ONCE UPON A LIE (A Fitzjohn Mystery) (19 page)

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 sister, 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.’

‘Did he say when this dinn
er engagement was?’

‘
I seem to remember it was the night she got back from a business trip to Canberra.  Just a couple of days before she died.’  Betts glanced over at Fitzjohn.

‘Did he say why
Claudia declined his invitation?’

‘
No.’  Rafe Simms paused.  ‘Anyway, after Claudia’s death, Charlotte returned to Adelaide to complete her studies.  We had planned to be married that following summer, but after she returned from Adelaide in November of that year, she did a complete turn-around.  She bought the bookshop in Double Bay with money her mother left her.  I travelled down to Sydney as often as I could, but eventually she told me she’d changed her mind.  She no longer wished to get married.’

‘So, according to Rafe Simms,’ said Fitzjohn as they drove back along the road leading from Peppertree Grove Wines, ‘Claudia declined the victim’s invitation to his dinner party on the day she returned from Canberra.  The Thursday before she died.’  Fitzjohn paused.  ‘I seem to remember Phillipa Braithwaite told us that Claudia had cancelled their dinner engagement on that same Thursday evening?  In favour of what, I wonder?’

‘Maybe she was tired after driving back from Canberra that day, sir.
  After all, it’s over 300 kilometers.’

‘
Possibly.  Or, if she had picked those mushrooms while she was there, she might have decided to stay at home and eat,’ added Fitzjohn.  Fitzjohn thought for a moment.  ‘Take me through, again. what you know about these death cap mushrooms, Betts.  Didn’t you say that they can take up to sixteen hours to take effect?’

‘
Yes, sir.  And as Claudia Rossi was hospitalized early on the Saturday morning, there are two possibilities. Either she was poisoned on Thursday evening after returning from Canberra, or up to lunchtime on the Friday.’

Lightning flashed in the night sky as Fitzjohn climbed out of the taxi and in to the warm, humid atmosphere. Turning toward his cottage, he collected the mail from the letterbox beside the gate, and made his way along the path to the front door.  Once inside, the aroma of food filled the air and he smiled to himself, remembering the almost forgotten warm feeling of coming home to someone. He found Sophie in the kitchen glued to the television.

‘All’s well wit
h the tree branch, I take it,’ he said, placing his briefcase on the kitchen table.

‘It was the last time I looked
, Uncle Alistair, but the weather bureau says we’re going to get a storm tonight.’

‘I
know, and it looks like it’s arrived.’ Fitzjohn peered out of the rain splattered kitchen window.  ‘What smells so delicious?’

‘It’s my favourite dish,’ said Sophie.  ‘Mainly because it’s the only one I know how to cook with any kind of success.
  Chicken in Paprika with Lime.’

‘Sounds complicated
.’  Fitzjohn removed his suit coat and rested it over the back of a kitchen chair.  ‘I want to talk to you about your arrest before we sit down to dinner, Sophie, and about your mother.’

Sophie scrambled to her feet. 
‘You’re not going to tell Mum are you, Uncle Alistair?  Please don’t.  My life won’t be worth living if you do.  You know what she’s like.  She’ll make me transfer to Melbourne University and live at home.  I’d wither and die.  My youth sapped away.’

‘
No need to be melodramatic,’ replied Fitzjohn.  ‘If you think about it, returning to Melbourne might be your best option.  After all, being arrested doesn’t seem to me to be a very good way of conducting your independent life.  Does it?’

‘
No, it doesn’t.  It’s  been the worst day of my life, but I believe I have learnt from the whole horrible experience.  Doesn’t that count for anything?’

Fitzjohn
looked at his only niece, and goddaughter, her large brown eyes imploring him in to collusion against her mother.  But could he blame her?  After all, Meg’s devotion to duty as both Sophie’s mother and his sister was nothing short of stifling.  ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ he said.

‘
Oh, thank you, Uncle Alistair, you’re wonderful.  Now, dinner won’t be for about half an hour so I’ll pour you a whisky, shall I?’

‘You don’t have to go overboard, Sophie.  As I said, I have to think about it.  But a shot of whisky wouldn’t go astray.’ 
Fitzjohn took his newspaper out of his briefcase and made his way in to the conservatory where he settled himself in to his leather chair.

‘
Oh, no
,’ screamed Sophie.

‘What is it?’
Fitzjohn jumped up from his chair and returned to the kitchen.

‘
Look
!  I’m on the ABC news.  If mum sees this my life will be well and truly over.’  Sophie slumped down on to a kitchen chair.

‘
As will mine,’ said Fitzjohn as if to himself.  ‘And what’s more, I’ve got a feeling that in a minute or two that phone’s going to ring.’  As Fitzjohn said the words the wall phone rang.

‘You’d better answer it
, my girl,’ he said, turning back toward the conservatory.

‘Couldn’t you, Uncle Alistair?
  You’re so much better at dealing with mum than I am.  And obviously, she wants to speak to you.  After all, she wouldn’t expect me to be here.’

‘No.  She thinks you’re in gaol.’ 
Fitzjohn groaned and picked up the receiver.

‘Hello?  Meg
dear... Yes, she was… Meg, if you will just listen to me for a… No, Sophie isn’t in gaol. I bailed her out this afternoon.  She’s just… Calm yourself down, Meg.  Getting upset isn’t going to change the fact that your daughter was arrested.  Yes, it is unfortunate, but it happened, so we just have to live with...’ A creaking noise followed by a crash and breaking glass stopped Fitzjohn in mid-stream.  With the phone still to his ear, he peered through the kitchen window.  ‘My god.  The greenhouse.  Here, speak to your mother,’ he yelled, tossing the phone to Sophie before running from the room.  Outside, buffeted by the howling wind as it whipped through what remained of the flowerbeds bordering the garden path, Fitzjohn lifted his gaze to the jagged, grotesque remains of the greenhouse, the tree branch now resting inside.  Transfixed, as the rain dripped from his chin, Fitzjohn’s shoulders slumped inside his sodden suite,  ‘I’m sorry, Edith,’ he said.

CHAPTER 20

A sense of urgency filled Fitzjohn as he walked in to the Incident Room the following morning where members of his investigative team anticipated the start of the case management meeting.  Amid the din, he made his way to his desk and sat down before catching Betts’s eye.  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, methodically removing papers from his briefcase.  ‘I’ll just be a couple of minutes and we can get started.

‘
Was it the tree branch that kept you, sir?’ asked Betts.

‘Yes.
  It came down in last night’s storm.  It’s now lying inside what was once the greenhouse.’

‘And the orchids?’

‘Well, the hail didn’t help, but we saved what we could.  And I must give credit to Sophie.  She’s been a tower of strength over the past twelve hours.  I couldn’t have done it without her.’

‘
Don’t forget that your neighbour is liable to replace the greenhouse, sir.’

‘
I haven’t, Betts, but as the rest of the tree fell on to Rhonda Butler’s house, I think she has enough to worry about.’  Fitzjohn paused.  ‘The woman’s a pain in the neck, but I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her last night.  Her home is decimated.  She’s lucky to be alive.’  Fitzjohn ran his hand over his wispy hair.  ‘Sophie didn’t fair too well either.  Not only did she cut her hand on some broken glass, but her mother’s ordered her back to Melbourne.’ 

‘I take it she saw Sophie being
arrested on the news last night,’ said Betts.

‘
You saw it too, did you?’

‘You c
ouldn’t miss it, sir.  Sophie was on every channel.’

Fitzjohn groaned
.  ‘I’ll never hear the end of it from her mother, but I’ll see what I can do to get Meg to reverse her decision.  After Sophie’s valiant efforts to save my orchids, I owe her something.  And freedom from her mother’s clutches seems to be her highest priority right now.’

Fitzjohn swiveled
his chair around to look at the whiteboard.  ‘Now, enough of my domestic problems.  Is there anything I should know before we start this meeting?’

‘
There is, sir.  The man impersonating Pierce Whitehead?  His real name is Andrew Braithwaite.’

‘
Braithwaite
?  Dare I ask if he’s related to Phillipa Braithwaite?’

‘
Her half-brother, sir.  Evidently, he has a history of passing himself off in various fields of expertise including architect, airline pilot and civil engineer, to name just a few.’  Betts looked back down at his notes.  ‘Apparently, he built a very impressive bridge in some small African country in 2006.’

‘And now he
fancies himself as a winemaker,’ said Fitzjohn, ‘and a good one, according to Rafe Simms.’ Fitzjohn chuckled.  ‘Has he been brought in?’

‘About an hour ago
, sir.  He’s also changed his alibi.  He now says he spent last Friday night at Phillipa Braithwaite’s house.  Says he arrived at around 6pm and didn’t leave until eight the next morning.’

‘Really?  I’ll be interested to know what changed his mind
, and whether Ms Braithwaite agrees with him.  We’ll speak to her first, Betts,’ he added.  ‘But for now, let’s get this meeting underway.’

Fitzjohn and Betts entered The ArtSpace Gallery that afternoon to find Phillipa Braithwaite standing beside a low round table arranging flowers in a vase.  She looked over when the door opened.