I managed to find out a great deal about the late Barbara Stone, whom I had actually met once.
And that's when I knew what this list was about."

"Because of Barbara Stone," Sam verified.

"Yes of course," Vasquez said. "When I discovered she and her ex-business partner had been
investigated by the FBI for fencing stolen antiquities, I knew that despite your denials you were,
are, in fact looking for the Paris hijackers."

"Enrico," Maggie said impatiently, "apart from the fact that I swear we knew nothing of Barbara
and the FBI, how could a dead person help us find hijackers that we are not, in fact, looking
for?"

Vasquez scowled at her. "I was hoping you would tell me," he said.

"Did the FBI charge her with anything?" Sam asked.

"No," Vasquez sighed. "The partner was jailed but there was no real evidence against her, which
doesn't mean she wasn't involved, but then you know that already."

"We had no idea," Sam stated. "Really, none at all."

Vasquez looked deeply puzzled, as if he wanted to believe them but didn't want to relinquish his
theory. "But why else would her name be on this list, with all these people who have had access over
the years to the types of artefacts she was suspected of fencing? You can't really expect me to
believe you are not on the trail of the Tahuantinsuyu Bracelet."

"Señor Vasquez you have a very fertile imagination.
You
are on the trail of the
Tahuantinsuyu Bracelet;
we
are looking for a murderer," Sam pronounced.

Vasquez shrugged as if he was giving up. "Then I suppose you are not interested in Andrew
Barstoc's connection to Ms Stone, and the affair she was having," he said, offhandedly.

Sam laughed. "Señor Vasquez, what is this thing you have about Barstoc? You have been throwing
him in my face since we first met."

"We, my colleagues and I, have long suspected him to be a major player in the illegal trade of
stolen cultural property," Vasquez confided.

"Well, if you really are a cop, or whatever it is you are, why don't you talk to him instead of
us?"

Vasquez threw up his palms. "I thought we could help each other out in this matter."

"Honestly Enrico," Maggie snapped, "how do you expect us to believe anything you have to say when
you can't give us any proof. It seems to me you are using your Masters in applied obfuscation to
find out what we might know in order to conceal your own involvement in the hijacking."

"But…" Vasquez began.

"No buts, Enrico. I will say this one last time." Maggie tapped her finger on the table for
emphasis. "We are not looking for hijackers and we don't care about the Tahuantinsuyu Bracelet. If
we were, given the appalling behaviour of you and your henchmen in Cuzco, we would be coming after
you, not trying to avoid you. What's more, having your accomplices shoot at us and our aircraft is
not a sensible way to go about earning our trust and securing our assistance."

"Who shot at you?" Vasquez seemed genuinely appalled.

"The Turkish gentleman who you claim is a known dealer in stolen antiquities. It is clear to us
that you are in cahoots with him," Maggie stated.

Vasquez slapped himself in the forehead. "Maggie, I am on your side," he insisted. "Mr Aydin is
no accomplice of mine. He is probably, however, an acquaintance of Andrew Barstoc."

"Well of course, he would be wouldn't he," Sam said. "And what else were you trying to imply
before? Something about Barstoc having an affair with Barbara Stone?"

"Oh, no Detective Diamond, that is not what I said. Ms Stone attended the opening of our
exhibition in San Francisco. She knew the Director of the Museum and was introduced to the whole
team. Andrew then visited her in her New Age shop on several occasions."

"That's it? That's your connection?" Sam asked. "
You
met this FBI suspect too."

"But I am not a suspected trader in stolen artefacts," Vasquez pointed out.

"You are in our book," Maggie reminded him. "So who was Barbara having the affair with? I hope
you're not going to tell us that you saw Lloyd Marsden in San Francisco so you jumped to the most
illogical conclusion yet."

"Of course not Maggie. Please be sensible," Vasquez pleaded. "I know for a fact, because I saw
them together and it was common knowledge, that Barbara Stone was
seeing
our Ms Douglas."

My god, Sam thought, throw the works another spanner. "Well that's very interesting, I'm sure,"
she said calmly. "But what it has to do with anything, I don't know. I have an idea, Señor. Instead
of following us around, making wild connections between unrelated things, devising bizarre theories,
and spreading unsubstantiated gossip about your colleagues, why don't you come up with some way of
proving you are who you say are. If you can do that, I promise when I have solved my murder case, I
will give your request for assistance in your hijacking case some serious consideration."

Sam watched Haddon Gould through the one-way mirror as he straightened his jacket.
He looked quite refreshed despite his night in a cell and actually smiled as he whispered to his
lawyer.

"So, what do you say Jack? Shall we give it a go?"

"I don't know, Sam," Rigby said doubtfully. "I'm positive he's right for this. I asked him about
the threatening postcard last night, and he admitted to sending that too."

"Well he would, wouldn't he," Sam said.

"I gave him no extra information, Sam. He told me which typewriter he used."

Sam shrugged. "So, he writes bad poetry."

"You're the one that said the postcard and the murder were connected," Rigby reminded her.

"So I was wrong. I can't be right about everything, Jack."

"But of course you're right about Gould not being the murderer," Rigby said doubtfully.

"I'm just trying to save you some embarrassment," Sam shrugged.

"Okay, okay. Let's do it."

Sam and Rigby entered the interview room in silence and took their seats opposite Gould and his
lawyer. While Sam opened a file and studied the page on top, Rigby turned the tape recorder on,
stated the date, time and who was present and then sat back and crossed his arms.

"Do you remember me, Mr Gould?" Sam asked. "We met the day after your operation."

"Yes, Detective, I remember."

"You told me that day that you did not strike the Professor. You said, and I quote, 'and I
certainly didn't kill him, if that's what you're implying'."

Gould looked boyishly guilty, as if he'd been caught telling a white lie. "Yes, that is what I
said."

Sam nodded and tapped the page in front of her. "That's nothing like the statement you gave
Detective Rigby yesterday," she said, with a frown. "I'm puzzled. Why did you do it?"

"You don't have to answer that," Gould's lawyer advised.

"It's okay, John, I want them to know. I'd simply had enough of Lloyd's manipulating, his double
standards, his…"

"No," Sam interrupted. "What I meant was, why did you confess?"

Gould frowned. "Because Detective Rigby here had all the evidence and I knew I could no longer
deny that I'd killed the man," he stated, as if it was obvious.

"So you killed Professor Lloyd Marsden?" Sam asked.