Rose Scented Murder

by Jill Paterson

  ‘Mmm. I feel responsible,’ said Fitzjohn following Betts’ gaze. ‘It should never have happened. After all, she has no previous convictions other than being a neighbour from hell. Her nephew, of course, is another matter as he organised the cultivation of an illicit drug, albeit with his aunt. Hopefully his age and the fact it is more than likely his first offense will be taken into consideration but nonetheless it’s not a good start for a young life. I only hope he’s learnt a valuable lesson and straightens out. As far as neighbourly relations go however, I can’t see those improving.’

  ***

  Fitzjohn and Betts arrived at the State Theatre on Market Street in the city and after showing their warrant cards, were escorted backstage to Madelaine’s dressing room where the attendant knocked on the door.

  ‘You have visitors, Ms Wells,’ he called out.

  Moments passed before the door flew open and Madelaine appeared, a fan of long feathers emanating from the headdress she wore, her glittering tight fitting costume revealing every curve. ‘What do you want?’ she asked, eyeing the two officers from under long false eyelashes.

  ‘We’d like to speak to you again, if we may, Ms Wells,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘Now? That’s impossible. I have to go on in a matter of minutes.’

  ‘It won’t take long,’ said Fitzjohn with a quick smile. He stepped inside as Betts stumbled on the uneven flooring, his eyes agog as they followed Madelaine’s retreating figure. ‘As I said,’ Fitzjohn continued, eyeing Betts, ‘we wish to speak to you again but this time it concerns our investigation into the death of Dolores Madden. Her body was found in the costume department of the Adelphi Theatre on Wednesday night.’

  ‘Mmm. I heard about it on the news,’ replied Madelaine, sitting down at the dressing table where she began to touch up her makeup. ‘The last time I saw her was on closing night. Wait a minute,’ she said, spinning around on her chair. ‘You aren’t thinking I had anything to do with her murder, are you?’

  ‘We’re making inquiries into who was at the Adelphi Theatre the day she died, and we have a witness who saw you sitting in the auditorium late in the afternoon. Consequently, we’d like you to explain what you were doing there.’

  ‘The simple answer is, I wasn’t there. At that time on that day, I was on my way here for an audition.’

  ‘The Adelphi Theatre is on your way, Ms Wells. Are you sure you didn’t call in?’ Fitzjohn asked.

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  ‘Two minutes, Ms Wells,’ came a voice from the hallway.

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go. I’m due on stage.’ Madelaine grabbed a fan of feathers and after a self-admiring pose in the mirror, glided out of the room.

  Fitzjohn turned to Betts. ‘If you don’t close your mouth you’re bound to catch a fly,’ he said.

  ‘It’s hard to believe she’d be capable of murder,’ said Betts as the door closed on their way out.

  ‘Don’t be deceived by looks and an innocent persona, Betts. She’s an actress after all and well-practiced in playing a role. Most people would find the mere fact of being implicated in a murder worrying at the very least, but she doesn’t show any sign of concern.’

  ‘It could be she’s telling the truth and wasn’t at the Adelphi that afternoon,’ said Betts.

  ‘And yet Simon Roach is convinced he saw her there,’ replied Fitzjohn as the two officers left the theatre and returned to the car.

  ‘But was it her? He could be mistaken.’

  ‘That’s true; he could be.’ Fitzjohn settled himself into the passenger seat while Betts slid in behind the wheel. ‘I think what we need to do before we go any further is consider everything we have concerning both homicides and make a plan for moving forward.’

  ***

  After arriving at the Charlotte Café, the two officers settled themselves at a table in the far corner and moments later, the waiter arrived with two cups of steaming coffee and a large piece of chocolate cake which he placed in front of Betts. Fitzjohn eyed the cake. ‘Is that breakfast?’

  ‘No. I had an egg and bacon roll for breakfast,’ replied Betts. ‘This is just to get me through till lunch. I’m willing to share, though.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you but I don’t want to jeopardise my trimmer look,’ replied Fitzjohn with a satisfied air. ‘It took a lot of sacrifice to get where I am today, not to mention the expense of having all my suits altered down a size. On a more serious note, however, we have a problem if Madelaine Wells is to be believed because it means we no longer have a person of interest in either the Greenwood or Madden homicides, or the attack on Constance Parsons.’

  ‘Well, after some thought, I think Wells did it, sir. She admits she and Howard Greenwood didn’t get along and there are those who believe she and Dolores Madden clashed on a regular basis. Plus, it’s said she coveted Marsha Greenwood’s role in the play before her untimely death.’

  ‘But what threat did Constance Parsons pose?’ asked Fitzjohn

  ‘If we assume that Wells did push Marsha Greenwood down those stairs, she would have seen Constance Parsons as privy to whoever Howard Greenwood believed killed her,’ replied Betts.

  ‘True enough. Everything does lead to Wells, doesn’t it? But there’s something not quite right. I feel it in my bones. Perhaps we should speak to Ms Parsons again. You never know, she might have remembered something.’

  ‘Ah, concerning Ms Parsons, sir, I meant to mention that she’s being released from the hospital sometime today.’

  ‘Well, that’s good news in one sense but it concerns me as far as her safety goes,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘See if you can find out whether she’ll be returning home or staying with her friend, Harriet Flynn. And I hope it’s the latter because with her assailant still on the loose, I don’t want her being left alone.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do, sir,’ said Betts, getting to his feet.

  ‘What about your cake?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘It’s tempting but I’d better not. Sophie’s been reorganising my diet and chocolate cake isn’t on the list. I’ll be in touch later today, sir.’

  ***

  As Betts left, Fitzjohn ordered another cup of coffee and moved to an outside table to enjoy the glimmer of winter sunshine now visible through the clearing sky. As he settled himself, a myriad of thoughts passed through his mind, not the least of which were the investigations of both homicides as well as the unexpected situation he now found himself in.

  ‘You look miles away, Alistair.’ Fitzjohn looked up to see Peta Ashby, ‘May I join you?’

  ‘Yes. Please do.’ Fitzjohn scrambled to his feet unprepared for the surge of overwhelming feelings for her.

  ‘I’m glad I bumped into you because I’ve been concerned,’ continued Peta as she sat down. ‘I know what a distressing situation this must be for you and I want you to know I’m doing everything I can to ensure it doesn’t linger on too long. In fact, I believe you’ll receive a call in the next day or so because the powers that be want to talk to you.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me know. It’s best to be forewarned.’ An awkward silence ensued.

  ‘I haven’t spoken to DS Betts as yet to find out how he’s progressing with the investigations, but I’ll do so later today,’ said Peta, ‘just to see how he’s coping and to let him know he has my support.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,’ replied Fitzjohn, relieved Peta had not walked in to find he and Betts together because it would have put them both in an awkward position.

  ‘It makes it doubly difficult for you, I imagine,’ said Peta. ‘With Betts a part of the family, so to speak. Still, I’m sure he’ll do the right thing and not discuss the cases with you while things are the way they are.’ Fitzjohn did not reply as he wondered if Peta had, in fact, seen Betts leave the café or anticipated there might be collaboration.

  Another awkward silence arose before she said, ‘There’s something else I wanted to speak to you about too, Alistair.’

  ‘
Oh?’

  ‘Yes. I realise it’s not the right time to bring this up but as I value your friendship, I feel I must.’ Peta bit her lip. ‘It’s just that for quite some time before these accusations were made against you, we seemed to be getting along so well. It might be my imagination, of course, but the other day, it seemed as though a door closed. Did I say or do something to upset you?’

  Fitzjohn shifted in his chair. ‘No, you’ve done nothing,’ he replied before his thoughts went back to the speculation amongst those at the station about their relationship. ‘At the time, I daresay I was just distracted by the investigations, that’s all,’ he added, looking down at his empty cup as he fiddled with the teaspoon before he looked up again and met Peta’s intense gaze. ‘Actually, that’s not true. To be honest, I became aware that you and I were a source of rumour and a wager within the station.’

  ‘Concerning what?’

  ‘Our presumed…’

  As Fitzjohn spoke, Peta’s mobile phone rang. ‘I beg your pardon, Alistair, I have to take this. Ashby. Yes, of course. I’m on my way.’ Peta hung up and turned back to Fitzjohn. ‘I have to go. There’s been an incident at the station. I hope we can resume our conversation soon.’

  Unsettled by their unexpected encounter and aware he had been on the verge of making his feelings known despite his earlier decision not to, Fitzjohn watched Peta leave the café. Perhaps the interruption was just as well, he thought, since I’m going behind her back and continuing on with my investigations, regardless of my suspension.

  ***

  Downcast that he had gone behind Peta’s back and with a heavy heart since his feelings for her must remain unsaid, Fitzjohn left the café, making his way home through the leafy suburb as the sun once again disappeared behind a slate grey sky. Inevitably, his thoughts turned to the investigations and the possibility that the murders could remain unsolved and leave Constance Parsons in a perpetual state of peril. This sense of consternation continued for the remainder of the day as he waited to hear from Betts.

  ‘What is wrong with you, Alistair?’ asked Meg as she watched him pace the conservatory floor. ‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?’

  Fitzjohn stopped his pacing and turned to face his sister. ‘What did you just say, Meg?’

  ‘I said, you haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying,’ Meg replied with a degree of exasperation.

  ‘But that’s it,’ declared Fitzjohn triumphantly. ‘It was something she said. I heard it but for some reason, it didn’t register until now. Meg, you’re marvellous.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so even although I haven’t a clue why,’ said Meg with a worried look. ‘I don’t want to upset you, Alistair, but you’re not making much sense. It might be a good idea to speak to your doctor. You never know, your suspension could have affected you more than you realise. Perhaps I should ask Martin to phone back later.’

  ‘Is he on the phone?’

  ‘Yes. That’s what I came in here to tell you.’ Meg handed Fitzjohn his mobile.

  ‘Hello Betts. Were you able to find out what Constance Parsons’ plans are when she leaves the hospital?’ he asked as his sister left the room.

  ‘Yes, sir. I spoke to Harriet Flynn and she assures me Ms Parsons will be staying with her for her convalescence and until the killer has been apprehended. She’s picking her up from the hospital later this afternoon.’

  ‘That’s good news, I’m pleased,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘And what about the roses? Anything yet?’

  ‘So far we’ve drawn a blank, sir, with no avid gardeners in sight. We’ll keep trying. By the way, have you remembered what your bones are trying to tell you?’

  ‘You mean what was causing that feeling in my bones. There is a difference, Betts, and I have, as a matter of fact. It’s something Stephanie Mowbray said when we interviewed her at the station. You can verify it by listening to the tape but I’m sure she didn’t refer to what happened in the Adelphi Theatre on that Wednesday night in the singular but in the plural, inferring there was more than one incident.’

  ‘Meaning only the killer would know.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get onto it, sir, and I’ll be in touch.’

  CHAPTER 18

  C onstance emerged from the hospital into the drizzling rain to find Harriet waiting for her beside the car. ‘Thank you for coming out on such a miserable day,’ she said as she pulled her coat collar up against the wind, her voice still unsteady after her ordeal. ‘I do appreciate it as well as your invitation for me to stay with you again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ replied Harriet, opening the car door.

  ‘Be that as it may, I still have my doubts it’s a good idea with Howard’s killer still on the loose,’ replied Constance as she settled herself into the passenger seat. ‘I’d never forgive myself if something were to happen to you.’

  ‘Nothing is going to happen to either of us,’ replied Harriet in a matter of fact way as she slid into the driver’s seat.

  ‘I wish I had your confidence, but I think I lost it when I woke to see those roses at my bedside. It’s an indication I’m still a target.’

  ‘I realise how terrifying it must have been for you, Constance,’ said Harriet, pausing before she turned the ignition. ‘Let’s get you home and into the warmth. I’m sure it’ll help you to feel a little better. I laid a fire before I left. There’s nothing better than a blazing fire in the hearth on a cold, wet day, is there?’

  Little was said as the two women drove through the rain filled streets, Constance lost in her thoughts while Harriet felt concern for her dear friend. She gave a sigh of relief when her old Victorian home came into view, its steep imposing roofline and many gables shadowed by the low-hanging mist giving an air of mystique. Harriet led the way along the garden path to the wide porch and unlocked the front door. Ushering Constance into the living room, she struck a match and lit the fire. Moments later, flames curled and flickered around the logs, adding to the room’s ambiance as the flames took hold and sent warmth and light into the room.

  ‘I did plan to offer you a cup of tea as soon as we arrived,’ said Harriet as Constance settled herself into an armchair in front of the fire, ‘but I’ve changed my mind. You look like you could do with something a little stronger. A good stiff brandy perhaps?’

  ‘That would be perfect.’

  Moments later, Harriet returned carrying two brandy glasses with a good measure of the clear amber fluid in each. Constance sat back and stared into the flames as she took her first sip, feeling the warmth of the liquid in her throat. She flinched at the sudden ring of the doorbell and gave Harriet a fearful look.

  ‘Just drink your brandy and enjoy the fire while I see who that is,’ said Harriet, getting to her feet.

  ‘Perhaps we should both go,’ replied Constance.

  ‘That won’t be necessary. It’s more than likely one of my neighbours. After all, killers don’t ring doorbells, do they? With that, Harriet disappeared into the front hall and could be heard opening the front door.

  ‘Harriet? Is everything all right?’ asked Constance after a long silence followed. When no reply came, she got to her feet and made her way out into the hallway.

  ‘They were lying on the doorstep,’ said Harriet, her face drained of colour, her arms holding a spray of long-stemmed red roses.

  ‘The killer knows I’m here,’ said Constance.

  ‘I think we should call the chief inspector,’ said Harriet, ignoring Constance’s remark.

  ***

  Both Constance and Harriet hovered at the living room window in expectation of the chief inspector’s arrival. When a taxi pulled up in front of the house, they both tensed until Fitzjohn’s figure could be seen emerging.

  ‘That’s odd. I didn’t realise the police used the taxi service to make house calls,’ said Harriet.

  ‘Neither did I,’ replied Constance. ‘It must be a sign of the times. Still, it doesn’t really matte
r how he got here, does it? I’m just glad he’s finally here. I’ll go let him in.’

  ‘Chief Inspector. I can’t hide the fact I’m glad you’re here,’ said Constance as she opened the front door and ushered Fitzjohn inside. As he stepped in, he eyed the spray of roses on the hall table. ‘They were left on the doorstep,’ she continued. ‘By the time Harriet answered the door, whoever left them was gone, I’m afraid. A waste of your time really in the scheme of things.’

  ‘Not in the least, Ms Parson. I’m glad you called to let me know. It’s imperative we record every step this predator takes.’ The chief inspector paused. ‘I know it’s disconcerting for you that your whereabouts are known.’

  ‘But not surprising,’ replied Constance. ‘Whoever it is seems to be able to find me wherever I am.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with DS Betts and see what form of protection can be arranged for you both. I’ll also ask him to attend so he can view the situation for himself.’ The chief inspector hesitated. 'I say that because recent events dictate that I’m no longer involved in the investigations into either the Howard Greenwood or Dolores Madden cases.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,’ replied Constance. ‘You have a way of instilling a certain amount of assurance in one that everything will be all right in the end.’

  ‘It still will be, Ms Parsons, because I have every confidence in DS Betts. He’s a fine officer. I’ll give him a call now and I’ll stay with you both until something has been arranged.’

  CHAPTER 19

  F itzjohn sat back in his chair in front of the fire. ‘Are you sure you won’t have a brandy while you wait for back-up, Chief Inspector?’ asked Harriet.

  ‘Really, Harriet, you’ve been watching far too many crime shows,’ said Constance. ‘One only needs back-up when one is facing armed criminals of which we’re not.’

  ‘That’s very kind, Ms Flynn but I think it’s best I stick to coffee,’ replied Fitzjohn with a smile.