Deadly Investment (A Fitzjohn Mystery Book 5) (10 page)

CHAPTER 11

‘Esme seems convinced that her friend was murdered, sir,’ said Betts, returning to Fitzjohn’s office after seeing Esme into a taxi.

‘She does and I don’t think she would be if there wasn’t something in it. Let me know as soon as we get the forensic report on the apartment back, Betts.’

‘Any news on Giles Enfield’s alibi yet?’

‘Nothing so far from Carruthers, but Williams got an interesting result after he made a few enquiries into the man’s record of employment. His probing led him to the Companies Office.’

‘Oh?’ Fitzjohn put his pen down and brought his chair forward, his interest tweaked.

Betts perched himself on the arm of the chair in front of Fitzjohn’s desk. ‘It seems that Giles is a disqualified company director and in his particular case, the disqualification is to last eleven years.’

‘Sounds serious. What was he disqualified for?’

‘Using company assets for personal benefit.’

‘Well, that is interesting under the circumstances.’ Fitzjohn’s thoughts went back to their meeting with Giles Enfield and the uncertainty he had felt at the time about the man’s character. ‘We can conclude, therefore, that regardless of what he told us, he has had experience with money matters in his previous employment and is more than capable of “cooking the books” as they say.’

‘That’s not all,’ continued Betts. ‘At the time of his disqualification, Preston Alexander sat on the board of the company he was employed by.’

‘
Ah!
It gets even better and ties in with what Olive Glossop told us about Enfield’s avoidance of the victim. No doubt he felt that his new position at the agency was threatened with Preston knowing about his past.’ Fitzjohn thought for a moment. ‘It also looks to me like Preston didn’t tell Beatrice about the matter because if he had, surely she wouldn’t have asked Giles to take over the agency’s accounts.’

‘I’m surprised that he didn’t,’ said Betts.

‘Perhaps he thought that seeing he knew about Enfield’s past, the man would think twice before putting a foot wrong. When did Enfield say that Beatrice asked him to take over the accounts?’

‘Not long before she fell down those stairs, so I’d say that Preston didn’t known about her decision.’

‘No, he wouldn’t have and it also means that Enfield could have been lying about Beatrice asking him to take over the agency’s accounts. After all, Beatrice was dead and if Ziegler is telling the truth and Enfield was responsible for the embezzlement, he’d want to be in charge of the accounts so that he could cover up any discrepancies.’

‘Is there any word yet on Ziegler’s alibi?’

‘Yes, sir. Williams spoke to his dining companions. They each confirmed that Mr Ziegler did join them for dinner at the Neutral Bay restaurant last Wednesday evening. They arrived around seven-thirty and left at approximately nine-thirty.’

‘So, not around ten as Ziegler seemed to think,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Still, he could have been mistaken.’

‘That or he’s lying,’ said Betts. ‘We’ve retrieved the victim’s mobile phone records. They show that Max Ziegler telephoned the victim on Wednesday evening just before seven-thirty.’

‘Before the dinner commenced?’ added Fitzjohn.

‘Yes, so I think it’s conceivable that he was making arrangements to call on the victim later that evening. After all, the restaurant’s only minutes away from the victim’s home in Cremorne.’

‘Mmm. But what reason would Ziegler have to kill Preston Alexander?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘Maybe he wanted to plead his case and try to convince the victim that Beatrice was mistaken. That there was either nothing wrong with the accounts or if there was, that Enfield was responsible. After all, he had nothing to lose. Beatrice is no longer here to dispute what he says.’

‘It sounds plausible,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Things might have got out of hand if the victim wouldn’t listen. After all, by all accounts, Mr Alexander was finding Beatrice Maybrick’s death hard to deal with.’

‘And he did plan to take his investment out of the agency so, if he’d mentioned that to Ziegler… After all, he doesn’t look to be in the best state of mind at the moment, he might have panicked realising he’d be discovered.’

‘That could be the case, but I think Enfield sounds more likely. Nevertheless, tomorrow we’ll speak to both men again, starting with Ziegler.’ Fitzjohn leaned back in his chair and stretched. ‘It’s late, Betts, and my brain is weary with thinking. Let’s call it a day.’

Close to midnight and with the roads on the way to Birchgrove devoid of much traffic, the two men drove in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Once across the Anzac Bridge they descended into Balmain and wended their way through the leafy suburb before Betts pulled up in front of Fitzjohn’s sandstone cottage in Birchgrove.

‘I’ll see you bright and early in the morning,’ he said, climbing out of the car before retrieving his briefcase from the back seat.

‘
Sir?
’

‘What is it?’

‘Smoke!’
yelled Betts.

Fitzjohn swung around, his briefcase falling to the pavement as he glowered in horror at Rhonda Butler’s house where a grey haze hovered above its roofline, fed by black smoke that billowed through its tiles while flames licked the eaves. Betts jumped out of the car, pulled out his mobile phone and dialled triple zero as he stumbled through the garden after his boss. Reaching the porch, Fitzjohn shrugged out of his suit coat, rolled it around his forearm and smashed the glass panel in the front door, turning away from the shards of glass that flew into the air. Fumbling for the lock, he pushed the door open and pressing his coat against his nose and mouth, dropped to his knees and crawled into the wall of black, acrid smoke, its pungent reek burning his nostrils. Surrounded by the sound of exploding glass, he felt his heart pump amid the groan of timber and the fire’s hiss as he dragged himself deeper into the inky darkness where a charcoal-like grit coated the inside of his mouth, its taste nauseating. With tears stinging the singed skin on his face, a surge of fear went through him. It was then, in this claustrophobic atmosphere, that he sensed Betts’s tall frame at his side and felt him tug at his arm, guiding his hand to a convulsing body just ahead.
Blossom!
As flames lapped from beneath closed doors, and a sense of disorientation started to take hold, the two men each took an arm and dragged the woman back along the hall, their exhaustion fuelling their desperation. It was then, in this turmoil that a dim light appeared ahead and the silhouette of a man’s form. Choking and gasping for air Fitzjohn felt his body being lifted before unconsciousness seized him.

CHAPTER 12

With a steady rain falling, Esme leaned on her walking cane with one hand, clutched her umbrella with the other, and felt her toes squelch in her rain soaked shoes while she stood at the curb and waited for the traffic to clear. She could see Mildred sitting in the window seat of The Green Door Cafe on the other side of the street. Warm and dry, she appeared to be in deep conversation with the waiter. At last, Esme decided to make a run for it and hopped off the curb, breaking into a trot across the street. As she did so a shooting pain went through her arthritic hip, a sharp reminder that she was eighty-one. Ignoring this fact, she burst through the cafe door to be met by the laughter and chatter of enthusiastic diners. Placing her dripping umbrella into a bucket at the door, she cast her gaze over the heads of those seated to where Mildred sat smiling upward at the dark haired, athletic-looking, young waiter. Oblivious to Esme’s presence, she jumped when Esme reached the table.

‘Esme, I didn’t see you come in and I’ve been keeping an eye on the door.’

Esme sat down and placed her rain speckled handbag and cane on the window-sill next to her chair. ‘You haven’t been watching at all Mildred. I’ve been standing across the street for the past ten minutes trying to cross and I could see you speaking to that new waiter.’

‘He’s French,’ replied Mildred with a dreamy smile. ‘I was captivated by his accent. You look damp, Esme.’

‘I am but I’ll dry off soon enough in here although I doubt my shoes will.’ Esme wriggled her feet out of her wet shoes and looked around. ‘It’s a good thing you got here early, Mildred. Otherwise I doubt we’d have got a table.’

‘I expected it’d be busy on a rainy day so I caught an early train,’ replied Mildred. ‘I’ve placed our order. I hope you don’t mind, but with the place packed, I thought it best. I got your favourite. Quiche Lorraine with salad and English Breakfast tea.’

‘That’s splendid. Thank you,’ said Esme.

‘You said on the telephone that you have news. Have you heard from that Chief Inspector friend of yours about Beatrice’s death?’

‘No, and I don’t expect to for some time. I think his enquiries will be at a standstill for a while because he and his sergeant were involved in rescuing a woman from a house fire. Didn’t you see it on the news?’

‘Yes, but I didn’t realise it was the policemen that you know. You’ve never mentioned their names. They seem to be all right though. The news reporter said that they’d pulled a woman from the building and that all three were taken to St Vincent’s with smoke inhalation.’

‘Mmm. That’s what I heard too. I’d phone the hospital but I doubt they’d tell me anything with me not being a relative. Hopefully there’ll be an update on the evening news. And as far as our enquiries about Beatrice go, we’ll just have to be patient.’

‘So, what is your news, Esme?’ repeated Mildred.

‘I received a telephone call from Alison last night.’

‘Oh? Was it about your protracted eulogy at Beatrice’s memorial service?’

‘No. She rang to ask you and me if we’d both come to Beatrice’s apartment tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Did she say why?’ leaning forward in her chair.

‘No.’

‘I wonder if she’s found out that you’ve spoken to the police about Beatrice’s death.’

‘I doubt it. The Chief Inspector would never divulge his source.’ Esme sighed. ‘We’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out.’

‘I don’t suppose she said how she’s managing at the agency, did she?’ asked Mildred.

‘No, she didn’t. Not surprising though. I’m the last person that she’d confide in. Still, I did wonder because it can’t be easy with Max Ziegler being suspended. I do feel for her predicament.’

‘Well, I just hope that Olive isn’t hovering when we arrive there tomorrow. I couldn’t get rid of her off the telephone last night. She went on and on about how she has lost her closest friend in Beatrice’s passing.’

‘I didn’t think she and Beatrice were that close,’ said Esme.

‘They weren’t. She’s imagining it, Esme. We both know that Beatrice didn’t believe in fraternizing with her staff. She always said that in business, it was wise not to include your friends.’

‘That’s right, she did,’ replied Esme. ‘Still, I don’t suppose it matters if that’s how Olive wants to remember her.’

Esme and Mildred arrived at the Maybrick Literary Agency the following afternoon and while Esme paid the taxi driver, Mildred made her way to the open wrought iron gates and stood in awe of the building’s gothic facade.

‘I remember the last time I was here,’ she said as Esme approached. ‘It was on a Sunday last autumn when Beatrice held that afternoon tea and all the cast from her latest play came along.’ Mildred sighed. ‘We did have some good times, didn’t we, Esme? It’s going to be sad going into her apartment now that she’s no longer with us.’ Mildred’s eyes came to rest on the gargoyles high above. ‘Oh, I do hate those things. I’d have had them removed if I was Beatrice.’

‘Come along, Mildred. No doubt Alison’s waiting for us. It wouldn’t do to be late.’

As Esme expected, they found Alison standing in the vestibule, tapping her fingers on the marble table.

‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ she said in her usual officious manner.

‘I’m sorry we’re a bit late,’ said Esme. ‘Our taxi didn’t arrive on time.’ Esme studied Alison’s face. ‘Is something the matter, dear?’

‘Yes, but I’ll tell you upstairs.’

With that, Alison turned and ascended the staircase somewhat majestically. Esme and Mildred dutifully followed, in Mildred’s case rather slowly, her eyes fixating on each step as she imagined Beatrice’s fall.

‘Are you all right, Mildred?’ asked Esme as she reached the landing and looked back. Mildred, her face drained of all colour, did not reply.

Alison opened the apartment door and stepped inside. Esme followed while Mildred hovered on the threshold.

‘Come along, Mrs Banks,’ said Alison, impatiently. ‘I haven’t all day.’

‘I’m sorry,’ replied Mildred. ‘You’ll have to forgive me. I find it difficult to be here now that Beatrice is gone.’

‘You said that there’s a problem, Alison,’ said Esme.

‘Yes, there is. It’s to do with Beatrice’s jewellery and as you two ladies are her oldest friends, I thought you might be able to help. I’ve been going through it all and there’s a ring missing. It belonged to my mother.’

‘A family heirloom?’ asked Esme.

‘Yes, and as such, I can’t think why my father gave it to Beatrice, but that aside, it’s a gold ring with a small ruby encircled with diamonds. My question is, do you remember the last time you saw Beatrice wearing it?’

‘I do remember that ring, but I don’t recall Beatrice wearing it for quite some time,’ replied Esme. ‘And you say that it’s a Maybrick family heirloom.’

‘Yes.’

‘It can’t be,’ blurted Mildred.

‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Banks?’ said Alison, glaring at Mildred.

‘I said...’

‘I heard what you said and you’re mistaken. Of course it’s a Maybrick family heirloom.’

‘I have to agree with Mildred,’ said Esme. ‘Beatrice used to wear that ring years before she met your father. In fact, the first time I saw her wearing it was the day we met. Almost fifty years ago at teacher’s college.’

‘That’s ludicrous. You’re mistaken, Miss Timmons.’

‘No she isn’t because I was there that day,’ said Mildred. ‘In fact, I remarked on the ring because it was such a beautiful setting. I remember Beatrice held up her hand, looked at it and smiled. She said that it was a very special ring even though the stones weren’t real.’

‘Well, I can see that I can’t rely on either of you to help,’ said Alison as her face reddened. ‘You both may as well leave.’

‘I’m sorry if we’ve upset you, Alison,’ said Esme. ‘It’s just that sometimes we don’t always remember things as they really were. It happens to us all.’

Esme and Mildred made their way out of the agency to meet their taxi, Mildred with a determined stride. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as repugnant as that woman,’ she said, climbing into the waiting car and shuffling across the seat. ‘We came here in good faith and she insults us because she doesn’t like the truth.’

‘I doubt we could persuade her otherwise,’ said Esme as she climbed in after Mildred. ‘It’s probably best to leave her to believe what she wishes. After all, it doesn’t matter the slightest to us, and as far as the ring being missing, I daresay it’ll turn up when Alison’s had a chance to go through Beatrice’s things properly.’

‘That, I know, won’t happen,’ said Mildred.

‘How can you be so sure?’ asked Esme.

‘Because while she was telling us to leave, it suddenly occurred to me that I saw someone wearing Beatrice’s ring at the memorial service.’

Esme stared at Mildred in disbelief. ‘Who?’

‘Olive Glossop.’ Esme slumped back in the seat. ‘It was when she got into the car to drive me to the reception after the service. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. All I could think about was Beatrice being dead.’

‘Are you sure about this, Mildred?’

‘Yes. I’m positive. Do you think we should tell the police?’

‘I’m not certain. To make such an accusation against Olive would be unforgivable if we’re wrong. Then again, the Chief Inspector is looking into Beatrice’s death, so perhaps we should at least mention it. You’ll have to speak to him though, Mildred. It’s no good me passing along what you’ve seen. But, we’ll have to wait until we know that both he and his sergeant are all right. I pray that that fire had no lasting effects on either of them.’