‘Have you looked through it?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Not yet, sir.’
‘Well do that, Betts, because even if it's only personal, it could give us a clue to someone he was involved with whom we aren’t yet aware of.’
‘Yes sir. Have you come to a decision about Eleanor Reed? She’ll have to be released if we’re not charging her.’
‘I know and since my conversation with Francesca Fairchild, I think we’d be wise to hold off on charging her for the moment because there’s been another development which involves a strong motive for Crispin Fairchild’s death.’ Fitzjohn recounted his conversation with Francesca.
‘So, you’re saying that the victim had two violins. One of which is priceless,’ said Betts.
‘Presumably, and it might explain where the killer got the violin string which was wrapped around the victim’s neck,’ replied Fitzjohn, sitting down at one of the desks. ‘I want every effort made to find it because it could lead to our killer. Having said that, however, I don’t want to dismiss our other persons of interest just yet, especially since Eleanor Reed’s fingerprints have been found on the murder weapon. And call me pedantic but I want to go through them again, just to refresh our minds. To start with, have we heard anything from Williams yet about the barman who served Rhodes Lambert the night of the murder?’
‘Not yet, sir,’ replied Betts as he leaned against the edge of a desk.
‘Okay. Who else is on our list? Shall we begin with Edmund Fairchild.’
‘Yes,’ replied Betts, opening his notebook. Even though he isn’t named as one of the victim’s beneficiaries, he will inherit his mother’s estate because of his brother's death. Also, because of the poor quality of the surveillance photograph, he could be the male person seen in that photo.’
‘Mmm. What about Morris Elliott?’
‘He looks to have the strongest motive since the victim was instigating a lawsuit against him, sir. And he admits to being in the building and alone at the time of the murder. Of course, his motive could be cancelled out since Eleanor Reed’s thumbprint has been found on the murder weapon. Plus the fact that she’s the only person of interest we have whom we can place at the crime scene,’
‘And as we only have her thumbprint on the murder weapon, it’s possible that she did attempt to wipe her prints off the candelabra, unless of course, she wasn’t involved at all and it was the killer who wiped his own prints off as well as Ms Reeds,’ said Fitzjohn. Both officers fell silent before Fitzjohn said, ‘Nevertheless, everything still points to her.’
As Fitzjohn spoke, Betts’s mobile phone rang. ‘Sergeant Betts here. Yes, Ms Travers. When was this? I’m leaving now.’ Betts disconnected the call. ‘That was Elvira Travers, sir. Edwards has made contact again by phone and he’s also entered the building.’
Fitzjohn grabbed his suit coat from the back of one of the chairs and shrugged into it. ‘We’ve got to find this lunatic, Betts, before someone gets hurt.’
‘I doubt he’ll have hung around, sir.’
‘Nevertheless, I don’t want anything to happen to Ms Travers, not on my watch anyway. Let’s talk to her and suggest she allows us to put her up in a hotel room until Edwards has been taken into custody.’
****
It only took a matter of minutes for the two officers to arrive at The Claremont, Betts taking the stairs two at a time while Fitzjohn made slower progress. By the time he arrived, he found Elvira standing in the hallway with Betts.
‘He was right here. I saw him through the peephole in my front door,’ she said. ‘And from the noise I heard just afterwards, I think he must have tried to break into Crispin’s apartment, but I can’t be certain.’
As Betts went to investigate, Fitzjohn said, ‘Ms Travers, I’d like to move you into a hotel. I think you’ll feel more comfortable there. The department will cover the cost.’
‘Oh, that’s very kind, Chief Inspector, and I do appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t feel any safer in a hotel room than I do here; not with my imagination. It runs riot. I have visions of him watching my every move so I have no doubt he’d find me in any hotel you chose. I’m much better here at home in familiar surroundings, I assure you.’
‘In that case, is there any member of your family who can stay with you?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘I’m afraid not. You see, I’m the last of the Travers line. My parents have both passed away and I have no siblings. There are a couple of cousins, of course, but we’ve never kept in touch and besides, they live overseas. No, Chief Inspector, I’ll stay here.’
‘Very well, but please call if Edwards makes any further contact. It doesn’t matter what time of the day or night it is.’
****
Uneasy with Elvira Travers’s decision to remain in her apartment but little he could do about it, Fitzjohn settled himself into the backseat of the taxi that night, with a sigh as it sped off through the dark city streets towards Birchgrove. It was only when they neared his cottage that he started to wonder what Meg’s efforts that day at the planning office had produced. Was the boundary in the wrong place or not? This thought, however, was interrupted when they neared the cottage and the flashing lights of a large yellow fire engine came into view.
‘What on earth...!’ Fitzjohn’s heart sank but he breathed a sigh of relief as they pulled over to the curb and he could see Meg standing in the front garden.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked as he climbed out of the taxi.
‘You wouldn’t read about it,’ replied Meg. ‘It seems that Rhonda decided to take matters into her own hands and hired someone, inexperienced as it’s turned out, to take down the fence between your two properties. Needless to say, the workman didn’t check to see where the water pipes were before he started digging and he hit the water main. It hasn’t affected your garden, Alistair, but it’s flooded Rhonda’s.’
Fitzjohn followed Meg’s gaze to the firemen gathered in the middle of Rhonda’s front garden, their boots submerged in a sea of mud. ‘What a mess.’
‘It is, but I’m finding it difficult to feel sorry for Rhonda’s predicament because she brought it on herself.’
‘Still, I suppose I should go over and ask her if I can help in any way,’ said Fitzjohn.
‘You’re a fool if you do, Alistair. ‘You’ll be opening yourself up to all sorts of abuse because she’ll see it as your fault.’
‘Mmm. Perhaps you’re right.’
Meg opened the front gate and the two made their way into Fitzjohn’s cottage.
‘How did you get on at the planning office?’ he asked, placing his briefcase on the hall table. ‘Any luck finding out about the true boundary?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’
‘And?’
‘Rhonda was right, the boundary is in the wrong place by approximately eighteen inches.’ Fitzjohn shoulders sank and he gave a heavy sigh. ‘But, it’s supposed to be eighteen inches further inside Rhonda Butler’s yard, not yours,’ she added. ‘And it gets worse,’ she continued with a malicious smile. ‘It just so happens that it runs through the west wall of Rhonda’s house.’
Fitzjohn glowered at Meg. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘Are you going to rub salt into the wound and tell her now?’ asked Meg.
‘That would be unkind. I’ll let her get through tonight first,’ replied Fitzjohn.
CHAPTER 16
Before leaving for the station the following morning, Fitzjohn made his way through Rhonda Butler’s front garden, his well-shone shoes sinking into the sodden earth before he reached the front door where he knocked. He did not envisage a warm welcome but the fact remained that the task had to be done, and sooner the better. Moments passed before the door opened and Rhonda appeared wearing a pale blue dressing gown, her eyes sunken, no doubt, from a sleepless night.
‘Good morning, Mrs Butler.’
‘What do you want? Haven’t you done enough damage? You’ll be getting a bill from not only the plumbing company bu
t for the restoration of my garden, I’ll have you know.’
‘I shan’t be paying for your plumber or your landscaping, Mrs Butler, but I will see to the boundary being moved to its rightful place if you insist, that is.’
‘What are you talking about? Of course I insist,’ screamed Rhonda.
‘Very well, but if that’s the avenue you wish to take, I think you should be aware that, following an extensive search at the planning office and a surveyors report, it’s been found that although the boundary is in the wrong place by eighteen inches, it’s into your property, not mine. In fact, correcting it will mean that you’ll lose the west wall of your house.’
‘What?’
‘Just what I said, Mrs Butler. However, I’m prepared to leave things as they are which means that I’m willing to overlook the fact that you have the use of eighteen inches of my property. A kind gesture on my part, I believe.’ Fitzjohn gave a quick smile before the door slammed in his face.
Turning, he picked his way back across the mud, his shoes squelching as he went.
‘I heard Mrs Butler scream,’ said Meg who lingered in the front doorway of the cottage. ‘What happened?’
‘She slammed the door in my face,’ replied Fitzjohn as he stepped inside and removed his shoes. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she takes me to court.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t worry about it. She doesn’t have a leg to stand on,’ replied Meg.
‘She has the council. There’s every chance they’ll back her up in case she threatens to pull the plug on her husband’s legacy.’
‘Surely they wouldn’t do that and besides, we have the surveyors report which states clearly where the boundary should lie.’
‘That’s true but it’s an independent surveyor’s report which the council could ignore since they’re in Rhonda’s pocket.’
‘You mean to say that you could still lose eighteen inches of your garden.’
‘I do, unless I can dissuade Rhonda from going further with this. I’ll give her the day to simmer down then talk to her again.’ Fitzjohn looked at his watch. ‘It’s late and I’ve got to get to the station. Would you be a treasure and call me a taxi, Meg, while I find a fresh pair of socks and shoes?’
****
As the taxi drove into the city, Fitzjohn tried to push Rhonda and the problem with the boundary to the back of his mind, but even so, the frustration that it had interfered with his usual early arrival at the station, remained. He also felt disappointed with the lack of progress he had made with his investigation. With so many persons of interest, he had mistakenly assumed there would be an early breakthrough but there had been nothing. The situation with the man stalking Elvira Travers worried him the most, however. A seemingly desperate individual, who might be Crispin Fairchild’s killer, and a defenceless woman, who, despite appearances, must be terrified. Unsettled by the predicament, he walked into the station with a determined gait. Once through to the main area, he found Betts at his desk.
‘We’ve got to do something about Raymond Edwards, Betts, before someone gets hurt. Namely, Elvira Travers.’
Betts looked up somewhat surprised at his boss’s uncharacteristic morning greeting. ‘I’m doing everything I can, sir.’
‘I know, Betts, and I’m sorry,’ replied Fitzjohn, slumping down into the chair beside his young sergeant’s desk.
‘Bad start to the day, sir?’ asked Betts looking down at a smudge of mud on Fitzjohn’s trouser leg.
Fitzjohn followed his gaze and his brow furrowed. ‘It’s a long story concerning Rhonda Butler’s front garden and a morning I’d sooner forget. Any news on the case?’
‘Yes sir, there is,’ replied Betts. ‘The forensic reports have come back on both the cigarette butts thought to be dropped by Raymond Edwards as well as the notepaper which Elvira Travers found in her mailbox. They’re a match. The DNA on both are identical.’
‘That doesn’t mean we’re any closer to finding out who this man is though, does it?’
‘No, sir, but we have a breakthrough with the notepaper thanks to Ms Travers. She called me this morning to say that she’s since emptied her mailbox again and found a tiny piece of that note still wedged inside with the remains of a telephone number on it. I’ve had it run through the system and came up with five possible matches one of which is the Sir Stamford hotel here on Macquarie Street, only a few doors away. The other numbers are various offices in the area, both medical and legal.’
‘Okay. Find out whether anyone at those establishments remembers dealing with a man matching Edwards’s description while Williams and I check out the Sir Stamford.’
‘Yes sir.’
****
Met by the doorman at the Sir Stamford, Fitzjohn and Williams entered the heritage listed building and while Williams spoke to the doorman, Fitzjohn approached the reception desk.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked the young woman on duty.
‘I’d like to speak to your manager, if I may,’ replied Fitzjohn.
‘Is there a problem with your room, sir? If so, I can help you.’
‘I’m not a guest, miss. I’m from the police department.’ Fitzjohn held up his warrant card.
‘Oh, I see. In that case, if you can wait for one moment, I’ll get the manager for you.’
Fitzjohn remained at the counter until a man in his late forties appeared. ‘You’re from the police, I understand?’ he asked with a grimace.
‘Yes. I’m DCI Fitzjohn. I’m looking for a man whom I have reason to believe might be staying in your hotel. The name I have is Raymond Edwards although I doubt he will have used that name when he checked in.’
‘Well, we can try that name to start with, Chief Inspector,’ replied the manager. ‘Do you have any other details about him?’
‘He’s caucasian, in his mid-thirties, with a dark complexion and speaks with a slight accent. We also believe he’s a smoker and is possibly travelling alone.’
‘Well, the fact that he’s a smoker and could be checked into a single room cuts it down quite a bit. If you’ll bear with me, I’ll see what I can do.’ With that, the manager left the desk only to return a few minutes later.
‘We do have a guest matching your description, Chief Inspector. His name is Antonio Bonato. He’s from Rome according to his banking details. He’s on the second floor, Room 209. Shall I have the clerk call his room to see if he’s in?’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ replied Fitzjohn.
****
Fitzjohn and Williams made their way to the elevators through the lounge where the period furniture and burning log fire created an enticingly snug atmosphere. They emerged onto the second floor a short time later, finding Room 209 at the end of the hallway. Williams knocked and moments later the door opened to reveal a man in his early thirties, his dark Mediterranean looks supporting Elvira Travers’s description of Raymond Edwards favouring the man caught on the surveillance camera.
‘Mr Bonato?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Yes,’ said Bonato warily. ‘Who are you? Hotel security?’ he added looking the two officers up and down.
‘No, we’re policemen.’ Fitzjohn and Williams held up their warrant cards. ‘May we come in?’
‘What is it about?’
‘We’re investigating the murder of a man at The Claremont apartment building on Tuesday night and we have reason to believe you’ve been harassing one of the residents in that building, namely Elvira Travers. We’re told that your harassment involves procuring documents from the victim’s apartment so, naturally, we have a few questions we’d like to ask you.’ Bonato did not respond. ‘We’re not fussy, Mr Bonato. We can conduct our interview out here in the hall if you wish,’ continued Fitzjohn as a couple walked passed dragging their suitcases. With that, Bonato stepped back from the doorway and Fitzjohn and Williams walked into the room.
‘I didn’t have anything to do with Crispin’s death if that’s what you’re thinking,’ said Bonato, closing the door behind them.
‘Yes,’ replied Bonato.
‘Was it the reason you went to The Claremont that night?’
‘The violin is mine,’ said Bonato.
‘I’m not concerned whose violin it is, Mr Bonato,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘What does concern me is the fact that we’ve been led to believe that this violin was in the deceased’s possession the night he was murdered and now it’s here in your hotel room. How do you explain that?’
‘You can’t prove it was in his apartment.’
‘I don’t think we’ll have a problem,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘I’m sure we’ll find that the violin string found wrapped around Crispin Fairchild’s neck is the string missing from this violin. This would suggest that it was in his apartment the night he died and that you killed him.’
‘But he was already dead when I got there,’ blurted Bonato.
‘Ah, that’s better. Now we’re getting somewhere,’ said Fitzjohn with a cold smile. ‘In that case, if you didn’t go there to kill him, why did you go to his apartment at that time of night?’
The Fourth String Page 10