Murder in Mind

by Veronica Heley

  ‘When he was eleven, I suggested that I took him abroad for the summer holidays, but he wanted his nanny to come, too. Ridiculous! Luckily, Evan agreed with me that it was time to cut the apron strings. There was the most almighty row, Nanny got the sack and Philip . . . Well, I’m not absolutely sure how serious about it he was, but apparently he went for Evan with a knife, tried to stab him.

  ‘We talked it over, Evan and I, and it was agreed the boy should go, privately, to a doctor, who recommended this and that, tranquillizers, of course, a boarding school for children who need special attention, various camps in the holiday times, all in the name of building up his confidence, developing personal skills . . . you know the sort of thing? Costs an arm and a leg and probably doesn’t work.

  ‘Philip declared we’d ruined his life by parting us from his nanny and that he’d never forgive either of us. I don’t think he ever did. He refused to see me, or communicate with me in any way, for a while, but eventually we resumed our formal outings, though I never again asked him to go away with me. I don’t turn up to family functions, but I meet up with Evan every couple of months and we talk on the phone, so I’ve been kept updated with what Philip was doing: the college courses, the horticultural course, the voluntary work for charity. We share all the costs for our son, including the very expensive cognitive therapy treatments. We thought Philip might react badly when Evan took a third wife and they produced another little girl, but luckily he didn’t seem to care.’

  ‘Evan has told you all about his marital ups and downs?’

  A nod. ‘Including his plans to marry again. Your daughter Diana is his latest, right? As for Philip, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he told me a while ago that he’d traced his old nanny and gone to live with her.’

  ‘Ah, the Greenford address. What’s she like?’

  A frown. Another cigarette. ‘A little waif of a thing. Wispy. Not Evan’s type at all. He was never interested in her physically, which I did wonder about, if that’s what you’re thinking. She used to hover on the edge of sight. Annoying. But there’s no doubt she was devoted to Philip, and he to her. I haven’t seen her for years, not since the Big Row. I wonder how she’s turned out.’ She pleated her skirt with beringed fingers. Undecided what to say next.

  Ellie prompted her. ‘You’ve seen Philip recently, and he said or hinted at something which you found disturbing?’

  Would Monique admit it, or would she continue to protect Philip?

  Ellie pressed her point home. ‘Three deaths. Who’s next, do you think?’

  Monique threw up her hands. ‘I can’t think that he’d ever go so far as to . . . No. Unthinkable. But he did say he’d found a new “therapist” who’d uncovered a memory he’d repressed . . . Oh, such nonsense! Have you heard about these people? Charlatans with no professional background, who latch on to vulnerable people with money and tell them all their problems in life are due to their having been abused by their fathers in early childhood?’

  Ellie drew in a long breath. ‘Philip swallowed that?’

  Monique flushed with anger. ‘What’s more, he thinks I knew about it and covered up for Evan. I told him, absolute twaddle, no truth in it whatever. As if Evan . . .! I mean, Evan, of all people! Philip said he remembered it. That’s how they work, these people. They put the idea into your mind that you’ve deliberately forgotten this dreadful thing, and that that’s why you’ve grown up with neuroses and nightmares. Even if you refuse to believe it at first, they go on and on, saying you’re in denial because it hurt so much. Finally, you begin to think it might be true, because it explains why you’ve never got on with your family or whatever.

  ‘In Philip’s case, the therapist has latched on to someone who was easily persuaded that he’d been the victim of childhood abuse. He wanted me to admit that I’d helped Evan to abuse him. I laughed, which made him angry. He said that if I wasn’t going to help him uncover the abuse he’d have to take steps to punish Evan himself, and everyone else whom he’d contaminated. That’s the word he used, “contaminated”.

  ‘I said it was absolute nonsense and forbade him to mention it again. It was stupid of me, but I really thought the idea was so implausible that he’d forget it. I can make excuses: my back is playing up, I’m due an operation, I’ve got a lot on my plate. I suppose I ought to have phoned Evan to warn him, but I didn’t. Tell me again; how many in the family have died?’

  Ellie counted on her fingers. ‘Evan’s second wife, Fern. His second daughter, Fiona. His third daughter, Abigail. Then there’s the fall which has landed Evan in hospital. And the fire at his – your – house.’

  Mrs Hooper ground out one cigarette and lit another. This time her fingers trembled though her voice remained steady. ‘You really think he’s punishing . . .? By killing them? I can hardly believe it. Three deaths! You think I’m next on the list?’

  Ellie shook her head. ‘If this is Philip’s vendetta against Evan, then he would want to keep him alive so that he can suffer more and more each time one of his family is killed. I think Angelika, wife number three, is next.’

  ‘By which reasoning, Freya would follow. Do you think your daughter ought to be included on the list? And where would I come in?’

  ‘Possibly second to last?’

  ‘Why Angelika next, rather than Freya?’

  ‘Because Angelika was thinking of leaving him, anyway. That marriage is dead and cold, and Angelika has no intention of trying to revive it. She wants out, and I’m sure she’ll go as soon as she can come to some sort of financial agreement with him for a quick divorce. Freya, on the other hand, intends to stick around in the vain hope that her father will eventually come to love her and allow her to go into his business.’

  ‘A vain hope, indeed. He’s only interested in sons.’

  ‘Yet Freya would make a worthy successor to him. Then there’s my daughter Diana, who is pregnant with a baby boy and aims to be the next Mrs Hooper.’

  Monique pulled a face. ‘A boy? Lucky old her. Does she realize the risk she’s running?’

  ‘She’s probably up to his weight, even as you were. I’m worried by his use of the word “contaminated”. Does he hate his father so much that he wants to destroy anyone Evan has ever loved?’

  ‘You’re overestimating Evan’s capacity for love. Shall we substitute the words “cared for”? Or would it be more accurate to say “anyone Evan has ever owned”?’

  ‘He never owned you.’

  ‘That’s true. It was a one-night stand for me, entered into out of curiosity and the fact that he was something of a stallion in those days. It’s turned into a nightmare for everyone.’ A glance at the clock. ‘I’m due to meet friends at Covent Garden in an hour’s time, though how much I’ll be able to concentrate on the opera, I don’t know.’

  Ellie took the hint and rose to go. ‘You’ll take some precautions? Not accept chocolates sent to you through the post, not get into the first taxi that passes by?’

  ‘I will. And you’ll keep in touch?’

  Ellie nodded, agreeably surprised to find that she liked Monique and wished her well. ‘I’ll give you my address and phone number, just in case. May I make a suggestion? When all this is over, and provided we are all still in the land of the living . . . would you consider taking Freya into your business?’

  Monique’s rather hard expression melted, and she laughed, full-throated. ‘That would indeed be a suitable revenge on Evan. Thank you for the suggestion. I will certainly take it into consideration.’

  Tuesday early evening

  It was completely dark by the time Ellie left Monique’s flat. She took the underground back to Ealing Broadway, caught a bus to the Avenue and walked back home from there. It gave her time to think.

  She didn’t much like her thoughts.

  Angelika. Freya. Monique. Evan. Which was next?

  Or was it Diana?

  Diana was no fool, and had probably understood the threat to the Hooper family quicker than most
, which meant she knew she was on the target list.

  Ellie didn’t want to suspect her daughter of duplicity on this occasion, but it did occur to her to wonder whether the heating in Diana’s flat was really on the blink or not. Had she taken refuge at her mother’s house because she felt she’d be better protected there?

  Home at last. But no rest for Ellie.

  Midge greeted her at the front door, rubbing around her legs, indicating that he hadn’t been fed for ever. A lie, of course, but Ellie picked him up and took him into the kitchen to give him a few mouthfuls of cat food.

  Rose and Vera greeted her with the busy, absorbed expressions of chefs in the midst of preparing a feast for a hundred. Do Not Disturb.

  There was no sign of Mikey but a rumble rumble rumble from above indicated that he’d taken himself off to the top floor and was expressing his displeasure at something by making a lot of noise. Vera had said something about him and his scooter, hadn’t she? Well, as Vera didn’t seem worried, Ellie decided to forget about Mikey for the moment.

  There was a message on the answerphone from Angelika, asking if Ellie could collect her from the Hooper house. Nothing from Stewart or from Freya. Another pile of mail.

  Ellie riffled through the letters and messages. There was a fat package from Betsey, of Harmony in the Home, containing folders with samples of fabrics and pictures of furniture for different rooms . . . Ellie shoved them aside.

  One piece of paper floated to the floor.

  Ellie stared at it. A somewhat dog-eared photocopy of a clown handing out biscuits and balloons. The missing picture!

  But how . . .? She turned it over and saw that she’d written notes for Betsey on the back of the photograph of the clown. Ah. So that’s where it had gone?

  Her hand went to the phone. Should she ring Ms Milburn to say the picture had turned up? Of course, it was getting late, and the girl had probably gone home by now and in any case would be more interested in the fire and questioning poor Mr Abel . . . which reminded Ellie that she’d set her own solicitor on to the case and . . .

  She wanted to chuck all her papers into the air and let them fall where they would.

  Only, she knew that she would then have to get down on her hands and knees and pick them all up again. Oh, her knees!

  She sighed, picked up the phone and left a message for Ms Milburn. ‘I’ve found the missing photo of the clown, and I’ve got a possible address for him.’ She wondered if she should voice her suspicions about the identity of the clown. But no – she didn’t have enough evidence. Feelings and suspicions are not legal tender.

  She put her phone down, and it rang under her hand.

  Diana. ‘Mother, where have you been?’

  ‘Out. I had to—’

  ‘Well, never mind that now. I’m ringing to say that I’ll be going back to the hospital in a little while, and I won’t leave till I’ve seen Evan asleep. So—’

  ‘Have the police released Mr Abel?’

  ‘I can’t think why, but yes, they have. I shot him straight out again, of course, stood over him while he collected his stuff and saw him off the premises.’

  ‘He’s innocent, you know.’

  ‘You know more than I do. I’m glad to be rid of him.’

  ‘Mrs Lavery is no substitute.’

  ‘She’ll do. Did you tell her to contact the insurance people for Evan’s house? There’s nothing here about it.’

  ‘No, there wouldn’t be. I’ve discovered that the house is still owned by the first Mrs Hooper, Monique, and that Evan merely rents it from her. Monique will contact the insurers about the fire.’

  ‘What? I don’t believe it! He never said anything to me about that.’ Unwelcome news. Evan obviously hadn’t broadcast the fact that he didn’t actually own the house. Diana recovered quickly enough. ‘Well, be that as it may, I’m just ringing to put you in the picture. Someone will have to wait up for me tonight, as I forget to get a front door key from Rose before I left.’

  ‘I think you’d better go to a hotel. You’ll be safe enough there.’

  ‘Are you refusing me a bed for the night?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ellie, wondering how she dared. ‘I’ve got a full house. There’s no beds to spare. I’ll have your things packed up and leave them at the hospital for you when I collect Freya, who’s been sitting with Evan all day and must be exhausted.’

  ‘You can’t—’

  ‘Watch me.’ Ellie put down the phone with care, feeling guilty, triumphant and ashamed all at once. Had she really dared to throw her daughter out of the house?

  Was she going to regret it? Well, probably. But she really did not have a bed to spare, and Diana was perfectly capable of finding herself a hotel.

  Ellie ordered a cab to collect her in twenty minutes and went upstairs to put Diana’s things back into her carry-on bag. Checking the time on her watch, she darted into the kitchen to touch base with Vera and Rose before she left. The whirring, banging, and bumping continued above. Ellie looked a question.

  ‘Leave him be,’ said Vera. ‘He threw a tantrum because you didn’t take him with you this afternoon, so now he’s got his scooter up there and is trying to make a point by running it round and round on the top floor. He refused to eat any tea, but I suppose he’ll come down when he’s hungry.’

  Ellie knew she was being a coward, but fled. Bringing Mikey into the household was not going to prove an unmixed blessing.

  The cab driver dropped Ellie off at the main entrance to the hospital. She said she wouldn’t be long and arranged for him to circle the block till she came out again.

  Evan had been moved into a side ward on one of the top floors. Nice and clean. Ellie was afraid she might have been refused admission to see him until visiting time but, when she explained the position to the nurse in charge, she was let in a few minutes early. Evan was hooked up to all sorts of machinery and seemed to be asleep. Freya was sitting beside him, holding one of his hands.

  Ellie beckoned the girl to come out into the main ward to speak to her. Freya looked exhausted, moved like a sleepwalker. It was a trying situation for an adult, and the girl was only fifteen – or was it sixteen?

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘They’re keeping an eye on him because he seems very confused still. They said they might have to have an operation to relieve the pressure on his brain. They keep waking him up and testing his reflexes. He’s mostly asleep, and when he’s awake he vomits and complains of a terrible headache. One of his eyes looks funny.’

  Concussion.

  ‘He’s in good hands and you’ve done a sterling job, keeping him calm today. Now, Diana’s on her way here. Can you put this tote bag of hers in Evan’s cupboard and then come home with me? There’s a good meal waiting, and after that you must go straight to bed.’

  ‘I’ll leave when she comes.’

  ‘You’ll leave now, with me.’ Ellie wondered at herself, giving orders left, right and centre, but it seemed to work, probably because Freya was too tired to object.

  Ellie continued to be on edge. Worrying at the problem of the Hooper family. Thinking over what she’d learned, what she’d been told. Some lies, here and there? Mm. Not many. A picture was emerging, but would the police take Philip’s strange ideas seriously?

  Perhaps most parents had been through times when they’d wanted to beat the living daylights out of their children, but nearly all managed to restrain themselves. Ditto the other way round. However angry you might be with a parent or a sibling, it was unusual to go to the lengths of murdering them.

  Another thought: had Philip been responsible for knocking his father out before he started the fire at the house? Or after? Or, had Evan’s fall been an accident?

  Ellie dropped Freya off at home and took the cab on to the Hooper house, in order to rescue Angelika and see for herself what was happening there. She asked the cab driver to park a little way down the road and to wait for her . . . just in case a reporter or two might still be hanging around.<
br />
  Thankfully, the rain had died away, though clouds still obscured the moon.

  She couldn’t see any reporters, either outside the house or lurking in the garden. She stopped by the entrance to the drive to survey the desolation of the burned house, illumined by the street lights in the road. And gagged. The stink was appalling. Everything in sight was black and wet, saturated with the water used to dowse the flames.

  Would the whole house have to be pulled down and rebuilt, or was it still solid enough to be restored to what it had once been? All the windows facing the road had been boarded over, as had the front door. The roof seemed intact, so maybe the fire hadn’t taken that much of a hold before the fire engines got there.

  A large white van sporting the logo of Ellie’s trust was parked in the driveway, together with Stewart’s car and two others which she didn’t recognize, probably belonging to workmen.

  Angelika was sitting in the back of Stewart’s car, but got out when she saw Ellie. ‘Can we go now?’

  ‘In a minute. I must have a word with Stewart first.’ Ellie made her way round the house, taking care not to trip over anything as she skirted the kitchen, the windows of which had also been boarded over. Stewart had run some electricity cables around the house from his van, to power floodlights at the back of the house. It wasn’t as bright as day, but it enabled the workmen to see well enough to do their job.

  The conservatory was intact. The broken door had been boarded over.

  A couple of Stewart’s maintenance men appeared in front of her, wearing hard hats and carrying tools. ‘Hey, there, Mrs Quicke. Nearly done. You’re after the old man?’