Murder My Neighbour

by Veronica Heley

  ‘So I come along in the van and see a car turning into the drive. I wasn’t sure who you might be, so I parked a little way back on the road and walked in just as the lady was breaking the window . . . which I’d better tell the police as I did it, no need to get you into trouble, missus.’

  ‘Don’t do that,’ said Ellie. ‘I did it, and I’ll own up to it. You’ve got enough to worry about.’

  ‘Don’t I know it! They’ll have me down the station, boxing me in, getting me to say black is white, and before you know it, they’ll have me in handcuffs, thinking I killed her for her cigarette lighter. Which I didn’t.’

  ‘No, I’m sure you didn’t,’ said Ellie. ‘Stewart, would you do something for me? Do you remember my solicitor, Gunnar Brooks? A heavyweight – in all directions. What I mean is . . . Oh, never mind about that, now . . .’

  Remembering Gunnar was a happy thought. He was indeed a heavyweight; he weighed in at eighteen stone, but being over six foot two in height, his weight didn’t look anything out of the ordinary. He was also the senior partner in a prestigious firm of solicitors in town, he’d known and respected and admired Ellie’s aunt for ever, and he was always happy to oblige her niece in such trivial matters as finding corpses. In fact, her adventures amused him.

  She said, ‘Mr Fritz and I will be happy to make statements to the police but we’ll need Gunnar’s help so that we can get home in time for tea. Can you find his telephone number and get hold of him for me?’

  Stewart succeeded in getting through to the solicitor’s office on his mobile as the first of the police cars turned into the driveway. He hesitated. ‘Ellie, can you take the call? I’d better show the police where to go.’

  Ellie asked for Gunnar, and as soon as she was through, cut off enquiries about her health to say, ‘Dear Gunnar, I’ve found another body. Yes, a neighbour of mine. We’ve informed the police, who are about to descend upon us. The only thing is; I tried to report her missing earlier and they fobbed me off. They’re going to be furious at being proved inefficient, if not worse. Can you get here to protect me – and the gardener, who is innocent of causing her death – as soon as possible? Or are you tied up with something more interesting?’

  ‘I’ll be with you instantly. Routine bores me to death, and it seems a long time since I visited you for—’

  ‘A glass of Madeira and a slice of Rose’s Victoria sandwich. Well, I’m not sure I can promise you the cake, but I think we can find a bottle of Madeira for you.’

  ‘Give me your address, and I’ll be on my way.’

  Ending the call, she spotted action through the open door into the yard. Predictably, it was Ears who hove into sight first, followed by a cowed-looking DC Milburn. ‘Phoo!’ Ears blenched at the smell.

  ‘This way,’ said Stewart, indicating the open door to the garage.

  But Ears had seen Ellie in the garden and pounced on her first. ‘Mrs Quicke! Now what have you been up to?’ His ears had turned bright red. Never a good sign.

  ‘Let me give you a hand up, missus,’ said Fritz, helping Ellie to her feet. ‘And don’t forget your handbag.’ He passed that over to her as she brushed herself down.

  Ellie told herself to be brave. Ears couldn’t eat her. ‘I found the missing lady for you, that’s all. She’s in the garage behind you, and she’s very dead. This heat, you know.’

  DC Milburn caught Ellie’s eye and mouthed, ‘I did try!’

  Ellie relaxed into a grin. Poor girl. Of course she’d done her best, but what could she do against Ears?

  ‘And what’s so funny?’ blared Ears.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Ellie. ‘Now, before my solicitor gets here, do you want to have a look at what I’ve found? And then I’ll sketch in the background for you, although really, you should have got all that from DC Milburn, right?’

  Ears disappeared into the garage for five seconds and came out looking pale, except for his ears, which remained bright red. DC Milburn followed him, stayed ten seconds and emerged again, also looking pale.

  ‘So,’ said Ears, breathing heavily. ‘Who did it, then?’

  Ellie summoned up her sweetest smile. ‘Oh, I leave all that clever stuff to the professionals. I’m sure you’ll find out in next to no time.’

  Thomas had not returned by the time that Ellie got back home, but Pat was still there. Pat lived in a flat and had never done any gardening, but Rose had enticed her outside and was instructing her in the difference between a weed and a flower. Somewhat to her own surprise, Pat had discovered how pleasant it was, on a gentle summer’s evening, to do a little light gardening under supervision.

  Mia was in the kitchen, putting something in the oven to eat. What a blessing that girl was, and how were they going to cope without her?

  So where was Thomas? Ellie checked, but he hadn’t even left a message on the answerphone for her.

  Her handbag seemed surprisingly heavy, so she opened it.

  A glint of gold, and a wooden handle. Fritz strikes again! Ellie worked it out; he’d gone to the Pryce house armed with a screwdriver so that he could look into the garage for himself, only Ellie had beaten him to it. Then, when the police were on their way, Fritz had realized they might misinterpret his possession of a screwdriver and charge him with going equipped to burgle. So, he’d dropped it into her handbag as he handed it to her. He’d added his gold cigarette lighter, for much the same reason.

  Ellie started to laugh and found it difficult to stop.

  It occurred to her that Mrs Pryce would have been much amused by all these goings-on. Perhaps she was hovering overhead somewhere with a smile on her face, patting her blonde coiffure, and batting her false eyelashes. Enjoying the fuss.

  Ellie plodded up the stairs. ‘A long relaxing bath is what I need. And a change of clothes.’

  She went to her bedroom window and looked out. Far off to the left she could see the turrets of the Pryce house and that one particular window in which Rose had seen the girl in the black scarf.

  Where was that girl now? And why had she been in hiding?

  Not that it mattered, since the police had taken over with dire warnings from Ears if she interfered in his investigations once more. Which she hadn’t the slightest intention of doing, as she had quite enough on her plate without that.

  She turned the bath taps on. Everything she’d been wearing went into the laundry basket. Although Thomas didn’t like her to take their radio into the bathroom in case it got wet and short-circuited, she rather fancied some soothing background music and did so now, plugging it in by the washbasin. She found a channel of orchestral music – Elgar, anybody? – and turned the volume up to drown out her thoughts.

  Thomas had given her a huge bottle of Badedas, a luxury she wouldn’t normally have allowed herself. She poured a plentiful amount into the bathtub, swirled it around till the whole surface was deep in bubbles, stepped in, and slid down into the water. She was really going to enjoy this . . .

  For ten seconds. And then, even above the orchestra, she heard a screech of rage.

  Diana erupted into the room, screaming. ‘How could you! You ruin everything I try to do!’

  ‘What?’ She sat upright. ‘Diana, I’m having a bath.’

  Diana was beside herself. ‘How dare you tell him I’m a dead duck!’

  Ellie raised her voice. ‘It was he who . . . Turn the volume down, will you? Over there. The radio.’

  ‘What?’ Diana clutched the air, her mouth squared into a scream. ‘You ruin every chance I have to . . . !’ Violins surged to a crescendo.

  ‘TURN THE VOLUME DOWN! THE RADIO!’

  Diana looked wildly around, seized the radio and tugged on the cord, which resisted her. She stared at it, lifted it . . .

  Dear God!

  Was she going to toss it into the bath?

  If she did . . .

  Dear God!

  Ellie looked into her daughter’s face and saw . . . death.

  Diana was going to throw the radio down into the
water and kill her.

  THIRTEEN

  Ellie prayed. Dear Lord above, if this is the end . . . Into your hands . . .

  She clutched at the sides of the bath, but her hands were slippery and she lost her grip . . . Her head hit the side of the bath and she slid down into the water.

  Dear Lord, in your mercy, forgive my sins . . . Look after Thomas.

  She flailed around, gulped water. Choked. Floated away . . .

  A confused babel of sounds. A strong pair of hands lifted her head and shoulders out of the water. She coughed and spluttered. A man was shouting. ‘Ellie! Wake up!’

  Who was Ellie?

  She tried to speak, to open her eyes. Failed. Coughed some more.

  She was pulled up out of the water by strong hands.

  Someone screamed.

  The man’s voice said, ‘Ellie! Oh, dear Lord . . .’

  She managed to open her eyes. She saw a tiled wall, a bright overhead light. Inside her head she was in a dark place, full of howling winds. The Slough of Despond.

  A bearded man held her up in a deep-sided bath from which the water was receding. He pulled a towel around her. What was happening?

  The man looked anxious. He held her close. She could feel his heartbeat. Too fast. Thumping away. She knew him, didn’t she?

  Someone . . . a woman . . . screamed, hands to head, mouth ugly, eyes closed.

  The woman had tried to . . . What was it the woman had tried to do?

  The man plucked her out of the bath and seated her on a stool. She had no strength, was a rag doll. She looked beyond her feet. There was a radio on the floor, smashed out of shape. Why was it there?

  She was in shock. Split in two.

  One part was in a bright bathroom. The other part was in the wilderness. She tried to join the two parts together and failed. All she knew was that the woman standing by the door had tried to do something bad to her.

  She could hear herself breathing. Her throat was raw. The man was towelling her dry. He was being rough, trying to pull her back to life. But her life had been twisted out of the true, and she didn’t think she’d ever get it straight again.

  Someone was having hysterics, laughing, crying . . .

  It wasn’t her, was it? The man held her head and looked into her eyes. ‘Is it safe to leave you for a moment, Ellie?’

  Her name was Ellie? She had no words, couldn’t even nod.

  The man left her to tower over the dark woman. A slap. Silence. He thrust the woman out of the bathroom.

  Angry voices came from a distance.

  Ellie. Her name was Ellie? She was confused, couldn’t make sense of what had happened. She was in an icy cold place. Brown and icy. She began to shiver. The towel was wet, uncomfortable. She let it drop from her shoulders. There was a white fluffy robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. That would be warm, wouldn’t it? She lifted her arm in an effort to reach it. It was too far away.

  She was cold, so cold. If only she could put that robe on . . .

  With an enormous effort she managed to stand and reach it. And put it on. There, that was better. Perhaps the trembling would stop now.

  More shouting from the other room. What was going on? Did she, in fact, care? She shuffled to the door and pushed it open. The man was furious about something. She thought his blood pressure must be going through the roof, and that was a comforting thought, reminding her of the world in which she used to live.

  A dark-haired woman was with him, in tears, pale as ash except for a red mark on one cheek. ‘Mother, he hit me!’ The voice came from far, far away, tuning in and out. Was there water in her ears? ‘He says I was going to . . . but I . . . I couldn’t find . . . control to turn the sound . . .’

  The words meant nothing to her. Mere sound and fury, signifying nothing.

  Ellie? Her name was Ellie? She was too tired to stay on her feet. The man leaped to her side, helping her to reach the bed. She sat down with a bump.

  The man was speaking. The words meant nothing. They echoed round her head. ‘She had . . . ready to throw . . . Another minute . . .’

  ‘. . . lying! Why would . . . Believe . . . ?’

  It was all a dream. A dream . . .

  She fell back on the pillows, beyond speech. My name is Ellie . . . ?

  ‘I meant no harm,’ the dark woman whined, twisting her hands together.

  Curling herself into a foetal position, Ellie slipped down into the brown hollow where the ice-cold winds whistled around her.

  The man shouted something. He grasped the dark-haired woman’s arm and thrust her away from the bed.

  Ellie was trembling. It started small, with a quiver, and grew worse. The dark woman’s voice was raised in protest, going fainter . . . going away.

  The man picked her up, held her tight. ‘There, there. There, there.’ He rubbed her arms and back, and then her legs, bringing her back to the present, trying to hold her from slipping back into the wasteland. At last the tremors subsided, and she relaxed against him.

  ‘I’ll get the doctor.’

  Why would she want a doctor?

  He held her away from him to check that she had stopped shaking, got her out of his damp bathrobe, and tucked her up in the duvet. Nice. Warm.

  It was a bright day. Too bright. She closed her eyes against the brightness.

  There was something she needed to ask the man, but she couldn’t remember what it was. She half-opened her eyes. He smiled down at her. She liked this man a lot.

  He was saying something . . . praying over her? That was good, too.

  She drifted away into sleep.

  Thursday night to Friday morning

  She woke. It was dark. Someone was murmuring words in her ear. Soothing. She’d been wound up tight as a drum. She couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was . . . gentle, hopeful. Tears slipped down her cheeks and were wiped away. Her breathing slowed. She relaxed and slept again.

  How many times did that happen before she half woke to the realization that the dark-haired woman had meant to kill her, perhaps only for a couple of seconds . . . but in that couple of seconds she had intended to throw the radio into the bath and electrocute her.

  The radio was plunging down towards her . . .

  She started upright. She was in bed. She prised her eyes open. Someone had drawn the curtains, muting the power of the sun outside. Or was it dusk already?

  A little brown woman sat in the chair by the window, smiling a nutcracker grin. Was that . . . could it be . . . Miss Drusilla Quicke, Ellie’s much-loved aunt? ‘Good girl. Coming out of it? I’m so glad you found Mrs Pryce. You’ll sort out what . . .’

  Who was Mrs Pryce?

  She slid down in bed and closed her eyes again. She dreamed she was walking in a garden full of roses in the dusk. The fragrance of the roses was all around her. The dripping tap was the only sound she could hear, except for the birds . . . mostly sparrows, twittering to their nests as the dusk deepened to night. She stood by the pond, watching the reflection of a cloud as it passed overhead, and then she was in the water, looking up at a dark-haired woman’s furious face and seeing the radio hurtle down towards her.

  She sat upright, breathing hard. Tears formed and slid down her cheeks. She lifted her hands . . . oh, the effort that took . . . and wiped them away.

  She knew who she was. Ellie, that was her name. She knew where she was. At home in bed.

  A little brown woman was sitting in the chair by the window. No, it wasn’t Miss Quicke. Ellie recognized her dear friend Rose, snoring gently. The curtains had been drawn against the light outside. Ah, so Rose had managed to climb the stairs again? That was good.

  Ellie eased herself out from under the duvet. Naked. Ah, well. She did sometimes sleep naked, because . . . She smiled, remembering Thomas chasing her round the bed pretending to be a bear . . . Yes, well. Her smile morphed into a grin. Thomas was just great in that department, as in all others. Thomas had saved her life and prayed over her. But Diana . . .
! No, she would not think about Diana now.

  She turned her head with difficulty. Yes, Thomas had slept in bed with her last night. In fact, she seemed to recall waking at some point from a nightmare and him comforting her. Praying for her? She supposed she ought to be thanking God for giving her back her life, but she wasn’t sure she could. Not yet, anyway.

  She turned her thoughts away from prayer. She’d been anxious about Thomas for some reason. Why? The reason eluded her.

  With an effort she swung her legs out of bed and reached for her dressing gown, which someone had thoughtfully put on the chair nearby . . . just too far to reach. The room went round and round. And steadied.

  There was a carafe of water and a glass on the bedside table. Good. She was thirsty. She drank some water. She had a slight headache. She touched the back of her head gently. Yes, it was sore. Oh, Diana!

  She shuddered. She pushed the horrible memory to the back of her mind. Don’t think about that now. What time was it? Eight? In the evening? Or was it the next morning? What day would that be? Thursday or Friday?

  In her chair by the window Rose woke up with a start. ‘Gracious me, don’t tell me I dozed off. He made me promise to call him the moment you woke up, and here’s me wasting time—’

  Ellie managed to speak though her voice was hoarse. ‘I’m quite all right, Rose. Honest.’ Well, not really all right. But improving. ‘You made it up the stairs, then.’

  Now, Ellie, don’t start crying again. It doesn’t help.

  ‘Of course I did, and without anyone helping me, either.’ Rose eased Ellie into her dressing gown. ‘I’ll call him in a minute, as I expect you’ll be wanting the bathroom before you do anything else.’

  Which was true. Her big bath sheet lay in a heap on the bathroom floor, sodden. Some people never understood that towels do not dry themselves if left in a heap on the floor. Thomas, though a wonderful man in many ways, had never grasped this principle.

  A wrecked radio had been shoved under the stool. So it had all been true? She’d hoped that it had been a bad dream.

  Rose had drawn the curtains back by the time Ellie returned. ‘Another lovely day. A really blue sky. I’ve told Thomas you’re awake and looking tickety-boo, and he’ll be up shortly. You’ll be wanting some breakfast I’ve no doubt, and if you’ll tell me what you fancy, I’ll get straight on to it for you. You look a bit shaky. Let’s get you back to bed.’