Murder at the Rocks (7 page)

‘So, he would have had ample opportunity to help himself to his brother’s personal papers,’ said Fitzjohn.’

‘It would seem so.  But why on earth would he take Edward’s bank statements?’

Fitzjohn and Betts emerged from Andrew Pemlett’s office and made their way back down to the foyer and out into Phillip Street where they climbed into their car.

‘Mosman, sir?’

‘Yes.  We’ll try there first.  I’ll be interested to meet this young man who had everything to lose if our victim contested the will and won.’

CHAPTER 7

Surrounded by lawns and nestled amongst trees and shrubs, Fitzjohn looked at the two storey Victorian residence with its views across Balmoral Waters to North Head.  ‘Nice spot,’ said Betts smiling, as they made their way up the stone steps and along the garden path.  ‘I can see myself living in a place like this one day.’  When they reached the verandah that ran the full width of the house Fitzjohn turned around to look at the view.

‘Well, if you do, Betts, I hope you remember to invite me over.’  Fitzjohn rang the bell.  Moments later, the door opened and a young-man wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a heavy charcoal coloured jumper appeared.  Together with his lengthy fair hair and casual sun-tanned appearance, he exuded an air of confidence tinged with a cool composure.

‘Dr Harford?’

‘Yes, I’m Nick Harford.  Can I help you?’

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn.  This is Detective Sergeant Betts.’  Fitzjohn and Betts showed their warrant cards.  ‘Andrew Pemlett told us where we might find you.  Could we have a word, please?’

‘Is there some kind of problem, Inspector?’

‘There is, I’m afraid.’

‘Right, well you’d better come in.’  Fitzjohn and Betts stepped into a large entrance hall, its furnishings luxuriant.  ‘You’ll have to excuse the mustiness of the place.  It’s been closed up for the past few weeks.’  Nicholas Harford closed the door behind them before leading the way into a room dominated by a large oak desk, its walls lined with books, the smell of leather in the air.  Fitzjohn’s gaze went to a painting above the marble fireplace and he hesitated for a moment.

‘Please, sit down, gentlemen.’  Brought back from his thoughts, Fitzjohn sat in a wing back chair to the side of the desk while Betts settled himself in a small leather bound armchair and pulled out his notebook and pen.  Nicholas Harford sat behind the desk in front of the French doors that overlooked the front garden.  ‘What can I do for you?’

‘We’re here about your uncle, Laurence Harford.  I’m afraid it’s bad news, sir.  His body was found early this morning at Brayshaw’s Jewellers by one of the employees.  A Mr Parish.’  Fitzjohn and Betts watched Nicholas Harford’s look of disbelief.

‘My uncle’s dead?’

‘Yes,’ said Fitzjohn.

The muscles in Nicholas Harford’s left cheek twitched and he shifted in his chair, his gaze moving from Fitzjohn to the desk in front of him.  Moments passed before he said, ‘What happened to him?’

‘The exact cause of his death has yet to be determined, but we are treating it as suspicious.’  Fitzjohn paused.  ‘We understand you spoke to Laurence Harford yesterday.’

‘Yes, I did.  We both attended Andrew Pemlett’s office to hear my father’s will being read.’

‘Is that the last time you saw your uncle alive?’

‘Not exactly, no.’  Nicholas Harford’s voice wavered.  ‘As a matter of fact, I saw him again later in the afternoon when I called into Brayshaw’s.’

‘Any particular reason?’

‘Yes, there was.  You see my father left his controlling interest in the company to me, and as my uncle has been managing it for the past year, I thought we should come to some sort of agreement as to how we would continue.’

‘And did you?  Come to an agreement, that is.’

‘No.’

Fitzjohn rose from his chair running his eyes over familiar leather bound volumes in the bookcase before turning back to face Nicholas Harford.  ‘What time were you there, Doctor?’

‘About five-thirty or there abouts.’

‘And you left when?’

‘Ten or fifteen minutes later.’

‘I’m led to believe you argued with Laurence Harford.  Is that true?’

Nicholas Harford’s body tensed.  ‘Yes, I admit I did lose my temper.’

‘It seems you did more than lose your temper.’  Fitzjohn waited for Nicholas Harford to respond, his eyes glaring.  ‘Well?’

‘You’re right; I punched him… on the jaw.’  Nicholas Harford paused.  ‘God.  I hope my actions haven’t contributed to his death, Inspector.’

Fitzjohn’s eyes locked onto Nicholas.  ‘We’ll know more after the post mortem.  Even so, are you in the habit of punching people?’

A look of indignation came to Nicholas Harford’s face.  ‘Of course not.’

‘Why then?’

Nicholas Harford hesitated.  ‘Because he called my mother a whore.  What would you have done?’

‘Your mother…’

‘She died when I was very young, but her memory is important to me.’

‘What provoked Laurence Harford to say what he did?’

‘He wanted me to hand over my Brayshaw shares, otherwise, he said he’d contest the will.’

‘I take it you didn’t oblige.’

‘No, and that’s when he became angry.’

‘What were your movements after you left Laurence Harford’s office?’

‘I went back to the Sir Stamford Hotel in the city.  I stayed there on Tuesday night after I arrived in Sydney.  I’ve been working in Ecuador for the past year.  I collected my things, finalised my bill and came here to my father’s house.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you go out again during the evening?’

‘No.’

‘So you spent the evening here, alone.’

‘Ah, not entirely.  I did have a caller early on.’

‘At what time?’

‘Mmm.  I didn’t take much notice of the time, but I suppose it was between seven and eight o’clock.’

‘And who was your caller, Dr Harford?’

‘Her name’s Claire Howell.’

‘And how long did she stay?’

‘Not long.  Ten minutes or so.’

‘I see.  And where can we contact Ms Howell?’

Fitzjohn sensed Nicholas Harford’s unease.  ‘I’m not sure.  I believe she moved recently.  I might have a mobile number for her though.’  Nicholas Harford reached for a mobile phone that sat on the desk before writing down a number on his note pad and handing it to Betts.

‘Of course, Inspector, there is every chance that this could have been a robbery gone wrong.  After all, Brayshaw’s are diamond merchants.’

Annoyed at the implication that this fact could have been overlooked, Fitzjohn glared at Nicholas Harford.  ‘A stock take is being performed as we speak, Dr Harford.’

‘And my aunt...’

‘She was informed of her husband’s death early this morning.’

Moments later, Fitzjohn and Betts emerged from the house, walking back along the path and down the stone steps to their car.  ‘He didn’t appear too disturbed by the news of his uncle’s death, sir.’

‘That’s true, Betts.  But the fact we’re aware he argued with his uncle just prior to his death seemed to rattle him.  No doubt, he’ll be praying that Laurence Harford’s death was caused by means other than his attack on him.’  Fitzjohn opened the car door.  ‘He certainly has one less worry though.’

‘You mean the contesting of the will.’

‘Yes, because if Laurence Harford had contested his brother’s will and won, Nicholas Harford would have lost the entire estate.  An estate that appears to be worth millions.’

‘But there is every possibility Laurence Harford would have lost, sir.’

‘True, but perhaps Nicholas Harford didn’t want to take that chance.’

Fitzjohn climbed into the car before glancing out the side window at the house.  ‘He does have an alibi, though.  What was her name?’

‘Claire Howell, sir.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Fitzjohn as Betts turned the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

‘What would you have done, sir?’  Fitzjohn looked across at Betts.  ‘If someone had called your mother a whore.’

‘Oh, probably the same thing.’  A glint of a smile came to Fitzjohn’s face.

‘Where to now, sir?’

‘We’ll have a word with Eric Holmes.  Where does he live?’

‘Balmain, sir.’

CHAPTER 8

As the door closed behind the Chief Inspector and his Sergeant, Nicholas returned to the study, Laurence’s death still inconceivable to him.  Briefly, he looked out of the window and watched the two police officers get into their car.  Could his attack on Laurence have had something to do with the man’s death?  An uneasy feeling started to take hold as Nicholas’s mind ran through the implications of his actions.  The whole incident could only arouse police suspicion.  He retraced the Inspector’s questions.  Perhaps telling them about Claire’s unexpected reappearance last night had been a mistake.  What would she tell them when they spoke to her?  His thoughts went to his surprise when he had found her at the door, a look of amusement on her face, and his annoyance turning to anger when she refused to leave.  What did she hope to achieve?  A growing awareness of the precarious situation he now found himself in gripped Nicholas and he slumped down into the chair behind the desk.  After a few moments, he unfolded his father’s letter and read it once again, its words still baffling him.  What had caused the rift between his father and Laurence, and what was the deterrent his father spoke of?  Furthermore, why make a secret of it?  Nicholas’s mind turned to his aunt, Julia Harford.  How long was it since he had seen her?  Thirty or so years.  They hardly knew each other.  Even so, she would be in a state of shock at the news of Laurence’s death.  With this in mind, he rose from the chair.  As he did so, his eyes fell on the green velvet case containing the locket.  Would his aunt recall the locket?  Picking the case up, he grabbed his jacket and made his way out to the garage where he climbed into his father’s Audi.  Moments later, he pulled out into the back laneway.

Nicholas slowed the car as he turned onto Pacific Street in Watsons Bay before pulling over to the curb.  His eyes took in the house with its white, stone facade, bordered by tall wrought iron railings.  The last time he had been here was the day of his mother’s funeral, only months after he had been sent away to school in Melbourne.  A bleak winter’s day as he remembered, and a lifetime away.  Nicholas sighed and climbed out of the car.  At the gate, he pressed the intercom button and waited.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes.  I’m here to see Mrs Harford.  I’m her nephew, Nicholas Harford.’  A moments silence ensued before the gate released and Nicholas pushed it open to make his way through the garden toward the house.  The front door opened as he approached and a sombre looking man in his mid-fifties came into view, his face expressionless.

‘Please come in, sir.’  Nicholas stepped inside.  ‘If you’ll wait here, I’ll tell Madam of your arrival.’

‘Thank you…’

‘Mapsom, sir.’

‘Thanks, Mapsom.’

When the butler left, Nicholas paced back and forth across the entrance hall until he heard Mapsom’s voice again.

‘Madam will see you now, sir.’

Nicholas turned and followed the butler, his mind recalling the house with its twists and turns.  At the living room door, Mapsom gestured for him to enter.

He had little recollection of Julia Harford, his only memory that of the day of his mother’s funeral when his aunt appeared dressed in black, her face covered by a veil that fell to her shoulders from a large brimmed hat.  A sense of surprise took hold as he saw her now standing at the mantelpiece on the opposite side of the room.

‘Aunt Julia.’

A wide smile came to Julia Harford’s face her elegance unmistakable as she walked toward him.  ‘Nicholas.  It’s been a very long time.’  Dressed in black once again, her dark hair now flecked with wisps of grey, Julia looked past Nicholas toward the door.  ‘Mapsom, will you ask Phyllis to serve coffee, please.’

‘Yes, Madam.’

‘Come and sit down, Nicholas.’  Nicholas followed her across the room.  ‘I gather you’ve heard about Laurence.’

‘Yes.’  Nicholas paused, surprised by his Aunt’s composure.  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Thank you, but no.’  Julia gestured for him to sit in one of the chairs opposite the sofa where she settled herself.  ‘You’ll have to excuse me.  I haven’t quite grasped what’s happened yet.’

‘It’s shock, Aunt Julia.  It’ll take a bit of time to pass.’

Julia Harford smiled slightly.  ‘I think you misunderstand.  Your uncle and I weren’t close and I shan’t miss his presence in the least.  It’s just the manner in which he died.  Even he didn’t deserve that.’  She paused and glanced at Nicholas before continuing.  ‘I can see you’re shocked by what I’ve just said but I don’t apologise.  Laurence was a ruthless man even to his own flesh and blood.  He coveted your father’s wealth and he would have...’  She stopped speaking as the living room door opened and a middle-aged woman appeared carrying a tray.

‘Thank you, Phyllis.  You can put it down here.’  Julia pointed to the small table between them and waited until the woman had left the room.

‘As I was about to say, Laurence would have found a way to take everything your father left to you.’

‘I know.’  Nicholas shifted the cushion behind his back and settled into the armchair.  ‘He said as much yesterday when we spoke.’

‘You saw Laurence yesterday?’

‘Yes.  Didn’t he tell you about the reading of Dad’s will?’

‘Good heavens, no.  Laurence never spoke of his activities.  Least of all about anything to do with his brother.’

‘Well, in that case you’d be unaware that Dad left his entire estate to me including his controlling interest in Brayshaw’s.’

A look of amusement came to Julia’s face.  ‘What was Laurence’s reaction to that?’

‘He said if I didn’t hand over my shares, he’d contest the will and I’d lose everything.’

‘What a ridiculous thing to threaten you with.  He wouldn’t have had a hope of winning.’