Ellie looked out of the window and saw that this garden had been laid out with small boys in mind, for a football net had been set up at the end of the lawn, and there were not one but two basketball hoops bolted on to a high fence.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ said their hostess and disappeared into the toilet; no doubt to check on its cleanliness. Satisfied, she returned to pile dirty dishes into a dishwasher. The moment of truth had arrived. To pay for all this, Ellie must now be prepared to Tell All.
Their hostess was a comfortable-looking sixty, dressed in Marks & Spencer clothing, with blonded and permed hair and an air of competence. The sort of person who paid her bills on time and kept a sweetie jar filled for visiting grandchildren. Her bright eyes were set in wrinkled lids. She’d seen most things in life, but was still optimistic.
‘The name’s Marge, by the way. The children aren’t yours?’
‘Ellie Quicke. No. They got landed on us – on myself and my husband Thomas, who’s next door. He’s the one who called the police when we couldn’t make the childminder hear us. Mrs Summers was supposed to be looking after the children for the man she used to work for—’
‘The estate agent?’
‘That’s right. Their mother was busy today. In fact, she’s at the hairdressers at this moment, which is why she couldn’t help. The boys arrived early this morning, the front door was open, they got in, couldn’t find Mrs Summers anywhere, noticed the bathroom was locked, spent the morning killing time then went to look for their father, who was out of the office at the time. So my daughter – his partner – brought them over to us to look after. We thought the whole thing was a little odd and came to investigate.’
Shrewd eyes. ‘I’ve seen you before here, haven’t I?’
‘I called to see Mrs Summers on Wednesday. Yesterday. Yes. The place was a mess. The boys had got a bit above themselves, I gather.’
‘That they did. If they’d been mine . . . but I reckon they get enough of that at home. You noticed that the eldest and the youngest have both been beaten recently?’
Ellie nodded. ‘The father, I think. The youngest probably because he wets his bed. The eldest . . .?’ A shrug. ‘Possibly getting big enough to challenge his father?’
‘Mm. Likely. One of mine used to get beaten regularly. Different father, you know? Scarred him for life. The only one of them that never married. My fault, I suppose. My old man was playing away, so I thought I could, too. Turned out to be a mistake. I had to throw him out in the end; my husband, I mean. More tea?’
‘Thanks. Yes. What do you make of Mrs Summers?’
A wry face. ‘Stupid girl. Thinks she’s still eighteen and can get away with it. Has male visitors, who come out checking their ties. She likes them big and fair-haired, says it’s because she’s missing her husband. Well, no need to go that far, is there? She’s dead, isn’t she?’
‘I don’t know. It doesn’t look good. When do you suppose . . .?’
‘Mm. Been thinking about that. I saw her about six, I suppose. She was picking up bean sticks in the garden, clearing away broken plants. They’d slashed the heads off everything in flower, little monkeys that they are. She was upset but playing it down.’
Both women turned to look out of the window, but the boys were playing reasonably happily together, with the General telling them ‘what’.
‘What time was that?’ said Ellie. ‘She told me she was going over to visit her sister after I left.’
‘She didn’t go. She said her sister had cancelled, had a dentist’s appointment. I popped out to get the washing in and we had a word over the fence, but I didn’t stop to chat because I was cooking supper for my youngest-but-one who comes over from work once a week to see I’m all right, and I usually give him a bite to eat. Sometimes he stays for the evening, but he went early last night, got a darts match on. I saw him off and noticed the big car was back, the one belonging to the estate agent. You know about him, do you? He comes by maybe once a week, puts in an hour’s hard grind, and goes again. He left about seven or half past, I suppose. I heard him go. Her front door sticks a bit in hot weather, needs a good bang to get it shut.’
Ellie was disappointed. ‘It was open this morning, so it can’t have been him who killed her – that is, if anyone did. Someone must have called later.’
‘Or he banged the door shut from the inside so’s I’d think he’d gone, when he hadn’t. He left it open when he did go later on, so’s I wouldn’t hear him.’
As one, they lifted their mugs and drank.
Ellie said, ‘Why should he kill her? Surely it was to his benefit to keep her alive and child-minding? But . . . Oh. I just thought . . .’
‘She had money, didn’t she? Told everyone about it. Boasted. Silly woman.’
‘She told me she’d given him her bank account number. I queried it with her, but she said he’d never do her down. I wonder if that money is still in her account?’
‘Give you two guesses.’
‘We don’t know anything yet.’
‘Want a bet?’
Both women laughed, then sobered. Ellie said, ‘The police will want to talk to you.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Thursday afternoon
He’d covered his gift in some pretty paper from the drawer in which his mother used to keep all sorts of bits and pieces useful for wrapping up presents for birthdays and Christmas. She’d said her oddments of paper, string and tinsel always came in handy, and so they had. He’d even stuck a pink rosette on top of the packet, just the sort of thing the witch would like. There! It looked harmless.
But the contents – he hugged himself with glee! – were lethal.
TWELVE
Thursday early evening
The police did indeed want to speak to Marge and Ellie, and to the boys. But they took their time getting round to it. Ellie and Marge moved into her big living room which – as in Mrs Summers’ house – had been knocked through into one. From there they could see the coming and going of cars outside, and keep an eye on the boys in the garden. Marge opened a window so they could hear better.
‘That’s the paramedic,’ said Marge, as a man rode up on a motorbike. ‘Come to look at her. He won’t be able to pronounce her dead, so they’ll call the doctor next. Do you fancy a bite to eat, although I’m not sure exactly what I’ve got left in the fridge? All this excitement makes me hungry.’
‘They’ll send for the brighter bobbies next, won’t they?’ said Ellie. ‘And no, thanks, kindly meant, but we’re having supper back home.’
‘Suit yourself.’ A pause. A clink of bottles. ‘You wouldn’t say no to a small sherry, would you?’
‘I’d better not. It would make Thomas jealous if he smelt it on me while he’s stuck with the police. He’s driving, you see. Ah, here comes the doctor.’
‘And some of what you call the brighter bobbies. Not off the local beat.’
‘I recognize one of them.’ Ellie sighed. ‘He’s a Detective Inspector now, but I wouldn’t have called him one of the brighter bobbies. Unfortunately.’
‘The one with the sticky-out ears?’
‘I wish I’d had that sherry you offered me. But no, better not. That particular policeman would accuse me of being drunk.’
‘He’d better not try that on me.’ Sipping away, Marge glanced up the garden. ‘They’ll be wanting their tea soon. Boys that age, you can’t satisfy them.’
‘They’ll want their telly in a bit, I shouldn’t wonder. I hope their mother makes it soon.’
They watched in silence as a large silver car drew up. ‘Himself,’ said Marge.
Denis, in a silvery-grey handmade suit, powered up the garden path to Mrs Summers’ house, only to be stopped at the door by a uniformed policeman. Denis demanded entry. Was refused. Raised his voice. Demanded to see whoever was in charge. Refused to calm down.
Marge remarked, ‘You realize he hasn’t yet asked what all the fuss is about?’
‘Because h
e knows. He hasn’t asked where his children are, either.’
‘Because he doesn’t care? Do you think it would be worth while reporting those marks of abuse on the children to social services?’
‘He’s supposed to have moved out of their house and is now only responsible for them on certain days during the school holidays. Perhaps, if the mother knew the marks had been spotted . . .?’
‘She must know. Some mother!’
‘He can be intimidating, you know. I don’t envy her, married to him. Ah, he’s crossed the threshold.’
‘He’s running the risk of being arrested, pushing past a policeman like that.’
‘He’s a clever, slicky Dicky. He’ll say he’s worried sick about the children.’
Marge pressed a small sherry into Ellie’s hand, and she took it. Marge said, ‘You don’t like him.’
‘He’s marrying my daughter Diana on Saturday. And no, I don’t like anything about him. He’s a sneaky, pushy, cut-throat, cut corners sort of man. Hard.’ She thought about it, and added ‘Large.’
Marge gulped, and giggled. ‘Your future son-in-law. Can’t we pin the murder on him?’
‘We don’t know that it is.’
They knew all right.
Presently Thomas came round to knock on Marge’s front door and was let in. He looked tired. Marge offered him a sherry and he said, ‘No, no. I’m driving.’ But looked as if he’d have liked to accept. She got him a coffee instead, while he explained what had been happening.
‘They had to break down the bathroom door. It was locked on the inside, and the key was on the floor. Probably it had been pushed under the door after . . . after. The police told me to stand back, but I could hear what they said. She was in the bath, half-clothed. It looked as if she’d just slid under the water. Her feet were dry, sticking out by the taps. She’d a bad bruise on her chin. They reckon she was knocked out, dropped into the bath and left to drown.’
Marge coughed. Her eyes watered. ‘That’s not nice.’
Ellie shuddered.
‘Are the boys all right, Ellie?’
Ellie waved to the French windows, through which they could see the boys playing tag on the lawn.
Thomas gulped coffee and shook his head. ‘Bad business. Ellie, you told me once about a particular policeman who hadn’t treated you well, someone with big ears. I think it might be him.’
‘It is. Made inspector last year.’
‘Mm. Makes you wonder how they select . . . Well, no doubt I’m being judgmental.’
‘He likes the limelight. He called in the boffins, I suppose? What happened when Denis arrived?’
‘He pushed his way in – typical – and demanded to know where his children were. I said they were next door with my wife, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he homed in on the inspector, demanding to know why he’d been summoned from an important meeting to look after the children when they weren’t there. The inspector knew nothing of the children. I had tried to tell him, but he wasn’t listening. Instead, he squared up to Denis, asking what he thought he was doing, forcing his way into the premises of a murder enquiry.
‘Denis didn’t like that. He used his superior height to get within the inspector’s personal space and hissed at him. Hah! It’s a toss up whether Denis reports the inspector for incompetence, or the inspector arrests him for impeding the police in the course of their investigations. I wouldn’t take a bet on it, either way.’
He shook his head. ‘Those boys made a good job of trashing the place next door. The inspector looked around and said that it was clear to him that someone had broken in and done the place over looking for valuables. Denis chipped in to say that he’d been keeping an eye on Mrs Summers because she used to work for him at one time, and he knew she’d been having male visitors at all hours of the day and night.
‘That went down wonderfully well. The inspector was pleased to hear there had been all these men calling at the house and jumped to the conclusion that one of them must have had a fight with Mrs Summers and killed her, either when he was looking for valuables or in the heat of an argument.
‘I did say that I believed the boys were responsible for the mess, but Denis, of course, contradicted me, saying his boys would never, ever, etcetera. The inspector turned a frosty eye on me because I was complicating an otherwise straightforward case. He said he saw no reason for me to hang around. I agreed with him. I told the DC on the door that the children were next door, and that I’d be joining them.’
‘The eldest and the youngest show marks of abuse,’ said Ellie. ‘It’s Denis, not their mother.’
Thomas stroked his beard, unsurprised. He looked at Marge, ‘You had no trouble with them?’
Marge shook her head. ‘They’ll need feeding again soon, but I’ve been thinking, and I don’t believe I’ve enough in the fridge to give them another meal. I was going to have baked beans on toast for my supper, but I gave them all I had to eat at teatime. What do you reckon to a takeaway?’
Ellie looked at her watch. ‘Their mother should be here soon. I hope.’
There was a thud on the door, and someone rang the bell. Police? Yes. And Denis. As if they’d received a signal to present themselves, the four boys filed into the room, eyes downcast, hands behind their backs.
Denis was first into the room. He glared at his sons. ‘What are you doing in here?’
The General quailed. ‘She wouldn’t come out of the bathroom.’
‘So you went for help. Good lads.’
Four wooden faces, four sets of downcast eyes.
Denis noticed Ellie and did a double take. ‘You? What brings you here?’
‘Diana dumped the kids on us, without notice. No one could understand why Mrs Summers didn’t let them in this morning, so we drove over with them to see what was going on.’
‘You! Ellie Quicke!’ The Inspector’s large ears seemed to redden, as he realized who was sitting in the window with their hostess. ‘You had to poke your nose in, didn’t you!’
‘No,’ said Ellie in her sweetest voice. ‘I looked after the boys while my husband phoned the police.’
The inspector huffed. ‘I understand that you and your husband brought the boys back here, that you didn’t see any intruders, and so left the house. Is that correct?’
Ellie debated saying that she didn’t think there had been any intruders, felt the boys’ eyes on her, and nodded.
The inspector swung back to Denis. ‘I’ll need a statement from the boys in due course, with a suitable adult present.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said their father. ‘No need for anyone else.’ He swung back to the boys. ‘It wasn’t you who made such a mess of the place next door, was it?’
As one, the boys shook their heads, eyes wide with innocence.
At this inopportune moment Marge hiccuped, and then giggled.
Denis turned on her. ‘What do you mean by that? Oh, I see. You’re drunk.’
‘Not drunk. I saw you there last night.’
Angry. ‘Of course you did. I called to pay her for child-minding and to arrange for her to have them again today.’
Marge flushed. ‘I know what else you used to do with her, and I know how much money she had in her account. Is it still there, do you think?’
He towered over her. ‘What do you mean by that, may I ask? Are you daring to suggest that I had anything to do with her tragic death?’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ said Marge, obstinacy itself. ‘You might have.’
Denis turned to the inspector. ‘Drunk. As usual.’
‘Ears’ nodded. For once, the two men thought alike. ‘We’ll have to take her statement, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Denis, magnanimous in victory. ‘I shan’t sue her, even though you are the best witness I could possible have.’
They both laughed. Members of the men’s superiority club.
Marge said, ‘What, what?’ Even her neck flushed a painful red.
Ellie wondered whether t
o tell the inspector what the boys had told her about trashing Mrs Summers’ place. She opened her mouth to do so, and met four pairs of eyes begging her to keep quiet. She thought about the weals she’d seen on the boys’ legs, and about the difficulties faced by children in a divorce situation, and shut her mouth again. Perhaps she would have a word with the boys’ mother when things had calmed down a bit.
A shabby car drew up outside, and there was an altercation with a uniformed policeman outside.
‘Mum!’ cried the boys, and rushed to the front door, letting it bang to behind them in their haste to be gone.
A tall slender woman with a mop of pale yellow hair in a no-nonsense bob, counted the boys off and ushered them, mother hen like, into her car.
‘Their mother,’ said Denis. Dropping his voice to indicate he was telling a joke, he added, ‘God bless her.’
The inspector laughed, as intended. Neither Ellie nor Thomas, nor Marge joined in.
‘Ears’ said, ‘Mrs Quicke. Leave your address before you go.’
‘You know where I live,’ said Ellie, annoyed and frustrated.
He produced a notebook. ‘Tell me again. We can’t be expected to keep up with everyone’s details, can we?’
Ellie gave her address and telephone number with exaggerated clarity, and got to her feet. ‘Well, if that’s all. Thanks for everything, Marge. We’ll keep in touch, shall we?’
Thomas patted Marge on her shoulder. ‘It was good to meet you. Thanks for the coffee.’ And to the police, ‘You have my statement already, right?’
Down the path they went and into Thomas’s car. Ellie noted the dark patch on the passenger seat in front, where the Lieutenant had left his mark, and sat in the back. A policewoman was busy taping off Mrs Summers’ house as they drove away.
‘What do you think, Thomas?’
‘It would take a monster to let the boys find their childminder dead.’
‘But they didn’t, did they? Find her, I mean. He’d locked the bathroom door after he killed her, and pushed the key underneath. He counted on the boys not actually breaking a door down, and they didn’t. He lied about other things. He knew about the mess the boys had made earlier on, because Mrs Summers told me he’d promised to make good the damage they’d done.
Murder by Mistake Page 15