Murder in the Garden

by Veronica Heley

  ‘I'm afraid there is,’ said Ellie. She felt very tired. ‘Your brother and father saw Jasreen leave the house the following evening. She'd spent some time alone in there with the Spendlove boy. The French windows were open, and they were in the back room. He was urging her to resist your family's arrangements for her. He offered to marry her, even. That must have alarmed your father enormously. The rest of the Spendlove family returned from their evening out, and Jasreen left by the garden … only to be waylaid by your father and brother. She never left the garden. There were bushes and shrubs providing perfect hiding places.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘You think my father …? No, no. It was your husband.’

  ‘We'd left London by that time. You know that it was either your father or your brother who killed her. Do you know - do you even care - which one it was?’

  ‘If it happened that way, then it was an honour killing. We could not have lived with the shame of our sister refusing to obey us.’

  ‘Which one? Your father or your brother?’

  ‘It would have been … if what you say is true … it must have been my father. But he was justified!’

  ‘Was he? Then why didn't he go to the police and confess what he'd done?’

  ‘Your laws are-’

  ‘If you want to live in this country, you must abide by its laws. But you knew that very well. So the following night the three of you used our gardening tools to bury the body, and then set light to the shed to hide all traces of what you'd done. The Spendloves moved away. When Gerry Spendlove rang your house, he was told Jasreen had left for Pakistan. Do you still live in Perivale?’

  He gave a great start. ‘What do you know about-?’

  ‘Gerry Spendlove told me that was where Jasreen lived. He also told me that one of his school friends had warned him Jasreen was due for an arranged marriage. Was that you? Will he recognize you when he sees you again?’

  ‘It was your husband who killed her. He's dead. Let it go at that.’

  ‘Nonsense. Frank might have looked but he'd never have touched.’

  He stood up, went to look down the garden. ‘My brother was right. You are a difficult woman and I should not have wasted my time explaining things to you. If you had had any sense at all, you would have agreed with me, the police would have taken the matter no further and my father would be left to die in peace. As it is, we will have to proceed to Plan B. Here …’

  He reached across the table for her glass, but Midge suddenly turned himself from snoozing cat into pouncing kitten, and batted his hand away with his claws out.

  The man yelped and drew back, blood streaking his hand. ‘You …!’

  He swiped at Midge, who knew exactly when to make himself scarce. Midge leaped from the table, knocking over Ellie's glass and one of the bottles.

  The man screeched with fury, trying to right the bottle and the glass while pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to staunch the wound on his hand.

  Ellie said, ‘Oh, dear.’ Trained to clean up household mess, she aimed for the kitchen door to fetch a mop, but the man caught her arm. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To fetch a …’ She couldn't understand what was the matter with her legs. They didn't seem to know what they were there for. She clung to the door frame. ‘What did you put in my drink?’

  ‘A mild sedative only, to help you relax. But now!’ He was angry. ‘I was to take the bottles away with me, wash the glasses … now what am I to do? My brother will not be pleased to have his plans so stupidly wrecked. Well, there is no help for it. I have brought your suicide note with me, just in case. Where is it? Didn't I put it in my wallet? See how you have upset me. I am shaking with nerves. I have never killed anyone before, you see.’

  He unfolded a piece of paper, and held it up for her to see.

  She read, I can't bear the shame any longer. Frank did kill the girl.

  She knew it wasn't really funny, but for some reason she wanted to laugh. How absurd! No one would believe it for a minute!

  It had been stupid to laugh, because it made him angry.

  His face darkened. He caught hold of her arm and swung her back into her chair. The sticky liquid from the bottles swelled into little pools, and began to move slowly to the edge of the table. One drop fell on her skirt. Another on to her leg.

  ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he said, producing a sharp knife. He lifted up her right hand. She tried to pull away. He was much stronger than her.

  He closed her fingers around the knife.

  He laid her left hand, palm upwards, on the table. He forced her right hand - still holding the knife - to hover over her left wrist.

  ‘No!’ She tried to scream. No sound came out.

  ‘And now, dear lady, let me help you to slash your wrists …’

  There was a crash as the door to the garden was thrown open and Mrs Dawes, scarlet-faced and perspiring, thrust herself into the room. Her magnificent chest heaved with the effort she'd made in hurrying across the Green.

  ‘Ellie, whatever's the matter with you! You should have been over at the hall fifteen minutes ago, and … you! What on earth are you doing? Drop that knife, sir!’

  The man had already proved he didn't think quickly on his feet. He froze, the knife poised. Then he made the wrong decision. Instead of running out of the house by way of the front door to the road, he tried to push past Mrs Dawes. That lady was in no mood to be brushed aside. She'd just been through a difficult half hour, trying to excuse Ellie's failure to turn up to do the coffee - yet again! Finally she'd rushed across the Green and up the sloping garden to give her friend a piece of her mind, only to find her calmly seated in her conservatory, with the evidence of bottles and glasses still around to show that she'd been drinking with a strange man.

  Mrs Dawes refused to be pushed around any more, thank you! The man was strong and forceful but not over medium height. Mrs Dawes weighed in at fifteen stone in her stockinged feet and was a fraction taller.

  No contest.

  ‘Woman, out of my way!’

  ‘Not so fast, little man!’

  The man screamed with fury. Mrs Dawes brought up her knee. He gagged and doubled over, clutching her dress. She tried to shake him off. He clung, keening to himself. She tried to shake him off, he curled up on the floor, on her feet. She tried to kick him away and lost her balance. She toppled over.

  On top of him.

  Ellie forced herself to her feet. She felt as if she were walking through cloud. He'd given her far more than a light sedative. But there was one thing she knew about sedatives and that was that you could beat them and remain conscious, if you wanted to badly enough. She wanted to.

  Mrs Dawes was thrashing around, screaming at the man to get off her, though really it was she who was on top of him. He'd stopped moaning and was now lying ominously still.

  Ellie lunged for the chair opposite and tried to help Mrs Dawes back on to her feet. She failed. Ellie almost fell on top of Mrs Dawes and the man. Ellie thought about that. Mrs Dawes was purple in the face, shouting for help. Ellie pushed a chair towards Mrs Dawes and tried to help her turn over … on top of the man, but that couldn't be helped. Mrs Dawes, panting and straining, managed to get herself connected to the chair. She hung there, her legs beneath her at an angle, shouting at Ellie to help her up. Ellie pushed the chair further under Mrs Dawes. Mrs Dawes heaved and somehow got herself half off the floor and half into the chair and hung there, panting, her improbably jet-black hair coming down. Her eyes closed, sweat on her forehead.

  Ellie prayed Mrs Dawes wouldn't have a fit. Her blood pressure must have gone through the roof. The man lay still, his face a curious ashen colour.

  ‘Stay there,’ said Ellie. ‘I'll get help.’ She wandered into the hall, bouncing gently off walls as she went. She found the phone, lifted the receiver, and then couldn't think what number she wanted.

  She could hear Mrs Dawes gasping for breath.

  Midge jumped up by the ph
one. He was ruffled. Began to wash himself with furious haste.

  There were fragments of glass on the floor in the hall. And one of the panes of glass in the window by the front door was missing. The man must have got in that way. Ellie shook her head. So she really hadn't left the back door unlocked, had she?

  She rang for the police and an ambulance.

  Twenty-One

  It was early October but hardly any leaves had fallen from the trees as yet. The late flowering roses were looking blowsily content with life. The herbaceous border was at its best, purple and scarlet shrieking at orange flowers.

  Ellie was helping Kate and Armand to plant up their newly landscaped garden. Their previous plans had been tacitly forgotten. There was to be a water feature, yes, but no deep tank where a body had lain for so many years.

  The new water feature was to be on the upper terrace, which had been paved with brick setts in concentric patterns, shaded by a pergola which would eventually be covered by a vine and a golden hop. The water feature was set to one side under a childproof mesh. It would bubble up through a millstone and gently dissipate itself through large pebbles, down through a grid to a pump and up again through the millstone.

  Armand was digging a hole large enough to accommodate the vine, while Ellie was showing Kate how to site plants on either side of the brick path which slanted this way and that down the slope. This garden was even steeper than Ellie's, but at the lower end by the alley, a terrace of three large raised beds had been built up in which Kate intended to grow a variety of fruits and vegetables.

  Kate was carrying pots in containers down the garden, and Ellie was helping her. Ellie wanted Kate to ‘own' her plants, so encouraged her to decide where this hebe or that lavender bush should go. Packets of spring bulbs lay nearby, to fill in any gaps.

  Once they'd agreed on where everything should go, Ellie showed Kate how to transfer the plants from pots to ground.

  ‘You dig a hole a little bigger than the pot which the plant is in,’ said Ellie. ‘And slightly deeper. Then you put some of this good compost in - though really the topsoil here is pretty good. Then you pick up the plant pot with your fingers spread across the top and upend it … like this. The plant should fall out of the pot into your hand, but if it doesn't, then you tap the edge of the plant pot sharply against something hard … like this. The whole plant should now be free of the pot. Drop it carefully into the hole you've dug and stand back to see if it's showing off to its best effect.’

  Kate followed these instructions and stood back, hands on hips, head to one side. Armand was huffing and puffing as he dug away at the top of the garden, digging a hole far larger than necessary.

  Kate hadn't said anything yet about being pregnant. Maybe she was, and maybe she wasn't. Maybe she was just going about smiling to herself because she was happy that the man who'd murdered that poor girl had died in his hospital bed, and that those who'd covered up the crime had been arrested and were awaiting trial. Maybe that was it. Maybe Armand was taking extra care of her because it was a fine autumn day and he felt like it.

  Ellie didn't mind, so long as they were both content with the way things were going for them. She knew they'd had long talks with Tum-Tum - Thomas - and that he'd visited them and stayed for some hours. Perhaps they'd asked him to bless their house. Perhaps their own happiness would do the trick. But prayer always helped, and Ellie had certainly put in her two pennies' worth of that.

  She prayed again now for them and for her spiky daughter Diana, still waiting to sell the last of the flats she'd renovated. Ellie also prayed that the court would make the right decision as to who should have care and control of little Frank. She prayed for Maria and Stewart, settling into their new home, looking forward to the day when his divorce would be made final and they could marry. For Roy and Rose and Aunt Drusilla; who'd have thought that they could all live so close together in harmony?

  She prayed for the girl whose life had been cut short in a clash between cultures.

  * * *

  Kate had started off by saying she didn't think she knew if a plant looked right or not. Now she bent down and twisted the lavender a couple of degrees to the right. Then stood back again. Nodded. Started to infill the hole around the plant with compost. Smiling to herself.

  Ellie turned her attention to the raised beds, taking handfuls of the topsoil that had just been tipped into them and letting them drift through her fingers. Good soil. Even with the winter coming on, they could plant fruit bushes, perhaps some cordon apples and pears, and a clump of rhubarb. Some people set broad beans to overwinter and get a head start on next year's growth. This was a sheltered spot, so perhaps it would amuse Kate to try some. It wouldn't worry her too much if the frost got them.

  Armand, now, was going to be as competitive about gardening as he was about everything else. He'd take it as a personal insult if his broad beans didn't do better than anyone else's.

  Midge arrived from nowhere to investigate what Ellie was doing in someone else's garden. Ellie stroked his head but he wasn't interested in being caressed today. He made his way delicately to the middle of the nearest bed, turned his back on her and squatted down, tail poker-straight out behind him, ears flexing. Concentrating.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Ellie.

  ‘What's that pesky cat doing now?’ demanded Armand.

  ‘What comes naturally,’ said Kate. And smiled.