Murder at the Rocks (17 page)

‘Then there’s Wilson’s beret,’ said Betts.

‘Yes, a mystery in itself.’  Fitzjohn rubbed his chin.  ‘Something’s staring us in the face Betts.  What is it?’

CHAPTER 23

At home that evening, Fitzjohn sat back as he finished his solitary meal, thoughts of Edith and her incessant chatter about orchids coming to mind.  He smiled to himself as he got to his feet, carrying his plate and glass to the sink.  At that same moment, his mobile phone rang.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s Betts, sir.  I’m at Quay West Suites with Saunders.  Piers LaSalle arrived a few minutes ago.

‘I’ll be there shortly.’

Twenty minutes later, the door to Piers LaSalle’s suite opened and a slight man of medium height appeared.  Dressed in a silk smoking jacket of rich burgundy, he held a cigar in his left hand while his right rested on the jacket’s black velvet lapel.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Mr LaSalle?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn, this is Detective Sergeant Betts.  We’re from the New South Wales Police.  We’d like to ask you a few questions in relation to the death of Laurence Harford.’

Piers LaSalle hesitated.  ‘You’ve spoken to Howard Parish, I take it.’

‘We have.’

‘You’d better come in.’  With an air of self possession, LaSalle led the way into a spacious sitting room, the lights of the Harbour Bridge and Opera House visible through the plate glass windows that spanned the far end of the room.

‘Please, make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen.’  As Fitzjohn and Betts sat down, LaSalle settled himself into the remaining armchair.  He rested his cigar on an ashtray, his diamond encrusted cuff link visible as he did so.

‘You’ve proved most elusive, Mr LaSalle.’

LaSalle half smiled.  ‘Not my intention I assure you, Inspector.  I had business outside Sydney that I couldn’t avoid.  I had planned to call on Mr Parish this afternoon, but by the time I arrived back, it was far too late in the day.’

‘That won’t be necessary now.  Howard Parish has given a sworn statement as to what happened on the night Laurence Harford died.  What we need now is your account.’

‘Gladly, Inspector, gladly.’  LaSalle sat back and smoothed his moustache.

‘Why did you go to Brayshaw’s on the night Laurence Harford died, Mr LaSalle?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘Because Laurence Harford telephoned me late that afternoon and asked me to meet him there.’

‘And the reason?’

‘He wanted me to persuade Nicholas Harford to relinquish his controlling shares in the company.’

‘And did you agree to do so?’

LaSalle’s eyebrows rose.  ‘Good God, no.’

‘Was that what you and Laurence Harford were arguing about when Howard Parish arrived?’

‘Yes.’  Piers LaSalle shook his head.  ‘Harford was drunk when I arrived and far from being reasonable.’

‘How did you come to know him?’

‘I didn’t
know him
, as you put it.  But he was aware that his brother had hired me to find Nick Harford.  He’d approached me once before, prior to my leaving for South America.’

‘Why?’

‘He didn’t want me to find Nicholas.  Offered to pay me a tidy sum if I agreed.’

‘But my understanding is that you didn’t find Dr Harford, Mr LaSalle.’

‘No, I didn’t, but not for the want of trying.’  Piers paused.  ‘And if your next question is, did I accept the tidy sum, the answer is no.  Laurence Harford was a blight on decent society, Inspector.’

‘Why do you think Laurence Harford made you that offer?’

‘I imagine because he had his sights set on his brother’s estate.  I can’t see any other reason.’

‘You weren’t tempted to accept his offer even for a moment?’

LaSalle glared at Fitzjohn.  ‘No.’

‘That’s very altruistic of you, Mr LaSalle.’

LaSalle bristled at the suggestion.  ‘Not at all, Inspector.  I’m just particular with whom I associate.  I don’t like getting my hands grubby.’

Fitzjohn and Betts listened as LaSalle recounted the events of Wednesday evening.  It matched Howard Parish’s except for LaSalle’s attempt to close the back door of the premises.

‘When you went down to close the back door that night, Mr LaSalle, did you notice anyone outside in the laneway?’

‘No.  But then I can’t say that I looked.  I just tried to get the door closed.  I had a bit of trouble with it.’

‘How long did it take you, do you think?’

‘I don’t recall.  A few minutes, perhaps.  If you’re suggesting I was there long enough to kill Laurence Harford, Inspector, you’re mistaken.’

Fitzjohn remained silent for a moment as he tried to fathom the man who sat before him.  Self possessed, yes, and with all the decorum of a man who had just stepped out of the 19
^th
century.  But even so, one who may have committed a most brutal murder.

‘Tell me, Mr LaSalle, did you see anyone when you and Mr Parish left Brayshaw’s building by the front entrance?’

‘No, although I remember sensing that there was someone in the laneway when we passed by on our way to Howard Parish’s car.’  LaSalle shook his head.  ‘I put it down to my anxiety at play.  I’m not accustomed to arguing with people.  I found my altercation with Laurence Harford disturbing, to say the least.’

‘What time was it when you left the building?’

‘Around eight o’clock, I think.’

Piers LaSalle picked up his cigar, put it to his lips and drew in before watching the smoke curl into the air around him.

‘So, you returned to Quay West Suites accompanied by Howard Parish.’

‘Yes.’

‘Mr Parish informs us that you received a visitor not long after you arrived.’

LaSalle took the cigar from his mouth.  ‘Oh, yes.  Ellen Ashworth.  It completely slipped my mind, Inspector.  Ms Ashworth had been Edward Harford’s nurse.’

‘So we understand.  What business did she have with you?’

‘She came by to return some personal papers that I’d left with Edward Harford.  My Curriculum Vitae and the like.’

‘Have you seen her since?’

‘No.’

‘Very well.  I just have one more question.  Are you aware of a letter Edward Harford wrote to his son Nicholas before he died?’

‘Yes.  It was my task to deliver the letter to Dr Harford in South America.’

‘Do you know what the letter said?’

‘No, I was hired to find Nicholas Harford and to deliver the letter.  I wasn’t privy to its contents.’

‘So you’re unaware that it spoke of a deterrent which it was hoped would prevent Laurence Harford from contesting his brother’s will.’

‘I wasn’t at the time, but I’ve since learned of it from Nicholas Harford.’  Piers LaSalle drew on his cigar again before his small brown eyes locked onto Fitzjohn’s.  ‘Will there be anything further Inspector?’

‘Not for the time being, Mr LaSalle, but we do require you to be available should we wish to question you again.’

Late that same evening, Fitzjohn sat at his desk going over in his mind his interview with LaSalle, something about the man gnawing at the fringes of his thoughts.  At that same moment, Betts walked into the room and sat down in front of Fitzjohn’s desk.  ‘Piers LaSalle is an odd sort of bloke, sir.’

Tired from his day, Fitzjohn leaned back in his chair and stretched.  ‘Mmm.  He does have an air of opulence about him, doesn’t he?  Very astute though.  I get the feeling you wouldn’t get much past him.’  Fitzjohn rubbed his chin.  ‘The reason he gives for going to see Laurence Harford sounds plausible enough, but I don’t believe him.  He’s nobody’s errand boy.  He went there for another reason, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it had something to do with that deterrent mentioned in the letter.  I’m also wondering if Ellen Ashworth’s involved.  I can’t believe she turned up at Quay West on Wednesday night to return his personal papers.  She could have put them in the post.’

‘He did seem taken aback when you mentioned her name, sir.’

‘You noticed that too?  Obviously he didn’t realise Howard Parish saw her, let alone knew who she was.’

‘It’s Laurence Harford’s funeral tomorrow, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘We’ll attend, and if the opportunity presents itself Betts, have a word with the butler, Mr Mapsom.  See if he knows anything about LaSalle.’

CHAPTER 24

Fitzjohn watched those gathered at Laurence Harford’s graveside that bleak July morning, a sense of foreboding hanging in the air.  All knew that his killer remained free and perhaps among them.  Dr Harford stood next to his aunt, Julia Harford, her tall elegant figure cloaked in black, her face hidden under a veil that fell to her shoulders.  She remained motionless, and Fitzjohn suspected, dry eyed as the Minister spoke of Laurence’s endearing qualities, his tireless efforts for the charities he supported, and his honourable war service.  As the eulogy ended, and those assembled dispersed, Fitzjohn watched as Nicholas Harford moved away from the graveside to stand on the grass verge next to him.

‘Good morning, Inspector.’

‘Morning, Dr Harford.’  Nicholas looked over to the car where Mapsom stood deep in conversation with Sergeant Betts.  Fitzjohn did not offer an explanation, instead, following Nicholas Harford’s gaze as it went to a man standing some distance away at the low stone wall boundary of the cemetery.  Fitzjohn looked over at Mapsom whose attention was also taken by the man.  As he did so, the man started to walk with an awkward gait toward the tall bronze gates at the entrance.

‘Is there a problem, Doctor?’

‘I’m not sure, Inspector.  I could swear I’ve seen that man before, outside Brayshaw’s.  Seems odd that he should be here.’

‘Unless he knew your uncle.’

‘That’s conceivable, but I doubt they were friends.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘He was at Brayshaw’s last Wednesday afternoon when I went to see Laurence.  My uncle was obviously disturbed by his presence.  Although it could have been because he appeared to be a vagrant.  I doubt Laurence had much empathy for anyone who had fallen on hard times.’

‘Perhaps Mr Mapsom knows who he is.’  Fitzjohn and Nicholas walked over to the car where Mapsom still stood with Betts.

‘Morning, Mr Mapsom.’

‘Good morning, Inspector.’

‘Dr Harford and I just wondered whether you have ever seen that man over by the gate before.’

‘Yes I have.  He’s been outside Brayshaw’s on a number of occasions when I’ve arrived to pick up Mr Harford.’

‘Did my uncle know him, Mapsom?’

‘He never acknowledged him so I didn’t think so at the time, but it is strange to see him here.’

At that moment, Julia Harford appeared and cast her eye around the group.  ‘Is something the matter?’

‘It would seem we have an uninvited guest, Mrs Harford,’ said Fitzjohn.

Julia Harford’s looked toward the gates.  ‘I daresay a reporter.’  She glanced to a huddle of media grouped together, their cameras turning to her now the service was over.  Her eyes narrowed as she looked at them in distain.

‘I don’t think so, Madam,’ said Mapsom.  ‘I’ve seen him before outside Brayshaw’s.’

‘Oh?’  Julia Harford looked to Fitzjohn.  ‘What should we do, Inspector?’

‘We’ll have a word to Mr Parish and if he does turn up at Brayshaw’s again, I’ll have someone speak to him.’

Moments later Fitzjohn and Betts watched as Julia Harford, accompanied by her nephew, and followed by a string of reporters, climbed into their car, the sound of cameras filling the air.  Once inside, she could be seen sitting back against the seat keeping the veil over her face as the car moved off.

Fitzjohn and Betts made their way back to their car parked just outside the Old South Road Cemetery.  ‘How did you get on with Mr Mapsom, Betts?’

‘He said he drove Laurence Harford to Quay West Suites about three months ago for a meeting with a man by the name of LaSalle, and he also said that Laurence Harford was particularly agitated when he left.’

‘Mmm.  That could have been when Laurence Harford, as LaSalle claims, tried to bribe him not to find Nicholas Harford.’

‘There is something else, sir.  Mr Mapsom said he saw Piers LaSalle last Friday while he was attending an auction with Julia Harford.  LaSalle arrived when the bidding for the paintings started.’

‘That’s odd.  He’s been absent from Quay West all week and yet he’s been here in Sydney at an auction?’  Fitzjohn paused.  ‘How did Mr Mapsom know it was LaSalle?’

‘He said he was in the foyer of Quay West Suites when LaSalle and Harford met that night.  Important do you think, sir?’

‘It’s hard to say.’  They reached the car as the first drops of rain started to fall.  ‘We could question him about it, but I doubt we’d get a straight answer.  Let’s try Ellen Ashworth again instead.’

‘Yes, sir.’

While Betts turned the ignition and pulled away from the curb, Fitzjohn looked back through the tall bronze gates, thoughts of the day he had buried Edith coming to mind.  On just such a day, he thought.  Overcast with showers.

CHAPTER 25

As their car turned into Ernest Street, Fitzjohn peered out of the side window.  ‘It’s the next block of flats, sir.’  Betts pulled over to the curb and moments later, they made their way through the garden marking the boundary of the property to the parking area underneath the building.  A glass door led into a small lobby where Fitzjohn looked at the list of tenants displayed on the wall, and groaned before starting up the stairs.  When they reached the third landing, he stopped for a moment.  As he did so, a door to his left opened and a woman in her mid-fifties appeared.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Just making our way to the fourth floor, Madam,’ said Fitzjohn.’

A hint of a smile crossed the woman’s face as she looked Fitzjohn up and down.  ‘Nothing like stairs to keep you fit, is there?’

Fitzjohn grimaced and continued on, sensing the woman’s eyes following him.  As they reached the fourth landing, he took several deep breaths, adjusted his glasses and knocked on number twelve.  Moments later, the door opened and Ellen Ashworth appeared, a surprised look coming to her face.