‘Are you trying to say that Claire killed them, because I don’t think that’s sensible. For a start, both girls were pregnant, which would indicate a man’s involvement, but …’ Ellie’s voice tailed away.
‘Yes? You’ve thought of something.’
Ellie hesitated. ‘It seems to me that Claire makes a perfect scapegoat for anything that goes wrong in her circle. She blotted her copybook at the school, which brought her to the attention of the Courts. The Vision people paid her fine, but are making her reimburse them. Once upon a time she had her own flat, her own car and a good job. Now she’s reduced to babysitting elderly ladies and living on the charity of the Vision. Yes, she has exhibited a hasty temper in the past, but I think that nowadays she’s so beaten down that she bursts into tears rather than raise her voice even to defend herself.’
‘You are thinking that a man connected with the Vision might be the murderer, and that he’s using Claire as a cover for him? Yes, why not? Why didn’t I think of that? What do you know about them?’
‘Very little, and I wish I knew less. The head of this cult – I really think they are a cult, as they don’t belong to any recognized church that I’ve ever heard of, and they appear to owe allegiance to no one but themselves – anyway, the leader is one Pastor Ambrose. They have applied to the trust for funds to purchase the house they are currently occupying here in Ealing. They rescue alcoholics and drug addicts from the streets and rehabilitate them with the application of a carrot and a stick. Yes, Claire is a member of this cult, and Gail lived in a flat in the same house, but you can’t do much with that.’
Lesley said, ‘Claire moved to this area from Perivale after her mother died, and we thought it might have been because she’d fallen under the influence of the Vision. Was Gail a member? Was Jenna? It’s worth looking into.’
Ellie was following her own line of thought. ‘You might also see if there was ever anything reported about Claire in her job at the supermarket. I can’t quite get my head around her leaving the place just because her mother died. Maybe it’s perfectly all right, but if she had such a good job and wanted to fly the nest, why didn’t she find herself some more accommodation locally and stick with it? Good jobs aren’t ten a penny. She must have taken a big pay cut when she moved down this way. On the other hand, if Ambrose had inspired her with a vision of living simply and giving a percentage of her earnings to them … No, that doesn’t work. Surely, they would have got more money out of her if she were in a well-paid job than they would have done when she was working at the school.’
Lesley nodded. ‘I’ll see if I can find out.’
Ellie sat back in her chair, wondering if Pastor Ambrose himself might have fancied a fling with a young and pretty girl like Gail. Neither Dolores nor Liddy could be described as young and pretty, and Claire …? No, definitely not. Ambrose didn’t seem the sort to go for boys. So, who did he take to his bed at night?
‘He might be married, of course,’ said Ellie, to herself rather than Lesley.
‘You’ve thought of someone?’
‘For five seconds, yes. Then common sense prevailed. Ambrose, the Vision’s leader, is surrounded by adoring women. If he so much as winked at a young girl, his followers would know. I can’t see that being kept a secret. As for putting a girl in a niqab … No, he wouldn’t do that. He likes his women to wear black, apparently to show that they are in mourning for their sins. Besides which, he’s no follower of Islam, and they’re the only ones who put their women into niqabs, aren’t they?’
‘Ambrose. What’s his second name?’
Ellie pursued her own line of thought. ‘Even if he were to fancy a series of secret lovers, where would he keep them hidden? You say that Jenna was alive for some months after she disappeared and Gail for … how long? Four or five months? Were they kept in a cellar at the big house? Locked away in a private room? Without anyone knowing?’ She shook her head. ‘Ridiculous. The practicalities would defeat him. He couldn’t keep them fed and watered, or visit them, without someone in the house tumbling to the truth. Besides which, why would he need to hide them away? He’s their leader, the One Who. He wouldn’t wish to hide his prowess. He’d boast of having womenfolk at his beck and call, because they would be a living testament to his virility. And, if he isn’t married, there’s absolutely no reason why he shouldn’t be having a bit on the side. I can imagine that Gail’s mother might object to the age gap, but … Is she a follower of this cult, too? It doesn’t sound as if Gail was herself, but … who knows? She might well have been attracted by his charisma. Power, they say, is an aphrodisiac. I really don’t know if that’s true or not, but it sounds right. Look at the way beautiful women flock around rich and powerful men. No, Ambrose doesn’t fit the profile.’
‘Ellie! I asked you: what’s this Ambrose’s second name?’
Ellie said, ‘Then again, if he did take a young lover, why would he want to kill her? Because she was pregnant? Surely he’d think that helpful to his image. No, it won’t do. He may or may not be married, but he’s definitely Holier than Thou. He lives in the public eye. He boasts of his success with his project. He rescues damaged women from the streets. He has the backing, or so he says – and I think I believe him, though I’d need to check – of people in Social Services. Why would he risk his reputation for the sake of a bit on the side? He wouldn’t.’
Lesley’s patience had run out. ‘Why haven’t I heard of this man before?’
‘Why would you need to, if Gail wasn’t a member? I agree there must be some sort of connection if Claire knew about him when she was living in Perivale, but he doesn’t live there now. He lives in a sort of commune near here, and altogether, no, I don’t think it’s him.’
Lesley lit up with excitement. ‘He might have a separate place, a hideout, where he could keep the women. If he’s married, and they get pregnant and start to make trouble for him, then he’d want to get rid of them.’
Ellie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘It’s a valid line of enquiry, and it’s got to be followed up. You’re the obvious person to do it.’
Ellie leant back in her chair. ‘You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?’
‘I am. Ears visited the girl’s mother originally, and the boyfriend. He heard there was an older man in the picture, and he lost interest. From what I’d seen myself, I agreed with him that the girl had gone off with a man of her own accord, especially after she rang to say she was fine and off enjoying herself. And then we let the case slide out of sight.’
Ellie could understand that.
‘So.’ Lesley pressed her hands to her cheeks. ‘I feel now that I messed up, that the girl wouldn’t have died if I’d kept on the case. That’s why I’m asking you, Ellie, to help me.’
‘How?’
‘You could go to see Claire and get her to give you some background information about this hostel or whatever it is. Find out if there’s a hidey-hole anywhere. Then, when you’ve found it, I could tell Ears. He’d tell the Murder Squad, and they’d get a search warrant, and Bob’s your uncle.’
‘I’ve heard it’s a pretty big place. I suppose I could make an excuse to visit it and … No, I can’t, Lesley. I can’t leave Rose.’
A calculating look. ‘What if I find someone to look after Rose?’
Ellie grimaced. ‘Chance would be a fine thing. I’ve got Maria looking for someone, and I’ve contacted all the agencies I can think of, but there’s no one suitable who’s free at the moment. Summer holidays, you know? They say there may be someone in a couple of weeks’ time. And, it would have to be someone better than Claire, someone both Rose and I can get along with.’
Lesley nodded. ‘I wasn’t going to mention it if you’d got yourself fixed up but, well, I do know someone, my niece, who’s at a loose end. You’d be doing me a favour if you could give her a room and a job for a couple of weeks. That’s all. Just a couple of weeks. She’s a student at West London University, doing all right, s
ensible enough girl, house-trained. She drives me crazy, but that’s my fault, not hers.’
Ellie was amused. Lesley didn’t usually blush and become incoherent. ‘Start at the beginning. What’s the girl’s name?’
‘Susan. Nice girl. Studying food technology, wants to be a chef. She was in a house share locally, but at the end of term they had to move out. The students have all scattered to the four winds, returning home, going away on holiday, waiting for the results from their exams. Susan didn’t want to go back home for the summer because she’s not getting on with my sister, for which I can’t actually blame her, menopause and hot flushes and all that. So she landed up on my doorstep a couple of nights ago with a couple of kit bags, begging to sleep on my settee.’
Lesley had got herself engaged to a very pleasant young man some time back, and though they didn’t plan to get married till the end of the year, he had actually moved into her one-bedroom flat. Ellie could well imagine they wouldn’t want a student under foot.
‘I mean, I thought we could manage at first,’ said Lesley, ‘because she’s a nice enough kid, but it’s getting on our nerves. Both of us work long hours and …’
‘Send her round,’ said Ellie. ‘Which doesn’t mean that I’m going to poke into affairs at the Vision.’
‘Bless you. She’ll be no trouble, I assure you. She can cook, too.’
TEN
Friday, late afternoon
Susan was everything that Lesley had said. She was no beauty queen, being solid-looking with capable hands and frizzy ginger hair drawn back and up into a ponytail. But she had a no-nonsense approach to life which was appealing. She liked Rose, and Rose liked her. Also, she was ready to move in straight away.
Only after they’d agreed terms and conditions, and Susan had been shown the bed-sitting-room and bathroom directly above Rose’s quarters, did Ellie begin to be suspicious.
Susan was too good to be true, which meant that there was a catch somewhere.
Ellie said, ‘How much is Lesley paying you to move in here?’
Susan blushed. ‘Oh. No, not really. Honest.’
‘You could have got a live-in job anywhere, couldn’t you? Did you really not want to move back in with your mother?’
Susan fidgeted. ‘We-ell, I wasn’t looking forward to it much, but—’
‘Lesley made you an offer you couldn’t refuse?’
‘Something like that.’ More fidgeting. ‘Do you not want me to come, then?’
‘My dear, I’d be delighted. Move in as soon as you like.’
‘My stuff is all in the back of my old banger outside. If that’s all right …?’
Ellie smiled grimly. ‘I suppose Lesley wants me to get straight on to the case this evening?’
‘She says you’re ever so clever.’ The girl actually seemed to mean it.
With Susan settling herself in, Ellie rummaged around in her study till she found the paperwork relating to the Vision project. She would ring up and make an appointment.
No telephone number given. That was odd? Why ever not?
She consulted the A to Z. It wasn’t far, as the crow flies, but it was uphill all the way. Oh well. The sky was light and bright. No showers forecast. She could have a quick look at the place before the supper which Susan had promised to cook.
At the top of the hill Ellie came to a T-junction, on the far side of which stood the house she was looking for. When it had been built, it had stood in splendid isolation at the junction of two country lanes. Much, much later a row of small, terraced ‘town’ houses had grown up around the original house and its garden, while the original lanes had been widened and covered with tarmac.
The house had been built sideways on to the road, so that there would be a good view down the hill from the reception rooms. It was larger than she’d expected and twice as ugly. Correction; the original Edwardian mansion was well enough in its way, but the bleak apartment block which had been built on to the back quarters was about as ugly as the sixties and a cheese-paring developer could make it. Ellie wondered how the builder had managed to get permission for such an eyesore.
The original house was four storeys high, gabled though not turreted. It had been built in the pleasant dull ochre London brick which used to be standard for houses built thereabouts. It had large sash windows, hinting at nicely-proportioned, high-ceilinged rooms within. It had been built by someone with money and status, to show off. It was the Edwardian equivalent of bling.
A carriage drive led off the road, past a front door sheltered from the elements under one of those massive wooden porches with a gable roof beloved of that bygone age. The driveway was flanked by laurel bushes – what else! – and curved out of sight, presumably ending up at a garage and some outhouses. A tradesman’s van was parked in the driveway, but there was no sign of Ambrose’s Lexus.
Skylights had been inserted in the roof of the original building, turning what had once been servants’ quarters into rentable accommodation.
The apartment block to the right was in a lighter, yellow brick. It didn’t attempt to match its neighbour in any way although it was built flush with it. It had a flat roof, and the small windows screamed ‘utilitarian’ and ‘built to maximize space on a small budget’. It didn’t exactly advertise itself as a prison, but there was a hint of the institution about it. There were four small windows on each of the three floors, none of them open, even on this warm summer’s day.
Ellie was puzzled. Why did that block look so forbidding? There were no bars on the windows. Ah, she had it. There were no curtains at the windows, just blinds, and the blinds were all of the same sandy colour. Was this where Ambrose housed the people he rescued from the streets? Losers like Claire, ex-junkies like Dolores and Liddy? And, possibly, the boy who’d been acting as the decorator’s mate? Was the decorator himself one of Ambrose’s followers? She shivered, remembering that she’d thought him a bit creepy, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why he should have struck her that way. He hadn’t been subservient like the members of the cult that she’d met so far.
Perhaps he was one of the original tenants of the house? That would make sense.
She crossed the junction and walked along the front of the new extension, looking for a front door. There was none. Instead, a high wall at the end of the block continued along the roadside, probably enclosing what remained of the garden of the house. Yes, she could see the tops of trees inside. She came to a halt as the wall took a turn away from the road, presumably marking the end of the property. Beyond that there was the landscaped garden belonging to a newer, better-designed block of flats.
There was no access to the extension from the road. No front door, no gate into the garden, even. Access must be through the main house, which would be convenient if you were monitoring the comings and goings of the people who lived there.
She told herself not to jump to conclusions. This place was not a prison, and Ambrose was not a jailer.
He was way over the top, yes. His view of heaven and earth seemed somewhat skewed, but in all probability his heart was as pure as driven snow.
Ellie scolded herself. There was nothing whatever to be worried about. She wasn’t entering the lions’ den, and even if she were, Daniel & Co had managed all right in the Old Testament when they were thrown into the lions’ den, hadn’t they? And, she told herself firmly, God was everywhere, even in the darkest and dirtiest of places.
She turned into the driveway and pressed the old-fashioned bell-push in the porch. There was no reply. She peered at the bell-push. The name tag read: Pastor Ambrose. She couldn’t see any other name. She rang the bell again. Still no reply.
The house had a dead feel to it. Not empty, exactly, but lifeless. Waiting for people to come back and let themselves in and bring it back to life? Presumably, it had been swarming with police from the Murder Squad earlier that day. They must have visited Gail’s mother – no, wait a minute, hadn’t Amy and Anna said the woman didn’t live here any more?
Ellie stepped back into the sunshine, crunching gravel underfoot. She scanned the windows on this side of the house. Blinds were drawn behind the large windows on the ground floor. On the first floor some curtains were partly drawn to protect the furniture within from the sun. Some of those windows had been left open a crack at the top. Well, it was a warm day.
Curtains flapped on the top floor where a window had been left wide open … and was that a drift of TV noise? So there was someone at home at the top of the house. How to make them hear her?
The house was between her and the sun. It was almost chilly in the shade. There wasn’t much garden on this side of the house. Shrubs lined the driveway, and then there was a high wall which shut off the view of the neighbouring ‘town’ houses.
The van. Perhaps there was someone in the van whom she could ask about how to contact Ambrose? She walked right round it. No keys in the ignition. No paperwork on the passenger seat. An empty bottle of Coca Cola. There was no heat coming from the engine so it must have been standing there for some time. A tradesman’s van? No logo on the sides. Dark blue. She’d never remember the licence number … and why should she?
A van meant a workman doing something to the electricity or the plumbing inside the big house. But then, he’d not be likely to answer the doorbell, would he?
She went back to the porch, deciding to leave a note asking Ambrose to ring her. She tore a page from her diary and looked round for somewhere to sit while she wrote the note. Only then did she notice that there was a row of modern bell-pushes right behind where she’d been standing before. How could she have missed them? She switched her eyes to and fro. The house’s original bell-push had only one name on it, and that was for Ambrose. This other lot – six bells in all – would be for the tenants who occupied the flats in the big house. Ambrose was obviously out, but one of the others might well be in.
Murder by Suspicion Page 13