Murder at the Rocks (21 page)

‘Chief Inspector Fitzjohn, I saw your car from the window,’ she said, her voice but a whisper.  ‘Come in.’ Fitzjohn followed the diminutive figure into the living room.

‘I know this is a difficult time for you, Mrs Burbridge, but I need to ask you a few questions.  I can come back another time if you’d prefer.’

‘No.  I’d sooner get it over and done with.’  Irene Burbridge pulled her cardigan around her shoulders as they sat down next to the heater.  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  I can’t seem to get warm.’

Aware she was close to tears, Fitzjohn hesitated before he began.  ‘Can you tell me when you last saw Charlotte, Mrs Burbridge?’

‘It was last night just before she went out.’

‘What time was that?’

‘About eight.’

‘Did she say where she was going?’

‘Yes, she said she was meeting Eric for a drink.’

Fitzjohn frowned.  ‘Do you know where?’

‘No.’

‘Did it surprise you that she went to meet him?’

‘Not really.  It wasn’t the first time she’d left him and then gone back.  Usually it started with him inviting her out for coffee or a drink.’  Irene Burbridge was silent for a moment.  ‘He’s a violent man, Inspector.  I warned her not to have anything more to do with him as I have done before, but she wouldn’t listen.’  Mrs Burbridge took her handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed the tears that fell from her eyes.

Fitzjohn waited before he continued.  ‘Mrs Burbridge, can you tell me about last Wednesday evening when Charlotte came to stay with you?’

Irene Burbridge sighed.  ‘Well, as you can imagine, she was very upset and in pain.  I insisted she go to the emergency department at the hospital, but she refused.’

‘Did she tell you what had happened?’

‘No, but I knew, of course.  It had happened so many times before and now... she’s dead.’  At that point, Irene Burbridge broke down.

The door bell jingled as Fitzjohn and Betts walked into Brayshaw’s jewellery shop later that same day.  Eric Holmes, dressed in a dark grey, pin stripe suit, his hair slicked back from his face, stood behind the counter with one of his assistants.  He looked toward the door as the two police officers appeared.

‘Inspector, you’ve heard, of course.’

‘Yes, we have, Mr Holmes,’ said Fitzjohn.

Holmes handed the tray of rings he was holding, to his assistant.  ‘I decided to stay here at work.  I couldn’t face going home.’  Holmes took the handkerchief from his coat pocket and mopped his brow.  ‘It’s so difficult to take in.’  Holmes’s voice cracked.

‘I realise this is difficult, Mr Holmes, but I wonder if we could speak to you privately.’

‘Yes, of course.  Please, come this way.’  Holmes led Fitzjohn and Betts into his office and gestured for them to sit down.  Holmes settled himself behind his desk, fidgeting with the ring on his right hand.  Betts pulled out his notebook and pen.

‘Can you tell us your movements between eight and twelve last night, Mr Holmes?’

Holmes glared at Fitzjohn.  ‘You can’t think that I killed Charlotte.  We’d planned to get back together.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes.  We met last night for a drink to talk things over.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Around eight.  We met at the pub near our house in Balmain.’

‘And how long were you there?’

‘About an hour.’

‘And then?’

‘I asked Charlotte to come home and she said she’d think about it.  She said she was going back to her mum’s and would see me today sometime.  That’s the last time I saw her alive.’  Eric Holmes swallowed hard as he reached for his handkerchief again, his gold chain bracelet becoming caught on the edge of his pocket as he did so.  ‘Damn.’  He paused.  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, you’ll have to excuse me.  I’m finding it difficult to cope.’  Holmes mopped his brow.

‘I realise that, Mr Holmes, but even so, we’d like you to have a forensic DNA procedure done.’

‘A what?’

‘A forensic DNA procedure.  We have an order here.’  Fitzjohn held up a sheet of paper.  ‘It will help us to eliminate you from involvement in your wife’s death.’  Eric Holmes looked aghast.

‘But I’ve already told you.  I didn’t...  When?’

‘If you’ll come with us now, please,’ said Fitzjohn.

With his annoyance evident, Holmes got to his feet.  ‘I hope you realise what a difficult position this puts my assistant in.’  Moments later, Eric Holmes, along with Fitzjohn and Betts, re-entered the shop, now a bustle with customers.

‘I should inform you Mr Holmes that you will be retained until we have the results of the procedure.’  Eric glared at Fitzjohn before looking over to his assistant.

‘Mrs Watson, I’ll be out for the rest of the day.  Show those rings to Mrs Beauchamp when she comes in.’  He pointed to a tray on the counter.  The assistant acknowledged Eric Holmes before her attention was taken again by a customer.

CHAPTER 30

Later that same day Fitzjohn sat alone in his office, a feeling of dissatisfaction taking hold as his thoughts traversed the murders of both Laurence Harford and Charlotte Holmes.  Was there a connection with their deaths, Charlotte’s being the result of domestic violence over her affair with Laurence Harford?  Or perhaps that she had seen her husband, Eric Holmes, kill Laurence Harford.

On the other hand, there was Neville Price.  A troubled individual, Fitzjohn suspected.  If Laurence Harford had killed Phillip Wilson all those years ago, why had Price not reported it?  Was it because in a perverse sort of way, he enjoyed Laurence Harford’s anguish at not knowing when his crime would be revealed.  After all, Price had said as much.  How did he put it?  “I wanted to watch him squirm”.

Fitzjohn sat back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face.  As he did so, he spied Betts in the doorway.  ‘Ah, Betts, come in.’  Betts sauntered into the room.  ‘Have you been able to find out anymore about Michael Wycliffe and Laurence Harford’s joint investments?’

‘I’ve got Detective Constable Williams looking into it, sir.  No word yet.’

‘Mmm.  Well, while we wait, I want to go back to Brayshaw’s to have another look around that laneway, and I want to do that before we speak to Wycliffe.’  Betts gave Fitzjohn a questioning look as his boss continued.  ‘We’ll speak to Neville Price again too.’

‘Before we do, sir, Mrs Harford is here to see you.’

‘Oh.’  Fitzjohn reached for his suit coat and put it on before smoothing down a few wisps of his hair, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Betts, who smiled.

Fitzjohn glared at him.  ‘Well?’

‘Nothing, sir.’

‘Then, Detective Sergeant Betts, perhaps you would be kind enough to show Mrs Harford in.’  Moments later, Julia Harford, exuding gracefulness and poise, walked into the room.

‘Mrs Harford, please make yourself comfortable.’

‘Thank you, Inspector.’  She settled herself in one of the chairs in front of Fitzjohn’s desk, crossing her long, slender legs as she did so.

‘Now,’ said Fitzjohn, sitting back in his chair, ‘How can I help you?’

‘I’m hoping I can help you, Chief Inspector.  You see, I’ve been to see Laurence’s solicitor regarding probate.’  Julia Harford relayed what she had learned of her husband’s investments.  ‘Of course, it may or may not be of any significance to your investigation, but I thought under the circumstances, you should know.’

Fitzjohn sat forward.  ‘Is it so unusual that your husband had a substantial amount of money in his bank account and invested in property, Mrs Harford?  After all...’

Julia Harford smiled.  ‘After all he was a wealthy man?  Is that what you were going to say, Inspector?’  She laughed.  ‘Don’t let appearances fool you.  To my knowledge, Laurence wasn’t financially well off.  Not anymore anyway.  He’d gambled for years and was left with little more than his Brayshaw shares and salary.  That’s why I was surprised when his solicitor told me how much he was worth on his death, not to mention the investment schemes he was involved in.  I can’t see him being able to do that other than by illegitimate means.  Anyway, I thought there’s every chance it could have something to do with his death.’  Julia paused.  ‘I probably should add that the main reason I came to see you about this is for my nephew, Nicholas’s sake.  He seems to think he’s high on your list of suspects.’

‘Well, shall we say that he’s a person of interest, Mrs Harford.’

After Julia Harford left Fitzjohn sat for a time in thought before he said, ‘I’ll be interested to see what Williams turns up about Wycliffe and Laurence Harford, Betts.  It could be that Harford’s death had something to do with his investments.  Something we hadn’t considered.’  Fitzjohn looked at his watch.  ‘Let’s get over to The Rocks.’

They arrived at Brayshaw’s fifteen minutes later, its grey stonework darkened by a soaking drizzle.  Fitzjohn led the way under the archway and into the lane where he picked his way between puddles that rested amongst the flagstones.

‘Exactly what are we looking for, sir?’

Fitzjohn did not reply.  Instead, he walked to the end of the lane and stopped to peer along the back wall of Brayshaw’s.  ‘I want you to go down there, Betts, and see where it leads.’  Betts grimaced as he followed Fitzjohn’s gaze into the narrow space between Brayshaw’s and the building behind.

‘Will I fit?’ he said, looking down at his new grey suit.  Fitzjohn noted his apprehension.  ‘All in the line of duty, Detective Sergeant.’

As Betts disappeared between the two buildings, Fitzjohn returned to the street and waited.  Moments passed before Betts reappeared twenty metres further along, brushing cobwebs off his suit.

Fitzjohn made his way toward him.  ‘It’s just as I suspected.  Where did Charlotte Holmes say she saw Wycliffe?’  Betts looked up at the building next to him.

‘In front of this building, sir.’  He glared at Fitzjohn.  ‘Do you think he killed Laurence Harford then went behind Brayshaw’s and ducked out here?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘Motive?’

‘Well, we now know that Wycliffe had more involvement with Laurence Harford than first thought.  After we’ve seen Price, see what you can find out about their collaboration.  Mr Mapsom may be able to help you there too.  While you do that, I’ll have another word with Howard Parish.  It’ll fill in time while we’re waiting for the result on Holmes’s forensic procedure.’  They started to walk back to their car.

‘What about Holmes, sir?’

‘Well, we know that he’s capable of violent outbursts so it’s conceivable he could have killed his wife.  But for what reason?  Because of her affair with Laurence Harford or because she witnessed something she shouldn’t have?’

‘Like Holmes killing Harford.’

Fitzjohn and Betts arrived in Strathfield to be greeted by Neville Price as he opened the front door.

‘Mr Price, we have a few more questions we’d like to ask.  May we come in?’  Price stood back from the doorway.

‘I don’t know that I can add anything to what I’ve already told you, Inspector, but come through.’  Price’s balance faltered as he turned and led the way along the hall and into the sitting room where he slumped down into an armchair.  Fitzjohn and Betts settled themselves on the sofa.

‘I’ll come straight to the point, Mr Price.  You admit you were at Brayshaw’s the night Laurence Harford died.’

‘Yes, I thought I made that clear.’

‘You did, and you also made it clear that you saw three people there that night.  The man who left the lane just before you entered, the woman he spoke to in the street and another man in the doorway off the lane.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Can you tell us again exactly what time you entered the lane?’

‘Well, I doubt I can be exact, but I know it was around seven.’

‘So would be near to the time you saw the man coming out of the lane.’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you remember anything else about him, no matter how insignificant it might seem to you?’

Price thought for a moment.  ‘No.’

‘Even if I tell you there’s been another murder.  A young woman, bludgeoned to death and dumped in the Harbour.’

‘It wasn’t the blonde woman I saw the other night, was it?’

‘I’m not at liberty to say, Mr Price.’

Price shook his head.  ‘I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, but as I said the other day, I didn’t get much of a look at his face.  All I can say is that he was heavy set with dark hair.  That’s about it.’  Price paused.  ‘He did wear a gold bracelet on his right wrist if that’s of any help.  I remember because it was unusually thick.’  Fitzjohn glanced at Betts who closed his notebook.

He looked back at Price.  ‘We’d like you to come to the station with us, Mr Price, to make a formal statement.  Also, would you agree to attend a line-up of suspects at the same time?’

An inquiring look came over Price’s face.  ‘You have someone in custody?’

‘All I can say is that if you agree, it will help with our investigation,’ said Fitzjohn.

Later that same day, Eric Holmes stood along with nine others all dressed in business suits and all of similar build and complexion.  He blinked nervously, fidgeting with the ring on his right hand.

Meanwhile, Fitzjohn stood with Neville Price watching his intent gaze at the line up.  ‘I should advise you, Mr Price, that if you’re not comfortable with identifying any of the people you see, you’re not obliged to do so.’

Several minutes passed before Neville Price said, ‘It’s the man second from the left, Inspector.’  Price pointed to Eric Holmes.

An hour later, Fitzjohn returned to his office with Betts.  ‘Obtain a search warrant Betts.  I want Eric Holmes’s office and home gone over.  See what you can find.’

‘Good luck with the Orchid Society meeting tonight, sir.’

Fitzjohn looked at his watch.  ‘I think I’ll give it a miss.  There’s always next month.’

Later that same evening, Fitzjohn returned from the greenhouse, his orchid plant safely put back into the warmth.  In the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of whisky, and picking up the day’s mail from the table, made his way into the conservatory.  Placing his glass on the small round wicker table in front of his armchair he sat down, the events of the day and the fact he now had two murders on his hands weighing heavily on his mind.  His thoughts, however, were distracted when he noticed a pale green envelope amongst the other letters.  Fitzjohn frowned remembering the letter he had received two days ago and failed to open.  Gingerly he tore the envelope open and read its contents.