‘And it’s about time,’ he said, swinging around. ‘How much longer are you going to keep me here?’
‘The quicker we get started, the quicker we’ll finish,’ replied Fitzjohn, settling himself at the table. He gestured to Ziegler’s empty chair. Ziegler slumped into it and after introductions had been made, once again, the interview commenced.
‘Have you given anymore thought to how you acquired the $400,000, Mr Ziegler?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘I’ve already told you. I loaned it through a friend.’
‘That’s not the case now, is it?’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘It was money gained from your embezzlement of company funds at the Maybrick Literary Agency.’
‘It wasn’t me, I tell you. Giles has been doing the accounts for the past few months. If anyone’s been embezzling, it’s him.’
‘No, it isn’t. We know because we have evidence that you threatened Beatrice Maybrick when she approached you on that Monday morning and accused you of embezzlement.’
‘That’s ridiculous. What could I threaten her with?’
‘Her past, Mr Ziegler.’ Ziegler froze. ‘You told her that if she continued with her accusation of embezzlement, you’d tell Preston Alexander that he had had a son by Beatrice. Something she’d kept hidden from him for over fifty years. But she didn’t listen, did she? Instead, she exposed you to Preston Alexander as well as your work colleagues and suspended you.’
‘How do you...’
‘How do we know?’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘We know because we have a letter here from Beatrice stating what transpired between the two of you.’ Fitzjohn trained his intense gaze on Ziegler’s face. ‘You went back to the agency that night, argued with Beatrice and pushed her down the stairs.’
‘That’s preposterous.’
‘No it isn’t. We do have a set of fingerprints, found on the door jamb. Up until now, we haven’t been able to match them with anyone’s but I’ll bet that when we take yours, which we’re going to do very shortly, we’ll find that they are a match.’
‘You can’t take my fingerprints without my permission,’ said Ziegler with a degree of smugness.
‘If we believe on reasonable grounds that you have committed an indictable offence, we can, and we do, so we will,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Of course, they might also tie you into Preston Alexander’s murder. After all, no doubt he had some suspicion that you might have had something to do with Beatrice’s death.’ Fitzjohn leaned across the table and leered at Ziegler. ‘That’s why you went to see him the night he was murdered wasn’t it? You feared he’d go to the police.’
‘I’ve already told you that I didn’t kill Preston. I was at the restaurant in Neutral Bay with my chess club.’
‘So you were.’ Fitzjohn sat back again. ‘But after you left the restaurant, around nine-thirty according to your dinner companions, you drove to Cremorne. As I told you earlier, we have a witness who saw someone matching your description on Milson Road that night.’
Ziegler glared at Fitzjohn who waited for a response
‘All right,’ said Ziegler, running his hand through his hair. ‘I did go to see Preston that night but when I got to his house, he wasn’t at home so I left.’ Ziegler paused. ‘Why don’t you ask Portland Moore why he was there at the time?’
Fitzjohn’s brow furrowed. ‘You saw Mr Moore on Milson Road that night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he acknowledge you?’
‘No. He had his head down.’
‘What time was this?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Some time around ten. I’d just parked my car and I was walking down toward Preston’s place.’
Fitzjohn terminated the interview and followed by Betts, left the room.
‘So, according to Ziegler, Portland was in Cremorne that night. To tell you the truth, Betts, it’s the last thing I expected him to say. It’ll be interesting to hear what Mr Moore has to say about it. Didn’t the security guard say that he left the theatre at around eight that night and returned at nine?’
‘Yes, sir, and we know that he wasn’t at the casino during that hour.’
‘Mmm. And according to the autopsy report, Preston Alexander died anywhere between eight-thirty and ten-thirty. Bit of a puzzle though, isn’t it, because Portland was only absent from the theatre for an hour and yet Ziegler claims that he saw him on Milson Road around ten.
Moore jumped when the door to the interview room opened and Fitzjohn and Betts walked in. Dressed in a dark blue suit with red tie and his brown hair slicked back, he looked the epitome of style.
‘Hello again, Mr Moore,’ said Fitzjohn, pulling a chair out from the table and sitting down.
‘Why have I been brought here?’ asked Portland.
‘We thought you’d find it more conducive than your place of employment and it does give us the opportunity to record your answers.’ Without a reply, Portland sat down next to his solicitor and opposite Fitzjohn. After the preliminaries, the interview commenced.
‘When we last spoke, Mr Moore, you said that on the night of your uncle’s death, you left the Adelphi Theatre and went to the casino.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Out of interest. What do you play when you’re there?’
‘Black-jack.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No.’
‘In that case, are you quite sure that you were there that night?’
‘Of course I’m sure. What sort of a question is that?’
‘A valid one because we’ve spoken to the staff on duty that night and they told us that you weren’t there.’
‘They’re mistaken.’
‘I’m afraid not for the following reasons,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Firstly, you’re known to them. Secondly, there is no CCTV footage of you at any of the black-jack tables at any time that night and thirdly, there is no record of you purchasing chips. In fact, the last records that they have of your presence at the casino are almost two weeks prior to the night your uncle died.’ Portland fidgeted with his collar. ‘We’d like to know where you went after you left the theatre, Mr Moore.’ Fitzjohn waited. ‘Okay. Perhaps I can help you remember,’ he continued at last. ‘A witness has stated that he saw you on Milson Road that evening. In fact, you were walking from the direction of the reserve where your uncle’s body was later found.’
The colour drained from Portland’s face, his mouth gaped. ‘That’s not true. I didn’t get to Cremorne until just after nine-thirty.’
‘Ah! So you were there.’
Portland ran his hand through his hair. ‘All right. I was.’
‘Then why did you lie to us?’
‘Because I didn’t think it would look good if I said I was in the vicinity when Preston was attacked. I know how you people work. Relatives are always at the top of your list of suspects.’
‘That’s not necessarily the case and lying to the police is never a good idea.’ Fitzjohn paused. ‘So, why did you go to see Preston that night?’
‘I needed to speak to him about his investment in the agency. He’d told me earlier that day that he planned to make changes to it.’
‘You mean withdraw it.’
‘You know about that? How?’ Portland glared at Fitzjohn in disbelief.
‘You’d be surprised at the sort of detail that surfaces when one investigates a murder, Mr Moore. Although there is one detail that still puzzles me. Why did you leave the theatre earlier that evening only to return soon after?’
‘Because once I was on my way, I convinced myself that Preston wouldn’t listen to me and so I turned back.’
‘So why did you return later?’
‘Because I had no choice. I had to talk to him about it.’
‘About what? The trust? You wanted to convince him to leave things as they were, didn’t you, Mr Moore? After all, if your uncle went ahead with his plan, you’d be out-of-pocket.’
‘You’ve got it all wrong, Chief Inspector,’ said Portland indignantly. ‘That money is for my
boys’ education and a nest egg for their future.’
‘But as far as we can see, Mr Moore, there’s very little in their accounts. In fact they’re all but drained of funds.’
Portland looked aghast at Fitzjohn. ‘You’ve being looking into my private affairs?’
Fitzjohn ignored Portland’s retort and said, ‘You say that you arrived in Cremorne just after nine-thirty. Did you happen to see anyone else about?’
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Portland, shaking his head. ‘I was somewhat distracted at the time.’
‘Think, Mr Moore. It’s important,’ said Fitzjohn.
Portland shook his head. ‘I can’t remember seeing anyone.’
‘What do you think, sir?’ asked Betts as the two officers left the interview room.
‘I’m not sure what to think,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Portland had a lot to gain by his uncle’s death and initially, he did lie about where he was that night. Even so, if he was in the vicinity of where a murder took place, I wouldn’t have thought he was unwise enough to lie about it.’ Fitzjohn opened the door to his office and walked inside. ‘We’ll keep Mr Moore here for the present time because...’
At that moment, the office door opened and the Duty Officer appeared.
‘Yes, Sergeant?’
‘It’s the report on the fingerprints you’re waiting for, sir,’ he said, handing the report to Fitzjohn with a smile. ‘It’s a match.’
Fitzjohn gave Betts a satisfied look. ‘We’ll continue the interview with Max Ziegler.’
When Fitzjohn and Betts walked into the interview room, they found Ziegler stood behind his chair, pulling it back and forth. ‘And it’s about time!’ he exclaimed, letting the chair crash forward on all four legs and hit the table. ‘You can’t hold me here any longer than twenty-four hours and your time is just about up,’ he said, tapping his watch.
‘I’m well aware of the time, Mr Ziegler.’ Fitzjohn sat down and waited for Ziegler to do the same. When he was seated, Fitzjohn continued. ‘I said earlier that we have a set of fingerprints which were found on the door-jamb of Beatrice Maybrick’s apartment that we haven’t been able to match. Until now, that is. They’re yours, Mr Ziegler.’ Fitzjohn waited but Ziegler did not reply. ‘Very well. We’ll leave that little morsel for the time being and discuss your claim that you saw Portland Moore on Milson Road the night that Preston Alexander died. You didn’t though, did you?’ Ziegler glared at Fitzjohn. ‘Not only did you push Beatrice Maybrick to her death down those stairs, but you also bludgeoned Preston Alexander to death.’
‘I didn’t kill either of them I tell you. I swear it.’ Ziegler’s eyes flared with anguish and his shoulders sagged.
‘Then tell us how your finger prints got on the door-jamb?’
‘Probably because before I left the building that afternoon I went to see Beatrice in her office but she wasn’t there. I thought she must be upstairs in the apartment so I went up.’ Ziegler ran his hand across the back of his neck. ‘I knocked but she didn’t answer the door. I probably put my hand on the door-jamb. I don’t remember,’ replied Ziegler in a soft voice as tears glistened his eyes.
Fitzjohn terminated the interview and followed by Betts, left the room.
‘We can’t keep Mr Ziegler any longer, Betts. Have him released.’
With a sense of frustration, Fitzjohn made his way to the Incident Room where he sat down heavily into one of the chairs facing the whiteboard and methodically studied the information and photographs displayed.
‘Sir?’ He turned when he heard Betts’s voice. ‘The lab reports on the shoe print and the victim’s clothing are back from forensics.’ Betts crossed the room and handed the reports to Fitzjohn. ‘The shoe print is of a European brand called Stefano Bremer,’ continued Betts as they sat down.
‘Bremer,’ repeated Fitzjohn. ‘If I’m not mistaken they’re expensive, not to mention stylish.’
‘They are, sir. Expensive, that is. I did a bit of research. They retail for around two thousand dollars a pair.’
‘And who do you think would wear such shoes?’ asked Fitzjohn as he ran his eyes over the report.
‘I’d say that they’d go well with Portland Moore’s life-style, sir.’
‘I agree,’ replied Fitzjohn, thinking back to Portland’s home of glass in Clondarf set in the tranquil Balinese garden. ‘Apply to the Magistrate for a search warrant for his home, Betts. Also his dressing room at the theatre.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Betts got up to leave.
‘And Betts.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘I also want a search done of Giles Enfield’s home and office as well as the house he stayed in at Port Macquarie for those four days. And in that particular regard, make allowances for travelling time because I want these searches done simultaneously.’
Betts gave Fitzjohn a questioning look. ‘I thought we’d discounted Giles Enfield, sir.’
‘We had but....’ Fitzjohn ran his hand across the back of his neck. ‘I just have this feeling that... Oh. I don’t know, Betts. Maybe it’s because of my recent experience with the Police Integrity Board,’ he continued after a moment’s hesitation. ‘I know it’s using extra resources, but I just want to be thorough.
CHAPTER 21
Fitzjohn arrived home that night full of anticipation about the forthcoming searches as well as Grieg’s reaction to the use of extra manpower and the time involved. No doubt tomorrow would prove to be a challenge in both respects. He placed the mail and his briefcase on the kitchen table and started to take off his suit coat when the doorbell sounded. ‘Who can that be at this hour?’ he mumbled as he made his way back along the hall to the front door. He opened it to find Rhonda Butler and Blossom.
Despite Rhonda’s frozen expression and stiff posture, Fitzjohn smiled. ‘Good evening ladies. And Blossom. Let me say that I’m very pleased to see that you’ve been released from the hospital. Won’t you come in?’
Blossom, her wide smile framed by wisps of hair, some of which had escaped the floral scarf that held her wavy hair in place, went to move forward across the threshold. As she did so, Rhonda’s hand came down on her forearm. Blossom’s eyes darted sideways at her sister in annoyance before she turned back to Fitzjohn. ‘Thank you, Mr Fitzjohn, but we can’t. Edwin’s waiting for us in the car. He’s our brother. I just wanted to thank you for saving my life. And so does Rhonda. Don’t you, Rhonda?’ Blossom gave her sister a nudge.
‘Yes, I do,’ replied Rhonda through pursed lips.
‘And.’ Blossom gave Rhonda another nudge.
‘And we’d like to make this small offering to express our gratitude.’ With that, Rhonda opened a carry bag and produced a blue plastic pot containing an orchid, its petals a soft pink with deeper pink centres.
Taken aback, as well as realising how difficult this exercise was for Rhonda Butler, Fitzjohn said, ‘Thank you. This is a kind gesture and I’ll pass your gratitude along to Martin Betts. After all, without him the outcome might have been very different.’ An awkward silence ensued before Fitzjohn continued, ‘Where are you ladies staying for the time being?’
‘With Edwin,’ replied Rhonda. ‘He’s kindly offered us accommodation until my house repairs are finished.’ Rhonda sighed. ‘There’s a lot to do, of course, but I’m told that it can be restored to its former self.’ Blossom nudged Rhonda again. Rhonda swallowed hard. ‘I’d also like to acknowledge that without your quick action, my home would have been lost, so thank you.’ Rhonda breathed a sigh. ‘Well, we must be off. Edwin will be getting impatient. Come along on, Blossom.’
‘Thank you again,’ said Blossom with a lingering smile as Rhonda tugged at her arm.
‘Take care of yourself, Blossom.’
Fitzjohn closed the door and smiled to himself as he walked back to the kitchen carrying the pink pot. He placed the new arrival on the table and stood back to study its delicate blooms. ‘A phalaenopsis, and a beautiful specimen at that. I’d never have guessed, Rhonda, but you’re an
excellent judge of orchids that do well in greenhouses. Who would have thought?’
CHAPTER 22
Fitzjohn arrived at the station at dawn the following morning and walked into the Incident Room to find it filled with those officers who were to be involved in the various searches. Betts stood at the head of the room in conversation with each team leader and turned to Fitzjohn when he approached.
‘Good morning, sir.’
‘Morning, Betts. It looks like you have everything under control.’
‘Yes, sir. We have the necessary warrants for all the properties. Williams and his team left some time ago for Port Macquarie and should be in place by nine o’clock. As soon as I hear from him, we’ll begin.’
‘Very good.’
‘Will you be accompanying one of the teams, sir?’
‘No, not this time, Betts. I’ll leave it all in your capable hands.’
‘There’s probably one thing you should be aware of, sir. The Chief Superintendent isn’t pleased about the drain on manpower.’
‘Mmm. I expected as much and it’s one of the reasons I’m staying behind.’ Fitzjohn gave a wry smiled. ‘Just to reassure him that all will be back to normal in a matter of hours.’
Fitzjohn paced the floor of his office, anxious for word of the operation and waiting for the Chief Superintendent’s reaction. He did not have to wait long. The door flew open and Grieg walked into the room, his face contorted with anger.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing conducting these searches and using all my resources without my permission?’ he screamed.
‘Good morning, sir,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘I did attempt to acquire your permission last night, but I was told you were attending a function at the Cruising Yacht Club and could not be disturbed. I therefore made an executive decision because I know that my solving the case into Preston Alexander’s untimely death is of priority importance to you.’ Fitzjohn smiled.
Grieg spluttered with frustration and said, ‘You’d better pray that these searches do solve his murder, Fitzjohn, because you have just tied up every officer I have.’
Deadly Investment (A Fitzjohn Mystery Book 5) Page 15