Murder My Neighbour (16 page)

‘Was that her? I thought her name was Fay something. I remember I wanted to get her to a doctor to check her over, but she just wanted to sit down and rest for a while.'

‘Not Fay; Flavia. And you treated her to lunch—'

‘And she asked me about my charity work and got me talking . . . She was a good listener. I remember I ordered a cab for her, to take her home, and she said she'd be in touch, but I don't think I ever saw her again.'

‘She came to the funeral, but I don't suppose you noticed.'

‘Really? That was nice of her. But no; I don't remember much about that day, I'm afraid.'

Rose was fidgeting. ‘There really was someone in the window at the top of Mrs Pryce's house? I didn't imagine it?'

‘No, you didn't imagine it. There really was someone.'

‘But I did pull up the gladioli, forgetting you'd planted them beside the montbretias, and I do get things mixed up on the orders, and as for climbing the stairs . . .'

‘We'll put in a chairlift, if it pleases you.'

Rose was horrified. ‘Not on that beautiful staircase. Miss Quicke wouldn't like it, and neither would I.'

‘Up the back stairs, then.'

‘We'll see. I'll ask her what she thinks about it. Isn't it coming up to supper time? And here's me sitting here, not having done a hand's turn for it.'

‘Sit still. I'll go and see what there is.'

So information had passed between the two houses, both ways? Miss Quicke's cleaners had gossiped to their mates about the turnaround in Miss Quicke's fortunes, and they had passed the gossip on to Mrs Pryce, who had probably checked with her financial contacts only to discover that Miss Quicke was not poor but a miser. Now the information was coming back the other way; from Mrs Pryce through Vera and Pet to Ellie.

The phone rang as Ellie was on her way through the hall, and she picked it up.

‘Mrs Quicke? It's Vera here.'

‘Yes, my dear?'

‘I was talking to Pet about Mrs Pryce and the car being gone. Pet and her husband used to have a car once, and she used to collect him from work late at night until it died, the car died, I mean. I thought she might have remembered the number but she didn't. Then I thought Fritz might know, and of course I should have thought of him straight off, I can't think why I didn't.

‘So I popped in on him on the way home . . . In a minute, Mikey; I'm just on the phone . . . Sorry, Mrs Quicke, but it's getting to the end of the day and he needs his tea. Anyway, I asked Fritz, and he says it was a silver Toyota with NYD on the licence plate. He remembers because Mrs Pryce was annoyed with herself about not getting her old plate transferred to her new car because she couldn't recall the new one for the life of her. So he made up words for her out of the new initials. It was “New York Detective” for NYD. So I said to Fritz that he should ring you about it, and he said no, it wasn't anything helpful. But I thought you might like to tell the police.'

‘Yes, I will. Thanks, Vera. Though whether they'll listen to me or not—'

‘Tell the truth, I get a funny feeling every time I think about her not getting to the retirement home and, well, I wouldn't like to spend a night in that house alone now.'

‘Neither would I. Thank you, Vera. That's most helpful, but don't go . . . ! Did you ever hear Mrs Pryce talk about my aunt, Miss Quicke?'

‘Oh yes, she told us she used to give Miss Quicke lifts to town in the old days, until she found out she was only pretending to be poor. Mrs Pryce said she'd been a bit cross when she found out, as who wouldn't be, and that she was going to pay Miss Quicke out some day for pulling the wool over her eyes. They went on seeing one another for a bit, but then your aunt frailed up and they stopped meeting. Mrs Pryce was ever so sorry when she heard Miss Quicke had died. Said it was seeing your friends go that made you realize the world was changing. We told her how good you'd been to Miss Quicke at the end, and how well you looked after Rose, and . . . well, something about your daughter, who's a bit like Edwina, isn't she?'

‘I suppose she is. Thank you, Vera. It's good to know.'

TEN

A
nother beautiful evening. House martins twittered across the clear blue sky, Ellie spent a soothing half hour watering the garden and all was right with the world. Well, sort of. Actually, her world didn't feel all right at all, and she knew why, though she tried not to think about it.

What was Diana up to? If Ellie refused to help her daughter, would she be made bankrupt? And, trying to think clearly, was Diana really trying to get custody of little Frank again?

By your actions you shall know them. Diana's actions showed that Frank fitted into her busy life way behind her work and any liaison she might happen to have going at the time.

Ellie wished she didn't have such a suspicious nature, but it crossed her mind to wonder if Diana might be using her stated desire to reclaim Frank as a ploy, to remind everyone how uncomfortable she could make life for them if they didn't give her the money she needed.

Ellie was also concerned about Thomas, who had gone back into his study after supper, wrestling with some problem that he hadn't seen fit to share with her. This was worrying because Thomas was usually calm and supportive when Ellie got into a state. She missed him.

Mia had gone out without bothering to tell Ellie or Thomas where. That was all right. They weren't her parents. She didn't have to account to them for her movements.

Rose was dozing in front of her telly. She seemed better, thank the Lord.

Normally, Ellie would have used this quiet time in the garden to catch up on her relationship with God. But not today. She had a feeling she knew what He was going to say: let Diana go chase herself. Well, not in so many words, perhaps, but that was the gist of it.

Ellie went over and over the arguments in her mind till she felt sick. Result: the same. She could not, would not approach the Trust to find more money for Diana, and she couldn't let Diana go bankrupt.

The doorbell rang. She turned off the water in the hosepipe and went to let her caller in. Surprise. It was Detective Constable Milburn with a large envelope under her arm and a smile on her face.

‘Am I interrupting, Mrs Quicke?'

‘Of course not. Come in.' Ellie led the way to the sitting room, cool and comfortable in the evening air. ‘Would you like a soft drink?'

‘Nothing for me, thank you. It's like this. I know that in the past when you've brought information to the police, there was always something in it. So I thought you might like to chat to me, unofficially, about . . . well, anything. Though if any official action were required, I would have to pass the information along and then . . .'

The spectre of Ears rose between them. Ears might well be deaf and blind to any suggestion raised by Ellie.

Shoulders were braced. ‘Mrs Quicke, I'm off duty and on my own time.' Good girl.

‘I tried this afternoon to pass on some information and—'

‘Yes, I heard.' The DC produced some photographs from her envelope. ‘But first, let's go back to the burglary. I found some pictures of cars that might help to jog your memory.'

‘Can you trace a car if I give you half a licence number?'

‘You've remembered the licence number of the car that the con man was driving?'

‘No, not that car, but another one. And oh dear, your boss told me in so many words not to worry the police with my fantasies.'

‘One thing at a time, eh?' DC Milburn sat down and spread out a number of pictures of cars: yellow cars, gold cars, lemon-yellow cars. ‘Do any of these ring a bell?'

Ellie studied each one in turn. ‘Too pale, too green, not that sort of gold. Ah, that's the right colour. Egg-yolk yellow.'

‘That's a Peugeot. Does it look something like the car you saw?'

Ellie nodded. ‘Definitely, yes. There aren't that many around, are there?'

‘Too many to trace, unless you can remember the licence number.'

‘A pity. But as you're here, let me tell you about another car that's missing.' She fetched the notes she'd made on Mrs Pryce's disappearance and went through them with the policewoman. After a while DC Milburn got out her own notebook, and she asked Ellie to repeat her story with as much detail as she could remember.

‘So that's it,' Ellie concluded. ‘Terry Pryce visited me in an effort to trace his great-aunt and ended up stealing from me. Although he told me a number of lies – especially when he was asking for money – there was a nugget of truth in there as well. His aunt Edwina gave me an address for him; can you follow up on that?'

‘I certainly can. We can get him on a charge of theft.'

‘His aunt, now.' Ellie frowned. ‘I didn't like her, but I suppose I mustn't be judgmental. She tried to make me believe Mrs Pryce was a flibbertigibbet who might easily go off with a man without telling her family. I don't believe it. I've talked to other people who knew her, and it seems to me that Mrs Pryce was a lady with a strong personality, who put up with a lot of flack from her dead husband's family but knew when to draw the line.'

‘What's the daughter's name again?'

‘Edwina Pryce. I think she came to see me because she doesn't know where her stepmother has gone and is worried sick about her. I find it odd that she's not worried enough to check the hospitals or go to the police herself. She wants me to report her disappearance instead.'

‘Are you absolutely sure Mrs Pryce hasn't gone off on some ploy of her own?'

‘How can I be sure? I rang the retirement home; Mrs Pryce sent her furniture there and left Disneyland – sorry, but I call it that because the house does look like something from a cartoon – but never arrived at her destination. What I did find out when I visited the house was that somebody's been living in one of the attics and only just cleared out.'

‘Squatters?'

‘It looks more to me like a young couple in hiding. Question: how did they get a key, because there's no sign of anyone breaking and entering? There can only be a limited number of keys around; the cleaning company might still have a set, I suppose. The estate agency has one, and of course . . . Mrs Pryce.'

‘You think the squatters killed her and took her key so that they could live in her house?' DC Milburn's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline.

Ellie reddened. ‘I don't know what I do think, except that something is definitely wrong.'

DC Milburn gave Ellie a sceptical look but made a note of it. ‘Well, I suppose I could check with the cleaning company and the estate agency to see if their keys are still around and haven't been “lost”.'

‘The water and electricity had both been left on – or turned back on, I don't know which. The vegetable garden's still being worked, probably by the gardener Fritz, who may or may not have had permission to do so. He lives in one of the flats above the Co-op in the Avenue, and no, I don't know the number. Mrs Pryce's car has gone. Maybe she's had an accident and is in hospital somewhere, but if so, no one has informed her relatives, which seems strange. Can you check the hospitals, see if she's been admitted anywhere?'

‘Where? Throughout Greater London? The whole of the south-east of England?'

‘No, I see that you need to narrow the search down. Well, can you trace her car – it's a large Toyota, silver, only a few months old, and part of the registration reads NYD? Or would that be wasting police time?'

DC Milburn tapped her teeth with her pen. ‘Officially she hasn't been posted as missing, nor has her car been reported as stolen. Her great-nephew Terry obviously isn't going to go to the police on her behalf because he'd get done for stealing from you. You say that her stepdaughter doesn't want to get involved. Yes, that is odd, but I can't say I'm surprised at anything that happens in families. Well, a neighbour could report her absence. Would you be prepared to do that?'

‘Here and now, to you, I am formally reporting my neighbour's absence.'

‘Let me write down as many details as you can remember . . .'

Ellie remembered quite a lot, which was pretty good considering she'd only once met Mrs Pryce.

‘Good,' said the DC, closing her notebook. ‘Now you'll need to come down to the station and sign a statement. Are you prepared to do that? Because unless you do, I can't get anything moving. Meanwhile, I can get on to the computer to see if her car's turned up anywhere. Perhaps it's been sitting unclaimed in a car park attracting fines, or been hoicked off to a pound.'