The Charlton Affair

by MJ Doherty

  “Of course.”

  “Darren, have you been able to get that information from Phoebe about Stillman’s inheritance yet?”

  “Not yet, I’m waiting on that missing persons report from police. You know what they’re like.”

  “Damn. That could answer a lot of questions.” Amanda said.

  “I’ll get onto them again.”

  *****

  Senior Sergeant Raj Singh took Sally and Phillips through his examination of Marita Sanchez’s apartment.

  “No hairs. No fingerprints. No fluids. Everything the murderer might have used, cups, plates, glasses, doorknobs, light switches, taps and so on, was wiped clean. Very professional.”

  Sally groaned in disappointment, “No fibers, no shoe prints, nothing on the toilet seat or in the bowl?”

  “Nothing,” Singh confirmed, “Except one fiber. Could be nothing but it comes from the same type of item as the fiber found at the Rawlins house after the assault on Phoebe Rawlins.”

  Sally’s brow furrowed in concentration, “Senior, what did you mean it could be nothing?”

  “If something is mass produced from the same cloth, say, a line of sweaters, and two people buy a sweater…” Singh explained.

  “I see, even though the fiber came from the same cloth, it’s not definite that the same individual was wearing it?”

  “Exactly.” Singh confirmed, “Now the interesting part is there are no signs whatsoever of forced entry. My team checked all the windows and doors for interference. That means she invited the murderer in or the murderer had a key.”

  Sally nodded, “What about the rumpled sheets? Any signs of sexual activity?”

  Singh replied, “If there was, there’s no evidence to support it. As I said, no fluids. That doesn’t mean there wasn’t sex. It just means the murderer used a condom or perhaps engaged in a different type of sexual activity, one that is more easily cleaned away. You really need to speak to the pathologist. There might be something on the body, latex residue or fluids that will answer your question.”

  Singh added, “Whoever did this was as cool as the proverbial. It would have taken a lot of time to thoroughly go over and clean the place. The murderer knew exactly what to do and did a good job of it. I’m pretty sure the place was vacuumed. The vacuum cleaner bag is missing and the vacuum cleaner was wiped down.”

  “Thanks Senior.” Sally said, leading Philips through Headquarters and back to the car.

  Phillips said, “That makes it official. This is the real deal. A calculated killing.”

  Sally agreed with him, “Yup. Sure doesn’t look like most murders, where someone gets upset and does something stupid and then panics and leaves the scene.” Then she said, “I’m going to call Tom Jeffers.”

  “Handy to have a mate working at the morgue,” Phillips replied drily.

  “First rule of being a good detective. Always use your contacts,” she replied, pulling her phone from her suit jacket pocket.

  She dialed the John Tonge Center, asking for Sergeant Jeffers.

  “Tom, it’s Sally.”

  “Hi Sal, long time no chat,” Tom Jeffers replied, in his usual laconic style.

  Sally remembered how laid back he always was. Maybe that’s why he liked working around dead bodies, they were not as demanding as the live ones.

  “I’ve got a favor to ask, Tom.”

  “Somehow I thought you’d say that.” Tom Jeffers chuckled, “The Sanchez murder, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m on Operation Tzar,” Sally replied.

  “So I hear. I know the pathologist on that one quite well. She’s already had an earful from Inspector Marsh.” Tom remarked.

  Sally groaned, “Let me guess? He’s put her off-side and now our results will be last on the list?”

  Tom laughed, replying, “That’s about right, I’d say. Lucky for you she likes me. Must be my incredibly sexy body and good looks.” He chuckled and then said, “I’ll get back to you soon.”

  Sally breathed a sigh of relief as she ended the call, picturing Tom’s receding hairline, beer belly and sharp craggy features. Tom was right about people liking him, though. He was the type that got along with everyone. Looking at Phillips, she said, “At this stage we have a very professional killer.”

  “Who may or may not have been the same person who assaulted Phoebe Rawlins, based on a single fiber.” Philips chimed in.

  “Who knew the victim, or had a key to her place.” Sally added.

  “Who killed her while she was wearing lingerie, leaving behind rumpled sheets and evidence that two people had eaten and been drinking wine in her apartment,” said Phillips.

  “Michael Rawlins denies it,” Sally said.

  “He can’t verify that he was home for the whole of the evening before last, he has a key, and he was having a sexual relationship with her,” Philips said.

  “He has opportunity but no motive. Worse than no motive, he has a motive not to murder her. We’ve never told anyone about the iPad being on a timer. It’s possible he thought she was his alibi for the car computer hacking. Why would anyone kill their alibi?” Sally came back with.

  “If he did the car hack, he would have known it could be done on a timer. He would have known she wasn’t his alibi. There must be another reason he killed her. He’s the only connection we have,” Phillips replied.

  “What if it’s not him?” Sally asked.

  “He had a perfect motive for wanting to kill his wife.” Phillips retorted.

  “Yes, but part of that motive is now dead. A man who’s trying to kill his wife in order to be financially secure with his mistress, doesn’t go and kill the mistress, especially when he’s on bail,” Sally argued.

  Phillips nodded unhappily. Groaning, he replied, “My head hurts.”

  “We’re really missing something here.” Sally said.

  Chapter Twelve

  Phoebe sat at her desk, scrolling through the pages of an internet rentals site looking for an apartment. The search was depressing. Most of the offerings were ugly, in the wrong locations, or worse, had inadequate security. Shutting her browser in frustration, she looked instead at the project she was supposed to be progressing. She felt overwhelmed by how much work was still to be done on it. It was her first week back and she was stuck in catch-up mode. Sighing, she focused and got back to work.

  An hour later, she took a short break. Without realizing it, she found herself staring at a picture of Charlie she had found on the web. Charlie’s gorgeous features filled her screen. Phoebe struggled not to cry as she stared at the subject of her dreams. Her head resting in her hands, elbows on her desk, she allowed herself a moment of self-pity. She remembered how Charlie was able to fill the huge courtroom with her rich voice. She was amazing for such a tiny little thing.

  Phoebe’s secretary discretely knocked on her door, disrupting her reverie. A package had arrived for her, brought by courier that morning. Curious, Phoebe opened it to find certified copies of a Queensland Police Service missing persons report about Stillman Charlton, a letter from Michael’s inheritance investment company and an authority signed by Michael allowing her make whatever inquiries she needed to about the fortune left to him and his brother, by their father, Jefferson Charlton. A change of name certificate also formed part of the bundle, along with her marriage certificate. Darren had carefully put together all of the verification documents she would need to investigate the inheritance, even adding a timeline.

  Phoebe examined the letter from the investment company. The company was based in the United States. In New York City, to be exact. Googling the time in New York, she saw would have to call them at about 5 AM Brisbane time to get them during business hours. She decided to write to them instead, and attach scans of the documents. She was just about to compose an email to them when her mobile telephone rang. Darren Franks’ number came up.

  “Hi Darren,” she answered.

  “Hi Phoebe, how are you going?”

  “Well thanks. I’
m back at work this week so that’s good,” Phoebe replied unconvincingly.

  Darren said, “Yes, so I understand. I called your office this morning before sending you a package. Have you got it?”

  “Yes it just came. Why didn’t you just scan them over?” Phoebe asked.

  “Long story, but I just wanted to make sure you got the information.”

  “I’m just about to email off to the company now and see what they say.”

  “I’m glad I caught you then,” Darren said, “please don’t use email in your communications with anyone about anything to do with the case. I know I sound paranoid but, well, there’s a possibility our emails are being monitored.”

  “What?” Phoebe said, shocked.

  “Like I said, it’s a bit far fetched, but Amanda thinks it’s possible and until we get to the bottom of it, we should stick to phone, fax and snail mail.”

  Phoebe replied, “I suppose it makes sense. The person who tampered with my car must be an IT expert, so why wouldn’t he be hacking other things?”

  “Yes, that’s Amanda’s line of reasoning, too,” Darren replied.

  Phoebe paused for a moment before asking quietly, “How is he?”

  “He’s been to see his psychiatrist, which I understand went well. He has an appointment to see Doctor Briggs coming up soon,” Darren reported. “Apart from that, he’s much as you’d expect.”

  Phoebe sighed, “Unraveling?”

  Darren admitted, “A little.”

  “This is awful,” Phoebe’s voice caught in her throat. “The only time in all the years I’ve known him that he truly needs me and I can’t be there for him.”

  “I’m so sorry, Phoebe,” Darren said, “Maybe once things die down, I’ll see if we can’t make an application to change the bail conditions so he can see you?”

  “Could you? Please?” Phoebe beseeched, “I can’t stand the thought of him having to face all those demons from his past on his own. That would be enough to drive anyone crazy.”

  “A lot will depend on what the police find out about the Sanchez murder, but it might be possible. In the mean time, can you please call me when you get something from the investment company?”

  “Yes, with any luck, I’ll have something tomorrow. I’ll call you then.”

  *****

  Sally’s phone vibrated in her jacket pocket, it was Tom Jeffers. Excusing herself from the meeting with the Inspector, she said, “Sorry sir, I have to take this.”

  Inspector Marsh glared at her as she left the MIR where he was addressing his team in the morning briefing.

  “Hi Tom, got something?”

  “You’re in luck, Sal. You owe me a beer.”

  “I’ll get you a whole carton if this is good, Tom,” Sally replied.

  “I’ll hold you to that, you know,” he laughed. “The pathologist already did some preliminary work when Marsh called her and pissed her off. She didn’t tell him anything, of course. Told him he’d have to wait for her to finalize things.”

  “Yes,” Sally replied eagerly.

  “The upshot is that Sanchez did have sexual intercourse not too long before she died. The man used a condom, leaving latex traces. She died at roughly midnight that evening, give or take a couple of hours. The pathology on that won’t be conclusive until the stomach contents are revealed in the autopsy. It’s scheduled for today, by the way. Nothing on the body at all that identifies another person. Believe it or not, he wiped her down and clipped her nails.”

  “Bloody hell, Tom! This guy really is a pro!” Sally exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Tom agreed, “He killed her with a blunt instrument, striking a blow from an angle that reveals he’s considerably taller than her. He knew where to hit her, too. He crushed her entire basal skull in.”

  “Wait a minute, Tom, how tall does she think this guy is?”

  “At least six feet, probably taller.”

  “Well, that works against my suspect, he’s just under five feet eleven. Although it’s only an inch or so the difference,” Sally mused.

  “She’ll have more precise results about the time of death and the toxicology at the end of the week, she said.”

  “End of the week! That’s a long time to wait,” Sally complained.

  “Tell you what,” Tom offered, “I’ll offer you a premium service, seeing as you’re getting me a whole carton. How about I tee it up for you to sit in on the autopsy? You’ll find out a bit more that way and if she gets along with you, maybe she’ll be less inclined to put this on the back burner.”

  “Wow, thanks, Tom. If you text me when, I’ll be there.” Sally ended the call and went back into the MIR. Marsh was still lecturing his detectives, although he paused to glare at her when she resumed her seat. She ignored him. If it isn’t Michael, she thought, who would have a motive to want to set him up? How does it play out if it’s someone else, the mysterious muscle-bound male? After thinking about it for a little while she was no closer to establishing a motive. Maybe it’s not just about money. It’s almost as if someone is systematically trying to remove the people he loves, and punish him at the same time. Like a cat playing with its prey.

  *****

  Amanda answered her mobile telephone, “Hi Darren, got something?”

  “I just heard from Phoebe Rawlins,” Darren’s voice was full of smugness. It was the tone he reserved for only the best gossip.

  Amanda commanded, “Spill it!”

  “According to Phoebe, Stillman transferred his entire inheritance to another account on the day of his twenty-first birthday. The first day he was legally entitled to take control of it!”

  Amanda released the breath she had been involuntarily holding, “Wow! We know he survived his childhood. This means he could be out there somewhere.”

  Darren replied, “It’s great information, but we have nothing at all on him for the twenty years between then and now.”

  “I know, but now we have somewhere to start. I’ll need the details, but don’t email them over.”

  “I don’t have them. You can just go get them from Phoebe. She’s back at work this week. By the way, this is only the preliminary information. She’s still looking into it, trying to trace any subsequent transactions.”

  “Does she know I’m coming?”

  “Yes, lovie, I told her to expect you.”

  *****

  Phoebe’s secretary knocked on her door, “Phoebe, you have a visitor.”

  Phoebe looked up from her screen, “Amanda Jessop?”

  “Yes. She refused to say what it was about,” her secretary replied huffily.

  “That’s fine, I’m expecting her. Please show her in.”

  Phoebe moved toward the door to greet Amanda, motioning for her to sit down on one of the lounge chairs near a small coffee table in her office.

  Once comfortable, Phoebe related her findings to Amanda, “Darren probably already told you Stillman removed his entire fortune from Maxwell Brothers and Co around twenty years ago.”

  Amanda nodded.

  “Well, they told me unofficially that he transferred them to a bank in the Cayman Islands, the Grand Cayman Banking Corporation.”

  Amanda’s shoulders sank in disappointment, “That’s like the Switzerland of the Caribbean,” she said.

  Phoebe replied, “Then you understand the difficulties. There’s almost no chance of getting information from that or any Cayman Islands Bank using normal channels. The only way it might happen is if there’s a criminal charge laid against Stillman. Even then, they’ll be reluctant to provide any information about a client’s wealth or transactions without the client’s permission. They won’t even tell us if the account is still open.”

  Amanda’s shoulders slumped again, “I guess it’s a dead end, then?”

  Phoebe smiled, “Perhaps not. I have a connection. You might have to leave it with me for a little while.”

  “You know someone in the Cayman Islands?” Amanda asked hopefully.

  “I have a
n agent there who assists my firm in setting up accounts for clients. It’s possible that he might be able to come up with something for us, but I admit, it’s a very long shot.”

  Amanda replied, “It’s all we’ve got at the moment.”

  Phoebe changed the subject, “How’s your investigation going?”

  “I’ve found out more about Stillman and about Michael’s family generally, but now I’m running out of leads,” Amanda replied, frustrated.

  Phoebe asked, “Can you tell me what you’ve found out? Maybe I can help?”

  Amanda replied, “I don’t see what harm it would do, but I’d have to clear it with Charlie first.”

  Phoebe nodded, feeling bitter. Inside she was cursing the bizarre circumstances that had led to the situation. It wasn’t fair that Charlie couldn’t be with her because Michael was her client. If she just went and got a divorce, it might resolve the conflict, but that would mean she had to abandon Michael. She absolutely would not do that to him. She could just imagine what his work colleagues would think if he lost her support, as well as how he would feel. It was not an option. Phoebe was unable to see a way out of the mess.

  She desperately wanted to ask after Charlie, but she knew Amanda was far to smart not to figure it out, if she hadn’t already.

  Amanda looked at Phoebe with keen, probing eyes. Phoebe blushed slightly and then changed the subject. “I was horrified when Darren told me not to use email for anything to do with the case.”

  “Yes, it might be being a bit over the top, but I just can’t see how else he knew Michael’s movements.”

  “I don’t think you’re being over the top. It makes sense that he’d be monitoring emails if he has the skill to do it. I imagine things like that are easy for him?”

  Amanda nodded, “Whoever or wherever he is, I think he’s playing some sort of game.”

  “The whole thing just gives me the creeps. I don’t think it’s about the money, you know. I think it’s about hurting Michael.” Phoebe stated.

  “I’ve been toying with some ideas along those lines. Please tell me why you say that?” Amanda’s voice revealed deep interest.