Deadly Investment (A Fitzjohn Mystery Book 5) (12 page)

‘Indeed.’

‘This case becomes more intriguing by the day, Betts,’ said Fitzjohn as the two men left the solicitor’s office and made their way down in the elevator to the foyer below. ‘I can’t help but think that Preston Alexander must have had a good reason to eliminate his nephew from his will altogether because I wouldn’t think that you’d make a decision like that lightly.’ They stood for a moment or two at the building’s entrance before descending the steps and sprinting through the rain back to their car. Once inside, Fitzjohn removed his glasses and wiped the rain spots from them with his breast-pocket handkerchief. ‘We have to find out what prompted our victim to do that.’

‘I’ll see what I can find out,’ replied Betts, turning on the windshield wipers and pulling away from the curb.’

The smell of stale smoke hung in the air when Fitzjohn arrived home that evening, the blackened charred remains of Rhonda Butler’s house a dark edifice against the night sky. Despite the warm night air, an involuntary shiver went through him and he stiffened as the horror of the fire flashed through his mind. Taking a breath, he stopped at the front gate and cleared the letter box, not noticing the hint of light shining through the stained glass in the centre of the front door. Fitzjohn fumbled for his door key but as he did so, he saw that the door was ajar. Pushing it open, the aroma of food filled his nostrils and at once his sister, Meg, sprang to mind. Obviously she had heard about the fire on the news the previous day and decided to fly up from Melbourne.

‘Meg, is that you?’ he called out as he placed his briefcase and the mail on the hall table.

‘No, Uncle Alistair. It’s me,’ came Sophie’s voice. ‘I’ve brought you a casserole for dinner. It’s in the oven to keep warm. I was just writing you a note.’ Sophie’s tall slim frame materialised in the kitchen doorway, her dark shoulder-length hair framing deep blue eyes and a wide smile. In that instant, he remembered his niece as she was when she had first arrived from Melbourne to study at Sydney University two years earlier. Somewhat immature, not knowing quite what she wanted other than the fact that she was desperate to escape her mother’s clutches. They had had their moments, of course. Her arrest for participating in a rally at the university for one, but then there was the love and support she always gave in times of trouble. Such as when the greenhouse was destroyed and now with the fire. Fitzjohn smiled with pride at his young niece.

‘That’s very kind of you, Sophie, thank you, but shouldn’t you be caring for Betts. He’s not saying very much but I suspect his leg is more painful than he’s letting on.’

‘I’m about to go and see him now and make dinner for him. I just wanted to make sure that you’re all right before I do. I also wanted to warn you that Mum will be telephoning this evening.’

‘Oh.’ Fitzjohn took off his suit coat and sank down onto a kitchen chair. Did he feel up to dealing with his much loved but overbearing sister this evening? He thought not.

‘Thanks for letting me know, Sophie,’ he said at last. ‘Now off you go and look after Betts. If it wasn’t for him, neither Blossom nor I would be alive.’ As Fitzjohn spoke, the telephone rang. ‘No doubt that’ll be your mother.’

As Sophie left, Fitzjohn braced himself.

CHAPTER 14

The following morning, Fitzjohn climbed into his taxi and settled back for the drive into the CBD, his mind meandering through an array of thoughts as the driver wended his way through the congested streets. He appreciated Meg’s suggestion the previous evening that she come to take care of him in, what she called, his hour of need, but in his preoccupation with the Police Integrity Board’s inquiry as well as his present case, he dreaded the prospect. Hopefully, his suggestion that he would take leave to visit her in Melbourne after his present investigation was complete, had been enough to quell her enthusiasm for his company. Of course, considering her compulsive nature, it would not surprise him at all if she still turned up on his doorstep unannounced.

He reached his office to find Carruthers loitering at the water cooler. ‘Morning, Carruthers. Are you waiting for me?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Carruthers followed Fitzjohn into the office, his youthful exuberance filling the air. ‘I’ve been to Port Stephens to check out Giles Enfield’s alibi, sir, with an interesting result.’ Fitzjohn gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk as he sat down himself. ‘Mr Enfield’s immediate neighbours say that the last time they remember seeing him was a couple of months ago. It was the same story at the golf club. The last time he booked a tee off time was approximately eight weeks ago.’

‘That is interesting,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘I suppose it’s possible, that his neighbours might miss seeing him coming and going while he’s staying there, but you can’t play golf without booking a tee off time, can you?’

‘I don’t know, sir. I’ve never played golf.’

‘It wasn’t a question, Carruthers. Believe me, you can’t, but that aside, you’ve done well. You can accompany Betts and me when we speak to Mr Enfield. After all, this has been your particular inquiry.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Carruthers left the room with a wide grin across his face.

Betts pulled over in front of the Maybrick Literary Agency and the three officers climbed out of the car. Fitzjohn straightened his suit coat, adjusted his glasses and, shadowed by Betts and Carruthers, they made his way through the open gateway and along the gravel drive to the house. As they went, Carruthers stopped and squinted with the sun light as he peered upward at the gargoyles leering from high above.

‘Look at this place. It’s just like a house in a horror movie I once saw. Hundreds of bats flew out from under the eaves and went on the attack.’

‘In that case, you’d better keep an eye out. I think I saw a bat the last time we were here.’ Carruthers gave Fitzjohn a wry smile.

They reached the open front doorway and stepped into the vestibule to see Giles Enfield leaving Fiona Worth’s side and making his way along the hall toward them.

‘Mr Enfield,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘We’d like a further word with you if we may.’

‘I can’t right now, Chief Inspector,’ replied Giles in his predictable commanding manner. ‘I’m with a client.’

‘We’ll wait,’ said Fitzjohn, now attuned to Enfield’s arrogance.

‘Chief Inspector, do you have news?’

Fitzjohn turned to see Alison Maybrick coming through the front entrance behind them.

‘No, Ms Maybrick. We’re here to speak to Mr Enfield but it seems that he’s otherwise engaged.’

‘Oh. I could speak to him if you like. It’ll save you waiting around. Unless I can help, of course.’

‘Not with this particular matter, but you might be able to answer a few questions we have regarding your step-mother.’

Alison gave Fitzjohn a quizzical look. ‘I thought we’d already discussed that, but come through.’ The three officers followed Alison into her office. ‘What more do you want to know?’ she continued, watching the three men take their seats.

‘The last time we were here, we took the liberty of looking through the apartment upstairs,’ said Fitzjohn.

‘Ah, yes. Olive told me. She also said that a team of forensic people spent some time up there. I can’t imagine they’d find anything to help your case. To my knowledge, Preston never went upstairs.’

‘Do you know who Beatrice did entertain up there, Ms Maybrick?’

‘Her friends on occasion, that’s all.’

‘Never any of the staff?’

‘Not to my knowledge. Other than myself, of course, and that was only if I had to speak to her about something in particular.’ Alison’s eyes locked onto Fitzjohn’s. ‘We had little or nothing in common, you see.’

‘Have you been upstairs since your step-mother’s death?’

‘Yes, of course I have,’ replied Alison with an increasingly prickly air. ‘I went up on Tuesday afternoon. I had to choose something for Beatrice to wear... To be buried in,’ she continued haltingly. ‘I found it difficult to tell you the truth.’

‘Indeed. It’s not easy,’ replied Fitzjohn as he remembered the same task after Edith had passed away.

‘Mmm. Well, anyway, after that, I did a bit of tidying up.’

‘In what way?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘I cleared away the dishes that were on the kitchen table. Some cups and the cream and sugar bowl. I put the sugar on the counter and washed the rest up. The milk had gone off with the heat throughout the day.’

‘How many cups were there?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘That’s a funny question to ask. There were two. Why?’

‘Because it suggests that Beatrice had company during the day or evening that she died.’

Alison frowned. ‘Oh. I hadn’t thought of that, but I suppose you’re right.’

‘I take it it wasn’t you, Ms Maybrick?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have any idea who it might have been? A friend, or one of the staff, perhaps?’

Alison thought for a moment. ‘It wouldn’t be a friend. Not on a week day when she was working. And I very much doubt she’d have invited anyone over that evening.’

‘What about a member of the staff?’

‘Absolutely not. She didn’t fraternised.’ Alison fell quiet for a moment or two. ‘All these questions, Chief Inspector, and that forensic team going through the apartment. What’s going on, exactly? You don’t suspect that Beatrice’s death wasn’t an accident, do you?’

‘That question has been raised,’ Ms Maybrick.

‘By whom?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.’ Fitzjohn paused. ‘Did you do anything else before you left the apartment on Tuesday?’

Alison bristled. ‘If you must know, I looked for Beatrice’s will. I needed to know if she’d named me as her executrix because if she had, there were duties that would have to be performed.’

‘Of course,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Did you find the will?’

‘I found a copy of it tucked away in her bedroom dresser.’

‘And are you the Executrix?’

‘No. As it happens, she named the Public Trustee.’ Alison pursed her lips with a disappointed air. ‘After that, I came back downstairs.’

‘And have you been into the apartment since?’

Alison hesitated before she said, ‘I have as a matter of fact. I went up to start going through Beatrice’s things. It has to be done so I thought the sooner the better.’ Alison adjusted the decorative scarf she wore around her neck and looked at her watch. ‘Will there be anything else, Chief Inspector? It’s just that I have a client arriving in a few minutes.’

‘Just one thing, Ms Maybrick. A minor detail, but I like to get things right in my mind. We were led to believe that Olive Glossop is an agent’s assistant but when we spoke to her the other day, she introduced herself as one of the company’s agents.’ Fitzjohn gave a quick smile.

‘That’s because Beatrice asked her to take on some of her clients for the time being. Apparently she told Olive that she was feeling a little overwhelmed with Max’s suspension.’

‘I see. And when exactly did this come about?’

‘Olive said it was on the Monday morning, just after Beatrice had confronted Max about the discrepancies in the accounts.’

‘And when did Beatrice tell you?’

‘She didn’t. Olive did.’

The three officers left Alison’s office minutes later and went in search of Giles Enfield. They found him emerging from the kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee.

‘Are you free now, Mr Enfield?’ asked Fitzjohn.

Giles gave Fitzjohn a disdainful look. ‘Yes, although I can’t see what else I can tell you.’

‘I’m sure there’ll be something, Mr Enfield, because this time, we want to question you about the time you spent in Port Stephens.’ Fitzjohn and the two officers followed Enfield into his office.

‘What do you want to know?’ asked Giles with an indignant air before placing his cup of coffee on the desk pad and sitting down.

‘We want to know exactly what time you arrived in Port Stephens,’ replied Fitzjohn.

‘It was Thursday morning. I can’t remember the time. Early on, anyway.’

‘And when did you leave?’

‘For goodness sake, what is this, the third degree?’
yelled Giles, his fist hitting the desk.
‘What does it matter when I got there or when I left?’ he continued, mopping up the spilt coffee.

Fitzjohn ignored Giles’s outburst and waited for an answer.

‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘I left on Monday morning and you know when I got back because you and your sergeant were here to
greet
me.’

‘So, you were in Port Stephens for approximately four days?’

‘That’s right.’ Giles took a sip of what was left of his coffee before he gave a nonchalant shake of his head. ‘I can’t see what this has to do with your investigation.’

‘It may not have anything to do with it, Mr Enfield, but I’m just that tiny bit pedantic about detail. I can’t help myself because I’ve often found that the smallest piece of information can make all the difference. For example, in this case, it’s the fact that your immediate neighbours in Port Stephens didn’t see you over the period of time that you claim to have been there.’ Fitzjohn’s eyebrows rose.

‘That’s not surprising. I went fishing early each morning and played golf on a couple of afternoons.’

‘Well, I suppose that it’s possible your neighbours might have missed seeing you, but I don’t see how you played golf because according to the staff at the club, you haven’t booked a tee off time for over eight weeks.’ Giles drew a breath and glared at Fitzjohn. ‘You weren’t at Port Stephens, were you, Mr Enfield?’

‘I’ve already told you where I was on the night that Preston died. I don’t see that it’s any of your business where I was after that.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘It might have skipped your notice, but we’re conducting a murder investigation, so for that reason alone, it is our business,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘After all, you did have a strong motive to kill Mr Alexander.’

‘
I beg your pardon!
What possible motive would I have? I barely had anything to do with the man. The longest amount of time we ever spent together was when I drove him to the hospital the night that Beatrice died.’

‘Ah, yes. So you said. How did he feel about that?’

Giles glared at Fitzjohn. ‘What sort of a question is that? He thanked me for coming to tell him, of course.’

‘Is that all that was said between the two of you?’ continued Fitzjohn. ‘After all, he knew about your disqualification as a company director.’ Fitzjohn caught Giles’s surprised expression. ‘Yes. We know all about that. Now, let’s see. What was the reason? Ah, yes. Using company assets for personal benefit. It must have been worrying for Preston to find you working at the agency after he’d invested one million dollars in it. Not to mention the fact that Beatrice had told him she’d found discrepancies in the accounts. Did he confront you about Max Ziegler’s claim that you had taken over the accounts?’

‘Your accusations are ludicrous.’

‘No they’re not,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Your misadventure into embezzlement in your previous employment is all here in the Companies Office’s report.’ Fitzjohn held up the report. ‘You can read it if you wish. Among other things, it tells us that you were disqualified as a company director for a period of eleven years? And surprise, surprise. After looking through Preston Alexander’s retirement activities, it seems that he just happened to be a director on the board of the company that you were disqualified from. I’d say that the events on the day that Beatrice died caused Preston a great deal of anguish. Of course, he’d confront you with it.’

‘So, what if he did? None of it alters the fact that I didn’t kill him,’ replied Giles with an arrogant sneer.

‘Whether you did or you didn’t, we want to know where you spent those four days because it wasn’t in Port Stephens.’ His patience waning, Fitzjohn waited for Enfield to reply. ‘Of course, we can always arrange for you to be brought down to the station and questioned in one of our interview rooms.’ Fitzjohn glanced around the richly decorated office with its rosewood panelled walls. ‘Not quite as plush as our present surroundings, but it does produce results.’