Deadly Investment (A Fitzjohn Mystery Book 5)

by Jill Paterson

  ‘We’re investigating the death of Preston Alexander. As Mr Alexander was involved financially with the agency, we’re speaking to all concerned,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  ‘I see. Well, in that case, you’d better come through to my office.’ Giles carefully folded the handkerchief and put it back into his breast pocket before leading the way along the hallway and into a large room. He gestured to the leather bound chairs in front of his desk. ‘Please, make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen.’

  As he sat down, Fitzjohn took in the room, its brown marble fireplace and gothic window giving the impression that, in years past, it had been the home’s main reception area. Meanwhile, Enfield placed his briefcase carefully on the window seat and sat down behind his desk. Once seated, he rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and created a steeple with his fingers. ‘Have you spoken to the other members of staff?’ he asked with a degree of authority.

  ‘We have,’ replied Fitzjohn, ignoring Enfield’s authoritative stance.

  ‘So, I’m the last one, am I? What would you like to know?’

  ‘We’d like to know when you last spoke to Preston Alexander,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  ‘That would have been last Monday night. The night Beatrice Maybrick fell down the stairs. I take it you know about that.’

  ‘Yes, we spoke with Alison Maybrick on an earlier occasion.’

  ‘Right. Well, before Alison got into the ambulance, she asked me to go to Preston’s home to tell him what had happened. As it turned out, I drove him to the hospital. I thought it best because he’d become distressed by the news.’

  ‘We understand that he’d paid a visit to the agency that day,’ continued Fitzjohn. ‘Were you here at the time, Mr Enfield?’

  ‘Yes, I was.

  ‘Do you have any idea what his meeting with Beatrice was about?’

  ‘I do, as a matter of fact because Beatrice called me into her office later that day to ask me if I’d be willing to take over managing the agency’s accounts.’

  ‘Oh? What reason did she give, Mr Enfield?’

  ‘Apparently, she’d spent the weekend going through the books and had found discrepancies. Consequently, she’d relieved Max of the job. That’s also why she’d asked Preston to come in that day, he being her financial backer.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I told Beatrice that I’d been happy to take over,’ continued Giles. ‘I didn’t know quite what to do after her death though. It seemed inappropriate to bring the subject up with Alison at the time but, in the end, I thought it necessary.’

  ‘On the night that you took Preston to the hospital, did he say anything to you about his investment in the agency?’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘In other words, did he mention what his plans were?’

  ‘No. He was far too upset.’

  ‘Had you ever had much to do with him prior to Beatrice’s death, Mr Enfield?’ asked Fitzjohn with Olive Glossop’s comment in mind that Giles had always avoided the victim.

  ‘No. We rarely had occasion to speak because I had nothing to do with the financial side of things.’

  ‘So I take it you don’t know what will happen to his investment now.’

  ‘I can only think that it’ll eventually be paid to his estate,’ replied Giles with a shrug. ‘But that won’t be until after the agency is solvent. It may not be appropriate under the circumstances, but Max Ziegler is the person who knows the most about those matters, Chief Inspector. As I said, I don’t have anything to do with the financial side of the business.’

  ‘Of course. On another note, Mr Enfield. We understand that you’ve just returned from the Central Coast.’

  ‘That’s right. I went up to Port Stephens for a break. Last week was horrendous with Beatrice falling like that. I needed to get away to clear my head. Do a bit of fishing, play some golf. That sort of thing. I did plan on being back early this morning so that I could attend her funeral but, unfortunately, I got held up on the M1. There’d been an accident. I realise now that I should have left much earlier.’

  ‘When exactly did you leave for Port Stephens?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘It was first thing on Thursday morning.’

  ‘In that case, can you tell us where you were on Wednesday night between the hours of eight o’clock and midnight?’

  ‘You mean at the time Preston was murdered?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You can’t think that I had anything to do with that. For heaven’s sake!’

  ‘Needless to say, Mr Enfield. We need to know.’

  ‘I was at home. Alone as it happens. My wife is in New Zealand visiting her sister.’

  ‘Where did you stay while you were in Port Stephens?’ continued Fitzjohn.

  ‘My wife and I have a cottage. I stayed there.’

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Betts as he and Fitzjohn made their way back out to the car.

  ‘If you mean Giles Enfield, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more self-assured in my life,’ Fitzjohn replied. ‘I daresay it’s a useful attribute to have in business and one might envy the man if it didn’t come with a degree of pomposity.’ Betts chuckled. ‘We need corroboration of his alibi, Betts,’ continued Fitzjohn, climbing into the car. ‘Have Carruthers make enquiries with the Port Stephens local council to find out the address of his cottage so that he can speak to the neighbours. Also ask him to make contact with the people at which ever golf club he says he played at.’

  ‘Anything else, sir?’

  ‘Yes. I want to speak to the victim’s solicitor. Find out where he’s located and make arrangements for us to pay him a visit. I’d like to know whether he holds Preston Alexander’s will and if so, who the beneficiaries are.’ Fitzjohn looked at his watch. ‘While you do that, I have to front up before the Police Integrity Board.’

  ‘Have you had any luck finding your file on the case?’ asked Betts as he pulled the car away from the curb.

  ‘No, which I find odd. I did manage to get part of the file on the case from the system though, but it didn’t help much. It’s not complete. Probably because of the inquiry.’

  ‘So, what are you going to say to the inquiry, sir?’

  ‘That I have no recollection of the case that the Chief Superintendent is referring to.’ Fitzjohn shrugged. ‘What else can I say? It’s the truth.’

  CHAPTER 10

  Early the following morning with his appearance at the inquiry still fresh in his mind, Fitzjohn descended the stairs. Grieg’s stony expression that previous afternoon in response to his statement that, “As his name did not appear on any documents relating to the Wilson case, he was at a loss to understand the basis for the Chief Superintendent’s allegation that he was the detective in charge.”, could only mean repercussions.

  When the doorbell sounded, another thought came to mind. Blossom, and her quest to be his friend. Warily, he peered through the leaded glass window in the centre of the door before he opened it a crack.

  ‘Ah! Betts, it’s you,’ he said with a sense of relief. ‘For a moment there I thought...’

  ‘What, sir?’

  ‘It’s not important.’ Fitzjohn looked in the hall mirror, straightened his tie and picked up his briefcase. ‘Let’s be off.’

  ‘Where to first?’ asked Betts as he slid behind the wheel.

  ‘The Charlotte Cafe. I spent more time in the greenhouse this morning than I planned, so I didn’t have time for my cup of coffee.’

  Fitzjohn settled himself at his favourite table in the cafe and picked up the menu. ‘Mmm. Come to think of it, I didn’t have breakfast either so I’m going to order a croissant as well. What about you, Betts?’ When no reply came Fitzjohn looked across the table at his ginger-haired sergeant whose attention was taken elsewhere. ‘Betts?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. Did you say something?’

  ‘I asked what you’re ordering.’

  ‘Coffee. Just coffee.’ Betts returned his gaze back over Fitzjohn’s shoulder.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ a
sked Fitzjohn, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  ‘It’s Rhonda Butler, sir. I can’t quite believe my eyes. She’s sitting over there by the window dressed like a 1960s flower child.’ Betts paused. ‘A total personality change I’d say. Do you think that the drama over the murraya hedge and your new greenhouse has sent her batty?’

  ‘Not a chance,’ groaned Fitzjohn. ‘That’s not Rhonda you’re looking at. It’s her sister, Adele Carter. Better known as Blossom.’

  ‘Blossom!’ repeated Betts, his face breaking into a wide grin. ‘Are they twins?’

  ‘I have no idea but if they are it’s only in looks, not personality, believe me.’

  ‘Ah! So that’s why you were coy when you opened the door this morning, wasn’t it. You thought that Blossom had come to call.’ Betts chuckled.

  Fitzjohn narrowed he eyes. ‘I’m glad you find it so amusing, Betts, but it isn’t. She bailed me up in the back garden the other night. I couldn’t get rid of her. Now she’s in my cafe!’ Fitzjohn shook his head and sighed.

  ‘She seems friendly enough. She’s looking this way, and smiling.’

  ‘Well, don’t encourage her by smiling back,’ said Fitzjohn with a glare. ‘Get up slowly and make your way outside. I’ll be right behind you.’

  With one of his favourite morning routines thwarted by Blossom, Fitzjohn slumped down into his chair, resigned to a cup of lukewarm instant coffee in a cardboard cup whilst he tapped his pen on the newspaper spread out in front of him, eyeing the crossword puzzle. As he did so the office door opened and Betts appeared.

  ‘Something to brighten up your day, sir,’ he said. ‘Esme Timmons is here to see you.’

  ‘Good morning, Alistair.’

  Fitzjohn smiled as Esme’s diminutive figure walked into the room.’

  ‘Esme. It’s good to see you,’ he replied, getting to his feet and slipping on his suit coat. ‘Come in and have a seat.’

  Betts pulled out the chair in front of Fitzjohn’s desk. ‘Thank you, Martin,’ she said. ‘You’re very kind.’ Matter-of-factly, she hooked her walking cane onto the edge of the desk and sat down. ‘I realise I’m being a bit of a nuisance and I do apologise for coming unannounced, but I wanted to know whether you have any news since our discussion about Beatrice. It’s been playing on my mind and...’ As Esme spoke the door behind her burst open and Grieg appeared on the threshold.

  ‘Fitzjohn, what the hell do you think you were...’

  Esme turned in her chair, her blue eyes locking onto the intruder. Grieg glared back before he narrowed his eyes at Betts who stood to the side next to the filing cabinet, his face agog.

  ‘Miss Timmons, may I introduce Chief Superintendent Grieg,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Can I help you, sir,’ he continued, an amused look in his eyes.

  ‘It can wait,’ spat Grieg.

  ‘Please don’t let me interrupt, Chief Superintendent,’ put in Esme. ‘It’s obviously a matter of urgency. Just pretend I’m not here.’

  Grieg met Esme’s intense gaze again, his large frame towering over her before he turned and lunged from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  ‘I apologise, Esme.’

  Unruffled, Esme turned back to Fitzjohn. ‘It must be a challenge for you, Alistair, to have to work for someone with such an unfortunate disposition.’

  ‘A daily challenge,’ replied Fitzjohn under his breath.

  ‘I can imagine. Regrettably, of course, that type rarely, if ever, improves. He was the same the last time I saw him. Full of bluster.’ Betts attempted to muffle a chuckle by clearing his throat.

  ‘I didn’t realise you’d met the Chief Superintendent before, Esme,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘I haven’t. I just remember seeing him on a television news briefing. It was some years ago, of course. He was the detective in charge of a murder case. The victim lived on my street in Waverton. That’s why it’s still so vivid in my mind. The crime still sends chills down my spine when I think of it. The killer broke into the poor woman’s home during the night. I was nervous after that until they’d caught the man and put him away.’

  ‘But enough about that. I don’t want to take up too much of your valuable time. What I’d like to know is, has anything come of what we talked about the other day?’

  ‘It has in that we’ve taken your thoughts on board, Esme,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘However, as Beatrice’s death is assumed to have been an accident, I’ve decided that the best course of action is to look into it unofficially as we conduct our investigation into Preston Alexander’s murder. Consequently, in conjunction with our investigation, we were able to look through her apartment at the agency. Everything appeared to be as she’d left it that night. Nevertheless, we called in the forensic team to go through the place. We’re waiting for their report now. It shouldn’t take too long.’

  ‘I do hope I didn’t send you on a wild goose chase,’ replied Esme ‘It’s just that I couldn’t help myself because I have such a strong feeling that Beatrice’s death wasn’t an accident.’

  CHAPTER 11

  ‘Esme seems convinced that her friend was murdered, sir,’ said Betts, returning to Fitzjohn’s office after seeing Esme into a taxi.

  ‘She does and I don’t think she would be if there wasn’t something in it. Let me know as soon as we get the forensic report on the apartment back, Betts.’

  ‘Any news on Giles Enfield’s alibi yet?’

  ‘Nothing so far from Carruthers, but Williams got an interesting result after he made a few enquiries into the man’s record of employment. His probing led him to the Companies Office.’

  ‘Oh?’ Fitzjohn put his pen down and brought his chair forward, his interest tweaked.

  Betts perched himself on the arm of the chair in front of Fitzjohn’s desk. ‘It seems that Giles is a disqualified company director and in his particular case, the disqualification is to last eleven years.’

  ‘Sounds serious. What was he disqualified for?’

  ‘Using company assets for personal benefit.’

  ‘Well, that is interesting under the circumstances.’ Fitzjohn’s thoughts went back to their meeting with Giles Enfield and the uncertainty he had felt at the time about the man’s character. ‘We can conclude, therefore, that regardless of what he told us, he has had experience with money matters in his previous employment and is more than capable of “cooking the books” as they say.’

  ‘That’s not all,’ continued Betts. ‘At the time of his disqualification, Preston Alexander sat on the board of the company he was employed by.’

  ‘Ah! It gets even better and ties in with what Olive Glossop told us about Enfield’s avoidance of the victim. No doubt he felt that his new position at the agency was threatened with Preston knowing about his past.’ Fitzjohn thought for a moment. ‘It also looks to me like Preston didn’t tell Beatrice about the matter because if he had, surely she wouldn’t have asked Giles to take over the agency’s accounts.’

  ‘I’m surprised that he didn’t,’ said Betts.

  ‘Perhaps he thought that seeing he knew about Enfield’s past, the man would think twice before putting a foot wrong. When did Enfield say that Beatrice asked him to take over the accounts?’

  ‘Not long before she fell down those stairs, so I’d say that Preston didn’t known about her decision.’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t have and it also means that Enfield could have been lying about Beatrice asking him to take over the agency’s accounts. After all, Beatrice was dead and if Ziegler is telling the truth and Enfield was responsible for the embezzlement, he’d want to be in charge of the accounts so that he could cover up any discrepancies.’

  ‘Is there any word yet on Ziegler’s alibi?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Williams spoke to his dining companions. They each confirmed that Mr Ziegler did join them for dinner at the Neutral Bay restaurant last Wednesday evening. They arrived around seven-thirty and left at approximately nine-thirty.’

  ‘So, not around ten as Ziegler seemed to thi
nk,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Still, he could have been mistaken.’

  ‘That or he’s lying,’ said Betts. ‘We’ve retrieved the victim’s mobile phone records. They show that Max Ziegler telephoned the victim on Wednesday evening just before seven-thirty.’

  ‘Before the dinner commenced?’ added Fitzjohn.

  ‘Yes, so I think it’s conceivable that he was making arrangements to call on the victim later that evening. After all, the restaurant’s only minutes away from the victim’s home in Cremorne.’

  ‘Mmm. But what reason would Ziegler have to kill Preston Alexander?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Maybe he wanted to plead his case and try to convince the victim that Beatrice was mistaken. That there was either nothing wrong with the accounts or if there was, that Enfield was responsible. After all, he had nothing to lose. Beatrice is no longer here to dispute what he says.’

  ‘It sounds plausible,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Things might have got out of hand if the victim wouldn’t listen. After all, by all accounts, Mr Alexander was finding Beatrice Maybrick’s death hard to deal with.’

  ‘And he did plan to take his investment out of the agency so, if he’d mentioned that to Ziegler… After all, he doesn’t look to be in the best state of mind at the moment, he might have panicked realising he’d be discovered.’

  ‘That could be the case, but I think Enfield sounds more likely. Nevertheless, tomorrow we’ll speak to both men again, starting with Ziegler.’ Fitzjohn leaned back in his chair and stretched. ‘It’s late, Betts, and my brain is weary with thinking. Let’s call it a day.’

  Close to midnight and with the roads on the way to Birchgrove devoid of much traffic, the two men drove in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Once across the Anzac Bridge they descended into Balmain and wended their way through the leafy suburb before Betts pulled up in front of Fitzjohn’s sandstone cottage in Birchgrove.

  ‘I’ll see you bright and early in the morning,’ he said, climbing out of the car before retrieving his briefcase from the back seat.