Murder by Suicide

by Veronica Heley

  ‘Nora, when did you last have a square meal?’

  Red-lidded eyes, red-tipped nose. The eyes watched Ellie as the hands clutched at the buttons on her dressing gown. ‘Gilbert sent you?’

  ‘Both Gilbert and Liz are very worried about you,’ said Ellie, her voice seeming far too loud and positive in these faded surroundings. This is Miss Havisham all over again, she thought. Rejected as a lover, doublelocked into her flat.

  ‘You’ve seen him?’ The faded eyes flared into life. The mouth wavered into a smile. ‘Oh, thank God! He hasn’t forgotten me! When will he be here?’ Her hands left the buttons and clutched at Ellie. The fingernails were clawlike, none too clean.

  ‘No, dear, no.’ Ellie tried to free herself but failed. She told herself to keep very calm. ‘Listen. Gilbert and Liz asked me over to their new place last night. They’re both concerned about you. They asked me to come to see you—’

  ‘It’s all right, I understand!’ Nora gabbled, all feverish gaiety. ‘He can’t speak in front of … Her! He’s given you a letter for me, hasn’t he?’

  ‘No. Listen to me, Nora. You’re not well. Who’s your doctor?’

  ‘I don’t need to see the doctor again. She gave me some pills. They don’t help. It’s the waiting, you see.’ Nora began to cry.

  Ellie extricated herself, saying she’d make a cup of tea.

  The kitchen was not in much better state than the sitting room. Apparently Nora had been living on bread and cheese for some time, leaving the loaf and the cheese out on the table between meals. A couple of cracked saucers on the floor hinted at the presence of a cat. A cockroach lurked by the cooker. Ellie shuddered, but told herself that she was a lot larger than the cockroach and she would not let herself be intimidated by it.

  Kettle. Tea. A two-pint bottle of milk in the otherwise bare fridge. No sugar. Wash two stained mugs, very carefully. Make the tea. Ignore the cockroach. Where’s the cat? Do cats eat cockroaches?

  There was some junk mail on the table. And a lilac-coloured piece of paper with a message on it in wobbly, back-slanting capital letters. Ellie read it in appalled fascination. Across the top was written one word,

  SLUT!

  And then,

  YOU’VE LOST HIM HIS JOB,

  SO HE DOESN’T WANT YOU ANY MORE.

  ‘You’ve seen it, have you?’ said Nora, reappearing. Ellie nodded. It was one thing hearing about poison-pen letters, but quite another reading them. She felt sick.

  ‘There are lots more. I used to tear them up and flush them down the loo, but I don’t bother now. The papers are such pretty colours. All colours of the rainbow. Blue and red and green. There’s a yellow one, too, somewhere.’ Nora sounded detached, as if the letters had been sent to someone else.

  ‘Nora, dear, this is awful. You must take them to the Police. They’ll soon find out who’s doing this.’

  Nora almost smiled. ‘I would never do that. Gilbert mustn’t have his name dragged into the papers.’ She took a mug of tea, cradling it in her hands. ‘You’ve got a message for me from Gilbert?’

  Her eyes begged for comfort, but Ellie had none to give. ‘He’s really worried about you. He asked me to see you, to find out what’s going on with the flat and you having to move.’

  ‘No letter?’

  Ellie shook her head. ‘Nora, you know there’s not going to be a letter. Gilbert and Liz have done all they can for you.’

  Nora whimpered. She dived back into the hallway and opened a door. Into a bedroom? The bathroom? Ellie could hear Nora blowing her nose. She also heard a strange thump from the hallway, and wondered if Nora had heard it, too. It sounded as if someone was at the front door, but Nora made no move to open it.

  Ellie shrugged and took the two mugs through into the sitting room. Putting them down, she nearly spilt the contents. Sitting on the back of a high armchair was a long-legged ginger cat. The cat inspected Ellie with golden eyes. Then it disappeared.

  Ellie sat down on the nearest chair. Alice in Wonderland, she thought. The Cheshire Cat. Then she felt smooth, warm fur brush against her legs from left to right, and a poker-stiff tail tickled her hand.

  ‘Oh, good. Midge has come back. I was getting worried about him.’ Nora was looking almost normal. She had discarded the dressing gown, pulled on a sand-coloured jumper and skirt, and run a comb through her hair.

  Ellie queried the cat’s name. ‘Midge?’

  Cats are given unsuitable names from time to time, but this was ridiculous. Tiger, Killer or Cheetah would have been more appropriate for a cat which looked as if it could take Olympic records in its stride. She moved her feet as Midge sniffed over her shoes. Had she stepped in something inappropriate on the way?

  ‘His previous owners called him Midge. They’d had him from a kitten, you see, when he was always dancing about, trying to catch flies.’

  Nora picked up her tea and sipped it. Her voice was so matter-of-fact that you wouldn’t have suspected anything was wrong with her, except for the way she clutched her mug with tense, cramped hands. She even pulled back her lips in an effort to smile. It was not a great success.

  ‘You see, when Daddy died, I was lonely. Gilbert suggested I get a little dog to make me go out for walkies. Daddy didn’t like animals around the place. He said they smelt. I went down to the Pet Rescue place, who needed to find a home for Midge, urgently. Like me, he’d always lived in a flat, but his people said he was very clean. Which he is. But I have to leave a window open for him all the time.’ Her voice trailed away.

  That explained the open window.

  Midge was now weaving back and forth around Ellie’s legs, purring. He had a very loud purr. Ellie had never had much to do with cats and didn’t think she liked them. She tried to bat him away.

  Nora said, ‘Pardon?’ and jerked back to attention. ‘Midge used to get out and kill birds, you see. Pigeons. Most people don’t mind, but these were racing pigeons. The owner said he’d sue if Midge wasn’t got rid of. So I took him and it’s true, he does kill things. I see him from my window. But he doesn’t bring them back in.’

  Ellie squeaked as Midge decided he’d now like to try her lap. He dared her to turf him off, treading money on her skirt, turning round and round before settling down. Would he scratch her if she tipped him off? He looked very determined.

  Nora watched without jealousy. ‘He likes you. That’s good, isn’t it …’ Her voice trailed away again.

  Ellie tried surreptitiously to shift the cat, who adhered. He was quite a weight. ‘Nora, about the flat?’

  ‘The flat? Oh. Yes. Well, the lease is up at the end of January.’

  ‘I asked Mr Weatherspoon to see if he could get the lease renewed for you.’

  ‘Is that your solicitor? I think he came round to see me. He said he’d tried to get the lease renewed, but it was no good. He asked if I had any family or friends who would help me. I told him I have a half-brother somewhere, but we’ve never met. He wrote after Daddy died, hoping he’d been left some money. I had to laugh. He wanted me to help him financially! I wrote and told him, Daddy’s pension died with him, and all I’ve got left is …’

  She gestured around the room. ‘Mr Weatherspoon wanted to know if I needed any help putting in for a council flat, but I couldn’t do that. No, I really couldn’t. Then he said, hadn’t I got any friends I could go to? I said I’d ask around. He said he’d send me a list of other flats I might rent, but I don’t think he has. It doesn’t really matter. Not now.’

  ‘Nora, you really mustn’t expect Gilbert to help you any more. He will always be your friend, but you mustn’t trade on his kindness any longer.’

  Nora’s face broke up. Ellie looked away. She felt as if she were hitting a small child, but somehow she had to get Nora to face reality.

  Ellie found that a bullet-head was pushing itself under her hand. Midge wanted to be stroked. Agitated, Ellie removed her hand. She tried to make herself into an uncomfortable seat for Midge. Midge didn’t seem to notice. Many
years ago, when Diana was seven or eight, she had asked for a kitten, but Frank had been slightly asthmatic so it had been out of the question.

  Ellie tilted forward on the chair. The cat gave her an indignant look and removed himself. One moment he was there, and the next he was up on the windowsill. Ellie brushed hairs off her lap – that was another reason why Frank had vetoed having a cat – and stood up.

  ‘Nora, I meant to come to see you immediately after Christmas, but I got held up at Diana’s. I asked Aunt Drusilla to see if she could get something sorted out for you, but …’

  ‘I’ve spoken to her. We came to an understanding. Don’t worry about me,’ said Nora, gazing into space again. ‘I’ve made my own arrangements.’

  ‘You have?’ Ellie looked around the room, which was filled with heavy, unfashionable furniture, glass-fronted bookcases filled with old-fashioned books, china cabinets, and an eight-seater dining room set. Most of it must have been bought pre-war, and it didn’t look as if anything had been shifted since it was first installed. It was going to be quite a job to pack all that lot up.

  Presumably Nora had made arrangements to go to live with a friend. Ellie hoped the friend had a capacious room to let, because this lot took up a lot of space. ‘Do you need the name of a good removals firm?’

  ‘I told you, everything’s arranged.’

  ‘That’s all right, then.’

  Nora was gazing into space again. The cat had disappeared. Ellie hoped it was chasing cockroaches, but perhaps that was too much to expect.

  ‘I’ll be on my way, then.’

  Nora nodded, but didn’t get up. Ellie wrestled the chain off the door and let herself out with relief. It was so much lighter on the landing.

  She paused, frowning. Nora’s front door, which had been a uniform grungy brown when Ellie arrived, was now splashed across with vivid lilac paint. Ellie stared at it. She looked across the landing to the neighbouring flat, but the door there was plain brown.

  So she had heard someone at the front door when she’d been in the kitchen. This was persecution indeed.

  Ellie rang Nora’s bell again. And again. And again. No reply. What ought she to do? Leave it to Nora to sort out? Inform the police? Yes, but Nora had said she didn’t want the police involved …

  Ellie rang again. Still no reply.

  Turning to go, Ellie almost fell over a cardboard shoebox which had been left at the top of the stairs. It had Nora’s name on it, printed in bold capital letters. Well, Nora would have to come out sometime. She would see it then.

  Ellie made for the stairs, feeling that she ought to have been clever enough to think of something constructive to do about the paint. Frank would have known what to do, she was sure of that. She stifled a sigh. She did miss him. He had been so capable, had always taken charge in difficult situations. It was three months ago to the day since he died.

  Well, he was gone and she was left to make the best of it. She tried to put Nora’s problems out of her mind as she descended the stairs. Without success. It was going to take some experienced removals men to shift all that furniture down three flights of stairs.

  She must make a list of what she needed to do in the next couple of days. And it was choir practice tonight. Mustn’t miss that, especially since she’d not been for some weeks. She’d told Roy she wouldn’t be free till eight o’clock.

  She felt slight unease at the thought of going out to dinner with Roy. A nice man, of course, but what would the neighbours say? She thought her own particular neighbours were too intelligent to misunderstand her, but she was not so sure about others in her circle. Not everyone who went to church was so discerning.

  She braced herself against the cold wind in the street. Forget chattering tongues. Do something you want to do, for a change. Look forward, not back. What should she wear? Her best cream and blue jersey suit, perhaps? Or the dark blue velvet that Frank had always liked so much?

  3

  Choir practice and an evening out with a personable man were to have been the high points of Ellie’s week, and neither was an unalloyed delight. The scoutmaster took choir practice for Nora and spent more time talking at them than letting them sing. Infuriating. And although Roy was amusing and the food was good, he seemed to suffer from the same defect as the scoutmaster, being a good talker and a bad listener. On both occasions Ellie had to suppress a yawn.

  About halfway through the evening, Ellie realized that she was being looked at by Roy as if she were a blonde bimbo, instead of a widow in her early fifties. This flustered her at first. Then it amused her. Then she was annoyed, and finally amused all over again.

  Well, who would have thought it? At her age! What would Frank have said? She made a mental note not to be caught alone with Roy.

  After those two pieces of excitement, it was back to the daily round. When you’ve been away for a time, household jobs crowd in on you – not to mention clearing up in the garden. Ellie made lists, cleaned and dusted, shopped for food, and changed library books.

  A considerable amount of mail needed answering, and she nerved herself to do this on Frank’s all-singing, all-dancing computer – with variable success. Letters would keep running themselves off upside down and on the wrong side of the paper.

  She persevered. The first time she managed to print off a letter which looked decent, she awarded herself a small sherry by way of congratulation.

  She rang the driving school to book some more lessons and was given somebody else’s cancellation dates – flu, you know, dear – to resume that week. She wasn’t sure whether she was pleased or anxious about that. If she were to be absolutely honest with herself, the prospect of driving in London streets frightened her a lot. Perhaps she ought to take a herbal tranquillizer before her lessons.

  Sometimes she missed Frank terribly.

  Life would have been more bearable if she could have got out into the garden, but the weather continued to be foul. Even the boy Tod – who usually popped in to see her a couple of times a week – seemed to have deserted her.

  She had stopped work at the charity shop after Frank died, partly because it had become increasingly difficult for her to work under their particular supervisor. This loud-voiced but inefficient lady – known to her staff as ‘Madam’ – had resented Ellie’s popularity with the other volunteers. Ellie missed the structure that working in the shop had given to her life. She also missed the friends she had made there.

  At least she could do something about that.

  She called in at the charity shop, hoping that Madam would be out. She particularly wanted to see John, who was in charge of the books, and little Rose, who sorted clothes in the back room. Ellie’s plan was to ask them to have lunch with her one day, but, although John was on the till, Madam was also in evidence.

  Madam was not pleased to see Ellie. ‘Well, just look who’s condescended to visit us! Slumming, are we, Ellie?’

  Ellie smiled and let the jibe pass. It was obviously not going to be possible to chat to her friends that day. She chose a couple of whodunits from the book shelves, and paid for them.

  ‘How are you?’ John muttered, tendering change.

  ‘All right,’ she replied, also low-voiced. ‘Would you and Rose like to come to lunch one day? Your wife, too, of course.’

  ‘Love to. I’ll ring you, right?’ said John.

  ‘What’s that?’ Madam’s sharp nose intervened. ‘An invitation to lunch. Oh my! Our Ellie has turned into a Lady Who Lunches!’

  John rolled his eyes. Ellie made her escape, thankful that, even if she no longer had a job to go to, at least she didn’t have to put up with Madam’s pinpricks.

  Late that night a woman in a hooded raincoat left her car on the corner of the road by the flats and walked through the drizzle, stalking one particular cat.

  Cats are said to have nine lives. This particular ginger tom accepted one too many titbits. The figure in the raincoat watched as the cat arched its back and died.

  She fitted a
loop of wire around its neck, and lowered the corpse into a large plastic bag.

  Balked by the security system on the front door of the flats, the woman hesitated. How was she going to get her present up to the flat? A group of four middle-aged people were descending the staircase after a convivial evening. The woman in the raincoat whipped herself and her burden around the corner of the flats.

  Returning when the revellers had departed in their cars, the killer tried the front door again. It was firmly locked.

  She abandoned her original idea of taking the present right up to the flat, and left it tied to the handle of the front door.

  That would teach the evil slut!

  ** * Ellie was half-amused and half-annoyed by Roy Bartrick’s pursuit of her. Dinner on Monday had been followed by the gift of a basket of hyacinths in bloom and an invitation to lunch on Friday.

  As she explained to her young neighbour Kate on Wednesday evening, ‘I only met him on Sunday. He took me out Monday night and wants to take me out Friday lunchtime, too. He says he’ll take me to the new Holiday Inn restaurant. I’m flattered, of course. But also a bit, well, flustered. I feel like a heroine in a melodrama exclaiming, “Oh sir! This is so sudden!”’

  Kate pushed back her mop of dark hair, trying and failing to hold back a giant sneeze. ‘If I’ve caught another cold … !’

  ‘Take zinc tablets. Frank always did when he thought he’d a cold coming.’

  Ellie peeled potatoes with enthusiasm. Kate’s husband Armand was out at a school function that evening, and the two women planned to eat an enormous, fatty, carbohydrate-stuffed meal to ward off the January blues.

  ‘Sherry’s nicer,’ said Kate, stirring natural Greek yoghurt and double cream into blackberry puree. ‘Go on about this Roy. Is he that smooth geezer that’s been sending you flowers?’

  Ellie went pink. ‘Actually, it was only a basket of hyacinths. You’ve met him?’