Murder of Innocence Read online

  No, it was quite absurd. Her house was a semi, and shared a party wall with Kate and Armand. The party walls were flimsy and she’d have heard if there’d been any nasty things going on next door, just as she’d heard raised voices when Armand and Kate had not been getting on last year. If Tod had been next door and cried out, she’d have heard for sure.

  Unless, of course, it had happened after she’d gone over to the church at about half past seven.

  No, that wouldn’t work either, because what would Tod have been doing from the time he left the baths at just after five, until half past seven?

  She wouldn’t tell the police.

  Of course, he might have intercepted the boy on his way back from the baths, tied him up in Ellie’s shed at the bottom of her garden, gagged him and left him there until he had time to attend to him? Ripples of horror ran up and down Ellie’s back. It was just about possible. There were some coils of wire in Ellie’s shed, which she’d used to tie back some heavy shrubs last year. He’d have needed wire cutters to deal with them … but she hadn’t got any wire cutters, had had to use her kitchen scissors, which had never been any good afterwards, totally blunted. He’d have had to come prepared.

  It was no good. She’d have to go and have a look, see if the wire were still in the shed where she’d left it. She got out her torch and went down the garden path, feeling a right prat, trying to pretend she was a detective when she ought to be tucked up in bed with a hot-water bottle.

  She couldn’t find the wire at all. Remembered that the police had been all over the shed, looking for clues. They must have removed the coil of wire, which meant … oh dear! Armand couldn’t really have done it, could he? This would mean the end of Kate’s marriage and she’d probably have to move away and then Ellie would get some horrible next-door neighbours instead.

  Ah. A thought. After she’d used the wire to tie the rhododendron back to the fence, she might have left it in the kitchen. On top of the cupboard over the boiler?

  Relief! The coil was there, just as she’d left it, with a rather chewed-up end showing where she’d wrestled it into submission with the kitchen scissors.

  She began to laugh with relief. How stupid of her to think Armand could have done it! What a fantastic scenario she’d constructed! Some day perhaps she’d tell Kate … No, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t tell anyone, ever.

  One good thing: her suspicions of Armand had insulated her against all her stupid family problems and she would now be able to go to bed and sleep.

  She walked upstairs, went into her bedroom and began to weep … and weep …

  She was so angry with Frank for dying and leaving her. She wanted to scream with rage. And loss. He’d left a great big black hole in her life. Every now and then she dived into that hole, pulled the covers over her head and let herself go. He should have taken more care of himself. He should have listened to her, had check-ups regularly. It served him right that she wasn’t going to build a hall to perpetuate his name.

  She sobbed till she got a pounding headache and went to the bathroom for aspirin and water. She showered and got into bed, but the pounding in her head refused to let up. If she’d known he was squirreling away all that money, she’d have suggested they spent some of it on themselves for a change. Perhaps a world cruise. She would quite like to see New Zealand, where she had a cousin.

  Bother Frank! Oh, how could he go and leave her?

  She didn’t care about the money. He would have been proud to have had the hall named after him. He would have worked his socks off on the rebuilding committee to get grants and liaise with the architects and make sure everything was up to standard.

  Perhaps they’d still call the hall after him, even if she didn’t give them all that money? Frank would like that.

  No, they wouldn’t do that; the name was tied up with the gift of the money. No gift, no name tag.

  At two o’clock, she decided that she would do it. Give them the money. It didn’t matter what it cost. She’d been overwhelmed when she first knew Frank had left her over a million and a half. She’d had dreams of using the money to help others and she’d made a start in a small way – gifts to friends, gifts to charities, paying for the church’s printing bill, helping a local lad setting up in business, topping up the money the waitress at the Sunflowers Café had needed to go round the world. She’d really enjoyed giving people things. The amount she’d inherited had once seemed so vast that she’d thought she’d never get through it.

  She’d been deeply appreciative of her good fortune after years of worrying about making ends meet. She’d been thrilled to think she need never worry about the Community Tax Bill again, or choose a cheap cut of meat if she fancied steak.

  Well, let the money go. She’d been brought up to count the pennies and it wouldn’t be so very difficult to go back to that. She could always take in a lodger; though not Gus, of course. Or charge Aunt Drusilla rent. After all, the old dear had been sitting in a house owned by Frank – and now owned by Ellie – for years without paying a penny or even maintaining it properly.

  She could go back to work part-time.Yes, she would do it. Be shut of the money. Get rid of it. It was more trouble than it was worth. And Frank would love – would have loved – to have the hall named after him.

  At five to three she woke with a start. A bomb? Something had crashed into the house, shaking it. Shards of glass falling down? The room was steady around her, so the house hadn’t fallen down or been blown up. But what …?

  There wasn’t a sound from Gus. No noise of cars in the street, not even late-night party-goers returning home. Footsteps in the street, going away?

  She sprang to the window and lifted a curtain to see out. Nothing moved outside, not even a cat. Where was Midge, anyway? Had he knocked something over? A chair, perhaps? She was shaking. It must have been a nightmare. She’d make herself a cuppa, take a couple more aspirin and get back to sleep.

  She pulled on her dressing gown and crept downstairs. Still no sound from Gus. No sign of Midge.

  Hall and kitchen were as usual. Reassuring.

  She didn’t want to open the living-room door, in case …

  She made herself do it. At first sight everything looked normal. Then she noticed the brick on the dining table and the curtains moving in and out, gently, in the breeze.

  Oh. The brick had scarred the table, slightly. Shards of glass lay on the stamp magazines Kate had brought her. The curtains had held back most of the broken glass, either holding it in the fabric or letting it tumble to the carpet below. There were great rents in the fabric. The curtains would need replacing.

  She thought, I’ve never liked those curtains, anyway. They’d been Frank’s choice. Expensive but boring.

  Only, replacing them would mean wiping out a little more of Frank’s presence in the house and that was a matter for regret.

  She realized she was trembling. Suffering from shock. She could just sit and give way to tears. That would be the easy option. She stiffened her back. She had to see what the damage was. She didn’t want to touch the curtains for fear of cutting herself on shards of broken glass, so she fetched a broom from the kitchen cupboard and twitched one curtain back at arm’s length.

  There was a nice big hole in the window, letting in the rain.

  She pushed the curtain back over the hole with the broom and sat down. In the kitchen the kettle began to wheeze.

  The brick was a signal to her, wasn’t it, that the neighbourhood wanted Gus out. It wasn’t just Mrs Dawes and Diana who wanted him out. Neither of them would throw bricks through windows at three in the morning. Ellie knew that when a neighbourhood got worked up about something, all sorts of nastiness came crawling out of the woodwork and attacked the offender. It was the natural reaction, Not In My Backyard.

  She must ring the police and tell them. They’d probably suggest she pass Gus on to a hostel. They might even get him rehoused. But he needed to be under someone’s eye or he’d slip back into a vici
ous circle of alcoholism and homelessness.

  If she could, she’d keep him.

  She rang the police station and told them what had happened. She said there was no point in coming round as she was going back to bed. She’d get the damage seen to in the morning. She made herself a cuppa. She noticed that she was shaking gently as she poured the hot water on to a tea bag. She found some aspirin, took two more.

  Carefully she tipped broken glass off the magazines Kate had brought her and went back to bed with them. She hadn’t anything else to read and perhaps they’d take her mind off her problems.

  Leafing through the magazines was an eye-opener, as Armand had said. She supposed that hobbies did turn into big business if there were enough people – and enough money – involved. Look at the value of stamps being bought and sold on the Internet … amazing! Yes, and there were official stamp fairs being held all over the country every week, though there didn’t seem to be one in her part of London. The articles … she drifted off to sleep.

  At half past four, she woke again. It was no good. Personal problems broke through the aspirin barrier. She pounded the pillow and turned over for the umpteenth time that night. The magazines slipped unnoticed to the floor.

  Where was Midge, anyway? He usually slept on her bed with her. She supposed he was out hunting. He’d come back when he felt like it.

  It was no good thinking she could ignore the plea from Aunt Drusilla. She’d been brought up by her parents to consider other people before herself. She wondered if Frank had chosen to marry her just because of that. It might be an old-fashioned outlook but if the wife put her husband first, then the husband could act up as King of his Castle to his heart’s content. Which is what Frank had done. It made for a quiet family life, and who was to say that the woman didn’t get as much out of it as the man? It wasn’t a fashionable point of view, of course, but you did earn brownie points that way. And really, was it too difficult to put others first? Hadn’t she been doing it all her life, for Frank, for Diana, for Aunt Drusilla? So why stop now?

  She couldn’t stop now. The pattern had been formed long ago and much as she might resent it in some ways, she couldn’t break it.

  Ellie wept again. She would tell Aunt Drusilla that yes, she would move in and look after her. Eventually she slept.

  The cleaner found Tod’s swimming things tucked under a chair in the hall.

  ‘Ugh they stink! I put these in washer, yes?’

  ‘No. Put them with the others in the cloakroom. Boys are so careless, always forgetting things. I know where he lives. I’ll drop him in a reminder to collect them.’

  ‘OK.’

  She fetched the broom to sweep the prettily tiled floor. Then to wash it down. And finally to buff the tiles to a shine. She liked working in old houses. They reminded her of the days when her grandparents had had a big old house in a pleasant, tree-lined suburb, long ago and in another country.

  Ellie woke to someone pounding on the door. Eight o’clock. She never overslept. But she had. The radio was on downstairs. Gus must be up. Her head …!

  She stumbled downstairs in the dressing gown. The kitchen door was shut, the radio turned off. Gus taking cover from whoever might be calling.

  It was Mrs Coppola with a sulky-looking Tod. ‘Whatever’s happened to your window?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Having a lie-in, were you? I had to bring Tod round, I’ll be late for work as it is. Oh yes, and the central-heating man’s arrived. It’s the same one who gave me a quote for giving me a completely new system. I said you were going to pay for it, but he won’t start till he’s got your signature on the contract. He’s just writing it out now, in rough, of course. Hope that’s all right. Be a good boy, Tod.’

  She kissed his ear and left.

  Tod was wearing his new casual gear with his old baseball hat on back to front. He sidled in, made for the kitchen door, opened it, disappeared inside and closed the door behind him. The radio was turned on again. Ellie wondered whether she should tell Gus about the brick. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t decide.

  She felt like going back to bed. She felt like death warmed up. Death would be rather pleasant, she thought, give her a nice rest – though of course Christians weren’t supposed to think like that, weren’t supposed to despair or have hangovers or feel like giving up life altogether. She thought, I can’t cope. Please, God. Give me strength to cope with the day.

  The kitchen door opened to let Midge into the hall and closed again. Midge made straight for her ankles, banging against her. His fur was cold so he’d definitely been out all night. She winced, feeling too fragile to have even a cat banging against her. He needed to be fed of course, but Gus wouldn’t know how and Tod wouldn’t remember.

  Ellie picked Midge up and cuddled him. He suffered this for a while, purring like a tractor engine in her ear. He even nibbled one of her ears. Reassuring. Ticklish. She laughed. Felt better, put him down and went to feed him. First things first. Food. Then clean clothes. Then …

  The doorbell rang. It was Jimbo, her own central-heating engineer, plus his mate; and the man he’d recommended, McKeown or some name like it.

  ‘Mornin’, missus.’

  ‘You Mrs Quicke? What’s happened to your window? Got to get your name on this … sign here … and here … use my pen …’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Ellie, trying to work out who was doing what, and why. Workmen didn’t usually come in threes like this. It was unheard of. Usually you had to wait weeks for one to arrive – and now three had come at once.

  Jimbo knew her of old, knew when to take his time. ‘Make a start on extending your central heating into the conservatory, right?’

  McKeown was impatient.‘Tear out the old central heating, it’s knackered, down the road, the woman said you was paying, right?’

  Down the path came her plumber. ‘Mornin’, Mrs Quicke. Looks like it might clear up, right? Make a start on the water feature for you, right?’

  Four workmen?

  Jimbo asked Mr McKeown, ‘Is that the Coppola house that I passed on to you? I looked at it the other day, it needs a new pump, right?’

  ‘The whole lot’s got to go, take me four days, maybe five.’

  ‘Stop!’ cried Ellie, holding her head in her hands. ‘Gentlemen, please. Jimbo, if you say the Coppola house only needs a new pump, that’s fine by me. I’ll pay for that, but not for a complete new system. Mr McKeown …’

  ‘I tell you that system’s knackered.’

  Jimbo looked worried. ‘I’m pretty sure that …’

  ‘I can’t afford to pay for a new system,’ said Ellie, thinking that if she were going to fund the rebuilding of the hall, she wouldn’t be able to afford lots of things she’d been buying lately. Tod’s computer, and all his new clothes, for instance. The plumber put down his toolkit and stood, arms akimbo, taking everything in.

  Ellie said, ‘Look, let’s try a new pump first. I think I can run to that.’

  McKeown went a dull red. ‘You can’t just call me out and then say you’ve changed your mind.’

  ‘How much for just replacing the pump?’

  He mentioned a figure which made Ellie open her eyes wide. Jimbo looked at the floor. The plumber whistled. ‘You’re too expensive for me,’ said Ellie. ‘I’m sorry, but you’ve just lost the job.’

  ‘There’s a call-out charge, you know. Sixty pounds. Cash preferred, but credit cards accepted.’

  Jimbo took the man aside but Ellie could hear what he said. ‘Don’t you think that’s a bit of a rip-off? Look, I know this old dear of old. She’s not made of money. Lost her husband only a while back. She can’t afford to go paying for someone else’s new system when all it needs is a new pump.’

  ‘What about my call-out fee?’

  ‘Forget it, mate. You shouldna tried it on.’

  ‘I know my rights,’ yelled McKeown. But he backed off up the drive and got into his van, slamming the door after him. Ellie felt thankful that at least some people didn�
�t know how much money she’d been left. And was shortly about to give away.

  ‘Make a start, shall I?’ said the plumber.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Ellie. ‘I can’t think what day of the week it is and who should be working where. You weren’t both booked for today, were you? Can you work around one another?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about a thing,’ said Jimbo, doing his Old Retainer act. ‘I’ll go have a look at that pump first, and get on with my bits after. Or shall I put a bit of hardboard over that window for you first, while you – er – tidy up?’

  Ellie realized she was still in her dressing gown at nearly nine o’clock. Whatever would the neighbours think! ‘Bless you, Jimbo. If you could do the pump first, I’ll ring the replacement window people. Here’s Mrs Coppola’s key.’ And to the plumber, ‘Is that all right with you? I’ll show you just where I want the water feature …’

  Yellow pages were very helpful. Yes, they’d be round that morning. The bill would probably be … ouch! Why did everything need replacing as soon as money was short?

  She went upstairs to shower, dress and try to make herself look presentable.

  She found herself thanking God for Jimbo and the nice plumber. And for Tod’s recovery – which she realized with a start she had neglected to do. And for good friends. She finished with a plea for Him to be with her as she had some rather nasty jobs to do that day. She must push herself into doing some sums. She had yet to pay for the conservatory and the extension of the central heating into it. Tiling it, installing a water feature. She’d tentatively made some plans for a holiday abroad and new clothes … oh dear, she’d better forget about those.

  The plumber took no time at all to install his piping and left after telling her all about his little boy’s piano lessons and how they were hoping the next one would be a girl. Jimbo returned shortly after to say the new pump was in and the central heating at Mrs Coppola’s was now on. Then he and his mate started unloading piping and radiators and humping them through the house to the conservatory. More noise. Ellie’s head ached.