The DS led Ellie through the events of the morning. Ellie answered all the questions frankly and to the best of her ability. Then it came. ‘Who do you think benefits from Miss Quicke’s death?’
‘Was it suspicious?’
‘Yes. The wiring had definitely been tampered with.’
Tears stung Ellie’s eyes. She sniffed. ‘I suppose the only good thing about it is that it must have been quick.’
‘Yes. Who benefits?’
‘Well, I do. At least that’s what Miss Quicke told me, though she might well have changed her mind since. She told me I was to get two thirds of her estate and one third goes to Roy, her son.’
‘What about her great-niece?’
‘Nothing, as far as I know.’
‘Diana told me she’s going to inherit everything.’
‘We’ll have to wait till we see the will, won’t we?’
‘Who is Miss Quicke’s solicitor?’
‘I’ve no idea. I suppose you can find the name in her files or on the computer.’
‘Yes, they’re taking it away in a minute. What about this companion of Miss Quicke’s, Mrs Rose McNally. Your daughter seemed to think she was out for what she could get from your aunt.’
‘She’s quite wrong. Rose McNally’s only recently been taken on by my aunt and they got on very well indeed. Rose’s daughter Joyce – you’ve spoken to her, haven’t you? – is supposed to be having her wedding reception here on Saturday. I suppose that will have to be cancelled and Rose will lose her job. Rose stands to lose twice over by my aunt’s death.’
‘Perhaps when we look at the will, we’ll find she was in it?’
‘Possible, but unlikely.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘In one of the council tower blocks near the tube station.’
‘Her address, please.’ Ellie gave it.
The DS looked down at some notes. ‘This Roy – your cousin? He was in partnership with Miss Quicke to redevelop a site locally? Your daughter says that he’d bamboozled his mother into putting up most of the money for the redevelopment.’
‘Nobody could bamboozle my aunt when it came to finance. She was putting money into the development, yes. But it was a viable proposition and he’s a respected architect and no fly-by-night.’
‘What will happen to the development now?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea. I suppose he may have to sell up at a loss.’
‘But you think he’s going to inherit a substantial amount under her will?’
‘I believe so.’
And then it was the old ‘Can you give me an account of your movements yesterday and today?’
She could, and she did. And much good might it do them for she’d been very busy this last couple of days with meetings here and there, going to church, seeing old friends, going to an exhibition at the National Gallery, and going out to supper.
And no, she didn’t know anything much about electrics. If a fuse blew, she had to call someone in to deal with it. She was just not mechanically minded.
They let her go at last.
She shut the front door behind her, and walked away without looking at the PC on duty outside. The police had offered her a lift back home, but although it was still raining, she found the fresh cold wind invigorating and preferred to walk. Her brain had gone into fatigue syndrome. She couldn’t think, nearly walked under a bus as she crossed the Avenue. Couldn’t think whether or not she had anything suitable in the fridge to eat for supper. Stopped at the deli and bought cold meats and some luscious cream cakes. Thought of Rose, who loved the occasional treat of a cream cake. Almost burst into tears.
She had no umbrella with her. She thought of getting out her phone and ringing the minicab firm, but was too beaten down to delve for it. Walked on and on.
Crossed the Green by the church.
The rain was dripping through the branches on the trees.
Down the slope to the gate into the alley. Turn left, the back gardens here sloped up again to the houses. On her right the workmen were getting on nicely with next door’s conservatory. It was going to be very much like hers, but intended as an outdoor dining room for Armand and his wife Kate, rather than as a place for growing plants.
Through the gate into her own garden. Plod up the path. Let herself into the conservatory. The phone was ringing again. Let it ring. It would record messages. She needed a cup of tea, perhaps two cups. Or maybe hot chocolate. Carbohydrates for shock. Biscuits. Cream cakes.
Peace and quiet. Midge on her lap. Dear Lord, I don’t know what to pray for, but you know what I need most, what everyone needs most. Look after Roy, who really did love his mother. And poor Diana, I really can’t think how she got to be so money-grubbing, I suppose it must be my fault. And dear Rose, who must be just about returning from her shopping expedition now, to be faced with police and questions and oh, dear. I must try to think about something else.
The front door bell rang. It was Roy, looking haggard. Somehow he looked even handsomer than ever. Definitely he was better-looking than her own dear husband Frank had been.
‘Sorry,’ he said, or rather mumbled. ‘I’m afraid I went to pieces a bit just now. They want me to make the formal identification, and I want to do it because I shan’t take it in properly till I see for myself. When my adopted family died, first Mum and then Dad and my aunt, it didn’t affect me so much. I loved them, of course I did. But it wasn’t the same because at the back of my mind I was thinking, They’re not my real family and one day I’ll find my real mother, and now …’
‘You’re twittering, Roy,’ said Ellie, with compassion. ‘Yes, of course I’ll come with you. I’d like to see her, too.’
He took a deep breath. Let it out. Swallowed hard. Looked at his feet. Mute.
Ellie peered out into the rain. ‘Did they send a police car to take you to … wherever?’
He nodded, indicating an unmarked car by the kerbside. Ellie collected her coat, handbag and an umbrella. ‘What about your own car?’
He stared at her, without words. She shrugged. He’d better not try to drive in his present state, anyway. She would have to organize someone to collect it later. She hoped he wouldn’t get a parking ticket for leaving it in the Avenue but if he did, it was just too bad.
She got into the back of the car with him. Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day.
She hadn’t been to a mortuary before. Hadn’t even known they had one in this part of London. Well, well. You learned something new every day. Would they have to have an autopsy? She supposed so. Shudder.
The place didn’t give any hint of what it was from the outside, except for a discreet plaque on the red-brick wall. Inside, it was all tiles and sterile. Roy was like an automaton, one that needed winding up to function. She held his elbow and steered him in the direction taken by the PC.
Pause. Did they both wish to look? It was only necessary for one? Roy gave a great start and said yes, they both needed to see.
The sheet was drawn back. They looked.
Roy stepped back. ‘You’ve got the wrong body. That’s not my mother.’
Ellie stepped forward to take a closer look. She frowned. She’d seen that face somewhere before. But where?
‘No, this isn’t Miss Quicke,’ she said. ‘She’s about the same size but she’s a good bit younger.’
The PC said, ‘Are you sure?’
Roy exploded. ‘Don’t be stupid! Would we make a mistake like that? That. Is. Not. My. Mother!’
Ellie put out a hand to touch the ear of the woman on the slab.
‘Don’t touch.’
‘Oh, of course not. Sorry. I was just thinking, that looks like she’s had her ears pierced, though the holes have almost closed up. Aunt Drusilla never had her ears pierced. May I see her hands?’
Roy swung her away from the slab. ‘Let’s get out of here! This is madness. They bring us here …’
He was going to say ‘under false pretences’, she knew
it. And she’d giggle if he did. Hysteria.‘Hush, Roy.’ She disengaged his arm and stepped back to the slab. A technician – mortuary attendant? – had now joined the PC. ‘Would you mind if I saw her hands? Or perhaps the clothes she was wearing?’
‘I’m out of here!’ shouted Roy and plunged out of the room.
The mortuary attendant drew the sheet back at one side, exposing the woman’s right hand. Ellie bent over it, without touching. There was a really bad burn across the woman’s palm, which must be where she’d held on to – whatever it was that had given her a lethal shock.
‘Mm. What do you think, Constable?’
‘I couldn’t say, miss.’
Ellie looked at the technician. ‘What do you think?’ No reply.
Ellie sighed. ‘This woman’s hand shows signs of rough usage, probably housework. Reddened fingers, some eczema from using chemicals. Aunt Drusilla wouldn’t have been seen dead washing up or cleaning a floor. I wonder, do you have her clothes here?’
An exchange of glances between the two men, but no reply. Presumably the clothes had gone for forensic tests. Yuk.
Ellie frowned. ‘I am not entirely sure, but I think I’ve seen this woman at my aunt’s. Miss Quicke employed cleaners through an agency. None of them ever lasted for long because she had very high standards and most people failed to live up to them. I have a mental picture of a woman wearing an unsuitable tartan skirt, pleated, very old-fashioned. I think it was a Royal Stewart tartan, with lots of red and green in it?’
The PC and the mortuary attendant exchanged glances. One of them seemed to be smiling, ever so slightly.
Ellie said, ‘I can’t be one hundred per cent sure, but I think this was a cleaner my aunt employed some time ago. I suggest you contact the agency for which the cleaners work. I’ll remember the name in a minute … no, it’s gone. But there can’t be many agencies around here which do that kind of work. I’m sure that if you spend a little time on the phone you’ll find the right one, and they’ll be able to tell you if they’re missing someone.’
‘But you can confirm that this is not Miss Drusilla Quicke.’
‘No, definitely not.’ She hesitated. ‘I think I’ve heard this woman’s name mentioned by my aunt, but …no, I’m sorry. I’m bad at remembering names. Lucky? No. Booker? Cooker? No, that’s not right, either. Sorry.’
‘Thank you. Most helpful.’
Ellie let out a long sigh of relief. She needed to sit down. She couldn’t quite take in all these reverses of fortune. The body was not that of Miss Quicke. What a relief. Thank the Lord for all his mercies.
She couldn’t think which way to the exit, but the young PC steered her out into the open air. Roy was raging up and down on the pavement, hitting the palm of his hand with his fist. It was still raining, but he was beyond noticing things like that.
The PC was on his walkie-talkie, giving the bad news to Ms Willis. ‘No, they’re both quite sure. The body is not that of Miss Quicke …’ He turned slightly away from Ellie, but she heard the words ‘possibly a cleaner?’ quite clearly.
She felt rather shaky. A good cup of tea wouldn’t be a bad idea. She could do with some food. Roy had probably missed lunch, too. He was still in a tearing rage, muttering about incompetent police, misleading … and so on and so forth.
He’d probably refuse a lift back in the police car, just to spite them. But
– she looked around her – they were in the middle of nowhere and she rather thought a lift back would be a good idea.
Roy had got to the inventive swearing stage. So wasteful of energy.
He told the policeman where to put his something car, because he was … etcetera. Ellie filtered out the swear words.
She put up her umbrella, dived into her handbag and punched in the number of her minicab firm.‘Mrs Quicke here. I’m stranded at the mortuary, in …’ She peered into the gloom and read off the name of the road. ‘Can you send a cab for me and my cousin? To go home, James.’
The delightful Asian controller the other end of the phone knew her of old. He chuckled and said in his musical voice, ‘That’s a new one to me. Mrs Quicke? You all right there? My name not James, you know.’
Ellie was embarrassed.‘So sorry. I’m regressing to childhood. My father always used to say “Home, James!” when he got us all safely back on to the train after a day’s outing, just as if we were in a coach and he was telling the coach driver to … oh, forget it. I’m not quite myself this afternoon. Tell me something. You know my aunt, Miss Quicke? Have you by any chance been called out to take her somewhere today? She seems to have gone missing, you see.’
‘Not to me she hasn’t called, no. But look, I’ve been on since noon only. I ask, shall I?’
‘Thank you.’ She switched off the phone, thinking that it was an outside chance that Aunt Drusilla would have used the minicab firm. She usually called a black taxi when she wanted to go anywhere.
Roy had muttered himself to a standstill. Now he was looking stricken, almost sagging at the knees.
She thought she knew what he was thinking. If the woman in the mortuary was not Aunt Drusilla, then WHERE WAS SHE?
Three
They made the journey back to Ellie’s place in silence. Ellie was thinking about her answerphone. The phone had been ringing when she got back from Aunt Drusilla’s that morning, but she’d ignored it to make herself a cuppa. Perhaps Aunt Drusilla had been trying to ring her? And had left a message?
Then Roy had come and taken her off to the mortuary. So there might very well be a message for her at home.
Alas, when she eased herself and Roy into her house, there was Diana talking away in animated fashion on the phone. And the answerphone light was out.
Diana usually stabbed in casual fashion at the buttons on modern telephones, and had erased recorded messages on Ellie’s phone before now. Diana saved money by using Ellie’s phone instead of her own. Diana was … Ellie stopped that thought.
‘Food,’ she said to Roy. ‘Take your coat off, go and sit down, turn the telly on or something. I’ll see what I can rustle up.’
Diana said, ‘Kiss, kiss!’ into the phone and hung up, all bright-eyed and bubbly. ‘Mother, he’s coming round to meet you straight away, so do you think you could change into something a little more fashionable?’
‘Diana, there’s something you need to know …’
Diana was not listening, but smearing fresh lipstick on her mouth. ‘I know you won’t approve, you’re so old-fashioned, quite dead in the water, dead as the Dodo, but this is the first day of the rest of my life and I’m determined you shan’t pull a sour face, right?’
Roy lifted his hands in despair and went into the sitting room. The rain was beating down on the conservatory roof but it would still be warm in there, because of the central heating Jimbo had installed.
And what was eating her geraniums?
Ellie hadn’t a clue what Diana was talking about. ‘You’ve cleared the messages on the answerphone again. Who rang?’
Diana gave her metallic laugh. ‘Oh, mother, you’re so out of date. It was just Jimbo, that stupid plumber of yours …’
‘Well, as a matter of fact, we’ve just come from—’
The doorbell rang and Diana leaped to answer it. In came a dapper little man whom Ellie recognized with dismay. Derek Jolley, her most unfavourite of all estate agents. At Diana’s instigation he’d once tried to cheat Ellie out of her house. He’d also acted for some years as managing agent for some – if not all – of Aunt Drusilla’s property. Diana and Derek, two people with but one thing in mind – which was doing other people down for a quick buck. This was an alliance made in hell.
‘Derek Jolley, you remember me?’ The dapper little man held out his hand to be shaken by Ellie. ‘From THE Estate Agents, in the Avenue. Har, har.’
‘And my very special friend,’ announced Diana, linking her arm with his. She was taller by three or four inches.
‘Ready for anything and anybody, that�
��s me,’ pronounced Mr Jolley. ‘Pity we had to meet again under such sad circumstances, but still, it’s an ill wind that blows no good, as they say.’
Diana simpered. ‘Derek and I just got together. Isn’t it exciting?’
Ellie gaped. Had the girl forgotten she already had a husband and had borne him a child?
‘Come along in, Derek,’ said Diana, ushering him into the sitting room. ‘I’m sure we can run to a glass of sherry to toast our happiness, though I don’t think we’ll find any champagne in my mother’s wine rack. Oh,’ she said, her face hardening.‘This is my sort-of-uncle, Roy Bartick. Illegitimate. You don’t need to worry about him.’
Diana always called Roy ‘Bartick’ instead of his real name, which was Bartrick. This amused Diana, but annoyed everyone who liked Roy – and that included Ellie.
Roy had taken too many blows that day. He wilted. Ellie recovered her voice and her wits. ‘Diana, how dare you! In the first place, Roy’s name is Bartrick, as you very well know. And in the second place, I don’t believe what you’ve just said! What about Stewart? Anyway, we’ve just discovered that …’
Diana put on her meanest face.‘I’ve left Stewart. Haven’t I, my dearest?’ She pressed herself even closer to Derek Jolley. Derek nodded, and patted her hand with his plump paw.
‘Does Stewart know that?’ asked Ellie.
Roy shook his head as if to clear his ears of something that he simply could not have heard. Ellie gave Roy a push towards the drinks tray, he poured himself a sherry and downed it in one gulp.
Diana preened herself. ‘He will by now. I left a note for him with the babysitter.’
Prompt on cue, the doorbell rang and Stewart used his key to enter, wheeling the pushchair containing little Frank before him. He looked harassed, honest and angry all at once.
‘Diana, I thought I’d find you here! What the devil do you think you’re doing?’
Little Frank started to wail, so Ellie scooped him up out of the pushchair and took him out into the conservatory. Roy followed with a glass of sherry for her, and another for him.
Murder By Accident Page 3
