Lane's End (9 page)

‘And no way of knowing who attacked her,’ said Fitzjohn. Ben shook his head. ‘In that case, we’ll leave what we want to talk to you about until another time, Mr Carmichael. Perhaps tomorrow if things improve for Emma.’

‘Tomorrow’s my father’s funeral, Chief Inspector.’ Ben ran his hand through his dark wavy hair. ‘If you have more questions about Peter Van Goren, I don’t think I can tell you any more than I already have. I honestly didn’t know the man.’

‘It isn’t Mr Van Goren we want to ask you about, Mr Carmichael. It’s about Emma,’ replied Fitzjohn.

‘Oh? I was under the impression another police officer was handling that case. Roberts I think he said his name is.’

‘That’s correct. DCI Roberts is in charge of Emma’s case. However, we wondered if you might be able to identify the people in a photograph that was found on the floor where Emma was found.’

‘I didn’t notice a photo there, but then the room was in darkness.’

‘It’d been torn in pieces and scattered.’ Fitzjohn looked to Betts who brought a photograph, encased in a plastic sleeve, out from a folder he held. He handed it to Ben. ‘It’s been pieced together and as you can see, some of the faces aren’t clear. Even so, we hoped you might have some idea who the people are.’

Ben Carmichael stared at the image in silence before he said, ‘It’s a photograph of Joanna and me with our mother. I found a similar one in the cottage on the floor under the easel. Its frame had been shattered and it looked like someone had ground the photo into the floor with the heel of their shoe.’

‘Do you know who the other people in this photo are?’ asked Fitzjohn.

Ben studied the image again. ‘The face of the woman next to my mother looks like the woman who used to be our housekeeper. Amanda Marsh is her name.’

‘Amanda Marsh?’ said Fitzjohn. ‘We met a woman by that name at the Observatory the night Peter Van Goren died.’

‘Yes, you would have. Apparently, after my mother’s death, Amanda moved on and started her own catering business.’

‘I see. So, she’s remained in touch with your family?’ replied Fitzjohn.

‘Only in as far as catering for functions held by Carmichael Hunt Real Estate.’

‘What about the man in the photograph standing next to Ms Marsh?’ asked Fitzjohn. I know his image is far from clear, but do you have any idea who he might be?’

‘Well, he’s not tall enough to be my uncle, Sebastian Newberry, or my father, for that matter.’ Ben shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Chief Inspector. I don’t know who he is.’ Ben handed the photograph back to Betts.

‘Right,’ said Fitzjohn as he and Betts left the hospital. ‘Tomorrow I want to talk to Amanda Marsh again because it seems she had more to do with the Carmichael family than providing her catering services.

CHAPTER 12

Those who gathered at Richard Carmichael’s graveside did so in silence, the mourners who had attended the cocktail party only days before still reeling in the knowledge that Richard was now dead. Ben and Joanna stood on either side of Laura, her face expressionless, both hands clasped together in front of her. Emerson Hunt and his wife, Theodora, together with Sebastian Newberry, positioned themselves on the other side of the casket. Ben’s gaze came to rest on Emerson, who fidgeted with the signet ring on his right hand. Theodora stemmed her tears with a tissue. Sebastian cast his eyes down. Behind him, Amanda Marsh looked straight ahead from beneath her large-brimmed black hat.

When the minister’s words came to an end and those assembled dispersed, Ben and Joanna waited while Laura spoke to Theodora and Emerson Hunt.

‘The police are here,’ said Joanna, looking toward Fitzjohn and Betts who could be seen on a grass verge some distance away. ‘Why, I wonder?’ As Joanna spoke, the two officers turned and walked to their car.

‘I’m not sure,’ replied Ben. ‘But if you think about it, it’s likely that the person who killed Peter Van Goren is here among us.’

‘Oh.’ Joanna grimaced and looked around at the mourners now walking away from the graveside toward their cars. ‘I suppose you’re right. And whoever that person is, is about to make his way to Mosman to offer condolences and sip Earl Grey tea with us.’

‘What makes you think it’s a man, Joanna?’

A look of shock came to Joanna’s face. ‘Well, it couldn’t be a woman. Could it?’ Ben shrugged.

‘Thanks for waiting, you two,’ said Laura as she approached and they started towards their car. ‘I just wanted to thank Theodora and Emerson. They’ve been so kind to me over the past few days.’ Ben opened the car door. ‘Was that the police I saw earlier?’ Laura continued.

‘Yes,’ replied Ben.

‘Then they must think that someone at the funeral killed Mr Van Goren.’ Laura sighed. ‘Oh dear.’

Guests were already congregating at the Carmichael residence when Laura, along with Ben and Joanna, arrived. Ben looked at the strained face of his step-mother. ‘Are you okay, Laura?’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She tapped his arm and walked into the house and through to the living room to greet the guests.

In the front hall, Ben and Joanna received the continual flow of mourners, amongst them Theodora, followed by Emerson. With her tight black dress accentuating her plump shape, and her long blonde curls swept up and held by a butterfly-shaped hat, Theodora took each of their hands. ‘Darlings, we know how devastated you both must be. Don’t we, Emerson?’ she said, shooting a look his way. ‘And you especially Ben, with Emma still in the hospital. How is she, dear?’

‘Only time will tell, Theodora.’ Ben gave a quick smile and removed his hand from her tight grasp. ‘We’ll have to wait and see.’

‘Of course you will, but remember, if there’s anything we can do, you have only to ask.’

‘Thank you both,’ replied Ben as he shook Emerson’s hand. ‘Please, go through.’

Emerson ushered Theodora into the living room and Ben followed soon after, leaving Joanna to greet the remaining mourners. As he did so, he glimpsed Amanda Marsh walking toward him. He had little memory of her time as his parents’ housekeeper and was always puzzled at her familiarity on the rare occasions that they had met.

‘Ben. It’s been a long time,’ she said, taking hold of his arm, her face full of concern. ‘I’m so sorry about your father. So sudden. It makes it doubly hard, I know.’ Amanda shook her head. ‘You and Joanna will have to help your step-mother through her grief. Oh, there she is now, the poor dear.’ Amanda put her hand out to Laura as she walked past. ‘Mrs Carmichael, may I offer my condolences. Richard will be sadly missed.’

‘He will, Ms Marsh,’ replied Laura, a certain tension evident as she faced Amanda. ‘Thank you for attending today. I know how busy you are.’ As she spoke another guest caught Laura’s eye and she excused herself with what Ben thought a great deal of grace.

‘A difficult day for her,’ continued Amanda, turning back to Ben. ‘And for you too, of course. I heard on the news about your fiancée’s ordeal. How is she, Ben?’

‘She’s making progress slowly,’ he replied, following DCI Roberts’s advice not to go into detail about Emma’s situation.

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘It’s been a difficult week for you also,’ he continued, wishing to change the subject.

‘It certainly has. Not only was I catering for your father’s cocktail party last Friday night, but I was the person who found the body!’

Ben grimaced. ‘That must have been upsetting for you.’

‘Chilling to say the least. I haven’t been able to sleep since.’ Amanda took a sip of her white wine before she looked around the room. ‘And now this. Who would have thought...?’

When the last of the guests had left, Laura came back into the living room and sat down heavily into an armchair. ‘Well, I’m glad that’s over. I found it difficult knowing it’s conceivable that one of the mourners likely killed Peter Van Goren.’ She sighed and looked to Ben and Joanna. ‘Thanks you two for your help and support. I couldn’t have got through this day without you both. And I know it’s especially difficult for you, Ben, with Emma in the hospital.’ Silence ensued until Laura continued. ‘Look, I know it’s the last thing you both want to hear right now, but I want to read your father’s will.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Ben. ‘Wouldn’t you sooner leave it for another day? After all, it won’t be an easy task.’

‘I know, but as your father’s executrix, it’s one of my duties and I think the sooner I get it over with, the better.’ Laura rose from her chair and went to the writing desk that sat in the corner of the room. From it she took a long narrow envelope and sat down again before putting her reading glasses on. After reading through the preliminaries, she looked over her glasses at Joanna. ‘Joanna, your Dad wanted you to have the house that you’ve been renting from him for the past two years. There’s also a bequest of $100,000 that you’ll receive through his solicitors, Murray, Bennett, Walker.’ Laura turned to the third page of the will. ‘And to you, Ben, your father has bequeathed Lane’s End at Whale Beach.’

Ben sat forward in his chair. ‘Lane’s End? But I thought... that is, I thought Dad would want the property sold after his death.’

‘I thought so too before I read through the will last night, so I was as surprised as you are now. We all know he couldn’t bring himself to sell the place while he lived. It seems he can’t in death either.’ Laura frowned. ‘I could never understand it. It was as if he was trapped. Not able to bring himself to return to Lane’s End or let anyone else for that matter.’ Laura removed her reading glasses. ‘It’s a shame, really, because I think we have to face the past in order to move on. Anyway, Ben, Lane’s End is now yours to do with as you wish. All the papers are in your father’s study and you’re welcome to go through them whenever you like.’ Laura looked down once again at the pages of the will. ‘It seems the remainder of the estate has been left to me.’ She placed the will back into its envelope and rested it on the arm of the chair.

Later that day, with the last shaft of afternoon sun caressing the room, Ben walked into the study. Dominated by a large oak desk, its walls lined with shelves of books, it exuded an atmosphere of hard work and success. Not since the day he had walked away from a promising career in academia had Ben set foot inside the room. That day the gulf that had always existed between him and his father grew wider, and only ended in death. The words they had spoken now echoed through Ben’s mind. Recriminations that fed the bitterness to come. Young and ambitious, he had felt no guilt at his father’s disappointment in him even though, at the time, he had little idea of what he wanted to do with his life. All he knew was he loathed the path he was on. Living his father’s vision for him. A career in astrophysics. Ben pulled the leather chair out from the desk and sat down. In front of him sat all the papers in connection with Lane’s End. At that moment, Joanna walked in.

‘What will you do? Sell it?’ she asked, perching on the arm of the chair in the corner of the room.

Ben sat back. ‘I’m not sure. It’s not something I thought I’d ever have to decide on. I’ll have to think about it, although, after finding Emma there like I did, and the fact our mother died there, I’m not sure I want to keep the place.’

Joanna slid from the arm into the chair. ‘Well, if you want my opinion, it might be just as well to sell. Get rid of the past once and for all.’ Joanna sighed. ‘I don’t know about you, Ben, but it’s always been like an albatross around my neck. All my life. Lane’s End was there, but never mentioned. It’s as if our mother was never put to rest. Not really.’

‘Mmm. I know what you mean. In fact everything, her untimely death, Dad’s passing away, Emma in the hospital in an induced coma... it’s surreal. Although I do think I now understand one thing out of all this, and that is, why my relationship with Dad never worked.’

‘Oh? Why?’

‘Because of this.’ Ben took a photograph from his inner suit pocket and handed it to his sister. ‘It’s a picture of us both with our mother when we were children. I’d have shown it to you earlier but the police had it.’

Joanna scrutinised the image, a soft smile on her face. ‘She beautiful, isn’t she? And there I am in her arms. And you beside her.’ Joanna looked up at Ben. ‘You look so much like her, Ben. It’s uncanny.’ Joanna’s eyes grew wide. ‘Oh. I see what you mean. You think you reminded Dad of her. Every day.’ Joanna paused. ‘He did love you, though. You do know that, don’t you? He just found everything to do with our mother very difficult to deal with.’

They sat for a time in silence before Joanna said, ‘I don’t like to bring it up at a time like this, Ben, but did you contact that solicitor who wrote to you?’

‘No. Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait.’

‘I don’t think it can wait,’ replied Joanna. ‘After all, it’s about a man who has been murdered. A man who has named you in his will. Don’t you see, it connects you to Peter Van Goren. You need to find out what it’s all about because if you don’t, I think the police will, eventually.’ Joanna paused. ‘I can sit with Emma while you go to see Raymond West.’

Under a threatening sky and the sound of thunder in the distance, Ben made his way by train to Wynyard Station in Sydney’s CBD where he emerged onto George Street. With a light rain falling, he pressed the button on his umbrella and watched it unfurl before he stepped out into the hubbub of the city. He went by way of Martin Place and as he walked along the wide pedestrian mall to Phillip Street, he found the opportunity to reflect on the contents of the solicitor’s letter, and tried to put the events of the last forty-eight hours into some kind of perspective.

He arrived at the building that housed West Longmire & Associates, still unsure of his response to the fact that he had been named as a beneficiary in Peter Van Goren’s will. Joining a number of others in the elevator, he emerged onto the 2nd level where he opened the glass doors of the solicitor’s office into a reception area. A woman in her mid-fifties with short dark wavy hair, sat behind a desk. She looked up when Ben approached. As she did so, the sound of raised voices came from an inner office.

‘Good afternoon,’ she said with a quick nervous smile, her eyes darting sideways toward the voices. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes. I have an appointment with Mr West at two o’clock.’ Ben smiled.

The receptionist looked at her computer screen. ‘Mr Carmichael, is it?’ she asked, distracted by the commotion.

‘Yes. Ben Carmichael.’

‘Please take a seat, Mr Carmichael. Mr West will be with you shortly.’ She gave another quick smile.

Ben sat down in one of the chairs lined up along the wall of the reception area and flicked through a BRW magazine whereupon a woman emerged from an inner office, followed by a stout man in his late forties.

‘I expect better things of you, Mr West,’ she barked. ‘If you can’t settle this matter in my favour, say so, and I’ll find another solicitor.’

With his colour rising in embarrassment, Raymond West stood in silence as the woman flounced out of the office. At that point he adjusted his heavy-rimmed glasses and turned toward Ben. ‘Mr Carmichael?’

‘Yes,’ replied Ben, impressed by the solicitor’s quick recovery.

‘I’m Raymond West. You must feel like my next victim.’ He gave Ben a wry smile. ‘Won’t you come this way?’ Towering over West, Ben followed the solicitor past the receptionist and along the hall into a small office, its atmosphere lending a nostalgic feel. ‘Please, make yourself comfortable,’ he said.

Ben sat down in one of the chairs offered while West settled himself at his desk and opened the file in front of him.

‘Thank you for coming in to see me, Mr Carmichael,’ he said, clasping his hands together. ‘I’m sorry that your introduction to our legal practice turned out to be somewhat soap operatic. Still, such occurrences do keep one’s day from becoming dull.’ Raymond West smiled. ‘Now, to your matter. As I mentioned in my letter, you’ve been named as a beneficiary in the last will and testament of my client, Peter Van Goren.’ West unclasped his hands and looked down at the file. ‘In fact, other than bequests to Mr Van Goren’s household staff, you are his sole beneficiary.’