Murder by Suicide

by Veronica Heley

  ‘Can’t you pump her out?’

  ‘It depends how long ago she took them. Hasn’t she any relatives?’

  ‘None, now. Look, I’ll have to go home. I’ll leave you my phone number in case anything happens. But I’ll ring later, anyway.’

  4

  Returning from the hospital, Ellie regretted all over again that she had never learned to drive when she was young. Frank hadn’t thought she would be capable of learning and had discouraged her from doing so, but since his death, Kate next door had encouraged Ellie to have a go. Ellie was trying – with limited success. But for the time being it was back to minicabs.

  She thought how lovely it would be to find the house all lit up with her dear Frank back from work, fussing about when his supper would be ready. Instead the house was shut up and dark, and none too warm.

  The answerphone light was winking. It was Thursday, so it would be a message from her daughter Diana, of course. It would be, ‘Mother, where are you? Why aren’t you there to answer the phone when I take the trouble to ring you?’ Or something similar.

  Wearily Ellie listened to the predictable message and phoned Diana back.

  ‘Mother, where have you been? I do have to go out tonight, you know!’

  ‘At the hospital, dear. Our organist Nora – you remember her? – fell from the gallery at the church and landed up in hospital. I took her handbag in and waited, but she hasn’t regained consciousness and they very much fear …’

  ‘Oh, mother. You’re always fussing around some lame duck or other, when I need to talk to you.’ A heavy sigh. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to keep up with the mortgage. If only you would help …’

  Ellie stiffened. ‘Now, Diana, we’ve been over that several times. You’ll just have to sell that big place and get something that you can afford.’

  ‘Think how bad that would look! Besides, we wouldn’t need to, if Stewart would only pull his finger out. I’ve been on and on at him to ask for a raise at work, and …’

  Ellie thought, but did not say, that Diana had chosen Stewart because she could bully him. Poor Stewart. Ellie was fond of her rather stolid son-in-law.

  ‘… and then baby Frank is still not himself. Stewart would keep getting up in the night to see to him …’

  Bet you didn’t! thought Ellie. And immediately felt ashamed of herself.

  ‘… and I do wish you lived nearer, mother. At times like these …’

  You only want me, thought Ellie, when I can be of use to you. I wish it weren’t so, but it is. More’s the pity.

  ‘… sometimes I feel so desperate!’

  Ellie stiffened her backbone. This was emotional blackmail, and she would not respond.

  Eventually Diana rang off. Ellie sat there, thinking about poor Nora. No kith or kin. No one to mourn her loss. Except, hadn’t there been a long-lost brother – no, half-brother – who’d written asking for money after Nora’s father died? Someone on the dole, probably. No help there.

  In the morning Ellie phoned the hospital. They said Nora was about the same, but the prognosis was not good. She rang Gilbert. He was out and so was Liz, so Ellie left a message with their answering service.

  She also rang Timothy the curate and told him what had happened. Timothy sounded annoyed that Nora should have tried to commit suicide in ‘his’ church. He said he’d try to make room in his busy schedule to visit her in hospital later on. He also said that as soon as he could find time, he wanted to have a quiet word with Ellie about something.

  Ellie said, ‘Of course!’ She hoped he wasn’t going to ask her to take on some time-consuming job for the church. She rather feared he might. Well, so long as it didn’t require her to use Frank’s word processor, she would see what she could do.

  As she cradled the phone, Ellie remembered Nora saying, ‘It was taking too long.’ Perhaps Nora had intended to commit suicide by taking too many paracetamol tablets, but death hadn’t come quickly enough. When Ellie and Mrs Dawes had found Nora in the church, the poor woman must have feared being taken to hospital and pumped out. And so she had jumped. ‘It was taking too long …’

  Ellie felt guilty. She ought to have realized what Nora had meant when she said she’d made her own arrangements. The phone rang, making Ellie jump.

  ‘Ellie, is that you?’ A harsh voice accustomed to striking terror into inferiors – and Aunt Drusilla Quicke considered almost everyone else an inferior. Ellie had been counting herself fortunate that she had not heard from her husband’s aunt for some time. A phone call from her meant she wanted something – now!

  ‘Ellie, I wish to see you. Now!’ Ellie tried to make excuses. ‘It’s raining and I think I have a cold coming …’

  ‘Take a cab. You can afford it.’ The phone was replaced.

  It would be more wearing to ring back and argue than to go. Besides, Ellie thought she might – if she were brave enough – do something to soften Aunt Drusilla’s stance towards Nora. So she took a cab.

  As usual she felt depressed at the sight of the dense laurel shrubs that lined the semicircular driveway. The house itself was pure Disney, she thought. Victorian Gothic, turrets and all. Bracing herself, she mounted the slightly tatty stone steps under the peeling stucco of the porch, and rang the doorbell.

  Remember that you own this house, she told herself, and you could turn Aunt Drusilla out if you wished! To which a small voice replied, Ah, but you wouldn’t dare, would you?

  Ellie was let into the house by the usual scared-looking cleaner. She tried not to slip as she skated across the polished wooden floor of the hall. How on earth did the elderly Aunt Drusilla manage not to fall and break a leg on that surface? The sitting room looked cavernous on that dark morning, despite the fact that its tall windows overlooked the severely trimmed garden at the back of the house. Aunt Drusilla was enthroned in her usual high-backed armchair, with a luxurious fur rug over her knees. Hot air billowed from the efficient central heating.

  Ellie bent to kiss the air a couple of inches from the old woman’s paper-thin cheek. ‘How are you, Aunt Drusilla?’

  ‘None the better for being kept waiting. I see you’ve put on weight.’

  Bone china coffee cups were laid out on a tray with a cafetiere and kettle nearby. Ellie’s first task was to make some coffee and place it on a pie-crust occasional table at Aunt Drusilla’s elbow.

  Aunt Drusilla sipped, observed that Ellie had never been any good at making coffee, and then got down to business.

  ‘I have received a most peculiar phone call about a cat from one of my tenants at the flats. I can’t possibly go down there in this weather and the estate agent who manages the property for me is unfortunately away – on a Caribbean cruise, if you please! He has no business taking time off and leaving that flat still fully furnished. But there it is, you can’t trust anyone nowadays.’

  Ellie sighed, knowing that whatever it was that was bothering Aunt Drusilla, it was about to be dumped in her lap, and she would probably agree to do it. Frank had been brought up by his aunt after his mother’s early death, and he had expected his young wife Ellie to jump to the old lady’s bidding, too. Ellie had obliged, believing – as everyone else did – that the old lady was penniless and dependent on their charity.

  Frank had discovered, only a short time before he died, that Aunt Drusilla had squirrelled enough money away over the years to purchase, one by one, the block of flats in which Nora lived. What a shock that had been! Since then, Ellie had tried to stop being a doormat to the old bat. Without much success.

  Ellie leaned back in her uncomfortable but no doubt valuable antique chair and wondered if Aunt Drusilla felt any guilt over what had happened to Nora. Probably not, she thought. She’s as likely to feel guilt as Attila the Hun.

  Aunt Drusilla said, ‘Pay attention, girl!’

  At just turned fifty, Ellie very much disliked being called a girl. Aunt Drusilla probably knew it, too.

  ‘I’m listening. What was that about a cat?’

/>   ‘How on earth should I know? One of my tenants at the flats – Mrs Bowles, divorced but with excellent alimony – rang me to say she is flying to Australia on holiday tomorrow and wants to know what I want done with her next-door neighbour’s cat, seeing as how that shiftless woman has ended up in hospital, and she, Mrs Bowles, will not be there to feed it any longer. Mrs Bowles is, of course, perfectly aware that there is a clause in her lease forbidding the keeping of pets.’

  Ellie remembered the long-legged Midge, the cat Nora had adopted after her father’s death. She said, ‘Nora did take in a stray cat, but it got killed. I expect it’s another stray. Mrs Bowles had better take it to Cat Rescue or something.’

  ‘Of course she should, but she seems to think I should give it a home. Go down there, get the keys off Mrs Bowles – who seems to have acquired a set purely in order to look after this stray, if you please – take the cat to the vet, and have it put down. And don’t send the bill to me. Send it to the vicar who caused all the trouble in the first place.’

  Ellie bit back the words, ‘Oh no, he didn’t.’ Arguing with Aunt Drusilla would be as effective as spitting in the face of a tornado.

  Aunt Drusilla continued, ‘Now, since you’re having to go there anyway, I’ve arranged for two antique dealers to be at the flat, one at eleven o’clock sharp and one at twelve, to value the furniture. Once I have their written quotes and have decided which one to accept, they will arrange with you to collect the best pieces. After that you can send in the house clearance people. The flat has to be ready for new tenants in three weeks’ time. Between now and then it will have to be emptied, professionally cleaned and redecorated.’

  Ellie put a hand to her forehead. ‘Aunt Drusilla, you can’t do this. Nora is gravely ill …’

  ‘Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I haven’t had a penny in rent for the last nine months. It’s all perfectly legal. I’ve been through the small claims court and obtained judgement and costs in my favour. My solicitor informed the woman that I would have to send the bailiffs in if she did not pay up, and what did she do? She telephoned me, saying that she was leaving this week and that I could take all her furniture and books in lieu of what she owed me, if I agreed to pay off the gas, electricity and telephone people for her. I told her to put her offer in writing and enclose all the outstanding bills, but I haven’t received them yet. You’d better look for them when you go there.

  ‘I imagine she’s arranged some accommodation for herself with the council. She can go straight there when she leaves hospital. Meanwhile, I need to turn that flat round and put some more tenants in. I will, of course, let the woman have any balance over after I’ve cleared her debts.’

  I bet there won’t be much over, thought Ellie. Aloud, she said, ‘Can’t you wait till she gets out of hospital?’

  ‘No, I can’t. Now Ellie, I don’t suppose there is anything there of much value, but I am relying on you to see that I am not cheated. By rights, everything there belongs to me, but I am not made of cast iron …’

  Aren’t you? thought Ellie, suppressing hysteria.

  ‘… and you may arrange to have her clothes and the odd item of sentimental value put in storage for her.’

  ‘Aunt Drusilla, don’t you care that she tried to commit suicide?’

  A snort. ‘Taking the coward’s way out. Just like her father.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t forget, the valuers will be there at eleven and twelve o’clock today. And get rid of that cat. See yourself out.’

  Ellie felt like telling the old … bat to stuff herself. But then what? Aunt Drusilla would find someone else to do the dirty work, someone who wouldn’t take care to preserve Nora’s clothes and intimate possessions. No, it would be best if Ellie did it, but how she hated the task.

  She was now on a tight schedule. She was not dressed warmly enough for hanging around in a cold flat, so she would have to go home to change first. Rather daringly, she used the phone in Aunt Drusilla’s hall to call a taxi.

  Back home, she asked the taxi to wait while she pulled on her thickest winter coat and warm boots. Scooping the post off the mat, she chucked the letters at the table to be looked at later. One fell to the floor – a large white envelope, addressed to her, in Nora’s writing.

  Ellie tore it open. The writing sloped all over the place, but was easy enough to read.

  … because everything I touch turns to evil. If I hadn’t taken Midge in, he’d have survived. If I hadn’t loved Gilbert, he’d still be with us. And now I’ve got cancer and I can’t carry on.

  I took the pills after you told me Gilbert didn’t want anything else to do with me. I was going to wait a while then tell him what I’d done, give him a good scare, make him acknowledge his true feelings for me. And then I would let them pump me out. But after I heard about the cancer and Midge was killed I decided it was best if I died.

  Miss Quicke is going to sell everything from the flat to pay off my debts. I promised to send her all the bills but I haven’t got a big enough envelope so I left the papers in my father’s briefcase under his bed. The woman who lives opposite – for lady I will not call her – has keys to the flat. Will you get the papers and send them to Miss Quicke for me? You’re the only one who’s been kind to me. I’d like you to have my mother’s pearls, if Miss Quicke doesn’t need them. They’re in the top drawer of my dressing table.

  The tablets take some days to work, I gather. I don’t know how many, but it shouldn’t be much longer now. I did think of dropping this letter through your door, but then you might try to save me, so I’ll put it in the post on my way to church, and you won’t get it till I’m gone. I want to play the organ one last time.

  God forgive me.

  Ellie found a tissue and had a good blow. Oh misery. I ought to have helped her, but I didn’t realize how bad things were. Ten o’clock. I must hurry. Dear Lord Jesus, look after poor, unhappy Nora, please …

  Just as she was about to leave, the phone rang. It was Roy wanting to confirm their lunch arrangements. She had forgotten all about it. No time now to fetch her skirt from the cleaners or sew on new buttons. ‘I’m so sorry, Roy. I wish I could, but …’ Ellie explained what had happened.

  Roy was sympathetic. ‘My dear, how dreadful for you. Can’t you get someone else to do the dirty work?’

  ‘How can I? Aunt Drusilla wants her pound of flesh, but at least I can rescue Nora’s clothes. Also, Nora’s told me where she left some important papers and … oh dear, I feel so guilty …’

  ‘No need. Listen, I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make and then I’ll meet you there, give you a hand with the valuers. We don’t want them pulling the wool over your eyes, do we? And then we can go out to lunch, a bit late, but it will blow the cobwebs away. What do you think?’

  ‘Bless you, Roy! The flat is down by the river …’

  Once in the taxi again, she tried to recover her sense of humour. Doing something for Nora – even such a nasty job as this – would assuage the feelings of guilt which still hung around her. That letter! Ellie could quite understand that to hear you had cancer on top of everything else would push you over the edge.

  Some householders had planted up their window boxes for spring with ivies and polyanthus. There was a shower of yellow winter jasmine down a house on the other side of the road. Children were singing in a school playground. Ellie hoped little Frank was getting over his last cold.

  She paid off the taxi – ouch! She must draw some more money from the bank. Brrr! The air off the river was always colder. She looked for Roy’s car, but he hadn’t arrived yet.

  What a kind man he was. How silly of Kate to doubt him – and he was very attractive, too, with those deep blue eyes. A pity about the cat, Midge. He’d given poor Nora some comfort in her last days.

  Bowles, Aunt Drusilla had said. Would that be the woman in the flat opposite Nora’s? The one Ellie had met the other day? Ellie found her name on the intercom opposite Nora’s, rang the b
ell, explained who she was and why she had come. Mrs Bowles released the lock on the front door and Ellie climbed the stairs.

  Nora’s door was still splashed with paint. What a nasty colour! Who on earth would want to use such a colour in their house? Imagine a bathroom painted in that overpowering shade of lilac, or a hallway … Mind you, some interior designers thought it great fun to inflict these violent colours on their clients. Nora had made no attempt to clean the paint off. Another little job for Ellie.

  Mrs Bowles was waiting in her open doorway, dangling some keys in her hand. Her eye shadow was emerald green today, matching her fingernails.

  ‘Excuse me, but I’m just on the phone. I’ll pop over later, right?’

  Nora’s key turned in the lock. It was dark inside the flat. All the curtains seemed to be closed and it was very cold. There was no heating on. Perhaps a window was open somewhere? A shuffle of letters on the floor, mostly bills. Dust. A feeling that things were lurking under the skirting-board.

  Ellie shuddered, remembering the cockroach. Aunt Drusilla had been right about professional cleaning and redecoration. Kitchen. Much as she had last seen it, but with a fresh bowl of milk and some cat food in a dish. Aha, the stray was still around, then.

  The master bedroom. Large, looming furniture, still smelling of old man. The curtains were stuck on their track and would not draw back. She hooked one heavy curtain back over a chair to let in some halfhearted morning light. This must have been the father’s bedroom.

  Blackened silver photo frames on the chest of drawers. A heavy, oldfashioned wardrobe, full of expensive, heavy, old-fashioned clothing. Nora ought to have cleared the clothing out ages ago, but Ellie could understand why the poor creature hadn’t. After Frank had died, clearing out his clothes had been the very worst job she’d had to do. Ellie turned her mind away from that particular memory.

  Nora’s bedroom. Probably the smallest room in the flat, no bigger than the bathroom. The thin curtains drew back easily enough. Neat and tidy, except for an indentation on the bed and some cat hairs.