‘Did you find out anything we don’t already know?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘As a matter of fact, I did, sir. Apparently, Ms Reynolds had been one of their best pilots and they were disappointed when she decided not to return to flying after her accident. Naturally, we then got onto the subject of the crash itself. It seems that Maxine Simpson, the wife of the man who died, threatened to sue not only the charter service but also the mining company over his death.’
‘I imagine a lawsuit could have the potential to finish a small charter service off altogether,’ said Fitzjohn.
‘More than likely it would have, sir, but for the fact she didn’t go through with it. In fact, she dropped the case and they haven’t heard from her lawyers since. I wondered why because she’d engaged a high-profile legal firm and they’d spent months preparing a case. Just on the off chance, I decided to pay them a visit. As it turns out, they’re as mystified as everyone else. And to top it all off, she failed to pay their costs and is now on their debt recovery list.’
‘This is all well and good, Betts, but aren’t you getting off track here because I don’t see the connection between Maxine Simpson and our case.’
‘You’re right, sir. It’s just that, at the time, I thought something might come of it.’
Fitzjohn gave Betts a sideway glance sensing his despondence. Whether caused by his estrangement from Sophie or the fact he had not made headway in his latest inquiries, Fitzjohn decided to disregard the fact.
Early the following morning, Fitzjohn sat at the dining room table sipping his coffee and reading the newspaper while Winifred Gifford hovered at the buffet. ‘Can I get you another cup of coffee, Chief Inspector?’ she asked.
‘No thank you, Mrs Gifford, he replied, wary of being drawn into yet another conversation regarding his investigation. ‘It’s time I made a move.’
Pulling on his overcoat, Fitzjohn emerged from the B & B where he found Betts on the front porch finishing a call on his mobile phone.
‘Claire Reynolds is to be released from hospital this morning, sir.’
‘Oh, well, that makes our task all the more urgent, doesn’t it?’ said Fitzjohn. ‘At least while she was in the hospital, I felt she had some degree of protection from whoever wants to kill her.’
‘Does that mean we terminate the police protection?’ asked Betts.
Fitzjohn thought for a moment. ‘I don’t see we have any other choice. Chief Superintendent Blake would never agree to it being continued.’
At Springwood police station, Fitzjohn sat at his desk turning his pen end for end as his thoughts traversed the case and his concern for Claire Reynolds’ welfare grew.
‘Sir?’
With his train of thought interrupted, Fitzjohn looked up to see Betts. ‘Are the forensic results back on The Dandelion café?’ he asked.
‘Not yet, sir, but I did get a call from Williams with a possible lead.’
‘Oh?’ Fitzjohn put his pen down. ‘Did he find something in the background checks after all?’
‘No, he’s been working on identity theft for the past couple of days and has come across one from a woman by the name of Laura Evans.’
‘Laura Evans?’ Fitzjohn repeated, his interest piqued.
‘Yes, sir. Apparently, she reported her wallet stolen approximately three months ago after moving from Lane Cove.’
Fitzjohn stared at Betts. ‘I seem to remember Laura Evans from the art shop telling me she came to live in the village about three months ago and she’s from Lane Cove. We need to inform Claire Reynolds, Betts, not only because they are work colleagues but with that attempt on her life, we can’t take any chances.’
With a sense of urgency, Fitzjohn shrugged into his suit coat and followed Betts out to the car where he punched Claire’s number into his mobile telephone and waited. ‘Her phone is turned off. All I get is a recorded message,’ he said, at last, pulling his seatbelt across his rotund shape.
‘She might be at the gallery, sir,’ said Betts as he merged the car into the traffic on the Great Western Highway.
Fitzjohn punched in the gallery landline number and waited again. ‘It’s on answering machine,’ he said, looking across at Betts. ‘Unusual for the middle of a business day, don’t you think?’
Fitzjohn felt a sudden thrust as Betts put his foot down on the accelerator. ‘It won’t help Ms Reynolds if we don’t arrive in one piece,’ he said, adjusting his wire-framed glasses.
Leura’s main street was filled with lunchtime shoppers as Betts nudged the car into a parking space opposite the Fontaine Gallery & Art Shop. ‘How do you want to handle this, sir?’
‘You enter by way of the gallery. Hopefully, you’ll find Ms Reynolds there or in her office,’ replied Fitzjohn, straightening his suit coat. ‘I’ll use the art shop entrance.’
Moments later, Fitzjohn opened the shop door, the bell signalling his arrival. As he did so, Laura Evans appeared from the back of the shop.
‘Chief Inspector, how can I help?’ she asked, her slight smile disappearing as Betts came through the archway from the gallery.
‘We’re here in the hope of speaking to Ms Reynolds,’ replied Fitzjohn, her face full of concern. ‘We understand she’s been released from the hospital.’
‘Yes, she has. She’s in the kitchen. We were just about to sit down to have lunch.’
‘In that case, can you let her know we’re here?’ asked Fitzjohn ‘We have a few questions we’d like to ask her.’
‘I don’t know that she’s really up to answering more questions,’ replied Laura. ‘Can’t it wait until tomorrow? After all, she’s been through so much.’
‘This can’t wait, I’m afraid,’ replied Fitzjohn.
Laura looked from Fitzjohn to Betts. ‘Oh, all right, if you must,’ she said with a sigh. Reluctantly, she turned and, followed by the two officers, led the way along a passage to the kitchen. As they neared the open doorway, Fitzjohn felt a sense of relief as he spied Claire Reynolds sitting at the table reading the morning newspaper.
‘Hello, Chief Inspector,’ said Claire, looking up as they appeared. ‘I didn’t realise it was you. I thought Laura was tending to a customer. Is there news about your investigation?’
‘Only that we’re here to ask Mrs Evans to accompany us to the Springwood Police Station. It’s in relation to a case of identity theft.’
‘Identity theft?’ said Laura with a wide-eyed look. ‘Why do you want to talk to me?’
‘Because it’s come to our attention that a woman from Lane Cove by the name of Laura Evans has reported her identity stolen,’ replied Fitzjohn.
‘But you can’t think that I’m involved,’ said Laura.
‘Chief Inspector, this is ridiculous. There must be some mistake,’ said Claire, getting to her feet.
‘Mistake or not, I’m afraid we have to question Mrs Evans over the matter.’ Fitzjohn nodded to Betts who took Laura’s elbow and escorted her out of the art shop.
‘Can’t you question her here?’ asked Claire, watching them leave. ‘Laura isn’t a strong woman. I think being taken to the police station will crush her.’
‘I’m sorry, Ms Reynolds, but under the circumstance, it’s unavoidable.’
‘What circumstances?’
‘The circumstances that led to an attempt on your life and now with the possibility that someone close to you is posing as a person other than herself.’
‘You can’t mean Laura,’ said Claire.
‘We have to take every precaution and most importantly, confirm that Laura Evans is who she says she is.’
‘Then I’ll come with you too. I don’t like the thought of her being there alone.’
‘I’m sorry, Ms Reynolds, but it’s better that you stay here.’ Fitzjohn cast his eyes down at the sandwich and cup of tea on the table in front of Claire. ‘Have you eaten or drunk anything, Ms Reynolds?’ he asked.
‘No. I was waiting for Laura. Why do you ask?’
‘Because, as I said, u
nder the circumstances, we have to take every precaution and as such, a forensics team will be here shortly to take samples of all food and beverage.’
As the hours ticked by, Fitzjohn waited, somewhat impatiently, for confirmation that the contents of Laura Evans’s wallet were, in fact, those stolen from the woman at Lane Cove. He also waited with some apprehension for the laboratory results of the lunch Laura had prepared that day, for Claire Reynolds. In his mind, each possible scenario ran its course. If it proved that Laura had stolen the woman’s identity the question was, why? Did she wish Claire Reynolds harm? If so, was she responsible for the attempt on her life? As the evening closed in, he mulled these thoughts over in his mind until Betts appeared.
‘It’s as we thought, sir, the contents of Laura Evans’s wallet are those reported stolen and after a search of her home, we found the wallet itself.’
‘And the laboratory results?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Both the sandwich and the tea meant for Claire Reynolds’ consumption revealed traces of oleander leaf containing the toxic agents digitoxigenin, oleandrin, and nerioside.’
‘So, we can assume that the woman we know as Laura Evans is responsible for the attempt on Ms Reynolds’ life and perhaps the death of Florence Fontaine.’
‘Even though there was nothing found to connect her with Florence Fontaine’s death when we did the search of her home?’ asked Betts. ‘Such as traces of cyanide.’
‘I think in this case, we’ll keep an open mind on that score and question her about the identity theft and the attempted murder of Claire Reynolds to see where it takes us,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘You never know, she might stumble and reveal her connection to Florence’s death.’ Fitzjohn got to his feet and pulled on his suit coat before he straightened his tie.
Laura Evans did not move or acknowledge either Fitzjohn or Betts as they entered the interview room. She merely stared straight ahead.
‘Mrs Evans, I take it your solicitor has informed you that this interview is to be recorded. Also, that you’re not compelled to answer questions.’ When Laura still did not respond, Fitzjohn turned to the woman at her side with a questioning look.
The solicitor spoke quietly to Laura. ‘My client doesn’t wish to answer questions, Chief Inspector.’
‘Very well, in that case, it’s my duty to inform your client of the reasons she’s been brought here today. They’re twofold. Firstly, we’ve received information in regards to an identity theft, that of Laura Evans who, until three months ago, resided at 60 Lindall Street, Lane Cove in the city of Sydney. Also three months ago, her wallet, containing all her personal details including driver’s licence, Medicare card, private health insurance and several credit cards was reported missing. We have since recovered the stolen wallet from your client’s residence and verified that the cards found in your client’s possession are, in fact, the cards that were reported missing. Does your client wish to respond in her defence?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘No, Chief Inspector.’
‘Very well. The second reason your client has been brought in for questioning concerns two attempts on the life of Claire Reynolds. The toxicology report after the first attempt revealed a high concentration of the toxic agents digitoxigenin, oleandrin, and nerioside, all substances found in the oleander plant and found to have poisoned Claire Reynolds. These same substances have been found in the food and beverage that your client prepared for Ms Reynolds today at the Fontaine Gallery & Art Shop.’ Fitzjohn looked at Laura’s steady gaze. ‘Do you wish to respond to these allegations?’ he asked.
‘Only that she deserves to die,’ blurted Laura.
‘Who deserves to die?’ asked Fitzjohn, his brow furrowing.
‘Claire Reynolds, of course. She’s the one who should be sitting here, not me.’
‘But why?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Because she was flying the plane that killed my husband.’
Fitzjohn hesitated as Betts’ inquiries at the air line charter business replayed in his mind. ‘I’m led to understand that the name of the man who died in that crash was Andrew Simpson. Are you, therefore, Maxine Simpson?’ Maxine nodded. Fitzjohn acknowledged verbally that Maxine Simpson had replied positively to his question. ‘Mrs Simpson, are you responsible for the toxic agents found in the food and beverage you served to Claire Reynolds?’ When Maxine did not respond, Fitzjohn continued. ‘Very well, can you tell me how you located Claire Reynolds?’
‘It was from an article I read in the Women’s Weekly about Florence. It mentioned she was returning to Australia to reopen her gallery and art shop. Claire was named as the gallery’s contact person.’
‘So that’s when you decided to come to Leura to seek out Ms Reynolds,’ prompted Fitzjohn. ‘Your plans went into disarray, however, didn’t they, when Florence drank the champagne you meant for Claire Reynolds.’
‘What are you suggesting? That I murdered Florence.’
‘Yes, Mrs Simpson. I believe it was the first attempt you made on Claire Reynolds’ life, but things didn’t go according to plan when Florence Fontaine drank the champagne meant for your victim.’
‘But I didn’t poison that champagne. I swear it.’
Fitzjohn suspended the interview and, followed by Betts, left the room. As he did so, he looked at his watch. ‘It’s after midnight,’ he said as they made their way to the canteen.
‘Do you want me to charge Mrs Simpson with identity theft and the two counts of attempted murder now or wait until morning, sir?’
‘No, Betts. I want to hold her for as long as we can without charge until we can either prove that Florence Fontaine’s death was, in fact, the first attempt she made on Ms Reynolds life and if not, who the perpetrator was.’
‘Do you really think she did it?’ asked Betts.
‘To be honest, I doubt it because when you think about it, we have a woman who has made two attempts on another woman’s life using oleander leaves. It just doesn’t sit well with me that she’d have used cyanide on her first attempt. Not only that, why would she do so at a public event in a crowded marquee when she had ample opportunity to do it at another time? And then there’s the fact that we have no evidence that points to her involvement in Florence Fontaine’s death.’ Followed by Betts, Fitzjohn took his steaming brew of black coffee and sat down at one of the tables.
‘In that case, our only other persons of interest left are Patrick Fontaine and Carolyn Winter whom we have charged with conspiracy to murder,’ said Betts.
‘Mmm. But were we too hasty?’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘I seem to remember Frank Winter saying he runs an on-line watch business.’
Betts gave a questioning look. ‘He does, sir. He sells watches over the internet and does repairs. But what..?’
Taking a sip of coffee and sensing a rush of adrenalin from the caffeine Fitzjohn asked, ‘Is he still staying at the Hydro Majestic Hotel with his wife?’
‘No, sir. He left quite suddenly when she was arrested and charged with conspiracy.’
Fitzjohn’s brow furrowed. ‘I would have thought he’d have stayed to offer his wife support. But then again, it must be a difficult situation for him to cope with. Do you know if he plans to return?’
‘Not according to the hotel clerk,’ replied Betts.
‘Well, perhaps he had to get back to his business activities; fill orders, that sort of thing. Or, maybe something else drove him away.’
‘You mean the fact that his wife has been charged with conspiracy to murder?’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me. Why don’t you go and speak to him, Betts, because I really want to know why he left?’
‘You mean right now, sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘But it’s three o’clock in the morning.’
‘It won’t be by the time you knock on Frank Winter’s front door. It’ll be close to six by then.’ Sensing Betts’s dismay at the prospect of a two-hour drive into the city, Fitzjohn continued with a wry smile, ‘I’m going back to the B & B to freshen up.
I take it you want to do the same before you leave.’
CHAPTER 22
Fitzjohn returned to the station at midday and waited for Betts to arrive but it was not until well into the late afternoon that the Incident Room door opened and he finally appeared.
‘I expected you back hours ago,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘What happened?’
‘Quite a bit as it turned out, sir,’ replied Betts, taking a seat. ‘Apparently, Frank Winter’s on-line business is the remnant of a traditional watch and repair business owned and operated by his grandfather and his father, respectively. For many years, they had a shop front in the Strand Arcade in the city until it closed its doors in the late 1980s. That was when Frank Winter’s father retired.’
‘I take it Mr Winter didn’t carry on the family tradition of watchmaking.’
‘No, but with the advent of the internet he decided to start up the business again on-line.’
‘So, he is a watchmaker,’ said Fitzjohn.
‘No, but it seems he picked up enough knowledge in his youth while working in his father’s shop to enable him to do minor repairs.’
‘Where is all this leading?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘To Frank Winter’s garage, sir, where everything from the original business was stored and left untouched. Until recently, that is and why I brought Mr Winter back with me, voluntarily. He’s waiting in Interview Room #2. I think you’ll find what he has to say interesting because to a certain extent, he’s involved in Florence Fontaine’s murder.’
Intrigued, Fitzjohn, followed by Betts, entered the interview room where he found Frank Winter sitting alone. He looked up as the two officers walked into the room, his face pale and showing sighs of fatigue. ‘Mr Winter, thank you for coming in,’ said Fitzjohn as he took his seat. ‘I understand you have some information for me concerning Florence Fontaine’s death.’
Poisoned Palette Page 15