Lane's End (15 page)

CHAPTER 19

Early the next morning, Fitzjohn stood at the front gate and waved to Meg as her taxi left for the airport. At the same time, he breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I love you, sister dear, but in small doses,’ he said quietly to himself before turning and walking along the side of the house to the back garden. Once there, he stopped. The garden, usually full of morning sun at this hour, lay in shadow, the grass still wet with dew and the chatter of birds in the bird bath, absent. Fitzjohn lifted his gaze to the source of the shade. The row of murraya trees that, now planted, formed a thick hedge along the fence line. What a fool I’ve been! So distracted with thoughts of my investigation I gave no attention to the effect that hedge would have on the rest of the garden. Fitzjohn shook his head and continued on with a determined gait to the greenhouse. There too shadows lingered, the air cold and uninviting. It was then he noticed Betts in the garden, his eyes glued to the hedge. Fitzjohn left the greenhouse and joined him.

‘So, this is the hedge, sir. It’s certainly changed things.’

‘And not for the better,’ replied Fitzjohn.

‘You could always trim it.’

‘If I do that, I’ll be back where I started. At least this way Rhonda Butler can’t complain about the greenhouse glass reflecting the sun into her kitchen.’

‘That’s true, but I wouldn’t put it past her to find something else to grumble to the Council about, sir. As I said yesterday, I think she lives to annoy you.’

‘I’m sure she does, Betts.’ Fitzjohn chuckled. ‘Well, I suppose if for nothing else, I give the woman a reason to get up in the morning.’

‘Uncle Alistair.’ Fitzjohn and Betts turned to see Sophie, her dark shoulder length hair framing a bright smiling face. ‘Hello, Martin. Lovely to see you again. I take it you got your sweater back.’

‘Yes. I did,’ replied Betts, mesmerized by Sophie’s deep blue eyes.

Fitzjohn cleared his throat. ‘If you’re here to see your mother off, I’m afraid you’ve just missed her, Sophie,’ he said, breaking the spell.

‘Oh, that’s a shame. Well, not to worry. I’ll call her later.’ It was then that Sophie looked around. ‘What’s changed? Something has.’ Fitzjohn pointed to the hedge. ‘Oh.’ Sophie grimaced. ‘Well, I hate to say this, Uncle Alistair, but that hedge is spoiling the ambience of your garden. Why on earth did you put it in?’

‘It’s a long story,’ chimed Fitzjohn and Betts.

‘I’ll bet it has something to do with my mother. She mentioned that she’d solved your neighbour problem.’

‘She was only trying to help.’ Fitzjohn looked at his watch. ‘Come on, Betts. We’ve got the Hunts to interview.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Betts turned to Sophie. ‘Can we drop you in the city, Soph?’

‘Yes, that would be great. Thanks’

Fitzjohn glared at Betts.

‘Soph? You call my niece Soph?’

‘It’s a term of endearment, sir,’ replied Betts, striding into the station after Fitzjohn.

‘Well, all I can say is, you’d better start trying to endear yourself to me if you know what’s good for you.’ A half smile crossed Fitzjohn’s face as he continued on to his office. ‘We’ve got work to do. Is everything set up for our interviews with the Hunts?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. We’ll do them simultaneously. You can take Emerson while I talk to Mrs Hunt.’

A short time later, Fitzjohn and Williams walked into the interview room to find Theodora sitting alone. She jumped when the door opened and the two officers appeared.

‘Good morning, Mrs Hunt,’ said Fitzjohn, taking his place in the chair across from her. ‘Thank you for coming in.’ Fitzjohn looked at the empty chair next to her. ‘Don’t you wish to have counsel?’ Theodora gave Fitzjohn a blank look. ‘I assume you were told that your solicitor could be present.’

‘Yes, I was told, but I didn’t think I’d need one.’

Fitzjohn noted the nervous inflection in her voice. ‘Very well. If you change your mind during the course of our interview, you will let us know, won’t you?’

Theodora smiled, her eyes darting to Williams who was preparing the recording machine. ‘Is this going to be recorded?’ she asked.

‘That’s normal procedure, Mrs Hunt,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘All you need to do is introduce yourself prior to me asking you questions.’ Theodora Hunt nodded and cleared her throat.

Williams switched the device on and stated the date and time. After introductions were made, Fitzjohn started the interview.

‘Mrs Hunt, when we spoke previously, you told us of Richard Carmichael’s first wife, Rachael. Can you tell us how they met?’

‘I thought you’d want to ask me more questions about the death at the Observatory. Why are you so interested in Rachael?’

‘If you’ll just answer the question, Mrs Hunt.’

‘Oh. All right.’ Theodora glanced again at the recording machine and cleared her throat for a second time before her eyes settled on Fitzjohn. ‘Richard met Rachael through Sebastian,’ she said, haltingly.

‘And?’ Fitzjohn waited for Theodora to continue. ‘There’s no reason to be nervous, Mrs Hunt.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. I’ll try again. As I said, they met through Sebastian. At the time, he and Rachael were going out together, but the day he introduced her to his brother... well, it was obvious that Sebastian found himself on the outer. I felt a bit sorry for him really. It can’t have been easy since Rachael married Richard within a year of their meeting. Not to mention the fact that Sebastian was best man at the wedding! He never said anything, of course, but I’m sure he was devastated.’

‘Did Rachael and Sebastian remain on friendly terms?’

‘On the surface they did. They had to, but I always felt an undercurrent between them. After all, it was a bitter pill for Sebastian to swallow watching the woman he loved married to his brother. I suppose he was torn because he and Richard had always been so close. He wouldn’t have wanted to hurt Richard.’ Theodora paused. ‘Rachael, on the other hand, had the best of it. Married to Richard, who could provide her with everything she wanted, and the attentions of Sebastian with whom she had so much in common. It eventually got to Sebastian though.’

‘How do you know that?’ asked Fitzjohn with interest.

‘Because I heard them arguing on more than one occasion. Sebastian wanted Rachael to go with him to Paris! I wasn’t the only one who’d heard them arguing either. Amanda Marsh told me she’d overheard them too.’

‘Ms Marsh told you that?’ asked Fitzjohn.

‘Yes. In a way, I think it amused her because I don’t think she liked Rachael very much.’

‘Oh? What makes you think that, Mrs Hunt?’

‘Because she used to criticise Rachael in a subtle kind of way whenever the opportunity arose. And, of course, she never stopped talking about Richard. It was obvious she was besotted with the man.’ Theodora lifted her eyebrow. ‘Not the sort of woman you want as your housekeeper. If you want to keep your husband, that is. She was absolutely crushed when Richard let her go after Rachael’s death. I think she thought she and Richard and the children would all live, happily ever after, together in Mosman.’ Theodora chuckled to herself. ‘It didn’t work out quite the way she expected.’

‘You mentioned the last time we spoke that the Carmichaels had another employee at that time. A gardener.’

‘Yes,’ replied Theodora, guardedly.

‘Do you remember his name?’ Theodora’s eyes darted to the recording device yet again. ‘Well?’

‘It was Henry. Henry Beaumont.’

‘And?’ Fitzjohn waited for Theodora to continue. ‘Can you tell us anything else about Mr Beaumont?’

‘He was French,’ said Theodora at last, turning the ring on her right hand. ‘In fact, meeting Henry and listening to his tales about Paris is what eventually gave me the idea to open
“Fabrique en France”.
’

‘I see. So you spent quite a bit of time talking to Henry, did you?’

‘Only when Emerson and I visited Lane’s End.’

‘What sort of person was he?’ continued Fitzjohn.

‘He was very nice. Always kept the gardens at Lane’s End beautifully.’

‘Did he live at Lane’s End?’

‘Yes, in a small dwelling behind the house.’

‘You say he was French. Do you know how he came to be employed by the Carmichaels?’

‘I have no idea. I suppose they advertised in the local newspaper.’

‘Did he get on well with Rachael do you think?’

‘He seemed to. I doubt she had much to do with him. She was always so taken up with her painting whenever she was at Lane’s End.’

‘Very well.’ Fitzjohn looked down at the papers on the table in front of him. ‘Let’s move on then to the man who died at the Observatory. Peter Van Goren. Previously, you said that you and he talked together early on in the evening. You also said that you’d never met him before. Is that correct?’

‘Er... yes. That’s right.’

‘Are you quite sure about that?’ When Theodora did not reply, Fitzjohn continued. ‘I should remind you, Mrs Hunt that we’re conducting a murder investigation, and withholding information is an offence under the Crimes Act.’ Theodora’s cheeks reddened. ‘Would you like me to repeat the question?’ Theodora shifted in her chair. ‘Had you met Peter Van Goren prior to the function held at the Observatory on March 12th?’

‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘Was there nothing about the man that was familiar to you?’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘Not even the fact that he walked with a limp and used a cane. Henry Beaumont walked with a limp and used a cane too, didn’t he?’

‘I really can’t remember. It was a long time ago.’

‘Are you sure you didn’t know Peter Van Goren, Mrs Hunt, because we’re led to believe that each of you present at the Observatory last Friday night, agreed to deny knowing him.’

Theodora gasped. ‘Where did you hear that?’

‘Is it correct?’

‘It was Sebastian. He made Emerson and me agree,’ blurted Theodora.

‘Did he? Or did you and your husband have your own reasons for denying that you knew Henry Beaumont, alias Peter Van Goren?’ Theodora fidgeted again with her ring. ‘Why did you lie to us, Mrs Hunt?’

‘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.’