Murder at the Rocks (11 page)

‘Oh?’

‘Yes.  He said he saw a woman with shoulder length blonde hair speaking to a man who he described as being of medium height, with a stocky build, and dark hair.  He also said that he thinks it could have been Eric Holmes, although with it being fairly dark at the time, he wasn’t sure.’

Fitzjohn looked at Betts.  ‘Were you able to check out Holmes’s story, Betts?’

‘Yes, sir.  The publican and his wife both remember seeing Holmes last evening.  He arrived about six, had one drink and left.  The publican’s wife said he seemed a bit agitated.  Not his usual friendly self.’

‘Mmm.  I wonder if he was agitated enough to return to Brayshaw’s.’

‘And kill Laurence Harford.’

‘Yes,’ replied Fitzjohn.

‘Has Charles Conroy determined how Laurence Harford died, sir?’

‘Not conclusively.  Whether the fall down the stairs and/or Dr Harford’s assault on him contributed to his death is still to be determined.  He was alive when he was stabbed in the chest, however.’  Saunders winced.  ‘Hopefully unconscious.’

The five men sat in silence for a moment or two before Fitzjohn continued.  ‘That army beret, Betts.  I don’t know quite how we’re going to tackle finding its original owner.’

‘I’ve been giving that some thought, sir.  Laurence Harford was a prolific collector of military memorabilia.  I think there’s a good chance he did service.  If so, we might find something.’

‘Well, it’s as good a place to start as any.  Have a word with his wife, Betts.’  Fitzjohn paused.  ‘It may lead to nothing, but I don’t want to leave anything to chance.  And then there are those bank statements.  I had them looked over.  It seems that Edward Harford withdrew a certain amount of money each month and the payee was Laurence Harford.’

‘Blackmail, sir?’ asked Williams.

‘It’s a possibility, but would you blackmail your own brother?’

‘I don’t have a brother, sir.’  Saunders snickered.  Fitzjohn ignored Williams’s dry humour.

‘Julia Harford did say there was a rift between the two brothers,’ put in Betts.

‘I know, but blackmail seems extreme, although, anything’s possible.’  Fitzjohn looked around at the four younger men.  ‘The older you get the more cynical you’ll all become, believe me.’  He glanced at his watch.  ‘It’s getting late.  I think we’ll call it a day.’

‘What about Thomas Bentham, sir?’ asked Betts.

‘I’ll see to Mr Bentham first thing in the morning.’

Fitzjohn remained after Betts and the other officers left, lingering as he usually did at the end of each day.  It served to minimise the length of time he had to spend at home alone.  A time when thoughts of Edith and their life together crept into his thoughts, magnifying how much he missed her.  He rose from his chair and went to the window where he looked down onto the street below, deserted for the most part, its wet pavement glistening under the street lights.

‘Alistair?’  Fitzjohn turned to see Reginald Fellowes in the doorway.  ‘I thought you’d still be here.  How did you get on today?’  Fitzjohn walked back to his desk and gestured for Fellowes to sit down.

‘Well, the exact cause of Laurence Harford’s death has still to be determined, sir.’

‘Oh?  Why the hold up?’

Because other than sustaining several knife wounds to the chest and a fall down a flight of stairs, Laurence Harford had also been physically attacked that afternoon.’

‘But a suspicious death nonetheless.’

‘Definitely.’

‘Any thoughts as to the reason for the killing?’

‘Several as it turns out.’

‘It seems Laurence Harford planned to contest his brother’s will, and if successful, disinheriting his nephew.  There’s also a matter of his affair with the wife of one of Brayshaw’s employees.’  Fellowes eyebrows rose as Fitzjohn recounted the day’s events.

When he had finished, Fellowes shook his head.  ‘Try to keep the more sordid details out of the media, Alistair.’

‘I’ll do what I can, sir.’

‘What about the military beret you mentioned?  Significant do you think?’

‘It could be, but there again perhaps not.  We found the walls of Harford’s office covered with war time memorabilia.’  Fitzjohn’s disapproval sounded in his voice.  ‘The beret may just be something he bought from another collector.  Even so, we’ll check it out.’  Fitzjohn hesitated.  ‘There is something else you should know, sir.’

‘Oh?’

‘When I spoke to Julia Harford, Laurence Harford’s wife, she refused to say who she was with at the time of her husband’s death.  ‘I’ve since learned that she left the Shangri-la Hotel with Mr Thomas Bentham, QC, around 8pm.’

Fellowes’s face dropped.  ‘Damn, I feared something like this would happen.  The first whiff of scandal concerning people like Bentham, and the newspapers will be on to it if they’re given half the chance.  Have a word with Mr Bentham as soon as you can, Alistair.’  Fitzjohn did not reply.  ‘I know what you’re thinking.  In the past, I would have suggested myself or the Assistant Commissioner take care of the matter, but now…’

In the face of his imminent retirement, Fitzjohn sensed a shift in Fellowes approach to his work and smiled to himself.  ‘I’ll speak to him first thing in the morning, sir.’

‘I knew I could depend on you, Alistair.’

It was after midnight when Fitzjohn emerged from the station into Day Street and hurried to the waiting taxi.  Fifteen minutes later, it pulled up in front of his sandstone cottage in Birchgrove.  After paying the driver and collecting the mail from the box at the gate, he juggled with the letters and his briefcase while trying to insert his door key into the lock.  Stepping inside to the reassuring sound of the ticking clock on the mantelpiece in the living room, Fitzjohn tossed the letters onto the hall table along with his briefcase.  It was then he noticed the pale green envelope exhibiting his sister Meg’s writing.  Fitzjohn groaned choosing to ignore her letter until the next morning.  Instead, he made his way through the house and out into the garden and the greenhouse.  With the full moon casting shadows across the rows of orchids and feeling the warmth the sun had generated on the glass throughout the day, he turned on the CD player.  The first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, with its haunting whisper, filled the air while Fitzjohn made slow progress along the rows.  He tended to each plant as he went, the body of the man in the lane that morning, and the events that followed during the day, slipping from his mind.

CHAPTER 14

Nicholas arrived in Newcastle early on Friday morning entering Hubert Godwin’s new address into his GPS as he left the freeway.  Twenty minutes later, he found himself on a quiet tree-lined street pulling up in front of a free standing, two story, terrace house, hidden behind a white painted brick wall.  After opening the gate, he entered the neat garden and stepped up to the front door where he rang the bell and waited.  When the door opened, an elderly woman appeared, her short, silver grey hair framing a round chubby face.

‘May I help you?’

Nicholas smiled.  ‘Miss Godwin?’

‘Yes.  I’m Irene Godwin.’

‘I’m Nicholas Harford, Miss Godwin.  I’ve come to see your brother.  I understand he’s living here now.’

The woman’s face lit up, her small blue eyes sparkling.  ‘You must be Edward Harford’s son.  I’ve heard so much about you over the years from Hubert.  Come in Dr Harford.’

Nicholas stepped inside and closed the door while Irene Godwin continued talking.  ‘I was so very sorry to hear of your father’s death.  It upset Hubert so.  As you know, he spent most of his working life in your father’s employ.’  A smile came to her face.  ‘He will be very pleased to see you.  Come through.’  Nicholas followed Irene Godwin into a small living room adjacent to the front entrance.

‘Hubert, look who’s here.’

Hubert Godwin, who sat in one of two armchairs in the room, looked around when he heard his sister’s voice.  Removing the pipe from his mouth, he got to his feet.  ‘Nick,’

Nicholas looked into the familiar face of Hubert Godwin, a man who had dedicated a large part of his life to his father’s care.  ‘Mr Godwin.’  Nicholas crossed the room and took Hubert Godwin’s hand.

‘My goodness, it’s good to see you, lad.  It’s been a long time.’  Godwin gestured for Nicholas to sit down before looking across to his sister.

‘I’ll bring in some tea, Hubert.’

‘Thank you, my dear.’  Irene Godwin left the room and Hubert sat down again, placing his pipe on a small round table next to his chair.

‘I’m glad you came by, Nick.  Other than the fact I want to convey my condolences in regards to your father, I’ve been reading in the newspaper about your uncle’s death.  It says he’s been murdered.’

‘That right.  In fact that, and the precarious situation I now find myself in, is part of the reason I came to see you, Mr Godwin.’  Nicholas settled himself into a chair.

‘What do you mean “precarious”?’

‘Well, as it turns out, I was at Brayshaw’s meeting with Laurence not long before he was murdered.  And to make matters worse, we argued.’

‘Do the police know this?’ asked Godwin.

‘Yes.’

‘That’s unfortunate because they wouldn’t have a clue about Mr Laurence’s temperament.  I think avoiding arguing with him was almost impossible.  I’m sure your father found that to be the case anyway.’

‘I understand you assisted Dad to write a letter to me just before he died.’

‘Yes, I did.  He tried to write it himself, but found it too difficult at the time.’

‘You’re aware then that he passed control of Brayshaw’s to me.’

‘Oh, yes.  And it didn’t surprise me in the least.’  Godwin paused.  ‘Is that what you and Mr Laurence argued about?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mmm, I thought he’d be less than pleased.’

‘To say the least.  In fact that’s why I decided to talk to him.  I hoped we could come to some sort of amicable arrangement about the company, but he made it clear from the outset that as far as he was concerned, there was only one thing to be done.  Hand him my shares or he’d contest the will.’

At that moment, the living room door opened and Irene Godwin reappeared with a tea tray.  Nicholas stood up and took the tray placing it on a small table between the two chairs.  ‘I’ll leave you to serve yourselves,’ she said, smiling.

As she bustled out of the room, Godwin poured the steaming brew into the two cups on the tray and passed one to Nicholas before sitting back again into his chair.

‘Are the police aware your uncle threatened to contest the will?’

‘Apparently.’

‘Mmm.  Then I see what you mean now about being in a precarious situation.  In their jargon it gives you motive.’  Godwin picked up his cup and sipped the steaming brew.

‘Do you have any idea what Dad meant in his letter about a deterrent?’

‘No, he never spoke of it or the reason, although I heard him on the phone to his brother one night.  I wasn’t in the habit of listening to your father’s telephone conversations, but it was difficult not to on this particular occasion.’

‘Why?’

‘Because, your father was in such a rage, threatening to have Mr Laurence exposed if he so much as attempted to contest his will.  Unfortunately, he didn’t say what he was threatening him with, but he did say it would see your uncle in gaol.’

Godwin hesitated.  ‘Have you shown the letter to the police?’

‘No.  I wanted to speak to you first.’

‘Well, my advice is to show the letter to them.  If you don’t, the police may see your action as withholding evidence because the letter’s very contents may have something to do with your uncle’s death.’

‘I see what you mean.  Do you know when the trouble between Dad and Laurence started, Mr Godwin?’  Nicholas took a sip of his tea while Godwin reached for his pipe, mulling over the question.

‘Oh, it’s all so long ago and my memory isn’t what it used to be,’ he said, at last.  ‘Let’s see, I went to work for your father in the autumn of 1974.  You would have been almost three at the time.  I don’t remember your father and his brother being particularly close at the time, but even so, Laurence and his wife did come to the house on occasion.  Your Aunt Julia came more often as I remember.  She and your mother were friends and, of course, she doted over you, not having any children of her own.’  Godwin put the pipe into his mouth and lit a match before drawing on it.  ‘As to when that all changed, I believe it was not long after you went away to school.  In fact, now I come to think of it, it was just after your mother died.’  Godwin sighed.  ‘That was such a tragedy.  I don’t think your father ever recovered from it.’

‘Yes.  I’m only just beginning to realise what he must have gone through.  I didn’t know what really happened to Mum until I spoke to Aunt Julia yesterday.’

‘Well, that doesn’t surprise me.  Your father never spoke a word about it.’

‘Do you know what caused the rift between Dad and Laurence?’

‘No.’  Godwin paused.  ‘I’m sorry, Nick.  I’m not much help, am I?’

‘It’s all right, Mr Godwin.  I know my father was a very private man.  He would have done everything he could to make sure no one knew.  There is something else you might be able to help me with, though.  Ellen Ashworth came to see me the other day.  She said she’d nursed Dad during his last few months.’

Godwin’s face lit up.  ‘Ah, yes.  A lovely girl, I thought.  She really brightened up the house.  And capable too.  She knew how to manage your father.  As you can imagine, he wasn’t an easy patient.’

‘She intimated as much.  She brought this with her.’  Nicholas took the green velvet jewellery case from his inside coat pocket and opened it.  ‘Have you ever seen this locket before, Mr Godwin?’

Godwin put his pipe down and took the open case, lifting the locket from its place.  As he turned it over in his hand he said, ‘No, I can’t say I have, although it seems familiar in some way.’  Godwin continued to study the locket.  ‘The choice of stones and their placement seems familiar somehow.’  He looked down at the case on his lap, his fingers going over the indentation where the key should have been.  ‘Perhaps I’ve seen the key that’s missing, but I’ll be damned if I can think where.’