Murder at the Rocks Read Online Free PDF Page B

needed to make a fine detective.  Fitzjohn got to his feet, took his suit coat from the back of his chair, pulled it on and buttoned it around his rotund shape.  ‘We’ll discuss your misgivings later, Betts.  For now, we have a suspicious death to attend.’
    ‘Where, sir?’
    ‘Brayshaw’s Jewellers.  I understand they’re at The Rocks.  The body of Brayshaw’s Managing Director, Laurence Harford, was found early this morning by one of the employees.’
     
    As Betts stopped the car alongside the curb outside Brayshaw’s, Fitzjohn looked out through the rain-splattered side window at the gathering crowd and frowned.  He grabbed his umbrella, stepped out into the rain and watched it unfurl as a young constable approached.  ‘Good morning, sir.’
    Fitzjohn looked at the pale-faced young man.  ‘Morning, Constable.’
    ‘The body is through the archway in the lane, sir.’
    Fitzjohn nodded and looked again at the crowd.  ‘Move these people on Constable unless, of course, they’re Brayshaw employees in which case, Detective Sergeant Betts here will deal with them.’
    Without another word, Fitzjohn turned and walked through the archway and into the lane where the pathologist, Charles Conroy, crouched under a canopy erected over a body sprawled on the flagstones.  Fitzjohn closed his umbrella and hesitated before approaching, his years of attending such grizzly scenes no weapon against his reluctance.  Conroy looked up at the sound of his footsteps and got to his feet.  ‘Alistair, how are you?’
    ‘I’m well, Charles.  And you?’
    ‘Can’t complain except for the early hour.’
    Conroy pushed his thick grey hair back from his forehead and knelt down again.  Fitzjohn joined him, running his eyes over the body.  A chill went through him.  Dressed in a dark blue suit, the victim’s clouded eyes stared up at him.  Fitzjohn lowered his gaze to the man’s blood soaked shirt before looking up at Charles.  ‘Stab wounds?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes, and from what I can tell, they were made with a single edged knife.  There’s no sign that he struggled though.  No cuts on his hands or arms from what I can see.’  Conroy pointed to a pool of blood that the victim’s head lay in.  ‘He also received a blow to the head beforehand, either from his attacker or possibly from slipping on those stairs.’  Conroy gestured toward a staircase, visible through a doorway in the side of Brayshaw’s building.  ‘Even so, he was very much alive when he was stabbed.’
    Fitzjohn grimaced.  ‘How long do you think he’s been dead?’
    ‘Well, I’ll be able to be more precise after the post mortem, but I’d say the best part of ten hours.’
    ‘So, somewhere around 8pm last night.’
    ‘Or there abouts.’
    ‘Any sign of the murder weapon?’
    ‘No.’  Conroy got to his feet.
    At that moment, Betts appeared and knelt down next to Fitzjohn, his face agape at the site of the victim.
    ‘Ah, Betts.  Anything untoward upstairs?’
    ‘Yes.  It looks like there’s been a bit of a scuffle in one of the offices, sir.’
    ‘Very well.  I’ll have a word with whoever found the body.’
    ‘That’ll be Mr Parish.  He’s Brayshaw’s accountant.  He’s in a bit of shock so I left him in his office on the first floor of the building, sir.’  Fitzjohn nodded and got to his feet.
    ‘I’ll no doubt see you later in the day, Charles,’ he said, as he made his way toward the side entrance of the building.  As he did so, a slight man in his mid-sixties appeared at the base of the staircase just inside the doorway, his face drawn and white.
    ‘Mr Parish?’
    ‘Yes.  I’m Howard Parish.’
    ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn, Mr Parish.  I understand you found Laurence Harford when you arrived for work this morning.’
    ‘Yes, I did.’  Parish looked across the lane at the body.  ‘Dreadful sight to witness.’
    Fitzjohn sensed Howard Parish’s anguish.  ‘Are you up to