‘Why on earth would I do that?’ replied Fontaine, throwing his hands in the air.
‘In that case, the only other explanation would be that you have your dates mixed up or you’re lying. I’d say it’s the latter because we know you flew from Perth on the sixteenth of April, three days earlier. What we’d like to know is why you lied to us about it?’ Patrick Fontaine glared at the two officers. ‘Well?’
‘It’s a personal matter and has nothing to do with your investigation, I assure you,’ replied Fontaine. ‘I have no qualms speaking to you about the investigation into my sister’s death, but I’m drawing the line when you start delving into my private affairs.’
‘Mr Fontaine,’ said Fitzjohn, tossing his pen down on the table, ‘I’m conducting a murder investigation, so at this point in time, your private affairs aren’t private.’ Fitzjohn waited again for Patrick Fontaine to reply.
‘All right, if you must know, I did fly to Sydney on the sixteenth so I was there when I got the telephone call from Claire Reynolds about Florence’s death.’
‘Then why did you lead Ms Reynolds to believe you were in Perth?’
‘Paranoia is the only reason I can think of,’ replied Fontaine with a shrug. ‘You see, when my wife left for a holiday to New Zealand with her sister on the fourteenth of April I arranged to spend a few days with a friend of mine in Sydney. A female friend.’ Patrick’s eyes met Fitzjohn’s intense gaze. ‘We’ve known each for a long time. You know how it is, we’re both married to other people so we have to be discreet.’ Fontaine’s eyebrows arched.
‘I still don’t see why you waited until the following day before you drove to Leura to meet with Claire Reynolds,’ said Fitzjohn.
‘It was because as far as my wife was concerned, I was in Perth. You have no idea what she’s like, Chief Inspector. Any change in my plans and she’s like a hawk bearing down on a field mouse.’ Patrick sighed deeply. ‘As I said, it was paranoia. I didn’t want to take any chances.’
Somewhat amused with this analogy, Fitzjohn said, ‘We’ll need your friend’s name and contact details so we can corroborate what you’ve told us, Mr Fontaine.’
‘That’s preposterous.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Fitzjohn retorted. ‘Now, I’d like to carry on to my next query. It’s come to light that during your stay at the Marriott Hotel, you met with your stepsister Carolyn Winter.’ Fontaine looked agog at Fitzjohn. ‘I seem to remember that when we last spoke at the Hydro Majestic the other day, you made a point of telling us that you haven’t had anything to do with Carolyn for years. Why did you lie, Mr Fontaine?’
Patrick Fontaine swallowed hard. ‘I didn’t tell you because I thought you might think I had something to do with Florence’s death. I wanted to distance myself.’
‘Who instigated the meeting?’
‘It was Carolyn. She contacted me at the hotel just after I’d arrived. She said she was feeling low and wanted to make amends with Florence. When I told her I was in Sydney, she asked me to go with her to talk to Florence so I could help persuade her to give Carolyn another chance.’
‘And, obviously, you refused.’
‘Yes. I told her that if she genuinely wanted to bridge the gap between them, she should do it herself.’ Patrick shook his head. ‘I met with her in good faith and look what happened. I should never have allowed Carolyn to go near Florence. I should have been there.’ Patrick’s eyes glistened.
‘What do you think?’ asked Betts as the two men terminated the interview and made their way to the Incident Room.
‘His explanation as to why he lied about his arrival date in Sydney is somewhat bizarre but perhaps some people are driven to inexplicable behaviour when trying to cover up an affair. Demonstrated, I’d say, by his guilt which causes him to feel his spouse is scrutinizing his every move.’ Fitzjohn opened the Incident Room door and walked to the front of the room where he sat down before the white-board. ‘More importantly, he lied about not having spoken to Carolyn, for years. Of course, he did clarify that by saying he wanted to distance himself and it’s plausible in light of the circumstances concerning his sister’s murder.’
‘And he appears genuinely distressed that his decision not to accompany Carolyn to Lyrebird Lodge could have been a determining factor in her death,’ said Betts.
‘That’s right but either way, I want to hold him for now until we’ve questioned Carolyn Winter again.’
Carolyn Winter took a makeup compact from her handbag and stared into the small mirror before reapplying her lipstick. After taking a last satisfying look at herself, she put the compact back in her handbag and sat back with a sigh. ‘How long do you think they’ll be?’ she asked the solicitor who sat quietly at her side.
‘Not too long, I shouldn’t think,’ he replied.
‘I’d have brought a magazine to read if I’d known it was going to be like this.’ Carolyn sighed and looked around the small room with its pale grey walls. ‘They really should do something about their colour scheme if they expect the public to sit in here. It’s so drab. And it’s cold. Is it possible to turn up the heating a bit?’
‘I doubt that’s possible, Mrs Winter,’ replied the solicitor. ‘The air conditioning will be on a central system.’
Carolyn sighed again and as she did so, the door opened and Fitzjohn and Betts walked into the room.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Winter. Thank you for coming in.’ Fitzjohn acknowledged the solicitor and placed his papers on the table. After introductions, the interview got underway.
‘Why exactly have I been asked to come in?’ asked Carolyn.
‘It’s due to the progression of our investigation,’ replied Fitzjohn as he sat down. ‘We’ve found there are more questions we need to ask concerning your journey from Queensland to Sydney.’
‘But I told you all about that when you came to see me at my hotel.’
‘You did, but we’d like to go over it again because there seems to be a discrepancy.’
‘Oh? What kind of discrepancy?’
‘At the time, you said you and your husband drove from the Gold Coast to Leura.’
‘That’s right,’ said Carolyn.
‘Well, there in lies the discrepancy, Mrs Winter, because it’s come to our notice that you called into the Marriott Hotel in Sydney before going to Leura and while at that hotel, you met up with your stepbrother Patrick Fontaine. Can you tell us why you didn’t mention that before?’
‘I didn’t think it was important,’ Carolyn replied as she moved in her chair.
‘We’re also led to believe that the meeting with your stepbrother was at your request, not his,’ said Fitzjohn.
‘No it wasn’t.’ Carolyn glared at Fitzjohn. ‘Is that what Patrick told you? The bastard! I did no such thing. He called me and I can prove it.’ Carolyn rummaged in her handbag and brought out her mobile phone. ‘Take a look at my call list.’ she shrieked, handing the phone to Fitzjohn.
Fitzjohn took the phone from Carolyn’s grasp. ‘In that case, can you tell us the reason he telephoned you?’ When Carolyn did not reply Fitzjohn said, ‘Patrick has told us about the threats you made to Florence and of your subsequent estrangement. Did you wish your stepsister harm, Mrs Winter? Is that why you went to the auction? To take the opportunity to lace her glass of champagne with cyanide?’
‘No! It was Patrick who wanted Florence dead, not me,’ screamed Carolyn. ‘He told me…’
‘Told you what?’
‘He said that Florence was holding an auction and as she always found it hard to sleep after a big event, she usually took a sleeping pill before bed.’
‘And?’
‘He said all I had to do was make sure she had more than one pill.’
‘In other words, enough to make her overdose,’ prompted Fitzjohn.
‘Yes.’ Carolyn swallowed hard.
‘And what were you going to gain by killing Florence?’
‘Carolyn stared at the two officers. ‘Patrick said he’d
share Florence’s estate with me.’ Carolyn slumped back in her chair. ‘Now you know everything. I did lie to you but I didn’t kill Florence,’ she screamed, tears brimming her eyes.
‘But you did conspire to kill her,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Even a foiled plan to kill another person comes under a charge of conspiracy to murder.’
Fitzjohn and Betts re-entered the interview room to find Patrick Fontaine, drumming his fingers on the table.
‘How much longer is this going to take?’ he asked.
‘My apologies for the delay, Mr Fontaine,’ said Fitzjohn, taking his seat. ‘It was necessary for us to corroborate what you have told us today with your stepsister, Mrs Winter. She denies she telephoned you. She tells us that it was you who made the call. She also tells us that the nature of the call had nothing to do with her mending the bridge between herself and Florence but that you wanted her to conspire with you to murder your sister.’
‘What? The woman’s gone mad.’
‘Nevertheless, you did have a lot to gain by killing your sister, didn’t you? For instance, it would save you from bankruptcy.’
‘I see you’ve been delving into my private affairs. Well, I can’t deny that I’m in debt, but I’m not about to become bankrupt.’
‘Our inquiries reveal that you are,’ replied Fitzjohn.
‘But you can’t believe that it would cause me to do what you’re suggesting.’
‘I believe it’s a strong motive to murder your sister,’ said Fitzjohn.
‘But Florence was poisoned. I’d…’
‘You’d what, Mr Fontaine?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘I didn’t have anything to do with Florence’s death. I didn’t tell Carolyn to use cyanide.’
‘What did you tell her to use?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Sleeping pills,’ replied Patrick as he broke down.
After both Patrick Fontaine and Carolyn Winter had been read their rights and arrested, Fitzjohn and Betts met in the Incident Room.
‘I wonder what the odds are that two people planned to kill Florence on the same day,’ said Betts.
‘Unlikely I would have thought, but not impossible. On the other hand, Carolyn Winter knows full well how her stepsister died, so it might have been quick thinking on her part to say she and her stepbrother conspired to kill Florence with sleeping pills. It’s much better to be accused of conspiracy to murder than murder. Still, she might be telling the truth which means there’s someone else who wanted Florence dead. Either way, have them both released on bail pending further investigation into the matter, Betts.’
‘And where do you want to start with that investigation, sir?’
‘Where we began initially, at Lyrebird Lodge.’ Fitzjohn caught Betts’s quizzical look. ‘I know we’ve seen everything there is to see but it’ll refresh things in my mind. Speak to Ms Reynolds and let her know we’ll be taking another look around the place.’
‘Yes, sir.’
CHAPTER 12
Claire Reynolds sat in her office at the back of the gallery, the morning newspaper spread across the desk, her eyes fixed on the headline set in large black printing, “Brother of Murdered Artist Charged with Conspiracy!” At the same time, Patrick’s words describing Carolyn’s threatening behaviour toward Florence replayed in her mind. He had deliberately led her to believe that his stepsister could be involved in Florence’s death when, in fact, he might have been involved himself. Equally unsettling was not only how easily she had been taken in, but that the pair were now out on bail. A shiver went down her spine as her eyes focused on Patrick’s image staring out at her from the newspaper. How could she face this man again? As this thought came to mind, the bell on the gallery door sounded and Laura’s voice rang out.
‘Claire, have you heard?’
‘You mean about Patrick and Carolyn’s arrest?’ replied Claire as Laura appeared in the office doorway. ‘I just read about it in the newspaper.’
‘I can’t believe it, can you? He seemed to care so much for Florence.’ Laura slumped down in a chair next to the filing cabinet. ‘And why on earth would he be given bail?’
‘I don’t know but the police must have their reasons. After all, he is innocent until proven guilty according to the law.’ Claire folded the paper and put it into the waste paper basket before leading the way out of her office and into the gallery.
‘Well, I’m not looking forward to being here when he comes in to see us, which he’s bound to do. I mean, what are we going to say to him?’
‘I think, under the circumstances, he’ll want to know whether or not we plan to stay on,’ replied Claire.
‘Well, to be honest, I really need this job even as things are,’ said Laura. ‘What about you?’
‘If I left I’d feel like I was deserting Florence, so I’m staying. For now at least, unless of course he decides to close the business.’
‘Well, it looks like we’re going to find out very shortly,’ said Laura, glancing out of the window at Patrick Fontaine as he climbed out of a taxi and walked with an air of authority towards the gallery.
Claire stiffened. ‘Hello,’ she said as he came in through the glass door.
‘Hello,’ replied Patrick, his face gaunt, the muscle in his left cheek twitching. ‘I take it you’ve both heard about my arrest.’
‘Yes,’ replied Claire and Laura in unison. A moment of silence followed.
‘Well, all I can say is that I’m innocent and I look forward to the accusations laid against me being proved false.’ Patrick looked at the two women. ‘I realise this is a profoundly awkward situation for you both and I don’t plan to stay long. I just need to know whether you’re willing to stay on and continue with the plans we laid out earlier, at least in the short term. Alternatively, you could arrange to close the place up for the time being even though I’m bound by law to remain in the area for the foreseeable future. I don’t want to frequent the place, not with the attention my presence would engender. So, talk it over and give me a ring when you’ve made your decision.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Claire. ‘We’ll stay.’
Patrick let out a huge breath. ‘Thank you. You don’t know what a relief that is. We’ll communicate by phone and email. I think that’s best for now.’ As he turned to leave, he turned back, his eyes glistening. ‘Before I go I’d just like to say one last thing. I didn’t conspire with Carolyn to kill Florence. I loved my sister.’
‘Do you think he and Carolyn Winter did plan to murder Florence?’ asked Laura as they watched Patrick climb into his waiting taxi.
‘I don’t know what to think,’ replied Claire. ‘I really don’t.’
As Laura left and made her way through to the art shop, a myriad of questions ran through Claire’s mind as she watched the taxi pull away from the curb. One of those questions came to the forefront of her thoughts as she saw Matthew Avery approach the gallery.
‘Mr Avery. You’re still here I see,’ she said as he walked in through the door.
‘I decided to stay on for a while because I’d like to attend Ms Fontaine’s funeral.’
‘Oh,’ replied Claire somewhat taken aback and still sceptical about Avery’s unusual interest in Florence’s death. ‘I’m not sure when that will be because her body hasn’t been released to the family yet, and now there are other complications.’
‘Mmm. I heard about her brother’s arrest on the news this morning. Wasn’t that who I saw leaving here as I arrived?’
‘Yes. He’s been granted bail.’ Claire met Matthew Avery’s intense gaze. ‘I don’t wish to be rude, Mr Avery, but you seem especially interested in Florence. Are you a journalist? I ask because when I saw you outside the entrance to Lyrebird Lodge yesterday… well, it’s the sort of thing a journalist would do, isn’t it?’
‘I wouldn’t know, Ms Reynolds because I’m not a journalist. I’m an engineer.’ Avery gave a quick smile. ‘I apologise if I appear to be prying, it isn’t my intention, I assure you. It’s just that I think i
t’s a tragedy that a person such as Florence Fontaine, who had so much to offer the world, was taken in such tragic circumstances.’
CHAPTER 13
With a dark sky threatening from above and a soft drizzle adding a chill to the already misty air, Betts turned off the road into Lyrebird estate and along the winding driveway to the parking area behind the lodge. Fitzjohn straightened his suit coat as he climbed out of the car and followed by his young sergeant, made his way along the stone path to the front of the building. There he hesitated, his thoughts returning to the day of Florence’s death when the place had been full of activity, a stark contrast to the sense of abandonment that now prevailed. The marquee remained, its white surface covered in wet leaves as if to camouflage its very existence and deny the auction or Florence’s death ever occurred. He lifted its flap and stepped inside, the only sound being that of the rain hitting the canvas in the windless afternoon. The skeletal metal framework that had held Florence’s paintings for display and the refreshment table next to the entrance was all that remained. Everything else, the paintings, the crowd with their champagne bubbling in their glasses in the convivial atmosphere, just a memory.
‘So, Betts, it was here that the killer laced the victim’s glass with cyanide,’ said Fitzjohn as he looked down at the refreshments table. ‘And who that person was is the question we have to answer.’
‘It has to be one of five persons of interest, sir. Audrey Green, Aiden Farrell, Carolyn Winter, Laura Evans or Claire Reynolds,’ replied Betts as he followed Fitzjohn out of the marquee and across the lawn toward the lodge. ‘Some, but not all had a clear motive to kill the victim.’
‘Aiden Farrell being one of them as I remember,’ said Fitzjohn, climbing the verandah steps and settling himself in a wicker chair while Betts half sat on the verandah railing.
‘That’s right.’ Betts took his notebook from his inside breast pocket. ‘According to Claire Reynolds, Farrell had coveted the victim’s property for some time and had been pestering her to sell. Since he owns the land on either side, I decided to make inquiries at the local council and found he’d approached them some time ago about the possibility of having the area rezoned because he wished to open a convention centre.’
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