‘… and my friend who was at school with me, you know, the one who lives at the top of the next road, overlooking the park? Well, she said to me that our dear curate had tried it on her – about having someone to lodge with her from the hostel, you know – and there’s no denying that she’s got a bedroom to spare, same as I have, but then I needed the money more, so I said I’d have him, of course. But Never Again!’
‘No, indeed,’ said Ellie, shuddering at the thought of poor little Tod. Also thinking, Shall I take them all out to the Carvery for lunch? Surely they’ll all go back to their own flat this afternoon …?
Mrs Dawes drained her second glass of sherry, chasing the last drop around her scarlet-painted lips. A widow of a certain age with jet-black hair, she’d recently taken to wearing earrings which grazed the shoulders of her heavyweight Burberry mack. She was a brilliant flower arranger, frequently asked to act as judge in local flower shows. And an avid gossip.
Diana snatched the empty glass from Mrs Dawes. ‘Shall I get your umbrella?’
‘Oh, is that the time? Well, I suppose I’d better be …’
The front door bell rang. Stewart rose from beneath his papers. ‘I’ll get it, shall I?’
Mrs Dawes and Diana were squaring up to one another. Ellie wondered, reprehensibly, who she’d back in a fight.
Mrs Dawes said, ‘Back from the north so soon, Diana? I thought you had a good job there.’
Diana didn’t even attempt to smile. ‘There’s better opportunities down here for a businesswoman.’ There was more than a touch of the feline in the emphasis on ‘business’, since it was well known that Mrs Dawes had never soiled her fingers with a wage packet in her life. She’d been brought up to believe that husbands did the providing while they were alive, and the state did the rest.
‘I suppose,’ said Mrs Dawes, showing large teeth, ‘that it must ease the situation, being able to rely on your mother for so much.’
Ellie thought, Ouch. One All.
Ellie smiled, shepherding Mrs Dawes out into the hall. Stewart was holding the front door ajar, creating a horrible draught and letting in the rain. He beckoned to Ellie. ‘Someone wants the lady of the house. I said you never bought anything at the door.’
Mrs Dawes reeled back, clutching her bosom. ‘It’s Gustave!’
‘What?’
Ellie thought, Dial 999 … But no, it can’t be. They arrested him.
The front door flew open with a bang. Little Frank woke up and wailed. On the doorstep stood an unshaven, red-eyed waif of a man wearing a cap and what appeared to be a torn bin bag over his clothes. He was shivering with the cold, dripping rain all over the porch. Ellie gasped, finding it hard to recognize the trim, neatly dressed man who had mended her gate, in this vision from Wino City.
Gus recognized Mrs Dawes and launched into a tirade which would have been powerful if his voice hadn’t been so weak and querulous. Ellie automatically filtered out his use of four-letter words.
‘What you done with my things, eh? I couldn’t get in, and that nosy neighbour of yours said you’d had the locks changed and my stuff’s been dumped somewhere; but I know my rights and you got no right to throw me out and, about my stuff, I’m going to sue.’
Mrs Dawes made a strangled sound in her throat and looked wildly around for protection. Stewart gaped. He really had been born a few pence short of a pound.
‘Is that the paedophile?’ said Diana. ‘How dare he come here! Shut the door, Stewart, and phone the police.’
‘Wait,’ said Ellie, as Stewart dithered. ‘Gus, you came here to see me?’
Gus took his eyes off Mrs Dawes and transferred them to Ellie. ‘I din’t know that old cow would be here …’
That old cow sank on to the hall chair and fanned herself with her scarf.
‘… but when I found I was locked out, I thought you was straight with me the other day, cash down, no problem, cuppa as well. She said you was friends with her, so I thought you’d know how to get my stuff back that she stole …’
Mrs Dawes gave a little shriek and threw her scarf over her head.
Ellie said, ‘Let’s get this straight. You were arrested for interfering with a neighbour’s small boy …’
‘Sure, they took me in. But I never, no, not me. That sort’s dirt beneath my feet, shouldn’t be allowed to live, give them the chop down there is what I say. The police know me, a course they do. Polite they are. Always a clean cell and breakfast thrown in. I don’t mind them. But locking me out and stealing my stuff’s not on, and I’ll have the law on her, I will.’
Mrs Dawes wailed. ‘You didn’t come home all week and then I heard you’d been arrested for molesting Tod, so what was I to think? I put your things in a dustbin bag and they’re under the laurel bush at the front of the garden. I’m not letting you back in my house, I couldn’t, no I really couldn’t.’
Diana said, ‘Yuk. The man stinks of drink and nicotine.’
‘And Tod didn’t,’ said Ellie thoughtfully. ‘I believe Gus when he says he didn’t hurt Tod.’
‘Then where’s he been all this time? Getting drunk? Sleeping it off somewhere?’
Gus shifted his attack to Diana. ‘What if I have? And what do you know about anything, you uppity bitch? I know your sort. Never a moment’s thought for anyone but yourself. You need a damn good seeing to, you do. If I were five year younger, I’d give it you an’ all.’
Now it was Diana’s turn to shriek, though Ellie noticed that while Stewart looked nervous, his lips twitched. In the background Frank’s wails had turned to cries of fury.
The rain was now beating into the hall. Lightning shot across the sky.
Ellie made up her mind.‘Please come in, Mr …. er, Gus.Take off that bin bag and give it to me. There. And your overcoat. Now we can close the door and discuss this in a civilized fashion.’
Mrs Dawes showed the whites of her eyes. ‘If he’s coming in, then I’m going.’
‘No, you’re not, dear. Come back into the sitting room, all of you. Stewart, could you attend to little Frank? Diana, would you put the kettle on for a cuppa?’
‘I’d prefer something stronger, if you’ve got it,’ said Gus, eyeing the remains of the bottle of sherry. ‘To keep the cold out. Wet through, I am, and likely to get it on me chest, if it ain’t attended to immediate.’
‘I think not,’ said Ellie, putting the bottle away. ‘The other day when you mended my gate, you told me you’d been on the wagon for twenty months. You said that in the past you’d had a “little problem with the drink” that kept you from holding down a proper job. I paid you in cash for the work you did for me on Tuesday. I suspect you went straight down to the supermarket, got a bottle of something alcoholic and drank it then and there. You were so drunk that you couldn’t find your way back to Mrs Dawes’ but slept it off in the church porch. Am I right?’
‘Could be.’ He lowered himself gently on to the settee. His boots, once stout and polished, were now broken and stained. The laces of one had broken and been awkwardly knotted together. He was still wearing the neat windcheater, blue pullover and grey trousers that she’d seen on Tuesday, though they were now rather the worse for wear. The overcoat that she’d hung up was far too large for him and torn in a couple of places. He’d probably picked it off a skip somewhere. His hair was lank and he reeked of stale booze and cigarettes.
‘So that accounts for Tuesday. You didn’t return to Mrs Dawes’ on Wednesday. So what happened then?’
‘I din’t want to go back to Mrs Dawes with a hangover, did I? I were going to sleep it off, clean meself up in the public toilet in the park first. But I met a coupla mates. They’d had a bit of luck, come by some bottles of the good stuff. It was blowing a gale so we made ourselves cosy with another mate of mine in a lock-up garage we know of, t’other side of the park. A course we had to sleep it off. ’S only natural, innit? Then the police picked us up. Talk, talk, talk. All day. But we’d all bin together, all the time. So we couldn’t have done it
, none of us. They had to check us out, I see that. I’m a reasonable man, I am, and the food ain’t bad at that nick.
‘This morning they shoved us out in the rain, wouldn’t even keep us in the dry till tomorrow. So I went back to the old cow’s place and found she’d changed the locks. But I know my rights and I’m due some compensation, right?’
‘For wrongful arrest?’ said Diana, slamming a mug of coffee in front of him. ‘You must be joking.’
He tasted, and spat. ‘No sugar. Haven’t you any biscuits? Chocolate, if you’ve got any.’
Ellie tried to take charge of the situation. ‘Mr … er, Gus. The most important thing now is to rescue your belongings and find you somewhere to stay.’
‘Don’t look at me,’ exclaimed Mrs Dawes. ‘Oh, my heart! It’s banging away in my chest so’s I can hardly breathe. I’m not having him back, and that’s flat. They told me he was a nice, quiet man who wouldn’t give me any trouble, and look at him …’
It was true that Mrs Dawes’ colour was bad. Gus spooned sugar into his mug and pointed the spoon at her. ‘You oughta be ashamed of yourself, dishing up so little food you can hardly see it on the plate, and no hot water for washing …’
‘Huh! You wouldn’t know what to do with soap if it was—’
His voice rose to a scream. ‘I couldn’t work the bloody shower, could I?’
There was silence. Mrs Dawes had gone a most peculiar plum colour. Ellie remembered her friend’s boast about taking out her old bath to install a new moneysaving shower unit, and how when her nephew had been staying with her, he’d often complained about the small portions Mrs Dawes doled out at mealtimes. It was a mystery how Mrs Dawes maintained her bulk as she did. The contrast between weedy little Gus and the majestic Mrs Dawes was very marked. If she fell on him, he’d be squashed flat. But size wasn’t everything and neither was respectability. Mrs Dawes really was afraid of the little man.
Ellie sighed. ‘It seems you need some alternative accommodation. If you’ll give me the name of the hostel, I’ll ring them and see …’
‘They’re full. I been round there already.’
Impasse. Stewart was now playing with Frank, dandling him on his knee. Mrs Dawes’ colour was gradually fading to normal.
Diana was tapping her teeth. ‘Mother, this has gone on long enough. What are you doing about lunch?’
Mrs Dawes heaved herself to her feet. ‘I almost forgot. I’ve got a pot roast in the oven but I’m that shaky I can hardly keep my feet.’
Ellie took the hint. ‘Stewart, would you be so kind as to run Mrs Dawes back home in your car? It’s only just round the corner and it’s still raining hard. And retrieve Gus’s belongings? There’s a dear.’
Diana frowned. ‘What about lunch? Stewart’ll have to start back up north in an hour’s time, so’s he can do most of the journey by daylight.’
Little Frank was hitting Ellie on the knee, so she picked him up. He screamed and jerked backwards. ‘Diana, please will you take your son and I’ll see what I can find in the cupboard … make some pasta or something …’
‘What about me, missus?’ Gus had lost all his fire. He looked shrunken, pathetic and miserable.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Ellie thrust Frank into his mother’s arms and would have escaped to the peace and quiet of the study, but that the doorbell rang again. This time it was a welcome visitor, her next-door neighbour Armand’s wife, Kate. A thirtyish Amazon in designer casual clothing and Ellie’s very good friend.
‘A bad time to call?’ asked Kate, frowning. ‘I just wanted to know if there were any news about Tod. Also, Armand’s out on school business, so I thought we might share a take-away?’
A dilemma. Ellie knew she could rely on Kate in nasty situations and this was undoubtedly a nasty situation. On the other hand, Kate and Diana – both businesswomen – disliked one another. Both were tall, dark and handsome. Kate was also honest and compassionate. Diana was … well, best not to think exactly what Diana was. Decision time.
Ellie beckoned Kate in, shouted to Diana that it was just a neighbour enquiring about Tod and drew her friend into the study. Shutting the door behind her, she explained in a few sentences what had happened. Kate stripped off her jacket and dumped her handbag. ‘What would you like me to do?’
‘Phone the police, check if Gus’s story is true. I don’t really doubt it, but we ought to check. Find out what they do about homeless people on a Sunday.’
Kate pulled the phone towards her while Ellie darted into the kitchen to work out what she could make for lunch. Macaroni cheese and tinned tomatoes seemed best and quickest. She set the water to boil for the pasta, put some marge on to melt for the sauce and scrabbled for breadcrumbs in the freezer. The study had once been a dining room and there was a hatch between it and the kitchen. Ellie opened the hatch to see how Kate was getting on.
Kate swivelled round to report. ‘His story checks out OK with the police. They just laughed when I said he’d been refused re-entry to his digs. They said drunks can’t be trusted.’
‘He says he was on the wagon for twenty months …’
‘But fell off in spectacular fashion.’
‘Does that mean he doesn’t deserve another chance?’
‘Dunno. Depends how charitable you’re feeling, I think.’ Ellie glanced out of the window. It was still raining hard. Kate shrugged. ‘Shall I try the local hostel?’
‘Mm.’ Ellie rescued the marge, which had melted by now, added flour, pounded it up together, added milk little by little and kept beating as it thickened to a sauce. Salt and pepper.Threw the macaroni into the boiling water. Grated cheese, threw that into the sauce, stirred frantically.
Kate appeared in the hatchway. ‘Hostel’s full. They said the only hope was the Salvation Army, which might take him in and might not. I’ve tried ringing them. They’re engaged.’
‘I’ve had an idea. You stir this and I’ll try the vicarage.’
‘You’re mad,’ said Kate, but took the spoon and began to stir.
Their curate Timothy had been most persuasive in urging his congregation to befriend the men and women leaving the local hostel. He had played on the fund of goodwill that often exists in a church where fundraising for charity is the norm. Their previous vicar, Gilbert, had frequently taken in homeless teenagers and stray visitors from other countries. Also the odd man or woman sleeping rough. The main body of the large Victorian vicarage was now empty, awaiting the appointment of a new incumbent, while Timothy and his young family occupied the curate’s flat at the back.
Surely Timothy couldn’t refuse to take Gus in – just for the time being, till something better could be sorted out?
Timothy was delighted to hear from her, as he had been intending to call to see her soon. He was not so delighted to hear what she wanted him to do. In fact he refused. He was mellifluous in his self-justification. His wife was due to have her second baby within the next fourteen days, he wasn’t sure he had the right keys to the vicarage proper, he was very sure the police would find Gus somewhere suitable to stay, and he must rush because he was due to take his mother-in-law back home for her afternoon nap.
Ellie crashed the phone down just as Kate drained the macaroni and dumped it into a large dish. ‘No luck? Do I shove the sauce over it, like this? And what about the breadcrumbs?’
‘Sprinkle on top, dot with butter and put it under the grill. I’ll warm up some tinned tomatoes, see if we have anything for pudding. Are you staying?’
‘You’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll try the Sally Army again.’
‘Come off it. You wouldn’t miss this for anything. I’ll set a place for you, too.’
Diana came to the kitchen door and exploded. ‘Well, isn’t this a cosy little meeting! What’s that woman doing here and where’s our lunch? Mother, I didn’t expect you to …’
Ellie pulled Diana into the kitchen. ‘Kate is trying to find somewhere for Gus to go. Lunch is nearly ready. I was intending to take you
all out to the Carvery …’
‘Stewart’s back. We can go straight away.’
‘… but I can’t leave poor Gus here on his own. And the macaroni cheese is nearly ready.’ Opening the tins of tomatoes, tipping them into a bowl, shoving them in the microwave and hoping she’d got the right setting on. The microwave still intimidated her but Kate said it was handy and indeed it was, in its own peculiar way.
‘Of course you can’t leave that man here,’ said Diana. ‘He knows the drill. Let him find himself somewhere to doss down.’
‘Would you take him in, looking like that, with no money?’
‘I suppose he must have some money.’
‘Want a bet on it?’
Silence. ‘Well.’ A shrug. ‘None of my business.’ And she walked away.
Ellie sighed.
Kate crashed the phone down again. ‘The Sally Army will take him in if he’s sober, on a night-by-night basis. In other words, if he turns up sober tonight, they’ll give him a bed. If he turns up drunk tomorrow, they won’t. The only thing is, the nearest hostel’s miles away. It’s still raining. Shall we foot the bill for a mini cab to take him there?’
‘A night-by-night basis,’ said Ellie. ‘If he’s sober. That sounds reasonable.’ She clattered spoons and forks on to a tray, took it through into the living room and swiftly laid the table in the bay window overlooking the road.
Stewart was in the conservatory, looking out at the rain. Gus appeared to have fallen asleep. Baby Frank was investigating the contents of a large bin bag which had unfortunately been left on the floor where he could get at it. The relics of a poor creature struggling to maintain respectability lay on the carpet: a roll of bedding, a tote bag, a toilet bag and threadbare towel, a couple of paperbacks – one of them a Bible – an opened roll of biscuits, Polos, shirts, underpants, socks, another pair of shoes with a brush and tin of polish stuck in them, a newish cap, a plastic raincoat, even a small radio/clock, a used hankie, a tin of tobacco and a packet of cigarette papers, a disposable lighter and so on. Frank was chewing on a hairbrush, yuk!
Murder of Innocence Page 6
