Murder in Mind (10 page)

‘A dead end. You can pick up a packet of them anywhere, in stationers, toy shops. They weren't helium balloons. Just the ordinary kind you blow up for kids' parties.'

‘What about the plate? A thick china plate. I wonder where he got it. It's not the sort you see for sale in shops nowadays. It's the sort of plate my mother used to stand plants on if she ran out of proper containers. I'm thinking soup kitchens, church suppers. It's the sort of plate you find at the back of a cupboard which you've kept because it might come in useful, except that you never have had a use for it. We used to get plates like that dropped in to the charity shop in the Avenue, sometimes. I wonder if that's where he got it.'

‘A young man setting up in a flat or a bed-sitter might find such plates provided by his landlord.'

‘True. How about the biscuits?'

A gesture of frustration. ‘They'd all been eaten before anyone realized anything was wrong.'

‘The boy who noticed the polished black shoes might be able to tell you what make they were. I mean, he could say if they were foil-wrapped or loose on a plate; Waitrose or Tesco.'

‘I started to work down the list given me by the play centre this morning, but hardly anyone was at home.'

‘It's half-term. Try again on Monday.'

‘Meanwhile . . .?'

There was silence in the room, except for the ticking of the central heating as it warmed the bones of the old house . . . and the susurrus of Midge the cat, as he pushed his way into the room and made for the hearth rug.

‘Here, kitty,' said Ms Milburn, who really knew better than to try to divert Midge.

He gave her a look of disdain and turned his golden eyes on Ellie, who interpreted the command correctly by switching on the gas log fire so that he could stretch out in front of it. And purr.

‘Oh, to be a cat inside a warm house,' said Ms Milburn.

Ellie stroked the fur on Midge's back with the toe of her soft shoe. ‘A well-fed cat. He's only just eaten, judging by the fishy smell he's brought in with him.'

Midge began on his toilette. Thoroughly. Both women watched his progress from paw to ear, to mask and back again.

Ms Milburn said, ‘Things could go either way. If there's no more incidents, my guess is that the two deaths will not be followed up. Evan Hooper will try to get the police to find and prosecute the au pair, and to ruin the play centre. The prankster will sink out of sight and try to forget what happened.'

Ellie nodded.

‘On the other hand, if I were Evan Hooper I'd be lying awake, worrying who I'd offended enough to make him or her want to kill members of his family. Or, perhaps, who might have paid some youngster to do it for him. Or her.'

Ellie nodded again. Ouch. Not Diana, please not Diana!

‘Could you ask around? You know people he knows, don't you?'

Ellie was taken aback. Did Ms Milburn know about Diana? ‘A family friend of the Hoopers has given me a rundown on the family. Would you like me to write down the names and relationships for you? Just in case there is another “incident”?'

Ms Milburn gave her a dark look. ‘How long have you been sitting on that information?'

‘I only got it this morning. Now, where's a piece of paper? There's some in the bureau. Right. Here's Evan at the top of the page. First marriage was to someone called Monique. Older than him. She produced a son. Name unknown. He may be educationally subnormal, or whatever they call it nowadays. Sent away to school. I get the feeling he's not the brightest spark in the fireplace. Did someone say something about him suffering from nerves?'

‘Son. Unknown.' Ms Milburn was making her own notes. ‘Address?'

‘No idea. You didn't see him at the Hooper home, did you? I don't think he lives there any more. Next marriage was to someone called Fern. Divorced, paid off, runs a shop dealing with airy fairy fancies, possibly with books on the occult. Don't know where. Here in Ealing? She produced two girls; Fiona – who's dead – and another girl called Freya. You saw her when you took statements from the Hoopers, didn't you?'

‘I did. Sulky teenager, could hardly bring herself to speak to me. She didn't seem all that upset by Fiona's death. Walked out while I was talking to them. Said something about having to do her homework. No reason to suspect her of involvement but I suppose I can check up. No address for Fern?'

‘No. Then there's the third wife, Angelika, whom you've met. Mother of Abigail—'

‘Deceased.' Ms Milburn considered the list. ‘Who would you guess to be the next target?'

‘Assuming there is another incident? Oh dear; how dreadful this all is. I have no idea. Monique or Fern, I think.'

‘Why?'

‘I'm not sure. The names just popped into my head. No reason.' Because Diana might consider them an obstacle to her plans on Evan. But we don't say that out loud, do we?

‘Fern. Monique. I'll see if I can find out where they live. Meanwhile, you will ask around, won't you? See if anyone has any other information?' She glanced outside. ‘Still raining.'

‘Yes,' said Ellie, getting to her feet. ‘I'll ask around. You left your umbrella in the porch, didn't you?'

‘If you find that picture of the clown?'

‘I'll ring you straight away.'

Sunday morning

Ellie went to an early morning service with Thomas, who got through it with the aid of throat pastilles. His voice faded out again on the way home. Perhaps he was going down with another of his winter colds?

The rain had stopped for the moment, but the clouded sky looked as if it might release another downpour any minute, so Ellie installed Thomas by the fire in the sitting room with the Sunday papers, and went off to see about lunch.

Rose was having one of her busy times, flitting from larder to table to gas stove, and back again. She had no less than three cookery books out, trying to decide what cake she should make for tea, talking through the merits of each as she turned from one to the other.

Ellie got on with peeling potatoes and putting the joint in the oven.

A long, persistent ring of the doorbell.

Ellie and Rose looked at one another. They knew only too well who leaned on the bell like that. Someone who wouldn't be easily put off.

‘I'll go,' said Ellie, taking off her apron. ‘Will you put the potatoes and a couple of onions into the oven in five minutes' time?'

‘We're not offering tea or coffee, then?'

‘I hope she's not staying that long.'

Ellie opened the front door, and in swept Diana.

At least, the height and figure and face looked like Diana, but Ellie hadn't seen her daughter wearing anything but fashionable black since she left school.

This woman was wearing a superb suit in what you couldn't call white exactly, because it displayed other colours as the light shifted. Mother of pearl?

The suit jacket was cut with a peplum, allowing one to imagine a slight swelling of her stomach. The skirt was long but narrow. Kitten heels on her shoes. A pearly handbag on a gilt chain hung over her shoulder.

What was all this about?

Diana shivered. ‘You took your time. It's cold outside.'

Ah well, her manners hadn't changed for the better, had they?

Diana would have swept through to the sitting room, but Ellie stopped her. ‘I think Thomas is in there, asleep. He's getting one of his colds. Let's go into the library.'

The library was supposed to be for Thomas's exclusive use, but in fact he only used it on rare occasions and it looked more or less as it had for the past hundred years, with books lining every wall, a huge kneehole desk and three large leather chairs for relaxation. The morning had turned darker so Ellie switched the lights on and checked that the central heating was doing its job.

Diana went to look out of the window at the rain-sodden garden.

Ellie waited.

‘I've just been to church,' said Diana.

Ellie blinked. Since when had Diana shown any interest in Christianity?

‘Not that I believe in it. But it seemed politic.'

Ellie let herself down into one of the big chairs. She supposed it was a good point in Diana's favour that she never acted the hypocrite. ‘You decided to go to church because . . .?'

‘Don't be obtuse. I'm carrying Evan's child. I'm going to marry him. He's never been married in church so there's no reason why we shouldn't do it properly.'

Properly? Hm. Well. Was Diana about to take on the colouring of middle-class morality to please Evan? Hence the new look, and the attendance at church? Was this a good thing? Well, only if it meant she'd had an equivalent change of heart, which seemed unlikely . . . though one could always hope for the best, and being Ellie, one did.

Diana tapped on the window pane. Rat-a-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat. Irritating.

Ellie said, ‘What do you want?'

‘There's a fine greeting to your only daughter, who's about to become Mrs Evan Hooper.'

‘Have you managed to get rid of Angelika already?'

Diana snorted, amused. ‘She's been asked to go on a photographic shoot to Japan, lasting three weeks. After that she's hoping for a fashion show somewhere, Italy? Paris? Both? Evan was so shocked that she should wish to go through with her commitments after what happened to Abigail and Fiona that he—'

‘He's using it as an excuse to get rid of her?'

‘You don't understand.' Diana seated herself opposite Ellie, drawing a tiny pill box from her handbag, extracting and popping a tablet into her mouth. ‘Indigestion. I can't remember suffering so much when I was pregnant before.'

‘What don't I understand?'

‘Evan feels Angelika ought to show more consideration for the family. Everyone thinks he's a strong man and of course he is, but this has knocked him sideways. He looked to Angelika for support, but she thinks only of her career. She's only cried once for her little girl. She says the best way to get over her grief is to get on with her life.'

Ellie nodded.

‘She's never once tried to comfort Evan for his losses. He feels it keenly.'

‘I'm sure you've tried to make up to him for Angelika's lack of response.'

Diana didn't recognize irony. ‘I've done what anyone with even a small amount of charity would have done. He is aching for love and understanding.'

‘Both of which you are happy to supply.'

A tinge of pink in the pale face. ‘You may find this difficult to believe, but I do love him, you know.'

Ellie did find it difficult to believe, but she tried to do so. She didn't like having cynical thoughts. It was foreign to her nature. But she did fear that Diana loved Evan for his wealth and for his position in life, rather than for himself.

On the other hand, what did she know about it? Maybe Diana really had fallen for him and was deeply affected by his losses.

Diana's head drooped. ‘I feel . . . I know I've made many mistakes in my life . . . but I do feel that I've been given a chance, at last, to love someone who loves me back unreservedly.'

Oh? Ellie didn't comment.

Diana extracted a tiny handkerchief from her bag and touched it to the corners of her eyes. ‘I didn't know either of the girls, really. I met Fiona at the office one day, when she called in for something. Probably wanting money. Those girls . . . Ah well, mustn't speak ill of the dead. It's a great help for Evan that I can take over the running of the office while he's so distressed.'

‘Of course.' Again the irony slid past Diana without registering.

A deep sigh. ‘I have to keep going for his sake and for the sake of our child.'

Ellie said, ‘Do you have any influence on him?'

A stare. ‘What a ridiculous question!'

‘Does he still intend to sue everyone in sight for the death of Abigail?'

Diana's face hardened. ‘Why shouldn't he? They were negligent, and it is his duty to put the play centre out of business, or someone else's child will suffer. As for the au pair—'

‘Scarpered. Disappeared. Didn't you know?'

‘The police will have to find her and bring her back, then. She must be prosecuted. She was criminally remiss.'

‘Evan still thinks his family has had a run of bad luck?'

‘I wouldn't call two accidental deaths—'

‘Suppose they weren't accidents?'

Diana put her hankie to her mouth and did a good imitation of a shocked and vulnerable woman. ‘How could you!'

‘There weren't enough fingerprints on the speedometer. Only Angelika's.'

Diana put down the hankie. Frowned. Gnawed at her lower lip. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes. The police would very much like to write Fiona's death off as an accident, but there's a certain detective there who thinks otherwise and is going to push the investigation further. What of the disappearing clown? Was he a student hired to stage a stunt, or was he there with intent to poison Abigail?'

‘What you're saying is—'

‘Who gains by these deaths?'

Diana's eyes switched to and fro. ‘I do. But I didn't. Wouldn't. I didn't need to. Angelika was on her way out. Fiona and Freya were a pain, but I didn't need to kill them because Evan had already planned to send them off to boarding school.'

‘Costly.'

‘Mm. He can afford it. As for Abigail, Evan thought she'd be Angelika's responsibility, that she could hire a full-time nanny for her or something. He wasn't – isn't – a hands-on father.'

She could say that again.

‘It will be different when he has a son.'

‘You're sure about that?'

‘Of course. He's a bit shell-shocked at the moment, but as soon as I mention the baby, he perks up no end. He's had a bellyful of tragedy in his life, never been able to feel that he was supported by his wives, any of them.'