Murder at the Rocks (9 page)

‘That’s right.’

‘And I understand your Dad passed away not long ago too.  I’m sorry, Nick.  Not much of a homecoming.  Did you two ever reconcile your differences?’

‘Strangely enough not until after his death.’  Matthew shot a look at Nicholas.  ‘He wrote to me before he died.’  Nicholas recounted his father’s letter.

‘It sounds bizarre.’

‘It does and that’s why I’m on my way to Dad’s solicitor now.  I’m hoping he might know what Dad meant.  Not only about the deterrent he spoke of, but I’m hoping he knows why he and Laurence loathed each other so.’  Nicholas looked at Matthew and asked, ‘Where are you headed?’

‘Home.’

Perplexed, Nicholas said, ‘I didn’t realise you could take a ferry to Strathfield.’

‘No, but you can to Manly.  I moved there a couple of months ago when Claire and I split up.  But, of course, you wouldn’t know about that.’

A feeling of discomfort taking hold, Nicholas hesitated unsure of how to respond.  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Well, it’s probably for the best.’  Matthew paused.  ‘I found Claire with someone else.  It wasn’t the first time, but I suppose I hadn’t wanted to admit what was staring me in the face.’  Nicholas did not reply, his own involvement with Claire surfacing.

Matthew took a breath.  ‘Other than that everything’s going okay.’  Nicholas sense Matthew’s disquiet.  ‘Will you delay coming back to work until after the police investigation has finished?’ he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

‘There’s no reason to.  I’ll start back next week as planned,’ replied Nicholas.

As they parted company, Nicholas watched Matthew’s receding back as he rushed to catch the ferry.  Evidently, Claire had been lying when she had said that Matthew knew about their involvement.  Matthew knew nothing.  Nicholas watched the ferry pull away from the terminal.  Even so, their impromptu meeting would likely be the last time they would meet in friendship.  If he did not tell Matthew himself what had happened between him and Claire, Matthew would surely learn it from someone else.  Not a thought that Nicholas relished.  With this in mind, he turned and made his way to Andrew Pemlett’s office.

He arrived to find the receptionist making ready to leave for the day, her officious nature evident as he came through the glass door.

‘I’m sorry, we’re closed,’ she said, pulling on her coat.

Now not only aware, but ready for her frosty manner, Nicholas said, ‘I’m here to see Mr Pemlett.’

Challenged, she said, ‘Wait here a moment.’

Nicholas watched as the woman dropped her handbag onto the desk and strode off.  Moments passed before she returned, followed by Pemlett, his placid nature ignoring her petulance.

‘Nick, I’m so glad you’re here.  Come through.’  Andrew Pemlett led the way to his office where he gestured for Nicholas to sit down before settling himself into his chair.

Weary, Nicholas slumped down.  ‘You’ve heard about Laurence, I take it.’

‘Yes,’ replied Pemlett.  ‘The police came to see me earlier today.  I should tell you that they asked me about your father’s will and who had the most to lose if Laurence contested it, and won.’  Pemlett frowned.  ‘They must have some knowledge that Laurence had started the procedure, otherwise, why would they ask such a question?  I told them I didn’t know of any such intention, but that in the event he did do so, it would be you alone, Nick.  I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay, I understand your position.’  Nicholas paused for a moment, running his hand through his hair. ‘In case the police question you again, I think you should know that I went to see Laurence yesterday afternoon, not long before his death.’  Pemlett’s brow furrowed.  ‘Mistakenly, I thought it’d help to discuss how we’d continue on with Brayshaw’s together, but he wasn’t having any of it and we ended up arguing.’

‘That’s unfortunate.’

‘It’s more than unfortunate, Andrew.  You see, I lashed out at him.’

‘You mean you struck him?’

‘Yes and in light of his death I’m now wondering if it had something to do with it.’  Nicholas leaned back in his chair wiping his hand across the back of his neck.

‘Are the police aware of this?’

‘Oh yes.  Brayshaw’s Office Administrator was there at the time.  They no doubt questioned her.’

Pemlett, his face grave, hesitated before he replied, ‘Mmm.  I can understand your distress and I’ll do whatever I can.  But there’s little we can do until after the post mortem results.  Nevertheless, I’ll see what I can find out.’

‘Thanks, Andrew.’

‘What did you two argue about?  The shares?’

‘Yes.  Laurence said if I refused to sign them over, he’d contest the will.  Of course, I refused, but I have a feeling he’d already decided to contest either way.  That wasn’t the reason for my outburst though.’  Nicholas paused.  ‘Laurence made a particularly offensive comment about my mother.  I just reacted.’  Nicholas sat in thought for a moment before continuing.  ‘It does make my position more tenuous too.  You see, I don’t have much of an alibi for last night.  A colleague by the name of Claire Howell dropped by the house, but she was only there for a few minutes.  The only other person I saw was Piers LaSalle and that was earlier in the evening.  We parted company around 6:30pm.’

Pemlett rubbed his chin in thought.  ‘What time was it you saw your colleague?’

‘Somewhere between seven and eight.’

‘You can’t be more precise?’

‘No and even if I could, I doubt it would help.  You see, Claire and I didn’t part on very good terms.’  Pemlett gave Nicholas a questioning look.  ‘To cut a long story short, she dropped by my hotel room on Wednesday morning unannounced and when she turned up again at the house that night...  Well, I wasn’t in the best of moods after my argument with Laurence.  I’m afraid, I let her have it.’

Pemlett’s eyebrows rose.  ‘I see.  That’s unfortunate, but nevertheless, she can confirm you were in Mosman early on in the evening.  It’s something at least.’

Pemlett sank back into his chair.  ‘I’m glad you managed to meet Piers at last though.  I told him he might find you at the Sir Stamford when he called in to see me late yesterday.  He was anxious to complete his task and see that you got your father’s letter.’

‘That’s the other reason I came to see you.  I’d like your opinion, Andrew.  About the letter, I mean.  I have it here.’  Nicholas took the letter from his pocket and handed it to Pemlett.

Andrew Pemlett put his glasses on and held it up in front of him as he read.  After he finished, he removed his glasses and frowned.  ‘Did you show this to the police?’

‘No.’

‘Then perhaps you should.  The consequences that your father speaks of here if Laurence chose to contest the will could have some bearing on his death.  And as you said earlier, you think that he’d already started proceedings.’

‘I see what you mean,’ said Nicholas.

Pemlett studied the letter again.  ‘I wonder why your father wasn’t at liberty to say what their estrangement was about.’

‘Goodness knows, and I can’t see any way of finding out now that they’re both gone.  Although, I spoke to my aunt about it, and she did offer some thoughts.  She said it began at the time of my mother’s death.’

‘Does she have any idea why?’

‘No.’  Nicholas paused.  ‘When did my father first ask you to manage his affairs, Andrew?’

‘Oh, let me see.’  Pemlett thought for a moment.

‘Was it before my mother died?’

‘No.  Your father was a widower when he first came to see me… about his will as it happens.  In fact, it wasn’t long after your mother passed away.  I remember he had difficulty when we spoke of her.’  Pemlett sat in silence for a second or two as if reflecting on that first meeting.

‘Did Dad say why he’d changed solicitors?’

‘No, and I saw no reason to ask, but I do believe he’d been with the family solicitor for many years.’

‘Who perhaps took care of Laurence’s affairs too,’ said Nicholas.

‘I should imagine so.’  Pemlett hesitated for a moment before continuing.  ‘Where’s all this leading, Nick?’

‘It’s leading to the fact that I believe I’m involved in their estrangement.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Why else would Dad make such a secret of the problem he had with Laurence?’

‘Fair point.  This letter certainly gives the idea that he believed whatever troubles they had would pass to you upon his death.’

‘I’m glad you agree because I got the distinct impression from the police that I’m of interest to them in connection with Laurence’s death.  And if my assumption is correct, I’d feel better if I knew what the rift between Dad and Laurence was all about.’

‘Well, I’m at a loss to think how you can find out.  Unless...  Mr Godwin worked for your father for years didn’t he?  I wonder if he knows anything.’

‘Did you say he’d moved to Newcastle?’

‘Yes, to live with his sister.  Now, let me see.  I put his address in the file with the will.’  Andrew Pemlett took a manila folder from the tray on his desk, opened it and took out a slip of paper.  ‘Here it is.’  He handed it to Nicholas.

‘Thanks.  I’ll pay him a call.’

CHAPTER 11

Betts turned off Mort Street in Balmain and pulled up in front of a single storey weatherboard semi, its white paint dull and peeling.  ‘This is it, sir, number sixteen.’

Fitzjohn adjusted his glasses and peered out of the side window at the small dwelling.  Its bull nosed verandah, edged with lattice work, overhung a porch strewn with junk mail, adding to its look of neglect.  Fitzjohn undid his seat belt and climbed out.  As he did so, the lace curtain covering the window next to the front door, moved.  ‘Seems someone is home at least.’  They made their way onto the front porch and Betts knocked.  When the door opened, a heavy-set man appeared, his receding brown hair slicked back from a podgy face.  ‘Mr Holmes?’ said Fitzjohn.

‘Yes, I’m Eric Holmes.’

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn, Mr Holmes.  This is Detective Sergeant Betts.  We’re from the New South Wales Police.’  Eric Holmes’s eyes narrowed as he transferred his cigarette from one hand to the other.

‘We’d like to speak to you in connection with the death of Laurence Harford.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I gather you’re not aware of what’s happened.’

‘No.  Perhaps you’d better come inside.’  Fitzjohn and Betts stepped into the front room that overlooked the street through two sash windows.  Holmes gathered up a newspaper covering a faded floral covered sofa and gestured for the two men to sit down.

‘Sorry about the mess.’  He picked up an ashtray over flowing with cigarette butts, and put it down on a small table next to the chair he sank into.

‘You say Laurence Harford is dead?’

‘Yes, his body was found early this morning at Brayshaw’s,’ said Fitzjohn.

A twitch surfaced on the side of Holmes’s face.  ‘How did he die?  Heart attack?’

‘That’s still to be determined, but we are treating the matter as suspicious.’

‘You mean he was murdered?’

‘As I said, that’s still to be determined.  I understand you’re Brayshaw’s Retail Manager, Mr Holmes.’

‘Yes.  Or at least I was.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘Laurence Harford dismissed me yesterday.’  Holmes’s hand trembled as he put his cigarette to his lips and inhaled.  He waited for a moment before exhaling, watching the smoke drift from his nose and lips.

‘So that explains why you weren’t at work this morning.’

‘Yes.  I did plan on ringing Howard, but in the end I decided not to.  There was nothing he could do.’

‘Why did Laurence Harford dismiss you, Mr Holmes?’ asked Fitzjohn.

Eric flicked the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray.  ‘We disagreed about changes I wanted to make to the jewellery shop.’

Fitzjohn’s eyebrows rose.  ‘Seems a harsh measure for such a disagreement.’

‘Not for Laurence Harford.  He’s a man of extremes.  Or at least he was.’

‘What time was this?’

‘Late yesterday afternoon.  I’m not sure of the exact time.’

‘After he dismissed you, what did you do?

‘I didn’t know what to do so I went to the pub up on Darling Street.  I needed a drink.’

‘I see.  And how long were you at the pub?’

‘An hour or perhaps a bit longer.’

‘And then?’

‘I came home.’

‘Did you go out again?’

Eric Holmes pursed his lips.  ‘No.’

‘Can anyone collaborate your story?

‘Yes.  My wife, Charlotte.  She came home around eight.  We spent the evening together.’

‘Can we speak to her?’

‘She’s... she’s not here at the moment.  She went to stay at her mum’s for a few days.’

‘Oh?  When will she be back?’

‘I’m not sure.  She didn’t say.’

‘Then perhaps you can give us her mother’s address.  This isn’t a matter that can wait, Mr Holmes.’

Holmes shifted in his chair, his fingers fidgeting with the thick gold ring on the middle finger of his right hand.  ‘I can do that, but I don’t know if you’ll find her there.’

‘But I thought you said...’

‘I know what I said, but the truth is...’  Holmes took a breath.  ‘The truth is she walked out on me last night.  We had words you see.  I don’t know where she is but I suspect she’s at her mum’s.’

‘What time did she leave, Mr Holmes?’

‘Ten or so.’

‘And what did you argue about?’

Holmes rose from his chair, picking up the ashtray as he did so and threw its contents into the fireplace.  ‘It’s difficult to explain.’

‘We’re in no hurry.’

Holmes turned to face Fitzjohn and Betts before placing the empty ashtray back down on table.  He slumped into his chair, his face pale.’  ‘Well, if you must know, I found out she was involved with another man.’  Betts looked up from his notepad and Fitzjohn frowned as he waited for Eric Holmes to continue.

When he remained silent, Fitzjohn said, ‘This other man wouldn’t be Laurence Harford would it?’  Holmes did not reply.  ‘Well?’

‘Yes, all right.  It was him.’

‘And you found out about this last night?’