ONCE UPON A LIE (A Fitzjohn Mystery) Page 17

  Fitzjohn sat back in his chair that afternoon, a satisfied look on his face. ‘It's been a worthwhile day, Betts. Not only were we able to establish that it was Phillipa Braithwaite who committed the home invasion at Esme Timmons house, but she also admitted to writing those three anonymous letters to Claudia Rossi. Not to mention employing Andrew Braithwaite to act as an art dealer in order to procure Douglas Porteous's work.’ Fitzjohn paused. ‘Now all we have to do is find Michael Rossi's killer.’ Fitzjohn turned as the Incident Room door opened and Reynolds appeared.

  ‘Any news, Reynolds?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir. Eunice Porteous has identified Andrew Braithwaite as the art dealer her husband dealt with.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘And Charlotte Rossi has regained consciousness, sir.’

  ‘Thank heaven for that.’ Fitzjohn brought his chair forward. ‘Were you able to speak to her, Reynolds?’

  ‘Only for a minute or two, but enough time to find out that Robert Nesbit didn’t have anything to do with her going overboard in that storm. In fact, she said he tried everything he could to reach her.’

  ‘I see. Did she say why she wasn’t wearing a safety harness?’

  ‘Apparently, she’d taken it off to go below to put on her wet weather gear, sir. When she came back on deck a wave caught her before she could put the safety harness back on.’

  ‘So, Robert Nesbit was telling the truth.’ Fitzjohn thought for a moment. ‘But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s our main person of interest in to Michael Rossi’s death.’ He looked over to Reynolds. ‘Impound Nesbit's yacht, Reynolds, and have him brought in for questioning.’ Fitzjohn responded to Betts’s enquiring look. ‘There’s something Nesbit’s not telling us, Betts. I feel it in my bones.’

  Accompanied by Betts, Fitzjohn entered the interview room where Robert Nesbit sat with his solicitor. Betts turned on the recording device and went through the preliminaries. Nesbit watched with an indignant expression. ‘Why have I been brought here, Chief Inspector? If you think I had anything to do with Charlotte going in to the sea, you're mistaken.’

  ‘This is nothing to do with Charlotte Rossi, Mr Nesbit,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Ms Rossi has confirmed that the incident on your yacht was an accident. No. We wish to talk to you about an entirely different matter. A patent, in fact.’ Nesbit drew himself up in his chair. ‘We understand that shortly after Michael Rossi left the company that you and he, along with Richard Edwards, owned, you applied for a patent for a yachting device you claim to have invented. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes. What of it?’

  Fitzjohn ignored Nesbit’s retort. ‘We also understand that Michael Rossi claimed he was, in fact, the inventor of that device and last week approached an intellectual property law firm providing them with evidence in support of his claim. Further to that, Mr Rossi gave them instructions to take up a case against you, We’re also led to believe that that law firm wrote to you concerning this matter, advising that if you didn't withdraw the application forthwith, legal proceedings would be initiated against you.’

  Nesbit ran his hand inside his shirt collar. ‘I deserve that patent if for nothing else than payment for what Mike put me through.’

  ‘So you concede it was Michael Rossi’s invention.’

  ‘Look, the man ruined my life.’ Nesbit threw his hands in the air. ‘My marriage, the business. Everything. But I didn’t kill him.’ Nesbit glared at Fitzjohn.

  ‘Why should we believe you, Mr Nesbit? After all, you did have a strong motive.’

  ‘As I told you before, I was at the hospital on the Friday evening Mike died.’ Nesbit fiddled with his watch-band. ‘The nursing staff can verify that.’

  ‘You were at the hospital for some of that evening, yes,’ said Fitzjohn, ‘but not, unfortunately for you, during the time of Michael Rossi’s death.’

  Nesbit swallowed hard under Fitzjohn’s intense gaze. ‘All right. I did leave the hospital for a short time because I wanted to speak to Mike. About the patent. I'd tried when we’d met earlier that evening at the CYC, but Mike seemed preoccupied. I arrived to find his office open but Mike wasn’t there. I knew he was around because his briefcase was on the cupboard behind his desk, and the desk lamp was on. I figured he must have gone down to the marina, so I walked out on to the balcony outside his office to see if I could see him.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘At the time I thought I did, but since...’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘There were two people on the deck of one of the yachts.’

  ‘Where exactly was this yacht moored, Mr Nesbit?’

  ‘It was directly below the balcony. The two people on board had their backs to me. A man and a woman. As I said, I thought the man was Mike. It wasn’t until the next morning that I realised what I might have witnessed.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Nesbit hesitated. ‘While I stood there, they pushed something into the water. I heard the splash. I didn’t think much about it at the time. I thought it was probably a fender.’ He looked at Fitzjohn. ‘It protects the top side of the yacht. Anyway, when I heard the news about Mike’s death the next morning...’

  ‘Do you have any thoughts about who these two people were, Mr Nesbit?’

  ‘No. It was too dark to see them that well.’

  ‘Can you think of anything, anything at all about these two people, Mr Nesbit? For instance, were they tall, short, fat, thin?’ Nesbit thought for a moment.

  ‘Well, put like that, the woman was fairly tall. And slim. The man was of medium height and build. Like Mike. That’s why I’d thought it was him at first.'

  ‘Why didn’t you come forward with this information, Mr Nesbit?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to get involved, Chief Inspector. Not with Mike and me having our differences.’

  ‘But you’re involved now anyway, aren’t you?’ Fitzjohn scratched the back of his neck.

  ‘How did you know that Nesbit wasn’t at the hospital at the time of Michael Rossi’s death,’ asked Betts as they left the interview room.

  ‘I didn’t,’ replied Fitzjohn, grinning.

  ‘Do you believe what he said about these two people being on the yacht that night, sir?’

  ‘Do you, Betts?’

  ‘It’s hard to say, sir.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Fitzjohn, ‘let’s suppose that Robert Nesbit is telling the truth. So, we’re looking for a tall, slim, female, and a man of medium build. Not a lot to go on, but who do we know who fit those descriptions?’

  ‘Phillipa Braithwaite and her half-brother, Andrew,’ offered Betts. ‘And Charlotte Rossi, although I wouldn’t call Ms Rossi particularly tall.’

  ‘What about Stella Rossi and Nigel Prentice?’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘They both match those descriptions, and we know they spent the evening together. We’ll start by speaking to Stella Rossi. Have her brought in, Betts.’

  ‘What shall I do with Robert Nesbit, sir?’

  ‘Keep him here for now.’

  CHAPTER 25

  The strange world of shadows and muffled sounds that surrounded Charlotte faded and, once again, she gasped for air as she struggled to keep her face above the surface of the heaving sea. Fighting against the wind as it whipped across the top of the waves, its stinging spray blotting her vision, a sense of dread took hold when she could no longer see the yacht. She struggled to stay afloat, but as her body grew cold, her panic subsided and a tranquil feeling of which she had never felt before, ensued as Charlotte slowly sank. But there they were again, the muffled sounds, robbing her of the peace she sought. Was that Rafe’s voice?

  ‘Charlotte? Can you hear me?’

  Charlotte’s eye’s fluttered before focusing on Esme who sat at her bedside. ‘Esme? Where am I?’

  ‘You’re in St Vincent’s Hospital, dear.’ Esme gently rubbed Charlotte’s hand. ‘Do you remember what happened when you were sailing?’

  ‘I was in the water. I couldn’t... breath.’ A
tremor went through Charlotte as the memory surfaced. ‘The storm... Where’s Robert?’

  ‘Robert made it back into Sydney Harbour with help from the Water Police. He’s fine. Now you must rest. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal.’ Esme patted Charlotte’s hand. ‘I’m so thankful you’re back at last.’

  ‘I thought I heard Rafe’s voice.’

  ‘You did. He’s been at your bedside for the past 48 hours,’ said Esme, smiling. ‘He just stepped out for a minute or two.’ As Esme spoke, the door opened and the tall figure of Rafe Simms walked into the room.

  ‘Here he is now,’ said Esme. Esme got to her feet as Rafe reached the bedside. ‘I’ll leave you two for now. I finally feel like having a bite to eat. Thank God you’re back with us, Charlotte, dear.’ Esme patted Rafe’s arm. ‘Look after her, Rafe.’

  Rafe, sat down as Esme left the room. Neither he nor Charlotte spoke for a few moments. ‘Thanks for being here, Rafe,’ Charlotte said at last.

  ‘I wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else. I lost you once. I don’t plan on that happening again.’ Rafe smiled. ‘I can see that I’m going to have to keep closer tabs on you.’

  Charlotte’s thoughts went to Sally. ‘Sally might not appreciate that.’

  ‘Sally’s working holiday came to an end shortly after you came to Five Oaks that day. She’s gone back to the UK.

  CHAPTER 26

  Stella Rossi, her face drawn and pale, sat quietly beside her solicitor as Fitzjohn and Betts entered the interview room. ‘Surely you could have spoken to me at home, Chief Inspector,’ she said in a quiet voice as Fitzjohn sat down. ‘Being brought here with my solicitor, not to mention being finger printed is very distressing.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Mrs Rossi,’ replied Fitzjohn, ‘we found it necessary to conduct this interview here at the station so that it can be recorded.’ Fitzjohn sat down and, at the same time, nodded to Betts who commenced the preliminaries. After those present had announced themselves, he continued. ‘I’d like to start, Mrs Rossi, by asking you where you were between the hours of seven and midnight on Friday, March 17th.’

  ‘I’ve already told you that.’

  ‘We want it recorded, Mrs Rossi,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  Stella sighed. ‘All right. I was at a function at the art gallery with my friend, Janet Gibson. Who, I might add, has confirmed that fact.’

  ‘So she has,’ said Fitzjohn, looking down at the papers in front of him. ‘And what did you do after the function?’

  ‘You know that too. I went for a drive with Nigel Prentice.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘We drove up to Colloroy.’

  ‘And can you tell us where exactly you stopped the car?’

  ‘At the beach. We parked at the beach,’ said Stella with growing agitation.

  ‘How long were you there, Mrs Rossi?’

  ‘Oh. Look. This is ridiculous. I don’t know. At the time, I wasn’t looking at my watch.’ Stella leant over to her solicitor.

  ‘My client doesn’t wish to answer any more questions, Chief Inspector.’ At that moment the door opened and Williams came in to the interview room and whispered in Fitzjohn’s ear. Fitzjohn turned to Stella Rossi’s solicitor.

  ‘We’ll terminate the interview and resume in half an hour at which time I’ll have more questions for your client.’ The solicitor nodded.

  ‘She’s becoming agitated, sir,’ said Betts as he and Fitzjohn followed Williams to the Incident Room.

  ‘Mmm. There might be more to Stella Rossi than we first thought, Betts.’

  Once in the Incident Room, Fitzjohn turned to Williams. ‘What is it, Williams?’

  ‘The report on the lipstick found on Mr Wyngard’s yacht has come back from forensics, sir. With their findings, I thought you’d want to know before you continue interviewing Stella Rossi. There was a clear fingerprint on the case, and another, not as clear, on the velvet cover. They’ve been matched with those of Stella Rossi.’

  ‘Which puts her on that yacht.’ Fitzjohn turned to Betts. ‘Remind me, Betts. How long had the yacht been at the marina for alterations?’

  Betts looked in his notebook. ‘It arrived around 5pm on Friday, March 17th, sir.’

  ‘So, if what Graeme Wyngard says is accurate, and that lipstick doesn’t belong to any female members of his family, it must have been left on the yacht after 5pm on the night Michael Rossi died.’ Fitzjohn looked back at Williams. ‘Sergeant, keeping in mind the continuity of evidence, arrange for me to take the lipstick into our interview with Stella Rossi.’

  Fitzjohn and Betts re-entered the interview room to find Stella Rossi in conversation with her solicitor. They stopped talking when the door opened and the solicitor addressed Fitzjohn.

  ‘My client has changed her mind, Chief Inspector, she now wishes to continue with the interview.’

  After going through the preliminaries again, Fitzjohn continued. ‘Mrs Rossi, you’ve stated that on the night of Friday, March 17th, you spent the evening with Nigel Prentice at Colloroy, and you didn’t return home until almost midnight.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Fitzjohn eyed Stella Rossi as he placed the plastic bag containing the lipstick in front of her. ‘Do you recognise this?’ he asked. ‘A Sisley brand lipstick. Made in Paris.’

  ‘I’ve never used that brand.’

  ‘That surprises me, Mrs Rossi, because your fingerprints have been found on the case and the velvet cover.’ Stella Rossi stiffened. ‘I should also inform you that this lipstick was found on the yacht from which Michael Rossi fell on the night in question. A yacht that had only been at the marina since 5pm that afternoon.’ Fitzjohn’s gaze locked on to Stella Rossi. ‘Do you want to tell us what really took place that evening, Mrs Rossi?’ Stella whispered again to her solicitor. He, in turn, nodded.

  ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘We didn’t drive to Colloroy because as Michael was out of town, Nigel suggested we spend the evening on one of the yachts at the marina.’ Stella Rossi bit her upper lip. ‘But we hadn’t been there more than a few minutes before Michael climbed down in to the cabin.’

  ‘Can you describe what happened, Mrs Rossi?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  Stella grimaced. ‘It was terrible. It really was. Michael started screaming abuse at Nigel and shoved him in the chest. Nigel fell backwards onto one of the bunks. When he managed to get back up, he went for Michael and sent him flying across the cabin. That’s when Michael hit his head. On the edge of the sink, I think. It seemed to daze him for a minute or two.’ Stella took a tissue from her sleeve and stemmed her tears . ‘It was frightening.’

  ‘And then what happened?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Somehow, Michael managed to climb back up on deck. Nigel and I followed, but by the time we got up there, Michael had fallen overboard. He drowned, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘But he didn’t, Mrs Rossi. There was no water in Michael Rossi’s lungs. He was dead before he entered the water. There was also a second injury to his head. One that he received after he got back up on deck. So, what do you know that you’re not telling us?’ Stella glared at Fitzjohn in stony silence.

  ‘Withholding evidence isn’t going to help your cause, Mrs Rossi, because we’ll find out the truth one way or another.’ His patience waning, Fitzjohn’s glared at her.

  Meeting Fitzjohn gaze Stella relented. ‘All right. Michael and Nigel struggled again on deck. Michael hit his head a second time.’

  ‘And how did he end up in the water?’ Stella did not reply. ‘Well?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Nigel pushed him overboard. He said it would look like Michael had slipped down between the pontoon and the yacht when he was coming aboard.’

  ‘And whose idea was it to spring clean both above and below deck?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Nigel’s.’

  Fitzjohn and Betts walked in to Rossi & Prentice Yachting Electronics, to find Nigel Prentice in conversation with his receptionist. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Prentice,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘I wo
nder if we can have a few minutes of your time.’

  Prentice smiled. ‘By all means. Come through, Chief Inspector.’ Nigel Prentice led Fitzjohn and Betts in to what had once been Michael Rossi’s office. He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk as he closed the door.

  ‘It won’t be necessary for us to sit down, Mr Prentice,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘We’d like you to accompany us to Kings Cross Police Station because there have been developments in our investigation in to Michael Rossi’s death that necessitate we interview you again.’

  ‘Oh.’ Prentice looked around. ‘Can’t we do it here?’

  ‘We’d like to record the interview this time, Mr Prentice,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  ‘I see. Well, then… I’ll just let my receptionist know that I’ll be out of the office for a while.’

  Accompanied by his solicitor, Nigel Prentice sat quietly in the interview room while Betts switched the recording device on and stated the place, date and time. After those present had identified themselves, Fitzjohn, his gaze resting on Prentice, started the interview. ‘As I mentioned earlier, Mr Prentice, there have been developments in our investigation that necessitate we speak to you again. It concerns your alibi for the night that your business partner, Michael Rossi, died.’ Nigel Prentice’s eyes widened. ‘A witness has come forward who claims that on the night of Friday, March 17th, you were on Graeme Wyngard’s yacht at the time of Mr Rossi’s death. Is that true?’ Prentice’s jaw tightened. ‘Well?’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘Of course, you’re not obliged to answer our questions, but I should advise you that it might be to your detriment if you don’t.’

  Prentice exhaled. ‘Okay. We didn’t drive to Colloroy that night. Stella wanted to spend the evening on one of the yachts in the marina instead. We’d done so in the past, but this time Mike showed up. He went berserk when he saw me there. I had to defend myself. You do understand, don’t you?’ Prentice glared at Fitzjohn. ‘When I pushed him back, he fell and banged his head on something. There was blood everywhere. I could see he was dazed, but he managed to climb back up on deck.’ Prentice took a breath. ‘I went up after him. I knew he wasn’t steady on his feet. But when I got up there he came at me again. I ducked and he went past me... hit his head again. This time, he didn’t get up.’ Nigel Prentice closed his eyes. ‘I could hear Stella laughing. It was macabre.’