‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss the cause of her condition, Mrs Green, but you might be able to assist me in piecing together her movements because I understand she came into your shop that day.’
‘That’s right, she did. She comes in quite often through the week but, I must say, on that particular day she wasn’t her usual bubbly self.’
‘Did she make conversation while she was here?’
‘No, which wasn’t like her at all. Usually, we have a bit of a chat but this time, she just paid for the tea and left.’
‘Can you show me what she bought?’
‘Yes, of course, it’s over here.’ Fitzjohn followed Audrey to the other side of the shop. ‘She always buys the same brand of camomile herbal tea.’ Audrey picked up a small yellow tin and held it up. ‘It’s one of my best sellers,’ she continued, placing it back onto the shelf.
‘Did you see her again that day, Mrs Green?’
‘Only through the window. She was across the street at The Dandelion café sitting at one of the outside tables with a young man. It was just before she collapsed and the ambulance arrived. Actually, I was surprised to see her there. At that café, I mean.’
‘Oh? And why was that?’ asked Fitzjohn, his interest piqued.
‘Because there’s bad feeling between her and Aiden Farrell’s daughter, Lucy. At least that’s what I’ve heard. Of course, I could be wrong.’
At that moment the bell on the shop door rang and two ladies walked in. ‘Will there be anything else?’ asked Audrey.
‘Only to ask where you heard that Claire Reynolds had been poisoned?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Oh, that. It was the other night at my bridge club. Everyone was talking about it.’
Fitzjohn left Audrey with her customers and stepped outside, intrigued not only by the way in which news travelled in a small community but also what the rift between Claire Reynolds and Lucy Farrell could be about. As these thoughts passed through his mind, he looked up to see Betts making his way along the crowded sidewalk towards him.
‘How did the search of Claire Reynolds’ cottage go?’ he asked.
‘We didn’t find any signs of the oleander plant in either the garden or the house, sir, but we did take several samples from the kitchen including a few utensils. They’re on their way to the lab as we speak. What about the gallery?’
‘It was the same. I’ve just been piecing together Ms Reynolds’ movements with the help of Laura Evans and Audrey Green. I was just about to have a word with Aiden Farrell at The Dandelion. You can join me.’
The two officers dodged the traffic to the other side of the street towards The Dandelion cafe before making their way between the outside tables to the front entrance where they found Aiden Farrell.
‘Chief Inspector, would you like a table?’ he asked.
‘Not today, Mr Farrell. Is there somewhere we can have a word?’
‘Of course.’ After calling one of his waiters over to tend to the customers, Farrell led the way to a quiet corner at the back of the café.
‘We understand Claire Reynolds was a customer here the day she was hospitalised,’ said Fitzjohn.
‘That’s right, she was.’
‘Were you here at the time?’
‘Yes. Why?’
Ignoring Farrell’s question, Fitzjohn asked, ‘By any chance do you know what she ordered?’
‘Oh,’ replied Farrell somewhat surprised at the question. ‘Yes, it was a pot of English Breakfast tea and the young man with her ordered a cappuccino.’
‘Nothing else?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Yes because I cleared that table after the ambulance left and there were just two cups and the tea pot.’
‘Is Claire Reynolds a regular customer here, Mr Farrell?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘No, I rarely see her in here,’ replied Farrell, shifting from one foot to the other. ‘I think the only reason she came in that day was because she was meeting that young man I mentioned. He’s been dropping in each day at some time or another. I thought he must have been one of her clients because I remember seeing him at the auction.’ Farrell paused. ‘What’s this all about, Chief Inspector?’
‘Ms Reynolds has been poisoned, Mr Farrell. I’m trying to find out where she ingested that poison.’ Farrell glared at Fitzjohn.
As the two officers left the café, Fitzjohn’s mobile rang. ‘Fitzjohn. Thank you. That’s marvellous. I’ll be there shortly.’ Fitzjohn looked at Betts. ‘That was the hospital. Claire Reynolds has regained consciousness.’
CHAPTER 19
Claire sank back in the pillows that supported her as the doctor explained the circumstances under which she had been admitted to hospital; poisoned by ingesting agents concocted from the oleander plant. As he left the room, she sat motionless, numbed by the thought that someone wanted her dead. But who, and why? As these questions ran through her mind, the poison pen letter she had received on the morning she collapsed, came to mind and a chill went through her. At the same time, a tap sounded on the door and Matthew Avery’s tall figure appeared. Laura had mentioned his vigil through the first few nights when the cause of her collapse was still unknown. She had also told of his help with the gallery and the art shop. His reason for such kindness baffled her as did his interest in Florence.
‘Can I come in?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please do,’ replied Claire.
‘You had us all worried,’ he continued, settling himself into the chair next to the bed, his deep blue eyes looking into hers. ‘Has the doctor been in to talk to you yet?’
‘Yes, he was just here. He told me I’d been poisoned. It’s made me think that I was the intended target at the auction, not Florence. If I hadn’t left the marquee when I did, she might still be alive.’
‘You don’t know that,’ said Matthew. ‘Her death might be unrelated.’
‘I’d like to think so but it seems too bizarre and besides, I did receive that poison pen letter as a warning. Do you still have it?’
‘No. I gave it to the police. I thought it might have some relevance to what happened to you.’ Matthew patted Claire’s hand. ‘Try not to worry. They’ll find who it was. What you need to do now is rest and get your strength back.’
‘Laura’s told me what a help you’ve been to her at the gallery while I’ve been here,’ said Claire. ‘Thank you.’
‘It was the least I could do. She’s been so worried about you. And in a way, it wasn’t my only motivation.’ Matthew paused and moved in his chair.
‘You mean you’re a journalist after all.’
‘No. The fact is, Florence was my mother.’
Claire stared at Matthew in disbelief. ‘I had no idea. That is, Florence never mentioned she had any children. How..?’
‘It’s a long story, but it seems that when she was quite young, Florence found herself unmarried and pregnant in New York. After my birth, she put me up for adoption. My adopted father told me about it last month after the death of my adopted mother. Apparently, she hadn’t wanted me to know. Naturally, it came as a shock but in the end, I decided to make the journey to Australia to meet Florence. I didn’t plan to tell her or anyone else who I am. I just wanted to meet her, that’s all.’ Matthew paused in reflection. ‘That didn’t happen, of course, but I’m grateful I was at the auction and saw her and heard her speak before...’ Matthew winced. ‘I can’t leave until I know she’s been put to rest.’
CHAPTER 20
By late afternoon Fitzjohn and Betts arrived at the Blue Mountains Hospital and while Betts waited in the car, Fitzjohn made his way inside and to the Intensive Care Unit where he found the indomitable Sister Harriott Butterworth on duty.
‘Ah, Chief Inspector,’ she said as he approached the desk. How can I help you this time?’
‘I’ve received word that Claire Reynolds has regained consciousness, Sister. I was hoping I might be able to speak to her for a few minutes.’
Butterworth narrowed her eyes at Fitzjohn. ‘Only if you can assure me you won’t cause her distress with your questions because after what she’s been through, she might not be as resilient as she might otherwise be.’
‘You have my word,’ replied Fitzjohn with a smile.
‘Very well, follow me.’ With that, Harriott Butterworth came out from behind the desk and with a determined gait, headed towards the open elevator doors.
‘I take it Ms Reynolds has been moved,’ said Fitzjohn as he followed.
‘Yes. She’s now in a private room on the floor below.’ As she spoke, the elevator doors began to close. Harriott quickened her pace and deftly thrust her solid arm out. The doors sprang back, those inside moving to accommodate her ample frame. Fitzjohn slid in next to her deeming that Harriot would be an asset to any task force. Moments later they emerged and continued on to a room at the end of the corridor where a constable sat on duty.
‘Wait here,’ Harriott commanded.
As she disappeared into the room, Fitzjohn waited and listened to her steady authoritative voice. ‘You have a visitor, Ms Reynolds, a policeman by the name of Fitzjohn. Shall I show him in or send him away?’ A moment later, Butterworth emerged. ‘You have ten minutes, Chief Inspector. Not a minute longer.’
Fitzjohn tapped on the door and walked in to find Claire Reynolds propped up in bed, her face pale and drawn. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me, Ms Reynolds,’ he said in a soft voice as he crossed the room. ‘I’m pleased to see you’re on the road to recovery.’ Claire did not reply and with thoughts of their last meeting in mind, he said, ‘I realise I’m probably the last person you wish to see given our previous encounter but with what has happened, there are questions I need to ask. If you’re up to it, that is.’
‘Florence wasn’t meant to die, was she?’ said Claire. ‘I was. I thought as much when my fingerprints were found on that champagne glass, and after I received the poison pen letter I knew someone wanted to kill me.’
‘To be honest, I believe that is the case, Ms Reynolds, and whoever it is may try again. That’s why a police presence has been posted at your hospital door and why I need to find out if you know of anyone who would wish you harm.’ Claire stared at Fitzjohn. ‘It’s important because we have to consider anyone at all you have doubts about.’
After a moment of contemplation, Claire replied, ‘The only person I can think of is Aiden Farrell. He came to my cottage after Florence died and told me if I didn’t convince Patrick to sell Lyrebird Lodge to him privately, I’d regret it.’
Fitzjohn’s brow furrowed. ‘Has he made contact with you since?’
‘No, although I did see him at his café the day I collapsed. I don’t usually go there but Matthew Avery had invited me to have coffee with him there.’
‘Did Mr Farrell mention Lyrebird Lodge at the time?’
‘No.’
‘Can you think of any other incidents since you moved to Leura?’ asked Fitzjohn.
Again Claire hesitated. ‘Only with Lucy Farrell, Aiden’s daughter. That came about because when I first arrived in the village to take up my duties as Florence’s business manager, I discovered she’d expected to be offered the position.’
‘I see. Do you know if Florence had promised it to her?’
‘She assured me she hadn’t but even so, Lucy arrived at the gallery that afternoon and created a scene. There were a number of visitors there at the time and so after that, Florence banned her.’
‘Was the matter eventually resolved?’
‘No, and that’s why I avoid going into The Dandelion.’
‘When you were at The Dandelion that afternoon, do you know who made your beverages?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘It was Lucy. She acts as the café’s barista.’
At that moment a tap sounded on the door and Harriott Butterworth appeared. ‘It’s been eleven minutes, Chief Inspector. Time to leave. We don’t want to tire the patient out now, do we?’
‘I’ll be along in just a moment, Sister,’ replied Fitzjohn, looking back at Claire. ‘Ms Reynolds, I just have one more question. ‘What do you know about Matthew Avery?’
‘That he’s an engineer from New York and…’
‘And what?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘The reason I hesitate, Chief Inspector, is because I don’t think it’s my place to say and besides, I doubt he wants it to be public knowledge.’ Claire paused before she said, ‘Oh, very well. He told me earlier that he’s Florence’s son.’
Somewhat dumbfounded at Claire Reynolds’ revelation concerning Matthew Avery, Fitzjohn left the hospital.
‘Were you able to speak to Ms Reynolds or was Sister Butterworth on watch?’ asked Betts as Fitzjohn opened the car door and climbed into the passenger seat.
‘She was on duty making sure her world stayed on its axis but nevertheless, she did permit me ten minutes with Ms Reynolds.’ Fitzjohn recounted their meeting.
‘So, Matthew Avery’s decision to stay in Leura finally makes sense,’ said Betts.
‘Yes, and one can only imagine how difficult it must have been for him at the time of her death to have distanced himself and suffer in silence because regardless of the fact they had never been acquainted, I’m sure there would have been an invisible bond,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘But that aside, we don’t really have any more to go on about Farrell or his daughter than we did before other than the fact that Lucy Farrell could have put oleander into Claire Reynolds’ beverage when she was at The Dandelion. It’s disappointing and why I want you to make arrangements to have forensics go in, Betts, because if it was either of the Farrell’s who poisoned Ms Reynolds, they’re bound to find traces of the poison.’
‘I’ve always thought of poison as being more a woman’s means of murder which would discount Aiden Farrell,’ said Betts as he edged the car into the traffic.
‘True, but it isn’t beyond the realms of possibility that a man would use it if he thought it’d do just that. Make us think the killer is female, I mean. On the other hand, it does sound as though Farrell’s daughter has a grudge against Claire Reynolds.’
‘But what about motive?’ asked Betts.
‘I’ve been thinking about that and, unfortunately, it’s where it all comes unstuck because if we look at Florence’s poisoning and the attempt on Claire Reynolds’ life as connected, then as far as I can see, Aiden Farrell didn’t have a motive to kill Claire Reynolds until after Florence’s death when he wanted her to help him purchase Lyrebird Lodge.’
‘What about Lucy Farrell?’ asked Betts.
‘She did have a motive in that if she got rid of Claire Reynolds, the way was clear for her to work as Florence’s business manager. With Florence’s death, however, the only motive she has is bitterness. Either way, we have a worrying situation on our hands because only someone with a disturbed mind would lace champagne with cyanide and use oleander as a poison.’ Fitzjohn scratched his head. ‘There’s got to be something we’re overlooking, Betts, so I want all the background checks redone.’ Betts shot a look at Fitzjohn. ‘I know it’s a daunting task but it’s the only way.’ As Fitzjohn, spoke his mobile phone rang.
‘Fitzjohn here.’
‘Alistair, it’s Ron Carling. I have news that I think you might be interested in but first I want to let you know that my brother-in-law is happy to take the orchids off your hands. All you have to do is let him know when you’d like them picked up.’
‘That’s marvellous and a weight off my mind,’ said Fitzjohn with a smile.
‘I’m glad to have helped. Now, the other reason I’m calling is to do with your new boss, Chief Superintendent Blake. Since our last discussion, I’ve been making a few enquiries about him and it seems that in 2007, he was transferred, at his request I hasten to add, from northern New South Wales to a station in Sydney where he headed an investigation into the murder of a woman by the name of Patricia Wilson.’ A long silence ensued. ‘I’m sure the name is familiar to you Alistair.’
&nb
sp; ‘Very familiar,’ replied Fitzjohn as he recounted his many appearances at the Police Integrity Board inquiry the previous year where it had been implied he was the investigating officer in the Wilson case that had led to the wrongful arrest and incarceration of an innocent man. But for his sister Meg’s unwavering support, culminating in proof he was in the UK whilst the case was being investigated, he would be now off the force. ‘So, it was as I suspected. Grieg set me up,’ he said at last.
‘That’s right,’ replied Ron. ‘He named you rather than, his friend, Sidney Blake. I’d say to get you once and for all dismissed; and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not the cause of your present predicament. People like Grieg don’t give up easily, Alistair, and with Blake in his pocket, he’s called in the favour.’
‘Well, he may have won the battle but he hasn’t won the war,’ replied Fitzjohn.
CHAPTER 21
With Betts away in Sydney re-examining all the background checks, Fitzjohn had spent the day reviewing the entire case. At the same time, his conversation with Ron Carling concerning Grieg and Blake’s collusion that had resulted in such a disruption to his life gnawed at the fringes of his mind. He longed to confront both men but knew now was not the time. It would have to wait until the case at hand was solved. Until then, he would quell his anger and hope that when the time came, it had dissipated to the point where he could deal with the situation rationally. It was as he mulled these thoughts over in his mind, however, that the door to the Incident Room opened and Betts walked in. Fitzjohn looked at his watch.
‘Betts, I didn’t expect you back tonight. It’s past midnight.’
‘The roads are quieter at night time, sir, so I decided not to wait till morning.’ Betts slumped down into a chair.
Sensing his young sergeant’s quiet demeanour Fitzjohn said, ‘How did you get on in the city?’
‘I spent a few hours at Day Street and with Williams’ help, redid all the background checks but with no new results. Because of that, and with time on my hands, I thought a bit more information on Claire Reynolds wouldn’t go amiss so I decided to call in at the airline charter service she’d worked for. I spoke to the manager.’
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