ONCE UPON A LIE (A Fitzjohn Mystery) Page 15

  ‘I’d say it’s Phillipa Braithwaite, sir. After all, Andrew Braithwaite isn’t aware of the significance of Claudia Rossi being at Phillipa’s for dinner during that week.’

  ‘Isn’t he? There’s always the possibility he is, Betts. Phillipa could have confided in him at some stage. In which case, he’s telling us he saw Claudia there that night in retaliation for Phillipa denying his alibi for the night that Michael Rossi died.’ Fitzjohn opened the Incident Room door. ‘But I don’t think that’s probable. I agree with you. I think Andrew Braithwaite did see Claudia at Phillipa’s that night. And, I suppose you could say that it’s understandable that with Claudia dying from mushroom poisoning a couple of days later, Phillipa is reluctant to admit she had her over for dinner. But, where it comes unstuck is in this other matter to do with Phillipa wanting to acquire an agreement with Douglas Porteous. Why didn’t she approach Porteous herself?’

  ‘But she did, without success. At least that’s what she told Andrew Braithwaite.’

  ‘She’s lying, Betts.’

  ‘You mean by having her half-brother make the deal with Porteous, there would be no connection to her.’

  ‘Of course. After all, as far as she knew, no one would ever suspect that Andrew Braithwaite, or Pierce Whitehead as he was known, is her half-brother.’ Fitzjohn walked over to his desk. ‘Have Mrs Porteous come in to identify Andrew Braithwaite, Betts. If she confirms he’s the art dealer who met with Douglas Porteous then we’ll speak to Phillipa Braithwaite again.’

  ‘What about Maxwell, sir?’

  ‘Mmm. It’s hard to say whether he’s involved in the art fraud or not. He might be oblivious to Phillipa’s actions. We’ll talk to him again, Betts. Have him brought in too, will you. But do it tomorrow. It’s been a long day. I want to go home and see what I can do about the tree branch and the remnants of my greenhouse.’

  CHAPTER 21

  Betts arrived at Fitzjohn’s sandstone cottage in Birchgrove early the next morning, to the sound of a chainsaw. Curious, he made his way along the side of the house and through the gate in to the back garden. There, he found Fitzjohn and Sophie, their attention taken by a man sawing through the offending tree branch that now lay ensconced inside the remains of the greenhouse. Betts came to stand next to Fitzjohn. ‘This is a lot worse than I imagined,’ he shouted over the whining screech. ‘There’s almost nothing left of the greenhouse.’

  ‘If you think this is bad, take a look at Rhonda Butler’s house,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  Betts cast his eye over the fence. ‘My god. The back half of the house has been demolished. And all for a bit of shade. What about Mrs Butler?’

  ‘She’s gone to stay with her brother and his wife until it’s rebuilt.’ Fitzjohn turned back to his greenhouse and Sophie who stood cradling the dusty CD player that had once sat on the shelf just inside the door. He put his arm over Sophie’s shoulder and, followed by Betts, they strolled along the garden path to house where rows of orchids huddled together in the shade.

  ‘So, this is what’s left,’ said Betts, bending down.

  ‘Yes,’ said Fitzjohn, sighing.

  ‘I’m just thankful you weren’t in the greenhouse when it came down, Uncle Alistair,’ said Sophie.

  ‘If you weren’t staying with me, Sophie, I probably would have been.’ Fitzjohn opened the back door and they walked inside.

  ‘So, my being arrested has had its positive side,’ said Sophie, putting the CD player on the kitchen table. ‘After all, I wouldn’t have been here otherwise.’

  ‘You can’t make excuses for getting arrested, Sophie,’ replied Fitzjohn, pulling on his suit coat. ‘Now remember, I’ve got those people coming to dismantle what’s left of the greenhouse this afternoon. I also want them to scour the garden for pieces of glass.’ Fitzjohn picked up his briefcase. ‘If you encounter any problems, ring me.’

  ‘I will. And don’t worry, Uncle. I’ll make sure they take everything away.’

  ‘They’re charging enough so see that they do. And I don’t want you picking up any more glass,’ he added, looking down at Sophie’s bandaged hand.

  ‘Now, Betts.’ Betts pushed himself away from the side of the kitchen sink. ‘I want to speak to Aiden Maxwell this morning. Has he been brought in?’

  ‘Not yet, sir, I thought you might want to look in to something else first. Michael Rossi’s solicitor, David Spencer, contacted me earlier this morning. He said he’d remembered that Rossi had asked if he could refer him to an Intellectual Property lawyer.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Two weeks ago, sir. Spencer suggested, Magnaut Intellectual Property Law Services. I checked with the firm and apparently the victim had a consultation with one of their team regarding a patent. Rossi claimed that a patent for one of his own inventions was applied for and given to Robert Nesbit. Since that time the legal firm have set in motion proceedings against Robert Nesbit.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ said Fitzjohn, ‘because we know Michael Rossi’s actions in the past have all but destroyed Nesbit financially, as well as his personal life. This would give Nesbit an even stronger motive to kill Rossi. Okay, Betts. We’ll talk to Nesbit this morning instead.’

  ‘It’ll have to wait till later this afternoon, sir. I checked with the Cruising Yacht Club. Nesbit’s participating in a short ocean race up the coast to Lion Island. They’re not due back till at least four this afternoon.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Fitzjohn glanced out of the kitchen window at the debris strewn across the back garden. In that case, I’ll stay here, for now, and meet you at the yacht club later this afternoon. To be honest, I’d sooner be here when they remove the greenhouse.’

  Betts moved toward the door. ‘Oh. There’s something else you should know. Charlotte Rossi is crewing for Nesbit. Alone.’

  Fitzjohn’s brow wrinkled. ‘I don’t like the sound of that, Betts. If Nesbit is the killer he might suspect Charlotte is privy to her uncle’s actions against him.’

  ‘Surely he’d realise she wouldn’t have gone sailing with him, alone, if she is, sir.’

  ‘If he’s just killed a man, Betts, I doubt he’s in a stable frame of mind. Anything’s possible.’

  As the day progressed and with the tree branch and the remnants of the greenhouse gone, Fitzjohn and Sophie stood silently, looking at the empty space. ‘It’s all a bit of a mess, isn’t it, Sophie?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t worry, Uncle Alistair, once the new greenhouse is in place, the garden will be restored to its former beauty. You’ll see.’ Sophie placed a reassuring hand on Fitzjohn’s arm. ‘I’ll even help you to replant all those flowerbeds you’ve lost.’

  ‘That’s good of you, Sophie, but I’m afraid it’ll have to wait.’ Fitzjohn turned and started to walk back toward the house. ‘With my present investigation, I’m in no position to go looking for a new greenhouse.’

  ‘But what about the orchids?’ said Sophie, following him. ‘They need shelter or they’ll die.’

  ‘They won’t die, but their condition will deteriorate,’ said Fitzjohn gazing down at the rows of orchids lining the back wall of the house. ‘Still, it can’t be helped.’

  Sophie followed Fitzjohn inside. ‘I know what we can do, Uncle Alistair. I can see what there is available in greenhouses and gather a few pamphlets together for you. I think I have a fair idea of what you’re looking for.’

  As Sophie spoke, Fitzjohn’s mobile rang. ‘Fitzjohn here. No, Betts, I haven’t seen the news. I’ve been outside all day. What’s up.’ Fitzjohn put his phone on loudspeaker and turned on the television. In silence, he glared at the image of a helicopter hovering above an angry sea where two men were being winched to safety. ‘And you say Nesbit’s yacht’s in trouble?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Betts. ‘It was sited outside the Heads not long ago. The mast is broken and Nesbit was unable to get back in to the harbour. He’s being towed in now by the Water Police.

  ‘I’ll meet you at the CYC, Betts. I’m leaving now.’<
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  ‘There’s another problem, sir. Nesbit radioed that Charlotte Rossi went overboard. They’re searching for her.’ Fitzjohn winced.

  Heavy cloud covered the sky and a cool southerly blew as Fitzjohn arrived by taxi at the Cruising Yacht Club. Betts met him at the curb, and they made their way into the club. They found Robert Nesbit’s storm battered yacht moored in the marina. Its mast lay across the deck, the remnants of sails strewn about. Nesbit stood in the midst of the chaos. ‘Mr Nesbit,’ Fitzjohn called. Nesbit, turned, his anguished face one of exhaustion and shock. ‘We understand you’ve been through an ordeal today. Are you able to answer a few questions?’ Robert Nesbit did not reply but joined Fitzjohn and Betts on the pontoon. ‘We’re told Charlotte Rossi was sailing with you, sir.’

  ‘Yes.’ Nesbit’s face contorted as if reliving the grim reality. ‘I feel so responsible. The weather report last night had predicted unsettled weather, but I decided to sail anyway.’ He shook his head, his eyes glistening.

  ‘Can you tell us what happened?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘I don’t see what this has to do with your investigation in to Michael Rossi’s death, Chief Inspector, but if you insist.’ Nesbit ran his hand across the back of his neck. ‘The day started out fine and clear, but when we were off Long Reef, a strong southerly started to blow and with it came the storm.’ Nesbit swallowed hard. ‘I was sure we’d make it back, but the storm moved too fast. Charlotte had just come back up on deck when it happened. She’d gone below to put her wet weather gear on. A wave caught her before she had time to put her safety harness on. She was gone in a second.’ Nesbit’s voice quivered. ‘There was nothing I could do. She disappeared so quickly. It was then I radioed for help.’ Nesbit steadied himself on one of the pontoon supports. ‘Now if that’s all...’ he barked at Fitzjohn.

  ‘For the present, Mr Nesbit.’ Fitzjohn watched Nesbit climb back on to his yacht and disappear below.

  Fitzjohn and Betts retreated back along the pontoon. ‘I want Robert Nesbit put under surveillance until Charlotte Rossi is found, Betts.’

  ‘And if she isn’t, sir?’

  Let’s pray to God that she is, Betts. Let’s pray to God that she is.’

  CHAPTER 22

  Esme, her knuckles white as she gripped the arm of her chair, stared at the images that flashed across the television screen. Images of a dark stormy sea and a man dangling precariously from a helicopter as it hovered above the grey heaving waves. ‘You’re out there, Charlotte. Somewhere,’ she whispered.

  Getting to her feet, Esme glanced at the photographs nestled on the table in the corner of the room. Claudia’s smiling face, and Michael’s. She ran her index finger across the top of the frame that held Thomas’s image, his face full of youth. And beside them, another face. Charlotte on her graduation day. Tears came to Esme’s eyes. ‘Please don’t let Charlotte be gone too,’ she whispered.

  A shiver went through Esme as she walked across to the window to draw the curtains against the growing darkness. It was then she saw the taxi pull up in front of the house and Chief Inspector Fitzjohn get out. News at last, perhaps, she thought. But would it be good news? Esme collected herself, walked out of the living room and turned on the porch light before she opened the front door.

  ‘Chief Inspector. I’m so glad you’ve come. Or am I?’ Esme hesitated. ‘Charlotte’s one of those lost, isn’t she?’

  Fitzjohn stepped inside.

  ‘Yes. I’m afraid she is, Miss Timmons.’

  Esme shook her head. ‘I think I knew,’ she said, closing the door behind him. ‘Have they found her? Is that why you’re here?’

  ‘No. There’s been no word yet. I just came to assure you that everything is being done to find your niece, Miss Timmons.’

  ‘I’m sure it is, Chief Inspector. And I appreciate you coming to tell me personally. I’ve been watching the news all afternoon. I did make a few phone calls, but that didn’t get me anywhere.’ Esme sighed and took Fitzjohn’s arm as they walked together in to the living room. ‘I watched the weather forecast for the east coast last night, and it didn’t look good.’ Esme sat in her chair. ‘Rafe Simms saw it too. He rang earlier this evening. He got worried when he wasn’t able to reach Charlotte on her mobile phone. He knows she sails on weekends, you see.’ Esme’s fingers followed the intricate pattern of the lace doily on the arm of her chair. ‘He and Charlotte were to be married at one time, but the wedding was called off. I don’t know why. Charlotte never said. I’ve always thought it a shame because they are two such wonderful young people.’ Esme patted the arm of her chair. ‘Anyway, I must telephone Rafe now and tell him that Charlotte is one of those lost at sea.’ Esme sighed. ‘After I’ve spoken to him, we’ll have some tea. I need to keep myself busy.’ She eyed Fitzjohn. ‘But there’s another reason you’re here, isn’t there? I can see it in your face. What is it?’

  ‘You’re very perceptive, Miss Timmons. And you’re right. There is. It’s about Robert Nesbit. I understand Charlotte was crewing for him today.’

  ‘Yes, she is. She does most weekends. Is Robert lost too?’

  ‘No. He and his yacht have been towed back in to the harbour.’

  ‘Then what is it about him?’

  ‘We’ve reason to believe he may be involved in your nephew’s death, Miss Timmons.’ Esme gasped. ‘I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily, but…’

  ‘But you think that could be the reason Charlotte went overboard. Oh, dear.’

  As the hours passed without word of Charlotte, Esme and Fitzjohn spoke of many things, not the least of which Fitzjohn’s late wife, Edith, and the orchids she had left in his care. Esme spoke of her fiancé, Thomas, and their short time together. At 11pm the sound of the Fitzjohn’s mobile phone shook them both.

  Esme tried to read the countenance of Fitzjohn’s face as he spoke. ‘Is there news of Charlotte?’ she asked as he hung up.

  ‘Yes. She was picked up by a fishing trawler about 20 minutes ago, Miss Timmons. She’s being transported by helicopter to St Vincent’s Hospital.’

  ‘And her condition?’

  ‘Only that she’s unconscious.’

  ‘Well, at least she’s alive.’

  Esme sat alone in the hospital waiting room near the Intensive Care Unit, the hours ticking by with no word that Charlotte had regained consciousness. Weary, she dozed intermittently, only to be aroused by the medical staff as they worked through the night. It was during one of her wakeful moments, in the dead of night, that the door opened and Rafe Simms appeared.

  ‘How is she, Esme?’ he asked, sitting down next to her.

  ‘Not good, I’m afraid,’ replied Esme. ‘She hasn’t regained consciousness.’ Esme looked in to Rafe’s face. ‘I won’t pretend I’m not worried. It’s been hours since they brought her in.’ Rafe took Esme’s hand.

  ‘I’m so very glad you’re here,’ she said.

  CHAPTER 23

  With the enormity of the previous twelve hours, Fitzjohn returned home in the early hours of Sunday morning to change before making his way to Kings Cross Police Station. He met up with Betts in the corridor. ‘Any word on Charlotte Rossi, Betts?’

  ‘Not yet, sir.’

  Fitzjohn looked at his watch. ‘It’s been almost 12 hours since they found her,’ he said, his eyebrows knitting together. ‘Doesn’t look good, does it?’ They walked in to the Incident Room where Fitzjohn put his briefcase on his desk and sat down. ‘We’ll wait for news of Ms Rossi before we speak to Robert Nesbit again. In the meantime, I want to interview Aiden Maxwell. I take it he’s been brought in.’

  ‘Yes, sir. He’s waiting in one of the interview rooms. But before we do, sir, the results are back from forensics on Miss Timmons’s walking cane. They found traces of hair and blood.’

  Fitzjohn sat back and half smiled. ‘So, Miss Timmons hit her target after all. Now we just have to find out who it was.’

  ‘There’s something else, sir. Graeme Wyngard, the owner of the yacht Michael Rossi’
s body fell from, has brought in a lipstick he says doesn’t belong to either his wife or his two daughters.’

  ‘A previous owner of the yacht, perhaps?’ suggested Fitzjohn.

  Betts shook his head. ‘Mr Wyngard says not, sir. He says he purchased the yacht two weeks ago and only took possession of it three days before Michael Rossi’s death. He’s adamant that the only women who’ve been on the yacht are his wife and daughters.’

  ‘I see. In that case, it could turn up something. I hope it does because we don’t seem to be getting anywhere at the moment.’ Fitzjohn gathered his papers together. ‘Let’s see what Maxwell has to say.’

  Aiden Maxwell sat alone at the table in the interview room. Impeccably dressed in a light grey, double breasted suit with electric blue bow tie and matching breast pocket handkerchief, he looked the embodiment of good fashion. ‘Good morning, Mr Maxwell.’ Fitzjohn and Betts took their seats. ‘You don’t choose to have counsel?’ asked Fitzjohn, looking at Maxwell over the top of his glasses.

  ‘I can’t see why I should need a solicitor, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Fitzjohn placed his papers on the desk in front of him. ‘If you change your mind during the interview, please let us know.’ Fitzjohn nodded to Betts who switched on the recording device and after going through the formalities, the interview began. ‘Now, Mr Maxwell, I’d like to start by asking you further questions about Claudia Rossi.’

  ‘But I’ve already told you all I know,’ answered Maxwell, his voice rising in intensity.

  Fitzjohn smiled. ‘These are different questions.’ Maxwell looked to brace himself. Noticing this Fitzjohn asked again, ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a solicitor present?’