The Fourth String

by Jill Paterson

  ‘So, that leaves Antonio Bonato and the residents, sir. And as far as they’re concerned, I do have a little more information on Pearl Ambrose.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. As we know, Mrs Ambrose’s husband suffered a stroke not long after the death of their young son in a motor vehicle accident. What we didn’t know up until now is that the accident was a hit-and-run.’

  ‘Was the driver apprehended?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘No sir.’

  ‘And in what way does this impact our case?’

  ‘It’s the date that the young boy died that’s noteworthy, sir. June 20th, the same date that Crispin Fairchild was murdered.’

  ‘So what are you suggesting?’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘That Crispin Fairchild could have been the driver of the car which killed the boy? It’s a bit of a coincidence don’t you think, Betts? That he and Pearl Ambrose ended up living in the same apartment building, not to mention the date of the victim’s death.’

  ‘Yes it is, sir, but not impossible.’

  ‘Okay, supposing the victim was the hit-and-run driver and he just happened to move into The Claremont where the boy’s mother lives. You’re saying that she recognised him as the driver of the car which killed her son, decided to have her revenge and chose the date of her son’s death to do it?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘But Crispin Fairchild has lived in Italy for the past twenty-five years,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘He has, but it didn’t prevent him from travelling elsewhere.’ Betts smiled. ‘I went through his movements over the years which is not difficult to do with a man who is as famous as Mr Fairchild. Fifteen years ago he was in Australia on a two-month tour and in June of that year he happened to be here in Sydney. I think it’s worth chasing up, sir.’

  ‘Very well. We’ll go and have a word with Mrs Ambrose.’

  ****

  The two officers arrived at The Claremont soon after, and as they approached the building, they met Hector Lombard ascending the steps. ‘Good morning, Mr Lombard,’ said Fitzjohn as Hector released the front door with his entry card. ‘I see the new security system is now in place. May we follow you in?’

  ‘By all means, Chief Inspector,’ replied Hector. ‘Is it me you wish to see?’

  ‘Not this time, Mr Lombard, but thank you,’ replied Fitzjohn as he pressed the button on the elevator. Hector disappeared along the hallway towards his apartment and as he did, the elevator door opened with a jitter. ‘I hope this thing doesn’t get stuck,’ said Fitzjohn as the door closed behind them.

  ‘We should have taken the stairs, sir.’

  ‘That’s fine for you to say with your young legs but it's too early in the morning for me,’ replied Fitzjohn as the elevator groaned and started to move upwards. When the doors opened onto the third level, Fitzjohn sighed with relief. Outside Pearl Ambrose’s apartment, he straightened his tie while Betts knocked on the door. Moments later, it opened and Pearl appeared.

  ‘Mrs Ambrose, I trust we haven’t caught you in the middle of a lesson,’ said Fitzjohn, sensing her unease.

  ‘No, Chief Inspector. My next student isn’t due for twenty minutes.’

  ‘In that case, we’ll endeavour not to keep you too long. May we come in? We just have a few more questions we’d like to ask you.’

  ‘Of course. Come through.’

  The two officers followed Pearl into her living room where Fitzjohn’s attention was immediately drawn to an orchid which sat on the windowsill. ‘Isn’t that…’

  ‘From Crispin’s apartment. Yes it is,’ said Pearl, noticing Fitzjohn’s interest. ‘I asked the constable on duty one morning if I might take care of it. It seemed a shame to let it die, but alas, I fear it probably wasn’t one of my better ideas.’ Pearl bit her lip.

  ‘Oh? Why is that, Mrs Ambrose?’ asked Fitzjohn as they sat down.

  ‘Because it seems to have given life to memories I’d sooner not think about.’ Pearl faltered before she continued. ‘You see, I was in my greenhouse tending my orchid plants when my husband suffered his stroke. Since then I’ve had this nagging thought that if I had been in the house the outcome might have been different.’

  As Fitzjohn listened to Pearl’s words, his thoughts went to the fact that he had been at work the night Edith had been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. ‘Unfortunately, whatever the situation, I believe we all suffer some kind of guilt, Mrs Ambrose, even when there is no basis for it,’ he said. ‘After all, we have to go about our daily lives and it’s impossible to do that if we burden ourselves with thoughts of what might happen.’

  ‘That’s true, I suppose,’ replied Pearl in reflection.

  Fitzjohn hesitated, reluctant to carry on with his questions and add to the woman’s heartache, but needs must. ‘We understand you lost another member of your family prematurely,’ he continued at last. ‘Your son?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ replied Pearl, jolted from her thoughts at Fitzjohn’s unexpected question. ‘How do you know about Robert’s death?’

  ‘Because during our investigations a great deal of information crosses our desks whether relevant to our case or not.’

  ‘I see. Well, I would have mentioned it when we first spoke but at the time, I didn’t think that details about my family situation were important to your investigation,’ replied Pearl somewhat indignantly.

  ‘And there was no reason for you to think so, Mrs Ambrose. It’s just that we’d like to clarify a few details.’

  ‘Well, I can’t see the point but if you insist.’ Pearl shifted in her chair. ‘Robert died after being hit by a car. He was twelve at the time. The driver did stop momentarily to see what he’d hit, but when he saw Robert lying on the road, he got back into his car and drove off.’ Pearl fell silent in reflection.

  ‘Are you saying that you saw this man?’

  ‘Yes. I’d heard the screech of brakes and the crash and I ran outside.’

  ‘Did you get a good look at the driver’s face or the make of the car?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘I’ll never forget that driver’s face, Chief Inspector, but I couldn’t tell you what the make of the car was. Only that it was white.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘The police tried to find him, but he was never found.’ Pearl dabbed her nose with her handkerchief. ‘You must excuse me. Talking about it brings it all back.’

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve caused you to revisit it, Mrs Ambrose. I can understand that a crime which has gone unpunished gives you no hope of closure.’

  ‘You’re right, it doesn’t, and that’s why I like to think that eventually that person will be punished,’ replied Pearl.

  ****

  ‘What do you think, sir?’ asked Betts as the two officers descended the stairs.

  ‘I think that if our victim was the driver who ran Robert Ambrose down all those years ago and Pearl recognised him, then she may well have taken her revenge. And the date of the victim’s death tends to support your theory, doesn’t it? But having said that, proving it could be difficult because we haven’t found anything which connects her to the crime, no fingerprints, nothing. The only thing we have is that Crispin Fairchild was in Sydney at the time of her son’s death and they both happened to die on the same day of the year.’

  ‘But she was at the crime scene minutes after Elvira Travers screamed, sir. And if you remember, she made sure that Morris Elliott took Elvira back to her apartment. She could have used the time after they left to wipe over any fingerprints she might have left.’

  ‘Mmm. You have a point, Betts. We’ll keep that in mind if or when we speak to Mrs Ambrose again.’ When they reached the landing below, Fitzjohn stopped. ‘While we’re here, let’s see if Francesca Fairchild has arrived to do her inventory of the victim’s apartment. I want to make sure she doesn’t linger too long.’

  The two officers walked along the hallway to the victim’s apartment where they met Williams standing in the open doorway. ‘I take it Mrs Fairchild is here,’ said Fitz
john.

  ‘Yes sir, with the auctioneer.’

  Followed by Betts, Fitzjohn ventured inside until he came upon Francesca and a short stout woman in her mid-forties carrying a clipboard. They were standing in the middle of the living room where the only sign of what had happened to Francesca’s husband that fateful night was the blood-stained rug where his body had lain in front of the fireplace.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Fairchild,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘I hope this hasn’t been too distressing for you. I know it can’t have been easy. Possessions have a tendency to bring back memories.’

  ‘You did warn me, Chief Inspector, but it was my decision to come here, difficult as it has been,’ replied Francesca, her manner aloof. ‘But as far as my husband’s possessions go, that hasn’t been a problem since none of this is familiar to me,’ she added, gesturing around the room. ‘In fact, I’m puzzled with what I’ve found here.’

  ‘In what way?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Well, for one thing, it’s the paintings. I would never have thought they would be to Crispin’s taste. And all these collections of china and porcelain. I had no idea he was interested in such things. It just shows that you never really know someone, doesn’t it?’ she added with a shrug. ‘Anyway, I think we have everything we need so that the auction can be organised. Thank you for giving me access to the apartment, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘You’re most welcome, Mrs Fairchild,’ replied Fitzjohn sensing Francesca’s frostiness towards him.

  Francesca started towards the living room doorway before she turned back. ‘Oh, there is one thing I want to ask. Do you know when I might be able to speak to my brother?’

  ‘All I can say is that it’ll be within the next twenty-four hours,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  ****

  As the two women left, Fitzjohn looked down at the blood-stained rug before he regarded the rest of the room in all its extravagance and said, ‘It’s an appalling end for a man who had such a wide interest in so many areas besides his music.’

  ‘It is, sir, but did he?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘I didn’t take much notice at the time, but when I come to think of it, in all those personal papers I read through in that box file which Elvira Travers gave us, the victim only mentioned his interest as being golf, pure and simple. There was no mention of any other interests at all so…’

  ‘Go on,’ prompted Fitzjohn.

  ‘Well, it seems obvious that these collections were a large part of the victim’s life and as such, wouldn’t you think he’d have wanted to mention them in his autobiography?’

  ‘You’d think so,’ replied Fitzjohn as he circled the room, looking into each glass cabinet. ‘My first impression when I walked in here the other morning was that he must have been a collector for many years, but as we’ve just learnt from Mrs Fairchild, that wasn’t the case. I’d say he must have done some catching up on his interests after their separation. Not unusual since we’re apt to let some of our interests fall by the wayside when we have a partner. I know I did.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Betts, turning his attention to Fitzjohn. ‘What did you give up, sir?’

  ‘Fly fishing on the rivers and streams in the Yorkshire Dales. I loved it but after Edith and I started to see each other…well it wasn’t something she liked to do and so I had to make a choice because, let’s face it, she wasn’t going to sit around waiting while I fished. In the end, I decided to hang up my rod, as they say.’

  ‘And you’ve never felt the need to rekindle your interest, sir?’

  ‘No, I have my orchids now, but it looks like Crispin Fairchild rekindled his interest, doesn’t it?’

  ****

  The two officers left Williams to secure the victim’s apartment and made their way downstairs to the foyer where they found Francesca Fairchild and her auctioneer in conversation with Hector Lombard.

  ‘Being an antique dealer, I’d say Mr Lombard will think all his Christmases have come at once when the Fairchild auction is held,’ said Fitzjohn as they left the building.

  ‘It’ll certainly draw a crowd, sir.’

  As Betts spoke, Fitzjohn’s mobile phone rang.

  ‘Fitzjohn here. Thank you, Sergeant.’ Fitzjohn slipped the phone back into his pocket. ‘It seems I’m being summoned by Chief Superintendent Ashby, so we’ll make our way back to the station, Betts.’

  ****

  As Betts eased the car out into the traffic, Fitzjohn sat back in his seat speculating the summons was more than likely that he had been called to give evidence at the internal inquiry into the Patricia Wilson case. If so, it had come at a crucial time in his investigation. Not that he felt he was near solving the case but any sort of distraction was regrettable because it meant he might miss some obscure clue which he would otherwise pick up. Exasperated by this bad timing and as soon as they reached the station, he made his way to the chief superintendent’s office where he found Peta Ashby in the process of hanging up the telephone.

  ‘Ah, Fitzjohn, please come in and have a seat,’ she said when she noticed him in the doorway.

  ‘You wanted to see me, ma’am?’

  ‘Yes, I do. It’s in relation to the internal inquiry. It seems you won’t be needed after all because the inquiry has been terminated.’

  ‘Terminated?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ Peta Ashby paused. ‘I’m sorry, Fitzjohn, I know how disappointed you must be. After having incurred the brunt of Chief Superintendent Grieg’s intimidation myself; I know how you must feel.’

  ‘What reason did they give?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Unfortunately, I’m not privy to the details. All I can tell you, is that since, I’ve been recalled back to my duties on the Central Coast Local Area Command. Chief Superintendent Grieg will likely return to the station in the next day or so.’

  ‘Oh.’ Fitzjohn slumped back in his chair and an awkward silence ensued as a sense of disappointment washed over him. Disappointment, he realised, not only that Grieg had managed to avoid facing the internal inquiry but also at the thought of Peta Ashby’s imminent departure.’

  ‘It’s been a shorter secondment than I’d envisaged,’ continued Ashby in an effort to fill the void. ‘I had hoped I’d at least be here until the Fairchild case is solved. Still, it can’t be helped.’ Peta Ashby hesitated as their eyes met. ‘How is the case going, by the way? Are there any further developments?’

  ‘We’re just waiting for clarity on what Antonio Bonato is wanted for in Italy,’ replied Fitzjohn in an effort to conceal his regret. ‘As soon as we have that, we’ll interview him again.’

  ****

  Fitzjohn left Ashby’s office, the news that the inquiry had been terminated overtaken by the fact that she would soon be gone, a prospect that filled him with a sense of emptiness. Perhaps it was time to be honest with himself and admit he was attracted to her and that since the night of the farewell dinner he had looked forward with pleasure to seeing her each day. What he had not allowed himself to think about, however, was the fact that she was here on a temporary basis and now, he was surprised at the unexpected disappointment he felt at her impending departure. Shaking his head, he made his way to his office, opened the door and closed it behind him.

  When Betts knocked and walked into the room a few minutes later, Fitzjohn turned from the window where he had been standing and said, ‘Any details yet on what Bonato is actually involved in?’

  ‘Yes sir. It’s a cartel that’s suspected of trafficking stolen art.’

  ‘Really? That’s a long way from being a petty criminal.’

  ‘It is sir, and I imagine as far as the cartel are concerned, he’s still low down in the scheme of things and probably why the authorities are desperate to get him back. They hope he’ll talk.’

  ‘I wonder where Crispin Fairchild fits into all this because, let’s face it, Bonato was so eager to get access to his apartment that he resorted to threatening Elvira Travers,’ said Fitzjohn as he sat down
at his desk. ‘It has to be something more than that violin’s provenance.’

  ‘Maybe Fairchild was involved in criminal activities with Bonato,’ said Betts, his two hands resting on the back of the chair in front of Fitzjohn’s desk.

  ‘It’s a possibility. The question is what kind of business would our victim, a successful and high-profile musician, have with a criminal? Not anything above board, I would think.’

  ‘Well, we’ve made exhaustive searches of both his apartment and his office at the Opera House and found nothing,’ said Betts.

  ‘Maybe he thought these documents were so sensitive he didn’t want to keep them in either place where they could be easily found,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘The question is, where?’

  ‘It’s hard to believe that Crispin Fairchild would get himself involved with any criminal element, sir?’

  ’I agree, but everything appears to point that way and let’s face it, often a person’s life can look perfect from the outside but the reality is quite different.’

  ‘Do you want to continue with Bonato’s interview now, sir?’

  ‘Let’s give it a bit longer, Betts, just in case more detail comes in about him from Interpol or the Italian authorities.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  CHAPTER 18

  Elvira put the telephone down and collapsed back in her chair with a sigh as a sense of unimaginable relief flooded over her, the tension she had felt for days, subsiding. The stalker had been apprehended. Was he also Crispin’s killer? she asked herself. Sergeant Betts would not be drawn on that subject even when she had prompted him. Even so, perhaps now she could get back to some semblance of normality with Edwards behind bars, but could she? Moira had telephoned earlier to say she would be calling around, which she never did unless something was wrong. Could the fact that I missed my publisher’s deadline be the reason? she thought. Just then, the doorbell sounded. ‘Mmm. That’s probably her now,’ she muttered. Moments later and with a certain amount of apprehension, Elvira opened the door to find Moira looking towards Crispin’s apartment across the hall, its front door still covered in police tape.