Murder in Mind (6 page)

Ellie looked. She read the list, twice, and put it down. ‘The name “Topping” rings a bell. I think I know someone called Topping, but why and in what context . . . Not at church, I think. Was she a volunteer at the charity shop where I used to work? No, I don't think so. Sorry, I can't think where I've met her. I don't know any of the other names. Was this Topping person with a little boy or a girl?'

‘A boy. She's a small woman with a big personality. Dark hair cut short. She didn't stay to be questioned.'

Ellie shook her head. ‘Doesn't ring a bell. It may come to me later.' Her mind churned with awful possibilities, of Diana being arrested and charged, of the possible fate of Diana's unborn child, of Mr Hooper's anger. Which reminded her. ‘You say you interviewed both Abigail's parents? What is Angelika like?'

A shrug. ‘The powers that be think a woman handles those matters better than a man so I've had to deliver bad news about accidents and even death to parents several times. If they care for the victim at all, the parents are horrified, disbelieving, shaken to their core. Quite often they tremble visibly. Some hyperventilate. Some collapse, physically and mentally. Some are calm on the surface, but you can see the whites of their eyes and know they'll give way later.

‘Angelika with a “k” is quite beautiful. Young, tall and thin, with expensively treated long blonde hair. Beautifully made up. She models for swimsuits and underwear. Long legs, tan all over, expensive clothes. An expressionless face. She held a tissue to her eyes, couldn't speak, except to say how much she'd miss her little angel, and how there was now a gap in her life which could never be filled.'

Ellie caught the subtext. ‘You don't think she was devastated, then?'

‘I really don't know. She's not that easy to read. I thought at first that she might be acting the part of a bereaved mother, but . . . I really don't know.'

‘And Evan?'

‘A powerful bull of a man. Much older than her but still handsome in his own way. He kept saying how shocked he was, that he couldn't believe it. No tears. Then the phone rang, a landline phone. Most people, if they've just received such bad news, let the phone ring, or take it off the hook. They can't cope with an outside call. Or they give the caller the brush-off, say they'll get back to them later. He was lucid, calm, able to explain what had happened and then to say he'd ring back next day. It was a business call from his office. During this phone call she picked up her handbag, got out her mirror and touched up her make-up.'

‘Ouch. That's shocking.'

‘I am prepared to believe they loved and would grieve for their child, but . . . I suppose they did, but . . . I'm not sure. By the time he got off the phone, he'd moved from shock to anger. Within minutes he was casting around for someone to take the blame. There was no more talk about what a lovely daughter he'd lost. He strode about the room, projecting violence.

‘Tell the truth, I thought Angelika seemed afraid of him. When she'd done fiddling with her lipstick and hair, she sat like a statue, beautiful, emotionless. But her eyes kept flickering: to Evan and back; to the rings on her fingers and then to the phone. She was thinking about . . . what? Ringing someone?

‘It crossed my mind to wonder if she'd resented the child, because Abigail had interrupted Mum's all-important career. I wondered – again, this is only my imagination at work – if she'd want to put herself through another pregnancy.'

‘You thought she was putting on a performance?'

‘I'm trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.'

Ellie thought, but did not say, that Angelika had probably lost more than a child when she'd lost Abigail. She might also have lost her husband. Now that Ellie knew the importance which Evan placed on having a son, it was possible to wonder if he'd married Angelika because she was pregnant with his child. And now? Would her beauty be enough to keep her husband, now that Diana was on the scene and carrying his son?

Ellie told herself she had no right to think like that. For all she knew, Evan Hooper might well have been head over heels in love with his beautiful young wife. Well, he might. Perhaps it would be interesting to find out.

M
s Milburn said, ‘Mm,' in appreciation as she laid her empty coffee cup down. She sighed. ‘When I interviewed the au pair yesterday afternoon she was barely coherent, not fit to make a statement. So this morning I went back to the Hoopers to see her and was informed Mr Hooper had thrown her out of the house last night. He gave me an address for her; she's moved in with some friends up in Greenford, sleeping on their settee with all her belongings around her in black plastic sacks. A world away from the luxury of the Hooper household.

‘She made a statement without any pressure. She feels guilty because she didn't spot what was happening in time, but defends herself by saying it wouldn't have done any good once the child had set eyes on the biscuits. I believe her.

‘She says she tried to love the child, but that Abigail made it impossible to care for her. She says she took Abigail to the play centre almost every day, so that the child could get some exercise and meet other children. Abigail was tall for her age and carrying too much weight. I can confirm that. The play centre people agree that Abigail could be difficult.'

‘Does the au pair resent being given the sack?'

‘She's scared. The Hoopers paid her a pittance and she's no money saved. She's afraid of him, and afraid she'll never get another job with this hanging over her. Even if the police decide not to take the matter any further, she'll be in a difficult position. She's no money, no powerful friends. If I read her correctly, she's in two minds about cutting and running back to Poland. I warned her not to, but I can't help sympathizing with her, poor creature.'

‘She is a poor creature?'

‘Enormous eyes, thin little thing. Unsure of herself. Perfect victim for Evan Hooper . . . or his daughter.'

‘Not grief-stricken?'

‘I may be wrong, and they may all three of them be covering up a deep grief which will only manifest itself later, but no one in that family seems to be sorrowing for Fiona or for Abigail.'

‘There's another girl in the family, isn't there? What about her?'

‘Frozen faced. Shook her head when I asked if she had anything to say. She was at a sleepover with a friend when Fiona died, and she was at school when Abigail ate the biscuits.' Ms Milburn stood up. ‘So, here's my card with my mobile phone number on it. Would you ring me if you hear anything about the clown or that might clear the au pair and the play centre?'

Ellie saw Ms Milburn out. Her hand hovered over the telephone in the hall. Should she ring Diana and ask . . . What could she ask her? Whether or not Evan was heartbroken over the deaths of two of his children?

She took her hand away. No. Better not open that can of worms.

She thought back over the conversation with Ms Milburn. Was Ms Milburn really so scared of Ears that she would welcome an outsider's help? Did Ms Milburn really believe that Ellie could supply her with the name and address of the clown? Surely not.

Thomas emerged from his study down the corridor, humming something from a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. He knew all the words to the patter songs. This time it was something about being a model major-general.

Ellie found herself smiling.

He gave her a hug. ‘Are you free for half an hour? I've had it up to here with work, and the computer's running slow. I need fresh air. What about you? If you're free, I thought we might take a walk, go for a coffee in the Avenue.' His eyes were round with innocence.

She patted his impressive frontage. ‘I know what you're aiming for, which is more than a coffee. A walk, yes. Coffee, yes. But we're not going to Café 786 for cake, are we?'

The look of innocence intensified. ‘I never remember what those numbers mean.'

‘You know perfectly well what they mean; they're open seven days a week, from eight in the morning to six in the evening. And they do the best carrot cake in the Avenue.'

‘I suppose they do, now you mention it.'

She had to laugh. ‘Well, all right. We'll go there, but we'll have just one piece of cake between us, right? I have to watch your weight, even if you don't.'

He grinned. ‘Half a piece of cake is better than none.'

‘I'll get the shopping list, and you can help me carry the stuff back.'

The pile of curtains slipped off the chair, and he, being nearest, hauled them back. ‘What's this?'

‘I thought I could get the end bedroom ready for the family's visit, and I found a box of curtains but they're too fragile to rescue. I asked Rose to dump them, but I suppose she's forgotten. But I'll take the torn curtain from the dining room in to be mended on the way.'

He gave her a look. ‘Ellie Quicke; anyone would think you had nothing better to do than fuss about curtains and carpets. For one thing, your poor overworked husband requires time out and needs your soothing hand on his brow, not to mention coffee and cake. I've told you before; my family can go to a hotel—'

‘No, I really do want them to come here. It'll be so much nicer.'

‘If you say so. But only if you get the wonderful Maria and her cleaning agency to sort the house out for you. Let her find men to move furniture, and take curtains down to be mended. If we need new carpets and curtains then get her to organize it. I am more than prepared to foot the bill. In fact –' and he knew this was a clincher – ‘I'm enthusiastic about paying her, for it'll cost me far less than sending everyone to a hotel.'

‘But . . .' said Ellie. And then smiled and sighed. ‘You're right, of course. I have much more than housekeeping to worry about, don't I?'

‘Stop right there. We're taking time out, right? Now, the immediate question is: will it rain while we're out? Let's take umbrellas, and then it won't even drizzle.'

She opened the front door and checked on the weather. ‘Just wait while I tell Rose we're going out. By the way, you haven't ever come across a Mrs or Ms Topping, have you?'

‘Doesn't ring a bell. Is it important?'

‘Probably not.' She bustled out to the kitchen with the rejected curtains and put them out with the rubbish. Rose was dozing in her big chair so Ellie collected the shopping list, which looked a little on the thin side, but never mind; she could pick up some more things as they occurred to her. Yes, it would be really good to get out and feel the breeze. Blow the cobwebs away.

Thomas had the umbrellas ready and the front door open. ‘Out you go, woman, on pain of feeling my deepest displeasure!'

She laughed and obeyed. What a blessing this man was!

Tea and cake. No conversation. Excellent coffee. Wonderful cake.

Topping . . . She knew the name from somewhere. She asked the owner of the café. He shook his head.

Thomas gave her a look. ‘No work for at least half an hour, right?'

She nodded and thrust her worries to the back of her mind. On her return she would ring Stewart's wife Maria, who ran an excellent cleaning service . . . and she would look through her old telephone address book, to see if she could find Mrs or Ms Topping, which did mean something to her, though she couldn't think what.

‘My treat,' said Thomas, paying the bill. ‘Shall we go back the long way? Do we visit the Co-op or Nisa on the way back? Where's the shopping list?'

It was an even greater blessing to have a husband who'd help you carry the shopping home.

They walked along, content with one another's company, keeping in step with one another. Ellie stopped abruptly outside the new pet shop.

Thomas said, ‘You want a toy for Midge? Is he into toys? I thought he preferred living toys. Mice, frogs . . .'

‘Birds,' said Ellie, ‘and other cats. I've just remembered that someone called Caroline Topping had cats. Four? One had only three legs. She's a friend of a friend whom I met some years ago. She had a baby or a toddler called . . . Can't remember. But surely he'd be too old to go to the play centre now, wouldn't he?'

‘You've lost me completely.'

‘She – or someone of the same name – was at the play centre when the youngest Hooper child ate some biscuits given her by a visiting clown. The biscuits contained peanuts; the child had an allergy to them and died. Ms Milburn called on me today to ask if I could find the clown for her, which is not reasonable. She wants me to contact everyone I know who might know anything about it, but I don't see why she's asking me to do police work for her. Why doesn't she go round and see Caroline Topping herself? She said I could save her time by whittling down the number of people who were at the play centre when the child died. Does that sound reasonable to you?'

‘Depends how busy she is, I suppose.'

‘Let me carry some of those bags. There's something lurking at the back of my mind about this whole nasty affair, though I can't think what. Can you bear to listen while I tell you what's happened so far?'

Thomas grinned. ‘Anything to avoid work for another half an hour or so.' Thomas was a good listener.

When she'd finished, he said, ‘Two deaths in one family. I don't like the sound of that.'

Diana, she thought. But no, it's not her style at all. And yet . . .

She said, ‘I really don't want to poke my nose into police business. Only think what Ms Milburn's boss would have to say about it! “Stupid woman,” he'd say. “Who does she think she is?” And rightly so. Besides, the Caroline Topping that I remember may not be the same person as this Mrs Topping, if you see what I mean.'

He looked at his watch. ‘It's not a common name. Put your mind at rest; give her a ring as soon as we get back, and after supper I'll run you round there in the car. I need to fill up with petrol, and I can do that while you have a chat with the lady.'