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chair.  ‘An archaeological dig?’
    ‘Yes, this past summer.  As you can see, Professor Wearing was there as was his brother, James Wearing.’
    ‘You knew Alex Wearing well?’
    ‘I suppose you could say that, yes.’
    ‘When did you last see him?’
    ‘The afternoon before he died.’
    ‘Whereabouts?’
    Ashley turned the bracelet on her wrist.  ‘In his office, but I was only there for a minute or two because his phone rang.’
    ‘What time would this have been, Ms Manning?’
    ‘Just after lunch.’
    ‘You didn’t go back to see him later in the day?’
    ‘No.  I had to work.  I have a part-time job at the Australian Museum.’
    ‘I see.’  Fitzjohn looked again at the photograph.  ‘In your opinion, did Alex Wearing get on well with people?  At this excavation, for instance.’
    Ashley Manning hesitated.  ‘Yes.’
    ‘Forgive me for saying so, Ms Manning, but you don’t sound too sure.’
    Ashley smoothed a few wisps of hair back from her face.  ‘Well, it’s just that he did have words with his brother, James Wearing, a couple of times, as I remember.’
    Fitzjohn frowned.  ‘Do you know why they argued?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘How well do you know James Wearing?’
    ‘Hardly at all.  The only contact we’ve had was at that excavation.’  Ashley pointed to the photograph.
    ‘Very well, Ms Manning, I just have one last question.  Can you tell us where you were between midnight and 6am on the seventh of July?’
    ‘Here, asleep in bed.’
    ‘Alone?’
    Ashley Manning glared at Fitzjohn.  ‘Yes.’
     
     
     
    Fitzjohn and Betts emerged from Ashley Manning’s flat and made their way back down the stairs and out to their car.
    ‘Am I right in saying Ms Manning doesn’t fit your image of an archaeologist, Betts?’
    Betts's eyebrows rose.  ‘I suppose I had visions of someone less...’
    ‘Attractive?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Fitzjohn laughed.  ‘I thought you were a little taken.’
    Betts turned the ignition and pulled away from the curb.  ‘You didn’t mention the missing artefacts to her, sir.’
    ‘No, I thought it prudent not to advertise their theft too widely for the moment.’
    ‘Do you think she knows more than what she’s saying then, sir?’
    ‘Most assuredly, Betts.  Most assuredly.’

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 7
     
    After a sleepless night, James rose early and made his way downstairs.  He grabbed his coat from the end of the banister and pulled it on.  As he did so, he noticed the painting on the hall table, all but forgotten after Fitzjohn’s visit.  He picked it up and left the house.
    Half an hour later, he arrived at The Gallery to find Edwina Parker on the sidewalk fumbling with the door lock amidst the clamour of morning traffic. She looked up as he approached, her round face breaking into a wide smile when she saw him.
    ‘James, it’s good to see you.  My thoughts have been with you since I heard the news.’  Edwina frowned.  ‘I’m so sorry about Alex.’
    ‘Thanks, Edwina.’  James glanced at the door.  ‘Here, let me try that.’  James turned the key and shoved the door.  It swung open.
    ‘Thanks.  I go through this every morning but it’s my own fault.  I should call a locksmith.  Come in.’  Edwina switched the lights on and, with laboured breathing, made her way across the room to the desk in the corner, her large shape barely fitting into the chair.  She placed her handbag inside a desk drawer and waited for James to sit down.
    ‘I’m so glad you dropped by,' she said.  'I know this must be a difficult time.’
    ‘I’m not sure I’ve grasped what’s happened yet.  I suppose it’ll take a few days.’
    Edwina nodded.  ‘Can I get you a cup of coffee?’
    ‘Thanks, but I can’t stay.  I just came by to ask whether you can recommend someone who could clean this painting for me.’  James handed the painting to Edwina.  ‘I found it last night in Louise’s studio.’
    A smile crossed Edwina’s face.