Murder of Innocence Page 12

  The head was new since Diana’s day. He looked like a rugger blue, surely far too young to be a head. Relaxed, smiling, always smiling, reassuring the last of the straggle of parents now leaving. He didn’t know her from Adam, which was all right by Ellie.

  Most of the teachers looked jaded, gathering forms and folders together, stretching, looking at the clock. Ellie located Tod’s form teacher behind a table at the end of the hall.This one wasn’t showing any signs of tiredness. Her glasses flashed, her teeth ditto. Lots of fluffy dark hair, aged about thirty but with a figure inclined to stoutness, clad in something colourful in Lycra, not terribly becoming.

  ‘Ms Thomas?’ Ellie explained who she was and why she’d come instead of Mrs Coppola. Ms Thomas gave a hearty laugh which echoed around the hall and said, ‘The more, the merrier and better late than never!’

  Ellie shuddered. Ms Thomas was not Tod’s favourite teacher and now Ellie could understand why. That laugh! Those clichés!

  As a teacher she seemed to know what she was doing. She had all Tod’s reports in a file before her and expressed a suitable degree of shock and horror at what had happened to him. She said, ‘Such a good little boy, no trouble at all, a pleasure to teach, middling in all his exams, not top and not bottom, somewhere around the middle, skates along the surface of life, always happy to help Teacher out.’

  Which verdict, given Tod’s lowish opinion of her, made Ellie suspect Ms Thomas was not quite as perspicacious as she liked to think.

  ‘Yes, of course. Now about some homework …’

  ‘I’ll see to it. Drop something in to him, poor little mite.’

  ‘Splendid. And what about his stamps?’

  ‘Stamps?’ Ms Thomas frowned, and then came that hearty laugh again. ‘Oh, yes. Of course. I’ll tell Ms Parsons – she’s our geography expert, runs the stamp club one day a week – that Tod was enquiring after some more stamps. I must say it does give the children an intelligent insight into different worlds. Most helpful. And is there anything else …? Because it is getting rather late ….’

  ‘Is Ms Parsons here tonight? Perhaps I might have a word?’

  ‘I think she’s just gone. Yes, she has. We share a flat, you know …’

  Ellie, whose mind did not normally run on such things, immediately jumped to conclusions. Partners? Are they lesbian?

  ‘But I promise I’ll tell her. Now if there’s nothing else …’

  ‘I’m afraid there is. Tod has torn up his stamp album, you see.’

  ‘Really? How very odd. But that’s boys for you, isn’t it? One minute it’s stamps and the next Pokemon cards.’ Again the merry laugh rang out, making Ellie wince. ‘What a silly little boy he is. Tell him to let me have his old stamps and my friend will be able to recycle them, right?’

  Ellie nodded, and asked if she might see if Tod’s jacket were still in the cloakroom. Ms Thomas failed to hide her impatience, directing Ellie to the new cloakroom at the end of the hall.

  Ellie concluded that this was another dead end. She’d been quite, quite wrong about the stamps being important. Unless Ms Thomas’s ‘friend’ was a transvestite with concealed sadistic tendencies, there was nothing suspicious about the stamps. Oh dear, oh dear. What a fool she’d been making of herself …

  She couldn’t find the jacket anywhere, either. So Tod must have left it at the … that place, wherever that was.

  It was raining even harder as Ellie plodded back across the Green and up through her garden to the back door. There was a light on in the kitchen, and another upstairs in the room Gus was occupying, but the answerphone light wasn’t winking.

  Now why was that? Had the stupid thing stopped working, or what?

  It was nearly seven o’clock, and she would take a bet on it that Timid Timothy would be on time.

  Eight

  A

  s Ellie took off her wet things, the front door bell rang and there was Timothy, as happy a little bunny as you wouldn’t wish to see on your doorstep when you were tired and hungry and worried about things. ‘I could have sworn I’d left my umbrella in your porch,’ said Timothy, losing his grin for a moment.‘Ah well, it’s probably at home. I’ll be forgetting my head next.’ A hearty laugh. Ellie flinched. Two hearty laughers in one night was too much.

  She ushered him into the sitting room. The tea tray was still there from the policewoman’s visit. Ellie asked the curate to make himself at home, and would he like a cup of tea or coffee?

  ‘Coffee would be good, and perhaps one of your delicious little cakes; mustn’t tell the little woman at home though, must we?’

  Ellie gritted her teeth, and managed to smile. She didn’t think there was any cake left in the tin, not after Gus and Tod had been at it, but she’d take her time and make herself a sandwich to eat, keep him waiting if necessary. She hadn’t asked for this meeting and she was pretty sure he was on the scrounge for her to do something for the church, so he could jolly well wait for her.

  She put the kettle on and rummaged in the fridge. Some cheese and a limp leaf or two of lettuce, half a tomato. She cut thick slices of brown bread, buttered them with a lavish hand, piled on everything she could find and finished with a dollop of mayonnaise. There was hardly a clean cup or mug left in the kitchen, but she ran a tea cloth round a couple of mugs she rarely used, inspected the biscuit tin – empty – and took the tray through to the sitting room.

  Timothy had seated himself in the big armchair – Frank’s old armchair

  – and laid out some papers on the coffee table.

  ‘What a splendid sandwich,’ he said, reaching for it.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid I haven’t had time to eat today,’ she said, removing the plate and pushing a mug towards him. ‘I really must go shopping again tomorrow. I’m right out of cake and biscuits.’

  So there, she thought, with a childish satisfaction in disappointing him. ‘Ah. Well. We busy people …’

  She thought, If he wags his finger at me, I’ll slosh him one. Then was ashamed of herself. Why was she behaving so badly tonight? The poor man couldn’t help his irritating little ways.

  It was getting dark and she hadn’t drawn the curtains. As he started to talk, she got up to remedy this. She was hardly listening. She was hungry. And something was bothering her. The room looked – not quite itself.

  But there, she’d had so many people through it …

  ‘What was that?’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘Of course.’ He beamed at her. ‘We all know how well you rise to the occasion. Just like your dear husband, so greatly missed. Quite an example to us all.’

  Ellie took a big mouthful of sandwich and leaned back in her own armchair.

  Hmm, she thought. Laying it on with a trowel, isn’t he! Aunt Drusilla would say the lad was up to no good.

  ‘So I thought I’d bring round the plans for the new church hall, hotfoot from the architects, I’m sure you’ll approve …’

  Ellie took another mouthful and leaned forward to see.Their dilapidated church hall had been due for replacement for years. It had been one of Frank’s pet projects to get something moving on it. He’d even left them some money in his will towards the rebuilding fund.

  ‘Looks good,’ she said. ‘Nice big kitchen. One big hall, two smaller rooms for meetings. Big foyer, I like that. An office for the secretary. Very nice indeed.’

  ‘We thought you’d like it. After all, your dear husband was so very much involved in this project, it must be something you have a special interest in seeing through.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Ellie, round the last mouthful. ‘I don’t think I put any sugar in your coffee. Would you like me to get some?’

  ‘Oh, don’t bother. I’m sweet enough, as they say.’ Again he chortled, and again Ellie winced. ‘So the parish council feel you should have your say about it, if you want something changed, altered … you know?’

  ‘Well, that’s very kind of you,’ said Ellie, distracted by a message that
was trying to get through to her from the room.‘But I’m hardly an architect, am I? I wouldn’t know how big or small things ought to be or what wood to use, or anything like that.’

  ‘No, but you could head up the building committee, couldn’t you? Raise the Profile, etcetera.’

  Ellie stared. ‘Oh, no. I’m not that sort of person at all. I’m not chairman material, really I’m not. Washing-up rota, that’s me.’

  His smile wavered. ‘You underrate yourself. The parish council are unanimous in agreement that we should call this new building the Frank Quicke Memorial Hall. So you see, you have to be involved.’

  ‘What?’ Several messages at once bombarded Ellie’s brain. She pushed them out of her head and tried to concentrate on what Timid Timothy was saying.

  He was nodding like a china mandarin. ‘Pre-cise-ly. We want the Frank Quicke Memorial Hall to be named after the man who has done so much for the parish over the years. A plaque in the foyer or perhaps the large hall will commemorate him and his magnificent gift to the church.’

  Ellie understood that if Timothy could swing this, it would help his career enormously. He’d made no secret of his ambition to be the next incumbent of the parish. The parish certainly couldn’t afford to rebuild the church hall unless they managed to tap into Heritage or other funding. Frank had been trying for grants for years – as had smarmy Archie Benjamin, church treasurer, erstwhile pal of Frank’s, and current admirer of Ellie. Although come to think of it, Archie and his toothy grin hadn’t been pestering her so much recently …

  She couldn’t think straight. If the hall were named after Frank, Ellie would be reminded of him every week. Perhaps oftener. Was that a good thing, or a bad?

  She thought that Timothy was quite right. Frank would have been ecstatic to have the church hall named after him. There would have been no bearing with him, he would have been as puffed up with pride as – as Mr Toad of Toad Hall.

  If he’d lived, they wouldn’t be thinking of naming the hall after him. No.

  Another thing. If the hall was to be named after those who had served the church so well, then it should be named after the Sunday-school teachers, the organists, the flower arrangers, those who made the coffee and cleared up and manned the church library and cleaned the brasses, week after week, without any thanks, most of the time.

  She wasn’t at all sure she wanted the new church hall named after Frank, though it might be difficult for the church council to follow her reasoning.

  She thought, I’ll have to talk to Bill about increasing the amount Frank left for the rebuilding fund. He’d left them a generous five hundred pounds and perhaps she could double that. She would like to help the church. Perhaps she could do it anonymously, she would hate to be thanked for it in public. Only recently she’d been discussing with her solicitor friend, Bill, how to put a certain percentage of her inheritance into a trust fund for charitable purposes. Bill had thought it a good idea. Something to do with tax, yes. But also to avoid being badgered to give, give, give to all and sundry.

  Yes, she would definitely ask Bill about it. She was sure he would agree.

  Something that Timothy had said was nagging at her. She set down her mug with care. ‘You said magnificent gift? He did leave the church something in his will but though it was generous, I’d hardly call it magnificent.’

  Timothy shook a roguish finger at her. ‘You mustn’t be coy. He told Archie all about it, of course, and asked him to keep it a secret. Which Archie did. But now that the plans have finally been drawn up and we have to consider how to raise the finance, naturally Archie told us what Frank had promised. I think I may say that although we’d been expecting a little something, we’d hardly thought it would be such a large amount.’

  She frowned. ‘I don’t think I … How much …?’

  ‘A million pounds!’ He sat back in his chair, beaming at her. Like a magician who’s just produced the rabbit out of a hat.

  Ellie gaped. A million? Almost everything she’d inherited?

  She tried to keep her voice even. ‘You want me to give you a million pounds?’

  His smile became anxious. ‘No, no. It was Frank who promised us that, and naturally you will honour his promise. Archie said he knew how pleased you’d be.’

  Ellie just stared at him.

  Timothy’s smile faded. He didn’t know where he’d gone wrong, but he knew that something was amiss.‘Of course, you will need to think carefully about … will have to consult the bank, sell shares, I suppose …’

  She nodded. She didn’t know what to say.

  He stood up, dropping his papers and plans on to the floor. Blushing, he scrabbled for them. Ellie didn’t help him. Her eyes were on the mantelpiece, where ‘Bargar’, a toy rabbit of nondescript appearance, was lying on its side. Little Frank’s favourite toy. It had not been there when she had talked to the detective sergeant and Mrs Coppola. Her eyes switched to the dining table. Scrumpled-up paper hankies had been dropped under the table, and on the chair seat was the box of tissues which normally lived in the kitchen. A mobile phone lurked under the box of tissues, mislaid by its owner.

  Timothy said, ‘Well, I expect this has all been a bit of a surprise, though a pleasant one, I’m sure …’ This was obviously from a prepared script, and Ellie was certainly not jumping for joy or pleasure, so he blushed again. ‘I think I’ve managed to take your breath away …’ That didn’t go down too well, either.

  ‘I’ll see you out, shall I?’ said Ellie, leading the way to the door.

  ‘I’ll just leave these plans here, shall I?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Ellie. ‘I rather think you’ve given me enough to think about for one day.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He was bowing and scraping now.

  Ellie held the front door open for him. There was still no umbrella in the porch. The answerphone light still wasn’t winking. Diana must have been here with baby Frank – and left his Bargar by mistake – and interfered with the answerphone.

  Ellie slammed the front door and leaned against it, breathing deeply.

  She couldn’t think straight. Frank had promised them a million pounds? She couldn’t understand it. He hadn’t said anything to her about it and …

  With an effort of will, she decided to deal with first things first. She went upstairs and tapped on the door of Gus’s room.

  The window was closed – well, it was raining – and the room stank of cigarettes. Gus was lying on his bed, reading a paperback. One of Frank’s paperbacks. Well, she didn’t mind that too much. She did mind – a bit – that Midge the cat was lying asleep on Gus’s stomach. Fickle cat, she thought. Who feeds you?

  She said, ‘Gus, someone’s been here while I was out this evening?’

  ‘That daughter of yours, plus kid. Screaming he was. I turned off the light, made as if I wasn’t here. She yelled for you. Went into your bedroom and all. Screamed at the kid, too, poor blighter.’

  ‘Yes. What else did she do?’

  ‘Listened to the answerphone messages.’

  ‘Then wiped them. Gus, have you any idea who might have been on the phone and left messages for me?’

  He bridled. ‘I wouldn’t stoop to listening to—’

  ‘Of course you wouldn’t, but that answerphone plays very loudly. You might have had to hear what was said, whether you wanted to or not. It would help me if I knew who’d been on the phone.’

  ‘That daughter of yours – she don’t take after you much, does she?’

  ‘Possibly not.’

  He huffed and puffed and looked up at the ceiling. Ellie knew that he’d listened. Of course he’d have listened. Whether he would give her the information she needed or not was another matter.

  ‘That smooth bloke Roy that was here the other night. Something about wanting to take you out to supper?’

  ‘Roy, my cousin. Good. I’ll ring him back.’

  ‘Your daughter, wanting you to ring her back. Twice. The central-heating man, says his thum
b’s better and he’ll be here tomorrow morning. If you ask me, he just took a coupla days off to … All right, all right. Then there was an older woman, worried about you, didn’t say who she was, expected you to know …’

  ‘My aunt Drusilla, probably.’

  ‘Someone called Kate. She sounded upset. And a wrong number.’

  ‘Thank you, Gus. You’re a great help. Now what about some supper? Not that I’m exactly feeling like a stint at the stove.’

  ‘Gimme a quid, and I’ll go down the chippy. For you an’ all, if you like.’

  ‘Tell you what, I’ll give you a tenner, and you get fish and chips for both of us.’

  Gus did have good ideas, sometimes.

  Modern technology was wonderful. In the past, you had needed a lot of equipment and a darkroom in order to record and reproduce those special moments for posterity. Now it was all done by digital and video cameras, and computer.

  Only the bloodstained wallpaper remained the same. And the bed. Downstairs in the study there was no need to black out the windows. The man sat at his all-singing, all-dancing computer, calling up images of children on his shining screen, gazing at each one for long minutes at a time. Playing with himself.

  Ellie made a list of those people Gus thought had rung and started with Roy, who picked up the phone with commendable alacrity. ‘Are you OK? I’ve been worried about you. Look, I’ll come round now you’re back home …’

  She wanted to say, No, don’t do that, but he’d dropped the phone. Mr Impatience.

  She dialled Aunt Drusilla. The line was engaged.

  She tried Diana.

  ‘Mother, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you. I got to work and thought, I should never have left you alone with that paedophile …’

  ‘He’s not a paedophile. Merely a poor inadequate who drinks too much now and then.’

  Diana wasn’t listening. ‘I checked back on you after work – had to bring little Frank with me – shall I be glad when Stewart’s back at the end of the week and can take his share of looking after the child. Anyway, there wasn’t anyone in …’