The three of them exchanged shocked glances. Certainly not what they were expecting, Ian Richard didn’t fit the bill of vicious, psychopathic killer. With his sparrow-like frame, it was doubtful he had the strength to lift a spoon, let alone stab someone in the back with a knife.
Partial Sue whispered in Fiona’s ear, “I don’t think we’ll be needing the WD40.”
“What’s that? What did you say?” He blinked several times. “So, have you come to put me to bed or not? The nurse from the agency is usually here by now. Are you his replacements?”
“Er, no,” Fiona said.
“No?” Ian Richard reversed his wheelchair slightly. “But I want to go to bed. I can’t get up them stairs on my own. I need to sleep.”
“Have you tried calling your nurse?”
“He’s not answering, which means one of his other clients — they call us clients now, not patients, probably because they charge a fortune — has fallen over, and he’s had to wait for an ambulance, which means I can’t go to bed yet.”
“Oh, er, well, I hope they’re okay,” Daisy said, concerned.
“Who?” asked Ian.
“The person who fell over.”
Ian Richard harrumphed. “Well, if you haven’t come to put me to bed, what are you here for?”
Fiona’s backstory about getting lost and asking for hotel directions had become redundant after seeing Ian Richard in the flesh. Partial Sue leaned over and whispered in Fiona’s ear again, “I think we should just be straight with him.”
“What’s that? What are you saying?”
Fiona smiled at the diminutive gentleman. “We’re sorry to bother you. We were friends with someone called Sarah Brown. Did you know her?”
“I might, I might not.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll tell you if you put me to bed.”
“Really?”
“Have the police talked to you about this?” asked Partial Sue.
“Get me up them stairs and I’ll tell you whatever you want.”
“Done,” Fiona said.
He reversed his wheelchair all the way back into the vast hallway, which had a churchlike feel, all dark wood and stone floors. They stepped in and Daisy closed the door behind her. Turning around, he wheeled himself to the bottom of the impressively wide wooden staircase and nodded to the galleried landing above, hung with rich oil paintings of a bygone Britain. In fact, all wall space was covered in traditional art of countryside scenes, each one surrounded by a thick, ornate picture frame.
“My bedroom’s the first on the right,” Ian Richard said.
“What’s the best way to lift you?” Partial Sue asked.
He pointed at Fiona and Daisy. “You two stand either side of my wheelchair. Scoop one arm under my knees. Put your other arm around my back. I’ll put my arms around your shoulders. Then lift. Keep your backs straight; I don’t want to call the ambulance for you two, or I won’t get to sleep until midnight.”
Fiona and Daisy obliged, following his instructions. Once in place, they both lifted Ian Richard, who weighed less than a balloon.
“This isn’t so bad,” Daisy said.
“I’m light, aren’t I?” Ian Richard proclaimed proudly. “Like a baby bird, I’ve been told.”
Carefully, they ascended the stairs, one step at a time with Partial Sue in tow. About halfway up, Ian said, “You know what, I’ve forgotten my reading glasses. Can we go back down?”
“Tell me where they are,” Partial Sue said. “I’ll grab them for you.”
“No, no. I can’t remember where I left them. Be quicker if I look myself. Just carry me back down.”
They reversed direction, cautiously retreating down the stairs. When they got to the bottom step, Daisy asked, “Shall we put you back in your wheelchair?”
“No, might as well just take me into the lounge like this. Be quicker.”
“Fair enough.” So they carried him into the lounge, a vast high-ceilinged room containing two brown leather sofas that had seen better days.
After several circuits of the room, Ian said, “You know what, I might have left them in the kitchen, it’s just at the end of the hallway. Would you be so kind?”
Daisy and Fiona ferried him out of the lounge and into a kitchen that had survived from the seventies, decorated in faded oranges and browns.
Partial Sue whizzed around the room seeking out the glasses, ahead of Daisy and Fiona, with Ian still supported between their arms as if he was a pharaoh of old being regally carried around his property and Partial Sue was his herald.
“No glasses here,” she said.
“Let’s try the study,” Ian suggested.
“I think it’d be easier if we just put you back in your wheelchair,” Fiona said, impatience creeping into her voice.
Ian was quick to respond. “No. You know what? I think I might have left them in the bedroom, so if you could take me back up the stairs?”
“Right you are,” said Fiona through gritted teeth. Although not physically taxing, the carrying lark was wearing a bit thin. She was hoping the information they’d glean from Ian Richard would be worth it all.
For a second time, they ascended the stairs, lifting the small man towards the promised land of nod. As they reached the upstairs hallway, they heard a key turn in the lock.
Below them, the front door opened and in stepped a large man with a beard and a shaved head, wearing a navy-blue nurse’s smock buttoned on one shoulder. “Hello,” he called out in a thick and cheerful Polish accent. “Sorry, I’m late, Ian, I was just—” His sunny demeanour disappeared abruptly when he noticed the scene above him. His hands made fists, which he planted on both hips. “What the hell is this?”
“I’m very sorry,” Fiona apologised. “We were just . . .”
“Not you, madam. I was talking to Ian. What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Ian replied. Never in the history of the English language did that word ever sound convincing when used to answer that question.
The nurse climbed the stairs and joined them on the wide landing. He had a kind, doughy face with widely spaced eyes. A name tag informed them he was Stef from Cherry Tree Nursing Agency. “What did he ask you to do?”
“He asked us to carry him up to bed,” Daisy explained.
Stef shook his head. “You can put him down. He doesn’t need carrying up to bed. He’s quite capable of walking, he just needs a bit of support getting up the stairs. And the wheelchair isn’t really necessary.”
Daisy and Fiona gently relinquished their grip on Ian, who reluctantly stretched his legs out until his feet touched the carpet. “Why did you ask us to carry you?” Fiona asked.
Ian Richard ignored the question.
“He has a thing for being carried,” Stef said.
“No, I don’t,” Ian snapped.
“Did he make you take him around the house?” Stef asked.
“Well, only to find his glasses,” Partial Sue said.
Stef shook his head. “He doesn’t wear glasses. What did he promise you in return?”
“Information about our friend, Sarah Brown.”
Stef glared at Ian. “Do you know anyone called Sarah Brown?”
Ian cast his head down. “No.”
“You don’t know Sarah?” Fiona asked, her patience now worn through.
“No. Never heard of her.”
“So you lied to us, just so we’d be your slaves for the evening?”
“Well, if you’re stupid enough to believe everything you’re told, that’s your own fault.”
The nurse stepped between them. “Okay, that’s enough, Ian. I think you should apologise.”
“Sorry,” he said defiantly.