Murder by Suicide

by Veronica Heley

  One moment Ellie felt she ought to move north for the sake of peace and quiet, and also for baby Frank’s sake. On the other hand, Ellie’s baby-sitting sessions were never a success, since Diana forbade Ellie to pick the little boy up when he cried. And he did seem to cry a lot.

  Ellie loved her daughter; of course she did. But there was no doubt about it: Diana wanted her own way in everything. She was perhaps a bit of a bully, Ellie reflected – like Aunt Drusilla.

  Now that she was back home, Ellie realized that she really did not want to move. She loved her own little house and garden, she had many friends in the parish, and she was still toying with the idea of building on a conservatory. If only she didn’t miss Frank so much! Three months was nothing. The house had felt so cold and empty last night when she returned. She had hardly known how to keep from weeping her eyes out.

  And now this trouble with Nora.

  It sank the heart, rather.

  ‘St Thomas’s Rectory.’

  ‘Gilbert? It’s Ellie.’

  ‘Thank the Lord you’re back! Ellie, we can’t do this over the phone.

  Can you come over straightaway? Stay the night. Come by tube, and I’ll pick you up at the station, any time after seven. I’ve got Evensong at six.’ ‘You want me to come over tonight? But Gilbert, it’s raining and –’ ‘I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important, Ellie.’

  Ellie held back a sigh, thinking of the nastiness of travelling across London by public transport on a chilly January Sunday. Then she remembered that she had money in the bank now, thanks to Frank’s foresight in leaving her comfortably off.

  ‘I’ll take a minicab. Be with you by seven.’ Fat, capable hands poured wax granules into a double boiler, and inserted a thermometer. The wax must melt, but not boil. Meanwhile, the hands prepared a very special candle-making mould, a mould for a cat.

  There was an unusual feature about these preparations: this candle would have no wick in it.

  At the right moment, when the wax was liquid but not too hot, the molten wax was poured into the mould and set aside to cool. Soon the mould could be removed. Then the competent hands would tie a wire tightly round the neck of the wax cat and leave a long loop.

  Ellie put up her umbrella as the minicab drove away. A fine drizzle was falling over the leafless trees in the deserted park nearby. A stand of laburnum trees in a raised bed divided the brightly lit, modern church from its attendant hall and parish office. In either direction stretched rows of sixties’ housing, backed by high-rise flats, while a flickering neon light down the road advertised a large shopping centre.

  Even as she looked around, the double doors of the church were thrust open and the organist within pulled out all the stops on the final chorus. Unlike poor dear Nora, this organist liked a lot of noise. Evensong was over. People began to leave the church, putting up their umbrellas. Ellie could see Gilbert shaking hands with his new parishioners, smiling, bending his spider-thin body over to listen to a woman, or help an elderly man put up his umbrella.

  It was a fair-sized congregation.

  Good for Gilbert.

  Ellie picked up her overnight bag and turned left into the driveway of

  the two-storey vicarage – modern, like the church. Security lights flicked on, and she was able to see neat beds of wallflowers on either side of the glassed-in porch.

  Liz Adams opened the door and gave Ellie a bear hug. ‘Thank God you’ve been able to make it. We were at our wits’ end!’

  Horse-faced, carefully blonded, Liz was a highly respected counsellor who seemed to be suffering badly from anxiety. Recalling her role of hostess, however, she took Ellie’s bag and drew her into the centrallyheated warmth of the hall.

  ‘Dear Ellie, I didn’t mean to pounce on you like that. It’s lovely to see you. Come in and get warm. We’ll talk later. Supper’s in half an hour and the spare bed’s made up for you. And look! Central heating that works!’

  Slipping off her coat, Ellie congratulated Liz most sincerely on the improvement in her living conditions. What a contrast to the inconvenient, cold and draughty Victorian monstrosity of a vicarage which Gilbert and Liz had left! Here a wall-to-wall speckled brown and cream carpet in the hall led through open doors into a spacious sitting room with lined gold brocade curtains shutting out the night. A spitting noise off to the left indicated that there was a roast cooking in the bright, modern kitchen.

  Stairs climbed to a first-floor landing from which white-painted doors led off to bedrooms and bathrooms. From a den to the rear came the noise of a computer game; pop music seeped from above, but, muted by good carpets and curtains, the sounds were not as intrusive as they had been in the old vicarage.

  ‘We have so much to be grateful for,’ said Liz, ushering Ellie into the sitting room. At one end a coal-effect gas fire made a focus for the old vicarage furniture, while the dining table was laid ready for supper at the other. Liz’s pleasure in showing off her new home was clearly real, but surely the lines on her forehead were deeper than they had been the last time Ellie saw her?

  The vicar’s wife put on an over-bright smile. ‘No draughts, no smells, the plumbing all works, there’s an efficient secretary in the parish office, I have a new job with better pay so we can afford to replace some of the old furniture, the kids love their new schools, and Gilbert is as happy as the day is long.’

  ‘If everything in the garden is so lovely,’ said Ellie, ‘why did you have to drag me over here tonight, chop chop, no delay? Not that I’m not delighted to see you both again.’

  Liz’s smile disappeared. ‘Gilbert will explain after supper. You will stay the night, won’t you?’

  Gilbert sipped his coffee, poured in another two spoonfuls of sugar, stirred again, drank deep and stretched out his long legs. ‘Well, Ellie, as you’ve probably guessed, it’s about Nora. The bishop gave me the benefit of the doubt before Christmas, but if anything else happens and the whole thing goes public …’ he shrugged, ‘well, you know the way some of the tabloids would seize on a scandal in the Church. I would probably have to resign.’

  ‘But surely, now you’ve moved away …’

  ‘That doesn’t stop her. We think she’s gone round the twist. Do you think you can do something about it?’

  2

  Ellie took a deep breath. ‘Look, I didn’t get back till late last night. Mrs Dawes told me about the letters this morning after church, but she didn’t say anything about Nora going round the bend. Surely you exaggerate.’

  ‘I don’t think so. You saw for yourself before Christmas that she had become dependent on me. I blame myself. I ought to have been more careful, involved Liz more, perhaps. I thought I was helping Nora, but as it turned out … well, anyway, I don’t think her feelings for me in the beginning were anything more than sisterly, or daughterly, if you prefer. Understandable if you remember how much she was under her father’s thumb.’

  Liz broke in. ‘After the letters started, Nora began to act as if she and Gilbert were secret lovers. She seems to think that he’s as much in love with her as she is with him. She claims that he moved away from the parish to this place, so that the two of them could be together.’

  ‘As if I would!’ In his indignation Gilbert shot out both arms, dislodging his spectacles. Liz put out her hand to touch her husband’s shoulder. He retrieved his glasses, returned her smile and put his own hand on top of hers.

  Ellie felt a twinge of jealousy. As old married couples went, Gilbert and Liz were quite something, while now that Frank had gone …

  Where had she put her handkerchief?

  Liz said, ‘Gilbert, dear, I know you wouldn’t! But you really must learn to keep your hands to yourself in future.’

  She was turning it into a joke, but undoubtedly she meant what she said. She turned to Ellie. ‘Luckily the bishop had been talking to Gilbert about moving over here for, oh, a couple of months. We felt bad about not being able to tell our friends, but we had to keep it quiet till it was all settled. The
previous incumbent died suddenly and the curate and two readers were making do. It’s a thriving parish with lots going on – outreach, Alpha courses, disciple courses, seminars. It’s a great opportunity for Gilbert and he’s just the man for the job. Oh, and by the way, Ellie, do congratulate him. He’s got his book on modern saints accepted by a publisher!’

  ‘Oh, how wonderful! Congratulations!’

  ‘Yes, we’re thrilled about everything, even though we miss some of our old friends. You in particular, of course.’

  ‘Flatterer.’

  ‘Truth,’ said Gilbert, winking at her. ‘We tried to ring you as soon as we knew we were moving. Then we heard on the grapevine that you were tied up nursing the sick. The original plan was for us to move after Easter, but when the letters started coming, the bishop said we’d better get our skates on because that sort of thing escalates …’

  ‘… and now,’ said Liz, ‘it’s getting worse, which is why we need your help, Ellie. Last week Nora turned up here with a suitcase, hair all over the place, coat buttoned up wrong. I invited her in to wait for Gilbert. He was taking a confirmation class at the time. Nora got more and more agitated. Finally she dashed down to the church hall and broke in on the class, which luckily was just about to leave.’

  Gilbert threw out both his arms again, reddening with embarrassment but trying to pass it off with a laugh. ‘Consternation! She tried to kiss me …’

  Liz said, ‘I had followed, of course. Only to see her leaping at him, trying to get her arms round his neck.’

  ‘Don’t laugh,’ said Gilbert. ‘It really wasn’t funny!’

  Liz met Ellie’s eyes. Both women spurted into laughter, quickly smothered. Gilbert was not a handsome man, though some considered his profile aristocratic. He was also very tall and thin, while Nora was under average height.

  Liz shook her head. ‘It’s tragic, really. There’s nothing new about maiden ladies of an uncertain age falling for the vicar. Very Victorian melodrama. We were sorry for her at first. But now …’

  Gilbert put his hand on his wife’s knee. ‘Let’s keep the record straight. Ages ago you said the way she was acting wasn’t healthy, but I thought I knew the difference between her being somewhat dependent on me and paranoia.’

  Ellie jerked upright. ‘You think she’s paranoid?’

  Liz pulled a face. ‘She was furious when I tried to pull her off Gilbert. She was not reasonable.’

  ‘And you want me to deal with her in case she causes another scandal,’ said Ellie. ‘How?’

  ‘You’ll think of something,’ said Gilbert.

  A nasty, cold, wet Monday morning. The white van drew up in a side street while the driver consulted his A-to-Z map. He was in his midtwenties, with a close thatch of dark hair, wearing paint-stained overalls.

  Satisfied that he wasn’t far off his destination, he opened the back of the van and scrabbled around for one particular half-empty tin of paint. He levered off the lid to double-check the colour. No good wasting paint he could use again.

  He hoped there wouldn’t be much security at the entrance to the flats, but if there was, he would ring the bells until he found someone who would let him in. He’d say he was delivering a package.

  Which he was, in a way. Ellie decided that this was the sort of morning when it would be easy to fall into a depression if you didn’t turn on all the lights and bump up the central heating. Or perhaps go out for coffee with a friend.

  Instead, she stood outside the front door of the flats in which Nora lived and rang the bell on the intercom beside the organist’s name. The front door remained firmly shut, and no one answered her ring. She waited. Then she rang again.

  Perhaps Nora was out. Ellie wished herself elsewhere, preferably a long way away. How much longer should she give it?

  She thought of all the pleasant things she could be doing, such as shopping for some new clothes. Roy Bartrick was taking her out to dinner that evening. What a nice man he was. She wouldn’t normally have accepted a dinner invitation from a stranger so early in their acquaintance, but he had said he needed to tap her knowledge of the area for his work, so she had agreed.

  Alternatively, she could be looking at catalogues for a conservatory, or eating chocolates and wallowing in a cosy crime novel from the library.

  She wished she had put on a thicker woolly under her coat. It was cold and draughty out here. She found the exterior of the flats repellent, resembling as it did a land-locked ocean-going liner with its rounded corners and cavernous balconies. No doubt the block looked charming on a sunny day, but today it looked as if it were glowering down at passersby. Ellie thought it typical of Frank’s Aunt Drusilla to own property in a building which glowered at you.

  She wondered if a block of flats could really take on the personality of its owner, as some houses did. If so, Ellie thought she rather fancied a country cottage with roses round the door and a decent patch of good earth for growing vegetables. With all mod cons inside, of course – including central heating, and perhaps a garage for the car which she was one day going to learn how to drive.

  She really must get on with her driving lessons. The first one before Christmas had been a bit of a nightmare. The instructor was rather too obviously of the opinion that a woman of her age would never pass the test. Daunting, that.

  On second thoughts, scrub the cottage. What would she do living in the country miles from the nearest shop, without being able to drive? Or even when she did learn to drive, come to think of it?

  She rang the bell again. She had enjoyed her evening with Gilbert and Liz. She had been amused but a little saddened that Gilbert was already beginning to look back on the years at his old church without regret.

  Early that Monday morning Ellie had taken herself back to her own house by minicab, noting as she walked down the drive to her front door that her garden could do with a bit of a tidy up. She had looked to see if her young neighbours Kate and Armand were at home. No, no car outside. No lights inside. She hoped everything was all right there. It was not an easy-going marriage.

  Ellie felt rebellious. Why should she sort out Gilbert’s problems for him? Or Nora’s, for that matter. The only interesting thing in the post was a note from Roy asking her out to dinner that evening at the hotel where he was staying temporarily. She had phoned a message through to the hotel, accepting.

  She had put a load of washing in the machine, checked what food she had in, made a shopping list, paid some bills, done a little dusting, rubbed up the silver. She decided she was not going to visit Nora. No. But she would ring her solicitor, Bill Weatherspoon, and check how far he’d got with the renewal of Nora’s lease on the flat.

  When first consulted, Bill had not held out much hope of Aunt Drusilla performing such an uncharacteristic act of charity as renewing Nora’s lease on favourable terms. Yet he had promised that, if the deal fell through, he would help the organist find somewhere else to live.

  So Ellie had rung Bill’s office to find out what the state of play was. Unfortunately, it appeared that Bill was away at some conference or other and his secretary had been unhelpful, disclaiming any knowledge of the case.

  Bother. It meant that Ellie couldn’t put off action herself.

  Well, she could, of course. It wasn’t her fault that Nora was in such a state. But Ellie couldn’t quite still a pang of guilt. She had known that Nora was in trouble before Christmas. She had asked Bill to do something about it, but she hadn’t made sure that anything had been done. Truth to tell, she had forgotten all about Nora while she was up north with Diana. Also, Gilbert’s description of Nora as ‘gone round the twist’ kept bobbing up in her mind.

  Ellie rang the bell again. She’d give it just five minutes more. A middle-aged woman bounced up the steps to the front door of the flats, taking out her key. A resident, obviously. Her hair, clothes, fingernails and make-up were all rather too bright for Ellie’s taste, but she looked good-natured.

  Ellie gestured towards Nora’s name o
n the intercom. ‘Do you happen to know if your neighbour is in?’

  ‘I expect so. She lives on the same landing as me. Doesn’t go out much nowadays. Come on up and see if you can get through to her upstairs.’

  On the third floor she tried again. Still no reply. The helpful neighbour pounded on Nora’s door, shouting, ‘Open up, Nora! It’s me! You’ve got a visitor!’

  Nora’s door opened on the chain just as a telephone rang in the flat opposite. With a muttered excuse, the neighbour left Ellie to it.

  ‘Nora?’ said Ellie. ‘It’s only me, Ellie Quicke. May I come in for a moment?’ The door began to close again. ‘I’ve a message for you from Gilbert.’

  Nora took the chain off and opened the door wide enough to let Ellie slide in. Then she put the chain on again. More than a little paranoid, perhaps?

  Nora led the way into a large sitting room which should – if Ellie’s calculations were correct – overlook the river. Yet the curtains were still drawn and the only light came from a dim table lamp.

  The room smelt of old man. How long was it since Nora’s father had died? Surely the smell should have abated by now? It was better further into the room. A window was open somewhere, blowing in cold air off the river.

  Ellie said brightly, ‘It’s awfully dark in here, isn’t it! Shall I open the curtains?’

  Without waiting for a reply, she drew back the curtains to let in the grey morning light. Nora put up her hands to shield her eyes. She was wearing a man’s shabby grey dressing gown that trailed on the floor behind her. Everything in the room was either grey or brown, or a mixture of both. Nora’s straggling, greyish hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed for a long time, and from the unhealthy look of her skin, Ellie could well believe that Nora hadn’t been out of the flat for days.

  Not allowing herself to feel distaste, Ellie took Nora’s hand and led her to an overstuffed, greyish settee covered with an assortment of crocheted blankets. Ellie tried not to think about the origin of the aroma that emanated from the upholstery as they sat down. Possibly this was where Nora’s father had spent his final days.