Deadly Investment (A Fitzjohn Mystery Book 5) (13 page)

Giles narrowed his eyes at Fitzjohn. ‘You’re going to regret this when I put in a complaint about you for police harassment.’

‘You can complain all you want after you’ve told us what we want to know,’ replied Fitzjohn.

‘Okay. If you must know, I spent the four days in Port Macquarie.’

‘Why didn’t you say so in the first place?’

‘Because, it’s a personal matter. Nothing to do with your investigation and none of your damn business.’

‘I believe I’ve said before that it is our business,’ replied Fitzjohn, his patience at its end. ‘Shall we continue this discussion down town?’

‘All right.’ Giles held up his hands. ‘I’ll tell you what you want to know. I went to stay with a friend. A female friend.’

‘Ah! In that case, we’ll need her contact details,’ replied Fitzjohn.

‘Is that altogether necessary?’

‘Yes, it is,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘And it can only work in your favour if you’re telling us the truth, Mr Enfield.’

‘But I don’t want her dragged into this.’

Fitzjohn did not reply, but waited.

‘All right,’ said Giles at last. ‘Her name’s Rosemary West.’ Enfield hesitated. ‘You have to understand, Chief Inspector. This is a delicate matter. If my wife finds out it could ruin my marriage.’

‘I have a murder to solve, Mr Enfield. I can’t give any assurance that your liaison with this woman will remain private.’

‘Now, before we conclude, I’d like to ask you about the night that Beatrice Maybrick died.’

‘
Beatrice?
Why, for heaven’s sake?’

‘I’m not here to answer questions, Mr Enfield. You are.’

Giles shrugged. ‘There’s little to tell. With Beatrice’s discovery that there were discrepancies in the accounts, the day had been thrown into turmoil. We all worked back that night.’

‘Everyone?’

‘All but Fiona Worth. And Max, of course. He’d gone home that afternoon. At about seven that evening, Beatrice decided to call it a day and went upstairs to her apartment.’

‘So that left you, Alison and Olive Glossop downstairs. Is that correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you remember anything unusual happening after Beatrice went upstairs to her apartment?’

‘No. The three of us worked on in our respective offices until I raised the alarm that Beatrice had fallen. As you know, my office is the closest to the stairs. Alison followed and then Olive came running from her office at the rear of the building. She went straight upstairs to get a blanket and I rang triple zero.’

‘Was Beatrice conscious at the time?’

‘For a moment or two. She was trying to speak.’ Giles shook his head. ‘We tried to hear what she said, but we couldn’t make it out so we just reassured her until the ambulance arrived.’ Giles paused in reflection. ‘We did everything we could to make her comfortable, Chief Inspector.’

‘I’m sure you did, Mr Enfield.’ Fitzjohn got to his feet. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

‘So, is that it?’ asked Giles.’

‘For now,’ replied Fitzjohn.

Fitzjohn followed Betts and Carruthers out of Giles’s office to find Olive Glossop in the vestibule arranging fresh flowers in the crystal vase that sat on the marble-topped table.

‘Good afternoon, Ms Glossop. You’re just the person that we want to speak to,’ said Fitzjohn as they approached. Olive spun around. ‘Would you mind answering a few more questions for us, please?’

‘No, not at all,’ she said, eyeing the bulk of the three men. ‘It’ll be a bit of a squeeze in my little office, but I’m sure that we’ll manage somehow. Better still, we can use the boardroom. I’m sure that the auditors have finished there for the day.’ Olive caught Fitzjohn’s look. ‘They arrived early this morning.’

As Olive bustled off, they followed her into a room dominated by a long table surrounded by a dozen chairs. Fitzjohn glanced out of the window at a tall office building that loomed a few feet away on the property’s perimeter.

‘It’s hard to believe that this house once sat on a large parcel of land,’ said Olive, following Fitzjohn’s gaze. ‘It was sold off, of course, over the years and now the house is engulfed in the city. Such a shame that some things have to change so much, isn’t it?’

‘It is, Ms Glossop, but impossible to prevent,’ replied Fitzjohn, looking at the ruby and diamond setting of the ring on Olive’s finger as she sat down in the opposite chair. ‘I believe they call it progress.’

Olive noticed his attention to her ring and said, ‘I had it made especially. I’m partial to rubies.’ After a pause, she continued. ‘What is it you want to ask me, Chief Inspector?’

‘We’d like to know if you’ve had occasion to go up to Beatrice’s apartment recently.’

‘Oh. Well, yes, I have. I think I told you earlier that I went up there on the night that she fell. To get a blanket to cover her with until the ambulance arrived.’

‘So you did,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘And did you go up at any other time on that day?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact I did. I went upstairs to have a cup of tea with Beatrice late on Monday afternoon. She wanted to ask if I’d take over Max’s clients until the matter of his suspension was resolved.’

‘And have you been up there since?’

‘No.’

‘When you went up that evening to get the blanket, Ms Glossop, where did you find one?’

‘In the linen closet just off the kitchen. It was a knitted throw over. I just grabbed it and ran back downstairs.’ Olive’s brow furrowed. ‘Why are you asking all this?’

‘Because, Ms Glossop, your fingerprints have been found on some of the surfaces in the apartment.’

‘Well, that’s not surprising, is it?’ replied Olive indignantly.

The three officers made their way back out of the building and along the driveway to their car.

‘Carruthers, I want you to speak to Rosemary West in Port Macquarie to see if she corroborates Giles Enfield’s alibi,’ said Fitzjohn.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Betts, I want you to make an appointment for us to see the Public Trustee. I’d like to know who Beatrice Maybrick’s beneficiaries are.’

‘Alison Maybrick seems to be her only living relative,’ said Betts.’

‘She does, so I suspect that she’ll be the only beneficiary. Consequently, I think it’ll be prudent of us to find out the extent of Beatrice’s estate. After all, even though her business wasn’t doing well, it doesn’t necessarily mean that she didn’t have other assets. For instance, the building that the agency is housed in. It’s sitting on prime real estate. Must be worth millions.’ Fitzjohn pulled his seat belt on. ‘We need these questions answered. Especially now that we’re looking into the way in which Beatrice died.’

‘What about Olive Glossop, sir? That ring she’s wearing looks to be the one that Esme and Mildred Banks said was missing.’

‘It does, although her explanation as to how she came by it could be true so we need to tread carefully for now. After all, she’s been open about having had tea with Beatrice and the reason why as well as fetching the blanket that evening. However, the issue about her being promoted to agent gives me pause for thought because her story is the same as Giles Enfield’s. Beatrice asked her to take over Max’s agent duties without telling any of the other staff. Still, it was a tumultuous day. No doubt Beatrice was making snap decisions to make sure that the agency kept functioning.’

‘On the other hand,’ said Betts, ‘Olive might have gone up to Beatrice’s apartment that afternoon on the pretext of offering support, asked whether she could take over Max Ziegler’s clients and Beatrice refused. It would give her a motive to return that evening to try again. One thing led to another and Beatrice fell. It might also be how she came by the ring.’

‘It’s something to keep in mind, Betts,’ replied Fitzjohn.

CHAPTER 15

Fitzjohn heard the gate squeak and the footsteps that followed. When he opened the front door, he found Betts standing on the garden path, motionless as if in a trance like state, gazing at Rhonda Butler’s house.

‘Morning, Betts,’ he said softly.

Brought back from his thoughts, Betts turned, his face pale. ‘Good morning, sir. I was just... That is...’ Betts looked back at the house. ‘Seeing that house again has brought back the night of the fire.’

‘Mmm. The same thing happened to me,’ replied Fitzjohn, locking the door and joining Betts on the path. ‘A feeling of anxiety came over me. Same with you?’

‘I guess so. Not a nice feeling, anyway.’ Fitzjohn put his hand on Betts’s shoulder and they carried on to the car.

‘There’s bound to be some effects after experiencing that fire, but if they don’t dissipate, I suggest you speak to the medical officer.’ Fitzjohn climbed into the car and pulled his seat-belt on before giving Betts a reassuring look.

Betts nodded and turned the ignition. ‘I’ve been in contact with the Public Trustee’s Office in regards to Beatrice Maybrick’s will, sir. We have an appointment at nine o’clock this morning.’

‘Excellent,’ replied Fitzjohn.

Betts parked the car across the street from the building that housed the office of the Trustee, and minutes later they emerged from the elevator onto the seventh floor. Fitzjohn opened the door into the reception area and they approached a woman who sat behind the desk. As he did so, a tall, thin, dark haired woman walked out of a nearby office.

‘Is my nine o’clock here yet, Wendy?’ she asked.

‘No. Unless this is them now,’ she said looking at Betts and Fitzjohn as they walked across the room.

‘We have an appointment for nine with Deirdre Richardson,’ said Betts, looking at both women.

‘That’s me,’ replied the tall thin woman, her manner officious. ‘ It’s Chief Inspector Fitzjohn and Sergeant Betts, isn’t it?’ she said, unsmiling. ‘Come this way, won’t you?’ Fitzjohn and Betts followed the woman into her office. ‘Have a seat,’ she said as she settled herself behind her desk. ‘I understand that you’re here to enquire about Beatrice Maybrick’s will.’

‘That’s correct,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘She passed away recently.’

‘Can I ask why the police are involved, Chief Inspector. It’s just that I was told that her death was accidental.’

‘That might well be the case, Ms Richardson, but as questions have been raised about that fact, we’re looking into it.’

‘You mean she might have been murdered? That is disturbing.’ Deirdre sank back in her chair. ‘How do you think I can help?’

‘We’d like to know who Beatrice Maybrick’s beneficiaries are.’

‘I see. Well, that’s easy enough.’ Deirdre Richardson opened the file that lay on the desk in front of her and looked at Fitzjohn and Betts over her glasses. ‘There are two beneficiaries. Her step-daughter, Alison Maybrick and a man by the name of Charles Stratton.’ Fitzjohn shot Betts a look. ‘Alison Maybrick is to inherit the bulk of the estate which is her father’s investments that, apparently, Beatrice Maybrick never touched. All blue-chip and worth a small fortune. She is also left the Maybrick family home in Frenchs Forest that, I believe, she has always resided in.’ Deirdre looked up from the will. ‘I’m told that Mrs Maybrick moved out of the home and into an apartment after her husband passed away some twenty odd years ago.’

‘And Charles Stratton?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘He is left the few investments that Beatrice held herself and kept aside after sinking most of her capital into her business. He is also left the property in North Sydney that the business is housed in.’

‘Does the will state what relation Charles Stratton was to Beatrice Maybrick?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘No. There isn’t any mention of that.’ Deirdre gave a quick smile and closed the file. ‘I’m afraid that’s all the information I have. Does it help?’

‘Yes, it does. Thank you,’ replied Fitzjohn.

‘Under the circumstances, there is one other thing that I probably should mention. I’ve written to both beneficiaries and asked them to make contact.’ Deirdre paused. ‘Just so you know.’

‘Has either beneficiary replied?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘So far I’ve only heard from Alison Maybrick’s solicitor stating that she intends to contest the will. Apparently, she wasn’t aware that there was another beneficiary until she read Beatrice’s copy of the will after she’d passed away. Of course, that’ll delay proceedings as will your investigation. Mr Stratton will be informed when he makes contact.’

‘As far as Mr Stratton is concerned, what address do you have for him?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘It’s a post office box in Hastings, Victoria. It’s on the Mornington Peninsula, I believe. Just outside Melbourne. Would you like a copy of it?

‘Yes, that’d be helpful.’

Deirdre jotted the address down on a piece of paper and handed it to Fitzjohn.

‘Do you have any further questions, Chief Inspector? It’s just that I have my next appointment due shortly.’

‘Only one,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Can you tell us when Beatrice Maybrick’s will was executed?’

‘She made this one quite recently. Approximately two months ago.’

‘Do you recall the changes she made?’

‘Yes. There was one. The addition of Charles Stratton as a beneficiary.’

Fitzjohn and Betts left the Trustee’s office and made their way out of the building to their car.

‘Well, that was worthwhile,’ said Fitzjohn as he settled himself into the passenger seat. ‘Not only have we learnt that Alison Maybrick had a lot to gain by her step-mother’s death, but that Charles Stratton is a beneficiary as well.’

‘And that Alison is contesting the will,’ replied Betts. ‘It must have come as a bit of a shock to realise that she wouldn’t be inheriting the North Sydney property.’

‘Mmm. She has to have been aware of its value for a long time and didn’t know that there was an interloper waiting in the wings. Of course, you know what this means, don’t you, Betts? If Esme Timmons is right and Beatrice Maybrick was murdered, Alison Maybrick had a strong motive to kill her.’

‘Have Williams follow up that post office box address for Charles Stratton. He shouldn’t be too difficult to track down now.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Betts pulled away from the curb and merged into the traffic. ‘Will you need me in the next hour or so, sir?’ he continued. ‘I have a few enquiries to make.’

‘No. You can drop me at the station. I’ve got to make some myself about this Wilson case before I’m asked to appear again before the Board.’

Fitzjohn threw his pen onto the desk and sat back, frustrated that the hours he had spent looking for information about the Patricia Wilson case had not produced a result. Why was that? Was it the norm that the Police Integrity Board seized all but the barest details of a case that they were inquiring into? They must. What other reason could there be? As he pondered these thoughts, a knock sounded on the door and Betts walked into the room.

‘Ah, Betts. Any news?’

‘A couple of things, sir.’ Betts sauntered in and sat down before taking his notebook out of his breast pocket. ‘I spoke to Beatrice Maybrick’s doctor. He confirmed that she was in excellent health prior to her death and had no reason to think that she might die.’

‘In that case, one could assume that her letter to Charles Stratton was prompted by fear that someone wished her harm. It does increase the possibility that she was murdered, doesn’t it?’ Fitzjohn paused in thought. ‘I wish we had some way of knowing when, exactly, she wrote that letter.’

‘If it was the day that she died, she could have felt threatened by Max Ziegler after she exposed the probability that he was cooking the books,’ said Betts.

‘That’s true,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘But there’s also Alison Maybrick, who had a considerable amount to gain by Beatrice’s death. Of course, she’d have known that for years and I can’t see that it would have prompted Beatrice to write the letter. Unless, of course, the two women had argued and Alison had said something that made Beatrice feel intimidated.’

As Fitzjohn spoke, the office door opened and the Duty Officer appeared. ‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I have two ladies to see you. A Miss Timmons and a Mrs Banks.’

Fitzjohn glanced at Betts who jumped out of his chair and moved over to stand beside the filing cabinet. Fitzjohn got to his feet and slipped on his suit coat. ‘Show them in, Sergeant.’ The Duty Officer stood aside and Esme appeared followed by another lady, a little younger, perhaps, and with a mischievous countenance.

‘Good afternoon, Esme,’ said Fitzjohn.

‘Afternoon, Alistair.’ Esme smiled at Betts. ‘I’d like to introduce you both to my friend, Mildred Banks.’

‘I’m very pleased to meet you both at last,’ said Mildred, her eyes sparkling.

‘We’re here because we have some information,’ continued Esme as Betts pulled out the two chairs in front of the desk. ‘To be quite honest, we’re not sure if it’s relevant but, in light of the fact that you’re looking into Beatrice’s death, we’ve decided you should know. Before we get to that, though, we’re aware of your harrowing experience with the fire. I hope there aren’t any lasting after effects.’

‘Only an appreciation for life, which is a good thing,’ replied Fitzjohn, sitting down again. ‘What information do you have, Esme?’

‘Yes, well, yesterday Mildred and I went to see Alison Maybrick at her behest.’ Esme recounted what Alison had told her and Mildred about the ruby ring. ‘It wasn’t until we left the premises that Mildred told me that she’d seen someone wearing the ring when we attended Beatrice’s memorial service.’

Fitzjohn sat forward in his chair and directed his gaze at Mildred whose face lit up with delight at being the centre of attention. ‘Do you know who that person was, Mildred?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I do,’ she replied conspiratorially. ‘It was Olive Glossop, one of Beatrice’s employees.’

‘And where were you when you saw Ms Glossop wearing the ring?’

‘I was in her car. She was driving me to Alison’s house for the reception after the memorial service.
Oh my heavens!’

‘What is it?’ asked Esme, alarmed as the colour drained from Mildred’s face.

‘I just had a thought. Do you think this means that Olive could have had something to do with Beatrice’s death? To think that I was alone in the car with her.’

Ignoring this, Fitzjohn continued. ‘Are you sure that it was Beatrice Maybrick’s ring, Mrs Banks?’

‘I’m positive. It’s quite unique. A small ruby encircled with diamonds.’

‘So, quite valuable,’ said Fitzjohn.

‘No. The stones weren’t real. At least not according to Beatrice. She said it was just a keepsake from her past that she treasured.’ Esme paused. ‘I’m sorry if we’ve wasted your time, Alistair. It might mean nothing but we’re glad that we’ve been able to tell you. Aren’t we Mildred?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Mildred with a look of satisfaction on her face before she sighed. ‘It’s so exciting to be at the hub of a murder investigation and be able to supply a possible clue.’

‘And we’re most grateful, Mrs Banks,’ replied Fitzjohn with a wide smile.

‘Oh, please. Call me Mildred.’

‘I think you’ve won an admirer,’ said Betts as Fitzjohn came back into the office after seeing Esme and Mildred into their taxi.

‘I don’t think that Mrs Banks has been inside a police station before. She’s overawed by the experience,’ replied Fitzjohn, shrugging out of his suit coat and hanging it on the back of his chair before sitting down. ‘And if she’s right and Olive Glossop was wearing the missing ring, it means that she’s been into that apartment since Beatrice’s fall. It wouldn’t have been difficult with the door permanently unlocked. Perhaps a spur of the moment temptation that Olive couldn’t resist.’

‘Do you think we should include her as a person of interest in Beatrice’s death, along with Max Ziegler and Alison Maybrick, sir?’

‘It wouldn’t hurt,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘After all, Olive could have argued with Beatrice if, in fact, it wasn’t her idea to promote Olive to the position as agent.’

‘What should we do in regards to the missing ring?’ asked Betts.

‘I don’t see there’s anything we can do,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Not for now, at least. After all, it hasn’t been reported as stolen and according to Esme and Mildred Banks, it isn’t valuable. But I am glad that they’ve told us about it because you never know, it could turn out to be a significant piece of information.’

‘Still, I can’t see Olive pushing Beatrice down those stairs, sir. Can you? I think it would more likely be either Alison or Ziegler. Ziegler might have decided to plead his case to Beatrice that evening. He’d have a key to the building so he could have let himself in and gone upstairs while the other members of staff were working in their offices. And it wouldn’t have been difficult for Alison to slip upstairs either. She had a lot to gain monetarily from her step-mother’s death.’

‘That’s true,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Although, with Charles Stratton now in the picture, she will have a bit less.’ Fitzjohn sat back in his chair. ‘I wonder who he was to Beatrice. Do we have any news on him yet?’