ONCE UPON A LIE (A Fitzjohn Mystery)

by Paterson, Jill

  ‘Quite sure, thank you.’ Maxwell clasped his hands together on the desk.

  ‘Very well. I understand that in June 2010, you sold a Brandt sketch to Claudia Rossi for the sum of $150,000.’

  ‘I’d have to check my records for the exact price but, yes, I did sell that piece of art work to Claudia.’

  ‘Can you tell us how you came by the sketch, Mr Maxwell?’

  ‘Phillipa Braithwaite procured it. It’s part of her position in my employ. She does most of the buying. I used to do it myself, but she’s gradually taken over that role. I’m sure Ms Braithwaite will be able to help you there.’

  ‘So there’ll be details of that particular purchase kept on file, I assume?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Phillipa keeps all those records at the gallery in Mosman.’ Maxwell’s brow wrinkled. ‘Can I ask why you’re asking about the sketch?’

  ‘Because the Brandt sketch is a fake, Mr Maxwell.”

  ‘I beg your pardon.’

  ‘Just what I said,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘We’ve had the sketch examined by an expert who has deemed it not authentic.’

  Aiden Maxwell stared at Fitzjohn his face a mixture of anguish and confusion. He slumped back in his chair. ‘I don’t know what to say. This is not only shocking, but embarrassing…’ Maxwell ran his trembling hand through his hair. ‘I’ve always prided myself in my expertise. Are you absolutely sure about this, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Quite sure, Mr Maxwell.’

  ‘And you think I had something to do with it?’ Maxwell raised his eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘That’s not necessarily the case,’ said Fitzjohn, ‘but I must alert you to the fact that we are investigating Claudia Rossi’s death, so if you do know anything, however insignificant you might think it is, it would be in your best interest to tell us.’

  ‘But I told you everything I know the last time we spoke.’

  ‘And I seem to remember you said Claudia Rossi came to see you about the provenance of a piece of art work that had been purchased by the New South Wales Art Gallery.’

  ‘That’s right. She did.’

  ‘And she didn’t talk to you about the provenance of the Brandt sketch at that time?’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t forget something like that. In fact, if she had asked me about the sketch it would have alerted me to the fact that there was something wrong.’

  ‘So, what you’re saying is that Claudia Rossi at no time spoke to you about the sketch, and you had no idea that it’s a fake.’ Fitzjohn waited for Maxwell to reply. ‘Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

  ‘Are you sure, Mr Maxwell? The reason I ask is because we’re led to believe that Claudia Rossi’s daughter, Charlotte Rossi, approached you only the other day regarding the Brandt sketch’s provenance. We also understand that you offered to look into the matter for her.’ Fitzjohn glared at Aiden Maxwell. ‘Well?’

  Maxwell cleared his throat. ‘All right. Claudia did ask me about the sketch’s provenance, and so did her daughter, Charlotte.’

  ‘Then why did you lie to us?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Because my reputation’s at stake here, Chief Inspector. A breath of scandal and I’ll be ruined!’

  ‘Lying to the police isn’t going to help keep you from ruin, Mr Maxwell.’ Fitzjohn turned over to the next sheet of paper that lay on the table in front of him. ‘Let’s go back to Claudia Rossi. When did you last see her?’

  ‘It was on that Sunday I told you about the last time we spoke,’ replied Maxwell, his voice trembling. ‘We had planned to meet again on the following Thursday evening - Claudia wanted to return a painting she’d restored for me - but I had to cancel because I needed to go to Melbourne. I like to visit my mother a couple of times each month. Since she lost my father, she gets quite lonely.’

  Fitzjohn glimpsed another side to Aiden Maxwell, or was it another lie? ‘When did you get back from Melbourne, Mr Maxwell?’

  ‘The following Sunday. The day after Claudia died.’

  ‘Check out Maxwell’s alibi for the week Claudia died, Betts,’ said Fitzjohn as they made their way back to the Incident Room. ‘See if he was in Melbourne visiting his mother that week.’ Fitzjohn threw his papers on to his desk and sat down heavily in his chair before removing his glasses. ‘Let’s go through what we have so far on Claudia Rossi.’

  Betts sat down at his desk and opened his notebook. ‘For a start,’ he began, ‘we know that Claudia met with Aiden Maxwell on Sunday, July 11, 2010. Six days before her death. We also know she spent a few days during that week at the National Art Gallery in Canberra, returning to Sydney on Thursday, July 15. Andrew Braithwaite tells us that the last time he saw Claudia was at Phillipa Braithwaite’s home on that Thursday evening. On Friday, July 16th, Claudia’s daughter, Charlotte arrived from Adelaide around lunch time and stayed until, approximately, seven-thirty the following morning. Claudia was admitted to hospital later that morning.’

  ‘And what about the mushrooms,’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘According to the Coroner’s report, Claudia could have picked them in Canberra and brought them back to Sydney herself. Andrew Braithwaite tells us that his half-sister, Phillipa, spent the earlier part of that week in Melbourne where such mushrooms are to be found. And Charlotte Rossi returned from Adelaide on semester break where it’s also possible to find death cap mushrooms.’

  ‘And then there’s the Brandt sketch, and the way in which it was purchased by Maxwell’s galleries.’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘Well,’ replied Betts, ‘according to Maxwell, Phillipa Braithwaite does all the buying for his galleries and he appears to have little or no knowledge of the way in which the sketch was procured. Furthermore, he appeared to be oblivious to the fact that the sketch is a fake, and denied being asked about its provenance. Until, of course, you confronted him, and he admitted that both Claudia and Charlotte had approached him about its provenance.’

  ‘And last but not least,’ said Fitzjohn, ‘there’s Andrew Braithwaite who admits to posing as an art dealer at the behest of Phillipa so that she could engage Porteous as one of her suppliers of art. Get a search warrant from the Magistrate for The ArtSpace Gallery and Phillipa Braithwaite’s home, Betts.’

  ‘What are we looking for, sir?’

  ‘All records pertaining to the purchase of art work for all Maxwell’s galleries, in particular, the record of the Brandt sketches procurement. We’ll do the searches simultaneously. Shouldn’t be too difficult to find the purchase order if it does exist.’

  ‘Any news on Charlotte Rossi yet?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Fitzjohn, along with Betts and Williams, arrived at Phillipa Braithwaite’s home early the following morning. The front door opened as Fitzjohn put his hand up to knock and Phillipa Braithwaite appeared. Fitzjohn smiled. ‘I take it you’re on your way out, Ms Braithwaite.’

  Phillipa grappled with her handbag and briefcase in the face of the three officers. ‘I’m on my way to work, Chief Inspector. I have an early appointment with a client.’

  ‘Then we’ll try not to keep you too long. We have search warrants for both your home and The ArtSpace Gallery. Our officers are at the gallery as we speak. This is the warrant to search these premises.’ Fitzjohn handed Phillipa Braithwaite the warrant.

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ she said, her eyes scanning the document. ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘As you can see, we're here to seize all records pertaining to the procurement of art work by the three galleries owned by Aiden Maxwell. We understand you are the principle buyer.’

  ‘I am, but you didn’t need search warrants to view the files. You only needed to ask. And I don’t keep any files at home. They’re in my office at the Mosman gallery.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Ms Braithwaite, to satisfy the requirements of our investigation, we will search your premises.’ Fitzjohn moved forward and Phillipa backed in to the house, its paintings and oriental rugs imparting a tone of sophistication and wealth.

&n
bsp; ‘This is preposterous,’ said Phillipa, entering the living room and setting her briefcase, and her handbag, on the sofa.

  ‘That remains to be seen,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Now why don’t you and I sit in here while my officers conduct their search.’ Glaring at Fitzjohn, Phillipa sat down on the sofa and folded her arms while Fitzjohn settled himself in to an armchair. In the strained atmosphere, he took in the room, its traditional furniture lending an air of comfort, despite its classic style. His eyes moved from the assortment of art books on the table next to him, to the antique clock on the mantelpiece below a gilt framed mirror, before they came to rest on an object in the Edwardian china cabinet. Getting to his feet, he strolled around the room, nonchalantly peering at various pictures before passing in front of the china cabinet.

  ‘You have a fine collection of paintings, Ms Braithwaite,’ he said sitting down again. Phillipa shrugged and the strained atmosphere continued until Betts and Williams appeared with a laptop and two boxes of files.

  ‘We found these, sir,’ said Betts in a low voice.

  Phillipa Braithwaite sneered. ‘You’ll find nothing in there. That’s my personal filing.’

  ‘In that case, Ms Braithwaite, it will be returned to you in-tact after we’re finished with it,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Good day to you.’ With that, Fitzjohn followed Betts and Williams from the house.’

  ‘I can’t say what we have here, sir,’ said Betts. ‘Could amount to nothing.’

  ‘Even if it does, Betts, I believe, our search wasn’t in vain. I want you to obtain another warrant for Phillipa Braithwaite’s home.’

  Betts looked at Fitzjohn in disbelief. ‘But...’

  ‘This time in search of a Limoges perfume bottle.’ Fitzjohn gave a wry smile. ‘You’ll find it in the china cabinet amongst the figurines.’

  CHAPTER 24

  Fitzjohn sat alone in the Incident Room turning his pen end for end. He threw it down when the door opened and Betts walked in. ‘By the look on your face, Betts, I’d say we’re in business.’

  ‘We are, sir. A purchase order for the Brandt sketch was found amongst the files we seized from Phillipa Braithwaite’s home. It’s made out to someone by the name of Wesley Hammond. We approached the taxation office and they’ve conducted enquiries on our behalf.’

  ‘And?’ prompted Fitzjohn.

  ‘The enquiries lead us to believe that Wesley Hammond doesn’t exist.’

  ‘Just as I thought.’ Fitzjohn got to his feet and started to pull his suit coat on. ‘What about the perfume bottle?’

  ‘It was where you said it would be, sir. In the china cabinet. Miss Timmons has confirmed that it’s the one missing from her home since the night of Michael Rossi’s death. I’ve had Phillipa Braithwaite brought in for questioning. She’s waiting in one of the interview rooms.’

  A satisfied look came to Fitzjohn’s face.

  ‘There’s something else you should know before you question her, sir. Trudy James, Phillipa Braithwaite’s assistant has come forward. She said that Michael Rossi came to the gallery to speak to Phillipa Braithwaite a little after 4pm on the day that he died. She said she doesn’t know what they spoke about, but she did hear raised voices coming from Phillipa’s office.’

  ‘Why on earth didn’t she come forward with this information before?’ said Fitzjohn, an exasperated look on his face.

  ‘She says she didn’t think it important at the time, although I suspect it might have something to do with loyalty to her employer. I imagine she changed her mind when the police arrived with the search warrant.’

  Fitzjohn shook his head. ‘Very well. Another piece of the puzzle into Rossi’s whereabouts before he died. He must have gone to the gallery straight after speaking to Richard Edwards at the hospital, and before he paid a call to the New South Wales Art Gallery.’ Fitzjohn sat in thought for a moment. ‘So, Phillipa Braithwaite knew all along that he was back in Sydney on that Friday.’

  Phillipa Braithwaite was found pacing the floor when, a few minutes later, Fitzjohn and Betts entered the interview room . Her solicitor looked up from his notes when they appeared. Phillipa pulled out a chair and sat down, her indignation apparent. ‘It’s about time,’ she said, icily. ‘Do you realise I’ve been kept waiting for over an hour?’

  ‘Our apologies, Ms Braithwaite,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Unfortunately, the cogs in the wheel don’t always move as fast as we would like.’ He half smiled and sat down.

  ‘Unfortunate isn’t the word,’ Phillipa continued. ‘Your tardiness has cost me a very important sale.’

  ‘That’s neither here nor there to me, Ms Braithwaite,’ answered Fitzjohn. ‘I’m investigating two murders and in so doing, I have a number of questions to put to you. Firstly, I want to know how you came by the Limoges perfume bottle found at your place of residence in Double Bay.’ Phillipa did not reply. ‘We know it was stolen from Esme Timmons's home at approximately 2:23am on the morning of Saturday, March 18th. We also have a sworn statement from your half-brother, Andrew Braithwaite, that you were absent from your home between 1am and 3:30am on that morning.’ Fitzjohn waited for Phillipa Braithwaite to respond. ‘Of course, you’re not obliged to answer my questions, but I should advise you that it could work against your best interests if you don’t.’

  Phillipa sat still, avoiding Fitzjohn’s gaze. Finally, she turned to her solicitor and whispered in his ear. After his reply she said, ‘All right. I did go to Esme’s that night and I did take the perfume bottle.’

  ‘But that wasn’t your reason for going, was it, Ms Braithwaite? It was to recover these.’ Fitzjohn placed three plastic sheaves on the table. ‘Three letters sent to Claudia Rossi, describing her partner’s infidelity. Anonymous letters.’ Phillipa Braithwaite glared at the letters. ‘Your handiwork.’

  ‘He used me,’ Phillipa said at last.

  ‘Who used you, Ms Braithwaite?’

  ‘Richard.’

  ‘Richard Edwards?’ ask Fitzjohn.

  ‘Yes.’ The room filled with Phillipa’s curdled laughter. ‘He thought he could walk away from me just like that. I was doing Claudia a favour. She needed to know what a cretin she was living with.’

  ‘So what made you think these letters would be in the study in Esme Timmons’s home?’

  ‘Because the study is where Claudia kept all her personal papers, and it was where she’d showed me the first letter she’d received.’ Phillipa chuckled to herself. ‘She had no idea. No idea at all that I’d sent it.’

  ‘But why did you choose that particular night to break in to Esme Timmons’s home? Why hadn’t you tried to get the letters back before?’ Phillipa did not reply. ‘Was it because Michael Rossi came to see you on the Friday afternoon before his death? After Richard Edwards told him that you were the woman he’d had an affair with, and that you’d sent those poison pen letters to Claudia?’ Phillipa continued her silence. ‘Might you also have been looking for a report that Claudia Rossi had been compiling on the provenance of the Brandt sketch, Ms Braithwaite?’

  ‘No. Why would I want that?’

  ‘I can think of a number of reasons. Firstly, according to the purchase order that was seized from your home, you bought that sketch from a man by the name of Wesley Hammond.’ Fitzjohn handed Phillipa a copy of the purchase order.

  ‘If that's what the purchase order says,’ answered Phillipa, barely looking at it. ‘I do a lot of buying, Chief Inspector. I don't remember names.’

  ‘So, as far as you’re concerned, Wesley Hammond is the person you bought the Brandt sketch from.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then that does surprise me, Ms Braithwaite, because Wesley Hammond doesn't exist.’ Fitzjohn sat back in his chair. ‘Not only does he not exist, but we've also discovered that the Brandt sketch is a fake, painted by an artist by the name of Douglas Porteous.’ Fitzjohn’s eyes locked onto Phillipa. ‘Does the name ring any bells? He’s the man you had your half-brother, Andrew Braithwaite, approach in order to buy the sketch, isn’t he?�
�� Phillipa sank back in her chair. ‘You said earlier that you didn't see Claudia Rossi during the week before she died, and yet we have a witness who attests to the fact that you did. In fact, Claudia came to your home for dinner on Thursday, July 15, 2010.’

  ‘Let me guess. Andrew told you that.’ Phillipa sighed. ‘All right. Claudia was at my home that night for dinner, but I didn't...’

  ‘Didn’t what, Ms Braithwaite?’

  ‘I didn’t cook the meal.’

  ‘Then who did?’

  ‘It was Aiden. Claudia had been to see him the previous Sunday. About the sketch. He could see she was going to find out about the art fraud and he panicked. His reputation is everything to him. He insisted I invite Claudia over for dinner that Thursday night. I swear I didn't know what he was planning to do. He just said we had to convince her that the sketch wasn’t a fake.’ Phillipa paused. ‘It wasn’t unusual for the three of us to dine together, or for Aiden to prepare the meal. We dined together quite often.’

  ‘So, what are you saying?’ asked Fitzjohn. ‘That Aiden Maxwell served the poisonous mushrooms to Claudia that evening at dinner?’

  ‘Yes.’ Phillipa paused. ‘I found out later that he’d brought them back from Melbourne the day before.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go to the police, Ms Braithwaite?’

  ‘Because Aiden said I’d not only be implicated in Claudia’s death, but also the sale of the fake Brandt sketch.’

  Fitzjohn set his pen down carefully on the papers in front of him. ‘To be quite honest, Ms Braithwaite, I can’t see how he could have brought death cap mushrooms back from Melbourne the day before because Aiden Maxwell was still in Melbourne on July the 14th, 2010. In fact, he'd left for Melbourne after his meeting with Claudia on Sunday, July 11th and didn't return to Sydney until the following Sunday, the 17th. The day after Claudia Rossi died.’ Phillipa opened her mouth to speak as Betts cautioned her.

  'Phillipa Braithwaite, I'm arresting you for the murder of Claudia Rossi...’