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But while we’ve been waiting for the second shipment Andrew has been off making business wherever he can.’

      ‘What sort of business?’ Rigby asked.

      ‘I have no idea. That is what he does. He’s a business man. He’ll be on site when the rest of the exhibits get delivered tomorrow and is always on call, but he will spend the rest of his time, as usual, taking care of his own personal...’ Vasquez shrugged, ‘business.’

      Sam rubbed the back of her neck to stem the annoying prickling sensation she always got when a seemingly unrelated fact surfaced from somewhere in her memory, prompting her mind to leap to a most unlikely conclusion. Failing to convince herself that her suspicions were based purely on coincidence she was half-way out the door before she realised she moved.

      ‘Are you all right, Sam?’ Rigby asked. ‘You look like you’ve just remembered you left the iron on at home.’

      ‘Sorry. Something did just occur to me. I have to check it out straight away.’ She turned to Vasquez and asked, ‘When did you arrive in Melbourne with the first lot of exhibits?’

      ‘Last Wednesday.’

      Sam returned to Marsden’s office and, relieved to find it empty, sat down at his desk. She put the gloves back on, took her phone out of her jacket pocket and rang her office. While she waited for Ben Muldoon to answer, she removed the blotter from the desk top again and opened The Rites of Life and Death catalogue to the contents page.

      ‘Muldoon here.’

      ‘Hi Ben, it’s me,’ Sam said, cradling the phone awkwardly with her shoulder while she used a pen to scrape some of the icing sugar into an evidence bag. ‘Have you had any leads on the origin of that new stuff that hit the streets last weekend?’

      ‘Nothing concrete. Just a rumour that it’s a brand new source,’ Ben replied.

      ‘Well, I may have news for you. I’ve got something for the lab to check first.’

      ‘Where are you?’

      ‘I’m still at the Museum.’

      ‘You found something there?’

      ‘It’s a long story. I’ll explain when I get back. In the meantime get the squad to check out a shipment of exhibits that came in by plane from Paris today. Make a call to stop it leaving the airport if it hasn’t already.

      ‘It’s for a show called The Rites of Life and Death, though it might be registered in the name of Dr Marcus Bridger – or for delivery to the Exhibition Building.’ Sam disconnected the call.

      ‘What the hell was that little performance back there about?’ Rigby demanded as he strode through the door. Rivers was close behind him trying to get his attention.

      ‘I think the late Professor may have stumbled onto a smuggling operation,’ Sam stated.

      ‘Smuggling what?’

      She waved the bag. ‘Cocaine.’

      ‘You’re kidding.’

      ‘We won’t know for sure till we get this tested. I’ll take it to our lab to compare it with a sample that turned up on Sunday.’

      ‘There’s something else you should know,’ Rivers said. ‘The guys that went to Marsden’s place just rang in. His house has been trashed. They said things like the TV and video were broken, not stolen, and that it looks like someone was seriously looking for something specific.’

      Chapter Five

      Melbourne, Friday September 18, 1998

      ‘Don’t do this to me,’ Sam begged, pounding the steering wheel. A sharp rap on the window nearly frightened the life out of her. The bizarre appearance of her sister completed the job.

      Jacqui’s hair was littered with sequins, teased outwards in all directions and frozen in space and time by what could only have been the contents of 23 cans of hairspray. She wore a gold mini-skirt, a leopard-skin singlet, fishnet stockings and very high heels.

      Sam struggled out of her seat belt and out of the car. It was eight o’clock in the morning and her sister looked like a tart. Correction. She looked like a drag queen dressed as a tart.

      ‘I’m afraid I have to arrest you,’ she said. ‘You cannot go out looking like that.’

      ‘I’m not going out, I’m coming home.’

      ‘Oh my god! In that case, I’ll have to shoot you,’ Sam stated. ‘Right after I’ve emptied a clip into this useless bloody car of mine.’

      ‘I’ll give you a lift to work if you can resist making further comments about my attire,’ Jacqui offered, flouncing back to her car which was parked behind Sam’s outside their house.

      Sam locked her clapped-out Mazda, got into Jacqui’s brand new Celica, put her sunglasses on even though it was overcast, and tried to pretend she was in a taxi with a total stranger.

      ‘I had the best time last night,’ Jacqui volunteered after several minutes silence.

      ‘Did you go out with Ben dressed like that?’ Sam braced herself, as Jacqui swung out into the traffic on Beaconsfield Parade and headed towards St Kilda.

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Jacqui declared. ‘Ben and I have a date on Friday. Last night I went around to Leo’s for pasta and got picked up by an absolutely gorgeous American sailor.’

      ‘I’m not surprised a sailor picked you up if you trawled Fitzroy Street dressed–’

      ‘I was wearing jeans and a shirt, Sam,’ Jacqui interrupted.

      Sam decided it was too early in the day to be dealing with her sister’s habit of providing only half the information necessary to make a conversation understandable. She stared out the window at the dreary sky which was hanging lower than usual, making everything dull and lifeless. In the distance she could see a red supertanker, ploughing towards the Heads, and one determined shaft of sunlight that provided the only light and colour on the flat, grey-green expanse of Port Phillip Bay.

      ‘Reuben, his three friends and I had a few drinks at Leo’s,’ Jacqui explained, while Sam silently questioned the common sense of the four joggers who were pounding along the footpath breathing in toxic peak-hour car fumes. She watched, impressed, as a windsurfer demonstrated perfect control by leaping off his board as he ran it into the sand of St Kilda beach; and astonished, as a middle-aged man in an expensive suit lost control of his morning completely by rollerblading face-first into a No Standing sign.

      ‘...and then we went to a gay bar in Commercial Rd.’

      ‘A gay bar? What on earth for?’ Sam asked.

      ‘Reuben and his mates wanted to check out the local scene,’ Jacqui replied, turning left into Fitzroy Street. ‘That’s what gay guys like to do, Sam. There’s no need to look so amazed.’

      ‘I’m not amazed, I’m confused. You said you were ‘picked up’ by a gorgeous sailor.’

      ‘Yeah. We went drinking and dancing, then we met these drag queens and went back to someone’s penthouse and put on a fashion parade. Hence the outfit. It was a real hoot.’

      ‘No wonder you have trouble finding ‘the right man’,’ Sam remarked, shaking her head.

      ‘Well, not that you’d know Ms Workaholic, but the only men out there these days are married, gay or desperate. And the gay guys are, without doubt, the most fun.’

      ‘I think you’re looking in the wrong places,’ Sam remarked.

      ‘Oh yeah? When was the last time you had a date?’

      ‘I’m not looking,’ Sam stated.

      ‘There you go then.’

      ‘There

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