***
Fitzjohn returned to the study where Betts hovered in the doorway, watching the SOCOs at work. ‘Has anything been found?’ he asked.
‘Only that it appears as though the back of the one remaining photograph on the wall was cut open and possibly searched before being hung back up, sir. Seems to be a strange thing to do since all the rest have been smashed to pieces and the photographs torn up.’
‘Perhaps the frame held what the intruder was looking for but as you say, why hang it up again?’ Fitzjohn thought for a moment. ‘I wonder if it had something to do with the subject matter. Mrs Evans said it’s a photograph of the play’s opening night before Marsha Greenwood’s death. Bag it up, Betts. We’ll take it with us. Anything else?’
‘Only that it looks like the intruder came and went via those french doors,’ replied Betts, gesturing across the room to where several panes of glass could be seen missing around the door handle. ‘Was that Leo Greenwood I heard you talking to?’ he continued, changing the subject.
‘Yes.’ Fitzjohn recounted their conversation. ‘After speaking to Mrs Evans, I doubt there was much love lost between he and his brother especially if you take into account his arrangement this morning for the valuation of his home at such an early stage.’
‘In which case, he must be fairly certain he’s the sole beneficiary,’ said Betts.
‘One would think so if in fact our victim left a will. We’ll speak to his lawyer. Mrs Evans gave me his name. Duncan Blackburn. Find out where he can be reached, Betts.’
‘Yes, sir.’
***
‘I’ve located Duncan Blackburn, sir,’ said Betts as he secured Howard Greenwood’s home before he followed Fitzjohn through the garden to the car. ‘He has offices on York Street in the city. Blackburn & O’Dea, Lawyers. They deal specifically with wills, probate and estates.’
‘Good, we’ll make our way there now.’
***
The two officers entered Duncan Blackburn’s office to the sound of raised voices. ‘Can I help you?’ asked a young woman who sat behind the reception desk, her voice shrill in an effort, Fitzjohn thought, to mask the commotion from behind a closed door.
‘We’re from the police,’ he replied, raising his own voice a decibel as he showed his warrant card. ‘DCI Fitzjohn and DS Betts. We wish to speak to Mr Blackburn in regard to one of his clients.’
‘As you can, no doubt, hear, he’s with clients, Chief Inspector, and I have no idea how long he’ll be,’ replied the woman, flinching with each additional bellow from within.
‘Do you think he’ll come out alive?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘Being an estate lawyer has its drawbacks but he’s survived so far.’
As she spoke the door to Blackburn’s office flew open to reveal a middle-aged couple followed by a woman in her forties. A short, stout, man with a shock of dark hair and a rumpled grey suit followed shortly thereafter. ‘Good day to you Mr and Mrs Perkins, Mrs Braithwaite,’ he called after them, his voice trailing off as the three walked out of the office. As they did so, he became aware of Fitzjohn and Betts.
‘These gentlemen are from the police, Mr Blackburn,’ said the receptionist.
‘Ah! If I’d known you were here, I’d have had you arrest that trio,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Duncan Blackburn,’ he announced, straightening his suit coat before he adjusted his dark rimmed glasses. ‘How can I help you?’
‘We’re investigating the death of a man by the name of Howard Greenwood,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘We understand he’s one of your clients.’
‘He is indeed,’ Chief Inspector. I was saddened to read about the unfortunate circumstances of his death in the newspaper. It makes one wonder what’s wrong with society when a decent man is slain. Come through to my office, gentlemen and hopefully I can assist you.’ Fitzjohn and Betts followed Blackburn into his office. ‘Please, make yourselves comfortable,’ he continued gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk while he picked up an overturned chair. ‘Unfortunately, some of my clients become overwrought when they realise they haven’t been remembered in their loved one’s last will and testament.’
‘Does it happen often?’ asked Fitzjohn as Blackburn sat down at his desk with a sigh.
‘Unfortunately, where money is concerned the hackles come out in, not all, but certainly in some people. Often in those you least expect so it comes as a bit of a shock,’ replied Blackburn. ‘One of the drawbacks to being an estate lawyer,’ he added as he gathered a number of papers on his desk together and placed them in the “Out” tray. ‘Now, concerning Howard Greenwood. I assume you’re here to find out who his beneficiaries are. It’s usually the reason when I get a visit from the police.’
‘It is, as a matter of fact,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘The beneficiaries are one of the factors we have to consider during our investigation even though it may not have anything to do with the victim’s demise.’
‘Indeed, and with that in mind, I had his will released from our safe custody facility. I have it here,’ he continued, taking a file from a different tray.
‘How long has Mr Greenwood been your client,’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘For many years although we only met when he wished to make changes to his will, the last of which was shortly after the death of his wife, Marsha Greenwood. She had been his sole beneficiary and would have inherited the entire estate had she lived.’
‘And now?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘There’s still only one beneficiary,’ said Blackburn, opening the file in front of him, ‘The Chalmaris School of Acting of which Howard was a founding member and in which he has been actively involved for the past twenty-three years. The school will receive all monies, debenture stocks, as well as Howard’s home in Mosman. And I must say, he’s been extremely thorough in his instructions as to how the house is to be used. It’s to become accommodation for interstate and overseas students of the school. If that is not found to be possible due to zoning regulations, the property is to be sold with all proceeds going to buy a property where accommodation for the students is possible.’
‘Did he give a reason for not including his brother as a beneficiary?’ asked Fitzjohn.
‘He did as a matter of fact. He said he felt that after years of bestowing upon him many thousands of dollars, all of which he squandered on misguided business practices, and having no offspring, he wanted his estate to be used for a worthwhile purpose that was close to his heart. Nevertheless, I advised my client that if he failed to include his brother, there was every likelihood he would contest the will. And since he chose not to heed my warning, well, you can call me a cynic if you like, Chief Inspector, but I see a legal battle ahead in which case my client’s last wishes won’t be realised for some time, if at all. There is, of course, one certainty. The legal profession will benefit.’
***
‘After this morning’s incident with Leo Greenwood concerning the sale of his brother’s house, it’s going to come as a shock when he finds out he isn’t mentioned in the will.’ said Fitzjohn as the two officers made their way down in the elevator. ‘I think Mr Blackburn is right in expecting a long, drawn out, legal battle because I can’t see Leo giving up without a fight.’
‘It doesn’t seem like Leo is alone if that incident in Blackburn’s office is anything to go by,’ said Betts. ‘I know money can be a strong motive for murder but for some reason it never occurred to me that an estate lawyer had to deal with such irate clients. No wonder the man’s cynical.’ At that moment Betts’ mobile phone rang and after a brief conversation, he turned to Fitzjohn. ‘That was Williams calling from the Adelphi Theatre, sir. He believes they’ve found the murder weapon. A rolled-up newspaper wrapped in cling plastic. It was found in a garbage disposal unit in the laneway outside the theatre. It’s being taken to forensics as we speak.’
‘A tightly rolled up newspaper can be a devastating weapon?’ said Fitzjohn as they returned to the car. ‘And it fits Charles Conroy’s description. A s
oft object that left microscopic pieces of plastic on the victim’s skin. Let’s hope it is the murder weapon and leads us to our killer.’
***
As the sky darkened in the early evening, Betts pulled into the parking area at the rear of the station and the two officers made their way into the building. ’We’ll speak to Williams as soon as he returns and then we’ll call it a day,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Meg told me this morning that she’s invited you and Sophie for dinner, and I promised I wouldn’t keep you late. And a word of warning, she also made it clear neither of us are to talk shop.’
‘That’ll be difficult with everything that’s happened in the past couple of days,’ said Betts. ‘But don’t worry, you can leave it to me. I’ll buy her flowers on my way over.’
‘Ah! So, you think you can charm my sister, do you?’ Fitzjohn chuckled. ‘Believe me, it won’t work. I know because over the years, I’ve tried.’
‘It takes a certain kind of knack, sir.’
***
Fitzjohn opened the front door and breathed in the aroma of food and heard the sound of female voices as he stepped inside. Obviously, Sophie had already arrived, and Meg appeared to be maintaining the positive change in her manner if their laughter was anything to go by, he thought as he placed his briefcase on the hall table. Of course, Betts will think it’s the result of his charismatic personality but, perhaps that would not be such a bad thing since marrying Sophie means he has many years of Meg to look forward to. So, a positive start to that journey would be best. With a snicker, he started along the hallway towards the kitchen.
‘Hello, ladies, I’m home,’ he called. Reaching the doorway, he found the room empty. ‘Hello?’
‘We’re in the conservatory,’ came Meg’s whispered voice.
‘In the dark?’ asked Fitzjohn, pushing the half-closed door open.
‘We’re observing the goings on next door, Uncle Alistair,’ said Sophie, giving Fitzjohn a peck on the cheek. ‘We didn’t turn on the light because we don’t want to appear nosey.’
‘But you are being nosey,’ said Fitzjohn, straining his neck and adjusting his glasses as he peered through the window and over the hedge into Rhonda’s back garden.
‘Nonsense. We’re merely concerned neighbours wishing to uphold the good standard of the neighbourhood,’ replied Meg. ‘But unfortunately, the way things are going it looks like it’s all downhill from here. And to think that earlier today, I thought Mrs Butler had taken your advice and got rid of the cannabis seedlings because I did see her planting flowers in that garden bed. But that hope drained away when the workmen arrived and started erecting the greenhouse.’
‘Greenhouse!’
‘I’m afraid so. It’s obvious she’s decided to expand her operation.’ Meg squinted into the darkness. ‘You don’t happen to have night vision glasses do you Alistair?’
‘No. It’s not something I have use for,’ replied Fitzjohn surprised at his sister's unusual request.
‘Oh, that’s too bad because I doubt we’ll be able to see much else this evening. I wanted to see whether they’re adding lighting. That would really accelerate the growing process and no doubt ensure the seedlings survival ten-fold.’
‘Mum? I didn’t realise you knew so much about the cultivation of marijuana.’ Sophie turned to Fitzjohn with a questioning look.
Wishing to divert Sophie’s attention from the mystery of her mother’s apparent horticultural knowledge that had the potential to ruin Meg’s new-found favourable manner, Fitzjohn said, ‘I’ll have another word with Rhonda in the morning before I leave for the station and see if I can find out just what’s going on.’
‘Good evening, everyone.’ The three turned to see Betts’ silhouette in the doorway, a spray of flowers in each hand. ‘Why are you in the dark?’ Fitzjohn turned on the lamp in the corner of the conservatory. ‘Flowers for the ladies,’ Betts continued, handing a spray to Sophie with a peck on her cheek before giving a spray to Meg with a wide smile and a slight bow.
‘Oh, how thoughtful of you, Martin,’ said Meg. ‘You’re so sweet. Thank you very much. I can’t remember when I last received flowers. Aren’t you a lucky girl to have such a wonderful fiancé, Sophie?’ she continued as the two women bustled away to put the flowers in water.
‘That got you off on the right footing,’ said Fitzjohn.
Betts raised his eyebrows and grinned. ‘It’s not difficult when you know how, sir.’ Fitzjohn did not reply, happy to let Betts bask in his glory. ‘You didn’t say why you were here in the dark.’
‘Take a look out of the window into Mrs Butler’s garden.’
‘It’s a bit dark to see very much but it looks like a greenhouse under construction.’
‘That’s exactly what it is,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘I daresay the workmen will return tomorrow to complete the job. There’s no law against it, of course, but from Meg’s observations during the day, I suspect Rhonda plans to move the cannabis seedlings inside.’
‘Martin, darling. Alistair. Come along,’ came Meg’s voice from the kitchen. ‘We’re about to start serving dinner.’
‘If you gave her flowers she might call you darling as well,’ said Betts with a smirk.
***
The following morning and after seeing the marijuana seedlings still sprouting in amongst the newly planted flowers, Fitzjohn felt duty-bound to call on Rhonda Butler yet again. He entered her garden just as she emerged from the house wearing a pink dressing gown and a pair of fluffy green slippers.
‘What are you doing here?’ she snapped.
‘Good morning, Mrs Butler. I’m sure you’re well aware of the reason I’m here. It’s because you’ve chosen to ignore my warning about the seedlings.’
‘I’ve told you before, my seedlings are none of your business.’
‘As a police officer, they are my business.’ Fitzjohn paused as his exasperation grew. ‘Look, Mrs Butler, I know we’ve had our problems in the past but nevertheless, I don’t want to see you get into trouble over this issue. Growing an illicit substance is a serious matter.’
Rhonda gave Fitzjohn a scornful look. ‘Get off my property.’
‘Very well,’ replied Fitzjohn, ‘but first I have to advise that if you choose not to heed my warning I’ll have to take the matter further which will mean you’ll face the full force of the law. Good day.’
CHAPTER 11
W ith his morning newspaper tucked under his arm, Fitzjohn emerged from the taxi and made his way into the station. After he acknowledged the constable on duty at the front desk, he released the security door and stepped into the main office area. Immediately, his attention was taken by a tall, heavy-set, man leaving Peta Ashby’s office. Fitzjohn slowed his pace and observed the figure retreat towards the station’s rear entrance. ‘Grieg,’ he whispered under his breath. As he uttered the name, Peta emerged into the hallway and their eyes met.
‘Can I have a word, Fitzjohn?’ she asked.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Fitzjohn followed the chief superintendent into her office.
‘I’ve just had a visitor. Inspector Grieg,’ she said, sitting down at her desk.
‘So I noticed. Did he say what’s brought him back to Sydney?’ Fitzjohn asked, settling himself into a chair.
‘A death in the family, by all accounts. An uncle, I believe. He’s been given compassionate leave to attend the funeral. He says he called into the station to see a few of the old faces.’
‘Well, he’s not without supporters who were willing to do his bidding for favours while he was here as the chief superintendent?’
‘I don’t doubt it. People like Grieg usually do. What worries me, Fitzjohn, is that he might be pulling in some of those favours to make your life difficult. I noticed he spent quite a long time in the incident room with Constable Smithers.’
‘Ah, yes. Smithers was one of Grieg’s more active minions, for want of a better word. Maybe he still is.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that, but I did get
the feeling something is afoot because they were tucked away in there for some time.’ Peta thought for a moment. ‘Is Smithers part of your investigative team into the Greenwood case?’
‘Yes. Betts has him working on the background checks.’ Which, come to think of it, is taking an unusually long time to materialise, Fitzjohn thought to himself. Perhaps Smithers is already in the process of sabotaging the operation.
‘Well, whatever he’s working on, I advise you to watch your back,’ said Peta.
‘I will.’ Fitzjohn got to his feet but as he did so, he hesitated.
‘Is there something else?’ asked Peta.
‘Yes, there is…’ Fitzjohn hesitated and fought back the overwhelming urge to tell Peta how he felt about her. ‘There’s been somewhat of a breakthrough in the case,’ he said at last. ‘We believe we may have found the murder weapon. I’ll keep you posted.’
***
A sense of frustration seared through him as he left Peta and carried on through the station to his office. Why didn’t I just tell her? he asked himself as he opened the door and stepped inside. Because it would compromise what I believe in as far as the smooth running of the station goes and lead to problems in the end, he argued. With a sigh he placed his newspaper and briefcase on the desk and shrugged out of his suit coat before sitting down heavily into his chair. As he did so, Grieg’s reappearance came to mind. Why am I surprised he’s back? After all, he sees me as being responsible for not only his demotion but also his fall from grace and banishment to the farthest reaches of the state. He won’t be satisfied until he has his revenge. As this thought materialised, Betts appeared in the doorway carrying two folders.
‘Ah, morning, Betts. Any news?’
‘Yes, sir. I have Dolores Madden and Simon Roach’s background checks,’ Betts replied, handing Fitzjohn two folders.
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