ONCE UPON A LIE (A Fitzjohn Mystery) (23 page)

‘
Why on earth didn’t she come forward with this information before?’ said Fitzjohn, an exasperated look on his face.

‘She says she didn’t think it important at the time
, although I suspect it might have something to do with loyalty to her employer.  I imagine she changed her mind when the police arrived with the search warrant.’

Fitzjohn shook his head. 
‘Very well.  Another piece of the puzzle into Rossi’s whereabouts before he died.  He must have gone to the gallery straight after speaking to Richard Edwards at the hospital, and before he paid a call to the New South Wales Art Gallery.’  Fitzjohn sat in thought for a moment.  ‘So, Phillipa Braithwaite knew all along that he was back in Sydney on that Friday.’

Phillipa Braithwaite was found pacing the floor when, a few minutes later, Fitzjohn and Betts entered the interview room .  Her solicitor looked up from his notes when they appeared.  Phillipa pulled out a chair and sat down, her indignation apparent.  ‘It’s about time,’ she said, icily.  ‘Do you realise I’ve been kept waiting for over an hour?’

‘Our apologies,
Ms Braithwaite,’ said Fitzjohn.  ‘Unfortunately, the cogs in the wheel don’t always move as fast as we would like.’  He half smiled and sat down.

‘
Unfortunate isn’t the word,’ Phillipa continued.  ‘Your tardiness has cost me a very important sale.’

‘That’s neither here
nor there to me, Ms Braithwaite,’ answered Fitzjohn.  ‘I’m investigating two murders and in so doing, I have a number of questions to put to you.  Firstly, I want to know how you came by the Limoges perfume bottle found at your place of residence in Double Bay.’  Phillipa did not reply.  ‘We know it was stolen from Esme Timmons's home at approximately 2:23am on the morning of Saturday, March 18th.  We also have a sworn statement from your half-brother, Andrew Braithwaite, that you were absent from your home between 1am and 3:30am on that morning.’  Fitzjohn waited for Phillipa Braithwaite to respond.  ‘Of course, you’re not obliged to answer my questions, but I should advise you that it could work against your best interests if you don’t.’

Phillipa sat still, avoiding Fitzjohn’s gaze.  Finally, she turned to her solicitor and
whispered in his ear.   After his reply she said,  ‘All right.  I did go to Esme’s that night and I did take the perfume bottle.’

‘But
that wasn’t your reason for going, was it, Ms Braithwaite?  It was to recover these.’  Fitzjohn placed three plastic sheaves on the table.  ‘Three letters sent to Claudia Rossi, describing her partner’s infidelity.  Anonymous letters.’  Phillipa Braithwaite glared at the letters.  ‘Your handiwork.’

‘He used me
,’ Phillipa said at last.

‘Who used you
, Ms Braithwaite?’

‘Richard.’

‘Richard Edwards?’ ask Fitzjohn.

‘Yes.’  The room filled with Phillipa’s curdled laughter.  ‘He thought he
could walk away from me just like that. I was doing Claudia a favour.  She needed to know what a cretin she was living with.’

‘So what made you think these letters would be in the study in Esme
Timmons’s home?’

‘Because
the study is where Claudia kept all her personal papers, and it was where she’d showed me the first letter she’d received.’ Phillipa chuckled to herself.  ‘She had no idea.  No idea at all that I’d sent it.’

‘But why did you choose that particular night to break in
to Esme Timmons’s home?  Why hadn’t you tried to get the letters back before?’  Phillipa did not reply.  ‘Was it because Michael Rossi came to see you on the Friday afternoon before his death?  After Richard Edwards told him that you were the woman he’d had an affair with, and that you’d sent those poison pen letters to Claudia?’  Phillipa continued her silence.  ‘Might you also have been looking for a report that Claudia Rossi had been compiling on the provenance of the Brandt sketch, Ms Braithwaite?’

‘
No.  Why would I want that?’

‘I can think of a number of reasons.  Firstly, according
to the purchase order that was seized from your home, you bought that sketch from a man by the name of Wesley Hammond.’  Fitzjohn handed Phillipa a copy of the purchase order.

‘
If that's what the purchase order says,’ answered Phillipa, barely looking at it.  ‘I do a lot of buying, Chief Inspector.  I don't remember names.’

‘So, as far as you’re concerned,
Wesley Hammond is the person you bought the Brandt sketch from.’

‘
Yes.’

‘
Then that does surprise me, Ms Braithwaite, because Wesley Hammond doesn't exist.’  Fitzjohn sat back in his chair.  ‘Not only does he not exist, but we've also discovered that the Brandt sketch is a fake, painted by an artist by the name of Douglas Porteous.’  Fitzjohn’s eyes locked onto Phillipa.  ‘Does the name ring any bells?  He’s the man you had your half-brother, Andrew Braithwaite, approach in order to buy the sketch, isn’t he?’  Phillipa sank back in her chair.  ‘You said earlier that you didn't see Claudia Rossi during the week before she died, and yet we have a witness who attests to the fact that you did.  In fact, Claudia came to your home for dinner on Thursday, July 15, 2010.’

‘Let me guess.  Andrew
told you that.’  Phillipa sighed.  ‘All right.  Claudia was at my home that night for dinner, but I didn't...’

‘
Didn’t what, Ms Braithwaite?’

‘I didn’t cook the
meal.’

‘Then who did?’

‘It was Aiden.  Claudia had been to see him the previous Sunday.  About the sketch.  He could see she was going to find out about the art fraud and he panicked.  His reputation is everything to him.  He insisted I invite Claudia over for dinner that Thursday night.  I swear I didn't know what he was planning to do.  He just said we had to convince her that the sketch wasn’t a fake.’  Phillipa paused. ‘It wasn’t unusual for the three of us to dine together, or for Aiden to prepare the meal.  We dined together quite often.’

‘So, what are you saying?
’ asked Fitzjohn.  ‘That Aiden Maxwell served the poisonous mushrooms to Claudia that evening at dinner?’

‘Yes
.’  Phillipa paused.  ‘I found out later that he’d brought them back from Melbourne the day before.’

‘Why didn’t you go to the police
, Ms Braithwaite?’

‘Because Aiden said I’d not only be implicated in Claudia’s de
ath, but also the sale of the fake Brandt sketch.’

Fitzjohn set his pen down carefully on the papers in front of him. 
‘To be quite honest, Ms Braithwaite, I can’t see how he could have brought death cap mushrooms back from Melbourne the day before because Aiden Maxwell was still in Melbourne on July the 14th, 2010.  In fact, he'd left for Melbourne after his meeting with Claudia on Sunday, July 11th and didn't return to Sydney until the following Sunday, the 17th.  The day after Claudia Rossi died.’  Phillipa opened her mouth to speak as Betts cautioned her.

'Phillipa Braithwaite, I'm arresting you for the murder of Claudia Rossi...’

Fitzjohn sat back in his chair that af
ternoon, 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?’

‘N
o.  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?’