Free Golden Relic by Lindy Cameron

a token and pointed to the gnarled,
outstretched hand of the skeletal, cloaked Ferryman. Once the price was paid to enter the Realm of
the Dead, a panel in the wall behind slid back. Sam headed into The Catacombs - a maze of
'rock'-walled tunnels, complete with niches for skeletons, and intersected with vaults containing
coffins, and alcoves with life-size dioramas of human sacrifices and bodies on funeral pyres. She
had to duck her head to pass into the replica of a pharaoh's tomb, where artificial torches
flickered eerily over a stone sarcophagus and the hieroglyphs on the walls.
    Sam began to wonder if her imagination was working overtime or whether Dr Bridger and his team
had managed to infuse the claustrophobic tunnels and tombs with the distinctive odour of must and
decay. Whatever the cause, she was glad after passing the zombies and weird fetishes in the Voodoo
exhibit to emerge into the light and fresh air of the main exhibition area. This was partitioned
into areas of fertility and life, death and the afterlife, by walls of fibreglass rock, fake marble
pillars or panels of thatch. Much of the space was still empty, awaiting the relics and photographic
displays that would, as Prescott described, 'explore the fertility symbols and funerary rites of
cultures and societies from around the world and across time'.
    Sam felt like she'd just traversed Indiana Jones territory. The concept was fun, but she could
see why Marsden and Vasquez questioned its merits as a serious exhibition.
    "You get lost in the Underworld?" Rigby asked, as he strode towards her.
    Sam curled her lip at him, but then did a double take as she realised the guy in the suit keeping
pace with Rigby was the plain-clothed Hercules Rivers.
    "You scrub up well," she said to him. The constable just grinned.
    "Miz Douglas is waiting for us over there," Rigby said, ushering Sam ahead of him. "And Herc here
tells me Mister Barstoc refused to give him a statement because he knew he'd only have to give
another one to us."
    "Really," Sam commented wryly. "It's been a productive morning so far then."
    Adrienne Douglas, blonde-haired and fresh-faced, was sitting, coffee cup in hand, on a stool in
front of a partly-constructed shrine. She stood when Rivers made the introductions, looked up at
Rigby, as if this was the most tedious experience of her life so far, then smiled warmly at Sam and
offered her hand.
    "How can I help you detectives?" Although she included Rigby and Rivers in the question it was
addressed to Sam.
    "We understand you saw Professor Marsden on Wednesday, Ms Douglas," Sam began.
    "Adrienne, please," she interrupted. "And the answer is Professor Marsden was here, I was here,
we had a few conversations. That's about the extent of it."
    "You're American," Rigby remarked. When Adrienne gave him a 'you don't say' look he added,
"Conversations about what?"
    Adrienne waved her right hand at the space around her. "The exhibition, what else. To be precise
we were consulting each other rather than conversing."
    "Did he seem preoccupied or worried about anything?" Sam queried.
    "I hardly know, knew, the man," Adrienne corrected herself, gave Sam a long searching look and
then shrugged. "I really don't know. I met him for the first time less than a week ago. I could say,
in my experience, he was no more preoccupied than usual. But it's my guess that if you ask someone
who knew him, they'd say that's just the way he was. Whether it was a recent occurrence that made
him irritable or some lifelong problem that gnawed constantly at his temperament I couldn't say. I
quite liked him, but he was a testy old gent."
    "And you last saw him, when?" Rigby asked.
    Adrienne shrugged again. "Enrico and I were here till about six on Wednesday. The Professor left
some time before that; maybe 4.30."
    "There you are!" The owner of the interjecting voice, who now had his back to Sam, had pushed his
way unceremoniously into the space between her and Adrienne. "Do you