Betts looked up from his notebook.
‘I see,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘And I take it this also led to the end of their business partnership.’
‘Yes. It did.’
‘When did this happened?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Just over two years ago. At the beginning of 2010.’
‘And your uncle’s marriage?’
‘It collapsed too. He and Stella separated soon after.’
‘I’m told they never divorced.’
‘No, they didn’t. As far as I know, Stella never asked for a divorce and Michael didn’t offer. To tell you the truth, I think he hoped that one day Stella would come back to him.’ After a moment Charlotte looked at her watch.
‘I don’t want to keep you too long, Ms Rossi, but I do have a couple more question. The first being Five Oaks Winery. We understand you have a 50 percent share.’
‘Yes, my mother left it to me in her will.’
’So, were you in agreement when your uncle decided to sell?’
Charlotte fingered the gold chain around her neck. ‘No, I wasn’t, but I couldn’t afford to buy Michael out so there wasn’t much I could do about it.’
Fitzjohn sensed Charlotte Rossi’s growing restiveness. ‘Did you voice your disapproval to your uncle?’
‘Of course. Several times. The last time being on Friday morning when he came by to drop off his keys. He wanted to make sure I’d agree to sign the listing agreement.’
‘And did you? Agree, that is.’
‘Yes, because I knew there was no point in arguing with Michael. He’d just have kept wearing me down until he got his way.’
‘And what about now that your uncle’s… gone?’
With a pinched expression, Charlotte Rossi met Fitzjohn’s intense gaze. ‘If you’re referring to the winery’s ownership, Chief Inspector, I’ll inherit Michael’s share. It’s always been passed down through my family. Unless, of course, Michael made other arrangements in his will.’ Charlotte Rossi looked at her watch again. ‘Will this take much longer. It’s just that…’
Fitzjohn looked over to the suitcase on the dining room table. ‘Are you going away, Ms Rossi?’ he asked.
‘I stayed with my Aunt Esme last night. I was worried about her being alone after the break-in. I plan to stay with her for the next few days so I came home for a few things.’ Charlotte paused. ‘Do you think that the break-in had something to do with Michael’s death, Chief Inspector?’
‘That depends on whether your uncle and the person who broke into your aunt’s house on Friday night were looking for the same thing, Ms Rossi. Apparently, your uncle told Miss Timmons he was looking for letters. We haven’t been able to establish whether he found them or not.’
‘My second question, Ms Rossi,’ continued Fitzjohn, ‘is about Nigel Prentice. In as much as how he and your uncle got along.’
‘They got along fine until just recently.’
‘Oh? Do you know what happened to change that?’
‘I’m not sure, but I suspect it might have something to do with what Michael told me a few weeks ago. That he planned to buy Nigel out of the business. I think that was one of the reasons he wanted to sell the winery. To raise cash. I don’t know how, but Nigel must have got wind of Michael’s plans.’ Charlotte thought for a moment. ‘I know my uncle would have preferred to own the business outright from the start, Chief Inspector, but obviously he couldn’t afford to at the time.’
‘So would I be right in saying he found it equally difficult to have a winemaker managing the winery?’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘It’s just that I seem to remember you said there was a problem there too. With Pierce Whitehead, that is.’
‘Mmm. Michael never liked Pierce. Of course, it didn’t matter when my mother was alive because Michael didn’t have anything to do with the winery. Mum was Pierce’s immediate contact. But nothing went smoothly after she died because Michael and Pierce clashed.’
‘Is Mr Whitehead difficult to get along with?’
‘Not especially.’
‘What do you know about his past, Ms Rossi?’
‘Only what my mother told me. Before he came to us, he’d spent six years in France.’
‘And before that?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Do you know how your mother came to employ him?’ Charlotte’s hand went back to the gold chain around her neck.
‘No. She never said, and I didn’t ask. She would have thought me meddlesome.’ Charlotte paused. ‘My mother didn’t like to be questioned about her decisions, Chief Inspector. I suppose in that respect, she was very much like Michael.’ Charlotte gave a quick smile.
‘Very well, Ms Rossi. We won’t keep you any longer.’
‘So,’ said Fitzjohn, as Betts put the car in to gear and pulled away from the curb, ‘Charlotte Rossi did believe that, in the event of her uncle’s death, she would more than likely end up the sole owner of the winery. And in light of the fact that he was about to sell the place, it does give her a strong motive to kill Michael Rossi.’
‘Unlikely though. Wouldn’t you say, sir?’
‘Why, Betts?’
‘Because she doesn’t weigh more than a feather. I don’t see how she could…’
‘I admit she’s slight, Betts, but she’s also fit, not to mention familiar with the workings of yachts. And then there’s the possibility she had help.’
‘Who by?’
‘Pierce Whitehead,’ said Fitzjohn, adjusting his wire-framed glasses. ‘After all, they both had something to gain.’
‘But she says she hardly knows the man.’
‘So she did. And very convincingly too. But do you believe her?’
Later that same day, Fitzjohn walked in to Day Street Police Station to greetings from his fellow officers. Wanting to get his meeting with Chief Superintendent Grieg over as quickly as possible, he wasted no time in reaching Grieg’s office where he felt the tension in the air as soon as he entered.
‘You took your damn time,’ said Grieg, tossing his pen aside.
‘I’m sorry about that, sir. It couldn’t be helped.’ Fitzjohn sighed, digging deep for patience, and the ability to be civil to Grieg.
Grieg sat back in his chair making a steeple with his fingers while he studied Fitzjohn. ‘I don’t want your excuses,’ he spat. ‘I called you here because I understand your investigations have led you to interview a man by the name of Wyngard.’
His interest piqued, Fitzjohn answered, ‘Yes, they have. The victim died on Graeme Wyngard’s yacht. Why? Is there a problem, Chief Superintendent?’
Grieg’s hands went to the arms of his chair as he glared at Fitzjohn. ‘Mr Wyngard has lodged a complaint concerning your discourteous behaviour toward him.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘He lodged it at Kings Cross Police Station on Saturday afternoon because I refused to release his yacht.’ A slight smiled crossed over Fitzjohn’s face. ‘I understand he’s missed his yacht race today.’
‘Release the damn yacht Fitzjohn,’ barked Grieg. ‘Immediately.’
‘I will. When we have no further use of it… sir.’ Grieg’s face reddened.
‘Don’t push me Fitzjohn, because you’ll regret it.’
As Sunday night closed in, Fitzjohn returned to Kings Cross Police Station feeling unsettled. Did Grieg have a mole at Kings Cross, keeping tabs on him and his investigation? What else could explain how Grieg knew about Wyngard’s complaint? With this thought playing on his mind, he opened the Incident Room door to find Williams at one of the desks. ‘It’s late Williams. Don’t you have a home to go to?’
‘I’m just finishing up my notes, sir.’
Fitzjohn sat heavily in to his chair, surprised at Williams’s dedication to duty. A far cry from the Williams he had known at Day Street Station. Why the change? he wondered. Was it due to Williams getting away from Day Street and Chief Superintendent Grieg. Didn’t Williams mention that he had been permanently moved at Grieg’s request? Or was
that a well engineered story? Was Williams Grieg’s mole?
CHAPTER 11
The drone of cicadas filled the hot afternoon air as Charlotte returned to Esme’s. Letting herself in to the house, she placed her overnight bag, along with the sketch, next to the staircase in the front hall, and walked through to the kitchen. ‘Esme. I’m back. I just…’ Reaching the doorway Charlotte stopped. The room stood empty, the monotonous drip of the tap in to the stainless steel sink breaking the silence and adding a sense of abandonment. Charlotte turned back, retracing her steps. As she reached Esme’s bedroom door, she tapped lightly. ‘Esme, are you there?’ she asked. The door swung open and Charlotte’s heart quickened. An old photo album lay on the floor, its contents strewn across the room. With growing uneasiness, she returned to the front hall and called again. ‘Esme?’
‘I’m up here, dear,’ came Esme’s soft voice from above.
With relief, Charlotte raced up the stairs to find her great-aunt sitting in a chair in the study. ‘Oh, Esme. I thought…’
‘What is it, dear? You look flustered.’
‘I just found your photo album on the floor in your bedroom and...’
‘Oh, yes, I dropped it and with it being so old, the pages fell out. Then the phone rang and I got distracted.’
Charlotte picked her way through the papers scattered across the study floor and perched herself on the edge of the desk. ‘I thought you didn’t come upstairs anymore Esme.’
‘I don’t usually, but it’s not every day one’s house is burgled. I wanted to have another look to see if anything’s missing. But then I sat down and started reminiscing instead. I loved it when your mother spent time in here.’ Esme smiled in reflection. ‘She hummed while she worked, you know. At that time, I slept in one of the bedrooms up here, and I used to listen to her. I found it comforting.’ Esme paused. ‘But, enough of my musings,’ she said, casting her eyes around. ‘This room’s a mess, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is, but I’ll have it tidied up in no time. You’ll see.’ Charlotte bent down and started picking up papers and books from the floor. ‘I’d have been back sooner, but I got delayed by the police.’
‘Oh. Did they have news?’ asked Esme, her eyes lighting up.
‘No, they just asked me a lot of questions about the people who knew Michael. And about the winery. They seemed particularly interested in the fact that I’m part owner, and wanted to know how I felt about Michael selling the place.’ Charlotte looked up at Esme. ‘I got an uncomfortable feeling that they think I could have something to do with his death.’ Esme leaned forward and patted Charlotte’s shoulder.
‘They’re just doing their job, dear. And to do that, they have to look at every possibility. Don’t let it worry you.’ Esme smiled. ‘Look on the bright side. You won’t have to sell the winery now because you’ll own it out-right.’
Charlotte placed the papers she had gathered on to the desk. ‘Well, that may or may not be the case, Esme.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘I mean that there’s every possibility Michael left his share of the winery to Stella.’
‘To Stella? Why on earth would he do that? Surely he made a new will when his marriage to Stella collapsed. And even if he didn’t. It was always understood that you’d inherit the winery.’
‘Well, I know Stella is the sole beneficiary of Michael’s estate which is as it should be. But whether or not that includes the winery, I don’t know. We’ll just have to wait until the will is made available.’
‘And in the meantime?’ asked Esme.
‘I thought I’d drive up to Five Oaks tomorrow. With what’s happened, I think I should speak to Rafe Simms. He’s completing the harvest since Pierce Whitehead quit.’
‘I didn’t know that Pierce quit,’ replied Esme in surprise. ‘What happened?’
‘Apparently, he and Michael argued. It was right in the middle of harvest. I’m surprised Michael didn’t mention it to you, Esme.’
‘No. Not a word. But it doesn’t surprise me. Michael wasn’t one for sharing anything. And as for the argument. I can’t think of anyone Michael got along with for long. Can you?’
‘Only Rafe Simms. I think Michael respected Rafe. And thank goodness he did because not only is Rafe finishing the harvest, but he’s buying the grapes at an agreed price.’
‘And if the winery is left to you. What will you do?’
‘I’ll have to make some quick decisions about its management, I suppose,’ answered Charlotte.
‘You could always put your degree in viticulture to good use and manage it yourself.’
Charlotte shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, Esme. I can’t see myself ever living at Five Oaks Winery now.’
‘A bit too close is it? To Rafe Simms.’
‘Yes. It is.’
Esme sat back again in her chair. ‘You know, despite your mother’s opinion of him, I always liked Rafe. He reminds me very much of his grandfather. A handsome man if there ever was one. If I hadn’t been engaged to Thomas at the time…’ Esme’s eyes sparkled.
Charlotte bent down again and gathered up more papers, wanting to avoid any further conversation about Rafe that would cause her to revisit the past.
‘You know, Esme, I’ve been thinking,’ she said, in an attempt to put Rafe to the back of her mind. ‘Michael would never have left the winery without first listing the property with the real estate agent unless it was something dire.
‘I agree,’ said Esme. ‘And I think it had something to do with your mother because when he arrived here on Friday evening, he was like a man possessed. All he wanted to do was come straight up to this room.’ Esme got to her feet, steadying herself on the desk. ‘That’s odd,’
‘What is it?’ asked Charlotte.
‘The perfume bottle is gone. It always sat here.’ Esme’s hand trembled as it touched the surface of the bureau.
Charlotte sensed Esme’s deep disappointment. ‘I’m so sorry, Esme.’
‘So am I, Charlotte. Not because it was worth a great deal, but because it was one of my treasures. It belonged to my grandmother.’ Esme sighed. ‘I suppose the police should be told. It could mean that the break-in wasn’t connected to Michael’s death.’ Esme wrapped her cardigan around herself. ‘Either way, I think I’ll go downstairs and make us both some tea,’ she said.
Charlotte watched Esme leave the study, appreciating that the perfume bottle’s disappearance was just one too many blows for Esme. Kneeling down again, she picked up the remaining papers and books from the floor and placed them on the desk before reaching to close the desk drawer. It was then she noticed an envelope wedged in the back of the drawer. Using a ruler, she nudged it out before removing its contents. The heading caught her eye. “Report in to the provenance of the Brandt sketch”. Charlotte settled herself in to the chair and flipped through the report. It was then she heard Esme calling.
‘Coming,’ she replied. Charlotte closed the desk drawer and left the room, taking the report with her. She found Esme at the kitchen table pouring the tea.
‘Did you find something, after all,’ asked Esme, seeing the papers in Charlotte’s hand.
‘Yes. It’s a report Mum was preparing on a sketch she purchased in 2010.’
‘Not the one that’s sitting in the front hall next to your overnight bag.’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’ Charlotte laid the report out on the table. ‘I’d forgotten I’d left it in my car yesterday when I got here.’
‘Your mother showed that sketch to me just after she’d bought it. I can’t say it’s to my taste.’
‘Nor mine, Esme. That’s why I lent it to Michael. He loved it. And I must admit, it did fit in well with the décor of his house. It’s by a well known artist called Brandt.’
‘Yes, I know. Arthur Brandt. He was featured on a television show I watched not long ago. One of those SBS shows on art.’ Esme sipped her tea while Charlotte gazed at the report. ‘It never ceases to amaze me that m
any of the most sought after pieces of artwork are not pleasing to the eye. At least not mine. And this report is about its provenance, you say?’
‘Yes. Which seems odd because I can’t imagine Mum buying anything without its provenance being in-tact, or at least being satisfied with it. Can you, Esme?’
‘No. That’s where your mother and Michael were alike. Fastidious about detail. What does the report conclude?’
Charlotte flipped through the pages. ‘It’s not finished so there’s no conclusion. But Mum does have notes here, at the end, about what she plans to do the following week. The week of July 11th, 2010.’
Esme gasped. ‘The week your mother passed away.’
‘Yes.’ Charlotte paused. ‘It’s such a shame she was never able to finish this.’
‘Why don’t you do it for her, dear? That way your mother’s work will be complete, and as the owner of the sketch, you’ll be assured of its provenance.’
‘It sounds like a good idea, Esme, but I don’t know that I have the expertise. I know nothing about art or who to approach.’
‘What about your mother’s notes? You could start there.’
‘I suppose so. I’ll read through them again, and think about it.’ Charlotte sat back and cradled her cup in her hands. ‘Would you like to come to the winery with me tomorrow, Esme? It’ll make for a nice change.’
‘You know, I think I’d like that. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the Hunter Valley.’
Charlotte smiled. ‘Then it’s settled. We’ll plan on leaving late morning, after I’ve been in to the bookshop. I need to let Irene know that I’ll be away.’
CHAPTER 12
Early the next morning, Betts arrived at Fitzjohn’s Birchgrove home to find his boss in the back garden looking upward to a tree branch hanging precariously over the greenhouse. ‘Good morning, sir.’
Fitzjohn turned. ‘Betts. I thought you had a meeting with the insurance company this morning.’
‘It’s not till eleven,’ said Betts, following Fitzjohn’s intent gaze to the branch swaying in the wind. ‘That whole tree needs taking down, sir.’
ONCE UPON A LIE (A Fitzjohn Mystery) Page 7