Deadly Investment (A Fitzjohn Mystery Book 5) Read Free Page B

handbag. ‘They’re from Portland Moore. You’ve probably heard Beatrice speak of him. They were members of the same theatre company.’
    ‘Yes, I have. She spoke of him often. In fact, I’ve met Portland on a number of occasions when Beatrice invited Mildred and me backstage after one of their performances,’ replied Esme, taking the tickets from Alison’s grasp.
    ‘Yes, well, apparently, the company is putting on a play in Beatrice’s memory. Portland described it as “a special occasion for her friends and colleagues”. The cast will be performing one of Beatrice’s own plays. In fact, her most recent work.’
    ‘Well, I think that’s a wonderful gesture, don’t you?’ replied Esme. ‘I’ve enjoyed all her work. She was such a talented playwright.’
    Esme looked at Alison’s pinched expression and decided to launch into her investigation.
    ‘I can appreciate that it’s been a difficult time for you, Alison. Especially the night that Beatrice fell. I can’t imagine how traumatic that must have been. It was fortunate that you and the other members of staff were working back that night, wasn’t it? I don’t like to think what it would have been like for Beatrice if you all hadn’t been there.’ Esme paused. ‘Of course, that in itself does raise a question, doesn’t it?’
    ‘Question? What question?’ asked Alison narrowing her cold grey eyes at Esme.
    ‘The question of why Beatrice attempted to go downstairs in her dressing gown when her staff were still working. It seems to me to be totally out of character, don’t you think? Something dire must have happened to cause her to do that.’
    ‘I hadn’t thought about it. I guess we’ll never know.’
    ‘No, I don’t suppose we will. And I don’t suppose we’ll ever know who Charles Stratton is either.’
    ‘I beg your pardon,’ said Alison.
    ‘Charles Stratton. Beatrice asked me to post a letter to him if anything were to happen to her. A strange request, I thought. Almost as if she had a premonition that something would befall her. I don’t suppose you know the man, do you, Alison?’
    ‘No, I don’t.’ Alison hesitated. ‘What did you do with the letter, Miss Timmons?’
    ‘I posted it.’
    ‘You should have consulted me first.’ With that, Alison disappeared back into the hallway and seconds later the front door slammed.
    Well, that hit a nerve, thought Esme. I’d say that you know very well who Charles Stratton is, Alison. But why hide it? Still clutching the theatre tickets, Esme sat down, the unsettling feeling she had about Beatrice’s death gnawing at her. I wonder what really happened to you, Beatrice, and why.

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 4
     
     
    Fitzjohn and Betts returned to the station and went their separate ways. As they did so, Chief Superintendent Grieg strode out of his office.
    ‘ Fitzjohn, ’ he bellowed along the corridor.
    Well aware of Grieg’s contempt for him, Fitzjohn anticipated trouble. ‘I take it you wish to speak to me, sir,’ he replied, conscious of the fact that his own calm exterior irritated Grieg.
    ‘Since when do you attend suspected homicides in North Sydney’s Local Area Command without a request from me that you do so?’
    ‘Since you were not available to ask, sir. They called early this morning because they found themselves short staffed. I had a bit of free time on my hands so I was happy to assist. I know how you feel about helping out in such situations.’ Fitzjohn turned and opened his office door. As he expected, Grieg followed him inside. With the contempt that he knew Grieg still held for North Sydney LAC after they had seconded him, some thirty-years ago, to Day Street Station with no intention of reclaiming him, Fitzjohn had anticipated Grieg’s anger.
    ‘It’s not your place to make such decisions,’ barked Grieg, his hands on his hips.
    ‘Nevertheless, I did. They needed an answer immediately. I’ll be handing my findings over first thing in the