Chapter Thirteen

Ellie woke with the dragging feeling that something unpleasant was hanging over her.

She opened one eye to look at the bedside clock, groaned, and turned over, only to be awakened by the alarm ten minutes later. It was a new clock alarm. She hated it. It squawked. It had the raucous, angry buzz of a road drill.

Midge was still at the bottom of the bed, which must mean that the weather had been too dire for him to venture out. Ellie inspected the sky outside, and agreed with Midge that driving rain and sleet did not encourage one to leave the house. But, she must do so.

She had promised to go to the police station that morning, and do it she would. What’s more, she wasn’t going to be fobbed off with a desk sergeant, or whatever member of the lower echelons might be around. She was going to ask to see — no, demand to see — Detective Inspector Willis, whom she’d encountered on a couple of occasions in the past.

True, DI Willis’ judgement was not infallible, as instanced by her choice of an unbecoming mahogany dye for her hair. Equally true, her manner was brusque to the point of rudeness, but the woman was not without brains and if only Ellie could get across to her that Neil was innocent . . .

A tall order. Ellie knew that, and dressed accordingly. Something businesslike was required. Ellie didn’t do businesslike in her wardrobe. She did feminine or practical-for-gardening-and-housework. She did clothes for visiting relatives. She even had a couple of reasonably smart outfits for accompanying friends to events at the golf club or for going out to supper. When she had the trustees round for a meeting, she wore something clean but didn’t bother to dress up; after all, they’d both known her for ages, and she didn’t need to impress them. She had less than perfect statistics, black did not suit her, and when she went to buy clothes, she looked for comfort and something with a pocket to put her keys and hanky in. Practical rather than classic.

Today she chose an off-white woolly jumper over a grey skirt. She added a red scarf because the outfit looked too bland. Then took the scarf off because it made her skin look too pale. Then put on a gold chain which had been her mother’s, and decided that would have to do.

What she needed was just one piece of evidence to prove that Neil couldn’t have done it. Her belief in his innocence was not enough. She knew that.

She’d prayed about it a bit last night. Please God, show me how to prove Neil innocent. She’d also prayed a bit for Thomas. Truth to tell, she was rather worried about Thomas. Was he going to be all right? She’d heard that ages ago — long before he’d arrived in this parish — he’d had some kind of breakdown after his wife died. He’d been teaching at some theological college or other. Had he been the principal? Something like that. He’d had to take a break, and then he’d joined them in the parish. He’d written some books, hadn’t he? They were probably far above her head and no doubt very clever. Men could be clever but idiotic at the same time: brilliant minds in bodies that forgot to eat and sleep and therefore landed them up in hospital.

She really did hope that Thomas was all right.

She wasn’t going to ring him, or anything like that. No.

He hadn’t turned up at choir practice last night, but he often didn’t. He didn’t sing regularly with the choir, but on occasion he was given a solo to sing and then he’d muck in with them all, jollying everyone along, making everyone feel better just because he was there.

The phone rang as she was on her way downstairs, and she nearly fell over Midge in her haste to answer it, but it wasn’t Thomas.

‘Mark here.’

Who was Mark? Oh. The solicitor.

‘Sorry I didn’t get back to you yesterday. We had a bit of a problem with another case.’

Yes, and a lad like Neil would be at the bottom of his priority list.

‘I wanted to tell you that I saw Neil again. He’s calmed down a bit now . . .’

From when he hit the policeman?

‘And he understands the position he’s in. I asked him if he could keep his mouth shut and not lose his temper again, and he said he thought he could. He’s adamant he didn’t hit his gran, and that the only time he went near Mrs Ball’s place was when his gran asked him to get some of the ivy or whatever it was . . .’

‘Portuguese laurel. It has rather distinctive leaves. You don’t see it about very often.’

‘Whatever. He says the nephew was there when he went to Mrs Ball’s, and it was him who told him to get lost. He can’t be sure exactly when it was, but it was about a fortnight ago, probably on a Wednesday. He says they were both very much alive when he left. He also says that the garden, though overgrown, hadn’t been touched for ages. When you went up there, it had been disturbed, right?’

‘Hacked down, torn up, and ready to be carted off in a skip. Did he say whether the fence was standing or not? When I saw it, it had been partially pulled down, over . . . over the corpse. Do they know who it was yet?’

‘They didn’t say. I must warn you I think they’re going to charge Neil with manslaughter for Mrs Ball, and probably keep the charge for the John Doe on file. If Neil hadn’t hit the policeman, we could say the case was all circumstantial and a first-rate barrister could probably get him off, though it would cost an arm and a leg. As it is, if they can’t get a conviction on his assaulting Mrs Dawes, they’ll get him on assaulting the police officer. They’ve got him coming and going. Do you want me to continue representing him?’

How depressing. ‘Continue for the moment, please. And keep me informed.’

‘Will do.’ He rang off.

Oh dear. However much was it going to cost? Would the other members of the trust agree to her underwriting Neil’s defence? It wasn’t exactly what the trust had been set up for, and they’d have every right to object. She was comfortably fixed for money, but probably couldn’t afford to finance a good barrister while a second-rate one probably wouldn’t be clever enough to get Neil off.

Justice for the rich, and not for the poor? No, no. She mustn’t let herself become cynical. She would consult Kate about it. Kate was one of the trustees, and always thought clearly.

She made herself some tea and toast, and the phone rang again.

This time it took her a good while to understand who was phoning. An agitated female voice kept repeating, ‘Is it one of them that is there? Is it?’

‘Who is it speaking? Please, slow down. Say that again.’

‘Is Mrs Kumar.’

Who was Mrs Kumar? Oh, Mrs Dawes’ neighbour. ‘Of course, Mrs Kumar. What’s the matter?’

‘It is last night, very late, my husband is working late shift at the airport, and my son and his wife are with me all evening but after they have gone, I hear this noise next door, so I say again, is it one of them?’

‘One of who?’

‘Her family, of course. I think the house is empty, but there is someone there, I am not mistaken, I assure you. I phone to my son to come back, but he is almost home, and his wife doesn’t want him to go out again. She thinks I am silly old woman making it up that there are noises in the night when it is only a dog prowling around, but I say no, it isn’t a dog, it is more like a man. Only then she say it is one of Mrs Dawes’ family that is staying there, and of course I see it must be that. I go to bed but I listen and listen, and soon the noises stop and I think yes, they are gone to bed, too . . .’

The voice ran on and on, while Ellie gripped the hall table. Neither of the Dawes children had stayed down in London and Neil was still in prison on remand. So who could it have been, moving around in Mrs Dawes’ place?

‘And then this morning, when my husband is come back home, I say to him that I hear someone in the house next door and they are sleeping still, and he go outside to have a look and he say that her back door is broken open again.’

‘Did he go into the house? Is anything missing? Has she been burgled?’

‘He not go into the house, no. He is tired after working all night. He say to me, someone will tell the police but not him because he is tired and wishes to go to sleep. He say I not to tell, either, because he doesn’t like to go to bed and then someone come to wake him up as soon as he is asleep. He say, it must be one of the family, come back after seeing her in hospital, right? Am I not right? It is one of them? He’s got me so up and down that I don’t know which is up and which is down.’

‘It can’t have been Neil,’ said Ellie, trying to think. ‘He’s still with the police. If you like, I’ll try to ring Mrs Dawes’ son and daughter, see if they sent one of their children down here by any chance.’

‘If it is, why they not have key, eh? I say this to my husband, and he say I am silly woman, and not to poke my nose. But Mrs Dawes is always nice to me, and I say if it is her ghost then she wouldn’t hurt me, and if it is not her ghost and not her children, then I want to know who it is.’

‘Quite right, too. Mrs Dawes is still in hospital. I visited her yesterday, and she’s coming out of her coma but is still unconscious. I’ll check with her children, shall I? Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll ring you back and let you know what’s happening.’

‘My husband, he gone to bed now. He cannot have phone ringing while he is sleeping.’

‘Turn down the volume for the bell on the side of the telephone. Can you see there’s a sort of notch thing that you can slide up and down? Turn that right down, and he won’t hear it ring.’

Heavy breathing. ‘Like that?’

‘Probably,’ said Ellie, hoping for the best. ‘I’ll ring you back as soon as I can.’

Well, well. She went to fetch the Dawes’ family telephone numbers. It might just be possible to catch them before they went off to work. Or it might not.

She got Angie’s out-of-work husband first. He said that no, none of them had been able to get away to visit Mrs Dawes yet, though they were hoping to do so that weekend. He said he’d rung the hospital a couple of times, and it seemed Mrs Dawes was getting on as well as could be expected.

He gave her a number for Mr Dawes at his workplace. Mr Dawes wasn’t best pleased at being phoned there but confirmed that no, he hadn’t been down to see his mother again. He said it was probably that layabout son of his, out on bail. Ellie found herself disliking him more every time they spoke. She told him Neil was still in custody, and what was he prepared to do about it?

Nothing, of course.

Ellie rang off in a temper. One more try: Trace, Neil’s girlfriend. Trace was on the point of leaving for work, and said she couldn’t care less what happened to Neil, and she’d packed up all his stuff and he could collect it when he liked, and if he was kept in jail then she supposed someone would come and take it off her hands, but no, she wouldn’t dream of going round to his gran’s, why should she, she’d never liked the old cow anyway.

So that was that.

Ellie rang Mrs Kumar back, and gave her the bad — or good — news. Mrs Kumar had regained control of herself by now, and was anxious to obey her husband and not be drawn further into the case. ‘You tell the police, no? Tell them a man is in there last night, and what are they doing about it? If they come round, tell them they must be quiet. My husband needs to sleep now.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

Armand had gone off to work. Through the party wall Ellie could faintly hear Catriona chirruping away to her mother. Kate had the wireless or the television on. Kate was a good neighbour, she never had the wireless or the television turned up high, but you could hear it murmur if you listened hard. Ellie debated whether to consult with Kate before she went to the police, but decided that informing the police was her priority. Besides, if Mrs Dawes’ back door had been broken open again, then the rain might be sweeping into the kitchen and doing even more damage than the burglar had done.

If it was a burglar.

How would a burglar know that the house was empty? Did burglars go round looking for houses where there were no lights on? Possibly, yes. But she wouldn’t bet on it in this case.

Ellie nerved herself to ring the local police station. She gave her name and asked to speak to Detective Inspector Willis. A longish wait. Ellie fidgeted. Finally a voice — not that of DI Willis — said that DI Willis was just about to go away on leave, but would see Mrs Quicke for a few minutes if she liked to come down to the station that morning. Which meant, probably, that Ellie would be in for a long wait and fobbed off with some underling. What could Ellie say to get the DI’s attention?

The weather was even nastier now than it had been early on. Sleet was turning to hail. Ellie looked out a library book and put it into a strong plastic bag, together with the daily paper and a bag of toffees. Winter coat, squashy hat, new gloves, mobile phone in handbag. She looked around. What else? Ah, she still had her bedroom slippers on. She sat down to put on her winter boots and the phone rang.

If she hadn’t been sitting right next to it in the hall she’d have let it ring, but as it was, she picked it up. It was Felicity, wanting to talk, wanting to say that her father was looking out a good therapist for Anne, and did Ellie think it really was a good idea? Wasn’t it the case that Felicity was just pushing her mother’s problems on to someone else’s shoulders? And what if her mother refused to see the therapist? The home still wanted her to leave.

‘I’m sure you’ve done the right thing.’ Ellie tried to be soothing, while easing her boots on with her free hand. ‘You’ve no cause to feel guilty.’

‘Oh, I don’t. Well, perhaps a little bit.’

‘It’s always difficult to deal with emotional blackmail.’

‘It isn’t . . . oh, I suppose you could say . . . but she doesn’t mean it that way, I’m sure. She’s just so lost and lonely.’

Ellie suppressed a desire to tell Felicity that her mother was a selfish old cow, who had ruined her own life through self-indulgence, and was now trying to ruin her daughter’s. ‘I think you’ve hit on the very thing that would help her. It was very clever of you, Felicity.’

‘It was your idea, really.’

‘No, no. You realized exactly what she needed. Someone to talk to. Someone who will understand her problems, but won’t allow her to sink into self-pity.’

‘I don’t know that it’s self-pity, exactly. She’s a lot to put up with.’

‘You’ve done the right thing in getting her professional help. You have to think of, well, other people now.’

A long sigh. ‘Yes. Thank you, Ellie.’

She rang off. Ellie reflected that it was easier to advise other people on family problems, than it was for Ellie to deal with her own. Ellie — like Felicity — could see what ought to be done, but had difficulty facing up to it.

Ellie sighed, pulled on her other boot and gathered up her things. She could walk to the police station. Give her some exercise. She opened the front door and wilted as a blast of sleet struck her. She went back inside and phoned for a cab.

While waiting for it, she wondered about phoning Thomas. It would be good to know that he was all right, not gone into a depression or anything. But she didn’t phone him.

* * *

The police station had been in the same building for years, but had had a facelift with what looked like armoured glass on the doors to the vestibule. As the doors could only be opened from inside the building, Ellie spoke her name into a tin box and waited.

She was allowed into the vestibule by remote control. She was informed that DI Willis was busy, so was asked to wait. She sat down and got out the day’s paper and made herself comfortable.

Two toffees and the fashion section later, DI Willis herself appeared and said they could go into an interview room. Ellie gathered up her belongings, and was ushered down a corridor into a bare room which contained just four chairs around a table. It was clean enough, but the air was fusty. Perhaps someone had been smoking in there?

DI Willis looked reasonably pleased with life. Perhaps she was planning to go to some Mediterranean or Caribbean island for her leave? There was a slight tan on her usually pale skin. Perhaps she’d been having a couple of sessions on a sunbed to prepare herself for exposure to the sun? Her hair had that dry, brittle look caused by poor conditioning. It was still that unconvincing mahogany colour, though perhaps in a darker shade than before. Was it an improvement? Ellie couldn’t decide.

‘I assume you’ve come in to sign your statement about finding the body,’ said the DI, hovering in the doorway. ‘Well, you don’t need me for that. I’ll find someone to look after you.’

‘Which of the bodies would that be?’

DI Willis snapped to attention, looking wary.

‘The first body, wrapped in a pink blanket?’ asked Ellie. ‘Or that of Mrs Dawes? Or were you referring to the third body, that of Mrs Ball? I didn’t find that one. As for the break-in last night—’

DI Willis ground her teeth. ‘What break-in? If you’ve had a break-in, why didn’t you report it at the desk when you came in? You don’t need to speak to me about a simple break-in.’

Ellie decided that the new hair colour was an improvement. Marginally. ‘Look, I know that I’m only a housewife—’

‘Who thinks she’s got a nose for crime that would shame a sniffer dog.’ The woman was being sarcastic. They’d never really got on, had they?

Ellie went pink. ‘The thing is that people do talk to me, and sometimes I hear things that the police might not. Or things that they might not consider important, but which are, if you see what I mean. And in this case—’

Now it was DI Willis’ turn to turn red, but not with embarrassment. ‘Are you trying to accuse the police of—’

‘No, no. Or . . . well, not precisely, no. I’m making a hash of this, aren’t I? I wasn’t going to poke my nose in, honest, until Mrs Kumar—’

‘Who the whatsit is Mrs Kumar?’ DI Willis was on the verge of losing her temper.

Ellie blinked. ‘I really am sorry. I thought you’d have been properly briefed. Who should I ask to speak to? Not Ears, I imagine.’

‘Ears?’

Ellie blinked again. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know his name, but he’s got bright red ears that stick out.’

DI Willis did some deep breathing exercises, and walked around the room, calming herself down. ‘He’s on my team. Do you have a complaint to lodge against him?’

Ellie was cautious. ‘Would incompetence be grounds for complaint?’

DI Willis closed her eyes momentarily, then sat down opposite Ellie, taking deep breaths to calm herself. ‘If you wish to make an official complaint, we’d better get on with it. Shall we get this down on tape?’

Ellie thought about that. She didn’t want to make a formal complaint, did she?

No, because she couldn’t substantiate an accusation of incompetence. Ears had jumped to the wrong conclusion, he’d proved himself a poor speller, but could that be classed as incompetence? And wouldn’t it sidetrack the investigation? Which was more important: making sure that Ears went for spelling lessons, or that she put forward the case for Neil?

‘I’m not laying a complaint against anyone. I just want to tell you what I’ve observed and what I’ve surmised. But you might like to send someone — preferably someone with more brains than Ears, and I’m sorry to have to call him that but he mumbled his name so that I didn’t get it — to Mrs Dawes’ house, which was broken into again last night. I don’t know how much was stolen, but—’

‘You discovered that, too, I suppose.’

‘A neighbour, Mrs Kumar, rang to tell me about it this morning.’

‘Why didn’t she ring the police?’

‘Her husband is on night shift at the airport and wanted to get to bed. He told her not to interfere in case they woke him up just when he’d dropped off to sleep. She rang me.’

‘Why didn’t you ring the police?’

‘I came here to report it, knowing I had an appointment with you anyway.’

DI Willis smothered a few words which Ellie chose not to hear. DI Willis left the room and, before the door shut behind her, could be heard shouting for someone outside. Ellie took out her paper, and immersed herself in the Agony Aunt column. Not that it was called an Agony Aunt column nowadays. Now, it was called something posh. But that’s what it was, all the same. Fancy that! she said to herself glancing at one reader’s story. What people will do when they think their husbands have been cheating on them! She wondered what she’d have done, what she’d have felt like, if Frank had cheated on her. She shook her head. She was pretty sure that Frank hadn’t cheated on her. If he had, would she have known, or at least suspected? She knew wives who’d suspected and pretended not to know anything and, in nearly every case, the man had stayed with his wife. Especially if she were a good cook.

Ellie went on to look up what would be on the telly that evening. She could do with a quiet night in at home, watching something that would leave her feeling better and not worse after having seen it.

DI Willis came back with the plumpish policewoman Ellie had met the day she discovered the body in the pink blanket. It was this WPC who’d had the nerve to inspect the body, leaving her colleague on the path.

Ellie had formed a good opinion of her, so got to her feet and held out her hand. ‘Oh, it’s you. Nice to see you again under happier circumstances. It was pretty awful, wasn’t it?’

The policewoman avoided her hand, but smiled and ducked her head, taking a seat and laying a typed form and a notebook on the table before her.

‘You’ve met?’ asked the DI.

‘When we discovered the first body,’ said Ellie, smiling at the newcomer. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name because I was so upset at the time, but I can tell you—’ she switched her eyes to the DI — ‘that she’s a lot braver than her partner.’

DI Willis said, ‘I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies. This is WPC Mills.’

Ellie said, ‘WPC Mills took my statement and got my name right.’

Mills pushed the form towards Ellie. ‘Ready for you to sign.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ellie. ‘Now, may I start at the beginning?’

* * *

Food, glorious food. He’d eaten himself silly last night, and not fancied anything for breakfast. He spread the rest of the food out on the kitchen table. The stuff from the fridge would be all right for a couple of days, but he hadn’t dared spend long in the house, not long enough to search it thoroughly. He’d contemplated taking several bits and pieces while going through the house: a brooch here, a necklace there, a silver-framed photograph. But he’d realized he’d have to use the car to flog them, and he daren’t use the car. So he’d left them. Which meant he still hadn’t solved his cash-flow problem.