‘What about his reason for being at the theatre, sir? Do you believe him?’
‘Do you?’ asked Fitzjohn, turning to his young sergeant.
‘No because I don’t think his story about looking for something relating to his plagiarised play makes any sense, even if he is pedantic,’ replied Betts. ‘What would make more sense is if he had told us he was looking for the manuscript for Howard’s biography, or papers relating to it. But I guess he wouldn’t want to admit to that since it could be construed that he lured Constance Parsons to the theatre.’
‘That’s right. But for any of that to be useful we need hard evidence,’ said Fitzjohn as Betts pulled away from the curb. ‘Have Roach’s phone records checked to see if he telephoned the bookshop. Also, have a check done on all incoming calls the bookshop landline has received in the last week.’ Fitzjohn fell silent for a moment as his thoughts returned to Constance Parsons. ‘When we get back to the station, I’ll contact the hospital to find out whether there’s been any change in Ms Parsons’ condition but first, let’s pay Stephanie Mowbray another call. Since we know she had a strong motive to kill Greenwood, I’d like to know where she was at the time of Dolores Madden’s death.’
***
Fitzjohn and Betts arrived at The Strand Arcade and made their way up the tiled staircase to the balcony that encircled the upper level. The bell on the shop door tinkled when they entered the quiet space to find a young sales woman behind the counter.
‘Hello, can I help you?’ she asked.
‘We’re from the police, miss,’ said Fitzjohn, presenting his warrant card. ‘We’d like to speak to Stephanie Mowbray, if we may. Is she in?’
‘No, she isn’t, I’m afraid.’
‘Do you know when she’ll be back?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘I have no idea, Chief Inspector. I haven’t seen her since I arrived for work yesterday afternoon at two o’clock. She left soon after and hasn’t been back since.’
‘I see. Do you have a mobile number we can reach her on?’
‘I do.’ The young woman took a business card from a small pile on the counter and handed it to Fitzjohn. ‘Her mobile number is at the bottom, but I think you’ll find she has it turned off. I’ve been trying to contact her, with no success, since last evening because I have a problem with one of our suppliers.’
‘How late were you open for business last night?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘I closed the shop at six, but I was here arranging stock until ten o’clock. I thought Stephanie might return, but she didn’t. When she does call in, I’ll let her know you want to speak to her.’
***
‘Well, we’ve learnt one thing,’ said Fitzjohn as the two men retraced their steps and returned to their car. ‘Stephanie Mowbray wasn’t at her place of business when Dolores Madden was murdered, and an attempt made on Constance Parsons’ life. See what you can do to locate her, Betts, and have her brought in for questioning.’
‘Yes, sir.’
CHAPTER 15
A s his taxi wended its way into the city the following morning, Fitzjohn’s thoughts went to Rhonda Butler. With the situation relating to her gardening pursuit remaining unresolved, his concern had intensified as its implications resonated in his mind’s eye. At the same time, his thoughts were also occupied by his investigations into the Greenwood and Madden murders as well as Stephanie Mowbray’s sudden disappearance. Reminding himself of the roses she had mysteriously received, he wondered if she had fallen victim to the killer or was she the killer? Either way, with the predator still at large and Constance Parsons’ condition unchanged, how could he ensure her continued safety? This thought persisted to nag at the fringes of his mind as he emerged from the car to feel the brunt of the wind that whipped at his overcoat, his vision marred by his rain splattered glasses. Waving to the distorted image of the constable on duty behind the desk, he hastily released the security door and went straight to his office. Removing his damp overcoat, he sat down heavily into his chair, removed his glasses and gave an exasperated sigh before wiping off the rain drops. At that moment, Betts walked into the room.
‘Ah, good morning, Betts. Any news?’
‘Yes, sir, the results are back from the lab on the plastic wrapped newspaper. The analysis on the plastic from the victim’s skin matches that wrapped around the newspaper and has been confirmed as the murder weapon.’
‘What about fingerprints?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘They’re there, sir, but smudged.’
Fitzjohn sat back in his chair. ‘That’s a shame but I guess it would’ve made things too easy, wouldn’t it? Any luck on Stephanie Mowbray’s whereabouts?’
‘Not yet, sir, but hopefully it’s just a matter of time. I have Williams and Carruthers working on it. On the positive side, however, I’ve done a little more digging and found that she has been withdrawing fairly large amounts of money from her bank account on a regular basis for about a year. It made me think of the money you found in Dolores Madden’s apartment.’
‘In what way?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Well, supposing Dolores was blackmailing Mowbray.’
‘Why would she do that?’ asked Fitzjohn as he took the papers from his briefcase and set them out in neat piles across his desk.
‘Because, if we take into account Marsha Greenwood’s death, which her husband believed to be murder, and we assume that Dolores witnessed Stephanie push Marsha down those stairs, it could add up to blackmail.’
‘That would explain the money Dolores had stashed and the motive for her murder plus the withdrawals from Mowbray’s bank account,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘But what about the attack on Constance Parsons?’
‘If Mowbray knew about the manuscript, and that Constance Parsons was Howard Greenwood’s ghost writer, just that fact would mean she’s a threat,’ replied Betts.
‘Mmm. Well it all fits together and, come to think of it, I happened to notice a few items during my search of Madden's home that puzzled me. Amongst them a number of scarves and a shawl with designs along the same lines as those I remember seeing in Mowbray’s shop window. If you’re right and she was blackmailing Stephanie Mowbray she might have been making the most of her power over Mowbray. It’s a scenario we can’t ignore but at the same time, we can’t overlook our other persons of interest. The victim’s brother, Leo Greenwood, for instance. He had a strong motive to kill his brother.’
‘He did, sir, but I can’t see what motive he’d have concerning Madden’s death, so I did some further checking and he was at his restaurant, The Salty Oyster, from three o’clock that afternoon until midnight on the day she died. A number of his staff have attested to that fact.’
‘On the other hand, Simon Roach has admitted being at the Adelphi Theatre that afternoon at around four o’clock,’ continued Betts. ‘It’s possible he didn’t leave twenty minutes later as he claims.’
‘True. And it does fall in line with what Gordon Bennett, the security guard told me. He admitted he didn’t see Roach leave the building.’ Fitzjohn thought for a moment. ‘So what you’re saying is Roach could have planned to kill Constance Parsons because of her knowledge of the memoir and Dolores Madden got in the way.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘It’s possible but then again, Roach might be telling the truth and he did leave. It might also be true that he saw Madelaine Wells in the auditorium in which case she could be our killer.’
We still need to find out her movements that evening. Why don’t you do that while I call into the hospital to check on Constance Parsons again. Hopefully there’ll be a positive change that might help us.’
***
As Fitzjohn made his way up to the intensive care unit of the hospital, a rush of memories surfaced in his mind as he emerged from the elevator, memories of his late wife, Edith, and her last days in this very place.
‘Can I help you?’
Jolted from his thoughts, Fitzjohn approached the nurses' station and introduced himself. ‘I’m here to
inquire about the condition of a patient by the name of Constance Parsons. She was admitted two days ago.’
‘She’s no longer with us, Chief Inspector.’ Fitzjohn took a sudden intake of breath. ‘She’s been moved upstairs to a private room. Level six.’
‘Oh. So, her condition has improved?’
‘Yes,’ replied the nurse with a smile. ‘She regained consciousness in the early hours of this morning and I’m told she’s resting comfortably.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ said Fitzjohn with a sense of relief. ‘Thank you, nurse.’
After making his way to level six, Fitzjohn was escorted by the nurse on duty to a room at the end of the hallway where a constable sat outside the door.
‘The patient appears to be awake, Chief Inspector,’ said the nurse after peaking into the room, ‘but please don’t stay too long. Rest is what Ms Parsons needs at this time.’ With a quick smile the nurse left.
After tapping on the door, he walked into the dimly lit room where Constance lay propped up in bed.
‘Ms Parsons, I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I came to see how you are.’
‘Not at all, Chief Inspector, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been so worried.’ As Fitzjohn neared the bed his gaze fell upon a vase full of long-stemmed red roses. ‘They were here when I woke up,’ she said with an unfamiliar edge to her voice. ‘First the scent of roses in the bookshop and now roses just like the ones I saw thrown over Dolores’s body.’
‘I’ll have you moved to another part of the hospital, Ms Parsons.’
‘I doubt it would make much difference, do you? I believe whoever this person is will find me wherever I go.’
‘Not necessarily but I won’t hide the fact that the situation is serious so we have to take every precaution we can,’ said Fitzjohn as he sat down at the bedside. ‘I’ll make sure your whereabouts are not recorded on the hospital’s database and I’ll double the guard on your door.’
‘That’s good of you,’ replied Constance. ‘I know you’re trying to help and I do appreciate it. This whole thing is my fault, of course. I should never have gone to the theatre in the first place. It was stupid of me.’
‘Why did you go?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘I went because I got a telephone call from your sergeant saying you wanted me to meet you there. At least I thought it was him at the time. Oh, I feel such a fool to have been so gullible. I should have known you wouldn’t request such a thing. But then, I suppose if I hadn’t gone, poor Dolores might not have been found for days, or worse, until the building came down.’
‘So, it was a man who telephoned you?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Well, that’s debatable although it did sound like a man’s voice, but muffled.’ Constance recounted what had happened when she entered the theatre. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so frightened in all my life and when I found Dolores like that… I think her image will stay with me forever. I can’t say I knew her well. We’d only ever passed the time of day when I went to the theatre to meet Howard about the manuscript but nevertheless… It became clear to me early on that Howard didn’t like her. Perhaps she was the one he planned to expose as his wife’s killer.’
‘Can you remember what time you arrived at the theatre?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Well, let’s see. The telephone rang as I was just about to leave the bookshop which was 5:30. The theatre’s twenty minutes away so, with the traffic at that time of day, I would have arrived at about six o’clock.’
‘Are you able to describe the person who attacked you?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘No. There wasn’t enough light. All I saw was a shadow before I turned and ran. Much good it did me because I got lost in all those passageways. The only thing I remember is being pushed from behind. I can’t think how I came to be here and more to the point, alive.’
‘You were found by the foreman of the demolition team. We believe he must have disturbed whoever attacked you.’
***
After seeing to the change in Constance’s location within the hospital and securing further protection for her, Fitzjohn reluctantly returned to the station with a sense of unease. Clearly, the killer knew her whereabouts and would strike again. With this in mind, he put a succession of inquiries into motion concerning the source by which the long-stemmed red roses had been delivered to her hospital room. While he waited for news, he entered the deserted incident room and contemplated the images displayed on the whiteboard and considered the adjustments the investigative record of inquiries needed. His thoughts, however, were interrupted as the door at the back of the room opened and Betts walked in.
‘Ah, well timed, Betts. How did you get on with the Wells woman? Does she have an alibi for the night Dolores Madden was murdered?’
‘She does, sir,’ replied Betts as he joined Fitzjohn at the front of the room. ‘At the time, she said she was on her way to an audition at the State Theatre. There is a record of her attendance, although it doesn’t stipulate the exact time she arrived or left. There were fifty-three hopefuls so Madelaine was just a face in a large crowd.’
‘Did she offer the name of anyone who can verify the time she spent at that theatre? Other actors she knows who were also auditioning, perhaps.’
‘She did, and I spoke to a young man who said he remembered speaking to her, apparently, just after his audition was finished and as he was leaving the theatre. That was around seven p.m.’
‘Was she leaving at that time too?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘No, sir.’
‘Which means she has no alibi for the time of Dolores Maddens death. According to Charles, it occurred between eight and ten p.m.’
‘That’s right, and the reason why I decided to make further inquiries about her relationships amongst the cast and crew at the Adelphi Theatre. It wasn’t without trouble as far as Dolores Maddens was concerned. Apparently, they didn’t get on well. In fact, they had an altercation over a costume the night Howard Greenwood died. One of many, apparently. Evidently, Wells is a bit of a prima donna and was generally not liked, not since she took on the leading female role, that is.’
‘So, her animosity towards Dolores is a known fact, but what reason would she have to lure Constance Parsons to the theatre that night?’ questioned Fitzjohn.
‘The only reason I can think of is that Ms Parsons would be seen as having knowledge of who killed Marsha, if Howard did, in fact, write about it in his memoir. And we know that Madelaine Wells coveted Marsha’s role in the play, so she did have a motive to push her down that flight of stairs,’ said Betts.
‘Unless, of course, Howard Greenwood’s assumption is wrong and the coroner’s finding is correct. Nevertheless, my instincts tell me that Howard and Dolores Madden’s murders are connected. In any event, I think we can eliminate Leo Greenwood from our list of persons of interest since he has a solid alibi for the time of Dolores Madden's death and the attempted murder of Constance Parsons.’
‘Which mean we’re left with Mowbray, Roach and Wells, sir. Who do you think had the strongest motive in both homicides?’
‘Mowbray,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘She had been engaged to Howard Greenway before he married Marsha. If she did indeed push Marsha down the stairs and she thought Howard intended to expose that fact, she would also want to silence Constance Parsons since she was the ghost writer of the memoir. And there’s also a possibility she was being blackmailed by Dolores who attended the Christmas party.’
‘So what you’re saying is that Mowbray arranged for Constance Parsons to call in at the theatre in the belief she would be meeting you and Dolores was there by chance,’ said Betts.
‘It’s a possibility if we assume that when she found Dolores in the building, she decided to get rid of that threat as well.’ Fitzjohn thought for a moment. ‘The only problem with that theory is that Constance Parsons thought the person who lured her to the theatre was a male. She did, however, say that she wouldn’t rule out that it was a female.’
‘
So, Ms Parsons has regained consciousness,’ said Betts.
‘Yes, and against all odds it seems, but not without a further problem, I’m afraid.’ Fitzjohn recounted his conversation with Constance. ‘The roses at her bedside when she awoke are particularly disturbing and shows that whoever we’re dealing with is not only a killer but cruel.’
‘Do you think it could be Roach?’ asked Betts.
‘That’s debatable. We know he had motive concerning the plagiarism of his play but I can’t see that it would have driven him to murder,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Wells, on the other hand, was sighted in the auditorium, she also has no alibi and by all accounts, she and Dolores didn’t get on. Even so, I need to think on it. Any news, as yet, on Stephanie Mowbray’s whereabouts?’
‘No, sir.’
CHAPTER 16
I n the days that followed, Fitzjohn’s frustration grew. Not only did Mowbray’s whereabouts remain a mystery but inquiries into the roses that had been delivered to Constance Parsons' bedside lingered on without resolution. Fitzjohn threw his pen down on the desk and sat back in his chair before lifting his gaze to see Betts walk into the room.
‘I’ve got news that might brighten your day,’ he said.
‘And what makes you think my day isn’t bright?’ asked Fitzjohn, shifting in his chair before shuffling the papers on his desk. ‘What news?’ he added after a moment’s hesitation.
‘I took a punt and paid another call to Stephanie Mowbray’s shop in the Strand Arcade and she happened to be leaving when I arrived,’ said Betts. ‘I’ve had her brought in for questioning. She’s in Interview Room 2.’
‘So, she didn’t fall prey to the killer as I was beginning to think.’
‘There was no possibility of that if she turns out to be the killer,’ replied Betts.
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