ONCE UPON A LIE (A Fitzjohn Mystery) (24 page)

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

‘But you’r
e 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 Har
bour 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 2
6

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 wa
nt 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 i
n 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 who
se 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 wonder if we can have a few minutes of your time.’

Prentice smiled.  ‘B
y 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.’