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here?’
    ‘You know I can’t do that, darling. Tulip hates to be alone. Don’t you sweetie pie,’ she said, kissing the dog on the head.
    Emerson’s eyes narrowed with annoyance.
    Fitzjohn turned to Theodora. ‘Mrs Hunt. You said that you saw Richard Carmichael argue with Peter Van Goren. Can you tell us what time that would have been?’
    ‘Just after eight o’clock, I think.’
    ‘And how long did their argument last?’
    ‘Five minutes or so. They weren’t shouting, you understand. But it was obvious that it wasn’t a friendly conversation. In the end, Richard ushered Mr Van Goren out of the marquee. I didn’t see him after that.’
    ‘What did Richard Carmichael do after Peter Van Goren left?’
    ‘For some reason, he became angry about the food presentation and said he was going to speak to the caterer, Amanda Marsh.
    ‘And how long was he gone?’
    ‘Fifteen minutes or so. It was when he came back that he became ill and Laura took him home.’
    Emerson glared at Theodora.
     
     
    ‘Why do I get the feeling that things aren’t quite what they seem between those two,’ asked Betts as they made their way back down the driveway to the car.
    ‘Because they’re not,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘I’d say there’s a great deal of intolerance between them. Not helped along by Mrs Hunt’s openness about Richard Carmichael’s argument with the victim and, it seems, his disapproval of the caterer’s food preparation.’
    ‘What if Richard Carmichael’s disapproval was just an excuse to follow Van Goren outside, sir? Perhaps to continue their argument. Things got out of hand and... Van Goren ended up dead.’
    ‘Sounds plausible,’ replied Fitzjohn. ‘Except for one thing. Theodora Hunt told us that Carmichael left the cocktail party just after nine o’clock. He’d have been well away if Charles Conroy was right about the time of death of nine-thirty. Let’s make our way to the morgue and find out if he’s changed his mind since doing the post mortem.’ Fitzjohn climbed into the car and pulled his seat belt on. ‘After that, I want you to find out as much as you can about Mrs Hunt because I’d like to speak to her again, without her husband present. I might be wrong, but I think the lady likes to gossip and it could work in our favour.’

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 4
     
     
    A distinct antiseptic odor filled the air as Fitzjohn and Betts walked into the Parramatta morgue later that morning. After acknowledging the attendant at the front desk, they made their way along the hallway to find Charles Conroy and his assistant in a long rectangular room, its row of stainless steel tables empty except for one where Peter Van Goren’s body lay. Fitzjohn’s eye became fastened on the still form while Betts entered the room with a measure of apprehension.
    ‘Ah, there you are Alistair,’ said Charles when the two officers appeared. ‘I’m glad you’re here because I was right about the blows to the side of the victim’s head. They did cause a subdural haematoma and were the cause of death. But, I have to say that if it hadn’t happened, he’d have been dead in a month or so anyway.’
    ‘Why do you say that?’ asked Fitzjohn, walking the full length of the room to Conroy’s side.
    ‘Because our victim suffered from pancreatic cancer. Quite advanced. So much so that he’d have had little strength to defend himself against his assailant.’
    ‘In that case, could a woman have been his attacker?’ asked Fitzjohn, looking down at Peter Van Goren’s emaciated body.
    ‘Undoubtedly. He would have had little strength to resist a man or a woman.’
    ‘And the time of death?’ asked Fitzjohn.
    ‘I’m going to stick with what I said at the crime scene, Alistair. Nine-thirty, except that I’m going to add that the victim didn’t die immediately. After the attack, I’d say the poor beggar clung to life for anything up to an hour.’
    A myriad of thoughts ran through Fitzjohn’s