ONCE UPON A LIE (A Fitzjohn Mystery) Page 13

  ‘And was he the dealer who had approached your husband earlier?’

  ‘No. That man’s name was Bernard Wilson. I still have the card he left, but it won’t be much good to you. The contact details are false.’

  ‘What was Aiden Maxwell’s reaction when your husband confronted him?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Doug said he appeared in utter shock, but then he would be, wouldn’t he? Whether he’d sold that copy as authentic or not.’ Eunice paused. ‘He told Doug he’d acquired the sketch from another dealer, and would look in to the matter immediately. Of course, there was no way of knowing whether he was telling the truth so my husband suggested they report the matter to the police.’

  ‘And what was Aiden Maxwell’s response to that?’

  ‘Maxwell agreed, and they made arrangements to meet the next day, but that night Doug’s studio burnt to the ground and events took over. A few days later, Doug had a stroke and died.’

  ‘Did you hear from Aiden Maxwell again?’

  ‘No. Not a word. And I wasn’t surprised. After all, if Aiden Maxwell was mixed up in the fraud, he would have been counting his blessings when Doug didn’t contact him again. And even if he wasn’t involved, I imagine he’d welcome the opportunity to sweep the whole affair under the rug. Let’s face it, Chief Inspector, that sort of publicity wouldn’t do his business any good.’ Eunice Porteous sighed. ‘Needless to say, when Charlotte Rossi turned up here this morning and told me who she was, and that her mother had also died in 2010… well, quite frankly, I panicked.’

  ‘I can appreciate that, Mrs Porteous, but how do you feel now? Would you be willing to give us a description of the man who approached your husband initially?’

  ‘I’m certainly willing, Chief Inspector, but I don’t know how helpful my description will be. It was quite a while ago but I do remember that he had one of those charismatic personalities that draws you in, so to speak. No wonder Doug was fooled by his performance.’

  ‘And his physical description. Can you tell us what he looked like?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Well, he looked to be in his forties. Of average height. Quite a good looking man as I remember. And I might be mistaken, but I think he had blue eyes.’

  Fitzjohn and Williams left Eunice Porteous to continue her pruning in the early evening light. ‘Seems there’s no real closure to this for Eunice Porteous, sir,’ said Williams, getting into the car. ‘She’s a nervous wreck.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope we can help to change that for her, Williams, although I don’t think it’s going to be easy. It seems to me that Aiden Maxwell could be unaware that the Brandt sketch is a copy. On the other hand, if he was mixed up in that art fraud, he’s the person who’ll be able to tell us who approached Douglas Porteous.’

  With the last vestiges of light disappearing below the horizon of city buildings, Fitzjohn and Williams entered Kings Cross Police Station and made their way to the Incident Room where they found Betts writing feverishly in his notebook.

  ‘Were you able to catch up with Charlotte Rossi, Betts?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘I wanted to wait until I spoke to you first, sir, because I’ve come across something concerning Ms Rossi.’

  ‘Oh, what’s that?’ Fitzjohn sat down at his desk.

  ‘Well, I’ve been checking out everyone who was close to Claudia Rossi. Her partner Richard Edwards, her best friend Phillipa Braithwaite, and her daughter, Charlotte. In doing so, I’ve found that in 2010, the year Claudia died, Charlotte Rossi lived in Adelaide. At the time, she was studying for a Bachelor of Viticulture and Oenology at the University of Adelaide. Viticulture being the study of grapes and oenology being the study of all aspect of wine and winemaking.’

  ‘I know what viticulture and oenology are, Betts. Wouldn’t someone taking on such a degree have an interest in becoming a winemaker?’

  ‘It’s a four-year course, so I think you’d have to be fairly committed, sir. Charlotte Rossi was in her last year at the time of her mother’s death.’

  ‘And did she complete her degree?’

  ‘Yes. At the end of 2010.’

  ‘And here we are in 2012 and she’s running a bookshop. I wonder what happened to her aspirations to work in the wine industry. Especially since, at the time, she owned half a winery.’

  ‘And now with her uncle’s death she’ll own the winery out-right,’ added Betts.

  ‘Isn’t Adelaide another one of the few places in Australia where death cap mushrooms are found?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  Fitzjohn sat tapping his pen on his desk. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘There’s also Phillipa Braithwaite. We already know she manages Aiden Maxwell’s gallery in Carlton, Melbourne, so presumably she must journey there fairly regularly to carry out her duties.’

  ‘And Melbourne and its suburbs are also a source for death cap mushrooms,’ added Fitzjohn. ‘I can see where this is leading, Betts. If it turns out that Claudia Rossi didn’t bring those mushrooms back to Sydney herself, there are others who could have.’

  ‘With the possible intent to kill Claudia Rossi,’ added Betts.

  ‘It’s a chilling thought, and one I’d like to lay to rest,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘We’ll start by speaking to Charlotte Rossi, but we’ll do it first thing in the morning. It’s late and I want to get home. Apparently Sophie phoned the station while I was out. I want to see if I still have a greenhouse.’

  CHAPTER 18

  Fitzjohn and Betts arrived at the bookshop early the following morning to find Charlotte Rossi wrestling with the lock on the front door. ‘Good morning, Ms Rossi,’ said Fitzjohn.

  Charlotte looked over her shoulder. ‘Morning, Chief Inspector. I shan’t be long,’ she said wincing. ‘This lock is so old it tends to stick first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Here, let me try, Ms Rossi,’ offered Betts, smiling. Betts’s efforts saw the door fly open.

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant.’ Charlotte, with a polite smile, made her way in to the bookshop’s quiet, atmosphere, and placed a large canvas bag on her desk.

  ‘I trust Miss Timmons told you we spoke to her yesterday,’ said Fitzjohn, making his way between the shelves.

  ‘Yes, she did. She said you were asking after the Brandt sketch so I brought it in with me. I had planned to drop it off at the police station later today.’ Charlotte Rossi gestured to the canvas bag. ‘I also have the report you asked about. The one my mother was compiling in to its provenance.’ Charlotte rummaged in her handbag and handed the report to Fitzjohn. ‘Perhaps I should mention that I gave a copy of that to the art dealer who sold my mother the sketch. He said he’d look in to the provenance for me.’

  ‘Aiden Maxwell?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Yes. Do you know of him?’

  ‘His name’s been raised in the course of our enquiries, Ms Rossi. Would you say that Mr Maxwell was well acquainted with your mother?’

  ‘Yes. Other than doing quite a bit of work for him, she and Mr Maxwell met socially.’ Charlotte paused. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t have knowingly sold a fake piece of art work to Mum.’ Charlotte looked at the canvas bag containing the sketch. ‘Do you think Michael’s death had something to do with this sketch, Chief Inspector?’ She caught Fitzjohn’s eye. ‘Silly question. Of course, you must. Why else would you be interested in it.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to go in to it at this time, Ms Rossi, but what I can say is, we are also looking in to your mother’s activities just prior to her becoming ill. And, in so doing, it would help us greatly if you could tell us who she would have come in to contact with around that time.’

  ‘That’s difficult because I spent much of my time in Adelaide in 2010. I was studying there.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you can start by telling us where you were when your mother became ill.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I was here in New South Wales then on a semester break. Staying with a friend in the Hunter Valley.’

  ‘And how long had you been there?�
�

  ‘Actually, I’d only just arrived. Prior to that I’d been at Mum’s.’

  ‘And how long were you at your mother’s?’

  ‘I only spent one night. It was a Friday. I left the following morning. I think around seven-thirty.’ Charlotte fidgeted with her bracelet. ‘Mum and I had words, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Ah. I see. Can I ask the name of the friend you stayed with, in the Hunter Valley?’

  Charlotte tucked her fair hair behind her ears. ‘It was someone I was engaged to at the time. Rafe Simms.’

  A hint of surprise came to Fitzjohn’s face. ‘The winemaker who recently took over the harvest at Five Oaks Winery?’ Betts looked up from his notebook.

  ‘Yes. That’s right.’

  ‘I see. Do you know if your mother planned to see anyone after you left for the winery?’

  ‘She did say that her partner, Richard, was due back from Singapore that Saturday morning. But that’s the only thing I can remember her mentioning. Except for Phillipa, of course.’

  ‘Phillipa Braithwaite,’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know if your mother had seen Phillipa Braithwaite during that week?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I just remember Mum mentioning a conversation they’d had the day before I arrived. I’m afraid that’s all I know. With being away in Adelaide most of the year, I never kept up with Mum’s comings and goings.’

  ‘That’s okay, Ms Rossi. There’s just one other matter you might be able to assist us with. We understand your mother became ill after ingesting death cap mushrooms. Was it her practice, given the opportunity, to pick wild mushrooms?’

  Charlotte hesitated and fidgeted with the ring on her right hand. ‘I hate talking about this,’ she said at last, ‘but yes. It was something she’d always done as far back as I can remember. Mum walked early each morning whether she was at home in Sydney or at the winery, and I know she’d pick mushrooms if she came across them.’

  ‘Do you think she would have done so when she was away on business? Say in Canberra.’

  ‘Oh. This question came up at the Coroner’s inquest,’ replied Charlotte. ‘And, although it couldn’t be proved, it was decided that because Mum was in the habit of picking wild mushrooms, she could have gathered them in the morning before she left Canberra.’ Charlotte paused. ‘It was also thought that as death cap mushrooms aren’t found in New South Wales, she might not have been aware that they were poisonous. Of course, Michael was irate at that assumption.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He argued that there was no way that Mum would have misjudged mushrooms that she picked. He maintained she’d been murdered.’

  ‘And what do you think, Ms Rossi? About the mushrooms, that is?’

  ‘I think my mother made a mistake that morning, Chief Inspector.’

  Fitzjohn and Betts left Charlotte and made their way back to their car. ‘I can’t see Charlotte Rossi as a suspect, sir.’

  ‘Why, Betts? Because she’s too attractive. Don’t let that fact cloud your judgment.’ Betts put the sketch on to the back seat and closed the door. ‘I know it’s unpleasant,’ said Fitzjohn, ‘but Charlotte Rossi has to remain a person of interest in our investigation until we find out how Claudia Rossi came by those mushrooms. How many hours did you say it is before death cap mushrooms take effect on the human body?’

  ‘Approximately sixteen hours before the first bout of sickness, sir.’

  ‘Mmm. So, if Claudia was admitted to hospital early on Saturday morning, one would assume she’d eaten the mushrooms during the day on Friday,’ said Fitzjohn as he settled himself into the passenger seat of the car.

  ‘Or possibly late on Thursday evening, sir, after she arrived back from Canberra. After all, if she’d gone to the trouble to pick the mushrooms, you’d think she’d have thought the fresher the better. However, if that was the case, I think she would have been feeling ill on the Friday evening.’

  ‘What time did Charlotte Rossi say she arrived at her mother’s place?’

  ‘Around noon on Friday, sir. She left around seven-thirty on Saturday morning. So her mother was very likely feeling ill and either never mentioned it or...’

  ‘Or Charlotte Rossi knew very well what was troubling her mother and wanted to leave before things got worse,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘Where to now, sir?’

  ‘The Hunter Valley, Betts. I think it’s time we made Rafe Simms’s acquaintance.’

  CHAPTER 19

  A little after two o’clock that same day, Fitzjohn and Betts arrived in the Hunter Valley and after passing through the town of Cessnock, continued on in to the rolling countryside. Fitzjohn sat quietly, immersed in his thoughts. Not of the investigation, but of the few precious days he and Edith had spent in the Hunter Valley to celebrate her winning Grand Champion at the North Shore Orchid Society Spring Show. Little interested in orchids at the time, Fitzjohn now wished he had appreciated what this award had meant to Edith.

  ‘This is it, sir,’ said Betts, slowing the car. ‘Peppertree Grove Wines.’ Brought back from his thoughts, Fitzjohn peered out of the passenger car window as they drove beneath the wrought iron archway and followed the road that led to a nestle of buildings. ‘Taste our wines in the Cellar Door and Restaurant. Enjoy wine tasting, cheeses and other gourmet products,’ said Betts, reading the sign. ‘Too bad we can’t partake.’ Leaving their car, they made their way beneath the wisteria covered courtyard, its fragrance following them into the crowded Cellar Door.

  ‘Can I guide you through our range of wines, sir?’ said a young woman who stood behind the counter, her bright smile adding to the convivial atmosphere. ‘Unless, of course, you have something specific you’d like to taste.’

  ‘Actually, we’re here to see Mr Simms,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. You must be Mr Roland from the Wine Grapes Marketing Board. Rafe’s expecting you.’ Before Fitzjohn could reply, the young woman looked further along the counter to a tall man pouring wine for a group of tourists. ‘Rafe, darling, your visitors are here.’ Rafe Simms approached offering his hand. ‘Mr Roland.’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s been a bit of confusion, Mr Simms,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn and this is Detective Sergeant Betts. We’re from the New South Wales Police.’ Fitzjohn looked around the room. ‘I realise you’re busy, but it is necessary that we speak to you.’

  ‘About Michael Rossi, is it?’ asked Rafe Simms.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I think we might walk over to the house, Chief Inspector. It’ll be quieter there.’

  Once outside, Fitzjohn and Betts followed Rafe Simms along a gravel path that led through a copse of peppercorn trees to a sandstone bungalow, its wide verandah providing a stunning vista across the valley, and the mountain range beyond. Rafe gestured to a group of wicker chairs. ‘We can talk here, Chief Inspector.’

  With the cooling effect of a soft breeze, Fitzjohn settled himself into one of the chairs. ‘It’s a beautiful spot, Mr Simms,’ he said.

  Rafe Simms smiled. ‘It is, but I can’t take any credit. Most of what you see was established by my grandfather more than 50 years ago, including many of our finest vines.’ Rafe Simms sat back in his chair stretching his long legs before him. ‘Of course, much has been added as we’ve acquired more land.’

  ‘Is Five Oaks Winery such a big operation?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘No. It’s what we call a boutique winery, but it does produce high quality wines. In fact, it’s won some very prestigious awards in the last few years.’

  ‘Oh? Is that to the credit of Pierce Whitehead?’

  ‘Yes. He’s an excellent winemaker. That’s why I thought it was a shame that he and Michael didn’t get on. And as far as Michael is concerned, I don’t know that I can add much to what I told the police when they came to see me, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘I realise that, Mr Simms. Actually, we’re here to ask you about Michael Rossi’s sist
er, Claudia.’ Rafe Simms gave Fitzjohn a questioning look. ‘We’re trying to piece together who she came in to contact with in the days leading up to her admittance to hospital.’

  ‘Why? Do you think her death had something to do with Michael’s?’

  ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know how much help I can be. Claudia wasn’t a person I came in to contact with much.’ Rafe hesitated. ‘In fact, if the truth be known, she wanted as little to do with me as possible. Especially after Charlotte and I became engaged.’

  ‘Can I ask why?’

  ‘It was because of a particularly nasty incident that happened years ago involving my father.’ Rafe caught Fitzjohn’s expectant look. ‘He left Claudia at ‘the altar. Literally.’

  ‘They were to be married?’

  ‘Yes. And if that wasn’t enough, he married my mother the following week. So, I could understand why Claudia didn’t want me marrying her daughter, but that doesn’t mean to say it made it easy for Charlotte and me.’

  ‘I shouldn’t imagine it would,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘But Claudia got her wish in the end. You and Charlotte didn’t marry.’

  ‘No.’ Rafe Simms paused. ‘We tried not to let Claudia’s opinion of me and my family affect our relationship, but inevitably it did. I think mainly because when Claudia died, Charlotte had to cope with not only her grief, but also guilt. She and Claudia had been close at one time. Our engagement created a rift between them that was never resolved. Of course, Michael’s views on how Claudia died didn’t help Charlotte either.’

  ‘He didn’t agree with the Coroner’s finding?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Far from it. He made that clear on a number of occasions. Usually when we were sitting here tasting wines. And what he said was rather disturbing. You see, Michael was convinced Claudia had been deliberately poisoned.’

  ‘Did he say why he felt so strongly about it?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘It was something along the lines that Claudia would be alive today if she had attended the dinner party he’d invited her to that week.’