Murder By Accident

by Veronica Heley

  In the morning all was quiet at Ellie’s, except for little Frank burbling away in his room. Ellie sent up a prayer or two as she huddled into some old clothes. There was no point in dressing smartly if you had to feed a toddler his breakfast.

  Please Lord, look after Aunt Drusilla and everyone who’s been hurt by this, not forgetting that poor woman who was killed. If she had a family, then please keep an eye out for them, too.

  She kept a cupboard full of toys for Frank in the little bedroom and by the sound of it, he was renewing his acquaintance with them one by one. Fairly quietly.

  Ellie listened at Aunt Drusilla’s door before taking Frank to the bathroom, getting him dressed and going down to prepare breakfast. Midge was sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, annoyed that Ellie was late in putting his food down. Frank was in a wonderfully happy mood. Just as well that someone was, thought Ellie. She hadn’t heard anything from either Stewart or Diana about collecting the little boy, so Ellie rang Frank’s childminder direct and arranged for her to pick him up at Ellie’s house.

  Ellie didn’t much like the look of the day ahead. She had all that paperwork to deal with for her charitable trust, but it wasn’t likely she’d be allowed to concentrate on it, with Aunt Drusilla and Frank demanding her attention. And the murder.

  No matter how much she tried to reason it away, the conclusion kept returning to her mind. The wiring in Aunt Drusilla’s room had been tampered with, and there could be only one intended victim. Aunt Drusilla.

  The cleaner had got herself killed by accident, being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Which meant that, however unpleasant the idea might be, someone had tried to kill Aunt Drusilla and Aunt Drusilla suspected someone of having done it. If Ellie had read her aunt aright, then the chief suspect would be … Diana. All that talk about the builder being responsible was so much nonsense. Wasn’t it? Ellie shuddered, and pushed the thought out of her head.

  The police were going to ask who that someone was.

  The list couldn’t be that large. Friends and family. And possibly the people who worked for her. Sometimes those who worked for her were also family.

  Which brought Ellie neatly back to Diana. Ellie realized she must force herself to confront her suspicions.

  Diana thought – quite wrongly, but she did think it – that she would inherit everything on Aunt Drusilla’s death. That was motive enough, but worse still was that Aunt Drusilla had just sacked her from a very wellpaid job.

  Ellie had complicated feelings about her only child, who seemed to think the world had been created for her especial benefit. But Ellie could not – would not – believe that Diana would go so far as to kill her greataunt. Besides, Diana’s reaction on hearing of her great-aunt’s death had seemed genuine enough. Though it had to be said that she could tell a lie with ease when it suited her.

  No, it couldn’t be Diana. She wouldn’t kill her great-aunt.

  Let’s look somewhere else, shall we? Let’s look at Stewart, Diana’s husband. He was also under threat of dismissal and he probably believed he’d gain financially if Diana inherited. But he simply didn’t have the temperament, did he? If he got worked up, he might seize the nearest chair and bash someone with it, but tamper with electricity? No, not his style.

  Next suspect. Roy Bartrick, Aunt Drusilla’s illegitimate son who had only recently been reunited with his mother. Roy was due to inherit a fortune. But no one could fake the reaction he’d had when he thought his mother had died. No, not him.

  The cleaner herself was in Aunt Drusilla’s bad books. She might momentarily have toyed with the thought of murdering Miss Quicke if she’d been subject to one of the old lady’s tirades, but would such thoughts have lasted longer than the next cup of tea? She might perhaps have considered some petty act of revenge, such as smashing one of Aunt Drusilla’s favourite cups and saucers, or leaving the fridge door slightly open so that the contents would spoil. Yes, Ellie could quite see that sort of thing happening.

  Would she have tampered with the wiring, with intent to kill? Thinking that the next person to touch it would be Miss Quicke? Suppose she had, only something had gone wrong and she’d electrocuted herself, rather like those suicide bombers who blew themselves up halfway to their targets?

  Well, it was a possible theory, but the woman worked for an agency and not directly for Miss Quicke, so it seemed a little far-fetched to suggest that being torn off a strip by Miss Quicke would be sufficient reason to want to murder her.

  With some reluctance Ellie discarded this theory, which would have been extremely convenient and taken the heat off the family.

  How about the plumbers Aunt Drusilla had sacked because they’d tried to use the wrong gauge of pipe? Ridiculous. It was more likely that Aunt Drusilla would wish to sue them for trying to pull a fast one, than that they would want to kill her, the goose that laid the golden eggs.

  Ellie smiled to herself. She wished she’d been a fly on the wall when Aunt Drusilla had found out what they’d been doing and confronted them with it. They ought to have known better than to try to pull that sort of nonsense. Ellie could imagine their aggrieved expressions … how could they have expected the old – dear – to know about the correct gauge for pipes?

  Ellie almost laughed. Knowing human nature, she thought the plumbers were probably feeling angry with Miss Quicke because their scheme hadn’t worked. They probably didn’t feel at all guilty about having tried it on.

  However, if the police didn’t find out who’d done it quickly, it might be worth having a word with the plumber.

  The electrician who’d walked off the job that morning? No, no, no. He’d been doing a good job until Miss Quicke ordered him to down tools till Monday. Even supposing he’d taken umbrage about the delay and wanted to do her an injury, he wouldn’t have had time to go upstairs and tamper with the wiring after she told him to stop work. He couldn’t have done that anyway, because he’d have been seen by the cleaner who was working up there. No, no. Strike him off the list.

  The builders? Yes, there had been an argument which Ellie had heard about second-hand from dear Rose. Something about letting part of the house to a friend of the builder’s? According to Rose, the builder had told Aunt Drusilla she’d soon be dead anyway, so why not let that part of the house? No, it really was ridiculous to think the builder would have tampered with the wiring. Why should he?

  Perhaps to give Aunt Drusilla a fright? No, no.

  It sounded as if he’d lost his temper completely with the old lady. What was his name? Ellie had seen it on the scaffolding in front of the house. She ought to be able to recall it. She wondered how long it would be before the police released their hold on the house. That scaffolding was paid for by the week, and it was expensive. Would the builder still charge Aunt Drusilla for its hire, if the police refused to let them take it down? Probably. Hmm. It might be worth a word with them. But as for them wanting to murder Aunt Drusilla? No, it was too far-fetched.

  Which left … Diana.

  No, not even Diana in a temper would kill someone.

  A more welcome thought – what about Derek Jolley? Here was a man who’d been managing properties for Aunt Drusilla for years and presumably had learned enough to realize how wealthy she was. A man who was making up to Diana with a view to helping himself to a slice of cake? Y–y–yes. Possibly. Ellie had never liked the man, considering him the sort of estate agent who gave the trade a bad name. Being a man, he’d know how to tamper with the wiring, wouldn’t he?

  Well, if the police investigation stalled, Ellie would be happy to point them away from Diana and in other directions.

  At this point Midge’s ears switched towards the hall as the phone and the door bell rang at once. Ellie suspected that there was some connection between her cat’s ears, the front door bell and the phone, as no matter how long an interval of quiet there was in her life, Midge knew when there was going to be some action and both would ring at the same time – usually
when Ellie was in the bathroom, gardening, or feeding Frank.

  This time it was Betty, Frank’s delightful childminder, at the door. Frank greeted her with enthusiasm and was borne off without a backward look at Ellie. Oh well, thought Ellie. At least I come second in his affections, after Betty. What a dear little boy he was turning out to be now that he was growing out of the tantrum stage, so different from what his mother had been at that age.

  No. Stop that thought. Diana had been a loving child, too. Hadn’t she? Of course, she’d had a lot of trouble teething, but no more than was to be expected.

  It was Joyce on the phone, almost hysterical. Would she have to cancel the wedding, or the reception, or what? Would someone please tell her this was just a bad dream?

  Ellie made soothing noises. She would put her thinking cap on, she said. Had Joyce asked the police when Miss Quicke’s house would be released? She had? And? They wouldn’t say? Oh dear.

  Ellie heard Aunt Drusilla making her slow way down the stairs. The old lady had got herself out into the conservatory and seated herself at the table before Ellie could get off the phone.

  ‘Who,’ asked Aunt Drusilla, pointing down the garden, ‘is that young man sneaking up the path?’

  Ellie looked. The ‘young man’ concerned was in his early forties, but he certainly did look furtive as he sidled up the path, glancing behind him now and again.

  ‘That’s my plumber, Jimbo. Mr Johnson. The one who found the body yesterday.’

  ‘I’ll have some porridge for breakfast. With demerara sugar and cream, not salt. I can’t abide salt with porridge.’

  Ellie unlocked the door to the garden and Jimbo more or less fell in. He looked unkempt and he hadn’t shaved that morning.

  ‘Mrs Quicke, you’ve gotta help me!’

  Ellie diagnosed a bad case of panic.‘This is Miss Quicke, Jimbo. Whose house you were in yesterday morning.’

  ‘You aren’t dead!’ Jimbo stared at the old lady. ‘But … no, it wasn’t you, was it? You mean that you weren’t there when … Then who was it who …?’

  ‘Sit down, young man, and explain yourself. Ellie, my breakfast, if you please!’

  Luckily the kitchen opened onto the conservatory, so Ellie was able to measure out oatmeal, add water and pop it in the microwave – with both fingers crossed that she had pressed the right control buttons, because microwaves were rather intimidating, weren’t they? – and put the kettle on while Jimbo seated himself opposite Miss Quicke and began to explain himself.

  ‘I slept in the van, see. Didn’t dare go home.’

  ‘Start at the beginning,’ said Miss Quicke. ‘Take your time. We’ve got all morning. Start from when you arrived at my house yesterday morning. You were late.’

  Jimbo calmed down at this. ‘Well, yes. I was. My mate couldn’t start his car, see, so I went round there to pick him up, ’cause we were going on to another job once I’d seen what you wanted done.’

  Ellie popped her head around the door. ‘Porridge suit you, too, Jimbo? Yes? What time did you really get there?’

  Jimbo shifted in his seat. ‘’Bout quarter past ten, I suppose. I din’t look. First I thought, no one there. I rang and rang. Then this woman come to the door, let me in, din’t say nothing to me. I din’t get a good look at her, ’cause it was darkish in that big hall. She just turned and went up the stairs. We could hear the hoover going up top, then we heard it stop. I shouted out, Yoohoo! like I always do, and said we was come to look at the plumbing but she din’t say nothing. I thought she was you. I thought she’d gone upstairs to shut off the hoover, and then she’d come down and talk to us, tell us what she wanted done.

  ‘So we hung about, waiting. We peeped in the rooms off the hall, in the big sitting room and the dining room. The kitchen. Still she din’t come down. So we called out to her that we were in a bit of a hurry, like. Nothing. In the end I went upstairs and peeped round doors. And that’s when I saw her. Lying on the floor. Dead.’

  Ellie put two plates of porridge on the table, with spoons, sugar and milk. She hadn’t got any cream.

  Miss Quicke picked up her spoon. ‘No cream, Ellie? Oh, very well, I can make do for once. Toast and tea to follow, please. Go on, young man. I understand why you thought it was me, though anyone with a grain of common sense would have realized … However, we haven’t all been born with common sense, have we? Especially men. Eat up while it’s hot.’

  Jimbo picked up his spoon and started to eat. ‘Well, I panicked, didn’t I? Din’t know what to do. So I rang Mrs Quicke here and she said I should get nine–nine–nine, which I did. Though you could see she was deader than anything.’

  Ellie put bread in the toaster and placed butter, marmalade, plates and knives on the table. Switched the kettle on. ‘So why did you run, Jimbo? You knew very well the police would want to talk to you.Your going off like that is bound to make them suspicious.’

  Jimbo shifted on his chair again. ‘Well … it were the tax disc, see.’

  Miss Quicke pointed her nose at him. ‘Out of date?’

  ‘A bit. Well, maybe a lot. And maybe a coupla parking fines outstanding. And a bit of a barney with a copper at New Year. And I had this other job on, din’t I? Urgent, it was. And it weren’t as if I knew anything. I just found her, is all.’

  Ellie dumped toast on the table and went back for a big pot of tea. Mug for Jimbo. Quality cup and saucer for Miss Quicke. ‘You were only there when she died.’

  ‘You do know how to make life difficult for yourself,’ observed Miss Quicke. ‘The police will be more suspicious of you for running away than if you’d stayed and been straight with them.’

  ‘No, they wouldn’t, missus. You don’t know them. Down on me like a ton of bricks, they’d be. Make out it was all my fault, or something. I phoned the wife last night and first thing this morning and she told me they was looking for me real bad. There was a copper sitting in an unmarked all night outside our house. They’re fitting me up, I tell you. I din’t dare go home, spent the night in the van out by Heathrow Airport. Thought about getting out of the country, but I din’t have no passport, no money. My mate Tom’s the same. He’s all right, been with me for yonks, but he’s got a bit of a record, fighting and that, so he said he wasn’t sticking around for them to fit him up. Then I thought Mrs Quicke might help me.’

  Ellie poured herself a mug of tea and joined them at the table. ‘You need a solicitor. I’ll ring mine in a minute and he’ll take you to the police and see you’re treated properly. I suggest you also get all your fines and your tax disc up to date immediately. In the meantime, tell us exactly what you saw when you got upstairs and found the body.’

  He downed a mug of tea and ladled butter on to toast. ‘I had a bacon butty late last night, in a lay-by. Nothing since.’

  Miss Quicke pointed her knife at him. ‘Spill the beans!’

  Ellie nearly choked on her tea. Had Aunt Drusilla been watching latenight films? Spill the beans, indeed!

  ‘We-ell. It musta been the TV, I reckon …’

  Miss Quicke was on to that straight away. ‘Why would she turn on my television? She was supposed to be giving my bedroom a good turnout.’

  ‘She’d done the hoovering,’ agreed Jimbo. ‘You could see that. Nice and clean, the carpet. The hoover was stood by the door, unplugged, cord wrapped up all neat and tidy. We’d heard her hoovering and we’d heard her stop. So that was all right. Then I reckon she’d set about the dusting, turned the telly on for company. ’Cause the telly was on, right, only there were no proper picture. Just them ghost pictures you see when the aerial’s not angled right. It’s an old TV, right, with an aerial screwed on to the window frame?’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that TV,’ said Aunt Drusilla. ‘Good for a few years yet. You just have to know how to tweak the aerial, that’s all.’

  ‘Yes. Well. That was it, I reckon,’ said Jimbo, heavily. ‘She was down on her back on the floor with her arms up and her skirts … well, you could almost see every
thing, not that you’d want to, mind. There was a …’

  ‘Burn mark across her right palm,’ said Ellie, remembering what she’d seen in the mortuary. ‘She’d touched something, moved something with her right hand …’

  ‘And got a helluva shock and been thrown back by it.’

  Silence.

  Aunt Drusilla set down a piece of toast, half-eaten. ‘You mean, she tried to adjust the aerial because the picture wasn’t clear, and that killed her?’

  Jimbo nodded, and passed his mug to Ellie for a refill.

  Aunt Drusilla protested. ‘I often have to adjust the aerial and I’ve never had a shock from it, never.’

  ‘The wiring had been fiddled with. I could see that with half an eye. Not that I’m no electrical expert, but I do know the basics. There should be a wire leading from the aerial to the telly, right? Well, this time it weren’t. It led straight down to an extra plug on the skirting board by the window. I knew enough not to touch that. So I yelled to Tom to get out of there fast and we went down those stairs quicker’n we went up, I can tell you. We found the main fuse box in a scullery place off the kitchen and shut the electrics off.

  ‘Then I went back upstairs ’cause I thought there might be a chance she’d just fainted, but she hadn’t moved. I wanted to close her eyes, but somehow … well, I didn’t. I were shaking. I went down to Tom in the hall, and he said … we both said it would be better if we hadn’t been there. Let someone else find her. Then I thought it weren’t decent, leaving her there like that, and someone would have seen the van outside. So I rang Mrs Quicke and told her.’

  ‘You mean,’ said Miss Quicke, still trying to come to terms with the horror of it all. ‘You mean that the woman died while you were in the house?’

  Jimbo nodded.

  ‘You mean,’ said Miss Quicke, trying to get this straight in her head, ‘that if she’d confined herself to cleaning the room as she ought to have done, if she’d kept her hands off my television set, she wouldn’t have died?’