Lane's End by Jill Paterson Page B

stopped pacing. ‘What else do we have?’
    ‘That’s it, sir. We’re back to why Peter Van Goren left his entire estate to Ben Carmichael.’
    ‘So, our questions are what, Betts?’
    Betts sat back. ‘One, who at that cocktail party is lying about not knowing Peter Van Goren? Two, what was Richard Carmichael’s argument with Van Goren about? And, three, what connection did the victim have with Ben Carmichael?’
    ‘And why does Van Goren only appear in people’s lives from the early 1980s,’ added Fitzjohn, sitting down again. ‘What did you find out about our tennis player, Theodora Hunt?’
    Betts turned to the next page of his notebook. ‘She has her own business, sir.’
    ‘She does?’
    ‘Yes. A shop in Willoughby called. Fabrique en France , meaning “Made in France”. Ou vous trouver inspiration francaise articles ménages adaptes a chaque maison , meaning, “Where you can find French inspired homewares to suit every home.”’
    ‘I’m impressed, Betts. I didn’t realise that you’re bilingual.’
    ‘School boy French, sir. You never know when it can be useful.’ Betts gave a quick smile and looked back at his notebook. ‘By all accounts, the business is very successful. It has a yearly turn-over of just over one million dollars.’ Betts paused. ‘I’m surprised to be honest. That she’s in business, I mean, because to me she didn’t come across as the brightest candle in the shop.’
    ‘You mean you wouldn’t have thought she’d have the acumen to run a business, let alone a highly successful one?’ asked Fitzjohn.
    ‘I suppose that’s a more polite way of putting it. Of course, it could be what she wants us to think.’
    ‘It can’t be discounted,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Guilt can produce all sorts of odd behaviour. We’ll speak to her again, Betts. This time without her husband present. We might learn something.’
    As Betts left the office, the Duty Sergeant appeared. ‘There’s someone to see you, Chief Inspector. Your niece, I believe.’
    ‘Sophie? Show her in, Sergeant.’ Fitzjohn got to his feet as Sophie walked into the room, her usual cheery smile absent.
    ‘Hello, Uncle Alistair.’
    ‘Sophie dear, I’m glad you’re here. You’ve come about your mother, haven’t you?’
    ‘Yes. She rang first thing this morning when I was on my way to my first lecture.’ Sophie slumped down into a chair. ‘She’s demanding that I return to Melbourne with her.’
    ‘I know. She told me last night when I arrived home. I’m sorry, Sophie. I probably should have let you know but to tell you the truth, I didn’t want to interfere. I think the time has come for you to stand up to your mother.’
    ‘That’s easier said than done.’
    ‘I know it is, but it’s the only way, I’m afraid. Unless you want this kind of thing to continue.’
    Sophie sighed. ‘You’re right. I know you are. It’s just that when Mum goes on about what I should be doing... well... my confidence just flies out the window.’ Sophie shrugged. ‘But, I’ll give it a try this evening. I have lectures all afternoon.’ She looked at the plastic bag on her lap. ‘Oh, there’s one more thing. Is Martin around?’
    ‘No. He’s out doing detective work for me. Why?’
    ‘Because I wanted to thank him and return this. It’s his sweater.’
    Fitzjohn’s browed wrinkled. ‘What are you doing with my sergeant’s sweater?’
    ‘He left it behind the other night when he was helping us move.’
    ‘He did, did he?’

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 7
     
     
    The door creaked and a bell sounded as Fitzjohn and Betts walked into the old Federation style building that housed Fabrique en France . With its high patterned ceilings and leadlight windows, the walls covered in tapestries and old photographic prints of Paris, its interior exuded an atmosphere of times past. The two officers walked amongst the soft furnishing and tables filled with bric-a-brac to where Theodora Hunt could be seen at the far