Homicide in Herne Hill

by Alice Castle

  ‘Oh, but Herne Hill’s lovely,’ said Beth quickly. ‘I love the bookshop, Tales on Moon Lane.’

  ‘Yeah, well, we don’t actually live in the bookshop. More like the estates round the back of Sunray Gardens?’ Nina said with heavy irony.

  ‘I love Sunray Gardens,’ said Beth quickly. Nina gave her a look, and Beth remembered that there were some not terribly prepossessing flats looming round the pretty little playground, and this was where she probably lived. Time to stop gushing.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you’ve moved here, anyway,’ said Beth with a smile. ‘How’re you finding it?’

  ‘Yeah, not bad. Quite friendly. Some people friendlier than others, if you know what I mean. Good transport links and the school’s nice. Came here really to be nearer to work, and make sure Wilf got a good start, you know?’

  Beth did, indeed, know. The schools in Dulwich had been drawing people to the area since Sir Thomas Wyatt had finally hung up his swashbuckling seven league boots three hundred-odd years ago and strode into Dulwich. He’d had quite a change of tack, giving up his relentless exploitation of the unfortunate colonies and coming over all God-fearing, founding several churches as well as the first of the Endowment Schools, which now acted as such powerful magnets on those aspiring to secure a top-class education for their children. It was what had brought her own parents to Dulwich from Surrey half a century ago, and the same thought held her transfixed now, with Ben poised to sit the most important exams of his life in just a few short weeks’ time.

  Beth nodded, then added idly, ‘So, where are you working?’

  ‘Oh, at Potter’s, down near the station. You know, the solicitors? It’s Paul Potter’s place. His wife, Letty, is the stringy one over there, next to that MacKenzie bird,’ said Nina, nodding at a willowy, breakable-looking ash-blonde whom Beth’d always thought of as Belinda’s number two. But Beth had been past the shops in Herne Hill countless times and had never noticed a solicitor’s office. She said as much.

  ‘We’ve got frosted glass windows, quite a discreet sign. You might not have known what it was. Right next door to the off-licence, near that tapas bar that closed down.’

  ‘Oh… yes,’ said Beth, finally able to picture the plain office front, to which she’d never given a moment’s thought. She’d usually been much too busy pulling Ben bodily out of the toy shop and into the book shop over the road, where he was a much more reluctant purchaser. The toy shop had a knife-edge business plan, doing a roaring trade in pocket-money priced plastic tat, sold directly to children, which it tried to combine with beautiful, traditional wooden toys which grandparents loved to lavish a fortune on once a year, and children rarely touched. If Beth had been in charge, a middle ground of moderately-priced popular nonsense would have filled the shelves, with a large computer games section, while the building blocks of yesteryear would be confined to a high and dusty shelf. But as long as the shop managed to stay open as things were, it was all fine, she supposed.

  She looked at Nina a little quizzically. She didn’t look like a natural fit in a solicitor’s office.

  ‘You’re thinking, what’s this big-mouth doing handling people’s secrets?’ said Nina with pinpoint accuracy. ‘But actually, I can keep well schtum when I need to. Yeah, we deal with a lot of confidential stuff. Divorces, property, whatever. I’m just the office manager, keep everything on an even keel – I’m not the solicitor, in case you were wondering,’ she said, going off into peals of laughter.

  ‘I don’t see why that’s so funny. No reason in the world you couldn’t do something like that,’ said Beth staunchly.

  ‘No reason, except no education,’ said Nina succinctly. ‘That’s why it’s all going to be different for Wilf.’

  If Beth had had any lingering doubts about Nina, they were banished now. Any mother with ambitions for her child and a plan for her own life had Beth’s vote, no question. She only wished she could be more forthright herself, half the time. Was there anyone in the world as beset with doubts as she was? she wondered. But Nina was continuing.

  ‘You know what, it’s probably lucky we bumped into each other. I’ve been thinking, for a while now…’ Nina broke off, and stirred the dregs of her cappuccino energetically, her teaspoon clinking against the thick china.

  Either she was angling for a refill, or she genuinely had something big on her mind, and was weighing up whether or not to spill it. As usual, Beth rose to the bait. There was nothing she loved more than a secret. And, of course, a fresh coffee.

  ‘Something on your mind?’ she probed gently, trying to catch the attention of the waiter as he hovered near Belinda’s table. He was taking a lengthy coffee order which the Queen Bee kept amending.

  ‘I insist you try the oat milk with your latte, Becky. It’ll work wonders with your bloating,’ Belinda was saying loudly to one of her acolytes, who blushed furiously and pretended to be looking for her purse, so she could stick her scarlet face in her handbag. Letty looked on, chilly and impassive. The one who’d been sniffing earlier was still pink-eyed, Beth noted.

  Once again, Beth thanked her stars that she’d never been either boring enough, or exciting enough, for Belinda to bother with. She wanted yes-mummies who’d follow in her wake like ducklings, waiting for crumbs from her over-stocked table. Or scalps, who had interesting connections, high-flying jobs, or precociously bright children, so Belinda could lionize them at her endless dinner parties. There was a danger in both roles. The yes-mummies went quietly mad, as Belinda rode roughshod over their hopes and dreams; and the scalps inevitably became restless and tried to break away from her patronage, usually resulting in riveting arguments over the canapés, which Katie would tell Beth all about.

  Beth, so far, had been too poor, plain and obscure, and much too little, to excite Belinda’s interest, but the fact that Nina had known all about some of her adventures was a bit worrying. If she wasn’t careful, Belinda might well start finding her a bit less dull. It was a sobering thought. Judging from the way Beth was failing to attract the waiter’s attention, though, that time could still be a way off.

  ‘Here, mate, when you’ve got a sec,’ Nina said loudly to the waiter, who held up his fingers to say two minutes. He was frowning painfully with the effort of getting Belinda’s ever more baroque coffee order down.

  ‘So that’s an oat latte, a soya frappuccino, a skinny filter, an Americano with hot milk on the side, and an Earl Grey with milk and lemon?’ he said hopefully.

  ‘No. Honestly, how hard can it be? I said an oat cappuccino, a skinny soya decaf…’ Belinda droned.

  ‘God, we might as well go round to the kitchen and make our own,’ said Nina, not bothering to lower her voice.

  Beth ducked a glance at the other table, but Belinda was still fully occupied, rapping out their list in crosser and crosser tones. ‘It makes me want to order a simple mug of PG Tips and have done with it,’ Beth whispered. ‘Anyway, you were saying?’

  ‘Oh? Was I?’ Nina seemed confused, and Beth hoped the moment hadn’t passed. She could never resist a mystery, and there had been something in the other woman’s voice just now which seemed to suggest that something was up.

  Nina’s face cleared. ‘Yeah, you know, as you’re so great with the puzzles and all, I just wondered… thought I might run something past you. But maybe it’s not the right thing to do.’ Her brow furrowed, and she fiddled again with her spoon.

  If there was anything destined to get all Beth’s problem-solving instincts raring for the off, it was having an interesting conundrum dangled in front of her, then swiftly withdrawn. It was like teasing her imperious black and white moggie, Magpie, with her favourite catnip mouse. There was only so much playing you could do, before the cat would pounce and sink her claws into the little knitted creature – or your hand. She wasn’t fussy.

  Beth eyed Nina speculatively. She wasn’t planning to attack the woman, but she did suddenly feel like giving her a mild shake. ‘Oh, come on, you’ve said this much. What’s worry
ing you?’ she prompted.

  ‘It’s probably nothing,’ said Nina, looking round, possibly to see whether any of the other mums were close enough to hear their chat. Belinda’s table might be, but luckily they were all taken up now with chanting their endless coffee litany at the hapless waiter, who looked as though he was near to tears. If Puccini’s closed down before it had even got going, Beth knew who she was going to blame. ‘It’s just that… well,’ said Nina. ‘I don’t know if you know much about how a solicitor’s office works?’

  Beth shook her head. To be fair, it wasn’t just solicitors that Beth knew nothing about. She hadn’t a clue how most companies functioned. She’d been a freelance for years, and until she’d landed the Wyatt’s job, her own workspace had been the part of her sofa not covered with Ben’s Lego and Spiderman magazines. Journalism as a sector had been shrinking from the moment she’d entered it, in an Alice in Wonderland trick that never seemed to go into reverse.

  She’d had a staff job, for about ten minutes, for a paper in Docklands. On her first day, she’d had her own corner and a phone, but a few weeks later a hot desk policy had come in, then she was working from home a couple of days a week, and before she knew it she was turfed out on a contract instead, her paid holidays consigned to history. If she’d known how short her time as a commuter was going to be, she’d have moaned more about it while she could.

  ‘Ok, so I’m the office manager, basically,’ Nina was explaining, ‘so I get to sit in a smaller chair than the solicitor, but I do all the work to keep the office going.’ Beth nodded briskly, this sounded par for the course. ‘One of my jobs is to bung all the financial stuff in a folder. Potter pays extra for a book-keeper to come in and sort stuff out, for the year-end tax returns and so on, so I put that stuff on one side. Most of the time, it’s just me and a whole lot of reports.’ Beth nodded again. So far, so straightforward. ‘Potentially, there could be a lot of work going through our office, though we’re only small. We do the lot. Wills, conveyancing, family law, whatever. Well, they call it “family”, but it’s actually pulling them apart – divorce, in fact.’

  ‘Must be a bit grim,’ said Beth sympathetically.

  ‘Been through it myself, and all I can say, girl, is – just get separated. Don’t bother with an official bit of paper or you’ll be caught, thousands of pounds later, wondering why you ever got married in the first place.’

  ‘Is that how it was with you and your, um, ex?’ Beth couldn’t resist a little prod.

  ‘Yep. Oddly, that’s how I got into this line of work. Always loved legal dramas, been a secretary all my working life. Got divorced, ended up shagging the lawyer, you know how it is. Then got the job. Not the same firm, of course. Lawyer went back to his wife, bastard, but I’ve left all that behind. Very happy with the work, though,’ Nina added insouciantly.

  Beth, a little taken aback at the neatness of Nina’s précis, smiled uncertainly. ‘Sounds like it’s going well. So, what’s the problem?’

  ‘That’s just exactly it. I’m not quite sure. All I know is, there isn’t really enough work on to keep it all going,’ said Nina, her round face clouded for a moment. It was clearly an uncomfortable and unusual sensation for her. Nina’s world seemed pretty plain sailing and, like Beth, she seemed not to be an ambiguity fan.

  Beth, however, had lived in Dulwich long enough to know that it wasn’t always possible to go straight down the line, however much it might appeal to you. ‘Do you think there’s something dishonest going on? Or… illegal?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, I think that’s what I’d like to find out,’ said Nina, falling silent as the exhausted waiter finally appeared at their table.

  ‘Ladies, what can I get you?’ he said faintly, turning over page after page of Belinda’s detailed instructions in his little order book, before he finally found a clean sheet to write on.

  ‘I’d just like a simple builder’s tea, milk no sugar,’ said Beth with an encouraging smile.

  ‘Same here,’ said Nina.

  The waiter’s tremulous gratitude was almost painful to behold. He dived back round to the kitchen, and returned a couple of minutes later, with a tray bearing a massive, steaming teapot, two mugs and a dinky milk jug, all in the same heavy, brightly-coloured earthenware as their coffee mugs. Belinda MacKenzie, whose order was still nowhere to be seen, attempted to waylay him as he passed, but the boy swerved gracefully and kept his eyes averted from her table. He was learning fast, Beth thought with approval. This place could well be here to stay.

  By the time Beth and Nina had drained their surprisingly capacious teapot, they had agreed a plan. Nina would keep a watchful eye on things and try and narrow down exactly what was making her feel uneasy. This was no simple matter. She’d been feeling things were ‘a bit weird’ for a few weeks now, without being able to put her finger on anything in particular.

  ‘But now that we’ve spoken about it, things will be different. You’ll see things more clearly,’ said Beth, with a lot more confidence than she inwardly felt. ‘Just imagine that you’re explaining everything you see to me. Then, if anything really is odd, it will really stand out.’

  Nina had looked a little sceptical, but as Beth, with the best will in the world, couldn’t really barge into the office on the basis of a weird feeling, it was all they could do for the moment. As soon as something leapt out at Nina, though, Beth would beetle on over and visit her in situ, making some excuse for dropping into the office. This bit of the plan was even vaguer than all the others, which was saying something. To the uninformed eye, it might all look a little like a portrait of a polar bear in a blizzard, but Beth knew she’d had real breakthroughs in the past on the back of even sketchier ideas.

  In the meantime, she had to admit she was intrigued by the goings-on at Belinda’s table, where the mummy who’d been sniffling earlier was now openly weeping, and being comforted by everyone, including Belinda, who was looking unusually sympathetic.

  ‘Do you have any idea what all that’s about?’ Beth asked Nina, careful not to give herself away, simply sliding her glance towards the central table and raising her eyebrows. Nina turned her entire body and swivelled her head immediately, and Beth ducked down behind the teapot, hoping they wouldn’t attract Belinda’s basilisk gaze.

  Nina turned back. ‘Yeah, heard about that yesterday afternoon from Wilfy. Daphne, that’s the daughter of that Beatrice over there, she was well upset. Their dog’s been poisoned.’

  Beth, who’d been idly musing on who’d call a five-year-old Daphne – a name she’d only ever come across before attached to one of her mother’s oldest and frostiest friends – sat up in shock. ‘Poisoned? I thought it had dropped dead in the kitchen overnight or something.’

  ‘Nah, not this one. This was a King Charles spaniel called Lola. Right as rain in the morning, dead as mutton last night. And been sick all over everything, that’s why they think it had been given something.’

  ‘Lola? Oh, of course, I knew Lola. She was so cute,’ said Beth, for once not questioning a world where you could like a dog much better than its owner. ‘Who would want to poison Lola?’ Beth wondered incredulously, then thought about the other sad tale she’d heard in the playground this morning. She remembered now, it had been Roxie the insomniac dachshund puppy who’d died. Two different dogs dead? And in the same twenty-four hour period? Immediately, she couldn’t help wondering if the dachshund had been poisoned, too.

  She’d never had much time for Lola’s owner, one of Belinda’s more slavish devotees, but the dog, resplendent in a jaunty Schiaparelli pink jacket at the school gates most mornings, had been irresistible. She’d had one of those wise, sad, spaniel faces, and bottomless eyes the colour of treacle, which seemed to have seen and pardoned all that passed in this vale of tears, including someone naming her Lola.

  Beth, not really a dog person – she found even the small ones unnecessarily large – had stroked her once or twice when she’d been a wriggling little pup. She couldn’t help
having a sneaking fondness for any creature that had legs stumpier than her own.

  She shook her head. ‘God, that is evil,’ she marvelled. She’d seen a lot in recent months, but cruelty towards animals? If she’d been pressed, first thing this morning, she would have said, yes, people might stab each other occasionally in Dulwich, but hurt a pet? Never.

  But it seemed she’d been wrong.

  ‘Any idea who did it?’

  Nina shrugged. ‘Not as far as I know. I feel sorry for the kid. Wilf said Daphne’s got her Grade 3 clarinet this afternoon – and I bet the mum will go ahead, even if the poor girl’s in bits.’

  Beth nodded. It was not only possible but probable. The mother was very upset herself – that much was clear, as Beth spotted Belinda handing her another tissue – but that didn’t mean she’d contemplate bailing on the investment of time, energy and, frankly, money involved in dragging a child towards a music exam.

  ‘Let’s hope she doesn’t have to play, How Much is that Doggy in the Window?’ Nina added, then both women looked at each other, horrified, and burst out laughing. Sometimes something had to give.

  Pouring out the dregs of the tea a minute later, when they’d collected themselves and ignored some sharp glances from the other table, Beth caught sight of Nina’s watch and nearly had a heart attack. ‘Oh my God, the time! I had no idea it had got so late. I’ve got to dash. There’s so much to do at work. Sorry, Nina, look, this is for my half of the bill.’

  With that, Beth threw down a crumpled note and dodged past Belinda’s chair, thrust even further back now than ever as she really expanded into her morning’s work, putting Dulwich to rights, with particular reference to what poor Beatrice, Lola’s owner, should have done differently. If Beth knew Belinda, there would be a strong suggestion that Beatrice had somehow failed her dog and family, and that if she’d only done everything Belinda’s way, Lola would still be wagging her little tail right now.