ONCE UPON A LIE (A Fitzjohn Mystery) Read online

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘There’s something else, sir,’ said Reynolds. ‘The barman at the Cruising Yacht Club has come forward to say the victim was at that club on Friday night and spoke at length with one of the other patrons. A man by the name of Robert Nesbit.’

  ‘Oh? What time was this?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Around seven-thirty, sir.’

  ‘Okay.’ Fitzjohn swiveled his chair around to view the whiteboard as Williams stood aside. ‘We’ve established that the victim left the winery at approximately one o’clock on Friday afternoon, presumably arriving back in Sydney around three. At 6pm he entered his aunt’s house in Waverton, and left around seven. At seven thirty, he entered the premises of the Cruising Yacht Club. So, where was he in the hours between three and six. We know he went home because his overnight bag was found in his study. The question is, was he there until he left for Esme Timmons’s house? If he wasn’t, I want to know where he was. See what you both can do. Oh, and first thing in the morning, find out what you can about Robert Nesbit.’ Fitzjohn looked at his watch. ‘But for now, I think you can call it a day.’

  As the door closed behind the two officers, Fitzjohn picked up his pen and turned it end for end. His thoughts went through the day’s events, culminating with Chief Superintendent Grieg, and his request for an audience. It was then the Incident Room door opened and Betts walked it. ‘Ah, Betts, there you are. Any news?’

  ‘I had a bit of luck, sir,’ said Betts sitting down. ‘I located Hannah Blair. Esme Timmons’s cleaning lady. Apparently, she moved a couple of months ago and didn’t think to tell Miss Timmons. I had her look through the rooms in the upper half of Miss Timmons’s home and to her knowledge, there’s nothing missing. Even so, I think it was probably difficult for her to tell under the circumstances.’

  ‘Understandable,’ said Fitzjohn, remembering the state of the room. ‘I’ve just had Reynolds and Williams in here.’ Fitzjohn relayed his meeting with the two officers. ‘So, at least we now have a time line on the victim’s movements yesterday. I’ve got them both working on the intervening three hours.’ Fitzjohn sat forward. ‘Let’s turn our attention to what we have so far.’

  Betts walked over to the whiteboard. ‘Well, we have, Nigel Prentice, the victim’s business partner who, it seems, has lied to us about when he left the council meeting last night. Pierce Whitehead, the victim’s winemaker, who admits arguing with Michael Rossi the day before the murder. Then there’s Charlotte Rossi, the victim’s niece, who we now find has been joint owner of Five Oaks Winery since Claudia Rossi’s death in 2010. Of course, it’s still to be established whether Charlotte Rossi agreed or disagreed with the sale of the winery.’

  ‘And a new player,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Robert Nesbit, who was seen speaking to the victim at the Cruising Yacht Club not long before the victim died. He’s also on the list of those people who tried to contact the victim earlier in the day on Friday. Who else is on that list, Betts?’

  ‘Graeme Wyngard, sir.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the owner of the yacht where, we believe, Rossi was attacked.’

  ‘And Percy Green,’ continued Betts. ‘Apparently, he’s an old school friend. When contacted, he said he was inviting Michael Rossi to an Old Boys dinner.’

  Weary, Fitzjohn leant forward in his chair. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Just one thing, sir. We recovered Claudia Rossi’s 2010 diary on Wyngard’s yacht.’

  ‘Presumably the book Esme Timmons thought she saw Michael Rossi leave with on Friday night,’ added Fitzjohn.

  ‘Yes, but there’s more. The slip of paper caught in the victim’s fist may have been ripped from that diary. We’ll know as soon as forensics have completed their examination.’ Fitzjohn eyed his young sergeant with satisfaction.

  ‘And what about Michael Rossi’s diary. Anything interesting there?’

  ‘Yes. The victim had made an appointment with his solicitor, David Spencer of Spencer, Anderson & Sumner, for this coming Monday afternoon.’

  ‘Oh? Well in that case, we’ll speak to Mr Spencer first thing in the morning to see if he knows what the appointment was to be about. Find out where we can find him on a Sunday morning, Betts. After that, we’ll have a word with the victim’s estranged wife. What was her name?’

  ‘Stella Rossi, sir.’

  Fitzjohn gathered his papers together. ‘It’s been a long day, Betts. We’ll continue this tomorrow.’

  ‘Can I give you a lift home, sir?’

  ‘Fitzjohn thought for a moment. ‘No. I’ll get a taxi.’

  The clock on the mantelpiece in the living room struck midnight as Fitzjohn opened the front door to his sandstone cottage in Birchgrove, and stepped inside. As he did so, he was met by a rush of hot air that had built up during the day’s soaring heat and humidity. He placed his briefcase on the hall table, hung his suit coat on the end of the banister and turned on the air conditioning. Ten minutes later, now dressed in an old pair of slacks and an equally old T-shirt, Fitzjohn made his way outside again. This time in to the back garden where he walked slowly down the path to the greenhouse. As he did so, he gazed up at the moon, its light filtering through the branches of a neighbour’s tree, creating a soft glow. The cooling night air felt refreshing until he opened the greenhouse door and another rush of hot air hit him. Unperturbed, he switched on the light and surveyed the orchids standing silently in their rows before turning on the CD player that sat on the bench next to the door. With the sound of Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto in A Major filling the air, Fitzjohn tended each orchid, the ashen face of Michael Rossi with his staring eyes, fading from his thoughts.

  CHAPTER 8

  Phillipa Braithwaite called to Charlotte who stood out on the patio. ‘I’ve made some coffee.’ Absentmindedly Charlotte looked around. ‘I’ve put sugar in yours. I thought you could do with something sweet. It’s good for shock. Or so I’m led to believe.’ Phillipa placed the mugs on the glass-topped coffee table and sat down as Charlotte walked back inside.

  ‘I can’t believe Michael’s gone.’ Charlotte curled her legs up as she sat on the sofa and cradled her coffee mug in her hands. ‘I know I complained about his controlling attitude a lot but, even so, I’ll miss him.’

  ‘Of course you will. Despite his recalcitrant behaviour, he was family after all.’ Phillipa sipped her coffee. ‘I was surprised, though, when I heard you tell the Chief Inspector that you’d agreed to be a referee for Pierce Whitehead. I thought you didn’t like the man.’

  ‘I don’t. He’s so... ingratiating.’ Charlotte shivered. ‘He unnerves me every time I speak to him.’

  ‘So, why on earth did you agree to be his referee?’

  ‘Because he’s applying for a position in another State. Hopefully he’ll be successful.’ Charlotte looked at her watch. ‘I wonder how long it’ll be before the fridge arrives.’

  ‘I don’t know, but it’s not necessary we both wait. Especially with what’s happened. Why don’t you go home and rest, Charlotte.’

  ‘I can’t Phil. I have to go over to see Esme. I just hope she hasn’t found out what’s happened to Michael from the morning news. And besides, you have the gallery to open at ten.’

  ‘Trudy’s agreed to do that. I phoned her while I was waiting for the coffee to perk. She’s happy to fill in for me. For the whole day, if necessary. So, there’s no reason for you stay. Go see to Esme. She’ll need you.’

  As she spoke the front door banged followed by footsteps on the marble floor in the front hall. Charlotte and Phillipa turned to see Stella Rossi.

  ‘Stella!’ said Charlotte, getting to her feet. ‘Have you heard? About Michael.’

  ‘Yes. It was on the early morning news,’ Stella replied, her voice shaking. ‘I drove straight to the marina but I couldn’t get near the place, it’s cordoned off, so I came here.’ Stella pushed her hair away from her face and looked around in confusion.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down, Stella,’ said Phillipa, ‘and let me get you a cup of
coffee. You look like you could do with one.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t drink a thing Phillipa. I just want to go home. I shouldn’t have come here.’

  Phillipa glanced at Charlotte.

  ‘It might be best not to drive at the moment, Stella,’ said Charlotte. ‘You’ve had a terrible shock. Look. I was just about to go over to see Esme. Why don’t I drive you home on my way. We can get your car back to you later today.’

  Stella shook her head. ‘No. It’s okay, Charlotte. I can drive myself. I panicked, that’s all.’ Stella turned to go. ‘Will you let me know when you hear anything. I know Michael and I were separated, but still, I...’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ replied Charlotte. ‘As soon as I hear anything I’ll let you know.’

  After Stella left, Charlotte slumped back down on to the couch. ‘Poor Stella. She’s so distraught. And after everything that Michael put her through during their marriage. I guess she never really stopped loving him. I’m glad he didn’t change his will after they separated. I think she deserves every penny she gets.’

  ‘In that case Charlotte...’ Charlotte’s gaze followed Phillipa as she walked across the room and removed the sketch from the wall. ‘I think you should take this with you when you leave here this morning. It’s yours after all, and if it remains here it might be seen as part of Michael’s estate.’ Phillipa leant the sketch against the sofa. ‘Not that I think Stella would make a fuss, but why complicate matters.’

  ‘Mmm. You’re probably right,’ said Charlotte. ‘I will take it...’ The sound of the doorbell stopped Charlotte in mid-stream.

  ‘That must be the fridge delivery,’ said Phillipa. ‘I’ll go. Why don’t you get yourself over to Esme’s.’

  Charlotte prepared to leave, oblivious to the voices coming from the front hall until Phillipa reappeared, followed by Robert Nesbit.

  As a friend of her late father, John Merrell, Charlotte saw Robert Nesbit as a link to the father she had never known. Robert had been part of the crew on that fateful day, thirty years earlier, when a freak wave washed John Merrell in to the sea. Now in his late fifties, his thick, fair hair peppered with grey, Robert Nesbit still competed in ocean yacht races, and continued to nurtured Charlotte’s interest in the sport, including her in his crew.

  ‘Robert,’ she said.

  ‘I remembered you said you’d be here this morning, Charlotte, so I came as soon as I heard the news about Michael. I feel a bit awkward really because I know Michael and I had our difficulties, but I felt the need to offer my condolences. Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. But thanks for the offer. I’m just about to go over to see Esme. I’m hoping she hasn’t heard about Michael’s death on the news this morning. But I fear she will have. Would you like a cup of coffee? Phil just made a fresh pot.’

  ‘Thanks, but no. I have a meeting at the Club in a few minutes. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right. It’s a difficult time, I know.’ Robert half smiled. ‘If you need anything, please don’t hesitate.’

  ‘Thanks, Robert. I’ll see you out,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘He looks a lot older than I remember,’ said Phillipa as Charlotte came back in to the room.

  ‘I know what you mean. I think it’s because of what he’s gone through in the last couple of years. It’s such a shame. I don’t think he ever fully recovered from his wife’s affair with Michael and the subsequent collapse of the business. I hate to say it, Phil, but I think Michael ruined Robert Nesbit’s life.’

  Charlotte walked between the two vans parked in front of Esme’s home, both displaying the word forensics. With a sense of urgency, she opened the garden gate and hurried along the cracked cement path to the front door. After knocking twice, the door opened and Esme appeared.

  ‘Oh, Charlotte, my dear. I’m glad you’re here. Come in.’ Esme shut the door behind her. ‘I was a bit worried I might have missed you while I was out.’

  ‘Have you heard, Esme?’

  ‘About Michael? Yes, on the news early this morning.’ Esme took a small handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her nose. Charlotte put her arms around Esme’s diminutive frame.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.’ As Charlotte spoke, the sound of voices came from upstairs.

  ‘Who’s up there, Esme?’

  ‘It’s the police, dear. I think they call themselves SOCOs. Short for Scene of Crime Officers. They’re gathering evidence.’

  Charlotte’s brow furrowed. ‘For what?’

  ‘It’s because of last night’s break-in. Come through to the kitchen and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  ‘Esme?’ Charlotte shot a look up the stairwell before following Esme through the house. ‘You did say break-in, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I did. It was just after two o’clock this morning.’ Esme filled the kettle with water, put it down on the stove, and turned on the gas. ‘The police are here to try to establish whether there’s any connection between the break-in and Michael’s... and what happened to Michael. He was here last night, you see.’

  Charlotte sat down heavily at the kitchen table and looked aghast at Esme. ‘How can you be so cool about this, Esme?’

  ‘I’m not cool. I just look cool,’ answered Esme. ‘Actually, I’m a mess. And I need a cup of tea.’

  ‘I’ll make it,’ said Charlotte, jumping up. ‘You sit down.’

  ‘So, Michael came here last night,’ continued Charlotte bringing the tea to the table.

  ‘Yes, he dropped in around six. When he left, he said he was going over to see you. Didn’t he do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t close the bookshop till nine, so it was quite late by the time I got home.’

  ‘Oh, that’s unfortunate. I had hoped he might have told you why he was looking for letters in your mother’s study.’

  ‘You’ve lost me Esme,’ said Charlotte, sitting down again at the table.

  ‘It’s what Michael came here for. At least that’s what he said. To finds some letters in your mother’s study.’ Esme took a sip of her tea. ‘The intruder was in there too. I know because I saw him coming out of that room. And that’s why I was out this morning. I went to Kings Cross Police Station to see the detective who’s in charge of the investigation. Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn’s his name. A very fine man. Reminded me a bit of my cousin, Selwyn.’

  Charlotte looked in disbelief at Esme. ‘How did you get to Kings Cross?’

  ‘On the train,’ said Esme between sips of her tea. ‘I thought it’d be the best mode of transport, and it was other than the fact the train from Town Hall didn’t have any air conditioning. I was a bit parched by the time I got to the police station.’

  ‘Oh, Esme. I wish you’d phoned me. I could have driven you there.’

  ‘I suppose you could. I never thought. It was one of those spur of the moment things.’ Esme sat thoughtfully. ‘Poor Michael. What a dreadful thing to have happen to him.’ They both sat for a few moments in silence.

  ‘I can’t understand why Michael came back from the winery early,’ said Charlotte, at last. ‘He told me on Friday morning that he planned to spend the whole weekend there.’

  ‘Really? Well, that’s unusual in itself, isn’t it. He never liked spending more than a day at a time at the winery. He said the place reminded him of your mother.’

  ‘It did, but this weekend he had a specific purpose in mind,’ said Charlotte. ‘He was having Five Oaks Winery listed on the property market.’

  ‘Selling the winery?’ Esme slumped back in her chair. ‘And were you happy about that, Charlotte? After all, the place is half yours.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t, but I couldn’t afford to buy Michael out so I didn’t have any choice but to go along with it. He wanted the money to finance the take-over of his business in Rushcutters Bay. He wanted, his partner, Nigel Prentice, out. But I think he had another reason as well. I think he saw selling the winery as a way for him to deal with Mum’s death. You know w
hat difficulty he had accepting what happened to her. The winery was just another reminder. Her influence was everywhere.’

  ’Mmm. You could be right,’ said Esme. ‘He never did get over your mother’s death. Perhaps it had something to do with her being his twin.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Charlotte, ‘but what I do know is, we all had difficulty at the time, and it irritated me that Michael went on so about it. It only made things worse.’ Esme patted Charlotte’s hand. ‘Anyway, Esme, let’s get back to what matters now. Are you all right, and was anything taken in the home invasion?’

  ‘I’m fine, dear, but it’s hard to tell whether there’s anything missing. The room’s in such a mess.’

  ‘Well, when the police have finished I’ll help you put it right. And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay with you for a few nights. I don’t like the thought of you being here on your own.’ Charlotte smiled. ‘I know if I ask you to come and stay with me you’d say no.’

  ‘You’re right. I would.’ Esme smiled. ‘I know I’m incorrigible, but I do like to sleep in my own bed. Having you stay, however, would make me feel easier.’

  ‘Good. Then that’s settled.’ Charlotte looked at her watch. ‘It’s a bit late in the day now to fetch my things so I’ll do that in the morning.’

  CHAPTER 9

  The sparrows, splashing in the birdbath, did not distract Fitzjohn as he surveyed his garden early the next morning. They only added to his pleasure along with the flowerbeds yielding an abundance of colour and fragrances. Lamenting the fact he could not spend his Sunday morning pottering in this peaceful place, Fitzjohn turned and made his way back in to the house. As he did so, he heard his niece’s voice as she came through the front door.

  ‘Hello, anybody home?’ When she reached the kitchen doorway, Sophie stopped. ‘Oh, hello, Uncle Alistair. It looks like you’re ready to go out.’