Murder in the Garden

by Veronica Heley

‘No, you may not. I'm auctioning it at the next bazaar, when you can bid for it if you wish.’

  She ate in silence. Had a second helping. He did the same. She reflected that this was the first time a man had ever cooked for her. It seemed vaguely wrong to let a man cook for her. Only, she didn't think of Thomas as ‘a man' really. Although, he was, of course. A man.

  And a fine figure of a man in his own way. There was a bit of the old-fashioned Navy Cut type sailor about him. All that gardening had slimmed him down a bit, although the amount of cream he'd poured into the goulash couldn't have helped keep his weight down. Or hers, either.

  ‘A selection of cheeses for madam.’ Brie, stilton, a mature cheddar. Nothing particularly unusual about the cheeses. She had some, though. Followed by some very strong after-dinner coffee.

  ‘Which reminds me,’ she said, feeling guilty, ‘I must get along to the church hall, put out the coffee cups and saucers for the meeting this evening.’

  ‘You're feeling better?’

  ‘Thank you. Yes. Sometimes I get things out of proportion. Frank was always telling me about it. I'm a bit stupid that way. Let me help you wash up first.’

  ‘You're not stupid, Ellie. And your sense of proportion is better than most people's. And no, you're not washing up. Go on home, woman, and do your bit for the community.’

  She nodded, suddenly feeling rather shy. ‘Thank you.’ She wanted to shake his hand, which on reflection didn't seem at all the right thing to do. She thought about kissing him on his cheek and decided against that, too.

  He showed her out and waved her off across the Green. She looked at her watch. Had she time for a quick shower before she went over to the church hall? She must change her clothes, collect the biscuits and the tea towels … and what else?

  Midge was sitting on top of the sundial in the middle of her patch of lawn. He never did that. In fact, he was such a large cat that she wouldn't have thought he could balance on it. She wondered how he'd fitted himself around the gnomen of the sundial.

  She paused with the key to her back door in her hand, looking at him. Midge was an intelligent cat and any departure from his routine was worth at least two thoughts.

  Midge wasn't looking her. He was looking up at the house.

  Could someone have got in while she was away? Diana? Well, it was true that Midge didn't like Diana and never willingly stayed in the same room with her, but surely Diana was all tied up with selling her flats at the moment? No one else had a key, did they?

  Ellie scanned the back of her house. The conservatory looked as it always did, though she rather thought the blue plumbago was drooping a bit. Mrs Dawes had warned her about that plumbago, which needed a lot of water. She ought to have given it some this morning before she went out.

  The kitchen looked the same, as far as she could tell. As did the lounge through the conservatory. But hadn't she left the French windows from the lounge into the conservatory open, because it was such a humid day?

  She glanced across the boundary hedge, but there was no sign of life from next door. Probably Armand was working late at school - and Kate? Kate could be anywhere, still at work in the city, or out with a friend.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Quicke.’ A strange voice. ‘I found the back door open, so took the liberty of entering your delightful conservatory. I trust you don't mind?’

  A Pakistani gentleman was holding the door of the conservatory open for her to enter. Was this ‘Mr Patel'?

  He was urbane, educated, charming. Possibly in his early forties. Muslim, probably. Where had he left the Mercedes? In the road outside her front door?

  Should she run for it? No. Why should she? He wasn't at all threatening. He wasn't even very tall, probably not much taller than she was. Midge didn't seem to be alarmed. In fact, Midge had plopped down from his perch on the sundial and was loping up the steps into the conservatory.

  ‘Did I really leave the door unlocked? How very remiss of me.’ She ascended the steps behind Midge.

  Mr Patel pulled out one of her own conservatory chairs for her to seat herself, just as if he were the host and she the visitor. That amused, rather than annoyed her.

  She could understand why Roy had accepted this man as a bona fide customer for one of the town houses at Endene Close, because he looked the part of a wealthy businessman. He was wearing an expensive suit with immaculate shirt beneath, gold cufflinks, excellent shoes.

  She half glanced down at her watch. She didn't have long before she must change her clothes and get herself across to the church. Meantime, she supposed she could find out as much as she could about this man. ‘We haven't met before, have we? Forgive me if I don't offer you any refreshments, but I'm due to go out shortly.’

  He inclined his head towards her. ‘It is for you to forgive me, calling on you unannounced like this. I, too, have many calls on my time and would not normally have forced myself upon you, but there was some urgent business I needed to discuss with you.’ He waved a hand at the inner doors leading into the living room. ‘Perhaps you'd prefer to sit inside in the cool?’

  ‘No, not really.’ It occurred to her that though not many people did use the alley, those who did would be able to see them in the conservatory, but wouldn't be able to see them if they went further inside the house.

  He smiled. ‘Then you must let me provide you with some refreshment.’ He retrieved a briefcase from the floor beside him and extracted two bottles of what looked like lemonade. The labels were unfamiliar to her but looked as if they were written in Arabic. ‘One of my interests is in a soft-drinks firm and this is a new line for us. Lime, with a hint of herbs. We are marketing it for the hot weather next year. These are samples only, of course. I am taking them round with me, asking everyone to give me their opinion.’

  He unscrewed the lids and looked around. ‘Do you have some glasses?’

  Ellie was in fact rather thirsty after all that goulash so she fetched a couple of glasses from the kitchen and placed them on the table. He poured for both of them and leaned back in his chair, lifting his glass towards her and taking a long swallow. ‘Do tell me what you think.’

  If he'd drunk some, it must be all right. She took a cautious couple of mouthfuls. It was pleasant enough, she supposed, though she didn't much care for the hint of herbs he'd mentioned. ‘Refreshing on a warm day, no?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ She drank some more. ‘I'm sure you would do well with this. So what may I do for you?’

  He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. ‘You have a beautiful view from this house.’

  Yes, yes, she thought. Flannel, flannel. So, what does he want? He sat there, bowing and smiling. Irritating her. Midge had polished off the food she'd left out for him in the kitchen and now came yawning and stretching back out into the conservatory.

  She said, ‘I'm afraid this house is not for sale, if that is what you were thinking, Mr …?’ Was his name really ‘Patel', or perhaps … ‘Iqbal'? It would be best, perhaps, not to mention the name ‘Iqbal'.

  ‘Oh, no. I have a very pleasant house of my own, you understand, which I have no plans to leave. My eldest son is interested - not in this house, no - but in a town house in a new development. That is why I came around to have a look at the neighbourhood. There are some very pleasant houses in this district, are there not?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  Midge jumped upon the table and hunkered down, his whiskers enquiring whether the drinks on the table were suitable for a cat. Ellie moved her glass away from Midge, who was perfectly capable of knocking it over if he felt like it.

  Her visitor sat opposite her, quite at home, smiling, watching her over steepled fingers. Ellie noted the gold rings the man was wearing. His hands were plump, the nails well cared for. Definitely a businessman.

  Midge shifted to stare at Mr Patel, which seemed to disturb him. Perhaps he wasn't accustomed to having cats in the house? Mr Patel flapped his hands at Midge and said, ‘Shoo!’ Midge continued to stare, unblinking. Mr Patel
shifted his chair to face away from the cat.

  Ellie said, ‘Forgive me, but I am in rather a hurry …’

  He continued to smile. ‘This won't take a minute. You are on your way out?’ The smile disappeared and the words hung on the air, containing a double meaning. Was there a threat there? Ellie decided that, yes, there probably was. Yet, apart from the fact that he'd entered her house without permission, she did not feel particularly threatened. Midge, certainly, was showing no signs of fear. Midge was watchful, yes. But not angry or afraid.

  She said, ‘May I ask … Mr …? I'm afraid I don't know your name.’

  ‘Patel.’ Again the smile, the slight bow.

  A lie, she thought, still more amused than afraid.

  ‘Mr Patel, how can I help you?’

  ‘If only the garden had been left undisturbed, none of this would be necessary. You would have been able to enjoy your widowhood in peace, our poor sick father would not be fretting his life away in hospital, and my brother and I would not be driven to distraction.’

  Ellie said, ‘You refer to the body of the girl found in next door's garden? You think I was in some way involved …?’

  ‘You knew nothing, Mrs Quicke. We were aware of that. Virtuous women should be protected, and we have protected you all these years.’

  ‘Thank you very much, but-’

  He raised his hands. ‘How could we tell you what had really happened? It would have destroyed you. Your husband would have been sent to prison for life, and your daughter ruined in the eyes of society. Believe me, our family understands what it means to have a daughter disgraced in the eyes of the world.’

  Ellie shook her head to clear it. ‘You think my husband killed that girl? Nonsense. And if it were true - which it isn't - then why didn't you report him to the police?’

  ‘You must understand that twenty years ago we had not been very long in this England. We still spoke Punjabi among ourselves. My father worked very hard to give his children a good education. Our family ties, the culture we brought with us, they kept us separate and proud in this land, so far from our home.

  ‘My father was very strict, very devout, and in turn he revered our grandfather back in Pakistan. We still had very close ties with the rest of our family, with my cousins, uncles and aunts. We still do, of course, but … it is not quite the same now. One of my cousin's daughters has rebelled against the marriage that has been arranged for her, and wants to train as a solicitor. My own children wish to adopt Western dress. It is not the same.’

  Ellie said, ‘It is only natural, surely, that you adapt to Western ways?’

  He spread his hands. ‘To carelessness with morals? To stupefying yourself with drink and drugs? To our daughters flaunting their bodies, inflaming men's worst desires? That girl brought her death upon herself. If her shame had been made known, not one of our family would have escaped censure. Everyone would have pointed the finger at our father. The arrangements for myself, my brother and my sisters to marry would have been cancelled, for who would wish to ally themselves with a family without duty or respect for their parents? We would all have been held up to ridicule for allowing her to behave so badly.

  ‘We could not accuse the murderer without calling attention to our shame, so we gave out that the girl had gone back to Pakistan to be married, exactly as had been arranged. To our cousins in Pakistan we said she had died of a fever.’

  ‘What relation was she to you?’

  ‘She was our sister.’

  He pushed her glass slightly towards her. Automatically she picked it up and lifted it to her lips. She was still thirsty. She hadn't liked the drink much, but at least it would quench her thirst.

  It felt unreal to be sitting in her conservatory, listening to a stranger accuse her husband of murder. It made her want to laugh. With one part of her mind, she could hear herself laughing inside her head. With another part, she wondered how soon she could set the police on to the track of this man who seemed to have regarded his sister as ‘disposable'. And with a third part … how could you have three parts to your mind? What was the matter with her?

  The man was still talking. ‘I do not care for what I see happening to the next generation of our womenfolk. They cease to observe our times of prayer. They dance in public to indecent music. They disobey their elders. Where is their modesty? How can we arrange good marriages for them if they behave without respect for their elders?

  ‘My brother is a respected surgeon, and I have many interests in the food industry. Our remaining sisters married respectable men from back home, both of whom now work in my organization. Our father is still alive though very frail. My sons and daughters will not be forced to marry anyone against their will. Oh, no. But they will be guided by their elders, as is only right and proper. All was well … until my brother heard that our sister's body had been discovered.’

  Ellie rubbed her forehead. Had the central heating switched itself on by mistake? She felt very warm. ‘You don't live locally, do you? So how did you - or your brother - find out?’

  ‘Successful surgeons move around the country. My brother's wife has always kept in touch with a colleague's wife who used to live near him up north, but has since moved back down to London. She phoned my brother's wife to tell her the news, just gossiping, you know. That's how he knew the body had been discovered. He understood at once that action must be taken.

  ‘He arranged to take leave from the hospital and came down to consult with me. The news has put my father in hospital again, and I fear … the prognosis is not good. What should we do? At first I was all for leaving sleeping dogs alone. What good would it do to disturb the way things have been for so long? How could we ever be connected with a body in someone else's garden?

  ‘But my brother was eaten up with worry. He said we must keep in touch with police proceedings. But how? It is not like back home in Pakistan. We know nobody here in the police force. We have not so much as a parking ticket between us.

  ‘I consented to drive around this way. I saw the police tape and the tent in the garden, and realized that I could watch what happened from the houses that were being built on the Green. My brother said we must watch from there, see what happened. My business affairs require me to be in touch by phone all the time - you cannot trust anyone else to make a decision quick quick, like that. But I have spent some time at the houses, saying I was looking for a place for my eldest son, and also at the newsagents and the dry cleaners, who all knew what was going on. It was I who sent the emails to the police, telling them what your husband had done.’

  Ellie wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. ‘I really don't know why you should think Frank was involved.’

  ‘I am sorry for you, indeed I am. I saw him with her. It was all arranged that she should return to Pakistan to marry a cousin that summer, but she had got into the wrong crowd at school and some of her so-called friends were giving her bad advice. She refused to fall in with the family's plans. My mother beat her, and my father reasoned with her. We all reasoned with her. My younger sisters wept, for who would marry them if Jasreen disgraced us by refusing to marry the man selected for her? So my brother and I took it in turns to follow Jasreen home from school … and that was when I saw her with your husband.’

  Ellie knew what had really happened. Gerry Spendlove had told her. She was feeling unaccountably tired. She let herself sink further down into her chair. Midge shifted to look at her with great, golden eyes. She said, ‘I don't have to listen to these lies. Would you please leave now?’

  ‘Not till we've got this all absolutely clear in our minds. Your husband was called Frank. You had a daughter called Diana, who was very badly behaved. If she had been my daughter, I would have taken a strap to her. I saw you that evening at the bedroom window with your daughter. The window was open and I could hear everything you said. You were packing to go away on holiday. Your husband mowed the lawn and put the machine away in the shed. You called out to him to come in for supper, but
he shouted back that he had to find some wire first to secure the door of the tool shed.

  ‘I saw everything. My sister had walked back from school with a boy from her class. They stood at the bottom of the garden, talking. Then he went on up into his house, saying he'd see her in school again the following day. All the time your husband stood there with his mouth gaping, watching her as she walked along the alley and across the Green to the bus stop.

  ‘I'm telling you, he didn't take his eyes off her once! And she, the little whore, rolled her hips and swung her hair, knowing that he was watching.’

  Ellie could see it all. Frank gazing after the young, nubile girl. A beautiful girl with long, dark hair. At that time, Ellie had been not much to look at, worn out with all that had happened to her physically and mentally. It left a bad taste in her mouth to think that he'd yearned after that beautiful young girl. She couldn't blame him for having done so. But he'd been faithful to her. A sigh.

  She said, ‘Men look, but don't often touch.’

  ‘Men like that look first, and then they touch. The next afternoon, my brother and my father followed Jasreen to make sure nothing happened. But they were too late. He'd killed her and left her body in the garden. She had dishonoured us all. The shame of it haunts us to this day.’

  ‘I understand what you're saying, but-’

  ‘We decided not to make it known how we'd been shamed. We went back later that evening - there was a fine moon - we took tools from your husband's shed and we buried her where we'd found her.’

  ‘You got it wrong,’ said Ellie patiently. ‘We - my husband, my daughter and I - all left on holiday the morning after you saw him mow the lawn. Jasreen was seen alive and well, and leaving next door's house the following evening. The Spendloves all agree to that. I do not know who killed her but it was certainly not Frank.’ ‘You are a liar. All women are liars.’

  She tried to get to her feet and failed. What was the matter with her? She said, trying to sound stern, ‘That's enough of that. Now would you please go?’

  ‘Your husband looked at my sister with greed in his eyes. She inflamed him with her rolling walk and flirting ways. He knew she was returning to that house the following day, so he waylaid her and killed her. There is no other possible explanation.’