Murder By Committee

by Veronica Heley

  Veronica Heley is married to a retired probation officer and they have one musician daughter. She is actively involved in her church in Ealing, West London - the London suburb in which the Ellie Quicke mysteries are set. She has had over 60 books published.

  The Ellie Quicke Mysteries

  MURDER BY SUICIDE

  MURDER OF INNOCENCE

  MURDER BY ACCIDENT

  MURDER IN THE GARDEN

  MURDER BY COMMITTEE

  MURDER BY BICYCLE

  MURDER OF IDENTITY

  MURDER IN THE PARK

  MURDER IN HOUSE

  MURDER BY MISTAKE

  MURDER MY NEIGHBOUR

  MURDER IN MIND

  MURDER BY

  COMMITTEE

  Veronica Heley

  Ostara Publishing

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  First published 2005

  Copyright © 2005 Veronica Heley

  Veronica Heley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A CIP reference is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9781906288 68 6

  Ostara Publishing

  13 King Coel Road

  Lexden

  Colchester

  CO3 9AG

  www.ostarapublishing.co.uk

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  One

  What woke her?

  Was it the crash of glass being broken in the conservatory? No, that wasn't it. The digital clock on her bedside table said half past twelve. She listened. It appeared to be a quiet night. No cars in the street; not that there were usually many on this quiet side road. An owl hooting?

  No, a man shouting in the distance.

  Midge wasn't where he'd started the night, tucked up at her back. She turned on the bedside light. The cat was standing at the foot of the bed, ears pricked, looking at the door.

  Ellie's mind went into overdrive, for she had good reason to be frightened.

  The shouting was … where? Not at the front of the house, which was where she slept. Had he got into the garden? Perhaps he thought that Ellie slept in the back bedroom … now occupied by someone else?

  Ellie groped for her mobile phone. Where had she left it? She searched through the clothes she'd taken off and then the pockets of the dressing gown hanging on the back of the door. Yes! The mobile was there. She hesitated. She didn't want to ring the police if it were just some stupid drunk yelling at the moon.

  She opened her bedroom door. Midge poked his head out, and shot through the gap. She whispered, ‘Come back, Midge!’ He took no notice.

  Well, the shouting had stopped. She'd over-reacted. There was no danger. She'd be jumping at shadows next.

  Except she'd turned off all the lights before she came up to bed, and now there was a light on downstairs.

  She could persuade herself that she'd forgotten to turn it off, and go back to bed. Or … she could go downstairs in the dark and see who had turned on the light in the kitchen.

  Crack!

  It sounded like a gunshot! Followed by the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. And then someone swearing …

  Ellie Quicke, widow, retrieved a plastic spaceman from under her dining table and sat back on her heels to scan her pretty green sitting room. Clearing up after her grandson's visit - much as she loved him - involved gymnastics and the occasional bout of furniture moving. She would be extremely glad when he outgrew his present habit of shredding paper and smashing plastic toys.

  Ellie ran her fingers through her mop of short, silvery hair and pulled down her blue jumper, which had ridden up. She did not consider herself of an age when she could expose her midriff to view without embarrassment.

  Her visitor was on the phone still, so Ellie lifted an empty coffee mug and mimed, ‘Another?’

  Kate was tall, dark and handsome; she was also a good friend and next-door neighbour. She was jiggling her delightful moppet of a baby against her shoulder, while holding her mobile phone to her ear with her free hand. Judging by her frown, Kate wasn't hearing good news.

  Kate shook her head at Ellie's offer of another coffee and said into the phone, ‘But … that's ridiculous! And very short-sighted of him.’

  The phone quacked, and Ellie dived under the settee for a torn sheet of paper. This one was buff-coloured, and looked official. Oh dear! How on earth had little Frank got hold of that? She scrambled to her feet, still holding the scrap of paper. Where was the rest of it?

  Kate said, ‘Yes, of course I realize that there's a lot at stake, but you want me to do … what? Yes, of course, I see that discovering who had really done it might help, but it's not my field … Yes, yes. I have mentioned her in the past, but …’

  She looked directly at Ellie, who mimed, ‘Me?’ and pointed at herself. How could she possibly be the subject of a conversation Kate was having with her boss? At least, Ellie assumed it was her boss.

  Until the birth of little Catriona, Kate had held down an important job in the City, which had brought in far more money than her foxy-faced teacher husband would ever make. Before Catriona had been born, Kate had planned to put her into a crèche when she was six months old, and go back to work, but now the six months was up, Kate couldn't bear the thought of leaving her baby.

  As she'd just been telling Ellie, Kate wanted to stop work altogether for a couple of years, because they could manage on Armand's salary for a while if they were careful. He was as besotted with Catriona as Kate, but it took him differently. He wanted her to have a private education - which neither of them had ever had - and he wanted to do a loft conversion, so that she might have her own big room for all the toys he wanted to give her. They'd need Kate's salary to pay for that.

  They'd also discussed downsizing, selling their house and moving out of London, but it would have meant a long commute for him, and Kate didn't really want to do that because she loved her little house and garden and living next door to Ellie. They'd even wondered if they could employ an au pair or even a live-in nanny for a while, but it would have stretched their finances and not been a permanent solution.

  Ellie sympathized, remembering how difficult it had been for her to leave her daughter after she was born. She'd been lucky enough to get some secretarial work to do at home, which had helped make ends meet, but then she'd never had Kate's sort of job.

  At that point, Kate's mobile had rung, and it sounded as if she were being dragged back to work willy-nilly.

  Kate said, ‘All right, I'll ask her, and ring you back.’ She switched off her phone, and stood up, with the baby still on her shoulder. She walked over to the back window with gliding steps. Catriona was almost asleep. Kate swung her hips, rocking the baby, patting her back.

  Ellie waited while Kate organized her thoughts.

  At last Kate was ready to speak. ‘That was my boss, as you've probably gathered. I went up to see him on Monday because Armand's on half term, so he could look after Catriona. I rang Armand twice on the way up to the city, just to make sure she was all right. And once on the way back. As for concentrating on what Gwyn wanted …’ She shrugged.
‘What he was telling me was important, but it didn't seem real. I realize that in time, if I keep trying, I'll be able to leave Catriona in someone else's hands long enough to get back to a normal working day.’

  Ellie jumped to the wrong conclusion. ‘You want me to look after her in the daytime, so you could get back to work? I suppose I could now and then, but-’

  ‘It's not that. He doesn't want a part-timer who clock-watches, and anyway you've got more than enough on your plate already.’ &lsquo

  By law,’ said Ellie, ‘doesn't he have to take you back?’

  ‘Yes, but he can shift me sideways into a boring job no one else wants, or … ask me to use my friendship with you to solve a mystery for him.’ She laid her sleeping baby in her expensive buggy and resumed her seat.

  Ellie sank back into a chair, only to find herself sitting on yet another plastic toy - broken. She aimed it at the waste-paper basket, missed, and tried not to mutter a bad word under her breath.

  Kate hadn't noticed. ‘There's absolutely no reason why you should help me out. Your husband's left you very comfortably off, you've a nice little house in a good district near a parade of shops, you own another which you could sell for a large sum if your aunt didn't live in it, you've money in a trust fund, masses of friends and a lively grandson to remind you what it's like to play bears under the rug. Admittedly your daughter is …’ Kate was a kindly girl, and she hesitated to describe Diana in acceptable language.

  ‘Difficult? Impossible? A daughter from hell?’ Ellie grinned. ‘Go on. Say it!’

  Kate grinned, banishing a frown. ‘You may call her what you wish, but …’

  Ellie's smiled faded. ‘Diana has her good points, but if I've gone prematurely grey, I suppose I can blame it on her.’

  She glanced at the telephone. When Diana wanted her mother to do something, she didn't ask; she demanded. At the moment, Ellie was unpopular with her daughter because she was refusing to answer the telephone. Diana could rant and rave at the answerphone instead.

  ‘You look lovely,’ said loyal Kate. ‘If I look half as good as you when I reach fifty-something, and have half as many men hanging around me … not that I want any other man but Armand hanging around me, but … now you've made me lose the thread of what I was saying.’

  ‘That's a very impressive build-up. Now, spit it out!’

  Kate seated herself where she could keep one hand on the buggy and rock it gently to and fro. ‘I want you to come with me to see a man about a dog.’

  Ellie couldn't help laughing. ‘You're not serious?’

  Kate nodded, without a flicker of a smile. ‘Apparently the dog had a pedigree going back to the original spaniels which frolicked round the heels of the Merry Monarch. I exaggerate, of course, but not much. Apparently his master was even going to have an oil painting done of the dog.’

  ‘What, no cats?’ Ellie had been adopted as provider-in-chief of food and bedding by a marauding ginger tom. She held Midge in the highest esteem, but would never have thought of having him painted.

  ‘He probably thinks cats are inferior animals, lacking any intelligence. I hope Midge didn't hear me, or he might decide to stop chasing pigeons from my garden and then we'd get no more raspberries.’

  ‘Get a fruit cage,’ said Ellie, absently. ‘So why do you want me to visit a man who doesn't like cats?’

  ‘That's just it,’ said Kate. ‘I can't think of a single reason why you should.’

  Ellie leaned back in her chair to consider what Kate had told her, which wasn't much, when she came to think about it. Kate was trying to look demure, which didn't suit her.

  Ellie could think of several reasons why she should do what Kate wanted, chief of which was that Kate was a good neighbour, a good friend, and Ellie was very fond of her. There was also the small matter of the buff form which Frank had torn up that morning.

  Ellie smoothed it out. In one corner it said ‘page ten'. Where were the other pages, she wondered. Her eye went round the room. Ah, something beige had been stuffed into the DVD under the television.

  ‘Looking for these?’ Kate wrestled some more buff-coloured pieces of paper from down the side of her chair.

  Ellie pulled a face. ‘My tax return for last year. I daren't tell my accountant. That's the second form ruined. The first one I left on top of the day's newspaper and it got thrown out in the recycling box. I thought I'd put this one in my handbag out of Frank's way this morning, but …’ Where was her handbag?

  Under Kate's chair. Kate fished it out. It was open, and inside was Frank's cup, empty, a half-eaten biscuit and some more of his plastic spacemen. Ellie groaned. ‘He must have stood on something to get it off the shelf when my back was turned. I did leave the room for a few minutes when the window cleaner came. Oh dear. What am I going to say to my accountant now? I feel such a fool!’

  Kate dimpled. ‘You give me an hour of your time this evening to talk to the man about his dog, and I'll deal with your tax return for you.’

  ‘I am perfectly aware,’ said Ellie, with dignity, ‘that you are leading me up the garden path and there's something extremely nasty in the woodshed at the end of it, but what can I do? There's a meeting this evening that I ought to go to at church, but it would probably bore me rigid, so I accept.’

  Kate stood up. ‘Remind me to find little Frank something unimportant to tear up. Now Armand's at home all this week, so he can look after Catriona while we visit this man. Can you be ready at five? It's not far.’

  ‘It's that urgent?’

  Kate nodded. ‘I'll get a meeting set up and ring Gwyn to say you've agreed to look at the problem.’

  Ellie's misgivings were growing. ‘Kate, it isn't something to do with high finance, is it? You know I'm hopeless at figures.’

  ‘It's to do with people, which is what you're good at. And attempted murder.’

  ‘What? Kate! I'm not tangling with-’

  ‘It was the dog that got murdered. We need to find out who might have done it, and we start with the household. Right?’

  ‘Start with …? Kate, what are you dragging me into?’

  Kate refused to say any more, but took Catriona away, leaving Ellie to wonder what she should wear to visit a man who despised cats. Something with a cat logo on it? Or should she go for something with a dog's head on it? She shook her head. Her wardrobe was sadly limited in that direction.

  Her old pearl-grey dress with the cornflower-blue flowers on it would be best, possibly with a woollen jacket on top. October evenings could be chilly, and the weather forecast was not brilliant.

  At a quarter past five Kate turned her car into the gravelled semicircular drive of an imposing piece of Gothic grandeur, and said, ‘Welcome to Dracula's castle.’

  Ellie surveyed the pepperpot turrets, the stained-glass windows, and the broad steps leading up to the imposing portico. ‘I'd forgotten we still had a Millionaire's Row in Ealing. Most of these big old houses have been torn down to make way for blocks of flats. Rather splendid, isn't it? This one must be twice as large as my dear Aunt Drusilla's, and I thought that was pretty big. Is it a listed building?’

  ‘You can't do as you like with listed buildings. The man we've come to see would pay good money to stop this place being listed.’

  Was their appointment with a client of Kate's? Ellie was intrigued. Of course, she realized she was being manipulated, but so far she was amused rather than annoyed.

  Kate spoke into an entryphone, and while waiting for someone to answer, Ellie noticed that she was currently being observed by a CCTV camera. There was also a camera focused on the huge double doors that must lead to garages and side buildings. The place reeked of money. Paintwork gleamed, windows sparkled. The only dissident note was a figure in threadbare T-shirt and jeans, who was trying to remove some graffiti from the garage doors.

  Graffiti did appear on shops and garage doors now and again. It was usually a crime committed by loners who wanted to show off their ‘tag'. It was nearly always done
at night and at street level. This particular graffiti artist had taken a risk, coming right off the road and round the driveway to get to the garage doors. It argued a certain amount of planning - or hate. Or both. Ellie felt it was a pity she couldn't make out what he'd spray-painted on the garage doors. Had the security camera caught him?

  Kate caught Ellie looking up at the camera again. ‘Mm, he's worth burgling.’

  ‘Yes? Who is it?’ The threadbare figure had come round from the garage, cleaning rag in hand. It wasn't a ‘he', but a ‘she'. A droopy sort of female; possibly a cleaner? There were keys in her hand, with which she opened the front door.

  Kate handed over her business card. ‘We have an appointment.’

  The girl nodded, and let them into the hall. She was possibly a genuine blonde but had taken so little care of her appearance that it was hard to tell. She treated them to a nervous smile. ‘I'll take you through to the den.’

  A well-educated voice. The girl was probably only in her early thirties, though she looked older. Was she a cleaner? Possibly not. Then who?

  As she led them across the hall, Ellie reflected that the girl's clothes had been badly chosen; a T-shirt and jeans that were too baggy, no bra, aged flip-flops. It looked as though she bought her clothes in charity shops.

  Ellie held back a sigh. She'd only learned how to dress recently, thanks mainly to the interest Kate had taken in her. Ellie knew what a difference it made to your outlook on life when you were dressed appropriately for the occasion.

  There was a dog lead on the mahogany table in the middle of the tiled floor, but no dog in evidence. The place didn't smell of dog either. There were sporting prints of dogs on the walls, grouped around a huge Victorian still life in an ornate gilt frame.

  A solid-looking staircase rose up through the first floor to the second, and thence to a cupola in the roof. This place must be difficult to heat in the winter, although - Ellie checked - there was a good modern central-heating system, tucked away behind ornamental grilles. Everything looked well cared for.