Lane's End Page 11

  ‘What sort of a person was Henry Beaumont, Ms Marsh?’

  ‘Well, as I remember, he was a fairly quiet man. Kept to himself a lot, but he was a good worker. He transformed the grounds at Lane’s End into a botanical masterpiece.’

  With thoughts tumbling through his mind including Williams’s continued silence, the two officers returned to the station and went their separate ways. Fitzjohn got himself a cup of coffee and went to his office to prepare for the next case management meeting. It wasn’t long, however, before Williams appeared in the open doorway.

  ‘Can I speak to you, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Can’t it wait for the meeting, Williams? I just want to get a few things straight in my mind before we start.’

  ‘It’s not about the case, sir,’ replied Williams, looking uncharacteristically awkward.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘No. It’s... more or less personal.’

  Fitzjohn put his pen down and sat back in his chair. ‘Then you’d better come in and close the door.’ He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.

  Williams sat down and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’m not sure how to start, sir.’

  ‘Why don’t you start with what it’s about?’

  ‘Okay. It’s about someone on staff.’ Williams hesitated. ‘Someone of higher rank.’

  ‘Me?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘No, not you, sir. It’s about Chief Superintendent Grieg.’

  ‘Oh.’ Fitzjohn sat forward. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Do you remember during your secondment to Kings Cross Station last autumn when you found I’d been permanently moved there by the Chief?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, as I think I told you at the time, I was happy with the move until...’

  Fitzjohn frowned. ‘Until what?’

  ‘This will sound ridiculous…God, I can hardly believe I’m sitting here telling you.’

  ‘You haven’t told me anything yet, Williams.’

  ‘Well, it’s just that I have the feeling my transfer to Kings Cross was set up for a purpose not related to my career in the police force.’ Williams’s eyes locked onto Fitzjohn’s. ‘I’m probably not making myself very clear here, am I?’ Williams ran his trembling hand through his hair. ‘You see, sir, I’d been at Kings Cross Station for about a week when you arrived. After your arrival, Chief Superintendent Grieg contacted me and told me to report to him on the case you were working on at the time.’

  ‘The Michael Rossi case?’

  ‘Yes. Chief Superintendent Grieg said he wanted to know everything that went on.’ Williams paused. ‘It went against the grain, but I’m afraid I did what he told me to do.’

  ‘So why are you telling me this now?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Because... Oh, God.’ Williams took a deep breath. ‘Because last week, I found myself transferred back here to Day Street and this morning before we left to interview Amanda Marsh, the Chief Superintendent told me to do the same again. I’m to report to him on your activities in relation to the Van Goren case. There, I’ve said it.’ Williams slumped back in his chair.

  ‘Did the Chief Superintendent give you a reason?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘No, sir, but he did make it clear that it wouldn’t be in my best interest to refuse. I got the feeling I’d end up transferred to the farthest reaches of New South Wales. What should I do, sir?’

  ‘Well, first let me say that I appreciate your coming to see me because I know how difficult it must have been for you, especially since it concerns a senior officer. Secondly, I apologise for the manner in which you’ve been treated. And as far as what you should do, I’d say there’s nothing you need to do. I’ll see to this matter myself and we’ll speak again when I’ve done so.’

  As Williams left the office, Fitzjohn sat back in his chair. So, he thought, Williams was and, it seems, still is Grieg’s mole. What possible motive could Grieg have for enlisting a junior officer to spy? Is he paranoid enough to think I want his job? If so, what lengths will he go to get rid of me? As these thoughts ran through his head, Betts appeared.

  ‘The Duty Sergeant said you want to see me, sir,’ he said, striding into the room.

  ‘Yes, Betts. I want to know if there’s any news on Van Goren before we go into the case management meeting.’

  ‘There is, sir. We’ve ascertained that Peter Van Goren’s bank account records started in October, 1983. He had no records prior to that. In Australia, at least. I’ve contacted Interpol. I’m just waiting to hear back.’

  ‘Good. So, we could conclude that before then he lived overseas. With a name like Van Goren, he might have been an immigrant. Didn’t Ida Clegg mention that he spoke with a slight accent?’

  ‘She did,’ replied Betts, standing with both hands on the back of one of the chairs in front of Fitzjohn’s desk. ‘But when I checked with the Immigration Department, I found there is no record of anybody by the name of Peter Van Goren entering Australia as either an immigrant or a tourist, which only leaves the possibility that he came into the country illegally.’

  ‘But how?’ mused Fitzjohn.

  ‘Well, there are a few possibilities. He could have entered as a tourist and changed his name when he overstayed his visa. Or he might have come in as an employee of some foreign company and never left. Then there’s the possibility he worked for a shipping line and jumped ship.’

  ‘Check them all, Betts.’ Fitzjohn thought for a moment. ‘It’s not that easy to open a bank account. What did he use as verification?’

  ‘His Australian passport, sir.’

  ‘Really? How did he manage that one, I wonder.’

  ‘Not through the usual channels,’ replied Betts. ‘I contacted the Passport Office in Canberra. They have no record of issuing a passport in the name Peter Van Goren.’

  ‘A forgery then. Not difficult to get, I suppose, if you know the right people.’ Fitzjohn looked thoughtful.

  ‘There’s something else, sir. His bank records show that his initial account in 1983, was opened with a sizeable amount. Twenty-five thousand dollars. Quite a sum at the time, I imagine.’

  ‘It was, Betts. Enough to get him started with his first business venture, I’d say.’

  ‘I think it did, sir, because on checking with Raymond West, Van Goren opened his first coffee shop around that time. West did the conveyancing.’

  ‘Very well. Why don’t we make ourselves familiar with Mr Van Goren’s business ventures because we don’t seem to be making much headway in any other area? To start with, arrange for a search warrant to search his home at Vaucluse. Hopefully it’ll help us get a better perspective on the man.’ Fitzjohn paused. ‘The other thing I want to discuss is Rachael Carmichael. I know her death isn’t part of our investigation, but with that case left unsolved and the fact that our present case involves the same family, I feel we should keep it in mind. If nothing else, it could give us some insight into those who are of interest to us in the Peter Van Goren case.’

  Fitzjohn flicked through the papers on his desk. ‘For a start, Amanda Marsh’s recollections about the day Rachael died, match that of Sebastian Newberry. Secondly, if there was a problem between Amanda and Rachael, there’s been no hint of it from those we’ve spoken to. Even Newberry’s relationship with Rachael appears to have been that of true friendship. Henry Beaumont, of course, remains an enigma. All we know about him is that he was, presumably, a good gardener. According to Amanda Marsh, that is.

  ‘Well, if Rachael’s death was foul play, sir, there were only three people who saw her alone that day. Amanda, Newberry and Henry Beaumont, and it seems to me that they each had the opportunity and the means to kill her. Beaumont, in particular. He had ample time to be alone with her that morning while she was painting at the cottage, and let’s not forget, he disappeared after she was found to be missing.’

  ‘But why, Betts? What motive would he have to kill her? Come to that, what motive would any of them have had?’

  ‘Maybe we�
�re reading too much into it, sir. Maybe she did jump or accidentally slip.’

  ‘It still doesn’t explain why Henry packed up and left that day. Unless, of course, it was foul play and he knew the perpetrator. If that was the case, whoever that person was must have had something on Henry Beaumont to cause him to leave. See what you can find out about him, Betts.’

  ‘Excuse me, Chief Inspector.’ Fitzjohn and Betts looked around to see the Duty Officer standing in the doorway. ‘There’s a Mr Ben Carmichael here to see you.’

  Fitzjohn glanced at Betts who went to stand next to the filing cabinet. ‘Thank you, Sergeant. You can show him in.’

  ‘He must be here about his fiancée,’ said Betts.’

  ‘Mmm. I dare say he is. There’s been no new development on that as yet, has there?’

  ‘No, sir. I spoke to DCI Roberts only this morning.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to disappoint him, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Mr Carmichael,’ said Fitzjohn as Ben appeared in the doorway. ‘Please, come in and have a seat. I’m afraid there’s no news as yet on your fiancée’s attacker.’

  ‘Actually, I’m not here about that, Chief Inspector. I wanted to speak to you about another matter. It’s concerning Peter Van Goren.’ Ben Carmichael settled himself into a chair. ‘To come straight to the point, I’ve just learnt that he made me a beneficiary in his will.’ Ben looked at Fitzjohn. ‘You probably think that I’ve been lying to you all along about our relationship, but I haven’t. I didn’t know the man.’

  ‘Even so, you have to agree that it’s unusual for someone to leave their estate to a total stranger,’ replied Fitzjohn.’

  ‘I agree, and I can’t think why he did it.’ Ben paused. ‘I’d hate you to think that my father was involved in some way.’

  ‘We can’t discount it.’

  ‘That’s what I was afraid of.’ Ben shook his head. ‘You didn’t know my father, Chief Inspector. He was a decent, hard-working man. He didn’t kill Peter Van Goren.’

  ‘We’re not saying he did, but we are of the opinion that your father knew him. How, we don’t know, but we will find out. If you know anything, anything at all, I do urge you to come forward with that information.’ Fitzjohn paused for a moment before he continued. ‘We understand you were quite young when your mother died, Mr Carmichael.’

  Ben hesitated as if taken aback by the sudden change in subject. ‘Yes. I was six at the time.’

  ‘Do you remember what happened on that day?’

  ‘Up until the day I found Emma at Lane’s End, I didn’t remember much about it at all.’

  ‘And since?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Since then I’ve remembered a few things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like the fact that we had a gardener. I now remember him meeting us and helping with the bags when we arrived. It sounds ridiculous but I’d forgotten all about him.’

  ‘It’s not surprising,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘After all, it must have been a confusing and traumatic day for you. Can you tell us anything about the man?’

  Ben smiled as if to himself. ‘Only that he had a lot of time for me. He let me follow him around while he worked.’ Ben’s brow wrinkled. ‘I also remember asking him where he was going the day he left.’ Ben paused. ‘There were tears in his eyes.’

  ‘You saw him leave?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone?’

  ‘I don’t know. All I remember is being driven back home to Mosman and wondering why we weren’t staying for the weekend like we’d planned. And wondering why my mother wasn’t with us. My questions remained unanswered. The rest is a blank.’

  Fitzjohn studied Ben Carmichael’s face before he continued. ‘If you do think of anything else about that day, Mr Carmichael, will you come and see us?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Ben met Fitzjohn’s intent gaze. ‘Why is that day so important, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘It may not be, Mr Carmichael, but we can’t dismiss anything at this point in our investigation.’

  ‘Then perhaps I should tell you that Lane’s End has been left to me in my father’s will.’

  ‘I see. Well, in light of that fact, can I ask whether selling the property is part of your plan? Because if it is, we’d ask that you delay putting it on the market until our investigation is complete.’

  ‘I have no plans. Not at this stage.’ Ben Carmichael met Fitzjohn’s. ‘Does this mean that you think Lane’s End has something to do with Peter Van Goren’s death?’

  ‘As I mentioned earlier,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘We can’t discount anything.’

  CHAPTER 15

  Under a blanket of low dark cloud and with dawn breaking, the taxi wended its way through the streets of Sydney’s CBD. Fitzjohn gazed out of the rain splattered window, his thoughts a mixture of Rhonda Butler’s threat of Council action against his beloved greenhouse, and the mystery surrounding Peter Van Goren’s true identity. When the taxi pulled up in front of Day Street Police Station, he climbed out, and holding his morning paper above his head, raced inside. Amid the hubbub, he made his way to his office where he placed his wet briefcase down before tossing the sodden newspaper onto the desk. As he did so, the door opened and Betts walked into the room, a certain sense of satisfaction across his face.

  ‘Morning, Betts,’ said Fitzjohn, turning around. ‘You look particularly cheery for such a wet morning. Why’s that?’

  ‘I have news about Peter Van Goren, sir.’

  ‘Oh?’ Fitzjohn grabbed the paper and tried to extract the crossword section. ‘What sort of news?’

  ‘Ida Clegg contacted me last night after you’d left, and before our search warrant had come through from the Magistrate’s office. She said she’d been going through Mr Van Goren’s belongings and had come across a couple of items she thought we should see. One of them was a merchant seaman’s card in the name of Henry Beaumont.’ The newspaper fell from Fitzjohn’s hands. ‘And that’s not all, sir. Mrs Clegg also found an envelope containing x-rays, taken at Mona Vale Hospital in 1982. Of a leg! They’re in the name of Henry Beaumont.’

  ‘So, what you’re saying is that Van Goren and Henry Beaumont are one and the same person.’ Fitzjohn sat down heavily into his chair.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Betts. ‘I checked with the hospital archive records. They confirmed that at the time of admission, Mr Beaumont was employed as a gardener at Lane’s End. It’s all there, sir. How he injured his leg while using a lawn mower on a hillside at his place of employment, Lane’s End, as well as his medical expenses being paid by his employer, Richard Carmichael.’

  ‘That’s all well and good, Betts, but we’ll need more proof than the fact that these x-rays were found at Van Goren’s residence.’

  ‘We have that too, sir. Comparing the records of Henry Beaumont to those of Peter Van Goren at the morgue - blood group, everything. It all matches!’ Betts smiled.

  ‘Well done. I’m impressed. Finally, we have a positive connection between Van Goren and the Carmichael family.’ Fitzjohn swung his chair back and forth. ‘Who would have thought? Van Goren, alias Henry Beaumont, knew Richard Carmichael because he’d worked as the family’s gardener. But what was his reason for attending the cocktail party, I wonder? That’s the next question.’

  ‘Now we know who Van Goren really was, I’d say it was something to do with Rachael’s death,’ replied Betts. ‘After all, if we go back thirty years to September 1983, we know that Henry disappeared without trace the day she fell from the cliff. That gave rise to the suspicion that he might have been involved in her death. Fast forward to March 2013, Henry, now known as Peter Van Goren, attends the cocktail party at the Observatory after being told, that afternoon, he had a matter of weeks to live. Maybe the fact he’d absconded that day prompted him to seek out Richard Carmichael to either admit or deny his involvement. Not to mention the fact that if he wasn’t responsible, he might have known who was.’

  ‘So, we can surmise that i
f he was there to tell Richard Carmichael that he was responsible, that admission alone would have given Richard Carmichael a motive to kill Van Goren,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘On the other hand, if Van Goren was there to deny perpetrating such a heinous act, it might have been the catalyst for Carmichael’s collapse, and subsequent heart attack. The confusion that followed his collapse would have allowed the killer ample time to ensure Van Goren couldn’t tell anyone else. But if that was the case, Betts, who was it?’

  ‘I think Sebastian Newberry and Amanda Marsh are the most likely suspects, sir. They were the only two people at the function who were also at Lane’s End when Rachael died.’

  ‘True, if we’re connecting Rachael’s death with Van Goren’s.’ Fitzjohn thought for a moment. ‘Could there have been someone else at Lane’s End the day Rachael died that we don’t know about?’

  ‘If there was, surely the housekeeper or Newberry would have known.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Remember, Lane’s End is a big place. There might be another way of getting to Ivy Cottage without passing by the main house.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find out, sir.’

  ‘Do that, because now we know Peter Van Goren’s true identity, it begs belief that none of the guests at that cocktail party who had known Henry Beaumont, didn’t recognise him. He couldn’t have changed that much over the years. Even if he had, surely the sight of that silver handled cane would have jogged their memories.’ Fitzjohn sat back in his chair. ‘One thing’s for sure. We’re not getting the whole truth from one, or perhaps more than one of those we interviewed. We’ll question them all again, but this time formally. Make the arrangements, starting with Mr Newberry.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The police officer opened the door into Interview Room #2 and stood back. ‘If you’ll take a seat in there, gentlemen, DCI Fitzjohn will be with you shortly.’

  Scowling, Sebastian, followed by his solicitor, strode into the small windowless room and looked around. ‘God, it reminds me of one of those police shows I watch on television... except this is for real.’ With indignation, he yanked out a chair from the table and plumped down, his gaze taking in the insipid green walls. ‘What on earth am I doing here? I should have insisted they speak to me at home or at my office.’ As the minutes ticked by, he tapped the leg of the table with the point of his shoe. ‘How long are we going to have to wait? I’ve got better things to do with my time.’