Murder in Mind

by Veronica Heley

  For one moment Ellie thought the woman would refuse, but she did acquiesce, if with a bad grace. And left the office.

  ‘Quick, Mikey. We need those telephone numbers. Mr Abel may have run them off for me from the computer, or he may have accessed a Rolodex or address book. Let’s see if we can find them.’

  Mikey homed in on Mr Abel’s desk, while Ellie rather distractedly looked in his drawers. She was always happier with paper than with a computer.

  Mikey plucked a piece of paper from the top of the in tray and held it high in the air before handing it over to Ellie. Yes! Thank you, Mr Abel. It had the details she’d asked for. ‘Bravo, Mikey! Now, as soon as I’ve had a cuppa, let’s get out of here.’

  Tuesday afternoon

  Back home all was quiet. No guests. No cleaners. Rose bustled out to meet them and take their wet macks and the outsize umbrella, talking the while.

  ‘The phone’s been ringing off and on, but I left it for you to listen to the messages. Pat stayed for a while, because she said there was a pile of mail to deal with, and that blondie came by and seemed very upset not to see you—’

  ‘What blondie?’

  ‘Dunno. Pat didn’t know, either. Pat said that if you wanted her, she’d come back this afternoon, which it already is, though I don’t know how she thinks you’re going to be able to concentrate on business with so much else going on. Before you ask, yes; I took some tea up to her Royal Highness, and she didn’t thank me for it, oh no. But there; I didn’t expect thanks, her being what she is. So I gave her your message and she asked me to hand her her Blackberry, which I didn’t know what it was but it turns out to be some kind of phone but not the usual sort, she says. She had a sharp word or two to someone at her office and off she went in her car as if the devil was after her, which he probably is, leaving her things all over your bedroom, which I told her was a disgrace but she took no notice, as you’d expect.’

  ‘Oh, good. At least she can pick up the pieces at Hoopers. Is Vera back yet?’

  ‘That she is, and some of her things are in my room downstairs and some upstairs and she said Mikey would help her when he got back . . . which it looks like he’s already gone off to do, the little tyke. Oh, and here’s your mobile, take it and put it away safely before you forget it again.’

  Ellie listened to her messages.

  Short and sharp from Freya. ‘I’m still at the hospital. More tests have been ordered. Dad doesn’t seem to know where he is half the time, but he does like having me hold his hand. I’ll ring again when I can get some sense out of the doctors.’

  Nothing from Angelika.

  One from Stewart. ‘Ellie, I’m in Nightmare Alley. The whole of the downstairs is just a shell of blackened rooms. The garage likewise, with the remains of two cars in it. The back of the house is intact, but everything there’s been spoiled either by smoke or water. Evan’s study is at the back, but the firemen say it’s not safe for anyone to go in, so I can’t rescue his computer or his papers. I’ve told Angelika the insurers will want everything left as is till they’ve had a chance to inspect the damage. I suggest you get on to his office to see if they know who the insurers may be, because Angelika hasn’t a clue. In the meantime I’ll get all the downstairs doors and windows boarded up.’

  Good old Stewart. She got him on her phone. ‘Stewart? Ellie here. I’ve been to the Hooper office and they think he’s insured with Britannia. Diana’s gone over there now and I expect she’ll deal with it. Are the reporters still hanging around? We don’t want anyone to know where the girls are staying.’

  ‘One did come by, took some photos, wanted information about the members of the family – which I didn’t give, incidentally – and left. The firemen say it was definitely arson, started in the big room to the right of the front door. Angelika is pretty calm, on the whole. She assumes she’s staying with you for the time being. Hope that’s all right. I’ll ring again when I know more, shall I?’ And he shut off.

  Stewart was a man in a million.

  The next message was from Thomas, worried about her, wanting to make sure she’d ring him if he was needed, saying that if so, he’d come straight back.

  She’d manage, wouldn’t she? Somehow. She’d ring him back in a little while. It was no good ringing when he was in one of his important meetings, or lectures or whatever they were.

  The next message was from a woman whose voice Ellie didn’t recognize. Ah, Betsey, from Harmony in the Home; Ellie had forgotten all about her. She must be the ‘blondie’ who Rose said had been calling round. Well, it looked as if Betsey would have another big project on, when the Hooper house was renovated. But what about the job Ellie had asked her to do, of reorganizing their own house to accommodate Thomas’s family?

  ‘Mrs Quicke, I’ve called round a couple of times with some suggestions and estimates, but I gather you’re in the thick of a domestic drama at the moment. I’ll leave the material with you, and perhaps you’ll get back to me when you’ve a minute.’

  Nice woman. Understanding. Put that on one side for the moment. Thomas was right; his family would have to go to a hotel.

  Ellie riffled through the pile of mail which Pat had left for her, but couldn’t concentrate on any of it.

  Vera appeared, flushed and laughing, with a cup of tea and some sandwiches on a tray. ‘Mikey thinks you’re hungry. Do you have time to wait till we can cook you something?’

  ‘I wish I did, but I haven’t. Bless you, and welcome home. I know it’s chaotic at the moment, but—’

  ‘It’s just fine, and Mikey’s loving it. Sit down, and eat up.’

  Ellie relaxed, smiling; and obeyed.

  ‘Now,’ said Vera, ‘Rose and I have made out a shopping list, and I’m going to show Rose how to order online, if you don’t object. I’ll use the laptop Edgar gave me and set it up in the kitchen for the moment, though no doubt I can find a better place later on.’

  Ellie grinned and flapped her hand at Vera as she bit into an enormous ham and tomato sandwich. ‘Mmflm. Soon . . . be able . . . top floor?’

  ‘Yes, Mikey’s up there now with his scooter. I hope you don’t mind. He needs to burn off some energy. It’s so light and airy I’m sure we’ll be very happy to live up there when it’s got running water and some heating. I’ve told him he’s got to put those books back in the library where’s he set up his laptop, but he just stared at me, so I dare say we’ll have a spot of bother about that. Is there something else you’d like me to do?’

  ‘Mm.’ Ellie swallowed. She was so hungry she was eating far too fast and was going to get indigestion. ‘Thomas wants to move his office into the library, which will give him more room and be more convenient in every way. Do you think you could start on that? If Mikey doesn’t object?’

  ‘He’d better not. Now, shall I get you another cuppa?’

  Ellie shook her head, reaching for the sheet of information Mr Abel had got for her. Poor man; she did hope he’d be cleared of wrongdoing soon. But there, her solicitor could be trusted to get him out.

  Evan’s son. Well, a Philip Hooper appeared to be living at an address up Greenford way. There was a landline phone number, but no mobile. She dialled. Nobody picked up, and there was no answerphone so she couldn’t leave a message.

  Next, Ellie braced herself to ring the first Mrs Hooper. The code number was not for anywhere south of London like Brighton in Sussex, as Freya had thought, but for an Inner London area. This was borne out by the Knightsbridge address, which was within spitting distance of Harrods. Upmarket, or what?

  ‘Mrs Hooper? Mrs Monique Hooper? You don’t know me, but . . .’ Ellie tried to explain without giving too much away, or causing panic. Best to say only that Evan had been taken ill and Ellie was trying to sort out the resultant confusion. ‘Would it be possible to see Mrs Hooper?’

  A cool alto voice. ‘Very well. I’m at home this afternoon but will be going out this evening. Would you care to drop by within the hour?’

  Mrs Quicke would
. But first Mrs Quicke had to take her husband’s advice and – not before time – dress up a bit. A fine cashmere and wool sweater over a heather tweed skirt. Her best ankle boots, the ones that were a bit difficult to get into, and a jacket. A gold bracelet. A pity, but she seemed to have mislaid her pearls. Oh dear. Well, no time to look for them now. Ring for a cab. Her bill with the cab company this month was going to be something horrendous.

  She could hear Vera shouting, ‘No, Mikey!’ as she went down the stairs. He was probably objecting to Thomas moving into the library. Well, tough. Ellie bit her lip. Should she interfere? Er, no. She hadn’t time. The cab was at the door. It was still raining. Up with the umbrella, and out goes she.

  Fiends take them. Where are they? It’s as if they’ve dropped off the face of the earth, but however far they go, wherever it is they’ve taken shelter, they can’t get away from me.

  The den of iniquity is uninhabitable. Good.

  Our progenitor has been whipped off to hospital and is being kept in for tests, no visitors allowed, or so the woman on the switchboard at the hospital says. Could the wicked stepmother have removed him from there and hidden him in a hotel?

  They’ve taught me to be logical. If there’s a puzzle, find a way to solve it. This one’s called Hunt the Angel. I don’t hate her, particularly. She’s pretty enough, if you like that kind of thing. Pretty stupid, too. If she hadn’t been contaminated by him, I might have let her live.

  Now Fern and Fiona are dead, there’s only one place I can be sure of getting some information, and that’s at the house. There’ll be insurance people and reporters hanging around. Someone there is bound to know something.

  No more disguises, though I’ve enjoyed using them from time to time. It’s a wonder what you can buy on the Internet these days. Wigs, masks . . . even the ingredients to make the Big Bang, though I’m saving that till I can get Daddy together with the last of his women.

  But for now, I need to take something to calm my nerves. This is all taking longer than I’d hoped it would. Concentrate on the next step; it would be only natural for me to have heard about the fire and so turn up to see what’s going on. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

  That’s how I’ll find the Fallen Angel.

  The first Mrs Hooper lived on the first floor of an exclusive block of flats round the corner from Harrods. Very quiet. Very expensive.

  As was Mrs Hooper.

  Taller than Ellie. Bulkier. No fool. Mid sixties? A massive head with features that reminded Ellie of a Roman emperor. Handle with care.

  Mrs Hooper was wearing something from a designer’s boutique in filmy black georgette over silk, with a socking great diamond brooch on her lapel. And pearls.

  Ellie felt underdressed.

  Mrs Hooper’s hair was short and beautifully cut. She might have been a redhead once, but now she was silver grey. She was discreetly made up. There were five rings on her fingers, all of them heavy with gemstones, and her shoes were creaseless, impeccable. No glasses. Contact lenses?

  The flat had been furnished with lots of money, and Ellie felt that Betsey, of Harmony in the Home, would have approved. There were some good modern drawings on the walls.

  The surprise was that Mrs Hooper was a smoker. ‘You don’t mind?’ Taking a cigarette from a box on the table and lighting up. A gold lighter, of course.

  Ellie did mind, but wasn’t going to say so. She reminded herself, Handle with Care, and shook her head. ‘Thank you for seeing me at short notice.’

  Mrs Hooper inclined her head. Interested, but not curious. ‘You say my ex-husband’s been taken ill?’

  Ellie took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know how much you keep in touch?’

  ‘What is this about?’ A narrowing of the eyes.

  ‘Perhaps he’s told you that the police are looking into several recent deaths in the Hooper family?’

  ‘No. Really?’ A stare as hard as the diamonds on her breast.

  Ellie stumbled on. ‘I’m afraid so. They would very much like to write them off as misadventures or accidents, but three deaths are two too many.’

  ‘Three? What! Who?’

  Ellie explained, adding, ‘Mr Hooper is currently under observation in hospital following a fall, and last night an arsonist set a fire which destroyed the front of his house.’

  ‘What? I don’t believe it!’ The woman got to her feet, reddening beneath her make-up.

  ‘Which?’ Ellie was confused.

  ‘About the house! It’s my house. My father’s house. I was brought up in it, and I still own it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I didn’t want to sell it to Evan. I thought that some day I might want to live there again, though as it turns out I prefer Knightsbridge. Evan rents it from me.’

  Monique ground out her cigarette and took a short turn around the room. Giving herself time to assimilate the news?

  Ellie could hear Monique’s breathing. Hard and quick and shallow. Asthma? Ought she to be smoking?

  It was growing dark already. Monique switched on a couple of side lamps. ‘Evan’s all right, I suppose? Nothing serious, or you’d have said. I’ll have to contact the insurers because I’m responsible for the building. What a bore. Is it still structurally sound?’ She had herself well under control again.

  ‘It’s too early to say. I think, probably, yes.’

  Monique had managed to control her distress. Reseated herself. Lit another cigarette. ‘Arson, you said. Did they catch him?’

  ‘The police are questioning a man from Mr Hooper’s office about it, a man who’s under notice to quit. I don’t think he was responsible.’

  The woman blinked, cigarette suspended in mid-air. ‘You said Evan’s in hospital. What’s the prognosis?’

  Ellie told her what she knew. ‘It sounds like concussion. He’s in the best place, being well looked after.’

  ‘Thank you for letting me know. Now, if that’s all?’

  Ellie nerved herself. ‘I think the police may wish to question your son Philip about what’s been happening.’

  ‘Really? How absurd!’ Yet her eyelids flickered, indicating unease.

  ‘I can’t think of anyone else who has the opportunity and the knowledge to commit these crimes.’

  ‘How ridiculous.’ Monique had excellent control. She lit another cigarette from the butt of the first. ‘I don’t know whether I am more amused or horrified. You think my son is killing off members of his own family? What nonsense! You should be careful what you say. The laws of slander are rigorous.’

  ‘It’s a possibility, only, but one that I feel should be explored. I wanted to speak to you about it before I took my theory to the police.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Monique gave herself time to think by walking over to the windows to draw the curtains, which were floor length, double width, heavy damask, interlined. With her back to Ellie, she said, ‘By what right . . .? How have you come to be involved with the Hoopers?’

  ‘I’ve given sanctuary to Evan’s current wife and his surviving daughter, and my own daughter is at this moment sitting beside Evan in hospital.’

  ‘You intend to go to the police with this ridiculous theory of yours?’

  Ellie chose her words with care. ‘I have no evidence that your son is responsible for what’s happening, but I believe that he is. Don’t you?’ A shot in the dark.

  ‘No, of course not. There is nothing to indicate that . . .’ Her voice trailed away. She returned to her chair. ‘He does get the odd bee in his bonnet, but I take no notice.’ Was Monique trying to convince herself that there was no reason to suspect Philip? Who could blame her for that?

  Ellie said, ‘Have you any idea why he might be doing this?’

  The smallest of hesitations. ‘No, of course not.’ A lie?

  ‘You are not in contact with him?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Birthdays, Christmases. A night at the theatre, a meal at the Ivy, that sort of thing.’

  ‘His decision or yours to re
strict contact?’

  Monique fingered another cigarette. ‘Three deaths, you say? That’s shocking, but nothing to do with Philip. What an imagination you have!’

  ‘Yet I think you know, or suspect, something?’

  Monique seemed to make up her mind to be frank. ‘I was forty-three when my father took Evan Hooper into the firm and one night – somewhat to my surprise – I ended up in bed with him. Yes, it turned out that I was pregnant. I wasn’t particularly pleased but we got married, my father retired and Evan was made a director. Everything went wrong when the baby was born. I was in a coma for sixteen days. They didn’t think I’d live, but I did. Only, there would be no more children, and I was paralysed from the waist down.

  ‘Evan found a nanny, moved me to a specialist hospital. I hardly saw the baby. His nanny became his mummy. It was almost a year before I went home, walking with a frame. The boy didn’t want to know me. Such a poor, pale little thing. He started at every sound. I tried to be a good mother.’ A hard laugh. ‘I read books, I talked to professionals, but there was no bonding between us. Maybe I was just too old, more like his granny than his mother.

  ‘Evan and I tried to paper over the cracks for a couple of years though my health was still not good and we slept in different bedrooms. I wasn’t particularly surprised when he found himself a playmate. He was highly sexed, and I wasn’t. I pretended I knew nothing about it. When Philip was seven Evan came to me with the news that his little bit on the side, Fern – yes, the woman who became the second Mrs Hooper – was pregnant. He asked me for a divorce. He was prepared to buy me out of the business, but wanted to keep the boy and the house. I agreed, and we parted on good terms. I started up a new estate agency in South Kensington . . .’

  Not South coast, but South Kensington.

  ‘. . . and my health gradually improved. I had other chances at marriage, but once was enough for me. Philip visited me at weekends and for odd days in the holidays, but I fear both he and I regarded these visits as a duty, rather than a pleasure. As time went on, he seemed to become more, not less, nervous. I wondered if he were being bullied at school. Evan enquired, but it seemed not. His teachers said he was a loner. I wondered if he felt neglected by Fern and his little sisters, but again, it seemed not, as his nanny had stayed on to give him some continuity in his life.