by Ann Granger
‘You ought to get yourself a mobile,’ said Ben.
‘Can’t afford one.’ I remembered something. ‘Ben, when you get to the Wildes’ place tonight, Nicola may say something about a beggar asking her for change near the house. It was me. I’m not a beggar but she wanted to know why I was hanging about there and I had to say something.’
He didn’t comment on this and I didn’t know whether he believed it. He’d begun stuffing all the bits and bobs back into his pockets. ‘I’ll have to leave you here to finish your meal alone, OK? I should get over to the Wildes’ now. Oh, give me your boot. The one with the broken lace.’
I slipped my foot out and handed him my boot. Muddy, wet, old, it looked like one of those bits of abandoned footwear you see on canal banks, always the one, never the pair. I was wearing navy socks with white spots on them, but rain and pavement water leaking in had turned the spots grey. I hoped Josh couldn’t see.
Ben pulled out the broken lace and threaded the length of twine from his pocket collection through the eyelets. ‘Not beautiful, but it will get you home. At least you’ll be able to walk straight.’
I thanked him. He said he wouldn’t forget about the message for Jerry and would make sure Flora didn’t overhear. Then he was gone. I relaced the boot on my ankle and finished my chips. As I left, the barman gave me a sneer which clearly said he thought I’d spun good-natured Ben some sob story to get a free meal. I called out a cheery goodbye and waved at him as if I were a regular, just to annoy him a little bit more.
I’d known that sitting about in the rain and cold wouldn’t do me any good, robust as I generally am in adverse weather conditions. After all, I don’t have central heating in Hari’s garage, and in most of the squats I’ve lived in, you’ve had to sleep in your clothes in winter. But this time it got to me.
I slept very badly, tossing and turning on my narrow bed so that once I almost fell out. Bonnie got so fed up with the disturbance that she jumped off the bed and curled up nearby. I had a peculiar dream. I was walking up the drive to the hospice, but before I got to the door I saw Flora Wilde waiting to intercept me. She wasn’t angry, but nice and smiling. She held out her hand to me and I almost took it, but then a woman I didn’t know arrived on the scene. Her outline was indistinct and I couldn’t see her face. Whoever it was, Flora stopped smiling and looked upset. When she turned back to me, her welcome had turned to accusation. ‘You’re responsible for this!’ she said. I was denying it when I woke for the umpteenth time, cold and sweating together. For a moment I didn’t know where I was, until Bonnie pushed her nose into my hand. I switched on the lights and made coffee on my little Calor Gas picnic stove, telling myself that I was not going to be ill. I’m a believer in mind over matter. I just wished I didn’t feel so rotten.
A little after six I tramped up to the shop and asked Ganesh if he had any paracetamol.
‘You look like death,’ he said kindly.
In hoarse tones I informed him I was fine, just a bit headachy.
‘For crying out loud, go upstairs and have a hot bath. Get Hari to give you some breakfast.’ He pressed a pack of paracetamol into my hand. ‘Don’t take more than two in any four-hour period.’
‘Thank you, Dr Quincy,’ I croaked.
I didn’t fancy any food, but the hot bath sounded like a good idea. I went upstairs, where Hari also informed me I looked very ill and suggested I see a doctor.
‘Just a bit of a cold,’ I assured him.
He told me colds were notoriously treacherous. They could turn to something worse before you knew it. He listed a variety of diseases which started with flu-like symptoms. He asked if I had any spots.
I told him I hadn’t seen any but would check when in the bath. If I found any, he advised, I was to try rolling a glass over them, and if they didn’t disappear under pressure, that meant I had meningitis. I promised him that in that case, I’d go immediately to Casualty.
Hari told me one last cheery tale, about a cousin who’d dropped dead only twenty-four hours after developing a sore throat, and then, thank goodness, went downstairs.
I soaked in the bath and afterwards felt much better. I went back downstairs and told them so.
‘It’s started to rain again,’ Ganesh said. ‘I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go out to Egham, if that’s what you’re planning. Not that you tell me what you’re planning these days! Besides making yourself worse, you’d infect all those sick people out there and they’ve got enough symptoms to be going on with.’
I conceded the point. He let me ring the hospice to check on my mother and explain why I wouldn’t be coming that day. Sister Helen said that Mum was tired and it was just as well I wasn’t planning a visit. She wasn’t up to visitors really. If I came, I could only sit by the bed, not talk to her. She hoped I felt better soon.
Just to make sure I didn’t slip out, Ganesh offered me a morning’s work behind the counter on the grounds that Hari had to go to the bank plus a couple of other calls. We were fairly busy despite the weather. The shop doorbell jangled regularly and we dispensed papers, magazines, ciggies, sweets and oddities like stamps and lottery tickets in a steady stream.
You’d think Gan would be pleased at all this trade, but all he did was stare morosely at the cold drinks cabinet and say that Hari ought to install a tea and coffee machine. ‘Who’s going to buy a cold drink on a day like this?’
Hari returned from his errands, announcing gloomily, ‘Brass monkeys, isn’t it?’ as he came in. He studied me for signs of cholera, Black Death or Ebola, or failing that, simple old flu, and seemed disappointed that I was not only still on my feet but improved. Hari, though, isn’t one to give up easily.
‘All this wouldn’t have happened if you were eating properly. And frankly, my dear, I have a bad conscience about you. Sleeping in that garage, it has made you ill.’
I tried to convince him that sleeping in the garage wasn’t the problem. I’d stayed out in the rain too long the previous evening, that was all. At this, Gan gave me a reproachful look.
Hari went upstairs.
‘I am trying to find somewhere to live,’ I said. ‘I can always move into Norman’s place if nothing else.’
‘Why were you out so long in the rain?’ Ganesh demanded.
‘I missed the bus. Oh, all right, I was watching for someone. I can’t tell you, Gan, honestly. But I will just as soon as it’s all settled.’
‘You’re looking for Duke’s killer,’ he snapped. ‘And you’ve got a suspect, haven’t you? At least tell me who it is, then if you go missing, I’ll have a name to give Inspector Morgan, somewhere she can start looking for you.’
Oddly, this made sense. I was nervous at the idea of meeting Jerry Wilde again. On the other hand, I didn’t want Gan haring off to the police if I was just gone a few hours, nor to give him a name which could lead to Nicola. He might inadvertently let it slip. I compromised by writing the Wildes’ name and address on a scrap of paper and sealing it in an envelope.
‘You’re not to open this unless I’ve been gone twenty-four hours without any contact, right?’
He grumbled a bit about this being the sort of thing characters in corny old films did, but agreed. I watched him tuck the envelope inside his blouson jacket and felt quite reassured. Not having Ganesh at my side in all this had been an extra difficulty. Having to continually put him off was placing a strain on our friendship.
‘If ever I can tell you,’ I said, ‘you’ll understand, I swear it, Gan. If it’s any consolation, I really wish I could. I’m truly sorry.’
We exchanged sheepish smiles.
Jerry Wilde rang at twelve thirty, just as Hari had ordered me to go upstairs and have some lunch. His voice vibrated with ill-concealed fury. ‘I’ll meet you, but there had better be a good reason for this! I don’t want you coming anywhere near Kew. Nicola tells me there was a beggar cadging loose change in the street last night. We never have beggars in this street. Was that you?’
‘I don’t beg!’ I prevaricated. ‘I’m an actor, and in between I work where I can.’
He made a disbelieving noise. ‘Pull the other one. Anyway, shouldn’t that be actress?’
‘We don’t say that any more.’
Another snort. ‘Tomorrow’s Sunday and I can’t get away without Flora suspecting something. It’ll have to be Monday, and well away from Kew.’
We argued a bit about where to meet, and settled for five o’clock on Monday afternoon at Oxford Circus Tube station, by the ticket dispenser. It would be rush hour and like a madhouse. It was unlikely anyone would notice us.
‘Oxford Circus Tube?’ Ganesh said suspiciously, as I put down the phone.
‘The best place to hide is in a crowd,’ I retorted.
That afternoon I went back to Susie’s. I couldn’t help but be concerned about her, and anyway, I wanted to tell her I’d seen Allerton, though I wasn’t sure if that would prove any help.
The block of flats didn’t look any better by daylight. But Susie did look a lot better than the last time I’d seen her. She recognised me, which surprised me a bit, remembering her fuddled state.
‘Hello,’ she greeted me, pulling open the door. ‘C’mon in.’
She teetered ahead of me on insecure-looking black slingback heels. First sight of the living room showed me she’d tidied up the place and turned down the heating. No bottles or glasses were on view, though the ashtray was still filled with stubs. She made me coffee and we sat down to drink it under the gaze of the pottery cat in the fireplace. Susie had combed her hair back and twisted it into a roll secured with a big tortoiseshell clip. As well as the heels, she wore a black sweater, skirt and tights. A thought occurred to me.
‘It wasn’t today, was it?’ I asked cautiously. ‘Rennie’s – um – you know.’
‘Funeral?’ She shook her head. ‘No. I’m all done up like a dog’s dinner because I’m expecting my sister. I’ve got to look like I’m holding it together or she’ll be on to me to go back with her to Margate. She’s got a good heart,’ Susie conceded, ‘but she’s bossy, you know what I mean? If I give her a hint I’m not managing, I’m finished. So, I’m managing, right?’ She grinned at me wryly.
‘You’re doing great,’ I said, and meant it. I liked her a lot. I didn’t understand what she’d seen in Rennie, but, well, that was one of life’s many mysteries.
She held up a packet of fags to me, and when I shook my head, she took out one for herself and lit it. ‘I ought to give up, cut down at least. But right now, it’s not the moment.’
‘Have you had any more thoughts about keeping the business on?’ I asked.
She waved a hand to dispel the smoke. ‘I dunno. I’ve had some funny old news. Seems Rennie was holding out on me.’
I perked up at that and tried not to look more than mildly interested. What had she found? A secret ledger detailing illicit income? A list of blackmail victims? In a way it was something even more surprising.
‘He was insured,’ she said. ‘I never knew it. I found the policy, all paid up and everything in order. It was in there.’ She pointed at the pottery cat. ‘What a place to hide it. And he should’ve told me, shouldn’t he? Daft to say nothing. It was only by chance I found it. I was looking at the cat, thinking of Rennie, turned it over and, I don’t know why, looked through the hole in the base and saw there was something stuck in there, rolled up with an elastic band round it. I rang’em up. I’ll get a nice little sum of money. Poor Rennie.’ She gazed meditatively at the cat. ‘He did like his secrets.’
‘So you can pay for the funeral, then,’ I said, ‘and still have a bit over. Perhaps you ought to think about taking that holiday in Ibiza.’
Susie shook her head. ‘Not without Rennie. Like sitting on the beach with a ghost. No, but I’ve got time to think.’Course, what I’d really like is to get away from here . . .’ She gestured at the window to indicate the estate. ‘But I don’t know if I’ll have enough to do that.’
She leaned back on the sofa and crossed her legs. The skirt was very short and if she flashed her pins like that at the funeral it would brighten up the undertaker’s day. ‘Rennie sometimes went to some really nice places in the line of business, you know. I don’t mean clients invited him into their homes. They don’t do that. The last thing they want is the neighbours knowing. But when he was carrying out enquiries, stake-outs, checking out the lie of the land, he went all over the place. He’d come home and tell me about it. There are some really nice places to live, you know, if you’ve got the readies.’
I thought of Mrs Mackenzie out at Wimbledon, and Flora and Jerry in Kew. None of them had even set foot in a place remotely like this flat in its crumbling, vandalised block. ‘Yes, there are,’ I agreed.
‘Nice places and nice people,’ Susie said dreamily. ‘It must be lovely . . . Round here it gets worse every day.’
I told her I’d seen Allerton. She was interested but not hopeful. ‘Thanks for trying, anyway,’ she said. Her eyes rested on me speculatively. ‘Why’re you interested in who killed Rennie?’
I prevaricated. ‘On the off-chance it might have something to do with me. He was found outside my place. I want to know if someone’s tracking me.’
‘You find that Mrs Marks?’ she asked suddenly. She hadn’t been as fuddled as she’d appeared last time.
Reluctantly, I admitted that I had. ‘But Rennie hadn’t been to see her. He’d phoned her and asked if he could, but he didn’t – couldn’t. She didn’t know what he wanted. He hadn’t said.’
I don’t know if she believed I was telling the whole truth, and doubted she did. But she made as if she accepted that that was it. ‘We’ll never know what it was, then,’ she said.
I left her, feeling cheered because she was making out a lot better than had seemed possible on my first visit. I passed a woman on the staircase. She was hurrying upwards. She wore a red raincoat and carried a dripping umbrella. She had the same blonde hair and thin features as Susie, but wore a truculent I-don’t-stand-any-nonsense look. The Margate sister, a battleaxe, but one who cared. Susie would be all right. She’d been an additional worry lurking at the back of my mind, but now I could forget about her and concentrate on my own problems. No lucky pottery cats in my life.
Chapter Fourteen
On Sunday Ganesh borrowed Dilip’s car again and drove me to Egham. It was quite a nice day, cool, but the rain was holding off and the sun managing to cast a pale glow over everything.
Ganesh came in to say hello to my mother, and when he’d gone, she said again what a nice young man he was. She then gave me the sort of look I remembered getting from Grandma Varady every time some unattached male personage of roughly suitable age with prospects of a steady job hove into view.
This visit I had some really nice news for her. ‘I’ve spoken to Nicola, Mum. Only very briefly. I met her outside her house. She was on her way home. She’d got her violin case with her.’
Mum’s face lit up. ‘What did she say?’
This was a tricky one, but instinct told me that to invent a cosy conversation would only get me in deeper. It’d be a green light to Mum to ask me to go back and chat Nicola up again.
‘She didn’t know who I was,’ I explained awkwardly. ‘She, um, thought I might be a beggar.’
‘I hope you told her you weren’t!’ Mum said indignantly.
I mumbled some reply before going on, ‘Look, Mum, I’ve done all I can. I’ve found her, seen her, spoken to her. I’ve seen inside the house. I know she’s musical and studying the violin. I don’t think anyone could’ve found out more for you.’
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘But it does seem a pity . . .’
‘No, Mum,’ I said gently. I put my hand over hers. ‘She’s a bright kid and she’ll smell a rat if I follow this up any more.’
‘I suppose so,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Thank you for doing so much. I don’t think even poor Rennie could’ve done better. You ought to be a professional, Fran.’
When I rejoined Gan outside he’d been reading the map in the car and discovered Windsor Great Park was just up the road. So we drove there and parked and walked amongst the trees and lawns. It was all so nice and peaceful. There were plenty of other people walking, respectable, solid citizens with little children and little dogs. I felt happier than I had since Duke had first popped up in my life. I’d done what Mum wanted. She was pleased. All I had to do now was tell Jerry Wilde the police were looking for my missing sister and, having successfully passed the buck to him, skedaddle. How Wilde took the news and what he did about it was his own business.
Happiness took a bit of a dent at this point. If Wilde had killed Duke I wouldn’t be safe until he thought he and his family were safe. The information I had for him told him they weren’t, not by a long chalk. The most prudent thing I could do was to stay away from the Wildes as Jerry had demanded. Instead, I’d arranged to meet him the following day. And why? Because my conscience wouldn’t let me rest if I didn’t give them a warning. Sooner or later, I guessed, Mrs Marks would pass on to the police what she’d told me. From then on, to the Wildes, it was only a step.