Lane's End Page 15

  ‘Because... I thought it would all come out.’

  ‘What would come out?’

  ‘What happened after Rachael died?’

  ‘And what did happen?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Why don’t you ask Emerson?’

  ‘Because I’m asking you, Mrs Hunt,’ replied Fitzjohn, his intense gaze fixed on Theodora. ‘I’ll repeat the question. What had you done to make you lie to the police?’

  Theodora sank back in her chair and said in all but a whisper, ‘We helped Henry hide from the police.’

  Fitzjohn’s brow furrowed as he looked at Theodora in disbelief. ‘I see. Well, in that case, you’d better tell us how your involvement came about from the beginning.’

  Theodora bit her lip. ‘It began the day that Rachael died. I got a phone call from Henry. He was calling from a public phone in Newport. He was frantic, poor man. He said that Rachael had fallen from the cliff that afternoon and that he would be blamed so he’d packed his bags and left Lane’s End.’

  ‘Why did he think he’d be blamed?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Because he saw what happened between Rachael and the other person involved. He told me that that other person threatened to expose him if he stuck around.’

  ‘Expose him for what? What had Henry Beaumont done?’

  Theodora hesitated. ‘He was an illegal immigrant.’

  ‘Ah. I see,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘So, damned if he stayed at Lane’s End once the police arrived, and certainly damned if he left.’ Theodora nodded. ‘Did he tell you who this other person was and exactly what had happened?’

  ‘No. He refused to. He thought it would be dangerous for Emerson and me to know. In a way I wish he had told us because I’ve always wondered. After all, it could only have been one of two people. Sebastian or Amanda Marsh.’

  Fitzjohn ignored the assumption and said, ‘What exactly did you do when Henry rang you, Mrs Hunt?’

  ‘I panicked. I didn’t know what to do, so I told him to wait where he was and I’d come and pick him up.’ Theodora swallowed hard. ‘I took him home to our house in Seaforth. When Emerson got home that night he had a fit. He told me he was going to telephone the police. I begged him not to and finally, he came around. After all, he’d always liked Henry.’

  ‘So, you and Mr Hunt hid Henry Beaumont from the police. A serious matter in itself, Mrs Hunt, but you also did it in the knowledge that Mr Beaumont was an illegal immigrant.’

  ‘I know.’ Theodora’s large blue eyes stared at Fitzjohn. ‘At the time, Emerson told me we could both end up in gaol. Perish the thought. It couldn’t still happen now, could it?’

  ‘That depends. How long did you give Henry Beaumont sanctuary?’

  ‘I’m not sure. A matter of weeks. Maybe six. Until the police search had ended, and things quietened down. In the meantime, Emerson helped him make plans to re-establish himself. A new name... he even lent him money to start a business.’

  ‘Did you both keep in touch with Henry Beaumont over the years?’

  ‘No. Henry only contacted Emerson once, and that was to repay the loan. We didn’t see him again until that night at the Observatory. You could have knocked me over with a feather.’

  ‘Did Peter Van Goren... Henry Beaumont, I should say, tell you why he was there that night?’

  ‘Yes. He said he’d come to speak to Richard about what he’d witnessed the day that Rachael died. Goodness knows why he chose that particular time and place.’

  ‘Previously, you told us that Richard Carmichael and Peter Van Goren argued when they spoke.’

  ‘Yes. Obviously Richard didn’t take the news well.’

  ‘Did you speak to Peter Van Goren again that evening?’

  ‘No.’

  Fitzjohn and Williams made their way from the interview room a short time later. On the way, they were joined in the hallway by Betts. Fitzjohn recounted his interview with Theodora Hunt.

  ‘Mr Hunt’s story matches his wife’s,’ said Betts. ‘He admits to giving Henry Beaumont refuge in his home at the time the police were searching for him and with full knowledge that he was an illegal immigrant.’

  ‘A damning admission,’ said Fitzjohn, entering his office. He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk and Betts and Williams sat down. ‘Even so, we need to go through everything again because even though we’ve gathered all this information, we still don’t know who killed Van Goren.’ Betts groaned. ‘It’s either that or admit failure,’ continued Fitzjohn.

  ‘We can’t do that.’ Betts opened his notebook. ‘Okay. We’ve established a link between Peter Van Goren, alias Henry Beaumont, and the Carmichael family. In so doing, it appears likely that whoever killed our victim also killed Rachael. At the time of Rachael’s death, and other than the two children, there were only three people at Lane’s End. Rachael’s brother-in-law, Sebastian Newberry, the housekeeper, Amanda Marsh, and the gardener, Henry Beaumont. We could discount Beaumont as there’s a possibility he was framed because of his illegal immigrant status.’

  ‘So that leaves Newberry and Marsh,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘Both certainly had the opportunity. Amanda Marsh admits that she took lunch to Rachael at mid-day and Sebastian Newberry admits seeking Rachael out as soon as he arrived at Lane’s End at one-thirty.’

  ‘And they both had a motive,’ put in Betts. ‘Newberry, Theodora and Laura Carmichael all paint a picture of Amanda Marsh that suggests she was in love with Richard Carmichael, whereas Amanda Marsh and Theodora Hunt portray Newberry as desperate to have Rachael leave her husband and return to him.’

  ‘Which means that either of them could have pushed Rachael off that cliff,’ said Fitzjohn. ‘But which one?’

  ‘What about Amanda Marsh’s attack on Emma Phillips, sir?’ asked Williams. ‘In her delusional state, she thought the young woman was Rachael Carmichael come back from the dead, didn’t she? It seems a bit telling.’

  ‘That’s true, Williams, and she had every opportunity, as well as a motive, to kill Peter Van Goren.’ Fitzjohn glanced at the darkened office window. ‘It’s been a long day, gentlemen, and I think it might benefit us to think on all this overnight. We’ll talk again in the morning.’ Betts and Williams got up to leave and Fitzjohn started to put his papers into his briefcase. ‘Oh. Williams. Before you go.’ As Betts disappeared through the open doorway, Williams turned around to face Fitzjohn. ‘I’ve spoken to Chief Superintendent Grieg. Your transfer to Kings Cross Station should come through in a matter of days. If you still wish to go, that is.’

  ‘I don’t see any other way, sir.’

  ‘If it’s the Chief Superintendent you’re worried about, I doubt you’ll have any more problems. As I said, I’ve spoken to him and I can guarantee that there won’t be any reprisals on his part.’ Fitzjohn paused. ‘It’s up to you. Of course, there might be other reasons you wish to transfer.’

  ‘There aren’t any other reasons, sir. To be honest, I’d sooner stay here at Day Street.’

  ‘Fitzjohn smiled. ‘Good man.’

  CHAPTER 20

  Ben turned the key in the lock and opened the front door. The days and nights at Emma’s bedside had taken their toll and he promptly slumped down into an armchair in the living room and fell into a deep sleep. Sometime later he awoke to the sound of the doorbell and a voice calling his name.

  ‘Ben? Are you there?’

  ‘Jo?’ Ben scrambled to his feet and made his way to the front door to find Joanna.

  ‘Did I wake you? I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘That’s okay. I needed to wake up anyway. Come in.’

  Joanna followed Ben into the living room and sat down on the arm of the sofa. ‘I called in at the hospital to see Emma and she asked me to pick up a few of her things.’

  ‘Well, that sounds promising. She must be feeling a little better.’

  ‘I believe she is, although, I think she’s somewhat confused about what happened to her at Lane’s End.’

  ‘Confused and frightened. Did she me
ntion the face that she keeps seeing?’

  ‘No. Is that what’s frightening her?’ Ben nodded. ‘Poor Emma. No wonder she’s questioning her sanity. Does she know the face?’

  ‘She described Amanda Marsh when I asked her about it.’

  ‘Amanda? But that doesn’t make any sense. What reason would Amanda Marsh have to be at Lane’s End?’

  ‘She wouldn’t, and Emma knows that, but it’s still frightening her. That’s why I’ve stayed with her, especially through the night.’

  Joanna looked at her brother’s drawn face. ‘Well, I’m glad you’ve come home for an hour or two to rest. You look terrible.’

  ‘Terrible or not, I’m not staying in, Jo. I have to go back to Lane’s End.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s hard to explain.’

  ‘Then try. I’d like to know.’

  ‘There’s no point.’ Ben shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t make any sense to you.’

  ‘Tell me anyway,’ urged Joanna, her curiosity roused.

  Ben stared at his sister. ‘Okay, but you’re going to think I’m losing my mind too.’ Ben sighed. ‘It all started when I went to the morgue to view Peter Van Goren’s body. No, wait a minute, that’s not right.’ Ben thought for a moment. ‘Actually, it began the night you came to tell me that Dad was in the hospital. At the time, you mentioned Mr Van Goren’s silver handled cane.

  ‘What began?’

  ‘A terrible feeling gnawing at my insides. It got worse when I went to Lane’s End and found Emma at Ivy Cottage. I can’t explain it. A sense of dread? Anxiety perhaps?’ Ben put his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Then Lane’s End is the last place you should be going,’ replied Joanna with concern. ‘I think you’re suffering from stress, and no wonder with Dad passing away, the police investigation, and Emma missing before you eventually found her. Can’t you see that?’ Joanna shook her head. ‘It’s all been too much. What you need is rest, and lots of it.’

  ‘It isn’t anything to do with being stressed, Joanna.’

  ‘All right. Don’t listen to me, but if you insist on going to Lane’s End, I’m coming with you. I don’t want you going to that place alone. Not again.’

  Ben pulled the car over onto the shoulder of the deserted lane. ‘So, this is it,’ said Joanna, wide eyed. ‘I’ve pictured it so many times in my head, but I didn’t imagine it would look like a wilderness.’ Her gaze went past the gates, rusted and bent on their hinges to the stone wall and beyond into the property. ‘It’s eerie,’ she continued as they walked slowly along the driveway.

  ‘It’s been neglected for a long time,’ replied Ben as they rounded the bend and the house, struggling to be seen through a tangled mess of vines, came into view.

  ‘Goodness.’ Joanna stopped in her tracks. ‘I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.’

  ‘It wasn’t always this way,’ said Ben. ‘It was once surrounded by a beautiful garden, and that verandah was covered in a flowering vine.’

  ‘It must have been lovely. I wish there were some photos of how it looked.’ Joanna walked up onto the verandah and peaked in one of the front windows. ‘The furniture’s still inside, Ben. Everything’s...’

  ‘Everything’s as it was the day Dad locked the door on the place thirty years ago.’

  ‘I’d love to go in and look around,’ said Joanna, her curiosity growing.

  ‘We can do that, but I want to go down to Ivy Cottage first.’

  Joanna sensed her brother’s unease. ‘Of course. Where is it?’ she asked, descending the verandah steps.

  ‘On the other side of the property. Quite a walk, but it shouldn’t take too long.’ Ben led the way along the side of the house.

  ‘What’s that place over there?’ asked Joanna as they approached a small dwelling behind the main house.

  ‘It’s where the gardener used to live.’

  Joanna peered in one of the small windows before standing back and studying the building. ‘You know, it was probably very nice at one time, and would be again if it was tidied up a bit and cared for.’ As she spoke, Ben continued on towards the tree line. Joanna ran to catch up, picking her way onto the path that led into the bush. ‘Oh, this is awful,’ she said as her shoes started to soak up the dampness in the undergrowth. ‘Do we have to walk through here? Isn’t there another way?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. And watch your step. There’re vines running everywhere.’

  ‘And spider webs. Ugh! I wonder if Emma walked through here.’

  ‘She’d have had to.’

  They continued on, the bird song ending and the sun’s rays diminishing the further they went.

  ‘Are you sure we’re not lost?’ Joanna wiped a spider web from her arm, its substance leaving a sticky residue.

  ‘It’s not far now. We’re nearly there.’ As Ben spoke, the sound of the sea could be heard on the wind, and seconds later they walked out into a clearing overlooking the ocean.

  Joanna stopped as the sea breeze hit her face. ‘Oh, my goodness. What a beautiful place,’ she said, turning a full circle before noticing Ben’s contorted expression.

  ‘What is it? Ben? Are you all right?’

  Ben did not reply, but walked as if in a trance across the clearing to the edge of the cliff. Once there, beads of sweat poured from his brow, and with a sense of déjà vu, his eyes glowered at the rocks below, their surface battered by the ocean swell. Transfixed, he did not feel Joanna grab his trembling arm.

  ‘Ben! Come away from the edge. You’re making me nervous.’

  A child-like scream rang through his head and tears rolled down his face as the full force of what he had seen that day, long ago, played out in his mind.

  ‘Ben!’ Joanna tried again to pull him back from the edge of the cliff. As she did so, he sank to his knees, his gaze on the frothing rocks below, the expression on his face one of horror.

  Unsure what to do, and with her heart pounding, Joanna knelt down next to her brother and waited. Minutes passed before he said, ‘I watched her fall.’

  ‘Oh, Ben.’ Joanna put her arm around Ben’s waist and guided him back up onto the grass verge where he sat with his elbows on his bent knees, his eyes staring out across the sea.

  ‘Henry told me to wait.’

  ‘Henry? Who’s Henry?’ asked Joanna.

  ‘He was the gardener. Henry Beaumont was his name.’ Ben looked at Joanna. ‘I’d forgotten we even had a gardener until Theodora mentioned it the other day. Even then I didn’t remember anything about him or how he was involved on that day.’

  Joanna glared at Ben. ‘Are you saying that Henry Beaumont pushed our mother off the cliff?’

  ‘No. She wasn’t pushed.’

  ‘You’re not saying she jumped!’ said Joanna, alarmed.

  ‘Not that, either.’ With tears brimming his eyelids, the long forgotten memory poured out in a stream of faltering words as he recounted that day. ‘I was with Henry that afternoon. Following him around as I always did. When we got to this spot, we saw Mum and Sebastian arguing and struggling over there near the edge of the cliff. Mum broke away from him. When she did, she stumbled. Then she was gone.’ A long silence followed before Ben continued. ‘Henry left me standing here and ran to help. I guess he could see what could happen, but he didn’t get there in time.’

  ‘What about Sebastian?’ asked Joanna. ‘He must have seen you watching.’

  ‘He was probably too distraught to notice me, and besides, the landscape was different here then. There were a lot more bushes and trees. I doubt he saw me.’

  ‘What happened after that?’

  ‘I’m not sure. There was a lot of shouting and screaming. I don’t know who it was. Maybe it was me. All I remember is Henry grabbing me and carrying me back through those trees. He put me down when we got to his stone cottage and he told me to run back to the main house. I never saw him again until...’

  ‘When?’

  ‘The other day. At the mo
rgue in Parramatta.’

  Joanna glared at Ben. ‘You mean Peter Van Goren was really Henry Beaumont?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That must be why he turned up at the cocktail party. And why he asked after you. He must have gone there to tell Dad what happened here that day.’ Joanna looked at Ben. ‘And someone murdered him. Who?’

  CHAPTER 21

  ‘Looks like you have visitors,’ said Joanna as she pulled her car over to the curb. ‘It’s the Chief Inspector and his Sergeant. You’ll be able to tell them what you’ve remembered.’ Ben climbed out of the car and followed by Joanna, made his way through the garden to where the two officers stood talking.

  ‘Ah, Mr Carmichael. Just the man,’ said Fitzjohn, turning around. ‘We have news.’

  ‘I have some too, Chief Inspector,’ replied Ben, unlocking the front door. ‘Joanna and I have just come back from Lane’s End.’ Ben ushered the two police officers into the living room.

  ‘Did you have a particular reason for going there?’ asked Fitzjohn as they sat down.

  ‘I did, although it’s difficult to describe. You see, since hearing about Peter Van Goren’s death and viewing his body at the morgue, I’ve been getting what I can only describe as flashbacks. Sounds crazy, I know, but that’s why I decided to go back to Lane’s End today. I’m glad I did because while we were there, it all came back to me. What happened the day our mother died.’ Ben recounted what his mind had finally released.

  ‘So your mother’s death was an accident, after all,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘Yes, although it probably wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t struggled away from Sebastian.’ Ben paused. ‘Theodora Hunt mentioned to me the other day that the gardener had left Lane’s End that day and he became a hunted man.’ Ben shook his head. ‘I can’t think why he’d do that when all he’d done is try to help. I guess we’ll never know.’