Ellie looked. Shrugged. ‘I'm sorry, but I don't think I've ever seen this man before. Anyway, how could a complete stranger know anything about me or my husband? No one from Pakistan or India has ever lived in the house next door, or even - so far as I know - in our road. It just hasn't happened.’
‘Think hard.’
Ellie snapped at him. ‘I am thinking. There was a lovely family of Pakistanis lived opposite my friend Mrs Dawes at one time, and of course we knew quite a lot who came into the charity shop in the Avenue when I was working there. But they were all women. They were always so polite and helpful, though they did sometimes let the boys have a little too much of their own way. But that's their culture, isn't it?’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, there's the people who ran one of the newsagents in the Avenue. They were great. Their children went to our school here, and everyone spoke well of them.’
‘You said “ran”. Did they leave, and if so, why?’
‘They lived above the shop, and when they retired they sold to a cousin, I think. Someone else from their extended family, anyway. The new people are still there, husband and wife and two lovely boys. Why don't you show this photo to them?’
‘We'll do just that. But we've still got to track down the link with you. For instance, do you get your newspapers delivered from that shop?’
‘No, they come from the bigger newsagents at this end of the Avenue, the one which is also the post office. The two shops divide the newspaper rounds up between them, you see. At our end the newspapers are delivered from the post office one, and the other side of the Avenue is delivered by the other newsagent. I buy the occasional magazine or chocolate egg at the other shop if I'm in a hurry and the post office is crowded. They're nice people, very friendly.’
‘Who runs the post office, then?’
‘Not Asians. It's part of a big chain of newsagents and they put in their own managers. Some of the staff there are Asian, but they come and go and, as far as I remember, they're all youngish.’
Ellie looked at the video which they were still working on. The picture was much sharper now.
‘What are you thinking, Mrs Quicke?’
Ellie was puzzled. ‘He looks … I don't know … like a professional man.’
‘All right. I'll buy it. Where would you expect to meet this man in the community?’
Ellie closed her eyes and let her mind grow blank. Nothing happened. She waited for a while, but could only think of bus drivers, which was no help at all, because this man didn't look like a bus driver. She didn't know what he looked like. A teacher? Possibly.
‘I'm sorry. I can't think of anything. I wish I could. I don't like the thought of some man out there knowing about me, and my not knowing anything about him.’
‘If you see him anywhere locally, will you let us know? And remember, he may be dangerous.’
‘As if I haven't enough to worry about!’
DC Honeywell asked if he could drop her anywhere, but it was only a short walk across the Green to Endene Close, and it was a beautiful clear day, so she decided to walk - keeping an eye out for Asian men of a certain age.
Fifteen
The ambulance arrived as the businessman turned into the road in which he lived.
His wife was crying, his father only semi-conscious. The paramedics took control efficiently, talking in loud voices, being cheerful and positive.
The businessman got out of his car and scrambled into the ambulance, shedding thoughts of the meeting he should be attending at that very moment, and the people he'd arranged to see that afternoon.
He tried to reach his father, to reassure him that everything was under control, but the paramedics pushed him aside, made him sit at the back. When he tried to use his mobile, they told him off.
Ellie was well aware that there are days when everything goes wrong, even when the sky is blue and the air is warm. Things shouldn't go wrong on such days, which were intended for people to enjoy themselves in.
But there it was. She arrived at Endene Close just in time to see the large van from the nurseries drive off, and a furious site manager contemplating a hundred plants in pots, which had been unloaded in a thoughtless manner and were now completely blocking the driveway.
Ellie had arranged that the nursery should supply someone to plant out the things she'd ordered. But no; a scribbled note on the delivery sheet informed her that they were short-staffed, so hadn't been able to help her out on that.
The site manager wanted the plants cleared off the driveway immediately, as he was expecting a delivery and, no, he couldn't let her have access to any water that day, since the plumber had cut everything off to deal with an unexplained leak!
What to do? She wasn't wearing gardening togs, and anyway had neither spade nor trowel with her. Even if she started moving pots by herself, it would take her ages to get them off the driveway, and then … it was a warm day. The plants must go into the earth at once, but would need watering in.
She tried charm on the site manager, hoping he'd be kind enough at least to help her move the pots, but he was the sort who stood on his dignity, and said it wasn't his job to shift plants and she ought to have made proper arrangements to deal with them, shouldn't she! She asked for Roy and learned he'd gone chasing after some special fitment or other and wasn't expected back till late afternoon.
The site manager was enjoying this. Ellie wasn't.
Who could she ask to help her? Maria Patel ran a cleaning firm - very efficiently. Would she have any gardeners on her books? Not very likely. Ellie tried Maria just in case, but it was no good. Unexpectedly, Maria wanted to talk. Stewart had found them a possible house and they wondered if Ellie could spare the time to come and look at it with them? Ellie promised to ring her back later.
The site manager was tramping up and down, looking at his watch, muttering about women who couldn't organize their way out of a paper bag.
Ellie rang Rose, to see if she might be able to spare a half hour to help before she started getting lunch for Aunt Drusilla. Rose squeaked in surprise, but said she'd be right over and would bring a flask of coffee for the workers, just give her half an hour to finish making a cake for Miss Quicke.
The pots needed to be moved now!
Ellie asked the site manager if she might put her handbag in his works caravan and could he lend her a pair of gloves? He rolled his eyes, but allowed that. Ellie got down to it.
She'd ordered lavender bushes, skimmias, some of the very bright yellow euonymus, and pierises. For focus plants, she'd ordered buddleias and red-stemmed dogwoods. The idea had been that everything could be pruned back just once a year, with a mulch several inches thick over all, to keep the weeds down. A row of variegated ivies were supposed to drape themselves over the low front wall.
The mulch was there, in sacks, and all but two of the lavenders she'd ordered. She marched to and fro, heaving the larger plants roughly into position, discarding her jacket, going back for more … Tum-Tum came past carrying some shopping in plastic bags. ‘What on earth …? Ellie, my dear. Let me shift that for you.’
Ellie had been trying to tug the largest of the dogwoods into position at the time and gladly let him help her. Once she'd explained what she was doing, he said he'd drop his shopping back at the vicarage and come back to help her.
Ellie wiped her forehead with her forearm. ‘You haven't a couple of watering cans, have you? The supply's been cut off here and we need to water everything in.’
He told her to sit down and rest till he came back, but the site manager was hovering and becoming increasingly unpleasant as time drew near for the lorry to deliver whatever it was he wanted. So, Ellie continued getting pots off the road and on to the pavement till Tum-Tum arrived back, suitably clad and pushing his wheelbarrow with all his tools in it.
Then Rose arrived, bearing an enormous basket containing all her gardening tools, plus coffee and slices of deliciously scented cake. Tum-Tum hailed a couple of neighbours
who helped out occasionally in the garden around the church, and half chivvied and half charmed them into joining in.
Soon after, the plumber popped up to say the water was back on and would they like him to connect up his hosepipe for them, since it was not going to do those plants any good to sit around in the hot sun.
The lorry which the site manager had been expecting still hadn't turned up, much to his fury. Ellie never did get back to her house to fetch her own tools, but concentrated on getting all the plants in the right positions and facing the right way. And treading them in properly, which amateur gardeners never did, thinking they were going to damage the roots, whereas a real gardener knows you have to tread down properly or the roots won't make contact with the soil. Tallest plants at the back and trailing ivies at the front … and no, that dogwood was too obtrusive there and must be moved round the corner …
Dear Rose might twitter and fuss, but she was a dab hand with a trowel and nattered happily away as she put the plants in. The cake and coffee she'd brought helped everyone stay in a good temper.
At noon, Tum-Tum popped back down the Avenue for fish and chips all round, and they took a break in the sun, sitting on the low wall and chatting away to all who passed by. One helper said that, with reluctance, he must get back, as the gas man was calling. But a woman who sang in the choir came along to take his place.
By two o'clock all the plants were in and watered, and they were beginning to spread mulch over everything. Ellie seized a broom and started to tidy up. Rose got out her secateurs and snipped a dead leaf off here and there. Tum-Tum started a chorus going, which Ellie feared might turn out rather … well … raucous. But it was all right. Just. You never quite knew with Tum-Tum, respected vicar though he might be. There was just a touch of ‘Yo-Ho-Ho' and ‘Heave Away, My Hearties' in Tum-Tum.
They were just stowing the last few tools away when Roy drove up with his head sticking out of the window, shouting, ‘Wey hey! Fan-tastic!’
The site manager was even more angry now. ‘That something delivery hasn't come, and they promised to be here by eleven this morning!’
Roy said, ‘Have you got on to them, then? It'll put us back a couple of days if we don't get those fitments today.’ He parked and got out to admire what the gardening team had done. ‘This makes all the difference. I've no sort of head for garden design. I couldn't imagine how it could look, but this contrast of foliages and shapes is just right! Ellie, everyone! A thousand thanks. Ellie, I owe you one. I was going to take you out tonight, but something's come up and I need to make up a foursome, so supper at my place tonight? Eight o'clock? Can you get over by yourself?’
That was Roy all over: he always expected Ellie to fall in with his wishes. But at least she wouldn't have to cook for herself that evening, and that was a bonus.
The site manager came up to break the bad news to Roy that the lorry had broken down somewhere on the M25 and wouldn't make it today.
Ellie looked down at herself. Her light shoes were ruined. Her skirt and blouse would wash, but the shoes were beyond repair … and what had she done with her jacket and handbag? Dear Rose looked as untidy as Ellie. ‘Ellie dear, we've missed our usual lunch at Sunflowers. Shall we make it tomorrow instead?’
Tum-Tum, wearing a navy T-shirt over heavyweight drill trousers, was surprisingly clean. Rose sagged. She was tired, but pleased with their efforts. Ellie summoned a minicab to take Rose home, but hung back to have a word with Tum-Tum.
He seemed to be having the same idea, for he took an age to settle his various tools in his wheelbarrow.
She held out her arms, which were muddied to the elbow. ‘Look at me! I need putting in the washing machine with my clothes. Join me for a cuppa in a while?’
She thought he might refuse. He was a widower and half the parish invited him round for a meal. But he nodded, and trundled off over the Green to the vicarage, pausing on the way to have a word with a young mother whose toddler was misbehaving.
Ellie retrieved her handbag and jacket and made her way home. The house seemed very silent. As was next door. Were the birds not singing today? She stopped in her garden by the sundial, and listened. All that summer, the sky had been busy with house martins swooping and tittering away. They didn't nest under the eaves of her house, but in some of the houses further along. Now the sky was empty. Had they already gone to their winter quarters in the south? It was a sign that autumn had come with a vengeance despite the warmth of the sun that day.
Heavy shadows lay across next door's garden and even across hers.
Midge bounded out from where he'd been hiding under a wiegella, and sniffed at her legs, which were spattered with water and earth. A shower and a change of clothes was a priority.
Tum-Tum was good at listening. And eating. Ellie left the chocolate biscuits out and he put three into his mouth whole. After which, he took it more slowly.
She said, ‘I don't know where to start. People always say that, don't they? It must irritate you no end.’
He shook his head, smiled and took another biscuit. Judging by his comfortable figure, he must be feeding himself properly. He drained his mug of tea and handed it to her for a refill. She made him another cuppa. With her back to him and her hands occupied, it was easier to start. He knew that, of course.
She said, ‘Can houses retain a sense of evil? A while back I'd have said that of course they couldn't. People have lived in houses which are supposed to be inhabited by ghosts, and never noticed anything. I thought it was all in the mind. I mean, if you were told that someone had committed a murder in your house, you'd start worrying about it and imagining all sorts of things, but if you hadn't heard, would you suspect anything?’
She handed him his mug. ‘I've read about people sensing bad things in a house and I've put it down to draughts, or their disliking the colour of the wallpaper, or … just not liking the way the kitchen's laid out. Or damp. The smell of damp could put you off, easily. Then there's the way a house is built. Is it full of light, or not? A light, airy house full of sunshine would lift your spirits, a dark gloomy one would depress you.
‘I've always been amused when people say that my living room is restful. One person even said she thought I must pray a lot in there. Well, I do, but not that much. At least, I wouldn't have thought it would make any difference. The fact that the walls are a restful pale green, and that everything else is in keeping … surely that's the reason people think it's restful?
‘The house next door is a reverse image of this one. The rooms are arranged slightly differently, in that they still have two reception rooms, whereas I have one big through room. Their kitchen is larger than mine, because I have a kitchen and a study, where they only have one big kitchen. The bedrooms are the same size, as is the bathroom. That house has been decorated in many different styles over the years, and sometimes I've liked the colours and sometimes I haven't, but that doesn't explain what's happened there. And I'm not just talking about the murder.
‘I've lived here thirty-odd years. Frank and I have had our share of troubles. I wasn't well for a lot of that time. Diana had the usual rebellions. For a long time we were really short of money, and I was always anxious about paying the bills. The walls were painted this green when we came. We liked it, and renewed it from time to time.
‘The kitchen is old-fashioned, I know. As is the bathroom. My pride and joy was the garden, and I suppose you could say that looked good. It's given me enormous pleasure over the years. ‘I'm struggling to express myself properly. The question is: why is next door so different?’
He peaked his eyebrows. Took another biscuit, but this time ate it slowly, almost daintily.
She sighed. ‘When we first came, the garden next door was a bit of a mess. Mr Spendlove had had a tragic accident and the boys were, I suppose, a little wild. But I never thought anything of it. Then the Cullens came. He faded away, and she was eventually confined to the house. Her daughter and grandchildren looked after her but … and here's wher
e I begin to get uneasy. Did she die naturally, or was she pushed? The family wanted to get their hands on the house. They didn't let anyone see her. Oh, no! I'm making too much of it. They looked after her. She was miserable. She died. Full stop.
‘Then another tragic couple came and there was possibly a criminal twist to the way they left. He died of cancer and she was courted by a man who said he'd been a friend of her husband's and took her for a ride. He persuaded her to sell the house and said they'd marry and go to New Zealand or Australia. He didn't marry her, but took the money and ran. She's now living alone on the South Coast.
‘After them there was Shirley and Donald, who had terribly noisy parties. Mrs Dawes couldn't sleep, even though she was two streets away. We were all kept awake. They were a relentlessly jolly couple, if you know what I mean. They drank, they partied, they didn't give a damn about anyone else. I suppose they were the happiest family who'd lived in that house for a long time, but I wonder now if all that noise was a cover for dissatisfaction with their lives? Anyway, they went off to Spain where he died, and the house next door was turned over to the social. Bosnian refugees, grieving for the loss of a husband and son. Then a poor creature with runny-nosed children, who neglected their pets quite horribly. She had a series of men, the children were taken into care …’ Ellie shrugged.
‘Then Kate and Armand, who are my very good friends. They didn't know anything about the families who'd lived there before, but within weeks Armand was physically abusing Kate.’
Tum-Tum gave a great start but Ellie held up her hand. ‘It's all right. All over. She stopped thinking it was all her fault and he came to realize that he'd miss her if she walked out on him. They've settled down nicely and he won't try that again, because he knows that if he does Kate will have his guts for garters. Anyway, they ripped everything out of the house and redecorated and, though they hadn't thought much about the garden to begin with, they did eventually decide they wanted a low-maintenance garden with a water feature and … that's how they found that poor girl.’
Murder in the Garden Page 19
