Murder by Suggestion

by Veronica Heley

  Ellie went back to the beginning and reread the lot. She spotted the date. She lowered the papers, thinking hard. The emails weren’t recent. No. They were ancient in email terms, dating back nine or ten weeks. During those nine or ten weeks no one had died, had they? Until Bunny had popped his clogs a couple of weeks ago.

  ‘You see?’ said Evan. ‘Diana was planning to kill me.’

  Ellie slapped the papers down. ‘No, she wasn’t. I don’t know how you got hold of these emails—’

  ‘Kat’s husband brought them to me after Bunny died. He’d found them on his laptop and thought I ought to know what was going on.’

  Ellie looked from one to the other. ‘I can’t believe you’re taking this seriously! Your reaction is out of all proportion to what happened. The first thing that occurs to me is that this is the sort of thing women usually text one another about. Surely these intimate exchanges are usually made on smartphones, not on computers?’

  Monique said, ‘Apparently one of the group didn’t have a smartphone till recently.’

  ‘Really? How odd. The other thing that strikes me is that these emails were written over two months ago. Am I to understand that someone brought them to you ages ago and you didn’t think anything of them until now?’

  ‘No, no. He only brought them to us last week, after Bunny’s funeral. We saw that it was a conspiracy straight away.’

  ‘No conspiracy. I understand there was some joking about murder among a group of women, of whom Diana was one. Only joking, mind! The presence of the emojis proves that. As to claiming that Diana was seriously trying to kill you, that’s ridiculous. If you brought these papers into court, you’d be told to get lost. In the first place, anyone could make up and print off some suggestive emails. You’d have to produce the laptop for them to be admitted as evidence.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Monique, not a whit disturbed. ‘We have that.’

  ‘Even if you did,’ said Ellie, ‘it doesn’t prove anything against Diana. None of these emails are from her. The “evidence” against her is hearsay, which is not admissible in court.’

  ‘Oh, yes, it is,’ said Monique. ‘Because Bunny upped and died.’

  ‘Diana didn’t kill him.’

  ‘She supplied the method. She told the killer what to do. She is as guilty as his wife.’

  Ellie blinked. This was serious. ‘If you think that, then you must take these emails to the police and get Bunny’s wife charged with murder.’ And Diana as an accomplice?

  Evan grinned. ‘No, no. You don’t understand the beauty of the situation. When Rupert – that’s Kat’s husband – brought me the laptop, I phoned Monique, because she always keeps a cool head, and arranged for us men to meet at Rupert’s place. Kat went out to do the shopping as usual, and we worked out what to do.’

  ‘With Monique as chief strategist?’

  ‘If you like, yes. She helped us work out a timetable. We realized we must take action simultaneously. She wrote out a list of what had to be done. First, we had to choose a time when our wives would all be out of the house at the same time, so they couldn’t warn one another what was going to happen. Then we got cleaners in to pack up their stuff while our secretaries phoned the banks and cancelled any direct debits that were in operation. Bunny’s widow might have been a problem but fortunately his first wife and son have never liked her and were delighted to get her out of the house.’

  ‘You take my breath away.’

  Evan grinned. ‘We got five out of five. They didn’t know what had hit them. All they ever thought about was how to spend our money. They didn’t care for us, so why should we care for them? Once we understood that they were planning to murder us, we had every right to protect ourselves.’

  Ellie protested, ‘They weren’t serious threats.’

  ‘Bunny died, didn’t he? As per Diana’s suggestion. It’s true he’d been drinking heavily of late and, to be frank, was in danger of losing the plot. Alzheimer’s, here I come. To be honest, no one will miss him. His widow certainly won’t. But what would be the point of charging her with murder? She’s personable enough, I suppose, if you like that sort of thing, and will no doubt be able to find another sucker to marry. If we go to the police with what we’ve got she might well find a good solicitor to get her out from under a murder charge.’

  With Diana to be charged as accessory.

  Ellie looked at Monique. She felt chilled to the bone. ‘I’m shocked. This is not about Bunny’s death at all. Evan has got tired of Diana and wants to get rid of her without her making a fuss!’

  Monique nodded. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So you devised a strategy to sweep her out of the house and threaten her with a murder charge if she resisted. How could you!’

  ‘That’s what he wants.’

  ‘And the children?’

  ‘Evan’s the only one who’s got a child of school age. The other children are much older and have left the nest.’

  Ellie objected. ‘That is so cold-blooded.’

  Monique said, ‘Ellie, I respect you and I respect your judgement in the main, but you have always been weak where your daughter is concerned. She’s a cold, ambitious woman who married Evan for his money. Evan doesn’t have to put up with her now she’s made plans to murder him.’

  ‘She didn’t!’

  ‘Are you sure? See how quietly she’s accepted her dismissal. Her response is not to proclaim her innocence, but to ask for a divorce. You’ve accepted it, too, or you’d be going down on your knees to beg him to take her back.’

  That was true. But. ‘Diana is in shock at the moment. She may or may not decide to fight—’

  ‘She’s not going to fight to stay married to Evan, is she? I daresay something suitable can be arranged about the boy and alimony agreed, provided she accepts a divorce without making a fuss.’

  Ellie abandoned that line of attack to say, ‘Diana is a good businesswoman. You’ve deprived her of her means of earning a living by barring her return to work.’

  ‘She’ll find something else.’

  ‘She’s been running that agency for years. What will happen to it if she goes?’

  ‘I’ve promoted her assistant. You accept the inevitable?’

  Ellie didn’t know what to say. ‘I can’t answer for her.’

  Monique got to her feet with an effort. ‘Let me show you out. The nanny should be bringing the boy back from nursery soon. I don’t want him upset so I suggest you leave before he returns.’

  Ellie felt tears come to her eyes. ‘I’m told that grandparents don’t have any rights in questions of custody arrangements. Is that true? Thomas and I are very fond of the boy. We’re accustomed to seeing him at least once a week.’

  Monique patted Ellie’s arm. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  She showed Ellie out into the hall and shut the door behind her. So now they were to have a tête-à-tête, were they? Two women having a private word without Evan overhearing what they had to say?

  Ellie got out her hankie – it was lucky she had one on her as she often forgot – and blew her nose. She understood very well what Monique had meant: Ellie and Thomas could see the boy if they agreed not to help Diana make a fuss.

  Game, set and match.

  Monique said, ‘Now we’re alone, I must tell you that Evan is not well.’

  Ah, so that was it! Subtext noted. Evan didn’t have long to live?

  Monique said, ‘He’s afraid of all sorts of things. Starts at his own shadow. He’s been a lot worse since Bunny died. Wants someone to taste his food first, and so on.’

  Ellie argued, ‘I can’t see what he’s so worried about. You say Bunny Brewster was losing the plot. He mixed up his pills and died. It’s a coincidence that Diana may have suggested, in jest, that this would be a good way to kill off a husband. Diana didn’t try to kill Evan, did she? Another thing: Diana would have stuck by Evan in sickness and in health. She may be a cold fish as you say, but she has a strong sense of duty. She’d nurs
e him to the end.’

  ‘I daresay, but that’s not what he wants now.’

  Ellie thought that through. ‘You mean, Evan’s got his eye on a buxom young girl who’ll pillow his head on her breast and soothe his troubled brow and all that stuff? A girl with no brains but a warm bedfellow?’ She put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t nice.’

  ‘It’s accurate. Mrs Quicke, you must realize this situation is not of my making. I’ve known Evan for twenty-odd years. We had a child together. It makes a bond. I am not influenced by any sentimental nonsense but I’m trying to do the best I can for Evan for old times’ sake. He’s all the family I have left now.’

  Ellie thought of asking if Evan and Monique’s only son had died. It might well be so. She didn’t enquire. It must be an open sore for Monique that her only child had never been any good. So, Ellie blew her nose again and said she really must be on her way.

  Monique opened the front door for her. ‘Let’s keep in touch, shall we?’

  Ellie was reluctant to leave things like this. And yet, she didn’t know what to say to Monique except, ‘This is all wrong!’

  Monique smiled, waved Ellie through the door and shut it behind her.

  Dear Lord above! Help! I don’t know what is real and what has been twisted, or invented or … Why on earth was Diana so stupid as to be drawn into a game of How to Murder your Husband?

  If that is what it was.

  Monique has a point. Diana’s accepted her exile far too easily for someone who is totally innocent, but she can’t have gone as far as to collude with someone to murder their husband. That I do not believe.

  Dear Lord, if you could spare a minute to help me out here? Tell me what to do?

  She made her way home. It was beginning to drizzle, and she hadn’t an umbrella or a waterproof jacket with her.

  A taxi came out of her drive as she turned the corner of the road. Had Diana returned? Two other vehicles had been parked right up to the porch: a swish-looking affair with tinted windows and an expensive estate car. Visitors?

  Ellie put her key in the lock of her front door and immediately knew something was wrong. The door had not been properly shut and there was a babble of noise inside. What was going on?

  She pushed the door open and recoiled.

  ‘Move your stuff over! I can’t shift—’

  ‘Where’s the toilet?’

  ‘But what I want to know is—’

  ‘Where’s Diana!’

  ‘Oooh! How could he!’

  ‘That’s exactly what happened to me when—’

  The hall was full of noise, and luggage. Two matching sets of cases with designer logos on them, a third displaying a monogram, multiple carry-on bags, a mountain of plastic bags containing expensive dresses and coats, make-up boxes, hand luggage of every type under the sun, some cardboard boxes, hat boxes galore …

  And three … no, four! … women aged thirty-five and upwards, all competing for attention. Two women with blonde hair of varying authenticity, a redhead and a brunette. But no Diana!

  THREE

  Monday afternoon.

  What was this? A refugee camp?

  The nearest woman was a fake blonde who probably thought she looked like Lauren Bacall, which she did if Lauren Bacall had turned to stone. She had good bone structure but had indulged in too much Botox. ‘Are you the cook person? About time, too. I need—’

  ‘Oh, there she is!’ said the redhead, who was smoking a cigarette. ‘Which is my—’

  ‘Where have you been! Where’s Diana? She said to come here and you’d—’

  ‘I was first!’ The Lauren Bacall lookalike. ‘Here, you! Whatever your name is. Where can I—?’

  ‘Hold on! I need the toilet!’

  Ellie blinked. Four intruders? FOUR?

  There was no sign of Diana, and they thought Ellie was a servant?

  Four women, plus luggage! Yes, this must be the rest of the conspirators. Why had they come here?

  For two pins Ellie would have stepped backwards out of the front door and left them to it. Except that this was her house and she was going to have to deal with the invasion at some point.

  She needed back-up. Ignoring the women’s various calls for attention, Ellie slid sideways between mounds of luggage and fled down the corridor to the library … only to find it empty. What? Where was Thomas?

  Ah, but he’d left a note on his keyboard for her.

  Ellie. I suspected something was wrong this morning, but it’s taken me a while to sort out. The printers seem to have gone bust. I’m off to see them, to find out what can be salvaged. Back soon. Thomas. xxx

  So, no back-up. She was going to have to deal with the problem herself.

  The women turned on Ellie as she re-entered the hall, all shouting instructions at her. One wanted the toilet, another demanded help with her luggage, a third asked for Diana, and another sobbed aloud that she didn’t know what to do.

  Ellie felt like Alice in Wonderland when the pack of cards fell on her.

  Presumably these were the other rejected wives. Why were they here? Had Diana invited them? How dare she! Had Diana given them her key to the front door to get in with? And where was Diana herself?

  Lauren Bacall got in Ellie’s face. ‘Look, if you are the cook person, can you please tell me—’

  ‘What I want to know is, where—’

  Ellie said, ‘If you please …!’ and was drowned out by the complaints of the refugees. The woman who was rocking to and fro raised her voice in a wail. ‘Oh, oh!’

  The redheaded smoker threaded her way through the luggage to address Ellie. ‘Look, where’s the toilet?’

  ‘If you please!’

  Ellie yelled, ‘Quiet!’

  And there was quiet. Everyone looked at Ellie. Even the sobbing woman suspended operations for a moment.

  ‘What …!’ said the redheaded smoker. ‘Who …?’

  ‘Quiet!’ said Ellie, not as loudly or as forcefully as before, but loudly enough to gain their attention. ‘May I have your attention, please?’

  A rustle of discontent, a pouting of lips, but they did simmer down.

  ‘Now,’ said Ellie, collecting eyes. ‘Let me introduce myself. My name is Mrs Quicke, and this is my house. I own it.’ She let that fact sink into their minds.

  The hall seemed very dark, and the faces turned to her were strained and anxious. It was definitely going to rain. Ellie reached for the light switch by the door and turned it on. One or two of the women blinked. One put up a hand to shade her eyes. At least they’d all shut up for the moment.

  Ellie said, ‘I was not expecting visitors. Who are you and why are you here? Above all, how did you get in?’

  The redheaded smoker flicked ash. ‘Diana invited us. Said we must have a council of war. She said we could stay here till we could decide what to do. Some man or other let me in when I explained that Diana had asked me to meet her here. He didn’t like it, but he said he had to go out on some matter of importance. Then the others arrived and I let them in.’

  So that was it. Ellie kept her voice steady. ‘As you can see, my daughter Diana isn’t here, and I certainly didn’t give her permission to invite you into my house. This is not a hotel. Understand?’

  ‘But she said we should all … she p-promised …’ The pudding-shaped woman who’d been rocking to and fro stammered to a halt. Tears brimmed. ‘Where can I go? I don’t know what to do!’

  ‘I need the toilet. For heaven’s sake, where is the toilet?’

  Ellie took a good look at them. Shifting from one foot to the other. Miserable. Not knowing where to turn. They’d followed Diana’s lead and now Diana wasn’t here. They’d been thrown out of their homes, hadn’t been to the toilet for hours and could really do with a cup of tea and a biscuit, although some of them would probably prefer a stiff drink.

  Ellie said, ‘This situation is none of my making but, as you’re here, you’d probably like a cup
of tea before you decide what to do next. In a few minutes I’ll serve some tea in the sitting room at the back of the hall over there, but before that I expect you’d like to freshen up.’

  She gestured to her left. ‘That door leads to the kitchen quarters. There’s a toilet off that corridor. Two of you, use that one.’ The two nearest the kitchen made a beeline for it.

  Ellie gestured to the other two. ‘Upstairs. Take the corridor almost to the end. There’s a bathroom there you can use.’

  They didn’t argue, but disappeared, racing one another to get to the loo first.

  In a couple of seconds Ellie was alone in the hall, standing amid piles of luggage.

  Poor things. How dare Diana bring them here and abandon them!

  Ellie set herself in motion down the corridor to the kitchen, taking her mobile phone out of her handbag as she went. She had Diana on speed dial. Brr, brr. Brr, brr.

  Her guests were going to need strong tea with plenty of sugar for shock. And carbohydrates. Had she enough biscuits to go round?

  The call to Diana went to voicemail. Bother.

  There was no sign of the cat, Midge. He wouldn’t have enjoyed the invasion of all those frightened women and had probably retreated to the master bedroom upstairs.

  Ellie tried her policewoman friend Lesley next and, by great good fortune, got through to her straight away. ‘Lesley, a bit of a crisis here. Did you get a chance to look at the file on Bunny Brewster’s death?’ Tucking the phone into the angle of shoulder and jaw, Ellie filled the kettle and switched it on.

  ‘I’ve had a word with the officer in charge. The man spent the evening out, had several drinks before he retired for the night, then a shower, put on his pyjamas and took his pills. He got into bed, fell asleep and died in the night. The box was found on the floor the next morning with all seven sections empty and pills everywhere on the carpet. The autopsy revealed he’d taken five times the recommended dose of the pills to treat his high blood pressure. If I’ve got it right, one pill calms you down, two makes you drowsy, three or four render you unconscious. Five or six and you flatline. He’d been prescribed a cocktail of pills: statins and high blood pressure tablets, something for his gout and his prostate, and his hay fever and Lord alone knows what else. He was supposed to take some in the morning, some before meals, some after food and some at night. According to his wife, he simplified this regime by taking the whole day’s allocation with a glass of whisky when he went to bed in the evening. And no, he wasn’t supposed to take more than one high blood pressure pill at a time.’