Murder With Mercy (16 page)

She tried a smile. ‘A good workman is careful to pack up his tools at the end of a day's work, and to take them home with him. I'm sure you do that, don't you? Dave?'

‘A course.'

‘You'd never leave your tools behind overnight, would you?'

Preston looked bewildered. He was not following this.

‘What? A course not.'

‘Of course not. So where did Mikey find a wrench first thing in the morning, before you two got here?'

Dave blinked. Chewed on his lip. ‘Dunno. I suppose someone was careless.'

‘More than careless. Criminally negligent. I think perhaps some questions ought to be asked as to who was responsible for leaving a wrench around? A wrench that might have been picked up and used by any vandal who walked on to the site.'

Shifted feet. Sideways looks.

Hugh was taking it all in. Not interfering. Good.

Preston's tone was aggressive. ‘We found him with a wrench, interfering. Then, as the boss weren't around, I took him down the station and handed him over.'

Try a different tack.

Ellie turned on the sniffing assistant. ‘Do you both carry knives?'

Preston didn't react, but the lad's hand went to his jeans pocket, wavered, and returned to duty.

Ellie said, ‘I expect you both do, for work. That's right, isn't it, Dave?'

The lad shot a look at his uncle and nearly dropped the tile he was holding. ‘I suppose.'

Ellie pointed. ‘That last tile you put on is crooked.'

Preston understood that all right. He inspected his nephew's work. ‘Stupid git. What did I tell you about keeping the lines straight?'

‘Which of you hit the boy first?' said Ellie.

A tinge of colour came into Preston's sallow cheeks. ‘Fecking nuisance, underfoot, poking and prying. Got what he came for, didn't he? Dave! Out the way. Let me do the job or we'll not be done this fortnight.'

Hugh indicated to Ellie that they should retreat. Back through the bedroom, and the landing, and down the stairs they went. Both preoccupied. When Ellie opened her mouth to speak, Hugh hushed her. ‘Wait till we're in my office.'

Yes, of course. There were workmen everywhere. Most glanced sideways at Ellie. Normally, she'd be greeted with smiles and a nod because they knew her position with relation to the hotel and many of them had been involved in carrying out suggestions she'd made about this and that. So why the sideways looks? They must know Hugh had invited her to talk to Preston and Dave. They would all know what Mikey had been said to have done. How did they feel about it? Difficult to tell but, at a guess, they were closing ranks behind Preston and Dave. Understandable, if unhelpful.

Back in his office, Hugh closed the door behind them and offered a cup of tea and a seat, both of which Ellie declined.

She said, ‘In my opinion, Mikey caught them using their wrench to loosen the nut on that fitment under the bath. They were startled. Hadn't expected to see him. They reacted without thinking. One of them struck out with his knife, a reflex action more likely to come from the lad Dave than from his older, more experienced uncle. Mikey put up his arm to protect himself, and the knife sliced through his clothing but fortunately did hardly any more damage than that. It was probably Preston who clouted the boy on his jaw, picked him up in a bear hug and threw him down the stairs.'

Hugh propped himself against the back of a chair. ‘I agree, although I can't see why they should turn saboteur.'

Ellie couldn't, either. It was a puzzle.

Hugh rubbed his chin. ‘The men are getting restless; every delay jeopardizes the bonus they have every right to expect at the end of the contract.'

‘I understand what you're saying, and I don't envy you, trying to sort that out. Has Preston always been that deaf?'

‘It's got a good deal worse this last few months, which was one of the reasons why we were letting him go when this job finishes. We're taking the nephew on the strength instead.'

She was getting angry. ‘Dave will be a liability, not an asset, won't he? You know perfectly well that they were in it together, and even if you can get rid of Preston, you'll still have a rotten apple in the workforce. What Dave did once, he'll do again.'

He spread his hands. ‘I'm aware of it. Give me some proof …?'

She couldn't.

‘I
'm home!' Ellie had passed Thomas's car in the drive on the way in. She'd been afraid her front door key would play up again, but it had behaved itself for once. Good. She expected to hear Thomas's cheerful voice as she disposed of her umbrella and mac. She was dying to tell him all about her day, and she desperately needed to ask his advice. How disappointing it was that Hugh had been unable to get the truth out of Preston! Ellie wasn't sure what to do next. Meanwhile, Mikey's future looked grim.

The house seemed quiet. Unnaturally so?

Ellie found Rose dozing in her big chair in her room, with the telly on but muted.

The lasagne was bubbling away in the oven, and a big pot of potatoes ditto on the hob. No green vegetables? Thomas would eat lasagne with potatoes, of course, but must not be encouraged to do so. She could get some beans from the freezer at the last minute to go with the lasagne. As for the potatoes? Well, potato and leek soup could be made tomorrow. Good winter food.

So, where was Thomas? Not in the sitting room, where he sometimes fell asleep in his La-Z-Boy chair in front of the tele-vision while waiting for the six o'clock news. He was not in his quiet room, nor in his study.

Stairs. Again. She pulled herself up the first flight. Thomas was sitting on their bed, fully dressed, staring into space. He was frowning and barely registered her presence when she touched his forehead. A high temperature. A headache.

‘Be all right in a minute,' he mumbled.

Flu. Thomas didn't like to give in to minor ailments but he did get fearsome colds, which sometimes went to his chest. She'd have to order him to bed, or he'd try to keep going and make himself really ill.

‘Into bed with you. Have you taken any painkillers?'

His frown deepened. ‘I think so. I came over with the shivers, driving back. Lucky I didn't have an accident. Are you all right?'

‘Fine. There, now. Undress, get into bed and relax. I'll fetch you something to drink and look in on you later, when you've had a nap.'

‘Someone phoned.' A deeper frown. ‘Can't remember. Wrote it down. I think.' He began to undress. She left him to it.

More stairs. Vera had got as far as shrugging herself into her dressing gown and was with Mikey in her sitting room on the top floor watching television. Vera looked dreadful, Mikey looked half asleep.

Vera tried to smile. ‘Isn't it silly? I keep falling asleep. But I'm much better. I'll be up and about tomorrow. Just a bit shaky, still. Mikey's been looking after me beautifully, but I'm afraid he's going down with it, too. Says he doesn't want any supper.'

‘Take your time.'

Mikey looked at Ellie from under heavy eyelids and didn't respond when she asked how he was feeling. Maybe he had flu, too. Maybe he was just pretending to be ill. Or maybe he really did have concussion and ought to be in hospital.

What to do for the best? The doctors were all busy with flu victims, but Mikey's injuries were something else. If Ellie did nothing and he got worse, she'd never forgive herself. Vera wouldn't forgive her, either. Ellie decided that it would be better to be safe than sorry, and to call for help. If the doctors thought she was a silly old woman fussing unnecessarily, then so be it.

She phoned the helpline for the NHS.

The anonymous voice on the other end of the line listened to the symptoms displayed by Thomas and Vera, and said in a sing-song voice that Ellie was doing the right thing, but to contact them again if she noticed any worsening of their condition. When it came to a description of Mikey's injuries, the sing-song voice changed its tune. Someone would be with her as soon as possible, taking into consideration all the many calls on their time at the moment.

Ellie made more lemonade. Double quantity. Some for Thomas, some for Vera and some for Mikey. Suppose Rose were to go down with it, too? Ellie shuddered. It didn't bear thinking about.
Please, Lord. Let us keep fit. Please?

Up the stairs we go. Take it easy. More haste, less speed, and she'd drop one of the jugs of lemonade if she went too fast. Oh, but her legs were getting so tired. Maybe all this climbing of stairs might make her lose weight. In her dreams!

As she descended the stairs again, the doorbell rang. Two paramedics, efficient if weary. This was just another routine visit to them. Up the stairs. Check on Thomas. ‘No, missus. Everything's fine. Not to worry. Yes, if his cough turns nasty, contact your doctor for some antibiotics.'

Up the stairs to the top. Vera was back in her own bed and clearly feverish. Temperature checked, etcetera, etcetera. Same verdict. ‘You're doing the right thing. Now, there was a boy …?'

There was indeed. He was lying full length on the settee in their sitting room, looking fragile and somehow older than his years.

The tired faces of the paramedics sharpened to attention. ‘What has happened here?'

‘He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was punched on the jaw, knifed, beaten up and thrown down some stairs. The police know about it.'

The paramedics were thorough. Mikey's ‘obs' were taken. He had to show all his bruises all over again. The scar on his arm had to be inspected. ‘Healing nicely.'

Lights were shone into the boy's eyes. The very slightest of frowns indicated that yes, it was a good thing that they'd been called in.

‘We think he'll be just fine. Boys of this age, they usually bounce back pretty quickly, although he does seem to have been roughly handled. You should wake him every hour on the hour throughout the night, make sure he's responsive. Give us another ring if you can't wake him or he develops any new symptoms, right?'

Notes were written up and the paramedics departed, gearing themselves up for another visit to another patient on their long, long list.

Back in the sitting room, Ellie collapsed into her big chair, feeling her age. Did they think she was Superwoman? It was all very well saying she had to check on Mikey every hour through the night, but she wasn't sure she was capable of doing so.

She decided not to tell Rose, who would want to share the nursing and must not, repeat NOT, do any more climbing up and down stairs at her age.

Ellie closed her eyes for five minutes. There was something she ought to have done, some action she ought to have taken, but she couldn't think what it was. Perhaps a little nap before supper would do her good.

Thomas was so restless in the night that Ellie removed herself to sleep in the guest bedroom next door. At eleven she checked on Mikey. He was fine. She went back to bed and reset the alarm for an hour's time, but couldn't seem to drop off to sleep. She tossed and turned. At midnight she dragged herself out of bed and climbed the stairs again to the top of the house to check on Mikey. Again, he was fine.

She staggered back to bed and set the alarm again. If she didn't get to sleep soon, she'd be good for nothing the next day. She hoped she wasn't going to be the next one to go down with flu, but if it happened, it did, and that was that. Worse things happen at sea, or so her mother had always said. Ellie was disinclined to believe that. She thought drowning must be the most awful death, though when she came to think of it, perhaps fire might be worse.

She shook her head at herself. What were all these morbid thoughts doing in her head? She sent up an arrow prayer.
Give me love in my heart, keep me praying … and please look after all those I know who are in trouble.

Oh dear. She was getting depressed.

She roused herself at one, checked on Mikey. He was not pleased at being woken up, but neither was Ellie at having to wake him.

She tumbled back into bed, and though she thought she'd set the alarm for two o'clock, she hadn't, for the next thing she knew it was time to get up. She couldn't think at first what was happening. It was another dark morning. Then she remembered she ought to have checked on Mikey every hour – and hadn't. Suppose …?

Oh, dear Lord. Let him be all right.

And he was. Grumpy. Disinclined to get up, but all right.

Praise be.

How could she have been so remiss?

She pulled on any old clothes, checked on Thomas – no worse – and Vera, heavily asleep and still too warm for health.

It was only when Ellie entered the sitting room and noticed the dust on the mahogany furniture that it struck her the cleaners hadn't been round that week. Or had they? Possibly they'd been round during her business meeting? No, she didn't think they had. She had a slight headache. Perhaps she was going down with flu? She'd ring the agency in a minute and ask if they could send someone to help Rose out while Vera was incapacitated.

Rose was having a lie in.

Ellie didn't disturb her. She got herself some breakfast and prepared some more lemonade for the invalids. She was running short of jugs in which to put the lemonade. Up the first flight of stairs we go …

A ring at the front door. What, at this time of morning?

She put the jugs down and descended the stairs to open the front door. Two unsmiling faces, one male and one female. Acne for the male and dyed hair for the female. Umbrellas and macs and briefcases.

Briefcases? Officialdom? Oh. How to handle this?

‘Ms Vera Pryce?' A card was thrust at Ellie.

Social Services. The woman was clearly in charge, older and authoritative. The man was in his thirties, possibly a failed teacher? The droopy sort.