Lane's End

by Paterson, Jill

  ‘I believe we do know, Mr Carmichael,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘You see, Henry Beaumont was an illegal immigrant. A merchant seaman who jumped ship in Sydney. To stay at Lane’s End would have meant being questioned by the police about your mother’s death. If that happened, he knew he’d be deported if they found out. And they would have. Of course, his leaving made him look guilty.’

  ‘But why didn’t Sebastian tell anyone what had really happened?’ asked Ben. ‘Why let everyone think that there might have been foul play and that Henry was the likely person?’

  ‘Because if he did that, your father would have learnt the truth. That Sebastian and your mother had argued.’

  ‘Do you know why it was so important to him that Dad didn’t find that out? Do you know why they argued, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Apparently, Sebastian wanted your mother to leave your father and go live with him in Paris.’ The Chief Inspector recounted what he knew of the circumstances surrounding the relationship between Rachael and Sebastian. ‘So, with Henry Beaumont gone and all attention drawn to the possibility that he might have been involved in your mother’s death, no one would know about Sebastian’s argument with your mother and his relationship with your father could continue.’

  ‘So, when Henry... Peter Van Goren turned up at the Observatory that night and spoke to Dad... Chief Inspector, are you saying that Sebastian was the person who killed Peter Van Goren?’

  ‘At this stage, we’re not at liberty to discuss Peter Van Goren’s death. However, as I said earlier, we do have news that we can speak of, and that is that Emma was right. It was Amanda Marsh who attacked her at Lane’s End.’

  ‘But why?’ replied Ben, his face agog. ‘And what on earth was she doing at Lane’s End?’

  ‘We think Ms Marsh may have been delusional at the time. She thought Emma was your mother, Rachael.’

  Joanna grimaced. ‘But why would she want to attack our mother?’

  Fitzjohn hesitated before he continued. ‘Well, on searching Ms Marsh’s home, we found a collection of photographs. Some that Amanda Marsh probably took with her when she left your father’s employ in 1983, and more recent ones taken at various functions that she’d catered for.’ Fitzjohn paused. ‘It seems that Ms Marsh loved your father and, with your mother gone, thought she could take her place in the home. By all accounts, she was shocked when your grandmother arrived and your father terminated her employment as his housekeeper. Of course, she did devise a way to keep in contact with him through her catering business. Your step-mother, Laura, has accounted for Amanda Marsh’s strange behaviour.’

  ‘As far as Peter Van Goren, alias Henry Beaumont, is concerned, it wasn’t until he was told he only had a matter of weeks to live that he decided to tell your father what had happened at Lane’s End that day.’

  ‘But it doesn’t explain why he left the bulk of his estate to me,’ said Ben.

  ‘Ah. For that, we do have a possible reason. We’ve been able to trace Henry’s life back to Paris where he was married to a young woman by the name of Yvette Dupois. They had a child. A son they named Eduard. Of course, Henry spent much of his time at sea and during one of his voyages, his young wife and son perished in a fire in the building where they lived. Eduard was five years old at the time. We think that might have been the reason he jumped ship in Sydney. In his grief, he had nothing to go home to.’

  ‘The poor man,’ said Ben. ‘Perhaps that’s why he was always so kind to me.’

  ‘I’m sure it was, Mr Carmichael.’

  CHAPTER 22

  ‘Well, that’s just blown our whole case,’ said Betts, as he and Fitzjohn drove through the Harbour tunnel on their journey back to Sydney’s CBD. ‘Rachael’s death was accidental after all so when Peter Van Goren told Richard Carmichael the truth about his half-brother being present at the time, it means Newberry had no motive to kill Van Goren.’ Betts shrugged. ‘What do we do now, sir?’

  ‘We’ll go back over everything again. There has to be something we’ve missed.’ Betts groaned. ‘In a way, it makes it more intriguing, don’t you think?’ said Fitzjohn with a wry smile as they emerged from the tunnel. ‘We’ll start by finding out what Amanda Marsh did for a living before she worked as housekeeper for the Carmichaels.’

  ‘I don’t see how that’s going to help, sir, since we don’t have anyone left with a motive to kill Peter Van Goren.’

  ‘Humour me, Betts, and also find out as much as you can about Richard Carmichael before he went into the real estate business. While you’re doing that, I’m going to...’ As Fitzjohn spoke, a text message came through on his mobile phone. He looked at the screen and his brow wrinkled.

  ‘A problem, sir?’

  ‘It’s the Council. I’m asked to call at their office. Well, it’ll have to wait.’ Fitzjohn put his phone back into his pocket.

  Betts laughed. ‘What’s Mrs Butler complaining about now? The hedge?’

  ‘Apparently so. Its height is cutting out all light into her kitchen.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Betts. ‘Is there no end to that woman’s complaints?’

  ‘I’m beginning to think not, Betts. Nevertheless, the hedge seems to be causing us both problems and it’s my fault. I think I’ll do what you suggested, and trim it down to fence height even though I’ll be back with the initial greenhouse problem.’

  That afternoon, with a sinking feeling, Fitzjohn stood at his office window looking at the rain soaked buildings and slate grey sky, conceding that his greenhouse would have to go. He sighed. As he did so the door behind him opened and Betts burst into the room, his short, curly, ginger hair damp. ‘I wondered if you’d get caught in it,’ said Fitzjohn, heading for his desk. ‘How did you get on?’

  Betts brushed the rain from his suit coat and sat down. ‘Not bad, although I can’t see how this helps our case. Anyway, for what it’s worth, prior to her position of housekeeper to the Carmichaels, Amanda Marsh was enrolled in an undergraduate degree course in Pharmacy at the University of Sydney. It’s a four year course which she commenced in 1973 but didn’t complete. She left in ‘74.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘In that case, this next part will blow your mind. Richard Carmichael was enrolled at the University of Sydney at the same time. Or at least for some of it. He did a Bachelor of Arts degree which is a three year course. He completed it at the end of ‘73.’

  ‘I wonder if that’s where those two met?’

  ‘I’d say there’s a good chance,’ replied Betts. ‘because they were both involved in student union activities.’

  ‘In that case, do a little more digging. See what else you can come up with. After that, we’ll pay Newberry another call because I’m sure we’ll have more questions to ask him by then.’

  ‘We will? I’m confused, sir. I thought we’d done with Newberry.’

  ‘Not quite, Betts, because there’s something not right.’

  ‘There is?’

  ‘Yes.’ Fitzjohn paused. ‘I’m not sure, but I think it might have something to do with that book.’ Betts gave a questioning look that Fitzjohn did not miss. ‘When we searched Amanda Marsh’s home, there was a book in the bookshelf. Well-thumbed and part of a set of gardening books. The other books in that set didn’t appear to have ever been opened.’

  ‘So, what makes this book so special other than it’s been read a lot?’ asked Betts.

  ‘Because it was a book on weeds, Betts.’

  ‘Weeds?’

  Fitzjohn and Betts arrived at Sebastian Newberry’s Ultra Design showroom to find him unlocking the front door. ‘Good morning, Mr Newberry,’ said Fitzjohn.

  Newberry dropped his hand from the door handle and turned around. ‘Oh, no. Not you lot again. Look, I’ve told you everything I know, believe me.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it in the least,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘However, there are a few things we’d like to go over.’

  Newberry gave a hea
vy sigh. ‘Okay. If we must.’ He unlocked the showroom door and shoved it open. ‘I hope this isn’t going to take too long because I have a busy day ahead. We’ll talk in my office.’ Fitzjohn glanced at Betts and pursed his lips before stepping inside and following Newberry. In his office, Newberry lifted the window blind and sat down behind his desk. ‘Okay, what is it you want to know?’

  Fitzjohn tried to settle himself on one of the white moulded plastic chairs in front of Newberry’s desk. ‘Since we last spoke,’ he began. ‘a witness has come forward.’

  ‘A witness? To what for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘To Rachael Carmichael’s death,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  ‘There weren’t any witnesses.’

  ‘Oh? How do you know if you weren’t there, Mr Newberry?’

  ‘Because...’ Flustered, Newberry glared at Fitzjohn.

  ‘Because you were there, weren’t you?’

  Avoiding Fitzjohn’s question, Sebastian brushed a piece of lint from his sleeve. ‘Who is this so-called witness?’

  ‘We can’t say,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘What I do want to ask you, though, is what condition Rachael was in when you argued with her that day. You did argue with her. Didn’t you?’

  ‘We weren’t arguing,’ said Sebastian. ‘We just had a slight difference of opinion about a private matter, but then something happened and...’ Newberry’s eyes glistened as he relived the past.

  ‘What happened, Mr Newberry?’

  ‘Rachael began to have trouble breathing. At first I thought she was just hyperventilating because she did have a tendency to be a little highly strung, but when I looked into her eyes, they were dilated. Then she started to shake and I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to get her to sit down on the grass but she pulled away from me... in the direction of the cliff.’ Newberry frowned. ‘She seemed to be disorientated and she was having trouble walking. I went after her. Tried to grab a hold of her but I was too late.’ Tears filled Sebastian’s eyes and his voice broke. ‘She fell.’ Sebastian’s tear streaked face looked at the two police officers and silence fell over the room. ‘I didn’t kill Rachael, Chief Inspector. I loved her.’

  Fitzjohn waited for a moment before he continued. ‘Do you remember exactly what Rachael was doing when you arrived at Ivy Cottage that afternoon, Mr Newberry?’

  ‘What difference does it make? She’s gone. Forever.’ Newberry wiped his face with his handkerchief.

  ‘It could make a lot of difference,’ replied Fitzjohn.

  ‘I can’t see how.’

  ‘Nevertheless. If you can just tell us what you remember.’

  ‘Very well. For a start, she wasn’t inside the cottage. She was sitting outside on the grass having her lunch in the sun. She said she’d decided to paint out there because it was such a lovely day.’

  ‘Do you remember what she was eating for lunch?’

  Sebastian gave Fitzjohn an enquiring look. ‘Some sort of salad, I think. Why?’

  ‘How did she seem to you at the time?’

  ‘A bit tetchy, but that might have been because she wasn’t feeling well.’

  ‘Did she tell you she wasn’t feeling well?’

  ‘Yes. She said she’d felt fine all morning, but must have been coming down with a virus or something. That’s why she finally put her lunch aside.’ Sebastian met Fitzjohn’s gaze. ‘These questions, Chief Inspector. Do you know something I don’t?’

  ‘Why did you let the police think that Henry Beaumont had pushed Rachael off that cliff when you knew he hadn’t?’ continued Fitzjohn, ignoring Sebastian’s question.

  ‘Because I didn’t want Richard to think I had anything to do with Rachael’s death. I knew questions would be asked and I thought it might come out that I’d wanted her to leave Richard and go with me to live in Paris. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘So you concocted a story about searching for her which resulted in her death remaining unsolved. What about Henry Beaumont? Did you encourage him to leave the premises before the police arrived?’

  ‘Well, let’s put it this way, I didn’t dissuade him. After all, if he’d stayed at Lane’s End, the police would have found him to be an illegal immigrant and deported him. At least this way, he was able to stay in the country.’

  ‘What made you think he was an illegal immigrant?’ asked Fitzjohn.

  ‘Richard told me. In confidence, of course. He said he’d met Henry in the city one day. Apparently, he’d just been told that his wife and child had died. I don’t know the circumstances, but it was enough for Richard to take pity on the man and offer him a job at Lane’s End.’ Sebastian paused. ‘Richard was like that.’

  ‘And when you saw Peter Van Goren at the Observatory that Friday night, did you recognise him immediately as Henry Beaumont?’

  ‘I didn’t see him until after he’d spoken to Richard about Rachael’s death. But, yes, I did recognise him. And if your next question is, did I kill him, the answer is no. Why would I? He’d told Richard everything so the damage was done.’

  Fitzjohn and Betts emerged from the air-conditioned comfort of Ultra Design and into the morning’s growing heat and humidity. ‘I don’t know that we can believe Newberry, sir. He makes it sound like there was something wrong with Rachael before she went over that cliff, but if that was the case, it would have shown up in the Coroner’s Report.’

  ‘Not necessarily, Betts,’ replied Fitzjohn, taking off his suit coat and placing it on the back seat before climbing into the car. ‘There might have been something in her system that wouldn’t be apparent without further testing. The pathologist would only have done that for a reason. Rachael fell off a cliff and whether she fell or was pushed, their attention was on the fact that she died from the fall. Of course, she might have done so, but I wonder now whether there was something else at play. Newberry said himself that Rachael wasn’t feeling well when he arrived. And the symptoms he listed - shortness of breath, eyes dilated, body tremor - sounds to me like she’d been poisoned.’

  ‘But how?’ asked Betts, turning the ignition and starting the air conditioning system.

  ‘I don’t know, but I have a feeling it has something to do with that book on weeds. We’ll question Amanda Marsh again.’

  Fitzjohn and Betts sat opposite Amanda and her solicitor in the interview room. ‘You’ve already arrested me. Why have you brought me in here again?’ she asked, meeting Fitzjohn’s fixed gaze.

  ‘Because we’d like to go over what happened on the day you and Rachael arrived at Lane’s End.’

  ‘Not again. I’ve already told you everything I know.’

  ‘Even so, Ms Marsh, we need to get a few more details. You said that on that day you took Rachael’s lunch to her at Ivy Cottage.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What exactly did you prepare for her lunch?’

  ‘Her favourite. A chicken salad.’

  ‘And what went into that salad?’

  ‘The usual things. Chicken, of course, some lettuce, tomato, cucumber, avocado, and mayonnaise.’

  ‘What about parsley?’

  ‘That too.’

  ‘Had you taken all these ingredients with you to Lane’s End that morning?’

  ‘Of course. Everything was fresh.’

  ‘Including the parsley?’

  ‘Yes. Including the parsley.’ Amanda gave Fitzjohn an indignant look. ‘Where’s all this leading?’

  ‘It’s leading to the fact that after eating the salad you prepared for Rachael, she became ill.’

  ‘Rubbish. How would you know?’ Amanda’s eyes darted between Fitzjohn and Betts. ‘Oh, I see. You’ve been speaking to Sebastian. Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he? Wanting to shift the blame for her death onto me.’

  ‘He doesn’t have to shift blame onto anyone, Ms Marsh, because Rachael wasn’t pushed over that cliff. She fell because she’d become dizzy and disorientated.’ Amanda glared at Fitzjohn. ‘What did you put in the salad to make Rachael ill?’

&n
bsp; ‘Just what I told you. Why would I want to harm her?’

  ‘You told us earlier that you were in love with her husband, Richard. That’s a good enough reason,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Might I suggest that the parsley you put on Rachael’s salad wasn’t parsley at all, but hemlock. After all, the hemlock leaf will pass for parsley. Enough not to be questioned, anyway. You know all about such things, don’t you, Ms Marsh? Having been a pharmaceutical student at one time.’

  ‘You can’t prove any of this.’

  ‘You’re probably right. It could be difficult, but it won’t be difficult to prove that you murdered Peter Van Goren, alias Henry Beaumont. He had to die, didn’t he? After all, he’d recognised what you’d prepared for Rachael, and approached you before he left Lane’s End that day. Of course, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it until the day he attended the cocktail party at the Observatory. You knew he was there for one reason, to tell Richard Carmichael what had really happened to Rachael. That’s why you made yourself scarce until you had the opportunity to end Van Goren’s life.’

  Amanda sat back in her chair. ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘I’m a detective, Ms Marsh. I detect.’

  CHAPTER 23

  ‘Thanks for all your hard work over the past couple of weeks, Betts,’ said Fitzjohn as he stood behind his desk and placed his papers into his briefcase. ‘It hasn’t been an easy case. So much so that for a while there, I thought it might have got the better of us.’

  ‘I still don’t understand how you knew Henry Beaumont had spoken to Amanda Marsh before he left Lane’s End that day, sir,’ said Betts, leaning against the filing cabinet.

  ‘I didn’t. I just hoped. If I was right, I thought it’d be enough to throw Ms Marsh off balance. You see, it seemed to me that Henry had been an excellent gardener, so I presumed he knew all about noxious weeds as well as the plants he worked with. I also think he was an astute man and would have noticed that there was something wrong with Rachael, physically, when she pulled away from Sebastian. After all, Ben Carmichael did say that Henry had left him behind and run toward them. Being that sort of person I thought there was every possibility he might just have looked around at the scene after Rachael fell and noticed the half eaten salad. Put two and two together, perhaps. And it seems he did.’ Fitzjohn paused. ‘There was also the fact that Richard Carmichael became angry about the food presentation during the cocktail party that night and said he was going off to speak to Amanda. From what we’d gleaned about his personality being rather placid, that reaction seemed to me to be out of character. Of course, we now know it wasn’t that at all, that actually, he’d just learnt from Van Goren that Amanda had attempted to poison Rachael.’ Fitzjohn sighed. ‘Makes you wonder whether that knowledge was a catalyst for his eventual heart attack, doesn’t it?’