The Fourth String

by Jill Paterson

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘I had a bit of a breakthrough when I spoke to Rhodes Lambert. He told me that the reason he spoke to the victim that night was because his wife and Crispin Fairchild were having an affair. At least that’s what he believes.’

  ‘Which gives him a strong motive,’ said Betts.

  ‘Exactly,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Let’s go speak to his wife, shall we?’

  CHAPTER 9

  ‘Where do the Lamberts live?’ asked Fitzjohn as he followed Betts out of the station to the car.

  ‘At Rose Bay, sir,’

  ‘Is that so? I expected they’d live in Mr Lambert’s electorate. Isn’t that the way it’s meant to be?’

  ‘I believe it is, sir, and it could be said that he does live there because he keeps an apartment in the area.’ Betts opened the car door and slid in behind the wheel.

  ‘Well, in that case, I suppose he shows a semblance of residing with his constituents.’ Fitzjohn settled himself into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt, at the same time catching a glimpse of a heavyset man emerging from a taxi in front of the station. ‘Are my eyes deceiving me or is that Chief Superintendent Grieg? I thought he was supposed to be ill with the shingles.’

  ‘He is, sir,’ replied Betts, following Fitzjohn’s gaze. ‘Maybe he’s finding being away from the office difficult even though he’s not well. After all, he does live alone since his wife left him.’

  ‘Possibly, but he looks like a man on a mission to me,’ said Fitzjohn with a pang of disappointment augmented with a touch of scepticism as he had, after all, taken some comfort in Grieg’s absence on sick leave.

  Betts pulled out from the curb and the two men fell into silence, each lost in his own thoughts as they drove through the eastern suburbs of the city to Bayview Hill Road where the sparkling waters of Rose Bay came into view. ‘This is it, sir,’ said Betts, pulling over in front of a two-storey residence, its red-tiled roof and arches above the main windows and front porch capturing the flavour of Spain.

  ‘It looks impressive,’ said Fitzjohn as they got out of the car and walked through the open gateway and onto a path edged by tall palm trees. As they did so, a woman in her mid-thirties with blonde hair cascading around her shoulder could be seen opening the door of a bright red Porsche parked on the circular drive.

  ‘I know that the surveillance camera image wasn’t good, Betts, but is that who I think it is?’

  ‘I’d say it is, sir,’ replied Betts as the woman looked around.

  ‘Mrs Lambert?’ Fitzjohn called out.

  ‘Yes, and you are?’ she replied, removing her sunglasses and looking the two officers up and down with a critical eye.

  ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn and this is Detective Sergeant Betts.’ The two men held up their warrant cards. ‘We’re conducting an investigation into the death of a man by the name of Crispin Fairchild whom, we understand, you knew.’

  Rosemary Lambert wavered before she said, ‘It’s true I met Mr Fairchild on a couple of social occasions, but I wouldn’t say I knew him so I can’t see how I can help you, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Even so, I’m sure you’ll agree it would help our investigation to speak to all who had anything to do with Mr Fairchild irrespective of how irrelevant it may seem.’ Fitzjohn gave a quick smile. ‘May we have a few minutes of your time?’

  ‘Can’t we do this at some other time because, as you can see, I’m on my way out,’ replied Rosemary, putting her sunglasses back on. ‘I’m due to speak at a Rotary Club meeting in half an hour and I can’t be late.’

  ‘In that case, we’ll endeavour to be brief,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  Rosemary Lambert gave an impatient sigh and slammed the car door. ‘All right, what do you want to know?’

  ‘In the time that you knew Crispin Fairchild, did he mention any problems he might have had with anyone in particular?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘No, he didn’t which isn’t surprising since I hardly knew the man. As I said earlier, we only spoke on a couple of occasions.’

  ‘Are you altogether sure that’s the case, Mrs Lambert?’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘The reason I ask is because you bear a striking resemblance to a woman caught on the surveillance camera in the foyer of The Claremont on the night that Mr Fairchild was murdered.’

  ‘Well, it couldn’t have been me since I was here at home,’ replied Rosemary, adjusting her sunglasses.

  ‘Were you here alone?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Of course not. The children were here.’

  ‘Are you sure you were here, Mrs Lambert?’ Fitzjohn paused and held up his hand. ‘Before you answer you might like to see a printout of that surveillance camera image,’ he said as Betts held up the photograph. Rosemary glared at it and swallowed hard. ‘We know it’s you, Mrs Lambert so can you tell us why you were there if you barely knew Crispin Fairchild?’

  ‘It’s really none of your business,’ replied Rosemary indignantly. ‘It was a private matter and it certainly didn’t have anything to do with your investigation. And besides, Crispin didn’t answer the door that night. I thought he must still be out, so I left.’

  ‘There are no private matters where a murder investigation is concerned, Mrs Lambert. What was your reason for being there?’ Fitzjohn persisted.

  ‘You’re not going to give up until you get an answer are you?’ said Rosemary.

  ‘No.’

  ‘All right, Crispin and I were more than acquaintances and I felt I should tell him…’ Rosemary paused mid-sentence.

  ‘Tell him what?’ urged Fitzjohn.

  ‘That my husband had found out about our affair,’ she carried on haltingly, her eyes locking onto Fitzjohn’s intense gaze, perhaps realising she had inadvertently given him reason to suspect her husband of murder. ‘I know what it sounds like, but I can assure you that Rhodes would never harm Crispin even under those circumstances. He’s not a violent man.’

  ‘Tell me, Mrs Lambert. Does your husband own a trench coat?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Has he worn it recently?’

  ‘Well, it has rained for most of the week so he might have?’

  ‘But today is clear and sunny so is it in the house by any chance?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Yes, it’s hung up in the laundry.’

  ‘In that case, we’d like to take it with us,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’

  ‘It will be returned, I can assure you.’

  ‘All right, I’ll get it but after that, I really have to be on my way, Chief Inspector. Otherwise, I’ll be late for my meeting.’

  ‘Before you do,’ continued Fitzjohn, ‘and since you’ve now admitted to being acquainted with Crispin Fairchild, can I ask you again whether you’re aware of anyone who would have wished him harm?’

  ‘I’m sure there are quite a few,’ Rosemary replied with a chuckle. ‘Not everyone in the music world agreed with his appointment as the conductor of the symphony.’

  ‘Does anyone, in particular, come to mind?’

  ‘All I know is, I heard a passing comment at some function I attended where several members of the board didn’t vote for him being the appointee. I don’t know their names. Other than that, I believe some members of the orchestra were disgruntled after Crispin did a bit of a shake-up. I can’t tell you who they were apart from the first violinist, that is.’

  ‘The first violinist?’ Fitzjohn repeated, his interest piqued.

  ‘Yes. The last time we spoke Crispin said she’d been giving him a lot of grief. I don’t know how familiar you are with the workings of an orchestra, Chief Inspector, but its smooth running rests on the ability of the first violinist. Crispin said he planned to replace her.’

  ****

  With a squeal of tyres, Rosemary Lambert sped off in her red Porsche. ‘That’s the latest 718 Boxster,’ said Betts with a longing look. ‘I can see myself owning one but in black.’

  ‘When will that be, do you think?’ as
ked Fitzjohn with a chuckle as they reached their car.

  ‘After I win the lottery.’

  ‘I didn’t know you bought lottery tickets, Betts.’

  ‘I don’t, but this might be a good time to start.’

  ‘Well, good luck with that because I think you’ll need it. Anyway, that aside, I think we can now add Rhodes Lambert to our list of persons of interest since his wife has confirmed her affair with the victim.’

  ‘As well as Eleanor Reed, if it’s true she was aware she was to be replaced,’ said Betts as he opened the car door and put the plastic bag containing the trench coat onto the backseat.

  ‘We’ll speak to her next,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  ****

  Beneath slate grey clouds and against a howling wind blowing off the waters of the harbour, Fitzjohn and Betts battled their way across the deserted causeway towards the Opera House in an effort to speak to Eleanor Reed whom they had been told was in rehearsals.

  ‘I hope this is not all for nought and we are able to speak to Ms Reed,’ shouted Fitzjohn, gripping his wire-framed glasses as they threatened to succumb to the wind.

  ‘I was told she’s agreed to come out of rehearsal when we arrive, sir,’ Betts shouted back as they mounted the long staircase which led to the front entrance.

  Once inside the concert hall foyer, Fitzjohn smoothed his hair and adjusted his tie while Betts announced their arrival. Some minutes later, Eleanor Reed appeared. ‘My apologies, Ms Reed, for interrupting your rehearsal but I’m afraid our investigation has necessitated that we question you further.’

  ‘I think I’ve told you everything I know about the evening Crispin died, Chief Inspector. I doubt I can add anything more.’

  ‘You may be able to, Ms Reed, because this time our questions are more along the lines of your professional relationship with Crispin Fairchild as a member of his orchestra,’ replied Fitzjohn as they found a seat near the window. ‘I seem to remember you mentioning that you’re the orchestra’s first violinist?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So, as such, did Mr Fairchild ever speak to you about changes he might wish to make within the orchestra?’

  Eleanor smiled before she said, ‘No, Chief Inspector. Unlike our previous conductor, Crispin wasn’t forthcoming in what he planned to do. There was never a discussion about changes. They just happened without warning.’

  ‘That must have been disconcerting for all concerned.’

  ‘It was but, nevertheless, we’re all aware that the conductor and the orchestra have to work closely together. It takes time to feel confident and comfortable with each other. So, although there were the usual complaints amongst us, we were still willing to work towards a good relationship with Crispin. After all, respect is important for both sides, don’t you think?’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ replied Fitzjohn, his thoughts going to Chief Inspector Grieg.

  ‘There’s just one more thing, Ms Reed. I know we’ve shown you this image before but would you mind taking another look,’ Fitzjohn said as he produced the photo of Rosemary Lambert leaving The Claremont. ‘Not always, of course, but sometimes, we remember things that we might have overlooked previously.’ Eleanor stared at the image, visibly unsettled. ‘Anything at all come to mind?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ****

  Leaving Eleanor Reed to return to rehearsals, the two officers ventured back outside and again buffeted by the strong wind, walked to where they had parked their car at the end of Macquarie Street.

  ‘Do you realise we could have parked underneath the Opera House?’ shouted Fitzjohn, as he fought again to keep his glasses from blowing away.

  ‘Sorry, sir. I didn’t realise how bad it would be out here on Bennelong Point.’ As Betts spoke, the heavens opened and the two men ran the last few yards.

  ‘Ms Reed wasn’t too forthcoming when it came to Crispin Fairchild,’ said Betts as they reached the car and climbed inside.

  ‘Well, if what Rosemary Lambert alluded to is correct, and the victim did plan to dismiss Eleanor Reed from her position as first violinist, I imagine she’d be wary of what she says to us because if it’s true, it would give her a motive for murder,’ replied Fitzjohn, settling himself into his seat. ‘After all, I doubt losing that position would do her career any good. It might even cause irreparable damage. Have a word or two with other members of the orchestra, Betts, because I’m sure that sort of thing would be difficult to keep contained if it was about to happen. There would bound to be gossip.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find out, sir.’

  ****

  Fitzjohn peered out of the taxi’s window in disbelief as it pulled up in front of his cottage that evening. Disbelief not only at the sight of his sister, Meg, but that she was in conversation with his next-door neighbour, Rhonda Butler. That fact alone could mean trouble because he had never known Rhonda to pass the time of day with anyone without some ulterior motive. After paying the driver, and with a certain amount of apprehension, he went to join the two women. However, as he approached, and without any warning, Rhonda scuttled away to disappear through the open doorway of her cottage.

  Ignoring this, Fitzjohn turned to his sister. ‘Meg, what a lovely surprise,’ he lied as he gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘I hope your appearance isn’t because I’ve forgotten some important occasion. It’s not your birthday, is it?’

  ‘No, it isn’t so you can relax, Alistair. It was just a spur of the moment thing this morning when I realised I haven’t started to make any preparations for Sophie’s forthcoming graduation so I decided to take the early flight.’

  Fitzjohn knew, of course, that this was yet another ploy along with many others since Edith’s passing, to appear on his doorstep unannounced in an attempt to “take care of him” as she put it. He suspected, however, that she simply could not keep herself from meddling in his life. Or was he being unkind? After all, her inclination to keep track of his whereabouts year after year had revealed that he had been overseas at the time of last year’s internal inquiry into the Patricia Wilson case. This revelation had prevented Chief Superintendent Grieg’s attempt to have him dismissed from the force. ‘But she doesn’t graduate for another two months,’ he said as they made their way through the garden to the front door.

  ‘All the more reason to get started,’ replied Meg.

  ‘Does Sophie know you’re here?’ asked Fitzjohn aware that his niece suffered the same oppression where Meg was concerned. In fact, it was this oppression that had ultimately resulted in Sophie’s decision to move to Sydney to study.

  ‘Yes, I phoned her when I arrived. She’s coming over this evening for dinner.’

  ‘Well, I wish I’d known because I have plans for this evening,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘Can’t you cancel them? After all, it’s rare that the three of us get to spend time together.’

  ‘I realise that and if I could I would but it’s just not possible, I’m afraid. I’m attending a farewell dinner for one of my colleagues. Plus I’m doing the keynote speech.’

  ‘Well, I won’t hide the fact that I’m disappointed, Alistair. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble and expense with the menu.’

  Aware of his sister’s propensity to try to make him feel guilty when things did not go her way, Fitzjohn decided to change the subject. ‘I noticed you passing the time of day with Mrs Butler.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Meg, ‘although it wasn’t exactly what I’d call passing the time of day. She baled me up when I came outside to get the mail. And you’re not going to like what she had to say.’

  ‘Oh?’ Fitzjohn opened the door and stepped inside, mentally preparing himself for whatever disaster Rhonda had undoubtedly cooked up. ‘What did she have to say?’

  ‘That the council will be giving you notification in the next few days to dismantle your greenhouse.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Just what I said. You’ve got to get rid of it because, apparently, it’s eighteen inches over t
he boundary between your two properties.’

  ‘That’s preposterous,’ said Fitzjohn as he placed his briefcase on the hall table.

  ‘That’s what I told her but she said that if you fail to take it down and move the fence to the correct boundary line, legal action will be taken by the council. Of course, it’s all nonsense and I’d ignore it if I were you,’ added Meg. ‘The woman’s delusional.’

  ‘Delusional she may be but I shan’t be able to ignore it because she has every member of that council in her pocket.’ Fitzjohn noted Meg’s questioning look. ‘Her late husband was a member of that council and I believe he left a legacy to the council which Rhonda can terminate at any time she chooses.’

  ‘It sounds like he’s looking after her interests from beyond the grave,’ replied Meg with a chuckle.

  ‘That’s exactly what it is but I’d call it blackmail, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Nothing until I get the letter from the council.’

  ‘I think you already have,’ replied Meg, handing Fitzjohn the mail. ‘This was in the mailbox.’

  ‘Oh.’ Fitzjohn tore open the envelope and read its contents. ‘Well, everything you’ve told me is here. I have thirty days from the date of this letter to dismantle the greenhouse and as the letter is dated five days ago, that leaves twenty-five days.’ Fitzjohn paused. ‘The only thing it doesn’t explain is how this boundary problem was discovered in the first place.’

  ‘Do you think it’s a setup?’ asked Meg conspiratorially.

  ‘I’d say anything is possible when it comes to Rhonda but the only way to find out for sure is to go to the city planning office and do a search of Birchgrove’s historical planning records.’ Fitzjohn folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. ‘Something for another day,’ he said with a sigh, ‘because right now, I have a farewell dinner to attend. And I’d better get a move on because Betts will be here shortly to pick me up.’