Murder for Good

by Veronica Heley

  ‘Did she turn on you? How could she, when it was you who brought her here in the first place!’

  ‘I should have known better. She says I got her hopes up about staying here for good, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t say anything of the kind.’

  ‘The sooner she goes, the better. Oh dear. I do feel guilty about taking tomorrow off for the funeral, when I ought to be chasing up somewhere for Hetty to live and visiting the families of those who have left you some money.’

  ‘No, you must go to the funeral. Make my apologies to whoever is arranging everything. Is it Evan? Can that be right? He and Monique were hardly on those sort of terms, were they?’

  He put the last of the plates in the dishwasher and switched the kettle on for his late-night coffee.

  ‘I don’t know who’s arranging things. Diana didn’t say. I’ll find out tomorrow.’

  Thomas made his coffee, they switched off the lights and went upstairs to bed.

  Friday morning

  Rafael collected Ellie in good time. By mutual consent they talked of unimportant things till they were approaching the road in which Monique had lived. Rafael slowed down, looking for a parking place.

  ‘Nice houses,’ he said. ‘Worth a bit. Much like yours.’

  ‘I suppose so. We’ve got a drive at the front, which these haven’t. But still, it’s a good neighbourhood.’

  ‘Yes.’ He seemed distracted. He found a parking space and backed into it but didn’t get out straight away. ‘There’s something Susan and I want to say to you. This isn’t the right time, but I don’t know when it would be the right time. The thing is, if you ever want to downsize, would you let us know before you talk to anyone else about it?’

  Ellie stared at him. Where had this come from? Did he mean that he wanted to buy them out? Surely not. Didn’t he have enough on his plate, managing the block of flats that he’d renovated? And what would he and Susan want with such a big house? ‘I don’t understand.’

  Rafael washed his face with his hands. ‘It’s just that we had an idea. We thought about what might happen if you ever decided the house was getting too much for you. You’re fine now, but some day you might find yourselves thinking otherwise. I’m not asking for an option to buy. Nothing like that. But if push ever comes to shove, we did have an idea of something that might work.’

  ‘You mean, if Diana and Co were to descend on us and we were driven so mad by their shenanigans that we went in for wholesale murder?’

  He twitched a smile. ‘Precisely. Just store the idea in the back of your head, will you? It may be years before you need to look at it.’ He got out of the car. ‘In the meantime, we have a funeral to go to.’

  Ellie gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. As you say, we’re not thinking of a move in the foreseeable future.’

  He helped her out of the car and she looked around.

  She said, ‘I wonder who’ll attend the service? I don’t think Monique had any brothers or sisters. She was a successful businesswoman but her marriage to Evan was a bit of a farce, and her health deteriorated after she gave birth to their only son. He’s in Broadmoor and not likely to come out. Some people would say she hadn’t had much luck in her life, but she never went on about it. I admired her.’

  ‘Somebody must have arranged the funeral and phoned around with the details. A cousin, perhaps?’

  ‘Or her solicitor? There is one other option. Evan had a daughter called Freya, whom he neglected disgracefully. Freya was a nice child and bright, heading off to university when I knew her. She was no blood relation of Monique’s, being from Evan’s second disastrous marriage, but Monique told me she was going to offer the girl a job when she graduated. I suppose it appealed to Monique to forward the career of a daughter Evan had never appreciated. I hope that’s what happened. I liked Freya. She was very down to earth, rather like Monique herself, in fact.’

  Rafael gave her his arm. ‘Let’s get to the church. If you feel you should go back to the house afterwards, I’ll find myself a sandwich nearby. Ring me on your mobile when you want to leave. You have got your mobile with you, haven’t you?’

  He was right to ask. Ellie often forgot it, but this time she could produce it with a smile. ‘I know you think I don’t know how to work this thing, but I’m sure I can remember how to call you. I press this and this. I wait for your name to come up and then I press this button here. Right?’

  ‘Excellent. I suggest you switch it off now, and switch it on again when you leave the church? Then I can contact you if I need to do so.’

  The church was early Victorian and probably on the high side as there was a whiff of incense in the air. Ellie picked up an order of service and discovered that Monique had been cremated earlier that day, and that the service in church at noon would be a celebration for her life. The organ was being played, softly, by someone who knew what they were doing. Ellie smiled, thinking that anything connected to Monique would be properly done.

  The church was fairly full, indicating that a respectable number of people had wanted to remember Monique. There was no coffin, but a plethora of flowers.

  Ellie found a seat towards the back, and Rafael slipped in beside her.

  There was a disturbance at the entrance. Evan arrived in a wheelchair, trundled in by Diana. They didn’t see Ellie but went straight down to the front of the church, exuding importance. Ellie supposed it was only right that Evan should sit at the front, as he was the only man Monique had ever married. Diana settled her husband in the aisle and slipped into the pew beside him.

  Did Evan really think that Monique had left him something in her will? Evan had left Monique for another woman, Freya’s mother. Ellie saw no reason why Monique should have left him anything, even though Diana thought otherwise.

  Both Evan and Diana were wearing black. Diana wore black nearly all the time, but Evan didn’t usually do so. It looked to Ellie as if he’d lost weight since he’d last worn that suit. It gave him the look of a man in decline. Possibly because that was in fact the case?

  The organ music changed and a young woman, flanked by two substantial grey-haired men, walked down the aisle to the front. The men had a professional look to them. Were they old friends of Monique? Or relatives? Solicitors, doctors or bank managers?

  The young woman was Freya, whom Ellie hadn’t seen for a while. She was now in her early twenties. In the old days she’d worn her thick fair hair in a plait down her back, but now it was in a stylish bob. She was wearing a simple black coat dress and no jewellery. She didn’t need jewellery to shine any more than Monique had done.

  As the trio reached the front pews, Evan beckoned his daughter over. She stopped to listen to what he had to say. He seemed to be asking – no, demanding – something. Whatever it was, she shook her head in response. One of the grey men touched her on her shoulder, indicating they should move into the front pew on the left, and she did so. Evan waved his arms about in frustration. The second grey man said something short and sharp to Evan and turned away to join Freya.

  Diana soothed her husband.

  What had Evan wanted? Whatever it was, Freya and the grey man had vetoed it.

  The minister arrived, and the service began. Ellie was pleased to hear many tributes to Monique as a good friend, as a canny businesswoman and as someone who’d borne her afflictions lightly.

  One of the grey men announced himself as a distant cousin of the deceased and read a poem which he said had been a favourite of Monique’s. The other said they’d been friends from childhood and retailed an anecdote which spoke of her humanity and wisdom.

  Freya did not speak and neither did she weep, but she bowed her head when the second grey men said how much joy her adopted daughter had brought to Monique in the last few years of her life.

  Just before the final hymn, Evan spoke up, loudly announcing that he, too, wanted to pay a tribute to his first wife. Perhaps this had been anticipated and discussed by the grey men bef
orehand? For, while Freya kept her eyes to the front, one of the men with her slipped across the aisle to have a short word with Evan, who subsided into his chair, mumbling angrily to himself.

  After the service, Freya spoke a few words to her father, and then walked back down the aisle, flanked by the two grey men.

  They stopped here and there to speak to people they knew. Freya looked tired and unhappy. She was, after all, still a young woman and Monique had been a surrogate parent for her.

  Freya spotted Ellie and came over to speak to her. ‘I’m so glad you could make it, Mrs Quicke. I remember you well, and Monique always spoke highly of you. My father promised he’d get you here. You know which house it is? We’ll expect you there.’

  ‘Freya!’ That was Evan, trying to manoeuvre his chair through the press of people leaving the church. Either the girl didn’t hear him or didn’t choose to linger, for she continued on her way out. Frustrated, Evan cursed everyone who got in his way, earning himself many a startled look.

  Rafael and Ellie exchanged glances. Rafael said, ‘She invited you specifically to go back to the house. Do you want to drop in for a while? As I said, I’ll find something to eat locally and take it back to the car. Give me a ring when you’re ready to go.’

  Ellie said, ‘I’ve got a nasty feeling Evan’s going to make a scene.’

  ‘Swearing in church? Yes. I didn’t think I was shockable, but it seems that I am. On the other hand, wasn’t he within his rights to want to speak about his wife at her funeral?’

  ‘That depends,’ said Ellie, ‘on how he behaved to her then, and thereafter. Which wasn’t well. He may convince himself that he meant a great deal to her, but I really don’t think he did.’

  Rafael split off down the road while Ellie followed Evan, Diana and a few other mourners into a solid, three-storey Edwardian house nearby. A hired caterer took their coats and ushered them into the drawing room, furnished with solid, practical, modern furniture. Apart from Evan and Diana, it appeared that two other women and a youngish man had been invited to attend the wake.

  ‘Would you care for a drink?’ said one of the grey men – the childhood friend? – standing beside a table equipped with tea, coffee and a variety of soft drinks. No alcohol, but some plates had been piled high with sandwiches. Ellie was hungry and helped herself to food and a mineral water.

  Freya moved a small table out of the way, to allow space for her father’s wheelchair to be placed near the food. She seemed very much at home.

  Ellie hoped Monique had made sure Freya would keep her job at her estate agency. The girl had earned it.

  The second grey man – the cousin? – produced a sheaf of papers from a briefcase, cleared his throat and asked if they were all sitting comfortably. One or two people smiled at the slight joke, but not as if they meant it.

  The grey man introduced himself as a solicitor as well as being Monique’s cousin. He said that she had made her will a while ago when it was clear the last operation on her back had failed. He himself was not only her solicitor but also her executor, and would be submitting her will for probate. Her aim in making this will had been twofold: to reward those close to her and to ensure that her only son would be well looked after if he were ever to be released from Broadmoor prison.

  Evan folded his hands and nodded approval. ‘Monique always did the right thing.’

  The grey man who was reading out the contents of the will produced a thin smile. He seemed to be enjoying this. He said, ‘We’ll come to that in a minute. First there are bequests to a number of charities.’ And he named them. The usual suspects. Cancer. Lifeboats. Donkeys.

  ‘Then,’ the grey man continued, ‘there is a legacy of a thousand pounds to each of the carers who did so much to make Monique’s life easier over the last couple of years.’

  The two women who were strangers to Ellie smiled and dabbed at their eyes. ‘I was dead fond of her,’ said one.

  ‘Ah,’ said the other. ‘She was wise-cracking to the last. I thought I’d die laughing when I visited her in the hospital. Next day, she was gone.’

  The grey man nodded. ‘There is also five thousand to the manager of her group of estate agencies, who had become a personal friend. She was godmother to his son, and she suggested’ – and here he turned to the single man – ‘that you put the money in trust for the little boy until he’s eighteen.’

  The youngish man blinked hard. And nodded. ‘Will do. She was a good ’un.’

  The grey man glanced around to make sure everyone was following his every word – which they were. ‘As you probably know, Monique ran a busy estate agency in Kensington. She had expanded the original business considerably, and over the years had opened two more branches. These were recently sold to a reputable chain which has promised to keep the personnel on.’

  ‘That is so,’ said the youngish man. ‘We’re all very happy under the new regime.’

  ‘The money from the sale,’ said the grey man, ‘is to be thrown into her estate and—’

  Evan said, ‘Get to the point, man! How much has she left me?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Evan’s colour rose. ‘What? That’s not possible! As her husband, I—’

  ‘Ex-husband.’

  ‘Nevertheless. She owes me something for—’

  The grey man lost none of his professional cool. ‘She owes you nothing. I’ve read the divorce papers. You played around—’

  ‘She was too sick in her pregnancy to have sex, and too ill afterwards. She failed as a wife.’

  ‘She left you in possession of her house, for which you’ve never paid a proper rent. You have married three times since she divorced you, and you have never paid a penny for the upkeep of your son—’

  ‘Well, he’s out of the picture. They’ll never let him out of Broadmoor.’

  ‘They might. When I visited him last and spoke—’

  ‘You’ve visited him in hospital? What on earth for?’

  ‘He’s my second cousin. And your son. I understand that you have never visited him, but I used to take Monique once a month. She never missed a date, in spite of living in constant pain. The doctors say there’s been some improvement in the boy’s condition and it is possible that one day he may be released on licence.’

  ‘Great Jehovah! Who would ever think to unleash him on the general populace!’

  ‘Monique wanted to make provision for his possible release.’

  Evan thumped the arm of his chair. ‘So that’s it, is it? You’re going to feather your nest, take all the old girl’s money under the pretence of looking after that idiot? You do that, and I’ll sue the pants off you.’

  A thin smile. ‘No, I declined the responsibility but the money has to be looked after. It can be used for charitable purposes in the meantime, but in the event of the boy ever being released, suitable housing must be found for him and an allowance made for his daily living expenses.’

  ‘That’s it, then! I’ll take the money and look after it for him.’

  ‘Monique noted that you have never visited your son. She did not feel you cared enough about the boy to be responsible for his future, if he is ever released.’

  Evan swung round on Freya, who had seated herself a little to one side and taken no part in the conversation. ‘You? My daughter? You are going to look after the money for him? Well, well.’ A painful smile. ‘Perhaps that is not such a bad idea, after all. You are so young, you have no idea how best to safeguard a windfall. You will take advice on how to handle it, no doubt. You can’t be expected to know how to deal with large sums of money, and will allow other, wiser heads to help you with it.’

  Freya shook her head. ‘Monique didn’t leave that money to me. She took me in and gave me a job in one of her branches to see if I’d like the work, which I did and which I will continue to do. She helped me to rent a small place nearby. She didn’t want to give it to me outright, but suggested I find a flatmate and pay her rent money, so that I could learn how to budget. And t
hat I have done. She has also set up a trust fund to provide me with the wherewithal to get on the housing ladder, but I can’t access that till I’m twenty-five. She wanted me to stand on my own two feet, and that is what I will do.’

  Evan swung round. ‘Who gets the money, then?’

  Ellie nearly dropped her empty plate. ‘Oh, no! She didn’t, did she?’

  ‘You’re ahead of me, Mrs Quicke,’ said the grey man. ‘Yes. Your trust fund is the residuary legatee, on condition that you provide Monique’s son with suitable living conditions and a reasonable amount to live on if he is ever released.’

  TEN

  Friday lunchtime

  Ellie blinked. She couldn’t possibly have heard correctly. Monique wouldn’t have left her the bulk of the estate. No! Ridiculous!

  Evan didn’t think so, either. ‘What! Ellie gets …? No way!’

  ‘Correct,’ said the grey man.

  As if at a tennis match, the heads of the other occupants of the room turned first one way and then the other.

  Evan looked as if he’d been hit on the head. ‘But … what about me?’

  ‘You are not mentioned in the will.’

  ‘But to give it to Ellie? No! Monique should have given it to a member of the family.’ Evan’s eyes narrowed. ‘If she didn’t leave it to me, why didn’t she give it all to Freya?’

  ‘Monique decided not to burden a young and inexperienced woman with this legacy. She discussed it with Freya and with me. We all three agreed that this was the best thing to do.’

  ‘But … Ellie? Why on earth—?’

  The grey man almost smiled. ‘Monique had the greatest respect for Mrs Quicke and everything that she does. Her trust fund alleviates hardship in the community, and that is what Monique wanted to do herself. Monique had observed Mrs Quicke in action from time to time, and she believed that if circumstances arose, Mrs Quicke could be trusted to safeguard her son’s future.’