Rose Scented Murder

by Jill Paterson

  ‘Another?’

  ‘Yes. Dolores Madden’s body was found late last night along with another woman who is clinging to life in the hospital.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Did you know Dolores Madden was still in the building? Is that why you returned?’

  ‘No. I didn’t know she was still there when I locked up, I swear. I found out when I went back in to get my jacket. I heard a noise and went to investigate. I found her in the costume department. I told her I was closing up and she’d have to leave but she begged me to let her stay for a while. In the end, I gave in and let her have a key and asked her to promise to lock the door when she left. I swear she was alive when I left her.’ His face was pale, and he ran his hand through his thinning hair. ‘Look if this gets out, I’ll lose my job with the security company.’

  ‘I think that’s the least of your problems right now,’ muttered Smithers under his breath.

  Ignoring Smithers’ snide remark, Fitzjohn asked, ‘How long were you in the costume department with Dolores, Mr Bennett?’

  ‘Ten minutes or so. I think she wanted someone to talk to because she was upset about the theatre’s closure.’ Bennett looked Fitzjohn in the eye. ‘I didn’t kill her, Chief Inspector. You’ve got to believe me.’ His hand shaking, Bennett grabbed a cigarette from the pack on the small table next to his chair and put it between his lips, trying to steady his hands as he lit up.

  ***

  ‘If I were Bennett, I wouldn’t be worrying about my job, I’d be more concerned with being charged with murder,’ said Smithers as the two officers emerged from the house.

  ‘But you’re not Mr Bennett, Smithers, and whatever your thoughts are on the matter, it’s less than professional to voice them while conducting an interview,’ replied Fitzjohn as they reached the car.

  ‘Well it seems to me that either Bennett or Roach killed Dolores Madden,’ replied Smithers, disregarding Fitzjohn’s comment.

  ‘You’re forgetting means, motive and opportunity,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Bennett had the opportunity, but we would have to connect the murder weapon to him, not to mention his motive for the killing. And as far as Roach is concerned, we’re yet to determine whether he was still in the building. It all takes time, Smithers. You can’t hurry these things. After all, you might incriminate the wrong person.’ Doubting that anything he said would penetrate the apparent superior nature of Smithers’ disposition, and considering his presumed alliance with Grieg, Fitzjohn fell silent, disinclined to discuss the case further.

  ‘Are we going to speak to Simon Roach now?’ asked Smithers as he merged the car into the traffic.

  ‘No. I want to look in on the search that Senior Constable Williams is conducting on Dolores Madden's apartment.’

  ***

  The two officers arrived at Dolores’ apartment building a short time later. In stark contrast to the previous premises they had attended, Dolores’ abode was contained in a relatively small and neat complex which had been enhanced by a leafy garden. On entering the building, Fitzjohn, followed by Smithers, climbed the stairs to the landing above to find her apartment door open.

  He stepped into the living room amid the team of police officers conducting the search and, despite its small space, it became obvious that the costume director had held dear her years in the theatre. With a host of posters depicting past plays performed at the Adelphi displayed on the rose-coloured wall to the right, the vision of memorabilia continued on the opposite wall with a collage of photographs taken throughout its history. Leaning forward over the sofa, its surface a mass of brightly coloured cushions, he studied each snapshot of past and more recent performers, along with others vital to each production. As he did, he looked for a likeness of the victim, Howard Greenwood. Not surprisingly, he thought, Dolores chose not to display a photograph of the man who had, on so many occasions, threatened to have her dismissed. As this thought crossed his mind, he found Smithers at his side.

  ‘How anyone could live in the midst of this clutter is beyond me,’ he said, running his critical eye around the room. ‘I’m a minimalist myself.’

  ‘We each have our own preferences when it comes to décor,’ said Fitzjohn, ‘and besides, we’re not here to pass comment or to judge Ms Madden’s living arrangements, we’re here merely in our capacity as police officers to conduct our investigation and I suggest you do just that.’ As Smithers flounced off towards the kitchen, Fitzjohn made his way to the apartment’s master bedroom where he found Senior Constable Williams.

  ‘Have you found anything at all that could be relevant to the case, Williams?’ he asked.

  ‘Not yet, sir.’

  ‘Very well, carry on,’ replied Fitzjohn as he turned to take in the room. Again, its décor inspired a certain warmth with its colourful cushions, a bright blue shawl resting on the bed while multihued scarves were hung on hooks and laid across an armchair in the corner. The open closet door revealed an array of vibrant coloured gowns while shoes were neatly stored on the closet floor. Even the glass in the window that overlooked the street below had not escaped Dolores’s embellishment with stars of various dimensions stuck to the glass. No doubt clothes and their accessories were an important part of Dolores Madden’s existence, he thought, as noticed a number of leather handbags all but filling a large basket against the far wall. Fitzjohn bent to examine them until he heard Williams call out.

  ‘It looks like we have something here, sir, hidden underneath the bed.’

  As Williams spoke, one of the officers in the room pulled a briefcase out, the lid falling back to expose rows of bank notes held tightly together with rubber bands.

  ***

  Reluctant to discuss what had been unearthed in Dolores Madden’s apartment, or the possible implications it might have on the case, Fitzjohn steered the conversation to what Smithers’ hopes and aspirations were concerning his career in the police force. Given the opportunity to talk about himself, Smithers responded with enthusiasm until he turned the car into the parking area at the rear of the station.

  ‘Thank you, Smithers,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘I hope today has given you an inkling into what you can expect if you decide to embark on a career as a detective. I’ll let you know if I need anything further from you.’

  ‘I thought I’d do a background check on Gordon Bennett, sir.’

  ‘Thank you but I need to consult DS Betts on the matter first. He’s due back shortly so if we decide to go ahead, you’ll be advised.’ Fitzjohn gave a quick smile and continued on into the station, a feeling of relief that he had at least satisfied the man’s request to play a part in the investigation. Now that had been accomplished, he need not have anything more to do with him. Opening his office door, he entered and switched on the light. At the same time, Betts appeared behind him in the doorway.

  ‘Ah, how did the examination go?’ asked Fitzjohn as he shrugged out of his suit coat and settled himself into his chair.

  ‘I think it went well, sir. Now I just have to wait to hear whether or not I’m found eligible for placement on the promotion list.’

  ‘You meet all the criteria, so I’m confident you don’t have anything to worry about,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘What’s this?’ he continued as Betts placed a folder on his desk before he sat down.

  ‘It’s the background check on Stephanie Mowbray, sir. I’ve read through it and it’s as she said, she and Howard Greenwood met while they were at acting school almost twenty-five years ago. What she didn’t mention, however, is that at the time they were engaged.’

  ‘Ah, so they were romantically involved. I wonder what happened to alter that.’

  ‘Marsha happened, sir, the victim’s now deceased wife. She arrived at the school in the second semester and, not long after her arrival, Howard broke off his engagement to Ms Mowbray.’

  ‘So that might explain the real reason Stephanie Mowbray decided an acting career was not for her. Instead, she pursued dress designing.’

  ‘It could be although it s
eems that she never lost touch with the victim. In fact, she eventually became his wife’s favoured dress designer and friend,’ said Betts.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought that would have been easy for her under the circumstances but perhaps with the passage of time she realised their relationship wouldn’t have worked. Did she ever marry?’

  ‘No, sir.

  ‘Mmm. Well, with that situation in mind, I think there’s good reason she remains a person of interest in Howard Greenwood’s murder with her motive being one of jealousy after he slighted her.’

  ‘But surely she wouldn’t still hold a grudge after so much time,’ said Betts.

  ‘You wouldn’t think so but it is possible. People have been known to hold a grudge for a lifetime and remember, revenge is best served cold.’

  ‘But if that’s how she really felt, I don’t see how she could hide it from the victim or his wife, sir.’

  ‘She may or may not have been successful at doing that, but it wouldn’t matter. As we know, Howard Greenwood thought his wife had been murdered. I believe he would keep anyone he thought could be her killer closeby until he was ready to reveal who it was. And as far as Stephanie Mowbray is concerned, the situation would have suited her if she is, in fact, his killer. We also need to speak to her again to find out where she was at the time of Madden’s murder.’

  ‘How did everything go with Smithers?’ asked Betts. ‘I know you weren’t keen on working with him.’

  ‘It went okay. We attended the search of Dolores Madden’s apartment and he accompanied me when I spoke to the security guard, Gordon Bennett, so I think that satisfied his wish to participate in the investigation. He did suggest he do a background check on Bennett, but I’d sooner not include him in any additional work on the case.’ Fitzjohn caught Betts’ questioning look but chose not to carry the subject further.

  ‘Was anything found in Madden’s apartment that will help our case?’ asked Betts.

  ‘As a matter of fact there was. You said Dolores Madden’s background check revealed she wasn’t flushed with money and yet we found thousands of dollars stashed away in a briefcase under her bed, of all places. No doubt from ill-gotten gains otherwise it would surely be in her bank account.’ Fitzjohn’s thoughts went back to witnessing Dolores rifling through the dresser in Howard’s dressing room and thinking she was pilfering when he noticed her slip something into her pocket. ‘The question is, how did she come by the money?’ he continued. ‘Hopefully the lab will come up with a clue.’

  ‘And as far as Bennett is concerned, I didn’t mention it at the time but the reason I was anxious to speak to him is because yesterday, while you were meeting with the headmaster, he happened to mention that Simon Roach had returned to the theatre that afternoon to take photographs of the auditorium. Consequently, since this latest murder I asked him whether he saw Roach leave again. He didn’t.’ Fitzjohn recounted the remainder of his conversation with Bennett. ‘We already know Simon Roach had a strong motive where Howard Greenwood’s murder is concerned in being threatened with ruin if he carried on with his lawsuit in relation to the plagiarism of his play. If he knew about Howard’s memoir, as I suspect he did, it could have been the catalyst that sent him over the edge, believing Howard might twist the truth and blacken his reputation.’

  ‘In which case, as he was witnessed entering the theatre yesterday afternoon, it lends itself to the possibility that the target was Constance Parsons, and Dolores Madden just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ said Betts.

  ‘It’s possible because if he knew about the writing of the manuscript he might also have known Howard had employed a ghost writer.’ Fitzjohn thought for a moment. ‘Of course, there’s also the possibility that, since the stage door was left unlocked while Bennett was in the building, someone else entered while he was talking to Madden in the costume department. Pure speculation, but that someone could have been there concerning the money found in her apartment. See what else you can find out about Madden’s life in general, Betts. Talk to the cast and crew again and those she liaised with about costumes. But for now, let’s speak to Simon Roach again.’

  ***

  It was late in the afternoon when the two officers arrived in Cremorne and parked their car outside Simon Roach’s home. Fitzjohn looked out through the passenger window at the century old recently restored house, its decorative leadlight windows and wide corner veranda lending a welcoming old-world charm. The front door opened as they approached through the garden.

  ‘Mr Roach, you no doubt remember we spoke the other day,’ said Fitzjohn as Roach stood in the doorway. ‘We’d like to have another word if we may.’

  ‘I was just on my way out, but I can spare a few minutes, I guess,’ replied Roach, gesturing to the wicker chairs on the wide veranda as he closed and locked the front door. ‘I doubt, however, I can tell you anything more about my recollection of the after-show party,’ Roach continued as he sat down with a confident air.

  ‘We’re not here about that, Mr Roach,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘We’re here regarding your whereabouts late yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘My whereabouts? Can I ask why?’

  ‘Because there have been two more incidents at the Adelphi Theatre in the last twenty-four hours. A homicide and an attack causing grievous bodily harm.’

  ‘You’re not serious.’ Roach grimaced. ‘Do I know these people?’

  ‘Dolores Madden whose body was found along with another woman by the name of Constance Parsons. She’s been hospitalised and not expected to live.’

  ‘I know of Dolores. I think I mentioned to you previously that Howard had a particular dislike for her.’

  ‘And the other woman?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Parsons. The name rings a bell. Ah, yes, I know. Isn’t she the writer who was helping Howard with his book?’

  ‘So you knew about that?’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘Yes, but not through Howard. He never mentioned it but it appeared to be common knowledge around the theatre.’ Simon paused. ‘I still don’t know why you’re here questioning me.’

  ‘We’re here because we’re led to believe you entered the Adelphi Theatre at approximately four o’clock yesterday afternoon.’ Roach glared at Fitzjohn. ‘Is that so?’ asked Fitzjohn when Roach did not reply.

  ‘Well, yes. I went there to take photographs of the auditorium. I thought it was an opportunity to get some good shots before the place is pulled down. Look, I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with what happened.’

  ‘How long were you there?’ asked Fitzjohn, ignoring Roach’s comment.

  ‘I don’t know - half an hour or so.’

  ‘Was photography your only reason for being there?’ Roach swallowed hard. ‘Was it?’ asked Fitzjohn again.

  ‘Yes, of course it was.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Again, Roach did not reply. ‘This is a murder investigation, Mr Roach so it is in your best interest to answer our questions truthfully.’

  Roach cleared his throat before he said, ‘It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Well, we’ll try if you explain,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Take your time. We’re in no hurry.’

  Roach hesitated, a look of exasperation across his face. ‘All right, if you must know, it was to do with a lawsuit I’m bringing against Howard, although now it’ll be against his estate. It’s a case of plagiarism. He stole my work and I want recompense.’ When no response came from Fitzjohn, Roach said, ‘It’s true. You can speak to my lawyer if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘Even though you’ve sought legal action, it still doesn’t explain your reason for going to the theatre,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘That’s true, I suppose, and I can’t really explain why I did other than the fact I tend to be pedantic. I wanted to make sure copies of the play he’d plagiarised hadn’t been left lying around in his dressing room.’

  ‘Did you find anything?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘No.’

  �
��While you were at the theatre, did you see anyone else other than the security guard?’ Roach’s eyes darted between the two officers. ‘Did you?’ Fitzjohn asked again.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I did. Despite what you might think, I did take photographs of the auditorium and that’s when I saw her.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Fitzjohn, his interest piqued.

  ‘Madelaine Wells. She was sitting in the auditorium when I walked onto the stage. At least I think it was her. It was only for a second, mind. When I looked again, she’d gone.’

  ‘What time would that have been?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘It wasn’t long after I’d arrived. Just after four, I’d say. Before I went to Howard’s dressing room.’

  ‘So, you took photographs of the auditorium and searched the dressing room, after which you left the theatre.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Approximately what time did you leave?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Around four-thirty.’

  ‘Did you speak to the security guard before you left?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t around.’

  ‘And where did you go after that?’

  ‘I came straight home.’

  ‘Is there anyone who can confirm what time you arrived here?’

  ‘I doubt it unless one of my neighbours happened to see me. I think I mentioned to you before that I live here alone.’

  ***

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Betts as the two officers left Simon Roach and returned to their car.

  ‘On the two occasions we’ve spoken to Mr Roach, he’s mentioned seeing Madelaine Wells,’ replied Fitzjohn as he slid into the passenger seat. ‘The first time in the laneway as he left the theatre after the farewell party and the second, last night when he went into the auditorium to take photographs. Of course, if he is the killer, he could be lying in an effort to steer us in the wrong direction. Either way, we need to speak to Wells to ascertain where she was around four o’clock yesterday.’