Murder My Neighbour (18 page)

‘When did Jack put the padlocks on the doors?'

‘It had to be after Mrs Pryce left or she couldn't have got her car out of the garage. I suppose he gave the keys to the estate agents.'

‘Was it you or Jack who took the spare key to the back door?'

A startled look. ‘Not me.' He shifted his feet, cleared his throat. ‘I took the padlocks off the doors into and out of the yard and that's all. We'd had such a dry spell, I had to get back in to check on my potatoes and runner beans, didn't I?'

She probed a little more. ‘But now you're worried about her.'

He nodded his head violently. ‘I wasn't at first, but I am now. See, she promised to send me a card for my birthday which was two weeks back, and we – that's Vera and Pet and me – we was all going down to see her next month for
her
birthday. When my card didn't come, the wife says to me, why did I think she'd remember, and I couldn't say anything except that Mrs Pryce wasn't like that. Then, this and that's been happening . . .'

‘You mean, the young couple in the attic.'

A closed look. ‘I don't know nothing about that.'

ELEVEN

E
llie said, ‘Fritz, I believe you when you say Mrs Pryce gave you permission to go on gardening at her place –' fingers tightly crossed – ‘but you must have wondered if she'd given someone else the right to use the premises when you saw or heard something of her other “visitors”.'

‘I never.'

She gave him a Look. ‘If I've understood the matter correctly, they weren't breaking any law by using a key to get in and staying in the attic for a while. But while you were working in the garden I expect you heard water run off . . . when they used the toilet, for instance. Or perhaps you spotted footprints in the garden. Did they pick any of your produce?'

A shake of the head, a half smile. He wasn't going to admit that he knew anything. ‘I never saw nor heard nothing.'

‘Did you think they'd taken the back door key?'

No reply except for a frown and a shrug.

Ellie thought about it. ‘There were no tracks in the dust on the floor in the kitchen which means no one has been there recently, so they didn't come and go that way. I think they must have had a front door key. How do you think they got it?'

‘Dunno.' He was puzzled. ‘I haven't got one. Vera and Pet, they handed theirs in. If Mrs Pryce had said for anyone to stay, they wouldn't have needed to keep themselves to themselves.' He cleared his throat, backtracking like mad. ‘That is, if there were any visitors, which I doubt.'

‘How soon after Mrs Pryce left did you begin to think someone might have moved into the house?'

‘Not long. She left on the Friday, just before the last of the vans took her stuff away—'

‘Hold on a minute. How many vans, and how many times did they come?'

He was happier talking about this. ‘She told me how she'd planned it; like a battle, she said, bringing up the troops. First there was the top auctioneers, international they were. They came early in the week to wrap up the silver and the china that she didn't want to take with her, and to take all the valuable stuff away including the big pictures and the best pieces of furniture that she didn't want to keep.

‘The next day it was the local auction people – another great big lorry for that; all the furniture including her own king-size bed. When that had gone, I moved a smaller, single bed into her room from across the landing, for her to sleep in. That was the one she was taking with her, see. Almost everything else went: the three-piece suite and the good carpets. From the downstairs rooms she only kept her walnut bureau, her own special chair, her fold-down table, and the flat screen telly from the playroom.

‘Then came the house clearance people and the man she sold the kitchen bits to, and the people who took the billiard table, and someone from the garden centre who came for the big electric mower and the urns – great big urns full of geraniums – I was sorry to see them go. Men were coming and going all the time.

‘I come in most evenings to help move this and that, and to see she was comfortable with what she'd got left for the last few days. She cried a bit one evening, saying she'd loved her time in that house, but on the whole she was looking forward to being waited on, and having people around to talk to all the time. She planned to take up playing bridge, she said, so's she'd always have company in future.

‘That stepdaughter of hers was under our feet, coming in and out every day, driving everyone crazy, criticizing every decision Mrs Pryce had made. “Why do you want to take this with you?” and: “You could have let me have that.” A right pain.

‘I went round special at lunchtime to say goodbye on her last day, and I saw the van being loaded up to take her own special bits and pieces to go to the home, but her car had gone and so had she. Couldn't stand to see the last of it, I suppose.'

‘What day was that, and who was in charge of seeing the last things loaded on to the van?'

‘That would be the Friday. A lad from the estate agency was there with the keys. He said Mrs Pryce had arranged to leave early and have them clear up afterwards, as she wanted to be settled in her new home by teatime.'

‘What did this man from the estate agency look like?'

A shrug. ‘Youngish, dark. Asian, probably born here. Posh.'

Not Mr Abel, then. ‘Removal people always leave bits of paper and cardboard here and there. Was the house swept clean by someone after she left, and do you know who did that?'

‘The estate agency organized that. I passed by at lunchtime on the Monday—'

Doubtless wanting to see if he could get into the garden and check if his beloved vegetables needed watering.

‘—and there was this cleaning company's van outside, and they had the windows and doors open and they was working through the house with industrial hoovers, you could hear them even from the road. Three men I counted, and it was more, maybe. I didn't go in to ask. That Asian guy was there again.'

‘Which cleaning company was it?'

‘Didn't take no notice. The estate agents would know. I'd expected she would have Vera and Pet to clean the house through after she left, but when I thought about it I realized they'd got their own everyday jobs to do. I suppose it was easier to get the estate agents to do it.' He delved into an inner pocket and produced a tooled gold cigarette lighter.

‘She give me this, as was her husband's. She'd forgot I'd given up smoking some years back. I didn't say nothing. The wife says we should sell it, but I think maybe I won't.'

Ellie said softly, ‘She was kind to my aunt, too.'

There was a film of tears in his eyes. ‘Something's happened to her, hasn't it? There can't be no other reason for her not being in touch.'

‘It seems like it. Tell me, was it you or was it Jack who turned off the water and electricity at the mains?'

He took a deep breath. Preparing to lie again? ‘That last Friday the estate agent said they'd to read the meters and told me to turn everything off at the mains. The gas was easy to turn off, and so was the electrics. I tried to turn off the water, but it was stiff and I couldn't manage it. I thought I'd go back with a wrench and do it later, but I left it over the weekend, and after that I couldn't get in, could I?'

Of course he could have. He could have got back in on the Monday when the cleaning firm were in. But he hadn't done so because it was more convenient for him to go on using the water supply for his garden.

‘The cleaning company came in on the Monday, and you say they were using industrial hoovers, which run on electricity. Do you think they turned the power back on? And forgot to turn it off again?'

Another shrug.

It seemed important for some reason to find out when the electricity had been turned off, and then turned on again. Ellie tried to work it out after she'd sent Mr Fritz on his way.

The hall was dark now that the sun had gone down. She switched the lights on. And then off again. And on.

She knew – as did Vera and Pet and Fritz – that something bad had happened to Mrs Pryce. The lady was no longer around. She was, she must be, dead.

If her body had been left in her car, then it must have been parked well away from human habitation, or somebody would have smelt decomposition by now. Perhaps it was in a secluded country lane somewhere?

She was not in the house. Even if she'd been shoved in a cupboard somewhere, by now the smell would be noticeable.

The cellar? No, the door to it was rusted shut. Mr Abel had not been able to get the door open, and Ellie had respect for Mr Abel's capabilities. Strike the cellar.

As Ellie went through into the kitchen to make sure everything was tidied away for the night, the fridge sprang into life.

She'd heard a motor like that start up when she'd been in the covered yard and again when she'd been in the back garden of the Pryce house.

Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. Ellie knew exactly where Mrs Pryce's body might be, and why nobody had smelled anything all this time.

She must tell Thomas straight away what she suspected, and if he agreed with her they could inform the police together.

He'd be in his office, wouldn't he? He'd gone along there to take a phone call when Fritz had come to the front door.

She found Thomas sitting at his desk. His head was bowed, and he had to drag himself upright to give her a caricature of a smile.

‘Whatever is the matter? My dear Thomas . . . !'

He had a singularly sweet smile. ‘It's all right, Ellie. Worse things happen at sea.'

She pulled up a chair and sat beside him, taking one of his hands in hers. ‘Tell me about it.'

‘Pressure. This time from the man who appointed me to this job. I might have to resign.'

‘Well, I'd certainly like to see a little more of you, but . . . Can you tell me why, or is it confidential?'

‘It's no secret, I suppose. The book they want me to serialize is a clever attack on women, and by extension on their being ordained and everything that follows from that. A number of important men have backed it, and a major publisher has offered a contract. There will undoubtedly be a lot of media interest. I don't approve of the line the book is taking but I foresee it will become a best-seller in its own way and do a great deal of damage to the unity of the church.'

‘I don't understand. If the book has got so much going for it already, why are they bringing so much pressure to bear on you to serialize it?'

‘They believe that, although my magazine is of little interest to the general public, it is read by people of influence. Therefore they wish me to, er, toe the line. I can't do it, Ellie. I shall have to resign.'

She stroked his hand. ‘Only a little while ago you were saying that God thought you were worrying unnecessarily about this.'

He laughed in genuine enjoyment. ‘So He did. You're quite right, Ellie. This is a storm in a teacup and I suspect . . .' He looked at her sharply, ‘Something's happened, hasn't it? Have I been neatly diverted from helping you, just when you need me?'

‘Perhaps. But it's getting late. Too late to do anything about it now. It's just that I suddenly realized . . . No, that's too strong a term. I can't be sure, but I
suspect
I know where Mrs Pryce might be. I'll ring the police tomorrow and tell them.'

He rubbed his eyes, and yawned again. ‘She's dead, isn't she?'

‘Oh yes,' said Ellie. And then: ‘Of course, I might be quite wrong because I do tend to jump to conclusions; but I rather think she is.'

‘You wonderful woman.' He switched off his computer and got to his feet. ‘Do you know how she died?'

‘Don't be silly. How could I know that!' Laughing, she drew his arm within hers, and they went up to bed together, leaving the hall lights on for Mia's return.

Thursdays were always busy. Pat, Ellie's middle-aged and, to tell the truth, somewhat frumpy part-time assistant, arrived to bully her into dealing with the paperwork that had been piling up during the week.

After that they adjourned to what had once been the formal dining-room of the house, for the weekly property meeting. Their finance director was on holiday, but Stewart had brought along his assistant. Ellie wondered why he'd done that. To back him when he brought up the subject of Disneyland?

Stewart was, as usual, able to provide meticulous and succinct reports concerning what properties were vacant and needed work done, which ones were ready to be let out again, and so on. So far, so good. They whisked through the usual load until they came to Any Other Business.

‘Disneyland,' said Stewart, looking pugnacious. ‘Even in this depressed market the price tag on such a large house in extensive grounds is going to be three or four million, maybe more.'