The Fourth String

by Jill Paterson

  ‘No, first I want to find out a bit more about that vase we recovered from Hector Lombard.’ Betts gave his boss a questioning look. ‘I suspect it’s one of a pair.’

  ‘You’ve lost me, sir.’

  ‘Well, the thing is, I know it seems like this has come from nowhere but it hasn’t because ever since we retrieved the vase from Lombard, something’s been nagging at me but I didn’t realise what it was until I spoke to Meg a few minutes ago.’

  ‘And what was that?’ Betts asked, intrigued.

  ‘That the vase is one of a pair.’

  ‘But what made you think that?’ asked Betts as he pulled away from the curb.

  Fitzjohn recounted his conversation with Meg. ‘As soon as she mentioned that wedding present she gave to Edith and me, I remembered seeing another vase in Lombard’s glass cabinet which looked to have a similar design to the one he just purchased from Francesca Fairchild. I didn’t think much about it at the time but now I can’t, in all conscience, arrest Pearl Ambrose for murder until I know for sure. After all, if I’m right and it is one of a pair, it could give Lombard a strong motive to kill Crispin Fairchild.’

  ‘Okay,’ replied Betts. ‘When we get to the station, I’ll have a look through the inventory of missing items which Interpol sent us. It’s fairly detailed so it should tell us whether the vase is one of a pair. I’ll also consult an expert about its identification and value.’

  ****

  On arrival at the station and passing the empty office, Fitzjohn felt a void left by the absence of Peta Ashby while at the same time he tried to relegate the thought of Grieg’s imminent arrival to the back of his mind. If at all possible, he wanted the Fairchild case solved before the Chief Superintendent returned. However, as that was tomorrow, the chances of a sudden breakthrough in the case were slim but there may still be time. With this in mind, Fitzjohn bypassed his office and went straight to the incident room where he stood before the whiteboard and studied each clue concerning the remaining persons of interest, Pearl Ambrose, Eleanor Reed, and perhaps now, Hector Lombard. It was not long, however, before he heard the door open and turned to see Betts.

  ‘You were right, sir. The vase is one of a pair, and according to the expert, singularly worth in the vicinity of two hundred thousand dollars. Together, more than double that amount.’

  ‘In that case, our investigation isn’t finished,’ Fitzjohn replied with a satisfied smile. ‘If I’m right and Lombard does have the matching vase and as he appears to be a zealous collector of such things it wouldn’t be beyond the bounds of possibility that he would have gone to great lengths to acquire its matching pair. Let’s go and speak to him and see whether, if pushed, he lets anything slip.’

  ****

  The two officers climbed the front steps of The Claremont and followed Morris Elliott into the building before making their way to Lombard’s apartment. As Betts went to knock on his door, however, it opened and Lombard appeared, wearing his overcoat and carrying his briefcase and umbrella.

  ‘I see we’ve caught you on your way out, Mr Lombard,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘You have, Chief Inspector. I like to open my shop sharp on ten o’clock each morning. Is there something I can help you with before I leave?’

  ‘We have a few questions we’d like to ask you about the vase you purchased from Mrs Fairchild the other day. May we come in?’

  Hector glanced at his watch. ‘By all means, although I’d appreciate it if you can keep it brief.’

  Once into the living room, Fitzjohn peered into the glass cabinet in question. ‘It looks as though you’ve made a few changes since we were here last,’ he said. ‘I seem to remember seeing a particularly beautiful vase at the front of your display.’

  ‘Ah, you have a keen eye, Chief Inspector and you’re right, I did, but alas, it was sold yesterday,’ replied Lombard, placing his briefcase and umbrella on the dining room table. ‘As a businessman even I have to relinquish my hold on favourite pieces at times.’

  ‘That’s unfortunate because it’s why we’re here.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Hector.

  ‘We’re led to believe it’s part of a pair, its other half being the vase you purchased from Mrs Fairchild.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed, Chief Inspector. I’m an expert in these matters and I can assure you that it isn’t part of a pair.’

  ‘In that case, can you tell us how you came by it, Mr Lombard?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘It came into my shop as part of an estate sale. I took a liking to it so I decided to add it to my personal collection. That was over a year ago.’

  ‘I see. Well, in that case, we’ll need to see the documentation for that consignment. We also need the contact details of the person you sold it to.’

  ‘But it’s too late. The purchaser lives in the UK and the vase is on its way as we speak.’

  ‘That won’t be a problem, Mr Lombard. If you give us the Bill of Lading, we’ll be able to have it intercepted.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Is there a problem?’ asked Fitzjohn as he sensed Hector’s growing anxiety.

  Lombard swallowed hard. ‘I… that is, I’m not sure where I filed that Bill of Lading. It’s most probably at my shop. I’ll drop it off at your station later today after I’ve closed up.’ Hector picked up his briefcase and umbrella.

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Lombard. Sergeant Betts and I can accompany you right now.’ Hector glared at Fitzjohn. ‘You don’t have a Bill of Lading, do you? In fact, I’d say that if Sergeant Betts and I did a search of your apartment, we’ll find the vase right here. I can see why you lied to us though. After all, once we’d retrieved the vase you bought from Mrs Fairchild, you wouldn’t have wanted its matching pair found in your possession as it would have connected you to Crispin Fairchild’s murder.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. I’m a respectable businessman, not a killer.’

  ‘And as a respectable businessman you offered to buy the vase from Mr Fairchild but he refused, didn’t he? And when no amount of persuasion worked, you became enraged and in the struggle which followed, you hit him on the head with the candelabra.’

  Hector Lombard dropped his umbrella and briefcase and crumpled into a chair. ‘He was the one who became angry after I picked the vase up. I just wanted to look at it more closely, that’s all, but he came at me and I grabbed the first thing I could to defend myself. I didn’t mean to kill him.’

  ‘Hector Lombard, I am arresting you for the murder of Crispin Fairchild…’

  ****

  As the two officers led Hector Lombard through the foyer, the elevator door rumbled open and Pearl Ambrose appeared, open-mouthed at the scene in front of her. Leading the way outside, Fitzjohn gave a sigh of relief not only that it was not Pearl who was being led away but also that the case was finally solved.

  ****

  In his office that evening, Fitzjohn gathered his things together and prepared to leave the station and recommence his vacation. As he did, Betts came into the room.

  ‘Is everything settled with Bonato?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes sir. I’ve made all the arrangements for his extradition and Lombard has been formally charged with Crispin Fairchild’s murder. He’ll appear before the magistrate first thing in the morning.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks,’ said Fitzjohn as he shrugged into his suit coat. ‘Don’t phone me in the meantime, will you, even if Chief Superintendent Grieg commands it?’

  ‘I won’t, sir. When is he expected back?’

  ‘As far as I know, it’ll be tomorrow so be prepared for fire and brimstone to rain down upon you. I’m only glad I won’t be here.’ Fitzjohn grabbed his overcoat and briefcase.

  ‘Thanks for the warning, sir.’

  ‘I know you’ll manage admirably,’ said Fitzjohn with a smile. ‘And thank you, Betts, for all your hard work. I appreciate it. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.’

  CHAPTER
22

  Elvira had not seen nor heard from Pearl Ambrose since she had knocked on her door the previous afternoon with the revelation concerning her son’s death and its connection to Crispin Fairchild. Were the police still questioning her over the matter? she wondered. If not, it might mean that they had found that the man claiming to be Raymond Edwards was Crispin’s killer. With this in mind and to quell her concern, she decided to call on Pearl, but when she reached her apartment door on the floor above and knocked, there was no response. A myriad of thoughts, along with a growing sense of panic, ran through Elvira’s head as she made her way back down the stairs. After all, since that fateful morning when she had found Crispin’s body, it seemed to her that she and Pearl had gone through a lot and now she hoped against hope that her newfound friend was not the killer. It was then she heard voices from below. Elvira gathered her flowing gown around herself and quickened her step.

  Moments later, she reached the foyer to find Pearl standing open-mouthed as she gazed through the front entrance and into the street. Noticing the police car parked at the curb, Elvira asked, ‘Have the police been here to speak to you again, Pearl?’

  Somewhat startled, Pearl swung around to face Elvira. ‘No. Apparently, they were here to see Hector. They’ve just taken him away.’ Pearl gestured to where Sergeant Betts could be seen ushering Hector into the backseat of the police car while Chief Inspector Fitzjohn settled himself into the passenger seat. ‘He must have been the murderer all along.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ replied Elvira. ‘They might just want to question him formally at the station.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Pearl. ‘Sergeant Betts escorted Hector out of the building by the arm. And look at the way he’s placing the flat of his hand on his head so he doesn’t bump it on the car door jam. They do that on crime shows on television.’

  ‘I can’t see how that’s a sign he’s been arrested,’ said Elvira, ‘but nevertheless, you might be right although it would surprise me. If it is one of the residents who killed Crispin, I’d lean more towards Morris.’

  ‘So would I,’ replied Pearl, matter-of-factly. ‘But if what we now suspect is the case, what was it which caused Hector to do such a thing? And with such dreadful consequences. He’s such a quiet unassuming man.’

  ‘Heaven only knows,’ said Elvira as the police car drove away. ‘Something must have happened which sent him over the edge, but I can’t imagine what it could be.’

  ‘Well, whatever it was I think this is the first time I’ve breathed easily since the morning you found Crispin’s body,’ said Pearl as they turned and entered the elevator. ‘I was sure the police would think it was me. Did you know that Crispin’s apartment has been listed for sale?’ she continued as the elevator door jittered shut. ‘I saw it advertised on the domain website.’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ replied Elvira. ‘It’ll sell immediately, I’m sure. The location alone will see to that?’

  ‘Well, all I can say is, I hope the buyer is someone we can all get along with.’

  ****

  It took time, of course, after all the excitement and suspicion which had surrounded Crispin Fairchild’s murder but eventually, life at The Claremont did return to normal. The residents — those who were left, that is — gladly ignored the foyer with its dark varnished woodwork and age-weary paintwork as well as the elevator which rattled and groaned its way up and down. After all, it was comforting in an odd sort of way, as was the familiar sounds which had returned once again; the powerful sound of a mezzo-soprano sustaining a long note in the higher register emanating from Pearl’s apartment while from the floor below, Elvira could be heard reading her latest manuscript out loud in an effort to find any glitches in her prose. These resonances, combined with the rhythmic “chink chink” as Morris Elliott sculpted his latest masterpiece blended into a cacophony of sounds that, with the addition of Eleanor’s violin, no doubt mystified those who passed by.

  Not unexpectedly, however, the day came when a moving van pulled up in front of the building and its contents placed into Crispin Fairchild’s apartment. With no sign of the new owner, a heightened sense of speculation followed amongst the residents as to when he or she, or they, would appear. But alas, as the days turned into weeks followed by months with not a glimpse to be had of the anticipated new resident, their interest waned and life at The Claremont went on.

  ****

  But one morning, as Pearl and Elvira were speaking in the foyer, a grey-haired man of medium height and build came through the front entrance carrying a suitcase.

  ‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said, placing the suitcase down on the tiled floor before looking around.

  ‘Good morning,’ chimed Elvira and Pearl, somewhat startled to see a stranger with obvious access to their new security system. ‘Are you visiting one of the residents?’ asked Elvira.

  ‘No, I’m moving in. My name is Alexander Fredrickson. I purchased an apartment here at The Claremont earlier in the year but I just arrived in Sydney today to take up my post as the conductor of the Sydney Symphony. The foyer looks a little tired, doesn’t it?’ he added with a frown. ‘We’ll have to do something about that now I’m here.’

  Elvira and Pearl turned to each other with a sense of impending doom.

  CHAPTER 23

  Enjoying his leave from duty, Fitzjohn gave no thought to Grieg’s arrival back at the station nor whether the fire and brimstone he had predicted had in fact eventuated. He did, however, feel disappointment at Peta Ashby’s sudden forced departure and that he had missed the opportunity to say goodbye to her. To avoid dwelling on this, he threw himself into fulfilling his promise to organise the North Shore Orchid Society’s Spring show and whiled away endless hours in his garden and greenhouse. This particular morning, however, he had felt the need to escape Meg’s incessant chatter and her propensity to try and organise his day now that he was on vacation and easily accessible. So, in desperation, he took refuge at the Charlotte Café where he now sipped a cup of coffee and asked himself whether his sister would ever return home to Melbourne. A pang of guilt accompanied this thought, however, since she had saved the day when it came to the problem of the boundary, and since he was in a mood of acknowledgement, her reminiscence of the vase on the hall table had contributed to the solving of the Fairchild case.

  ‘Good morning, Alistair.’

  Fitzjohn looked up at the sound of the familiar voice to find Peta Ashby. Dressed in blue jeans and a turquoise sweater with a multi-coloured scarf draped around her neck, wisps of fair hair framed a smiling face. He was reminded of the only other occasion he had seen her out of uniform; at the farewell dinner and was now convinced that the uniform masked a vivacious and spirited personality.

  ‘Ma’am?’ As the word left his lips, his cup descended onto its saucer with a bang its contents slopping over the rim.

  ‘May I join you?’ she asked.

  ‘Please do, ma’am.’ Fitzjohn started to his feet.

  ‘Don’t get up, and please, call me Peta. Ma’am sounds too formal in this environment, don’t you think?’ she added as their eyes met over the table.

  ‘I don’t understand. I thought you’d returned to the Central Coast,’ said Fitzjohn, somewhat taken aback.

  ‘I had,’ Peta replied as she placed her cup of coffee on the table and settled herself. ‘But then, out of the blue, I got word that I was to return to Day Street Station.’

  ‘Did the powers that be give you any idea how long your secondment will be this time around?’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘It’s just that I assume Chief Superintendent Grieg is back on duty.’

  ‘I take it your sergeant hasn’t been in touch with you since you went on leave.’

  ‘I told him I didn’t want to hear from him under any circumstances,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘And he took you literally,’ replied Peta with a chuckle, her eyes sparkling.

  ‘So, you’re saying that Grieg’s gardening leave has been extended.’

 
‘No, it hasn’t. He’s to be returned to duty, albeit not at Day Street Station, the reason being that the internal inquiry wasn’t able to gather enough evidence to warrant his dismissal.’ Peta hesitated. ‘I can see you’re disappointed, Alistair, but don’t be because I think Inspector Grieg’s next posting is punishment enough.’

  ‘Inspector Grieg?’

  ‘Yes. He’s been demoted and transferred to the farthest reaches of the State of New South Wales, where I imagine, his career progression will be severely compromised.’

  Fitzjohn became silent as he grappled to take in this news concerning the man who had been his nemesis for so many years. ‘Where are they sending him?’ he asked at last. ‘You said the farthest reaches. It sounds ominous.’

  ‘Many would think it is. He’s been transferred to a remote community of approximately twenty-five inhabitants although the area to be patrolled, mainly desert, is fairly large at approximately five thousand square miles.’ Peta smiled. ‘He’ll be on the road a lot, I’d say.’

  ‘So, in other words, it’s a one-man station in the middle of nowhere,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘It’s in the middle of nowhere, yes, but he won’t be alone. He’ll have Chief Inspector Gilpead to keep him company.’

  ‘Gilpead! I’ve heard that name before. Isn’t he…’

  ‘Notorious for being one of the most difficult officers to get along with on the force. He was transferred out there about three years ago.’

  ‘And he’s to be Grieg’s new boss,’ said Fitzjohn with a smile. ‘Sparks will fly between those two, no doubt.’

  ‘I think they’re meant for each other?’ Peta took a sip of her coffee. ‘Oh, and well done on solving the Fairchild case, Alistair. Sergeant Betts filled me in.’ Peta got up from her chair. ‘Now, I’ll leave you to enjoy your vacation and I’ll see you when you return to work, if not before seeing we’re now practically neighbours.’