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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. She noticed that Rigby, who had given up trying to get a word in edgewise, was sitting 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 said.

      ‘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 personable young man with a large ruby stud in his ear who had 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 took the sheet of paper.

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

      ‘Maggie has 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 asked.

      ‘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, looking like he suddenly felt his age; or perhaps 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 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.

      ‘He arrived with his colleagues and the first shipment last week; then returned to Paris so he could travel

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