As usual, Mrs Dawes demurred at the idea of drinking sherry in the morning, and as usual accepted a schooner full. As usual she leaned over to test the dampness or otherwise of the soil in the flower tub nearest her, which was planted with a four-yearold orange tree. Beside it stood a lead tank in which ten goldfish swam - Ellie counted them every morning, hoping one day to see some baby fish. Frank would never have considered such an extravagance worthwhile, but it gave Ellie enormous pleasure. In fact, the whole of the conservatory, filled with geraniums and stephanotis and bougainvillea, plumbago and climbing ivies, gave her enormous pleasure.
Ellie waited for Mrs Dawes' comment on the compost in the tub. It would be either, Too dry! or, Too wet!
Mrs Dawes frowned. What criticism would now fall from her lips? ‘You've done well in here, Ellie.’
Ellie blushed, warmed by these rare words of praise. ‘You've taught me a lot.’
Mrs Dawes inclined her head graciously, her earrings swinging. ‘I came back across the Green. They've put incident tape across the bottom of next door's garden and erected a screen. Lots of men there, trying to hump the skip out of the way. Could have told them they were wasting their time. You can't move a skip full of earth without a proper crane.’
This oblique opening was enough to start Ellie off. ‘You heard they found a skeleton when they starting digging up the earth for Kate and Armand's pond? The police think it's been there some years and wanted me to give them a list of everyone who's lived in that house, but I haven't got very far with it.’
‘Ah,’ said Mrs Dawes, setting down her empty glass beside the sherry bottle. ‘You haven't been here as long as I have. I was born in the next road, you know. My sister and I went to the school across the Green, and went to Sunday school in the church, too. I've seen some changes in my time.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Ellie, pouring a refill for Mrs Dawes. ‘We only came in seventy-three. My mother and I had a little flat on the other side of the Avenue, so I went to school up by the Common.’
Mrs Dawes was gracious. ‘A good enough school, they say.’
Ellie nodded. ‘So do you remember the people who lived here before us? Frank found this house and got the mortgage, and I can only remember seeing it once before we bought it, and that was in the dark after work one day. I seem to remember there was a man and his wife, quite young, and his elderly mother and a child …?’
‘A little boy. Yes, I remember him. He was not very well behaved in Sunday school and the vicar then - not our dear last vicar, but another one, before your time - he had to speak to the parents about his behaviour …’
Ellie smiled. ‘Boys will be boys.’
‘Not that kind of behaviour, dear.’ Mrs Dawes sipped sherry in silence, her eyes far away but very aware that Ellie was dying to ask what sort of behaviour might have brought about the intervention of the vicar. ‘Baring his bottom in public, dear.’
‘Oh.’ Ellie hadn't expected that.
‘I'd been married some years and been teaching in the Sunday school for some time, but even I …’
‘Of course. Understandable,’ said Ellie. ‘So was that what caused them to sell up and go?’
‘No, no. His father had a chance of a better job somewhere up North. Although …’
Ellie nodded. ‘I can see it might have made it difficult for the boy at school.’
Mrs Dawes nodded, too. ‘That's what we all thought. But you wanted to know about next door. Well, I can't tell you much -’ reluctantly, she had to admit this - ‘because the people who've lived there recently have hardly been the type to go to church, and never joined in any of our local activities.’ She sniffed. ‘Not that we would have wanted them … though of course the church doors are always open to … well, you know what I mean.’
Ellie knew exactly what Mrs Dawes meant.
‘We're talking about the people who owned the house, of course. Not those they let the place to afterwards. Now, what was their name?’
‘Chater? I seem to remember they were a bit loud.’
Mrs Dawes snorted. ‘A bit? The whole neighbourhood suffered when they moved in.’
‘Oh, surely it wasn't as bad as that. Frank started complaining about them almost straight away, because they'd come back from the pub at all hours, slamming car doors and shouting. But it wasn't so very bad at first, was it? It was quite a long time before they started having all-night parties.’
‘Torture!’ proclaimed Mrs Dawes. ‘Karaoke! Those big amplifiers. I could hear it from my little house at the top of the next road! Once a month they had those nasty noisy parties, keeping us awake until the small hours, and if anyone complained they got screamed at and threatened … and well, dear … you must have suffered, too, being next door.’
‘Frank got terribly distressed. He always slept so lightly. I did go round and try to talk to the woman once about it, but she said her husband had a stressful job and if they wanted to have a party, who was going to stop them? Frank did get on to the noise people, and they did come round and have words, but nothing happened. I got Frank some earplugs in the end, because he used to get so mad he'd go round there and ring the doorbell and shout at them, but … as you say … they took no notice. It was lovely and quiet when they went. Do you know why they left?’
‘I think he retired from whatever it was he did. They said they wanted to go and live somewhere in the sun.’ Mrs Dawes sniffed. ‘I met her in the queue in the supermarket one day and she said they couldn't get away quickly enough, that they'd hated living here and were going to live in Spain, in some expat community, great big villa, enormous cars, getting cancerous lesions because they were in the sun so much.’
Ellie snapped her fingers. ‘Now I remember which one she was! Didn't she wear lots of jangly bracelets? And short shorts with halter-neck tops?’
‘Bottle-blonde hair, very dry. Too many perms, if you ask me.’
Ellie tapped her forehead. ‘What was her name? Sonia? No. Shirley. Yes, that was her name. And he had a pot belly, wore those bright shirts with short sleeves and sandals, even in winter. Ronald, Donald? Wasn't he a car dealer or something?’
‘So he said.’ Mrs Dawes laid a finger to her nose. ‘So he said.’
Ellie's mind sharpened on the word ‘drugs'. Perhaps she should tell the police this? Although really it was only a rumour, wasn't it? She certainly hadn't heard it before … but then, she'd not exactly been friendly with them. ‘Shirley and Donald Chater,’ she said, to herself, trying to work out when they'd arrived. ‘When did they arrive, do you know?’
Mrs Dawes thought about it. ‘It would be early in 1994; I should think very early. There was a fine camellia bush in their front garden, which they hacked out so that they could drive their car off the road. But they never got the council to alter the kerb, so they still had to keep the car out in the road. That big flashlooking car, not English, do you remember?’
‘I do. Now the thing is, did both of them actually go to Spain …?’
‘Or could one of them be the skeleton in the garden? Sorry, dear. They both went. They didn't want to sell the house outright in case they didn't like it out there, and that's why they let social services rent it out. I don't think he lasted too long - liver, I think. She - Shirley - was friendly with a woman up the road, divorced, one little boy, you know him, don't you? Used to have him in for tea after school at one time, didn't you?’
‘You mean Tod's mother, Mrs Coppola?’ After Diana had married and left home, a neighbour's boy called Tod had filled a gap in Ellie's life. Tod had used her as a surrogate mother because his own was out at work all day. That had been fine until, inevitably, Tod formed a friendship with a boy of his own age and ceased to need her. Ellie and Mrs Coppola didn't see eye to eye about anything, and yes, it was very likely that Mrs Coppola would have attended parties at Shirley and Donald's.
‘That's the one. He's growing fast, little Tod, isn't he? Not so little nowadays. Well, his mother used to go to their rowdy parties. She
was their sort, if you know what I mean. I was behind her at the bakery one day and heard her saying she'd just come back from visiting her friends in Spain, so she probably knows how they got on. Why don't you ask her?’
‘Thank you, I will. So that disposes of the Chaters.’ Ellie made a mental note of their names and dates. ‘Now who …?’
‘Is that really the time, dear? I must be getting on. I'm due at my friend's this afternoon, our weekly get-together, you know.’
Ellie did know. Someone at church had once called them the Three Witches, meeting weekly to stir gossip. She stood to show Mrs Dawes out. ‘Will you ask them if they know of anything else which might help? And was there something you wanted to ask me?’
‘Oh, will you help out with the coffee on Sunday at church, dear? Someone's had to drop out, and they're short-handed.’
Ellie smiled and nodded as she was expected to do. Some day she'd say something extremely rude when asked to wash up and do the coffee … and wouldn't that cause a fluster! But not today.
Ellie showed Mrs Dawes out and checked the answerphone, which registered three phone calls.
One: Diana had rung, impatient as ever. ‘Mother, pick up the phone! I've got something to tell you, important. Oh, and can you have little Frank on Saturday afternoon, as I'm showing some people round the new apartments …’
Ellie hoped Diana wasn't about to confess she was pregnant, but … it might not be that. As for Saturday, she'd told Diana ages ago, and repeated earlier that week, that she was not going to be able to babysit this Saturday. Not that Diana ever listened. The second phone caller left no message.
The third was from Stewart, her nice but slightly dim son-inlaw, who'd been discarded by Diana only to be picked up by charming Maria Patel, who ran the Trulyclean domestic cleaning services.
‘Mother-in-law … I mean, Ellie! Maria wanted me to check that it's still all right for us all to come to supper tonight? Half six? We'll pick little Frank up from the childminder early, feed him, give him his bath and see him settled with the babysitter before coming on to you.’ Pause. A clearing of throat. ‘And, er … don't be too shocked, will you, but we might have some news for you soon. Diana wants … well, we can talk about it tonight.’
Oh. Now what? Ellie's first thought had been that perhaps the delightful Maria had also got herself pregnant, which wouldn't come as a great shock, considering how neatly she and Stewart had fitted into one another's lives.
Ellie had been a virgin till she married and had always taken her marriage vows seriously. Ellie didn't approve of divorce. Of course she didn't. But, with a heavy heart, she could see that that was where Diana and Stewart were heading, and she couldn't really blame Stewart for wanting out of a bad marriage and into a more suitable one.
On the other hand, Ellie thoroughly approved of Maria, who had restored Stewart's self-esteem after the battering he'd got from Diana, and had taken over little Frank during the week as to the manner born. Stewart was now doing very well, managing part of Aunt Drusilla's empire of flats and houses to let, even though he still didn't know that it was she who owned them.
Ellie could worry about three things at once, but this time she decided not to worry about Diana or Stewart, but to offer up a little prayer for them and concentrate on what to get for supper.
Only, she didn't know if Kate and Armand would still be staying with her that night, and where she'd put the pen which normally lived by the telephone in the hall.
Ellie's ginger tomcat. Midge, appeared at the top of the stairs and sat, checking out the house for intruders. His ears swivelled and one second later both the doorbell and the telephone rang. Midge had an Early Warning System to die for.
Ellie let the phone ring and opened the front door. Her most unfavourite sandy-haired policeman was standing there, hands in pockets. Behind her she could hear the answerphone record the crisp enunciation of a woman brought up to ‘speak properly'. Aunt Drusilla was demanding something or other. Ellie ignored the phone to concentrate on her visitor.
She tried to put aside her prejudice against this man, and made an effort to smile at him. It was an effort. From the first moment that he'd mistaken her for a cleaning woman and called her ‘ducky', she'd disliked him. He in turn treated her as if she were a lower form of pond life.
She decided to try once again. ‘You've come for the list of people who lived next door?’ She opened the door wide and let him into the hall. Aunt Drusilla was still talking into the phone, but Ellie ignored that to lead Sandy Hair into the living room.
‘I'm afraid I haven't got very far with it. I was asking one of my neighbours this morning, and-’
‘Is this all you've managed to produce?’ he asked, picking up her piece of paper from the table. He quoted in a sarcastic voice, ‘“A middle-aged man and his wife, can't remember their names …” Oh, really! And not a single date! This is going to help us find Jack the Ripper, isn't it?’
‘I did have some dates, but … you don't mean that poor creature out there was mangled by a Ripper, do you?’
‘No, of course not.’ Impatiently. ‘I was speaking metaphorically, which means, in case you haven't come across the word, that …’
Ellie took a grip on herself. She wanted to shout at the man. She wanted to hit him, preferably where it would hurt a great deal. She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, counting … praying … Lord, please help me not to lose my temper, which won't help that poor soul out there.
‘Wake up, dearie!’ said Sandy Hair, none too amiably. ‘Or have you got a bad headache and need to take a pill?’
Did his wife need to take a headache pill every time he approached her?
Ellie opened her eyes wide, and tried to work out how they'd got into this situation. Every time they met, things seemed to deteriorate. She had a mental vision of them both sitting down with a cup of coffee, talking over what she'd learned. She'd ask him about his life, and he'd thaw and smile at her, and they'd get on famously and solve the case together.
His bad-tempered expression - almost vicious - brought her back to reality. She had another mental picture, of Frank dealing with this man. Icy disdain would have been the way of it. No, that wouldn't do, either. Sandy Hair was only doing his duty, though really they ought to send him on a Relationship Course or to Charm School or whatever they did with such incredibly maladroit men.
She made an effort. ‘Do you know, I don't think I ever heard your name. Detective Constable …?’
‘Detective Sergeant Cartwright.’
‘So you've been promoted, too. Congratulations. I'm sure you deserved it.’ Actually she wasn't at all sure he'd deserved it, but his superiors must have found his work satisfactory, or he wouldn't have got his promotion. ‘Would you care for a coffee, and I can fill you in on what I learned from-’
He folded her inadequate list and stowed it in a pocket. ‘They wanted me to pick this up straight away, not that it'll be much help. They'll be very disappointed.’
‘Don't you want to know what-?’
He was on his way out, but stopped. ‘Tell your friends from next door that they can move back in - for the moment, anyway, though the garden's still out of bounds. Our Jane Doe's been in the ground for quite a few years, they tell us.’
‘Oh, but-’
He was out, slamming the front door behind him.
Silence.
Midge came and pushed at the back of her legs with his head, which was meant both to remind her of his existence and as a gesture of affection to a worried woman. Midge wasn't a naturally affectionate cat; he didn't like being petted, but he considered it part of his duty to look after his provider of food and creature comforts. He butted the back of her legs till she bent down and stroked him, which he suffered for a short while till he could feel that Ellie was no longer angry. Then he charged off into the kitchen and leaped on to the table - which was strictly forbidden territory - waiting for his dish to be replenished.
Ellie scolded him. ‘You bad cat,
you know you've been fed once this morning already.’ But she gave him some treats, which he accepted with kingly dignity. And then departed to enjoy the sunshine in the conservatory.
Ellie listened to the message her aunt had left on the answerphone, left a message at the school for Armand and went shopping.
Four
Ellie arrived back home to find several unexpected items on her doorstep. One was a box of spring bulbs she'd ordered, and the other was Detective Inspector Willis in her usual state of suppressed annoyance, plus a spare policeman in plain clothes who looked as if he'd rather be elsewhere.
Ellie was burdened with bags of shopping, which she had to set down to get at her front-door key. Midge appeared from nowhere and wound round her legs. He'd be in the house first, no matter who tried to stop him.
DI Willis produced a painful-looking smile and picked up the box of bulbs to carry inside. ‘I was on the point of giving up again.’
Ellie didn't explain her absence. Why should she? ‘Come in, then. Put the box down in the hall somewhere. I hope you don't mind talking in the kitchen, but I've got people coming for supper.’
Ellie ignored the flashing light on the answerphone and allowed the policeman to carry some of her bags through into the kitchen. Midge leaped on to the table, so Ellie fed him even before she took off her jacket - it had looked like rain when she went out, but the sky was clear again now. She glanced out of the window, but couldn't see or hear any activity in next door's garden.
‘Can I help you with anything?’ asked Ms Willis, seating herself unasked at the kitchen table. She jerked her head at the accompanying policeman and he faded away into the hall.
Ellie blinked. The woman must want something pretty badly. ‘No, thanks. I'll just put things away and start supper. A cup of tea?’
‘Thank you.’
Wonders would never cease. The woman was actually being civil for a change. Ellie flicked the kettle on and packed away most of the stuff she'd bought, leaving out potatoes, fresh beans and a nice piece of white fish which she proposed to make into a pie for supper.
Murder in the Garden Page 4
