Little more was said before Fitzjohn left the meeting, pleased he had been vindicated but nonetheless disappointed that his questions had been left unanswered. Had, the tribunal examined Constable Smithers’ motivation for his accusation? If so, did their inquiries expose Inspector Grieg’s involvement? He supposed the answer to both questions was, yes, but what action would be taken, if any?
***
Fitzjohn returned to Day Street Police Station to be welcomed with a round of applause and pats on the back. With his spirits lifted by the warmth of this reception and a sense of relief that he could now conduct his investigations openly, he made his way through the station to his office. As the door opened, however, a sense of emptiness took hold as he looked around at the walls and surfaces stripped of all his familiar possessions from his years on the force. All that remained were a couple of chairs, his old swivel seat and the computer screen and keyboard in the centre of his desk. Would that familiar warmth return once his possessions were again in place, he wondered? Stepping inside, he shrugged out of his suit coat, placed it on the back of his chair and was about to take his seat, when a tap on the door sounded.
‘Welcome back, Fitzjohn. I’ve just heard your suspension has been revoked. I’m so pleased.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Fitzjohn replied, looking into Peta’s sparkling blue eyes. ‘I won’t hide the fact that it’s a relief,’ he continued as they both sat down.
‘It should never have happened and, as your commanding officer, I feel I should have done more.’
‘You did warn me about Smithers. I should have taken more notice.’
‘Well, he won’t be causing you or anyone else here at the station problems in the future because he’s being transferred out of the city to a small town on the south coast.’
‘Oh? Is that wise?’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘After all, sometimes it's best to keep one’s adversaries close by.’
‘Perhaps but since that course of action has been recommended by internal affairs, I’ve decided to follow it,’ replied Peta. ‘I don’t want my station to be used as a place where people can vent their vindictiveness. At least this way he’ll be out from under Grieg’s influence with a chance to make a success of his career in the force.’
‘I hope that’s the case,’ Fitzjohn replied, choosing not to voice his thoughts in regard to Smithers’ judgmental personality. ‘And what about Grieg’s involvement? Any word on that?’
‘Since Smithers told all in an effort to save his career, Inspector Grieg’s fate is being decided as we speak. And since his banishment to the farthest reaches of the state hasn’t curtailed his dirty deeds, I believe the penalty will be severe.’ Fitzjohn did not respond, his mind recalling his years of friction with Grieg. ‘I’ll let you know their ruling as soon as I’ve heard.’ Peta paused as their eye met and an awkward silence ensued. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you to settle in,’ she said at last, getting to her feet. ‘I’m sure you’re keen to get on with your investigations.’
‘Before you go, ma’am,’ said Fitzjohn, ‘There’s another matter. I’d like to propose that DS Betts be recommended for promotion.’
‘As a matter of fact, I’ve been considering it myself, Fitzjohn. Especially since he took over the investigations with such confidence during your suspension. He deserves it. I’ll see what I can do.’
***
In the incident room, Fitzjohn stood in front of the whiteboard, familiarising himself once again with the investigations so far. As he surveyed the situation, he heard the door open and turned to see Betts’ tall shape.
‘Sir. I heard about your reinstatement,’ he said with a smile. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you, Betts, and thank you for supporting me. I owe you a debt of gratitude. Don’t think I don’t appreciate it.’
‘I’m just relieved the situation has been resolved without issue.’
‘I can’t deny I am too. When I arrived to meet with the tribunal this morning, the last thing I thought was that I’d been standing here now.’ Fitzjohn turned back to the whiteboard. ‘I’ve just been going over everything,’ he continued. ‘Is there anything I should know?’
‘I think you’re up to speed, sir.’
‘On that account, we’ll begin by obtaining search warrants for Stephanie Mowbray’s residence and business premises. To be done simultaneously. What we do from there will depend on what we uncover, if anything,’ Fitzjohn added.
‘Yes, sir.’
***
Accompanied by three uniformed police officers, Fitzjohn and Betts, arrived at Stephanie Mowbray’s home on the north shore in mid-afternoon. ‘According to Ms Mowbray’s shop assistant, we’ll only find her housekeeper at the residence, although Ms Mowbray herself, is due home shortly,’ said Betts as they made their way through the garden to the front door.
‘As long as there’s someone here to receive us, it’s of no concern unless we need to take Ms Mowbray in for questioning,’ replied Fitzjohn as he rang the doorbell. Moments went by before the deadlock could be heard being released and the door opened to reveal a woman in her late forties with short, dark hair dressed in a blue uniform. As she appeared, a look of alarm came to her face at the site of the five men.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked, her eyes darting from Fitzjohn to Betts before they went to the three officers hovering on the edge of the porch.
‘We’re from the police, madam,’ replied Fitzjohn, presenting his warrant card. ‘We have a warrant to search these premises.’
‘You must have the wrong house.’
‘This is the home of Stephanie Mowbray, isn’t it?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Yes.’
‘In that case, we do have the right address, madam.’
‘I can’t let you in.’ said the woman, her head shaking. ‘Not without Ms Mowbray’s permission.’
‘That being so, it’s my duty to inform you that it’s an offence to restrict our entrance. I have here an “occupier’s notice” issued by the Magistrate’s Court that sets out the details in the search warrant.’
The housekeeper swallowed hard as she read the notice before moving back from the doorway in silence. As she did, a car pulled up at the curb and Stephanie Mowbray emerged and strutted through the gate towards them.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked as she reached the front porch.
Fitzjohn turned to face her. ‘Ah, good afternoon, Ms Mowbray. We have a warrant to search your premises and your place of business in the Strand Arcade for anything pertaining to our investigation into the death of Dolores Madden.’ As he spoke, he presented the occupier’s notice once again.
‘This is ridiculous.’ Stephanie grabbed the notice and ran her eyes over it officiously. ‘I object,’ she said, shoving it back at Fitzjohn.
‘Nevertheless, Ms Mowbray, you’re not at liberty to refuse entry to us,’ he replied as the officers made their way inside. Ushering Stephanie in, he followed her into the living room. ‘You and I will wait in here while the search is undertaken,’ he continued.
Stephanie glared at Fitzjohn before she dropped into an armchair to the side of the fireplace while Fitzjohn circled the room, taking in the art deco style of the furnishings and artwork displayed on the walls.
‘I can’t imagine what you hope to find concerning Dolores Madden. I hardly knew the woman,’ said Stephanie at last.
‘That may be so, Ms Mowbray, but in conducting our investigation we have to follow every lead until we come to the one that solves our case. It’s a process of elimination. Of course, the downside to this process is that some people’s sensibilities are hurt and for that I apologise.’
As the minutes ticked by, Stephanie remained seated with her legs crossed and her fingers tapping the arms of her chair. ‘How much longer is this going to take?’ she blurted out at last as her irritation grew. ‘I have a business to run and I’m due at my shop before closing time.’ As she spoke Betts appeared under the archway into the living room. Fitzjohn joined him and they m
oved into the front hall.
‘We’ve seized a number of items, sir. A kitchen knife that is thought to be the size and type used in Dolores Madden’s murder and a T-shirt found in the bottom of a dresser drawer in the master bedroom. It’s been washed but there are fine markings sprayed across the front that could be blood.’
‘Is that all?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Very well. Bag it all up and get it to the lab. Hopefully they’ll oblige by getting the results back to us quickly.’
‘And Ms Mowbray, sir?’
‘Since her recent disappearing act, I think we’ll proceed on the side of caution and take her in for questioning.’
‘That only gives us a six hour window until we have to release her, sir,’ said Betts. ‘We may not have the results back from the lab in time.’
‘True, but we are allowed one extension so, if time grows short, we’ll apply for a detention warrant.’
CHAPTER 21
A s the hours ticked by and the office grew dark with the last vintages of light dipping beneath the city skyline, Fitzjohn paced the floor of his office and waited for news from the lab. As he did so a continual stream of facts concerning Stephanie Mowbray’s involvement in Dolores Madden’s murder ran through his mind, along with the lack of evidence as to her involvement in Howard Greenwood’s death. Was his theory that the two murders were connected wrong? Interrupted by a knock on the door, he turned to see Betts.
‘The results are back, sir.’
‘And?’
‘They’re positive. Microscopic traces of Dolores Madden’s blood have been found on the knife and on the T-shirt.’
‘Excellent,’ said Fitzjohn.
‘How do you plan to handle the interview, sir? Are you going to concentrate purely on Madden’s death? The reason I ask is that we have very little that connects Stephanie Mowbray to Greenwood’s murder.’
‘I’ve been asking myself the same question, Betts. We’ll start with Madden and at some point, touch on Greenwood’s death and see what reaction we get.’
***
Stephanie Mowbray sat motionless at the table in the windowless interview room. When the door opened and the two officers walked in, she shot Fitzjohn a damning look. ‘How dare you keep me waiting here. I told you, I have a business to run. My time means money.’
‘I see you haven’t chosen to engage council,’ said Fitzjohn, ignoring Mowbray’s comments as he sat down and placed two sealed plastic bags containing the knife and the T-shirt on the table in front of him.
‘Mowbray looked at the bags. ‘Why should I need a lawyer when I haven’t done anything wrong?’ she replied with an air of false self-assurance.
‘It’s entirely up to you, Ms Mowbray, but if you should change your mind at any time during the course of the interview process, please let us know and council will be provided,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘I should also inform you that you are not obliged to answer any questions posed to you.’
‘You’re not recording this, are you?,’ barked Mowbray, her attention taken by Betts as he prepared the recording device.
‘It’s routine, Ms Mowbray,’ replied Fitzjohn.
After introductions and the time were recorded, Fitzjohn adjusted his chair and began the interview. ‘Ms Mowbray, I’d like to start by asking what your movements were between the hours of four p.m. and midnight on Wednesday, July 11, 2018?’
‘You know where I was. I’ve already told you.’
‘Even so, your whereabouts on that day need to be recorded,’ replied Fitzjohn.
‘All right, if I must. I was at the Seaview Nursing Home visiting my mother,’ said Mowbray into the machine.
‘Are you quite sure about that?’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘The reason I ask is because we’re led to believe you weren’t present at the nursing home on that day, nor that evening. In fact, we understand you have only attended the facility on two occasions in the past eighteen months namely, not long after your mother was admitted and the second occasion during the Christmas period of 2017.’
‘I don’t know who told you that but whoever it is, is lying,’ replied Mowbray, raising her voice. ‘Do you think I’d pay out all that money for my mother’s care without making sure the nursing home is looking after her properly?’
‘But you don’t pay out any money for her care, do you Ms Mowbray?’ replied Fitzjohn, sitting forward in his chair. ‘Your cousin, Elizabeth Tippett, has been financially responsible for your mother’s care since she entered the nursing home. She’s also the person who visits your mother several times a week and has done so since she entered the facility.’
Mowbray avoided Fitzjohn’s gaze and looked away to some point on the opposite wall behind the two officers. Fitzjohn pushed the plastic bags into the centre of the table and waited for Mowbray’s attention. ‘As you’re aware, we seized these items, a kitchen knife and a T-shirt, from your residence during our search of the property and they have since been analysed by forensic services,’ he continued. ‘I should inform you that the knife has been identified as the weapon used in Dolores Madden’s murder. This assumption is supported by the fact that traces of her blood were found on the knife. Evidence of Ms Madden’s blood was also found on the T-shirt.’
‘That’s impossible,’ Mowbray snapped.
‘Blood doesn’t lie, Ms Mowbray, and detergent doesn’t remove such evidence.’
‘So, what are you saying? That I murdered Dolores.’
‘We know you did,’ Fitzjohn replied, his hand resting on the plastic bag that held the knife. ‘And since there are similarities with Howard Greenwood’s death, we…’
‘Wait a minute. You’re not accusing me of his murder too, are you?’
‘As I said, there are similarities in that long-stemmed red roses were found thrown over each body. Such an act has to be planned and since the evidence against you concerning Dolores Madden’s murder is unmistakable, it stands to reason that you are also responsible for Howard Greenwood’s death.’
‘But the roses were already there…’ Mowbray stiffened as she realised her admission. ‘You bastard.’ Mowbray grabbed the glass of water on the table in front of her and gulped it down before she slumped back in her chair.
‘So you admit to the murder of Dolores Madden.’
Mowbray glared at Fitzjohn. ‘All right, yes, but it doesn’t mean I killed Howard.’
‘Since all the evidence points to the fact you did, you’ll have to convince us otherwise,’ said Fitzjohn.
‘What other evidence do you have other than the damn roses?’ barked Mowbray.
‘For a start, the fact that Howard Greenwood planned to expose you as his wife’s killer.’
‘But that’s ridiculous. You’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t kill Howard or Marsha. I had no reason to.’
‘I think you did,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘I believe you killed Dolores because she was blackmailing you over Marsha Greenwood’s death. After all, the money you claimed you paid out in nursing home fees had to go somewhere.’ Mowbray did not respond. ‘Well?’
‘Okay. Okay. She was blackmailing me but not for the reason you think.’ Mowbray hesitated. ‘You’ve got to understand. I’m a dress designer. My clothes are sold around the world.’
‘And?’
‘And Dolores threatened to expose me.’
‘For doing what?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘She found out - I don’t know how – that in the recent past, I’d stolen a prominent couturier’s designs. She threatened to expose me if I didn’t pay her so I agreed because it would have ruined my name. I’d never have worked again. Don’t you see?’ Mowbray’s eyes darted between the two officers. ‘It’s true. I swear. It had nothing to do with Marsha’s death.’
‘It doesn’t change the fact that we believe both murders at the Adelphi Theatre were perpetrated by the same person which is you, Ms Mowbray. Not to mention the fact that the reason you killed Howard Greenway was because he planned to expose you as the person who
pushed his wife down the stairs.’
‘But I didn’t push her. Madelaine did,’ screamed Mowbray, tears brimming her eyelids.
As Stephanie Mowbray sobbed, Fitzjohn waited for a moment before he said, ‘Are you saying that Madelaine Wells pushed Marsha Greenwood down the stairs at the 2017 Christmas party?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Because… I saw her do it. I’d gone upstairs to the powder room. When I came out, Marsha and Dolores were arguing on the landing.’
‘Was Ms Wells aware you were there?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Did you hear what their argument was about?’
‘The play, what else? Madelaine wanted Marsha’s role. And it was obvious she had her eye on Howard as well.’
‘Why didn’t you come forward at the coroner’s inquest?’
‘Because I didn’t want to get involved, particularly with Dolores blackmailing me. The media attention would have been horrendous.’
Fitzjohn sat back in his chair in an effort to ponder this latest revelation before he said, ‘Ms Mowbray, I’d like to go back for a moment to Wednesday, July 11, the night Dolores was murdered. Can you tell me what time you entered the theatre?’
‘It was around 5 p.m.’
‘How did you know Dolores would be there? After all, that was the day the theatre closed.’
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