The Celtic Dagger

by Jill Paterson

‘Did he give a reason?’

  ‘Only that it stands empty since our parents moved to Port Macquarie. He didn’t see the point of keeping it.’

  ‘But you didn’t agree.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you usually get along with your brother other than this particular problem?’

  ‘No, not really. We didn’t see eye to eye on many issues.’

  Fitzjohn's left eyebrow rose. ‘Must have been difficult working in the same department.’

  ‘At times, yes.’

  ‘Did you work closely together?’

  ‘On a couple of occasions. Most recently this past summer. We were involved in excavations around the city of Bourges in central France. But usually, our research took us in opposite directions. Alex’s interests were in Australian prehistoric archaeology and historical archaeology of the Sydney region, whereas mine are in the later prehistory of the western Mediterranean.’

  ‘I see.’ After a silence, Fitzjohn stood up. ‘Right, I think we’ll leave it at that for the time being, Dr Wearing.’

  Surprised, James got to his feet.

  'We'll talk again,' Fitzjohn added.

  ****

  James returned to his office and slammed the door, his hand shaking as he ran it through his hair. He slumped down into his chair, aware of his tenuous situation. When the phone rang, he hesitated before picking up the receiver.

  ‘James Wearing.’

  ‘Ah, James. You are back. Someone said they’d seen you in the building. I want to offer my condolences. This is a terrible thing that’s happened.’

  ‘Thanks, Tristan.’

  ‘Have the police spoken to you yet?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A disconcerting experience, I know. They’ve grilled everyone in the department.’

  The contention that had existed between Alex and Tristan Harrow since their student days surfaced in James’s mind. Was it possible their rivalry had pushed Tristan over the edge? Could he have killed Alex? Reluctant to share with Tristan what had transpired in the last hour, James did not reply.

  ‘Look, I realise you must be in shock but, with what’s happened, there’s been a number of changes I need to fill you in on. Could you drop around to my office, say, in the next half hour?’

  ****

  Reluctantly, James made his way to Tristan Harrow’s office. As he raised his hand to knock, the door opened.

  ‘James.’

  ‘Simon? Simon Rhodes?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘It’s been a long time.’ James took Simon’s outstretched hand and noticed he had not changed a great deal. Now in his forties, his hair silver, he was still a lean wiry man with sharp features and steel-grey eyes. ‘You’re the last person I expected to see.'

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about Alex. He was a brilliant man. If there’s anything I can do, James, please let me know.’

  ‘Thanks, Simon.’

  At that moment, Tristan appeared in the doorway. Simon glanced at his watch. ‘Well, I have a meeting in a few minutes. I’ll give you a call, James. Perhaps we can have lunch.’

  Tristan and James watched Simon disappear along the crowded hallway. ‘I didn’t realise you’d kept in touch with Simon, said James.’

  ‘I didn’t. He contacted me a few months ago when he came back to live in Sydney. He’s shaken by what’s happened. As you know, he and Alex were great friends when we were all students together.’

  Tristan turned back into the room, his tall, slim frame, encased in a pair of brown corduroy trousers and a sloppy dark green jumper. ‘Come in and have a seat.’

  James closed the door and settled into one of the armchairs. Tristan slumped in the one opposite, his thick, wavy brown hair falling across his forehead. He pushed it back impatiently.

  ‘Simon seems to have done well for himself by all accounts. He has a financial consultancy firm in North Sydney, but he’s also in the antique business. I believe he’s opening a shop.’

  James nodded.

  ‘Anyway, I didn’t ask you here to talk about Simon. I wanted to let you know that I’ve been asked to take over Alex’s role as chair of the department until semester two as well as his role as Prehistoric and Historical Honours Coordinator.’ Tristan paused. 'Now, I know what you’re thinking and I admit, Alex and I had our differences from time to time, but I did have the highest regard for your brother. I want to ask your assistance, James. As you will no doubt realise, the added burden with all my own work will be tremendous.’

  James stared at Tristan’s arrogant face and found himself fighting the urge to leave. ‘Of course.’

  Tristan half smiled. ‘I knew I could depend on you.’ As James listened to Tristan’s immediate plans for the future, he decided not to tell him about the missing artefacts. If Tristan had murdered Alex, chances were he already knew. If not, then with Tristan’s attitude toward Alex, he may use the information to discredit him.

  ****

  When their meeting ended, James left the building and, contrary to Fitzjohn’s request, made his way to the Australian Museum to see Edward Sommersby. As he entered the foyer, he was met by the attendant on duty.

  ‘Hello, Dr Wearing.’

  ‘How’s it all going, Liam?’

  ‘Very well. Very well indeed, sir, but I must offer you my condolences regarding your brother.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s very kind.’ Liam, probably in his sixties, James thought, had worked at the museum since his arrival from Ireland as a young man.

  ‘And what can we do for you today, sir?’

  ‘I dropped by to see Dr Sommersby. Do you know if he’s in?’

  ‘Yes, in fact, he’s up there with Mr Rhodes.’ James turned to see Edward Sommersby on the landing of the marble staircase with Simon Rhodes. A tall man, his dark brown hair combed back from his face, Edward cut an imposing figure.

  ‘Thanks, Liam.’

  James waited until Simon had descended the stairs and left before he made his way over to Edward. ‘James.’ James took Edward’s outstretched hand and felt his other hand on his elbow. Edward’s eyes revealed a sincerity rarely seen. ‘I’m so glad you came in. I tried to contact you earlier this morning. I wanted to say how sorry I am to hear about Alex. He’ll be sadly missed.’

  ‘Thanks, Ed. It’s been an alarming twenty-four hours.’

  ‘I can imagine. Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘There is actually. I need your advice on something and also I wanted to talk to you about the artefacts we borrowed through the museum.’

  ‘Oh, I realise you’ve probably had to postpone the open day. Don’t worry about the artefacts, James. I’ll make arrangements to have the loan extended.’

  James shook his head. ‘It’s not that, Ed.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There’s a problem. With the artefacts.’

  Edward frowned. ‘Right, then perhaps we’d better go to my office, where we won’t be disturbed.’

  Edward, in his late thirties, was the youngest director the museum had engaged, his energy and enthusiasm evident in the changes he had made in the last five years. In that time, he and James had became friends and now, James felt Edward was the only person he could confide in.

  When they reached Edward’s office, the door stood open. ‘Take a seat.’ James sat in one of the chairs in front of Edward’s desk. Edward sat down and closed a file that lay open in front of him. ‘Now, what’s the problem?’ he asked.

  ‘The artefacts we borrowed were found missing the morning of Alex’s death, and the events following that discovery have led to them becoming part of the murder investigation.’

  Edward frowned. ‘How?’

  ‘This morning I found the dagger laid out on my desk in a manner that can only be described as ritualistic. Catherine found the ring in Alex’s study at home.’ A look of disbelief crossed Edward Sommersby’s face as James recounted the last twenty-four hours.

  ‘And you believe this Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn
sees you as a suspect?’

  ‘Yes, I do. You see, I have no alibi. No one can substantiate my whereabouts after I left the dinner. If the dagger turns out to be the weapon that killed Alex…’ As his uneasiness grew, James got to his feet and walked over to the window where he stood for a moment before turning back to face Edward. ‘I’ve got to do something.’

  Edward sat back in his chair. ‘I can understand your distress, James, but I don’t see there’s much you can do. Surely the police will see you’ve been set up.’

  ‘And what if they don’t? Once they start asking around about my relationship with Alex, I’m sure you’d agree it’ll only get worse.’

  ‘Mmm. Well, it won’t help. I saw you two at it the other night before the dinner started. What was that all about?’

  ‘Cragleigh. Alex arranged to have a valuer go out there. He also lined up a real estate firm to handle the sale.’

  ‘Even though you hadn’t agreed to sell?’

  ‘Yes.’ James ran his hand through his hair. ‘You know, it’s strange. Alex loved Cragleigh. More than me, I think. I couldn’t believe it when he became so adamant that we sell. And why take the artefacts without clearing it with Miles? It’s so out of character for him.’

  ‘You don’t know that he did.’

  ‘How else would the ring get into his study?’

  Edward nodded. ‘True.’

  James shook his head. ‘If the newspapers get wind of it, I don’t think my father could cope if they started to drag Alex’s reputation through the mud.’

  ‘I know it’s a problem, but you can’t afford to worry about that now.’

  ****

  Minutes later, James left Edward Sommersby’s office only to see Fitzjohn entering the museum. Their eyes met across the foyer, annoyance evident on the Chief Inspector’s face.

  CHAPTER 5

  In the fading afternoon light, James emerged from Waverton station and made his way home along Crows Nest Road, his spirits sagging after the day's events. The grandfather clock chimed the half hour as he opened the front door, its familiar sound inducing some sense of normality to return. He threw the mail on the hall table and made his way into the living room where he poured himself a drink. Taking a gulp, and feeling the whisky's warmth slide down his throat, he sat down heavily into an armchair. As he did so, the usual emptiness returned as he looked around the room, filled as it was with memories of Louise. His eyes caught the photograph of Louise with her friend Edwina Parker on the desk. It had been taken outside the pair's joint venture 'The Gallery', and his mind drifted back to Louise's disappointment when he told her he would not be there for the official opening. James looked away. Claudio was right. He had to move on.

  He put his glass down, left the room and made his way upstairs. When he reached the landing, he took the stairs that led to the attic and Louise’s studio.

  The steps creaked under his weight and cobwebs stuck to his face as he climbed to the top and walked into the room, its air musty and close. James moved to the dormer window, pushed it open and felt a gust of cold night air rush in and with it, the sound of the wind. The temperature in the room dropped and particles of dust flew as the sheet that covered Louise's easel billowed and fell to the floor. At the same time, the attic door slammed. James turned back to the window and pulled it shut. Silence returned.

  He stood for a time, taking in the shadows that moved around him before his eyes came to rest on a painting, dwarfed by the easel on which it sat. It was a small oil painting of a woman’s head and shoulders in a gilded frame. Why would Louise leave such a beautiful painting up here? James picked it up, blew the dust off and looked for the artist’s name. Puzzled when nothing appeared, he tucked the painting under his arm and made his way downstairs. Perhaps Edwina Parker would know of someone who could clean it. When he reached the front hall, he placed the painting on the hall table. As he did so, the doorbell rang. James opened the door to find Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn and his Sergeant.

  ‘Good evening, Doctor. We called in at your office, but missed you. I wonder if we can speak to you again.’

  James, his head still reeling from his earlier encounter with Fitzjohn stepped back from the door. ‘Come through.’ He led the way into the living room and gestured for the two men to sit down. Fitzjohn glanced around as he sat in one of the armchairs opposite the sofa. ‘We don’t plan to stay long, Dr Wearing. We dropped by to let you know that the dagger has proved to be the weapon that killed your brother.’ James stared at Fitzjohn in the silence that followed and the implications of this fact fell into place in his mind.

  ‘Of course, you realise that as the dagger was found in your office, it’ll be necessary to take your fingerprints so as to eliminate them from any others that may be found on the weapon.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Fitzjohn got up from his chair, put his hands behind his back and circled the room before turning back to face James. ‘However, having said that, I think tomorrow will be soon enough.’ Fitzjohn continued pacing and stopped in front of a group of watercolours on the wall above James’s desk. He removed his glasses and looked at them intently. ‘These are impressive, exquisite in fact. Who’s the artist?’

  James felt unnerved by Fitzjohn sudden change of subject. ‘My late wife, Louise. She died two years ago in a car accident.’

  Fitzjohn looked back at James. 'I’m sorry to hear that. Such a loss.' He looked back at the watercolours. 'She had great talent, Doctor.’

  'Is there anything else you wanted to ask me, Chief Inspector?' said James impatiently.

  'There are a few questions, Dr Wearing, the first being whether you have any idea how the dagger got into your office.'

  ‘I have no idea. I’m sure I locked the door when I left for the dinner.’

  ‘Is there a chance you could be mistaken?’

  ‘I suppose there’s always that possibility, but I doubt it.’

  ‘Right. Assuming you did lock the door, who else has access to your office?’

  ‘Two people. Alex who held a master key and, of course, there’s the key registry held by the attendant.’

  ‘I see. Very well, we’ll look into it. Now the other matter is concerning your brother. Dr Trenbath has identified two academics he worked closely with in his current research.’ Fitzjohn looked over to Sergeant Betts, who turned the page of his notebook.

  ‘A Dr Gillespie and a Dr Ross.’

  Fitzjohn looked back at James. ‘Can you think of anyone else he spent time with?’

  ‘Only Ashley Manning. She’s a PhD student Alex has supervised for the past two years.’

  ‘And how did they get on?’

  ‘Fine, I believe. At least I’ve never heard anything to the contrary.’

  ‘How well do you know Ms Manning?’

  James’s thoughts went to his time at the excavation site that past summer and his attraction to Ashley Manning. They had spent many hours working together during his time at the site but, nevertheless, she remained aloof.

  ‘I haven’t had much to do with her other than at the excavation in France that I mentioned to you earlier today, so I wouldn’t say I know her well at all. You might ask Vera Trenbath. She’s the postgraduate co-ordinator.’

  Fitzjohn nodded. ‘We'll do that. There’s just one more thing I’d like to mention, Dr Wearing, and I’ll be blunt. I feel it necessary to impress upon you that I do not appreciate interference in my work, and how important it is that you do not discuss the investigation with anyone. I’m speaking, of course, about your meeting with Dr Sommersby late this afternoon, contrary, I might add, to my advice earlier in the day. I’m sure you can appreciate the task we have before us in an investigation of this type and it’s crucial that investigation isn’t compromised.’ Fitzjohn paused before continuing.

  ‘Do you have any more trips planned for the foreseeable future?’

  ‘In light of what’s happened, no.’

  ‘Good, because I’m sure we’ll want to
speak to you again.’

  Fitzjohn and Sergeant Betts got to their feet. ‘We'll not take up anymore of your time, Doctor. If you’ll just present yourself at the station in the morning, it would be appreciated.’ A polite smile crossed Fitzjohn’s face. ‘Good night.’

  ‘Good night, Chief Inspector.’

  James closed the door behind the two men and returned to the living room, a sense of foreboding taking hold. He walked over to the rain-splattered window and pulled the curtains across, his mind going over the day’s events. He found it hard to believe that Alex would have taken the artefacts from Miles Bennett’s office without telling him. A stickler for rules, it would be so out of character for him. But everything pointed to the fact he had done so. How else would the ring be in his study at home? James slumped down in a chair. Would Alex have confided in Ashley Manning?

  CHAPTER 6

  Fitzjohn and Sergeant Betts emerged from James Wearing’s house and hurried to the car through the rain. Betts started the engine, put the windscreen wipers on, and looked across at a silent Fitzjohn.

  ‘Where to now, sir?’

  Fitzjohn turned to Betts, his glasses spotted with rain. He took them off and wiped them with his handkerchief before glancing at his watch. ‘Well, I suspect it’s too late to seek out that postgraduate student Dr Wearing mentioned. What was her name?’

  ‘Manning, sir.’

  ‘Ah yes, Ashley Manning. We’ll visit Ms Manning first thing in the morning but for now, I think we’ll call it a night, Betts.’

  Betts turned the car lights on and pulled away from the curb.

  ‘I’ll drop you at home, shall I, sir?’

  ‘No. Take me back to the station. I have a few things on my desk to clear up.’

  They drove for a time in silence, Fitzjohn lost in thought.

  ‘What do you think, sir? About James Wearing, I mean,' Betts asked.

  ‘I think he’s making light of the argument he had with his brother the night he died.’ Fitzjohn paused. ‘I believe Alex Wearing’s mere suggestion of the sale of their house in the Blue Mountains angered James Wearing.’

  ‘And it doesn’t sound like an isolated incident, sir. Both Vera Trenbath and Tristan Harrow mentioned the animosity between the two.’