Lane's End

by Paterson, Jill

  ‘As I told you before, Chief Inspector, I spent the day at my office.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Yes, quite sure.’

  ‘Very well, in that case, do you recognise this garment?’ As he spoke, Fitzjohn laid out the plastic bag containing the blood splattered uniform.

  ‘You know it’s mine. You took it from my home,’ replied Amanda with a sneer.

  ‘How did it get splattered with blood?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘It happened last week at work when I was cutting up some red meat. I took it home to wash.’

  ‘The blood on this garment isn’t animal blood, Ms Marsh.’ Amanda looked blankly at Fitzjohn. ‘It’s Emma Phillips’s blood. A young woman who was attacked at Lane’s End on March 26th.’ Fitzjohn’s eyes locked onto Amanda’s. ‘How did Emma Phillips’s blood get onto your uniform if you weren’t at Lane’s End?’

  ‘It isn’t her blood. How could it be? That’s a ridiculous suggestion.’ Amanda Marsh avoided looking at Fitzjohn as she shifted in her chair.

  Fitzjohn sighed. ‘Very well, we’ll leave the garment for the time being. Let’s talk about where you were on Saturday, March 26th. If you weren’t at Lane’s End, where were you?’

  ‘I’ve already told you. I spent the day at work.’

  ‘But that’s not the case,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘We’ve checked. None of your staff saw you that day.’ Amanda did not reply. ‘Well? Where were you?’

  ‘All right, I was at Lane’s End.’

  ‘Why?’

  Amanda glared at Fitzjohn.

  ‘Why were you there, Ms Marsh? he asked again.

  ‘Because... I like to go there sometimes. Just to look at the place.’ Amanda smiled to herself as if in reflection. ‘I was happy there. But this time...’ The smile left Amanda’s face.

  ‘This time what?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘This time Rachael was there.’

  ‘Rachael? But Rachael Carmichael died in 1983.’

  ‘I know that, but she was there, just the same. It made me angry because she spoilt my visit that day, just like she’d always spoilt things.’

  Fitzjohn glanced at Betts before he continued. ‘What had Rachael always spoilt?’

  ‘My life. Richard’s life. Richard deserved someone better than that trollop.’ Amanda looked around distractedly. ‘I need a cigarette. Can I smoke in here?’

  ‘There’s no smoking allowed in the building,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘You say that Richard deserved someone better than Rachael. Do you mean someone like yourself?’

  ‘Yes. I loved Richard. Rachael didn’t. She just used him. Married him for his money and kept Sebastian Newberry on a leash. I could never understand why Sebastian put up with her antics. They argued whenever they were together anyway.’

  ‘Oh? What did they argue about?’ asked Fitzjohn, his interest growing.

  ‘It was always about the same thing. Sebastian wanted Rachael to leave Richard and go and live with him in Paris. She refused, of course. After all, she had the best of both worlds. Until Sebastian killed her, that is.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Who else would it be?’

  ‘What about the gardener, Henry Beaumont?’

  ‘Mmm. The police thought it was Henry, but it wasn’t. He had no reason to kill Rachael. He would have been aware that the only reason Richard kept Lane’s End was because of her. She loved the place. Without her, Richard would have sold Lane’s End and Henry would have been out of a job.’ Amanda shook her head. ‘No. Sebastian did it. He killed that man who died at the Observatory last Friday night too.’

  ‘He did? But what reason would he have?’

  ‘Because, Chief Inspector, Peter Van Goren was really Henry Beaumont, and I believe he’d witnessed Sebastian pushing Rachael off that cliff all those years ago.’

  Fitzjohn left the interview room as Betts read Amanda Marsh her rights over the attack on Emma Phillips.

  ‘Now I’ve heard it all,’ said Betts as he walked into Fitzjohn’s office and slumped down into a chair. ‘Telling us she’d lashed out at an apparition. The woman must be unbalanced to think we’re going to believe such rubbish.’

  ‘She may well be unbalanced,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Or faking it. Whatever the case, it’s obvious she attacked Emma Phillips whether she believed her to be Rachael Carmichael or not. And as far as her accusation against Newberry goes... well, it sounds plausible, but is it true? Did he push Rachael off that cliff?’ Fitzjohn pushed his pen from end to end before he threw it down. ‘I hate to say it, Betts, but the deeper we get into this case the less we can be sure of. We’re going to have to dig deeper. Let’s talk to the Hunts again. I want to know why they agreed to Newberry’s request that they deny knowing Peter Van Goren. Arrange for them to be brought in for questioning first thing in the morning. Oh, and we’ll speak to them separately.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Betts got to his feet. ‘Can I give you a lift home?’

  ‘Thanks, but you go on. I’ll get a cab. I want to speak to Chief Superintendent Grieg before I leave this evening.’

  Fitzjohn walked into Grieg’s office some time later. He found the Chief Superintendent standing behind his desk placing papers into his briefcase. Grieg looked up when Fitzjohn appeared. ‘Yes? What is it?’

  ‘I need to speak to you, sir.’

  ‘It’ll have to wait till the morning,’ replied Grieg as he closed his briefcase. ‘I’ve got an appointment and I’m already late.’

  ‘I’m afraid this can’t wait,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  Grieg’s face reddened, his annoyance evident. ‘All right, be quick. What is it?’ he barked, sitting down heavily in his chair.

  ‘It’s in regards to Detective Senior Constable Williams, sir.’

  ‘Oh?’ Grieg’s brow furrowed. ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s expressed a wish to return to Kings Cross Station.’

  ‘Well, that’s not possible. I need him here. And why did he go to you with this request? I’m the one around here who says where and when staff get transferred.’

  ‘He came to me because I’m part of the reason he wants a transfer,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  ‘You mean you two don’t get on?’

  ‘On the contrary, Williams and I get along very well. He’s a fine police officer and can look forward to a successful career, but not if you continue to use him as a mole.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You heard me,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘I’m well aware you transferred Williams to Kings Cross Station last autumn so he could report back to you about the Michael Rossi case, and I’m also aware that he’s now back here at Day Street for the same reason. To spy on me and report to you.’

  ‘How dare you accuse me?’ screamed Grieg.

  Fitzjohn bent low over Grieg’s desk, his right hand resting on the briefcase, his eyes boring into the Chief Superintendent’s pudgy face. ‘I dare, Chief Superintendent, because it’s true, and if you don’t stop, the police force will lose a fine young man in Williams. I’m not going to let that happen.’

  ‘I’ll have you for this, Fitzjohn. You can kiss your career goodbye right now.’

  ‘If I go, you’ll go with me.’ Fitzjohn straightened up. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’

  ‘Get out! Now!’

  Fitzjohn turned and left Grieg’s office. Outside, he adjusted his tie, straightened his suit coat and smiled a wry smile. ‘That felt so good.’

  CHAPTER 19

  Early the next morning, Fitzjohn stood at the front gate and waved to Meg as her taxi left for the airport. At the same time, he breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I love you, sister dear, but in small doses,’ he said quietly to himself before turning and walking along the side of the house to the back garden. Once there, he stopped. The garden, usually full of morning sun at this hour, lay in shadow, the grass still wet with dew and the chatter of birds in the bird bath, absent. Fitzjohn lifted his gaze to the source of the shade. The
row of murraya trees that, now planted, formed a thick hedge along the fence line. What a fool I’ve been! So distracted with thoughts of my investigation I gave no attention to the effect that hedge would have on the rest of the garden. Fitzjohn shook his head and continued on with a determined gait to the greenhouse. There too shadows lingered, the air cold and uninviting. It was then he noticed Betts in the garden, his eyes glued to the hedge. Fitzjohn left the greenhouse and joined him.

  ‘So, this is the hedge, sir. It’s certainly changed things.’

  ‘And not for the better,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  ‘You could always trim it.’

  ‘If I do that, I’ll be back where I started. At least this way Rhonda Butler can’t complain about the greenhouse glass reflecting the sun into her kitchen.’

  ‘That’s true, but I wouldn’t put it past her to find something else to grumble to the Council about, sir. As I said yesterday, I think she lives to annoy you.’

  ‘I’m sure she does, Betts.’ Fitzjohn chuckled. ‘Well, I suppose if for nothing else, I give the woman a reason to get up in the morning.’

  ‘Uncle Alistair.’ Fitzjohn and Betts turned to see Sophie, her dark shoulder length hair framing a bright smiling face. ‘Hello, Martin. Lovely to see you again. I take it you got your sweater back.’

  ‘Yes. I did,’ replied Betts, mesmerized by Sophie’s deep blue eyes.

  Fitzjohn cleared his throat. ‘If you’re here to see your mother off, I’m afraid you’ve just missed her, Sophie,’ he said, breaking the spell.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame. Well, not to worry. I’ll call her later.’ It was then that Sophie looked around. ‘What’s changed? Something has.’ Fitzjohn pointed to the hedge. ‘Oh.’ Sophie grimaced. ‘Well, I hate to say this, Uncle Alistair, but that hedge is spoiling the ambience of your garden. Why on earth did you put it in?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ chimed Fitzjohn and Betts.

  ‘I’ll bet it has something to do with my mother. She mentioned that she’d solved your neighbour problem.’

  ‘She was only trying to help.’ Fitzjohn looked at his watch. ‘Come on, Betts. We’ve got the Hunts to interview.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Betts turned to Sophie. ‘Can we drop you in the city, Soph?’

  ‘Yes, that would be great. Thanks’

  Fitzjohn glared at Betts.

  ‘Soph? You call my niece Soph?’

  ‘It’s a term of endearment, sir,’ replied Betts, striding into the station after Fitzjohn.

  ‘Well, all I can say is, you’d better start trying to endear yourself to me if you know what’s good for you.’ A half smile crossed Fitzjohn’s face as he continued on to his office. ‘We’ve got work to do. Is everything set up for our interviews with the Hunts?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. We’ll do them simultaneously. You can take Emerson while I talk to Mrs Hunt.’

  A short time later, Fitzjohn and Williams walked into the interview room to find Theodora sitting alone. She jumped when the door opened and the two officers appeared.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Hunt,’ said Fitzjohn, taking his place in the chair across from her. ‘Thank you for coming in.’ Fitzjohn looked at the empty chair next to her. ‘Don’t you wish to have counsel?’ Theodora gave Fitzjohn a blank look. ‘I assume you were told that your solicitor could be present.’

  ‘Yes, I was told, but I didn’t think I’d need one.’

  Fitzjohn noted the nervous inflection in her voice. ‘Very well. If you change your mind during the course of our interview, you will let us know, won’t you?’

  Theodora smiled, her eyes darting to Williams who was preparing the recording machine. ‘Is this going to be recorded?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s normal procedure, Mrs Hunt,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘All you need to do is introduce yourself prior to me asking you questions.’ Theodora Hunt nodded and cleared her throat.

  Williams switched the device on and stated the date and time. After introductions were made, Fitzjohn started the interview.

  ‘Mrs Hunt, when we spoke previously, you told us of Richard Carmichael’s first wife, Rachael. Can you tell us how they met?’

  ‘I thought you’d want to ask me more questions about the death at the Observatory. Why are you so interested in Rachael?’

  ‘If you’ll just answer the question, Mrs Hunt.’

  ‘Oh. All right.’ Theodora glanced again at the recording machine and cleared her throat for a second time before her eyes settled on Fitzjohn. ‘Richard met Rachael through Sebastian,’ she said, haltingly.

  ‘And?’ Fitzjohn waited for Theodora to continue. ‘There’s no reason to be nervous, Mrs Hunt.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’ll try again. As I said, they met through Sebastian. At the time, he and Rachael were going out together, but the day he introduced her to his brother... well, it was obvious that Sebastian found himself on the outer. I felt a bit sorry for him really. It can’t have been easy since Rachael married Richard within a year of their meeting. Not to mention the fact that Sebastian was best man at the wedding! He never said anything, of course, but I’m sure he was devastated.’

  ‘Did Rachael and Sebastian remain on friendly terms?’

  ‘On the surface they did. They had to, but I always felt an undercurrent between them. After all, it was a bitter pill for Sebastian to swallow watching the woman he loved married to his brother. I suppose he was torn because he and Richard had always been so close. He wouldn’t have wanted to hurt Richard.’ Theodora paused. ‘Rachael, on the other hand, had the best of it. Married to Richard, who could provide her with everything she wanted, and the attentions of Sebastian with whom she had so much in common. It eventually got to Sebastian though.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ asked Fitzjohn with interest.

  ‘Because I heard them arguing on more than one occasion. Sebastian wanted Rachael to go with him to Paris! I wasn’t the only one who’d heard them arguing either. Amanda Marsh told me she’d overheard them too.’

  ‘Ms Marsh told you that?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Yes. In a way, I think it amused her because I don’t think she liked Rachael very much.’

  ‘Oh? What makes you think that, Mrs Hunt?’

  ‘Because she used to criticise Rachael in a subtle kind of way whenever the opportunity arose. And, of course, she never stopped talking about Richard. It was obvious she was besotted with the man.’ Theodora lifted her eyebrow. ‘Not the sort of woman you want as your housekeeper. If you want to keep your husband, that is. She was absolutely crushed when Richard let her go after Rachael’s death. I think she thought she and Richard and the children would all live, happily ever after, together in Mosman.’ Theodora chuckled to herself. ‘It didn’t work out quite the way she expected.’

  ‘You mentioned the last time we spoke that the Carmichaels had another employee at that time. A gardener.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Theodora, guardedly.

  ‘Do you remember his name?’ Theodora’s eyes darted to the recording device yet again. ‘Well?’

  ‘It was Henry. Henry Beaumont.’

  ‘And?’ Fitzjohn waited for Theodora to continue. ‘Can you tell us anything else about Mr Beaumont?’

  ‘He was French,’ said Theodora at last, turning the ring on her right hand. ‘In fact, meeting Henry and listening to his tales about Paris is what eventually gave me the idea to open “Fabrique en France”.’

  ‘I see. So you spent quite a bit of time talking to Henry, did you?’

  ‘Only when Emerson and I visited Lane’s End.’

  ‘What sort of person was he?’ continued Fitzjohn.

  ‘He was very nice. Always kept the gardens at Lane’s End beautifully.’

  ‘Did he live at Lane’s End?’

  ‘Yes, in a small dwelling behind the house.’

  ‘You say he was French. Do you know how he came to be employed by the Carmichaels?’

  ‘I have no idea. I suppose they advertised in the
local newspaper.’

  ‘Did he get on well with Rachael do you think?’

  ‘He seemed to. I doubt she had much to do with him. She was always so taken up with her painting whenever she was at Lane’s End.’

  ‘Very well.’ Fitzjohn looked down at the papers on the table in front of him. ‘Let’s move on then to the man who died at the Observatory. Peter Van Goren. Previously, you said that you and he talked together early on in the evening. You also said that you’d never met him before. Is that correct?’

  ‘Er... yes. That’s right.’

  ‘Are you quite sure about that?’ When Theodora did not reply, Fitzjohn continued. ‘I should remind you, Mrs Hunt that we’re conducting a murder investigation, and withholding information is an offence under the Crimes Act.’ Theodora’s cheeks reddened. ‘Would you like me to repeat the question?’ Theodora shifted in her chair. ‘Had you met Peter Van Goren prior to the function held at the Observatory on March 12th?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’

  ‘Was there nothing about the man that was familiar to you?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘Not even the fact that he walked with a limp and used a cane. Henry Beaumont walked with a limp and used a cane too, didn’t he?’

  ‘I really can’t remember. It was a long time ago.’

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t know Peter Van Goren, Mrs Hunt, because we’re led to believe that each of you present at the Observatory last Friday night, agreed to deny knowing him.’

  Theodora gasped. ‘Where did you hear that?’

  ‘Is it correct?’

  ‘It was Sebastian. He made Emerson and me agree,’ blurted Theodora.

  ‘Did he? Or did you and your husband have your own reasons for denying that you knew Henry Beaumont, alias Peter Van Goren?’ Theodora fidgeted again with her ring. ‘Why did you lie to us, Mrs Hunt?’