Murder My Neighbour

by Veronica Heley

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we have to drink to our special relationship. Cheers!’

  She let him touch her glass with his and took a small sip of wine. It was too dry for her taste, but she told herself she was no connoisseur. ‘What relationship is that, Mr Hooper?’

  ‘Call me Evan.’ He laid one large hand over hers and patted it. The back of his hand was dotted with liver spots. ‘My dear Ellie; surely it’s no secret?’

  She removed her hand, letting the waiter take away her half-eaten starter. ‘You have the advantage of me, I’m afraid.’

  He was annoyed with her. He opened his mouth to issue a rebuke, remembered he needed her cooperation – or whatever it was he might be after – and treated her to a blinding Shark smile. Very good false teeth. Or, more likely, implants.

  ‘Do I need to spell it out?’ He’d gone all roguish. ‘It can hardly be kept a secret much longer, can it?’

  Diana! thought Ellie. To Mr Hooper, she said, ‘Perhaps you’ll let me in on this secret of yours then?’

  His smile faded. ‘I believe your daughter . . . ?’ He waggled his eyebrows.

  ‘Yes?’ said Ellie, with a bland smile.

  The waiter laid a huge plateful of steak and kidney pudding in front of her, with a side dish of new potatoes, carrots and broccoli. All swimming in butter. It looked delicious.

  The wine waiter brought up a bottle of red wine, opened it, and poured a little out for Mr Hooper to taste. He did so, nodded, took a swig. Looked pleased with himself. Indicated that the waiter should give some to Ellie, and should fill up his own glass, too.

  ‘Surely,’ said Mr Hooper, ‘your daughter has let you into our little secret?’ Perhaps the wine was going to his head, if not to Ellie’s?

  ‘Ah,’ said Ellie, putting carrots and broccoli on her plate. ‘She did say something about business looking up. You are buying her out, is that it?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Shocked. ‘I’m not in the business of rescuing lame ducks.’

  He took another swig of his wine, ladled potatoes on to his plate. Clicked his fingers for the waiter. ‘Mustard.’

  ‘My poor daughter.’ Ellie shook her head, enjoying the rare treat of a steak and kidney pudding done exactly as she liked it. ‘Does she know you think of her as a lame duck?’

  ‘No, of course not. Has she really not discussed this with you, Ellie?’

  ‘Discussed what?’

  His fingers went white, clenched round the stem of his wine glass. ‘Your putting some money into her . . . into our combined agency.’

  So that was it? A straightforward demand for money. Oh well. What else had she expected? She allowed her brow to crease. ‘But I thought – forgive me – she indicated that you and she were on excellent terms.’

  ‘So we are.’ He refilled his glass. Ellie hadn’t touched hers. ‘But that’s a different matter. I don’t mix business and pleasure.’

  So now Ellie knew where she was. ‘Let me get this clear. You plan to use my daughter for sex—’

  ‘Hush! For heaven’s sake! I’m a happily married man.’

  ‘Who likes a bit on the side? You are not proposing to set up house with her and little Frank, then?’

  ‘Certainly not!’

  So Diana had lied about that. ‘Well, you’re both well over twenty-one and – may I have some of that delicious mustard, please? It’s so long since I tasted such a good pudding – and though I can’t say I approve, the law says that whatever consenting adults do in private is no business of mine. Or have I got my metaphors mixed?’

  ‘My dear Ellie, you are missing the point.’

  ‘Enlighten me. You say you’re not in the business of rescuing lame ducks, but that you’ve come to an agreement with Diana – sex aside – to take over her agency. Now you are saying that this is contingent upon my investing in it? Dear me. I think you may have been misinformed; I don’t have money to spare for rescuing lame ducks either.’

  ‘But I understood . . .’ He gobbled the words. Attacked his food, which was getting cold. Drank some more of his wine. Smiled falsely. ‘You’re having me on, as they say.’

  Ellie watched him nod to himself, over the rim of her glass of water. Was he really so sure of himself that he thought she’d shell out a small fortune, just like that?

  ‘To you,’ he said, lifting his glass in a toast.

  She touched her own lips to her glass in return. She liked his claret better than the white they’d served first, but she wasn’t going to have more than one more sip of it. She tried the water instead. Iced, and with a slice of lemon in it. Excellent for quenching the thirst. She wondered what the sweet trolley might have to offer.

  She said, ‘Tell me, do you have a young Asian man working in your Ealing office? Well spoken.’

  ‘What? Who?’ He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. ‘Oh. Yes. Young Nirav. What’s he done now?’

  ‘Nothing that I know of.’ Well, not much, anyway. Only purloined the keys to the Pryce house in order to move his girlfriend in. And turned on the electricity, which set a whole lot of other problems in motion. ‘He seemed efficient. Not married, is he?’

  ‘How should I know? Hardly out of school. Always well turned out, I’ll give him that.’ He scowled. ‘Not like Abel. Turned up in my office in a filthy shirt yesterday. Not what I expect from my staff.’

  ‘Mr Abel was trying to save Mrs Pryce money. It was turning off the water – a difficult job – that got him dirty. I give him full marks for efficiency.’

  He took another swig of wine, pushed his half-eaten food away, and turned on the charm. ‘Now that you’ve brought the subject up . . . You realize, of course, that the Pryce house is not officially up for sale at the moment?’

  TWELVE

  Ellie was delighted with the dessert trolley. ‘I wonder, do they have a chocolate mousse? I shall have to go on a diet after this.’

  ‘There’s a lot of interest already from developers. If you are interested, we’ll have to move quickly.’

  ‘Oh, just look at that pavlova! I must admit to a weakness for meringues. Yes, please; waiter, the pavlova. And double cream? Lovely.’

  Mr Hooper was not accustomed to being deflected but, to his credit, rose above it. ‘No sweet for me, waiter. Just coffee. Black.’

  One-upmanship? Ellie could play that game, too. ‘Yes, waiter. Coffee for me as well. Sugar and cream. I must say; it’s a long time since I had such an enjoyable lunch.’

  Mr Hooper glared at her and morphed the glare into a number-three Shark smile. ‘You told Mr Abel you wanted to have a second viewing. There is, of course, a great deal to think about when considering the purchase of such an important property, but I’m afraid this one won’t be on the market for long, so if you’re interested, we should—’

  ‘What address do you have for Mrs Pryce?’

  ‘What? I’d have to look in the files, but—’

  ‘She’s disappeared, you know. Never arrived at the retirement home. I’m hoping the police will turn up her body soon.’ She looked wistfully at the sweet trolley. Could she manage some chocolate mousse after the pavlova? No, better not.

  ‘What-what?’

  ‘I wonder if she made a will. If she didn’t and she’s had an accident or something, it’s going to be a bit of a mess, working out who inherits. I mean, it might be a distant cousin, living in Canada. Or some charity or other. She had two cats, I believe. Perhaps she left it all to the pussies.’

  Mr Hooper croaked, ‘Waiter; brandy!’

  Ellie looked at her watch. ‘Dear me, is that the time? Thanks for the lunch, most enjoyable, lovely to have met you, but must go. My son-in-law Stewart is collecting me. That’s Diana’s ex-husband, you know. Such a nice man, honest and reliable. But of course you must know him because he deals with all the house purchases made by the Trust. He was terribly shocked to hear of Diana’s financial woes, as I was, but as you say; who throws good money after bad?’

  She left him gaping after her and made he
r way, floating rather than walking, to the Ladies. Seeing how flushed her cheeks were and easing the waistband of her dress, she considered that she might perhaps have indulged a little too much in her ‘free’ meal. But there; there was no such thing as a free meal, was there? She hoped, insincerely, that Mr Hooper felt it had been worth his while to wine and dine her.

  She grinned at her image in the mirror, deciding that she didn’t care what he felt about it.

  Plus, she’d put a nice spoke in Diana’s wheel. Hah!

  Thursday afternoon

  A Second Time Around clothes shop.

  ‘Will you just look at this! Perfect for my daughter’s wedding. My size and all.’ To the shopkeeper: ‘How much for the lilac dress and jacket?’

  ‘Thirty. It’s a designer label, hardly worn at all.’

  ‘And a matching handbag? Looks like real leather. You haven’t got a hat to go with it, have you? Ah, yes. Right up to the minute. I must say you’ve got some good stuff in at the moment, haven’t you? Better than usual.’

  ‘Depends who brings stuff in. There’s some shoes to match over here.’

  ‘Not my size. How much for the dress, the handbag and the hat?’

  ‘Sixty the lot.’

  ‘Done.’

  Thursday afternoon

  ‘What are you smiling at?’ asked Stewart, handing Ellie into his car. ‘And what is this urgent matter you want me to deal with?’

  ‘Take me to Disneyland!’ said Ellie, with an uncharacteristically florid gesture.

  ‘What? Why?’ He set the car in motion.

  ‘We’re going to do a spot of breaking and entering.’

  ‘What? Ellie, you can’t be serious.’

  Bother. She’d forgotten how strait-laced he was. Thomas would have trusted her and not asked questions. Oh dear, she did hope he could sort his bishop out . . .

  ‘It’s quite all right. I’ve just had lunch with Mr Hooper.’ She wasn’t lying, exactly.

  ‘I suppose that’s all right, then.’ He turned into the Disneyland drive and parked. ‘So why did you ask me not to forget my tool kit?’

  ‘Can you bring it along with you?’ The door to the yard wasn’t locked, was it? No. Perhaps Fritz had been frightened away, and perhaps not. The house itself ought to be empty. She pushed through the door into the yard.

  Pooh. A trace of rot on the air. Damp? Well, no. Not the drains.

  Stewart had followed her in. ‘Ellie, what are we doing here?’

  The padlock on the door from the covered area into the garage looked strong and new but, as Fritz had demonstrated, a padlock was only as effective as the screws that held it into the wood. ‘Stewart, can you take the screws out of that padlock, please? I need to get into the garage.’

  ‘What?’ She might have been asking him to sacrifice one of his children! ‘I can’t do that. Ellie, what’s going on?’

  ‘Trust me, Stewart. It’s important. Mrs Pryce has gone missing, and I have a horrid feeling she’s been stashed in the garage. I’d get the padlock off myself, but I haven’t got a tool kit and I know my wrists aren’t strong enough to get those screws out.’

  ‘No.’ Stewart downed his tool kit and folded his arms at her.

  She danced with impatience. ‘Look, there’s a big freezer in there. I know because I’ve heard it start up and—’

  ‘You’re imagining it.’

  ‘No, I’m not. The electricity’s been turned off since yesterday morning, and if she’s in there, she’s going to start decomposing again any minute now.’

  ‘What? I can’t smell anything.’

  Ellie rather thought she could. Or was she imagining it? Was it perhaps too early for the body to become smelly?

  Stewart picked up his tool kit. ‘I’m not being a party to this, Ellie, and neither are you. If you think Mrs Pryce is in there – which I doubt – then you should inform the police.’

  ‘I’ve tried that and they won’t listen.’ She calculated distances and swung her handbag against the garage window, stepping back as it broke.

  ‘Ellie! Whatever . . . ?’ asked Stewart. ‘Are you all right? Have you hurt yourself? Of all the . . .’ He sniffed the air.

  As did Ellie.

  A buzzing sound came from the garage, and a number of blowflies found their way out into the open air through the broken window.

  Ellie sucked a cut finger.

  Stewart found a large screwdriver in his tool kit and set to work. One screw out. Another. He took the padlock off and opened the door.

  ‘Phew.’ He blenched. Drew back.

  ‘We have to make sure,’ said Ellie. She took a deep breath and stepped into the garage, batting flies away.

  The freezer stood on a concrete floor, tucked into the shadows at the back of the garage. It wasn’t locked. In fact, a piece of heavy material seemed to have prevented the lid from closing completely. In order to aid decomposition?

  Ellie held her breath and pushed up the lid.

  More flies. How quickly did flies settle on a body? Of course, just after Mrs Pryce had been killed, there’d been a period of two or maybe three days when the electricity had been turned off. Decomposition must have started at that time and been arrested when the electricity had been turned on again by the squatters . . . and not turned off again when they left.

  The motor had been labouring to cope, since the lid hadn’t been closed properly. All this time the freezer had been on until Mr Abel had turned the electricity off again yesterday. And that had started decomposition once more.

  Stewart pushed Ellie gently aside to see for himself what had been lying there for so long. Mrs Pryce looked up at them, hair carefully blonded, false eyelashes still clinging to her cheeks. Head at an odd angle. A gash on one temple with dried blood around it. She was wearing a long purple housecoat in a velvety material. One fold of the garment had not been tucked into the freezer with her and had kept the lid from closing properly.

  Stewart helped Ellie out into the yard, only to come face to face with someone Ellie knew.

  ‘So you found her, then?’ said Fritz.

  Ellie made it to the nearest drain before throwing up her lunch. Oh dear.

  Stewart gagged, controlled himself, took out his mobile phone and punched numbers.

  An arm around Ellie’s shoulders guided her through the far door into the garden. Fritz helped her to sit on the side of a raised bed. He left her for a moment to run the garden tap, wetting his handkerchief and bringing it back to help her wipe her face. There was still some water in the system, then.

  She managed to say, ‘Thank you, Fritz.’

  ‘My pleasure. You keep sitting right there. I don’t think it’ll hurt that pretty frock of yours. Will you be all right by yourself for a bit? I need to see her for myself.’

  She nodded. Found a hankie, blew her nose.

  She was trembling. It would pass.

  Fritz left the door to the yard open when he went back in. Ellie could hear Stewart on his mobile, telling the police what they’d found. Practical Stewart. A screwdriver and strong wrists.

  Oh dear, oh dear. Dear Lord, forgive them, for they know not what they do.

  Now why on earth had she thought that?

  Stewart loomed into view. ‘I phoned the police. Are you all right, Ellie? How did you know?’

  ‘Long story short. She’s been missing for a while, but nobody wanted to do anything about it for different reasons. Then her great-nephew came looking for her and stole from us – which set me off on her trail.’

  Fritz shuffled back into the garden. His face gleamed with sweat, but he didn’t actually vomit. He went to the garden tap, turned it on, and drank some water out of his cupped hands.

  Stewart turned on Fritz. ‘Who are you, and how did you come to be here at the very moment that we found her?’

  ‘She knows.’ Indicating Ellie. He squatted on the ground, put his head back, took deep breaths.

  Ellie tried to think straight. ‘Fritz, no need for you to st
ay, especially if you’ve work to do.’

  He cracked open his eyes, tried to smile. ‘Thank you, but no. I’ll stay, face the music. They’ll take one look at the garden and know I was here. To think . . . all this time . . . and me believing . . . The car being gone, see. The youngsters didn’t have nothing to do with it, did they?’

  ‘No. Except that they turned the electricity back on.’

  ‘I only ever caught sight of the girl once. Dressed in black, head to foot, with a scarf around her head. Scarpered the moment she saw me. I knew she was around, seen her footprints. Could see where she’d cut herself some roses. Poor thing; I didn’t grudge her a few flowers, locked up in that top room all the time.’

  ‘What?’ said Stewart. ‘Who?’

  Fritz said, ‘Dunno their names. Do you, missus?’

  Ellie shook her head. She thought she might know one of their names, but was it right to give it to the police if they’d had nothing to do with Mrs Pryce’s death, and they’d gone to such lengths to hide themselves away? If Mrs Pryce hadn’t minded Fritz coming in to tend his vegetables, wouldn’t she also have given permission to the young couple to stay in her empty house – that is, if she’d known about it? Which, of course, she hadn’t.

  Ellie rubbed her forehead. She was getting a headache, not thinking straight.

  Stewart was hard to deflect. He addressed Fritz. ‘So, how did you happen to come along at the right time, eh?’

  ‘It was her –’ he poked an elbow in Ellie’s direction – ‘talking about the electrics. All this time I thought Mrs P had gone off in her car and got herself lost somewhere. Tell the truth, I’m not much in the thinking line. But when Mrs Quicke asked me when the electrics had been turned off and put on again, I kept remembering that I’d heard the freezer running all this time and thought her stepdaughter was supposed to have emptied it out and I’d seen her doing it. Except that she should have switched it off at the power point on the wall when she’d done that, shouldn’t she?