Apportionment of Blame (18 page)

I looked at each picture in turn, but they were bland in the extreme and told me nothing, until I reached a calendar on the wall beyond the fireplace. It showed a Scottish scene of open moorland with mountains in the background. Interesting it should be Scotland, I thought.

There was so much I wanted to ask her, but I would have to tread very carefully, or I would risk losing my best lead to the truth, whatever that turned out to be.

Ilse returned with a plastic tray bearing a teapot and two mugs. As she busied herself pouring the tea, I sat down on one of the armchairs.

The hot mug she gave me came in sharp contrast to the ambience of the room.

“I think it's time I introduced myself,” I said. “My name is Greg.”

No reply. I sipped my tea.

“What should I call you?”

She looked at me.

“My name is Ilse.”

“That's an unusual name.”

“Is it? I haven't really thought about it.”

“Your brother, he must be quite close, to want to protect you.”

“We get on. What has he done?”

“He came to see me.” Another case of complete honesty not necessarily being the best policy.

“Did he threaten you?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“Because he said he might.”

As my tea had cooled a little, I was able to drink it properly rather than sip it. Useful thinking time.

“What does he think he's protecting you from?”

“From people asking questions.”

“Any questions, or questions specifically about the accident?”

“Any questions. I don't know anything about the accident. I told you.”

That was interesting. What did she have to hide besides a possible involvement in Helen's death? I didn't think for a minute it was simply a question of extreme shyness. Something, or things, were being hidden.

I looked round the room for inspiration as I drank my tea.

“These pictures came with the house, I suppose.”

“They're not mine.”

“I like the picture on the calendar. Was it sent by a friend in Scotland?”

There was a slight change in her expression, very slight, but it was there.

“My other brother sent it.”

“Does he live in Scotland then?”

“Yes.”

“What took him up there from London?”

The question clearly puzzled her.

“You said you were from London.”

“Oh, yes. But I used to live in Scotland.”

“Ah. I see.”

I wasn't sure what it was I saw, but anything that linked Ilse to Scotland was potentially relevant, and certainly intriguing.

“So you and your brother moved south. In search of work, I suppose?”

“Yes. There weren't many jobs where we were living.”

“Where was that?”

“Montrose.”

I smiled.

“I only know of Montrose from Scottish football results. I couldn't tell you where it is.”

“Dad was a fisherman.”

“Was?”

“He's dead now.”

“I'm sorry. Is your mother still up in Scotland.”

“She's dead too.”

“Oh.” I didn't bother quoting Oscar Wilde on losing both parents. It would have been entirely inappropriate, and I don't think she would have understood anyway.

“How long have you been in London?”

“About twenty years.”

“And did you find it easy when you first arrived, getting a job?”

She looked at me. Every one of her answers came after a short, but significant pause, as if she was weighing very carefully what she would or could tell me.

“Doug's a builder.”

Ah, I thought. That explains the ladder.

“Dad gave him some money to buy somewhere he could live and do up.”

“And you?”

“I came with him. We shared the house and I did things for him.”

“Things?”

“Well, I helped him with the house to start with. Painting and things. Then he sold it and bought somewhere else, so he could do the same thing again.”

“I see. He became a developer.”

“I suppose you could call it that. He got people working for him. The business grew and I did the books for him. I've always been good with figures.”

“So why did you decide to come and live out here, in the sticks?”

“I wanted a change.”

I was watching her eyes, and they moved distinctly when she said that.

“But you don't like it, you said.”

“No.”

“So how long have you lived here?”

“About eighteen months, I suppose.”

At least that fitted with her entry in the phone book.

“Have you made many friends here?”

“Not really. The neighbours speak, but that's all.”

“You must feel very lonely.”

“Yes.”

“I think you've done very well to stay as long as you have. Has it been worth it, coming here?”

“What do you mean, worth it?” Distinct suspicion was back in her voice, so I decided to ease off and stick with what I had, not that it was a great deal.

“I mean are you glad you came? Most of us have dreams -things we would like to try. Sometimes the dreams work out, but sometimes they don't. The only way to discover if the dream is as you expected, is to try. You tried. Are you glad you tried?

My attempt at simple philosophy appeared lost on her.

“I preferred living in London.”

A good detective, like a good gambler, must know when to stop. Now was the time.

I leaned forward to put my mug on the tray as I rose to leave.

“Well, thank you again for your hospitality.”

“Why did you come?” she suddenly asked.

That threw me. She had never asked me a question before.

“You haven't asked me anything, except about the calendar and my brother.”

I wondered how far I dare go with this. Was she involved with Helen's death or not? If she was, I knew I must give no indication that I suspected the fact, or she would clam up completely. I sat down again.

“You asked me earlier if your brother had threatened me. He told me today he's trying to protect you, but only from people worrying you with unnecessary questions. Is there another reason? Is there something you're not telling me?”

Her expression changed completely. I may not have hit the nail squarely on the head, but it was close. She turned away and spoke down towards her feet.

“I have no idea what happened to that girl. Her death was nothing to do with me.”

“Good. Then I suppose I shall have to believe you.”

She lifted her head and turned to look at me.

“Do you believe me?”

“I want to, Ilse. But this case is so complicated I'm not sure who I can believe.”

I stood up again and nothing else was said as she showed me to the door. I thanked her and, once again, heard the door close abruptly behind me.

George Harrison was singing ‘All things must pass' as I drove home and pondered what I had learned. A lot of things must pass, I thought, before I get to the bottom of this case.

Ilse was from Scotland. That's when the penny dropped. Her accent. Of course. And Annie had lived in Scotland. Ilse said her parents were dead. It would be interesting to know how long ago they had died.

She had moved to the country from London, to live quite close to where Annie had lived. Was that relevant or coincidence? Surely not another coincidence.

London is surrounded by open country. Why come to this particular corner?

Eighteen months ago Annie was still alive. Did something happen after Ilse arrived to cause Annie to make her sole beneficiary?

And always I was left with what I started with. How and why did Helen die?

Ilse didn't seem like a person who would push someone under a train. That left me with the same question. Was it an accident or suicide? In fact I was no further forward.

Chapter 10

O
nce
again Joyce was at the pub before me. I glanced at my watch as I hate to be late, but I wasn't. Being early must reflect her concern.

She was nursing an orange juice at the bar. I ordered a pint of IPA and we moved away to find a table.

“What are you doing with yourself?” I asked her.

“Nothing much. I signed on again yesterday, and part of the deal with getting benefit is that you have to apply for work.”

“I suppose teaching is out of the question now.”

Her head fell.

“Yes. I was so stupid. I don't know what came over me.”

“We're all allowed to make mistakes,” I offered.

“Not as big as that one. What with dad losing his job, and now losing Helen. At least Mum and Dad thought I was OK and set on a good career for life. Then I go and screw everything up.”

She noticed my expression.

“Don't look at me like that.”

“I'm sorry, but it was an amusing choice of words.”

“Let's just order, shall we?”

We made our choices, and I went to order the meals.

“Are you getting anywhere?” she asked when I sat down again.

“I don't know. I think so in some respects, but nothing makes complete sense yet.”

“Perhaps this is going to be one of those mysteries that is never solved.”

“I hope not. I have some ideas and I'm waiting for the answers to some enquiries.”

“What enquiries?”

“Well, first of all I think we can eliminate Stuart and Gemma. If we do that, the only area of enquiry we're left with is the inheritance.”

“But how can that have caused Helen's death?”

“I don't know at this stage. But I can find nothing else and no one else to link in any way with what happened.”

What should I tell her? How fair would it be to build up her hopes and then see them all come crashing down again.

I had a geographical link between Ilse and the accident site, and a brother who was going out of his way to scare me off. That must mean something.

I knew where Helen had been during part of her last afternoon, but only as far as the station. Who did she see, I wondered.

“There's too much mystery surrounding the inheritance, I know. Too many unanswered questions. But there's nothing else that we know of that even hints at a reason for Helen's death. What I need to discover is more about the beneficiary.”

“This Ilse Chambers person?” and she said it with real venom.

“Yes. And, of course, I still don't know the real cause of how Helen died. But I think I am making progress.”

I hoped I was able to sound convincing, but I saw no sign of a smile on Joyce's face. She just looked at me.

“It's like I said,” she said. “A mystery that is never solved. You should be spending time on other cases and earning some money. You know we can't afford to pay you.”

I leaned across and took her hand.

“And I've told you I don't want any payment. I'm doing this for you.”

As I said it, I realised that this was, in fact, the truth. Obviously I was working for the whole family, but deep down, I wanted things to work out for Joyce.

“This is neither the time nor the place to come on to me,” she said, sounding very serious.

“I didn't come here intending to come on to you. But I just suddenly realised something. How long have we known each other?”

“Since Year Nine. That school trip, remember?”

“Oh, yes. What a disaster that was. I'm not even going to try to work out how long ago that was, but all that time we've been good friends, haven't we?”

She didn't say anything, clearly curious as to where I was going with this.

“You know we have,” she said eventually.

“I think perhaps I've been scared to do anything, or say anything, which might have led to us being more than just friends.”

“You are coming on to me.” But at least, this time she said it with the hint of a smile on her face.

“I'm still scared. I don't want to do anything that might lead to losing you as a friend. And knowing that makes me realise how important you are to me. I think you always have been important to me.”

I was still holding her hand when the waitress brought our food, and we smiled as we separated to make room for the plates.