Murder in Mind (22 page)

Talk to him.

I see where you're going with this. You want me to take him on. Which is ridiculous. Perhaps Thomas, who is probably on his wavelength . . .

Offer him what he needs. Security. Hope.

You're off your trolley! Why, if I took him in, think how upset little Frank would be. How jealous! No, no. Find someone else.

Talk to him.

She sighed and went to sit in one of the big armchairs. ‘Talk to me,' she said.

No reply. No movement. Had she dreamed she'd seen him under the desk?

She leaned back in the chair, which meant her feet didn't touch the floor. Oh well. She could rest for a while, couldn't she?

She said, ‘Edgar asked me to look out for you.'

A listening silence, but he didn't emerge.

She said, ‘I'm not going anywhere.'

Still no sign of him. She began to think about the other problems she had. ‘Oh dear. So much violence and hatred. Oh, not from you, Mikey. Your mother's a wonder. Loving and giving. Always helping other people. You've seen how she is. Strong. Never refuses a challenge. I'm not like that. Or at least, not when I'm this tired. I'm sorry if I startled you when I came in. The light's a bit bright. Do you want me to turn it off?'

No reply.

She said, ‘This room isn't used much. Thomas . . . Do you remember Thomas? Big man, looks like a sailor . . .? He thinks some of these books might be quite valuable. I've never even looked to see what we've got. I like books, of course. I've always got books on the go from the library. But these sort of books . . . Do you think there's any market for them nowadays? We could sell them on eBay, I suppose. But I'm not brilliant on computers. It takes a special kind of mind, doesn't it? Your mother said you had it. Interesting. What do you want to do with yourself in life, I wonder?'

Still no reply, but Ellie thought the boy had settled himself more comfortably in his hiding place.

Ellie yawned and stretched. ‘I seem to remember that the back of one of these chairs lets down to make a bed. Do you fancy sleeping here tonight, or is it too far away from your Mum, who I thought might like to sleep over in the room above where Rose is now?' The words were out and not to be taken back.

A long silence. Not even a clock ticked in this quiet room.

Upstairs . . . Ellie turned her head to see if she could hear sounds from above, but there was nothing. The doors were well built in this house. The corridor was long.

Suddenly, the boy stood before her. Watching her. Waiting.

His father must have been of North African descent, possibly Somali. He had a fine, handsome head and an elegant body. Intelligent. His nostrils pulsed as if he were testing her scent. Or was afraid.

‘No need to be afraid of me,' she said.

He nodded. No need to be afraid of her.

‘Upstairs,' she said, lifting her head, ‘your mother is trying to help two young women who've had their house burned over their heads. They are confused, frightened. One of them I like very much. The other . . . Well, let's just say that I don't know her very well. Three members of their family have been killed in the last few weeks, and they don't know why. I don't, either. I could send them to a hotel, but I won't.'

His eyes were intent.

‘The thing is, I think they're in danger. I think someone is trying to kill the whole family, one by one. But the police won't – or don't – believe me.' She tried to laugh. ‘I shouldn't be talking to you like this. It's not your problem.'

The door whispered as Midge the cat pushed it open. He stalked in, curious to see who had invaded his territory. Mikey took a half step back, his breathing lighter, faster.

Vera had told Ellie once that Mikey had never had a pet. Perhaps he was afraid of the cat? Oh dear.

Ellie said, keeping her voice soft, ‘Let Midge sniff at you. You can put out your hand to him, if you like. Let him sniff your scent. If he accepts you, you can stroke him. Tickle him under his chin.'

Mikey obeyed her. Intent. As curious as the cat.

Midge rubbed his head against Mikey's hand. Midge liked Mikey. Well, hurray. The cat was supposed to be a good judge of character, which meant he could work out in two seconds which members of the human race would feed him on demand. Or provide a lap to sit on.

Mikey smiled at Midge. Mikey liked Midge. Double hurray. Was Mikey a good judge of character, too? What would he make of Freya and Angelika?

Ellie thought that she ought by rights to send Vera and Mikey back home for the night to their own place. To that quiet, dark, dull flat. Which Vera didn't like. Nor Mikey. As if it mattered what a child of his age liked.

Hm. Well, it did matter. She said, ‘You like it here?'

He nodded, not looking up, continuing to rub under Midge's chin.

‘It's a big house.'

He nodded again, and she wondered how far he'd explored. Had he already discovered the small door which led to the upper storey, at present housing a selection of junk and the cold water tank? She mustn't forget this boy had a high IQ. Or so it was said.

Yes, she could feel the intensity of his mind, absorbing, tabulating, processing information. Not like Vera. Not at all.

Not really a lost sheep, either . . . unless fortune played him another scurvy trick and left him, not eating properly, living in a sink estate, attending a school with teachers who didn't recognize his potential.

Ellie sighed. ‘Edgar wanted so much for you . . .'

The boy stilled, eyes narrowed, looking at her.

‘You can be whatever you choose to be, Mikey. You can fight your way up and out, or sink back into mindless rages. Up to you. I'll help you, if you will allow me to do so.'

He wasn't sure. And why should he be?

Thomas pushed the door open. ‘Oh, there you are. I've been on to the police about the fire. I can't contact Diana because she's still at the hospital and she can't use her mobile there. Freya says she's got to go back to the hospital after supper. Angelika says she's got to go back to see what can be saved from the house. Oh, and Vera says supper's ready.' He held out his hand to help Ellie up out of the chair and extended his free hand to Mikey. ‘Are you hungry?'

Mikey gave that some consideration. He avoided Thomas's hand, but took hold of Ellie's skirt. Something to hold on to while the world whirled round about him?

Thomas held the door open for them. Ellie turned off the light. Mikey followed, holding fast to her skirt. Midge scented supper and brought up the rear.

Monday evening

London's burning, London's burning.

Look yonder, look yonder.

Fire, fire! Fire, fire!

O let us not pour water.

A wide smile. The house was burning merrily.

It had been a setback to find the old man crashed out in the hall, his foot tangled in a handbag. Probably one belonging to that cow, Angelika.

Oh, oh! What shame is here!

Rage, rage; rage against the storm.

Actually, that had been a bit of a facer. The old man should by rights have been awake and able to understand exactly what was happening to him. A pity, that.

His mobile had been on the floor, so it had been a question whether or not to dial for an ambulance. But before any decision could be taken, there were voices. A couple of policemen had arrived to tramp around the house, find their way in through the smashed door in the conservatory and discover the old man laid out in the hall.

Fortunately, there'd been time to vanish up the stairs and into the master bedroom. If they'd searched the house . . . but they didn't. From that vantage point every word could be heard, all their phone calls, their chitter chatter, their call for an ambulance.

Apparently, the old man had been showing signs of returning consciousness when they found him. What a pity he hadn't come round sooner.

Look on the bright side. He wasn't dead, and the Great Plan could still go ahead.

The upper stories had been redecorated so many times, even the room in which . . . once . . . a long time ago but still vivid . . . Take a deep breath. Don't let it affect you. You've survived so far, and there was a reason for that. There was a task to perform.

The girls' bedrooms showed signs of a hasty flight. As if they could escape vengeance! No matter how far they fled, they would be tracked down.

Plan C presented itself, and it was a goodie. Oh yes! When the old man woke up, he was going to find his supercalifragilistic house in flames.

Check the street from the bedroom windows. All was quiet outside. Some members of the press still lurked by the entrance to the road; been told to keep off private property, no doubt. Perhaps someone would come along soon to board over the broken door into the conservatory. Not that that mattered. There were plenty of other ways for someone who knew how to get out of the house.

A few minutes' search in the kitchen turned up a large bottle of cooking oil. Someone had drawn the curtains in the snug so no one could see in. Good. There'd been plenty of newspapers left lying around. Saturate the cushions, set alight to some newspapers, and . . . woosh! Wasn't all the upholstery supposed to be flame retardant nowadays? It just went to show what a cheapskate the old man had been, getting the old chairs and settees re-covered, instead of buying new.

The door from the conservatory to the garden had still not been boarded over. Out we go. Hide in the bushes at the end of the garden. Sit still. Wait.

The back of the house remained dark for a long time. But waiting was a pleasure when you were destroying something as vile as this.

And when the old man heard about it . . .

Ah, here came a couple of men carrying sheets of ply to nail over the smashed door to the conservatory. One said he could do with a pee. Go in the garden, why don't you? But no; he went inside . . . and came back in a hurry, pulling out his mobile phone. ‘Fire!' he shouted.

The waiting was over. Nee-nah. Nee-nah. Fire engines.

Too late to save the house, hopefully. Stand up. Stretch. Sigh with pleasure at a job well done.

Now to find out where those two girls had gone.

Monday evening late

‘S
hall I serve?' Vera set steaming dishes of lasagne on the table in the kitchen, while Rose placed bowls of cabbage and peas between them, saying there'd been some phone calls but no doubt they could wait till everyone had eaten.

Freya had black rings around her eyes and looked exhausted, but she had changed into a T-shirt and jeans and brushed out her hair. She even managed to twitch a smile as she slid into a chair. ‘I can't remember when I ate last. Do you think someone can lend me some money so I can get a cab to the hospital after supper?'

Angelika came in, snapping off her mobile phone. She'd changed too, and her hair shone like spun silk. ‘I really don't fancy anything to eat. Perhaps a yogurt and some fruit?'

Thomas held out a chair for her. ‘Carbohydrates are recommended for shock. You'll feel better when you've had something hot to eat.'

She seated herself. ‘Do you always eat in the kitchen?'

‘Unless we have company,' said Ellie, collapsing on to a chair. ‘The dining room's out of commission at the moment.'

Freya seemed to have forgotten that she was a vegetarian and ate well.

Mikey took a stool at her side, his eyes on the food and his bottom lip jutting. Was he going to refuse to eat? Midge the cat managed to squeeze on to his chair, too.

Thomas brought them up to date. ‘Freya, we'll ring the hospital after supper and find out how your father is doing. I don't think he needs to know about the fire yet, do you? Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad thing if they keep him in overnight, or he'd have to go to a hotel. We'll ask if you're allowed to visit tonight, all right?'

Ellie remembered that Diana had announced her intention of staying at the hospital. For the first time – and with a feeling that she'd missed a step – Ellie remembered that Diana was pregnant, and that this possibly wasn't the best time for her to be looking after Evan. Ought she not to be resting? Mm.

Mikey was hoovering up his food. There was no other word for it. One moment his plate was full, and the next it was empty. Oh, good. Midge was licking his chops, too, so Mikey might have shared his food with the cat. Ellie had hardly started on her plateful. Vera ladled some more on to her son's plate without comment. Yes, it was best not to praise Mikey for eating up his plateful. Treat it as if his behaviour was normal.

Angelika was pushing her food around her plate, her fabulously blue – or were they green this evening? – eyes filling with tears. ‘How can I eat while . . .!'

Thomas patted her arm. ‘Do you good. Get as much down you as you can.'

She treated him to a soulful look. ‘I should never have left.'

Her husband, or the house? Ellie had a bet with herself which it would be.

Thomas nodded. ‘I'll take you round there in the car after supper and we'll see if they've got the fire under control.'

Really, it was a no-brainer to work out which was uppermost on Angelika's mind, was it?

Rose was picking at her food. ‘You'll all be wanting hot baths, I expect. Miss Quicke says they're more relaxing than gin.'

Freya suspended operations with her fork, eyes rolling at Ellie for information.

Ellie tried to smile. ‘My dear great aunt – she died a while ago – was a fount of useful information. Vera, do you have to go back to your flat tonight? Perhaps I can order a cab to take you back there so that you can collect some overnight things? Then you can have the bedroom at the top of the stairs here, the one that used to be Rose's. It has a bathroom next door.' A hand pressed Ellie's side. ‘We can make up a bed for Mikey there, too.'