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head.
     
     
    Fitzjohn and Betts walked from the morgue. ‘Well, that changes things, Betts. Van Goren didn’t die immediately, after all, which means it’s entirely possible that Richard Carmichael could have been his assailant.’
    ‘But what motive would he have, sir?’
    ‘Good question. In fact, what motive would any of the people we’ve spoken to, so far, have? Including the women.’ Fitzjohn glanced at Betts. ‘I think in light of what Charles just said about the victim’s ill health, we can’t discount them from our list of persons of interest, and that includes Laura Carmichael.’ Fitzjohn pulled his seat belt on. ‘It’s quite a list. The question is, where do we begin?’
    Betts started the car. ‘What if I try to find out as much as I can about Peter Van Goren, sir? It might lead to something.’
    ‘Good idea, Betts. And also speak to the Silver Service taxi cab company. According to Ida Clegg, he left his home in Vaucluse at two on Friday. We need to know what he was doing in the five and a half hours until he arrived at the Observatory.’
     
     
    Later that morning, Fitzjohn and Betts took the elevator in the building on Phillip Street that housed Raymond West’s office. The doors reopened onto the 2nd level where West’s name appeared in gold lettering on a glass door. Fitzjohn peered into the unlit interior of the office. ‘Are you sure Mr West said he’d be here on a Saturday, Betts?’
    ‘Yes, sir. Until four this afternoon.’
    Betts tapped on the glass door. A moment later the interior lights flickered and a stout man with unruly dark curly hair and tortoise-shell rimmed glasses came into view. Straightening his tie and buttoning his rumpled suit coat around a portly girth, he crossed the reception area and unlocked the door.
    ‘Detective Sergeant Betts?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes, Mr West, and this is Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn.’
    Raymond West looked toward Fitzjohn. ‘Pleased to meet you, Chief Inspector. Won’t you both come in.’ West stood back to let Fitzjohn and Betts inside before promptly locking the door again. ‘I’ve only just arrived myself,’ he said. ‘I should have turned the lights on when I first walked in. Come this way, gentlemen.’
    The two officers followed Raymond West across the reception area and into a small office, its dark wood-panelled walls diffusing any light that emanated from the window overlooking the street. He gestured to two green leather-bound chairs in front of a large walnut desk, itself inlaid with green leather.
    ‘Please, make yourselves comfortable,’ he said as Fitzjohn and Betts looked around the room. ‘It’s like walking into the past, I know, but I can’t bring myself to alter a thing. We’re a family firm, you see, and this office hasn’t changed since my grandfather’s time.’
    He sat down. ‘I understand you’re here to ask me about my client, Peter Van Goren,’ he continued, adjusting his glasses before clasping his hands together. ‘I heard about his death on the news this morning and was saddened. Especially since he wasn’t a well man.’
    ‘I take it he spoke to you about his ill health, Mr West,’ said Fitzjohn.
    ‘Yes. In fact, he did so yesterday. Apparently, he’d spent the afternoon at St Vincent’s Hospital. He suffered from some form of cancer, you see, and unfortunately, while he was at the hospital, they told him that it had spread. That’s why he came to see me. He wanted to go over his will.’
    ‘Did he make any changes to it?’ asked Fitzjohn.
    ‘Only to bring it up-to-date with his added investment properties. Other than that, it remains as it was executed some years ago. As a matter of fact, it was one of the first instructions I took from Mr Van Goren.’ West opened a manila folder that sat on the desk in front of him and took out a long thin envelope. ‘I have the revised will here, Chief Inspector. I got it out of safe custody in case you wanted to look it over.’
    ‘Can