Murder by Mistake (25 page)

Ellie left her phone switched on, reflecting that she wouldn’t normally have had it on at all, if it hadn’t been for the Party Planner insisting that she remained in touch throughout proceedings. She wondered how they were getting on back at home, and began to fret about it . . . until she decided that Mr Balls was being paid to smooth out any problems, and she really didn’t need to concern herself with them. For the time being, anyway. She put the phone down on the table while she picked up her panini, which was dripping with cheese and looked luscious.

Her phone rang again. ‘My name is Ahmed. Am I speaking to a Mrs Quicke?’ A slightly nasal tone, a precise manner of speaking, a well-educated man possibly of Middle Eastern origin.

‘Yes, indeed. Ursula asked you to ring me about Billy Bright?’

‘I know nothing of any importance but Ursula insists that I ring you. I do not know her friend Mia to speak to, although I have seen her around. I am a Muslim, you understand, and she is Christian, so we do not socialize. She is not a girl to flirt or behave immodestly. Never. I was shocked when I heard.’

‘You were not at the Prior’s party that night?’

‘No, no. I am not in that crowd, and I do not drink. In any case, I had gone back home for the holiday. Only, when I return at the start of the Spring term, I hear about it. A terrible thing.’

‘She’s been receiving threatening messages recently. We understand that Billy Bright was fond of her, and wondered if he might have seen something or know something, have some idea where to look for the man who is doing this. You know Billy?’

‘I did. The poor lad was brilliant in his way, but not well able to understand the modern world. I respected his ability, which is possibly greater even than my own – I am going on to a PhD, you understand – but we do not socialize.’

‘Because he was not a Muslim?’

‘No, because he stinks. He has always been careless about personal hygiene, but after his mother dies, he wears the same clothes day after day, never cuts his hair . . . you understand?’

‘Yes, indeed. I heard he was fixated on Mia and followed her around.’

‘I know nothing of that. As I explained, we do not move in the same circles.’

‘So what do you know, Mr Ahmed?’

Ahmed seemed to be weighing his words. ‘I know that he does not resume his studies at the start of the Spring term. Our tutor says Billy has had a breakdown and is in hospital. It happens sometimes, with finely balanced minds.’

This was bad news. Ellie had hoped so much that Billy would have been able to give them a lead to Mia’s persecutor. ‘Was he in for long?’

‘A couple of weeks, I suppose. After that we see him in the grounds and in the library, but he does not return to lectures. I speak to him once but he avoids my eye and walks off. We think perhaps he is on medication which makes him unable to concentrate.’

‘Oh dear. Obviously he won’t be able to help us. A pity. We can’t think what to do next.’

‘It is not my place to make suggestions—’

‘All suggestions gratefully received.’

‘It is not my field of expertise but it does occur to me, we have discussed among ourselves, that Billy’s breakdown may be a consequence of the terrible thing that is done to Mia. Amateur psychology is worth nothing, but it is known that he is devoted to his mother, who died . . . after which he transfers his devotion to Mia, who is always kind when other girls laugh at him. You understand?’

‘Yes, I do. You believe that when he heard about it—’

‘It turns him into a “gibbering wreck”. Is that the correct idiom? One of my friends uses those words about Billy when he comes across him in the Ealing Broadway Centre, talking to himself. My friend is shocked because Billy is cursing Mia.’

‘This was before he was sectioned, I suppose?’

‘It is last week.’

‘What?’

‘My friend says Billy is clutching his mobile phone, talking to it or to himself.’

A nasty thought wormed its way into the back of Ellie’s mind. ‘What time and what day was this?’

‘I have no idea. I ask my friend on Monday if it is important. He is away this weekend.’

‘Was the mobile phone also a camera, capable of receiving pictures?’

‘Aren’t they all?’

No. Ellie’s wasn’t. No, wait a minute; she’d been given her current mobile by a friend and it might well have a camera included in its innards, though Ellie hadn’t the slightest idea how to operate it. ‘Might it have been last Monday?’

‘I suppose. Yes, it is possible.’

‘Mia and I were nearly run down by a car when we were in Ealing Broadway on Monday last.’

Ahmed laughed. ‘That is not Billy. He is not able to drive.’

‘No, of course not. A terrible thing; a young woman killed and her two children left motherless, though their family has taken them in, thank God. A number of people rushed up to see what was happening. Some tried to help, but others just stood around gaping. Two or three of them took photographs on their mobiles. I don’t know if you’ve seen the local paper today—’

‘No.’

‘Well, there was a photograph of the aftermath of the accident on the front page and it could only have been taken then and there. No official photographer was around at the time. I’m just wondering if a picture of the tragedy was sent to Billy’s phone by a well-wisher. You can see Mia’s face quite clearly. Also, when the police came up, I had to give my name and address and say that Mia was staying with me. Anyone in the watching crowd could have heard me and sent the information to Billy.’

‘Ah. Someone at uni is talking about an accident and says Mia is involved. Some of the students put these things on Facebook.’

‘Bear with me. What I’m wondering, you see, is if Billy had thought her so perfect before, if he’d put her in his mother’s place in his mind, and then learned she’d been abused by her family and their friends . . . Might this not have tipped him over into hating her? Perhaps he convinced himself that she’d really been a wanton creature all along? Then, perhaps, he might wish to punish her for wrecking his illusions?’

‘You are the amateur psychologist now?’

‘It might have happened that way though, mightn’t it? His behaviour is disconcerting, you must agree.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘It was good of you to ring me. Thank you. If you hear anything more—’

‘I will ring you, yes. If you are correct in what you think, he should be sectioned again, for his own safety.’

‘And hers.’

‘Yes. And hers.’

Ellie put the phone down and concentrated on her panini, which was now cold but still delicious, though inclined to deposit dripping cheese everywhere. The more she thought about Billy and his breakdown, the more convinced she was that that poor deluded creature was responsible for the recent persecution of Mia. It hadn’t been the Prior family or their friends; they’d all been duly accounted for, anyway. It hadn’t been her mother, who’d move on to fry other fish.

Now, if Billy Bright was at the bottom of the threatening messages Mia had been getting, was it right to dismiss his attempts as trivial? No, because he’d progressed from sending lilies to a sympathy card to rat poison. That is, if it really were poison in the coconut ice. Ellie would take a bet on its being lethal.

Which left her with a dilemma. If she was right, then Billy Bright had committed a criminal act, although he was probably not altogether responsible for his actions. Should Ellie inform the police of her theory . . . which was only a theory based on hearsay?

She rather thought she should. However much they might laugh at her, the police needed to know about Billy, and if he so much as put a foot wrong in future, they’d be able to cope. To section him. And, if he was on medication as Ahmed had surmised, then it should be adjusted immediately, if not sooner.

She picked up her phone, and put it down again. She could just imagine how ‘Ears’ would greet her suspicions. Would DC Milburn think the same? Probably.

Ellie set her teeth. She would get herself a cappuccino, put in lots of sugar, and then see if she had the nerve to report the man.

She had some coffee, and although it didn’t seem to give her the necessary Dutch courage, she got through to the police station. DC Milburn was out. Of course. Would she like to leave a message? Ellie envisaged the message being taken down and left on DC Milburn’s desk. She could imagine the policewoman reading it, and laughing. She would say, ‘Whatever nonsense will Mrs Quicke think up next?’

Well, tough. Ellie dictated the message slowly and clearly. ‘Please tell WDC Milburn that I believe a student by the name of William Bright, who lives somewhere off Acton High Street, has been responsible for the threatening messages that Mia Prior has been receiving . . . How do you spell Mia? Yes, that’s right. And William Bright is known as Billy. Shall I spell that for you? No. I’m told he lives off . . . Oh, you got that, did you? I am told he experienced a breakdown after Mia’s problem became known, was sectioned for a while, and hasn’t been the same since. Yes, sectioned. As in Mental Health. And yes, I am very worried about what he might do next.’

Ellie listened while the message was read back to her. ‘DC Milburn will get this when she returns to the station.’

Good. Ellie put her phone down again. She had done all she could, hadn’t she?

Well, no. She had a nagging feeling that she hadn’t.

Her other big worry surfaced to give her violent indigestion. What was she supposed to do about Denis, the likelihood that he had murdered Mrs Summers, and his possibly bigamous intentions? What could she do? And Midge . . . Had he returned or was he lost to them for ever?

Ellie scolded herself back to the present. She had more practical tasks on hand than she could manage in the time at her disposal. She must get something light to eat for tomorrow night after the weddings, and buy a joint for Sunday. Also she must call in at the flower shop and arrange for another bridesmaid’s bouquet for Ursula’s little half-sister. What was her name? Sandy. Short for Alexandra?

How like Ursula to include a little girl with an arm in plaster in her celebrations. Most brides only thought of the look of the thing. Diana, for instance . . . No, don’t think about Diana, who wouldn’t have wanted a bridesmaid who might outshine her.

Oh, Diana. I fear you are riding for such a nasty fall.

Ellie grabbed her bags and set out for the butcher’s.

SIXTEEN

E
llie went from the butcher’s to the greengrocer, because Mia was getting through bananas and oranges even quicker than Thomas. As an afterthought, she bought some cold meats from the deli for anyone who might want a sandwich over the weekend and hadn’t time to cook a meal.

Then she went to see the florist in the Avenue. The owner was nowhere to be seen and unfortunately her assistant turned out to be a ditherer. Ellie said, ‘Look, all I need is an extra bridesmaid’s bouquet. Can’t you do one for me?’

‘The boss is out and I can’t . . . She’s at the church now, doing the flowers. The bouquets and buttonholes for both weddings are already on the van together with the rest of the table decorations, so that all she has to do is give them their final touches on site tomorrow morning.’

Exercising patience and flashing her credit card, Ellie persuaded the girl to find a basket suitable for a child to carry – even one with an arm in plaster – and to fill it with white, yellow and lilac flowers, firmly set in a block of wet Oasis. The only problem then was that Ellie would have to add the basket to what she was already carrying. Should she get a taxi? No, it was probably quicker to walk. Tiring, but quicker.

She arrived home feeling hot and tired . . . only to wish she’d stayed out longer. As Thomas had said, the house was no place for a sensible person that day.