Murder for Nothing Read online

  Ellie’s brain plunged this way and that. He was right. If his papers were not in order he couldn’t risk anyone looking at them, and surely Angelica could talk herself out of trouble without any help from him.

  No, he was wrong! He was conveniently ignoring the fact that a girl had been murdered.

  But if Angelica did manage to convince the police she had had nothing to do with the murder, then it wouldn’t be necessary to call on this lad to say what he knew, would it?

  No, that was sophistry. She didn’t know exactly what the word ‘sophistry’ meant, but she was pretty sure it was the right one in this context. Thomas would know. If only he were here! Well, she could ring him on his mobile and tell him all about it. He could help her decide what to do.

  Correction: she knew what Thomas would tell her to do, which was not to ignore the fact that Timmy was flouting the law of the land.

  That is, if he were correct in saying there was nothing wrong with his papers.

  Oh, dear. It would be so much easier to say nothing. What would be the harm in letting Timmy complete his course, take his exam and get his degree?

  But if he’d misled the university about his papers then what else had he lied about? Was he shading the truth about other things?

  She said, ‘Sorry, Timmy. Now you’ve told me what happened, I can’t pretend I don’t know. You’d better tell the university that there’s been a problem with your papers and see what arrangements you can make to get your visa extended so that you can still get your degree.’

  He was shocked. ‘I have been open with you, and this is how you repay me? What harm have I ever done to you that you should want to ruin me … and not only me, but bring shame on my parents and my fiancée who is waiting for my return, and my uncle who has arranged a job for me in his factory?’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate.’

  Cheeks flushed, he was almost shouting. ‘You don’t understand. I’m telling you nothing but the truth! You can’t mean to throw me into prison—’ He bounced up on to his feet and stood over her.

  She quailed, thinking that there was no one else within earshot, that he was bigger than her and could attack her … Her heart beat faster, thudding away … He lifted his hand to hit her! She wanted to pray for help, couldn’t think of the words.

  The phone rang. Or was it the doorbell?

  It broke his concentration. He lowered his arm and looked around the room … for the phone?

  She said, ‘I’d better take it.’ She got out of her chair, moving stiffly, and made her way around him and out into the hall.

  It wasn’t the phone. It was the doorbell.

  Someone in a uniform was at the door, holding out an identification badge. It was the gasman, to read the meter. A thin stalk of a man with a long nose, looking not at her but past her, down the hall, to identify where the meter might be.

  Trying to think what to do about Timmy, she opened the cupboard under the stairs to allow the gasman to read the meter.

  Timmy had followed her into the hall and now stationed himself rather too close to her for comfort. Waiting for the gasman to leave.

  And then what did Timmy intend to do?

  Ellie tried to think. She didn’t believe – she hoped – that Timmy really meant to harm her. Yes, he wanted to frighten her, to deter her from giving him away to the police, but that was a different matter, wasn’t it? She wanted him to leave … Oh, yes! How she wanted him to leave! He was sticking to her elbow, waiting till she was alone again.

  What to do? Well, she could tell the gasman that Timmy had been threatening her and ask him to call the police. But, if Timmy denied it, then how could she prove he’d threatened her?

  She could understand the lad’s point of view. It was hard to think that one little slip, some slight defect in his papers might ruin his life.

  If only he would do the right thing, confess his problem to the authorities and deal with the fallout! She didn’t think he’d be thrown into prison for an infringement of his visa, although she supposed he might be detained somewhere for a while. But with a good solicitor, he’d get a slap on the wrist and be free to get on with his life. If necessary, she would put him in touch with her own solicitor and help him that way. Would that be condoning his transgression? Well, possibly. But only a very little.

  She decided she would give him one more chance. How? Well, perhaps she could use the gasman’s presence in some way.

  The gasman got out his torch and dived head first into the cupboard.

  She said, ‘Timmy, I’ve given you some good advice and I hope you take it. I shall check, you know. Meanwhile, I expect you’re anxious to get down to the police station to give Angelica an alibi. Perhaps you’ll let yourself out.’

  He didn’t move. ‘We haven’t finished our discussion yet.’

  The gasman re-emerged, mouthing figures to himself. He entered the numbers on his computerized gadget, his eyes on the job. He hadn’t even looked properly at Ellie. He hadn’t been listening to what she’d said. If he left Timmy in possession of the field, as it were …? The prospect did not please her.

  The gasman was so focused on getting in and out of houses quickly that he wouldn’t remember anything that had happened during his visit. He’d be gone in seconds if she didn’t do something to imprint the situation on his mind.

  The gasman said, ‘That’s it, missus.’ He shut the cupboard door and turned back to the front door.

  She put herself in his path. ‘Do you fancy a cuppa?’

  ‘Huh?’ He focused on her for the first time. Then looked at Timmy, who glared at him, probably wishing him to Hades.

  The gasman looked back at Ellie. ‘You have a problem with your gas, missus? I’m only here to read the meter, but if you want me to make a report, I can do that.’

  Ellie gushed, ‘How good of you. You’ve got my name down, have you? Not just the number of the house? Mrs Quicke, that’s right. My visitor here, Mr Lee, doesn’t know anything about gas and he’s just leaving, aren’t you, Timmy?’

  Timmy chewed his lip, his eyes darting here and there, seeking some way out of the situation. ‘I’m staying for a while,’ he said.

  SIX

  Monday, late afternoon

  Ellie wondered how on earth she could she use the gasman’s presence to get rid of Timmy?

  Inspiration struck. Ellie said to the gasman, ‘What it is, I’ve been thinking about signing up for a service agreement for the boiler. I was wondering if you have time to talk it through with me?’

  The gasman shook his head. ‘Sorry, missus. On a tight schedule here. But I’ll make a note that you want someone to ring you about the service agreement, right?’ He tried to step around her.

  Ellie sidestepped, too. ‘You don’t have any literature about it in your car, do you?’

  ‘No, sorry.’ He sidestepped again.

  Ellie said, ‘Timmy, where are your manners? Open the front door for the gasman and don’t forget to shut it behind you as you go.’ Burbling away, Ellie took Timmy by the arm and tried to lead him to the front door. He resisted her, his arm hard under her hand.

  ‘Come along, now, Timmy,’ said Ellie. ‘We don’t want a scene in front of the nice gasman, do we?’

  The gasman’s eyes focused on them. Sharp and shrewd. ‘You want him to leave, missus?’

  Ellie nodded. ‘He’s leaving, yes.’

  Timmy muttered, close to Ellie’s ear, ‘I can give you names, lots of names, of people who were at the party.’

  The gasman said, ‘You want I should give him a helping hand out of the door, missus?’

  ‘That would be most kind,’ said Ellie, relieved to find the gasman had finally cottoned on to what was happening. ‘Mr Lee came for a cuppa, but we don’t want him to outstay his welcome, do we?’

  Timmy narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You are …!’

  She gave him a little push. ‘Out you go.’ And out he went, stiff as a wooden soldier, out of the front door and over to his scooter. He didn’t
look back but she thought he was trying to contain his fury as he bestrode his machine, not bothering with a helmet, and drove off, watched by Ellie and the gasman.

  ‘That one’s trouble, I can smell it,’ said the gasman, looking at his watch. ‘I’ve lost a few minutes’ time, but … You alone in the house, missus?’

  ‘Not for long,’ said Ellie. ‘And thank you.’

  ‘You really want a service agreement?’

  ‘Actually, yes, I do. You’ll arrange for someone to call?’

  ‘Tell you a thing, missus. You keep your mobile phone on you, ready to call the police if he comes back, right?’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ said Ellie. And then wondered where her own phone was … she’d given it to Lesley, right? So where was Lesley’s?

  She watched the gasman leave.

  A gust of wind blew some seeds into the drive from the sycamore trees in the road outside. A dark car drew up and parked across her driveway. Two men sat in the car. She didn’t know either of them, but they looked at her and kept looking.

  The car didn’t move.

  The men didn’t get out.

  They were there to see that no other car entered her drive? Or left it?

  Or they were waiting for someone else to arrive, to talk to her?

  About what?

  She closed the door and double-locked it. Then shot the bolts.

  Her mouth was dry. She tried to swallow.

  She was all alone in the house. Thomas wouldn’t be back till late. Susan and Angelica were in the hands of the police. Andy was there, too. Lesley was in hospital.

  She had no mobile but the landline was still working. She checked, wondering who to call. Thomas was on an errand of mercy. Yes, he would return if she called him, but it would take him a good hour and a half to get back, if not more. Her closest friends were all away, on holiday.

  She could ring the police and complain that a car was blocking her driveway. They’d laugh. Complaints about illegal parking went to the town hall, which closed before five o’clock – and it was nearly half past four by now. The town hall wouldn’t do anything about it that night.

  She would think who to ring in a minute. The priority must be to make sure all the doors and windows on the ground floor were safely shut.

  It was a big house with a number of doors and windows on to the outside world. She couldn’t remember how many windows might be open on this fine summer’s day. She went down the corridor to the kitchen, locked and bolted that door. She locked the door from the conservatory into the garden, and the French windows from the sitting-room ditto. The library windows were open. She shut them.

  She hesitated when she got to Thomas’s Quiet Room, which he used for devotional purposes and which she sometimes sat in when she needed to get away from the phone and think.

  She needed to think, now. She went to the window to see if the car was still there. It was.

  Dear Lord, I really don’t know if I ought to be panicking, but that’s exactly what I’m doing. The people in that car out there may be on a perfectly innocent errand, waiting for a friend or looking at a map because they’ve taken a wrong turning.

  Wrong. They’re bad news, whoever they are.

  Finally, an idea borne out of desperation.

  She returned to the hall and picked up the phone. Where had she put that card? Ah, she found it in her pocket. That was lucky …

  She dialled and waited for the man to pick up at the other end.

  She said, ‘Rafael, you probably didn’t think I’d get back to you so quickly, but …’ She tried to still her breathing, but her heart was beating so strongly that she knew she sounded odd.

  He was quick on the uptake. ‘Something’s wrong, Mrs Quicke?’

  ‘I don’t know. You’ll laugh when I tell you, but I’m alone in the house and there’s a car with two men in it, parked across the driveway so that no one else can get in or out. The two men are just sitting there. Watching the house.’

  ‘Can you describe them?’

  ‘Not really. Bulky. One has a shaved head, I think.’

  ‘Suits or shirts?’

  ‘Sweatshirts, dark.’

  ‘White British or—’

  ‘One is. The other, I’m not sure. I think they’re waiting.’

  ‘Yes, I expect they are.’

  ‘You didn’t send them?’

  ‘Not my style.’

  ‘Do you know them?’

  ‘I might know of them. They’re after Angelica, of course.’

  ‘She’s not here. The police took her down to the station to make a statement and she hasn’t returned yet.’

  ‘Ah. You won’t let them in, will you?’

  ‘No, I’ve locked all the doors and windows, but … it’s stupid to be frightened, when the sun is shining.’ And that sounds stupid, too.

  ‘You’re not stupid, Mrs Quicke. You’ve decided not to call the police?’

  ‘What would I say? Someone is parked illegally across my driveway?’

  ‘Yes, yes. I’ll be round in ten. I would suggest you don’t answer the door, or the phone, and if someone comes tapping on the window—’

  ‘I’ll lock myself in the loo.’

  ‘When I arrive, I’ll press the doorbell with the Mayday signal. You know it?’

  ‘Three short, then three long … or is the other way round?’

  He laughed and disconnected.

  She put the receiver down with a hand that shook. Stupid woman! She was going to pieces. When Rafael arrived he’d discover a raving lunatic, mopping and mowing and …

  Pull yourself together, woman!

  She went into the sitting room, collected the tea things and took them out to the kitchen. The doorbell rang. She ignored it. She began to hum a little ditty. ‘Polly put the kettle on, Polly put the kettle on.’

  The phone rang. She ignored that too, crossing her fingers that it wasn’t Thomas or Lesley trying to get through.

  Ten minutes, he’d said. She looked at her watch, which was running slow. She’d been meaning to take it in to have it serviced, or cleaned or adjusted, or whatever it is that you did to watches that ran slowly.

  She was not going to answer the door. Or the phone. Or even look out of the window

  She put the tea things into the dishwasher.

  Someone tapped on the kitchen window and she dropped a cup. But didn’t look at the window. She picked the cup up. Thankfully, it wasn’t broken. It was a fine china cup, one of her mother’s prized possessions. She only had three cups left now, out of … how many?

  She turned the radio on. Turned the volume up. Someone was talking about the weather. It was going to turn hot tomorrow. In Scotland it was going to rain.

  She opened the fridge door. Someone rapped hard on the window a second time.

  It was no good – she’d have to go to the loo and lock herself in. The window there was so small that no one could climb through it, whereas if they broke the kitchen window it was large enough for them to get through.

  Except … she rinsed her hands under the cold tap … if she locked herself into the loo, she couldn’t open the front door when Rafael arrived.

  Dear Lord, I’m shaking!

  Someone yelped. She risked a glance at the window and saw two arms flailing wildly … and then they disappeared with a thump! But the phone was still ringing. It was doing her head in.

  She closed the fridge door. She couldn’t think what they were going to have for supper. Susan might not be back in time. They could go out somewhere, perhaps? If Rafael managed to get rid of the intruders.

  What makes you think you can trust him? He’s a moneylender, and you know they have a shocking reputation. Some of them charge one hundred per cent a month.

  Well, Ellie Quicke, you’re a moneylender, too. Of sorts. And I think Rafael has a code of honour.

  The phone stopped.

  The relief!

  Three long and three short rings followed by three long. Mayday.

 
Of course, the baddies might have tortured Rafael into revealing the code.

  Well, probably not. Let’s hope not.

  She rushed to the front door, pulled back the bolts and managed to open the door.

  Rafael stood there in black leather biker gear with a shining helmet under his arm. A powerful motor bike was parked behind him. The car that had been blocking the driveway had gone.

  Thank the Lord! Praise be! A dozen times.

  She said, ‘Thank you,’ and tried to smile. ‘Do you want a cuppa?’

  He said, ‘Have you any green tea? My mother and my grandmother swear by it.’ He stepped inside, ‘Earl Grey will do, if you don’t have green tea.’

  Her voice wobbled. ‘I’ll have to look. I’m not sure what I’ve got. How did you get them to leave?’

  ‘They know me. Or rather, they know of me. I promised to do what I can to return their property to them.’

  She reached for the back of the hall chair and managed to sit on it before her legs gave way.

  He put his helmet down. He looked amused. ‘They frightened you? Suppose I make you a cuppa, right?’

  ‘I don’t expect to be menaced by thugs in broad daylight, in my own home.’

  ‘Exactly. Can you make it to the kitchen? Shall I give you my arm? It’s this way, isn’t it?’

  She was not going to let him support her trembling footsteps! Certainly not. She got to her feet and with only the lightest of contacts with the wall, made it to the kitchen. He put the kettle on. She sank into a chair and said, ‘Those men were drug dealers, right?’

  ‘Support staff, yes.’

  ‘Angelica isn’t actually on drugs herself, is she? No, I don’t think so. But … let me see if I’ve got this right. We know she needed money. Could she really have been so stupid as to invite a dealer to push drugs at her party?’

  ‘For a consideration. To provide her guests with entertainment. Or so Milos says.’

  ‘I can’t believe it! I suppose the drug dealer – you say his name is Milos? – thought he was on to a good thing, because Angelica seems to have been letting people think that the flat belonged to her. I understand she’s most inventive, and has been telling people I’m her favourite auntie or words to that effect. What went wrong?’