Murder at the Rocks (19 page)

‘Nick.  Seems we both had the same idea.  I came to talk to Howard about my future role in the company.  I can see that it’s going to be a steep learning curve, but I’m not put off.  In fact, I’m looking forward to it.’

‘That’s good.’  Nicholas paused.  ‘Did Howard mention to you that the police are having the auditors come in?’

‘Yes, but he didn’t say why.  What’s it all about?’

‘Well, apparently, Howard claims that Laurence was siphoning varying amounts of money from the company and forcing him to cover up the losses.’

A horrified look came to Julia’s face.  ‘Do you believe Howard’s telling the truth?’

‘I want to, but I must admit, I am struggling with it.’

‘That’s understandable, but if it helps at all, I can assure you that Laurence was more than capable of such an act.  And it does provide an explanation for something I found out about Laurence this morning.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes,’ said Julia.  ‘I went to see Laurence’s solicitor about probate and he told me that Laurence’s bank accounts have substantial amounts of money in them, not to mention investments I didn’t know about.’

‘Is that so unusual?’

‘Yes, it is.  You see, the only cash flow Laurence had was from his salary.  And as generous as that might have been, I’m sure it wasn’t enough to fund what he seems to have been involved in.  He’d invested heavily in a number of apartment buildings.  Difficult to do for someone with little to invest.’  Julia shook her head.  ‘God only knows what he was mixed up in.’

‘I think you’d better talk to Chief Inspector Fitzjohn.  It could have something to do with his death,’ said Nicholas.

As Julia left, Nicholas climbed the stairs, wondering as he did so how he was going to handle his meeting with Howard Parish.  He liked Howard, and as he had told Chief Inspector Fitzjohn, he trusted his father’s judgment of the man, but one could always be mistaken where human nature is concerned.  Even his father, he suspected.  He found Howard at his desk, a contemplative look on his face.  He looked up when Nicholas knocked.

‘Nick, please, come in.’  Nicholas undid the zipper of his jacket and sat down.  ‘Has Chief Inspector Fitzjohn spoken to you by any chance about...?’

‘About Laurence forcing you to alter the books?  Yes, he did.’

An awkward silence ensued before Howard said, ‘All I can say is I’m telling the truth.  Of course, I regret my actions, but at the time... well, what can I say... I don’t like to make excuses for myself, but your uncle was an intimidating man.  The threat of being accused of embezzlement...’  Howard Parish shook his head.  ‘I can understand if you wish me to leave.’

Sensing his anguish, Nicholas held up his hand.  ‘No, Howard, I don’t want you to leave.’  Nicholas sighed as he tried to find the right words.  ‘This is a difficult situation for both of us, but I think the best thing we can do for now, is to carry on.’

Howard Parish’s torso relaxed into his chair, relief showing on his face.  ‘I don’t know what to say.’  He took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.

‘I’m afraid Laurence left a legacy of doubt and misconception for all of us,’ said Nicholas.  ‘As well as a couple of unanswered questions.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Why Dad and Laurence loathed each other for one thing.’

‘I’ve often wondered about that myself because it wasn’t just that they irritated each other.  There was genuine hatred there,’ said Howard, putting his handkerchief away.  ‘The very fact came out in all their dealings.’

‘So I gather.’

‘What was the other unanswered question?’ asked Howard.

‘About my mother’s death.  I’ve only just learnt from my aunt that mum died on these premises.’

‘So I understand but, of course, I can’t help you with the details.  Eric may be able to though.  I’m sure he was working here at the time.  He’s in today, by the way.  I told him what you said about his coming back to work and he’s happy to carry on.’

‘Yes.  I saw him downstairs with a customer when I arrived.  I’ll call in and see him on my way out.’

Nicholas left Howard Parish half an hour later, and made his way down to the jewellery shop where he found Eric Holmes behind the counter in conversation with his assistant.  He looked over when the bell on the old door jingled.

‘Eric,’ said Nicholas.  ‘I’m glad to see you back.’  Eric Holmes took Nicholas’s outstretched hand, smiling slightly.

‘I’m glad to be back, Nick.  Come through to my office.’  Nicholas followed Eric into the small windowless room, a hint of stale cigarettes in the air.  ‘Please, take a seat.’  Nicholas settled himself as Eric sat down behind his desk.

‘As I said, Eric, I’m glad you’re back.  God knows Mrs Harford and I will need your experience and expertise if we’re going to make a go of this venture.’  Nicholas noted Eric Holmes’s subdued manner.  ‘I know things have been difficult in the past, and now with this police investigation, it can’t be easy.’

‘Well, that shouldn’t last too much longer,’ said Eric, repositioning a pile of papers on the desk in front of him.  ‘I want to thank you, Nick.  I don’t know what I’d have done if I’d lost my job.  I’ve worked here for so many years.’

Nicholas felt instant empathy for Eric.  ‘So I understand, in fact, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to speak to you.  I understand you were with Brayshaw’s at the time my mother died.’

‘Yes, I was.’  Eric frowned.  ‘A very sad day.’

‘Can you tell me exactly what you remember of that day, Eric?’  Nicholas noted Eric’s surprised look.  ‘It’s just that I’ve only just learned what really happened to my mother.’

‘Oh, I see.  Well, I didn’t actually see your mother fall, but I do remember that she’d called into the shop minutes before.  She came in to have one of her rings resized.’  Eric thought for a moment.  ‘Strange the things you remember.  Anyway, after she left the shop, I heard a loud noise and ran out into the foyer.’  Eric took a breath and fell silent as if reliving the experience.  ‘Your mother was lying at the base of the stairs.’

‘Where was my father at the time?’

‘On the landing.  I don’t think he could move from the shock, poor man.’

‘And Laurence?’

‘I didn’t see Laurence.’

Nicholas left Brayshaw’s a short time later, grappling with Eric’s explanation of the circumstances surrounding his mother’s death.  Passing the base of the staircase, he shivered, his thoughts going to his father and the trauma he must have suffered on that day.  Was that the reason he had cut off all ties with family members, and only allowed himself minimal contact with me, Nicholas thought?  Did he blame himself for her death?

Feeling an urge to escape, Nicholas returned to Mosman, staying only long enough to pick up the car before leaving again.  This time he made his way across the Spit Bridge and onto Pittwater Road, a mixture of sadness and disappointment flooding his thoughts.  At Collaroy, he parked the car, and pulling his collar up against the cold sou’westerly wind, he walked down onto the beach.  Deserted, but for a bunch of seagulls huddled together on the sand, their attempts at flight marred by the howling gale, Nicholas became mesmerised by the sea, its choppy, uneven swell crashing onto shore before being dragged back.  Wasn’t that what was happening to him?  Being dragged back to where his family’s secrets lie.

It was early evening when he returned home, his mind a myriad of thoughts.  Perhaps that is why he did not notice the sports car parked in the laneway or movement at the back gate.  He waited for the garage door to open and then drove in.  It was then, as he cast his eyes into the rear vision mirror, that he saw a figure standing behind the car.  Warily, Nicholas climbed out and peered into the dim light.

‘Nick?’

‘Matt?  Nicholas felt his body relax.  ‘I thought... What are you doing here?’

‘It’s Claire’s, she’s... dead.’

‘What!’  Nicholas slammed the car door and walked over to where Mathew Howell stood, his body swaying, the smell of alcohol surrounding him.  It was then he saw Matthew’s car.  ‘You drove here?’  Unsteady on his feet, Matthew nodded.  ‘I think you’d better come into the house.’  Nicholas closed the garage door and led the way.

The following morning, Nicholas sat at the kitchen table, his eyes riveted to the front page of the morning newspaper.  A shiver went down his spine as he looked, in disbelief, at the tangled wreckage of Claire Howell’s car.  When the kitchen door opened and Matthew appeared, Nicholas got to his feet.

‘Sit down, Matt.’  Nicholas pulled out a chair.  ‘I’ll get you some coffee.’

Matthew slumped into a chair running his hands through his hair, his bloodshot eyes going to the paper.  ‘She went up to the central coast to a party with some friends.  I feel somehow responsible.  If I hadn’t left her, she might still be alive.’

‘You’re not responsible.  It might have happened anyway.  You know Claire...’

‘Yes, I know.  She liked a good time.  Too much of a good time.’  Then he added, ‘I’m sorry for going off at you the other day, Nick.’

Nicholas put his hand on Matthew’s shoulder as he handed him the steaming brew.

CHAPTER 28

Betts arrived at Fitzjohn’s home in Birchgrove the next morning and inspected the offending tree before making his way into the house where he found his boss admiring an orchid plant on the table in the kitchen.  Fitzjohn looked around as Betts came through the back door.

‘Good morning, Betts.’

‘Morning, sir.  I see the tree is still standing.’

‘Yes and will remain so, according to the Council.’  Fitzjohn chuckled.  ‘Perhaps a few plumbing bills will change their minds.’

Betts glanced at the plant on the table.  ‘Orchid Society meeting this evening, I take it.’

‘If time permits, and if it does, I’ve decided to bench this Cyperorchis elegans in our monthly competition.’  I’ll take it into the station.  It’ll save me coming home to collect it later.’  Fitzjohn stood back.  ‘Magnificent species don’t you think?’

With an amused look, Betts said, ‘Yes, it is, sir.  I don’t doubt you’ll win.’

‘Well that remains to be seen.  Competition’s fierce.’  Fitzjohn picked up the orchid and handed it to Betts before pulling on his suit coat.  ‘Any good news?  I could do with some after the tree fiasco.’

‘There is in regards to Laurence Harford, sir.  Apparently, he was involved in the refurbishment of several apartment buildings in various parts of Sydney that were subsequently sold off to investors.’

‘Well, that would explain the money coming into his account,’ said Fitzjohn.

‘Yes, and there’s something else.  His investment partner is Michael Wycliffe.’

‘Wycliffe?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mmm.  I wonder why he didn’t mention this involvement with Laurence Harford when Carruthers spoke to him.’

‘Considering the circumstances, he probably thought the less we knew about it the better.’

‘Well, he’d be right.  He’s of far more interest now.  We’ll speak to him, Betts, but not until we’ve looked into their joint investments.’

‘What about the man at the funeral yesterday?’ asked Fitzjohn as he gathered together a pile of papers on the kitchen table and put them into his briefcase.

‘Howard Parish seems to think he’s a vagrant seeking a bit of shelter.  He said he first noticed him about three weeks ago.’

‘Well, I doubt that’s the case.  Not since he turned up at the funeral.  I think it suggests something more sinister, don’t you?’

‘Yes and that’s why I asked Mr Parish to contact me if he reappears.’

‘Good.’

Fitzjohn picked up his briefcase and, followed by Betts, made his way out of the house to the waiting car.  Inside, he settled himself into his seat before taking the orchid.  ‘Had any luck finding Neville Price?’ he asked as Betts got into the car.

‘We have found a Neville Price, sir, but whether he’s the Price we’re looking for remains to be seen.  He lives in Strathfield with his sister.’

‘Well, let’s go and find out.’

They reached Strathfield half an hour later.  Betts pulled over to the curb.  ‘This is it, sir.’

Fitzjohn cast an eye out of the car window.  A five tier ornamental fountain, devoid of water, stood in the midst of a neglected garden.  Beyond it a small, red brick bungalow, its paintwork peeling under a terracotta roof covered in lichen.  Moments later, they strode along the driveway to the front porch where Betts rang the bell.  The door opened and a woman of medium height in her late fifties appeared, self consciously smoothing a few wisps of her short curly grey hair back into place.  ‘Can I help you?’

‘Miss Price?’

Elizabeth Price looked at Fitzjohn through narrowed eyes.  ‘Yes.’

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn, this is Detective Sergeant Betts.  We’re from New South Wales Police.’  Fitzjohn held up his warrant card.  ‘We’d like to have a word with your brother, Neville Price.’

‘Neville?  What do you want with him?’

‘It’s in relation to an investigation we’re conducting,’ answered Fitzjohn, ‘is he in?’

‘He is, but is it altogether necessary that you speak to him today, Inspector?  He’s not at all well.’  Fitzjohn did not reply.  ‘What sort of investigation is it?’

‘A suspicious death, madam.’

Elizabeth Price grimaced.  ‘You mean murder?’

At that moment a man of medium height, wearing a dark grey suit, appeared behind the woman and she turned as he spoke.  ‘He’s resting comfortably now Miss Price.  Keep him warm and I’ll look in again in the morning.’

‘Thank you, Doctor.’

The doctor nodded as Fitzjohn and Betts stood aside.

‘As I said, Inspector, my brother’s not well.  He’s a veteran, you see, and has a great deal of trouble with his leg from time to time.’

Fitzjohn ignored Elizabeth Price’s obvious annoyance.  ‘Even so, we do need to speak to him.’

‘Oh, very well.  Come in if you must.  I’ll tell him you’re here.  Oh, and close the door behind you.  The house is full of drafts as it is.’

As the woman bustled away Fitzjohn glanced at Betts who hovered in the doorway.  ‘Better close that door, Betts.’  Betts grinned.