Murder in the Garden Page 23

  She drew back. ‘Dear Bill, I love you, and I love Roy and I still love Frank. You understand how it is, don't you? This whole nasty business has brought everything back, the good bits and the bad of my marriage. I'm all mixed up and it's going to take time for me to sort myself out. If ever I do. Bear with me?’

  He took it well. Saw her into the house, waved goodbye and drove away.

  Only when she had closed the outside door did she wonder if she ought to be afraid of spending the night in a house which was being watched by a strange man.

  She went round the house making sure all the locks were on, and the doors bolted.

  Those two boys …! Well, they really were only boys to her, even though both were older than her. Aunt Drusilla had them down to a T. She put it all down to wearing those high-heeled shoes, which she now took off with a sigh of relief.

  She was happy enough as she was, going up to bed when she wanted to, having a late-night snack if she wanted, or not. And no washing-up that evening.

  The old man opened his eyes. His hand tightened around his son's. ‘Promise! Promise!’

  ‘Don't agitate yourself, father. Nobody's going to hurt you. My brother is on his way down …’

  The old man was fretful. ‘He shouldn't … he's such an important man …”

  ‘So are you. Of course he's coming.’

  ‘If they find out …’

  ‘No one will find out anything. I'll see to it. I promise.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The old man's eyes closed again, and he slept.

  Eighteen

  It rained in the night. Not much, but enough that Ellie didn't have to worry about watering the busy lizzies and pansies in the top bed by the conservatory. That was the worst of those particular flowers; you couldn't leave them without water in dry weather or they dried up and died.

  Wonder of wonders, there was only one message on the answerphone and it was from Armand and not from Diana.

  Armand was in a hurry, as usual. ‘Kate says you wanted to know something about Trudy Cullen? She does work at the school, though not for me. General dogsbody in the science department. Kate wasn't clear why you were asking after Trudy, but if you need to contact her, she lives in one of those pretty old houses just at the back of the Broadway round by St Mary's Church. They haven't been there long, and I don't think they're in the phone book yet, but I could get her phone number for you if you want it.’ He'd ended the call there.

  So Diana hadn't called back. Oh well. Plenty to do. People to see.

  Ellie made out a shopping list, remembering to include some biscuits for the coffee after the Women's Hour that evening. Last time she'd washed up at church after that meeting, there hadn't been a clean tea towel in sight. She put a couple out to take with her.

  She rang the police station to say that Roy had supplied a name for the man in the photograph, but neither DI Willis nor that nice constable Honeywell were available, so she left a message for them.

  Walking across the Green, she checked to see if the mystery man were hanging around Endene Close, but there was no one to be seen. Not even the lighting fitment people, or the electricians. Roy wouldn't be pleased about that, would he.

  She waved to Tum-Tum but he didn't see her. He was leaning on his rake, pretending to collect up some of the leaves which were beginning to fall from the trees, but actually having a good gossip with a passer-by.

  Before she started her shopping, she climbed the stairs to Maria's office at Trulyclean Services. Maria was there already, cup of coffee in hand, talking to a client on the phone while calling up information on her computer.

  When the client had gone, Ellie said, ‘Before anything else, did your parents approve of the house?’

  Maria beamed. ‘Yes, they did. They said it was just like their own first little house and they'll help us with the mortgage. And, the estate agent rang back last night to say our offer has been accepted!’

  ‘I am so pleased for you, my dear. Now, a couple of things. Am I allowed to take little Frank out this afternoon?’

  ‘Oh.’ Maria looked upset. ‘Not today, no. You won't believe this, but since he started at the Toddlers' Group, he's had invitations to two birthday parties, and this is one of them. Of course, I said he could go, and I completely forgot you wanted Thursdays in future. What about tomorrow?’

  ‘Fine. And -’ here Ellie took the rather mauled photograph out of her handbag - ‘Do you by any chance know this man? The police think it was he who sent them an email saying I was mixed up in that murder case. He told Roy that his name's Patel, though I do realize there are hundreds of Patels around. All we really know about him is that he drives a Mercedes and said he was interested in buying a house in Endene Close … though I don't know if he was serious about that, or just wanting to keep an eye on the back of my house.’

  Maria took the photograph to the light. She shook her head. ‘No, I don't think I know him. If you can wait a minute, though, I'll fax a copy to my father and ask if he knows the man. Being on the council, he knows a great many business people around here.’

  So Maria assumed he was a businessman. Interesting. Competent as ever, she ran off a covering note and sent it with a copy of the photo. ‘Coffee while we wait?’

  Ellie looked at her watch. ‘I'd better not. I'm having lunch with Rose at Sunflowers and I've got lots to do first.’

  The fax machine whirred back. Maria rescued the message, and shook her head. ‘My father says he doesn't know this man. Do you know what line of business he's in? Are you sure he's local?’

  ‘No, I don't think he is. It was a long shot. Thanks for trying, anyway.’

  So that was that. Walking along to the grocer's, Ellie hesitated outside the travel agency. Was that girl at the desk inside Lana Cullen, whose grandmother had died next door in questionable circumstances? Now was it she who was married or was it her sister? Lana was wearing a too-bright red blouse and black skirt. Her hair had been blonded but the roots showed dark. She was wearing a lot of heavy-looking jewellery, including a wedding ring, but it all looked as if it had been bought off a market stall.

  Ellie pushed the door open, and went in. The girl looked up with a bored smile, and then recognized her. ‘Hello, Mrs Quicke. You went to see my mum with Mrs Dawes, didn't you? She was on the phone to me last night, saying how kind it had been of you to call on her, but that you'd only stayed a minute or two. She said you'd promised to come back to see her another day. I do hope you can. She gets lonely. What can I do for you? Perhaps a cruise?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Ellie took a seat opposite the girl. Business seemed slow. There was only one other desk manned, and the youth behind it seemed to be playing Free Cell on his computer. ‘I could do with some brochures on holidays abroad, and I'll pick them out in a minute. It was good to see your mother again and catch up on old times. I hadn't realized you knew my Diana so well.’

  Lana laughed, crossed her legs, leaned back in her chair twiddling with a pen. ‘Well, yes. In a way, I suppose. She used to try to hang around with us in those days. But you know what teenagers are, all mouth and no trousers, as the saying is. We used to dare one another to do things, but …’ She shrugged. ‘I suppose all teenagers are like that. Gran used to go on at us like anything. “I've got my eagle eye on you,” she used to say. And “You give me lip, my girl, and I'll give you something to remember me by.” She was a funny old thing, wasn't she?’

  Ellie tried to fit this portrait of old Mrs Cullen into what she remembered of the woman and then with what she'd surmised, perhaps wrongly. ‘I remember you coming to the door and not letting me see her.’

  Lana laughed, a trifle too loudly. But then, that was her style. ‘She told us not to let anyone in, because she'd got mouth ulcers and couldn't bear to wear her false teeth. What a scream that was, us trying to mash up her food so's she could get it down her.’ She sobered up. ‘She went off quickly at the end. Gave us a fright, that. My sister wondered if s
he'd taken too many of her painkillers and we looked for the bottle, but it was all right. They were all there. She fell on the landing, on her way to the toilet, you know. It was bad luck we weren't there that night, any of us. Poor old thing. We would have liked her to have died in her bed, but there … she died with her boots on, as she would have said.’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Ellie couldn't think of any other questions to ask. Lana's manner was so open, it was clear she was telling the truth. Ellie'd been wrong about the manner of Mrs Cullen's death. She pulled the photo out of her handbag. ‘You don't happen to know this man, do you? His name's Patel. He's been hanging around, may be connected in some way with the girl they found murdered near my house.’

  Lana looked and shook her head. ‘He looks a bit like our boss, but it isn't him. Have you asked Mr Patel at the baker's?’

  Ellie said she'd do that, collected some brochures at random, and wondered about hopping on a bus to the road in which Mr Spendlove lived. It was certainly too far to walk. She waited five minutes. And then another five. She was just on the point of phoning for a cab when a bus came along and she got on.

  She'd looked up Grove Avenue in the A to Z and got off at the nearest point en route. They were in a very select part of Wembley. There were spacious detached houses in their own gardens, all built around the turn of the previous century, with semi-circular driveways and heavily frowning porticoes over the front doors. Most were divided into flats, as was the house to which Miss Quicke had directed her.

  There was a ramp up to the front door, and a bell push gave the name of Spendlove beside a speaker entry system. Ellie rang the bell and waited. Someone was playing music nearby. Classical music. Rachmaninov? Very loudly. She pressed the bell again, and the music was muted. A man asked who was there, Ellie gave her name, and was admitted.

  A wide hall, parquet-floored. A door on the right admitted to a large ground-floor flat, and Mr Spendlove was holding it open for her. His hair had turned white and thinned since she saw him last, and he was in a wheelchair, but otherwise looking much the same as ever. A music centre was still pouring out music. Someone behind him shut it off, and called out to know who was there.

  He called back into the flat, ‘It's all right. I've got it.’ Footsteps retreated and a door slammed shut.

  Mr Spendlove frowned at Ellie. ‘Why, hello! I thought you were someone from the church. Do I know you?’

  ‘I'm Ellie Quicke, who used to live next door to you? Remember?’

  He passed a fretful hand over his forehead. ‘It comes and goes. It comes and it goes. You lived next door to us, did you? Not here, though. Was it?’

  She shook her head. Was his memory going?

  He said, ‘If you're from the church, you can come in and take a seat.’

  Ellie followed him in and took a chair. The flat was light and airy, with wooden floors and furniture kept to a minimum to allow for free passage of the wheelchair. Another door led to the back of the house. Someone was playing a radio in there, not loudly. Whoever it was stayed the other side of the door.

  Ellie said, ‘We've been talking over old times when you and the boys lived next door to me, so I thought I'd look you up.’ It sounded weak to her ears, but he didn't seem to mind. ‘Is your wife in?’ She looked at the door to the back.

  ‘She's out. It's only the Home Help in there,’ said Mr Spendlove. ‘Do you play chess? Have you come to give me a game? I play all the time.’

  A chess set was laid out on a table in the window. Ellie was amused. ‘I'm afraid I never learned.’

  He twirled his chair around to face her. ‘Sometimes they send someone down from the church to play with me. Did you come from the church?’ He lost his alert look, the lines of his face became slack, and he grew fretful. He passed his hand across his eyes and looked around the room as if he'd never seen it before.

  Ellie wondered if he was altogether aware of her sitting there. She said in her most commonsensical voice, ‘Do your boys play chess with you?’

  He brightened. ‘My boys? No. They've got their own families to look after now. Oh, they come round regularly enough, I suppose. They were only here … yesterday?’ He'd lost the plot again, looked vague.

  Ellie wondered when his wife would be back.

  His wandering eye lit upon the music centre, and he wheeled himself over to it, saying, ‘My wife doesn't like noise, you know. Likes everything kept very quiet and regular. Me, I like a bit of loud music now and then.’

  ‘I remember.’ Ellie was amused. ‘My husband said he always knew when you were out, because there was silence from your side of the wall.’ Would Mr Spendlove remember Frank?

  ‘Ah. Your husband. He was called … what was he called?’

  ‘His name was Frank.’

  ‘Frank! Yes, I knew I'd remember it in a minute.’ Mr Spendlove was pleased with himself for remembering the name. ‘How is he getting on nowadays? He's a good bit younger than me, of course.’

  There was no point in telling him the truth. Ellie steeled herself. ‘No, he's not that old.’

  Mr Spendlove pummelled his left hand with his right, watching her out of the corner of his eyes. Had he forgotten who she was already? She saw with pity that he had indeed aged a lot. His knuckles were knotted, and the skin on the backs of his hands mottled.

  ‘At least your boys do come to visit you,’ she said. ‘I've been talking to the Cullens …’

  ‘Who? Who did you say? I don't know you, do I? Did you say you'd come from the church?’

  She didn't think it would be any use, but she produced the photograph of Mr Patel. ‘Do you by any chance remember this man?’

  He looked but didn't take the photograph. Was that a flash of recognition? No, probably not. He looked vaguely around the flat. ‘I think my wife must have gone out for a bit. She's usually here. Have you come for a game of chess?’

  She shook her head and he didn't seem to mind. He seemed even to have forgotten she was there. Now she saw that there was dust on the chess board and some of the pieces had fallen over and not been replaced. It was a long time since this man had played chess.

  He went over to the music centre and turned the sound up. Definitely Rachmaninov.

  It was all deeply depressing. Ellie put the photo back in her handbag and left.

  Lunch at the Sunflowers Café with Rose had become something of a ritual. Ellie got there first, dumped her shopping in the corner behind their favourite table, and tried to decide whether she preferred chicken and mushroom pie to beef stew. Could she manage soup as well?

  She patted her stomach. Best not. She ought to go on a diet, of course. But not just yet.

  Dear Rose staggered in, pushing a large shopping basket on wheels ahead of her. Rose was wearing a smart new navy-blue jacket and trousers, and her hair had been freshly permed, but set in looser waves than usual. Ellie didn't know how Aunt Drusilla had managed it, but Rose never seemed to appear in public with her buttons done up wrongly nowadays. She looked, in fact, surprisingly well turned out.

  They settled down to a delightful chat about the appalling behaviour of the manageress of the local charity shop, which was where they'd met some years before. ‘Madam', as her staff called her, had a flair for upsetting people, and since Ellie and Rose had left, hardly any of the old-timers remained. Ellie maintained that Anita at least would see Madam out, but Rose feared the worst.

  ‘Perhaps they'll have to close the shop, if Madam drives everyone away.’

  At which thought, both women sighed and shook their heads. When their food came, Rose said how lovely it was of Roy, giving her and Miss Quicke unexpected treats like their supper last night, and she was really glad that Helen had left early, because, little as she wished to criticize, and not all her daughter's friends were quite so self-centred, she'd never been able to take to that Helen girl, though why that was, she really couldn't say.

  ‘I quite agree,’ said Ellie. ‘And how do you like your quarters in the big house?’

&n
bsp; ‘Lovely, dear. The new shower unit took a bit of getting used to, because I've never had anything like that to deal with before, but I got the upper hand of it eventually. Dear Miss Quicke insists I have a little rest in the afternoons and go out and about every day, and she won't hear of me doing any cleaning, and now dear Maria has found us a really good cleaner that I can trust, I really don't need to do anything more than flick a duster occasionally and change the flowers.

  ‘Sometimes we sit and chat - well, gossip, dear, really - and sometimes if I want to be quiet, I go off by myself and she's insisted on paying me an enormous wage, just for cooking her a light meal once a day and a bowl of soup at lunch time. She's making me take taxis everywhere when I go shopping … which reminds me that she really doesn't care for cooked celery. I don't think there's anything else she doesn't like.’ She always says “Thank you” nicely when I do the tiniest thing for her. And she never rings for me in the night nowadays.’

  ‘You've done wonders, Rose. I should think you've added ten years to her life expectancy.’

  Rose blushed. ‘But it's such fun, dear! I was a bit lonely up in my council flat with no one to look after, and now I have company when I want it, and my own beautiful rooms and a proper garden to look after, which, by the way, she insists she's going to get a gardener in to do the heavy work for, and she'll pay all the bills! And do you know, Miss Quicke says she's never been so well looked after, though it's really her who looks after me, if the truth were but told.’

  Ellie grinned. ‘I understand you've taught her to sit still and appreciate the garden. How on earth did you manage that?’

  ‘My dear Ellie! You don't know the half of it! She wants to build on a big conservatory at the back, just for me to potter around in. If I weren't a church-going woman, which I am, of course, I'd say I was in heaven. To think how I longed for a tiny patch of land to grow things in the old days when I lived in that high-rise flat … and now …!’