Murder in Mind Read online

  ‘She made a statement without any pressure. She feels guilty because she didn’t spot what was happening in time, but defends herself by saying it wouldn’t have done any good once the child had set eyes on the biscuits. I believe her.

  ‘She says she tried to love the child, but that Abigail made it impossible to care for her. She says she took Abigail to the play centre almost every day, so that the child could get some exercise and meet other children. Abigail was tall for her age and carrying too much weight. I can confirm that. The play centre people agree that Abigail could be difficult.’

  ‘Does the au pair resent being given the sack?’

  ‘She’s scared. The Hoopers paid her a pittance and she’s no money saved. She’s afraid of him, and afraid she’ll never get another job with this hanging over her. Even if the police decide not to take the matter any further, she’ll be in a difficult position. She’s no money, no powerful friends. If I read her correctly, she’s in two minds about cutting and running back to Poland. I warned her not to, but I can’t help sympathizing with her, poor creature.’

  ‘She is a poor creature?’

  ‘Enormous eyes, thin little thing. Unsure of herself. Perfect victim for Evan Hooper . . . or his daughter.’

  ‘Not grief-stricken?’

  ‘I may be wrong, and they may all three of them be covering up a deep grief which will only manifest itself later, but no one in that family seems to be sorrowing for Fiona or for Abigail.’

  ‘There’s another girl in the family, isn’t there? What about her?’

  ‘Frozen faced. Shook her head when I asked if she had anything to say. She was at a sleepover with a friend when Fiona died, and she was at school when Abigail ate the biscuits.’ Ms Milburn stood up. ‘So, here’s my card with my mobile phone number on it. Would you ring me if you hear anything about the clown or that might clear the au pair and the play centre?’

  Ellie saw Ms Milburn out. Her hand hovered over the telephone in the hall. Should she ring Diana and ask . . . What could she ask her? Whether or not Evan was heartbroken over the deaths of two of his children?

  She took her hand away. No. Better not open that can of worms.

  She thought back over the conversation with Ms Milburn. Was Ms Milburn really so scared of Ears that she would welcome an outsider’s help? Did Ms Milburn really believe that Ellie could supply her with the name and address of the clown? Surely not.

  Thomas emerged from his study down the corridor, humming something from a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. He knew all the words to the patter songs. This time it was something about being a model major-general.

  Ellie found herself smiling.

  He gave her a hug. ‘Are you free for half an hour? I’ve had it up to here with work, and the computer’s running slow. I need fresh air. What about you? If you’re free, I thought we might take a walk, go for a coffee in the Avenue.’ His eyes were round with innocence.

  She patted his impressive frontage. ‘I know what you’re aiming for, which is more than a coffee. A walk, yes. Coffee, yes. But we’re not going to Café 786 for cake, are we?’

  The look of innocence intensified. ‘I never remember what those numbers mean.’

  ‘You know perfectly well what they mean; they’re open seven days a week, from eight in the morning to six in the evening. And they do the best carrot cake in the Avenue.’

  ‘I suppose they do, now you mention it.’

  She had to laugh. ‘Well, all right. We’ll go there, but we’ll have just one piece of cake between us, right? I have to watch your weight, even if you don’t.’

  He grinned. ‘Half a piece of cake is better than none.’

  ‘I’ll get the shopping list, and you can help me carry the stuff back.’

  The pile of curtains slipped off the chair, and he, being nearest, hauled them back. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I thought I could get the end bedroom ready for the family’s visit, and I found a box of curtains but they’re too fragile to rescue. I asked Rose to dump them, but I suppose she’s forgotten. But I’ll take the torn curtain from the dining room in to be mended on the way.’

  He gave her a look. ‘Ellie Quicke; anyone would think you had nothing better to do than fuss about curtains and carpets. For one thing, your poor overworked husband requires time out and needs your soothing hand on his brow, not to mention coffee and cake. I’ve told you before; my family can go to a hotel—’

  ‘No, I really do want them to come here. It’ll be so much nicer.’

  ‘If you say so. But only if you get the wonderful Maria and her cleaning agency to sort the house out for you. Let her find men to move furniture, and take curtains down to be mended. If we need new carpets and curtains then get her to organize it. I am more than prepared to foot the bill. In fact –’ and he knew this was a clincher – ‘I’m enthusiastic about paying her, for it’ll cost me far less than sending everyone to a hotel.’

  ‘But . . .’ said Ellie. And then smiled and sighed. ‘You’re right, of course. I have much more than housekeeping to worry about, don’t I?’

  ‘Stop right there. We’re taking time out, right? Now, the immediate question is: will it rain while we’re out? Let’s take umbrellas, and then it won’t even drizzle.’

  She opened the front door and checked on the weather. ‘Just wait while I tell Rose we’re going out. By the way, you haven’t ever come across a Mrs or Ms Topping, have you?’

  ‘Doesn’t ring a bell. Is it important?’

  ‘Probably not.’ She bustled out to the kitchen with the rejected curtains and put them out with the rubbish. Rose was dozing in her big chair so Ellie collected the shopping list, which looked a little on the thin side, but never mind; she could pick up some more things as they occurred to her. Yes, it would be really good to get out and feel the breeze. Blow the cobwebs away.

  Thomas had the umbrellas ready and the front door open. ‘Out you go, woman, on pain of feeling my deepest displeasure!’

  She laughed and obeyed. What a blessing this man was!

  Tea and cake. No conversation. Excellent coffee. Wonderful cake.

  Topping . . . She knew the name from somewhere. She asked the owner of the café. He shook his head.

  Thomas gave her a look. ‘No work for at least half an hour, right?’

  She nodded and thrust her worries to the back of her mind. On her return she would ring Stewart’s wife Maria, who ran an excellent cleaning service . . . and she would look through her old telephone address book, to see if she could find Mrs or Ms Topping, which did mean something to her, though she couldn’t think what.

  ‘My treat,’ said Thomas, paying the bill. ‘Shall we go back the long way? Do we visit the Co-op or Nisa on the way back? Where’s the shopping list?’

  It was an even greater blessing to have a husband who’d help you carry the shopping home.

  They walked along, content with one another’s company, keeping in step with one another. Ellie stopped abruptly outside the new pet shop.

  Thomas said, ‘You want a toy for Midge? Is he into toys? I thought he preferred living toys. Mice, frogs . . .’

  ‘Birds,’ said Ellie, ‘and other cats. I’ve just remembered that someone called Caroline Topping had cats. Four? One had only three legs. She’s a friend of a friend whom I met some years ago. She had a baby or a toddler called . . . Can’t remember. But surely he’d be too old to go to the play centre now, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘You’ve lost me completely.’

  ‘She – or someone of the same name – was at the play centre when the youngest Hooper child ate some biscuits given her by a visiting clown. The biscuits contained peanuts; the child had an allergy to them and died. Ms Milburn called on me today to ask if I could find the clown for her, which is not reasonable. She wants me to contact everyone I know who might know anything about it, but I don’t see why she’s asking me to do police work for her. Why doesn’t she go round and see Caroline Topping herself? She said I could save her t
ime by whittling down the number of people who were at the play centre when the child died. Does that sound reasonable to you?’

  ‘Depends how busy she is, I suppose.’

  ‘Let me carry some of those bags. There’s something lurking at the back of my mind about this whole nasty affair, though I can’t think what. Can you bear to listen while I tell you what’s happened so far?’

  Thomas grinned. ‘Anything to avoid work for another half an hour or so.’ Thomas was a good listener.

  When she’d finished, he said, ‘Two deaths in one family. I don’t like the sound of that.’

  Diana, she thought. But no, it’s not her style at all. And yet . . .

  She said, ‘I really don’t want to poke my nose into police business. Only think what Ms Milburn’s boss would have to say about it! “Stupid woman,” he’d say. “Who does she think she is?” And rightly so. Besides, the Caroline Topping that I remember may not be the same person as this Mrs Topping, if you see what I mean.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘It’s not a common name. Put your mind at rest; give her a ring as soon as we get back, and after supper I’ll run you round there in the car. I need to fill up with petrol, and I can do that while you have a chat with the lady.’

  ‘But,’ she said, and stopped. ‘Oh, this is ridiculous. Why should I go around doing the police’s work for them?’

  ‘Ellie? What’s the matter? You’re usually only too eager to get involved. It’s the hunter in you.’

  She tried to laugh. ‘A hunter? Me? Oh, no. I can see you as a hunter, but not me. I’m just a housewife who’s been promoted above her capabilities but, God willing, and with help from friends and neighbours – and from Him above – I muddle through. I am not a hunter.’

  ‘You could have fooled me. What’s wrong, Ellie? You’re really worried about . . . Is it something to do with Diana?’ He stood directly in front of her, so that she had to face him.

  She dropped her eyes. ‘Of course not. How could it be?’

  ‘If you say so, but . . . you’d tell me if . . .?’

  She swung round to continue their walk. ‘It’s nothing to do with Diana. It’s just that I don’t like being used by Ms Milburn. I feel I’m being manipulated. I don’t like that, and I’ve too much on my plate already to bother with anything else.’

  He nodded without comment. ‘What’s for supper? Oh, and don’t let me forget, I’m supposed to be on Skype to my daughter this evening some time.’ He’d recently added the Skype camera to the computer in his study so that he could see his children and grandchildren during their weekly phone talks.

  As soon as they were back, Ellie checked that Rose had in fact got out of her chair and was putting the supper on to cook, which might or might not be the case nowadays. This time all was well and Rose was preparing to bake some mackerel for supper with diced courgettes, spring onions and a few potatoes. Rose had been reading recipe books and thought they’d try a mustard sauce with it. It sounded odd, but would probably be delicious.

  Ellie unpacked the shopping and put it away before she phoned Stewart’s wife Maria at the cleaning agency, to ask if she could think of someone who could sort out the beds and bedding and, well, everything for the forthcoming visit.

  ‘Mm,’ said Maria. ‘Let me think. I might have been able to do it myself, but we’re very busy at work, and it’s half-term next week. I wonder if someone in Stewart’s office might . . . No, that won’t do, they’re all working flat out as it is.’

  Which led to a discussion about Ellie wanting to promote him and get someone else in to take over some of his workload, which Maria said was not before time, though she quite understood how Ellie was placed. That was nice of her, but made Ellie feel she ought to have done something about it earlier.

  ‘Moving on to something more important,’ said Maria, ‘the children and I are going to my parents for the weekend where they will no doubt be horribly spoiled, but little Frank has been asked to play in some football match or other tomorrow morning. He was only a reserve before, so it means a lot to him to have got into the team. Stewart’s taking him, and I gather Thomas said he’d try to get along too.’

  Ellie hit her head. Of course, the all-important football match. How could she have forgotten? Well, if Thomas went, it wasn’t necessary for her to have to stand at the side of the pitch watching muddy boys get muddier as rain fell unrelentingly around them. Watching a football match was not high on her list of priorities. Frank could have the pleasure of telling her about it later.

  Maria had an idea. ‘Ah, I think I know who could help you out. An old friend of mine, recently divorced, empty nest syndrome, has a business as an interior decorator. A bit of a bossy boots, but you could do with someone to take charge, couldn’t you? She uses our cleaning agency now and again, and in return I recommend her to suitable people.’

  ‘Er, yes, I suppose so,’ said Ellie.

  Maria had a laugh in her voice. ‘Of course it’s wrong to gossip, but you might be interested to hear that she is called upon to redecorate the Hooper house whenever there is a change of, er, mistress.’

  Ellie grinned. ‘Ah, now I understand.’

  ‘Shall I ask her if she can pop round to see you tomorrow morning? Her name’s Betsey, but the name of the firm is “Harmony in the Home”.’

  ‘Bless you. Tomorrow morning. Wonderful.’

  Ellie dutifully attended to some of the paperwork which her secretary had left for her to sign, and read her telephone messages. One of the garden designers would be around to look at Pryce House early next week . . . Please remember to send a cheque to . . .

  Ellie wasn’t putting off the phone call to Caroline Topping. Just dealing with more important matters. Only, there was still ten minutes before supper would be on the table, so she reached for the phone book and found a number for a Mr Topping, who lived on the other side of the park.

  They were probably out. Or not the people she remembered at all. The phone was picked up, to the accompaniment of a toddler’s wail.

  ‘Caroline Topping? This is Ellie Quicke here; I don’t know whether you remember me, but . . . Is this a bad time to call?’

  ‘My neighbour’s just collecting her son and returning mine. Mrs Quicke, is it? Of course I remember you . . . Excuse me a moment, I’ll just let her out.’ Pause. A door slammed shut. The phone was picked up again. ‘I’m looking after my neighbour’s little one for ten days while she recovers from an operation – she can’t lift him at the moment – and in exchange she collects my son from school. He then plays with her boy till supper time. Helping one another out.’

  ‘Ah, I thought your little boy must be too old for the play centre now.’

  ‘Hold on a mo.’ Caroline put her hand over the phone again. Ellie waited. Caroline returned. ‘Sorry about that. My son’s just reminded me he has to be at Cubs in less than an hour, and my husband won’t be back till late. So I’m going to have to rush. How can I help you?’

  ‘It’s the police, really. They’re trying to find someone who might have taken a photo of the clown at the play centre on their mobile phone before he disappeared.’

  ‘Yes, that was a tragedy. Really shocking. It makes one think how your own child might have died in the same way if . . . Terrible, terrible! I did take a picture as it happens, though it didn’t come out very well. Look, I’ll run a copy off on the computer and drop it in to you when I’ve taken Duncan to Cubs. Is that all right?’

  ‘Well, actually, it’s the police who—’ But the phone had gone dead.

  Ask a busy mum for something . . .

  Mrs Topping didn’t know where Ellie lived nowadays, did she? This wasn’t destined to turn out well.

  But, as they were clearing up after supper – the mustard sauce had been delicious with the baked mackerel and Thomas had only grumbled twice about the limited number of potatoes on his plate – someone rang the front doorbell.

  There was Caroline Topping, small, dark and only a little plumper than Elli
e remembered her to have been. She was flourishing a piece of paper. ‘Got it! I remembered just in time that my friend told me you’d moved into a big house, and of course it’s in the phone book, but I’m not sure that this photo is any good.’

  Ellie ushered Caroline into the big sitting-room at the back of the house and offered coffee, but Caroline was in a hurry . . . Had she always lived life at this pace? It appeared that her son Duncan had returned home wearing someone else’s jacket, and she had to drop it back to its owner and collect his, which she sincerely hoped he’d taken home instead, but you never know with children, do you? So if Ellie didn’t mind, she’d just leave the photo with her and be off.

  ‘Well, thank you; but it’s really the police who need it, not me. Couldn’t you take it in to them tomorrow?’

  ‘Sorry, no can do. Half-term, and we’re off tomorrow, sharing a rented house down in Cornwall, right by the beach, I do hope the beds are all right, for my husband complains something shocking if they’re too hard or too soft. So I won’t be here. Look, I took a chance on a quick snap of the clown with my mobile phone and it hasn’t printed off very well. I think my printer needs a new colour cartridge, but you can see what he was like, a bit.’

  ‘Was it definitely a man? How could you tell?’

  ‘Oh. I don’t know. I assumed he was male because clowns usually are, aren’t they? Quite young, I thought. Someone doing work experience, clowning for the play centre, you know? That’s what I thought, if I thought at all, which I didn’t because it was all a bit chaotic that morning . . .’

  She burbled on, but Ellie concentrated on the photo, which showed the clown in profile. A tallish person to judge by the way he/she towered over the children. Thin, to judge by a spindly neck, though wearing bulky clothing. A rubbery clown’s face with a wide, smiling mouth. A mask? Ginger wig, with longish hair all over the place. Red coat, wide lapels, huge buttons. Baggy black trousers. Caroline hadn’t got all of him or her into the frame, and the polished black shoes were not included.