Murder at the Rocks (6 page)

Julia Harford looked Fitzjohn directly in the eye.  ‘I can think of quite a few.  Mainly the husbands of the women he took up with from time to time.’

A look of surprise crossed Fitzjohn’s face as he ran his hand over the back of his neck.  ‘Does anyone in particular come to mind?’ he asked.

‘Well, I suppose Laurence’s latest dalliance with Charlotte Holmes, the wife of Brayshaw’s Retail Manager, could have caused problems.  Providing, of course, Eric Holmes is aware of his wife’s affair, although, I don’t see how he couldn’t be.  Laurence was never particularly discreet.’

Betts stopped writing and looked up.  Fitzjohn’s eyebrows rose.

‘Are you sure about this?’

‘Yes, of course I’m sure.  It’s been going on for some time.  When I spoke to Laurence about it the other evening he didn’t deny it.’

Fitzjohn adjusted his glasses.  ‘On another note, Mrs Harford, have you any idea why your brother-in-law, Edward Harford’s bank statements would be in your husband’s office?’  Julia Harford gave Fitzjohn a quizzical look.  ‘Did your husband, perhaps, take care of his brother’s finances?’

‘Good heavens no, Inspector.  They loathed each other.  I imagine the only explanation for them being there would be that Edward left the statements in the office when he retired.’

‘I don’t think that’s the case.’ said Fitzjohn, ‘because I understand he retired a year ago, and the most recent of these statements is last month.’

‘Then I can’t think how they got there or why they should be there.’

‘Do you have any involvement in Brayshaw’s Jewellers, Mrs Harford?’

‘No.  Brayshaw’s was founded by Laurence’s great-grandfather in the late eighteen hundreds.  On his grandmother’s side of the family.  Hence the name Brayshaw.  I’ve never taken an interest in the company.’

‘I see.  Well, I think that will be all for now.’  Fitzjohn got to his feet followed by Betts.  ‘I’m sorry we had to bring you this news, Mrs Harford.  We’ll be in touch.’

The two men started toward the door when Fitzjohn stopped and turned around.  ‘Oh, there is one more thing.  Have you been in touch with your nephew, Nicholas Harford, lately?’

‘Nicholas?  No, I haven’t seen or spoken to him for years.’  Julia paused.  ‘Because of the trouble between his father and Laurence that I mentioned earlier.’

When Fitzjohn and Betts reached the front entrance the butler appeared.  ‘Ah, Mr Mapsom.  I wonder if we can have a word with you, please.’  Mapsom looked puzzled.  ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’

‘Yes, of course, Detective Chief Inspector.  Please, come this way.’  Fitzjohn and Betts followed the butler through the house and into a large kitchen and living area overlooking the side garden.  While they settled themselves into one of two long sofas, Mapsom sat rigidly on the other.

‘How can I be of assistance, Chief Inspector?’

‘I’m afraid we’ve had to bring Mrs Harford distressing news, Mr Mapsom.  Mr Harford’s body was found early this morning at Brayshaw’s Jewellers.’ Mapsom stared at Fitzjohn, his prim manner falling away.

‘Mr Harford is dead?’ he said, his voice cracking.  ‘What happened?’

‘All I can tell you at this point is that we are treating Mr Harford’s death as suspicious.’

‘You mean someone killed him?’ The tone of Mapsom’s voice rose.

‘We’ll know more after the post mortem.’  Mapsom slumped back on the sofa, his face losing all colour.

Fitzjohn waited for a moment before continuing.  ‘I realise this is a shock, but Mrs Harford said that you would be able to help us with information about Mr Harford’s movements over the last few days.  Since Monday, that is.’  When Mapsom did not reply, Fitzjohn continued.  ‘We can come back later if you don’t feel up to it at the moment, Mr Mapsom.’

‘No.  That won’t be necessary, Chief Inspector.  I’d like to help.’  Mapsom paused for a moment.  ‘Since Monday, you say.’

‘Yes,’ said Fitzjohn.

As if trying to gather his thoughts Mapsom looked thoughtfully toward the window.  ‘Let me think.  On Monday evening, Mr Harford returned home from the office by taxi and went straight to his study.  Mr and Mrs Harford were to attend a dinner that evening, but in the end Mrs Harford went alone.  I drove her to the dinner, waited for her and drove her home.’

‘And what time did you both get back?’

‘Approximately 11pm.’

‘And Mr Harford?’

‘He was in his study when we arrived home.  I believe he’d been there the entire evening.’

‘What about Tuesday?’

Mapsom thought for another moment.  ‘On Tuesday morning I drove Mr Harford to his office.’

‘And did you fetch him home later in the day?’

‘No, he had an engagement that evening and told me he’d find his own way home.’

‘And do you know what time he returned?’

‘Oh, it was quite late.  One, perhaps two o’clock in the morning.’

‘And Wednesday?’

‘On Wednesday morning I drove him to the offices of Pemlett & Slythe.  They’re a firm of solicitors on Phillip Street in the city.  He was there for about half an hour after which, I took him to his office at Brayshaw’s.’

‘And were you to drive him home again later that day?’

‘Yes, but he telephoned to say not to.’

‘What time was that, Mr Mapsom?’

‘Six o’clock in the evening.’

‘You’re sure about that.’

‘Yes, I remember because I was about to leave the house to fetch him when he rang.’

‘How did he seem over the phone?’

‘The same as usual.  He never spent a great deal of time in conversation with me.  Always to the point so to speak.’

‘Tell me, Mr Mapsom, have you noticed any changes in his behaviour of late?’

‘I have actually.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, he blew up at Phyllis, our housekeeper, the other morning.  He’s never done that before.  She was very upset.  She’d been in to clean his study.  Nothing unusual about that.  It’s part of her duties, but on this occasion there was broken glass all over the carpet.  One of Mr Harford’s whisky glasses, I believe.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘I think it was Tuesday.  Yes, Tuesday morning just before I left to drive Mr Harford to his office.’

‘Do you have any idea how the glass got broken?’

‘Well...  I don’t like to...’

‘Mr Mapsom, I appreciate that you don’t wish divulge confidences of your employers, but in this case...’

‘Yes, of course.  I understand.  Well, I heard a row on Monday evening between Mr and Mrs Harford.  It wasn’t long after Mr Harford had arrived home from the office.’  Mapsom hesitated.  ‘I think that’s when the glass hit the wall.’  Fitzjohn’s eyebrows lifted.

‘I see.  Can we see the study?’

‘Yes, of course, it’s this way, Inspector.’  Fitzjohn and Betts followed Mapsom back through the house to the entrance hall where he opened the study door.  ‘The room hasn’t been touched since Tuesday morning other than by Mr Harford, of course.’

Glass crunched underfoot as Fitzjohn walked into the dimly lit room, the smell of stale cigarettes hanging in the air.

‘Perhaps if we could have a bit of light, Mr Mapsom.’  Mapsom crossed over to the window where he lifted the blind enabling light to flood the room.

Fitzjohn’s gaze took in the half empty decanter of whisky that sat on the liquor cabinet, its top discarded onto the floor.

‘When do you think Mr Harford used this room last?’

‘It’s hard to say.  As I said before, he came home in the early hours of Tuesday morning.  I heard the taxi pull up around two.  He may have come in here, but then again he may not have.’

As Mapsom spoke, Fitzjohn scrutinised the room again including two paintings on the far wall by the same artist as those in the entrance hall.  From there, his eyes dropped to the desk and a military beret that lay there.  Mapsom followed his gaze.  ‘That arrived last week in the mail,’ he said.  ‘I was here when Mr Harford opened the envelope.  He collected war memorabilia.’

Fitzjohn picked the beret up and looked down into the waste paper bin.  ‘I don’t suppose you still have the envelope.’

‘No.  It would have gone out with the rubbish and taken away last Friday.’

‘Did Mr Harford often receive military memorabilia by mail?’

‘Not that I know of.’

Fitzjohn looked again at the beret.  ‘We’ll take it with us for now.’  He handed the beret to Betts.

‘I just have one more question, Mr Mapsom.  What were your movements last evening?’

‘Well, as Mr Harford didn’t wish me to drive him home, I spent the evening here.  I have a small flat in the grounds.’

‘So were you alone here all evening?’

‘Yes.  Phyllis doesn’t live in, and as there was no one at home for dinner, she left at around 5pm.’

‘What are your duties exactly, Mr Mapsom?’

‘Many and varied, Inspector.  Chauffeur, butler along with general maintenance of the house and grounds.’

Fitzjohn nodded.  ‘Very well, Mr Mapsom, we’ll leave it at that for the time being, although, we may wish to speak to you again at some stage.’

Minutes later, Fitzjohn and Betts stepped out into the fresh morning air, Betts glancing over his shoulder to the Harbour beyond the manicured gardens.  ‘Lovely place, sir.’

‘It is, but I don’t think it’s brought much joy to those who live here, do you?’

‘No.  Laurence Harford certainly doesn’t seem to have given his wife much reason to mourn his death.  No wonder she was out with someone else last night.’

‘Mmm.  I wonder who she was with.’  Fitzjohn opened the wrought iron gate and, followed by Betts, headed for the car.

‘Shouldn’t be too difficult to find out, sir.’

Betts climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, glancing at Fitzjohn and the military beret on his lap as he did so.  ‘Do you think the beret’s important?’

‘It’s hard to say because it’s obvious from the walls in his office that Harford was a serious collector of war memorabilia.  This may just be something he bought from another collector.’  Fitzjohn turned the beret over and looked inside the brim.  ‘It’s been used at some stage though.  There’s a name here.  “Wilson.”’

Later that same morning, Fitzjohn and Betts made their way to Andrew Pemlett’s office on Phillip Street in the city.  After emerging from the elevator onto the 9
^th
level, Betts opened the glass door into a waiting room where one client sat hidden behind “The Daily Telegraph”.  The newspaper crinkled, its reader’s eyes appearing over the top of the page as the two police officers progressed to the receptionist.

‘Good morning,’ said the woman behind the desk, eyeing them dubiously.  ‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn, and this is Detective Sergeant Betts.  We’d like to have a word with Mr Pemlett as a matter of urgency.’

The woman forced a smile.  ‘Mr Pemlett is with a client, Chief Inspector, but I’ll let him know you’re here.  Please, take a seat.’

Fitzjohn and Betts remained standing as the woman disappeared along a hallway.  Moments passed before she returned with a distinguished looking gentleman, his hair greying at the temples.  He extended his hand.  ‘Chief Inspector, I’m Andrew Pemlett.  I understand you wish to speak to me.’

‘Yes, Mr Pemlett, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn, this is Detective Sergeant Betts.’  Fitzjohn smiled slightly.  ‘We realise you’re engaged so we’ll endeavour not to take up too much of your time.’

‘We can speak in the Board Room,’ said Pemlett.  He led the way back along the hall from which he had just emerged and opened a door into a long room furnished with a table and a dozen chairs.  With a polite smile, he gestured for them to be seated and said, ‘How can I help?’

‘We’ve come to speak to you about Laurence Harford.  We believe you were his brother’s solicitor.’

‘Yes, I was Edward Harford’s solicitor for many years.  Is there a problem, Inspector?’

‘I’m afraid so.  Laurence Harford’s body was found early this morning at Brayshaw’s Jewellers.  Under suspicious circumstances, I might add.’  A look of shock came to Pemlett’s face.

‘Why, it’s only yesterday I saw the man.  He came here to hear the reading of his brother’s will.’

‘Mr Pemlett, we have reason to believe he intended to contest that will.  Have you any knowledge of this?’

‘Only that he threatened as much when he left here yesterday.  He became quite agitated during the reading of the will.  It was clear he wasn’t pleased.  He said it wasn’t the last I’d hear of it and stormed out.’

‘I see.’  Fitzjohn sat back in his chair.  ‘In that case, if Laurence Harford had contested the will, who would have had the most to lose?’

‘Well, Edward Harford’s son, of course.  Other than bequests to his staff, Edward Harford left his entire estate to his son, Dr Nicholas Harford.’

‘A medical doctor?’

‘No.  He’s a geoscientist.  Works at The University of Sydney.  He’s been away overseas for some time.  Arrived back on Tuesday.  Sadly, too late to see his father before he died.’

‘What exactly does Edward Harford’s estate comprise, Mr Pemlett?’

‘Well, it’s quite substantial.  There are two residential properties, one in Mosman and another in Bowral as well as two commercial properties, one here in the city and the other in North Sydney.  Then there are all monies, investments and a fifty-one per cent share in Brayshaw’s Jewellers.  The controlling interest in Brayshaw’s alone is worth a fortune.’  Fitzjohn’s eyebrows rose.

‘Can you tell us where we might find Dr Harford?’

‘He said he was staying at the Sir Stamford hotel on Macquarie Street, but after the reading of the will, I gave him the keys to his father’s house in Mosman.  I should imagine you’ll find him there, Inspector. Unless, of course, he’s at the University.’

‘Very well.  Oh, there’s just one more thing.  Would it surprise you to learn that Edward Harford’s most recent bank statements were found in Laurence Harford’s office?’

‘Why yes, it would.  As far as I’m aware, the two brothers were not on speaking terms other than for business reasons.’

‘Did Laurence Harford have access to his brother’s house after he died?’

‘He did as a matter of fact.  I learned later that he went there to dismiss the household staff.’