ONCE UPON A LIE (A Fitzjohn Mystery) (8 page)

‘Oh, Esme. 
I wish you’d phoned me.  I could have driven you there.’

‘
I suppose you could. I never thought.  It was one of those spur of the moment things.’  Esme sat thoughtfully.  ‘Poor Michael.  What a dreadful thing to have happen to him.’  They both sat for a few moments in silence.

‘
I can’t understand why Michael came back from the winery early,’ said Charlotte, at last.  ‘He told me on Friday morning that he planned to spend the whole weekend there.’

‘
Really?  Well, that’s unusual in itself, isn’t it.  He never liked spending more than a day at a time at the winery.  He said the place reminded him of your mother.’

‘I
t did, but this weekend he had a specific purpose in mind,’ said Charlotte.  ‘He was having Five Oaks Winery listed on the property market.’

‘
Selling the winery
?’  Esme slumped back in her chair.  ‘And were you happy about that, Charlotte?  After all, the place is half yours.’

‘No
, I wasn’t, but I couldn’t afford to buy Michael out so I didn’t have any choice but to go along with it.  He wanted the money to finance the take-over of his business in Rushcutters Bay.  He wanted, his partner, Nigel Prentice, out.  But I think he had another reason as well.  I think he saw selling the winery as a way for him to deal with Mum’s death.  You know what difficulty he had accepting what happened to her.  The winery was just another reminder.  Her influence was everywhere.’

’
Mmm.  You could be right,’ said Esme.  ‘He never did get over your mother’s death.  Perhaps it had something to do with her being his twin.’

‘
I don’t know,’ said Charlotte, ‘but what I do know is, we all had difficulty at the time, and it irritated me that Michael went on so about it.  It only made things worse.’  Esme patted Charlotte’s hand.  ‘Anyway, Esme, let’s get back to what matters now.  Are you all right, and was anything taken in the home invasion?’

‘
I’m fine, dear, but it’s hard to tell whether there’s anything missing.  The room’s in such a mess.’

‘Well, when the police ha
ve finished I’ll help you put it right.  And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay with you for a few nights.  I don’t like the thought of you being here on your own.’  Charlotte smiled.  ‘I know if I ask you to come and stay with me you’d say no.’

‘
You’re right.  I would.’  Esme smiled.  ‘I know I’m incorrigible, but I do like to sleep in my own bed.  Having you stay, however, would make me feel easier.’

‘
Good.  Then that’s settled.’  Charlotte looked at her watch.  ‘It’s a bit late in the day now to fetch my things so I’ll do that in the morning.’

CHAPTER
9

The sparrows, splashing in the birdbath
, did not distract Fitzjohn as he surveyed his garden early the next morning.  They only added to his pleasure along with the flowerbeds yielding an abundance of colour and fragrances.  Lamenting the fact he could not spend his Sunday morning pottering in this peaceful place, Fitzjohn turned and made his way back in to the house.  As he did so, he heard his niece’s voice as she came through the front door.

‘
Hello, anybody home?’  When she reached the kitchen doorway, Sophie stopped.  ‘Oh, hello, Uncle Alistair.  It looks like you’re ready to go out.’

‘Duty calls
, I’m afraid.’  Fitzjohn adjusted the handkerchief in the breast pocket of his suit coat.  ‘But to what do I owe this surprise visit so early on a Sunday morning, young lady?’

‘
I came to borrow a thermos.  I seem to remember seeing one in your laundry cupboard when I was house-sitting last month.’

‘
I didn’t know I had a thermos,’ said Fitzjohn.  ‘Your Aunt Edith took care of all that kind of thing.  But you’re welcome to look.  Are you going on a picnic?’

‘No,
Uncle.  I’m going to a sit-in at the university.  I want to take a hot drink along in case we’re there all night.’  Fitzjohn’s eyes narrowed.  Since his sister, Meg, had allowed Sophie to continue her university studies in Sydney rather than Melbourne, Fitzjohn had felt a certain sense of responsibility toward his young niece.  He also sensed that the move was Sophie’s way of escaping her mother’s overbearing grasp.  Could he blame her?  Ever since Edith’s death, he had experienced that overbearing grasp first hand.

‘What
kind of sit-in is it, Sophie?  You know that sort of thing can turn ugly.’

Sophie smiled. 
‘You don’t need to worry, Uncle Alistair, it’s just a campus matter to do with one of the libraries.’  Sophie made a quick exit in to the laundry room, and amidst the clatter of her emptying the cupboard, Betts arrived.

‘I tho
ught you might like a lift, sir.’  Betts looked around as another crash sounded. ‘What’s that?  Mice?’

‘No
, it’s Sophie.  She’s looking for something in the laundry.’  Fitzjohn moved over to the kitchen table and commenced placing papers in to his briefcase.  Just then, Sophie reappeared, her face lighting up when she spied Betts.

‘Oh,
Martin.  Just the person I wanted to see.  I’ve just this minute found your running shoes in the laundry cupboard.  The ones that got soaked the night you helped me with the greenhouse.’

F
itzjohn eyed Betts suspiciously as Sophie darted back in to the laundry, and reappeared with the shoes.  She handed them to Betts.

‘Did you find the thermos
, Sophie?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘Not yet, but I’m sure it’s there.
’

‘Then lock
up when you leave and mind what I said.  Sit-ins can get ugly.’

‘
I will, Uncle Alistair,’ she answered while smiling at Betts.  ‘It’s lovely to see you again, Martin.’

Carrying his shoes,
Betts looked back over his shoulder and smiled as he and Fitzjohn left.

‘
I thought I made it clear that my niece is off limits, Betts,’ said Fitzjohn when they reached the car.

‘You did, sir
.  And it is… clear, that it.’

‘Then can you tell me why
you were here, with Sophie, while I was away in England?  And why your shoes were in my laundry cupboard.’ Fitzjohn glared at Betts over the car roof.

‘
I came over to help Sophie with the greenhouse.  I must have left my shoes... behind.’  Betts’s voice tapered off.  ‘It’s not the way it sounds… exactly.  You see, while you were away, we had a storm.  A bad storm.  Hail stones, the lot.  One of the panes of glass in your greenhouse broke and Sophie rang and asked me if I could fix it.’

‘And you said yes?
  What do you know about installing glass?’

‘I don’t
, and I didn’t.  I just sealed it up with green garbage bags and masking tape until Sophie could get someone out to replace it the next day.  She was concerned about the orchids, sir.  She had visions of them all being destroyed by the time you got home.’

‘That doe
sn’t explain why you left your shoes behind.’

‘Oh, I can explain
that too, sir.  You see, they got soaked while I was out there putting the plastic over the break in the glass.  Later, I took them off while Sophie made me a hot drink.  She gave me a pair of yours to wear home.’

Fitzjohn grimaced. 
‘You
wore
a pair of my shoes?  A better question.  How did you manage to get your large feet in to a pair of my shoes?’

‘
It wasn’t easy,’ said Betts. ‘In the end, I gave up and Sophie gave me a pair of your rubber boots.  A green pair.  I’ve still got them.  I’ll return them tomorrow.’

‘
See that you do, Sergeant.’  Skeptical that he had been told the whole story, but at the same time amused, Fitzjohn got in to the car.  ‘Be warned, Betts.  Sophie is far too young for you.  She’s barely twenty years old.’

‘
You’re right, sir.  She is.  Too young.  For me, that is.’

‘Good, I’m glad you agree.  Now, I want to turn our attention to
Michael Rossi’s solicitor.’  Fitzjohn pulled his seat belt on.

‘Before we do, sir,
a couple of things have turned up.  Firstly, other than the phone calls that we know Michael Rossi received on the day of his death, he also received one from his estranged wife, Stella Rossi.  And judging from the time of the call, he would have just arrived back in Sydney.’

‘So, we can dismiss the idea that her call had any bearing on him leaving the winery earlier than planned.  What else, Betts?’

‘I ran a check on Pierce Whitehead, sir.  Apparently, he lives in South Africa.’

‘
What
?’

‘He h
as done for the past six years.’

A stunned look on his face
, Fitzjohn said, ‘So who’s the man purporting to be our winemaker?’

‘I’ve got Williams working on it, sir.
  He’s trying to contact the real Mr Whitehead in = to see if he’s able to identify our imposter.’

‘Good.  In the meantime, w
here can we find Michael Rossi’s solicitor on a Sunday morning?’

‘
At his home in Lavender Bay, sir.  I called ahead.  He’s expecting us.’

A short, lean man opened the door, his tousled brown hair dipping over his forehead.  In his mid-to-late-thirties, and younger than Fitzjohn had envisaged, he wore a T-shirt displaying the Eiffel Tower along with a pair of beige coloured shorts, cut off just below his knees.  Fitzjohn and Betts showed their warrant cards.

‘Good morning,
gentlemen.  I’m David Spencer.  I’ve been expecting you.  Please, come in.’  Fitzjohn and Betts followed David Spencer through a chaotic atmosphere filled with a screaming baby and two small boys arguing over a television remote.  ‘You’ll have to excuse the racket.  The delights of family life, I’m afraid.  Pandemonium for the greater part of the time.’  He chuckled to himself and opened the door in to a room overlooking a small courtyard.  ‘We can talk in my study undisturbed.  The walls are sound proofed.’  As David Spencer closed the door behind them, Fitzjohn and Betts settled themselves in to the two rounded leather chairs in front of the solicitor’s desk.  ‘I understand you’ve come to see me about Michael Rossi,’ he said, sitting down behind his desk.  ‘How exactly can I help?’

‘According to Michael Rossi’s diary,
Mr Spencer,’ began Fitzjohn, ‘Michael Rossi was to have an appointment with you this coming Monday morning.  Can you tell us what the appointment was to be about?

‘
Yes.  He said he wanted to speak to me about his will, but on Friday afternoon, Mr Rossi rang to cancel Monday’s appointment and asked if he could come in to see me here at the house on Saturday instead.’  David Spencer’s brow furrowed.  ‘I was preparing for that appointment yesterday morning when I heard the news of his death.  A terrible business,’ said Spencer, shaking his head.

‘Wh
at time on Friday did he phone, Mr Spencer?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘
He phoned my office in North Sydney around four o’clock in the afternoon, as I remember.’

‘Did he give any indication
as to why he wanted to change the day of his appointment?’

‘
No.  But he did say he wanted to speak to me about another matter as well as his will.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes.  He said he wanted to discuss his sister, Claudia Rossi.  He didn’t go into specifics, but he did say he wanted advice about her life insurance policy.  Consequently, when Sergeant Betts telephoned earlier this morning, I made a point of not only getting a copy of Mr Rossi’s will out of safe custody, but also Claudia Rossi’s.  Under the circumstances, I thought there was every possibility you’d want to see them both.’  Spencer took Claudia’s will out of its long thin envelope.

‘Does
this tell us who she was insured with?’ asked Fitzjohn running his eyes across the document.

‘Yes. 
On the second page.’  Fitzjohn turned to the next page.  ‘As you can see.  It was with the MLC for the sum of one million dollars.’

‘And the beneficiary
?’

‘Her
partner, Richard Edwards with Michael Rossi as contingent beneficiary.  That is, Mr Rossi would receive the benefit if the primary designee had been unavailable or deceased.’

‘I see.
  May we take Claudia Rossi’s will with us, Mr Spencer?’

‘By all means.’ 
Spencer handed Fitzjohn the will’s envelope.  ‘And as far as Michael Rossi’s will is concerned, I take it you want to know who the beneficiary is there too,’ said David Spencer.

‘There’s only one?
’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘Yes.’ 
Spencer unfolded Michael Rossi’s will and laid it out in front of Fitzjohn and Betts.  ‘I read through it before you arrived.  The bulk of Mr Rossi’s estate goes to his wife Stella Rossi.  It comprises all monies, shares, debenture stocks as well as the property in Rushcutters Bay and Michael Rossi’s share of the business, Rossi & Prentice Yachting Electronics Pty Ltd.’