Murder at the Rocks (24 page)

‘They said you were back, sir.  Any luck with Dr Harford?’

‘No.  It seems he wasn’t even aware Edward Harford and Christopher Leonard knew each other until quite recently.  How did you get on with Mr Mapsom?’

‘He remembers the Greenwood paintings accumulating over a number of years.  There are seven in all.  The five in the front hall and the two larger paintings in Laurence Harford’s study.  I also spoke to Julia Harford.  She said they were her husband’s purchases and she knows nothing about them.  As you’re aware, there was little interest on her part about her husband’s dealings.  More interestingly, though, she said an art dealer contacted her recently asking after them.  Wanted to know whether they were for sale.’

Fitzjohn sat up in his chair.  ‘Does she know who it was?’

‘She just has a telephone number.  She gave it to me.’  Betts held up a small piece of paper.

‘Find out who it is, Betts.  May be nothing but you never know.’

‘Yes, sir.’

CHAPTER 34

Fitzjohn arrived at the station early the next morning anticipating a quiet hour for his thoughts.  ‘Morning sir.’  At the sound of Betts’s voice, he hesitated for a second or two before looking around.

‘You’re early, Betts.  Couldn’t you sleep?’

‘As a matter of fact no.  With the downpour we had last night, my flat got flooded.’

Showing genuine concern, Fitzjohn said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.  I’d suggest you stay with me, but with Meg and Sophie still here, it’d be difficult.’  As they reached Fitzjohn’s office he opened the door.

‘It’s okay, sir.  I’m staying with a friend for the next couple of nights.’  Betts waited before continuing.  ‘Your sister staying on a bit longer, is she, sir?’

A look of irritation came to Fitzjohn’s face.  ‘Yes.  She seems to think my house needs a makeover, and has taken it upon herself to do just that.  It’ll be the undoing of me, Betts.’  Fitzjohn banged his briefcase down on the desk before opening it and taking out its contents.  ‘And what’s this, for god’s sake?’

‘Looks like your packed lunch, sir.  A salad, no less.’

Fitzjohn shoved the plastic container into the top drawer of his desk and sat down.  ‘Any word on the bayonet?’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘It’s not the weapon that killed Laurence Harford.’  Fitzjohn sank back into his chair, his expression betraying his disappointment.

‘Shall I have Price released, sir?’

‘No.’  Fitzjohn fell into silence before he continued.  ‘I want another search done.’

‘But...’

‘I know.  It’s already been done thoroughly.  But, I want it done again.  There has to be something we’ve missed.  While you’re doing that, I’ll speak to Michael Wycliffe.’

‘Then there’s something you should know, sir.  I’ve been looking into Wycliffe’s investment venture with Laurence Harford and it looks like not everything is as it should be.’

‘Why?  What do you mean?’

‘The apartment buildings that Laurence Harford and Michael Wycliffe invested in jointly were sold off at inflated prices on the promise of guaranteed tenancy and refurbishment.  So far, that hasn’t materialised.  A number of the investors involved are forming a class action.’

‘Are you suggesting property fraud, Betts?’

‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

‘Mmm.  I wonder if Edward Harford knew about this and used it as a threat to prevent his brother from contesting his will.’

‘You mean the deterrent he mentioned in his letter to Nick Harford, sir?’

‘Yes.’

Pulling on his suit coat, Fitzjohn left his office and made his way through the station until he came face to face with the Duty Officer.  ‘Ah, there you are, Chief Inspector.  Superintendent Grieg wants to speak to you, sir.’

His annoyance evident Fitzjohn said, ‘Tell him I’m out.’  The Duty Officer grimaced.  ‘Can you see me, Sergeant?’

‘No, I don’t believe I do, sir.’

‘Good.’  With a satisfied look on his face, Fitzjohn continued on his way, arriving at Michael Wycliffe’s Circular Quay restaurant minutes later.  He found the premises locked so hovered for a moment in front of the glass door, showing his warrant card to a passing waiter.  As the door opened Fitzjohn stepped inside.

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn from the New South Wales Police.  I’m here to see Michael Wycliffe.’  The waiter took a quick disinterested look at his warrant card.

‘He’s over there.’  She gestured to the far side of the restaurant where a man sat at one of the tables overlooking the Harbour, papers strewn before him.  He looked up when Fitzjohn approached and got to his feet.

‘Can I help you?’ he said, with an air of abruptness.

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn, Mr Wycliffe.  I’d like to speak to you in connection with the death of Laurence Harford.’

‘I did speak to a Detective the other day about it.’  He gestured to one of the chairs at the table.

‘I’m aware of that, Mr Wycliffe, but I’d like you to go over what you told him.  I understand that you were in the vicinity of Brayshaw’s the night Laurence Harford was murdered.  In fact, at the very time of his death.  What were you doing there?’

‘I was walking up here to Circular Quay.’

‘Did you see anyone near Brayshaw’s laneway at the time?’

‘Yes.  I saw Eric Holmes arguing with a woman.  At least I think it was him.  It was fairly dark at the time.’

‘Did you see anyone else?’

‘No.’

‘I understand that you and Laurence Harford were involved in a number of business dealings.’

‘Yes.  I’m the Treasurer of a fund raising committee Laurence sat on.  He counter signed cheques for me.  And then there were a number of building projects we invested in together.’  Wycliffe fidgeted with the papers on the table.  ‘They’re all wrapped up now which is a good thing with what’s happened to Laurence.’

‘Oh.  My understanding is that it’s far from wrapped up, Mr Wycliffe.  Something I’m sure those who are taking out a class action against you would agree with.  Something to do with not meeting your promises of guaranteed tenancy and refurbishment, isn’t it?  Did you argue with Laurence Harford over the matter?’

Wycliffe’s face betrayed his uneasiness.  ‘I did voice my concern, but no, we didn’t argue.’

‘You’re sure about that?’

‘Yes.  Quite sure.’

‘Very well, Mr Wycliffe, but I think, under the circumstances, it would be wise for you to make a formal statement.’

Fitzjohn returned to the station to see Betts emerging from Superintendent Grieg’s office, irritation showing on his face as he fell into step next to Fitzjohn.  ‘What’s wrong?  You look less than pleased, Betts.’

‘It’s Superintendent Grieg, sir.  He says he plans to move me to another case.’

‘What!  He’ll do no such thing.  I’ll speak to him.’  Betts’s expression turned to one of amusement.  ‘How did you go with the search at Neville Price’s?’

‘We didn’t find anything except a self-storage tag.  I asked Price’s sister about it.  She said it belongs to her brother.  Apparently, when he moved in with her, he wasn’t able to fit all his belongings into the house.’

‘I suggest you search it then.’

‘It’s done, sir.  We found a Ka-Bar knife amongst the items.  Forensics has it now.’  Fitzjohn’s face brightened.  ‘And there’s more.  Phillip Wilson’s name is engraved on the blade.’

‘Good god.  Like a ghost from the past,’ said Fitzjohn shaking his head.  ‘If Price has Wilson’s knife, then chances are he also had his beret.’

‘And mailed it to Laurence Harford.’

‘There’s a twisted mind at work there, Betts, especially if Christopher Leonard is right and Price did kill Wilson.’

They continued on to Fitzjohn’s office.  ‘Did you manage to get in touch with that art dealer who contacted Julia Harford?’

‘Only the answering service, but even so, it was revealing.’

‘How so?’

‘That telephone number belongs to Piers LaSalle.’

CHAPTER 35

Brayshaw’s had been thrown into confusion with the arrest of Eric Holmes, its smooth takeover in jeopardy.  But with Julia Harford’s swift, pragmatic thinking, the situation had been averted with the instalment of Mrs Watson, Eric Holmes’s assistant, into the position of Retail Manager.  Julia felt elated with her first managerial decision, Howard Parish appeared satisfied and Mrs Watson delighted with her elevation in the company.  More than pleased with his aunt’s enthusiasm in her new role, Nicholas could not say as much for his own inquiries into the reason for the estrangement between his father and Laurence.  From what he had deduced from his last meeting with Fitzjohn, Christopher Leonard must have been more involved with his father than he had ever realised.  Was there a chance that Leonard knew what it was his father had set in place to deter Laurence from contesting the will?  He made his way downstairs, pausing in the study doorway and looked at Leonard’s painting.  In so doing, he decided to find out.

With the house now listed for sale and open for inspection that day, Nicholas set out for Bowral in the Southern Highlands.  During the journey, he felt the tension of the past week fall away somewhat, arriving in the small country community a little over an hour later.  After making his way through town and along the familiar country lane that led to Gray’s Manor, he turned off onto the gravel drive.  Bordered by a groomed hedge, it wound its way beneath Californian Oakes, their branches meeting high above, creating a dappled effect.  Nicholas followed the twists and turns of the driveway until the Manor came into view.  Arthur Rutledge could be seen mopping his brow in the shade of a giant sycamore.  When he spotted the car, he laid his rake aside and waved, his weathered face breaking into a broad smile.

‘Art, how are you?’ said Nicholas climbing out of the car and taking Arthur Rutledge’s hand.

The lines around Rutledge’s soft brown eyes crinkled.  ‘I’m well.  By Jove, it’s good to see you, lad.’

‘It’s good to see you too,’ said Nicholas patting Arthur Rutledge’s back before turning to survey the manicured gardens.  ‘The place looks magnificent.’

A look of pride came to Arthur’s face.  ‘Well, you know I love gardening and now that Marjorie’s gone I spend more time than ever out here.’  They started toward the large rambling house.

‘Yes, Andrew Pemlett told me of Marjorie’s passing.  I’m truly sorry.  She was a wonderful person.  She really made a difference in my life when I was young.’

‘Well, she loved you like you were her own.’  Arthur Rutledge laughed.  ‘I remember she’d spend weeks getting ready for your arrival when the school holidays got near.’  A tear in his eye, Arthur pulled his handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and blew his nose.

‘I take it Andrew told you I’ll be keeping Gray’s Manor,’ said Nicholas as they stepped inside.

‘Yes, he did.’

‘I hope you’ll stay on, but I’ll understand if you don’t.  With Marjorie gone...  It’s probably a bit quiet out here for you.’

‘Not in the least.  I love this place.  I’ll be pleased to stay.’  They made their way through to the back of the house and into the kitchen that overlooked the country-side beyond.  Arthur turned the gas burner on and as the kettle began to whistle, he poured two cups of steaming coffee and brought them to the table.

‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard about Laurence.’  Arthur shook his head as he settled himself.  ‘I know he was a difficult sort, but even so...  To die as he did... Do the police say if they have any leads on who killed him?’

‘No.  They keep everything very much to themselves.  To be expected, I suppose, since anyone close to Laurence is probably of interest to them.  It’s one of the reasons I came down actually.  I want to speak to Christopher Leonard.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes.  I want to ask him about this photograph.’  Nicholas took the photo of his parents with Christopher Leonard and Laurence from his shirt pocket and handed it to Rutledge who studied the yellowed image for some moments.  ‘Do you remember when it was taken, Art?’

‘I do because I took it.’

Nicholas smiled.  ‘I thought you might have.  I was surprised to see Dad and Laurence posing together.  They were obviously on speaking terms at the time.’

‘They got along okay.’  Rutledge took a sip of his coffee.

‘It’s hard to believe there ever was such a time,’ said Nicholas.  ‘Do you know what changed that?’

‘Can’t say as I do.’

‘I was also surprised to see Christopher Leonard.  I had no idea he and Dad were friends.’  Abruptly, Rutledge rose from his chair carrying his mug to the sink, Nicholas sensing his wish for the conversation to cease.  Why was that, he thought.

‘Do you see much of Christopher Leonard these days, Art?’

‘Very little.’

‘That surprises me.  You two used to spend hours playing chess as I remember.’

Arthur Rutledge turned back to face Nicholas, leaning himself back against the sink, his face crinkling into a wide smile.  ‘Yes, we did.  They were good days they were.  A long time ago though.’

‘I suppose it was.’

‘I didn’t realise you had any contact with Christopher Leonard,’ said Arthur.

‘I haven’t had, but there are a few things I want to ask him.’  Nicholas put the photograph back into his shirt pocket.

Later that same afternoon, Nicholas arrived at Christopher Leonard’s property making his way through well tended gardens to the house nestled in the shade of age old trees.  He ran the door bell and waited, taking in the fragrances from the surrounding gardens and the quietude of the countryside before the door opened and a woman appeared, wiping her hands on her apron.

‘Mrs Evans?  I’m Nick Harford.  We spoke on the phone this morning.’

‘Yes, Dr Harford.  You made an appointment to see Mr Leonard.  Come through won’t you.’  Nicholas stepped inside and followed Joan Evans into a large living room at the rear of the house, its windows overlooking a lawn that rolled down to a small lake.

‘If you’ll wait here, I’ll let Mr Leonard know you’ve arrived.’