LITMIR.BIZ

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background information,’ Rigby replied casually. ‘We never know what may be useful in an investigation of this kind. And you did bring it up.’

      Prescott nodded. ‘Firstly, this travelling exhibition grew out of a smaller one that Marcus put together from the existing collection at the British Museum. When he thought about taking it on tour he decided to broaden the scope and make it truly international. So, as well as the original collection, there are many artefacts on loan from museums and cultural institutions all over the world; brought together for the first time. Marcus is responsible for all of them, hence he insists on riding shotgun for both shipments.’

      ‘He thinks someone is going to try and steal funeral relics?’ Rigby asked, his tone implying there was no accounting for taste.

      ‘No, Detective Rigby, though stranger things have happened. And in fact there was a hijacking of some valuable pre-Columbian artefacts in Paris just yesterday. In answer to your other question, having two or more shipments for exhibitions of this kind is standard operating procedure. The reason is not so much theft prevention as accident prevention; or, rather, reducing the odds against complete loss should, for instance, a plane carrying priceless and irreplaceable objects go down in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, never to be seen again.’

      ‘Well,’ Rigby stood before Prescott could launch into another aside, ‘that will probably do for now. We’ll be back if we need anything else.’

      ‘And to keep me apprised of your investigation?’ Prescott asked hopefully, glancing meaningfully at Sam as they both stood up.

      ‘Of course, Mr Prescott,’ she replied.

      ‘Oh there was one other thing,’ Rigby remembered. He opened his folder, pulled out an evidence bag and placed it on the desk. ‘Do you have any idea who or what Professor Marsden might have meant by this?’

      Prescott inspected Marsden’s note and tried to make sense of the scrawl by mouthing the letters. Finally he tried a few combinations: ‘hanosgoo, hancsgoc, hanfgoo,’ and then shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, I have no idea.’

      Rigby reclaimed the bag. ‘We’ll need to look at your personnel records to see if there’s any names that come close.’

      ‘Of course. I’ll get Anton to organise it for you.’ Prescott showed them to the door.

      Once they were out in the hallway Rigby consulted the list Rivers had given him and suggested they split the task to save time.

      ‘I’d like to check out Marsden’s office and talk to this Robert Ellington,’ Sam requested.

      ‘Fine,’ Rigby agreed. ‘I’ll track down the others. Rivers, you go with Sam.’

      Sam looked askance at Rigby. ‘You seconded him to your team, Jack.’

      Rigby gave her the same look back. ‘There’s no need to get your knickers in a twist. I need him with you because he is on my team. I know how you work, Sam. You keep too much up here.’ He tapped his finger on his temple. ‘I need a pair of eyes and a mind that remembers to write things down occasionally so I have some idea of what I don’t see and hear first hand.’

      ‘All right, already,’ said Sam. ‘Now whose knickers are all twisted?’

      Chapter Four

      Melbourne, September 17, 1998

      ‘You and Rigby seem to know each other quite well,’ Rivers said as he followed Sam, who followed Anton’s directions to Marsden’s office.

      ‘I haven’t seen him for two years, but we worked closely together for six months on the Carjacker case,’ Sam explained.

      ‘The serial killer?’

      ‘Yeah. The Bureau joined the hunt when it was discovered the killer hadn’t confined his activities to Victoria. It was actually Jack and I who tracked Neville Strickland down to that fleapit hotel where he shot one of his hostages before turning the gun on himself.’

      ‘I remember that siege lasted nearly three days,’ Rivers said. ‘Cultural Affairs must seem pretty tame, if that’s the sort of work you were doing before – tracking serial killers.’

      ‘You sound like you think it’s an adventure, Rivers. It’s not. It’s awful work. I’d much rather there weren’t any serial killers to track. Luckily Australia doesn’t produce too many men like Strickland. He was a really sick individual, and I don’t mean insane. He knew what he was doing, and what he did to those women was indescribable. You’d have to see it to believe it and, believe me, it is not something you ever want to see. I transferred to the Anti- Drug Task Force after that case.’ Sam glanced at Rivers. ‘Which I suppose, when you think about it, is really just a response to a different form of serial killing.’

      ‘Ludicrous. Ludicrous,’ came a voice from behind them. ‘One would think they were professional enough to pay attention. I should have done it myself.’ The words, delivered as if they’d been fired from a Gatling gun, were obviously being spoken to the person they were being spoken by. A man with unbelievably wild grey hair, and wearing a suit that looked like it had been retrieved from the still-to-be-ironed basket, overtook them in the corridor.

      ‘I’m late, I’m late for an important date,’ Rivers whispered to Sam, as the man, still talking to himself, darted into what turned out to be Marsden’s office. Sam and Rivers followed him in.

      Bookshelves, interspersed with filing cabinets, covered most of the walls, including the floor to ceiling window. Two desks, and their surrounding mess of things in boxes, sat on opposite sides of the room facing the centre. Framed photographs crowded a section of wall behind what Sam guessed was Marsden’s desk, next to which was a cluttered pinboard hanging precariously from a bent coat stand.

      ‘Robert Ellington?’ Sam enquired.

      ‘Of course,’ he snapped, as he lost control of the manilla folders he was trying to stack on the other desk. Sam bent down to help him pick them up but it wasn’t until Ellington was completely happy with the repositioned pile that he acknowledged her presence.

      His eyes looked left, then right, then squinted at Sam. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked.

      ‘No. I’m Special Detective Sam Diamond, from the Australian Crime Bureau, and this is Constable,’ she hesitated, but her new sidekick chose that moment to stare at the ceiling. ‘Rivers,’ Sam continued. ‘We’re investigating the death of Lloyd Marsden.’

      ‘You mean murder. The word around here is that it was murder. Poor old Lloyd. Do you think he suffered? I hope he didn’t suffer.’

      ‘I don’t know. But if I could ask you a few questions about Mr Marsden–’

      ‘Professor,’ Ellington interrupted. ‘He liked to be called Professor; God knows why. It’s a bit pretentious in this day and age, don’t you think? Call me plain old Bob, I say. On second thoughts, I probably wouldn’t answer since no one has ever called me Bob. I wouldn’t know who you were talking to, would I? But Lloyd was a trifle old-fashioned, and just because the rambunctious old bastard is dead doesn’t mean we ignore his wishes.’

      ‘Robert.’ Sam used his first name to try and get him back on track. When he smiled as if she’d recognised him in a crowd, she continued. ‘We understand you saw Professor Marsden at some stage yesterday.’

      ‘That would be correct, Sam,’ he smiled. ‘We had breakfast together, as usual, in a cafe near Flinders Street station. We walked together as far as the library, where I left him and continued on here. I also saw him just after lunch, about 2.30, when I had cause to go to the library myself. I’m researching blacksmiths and boilermakers at the moment for a future exhibit on trades during the early days of the colony. I just nodded hello to Lloyd on that occasion, as he was talking to that twerp Trevor Brownie.’

      ‘The assistant financial administrator?’ Sam wandered over to Marsden’s desk.

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