ONCE UPON A LIE (A Fitzjohn Mystery) (16 page)

Charlotte recognized Aiden Maxwell as soon as she walked in to the Paddington gallery later that afternoon.  ‘Mr Maxwell,’ she said as he glided across the room toward her.  ‘I’m Charlotte Rossi, Claudia Rossi’s daughter.’

‘
Yes, of course.  I remember you well, my dear,’ he answered, a wide smile on his face.  ‘We met at a number of your mother’s soirees.’  Maxwell took Charlotte’s hand and kissed it before adjusting his brilliant blue bow tie.  ‘How can I help?  Are you interested in a particular piece?’ he asked, looking round the room with his arm flung out.

‘Not at the moment. 
Actually, Aiden, I’ve come to see you about a sketch that my mother purchased here.  It’s by an artist called Brandt.’

‘And a
very good choice it was too. I told her so at the time.’

‘And I know she loved it
.  However, it’s come to my attention that my mother wasn’t satisfied with its provenance.’

Aiden Maxwell’s
smile left his face.  ‘Its provenance?  But why?’  Charlotte could feel Maxwell’s growing agitation.

‘
That I don’t know.  I thought she might have spoken to you about it.’

‘I wish she had
.’  Maxwell shook his head.  ‘This is most distressing.  I don’t know what to say, Charlotte, other than you let me look in to the matter.  You can appreciate, I’m sure, that my reputation is at stake here.’

‘I’m sorry
,’ replied Charlotte.  ‘It wasn’t my intention to create a problem .  And I didn’t expect you to have to look in to the provenance yourself.’

‘I’m more than
happy to do so.  After all, the gallery sold the painting to your mother.  The least we can do is to put your mind at ease as to its authenticity.’

‘
Well in that case, I have a report here that mum was working on.  It might help you get started.’  Charlotte handed the report to Aiden Maxwell.  ‘This afternoon, I spoke to Douglas Porteous’s widow.  Mr Porteous is mentioned in the report as a previous owner of the sketch.  But Mrs Porteous denies her husband ever owned it.’

‘
I see.  Well, I’ll keep that in mind when I speak to her.’

CHAPTER
16

Fitzjohn
and Betts stood at the whiteboard discussing their investigation when the Incident Room door opened and the Duty Sergeant appeared.

‘
There’s someone here to see you, Chief Inspector,’ he said.  ‘Marion Davies from the New South Wales Art Gallery.  She says you’re expecting her.’

‘
I am, Sergeant.  Ask her to come in, will you?’  As the Duty Sergeant left, Fitzjohn nodded to Betts who returned to his desk. Fitzjohn took his suit coat from the back of his chair and slipped it on before straightening his tie.  As he did so, a plainly dressed woman, wearing dark rimmed glasses, came through the door.  Her blue eyes darted between the two men before settling on Fitzjohn.

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn,
Ms Davies,’ said Fitzjohn.  ‘And this is Detective Sergeant Betts.’  Marian nodded at Betts as she sat down on the chair in front of Fitzjohn’s desk.  ‘We appreciate your taking the time to come in to see us.’

‘
I was told at the gallery that you want to speak to me about Michael Rossi,’ she said, putting her handbag on the floor next to her flat black shoes.  ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard about his death,’ she continued.  ‘I’d been speaking to him only the day before.’

‘So we understand
,’ said Fitzjohn.  ‘What time was that, exactly?’

‘
It was late in the afternoon.  After four.  Just before I left for the day.’

‘And, can I ask w
hat Michael Rossi wanted to see you about, Ms Davies?’

‘
Yes.  He wanted to ask me about his sister, Claudia.  He knew we’d worked together at the gallery, you see.’

‘
And how long had you and Claudia worked together?’

‘
We started at about the same time, so it was June 2003.’

‘
And you became friends?’

Marian Davies thought for a minute.  ‘
I wouldn’t say we were friends,’ she said, pushing her glasses back up over the bridge of her nose. ‘That is, Claudia never confided in me as friends might have occasion to do.  No.  I’d say we were colleagues.’

Fitzjohn sensed
a level of indignation in Marian Davies voice.  ‘So you didn’t meet socially.’

‘No,
Chief Inspector.  The only social contact we ever had was at a dinner party Claudia held.  At the time, I suspected I was invited to make up numbers.’  Marian smoothed down her grey skirt.  ‘In fact, that dinner party was what Michael Rossi wanted to talk to me about last Friday afternoon.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes.  You see, at the time, Claudia had asked me what I thought of a sketch she’d recently purchased.  It was by Brandt.  You may have heard of Brandt, but if not he was one of the 20th century’s leading figures in art.  You only have to observe his creativity that is manifested in the variety of mediums that he used.  That’s why, after close examination... Well, it was rather embarrassing, really, because I knew Claudia had spent a lot of money purchasing the sketch, but for that very reason I felt it necessary to tell her that it was a fake.’

‘
And did you tell Mr Rossi this when he came to see you last Friday afternoon?’

‘
I did, but he said he’d already been told of that fact that very afternoon.  What he wanted from me was the name of the art dealer who’d sold the sketch to Claudia.’

‘And
were you able to tell him who it was?’

‘
Oh, yes.  Claudia mentioned the dealer’s name when I told her the sketch was a fake.  And, of course, being in the art business, I know of him.  His name’s Aiden Maxwell.’  Fitzjohn sat forward in his chair.  ‘He has a gallery in Paddington. Claudia used to do restoration work for him from time to time.’

Marian Davies face
gaped.  ‘You don’t think Michael’s death…  I’ll never forgive myself if my telling him the dealer’s name has led to his death.’

‘
Tell me, Ms Davies, in your opinion, were the irregularities in the sketch easy to detect?’

‘In this case not necessarily,
Chief Inspector.  I just happen to be an expert on Brandt’s work, and it was only the finest discrepancies I noticed.’

‘
I see.’  Fitzjohn paused.  ‘When was this dinner party, Ms Davies?’

‘Sometime in
June 2010, as I remember.  Not long before Claudia died, as a matter of fact.’

‘
And do you know whether she contacted Aiden Maxwell about the possibility that the sketch was a fake?’

‘I
have no idea, Chief Inspector.  Claudia never said.’

‘Did
Michael Rossi ask you anything else?’

‘
No.  But he did tell me something.  Something unsettling.’  Marian Davies took a breath.  ‘He told me Claudia had been murdered because of the Brandt sketch.’

After Marian Davies departure, Fitzjohn glanced over at Betts, who still sat writing in his notebook.  ‘Well, Betts, Ms Davies has managed to turn our investigation on its head.’

‘
She has, sir,’ said Betts, closing his notebook.  ‘The very fact Michael Rossi believed his sister was murdered, fits in with what we’ve got so far.  We know he received a telephone call from Robert Nesbit on Friday afternoon telling him of Richard Edwards failing health, and that Mr Edwards wanted to talk to Rossi about Claudia.  This caused the victim to leave the winery earlier than expected.  We also know the approximate time that the victim visited Richard Edwards in St Vincent’s Hospital.  Around 3:30pm that same afternoon where, we presume, he was told not only that the sketch was a fake, but that Claudia’s death had not been accidental, but murder.’  Betts tapped his pen on his notebook.  ‘Maybe that’s why he wanted to speak to his solicitor, David Spencer, about Claudia’s life insurance policy.  After all, it’d been paid out, and if she had been murdered...’

‘
Mmm.  Sounds feasible,’ replied Fitzjohn.  ‘We’ll work on that premise and also that Claudia Rossi’s death was suspicious, unless we find out otherwise.’  Fitzjohn put his glasses on, smoothed down his wispy hair, and rose from his chair.  ‘I want to have another word with Aiden Maxwell.’  Fitzjohn slipped his suit coat on.  ‘But before we do, let’s talk to Charlotte Rossi again.  You never know, she might be able to add something to all this.’

Fitzjohn and Betts stepped in to Charlotte Rossi’s Double Bay bookshop later that same day.  Housed in a Federation style building, its atmosphere of old-world charm and clutter, blended with the smell of paper, leather and dust, lent a comfortable air.

‘H
ello, Chief Inspector,’ came a voice from the back of the shop.  Fitzjohn looked between the shelves to see Esme Timmons sitting at a desk in front of a computer screen, an enquiring look on her face.  ‘I expect you’re looking for Charlotte.’

‘We
are, Miss Timmons,’ answered Fitzjohn, making his way between the shelving to where Esme sat.

‘Well, you’ll be disappointed because she’s out
, and I’m not sure when she’ll be back.  I’m spending the day here, assisting Irene with some cataloging.  It keeps “the grey matter” alive. I don’t suppose you have news about my perfume bottle.’

‘Not yet, Miss
Timmons.’

‘
Oh, well, I’m glad you’ve dropped by anyway because there’s something I think you should see.  It concerns Claudia... and perhaps Michael.’  Esme opened her handbag and brought out the three letters that she and Charlotte had found in the bureau at the winery.  She handed them to Fitzjohn.  ‘As you can see, they’re letters all addressed to Claudia.’  Esme recounted the finding of the letters.  ‘They’re content is disturbing to say the least, Chief Inspector.  I think you’d describe them as poison pen letters.  I wondered if they might be what Michael was looking for when he came to see me on Friday evening, but I suppose we’ll never know for sure.’

Fitzjohn removed one of the letters from its envelope and ran his eyes over the text, each individual letter cut from what looked like magazine print.  ‘You’re right, Miss
Timmons, they are disturbing.’  While he studied the letter, Esme disclosed details of Claudia’s life that might prompt such prose.  At the same time, Phillipa Braithwaite’s words about Claudia’s, seemingly tumultuous relationship with Richard Edwards, came in to Fitzjohn’s thoughts.  ‘So, Claudia’s relationship with her partner, Richard Edwards, was strained at one point, Miss Timmons,’ Fitzjohn said at last.

‘Very much so, Chief Inspector.  Richard had a fancy woman during the time they were together.  I don’t know who she was.  Nobody did. 
It caused he and Claudia to separate for a time, but then they patched things up.   Or so I thought until these letters turned up.’  Esme sighed.  ‘Poor Claudia.  I only wish she’d told me.  What sort of a mind, do you suppose stoops so low as to concoct such rubbish.’

‘
A disturbed one, Miss Timmons.’  Fitzjohn put the letter back in to its envelope before looking at each of the three envelopes.  ‘Not handwritten, but, it would seem, hand delivered.  There aren’t any post marks.  I’ll take these with me if you don’t mind, Miss Timmons.  They may help us with our investigation.’

‘
I hope they do,’ said Esme.

‘Talking about Claudia, Miss
Timmons, can you tell me anything about a sketch that she owned?’

‘
The only sketch I know of is one by Arthur Brandt. It was left to Charlotte in her mother’s will.  Charlotte plans to sell it.’  Esme paused.  ‘Why do you ask?’

‘
Because it’s come to our attention that there’s a problem with it, Miss Timmons.’

‘I
know. When Charlotte and I were tidying up after the break-in, we found a report that Claudia had written concerning its provenance.  I don’t pretend to know anything about such matters, Chief Inspector, but I do know that it’s important, if one plans to sell a piece of art, that the provenance is intact, or there’s a legitimate reason why it isn’t.  And according to Claudia’s report, it’s obvious she had her doubts.’  Esme paused.  ‘I suppose even an expert can be fooled.  I wouldn’t be surprised if it does turn out to be a fake.  I mean, why else would Claudia be looking in to its provenance?’

‘Yo
u’re very perceptive, Miss Timmons, because we’ve reason to believe that that’s the case.  Do you know where the sketch is now?’

‘
It’s at my house in Waverton.  Charlotte brought it with her when she came to stay.  It had been at Michael’s before that.  She’d lent it to him because she doesn’t care for it. Too modern for her taste, I suspect.  I told her she could leave it in her mother’s study while she arranges for its sale.  Can I ask your particular interest in the sketch, Chief Inspector?  Is it because it’s a fake or does it have some connection to Michael’s death?’