Lane's End

by Paterson, Jill

  ‘Of course you will, but remember, if there’s anything we can do, you have only to ask.’

  ‘Thank you both,’ replied Ben as he shook Emerson’s hand. ‘Please, go through.’

  Emerson ushered Theodora into the living room and Ben followed soon after, leaving Joanna to greet the remaining mourners. As he did so, he glimpsed Amanda Marsh walking toward him. He had little memory of her time as his parents’ housekeeper and was always puzzled at her familiarity on the rare occasions that they had met.

  ‘Ben. It’s been a long time,’ she said, taking hold of his arm, her face full of concern. ‘I’m so sorry about your father. So sudden. It makes it doubly hard, I know.’ Amanda shook her head. ‘You and Joanna will have to help your step-mother through her grief. Oh, there she is now, the poor dear.’ Amanda put her hand out to Laura as she walked past. ‘Mrs Carmichael, may I offer my condolences. Richard will be sadly missed.’

  ‘He will, Ms Marsh,’ replied Laura, a certain tension evident as she faced Amanda. ‘Thank you for attending today. I know how busy you are.’ As she spoke another guest caught Laura’s eye and she excused herself with what Ben thought a great deal of grace.

  ‘A difficult day for her,’ continued Amanda, turning back to Ben. ‘And for you too, of course. I heard on the news about your fiancée’s ordeal. How is she, Ben?’

  ‘She’s making progress slowly,’ he replied, following DCI Roberts’s advice not to go into detail about Emma’s situation.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘It’s been a difficult week for you also,’ he continued, wishing to change the subject.

  ‘It certainly has. Not only was I catering for your father’s cocktail party last Friday night, but I was the person who found the body!’

  Ben grimaced. ‘That must have been upsetting for you.’

  ‘Chilling to say the least. I haven’t been able to sleep since.’ Amanda took a sip of her white wine before she looked around the room. ‘And now this. Who would have thought...?’

  When the last of the guests had left, Laura came back into the living room and sat down heavily into an armchair. ‘Well, I’m glad that’s over. I found it difficult knowing it’s conceivable that one of the mourners likely killed Peter Van Goren.’ She sighed and looked to Ben and Joanna. ‘Thanks you two for your help and support. I couldn’t have got through this day without you both. And I know it’s especially difficult for you, Ben, with Emma in the hospital.’ Silence ensued until Laura continued. ‘Look, I know it’s the last thing you both want to hear right now, but I want to read your father’s will.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Ben. ‘Wouldn’t you sooner leave it for another day? After all, it won’t be an easy task.’

  ‘I know, but as your father’s executrix, it’s one of my duties and I think the sooner I get it over with, the better.’ Laura rose from her chair and went to the writing desk that sat in the corner of the room. From it she took a long narrow envelope and sat down again before putting her reading glasses on. After reading through the preliminaries, she looked over her glasses at Joanna. ‘Joanna, your Dad wanted you to have the house that you’ve been renting from him for the past two years. There’s also a bequest of $100,000 that you’ll receive through his solicitors, Murray, Bennett, Walker.’ Laura turned to the third page of the will. ‘And to you, Ben, your father has bequeathed Lane’s End at Whale Beach.’

  Ben sat forward in his chair. ‘Lane’s End? But I thought... that is, I thought Dad would want the property sold after his death.’

  ‘I thought so too before I read through the will last night, so I was as surprised as you are now. We all know he couldn’t bring himself to sell the place while he lived. It seems he can’t in death either.’ Laura frowned. ‘I could never understand it. It was as if he was trapped. Not able to bring himself to return to Lane’s End or let anyone else for that matter.’ Laura removed her reading glasses. ‘It’s a shame, really, because I think we have to face the past in order to move on. Anyway, Ben, Lane’s End is now yours to do with as you wish. All the papers are in your father’s study and you’re welcome to go through them whenever you like.’ Laura looked down once again at the pages of the will. ‘It seems the remainder of the estate has been left to me.’ She placed the will back into its envelope and rested it on the arm of the chair.

  Later that day, with the last shaft of afternoon sun caressing the room, Ben walked into the study. Dominated by a large oak desk, its walls lined with shelves of books, it exuded an atmosphere of hard work and success. Not since the day he had walked away from a promising career in academia had Ben set foot inside the room. That day the gulf that had always existed between him and his father grew wider, and only ended in death. The words they had spoken now echoed through Ben’s mind. Recriminations that fed the bitterness to come. Young and ambitious, he had felt no guilt at his father’s disappointment in him even though, at the time, he had little idea of what he wanted to do with his life. All he knew was he loathed the path he was on. Living his father’s vision for him. A career in astrophysics. Ben pulled the leather chair out from the desk and sat down. In front of him sat all the papers in connection with Lane’s End. At that moment, Joanna walked in.

  ‘What will you do? Sell it?’ she asked, perching on the arm of the chair in the corner of the room.

  Ben sat back. ‘I’m not sure. It’s not something I thought I’d ever have to decide on. I’ll have to think about it, although, after finding Emma there like I did, and the fact our mother died there, I’m not sure I want to keep the place.’

  Joanna slid from the arm into the chair. ‘Well, if you want my opinion, it might be just as well to sell. Get rid of the past once and for all.’ Joanna sighed. ‘I don’t know about you, Ben, but it’s always been like an albatross around my neck. All my life. Lane’s End was there, but never mentioned. It’s as if our mother was never put to rest. Not really.’

  ‘Mmm. I know what you mean. In fact everything, her untimely death, Dad’s passing away, Emma in the hospital in an induced coma... it’s surreal. Although I do think I now understand one thing out of all this, and that is, why my relationship with Dad never worked.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘Because of this.’ Ben took a photograph from his inner suit pocket and handed it to his sister. ‘It’s a picture of us both with our mother when we were children. I’d have shown it to you earlier but the police had it.’

  Joanna scrutinised the image, a soft smile on her face. ‘She beautiful, isn’t she? And there I am in her arms. And you beside her.’ Joanna looked up at Ben. ‘You look so much like her, Ben. It’s uncanny.’ Joanna’s eyes grew wide. ‘Oh. I see what you mean. You think you reminded Dad of her. Every day.’ Joanna paused. ‘He did love you, though. You do know that, don’t you? He just found everything to do with our mother very difficult to deal with.’

  They sat for a time in silence before Joanna said, ‘I don’t like to bring it up at a time like this, Ben, but did you contact that solicitor who wrote to you?’

  ‘No. Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait.’

  ‘I don’t think it can wait,’ replied Joanna. ‘After all, it’s about a man who has been murdered. A man who has named you in his will. Don’t you see, it connects you to Peter Van Goren. You need to find out what it’s all about because if you don’t, I think the police will, eventually.’ Joanna paused. ‘I can sit with Emma while you go to see Raymond West.’

  Under a threatening sky and the sound of thunder in the distance, Ben made his way by train to Wynyard Station in Sydney’s CBD where he emerged onto George Street. With a light rain falling, he pressed the button on his umbrella and watched it unfurl before he stepped out into the hubbub of the city. He went by way of Martin Place and as he walked along the wide pedestrian mall to Phillip Street, he found the opportunity to reflect on the contents of the solicitor’s letter, and tried to put the events of the last forty-eight hours into some kind of perspective.

  He
arrived at the building that housed West Longmire & Associates, still unsure of his response to the fact that he had been named as a beneficiary in Peter Van Goren’s will. Joining a number of others in the elevator, he emerged onto the 2nd level where he opened the glass doors of the solicitor’s office into a reception area. A woman in her mid-fifties with short dark wavy hair, sat behind a desk. She looked up when Ben approached. As she did so, the sound of raised voices came from an inner office.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said with a quick nervous smile, her eyes darting sideways toward the voices. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Yes. I have an appointment with Mr West at two o’clock.’ Ben smiled.

  The receptionist looked at her computer screen. ‘Mr Carmichael, is it?’ she asked, distracted by the commotion.

  ‘Yes. Ben Carmichael.’

  ‘Please take a seat, Mr Carmichael. Mr West will be with you shortly.’ She gave another quick smile.

  Ben sat down in one of the chairs lined up along the wall of the reception area and flicked through a BRW magazine whereupon a woman emerged from an inner office, followed by a stout man in his late forties.

  ‘I expect better things of you, Mr West,’ she barked. ‘If you can’t settle this matter in my favour, say so, and I’ll find another solicitor.’

  With his colour rising in embarrassment, Raymond West stood in silence as the woman flounced out of the office. At that point he adjusted his heavy-rimmed glasses and turned toward Ben. ‘Mr Carmichael?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Ben, impressed by the solicitor’s quick recovery.

  ‘I’m Raymond West. You must feel like my next victim.’ He gave Ben a wry smile. ‘Won’t you come this way?’ Towering over West, Ben followed the solicitor past the receptionist and along the hall into a small office, its atmosphere lending a nostalgic feel. ‘Please, make yourself comfortable,’ he said.

  Ben sat down in one of the chairs offered while West settled himself at his desk and opened the file in front of him.

  ‘Thank you for coming in to see me, Mr Carmichael,’ he said, clasping his hands together. ‘I’m sorry that your introduction to our legal practice turned out to be somewhat soap operatic. Still, such occurrences do keep one’s day from becoming dull.’ Raymond West smiled. ‘Now, to your matter. As I mentioned in my letter, you’ve been named as a beneficiary in the last will and testament of my client, Peter Van Goren.’ West unclasped his hands and looked down at the file. ‘In fact, other than bequests to Mr Van Goren’s household staff, you are his sole beneficiary.’

  ‘Mr West, before we proceed, are you aware that I didn’t know Peter Van Goren?’ asked Ben with a measure of concern. ‘I’m sure you have the wrong Ben Carmichael.’

  West looked at Ben over his glasses.

  ‘According to my instructions, Mr Carmichael, I can assure you that you are the Benjamin Carmichael that Peter Van Goren named as his beneficiary, but if it will make you feel more comfortable, I can read you the details, about yourself, that Peter Van Goren furnished me with.’ Raymond West shuffled through the file and brought out a sheet of paper. ‘Now, let me see,’ he said, peering through his bifocals. ‘Your full name is Benjamin Richard Carmichael, the son of Richard and Rachael Carmichael. You were born on the 17th of May, 1977, educated at Shore, Sydney Church of England Grammar School, and later at The University of Sydney. There, you obtained a Bachelor of Astrophysics with Honours. And,’ West’s brow furrowed. ‘You are a photojournalist by occupation.’ West gave Ben a quizzical look.

  ‘You’re thinking that it’s an unlikely career choice after studying astrophysics,’ said Ben.

  West chuckled. ‘It did cross my mind. I might have liked to do the same thing after law school, but it would have killed my father.’ West paused, as if to reflect for a moment. ‘Anyway, Mr Carmichael, have I managed to allay your fears about your eligibility as Peter Van Goren’s beneficiary?’ Ben nodded. ‘Good, then I’ll now read out Mr Van Goren’s last will and testament.’

  Ben listened as Raymond West read the opening paragraph of the will before reading out the bequests to Peter Van Goren’s staff.

  ‘“To my housekeeper, Ida Clegg, I leave the sum of three hundred thousand dollars and my home at number two, Wentworth Street, Vaucluse, New South Wales. To my other household staff, Marjorie Reynolds, my cook, and Leonard Preston, groundsman and chauffeur, I leave the sum of two hundred thousand dollars each. The remainder of my estate, I leave to Benjamin Richard Carmichael. This includes all monies, shares, debenture stocks, and my business interests as listed below.”’

  When Raymond West finished, he removed his glasses and sat back. ‘I don’t need to tell you, Mr Carmichael, it’s a considerable sum.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ replied Ben. ‘I feel uncomfortable being a beneficiary of someone I didn’t know, but this makes it... Are you sure Mr Van Goren had no family?’

  ‘That was one of the first questions I asked him when he made this will,’ replied West. ‘Because as you may or may not be aware, any children of a deceased can contest a will that leaves them nothing. Mr Van Goren, however, assured me that he did not have any off-spring nor did he have any next-of-kin.’

  ‘Can I ask how long Mr Van Goren had been your client, Mr West?’ asked Ben.

  ‘I’ve taken instruction from Peter Van Goren for many years. He first came to see me in the 1980s when he purchased his first commercial property, and then again for the conveyance of his home in Vaucluse.’

  Still bewildered by Raymond West’s insistence that he was the right beneficiary, Ben left the city and made his way to the hospital, where Joanna waited.

  ‘Has there been any change?’ he whispered as he joined her at Emma’s bedside.

  ‘No.’ Joanna got up from her chair and looked back down at Emma’s still form. ‘She looks like she’s sleeping peacefully, doesn’t she?’

  Ben stroked Emma’s hand that lay on top of the covers. ‘I hope she eventually wakes up,’ replied Ben, only too aware that there was a chance she may not.

  ‘She will,’ said Joanna, following Ben from the ICU. ‘You have to believe she will.’

  They made their way along the corridor to the small waiting room and sat down. ‘What did the solicitor have to say? Did you tell him that you didn’t know Mr Van Goren?’

  ‘Yes. I questioned him as to whether he had the right Ben Carmichael and he’s adamant he does. He went through a list of details that Peter Van Goren had given him about me. They’re all correct.’ Ben looked at his sister. ‘I can’t understand it, Joanna. I really can’t. As you know, I’ve never met Peter Van Goren. To make me his sole beneficiary is ridiculous.’

  ‘Sole beneficiary?’

  ‘Yes. Other than bequests to three members of his staff, Mr Van Goren left me his entire estate. As I said before, this whole situation is surreal.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Joanna, looking puzzled.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Ben leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face with his hands.

  ‘Well, I think you should start by telling that detective who’s investigating Peter Van Goren’s death. Surely under the circumstances, the police will want to know.’

  ‘I imagine they already do know and unfortunately, it won’t look good as far as Dad is concerned.’

  ‘Why? Dad wouldn’t have known what Mr Van Goren’s will contained.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but with Peter Van Goren making me his sole beneficiary, they’re bound to think he and Dad knew each other and surmise that Dad knew about the will. Don’t you see, Joanna? In their eyes, it gives Dad a motive to kill Mr Van Goren.’

  CHAPTER 13

  ‘Can I give you a lift home, sir?’ asked Betts, putting his head around the side of Fitzjohn’s office door.

  Fitzjohn looked up at his young sergeant, a tinge of guilt surfacing after the reprimand he had given him over Sophie. ‘Thanks, Betts, but I want to read through this Investigation Report into Rachael Carmichael’s death again and also
speak to Chief Superintendent Grieg before I leave this evening. It’ll help to have his thoughts on the case before we talk to Amanda Marsh in the morning.’

  Once Betts left, Fitzjohn settled back in his chair and began to read the report before he stopped. Was his concern for Sophie’s welfare merely interference, something that he did not like to see his sister, Meg, do. Fitzjohn sighed and went back to the report. When he had finished, he pulled his suit coat on, straightened his tie, and made his way through the station to Grieg’s office. He knocked once and put his head around the side of the door to find the Chief Superintendent sat hunched over at his desk.

  ‘What is it?’ grunted Grieg.

  ‘I’d like to speak to you about an old case,’ replied Fitzjohn, stepping inside.

  ‘Oh? What case is that? And why?’

  ‘It was an investigation into the death of a woman by the name of Rachael Carmichael in September, 1983. And the reason I want to speak to you about it is because as I’m sure you’re aware, the Carmichael family happen to be involved in my present investigation.’

  Grieg glared at Fitzjohn, his manner exuding his arrogant nature. ‘Why come to me?’ he sneered. ‘I think you’ll find that that investigation was conducted by our now retired Chief Superintendent Fellowes. He was a Detective Chief Inspector at the time. So, you’re wrong, Fitzjohn. It wasn’t me.’

  ‘I agree, he was in charge initially, sir, but according to the records, only up until he was taken ill. At which time you took charge.’ Fitzjohn gave a quick smile. ‘It’s probably slipped your memory. After all, it was a long time ago.’

  Grieg’s eyes narrowed at Fitzjohn. ‘Okay,’ he said, sitting back and throwing his pen onto the desk. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘I had hoped you could give me your thoughts on the case, sir.’

  Grieg bristled. ‘I can’t see what possible difference my thoughts on an old case can have on your present one.’