Monday, 7 October 2013

Catching Up With Murder - Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO


“I do love a good murder, don’t you?” Audrey Ellis confided, whisking away a glossy paperback novel that bore the title, It Had To Be Murder, in bold capitals, a dog-eared bookmark protruding, from one of the most beautifully crafted chairs he had seen in years. “Do sit down Mr, err?”
“Winter, Fred Winter.”  He pulled up a chair at the long wooden table in a kitchen that resembled something out of a Dickens novel.
“Now, will you have a cup of tea or coffee, Mr Pinter?”
“Tea, please, and the name is Winter Mrs Ellis, Fred Winter.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have any Earl Grey, only ordinary,” she almost shouted apologetically
“Ordinary will be lovely, thank you,” he assured her with a wink that earned him a winning smile. 
“I’ll make a pot if that’s alright with you?  Or would you prefer a tea bag?”
“A pot would be wonderful.”
 “Excellent. I can see you’re a man after my own heart.” She lit a gas ring, put the kettle on and pulled up a chair opposite her guest. “Now, Mr Pinter, what can I do for you?”
“The name is Winter, Mrs Ellis, Fred Winter.”
“It has turned chilly, I agree. But we’re barely into September, hardly winter yet,” protested the slight, elderly lady with the look of a child anxious to please. 
Despite an air of innocence surrounding Audrey Ellis, Winter was inclined to suspect it would be a big mistake to underestimate the woman.  He lifted a finger to his right ear then pointed to hers. Audrey Ellis caught on at once, gave a little start and made clicking noises with her tongue as she reached up to switch on her hearing aid.
“The name is Fred Winter, pleased to meet you,” he began again and stretched a large hand across the table. She blushed, accepting his handshake with an apologetic smile.
 “I keep forgetting. My daughter’s always saying I’ll forget my head one of these days.” They laughed, companionably. “Now, how can I help you Mr Winter?”
“As I explained on the telephone, I’d like to ask you a few questions about your late neighbour, Ruth Temple, if I may?”
“Poor Ruth, I miss her dreadfully. We were very close, you know. She was more like another daughter than a neighbour.”  The bright blue eyes misted over then took on an ever brighter, conspiratorial, gleam. “Are there suspicious circumstances? Is that why you’re here? How exciting. I’ve never been interrogated by a policeman before.”
Winter was amused to the extent that he felt mildly embarrassed and was quick to take advantage of a sudden sniffle. Concealing his expression in a handkerchief, he loudly blew his nose. “I’m not a policeman, Mrs Ellis, merely an ex-policeman”, he explained afterwards. To my knowledge, Miss Temple’s death was nothing more or less than an unfortunate accident. I am only here because her niece has asked me to...”
“Investigate, I knew it!”
“Look into things,” Winter corrected gently. “Miss Simpson is worried that her aunt...”
“She thinks poor Ruth may have killed herself, is that it?  I see. Well, that’s understandable I suppose.” The kettle gave a shriek. She rose and proceeded with making tea while they talked. “But she’s quite wrong, I’m of sure of it. Ruth wasn’t the type to do a thing like that. Not in the least, believe me. But I can see why Julie might think so.” Winter saw nothing to be gained by revealing Julie Simpson’s stand on her aunt’s untimely death. Instead, he merely waited while tea was served in china cup and saucer decorated with hand painted roses. A matching teapot was duly covered with a knitted cosy and an antique looking biscuit tin placed within easy reach. “Do help yourself.  There are digestives and I think you’ll find some chocolate chips too.”
Winter smiled appreciatively. “You said you can see why Julie might think her aunt took her own life...” he prompted over the rim of his cup.
“Julie likes to make a drama out of a crisis at the best of times,” Audrey Ellis said hesitantly, “and she’s getting married soon, too, so I can imagine what a flap she’ll be in!”  Winter, on the contrary, found it hard to imagine Julie Simpson in a flap. “As for Ruth, well, it’s true she hadn’t been quite herself for some while before...it happened. But I wouldn’t say she was suicidal, not in the least.”
“In what way, was she not quite herself?” Winter was curious.
Audrey Ellis took her time. “Ruth was a very...organized person, not unlike like me in fact.  She had her habits and routines when she wasn’t working and she’d keep to them no matter what. Before...it happened...she became...not so much forgetful as, well, preoccupied. Yes, preoccupied.”
“Distressed?”
“Not really...more like...agitated. Yes, agitated. Poor Ruth became very agitated. Mind you,” Audrey Ellis added almost as an afterthought, she never got over the death of an old friend in a car accident several years ago.  It distressed her terribly.”
“That would have been James Morrissey?”
“Yes. Poor Ruth always carried a torch for him, you know. But I’m sure Julie will have filled you in. Poor, poor Ruth, she never quite recovered from James’ death. But she was over the worst. That is, as far as one can be you understand.”  Winter said nothing. He understood only too well. “Then there was Liam Brady’s accident in similar circumstances. It brought it all back of course. Ruth was beside herself.  But she coped. She was that kind of woman.  Ruth always coped.” Winter recalled that Julie Simpson has said much the same thing. “Poor Ruth, it wasn’t easy for her. No wonder she liked a tipple.
“She drank a lot?”
“Not a lot, no. Well, not as a rule. But you know how it is, Mr Winter, sometimes we can’t help ourselves.”  Winter nodded. The unlikely image of Audrey Ellis, much the worse for drink, sprung unbidden to mind. He swallowed a chuckle with difficulty but managed to keep a straight face. “The mother was no help either. Always having a go at poor Ruth, she was, as if young Liam’s death were her fault.”
“Mrs Brady blamed Ruth for her son’s death?”
“I certainly got that impression. Have you met her?” Winter shook his head. “Some people will always find someone to blame for, well, whatever. Mrs Brady is such a person. It sticks out a mile. Brassy type, mutton dressed as lamb. I’m sure you know the sort.”
“Mrs Brady was harassing Ruth?”
“Not harassing, exactly, no.  There was an exchange of e-mails I believe. As soon as she got the computer, Ruth became hooked on the wretched things. They met at poor Liam’s funeral of course. I told Ruth she mustn’t feel she should attend but she insisted.  As far as I know, she only actually came to see Ruth the once. But once was enough, believe you me. After she left, I popped in to see if there was anything I could do, as one does.  I’ve never seen Ruth so...disturbed. Yes, disturbed.”
“Ruth told you Mrs Brady blamed her for Liam’s death?”
“Well…” Audrey Ellis demurred, “not in so many words, no.  But she didn’t have to say anything, it was written all over her face.  She’s driving me nuts, Audrey, she kept saying, she’s driving me nuts. I was reluctant to leave her on her own, I can tell you. But she wanted to e-mail Sarah Manners about something so I left her to it. I can’t do with this Internet nonsense, I really can’t.  I ask you?  Why not just pick up the telephone or drop a line?  It’s becoming an obsession, this e-mailing here, there and everywhere. I tell you, Mr Winter, it’s unhealthy. But now I suppose you’ll think I’m a cranky old dinosaur.” It wasn’t a question and she remained tight lipped. Even so, the blue eyes twinkled sheepishly. “Will you have another cup of tea, Mr Winter?”
Winter nodded and stroked his beard. Why did he get the feeling, as he had with Julie Simpson, that this conversation was important? “You’ll know all about Sarah Manners, I dare say?”
“Only what Julie Simpson has told me, that she was once engaged to James Morrissey and walked out on him years ago.  She was Ruth Temple’s flatmate at the time, I believe?”
“That’s right. I don’t know much more myself. It happened long before Ruth came to live next door.  Mark my words, Mr Winter, that Manners woman will get her comeuppance one of these days.  Look at James Morrissey. He certainly got his, didn’t he? Poor Ruth, first James dumps her for Sarah then Sarah walks out on the pair of them. It caused a pretty pickle by all accounts. Ruth couldn’t even pay the rent. Her landlord turned quite nasty, I believe.”
“It can’t have been easy for Ruth to resume contact with Sarah Manners after all these years?”
“That’s all it was, of course, contact.  They never did get to meet up again. I know Ruth wanted to go down and have things out with Sarah but...well, it all happened so long ago. I dare say both had reservations about digging up the past.
“I dare say...” Winter agreed. “And you say Mrs Brady only called on Ruth the once?”
“As far as I know, yes.”
“And when was that, roughly, in relation to Miss Temple’s death?”
“It was during the same week. Now, let me see…” She closed her eyes briefly and opened them again before resuming. “Ruth died on the Thursday and Mrs Brady called the day before, so that would have been on the Wednesday. As I said, she left poor Ruth in a dreadful state. Don’t get me wrong, Mr Winter, I feel very sorry for the Brady woman. It must be terrible to lose a child. But Ruth was a good sort. She deserved better, she really did.”
“You don’t think Mrs Brady would have driven her to...”
“Suicide…? Not a bit of it.  She may have felt driven to indulging in rather more alcohol than she should but certainly nothing more drastic. I blame myself. If only I hadn’t gone to stay with my daughter for a couple of days, I could have kept an eye on things.” She sighed. “But Ruth was such a sensible woman, I never dreamed...” She pulled a tissue from the pocket of a flowery apron and dabbed at her eyes.
“It must have been a terrible shock for you, finding her like that…” Winter murmured.
“You have no idea, Mr Winter, no one has. But I called the police immediately and I didn’t touch a thing.  Not that I wasn’t tempted, mind. The place was a pigsty. She may have been dead for a good twenty-four hours but she can’t have touched the housework all week. Not that it matters, of course. Nothing matters to the dead, does it?”   
Winter was genuinely moved by the directness and simplicity of the question. What could he say? “You did absolutely the right thing,” he assured her with a congratulatory air that delighted her no end. 
She beamed at him across the table. “All the books say the same. Always leave everything well alone at the scene of a crime. Not that there was a crime as such, of course. But the same principle applies, doesn’t it?  You’ll stay for more tea? I’ll just top up the pot.”
Winter watched her carry the teapot to the draining board and turn the gas back on under the kettle. Her movements were slow and he guessed she had arthritis in her hands. Nonetheless, Audrey Ellis was a capable, lively soul. He liked her.  But he was puzzled. In spite of their denials, he was certain that both Julie and Audrey suspected Ruth Temple had at least considered taking her own life. Yet both women had painted a picture of Ruth as the kind of person least likely to commit suicide.  By all accounts, Ruth had been something of a stoic. She’d cope, no matter what life threw in her face.  What - or whom - he wondered, had been the last straw to make such a woman break?
“You’ll want to hear all about our last conversation. Detectives always ask about that, I know.”
“I’m retired, Miss Ellis,” he felt obliged to remind her with a firmness that caused the puffy, parchment face to drop. “I told Julie Simpson I would look into things. How far, depends on whether or not I find anything worth looking into. But tell me anyway, it may be of some help in putting together a full picture,” he added hastily.
Audrey Ellis brightened immediately but tensed as she leaned across the table, the better to catch his ear. “She was still harping on about the Brady woman and how she was driving her, well, nuts – she said. Poor, poor Ruth, I should have stayed.”
“You have nothing to reproach yourself for. There’s no way you could have foreseen what happened. It’s just one of those things. A tragedy but...” he shrugged, “these things happen.”
“You’re right of course. These things happen. But that doesn’t make it any easier to bear.”
“That’s true enough.” Winter sighed. “But none of us can turn the clock back, Miss Ellis, much as though we’re likely to go mad trying.”
“Spoken like a wise man, Mr Winter,” said Audrey Ellis approvingly.
"I wish!” Winter grimaced. The words had tripped off his tongue a little too lightly to ring true.  Isn’t that what he had been doing since Helen died, trying to put the damn clock back and driving himself mad?
“Do help yourself to another chocolate chip?”
 Winter took her at her word. “You say Miss Temple told you the Brady woman had been driving her nuts?”
“Those were her very words.”
 “Did she give any indication as to how, exactly, Mrs Brady was driving her...nuts?”
“I’d have thought that was obvious. She was playing on poor Ruth’s guilt complex over the whole dreadful business.  That’s why Ruth decided to go down to Monk’s Tallow at the weekend. To kill off a few ghosts was how she put it, as I recall. And to get the Brady woman out of her system, I’ll be bound. It’s absurd to suggest Ruth was in any way responsible for that poor young man’s death. How was she to know he’d develop a fixation for the place?”
“You met him?”
“A couple of times, yes.  He came with Julie to visit next door. Once he turned up on his own but Ruth was out so he waited here for her, sat just where you’re sitting now in fact.”
“Did he have much to say for himself?”
“Not a lot. He was pleasant enough though, not all mouth and trousers like most good-looking young men these days. If anything, I’d say he was a shade too quiet for his own good. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he was a thoroughly nice young man and it’s simply awful what happened to him. But there’s something about quiet types, isn’t there?”
“Is there?” Winter grinned amiably.
“Oh, yes. One can never quite put one’s finger on it. That’s what so irritating. And no one likes to feel irritated for long, do they? In the end, people run a mile.”
“Meaning women?” Winter’s grin broadened and the blue eyes twinkled back at him.
“In his case, I imagine so, yes. But who knows these days?”
“Are you suggesting Liam Brady might have been gay?” Winter could hardly believe the turn of conversation with this strait laced, elderly woman.
“I’m suggesting no such thing!” Audrey Ellis was shocked. “I’m merely pointing out that one just never knows with young men these days… or young women, of course. Not that one ever did, really, I suppose. Only now it’s all in the open. Not such a bad thing, I dare say. But, if you ask me, it’s no less of a muddle than it ever was.”
Winter could not suppress a chuckle. He thought he understood what she was trying to say. Nevertheless, it amused him to hear her say it all the same.  He’d had dealing enough with gay men and women in the course of his career. While he could not pretend to understand their sexuality, he had always tried to be fair. One thing, though, he he’d understood only too well and that was an abiding terror among many gay men of being caught out, especially during those years when homosexuality was still a criminal offence. He was glad things were changing for the better but suspected old Miss Ellis may well have a point.  Did anything become less of a muddle simply for coming into the open?  Moreover, did Equal Opportunities, positive discrimination, political correctness and the like contribute to sorting the general muddle or merely extending it? Good question Fred , he mused wryly.
One more chocolate chip, another cup of tea and Winter was ready to take his leave after promising to return for a good chinwag soon.
“I don’t get out so much as I used to nor do I get many visitors. Ruth used to let me share hers,” Audrey Ellis confided, “There’s my daughter of course, bless her, although between you, me, and the gatepost, she and I have never felt too comfortable with each other. Besides, she has her own family now. She has no idea how lonely it can be living on your own.  But does anyone…until it happens to them?
Too right! ,thought Winter grimly and felt prompted to give the old lady an affectionate hug and a peck on the cheek.
“My, Fred Winter, what a flirt you are!” They both laughed and sensed that his promise to drop by again was no idle one.
Winter drove to Hampstead, parked near the Heath and took a stroll in the late afternoon sunshine. At one of the ponds, he sat on a bench and watched mums and dads with their kids or dogs, sometimes both. Children were feeding the ducks while mums fussed and warned them not to get too close. A couple of dads were flying model aeroplanes while their sons watched, despairing of having a go. A red setter was sniffing at a toy poodle that seemed to be enjoying the attention until its owner suddenly noticed, nearly had hysterics and scared both dogs off.  They ran past him, a red-faced man about to abandon the chase but managed to puff along a few more yards before flinging himself on the grassy bank.  A little girl was tugging a green ribbon from her long, auburn hair, as yet unnoticed by her mother who had taken over throwing bread to a pair of swans.
Would you feel any different, Fred Winter, if you and Helen had been able to have kids? Would it have made this awful emptiness any easier to bear? But there were no answers. He could only surmise what might have been.  After the third miscarriage, they had been advised not to try again. But we were happy, weren’t we?   Just then, a flock of geese flew low overhead, squawking a resounding...Yes
 Winter glanced at his watch. By the time he had strolled back to the car it would be nearly six o’clock “Time to grab a cappuccino and a bite to eat somewhere then...what?” Camden Town was only a few minutes drive away.  He took Julie Simpson’s shopping list from his shirt pocket and read aloud the address for Liam Brady’s mother on the back. He glared at the neat handwriting and it glared back at him. What do you care, Fred Winter, about any of this? What’s it to you whether or not Ruth Temple wanted to kill herself?   So two men skidded on the Devil’s Elbow and went hurtling over a cliff within eighteen months of each other, so what?  These things happen all the time.  Are you really such a wimp that you need an excuse to go back to Monk’s Tallow? Winter corrected himself. Are you really such a wimp that you need an excuse to go back to Monk’s Tallow on your own, without Helen?
One of the model planes crashed into the water and startled the swans. The mother went into a similar flap when she turned and saw her daughter, hair hanging loose, sucking on a green ribbon. The poodle scampered back to its owner, still flat on his back, and began licking his face.
It couldn’t do any harm, he supposed, to call on Mrs Brady. Since he was in the area, now was as good a time as any.  Come on Fred, get a grip.  It had to be done. He’d let Julie Simpson think he’d taken on the case, hadn’t he? Listen to yourself, Fred. You’re calling it a case already. Logically, he argued, there was no case and going against logic was plain daft. So that left him...where? In a bit of a muddle, he confided to the sagging visage of a passing cloud that reminded him of Audrey Ellis.
Winter made his way back, at a steady amble, to the spot where he had left the car.  He had a muddle on his hands and no mistake. The big question was - whose?  Life was a muddle whichever way you looked at it, surely? Too damn true, he muttered to himself.  A woman with a beret perched lopsidedly on her head gave him a funny look as she passed. He flung her a dazzling smile and she looked away nonplussed.
The trouble was he hadn’t been seeing things clearly for some time. Well, have I?  Winter ducked the question.  It was all very well to contemplate home truths but a man could get too close for comfort, especially one who had always prided himself on being as sharp as a needle. 
At least death is straightforward enough, commented a voice in his head, if you want it to be, the same voice added hastily, no doubt trying to be helpful. Winter groaned. He had been a copper long enough to know better.

To be continued on Friday.