Lane's End Read online

  Theodora’s eyes darted from Fitzjohn to Betts before she glanced over to her customer who now stood at the counter. ‘Will you excuse me for just one minute while I serve that woman?’

  ‘She knows something,’ said Fitzjohn under his breath as Theodora scurried away. ‘But I have a feeling we’re not going to find out what it is. Not today, anyway.’ Amid Theodora’s continuous prattle to her customer, Fitzjohn and Betts browsed the knick knacks on the many shelves before she rejoined them.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said. ‘It tends to get busy at this time of day. Now, where were we?’

  ‘You were about to tell us what you gleaned from Richard Carmichael’s argument with Peter Van Goren,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  ‘Oh, yes. Well, I can’t say I gleaned anything other than what I told you previously. I heard Ben’s name mentioned and Richard telling Mr Van Goren to leave the premises. I’m afraid that’s all.’

  ‘Did Richard Carmichael argue with anyone else that evening?’

  ‘Well, since you mention it, he did have words with his half-brother, Sebastian, before he left the marquee to speak to the caterer about the food presentation.

  ‘You mean they quarrelled?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know what that was about?’

  ‘No, because Richard was trying to keep his voice down. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look quite so angry. He’s usually such a placid person. Or at least he was.’

  ‘Did the two brothers’ normally disagree?’

  ‘I’ve never known them to argue, but you never really know what goes on behind closed doors, do you, Chief Inspector? If anything, Sebastian has always seemed to have been a great support for Richard. Especially when Richard’s first wife, Rachael, died.’

  ‘Oh? When did she pass away?’ asked Fitzjohn with growing interest.

  Theodora thought for a moment. ‘It must be close to thirty years ago if not more. 1983, I think. Or was it ’84. At any rate, it was when their children, Ben and Joanna were quite young. A dreadful tragedy. Made worse by the way in which she died.’

  ‘Why? What happened to her, Mrs Hunt?’

  ‘She fell from the top of a cliff that ran along the edge of the family’s property at Whale Beach. What made things worse is that her body wasn’t found until a couple of days later, further up the coast.’ Theodora became animated. ‘At the time, there was talk that the gardener did it.’

  ‘The gardener?’

  ‘Yes. Ridiculous, of course. Henry wouldn’t have hurt a fly.’

  ‘Then why do you think he was thought to be guilty?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Because he disappeared on the day Rachael died.’

  Fitzjohn and Betts left Fabrique en France and made their way along the footpath to their car. ‘You were right, sir. I think Mrs Hunt was more open without her husband present.’

  ‘Mmm. I doubt we would have learnt about Richard Carmichael’s first wife or about his argument with his half-brother if Emerson Hunt had been there. And even though Rachael Carmichael’s death isn’t relevant to our investigation, I want to take a look at the Coroner’s Report. It might help to give us a bit of background on the Carmichael family.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Also, I want to speak to Sebastian Newberry again because I’d really like to know what he and his brother argued about on Friday night. I seem to remember him telling us he has an interior design business.’

  ‘That’s right,’ replied Betts, climbing into the car. ‘Ultra Design. It’s in Crows Nest. On Chandos Street.’

  Fitzjohn and Betts walked into the Ultra Design showroom to find Sebastian Newberry with a young couple near a display of curtain materials. He looked around when he heard the door open. Impeccably dressed in a dark blue pin striped suit and bright red tie, he excused himself and walked toward them.

  ‘Good morning, gentlemen.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Newberry,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘We’d like to speak to you again if we may.’

  ‘Not the best timing,’ said Newberry, looking around. ‘As you can see, we’re quite busy at the moment.’

  ‘We’re quite busy too, Mr Newberry, endeavouring to solve a murder.’

  Newberry glared at Fitzjohn before he called to his young assistant at the reception desk. ‘Jacinta, my dear, can you take over, please?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Newberry.’

  Newberry turned back to Fitzjohn and Betts. ‘We can talk in my office. This way.’ They left the showroom and entered a spacious room, its modern furniture, neutral tones and marble floor exuding the same stark minimalism as the showroom. He gestured toward two chrome-framed white plastic chairs in front of his desk before sitting down himself.

  ‘You appear to have a thriving business, Mr Newberry,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘We do, Chief Inspector, probably because we’re a multi-faceted operation. Not only do we deal with interior design and decorating, but architectural services as well.’ Newberry gave a quick smile and sat back in his chair. ‘Although, having said that, a great deal of our success is due to my brother, Richard. He referred many of his clients to us.’ Newberry paused. ‘I take it you’ve heard of Richard’s passing.’

  ‘We have. It’s most regrettable,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  ‘It is, and in light of that fact, I hope he can now be removed from your list of suspects. My brother was a decent man, Chief Inspector. Richard would never have perpetrated such a crime on another human being, I can assure you.’

  ‘We understand your concern, Mr Newberry. However, I’m afraid everyone who attended the cocktail party last Friday evening will remain “persons of interest” until our investigation is complete.’

  ‘Well, I hope that’s soon because I don’t want my brother’s memory sullied by what happened that night. Especially since he’s no longer here to defend himself.’

  ‘I take it you and your brother were close.’

  ‘We were. Largely because we were both left fatherless at a young age. My father, Edmund Newberry, died in a car accident when I was just two. My mother was still quite young at the time and remarried my father’s best friend as it happened. Desmond Carmichael. But it didn’t last. Desmond left us shortly after Richard was born.’

  ‘We’re led to believe that your brother spoke to you straight after his argument with Peter Van Goren. Did he tell you what their argument was about,’ asked Fitzjohn.

  Newberry shifted in his chair. ‘No. I didn’t even know they’d argued until Theodora Hunt mentioned it to you on Friday night.’

  ‘I see. Well, in that case, can you tell me what you and your brother spoke about?’

  ‘It was business, that’s all. Richard said he had a client who was interested in having a property renovated.’

  ‘So you yourselves didn’t argue.’

  ‘Certainly not. Why? Has someone told you we did?’

  Fitzjohn ignored Newberry’s question. ‘It helps if those we interview tell us the truth, Mr Newberry. We’ll leave it there for now.’

  CHAPTER 8

  A blackbird’s call resonated in the morning’s half light, and Ben stirred, the escape he had found in sleep, ending. As he dozed, thoughts drifted through his mind. His father’s anxiety as he lay dying, Peter Van Goren’s ashen face when the sheet fell away, and Emma. What of Emma? The thump of the morning paper hitting the front door sounded and Ben made his way downstairs. Opening the door, he found Joanna about to knock. She smiled through the wisps of fair hair falling from her pony tail and handed him the paper.

  ‘I didn’t hear from you last night so I take it all’s well and Emma was here when you got home.’ When Ben did not reply, Joanna gaped. ‘She was just out at a movie, wasn’t she?’

  ‘No. I’ve not heard from her, and neither have any of her friends. Not since last Thursday.’ Ben rubbed the back of his neck. ‘The police have her listed as missing.’

  ‘Oh, Ben. I’m so sorry. You must be worried sick.’ Joanna look
ed at her brother’s dishevelled appearance and his haversack still on the floor next to the stairs. ‘I wish you’d called. I’d have come straight over.’

  ‘You needed to be with Laura, and besides, events took over and I had to go out. The police wanted me to view Peter Van Goren’s body to see if I could identify him.’

  Joanna grimaced. ‘And were you able to?’

  ‘No.’ Ben’s thoughts returned to the morgue and the sense of dread and sorrow that seared through him when he had seen Van Goren’s face. All at once he hit the rolled up newspaper against the side of his leg. ‘Would you like coffee?’

  Joanna nodded and followed her brother through to the kitchen where he tossed the paper onto the large wooden table in the centre of the room. ‘I hope you don’t mind instant. I’ve never been home long enough to come to grips with the workings of that “state of the art” espresso machine over there. Emma’s the coffee maker.’ He poured boiling water into two mugs and brought them to the table before slumping down into a chair. ‘God only knows what’s happened to her.’

  ‘Have you spoken to her dad in New Zealand?’

  ‘Not yet. With his recent health problems, I didn’t want to alarm him unnecessarily but now, with no news of Emma... I’ll call him this morning.’ Ben sighed. ‘I’ve got to try and find her, Joanna. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.’

  Joanna patted her brother’s hand. ‘I know it’s difficult, but I don’t know what else you can do but wait until you hear from the police.’ A moment of silence followed as they both sipped their coffee. ‘Have you spoken to your neighbours? After all, one of them might have seen Emma leave in her car.’

  ‘I did a door-knock. The neighbours I spoke to haven’t noticed Emma since last week sometime. The only one I wasn’t able to speak to is Ron next door because he’s away. I’ll talk to him when he gets back.’ Ben looked at his sister. ‘I’m not very good company, I know. My mind’s in a bit of a fog.’ Ben took another sip of his coffee. ‘How’s Laura?’

  ‘She’s coping - quietly. The fact that she’s Dad’s executrix is a distraction because there is a lot she has to do, as well as the funeral arrangements. I have a feeling it’ll be after the funeral that the fact that Dad is gone will hit her.’ Joanna stared at her mug of coffee, turning it around as she did so. ‘It doesn’t seem real to me either. Not yet.’ Joanna looked up. ‘Anyway, I’m staying with her for the time being. I thought a bit of company wouldn’t go astray. For either of us.’ Joanna prodded the pile of letters that sat with the newspaper in the middle of the table. ‘Aren’t you going to open your mail?’

  ‘No. I’ll open it later.’

  Joanna studied her brother’s face. ‘Ben, you have to keep going. You can’t let things slip,’ she said as she spread the letters out with her index finger. ‘This one’s from a solicitor’s office. West Longmire & Associates. It could be important.’

  Ben picked up the monogrammed envelope. ‘Why would a solicitor be writing to me?’

  ‘Why don’t you open it and find out?’

  Grudgingly, Ben ran his finger along the inside top of the envelope and took out the folded sheet of soft vellum writing paper. His eyes scanned the letter. ‘What the heck!’

  ‘Is it bad news or good?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Listen to this.’

  Dear Mr Carmichael

  I wish to advise that you are named as a beneficiary in the last will and testament of my client, Peter Van Goren.

  Please contact my office at your earliest convenience to arrange an appointment so that we can discuss this matter.

  Yours sincerely

  Raymond West

  Senior Partner

  West Longmire & Associates

  Barristers & Solicitors

  Ben handed the letter to Joanna.

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t recognise Peter Van Goren when you saw him at the morgue?’ she asked, taking the letter in her hand.

  ‘Of course I’m sure. I’ve never seen the man in my life before.’ Ben shook as the image of Van Goren’s wax-like face flashed through his mind.

  ‘Well, it seems he knew you,’ she replied as she read the letter for herself. ‘You don’t make complete strangers beneficiaries in your will. And he did ask me about you at the cocktail party on Friday night, remember?’

  As Joanna spoke, the doorbell rang. ‘That might be the police with news.’ Ben jumped up from his chair. Moments later he returned followed by a dark haired young woman in her late thirties.

  ‘Joanna, this is Audrey McIntyre, Emma’s research assistant. Audrey, my sister.’

  Audrey extended her hand to Joanna. ‘Pleased to meet you, Joanna. I was hoping you’d heard from Emma, but Ben says not.’ Audrey adjusted her dark-rimmed glasses and sat down at the kitchen table before placing her handbag on her lap. ‘I wish I could be of more help,’ she continued. ‘But as I told Ben yesterday, the last time I spoke to Emma was Thursday night.’ Audrey adjusted her glasses again. ‘I’m also sorry to hear about your Dad. I saw it on the news last night.’ She looked to Ben. ‘I had no idea what had happened to him when we spoke on the phone. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You weren’t to know,’ said Ben joining them at the table. ‘I take it the police contacted you about Emma?’

  ‘Yes. They came to see me yesterday afternoon. I tried to remember as much as I could about the last time I saw her. I told you Emma and I spent Thursday afternoon at the Mitchell Library, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you did. You’re helping her with research for her book on Australian artists, aren’t you?’ said Ben.

  ‘That’s right. I’ve been researching two South Australian painters for her. Did you know that Emma had decided to also include your mother’s work in the book?’

  ‘She did mention it,’ replied Ben. ‘But I told her I didn’t think it was a good idea.’

  ‘Oh.’ Audrey’s brow wrinkled. ‘Then I guess I’ve let the cat out of the bag.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Because as far as I know, Emma’s going ahead with it. She’s already done quite a lot of research into your mother’s work and her life as an artist. The only thing she hasn’t been able to do yet is to visit her studio at Lane’s End. She wanted to go there and take photographs, but for that she told me she needed your father’s permission.’

  ‘That’s right, and I doubt he’d have given it. None of the family has been back to Lane’s End since our mother died.’ Ben glanced at Joanna. ‘The property’s been closed up since that time. Thirty years.’

  ‘Mmm. That’s what Emma said, and that’s why she approached your step-mother Laura, rather than your Dad.’ A look of surprise crossed Ben’s face as he recalled telling Emma that her request to visit Lane’s End would, undoubtedly, be refused by his father and that to pursue the matter would only cause her more disappointment. At the time, he had sensed her dismay in his lack of support, but how could he explain his father’s sensitivities about Lane’s End. After all, what had happened there, years ago, was only a memory that lurked in the darkest recesses of his mind and had done so for as long as he could remember. A shiver went through him as it always did when his thoughts drifted into the past with its shadows and untold truths. ‘She was a bit miffed actually that Laura hadn’t got back to her,’ continued Audrey.

  ‘That’s probably because she was waiting for the right moment to bring the subject up with Dad. It’s always been a closed topic with him,’ replied Ben.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know that. It would have made it difficult for your step-mother to broach the subject then.’

  ‘Did Emma say how else she planned to conduct her research about our mother, Audrey?’ asked Joanna.

  ‘No, although she did say that she’d spoken to a woman who’d known your Mum. I think her name was Theodora.’

  ‘Theodora Hunt?’ chimed Ben and Joanna.

  ‘Yes. That’s it. You know her then?’

  ‘She’s the wife of our father’s business
partner, Emerson Hunt.’

  Ben shut the front door behind Audrey McIntyre and returned to the kitchen. ‘So, Emma went ahead with including our mother in her book after I told her it wasn’t a good idea,’ said Ben, sitting down at the kitchen table again. ‘I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but I’d hoped she’d listened for a change.’

  ‘Saying it’s not a good idea isn’t telling her not to, Ben,’ replied Joanna.

  ‘Well, that’s what I meant.’

  ‘Then you should have spelt it out. Emma is very strong willed. Anyway, why didn’t you want our mother included in the book? I think it’s a wonderful idea. By all accounts she was a talented artist.’

  ‘I don’t doubt she was. I just thought it would cause more friction between Dad and me.’

  Joanna reflected for a moment. ‘Mmm. You’re probably right. Let’s face it, Dad never did get over you choosing a photographic career instead of academia, did he? But I did think that when you became so successful at what you do, he’d have eased off a bit.’ Joanna paused. ‘I wonder what was really at the bottom of his contempt.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that I believe there was another reason that Dad made life difficult for you. If you think about it, things weren’t much better between the two of you even before you went to university.’

  Joanna was right, of course. Things had never been good between him and Dad. Why was that? Did it have something to do with the past? After all, he knew that Lane’s End, once the Carmichael’s summer house by the sea, was a source of sorrow for his father. It was almost as if he wanted to erase it from his memory. Ben thought of his father’s last words. “He told me you s... I’m sorry...”. What had his words meant? Was he saying sorry for the hostility that had existed between them or did they have some other special significance? ‘Well, whatever it was, Joanna, it doesn’t matter now, does it?’

  ‘No, I guess not.’ Joanna picked up the solicitor’s letter again. ‘What are you going to do about this letter?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘I can’t deal with that right now.’