Murder With Mercy (33 page)

‘My dear husband was their doctor until he died, and Anita was one of my best friends. I miss her terribly.'

Ellie nodded. ‘Cancer. So sad.'

‘You knew her?'

‘My husband was a member of the golf club. We met on social occasions, as one does. I admired her spirit.'

‘She always knew her own mind.'

‘Such a pity,' said Ellie, not really thinking what she was saying. She didn't like her wine much. Should she tip it into a plant pot nearby?

‘No, no. Don't say that. She knew what she was doing.'

Ellie felt something cold at the back of her neck. She didn't turn her head, but let her subconscious work out what the woman had implied. Or maybe not even implied. What she'd hinted? Ellie told herself that she couldn't possibly
know
that this was the woman who had helped Anita to die. It was ridiculous even to suspect her.

Ellie turned to look at the woman, who looked back at her without embarrassment. Knowledge passed from eye to eye. Yes, this was the person who had helped Anita to die, and who was not ashamed of it.

Ellie's mouth felt woolly. She grimaced. ‘Not very nice wine. Though I suppose I ought not to complain.'

‘We don't do enough complaining nowadays. That's what I think. Why put up with things when they go wrong?'

‘You may be right.' Ellie couldn't think what she ought to do with what she'd discovered. Or thought she'd discovered.

What
could
she do, anyway? Stand up and scream that this woman was a murderess? Well, not a murderess, exactly. But someone who … hang on! Had a crime of any sort been committed?

‘I'm Ellie Quicke,' she said.

‘I know who you are. Evan told me about you. You were in his wedding photos.'

‘You know Evan well?'

‘Well enough.' The woman began to rock to and fro, her face contorting. ‘It's hard, very hard. I tell myself I can do it, but it is hard.'

‘Do what?'

The woman was still, her eyes wide. A little wild. She smiled, and her skin broke into a hundred lines. She was older than Ellie had thought at first. ‘I brought some whisky for him. He likes that.'

Ellie looked at the expensive brown handbag which the woman was clutching to herself. ‘In your bag? Your brown bag?'

‘I couldn't find the navy one, and the black one is … hush!' She put her finger to her lips.

‘You brought a special drink for Evan?'

‘My name's Rosemary. What's yours?'

Rosemary? That was the name of another member of Evan's harem, wasn't it? Someone Ellie had been asked to visit, only she'd never got round to it, what with the flu and all. ‘Ellie. Ellie Quicke. Evan is my son-in-law.'

‘I don't think much of his new wife, do you? She's a burden round his neck. It's terrible to live in pain, and for such an active man to be confined to a wheelchair, it must be hell on earth.'

‘Yes,' said Ellie, watching the woman, ‘he's been through a bad patch, but there are signs of improvement. His life is not yet over.'

‘He said it was, and I believe him.' The woman nodded, emphatically. ‘Yes, yes. It's the best way. The only thing to do. I have to help him. Only, I didn't think there'd be so many people here. I may have to wait and visit him at home, but … I'm getting to the end of the day.'

‘Getting tired of it all?'

Another emphatic nod. ‘One more and that's it. I shall be glad to have finished with it, I can tell you. It's a burden I've carried for too long. What did you say your name was?'

‘Ellie Quicke. Evan is my son-in-law.' Was the woman suffering from short term memory loss?

‘He told me about you, I think.'

There was a stir, and Evan forced his wheelchair through guests into the conservatory. ‘Ah, there you are. Enjoying yourself, Rosemary? Ellie, Diana says to tell you she wants to go home, but I told her to hang on a bit and we'll all go together.' He was in high spirits. He flourished a cut-glass tumbler which had definitely not contained the inferior wine offered to most of the guests. ‘Good stuff, this. I'll just get a top up. Want one, Ellie? Rosemary?'

‘I brought one for you,' said Rosemary, diving into her bag and producing a miniature whisky bottle. ‘Never say I forget you.'

‘There's a friend for you! Forget-me-not,' said Evan, pouring the contents of the miniature into his glass. ‘That's what we used to call you. I can't remember why.'

Ellie couldn't think what to do. Had Rosemary given Evan unadulterated whisky, or … what? Should she snatch the glass out of his hand and pour it on the floor? No, no. Too melodramatic, and difficult to get the stain out of the carpet.

She tried to get out of the settee but the cushions were soft and yielding and she didn't make it. ‘Please, Evan. Don't drink any more.'

He took that the wrong way, lifting the glass to his mouth. ‘What! You, too? I'll drink as much as I like.' He took a sip.

‘Evan, stop! Rosemary put something in it.'

‘Did she?' He looked at his drink. ‘Looks all right to me. Rosemary knows what I like.'

‘Rosemary is in love with death.'

Evan froze.

Rosemary shook her head, ‘No, no. You've got it all wrong. Drink up, Evan.'

‘She helps people to die,' said Ellie, trying once more to rise.

Rosemary caught Ellie's arm, pulling her back down again. ‘Don't you interfere. We know what we're doing, don't we, Evan?'

Evan stared, narrow-eyed, at his glass. Then at Rosemary. ‘Why would you …?'

Ellie tried to pull away from Rosemary, whose grasp on her arm was surprisingly strong. ‘Evan, suppose you exchange your glass for Rosemary's? If the whisky she's brought is harmless, it won't hurt her.'

Patches of red stood out on Rosemary's cheeks. ‘Don't be absurd. I don't like whisky.'

Evan held his glass up to the light. ‘It looks all right to me.'

Rosemary insisted, ‘It's good whisky; the best. I bought it for you specially.'

Ellie said, ‘Pour it away, Evan. To be on the safe side.'

‘R
idiculous!' Rosemary was now as pale as she had been flushed before. ‘Evan, let me have your drink. I'll pour it back into the bottle and use it another time.'

It was impossible to pour the contents of a tumbler back into a miniature bottle and they all knew it. Evan, puzzled, held on to his glass.

Ellie couldn't think what to do. If she got Evan to ditch the drink, what was to stop the woman from trying again later?

Rosemary began to weep. ‘Oh, this is so awful! I can't bear it.'

‘Oh, for heavens' …!' said Evan, and made as if to drink up.

Ellie said, ‘Anita!'

Evan paused with the glass at his lips.

Ellie said, ‘Rosemary, it was you who helped Anita to die, wasn't it?'

Rosemary sought in her pockets for a hankie and used it. Her words were indistinct. ‘What if I did? It's no crime to run an errand for an old friend.'

Evan's jaw dropped. ‘It was you who gave her the extra tablets?'

Rosemary tossed her head. ‘She asked me to help her, and I did. She took the pills as and when she wanted to.'

Evan looked at the glass in his hand, his eyes wide.

‘Petra,' said Ellie, disinterring the name from her memory banks. ‘She blamed a cousin for supplying her aunt with the pills that killed her. Was that you, as well?'

‘Petra?' Rosemary began to rock to and fro, clutching her handbag. ‘Nasty little girl. Never liked her. Her aunt used to work for me; we've always kept in touch.'

‘Was it you who gave Petra's aunt a Prada handbag?'

‘Why not? She kept it for best, only used it at Christmas time. Petra is a nasty, snivelling brat. Always looking for handouts. Deserved what she got.'

Evan met Ellie's eyes. Did she look as appalled as he did?

Ellie said, in a soft voice, ‘Did you hurt Petra? How?'

A toss of the head. ‘She tripped and fell over.'

‘How many people have you helped to die, Rosemary?'

‘I don't know, do I? I'm never there when they do whatever it is that they want to do.'

Evan was fascinated. ‘Rosemary, what's in the drink you've given me?'

‘The usual. It's the very last of the sleeping pills. I've been so careful, eking them out, and yours are the last, the very last. You said you wanted to die, and I trusted you. What are old friends for but helping you out? And now, you've made a fool of me and I wish I were dead!'

‘Here, then,' said Evan, passing his drink over to her.

‘No!' cried Ellie.

Rosemary, gasping, laughing, still with tears on her cheeks, took the glass and tipped it into her mouth. She gagged once but continued to drink, even licking out the last drop.

‘You see,' said Evan, half daring and half regretting his impulse. ‘There was nothing wrong with the drink.'

Ellie withdrew her mobile from her handbag. ‘She needs pumping out. I'll dial for an ambulance.'

‘No, no!' said Rosemary, mopping herself up, blowing her nose. Laughing gently. ‘How I've fooled you! Did you really think there was something nasty in the whisky? Of course there wasn't. There was nothing in it but a calming powder I got from the alternative medicine shop. It would have done Evan good, and it certainly won't harm me. Dear me, Evan! Don't look so distressed. I'm perfectly all right and, goodness me, will you look at the time? I'd best be on my way.'

Ellie wasn't sure what to think, but tried one last word. ‘Why did you wear a brown handbag with your navy coat?'

‘Why ever not?' Rosemary stood up, with some difficulty heaving herself out of the soft cushions of the settee. ‘My best black coat's at the cleaners and my black handbag's still wet from the gin and …' Her voice trailed away.

‘Gin?'

‘Petra got gin all over it and maybe some blood.' She stopped short. Blinked. ‘I suppose you'll need to tell someone that she's dead. It's not going to make any difference to me now, is it? I really must be going.' She made her way out through the few remaining guests in the main room.

‘Do you think she really …?' said Evan.

Ellie dialled Lesley Milburn's number and for once was connected straight away. ‘Lesley, I've just learned who's been providing people who want to die with extra pills. She also says she killed that girl who's been making such a nuisance of herself over her aunt's death. Petra. Is Petra really dead, or is this woman imagining it? She's called Rosemary something. A doctor's widow. She's on her way home now from the wake at Freddie's house, and I think she's taken enough sleeping pills to kill her. I'll hand you on to someone who can give you her full name and where she lives.'

She passed her phone to Evan, just as Marcia double-barrelled hove into sight, with one arm around Diana, who looked ghastly.

Ellie didn't exactly shoot to her feet, but did manage to pull herself out of the cushions.

‘Her contractions are coming every five minutes,' said Marcia. ‘I think it's time to go to the hospital. I'll drive you, if you like.'

Evan stood up.

Evan …

stood …

… up.

He handed the mobile phone back to Ellie and did his imitation of the crocodile's smile. ‘Well, on with the game.'

‘You've been practising!' said Ellie.

Marcia laughed. ‘Every minute he could.'

‘What a lovely surprise,' muttered Diana, not smiling at all. ‘But if you don't mind …'

Rosemary was forgotten.

Marcia and Ellie sat side by side in the waiting room of the maternity unit, making small talk.

Marcia said, ‘I challenged him to a game of chair-bound golf, and of course he couldn't stand being beaten by a woman so he soon forgot he couldn't stand. At first he was wobbly on his feet. He didn't want to let anyone know he was getting better until he could walk properly. So we practised in secret. Diana probably suspected but went along with his little game.'

Ellie didn't think Diana had known. Diana wasn't very observant. ‘Marcia, you're a gem. They should put up a statue to you somewhere.'

Marcia waved the compliment away but looked pleased. ‘Men never think things through. He's left his wheelchair in Freddie's house, and I suppose I'll have to retrieve it for him tomorrow. And what about Diana's maternity case? Where is that, do you suppose?'

Ellie switched her eyes away from the door. The waiting seemed to go on for ever. ‘Are you going to work your magic on Freddie next?'

‘Too soft a target. I was at school with his sister, older than me but a legend for bullying even in those days. Going on past behaviour, she'll boss him about till one day he cracks and throws her out. After that, he'll start living again.'

Evan staggered in on uncertain legs. Grinning. ‘Congratulations are in order. A fine boy. Perfect, they say. Diana's being cleaned up and will have a rest. They'll be home tomorrow, if all is well.'

The house seemed peaceful, after the uproar of the party at Freddie's. Ellie relaxed. What a day it had been! First the confrontation with Edwina, then the wake at Freddie's, and to cap all, Diana going into labour.

She shed her coat and the phone rang.

Lesley Milburn. ‘Ellie, you there for a change? This friend of yours, Rosemary something. I arrived to find she'd collapsed in the street outside her house. A neighbour had just called an ambulance. I followed them to the hospital, who want to know what she's taken before they pump her out.'

‘Sleeping pills, probably. In whisky. Will she make it?'

‘Possibly. She understood I was with the police, and she pressed a diary and a dry-cleaner's ticket on me. Have you any idea what that's about?'