Deadly Investment (A Fitzjohn Mystery Book 5) (15 page)

CHAPTER 17

The following morning Fitzjohn arrived at the station later than usual, having gathered as much information about his whereabouts in the latter part of 2007 as he could. Now convinced that he was being set up, he dropped his briefcase on his desk and with a determined gait, made his way to Chief Superintendent Grieg’s office. He tapped on the door and walked in.

He found Grieg sitting back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head and his feet resting on the top of his desk while he listened to a voice on the telephone’s loudspeaker. His chair pitched forward with a thud when Fitzjohn appeared. Grieg grabbed the phone.

‘I’ll call you back.’

‘What the hell do you want?’ he screeched.

‘I’ve come to let you know that I’ll be speaking at the inquiry this morning. You might like to attend because I’m sure you’ll find what I have to say most interesting.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ replied Grieg with a sneer. ‘I’m going to enjoy watching you accused of incompetence. Do you realise that a man has spent the last eight years behind bars because of you?’

‘Not because of me, Chief Superintendent, and I can prove it.’ With that, Fitzjohn turned, and with a spring in his step, left the office.

‘Morning, Betts,’ Fitzjohn called out as he glimpsed his young sergeant at the end of the corridor. ‘Has anything come back from forensics about those shoe prints yet?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Chase it up will you?’ Betts nodded. ‘What about Charles Stratton? Any news there?’

‘Not yet, sir, but there is on Giles Enfield.’

‘Good, come into my office. You can tell me there.’

Once inside, Fitzjohn took his briefcase from the top of his desk and placed it beside his chair before slipping out of his suit coat. Betts sat down and took out his notebook before he flipped through the pages.

‘What do we have?’ asked Fitzjohn, settling himself into his chair.

‘Firstly, Williams has spoken to Rosemary West, sir. She confirms that Enfield did arrive in Port Macquarie on Thursday morning and that they spent the following four days together.’

‘So, Giles was telling the truth.’

‘Looks that way,’ replied Betts.

‘It seems to me like we’re losing one of our main persons of interest, doesn’t it?’ said Fitzjohn with a sigh.

‘Not altogether, sir, because I decided to look a bit further into Enfield’s past, in particular, his education history. You’ll be interested to know that, as a young man, he studied accountancy at the University of Sydney. He graduated with a Bachelor of Business with Honours and was accredited by the Chartered Accountants Australia and New Zealand organisation. They go under the acronym of the CAANZ.’

‘Ah. Well, that is interesting.’ Fitzjohn gave a wry smile. ‘So, contrary to what he told us, he was more than capable of taking over the accountancy of the Maybrick Literary Agency.’

‘With, perhaps, a bit of embezzlement on the side,’ added Betts.

‘What about his financial affairs?’

‘Nothing substantial there,’ replied Betts, looking back at his notes. ‘He and his wife have one property that they live in. It has a hefty mortgage over it. Their bank accounts reflect two people who are both working to meet the monthly payments. They do have a nest egg, however. A term deposit in the amount of $50,000 that they’ve kept rolling over for the past two years. The interest of which they’ve put on their mortgage.’

‘In that case, it can’t have been gained from embezzlement of monies through the agency if he is, in fact, guilty of that. Enfield’s only been employed there for a year.’

‘No, sir, but he does have a safe deposit box. A perfect place to hide the spoils of embezzlement, I would think.’

‘Mmm. It would be, wouldn’t it?’ said Fitzjohn with a smile. ‘See the Magistrate about a search warrant for the box. When you have it, pay a call to Giles Enfield’s bank manager. I’d like to go along too, but I have to front up to the Police Integrity Board later this morning. I’ve no idea when I’ll be through - or they’ll be through with me - so you’re on your own.’ Betts got to his feet. ‘And Betts,’ continued Fitzjohn. ‘Good work.’

‘Thank you, sir. And good luck with the inquiry.’

Fitzjohn entered Day Street Police Station with a bounce in his step. With the evidence that he had presented to the Board proving that he had not been in Australia at any time during the investigation into the Patricia Wilson case, he had been released from their grasp. The inquiry, now in a state of flux, adjourned its proceedings until further notice. Fitzjohn realised, however, that his elation would be short lived, the repercussions coming in the form of Chief Superintendent Grieg’s wrath. The reason behind Grieg’s conviction that this had been his case was another thought that nagged at the fringes of Fitzjohn’s mind. Was it possible that Grieg had known all along who had conducted the investigation? If that was the case, he would be in a precarious position when the Board recommenced its proceedings. Resigned to the fact that this matter had yet to meet its conclusion, Fitzjohn opened the door into his office.

‘Afternoon, sir.’

Fitzjohn turned to see Betts behind him. ‘Ah, how did you get on?’ he asked.

‘Very well, sir.’ Betts recounted his meeting with Giles Enfield’s bank manager and the contents in the safe deposit box. ‘Consequently, I took the liberty of arranging for Mr Enfield to be brought in for questioning. He’s waiting in Interview Room 2.

Fitzjohn and Betts walked into the interview room to see Enfield’s imposing frame at the table next to his solicitor, an attractive young woman of diminutive proportions. Giles glared at Fitzjohn.

‘And about time too!’ he barked in an authoritative voice. ‘How dare you subject me to this kind of treatment? Anyone would think I’m a common criminal.’

‘We apologise for keeping you waiting, Mr Enfield,’ replied Fitzjohn, sitting down and placing the plastic bags containing the contents of the safe deposit box on the table in front of him.

Betts turned on the recording device and when introductions had been made, the interview began.

‘What’s all this?’ asked Enfield with a flick of his hand toward the bags.

‘It’s the contents of your safe deposit box,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Just over two hundred thousand dollars when counted. Would you care to tell us how you came by such a large amount of money?’

‘No, I wouldn’t,’ replied Giles, his eyes locked onto the bags of notes. ‘How dare you invade my deposit box?’

‘Where did you get the money, Mr Enfield?’ asked Fitzjohn again.

‘That’s none of your damned business.’

‘It is, and I seem to remember explaining why on a previous occasion. Would you like me to repeat myself?’

‘No. I would not.’

‘In that case, we’re waiting for an explanation. Is it the proceeds from your embezzlement at the Maybrick Literary Agency?’

‘Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. I told you before that I don’t have the skills needed to record business transactions let alone cook the books which is what you’re accusing me of.’

‘We’re not accusing you, Mr Enfield. We just want to know where you got this money because, contrary to what you just said, we know that you are more than capable of recording “business transactions”, as you put it. You did, after all, complete a Bachelor of Business with Honours at the University of Sydney before you started your working career. I’d say that you’re more than capable of embezzling agency funds. So, would you care to tell us about it?’

‘You’re wasting your time,’ replied Giles with a sneer. ‘I didn’t do it.’

‘Then why have your fingerprints and fibres from your clothing been found on and in the laptop used by the agency for the purpose of their accounting? I think there’s no question that you took on the bookkeeping task as Max Ziegler told us, and that you decided to take a little something for yourself along the way.’

‘Well, you’re wrong. I admit I have helped Max from time to time with the accounts because I’ve probably got far more knowledge about such things than he does, but I didn’t take them over completely. If there are discrepancies in the accounts, it’ll be Max Ziegler’s doing, not mine.’ Giles sat back in his chair with an air of arrogance. ‘That money you have there is mine. It has nothing to do with the agency.’

‘Then I suggest that you tell us how you came by it,’ replied Fitzjohn.

‘If you must know, it’s the proceeds from my father’s coin and stamp collections. He died a few months ago and left them to me in his will. I sold them to a man who deals in such things.’

‘Do you have a receipt?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘In that case, we’d like to see it,’ said Fitzjohn.

‘And I’ll be more than happy to show it to you just for the satisfaction of seeing the expression on your face.’

Unmoved by Enfield’s utterances, Fitzjohn said, ‘Pardon my curiosity, Mr Enfield, but if, indeed, this money is the proceeds from your father’s collections, why didn’t you deposit it in your bank account where it would earn interest?’

‘Because, if you must know, I didn’t want my wife to know about it. It’s as simple as that.’ Giles looked at Fitzjohn and sighed. ‘Now I suppose you want to know why and if it’ll get you off my back once and for all, I’ll tell you. Rosemary West and I have put an offer in on a house in Port Macquarie. This money is my share toward its purchase.’

‘Ah! So, Ms West is more than a friend?’

‘All you need to know is that I didn’t kill Preston Alexander,’ replied Giles Enfield.

Fitzjohn terminated the interview and followed by Betts, made his way back to his office where he slumped down into his chair.

‘I have a feeling that Enfield is telling the truth about the way in which he received that money, Betts.’

‘We’ll know for sure if he produces that receipt, sir. I’ll see to it now.’

‘Do that because if he’s not our man, we have precious time to waste.’

As Betts left the room the door flew open again and Grieg burst in. Fitzjohn groaned.

‘What do you think you’re playing at, Fitzjohn,’ he screamed.

Feeling unable to suffer another fool gladly, Fitzjohn got to his feet as Grieg positioned himself on the other side of the desk. ‘I’m not the one who’s playing games,’ he said. ‘We both know that. Don’t we, sir?’ Fitzjohn glared at Grieg whose eyes refused to meet his. ‘I don’t know why you hold a grudge against me, nor do I care, but I’ll tell you this, Chief Superintendent. Don’t ever set me up again because if you do, you’ll regret it.’

‘How
dare
you threaten me?’ hissed Grieg.

‘How dare you involve me in a bungled investigation that I had nothing to do with?’

‘That’s rubbish! I did no such thing. It was an honest mistake.’

‘We both know that’s not the case,’ replied Fitzjohn.

The colour drained from Grieg’s face and he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

CHAPTER 18

Fitzjohn sat alone in the Incident Room turning his pen end for end on the desk while he mulled over in his mind what was now, he believed, two murders. Of course, the question is, are they connected? As this thought came to mind, Betts walked into the room and placed a plastic sleeve on the table.

‘It’s Giles Enfield’s receipt for the money found in his safe deposit box, sir. It doesn’t look like he’s our man after all.’ Betts sat down heavily into a chair while Fitzjohn studied the receipt.

‘He still could be, but you’re right, it’s looking less likely,’ Fitzjohn replied. ‘I’ve just been sitting here asking myself whether our victim’s death is connected to Beatrice’s. It’s possible, considering the incident involving Max Ziegler and the agency’s accounts the day that Beatrice died.’

‘You mean Ziegler killed Beatrice in a fit of rage?’ said Betts.

‘I suppose I do. After all, the man had been on an emotional roller coaster for months. Being suspended for suspected embezzlement might have sent him over the edge.’

‘What if the deaths aren’t connected, sir. If not, I’d say that Alison Maybrick had the most to gain monetarily.’

‘True, but if that’s the case there’s also Olive Glossop to consider. She’s somewhat eccentric and possibly unpredictable. She might have approached Beatrice with the purpose of asking to be promoted to agent only to be refused. If that’s so, it may have been one disappointment too many after twenty years of loyal service. She might have taken matters into her own hands.’

‘Which leaves Giles Enfield and Fiona Worth,’ said Betts. ‘It can’t be Giles. He’s too wrapped up in his liaison with Rosemary West than he is in the workings of the agency. And it couldn’t be Fiona because she’s too...’

‘Beautiful?’ asked Fitzjohn with a smile. ‘We can’t let beauty influence our thoughts when it comes to solving a murder, Betts.’

‘No, sir.’ Betts paused. ‘On another note, I have one piece of positive detecting work to report. I made enquiries at the Family Court about Max Ziegler’s divorce settlement. Apparently, he chose to keep the family apartment rather than sell it. To do so, he had to pay his estranged wife half the market value which was $400,000.’

‘And has that been executed?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘Yes, it has.’

‘Mmm. Interesting. Did he take out a bank loan?’

‘As far as I can tell, he hasn’t taken out any loans since he and his wife bought their apartment five years ago.’

‘Even more interesting. Have Mr Ziegler brought in, Betts. I’d like his explanation as to where he came by so much money.’

‘It’s done, sir. He’s waiting in Interview Room # 1.’

Max Ziegler, dressed in a light grey suit with a blue tie, paced the floor of the interview room while his solicitor arranged his paperwork in front of him on the table.

‘How long do you think this is going to take, Mr Chalmers?’ Ziegler asked the solicitor as he sat down next to him.

‘It’s hard to say. Anywhere from ten or fifteen minutes to a couple of hours. It depends.’

‘Well, I wish they’d hurry up. I need a cigarette.’

Silence prevailed as the minutes ticked by. Ziegler tapped his shoe against the leg of the table and ran his fingers along the inside of his shirt collar while staring blankly at the dull green wall in front of him. He jumped when the door opened and Fitzjohn and Betts walked into the room.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Ziegler,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ Fitzjohn sat down followed by Betts who turned on the recording devise. ‘As you can see, this interview will be recorded,’ continued Fitzjohn. ‘All you need to do is introduced yourself and answer our questions as best you can. I should add, however, that you are not obliged to do so.’

‘I can’t understand why you’ve brought me here,’ said Ziegler. ‘I’ve told you everything I know.’

Ignoring Ziegler, Fitzjohn stated the date and time and introduced himself on the machine. He nodded to Ziegler who then stated his name. When everyone had been introduced, Fitzjohn posed his first question.

‘Mr Ziegler, we understand that you recently attended the Family Court where your divorce settlement from your wife Cynthia Ziegler was conducted. One of the details of that settlement was that you pay your wife half the market value for the family apartment.’

Ziegler hesitated. ‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with Preston Alexander’s death. Details of my marital breakdown are none of your business.’

‘As I said earlier, it’s your choice whether you answer our questions,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Do you wish to consult with your solicitor?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Very well. Interview terminated at fifteen fifty-four.’ Fitzjohn gave a quick smile and he and Betts left the room only to be called back minutes later.

‘My client wishes to continue with the interview, Chief Inspector,’ said Mr Chalmers.

Recommencing the interview, Fitzjohn continued where he had left off. ‘So, we’re led to believe that you paid your wife, Cynthia Ziegler, half the market value for the family apartment,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘A sum of approximately $400,000. Is that correct?’

‘Yes. I didn’t want to sell so I bought her out. She was happy with that.’

‘Can you tell us how you raised the required amount of money?’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘Was it gained through embezzling funds at the Maybrick Literary Agency?’

Ziegler sighed. ‘I’ve told you before, it was Giles who did the embezzling, not me. I got a bank loan for the money.’

‘From which bank?’

‘St George Bank.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘Of course I’m sure.’

‘We’ve made enquiries at a number of banks, Mr Ziegler, as well as at a number of building societies and we couldn’t find that you have secured a loan for any amount from any of them. This is a list of those that we made enquiries with.’ Fitzjohn pushed a piece of paper across the table toward Ziegler. ‘Perhaps the institution that you approached isn’t among them.’ Ziegler pushed the paper back. ‘Not there, Mr Ziegler?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘No.’ Ziegler hesitated. ‘I couldn’t find a bank that would lend me that amount of money. Not on my salary, so I got the money through a friend.’

‘I see.’ Fitzjohn paused for a moment. ‘When you say through a friend, do you mean that he introduced you to someone who would loan you the money?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you give us the name of that friend? Just so that he can confirm what you’re telling us is the truth.’

Ziegler did not reply.

‘Very well. We’ll leave that matter for the moment. Let’s talk about the night that Preston Alexander died because a person matching your description was seen that night getting out of a car on Milson Road. Was that you, Mr Ziegler?’

‘Of course not. I’ve already told you that I was at a dinner in Neutral Bay.’

‘It’s the next suburb. It would have only taken you a minute or two to drive to Cremorne. We know that you telephoned Preston earlier that evening. Was it the case that you weren’t able to convince him that you were innocent of embezzlement so you thought you’d have better luck face to face? Is that what happened, Mr Ziegler? You and he went for an evening stroll, but Preston still wouldn’t believe you and things got out of hand.’

‘That’s ridiculous. I didn’t kill him, I tell you.’

‘What do you want to do, sir?’ asked Betts as he and Fitzjohn stepped out of the interview room.

‘We’ll retain Mr Ziegler for the time being. It’ll give him time to think about the position he’s in. Hopefully he’ll eventually tell us whether he manipulated the agency’s funds or who he borrowed the money from.’

‘Unless he took the money out of the agency, I can’t see why he won’t tell us where he got the money, unless he used a loan shark with dubious connections.’

‘That thought had crossed my mind,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Either way, his silence won’t help his case. Hiding something never does.’