‘You might have told your father.’
Freya gave her a weary look. ‘Then what? I hinted once or twice, but he doesn’t see what he doesn’t want to see, and Angelika thinks of nothing but her career. I did think Fiona’s last boyfriend might turn out to be a more stable character, but then she had a row with him and broke up because he said she was getting fat. Which she was. That’s when she went on a fitness binge.’
‘Hence the session on the treadmill?’ Ellie polished off the last of her ice cream and sighed, replete. ‘I’m always talking about going on a diet, but . . . They used to say that if you wanted to please your husband, you made sure to feed him well.’
‘What’s your husband like?’
‘Overweight.’ Ellie smiled. ‘A good man. Trustworthy. Comfortable.’
‘Like old shoes?’
‘If they’re ones that keep the rain out, yes.’
‘That’s . . . nice.’ And very unlike her own family.
Angelika drifted in, looking lost, hooked up to some music. She didn’t look at Freya, and Freya didn’t look at her. They walked around one another like two cats, aware of one another, careful not to touch. Freya dumped their pudding plates on one of the piles of crockery waiting to be washed and departed without another word.
Ellie said, ‘Angelika, would you like something to eat?’
Angelika might have heard, or might not. She looked as if she were thinking about something – or someone – a long way away. She opened a high cupboard door and lifted a key off a hook inside. ‘I’ll be in the gym, if anyone wants me. Which they won’t.’
The gym in which her stepdaughter had died. Of an accident. Or an incident. Whichever. Ellie was interested. ‘Is that the only key to the gym?’
‘Of course. I can’t have just anybody traipsing into it and using the equipment.’
‘Would you like to show me?’
Another voice. ‘Show you what?’ Diana, bringing back the dirty dishes. ‘What’s for pudding?’
‘Ice cream and maple syrup,’ said Ellie.
‘Nothing hot?’
Angelika and Diana ignored one another, just as Freya and Angelika had done. Diana hesitated, not finding a space to dump her dirty dishes. She opened the dishwasher. ‘It’s full. Why didn’t you start it?’
Ellie shrugged. ‘Diana, why don’t you and Angelika decide who runs this household? Count me out. I’ve got my own house to run and –’ looking at her watch – ‘it’s time I rang Thomas to come to fetch me. Unless, of course, you’re going to give me a lift home.’
Diana froze. So did Angelika. Unexpectedly, Angelika began to laugh. ‘It’s up to you, Diana. If you don’t like the heat, stay out of the kitchen.’
Diana went pale with fury, and then red. She said, ‘Evan will have to get another housekeeper in. I can’t look after this house as well as his business. Where are the pudding plates kept?’
Angelika continued to laugh. ‘Find out.’ She unlocked an unobtrusive door at the back of the kitchen and disappeared through it. Ellie heard the key turn in the lock on the other side. So that was where the gym was to be found?
Diana rummaged through cupboards. ‘All the good china’s in the dishwasher. Where did you find your plates, Mother?’
Ellie pointed. ‘Top cupboard, to the right of the freezer. I think we used the last two.’ She bent to open some other cupboards. There were a lot of them. Some held pots and pans. Some swung out to reveal racks of Pyrex dishes. A carousel of spices.
‘Ah. Will these do?’ A miscellany of china, odds and ends of plates, some old-fashioned soup plates, which nobody seemed to use nowadays. A stack of thick white china plates, crazed from long use.
China plates. White. Thick. Pottery, rather than china.
As used by the clown to carry a load of biscuits into the park. Biscuits which contained peanuts.
With intent to kill.
Diana swooped on them. ‘I suppose they’ll have to do. Give me a couple and I’ll take some pudding through to Evan, though I suppose he might prefer cheese.’ She scooped ice cream on to the plates and found some spoons. Put the maple syrup on her tray to take in with her.
‘You’re not going to give me a lift home, Diana?’
‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’
Diana left the kitchen with her loaded tray, and Ellie looked despairingly at the mess in the kitchen. She hated mess. Like Freya, it made her uncomfortable. If this had been her own house, she’d have set to and got it cleared up. As it was . . . She pulled out her mobile phone and asked Thomas to come to fetch her.
He’d been waiting for her to phone him. ‘Five minutes,’ he said.
It was still raining.
All the way home she was thinking that Diana hadn’t killed those two girls, or Fern. Neither had Angelika. Nor Freya.
And certainly not Evan.
Those plates. Old stock, donkey’s years old, placed at the back of a cupboard. Not in use. They hadn’t been thrown away because they might be useful in an emergency, for standing house plants on to drain, for feeding a visiting dog or cat.
Of course, such plates might be found in many a household hereabouts, or in a charity shop. There was absolutely nothing to prove that the plate which the clown had used came from the Hooper kitchen.
Diana hadn’t reacted at the sight of them. But then, Diana hadn’t seen the picture of the clown, which had been taken in the park.
Diana hadn’t killed Abigail. Definitely not.
Angelika was in the clear, too. She had not been responsible for killing her child.
The gym was kept locked, and the key was kept in a cupboard in the kitchen. You’d have to know where it was, to get into the gym.
Who would know where the key was kept, apart from members of the Hooper household?
They all would know. But, none of them had killed Fiona.
Or had they?
Round and round and round we go . . .
NINE
Monday morning
Time to ratchet up the terror.
A phone call to a couple of the seedier tabloids should do the trick. If they get the merest whiff of infanticide, the whole boiling lot will be banging on the front door, asking which member of the family did away with the little chick and begging neighbours for interviews.
Then . . . what about taking it one step further?
Suppose I mix and mingle with the reporters? That way I can point them in the right direction.
There’d have to be a different look. Perhaps long hair, a padded bra, a black jacket and jeans. A camera.
Knowing my way around the neighbourhood, I could get in through the back door before they realized what was happening. And then . . . who should be next? Angelika or Freya?
Ellie woke up feeling tense with anxiety. Surely she didn’t need to worry about the Hoopers, of all people! No, no. She could put them out of her mind with a clear conscience. Or try to.
Nag, nag . . . three members of the family down and how many more to go?
Nonsense. Think about something else. Lots to do. A bright sunny morning for once. Good.
Rose chattered away at breakfast time about restocking the conservatory with plants for the winter. Neither Thomas nor Ellie listened. Thomas grunted over the newspapers. Ellie tried to concentrate on anything but the Hoopers. Would the remains of the roast do for supper tonight? Mm, yes.
There was something at the back of her mind . . . Something she’d forgotten to do, or promised to do?
She wondered, smoothing out a grin, how the Hooper household had got on that morning at breakfast. Would they eat their cornflakes out of ancient and unmatched pudding bowls, or had someone actually managed to switch the dishwasher on?
Again, Ellie turned her mind away from the Hoopers. What had she done with that picture of the clown? She felt guilty about mislaying it. It wasn’t like her, and it was an important piece of evidence.
The phone rang. Thomas slid out of the kitchen and into his study, lea
ving her to answer it.
Diana. Oh.
‘Mother, I rang Evan just now and he said you hadn’t turned up this morning. You could at least help me out for a few days. You know I have to be in the office today. Evan said he might try to come in for a few hours this afternoon, but there’s no one there to look after the house for him.’
‘You didn’t really expect me to—?’
‘Who else?’
‘I have my own work to do.’ She’d just remembered who she’d arranged to visit that morning. She looked at her watch. She had half an hour to get organized and get there. ‘Diana, I have people to see this morning. Why don’t you get a cleaner in?’
‘At such short notice? Don’t be ridiculous.’
Ellie was silent. The obvious thing was for Diana to ring Maria’s agency and arrange for a team of cleaners to descend upon the Hooper household, but Maria was married to Diana’s ex-husband Stewart. Happily married, with children. Diana wouldn’t call Maria if she were dying.
Ellie sighed. ‘You want me to call Maria and organize something?’
‘Get someone good.’ The phone clicked off.
Ellie growled at the receiver, but dialled Maria’s number. It was half-term, so Maria might not be there, though she had a good assistant. Luckily, it was Maria herself who answered the phone.
‘Dear Maria; Ellie here. I’m so pleased to have caught you. I thought you might be off with the littlies. Half-term and so on.’
‘I know. It’s difficult. My assistant has children too, so she and I are working half the week each. The children are all at my parents’, including Frank. He’s happy as they are going out for the day. Legoland? Something like that. So I’m working Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday and taking the rest of the week off. What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve got a job for the Archangel Gabriel. Can you find a couple of good cleaners straight away, and a man and wife housekeeper/gardener to live in as soon as possible?’
Maria was amused. ‘That might be difficult. A lot of my customers are away, but so are many of my cleaners. Why do you need an archangel? Won’t an ordinary angel do?’
‘Well, no. It’s for the Hooper household. You may have read in the papers about the accidental deaths of a teenager and a toddler. A previous, divorced wife was also found dead at the weekend. There are questions which need to be answered, though so far the police are treating the deaths as misadventures. Their housekeeper and gardener have walked out, and the household is at sixes and sevens and rapidly descending into squalor. The Hoopers are all very upset and finding it difficult to come to terms with what’s happened. I must warn you, though. Diana has plans to become the next Mrs Hooper, even though Evan’s current wife is still living there.’
‘Diana’s living there?’ Amused.
‘No, but she’s in and out. Taking over at the office while Evan Hooper recovers his wits.’
‘Mm.’ Maria didn’t sound happy about sending someone to work for Diana.
‘Yes, I know. Can you find a pair of experienced workhorses who’ll go through the place like greased lightning and give Diana as good as they get?’
‘Not this week, I shouldn’t think. Next week, let me see . . . Yes, next week, with luck. I’ll have to ring around, maybe switch . . . But this week? I’m not sure. Listen, Ellie, I’ll see what I can do, ring around, get back to you, right?’
Ellie put the phone down, picked it up again to order a minicab, darted into Thomas’s office to say she’d be out most of the morning, collected her handbag and an umbrella – because you never knew in October – grabbed her jacket and . . .
The landline rang. Ellie ignored it. She sang out to Rose that she was off, and then slipped out of the front door before anything else could happen.
Ellie had long cherished a plan regarding Vera, her one-time cleaner, but had put it on hold when the girl had moved on to nurse and then marry Edgar Pryce, a man who had only a few months to live.
The Pryce fortune – including the house which was being turned into a hotel – had been left to Ellie on condition that she kept the remaining members of that feckless family from poverty. Edgar had been the best of the lot, and before his death he had passed responsibility for his wife Vera and her son to Ellie. He had left Ellie a letter in which he asked her not to give them an income but to help Vera to a decent job and, since he lived in a rented flat, find her somewhere to live.
Ellie had kept a watching brief since the funeral, but now that Vera had asked to see her, perhaps the time might be ripe to mention her own idea for the girl’s future?
Some time soon, perhaps this winter, Rose would need more help just to stay where she was. Rose, being Rose, had said she must go into a home when the time came, but Ellie and Thomas hated the thought of it. Rose had a daughter but, alas, not one who would put herself out for anyone, let alone her mother.
And there was Vera who, after her short-lived marriage to Edgar, was now at a loose end. Vera had been one of Maria’s star cleaners. She was dependable, bright-eyed, strong, and devoted to a son with behavioural problems. And, there was the empty top floor of Ellie’s house.
To Ellie, it seemed that the answer to both their problems was obvious, but she realized that Vera might think differently. Also, Ellie still hadn’t got permission to convert the top floor of her house into separate accommodation.
It was time to see what Vera had to say for herself.
Ellie got out of the cab to survey Vera’s flat, on the ground floor of a terrace of Edwardian houses. Tiny front gardens. Red-brick. Large bay windows. Trees in the street. Quiet. Perhaps a little depressing? Or was that only in Ellie’s mind? The bright promise of the early morning had given way to a clouded sky.
Vera let Ellie in. Superficially, marriage to Edgar Pryce hadn’t changed Vera, who still wore her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and her clothing – a plain black T-shirt over jeans – was no more expensive than the clothes she’d worn when cleaning people’s houses. But she’d lost the ‘bounce’ which had once characterized her. Even her blue eyes looked washed out.
The sitting room was shadowy as heavy curtains, though looped back, obscured much of the daylight. Behind them were nets. Ellie disliked nets because they needed so much attention in the grimy air of a city. These were clean, because everything Vera had about her would be clean, but they added to an atmosphere of quiet desperation in the room. The furniture was good and solid. Nothing new; about what you’d expect in a downmarket furnished flat.
On the plus side, the central heating system worked.
There was a framed photograph on the mantelpiece of Edgar in happier days. A radio was playing something cheerful nearby, but there was no sign of Vera’s child.
‘No Mikey?’ said Ellie.
‘Edgar introduced him to computers and he’s never looked back. I’d never been able to afford a computer for him, but Edgar suggested we both went on a beginner’s course, so we did. I know how to do this and that now, but Mikey left me far behind. The tutors say he’s got some sort of kink in his brain, means he can understand things much faster than normal people. They say that’s why he was always in trouble, before. He was frustrated. He’s a different boy now. You’d hardly know him.’
‘So that’s where he is now?’
‘He’s signed up for an advanced course today. The tutors say he’s one of only two pupils who can run rings round the rest of us.’
‘How is he, nowadays?’ said Ellie, not wanting to refer openly to Mikey’s famous tantrums.
‘He’s all right. The doctor said he’ll get over it. Children do, don’t they?’
Ellie remembered what Edgar had said about the boy in his letter. Edgar had loved Mikey and believed that the boy had loved him in return. Edgar had been worried how the boy would cope after his death, and perhaps he was right to worry. ‘What’s wrong?’
Vera reddened and shifted on her chair. ‘Nothing. Mikey was really fond of Edgar, you know.’ A slight hesitation? ‘It’s just
that, well, sometimes he refuses to eat.’
No tears. Very composed. Subdued.
How awful. How like Vera to keep on keeping on, not complaining. Expecting nothing. Ellie let the silence roll around them. Was this the time to mention her plan for Vera’s future? No, it was too soon.
There was, however, something else Vera might do, if she felt up to it. No, no. The timing was all wrong.
Vera started. ‘I’m so sorry. Would you like a cup of tea? Or would you prefer coffee?’
‘Coffee? I don’t mind “instant”.’
‘Come into the kitchen. It’s brighter there.’
It was brighter. There were house plants on the window sill and a small radio playing something lively. An ironing board had been set up, with a pile of clothes waiting to be dealt with. There was a Formica-covered table with three chairs around it. Vera produced coffee and biscuits, and they sat at the table.
Ellie said, ‘You asked to see me, and I’m really glad to have the opportunity to catch up with you. How are you coping?’
‘I can’t seem to think straight. I mean, it wasn’t a great love match, or anything, but I was terribly fond of him. We both knew he hadn’t much time, but he’d been so much better that I thought, and he thought, he might go into remission, and we began to think maybe we’d have Christmas together, and he’d be able to teach Mikey to play chess and even, possibly, take him to football matches.
‘He was wonderful with Mikey, you know. I was so worried, I warned him about Mikey’s moods, but as soon as I saw them doing weird and wonderful things on the computer together, I knew it would be all right. Do you know, Mikey didn’t have but one tantrum all the time . . .’ She swallowed. ‘We were lucky, I suppose, that we had those months together.’
Ellie reached out to hold Vera’s hand.
Vera was dry eyed. ‘We never slept together. I offered, he said “soon”. But I held him in my arms when I found him, sitting in his chair with the telly on and the newspaper on his lap, fallen asleep. So I held him till he was quite, quite cold. And when Mikey realized, he came to sit on his other side and stroked his hand.’
Murder in Mind Page 11