Lane's End by Jill Paterson Read Free Book Online Page B

front gate, and the lawn tinged with yellow from lack of water before he lifted his gaze to the front door. It remained closed. His heart sank. If Emma were at home, that door would be open. Turning the key in the lock, he stepped inside. On the floor lay his haversack where he had dropped it the night before. ‘Emma?’ he called in hope. Amid the silence, he made his way into the living room, his eyes going to Emma’s bright smile looking out at him from her photograph on the mantelpiece. ‘Where are you?’ he whispered. Clutching the frame, he slumped heavily into an armchair, his eyes glistening as his thoughts revisited their last conversation for a clue as to where she could be. When nothing came, he started to recall their first meeting in February 2011 during the Christchurch earthquake disaster. On assignment in New Zealand at the time, he had found himself attached to a group of journalists. Emma was one of them. Her resilience and spirit had drawn him to her at once and their romance blossomed amid the devastation and chaos. As he reflected, his mobile phone rang. ‘Thank God,’ he yelled, grabbing it from his pocket. ‘Em? Is that you?’
    ‘No, Ben, it’s Audrey McIntyre, Emma’s research assistant. I’ve been trying to contact Emma since last Saturday with no luck. That’s why I thought I’d try you. Can you tell her that I’ve finished the research on one of the artists for her book? The other I should have done by the end of this coming week.’
    ‘You say you’ve been trying to contact Emma since last Saturday?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘When did you last speak to her, Audrey?’
    ‘Last Thursday night. We’d spent the better part of the day at the Mitchell Library doing research, so we had a bite to eat together in town after we’d finished. The last time I saw her was at Wynyard Station before she caught her train home. Why do you ask?’
    ‘Because Emma wasn’t here when I got home last night. I’ve been out of the country for the past month. I’m worried sick. Especially now since you say you haven’t been able to reach her either.’
    A moment of silence ensued on the line before Audrey said, ‘No one has, Ben. I’ve asked everyone we know and no one has heard from Emma since last week.’ Ben did not reply. ‘Are you still there?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes. I’m here.’
    ‘I think you should contact the police, don’t you?’
    ‘Yes. I’ll do that.’ As he spoke, the doorbell rang. ‘I’ve got to go, Audrey. There’s someone at the door. It might be news about Emma. I’ll call you back.’
    Ben lurched out into the front hall. Through the screen door stood a man of medium height wearing a dark grey suit and maroon tie. With him a tall ginger-haired younger man.
    ‘Can I help you?’ he asked, opening the door.
    ‘Mr Ben Carmichael?’
    ‘Yes. And you are?’
    ‘Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn and this is Detective Sergeant Betts,’ the man replied, his penetrating blue eyes looking through wire-framed glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose. ‘We’re from the New South Wales Police,’ he continued emanating an air of authority despite his small stature.
    A chill went through Ben as he peered at their warrant cards. ‘Are you here about Emma Phillips, by any chance?’
    ‘No. We’d like to speak to you in connection with a suspicious death at the Observatory last Friday evening.’
    ‘Oh.’ Taken aback, Ben pushed his haversack aside with his foot before standing back from the doorway. ‘You’d better come in then.’ He led the two police officers into the living room. ‘Have a seat,’ he said distractedly.
    ‘We understand that since the incident at the Observatory, your father was taken to the hospital, Mr Carmichael,’ said the Chief Inspector as he walked into the room. ‘How is he?’
    ‘He died early this morning.’
    A look of concern came to the Chief Inspector’s face. ‘I’m very sorry to hear that. Please accept our condolences.’
    Ben