Read Murder at the Rocks Online

Authors: Jill Paterson

Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #International Mystery & Crime, #Police Procedurals

Murder at the Rocks

BOOK: Murder at the Rocks
11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Murder At The Rocks

A Fitzjohn Mystery

 

 

 

 

 

By Jill Paterson

 

Murder At The Rocks

 

Copyright © 2011 Jill Paterson

Cover design:  Renee Barratt 
http://www.thecovercounts.com

 

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright holder.

 

ISBN 978-0-646-55834-9

 

Publisher:  Jill Henderson, Canberra, Australia

 

For Melissa, Ian and Mozart

 

Murder At The Rocks

A Fitzjohn Mystery

 

Featuring Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn, Murder At The Rocks, is the second book in the Fitzjohn Mystery Series.  A police officer of the old guard, Fitzjohn’s methodical, painstaking methods are viewed by some as archaic.  Nevertheless, over the years, they have brought him success as well as the respect of all but one of his colleagues; Superintendent Grieg, the man Fitzjohn regards as his nemesis.

In this latest story, Laurence Harford, a prominent businessman, is murdered in the historic Rocks area of Sydney and Fitzjohn, attending the grizzly scene, is inextricably drawn into the search for the killer.  In this spine chilling tale, his journey uncovers not only fraudulence and long buried secrets, but treachery under the cloak of war before the riddle is solved.

 

CHAPTER 1

 

 

Laurence Harford emerged from the building into the cold night air and lit the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.  Discarding the match, he exhaled, absently watching the smoke blend with the shadows in the dimly lit lane.  Moving slowly toward the stone archway and the street beyond, he stopped when a figure stepped into his path.  As their eyes met, Laurence’s heart pumped, a sense of recognition and fear registering in his brain.  Beads of sweat broke out across his brow, his cigarette fell to the wet flagstones and he lurched from the lane into the deserted street, the sound of uneven footsteps following behind.

 

Mapsom opened the door when Laurence arrived home.  His demeanour displayed all the attributes of an accomplished butler.  ‘Good evening, sir,’ he said in a distinctive English voice.

Laurence handed Mapsom his coat and, without a word, crossed the hall to his study, slamming the door behind him.  He did not feel the chill of the room as he took the top off the decanter and poured whisky into a glass, nor did he hear the door open behind him when he took a gulp.  He only felt the dampness of the lane in his mind and saw the face that haunted him.

‘You’re late.’  Laurence flew around at the words.

‘For what?’ he bellowed.

‘It’s Monday.  Remember?  We’re due at the charity dinner at eight.’

Laurence glared at his wife, her tall, slim figure accentuated by the electric blue gown she wore.  ‘You’ll have to go alone, Julia.  I have a matter to deal with this evening.’

‘You can’t just not go.  You’re expected.’

Laurence, his face contorted with rage, banged his glass down, its contents flying across the desk.  ‘I don’t give a damn if I’m expected.  I’ve got more important things to attend to.’

Julia tensed before a smirk crossed her face.  ‘Ah yes, of course.  Charlotte Holmes, no doubt.’  Laurence glowered at her.  ‘Don’t look so shocked, Laurence.  I’m not a complete fool, whatever you might think of me.  I know all about you and that poor misguided creature.  To tell you the truth, I’m surprised she’s lasted this long.  Your women usually realise much sooner what a contemptible bastard you really are.’


Get out
.’

Julia smiled.  ‘With pleasure.  Oh, but before I go, your late brother’s solicitor phoned earlier.  Andrew Pemlett, I think his name is.  He said Nicholas arrives back from South America tomorrow.’  Julia watched the colour drain from Laurence’s face.  ‘I thought you’d be pleased to hear that bit of news.’  She opened the door to leave as Laurence’s glass flew across the room and smashed against the wall.

 

CHAPTER 2

 

 

Tall and lean, his refined features enhanced by deep blue eyes, Nicholas Harford cut an imposing figure as he strolled through Terminal 4 of the Los Angeles International Airport for his flight to Sydney and the last leg of his long journey home.  Uppermost in his thoughts was his father, Edward Harford, and their estrangement which had led, in part, to his journey to South America.  The other reason for his year-long sojourn was his entanglement with Claire, the wife of a friend and colleague.  But it was the inevitability of being captured once again by Edward’s oppressive ways that had kept him away.  Only when Andrew Pemlett’s letter caught up with him in Ecuador with news of Edward’s ill health did Nicholas contemplate returning to Australia.

As the plane touched down at Mascot International Airport late Tuesday afternoon, a feeling of uneasiness gripped Nicholas.  He disembarked from the aircraft, aware it was time to confront that which he had run from.  A short time later, swinging his duffle bag onto his shoulder, he emerged from the customs hall and into the waiting crowd.

‘Nick.’

Jarred from his thoughts, Nicholas turned to see the portly figure of Andrew Pemlett, his father’s solicitor.  A man in his late fifties who exuded a serious nature tinged with a sense of humour, Pemlett stood rigid in Nicholas’s path, his expression one of strain.

‘Andrew, you got the email I sent from Los Angeles then.’

‘I did.’  Pemlett took Nicholas’s outstretched hand.  ‘I’m so pleased you’re back.  I take it you didn’t meet up with Piers LaSalle while you were in South America?’

‘Who?’

‘Piers LaSalle.  He’s the man your father hired to find you.  He left Sydney about six weeks ago.’

‘No.’  Nicholas frowned, pushing his hand through his unruly fair hair.  ‘I didn’t realise my father had gone to such lengths.’

‘He was desperate, poor man.’

‘You say was?’

Andrew Pemlett’s brow furrowed.  ‘There’s no easy way to put this, Nick.  Your father died three weeks ago after suffering a second heart attack.  I’m sorry.’  Nicholas tried to grasp Pemlett’s words.  ‘He’d gone down to Bowral for a few days to wait for news of you.  He knew he didn’t have much time left.’  Pemlett took an intake of breath.  ‘His body was found at the rear of the house, near the pond.  I believe by Mr Godwin.’

A chill crept through Nicholas and a sense of emptiness enfolded him.  In his mind, he pictured Gray’s Manor, the house his father kept in Bowral.  Set amongst gardens and a spring-fed pond at the rear, overhung by two giant willow trees, the house held conflicting memories.  Foremost of those being their last meeting there, one of anger and resentment over Nicholas’s refusal to take his place in Brayshaw’s Jewellers, the family firm.

Andrew Pemlett looked around.  ‘This is a most inappropriate place to talk.  Perhaps we can speak outside.’

The months in the warmth and isolation of Ecuador did not prepare Nicholas for the chill in the air as they walked out of the airport terminal and onto the concourse.  Nor did it prepare him for the glut of people and traffic.  He put his duffle bag down and looked at Pemlett, whose face betrayed his disquiet.

‘I had no idea Dad was ill until I received your letter, Andrew.  I’ve had no contact with him since I left Sydney a year ago.  I did write, albeit once, but he never replied.’  Nicholas fought back the tears that welled inside.  ‘I should have tried harder to keep in touch with him.’

‘We all do things we regret, Nick, and your father was no different.  He was a proud and stubborn man and, like you, he lived to regret his actions.  He did write to you toward the end.  Piers LaSalle has the letter.  You’ll not recognise the handwriting.  I understand, with his deteriorating health, he had to dictate it to Mr Godwin.  I’ll see you get it when Piers returns.’

‘Is there any way of letting him know that I’m back?’

‘It’s done.  I sent Piers an email as soon as I heard from you yesterday.  I imagine he’ll be back within the next twenty-four hours.’  Andrew Pemlett paused as they joined the end of the taxi queue.  ‘I think you should also know that your father’s last days were menaced in ways other than your absence.  I wouldn’t mention it, but I think under the circumstances, you should be forewarned.’

‘Why?  What happened?’

‘His brother Laurence caused your father much distress before his death.’

Nicholas’s thoughts went to Laurence Harford, a man he had had little to do with himself, but a person he knew to have been a constant disruption in his father’s life.  ‘That’s no surprise.  My father and Laurence despised each other.  For as long as I can remember.’

‘Yes, of that I’m well aware.’

‘What did Laurence do?’

‘He kept pressuring your father to sign a Power of Attorney.  Your father refused, of course.’  Andrew Pemlett shook his head.  ‘After your father passed away, Laurence came to see me about the will.  He wanted it read immediately.’  Pemlett’s eyebrows rose.  ‘He’s an intimidating man, Nick.  He wasn’t at all pleased when I informed him that, according to your father’s instructions, the will is to be read in your presence.  In fact, that’s one of the reasons I came to meet you.  I think the sooner it’s read, the better.  Would tomorrow morning at nine be convenient?’

‘Yes, that’s fine.’

‘Good.  I’ll telephone your uncle and let him know.’

Andrew Pemlett paused as they shuffled further along the queue.  ‘Oh, there’s one more thing.  Your father’s staff were dismissed a week after his death and the house in Mosman closed.’

‘Laurence’s handiwork, I take it.’

‘Yes, and without my consultation.  It’s regrettable because my instructions were that in the event of your father’s death, the staff was to remain until your return.  It’ll probably cause you an accommodation problem for the time being.  I understand you rented out your apartment when you left Sydney.’

‘I did, but it’s okay.  I’d planned to stay in town at the Sir Stamford, anyway.’

‘Oh good, well, in that case, we can share a taxi into the city.  As you’re probably aware, that hotel’s near my office on Phillip Street.’

‘What happened to the staff, Andrew?  They’ve all been with Dad for years.  It must have come as quite a shock to them.’

‘I’m sure it did, but don’t worry.  They’re all fine.  Mr Godwin retired and moved north to live with his sister in Newcastle, and Mrs Hadley, I understand, found another position.’

‘And Rutledge?’

‘He remains in his position as caretaker of Gray’s Manor.  Being in Bowral, he escaped the notice of your uncle, thank goodness.  His tenure, of course, is subject to decisions that will be made after your father’s will is read.’

As they climbed into the next available cab, Pemlett sat back and sighed.  ‘It grieves me to have been the bearer of such bad news, Nick.’

‘I appreciate all you’ve done, Andrew.  I’m only sorry you were left to deal with Laurence alone.’  Nicholas glanced across at Andrew Pemlett, a man whose acquaintance he had first made when just a small boy.  Nicholas realised that his father’s death had hit Andrew hard.  Understandable, he thought.  They had become friends over the thirty or so years that Andrew had managed Edward Harford’s legal matters.  ‘I should have been here.’  Nicholas slumped back into the seat, the shock of his father’s death receding just enough for him to realise the depth of his own grief.

 

CHAPTER 3

 

 

After a fitful sleep, Nicholas woke early on Wednesday morning, his mind filled with thoughts of his father and their tumultuous relationship.  His own uncompromising ways of dealing with their struggle filled him with regret, but now, of course, it was too late; he would have to live with his regrets.  Crawling out of bed, he stood for a time at the hotel window, watching, but not seeing, the dawn break over Sydney Harbour, a sense of loss flooding through him.

Eventually he roused himself to prepare for his appointment with Andrew Pemlett and his uncle, Laurence Harford.  His last image of Laurence was cloaked in the distant past.  A day of bewilderment and sadness for Nicholas.  The day of his mother’s funeral.  As a small boy, Laurence appeared to him as a towering, indomitable figure.  What impression would he have of him on this day?

Rummaging through his duffle bag, he pulled out a fresh pair of jeans and laid them out on the bed deciding that they had seen better days.  Searching further, he found a clean but crumpled shirt crammed into a side pocket.  Nicholas held the shirt up and groaned.  Half an hour later, smoothing out the creases, he scrutinised himself in the bathroom mirror.  ‘Mmm.  You’ll have to do.’  At that same moment, a knock sounded at the door.  He crossed the room and opened it to find a petite young woman, her long brunette hair and tight black dress lending an air of seduction.

BOOK: Murder at the Rocks
11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Guns Will Keep Us Together by Leslie Langtry
All Falls Down by Morgen, Ayden K.
01 - The Burning Shore by Robert Ear - (ebook by Undead)
Crossing the Deadline by Michael Shoulders
Muerte de la luz by George R.R. Martin
The Perfect Kill by Robert B. Baer
08 The Magician's Secret by Carolyn Keene