Rose Scented Murder

by Jill Paterson

  ‘Well, when you are, come to my office,’ replied Fitzjohn with a brusque air. ‘I want to know your thoughts and to discuss something else unrelated to the case.’ Somewhat miffed that while Betts slept, he had sat up half the night, Fitzjohn marched off in the direction of his office.

  ***

  Half an hour later, a quiet knock on his office door drew his attention to Betts standing in the doorway, the manuscript under one arm and a mug of coffee in each hand.

  ‘I thought coffee might help start your day off right, sir.’

  ‘If you’re suggesting my day didn’t get off to a good start you’d be right,’ replied Fitzjohn, sitting back in his chair. ‘Come in and take a seat.’ Betts handed Fitzjohn the coffee and settled himself into a chair.

  ‘To be honest, sir, I didn’t find anything that I think can help us with our investigation,’ said Betts as he took the manuscript from under his arm. ‘Even though all our persons of interest are mentioned, there’s no reference to suggest any one of them murdered Marsha Greenwood. I think it’s as Ms Parsons said, the victim planned to reveal his wife’s killer in the last chapter.’

  ‘My sentiments exactly,’ replied Fitzjohn before taking a sip of the steaming brew. ‘But didn’t Ms Parsons also say she was to meet with the victim today to discuss that chapter?’

  ‘I believe she did, sir.’

  ‘Well, since that’s the case, even though she told us his instructions were verbal, we can’t dismiss the fact that he may have made notes in preparation for that meeting. We didn’t find anything at the theatre but, considering the subject matter, I doubt he’d leave material so important to him lying around. More likely he’d keep such information at his home in Mosman. Make an application to the magistrate for a search warrant, Betts, and have the house keys released.’

  ‘Yes, sir. What was the other matter you wanted to discuss? Something not related to the case?’

  ‘Ah, yes. It concerns my neighbour, Rhonda Butler.’

  ‘I thought after the last episode with the boundary between your two properties she’d have changed and become the neighbour from heaven rather than hell.’

  ‘I thought she had until this morning when a particular incident occurred. Unfortunately, I felt I had no other choice other than to step in.’ Fitzjohn put his coffee mug down and clasped his hands. ‘She’s growing marijuana in her back garden.’

  For a long moment, Betts stared at his boss before he said with a snicker, ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘I am and it’s not a laughing matter.’

  ‘I know, sir, it’s just that it’s the last thing I would have thought Rhonda Butler would be involved in. Are you sure it’s marijuana?’

  ‘Meg, your future mother-in-law I might add, assured me it is and after close inspection, I had to agree with her. I didn’t ask her how she gained her botanical knowledge of that particular species of plant matter,’ Fitzjohn continued with a shake of his head, ‘because I have a suspicion it’s something to do with her 1960s hippie, flower child, past that I neither need nor want to know about.’

  ‘Your sister was a 1960s hippie? I can’t imagine. Does Sophie know?’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘And I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether you wish to enlighten her or not.’ Fitzjohn clasped his hands together aware of his young sergeant’s amusement. ‘Shall we get back to Rhonda and her gardening because you need to know the full story?’ said Fitzjohn before giving an account of his neighbourly meeting with Rhonda that morning. ‘Hopefully, she takes my advice and gets rid of the seedlings.’

  ‘What about the nephew?’ asked Betts.

  ‘That is a worry. For a start, he can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen years old and, it seems, has taken a turn that could lead to serious consequences. So, I’d like you to pay a visit to his school to find out what sort of horticultural project he’s involved in, if any. But regardless of the result, have a word with him and his parents about the marijuana and try to find out if he’s acting alone. Depending on the result we’ll go from there.’

  ‘I’ll see to it, sir, but before I do, I wanted to let you know that Leo Greenwood’s background check is in.’

  ‘Ah, that’s good. Does it give us any leads?’

  ‘It may do because the day before his brother’s murder, his application for a mortgage to purchase a second restaurant was knocked back. He told the bank manager he’d seek a guarantor and reapply. It could have been the reason he and his brother were talking before the performance the other night,’ Betts continued. ‘The timeline fits with his appointment at the bank that morning. It’s purely speculation, of course, but Howard Greenwood might have refused to stand as guarantor and that could have been what Dolores Madden sensed when she went into the dressing room that evening.’

  ‘Well, money is certainly a subject that could trigger a row between two brothers,’ said Fitzjohn, ‘especially since it appears the victim was financially well off if his bank accounts are anything to go by. Hopefully, our search of his property will reveal something.’ As Fitzjohn spoke, his mobile phone rang.

  ‘Fitzjohn here.’

  ‘Chief Inspector Fitzjohn, this is Constance Parsons. You did say I should call you on this number if needs be and something has occurred that I think you should know about.’ Fitzjohn listened as Constance described an overpowering scent of roses in her bookshop so strong it had all but eliminated the aroma of leather and old books. ‘I do hope you don’t think I’m overreacting, Chief Inspector, but I did read in the newspaper this morning that roses play a part in Howard’s death, god rest his soul.’

  ‘They do, Ms Parsons, and you’ve done the right thing in contacting me. Are you alone?’

  ‘No, my friend Harriet is here with me.’

  ‘Good. That being the case, I want you to close the bookshop for the day and both remain where you are. I’ll be with you shortly.’

  ‘That was Constance Parsons,’ said Fitzjohn, turning to Betts as he hung up. ‘There’s been an incident at her bookshop. Once you’ve made that application to the magistrate for the search of Greenwood’s property, we’ll be on our way. I’ll fill you in as we go.’

  ***

  Constance Parsons could be seen opening the door of the bookshop as the two officers emerged from their car and crossed the street, dodging the traffic as they approached.

  ‘Thank you for being so prompt, Chief Inspector,’ she said as Fitzjohn and Betts stepped inside. ‘I only hope I haven’t brought you on a fool’s errand.’

  ‘There’s no such thing where a murder investigation is concerned, Ms Parson, so I’m thankful you did call,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘And I see what you mean,’ he continued, sniffing the air. ‘It’s very heavy and definitely the scent of roses.’

  ‘I’m glad you agree,’ said Constance as their gaze fell upon the atomizer on the window ledge. Fitzjohn took off glasses and peered at it closely.

  ‘We haven’t touched it. Just in case there are fingerprints that can be lifted,’ said Harriet, looking pleased with her comment.

  ‘That’s commendable, Ms…’

  ‘Findlay. But you can call me Harriet.’

  Fitzjohn gave a quick smile before turning to Betts. ‘Arrange for a forensics team, Betts.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Now, ladies,’ he continued guiding the two women deeper into the bookshop, ‘can you describe the customers that have come into the bookshop this morning?’

  Constance looked to her friend. ‘Since Harriet was the only one in the shop at the time, I think she’ll be more help with that, Chief Inspector, won’t you Harriet?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Constance was out the back receiving deliveries. I was here, dusting,’ said Harriet.

  ‘And how many customers did you have during that time?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Ah, let’s see. The first to arrive were two women. They were together. After that a man came in and another woman a few minutes later.’

  ‘Can y
ou describe the man and woman who came in alone?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘I only saw them at a glance when they passed by the end of the fiction shelving so I can’t give you much detail, I’m afraid, but I do remember the man was tall, fairly slim and had dark hair. I can’t guess at his age because without my glasses on his face wasn’t clear to me.’

  ‘And the woman?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘I saw even less of her, but I do remember she was wearing a charcoal coloured winter coat. She looked to be in her thirties, I’d say, with a fair complexion.’ Harriet paused. ‘I’m afraid that’s all I remember, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Do you have CCTV in the shop, Ms Parsons?’ asked Fitzjohn as he cast a speculative glance for any such security device.

  ‘Unfortunately not, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Not to worry, we have Ms Finlay’s descriptions which help.’

  ‘What will happen now, Chief Inspector,’ asked Constance.

  ‘A team of scene of crime officers will arrive shortly and conduct a thorough sweep of the area for evidence. We’ll work in tandem with the team and piece together and pursue any leads that may come to our attention. I’ll speak to you further about the situation in the next day or so but as things stand now it would be wise to keep the bookshop closed until we’ve apprehended whomever left the bottle of scent.’

  ‘Can you be reached at home, Ms Parsons, or are you staying elsewhere?’

  Constance Parsons looked at Harriet who smiled. ‘You can reach me at Harriet’s, Chief Inspector.’

  ***

  ‘I didn’t want to worry Ms Parsons further but her situation isn’t good,’ said Fitzjohn as the two officers emerged from the bookshop and crossed the road to their car. ‘I only hope we get a breakthrough in the case soon.’

  ***

  Propelled by a strong wind, dry leaves swirled across the street to be captured in the picket fence that bordered Howard Greenwood’s garden. Fitzjohn pulled up the collar of his overcoat and together he and Betts made their way through the garden to the front door. Betts placed the key in the lock but as he did the door flew open to reveal a heavy-set woman in her mid-fifties carrying a dust-pan and brush.

  ‘You’re too early. Mr Greenwood hasn’t arrived yet,’ she said, eyeing the two officers warily. ‘You are from the real estate, aren’t you?’ she added, her voice quavering.

  ‘No, madam. We’re police officers,’ replied Fitzjohn, holding up his warrant card before introducing himself and Betts. ‘We’re investigating the death of Howard Greenwood and we have a warrant to search these premises for anything that might aid our investigation.’ Fitzjohn paused, sensing the woman’s unease. ‘Are you a relative of Mr Greenwood?’

  ‘No. I’m Lyn Evans, his housekeeper. I’m here to collect my things and to make sure everything is tidy before the real estate people do their valuation, although I don’t think that’ll be possible now. Someone must have broken in during the night because Howard’s study is a shambles,’ she added visibly distressed.

  ‘Is the study the only room that’s been disturbed, Mrs Evans?’ Fitzjohn asked as he and Betts stepped inside and followed her through the house.

  ‘As far as I can tell it is although I have a feeling someone’s been in Howard’s bedroom as well because some of the things on the dresser aren’t in their usual place.’

  ‘We’ll look at the study first if we may,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘It’s along here,’ replied the woman as she turned down a hall and abruptly stopped in an open doorway.

  When they joined her, the scale of the break-in became evident as Fitzjohn’s gaze took in the scene.

  ‘Howard would be so upset to see his study in this state,’ said Mrs Evans, taking a tissue to stem the tears brimming her eyelashes. ‘He was such a meticulous person and so proud of his photographic collection. It was a visual display of his years in the theatre. It’s a terrible shame, it really is.’

  Fitzjohn carefully entered the ransacked room the desk’s drawers removed and upturned, their contents strewn over the floor along with a number of twisted metal picture frames enmeshed with their photographs ripped into shreds. Glass crunched underfoot as he approached the sole surviving frame, undisturbed on the far wall, a snapshot of the Adelphi Theatre’s interior during a performance with Howard and a woman on centre stage.

  ‘That was taken on opening night,’ said Mrs Evans. ‘The woman in the photograph is his wife, Marsha. She died not long after.’ Mrs Evans sniffed back a tear.

  ‘So we understand,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘We were advised she died in tragic circumstances here in the house.’

  ‘That’s right. She fell down the stairs into the living room. I don’t think Howard ever recovered. And now, of course, he’s gone as well. It begs belief. It really does.’ Lyn Evans gave a long sigh. Sensing her growing disquiet, Fitzjohn picked his way back to where she had remained in the doorway and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘I am thankful you’re here, Chief Inspector because I doubt I could face Leo alone when he arrives,’ she continued, fixated on the devastation. ‘He’s hell-bent on getting the place on the market today and with Howard not cold in his grave. It’s heartless, it really is.’

  ‘Why don’t we get a breath of fresh air?’ said Fitzjohn. Nodding in agreement, Lyn Evans allowed herself to be guided from the room. ‘How long did you work for Howard Greenwood?’ he asked as they walked through to the main part of the house and sat down near the open patio doors.

  ‘I’ve been here for the past seven years, Chief Inspector. It was Marsha who employed me originally. After her death, Howard asked me to stay on. The sight of those stairs still sends a chill through me,’ she said, glancing towards the sweeping glass staircase on the other side of the living room.

  ‘Were you here the night it happened?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘No. I only work through the day. Nine o’clock till three in the afternoon.’

  ‘I see. You mentioned earlier that you’re here today to collect your things and make sure everything is ready for a real estate valuation.’

  ‘Those are my instructions from Leo. He’s a callous individual but I didn’t think even he would do such a thing.’

  ‘How would you say Howard and Leo got along?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘You know, I never heard Howard say anything against his brother even though I’m sure he was aware he’s a wastrel. You see, Leo only came here when he wanted Howard to fund another one of his business enterprises or needed money to pay a debt. I always knew when he’d been here because Howard wasn’t himself for days afterwards… as if he regretted giving in to his brother’s demands yet again. It’s called emotional blackmail as I’m sure you’re aware, Chief Inspector. It makes me wonder if…’

  ‘If what?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘If Howard finally did refuse and paid for it with his life.’ Lyn Evans stared at Fitzjohn. ‘Do you think that’s possible?’

  ‘It will be considered along with other scenarios during the course of our investigation,’ replied Fitzjohn, ‘one of those being the memoir we understand Howard was writing with the help of a ghost writer. Do you know about that, Mrs Evans?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Howard told me about it.’

  ‘Do you know whether he kept any paperwork on the manuscript here at home?’

  ‘If he did I never saw any when I was cleaning his study. As I said, Howard was meticulous. He never left anything lying around.’ As Lyn Evans spoke the front door banged and a man’s voice called out her name and she stiffened. ‘Oh, my heavens it’s Leo.’

  ‘Don’t concern yourself, Mrs Evans,’ said Fitzjohn, sensing the woman’s apprehension at facing Greenwood. ‘I’ll deal with him.’

  ‘In that case, if you don’t need me anymore, Chief Inspector, I’ll leave by the back door.’

  ‘Just one more thing before you go,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Do you happen to know the name of Howard’s lawyer?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Duncan Blackburn. I know beca
use he’s telephoned on occasions when Howard hasn’t been at home. I think he has an office in the city, but I can’t tell you where.’

  ‘That’s not a problem. The name is enough. Thank you, Mrs Evans.’

  Just after Lyn Evans had grabbed her handbag along with a small cardboard box containing her personal items and left, Leo Greenwood burst into the living room. ‘What the hell are you doing here,’ he yelled, glaring at Fitzjohn, ‘and where’s the housekeeper?’

  ‘And good morning to you too, Mr Greenwood,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Mrs Evans, the housekeeper, has done as you requested. She hasn’t lingered unnecessarily and as for myself, I have a warrant to search the property,’ Fitzjohn handed the document to Greenwood.

  ‘For what?’ asked Greenwood, scanning the warrant.

  ‘As it says, paperwork pertaining to your brother’s manuscript and any information we might gather to assist us in our investigation into his death. I take it you are aware he was writing his memoir?’

  ‘He mentioned it but I can’t see what it has to do with your investigation, so I’d appreciate it if you’d leave. I’m expecting a team of real estate agents to value the property at any moment and your presence is not required.’ As he spoke, several SOCOs could be seen being ushered towards the study by Betts. ‘Good god. Who are they?’ Leo barked, throwing his hands in the air.

  ‘They’re scene of crime officers,’ Fitzjohn replied. ‘They’ve been called in because there’s been a break-in during the night. Consequently, I have to inform you that neither the valuation nor the sale of the property will be possible at this time since it’s now part of our investigation into your brother’s death. In other words, the property is inaccessible to you or the real estate. You’ll be notified as soon as the restriction has been lifted.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I’ll show you out,’ said Fitzjohn as he ushered Greenwood from the living room and along the hallway to the front door.