Murder My Neighbour (26 page)

He sighed. ‘Yes.' He smiled, began to laugh. ‘You have to admire her nerve. Fancy claiming whiplash! Whatever will she think of next!'

On the third morning of her stay in Paris, Ellie struggled out of the cold brown wilderness that trapped her whenever she fell asleep and made an effort to pray. It was a worry to find how difficult it was. The usual words such as ‘please' and ‘thank you' were no longer appropriate. She tried them out and felt she was getting an engaged signal, rather than an open line to her best friend.

What could be wrong? She'd cried out to Him when she was in danger of death, and Thomas had saved her. So why couldn't she thank Him?

Thomas had got up a while ago and was in their sitting room – they actually had a suite! What luxury! – saying his morning prayers.

She delved into her mind and found a dense fog blocking further thought. So, was this something to do with Diana?

She was seized with a bout of the shakes. Fear. All right, face it, Ellie. Your daughter tried to kill you.

Ellie had been in danger before and felt fear, but had been confident that life would return to normal in due course. In this case, it was impossible. Life could never be the same again, for Diana had broken the last taboo: that of trying to kill the person who had given her life.

In her mind's eye Ellie saw herself shrinking into a small dark place, unable to move. Broken. Imprisoned. When she returned home, she'd never be able to venture out of the house in case Diana were lurking nearby. If Diana were to contact her by phone, Ellie would be tongue-tied, unable to speak. Were Diana to demand more money, Ellie would have to give it to her. Though where she'd get it from . . . ?

She pulled her thoughts away. Living like that would mean there could be no growth, no bright mornings, no hope. Even now she could feel the tendrils closing around her, tightening around her forehead, warning her not to consider crossing a road lest she be run over, or walk down a steep staircase in case she fell.

This would never do; she was being reduced to a shivering shadow of herself. She would not go down that path!

Dear Lord, out of the depths I cry to you.

At long last, she heard his voice in her head.
Forgive and grow.

Forgive Diana? Impossible! She heard the word echo down a long corridor in her mind.
Impossible, impossible, impossible.

Yet our dear Lord had done just that; He'd forgiven those who were in the very act of putting Him to death.

Not possible, possible, possible.
She couldn't imagine herself doing it. It was too much to ask.

She felt the tendrils which had wound tightly around her head release their grip on her a little. Was it possible that one day this fear would leave her, and that her spirit would be quiet again?

Thomas came bustling in. ‘Aren't you up yet? Breakfast's here. Shall we go for a walk afterwards?'

He'd decided that a walk a day kept diets at bay, and who was she to argue? His very presence banished her fear.

‘Any news?' Every day he had the
Times
newspaper to read at breakfast, but what she really wanted was news from home. Or did she? Wouldn't it be easier never to go home, but to wander around the Continent in idle fashion for the rest of her life? No, perhaps not. Too boring.

Thomas beamed. ‘I rang them all while you were still asleep. Rose and Stewart and little Frank all send their love. Stewart says the bathroom's not finished yet, so we have to stay away another week at least. Rose is fine, ordering spring bulbs for the garden. Mia was out already; she's started going in, mornings only, to the printing works that she's inherited. Oh, and Rose says that the police have got someone for Mrs Pryce's murder.'

‘That's good. Who was it?'

‘Dunno. A relative, I think.'

‘Terry Pryce, I suppose.' She frowned, thinking this didn't sound right, and then shook her head at herself. It was no longer her problem. ‘Does it look like rain? Because if not, I'm going to wear one of my new dresses.'

One day soon perhaps she would only feel pity for the damaged creature who'd tried to kill her.

Two weeks to the day after they'd left London, Thomas and Ellie journeyed back to Ealing. Ellie would have liked to prolong their holiday, but Thomas had begun to worry about work. He'd tried to hide it, of course, but he'd been spending more and more time on the phone and on his laptop.

Home at last. As they stepped out of the minicab, Rose flung open the front door to greet them. ‘Welcome back, lovely to see you, did you have good weather, but oh, mind that cat, she's not ours of course, but she's been coming round begging for titbits and it's true I have been letting her have a saucer of milk now and again, but if Midge sees her there'll be another fight . . .'

A tiny brindled cat with white paws pressed herself against the front door and had to be picked up by Rose so that Ellie and Thomas could get in with their luggage.

Once they were in, Rose put the cat down and shooed her out of doors before saying, ‘Don't you look pretty, Ellie, and isn't that a new outfit? I do like that colour on you, and will you look at that socking great ring! Now that's what I call a sapphire, fit to knock your eyes out. Yes, I can hear the little cat yowling, but we can't let her in, and don't let Midge out of the front door or he'll have her for starters. Tea will be up in just a minute. Mia wanted to make some of her chocolate cake, but I said no, it had to be a Victoria sponge to greet you on your return.'

Rose was back on form. There was colour in her cheeks for the first time for months. Perhaps the break had been good for her, too.

There was a fresh bowl of sweet peas in the hall and, through the conservatory, Ellie could see that the garden was full of colour. It was good to be home.

She was pleased to see there was no pile of post waiting for her to deal with on the hall table. Thomas had said Pat and Stewart were dealing with all her correspondence, and there was no need to think about it till next week.

Thomas gave Rose a smacking great kiss. ‘Ah, it's good to be back. I've missed your home cooking.' He patted his front, which made both Ellie and Rose laugh, since he certainly hadn't lost any weight while they'd been away.

Ellie went upstairs, unpacked and admired her revamped bathroom – yes, there was real gold-plating on the taps – and the changed layout was impressive. Even the tiles were different. Why hadn't she thought of putting in a walk-in shower before? There was a new towel rail, too, with hot water running through it, wow!

She must remember to congratulate Thomas on his plan to change everything.

She stood in the middle of the room and slowed her breathing. Was the shadow of the past going to reach out and paralyse her again? No, it wasn't. With a rush of thankful praise she said aloud: ‘Thank you, Lord.'

The phone rang downstairs. She tensed. What if it were Diana, checking to see if her mother had returned? What was Ellie going to say when she next met Diana?

SIXTEEN

T
he doorbell rang. Ellie walked down the stairs, fearing that it might be Diana . . . but it was only that nice DC Milburn, who said, ‘Sorry, Mrs Quicke, I know I shouldn't interrupt when you're only just back. I've been round several times to see you, and Rose told me you'd be returning today.'

‘Come in, and tell me all about it.' Ellie led the way into the sitting room and sank into her favourite chair by the fireplace. The French windows were open to the garden, and there was another bowl of sweet peas on the occasional table at her elbow. A pretty white orchid flaunted its petals on the mantelpiece. Where had that come from? Ah, she remembered, and smiled to herself. Fritz, of course. ‘Do sit down. I hear you got someone for the murder.'

The girl grimaced. ‘Not exactly. We're holding Terry Pryce on a charge of theft, and that's what I wanted to see you about. We need you to come to the station to see if you can identify your ring and the china box.'

‘Good. You didn't find Thomas's Kindle? I suppose it's long since been sold on. Oh well. You're not holding Terry for murder, then? I must say he convinced me he didn't know where Mrs Pryce was. What did the autopsy tell you?'

‘Some time before she died – maybe as much as an hour or even two – she'd fallen and hit her temple. We found an area of wallpaper in her bedroom where blood had been spilled and someone had tried to wash it away. We assume this was where the first injury took place.'

Ellie remembered Vera's saying how distressed Mrs Pryce had been when she'd spilt coffee on the wallpaper – on the other side of the bed. Poor woman . . .

The DC continued: ‘The pathologist says that head wounds usually bleed profusely, but this first injury wouldn't necessarily have been fatal. He thinks she may have been stunned for a while, but managed to get back on her feet. We think she was well enough then to wash the blood off her face and change into her housecoat. Perhaps it was she who tried to clean the blood off the wallpaper, too.'

Ellie remembered the odd angle of Mrs Pryce's neck as she lay in the freezer. ‘So she had another fall later, one that did kill her?'

‘Yes, we think she probably fell down the stairs some time later and broke her neck.'

‘So her death might have been an accident.' Ellie shook her head. ‘One accidental injury is acceptable, two . . . ? Would a jury go along with that? Do the police want to downgrade her death to manslaughter?'

A gesture of frustration. ‘Terry swore he was nowhere near the house on the night she died and produced an alibi; a stag night in Amsterdam, would you believe?'

‘Dear me. I thought he might be gay.'

‘He does give that impression, and the civil ceremony was between two of his male friends. The only problem is that the celebrations lasted over several days, involved a huge intake of alcohol and no one can be sure he was there all the time. He might have come back, trying to get money out of his great-aunt, and done the deed before returning to the party in Amsterdam. We're working on his alibi. The inspector is certain we've got the right man.'

‘That's good news, if it was him,' said Ellie. ‘I'm really glad you've found my ring and my aunt's little box. Did he confess to stealing them, and how did you trace him? Ah, I remember; Mrs Pryce's stepdaughter Edwina gave me his home address, and I passed it on to you.'

‘I went round to his house only to spot a yellow car answering to your description outside his flat. So I phoned Ears – I mean, the inspector – and he came storming down and took Terry to the station for questioning. The inspector was so sure that we'd got our murderer that he, well, he let the news out that we'd cleared the case up before we realized Terry had a reasonably good alibi. So . . .'

‘Egg all over faces?'

A guarded smile. ‘Then the chief super came back from her course, and she . . . Well, fireworks, you know? Faced with a charge of murder, Terry denied everything but the theft, so we've got him for that. He told us who he'd sold the goods to, and how much for. The jeweller still had your ring and the little box though I'm afraid the Kindle was sold on to an unsuspecting customer the following day.'

‘Thomas has bought a replacement Kindle already because he needs it for work. It was an opportunistic thing, wasn't it? Terry didn't come here planning to steal anything, but to see if he could borrow some money. Did he tell you why he needed it so badly? He spun me a wild story about his sister which I didn't believe even at the time.'

‘He shares a flat with a man who'd developed a drug habit and got Terry into it, too. They were both heavily in debt to their dealer, who'd threatened them: pay up or else. Terry really was desperate.'

Ellie leaned back in her chair. ‘Are the police going to write Mrs Pryce's death off as accidental? But no; how can they? There's far too many unanswered questions. If her death was an accident, then why bother to cover it up? Who put her body in the freezer? Who drove her car away, emptied it and left it at the airport? And who phoned around to make her excuses, in order to give the impression that she'd disappeared of her own accord?'

‘I know, I know.'

‘Who else are you looking at now? The stepdaughter, Edwina, seemed a bit odd to me, but she's far too puny to have picked up Mrs Pryce, carried her to the garage and dumped her in the freezer. And anyway, why should she? If she'd seen or caused the accident, she would have left Mrs Pryce where she was and called for an ambulance. It wasn't in her best interests for Mrs Pryce to disappear. I assume she inherits under the will?'

‘Something, yes.' Caution, here. ‘You've heard all about that, haven't you?'

Ellie shook her head.