Murder at the Rocks (23 page)

‘As a matter of fact I did, but it was many years ago, Inspector.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘Oh, let’s see.  It would have been back in the late 60s early 70s when I lived in Sydney.’

‘How did you come to know him?’

‘His brother, Ed, was a friend of mine.’

‘And you’ve had no cause to keep in touch?’

‘No.’

Fitzjohn looked past Christopher Leonard to the studio behind him, its glass doors, edged with cedar, folded back to expose the entire room to a full view of the countryside.  ‘You’re an artist, Mr Leonard.  I’ve recently had the pleasure of seeing your work.’  Christopher Leonard appeared confused by the sudden change of subject.  ‘The works puzzled me, however.’

‘Oh?  Why is that, Inspector?’

‘Because recently, I came across some paintings by another artist called Martin Greenwood.  In fact, I notice that you have some of his works yourself.’  Christopher Leonard’s rolled his wheelchair back a fraction.  ‘If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn they were painted by the same person.’

‘Well, that can probably be explained by the fact that Martin and I trained in Paris together when we were quite young.  Our techniques are probably similar.’

‘I see.  So you knew Martin Greenwood.’

‘Yes.’

‘He died quite young, I understand,’ said Fitzjohn.

‘In Vietnam in 1971.’

‘Do you know what happened to him?’

Leonard’s eyebrows rose.  ‘No.  Just that he didn’t return.  What does Martin Greenwood have to do with your investigation, Inspector?’

‘We’ve reason to believe that he witnessed the murder of a Corporal Phillip Wilson in Vietnam in September 1971, perpetrated by Laurence Harford.’  The side of Leonard’s face twitched, his knuckles white as they grabbed the arms of his wheelchair.

‘Who told you that?’

‘A man by the name of Neville Price.’  Fitzjohn’s eyes locked onto Leonard whose face paled.  ‘Have you ever met Mr Price?’

Leonard remained silent for a long moment before he said, ‘I think you know I have, Inspector.’

‘Why did you change your name from Greenwood?’  At that, Betts shot a look at Fitzjohn.

‘It was a personal matter.’

‘Did it have anything to do with Corporal Wilson’s death?’

‘No.  As I said, it was purely personal.’  Christopher Leonard paused before continuing.  ‘Perhaps I should explain.  Before I left for Vietnam, I became engaged to a young woman.’  Leonard reached for two walking sticks leaning at each side of his chair and dragged himself to his feet, his tall, withered frame looming before Fitzjohn and Betts.  Haltingly, he took a few steps forward.  ‘I know I was young at the time, but even so, I couldn’t return to her like this.’  He slumped back down into his chair.

‘The records show that you disappeared from the field hospital in Vung Tau, Mr Leonard.’

‘That’s right.’

‘How did you get back to Australia?’

‘I lost my dog tags, feigned amnesia.  It’s a long story, Inspector.’

‘And the young woman you were engaged to?’

‘I understand she married someone else.’  Leonard looked away for a moment.

‘Can you give us your account of what happened to Corporal Wilson?  Did Laurence Harford kill him as Price claims?’

‘No.  Laurence Harford has never been one of my favourite people, but he didn’t kill Corporal Wilson.  It was Neville Price.’  Fitzjohn shot a look at Betts.  ‘And after he put a knife in Wilson, he went for me.’

‘He stabbed you too?’

‘Only once.’

‘What saved you?’

‘A mortar hit us.  Otherwise I’d probably be dead too.’

‘And you never contacted Laurence Harford about the incident because you wished to remain anonymous.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Why then did you keep in touch with Edward Harford?’

‘I didn’t.  After I returned from Vietnam, I convalesced in Brisbane.  When my convalescence ended, I remained in Queensland.  It wasn’t till much later that I got in touch with Ed.’

‘Why did you?’

‘Because Laurence Harford had found me.  He’d seen one of my paintings in an exhibition and like you, recognised the similarities.  I knew he’d tell Ed so I contacted him myself.’

‘It must have been a shock for Edward Harford to find you alive.’

‘I’m sure it was.’

‘Tell me, Mr Leonard, were you aware of a rift between Edward Harford and his brother?’

Christopher Leonard looked guardedly at Fitzjohn.  ‘I was, yes.’

‘Do you know the source of their estrangement?’

‘No.  Ed never spoke of the reason.  Will there be anything else, Inspector?’

‘Just one thing that puzzles me.  Are you aware that Laurence Harford owned a number of Greenwood paintings?’

‘Yes, he bought them from me over a period of time.’

‘Bought them?’

‘Yes.’

Fitzjohn and Betts left Bowral later that day.

‘Well, Betts, that sheds new light on Neville Price.  If he did kill Wilson as Christopher Leonard says, and believed Greenwood to be dead, then he had a strong motive to kill Laurence Harford.’

‘Because Harford was the last remaining witness.’

‘Exactly,’ said Fitzjohn.  ‘We’ll pay Mr Price another call, but not until we have a search warrant.’  He stopped, lost in thought, before continuing.  ‘The Greenwood paintings Laurence Harford owned are another matter.’

‘What do you mean, sir?’

‘We have Edward Harford who, we believe, was being blackmailed by Laurence Harford, and we have Laurence Harford owning a number of Greenwood’s painting.  They’re very valuable on today’s market.  What does that tell you, Betts?’

‘That Laurence Harford didn’t buy them from Leonard but extorted them.  Blackmail, but not in the form of cash.’

‘Right.  But for what reason?  After we’ve dealt with Neville Price, I’ll have another word with Nicholas Harford.  I want to find out what he knows about Christopher Leonard, although, I don’t know how successful I’ll be not being in a position to disclose Leonard’s true identity.  While you do that, I want you to speak to Mr Mapsom again.  See what he knows about the arrival of the Greenwood paintings.’

CHAPTER 33

Fitzjohn and Betts, along with Williams and Saunders, arrived in Strathfield early the next morning and made their way to Neville Price’s home.  As Betts raised his hand to knock, the door opened and Price appeared, wearing his coat.

‘Inspector.’

‘I see you’re on your way out, Mr Price,’ said Fitzjohn.  ‘I wonder if you can delay your departure until we’ve spoken to you again.  It won’t take long.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so.’  Hesitantly, Price backed away from the door as the four men stepped inside.

Once into the front hallway, Fitzjohn faced Price.  ‘Mr Price, we have reason to believe that you were involved in the death of Laurence Harford.  We have here a warrant to search these premises.’  Fitzjohn held up his warrant.

‘What?  I don’t understand.  I told you who killed Laurence Harford at that line-up the other day.’

Fitzjohn smiled slightly.  ‘Then you won’t mind if we conduct a search.  I suggest you and I wait in the sitting room until it’s completed.’

As Betts and the two detective constables dispersed into various parts of the house, Fitzjohn and Neville Price made their way to the sitting room where Price hovered next to the bay window.

‘You may as well sit down, Mr Price.  This may take some time.’  Fitzjohn watched as Price slumped into his chair before sitting down himself.

‘You might be interested to know that Martin Greenwood is very much alive.’  Price glared at Fitzjohn.  ‘I spoke to him yesterday and he said something very interesting.  He said that Laurence Harford didn’t kill Phillip Wilson.  He accused you, Mr Price.’

‘That’s ridiculous.  I know Greenwood’s dead.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘He was too badly wounded after the mortar attack.’

‘After you’d stabbed him, you mean?’

Price grimaced.  ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Inspector.  I saw Harford do it.’

‘The same way that you believe Eric Holmes killed Laurence Harford?’

At that moment, Betts appeared at the living room door.  ‘Sir.’  Fitzjohn followed Betts into the hallway closing the door behind him.  ‘We may have found what we’re looking for.  A bayonet to a L1A1 SLR rifle.  They were used in the Vietnam War.  ‘It was hidden under one of the floorboards in a room upstairs.’

‘Good work, Betts.’

Fitzjohn re-entered the living room.  ‘Mr Price, I believe it would be prudent of you to accompany us to the station.’

A few minutes later, Fitzjohn and Betts watched Neville Price being led to one of the police cars.  Once inside, he glared at them through the side window.  Fitzjohn turned away.

‘While you look after our friend, Betts, I’ll go see Dr Harford.  Hopefully the forensic results on that knife won’t take too long.’

An hour later, driven by Carruthers, Fitzjohn arrived at the University of Sydney.  As they pulled off City Road onto Eastern Avenue, Fitzjohn looked ahead.  ‘We want the Madsen Building, Carruthers.  It’s the first on the left.’

‘You know your way around the University, sir?’

‘Somewhat.  I had dealings recently with the Department of Archaeology.’

Carruthers pulled up in front of the central tower of the sandstone building, its combination of gothic and art deco architecture lending an air of times past.  Fitzjohn climbed out of the car and made his way up the front steps.

Minutes later, he appeared in Nicholas Harford’s open office doorway.  Nicholas stood with his back to him at one of the bookcases and turned when he heard Fitzjohn’s quiet knock.

‘Inspector.’

‘Good morning, Dr Harford.  I hope you got my message.’

‘Yes, I did.  Come in.’  Fitzjohn walked into the small room looking at the chaos before him.  ‘You’ll have to excuse the mess, I’m just moving back in.’  Nicholas picked up a pile of books from the seat of the brown leather chair in front of his desk, gesturing for Fitzjohn to sit down.  He put the books on the floor in front of one of the bookcases before settling himself into his chair.

‘I understand you’ve arrested Eric Holmes for his wife’s murder, Inspector.’

‘Yes, we have.’

Nicholas shook his head.  ‘It’s very disturbing.  I can’t quite believe it.  I was only speaking to Eric the other day about my mother.  I wouldn’t have thought...’

‘People aren’t always as they seem, Dr Harford.’

‘Obviously not.’  Nicholas paused.  ‘I never met his wife.  She must have gone through a lot.’

‘I’m sure she did, poor lass,’ said Fitzjohn.

‘You said on the phone that you wanted to ask me something, Inspector.  Is it about Eric?’

‘No, ‘I’m here about a man called Christopher Leonard.  I believe you have one of his paintings in your study.’

A look of surprise crossed Nicholas Harford’s face.  ‘I do.  My father purchased it some time ago.  Why do you ask?’

‘How well do you know Christopher Leonard, Doctor?’

‘Not well.  We have met, of course, on the odd occasion, but that was years ago.  He was a neighbour in Bowral.  He used to come over to play chess with Arthur Rutledge, the manager at Gray’s Manor.’

‘Was Mr Leonard a friend of your father’s?’

‘Well, until the other day, I would have said no, but since then...’  Nicholas Harford rummaged in the top drawer of his desk.  ‘My aunt gave me an old photograph of my father and Mr Leonard together.  I have it here.’  He handed the photograph to Fitzjohn.  ‘Obviously taken in the garden in Mosman years ago.’

‘Along with Laurence Harford, I see,’ said Fitzjohn as he studied the photo.

‘Yet another surprise, but my aunt cleared that up.  She said the photo was taken long before she met Laurence and before all the trouble between my father and his brother started.’

‘And the young woman in the photo?’

‘That’s my mother.’

Fitzjohn stared at the tall fair haired young man in uniform taken before the mortar attack that had left him crippled and scarred, the man he knew now to be Martin Greenwood.

‘What is it you want to know, Inspector?’

‘At this stage I can’t go into detail, Doctor, but might I just say that our investigation has uncovered information that leads us to believe that Laurence Harford might have been blackmailing not only your father, but Christopher Leonard as well.  I was hoping you might have some information that would help us to determine whether that was the case.’

Nicholas Harford shook his head.  ‘I wish I could help, but as I said, I’ve had no contact with Mr Leonard for years.  In fact, I don’t remember my father ever mentioning his name.  That’s why I was surprised to see them together in that photograph.’

Fitzjohn handed the photo back to Nicholas.  As he did so, he spied a green velvet case open on the desk.  ‘A very beautiful locket, Doctor.’

‘Yes, it belonged to my mother, but unfortunately the key’s missing.  I’m taking it into Brayshaw’s this afternoon to see if they can make a new one.’

Nicholas Harford looked at his watch.  ‘I don’t wish to rush you, Inspector, but I have a lecture to give in a few minutes.  The first since my return.  I need a few minutes to look over my notes.’

‘Of course.’  Fitzjohn got to his feet and turned to leave, then stopped.

‘Tell me, Doctor, have you ever heard of a man by the name of Martin Greenwood?’  Nicholas gave Fitzjohn a quizzical look.

‘No, I can’t say as I have.’

Moments later Fitzjohn emerged from the Madsen Building, noticing the change in the weather.  He ran to the waiting car as the first few drops of rain fell.

‘To the station, sir?’

‘Yes, Carruthers.’

On his arrival at the station, Fitzjohn made his way through the hustle and bustle to his office, frustrated that Nicholas Harford had no knowledge of a connection between Edward Harford and Christopher Leonard.  He closed the door and removed his suit coat, hanging it on the back of his chair before sitting down at his desk.  Did Dr Harford know something that he was unwilling to tell?  As he pondered this a knock sounded at the door and Betts walked into the room.