“It was taken in Mangonui on Thursday afternoon. Are you sure she is in London? Have you talked to her in London recently?
“Of course she returned to London. And, yes. I talked to her about giving evidence about our parents’ murders.”
“When was that?”
“Maybe a week ago? I haven’t seen her since.”
What about your other sister, Honey. Has she talked to Becka?
“Honey left for London yesterday to stay with Becka. I bought her a ticket and she caught the 10.30 flight last night. I thought it better that she should be away from all the media craziness.”
“When is she arriving in London?” Bromley asked.
“She should be at Becka’s at about midnight tonight. I was going to call her.”
“I would appreciate it if you could have Becka call me. She has not returned any of my messages and it is imperative I have a word with her.”
“I will. Can you tell me why you are looking for her?” Audrey asked.
“If she is the woman in the photo then she may have been the last person to see Eric Chapman alive.”
“Eric Chapman? You think she was with Eric Chapman?” Audrey was horrified.
“This woman and Chapman spent the afternoon together. Went out boating I understand.”
“It can’t be Becka,” Audrey said. “You must be confused. She has never met Eric Chapman. You have made a mistake, detective. You have it all wrong.”
“Just get her to call me,” he said, and hung up.
Audrey sat looking at the woman on the screen and suddenly everything began to make sense. If it was indeed Becka then that would explain how Detective Higgins came to be floating in her bay. It explained how Eric Chapman ended up dead in his home. Was her sister a murderer too? If so, she was in deep shit.
There was one way to find out. Audrey walked over to her closet and searched for her favorite yellow dress. It was gone. Her floppy yellow hat was also missing.
C H A P T E R 7 9
Honey stood on the curb outside Heathrow airport wrapped in her long black winter coat waiting in line for a taxi. Becka had not been there to meet her. She had waited for over half an hour before realizing she had been stood up. Damn. The trip was long and she was tired. It had taken forever to get through customs. She knew she should take the underground to Becka’s house. It would be a lot faster, but dragging her heavy suitcase on and off the train would be just too much. Instead she decided to splurge on a taxi.
She had never been to Becka’s house. In fact, she had never even seen a photo of it. But there it was. A three-storied, semi-detached brick house. All the houses looked identical along the street. They were separated by only a small pathway and tiny garden. So different from the brightly colored, eclectic houses in New Zealand.
She could hear music inside as she reached the front door. The taxi driver had been kind enough to drag her suitcases to the small porch. She knocked and listened.
Becka burst open the door. She was in her dressing gown and a towel was wrapped around her head. “I’m so sorry, Honey. I got home just half an hour ago and got Audrey’s message to say you were coming. I have been in the country visiting a friend. Took a few days off to get away from things. Come in. Don’t just stand there. I’m so happy you are here.”
“I was worried when you didn’t show at the airport,” said Honey, following her sister inside.
“Just leave all your bags in the hallway. You will be sleeping upstairs on the third floor. We’ll drag your bags up later. Come in and have a cup of tea. You must be exhausted.”
“So you don’t know that our parents’ murder is all over the news in New Zealand?” Honey asked.
“Well yes, it is all over social media. Thank God we are over here and away from it all. How is Audrey handling it?” Becka asked as she turned on the kettle and grabbed a couple of cups.
The phone rang in the kitchen and Becka picked it up. It was Audrey. “Yes, hi Audrey. Honey is here. She just arrived. I have been out of town and just got your message. She is great. Do you want to talk to her?” She handed Honey the phone.
“Hi, Audrey. Yes, I just arrived. Yes, everything is fine. Becka? What do you mean? Of course she is just the same. OK. I’ll tell her. Yep. Talk later. Bye.”
“What was all that about?” Becka asked, “Oh she wants you to call Detective Bromley. Something about you having to provide a written statement or something.” She sighed. “My god, it is good to be here. I think I will sleep for a week.” Honey kicked off her shoes and sipped her tea. “Thanks Becka. Thanks for letting me stay.”
“You’re welcome,” said Becka, removing her towel and shaking out her wet brown hair. “It will be nice to have some company.”
C H A P T E R 8 0
Detective Bromley looked at the new text message on his phone. It was late, after midnight. The message was from Audrey. Becka is in London. Talked to her and Honey. Honey says she looks just the same. I guess it isn’t Becka in the photos. Told Becka you want to talk to her. Bromley was surprised. He had asked his guys to get the Auckland airport surveillance tapes showing passengers boarding flights to London since Chapman’s murder. Now he wondered if this was just a waste of time. If the woman wasn’t Rebecca Simpson, who was she? He checked Audrey and Honey’s statements. That was the name they had given him. Her married name. Had she changed her name since she divorced? He made a note to check.
The next morning he was at the Whangarei police station by seven thirty. Having tossed and turned all night, he was in a foul mood. His meeting was set for eight. He needed answers, now!
He learned there was no record of a Rebecca Simpson on any flight to or from London. “She didn’t fly by stork!” bellowed Bromley. “Check if she is using another name.”
Detective Bromley was familiar with Oleander poisoning due to a case he’d investigated a few years previously. A friend of his young daughter was found dead in Doubtless Bay, not far from where Higgins’ body was found. The killer was later found shot by his own gun in Hihi.
Then the killer’s sister was found, poisoned by the Oleander plant. It was considered a suicide.
And now Greta Baywater had supposedly taken her life by ingesting the same poisonous plant. A coincidence? They couldn’t find any other case of the plant causing death, at least not in New Zealand.
The team reported they had managed to talk to the family of Eric Chapman and they had no knowledge of anyone who would want to harm him. However, his profession as a private investigator may well have caused him to have enemies. They were still working on his previous jobs and contacting his clients.
Detective Bromley put a list of names, location and cause of death on the board
Ben Brown – Whangarei – brain cancer
Greta Baywater – Whangarei – poison leading to heart attack; suicide?
Steve Brown – Hihi – Alcohol/natural death
Detective Higgins – Hihi/Doubtless Bay – injury to head while fishing; murder?
Eric Chapman – North Shore – drug overdose/Murder?
What did they all have in common? What was the common link?
The first item he added was: Murray and Sophie Brown – thirty year old, unsolved murder case. “Every one of them was involved in the Brown case in some way,” said Bromley. “Who else?”
The team looked at him in silence. “Who else? You are detectives. Do your job. Detect!” He hollered.
“Detective Higgins until he died,” offered one of the team.
“Obviously the police,” said Bromley. “As for who else, I want a list of everyone who came in contact or had any association with the victims, near or around the time of their deaths. I want it on my desk by five tonight.”
The press conference was held at ten. Bromley didn’t have anything new to add. “We are working on a number of leads,” he told the reporters. “If anyone has any information surrounding the deaths of Detective Higgins and Eric Chapman, we hope they will come forward. These a
re tragic deaths.”
A reporter asked, “Are their deaths tied up with the new evidence released by Audrey Wetherby in the death of her parents? We understand they were both working on this cold case before their deaths?”
“At this time, we have no proof that their deaths are as a result of their enquiries into this case. However, we are looking at all leads at this time. Thank you,” he added as he stepped away.
A reporter called out, “What about Greta Baywater’s death? Was her death also related to the Brown murders?”
“We have no proof of that,” said Bromley. “At this time we are still considering her death to be a suicide.”
C H A P T E R 8 1
Deacon James was glad the media were concentrating on the Brown murders rather than the death of Greta Baywater. He was online checking all the latest updates. His meeting with Detective Bromley was postponed until today due to the death of Eric Chapman. He was not looking forward to talking to the police. His life was his own business. He would not be divulging any personal information at the meeting. No comment would be his stance on the situation.
He looked around the sparsely furnished room. Small. Just a desk, two chairs and a two-way mirror. At least he figured that was what it was. He looked up as Detective Bromley and a policewoman entered the room.
“Thanks for meeting with us today,” Bromley began. “This is Constable Johnston,” he introduced his colleague. Some information has come to our attention concerning Greta Baywater and we are hoping you could verify some the details that have come to light.”
“I am happy to help in any way I can,” Deacon James replied.
“We have a copy of Greta’s notebook and from the contents we understand you had a number of meetings with her?” Bromley was asking for a confirmation.
James felt as if he’d been hit with a hammer in the chest. He couldn’t breathe. They had a copy of the notebook? Damn! “I’m sorry Detective, I don’t know what you want me to say. Yes, I did meet with Greta on a number of occasions. She was an avid churchgoer and a member of our congregation.”
“That is not what I am referring to,” Bromley explained. He was looking at the photocopied pages of the notebook. He read, ‘Deacon James feels guilt but no remorse for this relationship with Craig. He says he loves him but cannot leave his wife, Naomi. He fears financial and personal ruin. He will pay me to keep quiet.’ Did you pay her?” the detective asked.
James was cornered. “I hope his conversation this stays in this room?” he asked.
“I can’t make any promises. But if you come clean with us and had nothing to do with her death, then I can’t see any reason why it should become public knowledge,” he said.
“I love my wife,” James offered. “I would never hurt her.”
“Was Greta blackmailing you? Did you pay her to keep quiet?”
“Yes,” his voice was hardly detectible, “I did.”
“Did you kill Greta Baywater?”
“Of course not! I thought she committed suicide. Didn’t she?” James was shocked at the accusation.
“Her death is still under investigation,” Bromley replied. “Do you know if others from your church also paid her money?”
“Yes. There are others.”
“I would like to take a statement from you including a list of all the members of the church you know were being blackmailed by Greta.” Looking intently at James, he asked, “Can you tell me what you were doing between seven p.m. and midnight on the day of Greta’s death?”
James knew exactly where he had been at the time. He remembered hearing about Greta’s death the following day. His wife was out of town that night. He had spent all night with Craig. The last thing he wanted was to involve his lover in this sordid mess. He looked at the detective. “I was working late at the church. I was preparing for the Sunday sermon.“
“ I see,” said the detective “And I presume you were alone?”
“I was, detective. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
C H A P T E R 8 2
“Detective Bromley, Becka Simpson here. I understand you wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes, Becka. Thanks for getting back to me. I have a few questions. I understand you left for London the Friday before last, is that correct?“
“Yes. I have been back in London for over a week, Detective. Why?”
“Nothing important. I would like you to confirm some information your sisters have given us regarding your brother, Ben’s, involvement in your parents’ deaths. Do you have a moment?
Becka confirmed everything her sisters had told the detective. “There is nothing more I can add. It was an awful time. I left for London and put all of that behind me,” she added.
“Do you still have your boarding pass from your return flight to London?” he asked.
“Oh, I doubt it. I would have thrown it away by now,” she replied. “Why do your ask?”
“Oh, just cleaning up some loose ends.”
The phone call worried Becka. His questions regarding her return to London indicated that he doubted that she had been in London. Did he have some information that caused him to doubt that she had left New Zealand? Thank goodness she had changed her appearance. He might have his suspicions, but he obviously didn’t have any proof or he would have accused her outright.
Becka’s New Zealand trip had gotten a little out of hand. Killing the detective, the private investigator and the Knowles couple might come back to haunt her.
If this Detective Bromley got too close to the truth she might have to plan a return trip to Northland. She heard Honey coming down the stairs.
“Becka, I heard you on the phone, was that Audrey?”
“No, I was talking to Detective Bromley. He was just confirming what you and Audrey had already told him.”
“Oh. Hopefully that is the last of that.” Honey plonked herself down on the wide leather chair in the front room. “Thank goodness we are away from all the media frenzy. It must be driving Audrey crazy.“
C H A P T E R 8 3
Reporters surrounded Audrey. Every television network in the country had interviewed her. It was also all over the news in Australia. It seemed they couldn’t get enough. She had been approached to participate in a documentary about her parents’ murder and her brother’s involvement. They had offered her a pretty nice fee and it was tempting. As long as she could manipulate the facts to suit her own needs, she would continue to be interviewed. But the sooner this was all over, the better. Too many murders and too many loose ends.
Handing over her mother’s diary and a copy of Greta’s diary was a sound move. However, now that Detective Bromley had all the files on her parents’ murder, it wouldn’t take long before he came knocking at her door and asking more questions. And, speaking of the devil, she saw his car coming up the driveway. Excusing herself from the media, she returned inside to her office to await the detective’s next move.
“Audrey, I have some questions relating to the night you had dinner with Eric Chapman. What time did you return from dinner?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t really remember. It was before midnight. We ate at the Carrington restaurant. It was quite late.”
“Did you see him the following day? One of your guests saw him walking down to your beach past their cabin. He said he thought Chapman had been at your office.”
“Yes, he came by to say goodbye. He was leaving for Auckland and wanted to take a stroll along the beach back to the motor camp.”
“Did he ask you about Detective Higgins?”
“No, I had no idea he knew Detective Higgins. I had met Eric fishing on my beach. We started talking and the tide came in. I suggested he return to the camp via my property. He asked me out a day or so later. He never mentioned he was a private investigator.”
“And you never saw Detective Higgins that night?“
“No detective. I never saw him.”
“I have been going through Higgins’ notes on your parents’ case
. He made a note that there were three schoolbags in the hallway on the afternoon of your parents’ deaths. A photo clearly shows them inside the front door, hanging on pegs, proving that all three of you had been in the home that afternoon. Furthermore the photos from your father’s collection confirm your stories of your parent’s behavior towards you and your sisters.”
The detective closed up his notebook and looked up at Audrey. “Higgins’ notes also mentioned pearls. Your mother’s pearls. Do you know anything about these pearls?”
“Yes, I have her pearls.”
“How long have you had the pearls?” he asked.
“My brother had them. He gave them to me before he died,” she lied.
“That would explain why you were wearing them the night your brother and his housekeeper died. Higgins made a note that you were wearing them when he interviewed you, immediately after their deaths.”
“How did he know they were my mother’s pearls?” she asked incredulously.
“Your mother was shown wearing them in a newspaper photo taken before her death. Higgins recognized them as the same pearls you were wearing the night your brother and Greta died.”
“That was awfully observant. I wear them quite often.” Audrey knew he had no proof she had taken them the night of her brother’s death. Looking back she regretted wearing them that night.
“I don’t suppose you would mind if I borrow the pearls for a day or two?” Detective Bromley asked.
“Why would you want to borrow them?”
“We are running DNA tests on a number of items and Higgins was quite sure your mother was wearing the pearls the night she died.”
“I’ll get them for you.” Audrey removed them from her dresser drawer and handed them to the detective. “I would like them back.”
Murder In The Family Page 13
