Murder by Suggestion Read online

  Ellie decided her guests should have the best china cups and saucers and not any of her collection of mugs. She started to lay the crockery out on a tray. ‘So, in a drunken haze, he might well have upset the lot on to the floor, picked up what he thought were the right ones – only they weren’t – and his death was accidental.’

  ‘True. That’s the official verdict as of this moment.’

  ‘Bunny slept alone and his wife heard nothing, saw nothing, and said she knew nothing about it?’ Ellie rummaged in a bottom cupboard for her largest teapot.

  ‘Correct.’

  Ellie looked in the biscuit tin. Half full. It would have to do. ‘I’ve seen those pill boxes. You get them from the chemist under doctor’s orders. Some people take five or six pills every day. I’ve often wondered how people can remember what they have to take, and when. Does the chemist fill the boxes for you, or are you allowed to do it yourself? In other words, who put the pills in his box each week?’

  ‘His wife did. She said she couldn’t trust him to do it. The officer sent to take her statement believed her.’

  ‘Is it possible that his wife put all his high blood pressure pills into one compartment to make sure he took an overdose? Then, in the morning, she emptied all the other compartments out on to the floor and claimed he was so drunk he did it himself?’

  ‘Mm. Possibly. No one’s suggested foul play. The widow made a good impression. Unless we can prove a motive … Even then, it’s doubtful we could get a conviction.’

  Ellie opened the cutlery drawer. Did they need teaspoons? Yes. Where was the sugar bowl? ‘I think I’d better put another packet of biscuits in the tin. They’re going to need more than one chocolate biscuit apiece to get them through this. Sorry, Lesley; thinking aloud. I have four visitors for tea and, if I’m right, one of them must be Bunny’s widow. So the police aren’t going to take it any further?’

  ‘They weren’t. No. Not until you rang me and pressed the alarm button.’

  Ellie poured boiling water into her largest teapot to warm it. ‘I’m not sure there is anything suspicious about his death.’

  ‘Then why did you ask about him? Do you know of a motive the widow might have had for getting rid of him?’

  Now Ellie had a choice. Lesley didn’t know about the group eviction of the wives, or the emails. Was it relevant? Ellie really didn’t know what to think.

  When in doubt, tell the police what you know and let them decide what to do about it. Yes, but that would mean bringing Diana into it, and it was Diana who was supposed to have come up with the idea of muddling the pills so that someone would die.

  Oh, there was no need to mention Diana, surely!

  But, suppose someone had acted on Diana’s suggestion and Bunny’s death was murder, then …? No, Ellie had to tell.

  She emptied the hot water out of the teapot and reached for the teabags. How many should she use? Three or four?

  ‘I can give you some background which might help you decide what to do. There were five married men who were members of the golf club and spent a lot of time there, socializing. Their wives went along for the ride. The women were thrown into one another’s company because the men were only interested in drinking and their own concerns. The wives began to exchange confidences. The men were all wealthy and most if not all were on their second or third wives. None of their current marriages were very stable because the men have so little sense they think that as their current wives age, money can buy them a prettier piece of arm candy or a nice little woman who will nurse them in their dotage.’

  ‘I’m familiar with the syndrome,’ said Lesley. ‘It usually ends in tears.’

  A woman’s voice called out from the corridor, ‘Mrs …? Can you find us some more toilet paper?’

  ‘Hold on a moment, Lesley.’ Ellie fished a loo roll out of a cupboard and took it along to the downstairs loo. Once she was back in the kitchen, she resumed her conversation. ‘So, Lesley; what do you think?’

  Lesley said, ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Evan, my son-in-law, threw Diana out this morning. She came straight to me. She was in shock. She said he was planning to keep their little boy and not let her have custody. Thomas and I are fond of the boy, so I went to see Evan and was given chapter and verse. I fear he has yet another, younger wife in view.’

  ‘That’ll cost him something in alimony.’

  ‘Men never seem to realize what divorce is going to do to their income. In this particular case, the women played into their hands. They were all joking one evening, talking about how they might make away with their husbands. Diana’s suggestion was, apparently, to muddle up his pills. I’m pretty sure she didn’t mean anything by it. The other women were accustomed to emailing one another about the trivia of their lives, and a couple of them were stupid enough to include their suggestions for murder into the said emails. Evan told me that when Bunny died these emails came to light, and the men used them as an excuse to get rid of the women. Wholesale. In one clean sweep. Diana seems to have invited the discarded wives to dump themselves on me. Here. In my hall. With all their belongings.’ She poured boiling water on to the teabags in the pot.

  ‘What! You mean—?’

  ‘Four of them. Plus impedimenta. Weeping and wailing and needing the toilet. And no sign of Diana.’

  ‘Your daughter has always taken you for granted, I know, but—’

  ‘Yes, this is one demand too far. By the way, she didn’t write any of the emails about how to dispose of a husband. One of the other women quoted her as having said it, that’s all. The husbands have got those emails and printed them out. Even if Mrs Brewster did muddle up her husband’s pills and caused his death, I suppose it would be very difficult to prove murder.’

  ‘Unless … Haven’t you just handed me a motive for murder? Did Diana realize she was about to be superseded in her husband’s bed?’

  ‘I’ll check it out, if you like. All I’ve seen so far is four women in a state of shock.’ Ellie surveyed the laden tea tray. ‘What I need is one of those old-fashioned trolleys to save me carrying heavy things around. Look, I’m about to give these women tea and biscuits. Care to join us?’

  Milk! She’d forgotten the milk. She’d have to use a milk jug. She couldn’t put the milk bottle on the tray for this lot.

  Lesley hesitated. ‘Not immediately, no. I have a report to write. When I finish work, maybe. Do you think it could have been murder?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I can’t think straight. I’ll have a quiet chat with them over a cuppa and see if I can pick up anything concrete. I could ask, for instance, if any of them knew or suspected that they were about to be discarded. If not, you can mark the case closed and let them move on with their lives.’

  ‘Don’t be so hasty. You mentioned emails. Who’s got them? I need to see them.’

  ‘Evan says he’s got the laptop which contains the emails but he gave me a copy of some of the messages which do seem to prove his point that the women were conspiring against their husbands. Or rather not conspiring, exactly. Looking on the bright side, I suppose the most you can convict them of is disloyalty and a misplaced sense of humour. The men think they have enough evidence to force the women to accept a divorce without complaining and so far, they’ve pitched it right.’

  ‘I think I’d better see those emails.’

  ‘Drop round after work and I’ll let you have my copies.’

  ‘Can you keep the women with you till I come? Or else, find out where they’re planning to go? I may need to interview them later.’

  Ellie sighed. ‘I do hope it won’t be necessary. I feel sorry for them.’

  ‘You don’t feel sorry for the one who could have killed her husband?’

  ‘Come on, Lesley – there’s no proof.’ She clicked off the phone and pushed it into her pocket as one of wives – the brunette with the boyish, feathery haircut – appeared in the doorway asking if she could help. Big-boned and tall with it. Not an obvious beauty but a
healthy, milkmaid type.

  The newcomer had a nervous smile. ‘Can I do anything?’

  Was that a bruise on her jaw? No, probably not. The light in the kitchen was not marvellous. At least this girl had the good manners to offer to help.

  ‘Thank you, yes. If you could carry that tray, I’ll manage this one.’

  Together they ferried the tea things along the corridor and into the big sitting room which overlooked the garden at the back of the house. It was definitely raining now. Ellie switched on the lamps that threw the centre of the room and the settee into the light but left shadows at the edges. One by one, the guests arrived to look around and find themselves a seat. Ellie dispensed tea and biscuits.

  The hard-faced blonde who looked like Lauren Bacall with a hangover said, ‘Haven’t you any Earl Grey?’ She was so tense she looked as if she’d take a bite out of her cup rather than drink from it. Ellie took a good look at her. Yes, the woman was so angry she didn’t know what to do with herself.

  Ellie was soothing. ‘No. It’s builders’ tea. Strong. Better for you at the moment. Take it with lots of sugar as medicine.’

  No one took sugar. They were probably all on a diet. Except for the pudding-shaped one, who looked as if she wouldn’t even know how to spell the word.

  ‘Still no sign of Diana? Where is she?’ The pseudo redhead took out another cigarette and lit up. ‘She said she was on her way to her solicitor’s but would meet me here.’

  Ellie said, ‘Please, no smoking.’ Ellie thought the woman was going to refuse, but she did grind the cancer stick out in her saucer. Ellie winced. But still, the dirty mark should come out with a careful wash.

  ‘I’ve no idea where she is,’ said Ellie, pouring out a cup for herself. ‘My call to her went to voicemail.’ Ellie addressed the redhead. ‘May I ask your name?’

  The redhead crossed her arms. She was, perhaps, forty years of age, attempting by way of Botox and the assistance of a good hairdresser to look thirty and almost succeeding. She had probably been a natural redhead in her youth but now she’d touched up her fading tresses with a rich auburn dye. She wore an expensive green tweed suit with asymmetric fastenings.

  ‘They call me “Russet”.’

  Russet had been the one who’d larded her emails with emojis.

  Ellie said, ‘What happened to you?’

  Russet took out another cigarette until a stare from Ellie made her think again. ‘What happened to me? I don’t know. I can’t make sense of it. Why? Why now? Why didn’t I see it coming?’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Well, I had an early appointment for a manicure. Hubby and I were supposed to be going out tonight to …’ She bit her lip. ‘Is he going to go by himself? What excuse is he going to make that I’m not with him? It’s … The world’s gone mad. I got back about eleven, I suppose. I parked in the drive because I was supposed to be playing bridge this afternoon.’ She hit her forehead. ‘Heavens! My name must be mud. I haven’t thought to ring them to say I can’t come.’

  ‘Go on. You got back about eleven.’

  ‘Yes. About. I didn’t look at my watch. There were these women, I’ve never seen them before in my life, carrying my belongings out of the house!’

  ‘What women?’ asked Ellie, with a prickling feeling at the back of her neck. Both she and Diana employed cleaners twice a week from a local firm. Was it possible that they might have been the ones instructed to pack the women’s things up?

  ‘Who were they? How should I know? Cleaning contractors or something. Not the woman I’ve been using for years. Strangers. So I storm in and there’s my husband waiting for me, saying our marriage was over and I should find some other fool to bankroll me in future. He was sitting on my mink coat! Not that I’ve worn it for ever, fashion being what it is. So I said, “What do you mean?” and he said I knew jolly well what he meant and that if I didn’t go quietly he’d lay information against me to the police that I’d been plotting to kill him. I couldn’t believe what he was saying! All the time those women were traipsing up and down the stairs, putting my stuff outside and it was beginning to rain. I just gaped at him.

  ‘He said he wanted my house keys. He tried to pull my handbag off my shoulder. I hung on to it like mad. My phone rang. He let go and I almost fell. He said I should hand over the phone as well because he was paying for it. I saw he meant it and I thought I was going to have hysterics, but the phone went on ringing, so I ran out of the house with it in my hand, and it was Diana on the other end. She said, “Are you in trouble?” And I said, “How did you know?” She said to bring my stuff here and we’d have a council of war. So I piled everything into my car and left, though I had to leave my mink coat behind. I just don’t get it! What’s got into the man? I thought Diana must know, but here I am and Diana is nowhere to be seen.’

  Ellie said, ‘So you were planning to get rid of your husband, only he got in first?’

  ‘No, of course not!’ An affronted stare. ‘Honestly …!’

  ‘He was given proof that you were planning to knock him off. You were the one who suggested drowning him in a swimming pool, weren’t you?’

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘What? But that was ages ago. You don’t believe … No, that’s ridiculous! That wasn’t serious. I mean … Totally not! Anyway, we don’t have a swimming pool.’

  Ellie was pleased with herself. She’d connected the woman with the right husband! ‘No, I gather it was a source of considerable annoyance to you that your husband wouldn’t stump up for a swimming pool.’

  ‘What …? Well, yes, I did think we might have a swimming pool because so many of our friends have them. He said, he promised, he had some big deal or other going on, and he told me that maybe next year … Next year isn’t going to come, is it? I just don’t get it!’

  The Lauren Bacall lookalike said, ‘You think that this is all about money? But … Mrs Quicke, is it? Is that your name? How did you get to hear about the pool?’

  ‘I was given copies of your emails this morning.’ Ellie looked round at the others. ‘Somebody’s husband found the emails and now the other men in your group have seen them. They intend to use them to obtain a divorce which they don’t think you will dare to contest because each of you made suggestions as to how you might kill off your husband.’

  ‘Is that really what this is all about?’ Russet almost laughed. ‘The world really has gone mad.’

  ‘I suppose I can see how they might take it the wrong way,’ said the brown-haired girl with the feathery haircut, the one who had helped Ellie to carry the tea things through. She was the youngest of the bunch and perhaps a trifle on the thin side. Her collar bones stuck out. She had big brown eyes and excellent quality casual clothes. She said, ‘But honestly, Mrs Quicke, there was nothing in it. Look, we were all at the golf club one evening, bored out of our minds because the men were in a huddle when one of them started to choke. He’d drunk too much and had been eating too many salted peanuts. He almost croaked, there and then. Only the bar manager gave him that hug thing … what do they call it? Himmel-something. He threw the lot up, wine and food and everything. All over his trousers and the carpet and everywhere. It was disgusting. So embarrassing. Ugh!’

  She refrained from looking at any of the other wives, but Barbie and Russet both looked at the pudding-shaped one, who sniffled into her hankie and said, ‘Yes, it was Rupert. He’s not usually like that.’ Her voice was thick with catarrh.

  The others turned a ‘look’ on her. It was clear to Ellie that Rupert was indeed like that!

  Russet, the smoker, said to Ellie, ‘You know how it is with these men – they want us to appear beautifully dressed at all times and to warm the bed for them and pander to their every whim, but they don’t care what they look like themselves, and boy – can they put the drink away! That night at the golf club was particularly bad. They were making rude jokes at our expense, saying, oh, the usual—’

  The Lauren Bacall lookalike said, ‘Talking di
rty, you mean. Saying what they’d like to do to the barmaid. Embarrassing! Talk about porn – they’ve got the filthiest minds imaginable. It was most uncomfortable.’

  Russet said, ‘That’s when we saw the brochures advertising a murder mystery weekend at the club. It was that weekend, wasn’t it? So we started talking about it among ourselves, just joking, saying how we’d kill people off. It was fun. We laughed a lot. We did wonder about going to the actual event, but the men said they had some kind of meeting and that it was all nonsense, anyway.’

  ‘What kind of meeting?’ said Ellie.

  Russet shrugged. ‘Dunno. They like to think of themselves as movers and shakers. They talk big, trying to make out they’ve still got what it takes in bed and out of it. Which we know very well they haven’t, which is why they drink so much.’

  Ellie shook her head. ‘It wasn’t a joke when Bunny died though, was it? Which of you is his widow?’

  ‘I am,’ said the Lauren Bacall lookalike. Her hand trembled as she rattled her empty cup into the saucer. She was so tense she practically twanged. ‘I’m Barbie. Short for Barbara.’ She bit the words off as she spoke.

  Ellie ironed out a smile, because the image that rose to her mind was one of barbed wire. This was no pretty doll. Fifty trying to look forty. Beautifully dressed, wonderful shoes, designer handbag. And brains. Ellie’s first impression was that if this woman had decided to kill off her husband, she’d have succeeded in such a way that she’d never be suspected of the crime. On the other hand, the woman was in enough of a rage at that moment to speak her mind without remembering to guard her tongue.