Lane's End

by Paterson, Jill

  With the rumble of thunder and lightning flashing intermittently in the night sky, Fitzjohn stopped at the front gate to collect the mail before opening the door into his sandstone cottage. The aroma of food met his senses when he stepped inside, and although pleased at the prospect of a fine hot meal, he wondered what price he might have to pay.

  ‘Meg? How was your stay at Sophie’s?’ he called out, with a hint of hesitancy.

  When no reply came, he placed his briefcase down and walked through to the kitchen where he found the table set for dinner, but the room empty. Seeing the back door wide open, he stepped outside onto the porch and peered into the darkened garden. Just visible at the fence bordering Rhonda Butler’s property stood Meg, in her hands a tape measure. Curious, he made his way between the flower beds. ‘Meg, what are you doing?’ As he spoke the metal tape measure screeched and fell to the ground as it retracted.

  ‘Alistair! You scared me to death. I didn’t expect you home yet.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ repeated Fitzjohn.

  ‘I’m making sure my measurements are correct.’ Meg picked up the tape measure and put it into her apron pocket.

  ‘Measurements for what?’

  ‘For the trees,’ she replied as she stood back and surveyed the fence line. ‘It seems I was correct in the first place.’ She turned, gave a quick smile, and started toward the house.

  ‘Will you tell me what’s going on?’ asked Fitzjohn. Meg continued on with Fitzjohn at her heels. ‘Meg?’

  ‘It’s all because of the letter you received from the Council today, Alistair. Hand delivered I might add.’ Meg pointed to an A4 sheet of paper, magnetized to the fridge door. ‘I don’t know where you keep such correspondence, so I thought that that was as good a place as any.’

  Fitzjohn whipped the letter from the fridge and began to read.

  ‘I do apologise for opening your mail,’ Meg went on. ‘But when I returned from Sophie’s this morning and was confronted by that man from the Council, I knew I had to open it. And I’m so glad I did because I’ve been able to fix the problem before it turns into some kind of disaster.’

  Ignoring his sister’s diatribe, Fitzjohn ran his eyes over the letter. ‘The Council have investigated Rhonda Butler’s claim and agree that the glass structure, meaning my greenhouse, is a hindrance to Mrs Butler’s ability to live comfortably within her home. It instructs me to dismantle the said structure within the week.’ Fitzjohn’s face reddened. ‘I haven’t time to deal with this now, but when I do, the Council’s going to get an earful from me. Dismantling my greenhouse be damned,’ he said, crumpling the letter into a ball, and throwing it onto the kitchen table before reaching for the bottle of Glenfiddich. ‘Want one?’ he asked as he poured himself a glass. Meg shook her head.

  ‘You don’t have to worry, Alistair. It won’t come to that. I have everything in hand.’

  ‘Oh?’ Fitzjohn sipped his whisky and eyed his sister. ‘What do you have in hand?’

  ‘I have six fully grown murraya trees being delivered first thing tomorrow morning. They’re fully mature at eight feet tall and planted close together, will form a perfect screen along the fence line between you and the dragon lady.’

  Fitzjohn choked on his whisky. ‘Is that what you were doing out there in the dark with that tape measure? Measuring for six trees?’

  ‘Yes. I told you, Alistair. I wanted to make sure my measurements are correct before the trees arrive.’ Meg patted Fitzjohn’s back. ‘Don’t worry, dear, you can continue with your police business in the knowledge that I’m in full control. There’s no way Mrs Butler will be able to complain again about the reflection of the greenhouse glass shining through her kitchen window.’

  Fitzjohn gulped the last of his whisky. ‘How much is all this going to cost me?’ he asked, pouring himself another drink.

  ‘Just over two thousand dollars.’ Fitzjohn choked again. ‘A small amount to pay when you consider the alternative.’ Meg eyed Fitzjohn’s glass. ‘I don’t think it’s a good thing to have too many of those, Alistair. It’ll spoil your dinner.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ replied Fitzjohn, gasping for breath. ‘I doubt I could eat a thing.’

  CHAPTER 16

  Ben paced the floor outside the Intensive Care Unit, the doctor’s words reverberating in his head. “We plan to stop Emma’s medication this morning, Mr Carmichael. Hopefully, she will start to come out of the coma but as I said to you earlier, there are no guarantees.”

  ‘Ben?’ Jolted from his thoughts, Ben turned to see Joanna. ‘How’s Em? Any news?’

  ‘Yes. The doctors have stopped her medication. Now all we can do is pray that she wakes up.’

  Joanna put her hand on her brother’s forearm. ‘So, it’s far from over.’ Ben did not reply. ‘You look so tired. Why don’t you go home and get some rest? I’ll stay here and I’ll phone if there’s any news.’

  ‘I can’t. I have to stay until I know she’s going to be all right.’

  It was in the early hours of the following morning as Ben sat vigil at Emma’s bedside that he noticed her eyes flutter. But did they? He sat forward in his chair, unsure. ‘Emma? Can you hear me?’ Hearing his voice in the quietude of the ICU, one of the nursing staff joined him at Emma’s bedside. ‘I think she’s waking up,’ he said.

  ‘There is a change in her pulse and respiratory rate, Mr Carmichael, so I think she’s becoming aware of her surroundings.’ The nurse smiled. ‘It’s a good sign, but it might take a few more hours before she’s fully lucid. Also, be aware that her vision will probably be a little blurred, so she may not be able to see you right away.’

  As the hours passed, Ben slumped down in his chair until a whisper roused him. ‘Ben?’

  Ben jumped. ‘Emma! You’re awake. Thank God!’

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘In the ICU at North Shore Hospital.’

  ‘How long..?’

  ‘Four or five days. I’m not sure. Just rest, Emma.’

  ‘I have to tell you someth...’ Emma’s eyes closed.

  ‘Emma?’ Frantic, Ben looked around as the nurse on duty approached. ‘She isn’t... Is she?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s all right, Mr Carmichael. She’s still not fully awake.’

  Ben collapsed back into his chair and as the hours ticked by, he slept. When he awoke again, he looked up to see Emma’s pale blue eyes looking at him and he smiled. ‘You’re awake. Really awake this time.’

  Emma nodded.

  In the days that followed, Emma was moved to a room in North Shore Private Hospital where she eventually learned of Richard Carmichael’s untimely death and of her own father’s inability to make the journey to Australia to see her. At the same time, her ordeal at Ivy Cottage revisited her in fragments, like shattered pieces of glass. They played on her mind by day and plagued her in the hours of darkness as nightmarish taunts.

  ‘I’m losing my mind, Ben. I know I am.’ Emma’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘My thoughts are all a muddle. I can’t think straight. And I see...’ Emma stared past Ben as if at some point on the other side of the room. ‘There she is again.’

  ‘Who?’ Ben held Emma’s trembling hands, a disquieted look on his face.

  ‘The person who attacked me. She looks like someone I know but I can’t think who.’ Emma slumped back into the pillows, beads of perspiration breaking onto her forehead. ‘I am going mad. I know I am.’

  ‘No you’re not, darling. You’ve just been through a terrible ordeal and it’s going to take time for your thoughts to become clear again. But they will, I promise.’

  Emma lay silent for a moment or two before she said, ‘She reminds me of that woman who does the catering for your father’s company.’

  ‘You mean Amanda Marsh?’

  ‘I don’t know her name, but she has short silver grey hair and her eyes...’ Emma shuddered. ‘Her eyes are cold.’

  Ben adjusted the pillows behind Emma’s head as her eyelids fluttered and closed in sleep.
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  CHAPTER 17

  Dressed in a dark grey suit and blue striped tie, Fitzjohn adjusted the matching handkerchief in his breast pocket and made his way downstairs. When he reached the front hall, he found the door open and Meg standing outside on the porch. ‘I collected the morning paper earlier if that’s what you’re looking for.’

  ‘I’m not, Alistair. I’m waiting for the trees to arrive.’ Meg craned her neck to see along the roadway. ‘They should be here by now. I hope they haven’t got caught up in the morning traffic.’

  Fitzjohn picked up his briefcase from the hall table and with the morning paper under his arm, he joined Meg on the porch.

  ‘You’re not leaving yet are you?’ she asked. ‘You haven’t had breakfast and besides, I want you to be here when the truck gets here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Meg, but I have an early start. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll do very well without me here. Just remember to get the company’s bank details so that I can pay them on-line.’

  ‘But...’

  Fitzjohn gave a wave and closed the front gate behind him before continuing along the footpath. As he turned the corner, a large truck passed by, loaded with trees. With a sigh of relief tinged with guilt at leaving Meg to deal with them alone, he walked on through Birchgrove. It was when he reached his favourite cafe on Rowntree Street that his mobile phone rang.

  ‘Fitzjohn here.’

  ‘What time would you like me to pick you up this morning, sir?’ came Betts’s voice.

  ‘Whenever you can get here, Betts, but I’m not at home. You’ll find me at the Charlotte Cafe.’ Fitzjohn settled himself at an outdoor table, opened his newspaper, and sipped his coffee, the guilt he had felt earlier, dissipating as a feeling of calm descended upon him.

  ‘Morning, sir,’ said Betts, taking the opposite seat at the small table. ‘This is a nice change,’ he continued, looking around. ‘Too bad I’ve already had breakfast.’

  ‘Well, you can join me for coffee,’ replied Fitzjohn, taking a large bite of his croissant. ‘I felt it necessary to take evasive action this morning. Meg has taken it upon herself to take on not only Rhonda Butler, but also the Leichardt Municipal Council.’

  ‘What’s she planning on doing, marching on the council chambers?’

  ‘No, but I wouldn’t put it past her.’ Fitzjohn recounted the previous evening’s events.

  ‘I don’t think planting a hedge is going to stop Mrs Butler, sir, because it’s not really about the greenhouse. It’s about creating as much trouble for you as she can.’

  ‘We know that, Betts, but I don’t think Meg sees the bigger picture.’

  Fitzjohn walked in the rear entrance of Day Street Police Station to be met by the Duty Officer. ‘Mr Carmichael is here to see you, sir. Shall I bring him through?’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant. Show him to my office would you, please? I’ll be right there.’ Fitzjohn turned to Betts. ‘I wonder if he’s recalled anything else about the day his mother died.’

  ‘Or it might be about his fiancée, sir.’

  ‘Well, if it is, I hope it’s good news.’ Fitzjohn continued on to his office to find Ben pacing the floor, the dark shadows under his eyes all too visible.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Carmichael. I take it you have news for me.’

  Ben took Fitzjohn’s outstretched hand before they sat down. ‘I do, Chief Inspector. It’s about Emma. I’m happy to say that she’s been successfully brought out of the coma and she’s making progress, albeit slowly.’

  ‘Well, that is good news,’ replied Fitzjohn, smiling. ‘I’m glad to hear it. You must be relieved.’

  ‘I am. It’s not the only reason I’m here though. You see, I know you’ll want to speak to Emma about what happened at Lane’s End, but before you do I thought you should know what she’s been telling me about the person who attacked her.’

  ‘So, has she remembered all that happened?’

  ‘Not exactly. Her thoughts are disjointed and confused, but she does seem to think that she was attacked by a woman.’

  ‘I see? Is she able to describe this person?’

  ‘Yes, and that’s where the confusion comes in.’ Ben Carmichael relayed what Emma had told him. ‘It’s obvious that Emma has Amanda Marsh confused with whoever did attack her, but she is certain what that woman was doing when she arrived at Ivy Cottage. She was tearing up a photograph. I guess the one of my mother that the police found there that day.’ Ben shook his head. ‘It sounds bizarre, I know, and isn’t much to go on.’

  ‘Every piece of information is useful to us, Mr Carmichael. You’re aware, of course, that DS Betts and I aren’t assigned to Emma’s case. DCI Roberts is heading up that investigation so I’ll inform him of what you’ve told me. He’ll want to speak to Emma, of course.’ Fitzjohn thought for a moment. ‘Be there when he does. With what your fiancée has been through, it might be difficult for her to speak of her ordeal to anyone other than yourself.’

  Fitzjohn sat back in his chair after Ben Carmichael left the office and pondered their meeting. It was evident that Emma Phillip’s ordeal and the death of his father had had a profound effect on the young man. One could see it in his face. Weariness and a deep sadness. But there was something else there too. What was it?

  ‘Sir?’ Disturbed from his thoughts, Fitzjohn looked up to see Betts. ‘I’ll arrange to have Ms Marsh brought in now.’

  ‘Hold on, Betts. I need to speak to you first because I’ve had second thoughts on the matter.’ Fitzjohn recounted his conversation with Ben Carmichael. ‘So, no matter how unlikely, the fact that Emma Phillips has named Amanda Marsh as her possible attacker, it means that our investigation now overlaps with DCI Roberts’s. Therefore, we’ll need to collaborate with him. I’m going to suggest to Roberts that we arrange for a warrant to search Ms Marsh’s home and her business premises before we interview her.’

  ‘What, exactly, are we looking for, sir? The Magistrate will want to know.’

  ‘To tell you the truth, I’m not sure.’ Fitzjohn frowned. ‘Make it photographs of the Carmichael family. Either torn or intact.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  CHAPTER 18

  Fitzjohn and Betts, along with a number of uniformed personnel, arrived at Amanda Marsh’s home later that day. They congregated on the small tiled front verandah amid an array of potted plants until the front door opened and Amanda appeared. Dressed casually in a pair of blue jeans and black tank top, she took the cigarette from her lips and gaped at those gathered before her.

  ‘Afternoon, Chief Inspector. Does this mean you have more questions for me or is it an invasion?’

  ‘Good afternoon, Ms Marsh,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘We have a warrant to search your home.’

  ‘A what! Can I ask what you hope to find?’

  Fitzjohn ignored the question and handed the warrant to Amanda. ‘I should also inform you that a warrant has been issued to search your business premises. The searches are being conducted simultaneously.’

  Amanda ignored Fitzjohn and read the warrant, her free arm wrapped around herself. ‘This says you’re looking for photographs. What photographs?’

  ‘May we come in?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘I don’t suppose it’s going to do much good to refuse since you’ve brought reinforcements.’ With an indignant air, Amanda stepped aside. The uniformed officers, along with Betts, dispersed into her home, the old wooden floorboards squeaking under their weight.

  ‘Why don’t we wait in there whilst my officers conduct their search,’ said Fitzjohn, gesturing through an archway into the living room.

  Amanda glared at Fitzjohn. ‘I’ll be complaining to your superior, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘As you wish, Ms Marsh.’ Fitzjohn followed Amanda into the room. Ignoring him, she sat on the arm of one of the chairs and put another cigarette to her lips before she exhaled and watched the smoke curl into the air. ‘Our search shouldn’t take too long,’ Fitzjohn continued. His comment met stony silence. Unperturbed, he circled the ro
om, taking in the long coffee table in front of one of the sofas, its surface displaying a pile of House & Garden magazines and in the centre, a large white candle. Skirting the table, he ran an eye along the titles that filled the bookshelves on either side of the fireplace, taking particular interest in a collection on gardening. One well-thumbed book in this series he pulled out and examined. ‘You have a fine library on a variety of subjects, Ms Marsh. It’d be the envy of any librarian.’ Amanda remained silent.

  When Betts reappeared some time later, Fitzjohn joined him in the hallway. ‘We’ve found several photographs, sir. All of Richard Carmichael. Those featuring other people as well, have been mutilated. We also found this in the laundry basket.’ Betts looked to one of the uniformed officers who held open a large plastic grocery bag. Fitzjohn peered inside at a bloodied garment.

  ‘That looks troubling. Get forensics in, Betts, and have it sent to the lab. Ms Marsh will accompany us to the station for questioning.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Fitzjohn sat in his office mulling over the significance of the garment that had been found in Amanda Marsh’s home. He looked up when the door opened and Betts walked in. ‘Any news on that clothing, Betts?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s part of Ms Marsh’s caterer’s uniform. Her name is printed on the inside label so it doesn’t belong to Emma Phillips, but the blood does.’

  Fitzjohn sat back in his chair. ‘Presumably it was what Amanda Marsh was wearing when she attacked Emma Phillips at Ivy Cottage. We’ll take it in with us when we question her.’

  Accompanied by a solicitor, Amanda sat in silence as the door to the interview room opened and Fitzjohn and Betts walked in. Fitzjohn placed his papers and a large plastic bag containing the garment on the table and sat down. Once preliminaries had been completed, he said, ‘Ms Marsh, you’ve been brought in for questioning because a certain item of clothing, found in your home, links you to an attack that was perpetrated against Emma Phillips at Lane’s End on Saturday, March 26th. Can you tell us where you were on that day?’