Murder on the Hill (8 page)

“I’m sorry, no,” I said. “We’re here to talk about a private matter. My mother”—I inclined my head to Cordi, ignoring her incredulous face—“is better off at home, where we can keep a close eye on her, you know, because of the…
episodes
.”

“I see,” the receptionist said, her eyes widening. “One moment. I’ll fetch Ms. Leadbetter for you.” She hurried off through a door behind the desk.

Cordi turned to me at first with her lips pursed, but then they stretched into a grin. She slapped me on the upper arm as we both chuckled.

“You’re so bad,” she said.

I shrugged. “Nothing to say we can’t have fun on the job.”

“Quite.”

“You getting the creepy vibes yet?” I said, pointing up at the portrait.

“It is starting to feel like a cross between
House on Haunted Hill
and
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
.”

“Let’s hope Leadbetter isn’t a Nurse Ratched.”

Leadbetter wasn’t, thankfully.

She came out from behind the door, prim and proper in her starched blue and white uniform and her dark brown hair tied back into a bun. She must have been in her early fifties and wore neutral but expertly applied makeup so it almost looked like she wasn’t wearing any.

With a quick introduction, she took us into a private room at the end of a long hallway.

The room smelled of stale instant coffee and cigarette smoke, reminding me of the headmaster’s office at my last school.

With papers and magazines on a table, I assumed this was probably a staff break room.

We took a seat as Leadbetter fussed with the coffee machine. She handed us a couple of plastic cups. I took one whiff of the foul liquid and placed it politely on the table.

“It’s like I said on the phone,” Leadbetter started. “I really can’t help you that much, but I’m happy to answer what I can.”

“How long had you been caring for Mrs. Bellman?” Cordi asked.

Leadbetter took a sip of her drink and sat opposite us. Her uniform crinkled unflatteringly around her waist. “About eight months. Mr. Bellman hired us after Meredith, Mrs. Bellman, had a mild stroke. With all the hours Mr. Bellman was working in the shop, he wanted her to have someone to care for her when he wasn’t able.”

“And did you notice anything strange during those times?” Cordi said. “Did Mrs. Bellman ever speak of enemies or any kind of trouble that Mr. Bellman might have been involved with?”

Leadbetter pursed her lips as she thought. She tapped her flat-soled beige slip-on shoe against the carpet. “I can’t think of anything that could be called strange or trouble.”

“You were with her the day before she died, is that right?” I asked.

“I was, yes, but I can assure you, she was perfectly healthy after I left her. I can even show you my report that Mr. Bellman signed. I had left some notes about Meredith’s exercise regime. She was sitting around too much. I told Mr. Bellman that he ought to try to get her out of the flat more often, get her to walk around more.”

Leadbetter fiddled with a pin on her breast pocket. A small silver broach in the shape of what looked like a four-leaf clover, but with sharper leaf detail. Leadbetter noticed I was staring and clasped her hands together over one of her stocking knees.

“Ms. Leadbetter,” Cordi started, “did Mrs. Bellman ever mention the break-in or the item left by the intruder?”

“No, I heard about it from Mr. Bellman, though. He was quite agitated about it. But Meredith waved it off as some kind of prank. Said it was probably just a competitor trying to scare her husband.”

“And do you think that’s likely?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t know. I have no clue. I’m not sure why you would expect me to. I just cared for Meredith for a few hours a week. I didn’t have inside knowledge of their business.”

Crap, I was antagonising her. I waited for Cordi to bring it back around, but we had little to go on.

“In your experience,” Cordi said, “is it unusual for someone in Meredith’s condition to die so suddenly? She was only in her sixties.”

“It’s not rare, unfortunately. I don’t know the details of Meredith’s death yet. I was planning on calling Mr. Bellman, but wanted to give him time—he’s late for his payment to us and racked up quite the bill. I’m sure you can understand that would be awkward to address at this time.”

“Indeed. It’s entirely understandable,” Cordi said.

All throughout the questioning, I noticed Leadbetter kept looking up to the door that we had our back to and her face tighten with tension. Finally, I turned around and saw Winkle peering through, staring at Leadbetter. She avoided his gaze.

“If there isn’t anything else,” she said. “I really ought to get back to my duties.”

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with us,” Cordi said, standing up and placing her full cup of coffee on the table.

“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” Leadbetter said, also standing, and smoothing her uniform. She strode across the room, opening the door. Winkle shuffled off down the corridor. Leadbetter stood there, waiting for us to leave.

Cordi handed her a card. “If you do think of anything that could help, please call me. Anything at all.”

“I really can’t help you, but if something does come to mind, you’ll be the first to know.” She took the card and ushered us out, walking behind us as though pushing us down the corridor. When we got to the reception area, she walked around us and blocked our exit before checking around her. The reception was empty. Winkle must have gone into one of the rooms.

“One more thing,” Leadbetter said. “Please don’t bother the residents, their minds are not all there, and I’d hate for you to receive wrong information.”

Cordi eyed her for a moment and then smiled. “Absolutely, we’re leaving right away. Thank you again for your time.”

Seemingly satisfied, Leadbetter headed back down the corridor.

We exited the mansion through the double doors. I was thankful to be back out into the open air so I didn’t have to put up with the smell any longer.

We got into the car, and Cordi was about to turn the ignition when a tap on her window made her squeal with surprise.

Winkle!

Cordi wound down the window. “Winkle, you scared the hell out of me. What is it?”

He leaned in. His eyes were rheumy and red spots covered his face. “Notice anything wrong with ol’ Leadbetter?”

“Not really, why?” I asked.

“They do weird things in the chapel at night sometimes. I’ve heard them.”

“What kind of weird things?”

“I don’t know, the doors are locked. But since Leadbetter joined the home, the mortality rate has shot up. Rather odd, wouldn’t you say? I’ve got the figures to prove it.” He fished out a piece of crumpled paper and handed it to Cordi. Dates and numbers were scrawled in pencil.

“See,” he said, pointing to a red line. “That’s before she came, and that’s after. We call her the ‘Angel of Death’.”

“What are you suggesting, Winkle?” I asked.

“It was her that done ol’ Bellman in. I can prove it too. Come to the chapel tomorrow night around midnight. You’ll hear what I heard.”

Leadbetter appeared in the doorway. Winkle eased out of the window and said, “Crap, she’s rumbled me. I best go. But please, trust me. Ol’ Winkle hasn’t lost his marbles just yet. She’s up to something.”

He shuffled off, heading back to the home’s entrance.

“We better go,” I said. “Before anything else crazy happens.”

Leadbetter approached Winkle to help him inside.

Cordi checked all her mirrors, fired the engine, and headed back to Notting Hill. I took Winkle’s piece of paper from her and inspected the numbers. If he was being truthful, the death rate was indeed higher after Leadbetter had arrived, going up by at least thirty percent. That was quite significant.

“So what do you think?” Cordi asked.

“Well, usually on a Friday evening, I head to Soho for drinks and a gig, but how can that compare to snooping on a care home chapel?”

“You think Winkle’s telling the truth?”

“Only one way to find out. Unless you have other plans?”

“Just teacakes and TV with the cat,” Cordi said. “So scoping out a care home it is, then.”

I was way more excited about that prospect than I ever thought I would be.

CHAPTER 9

Before we left the M25 motorway and headed back into central London after our care home visit, Cordi got a call from her aunt. I couldn’t make out what the hurried conversation was about. When she hung up, her face was tense, lips pressed together and eyes narrow.

And she was doing her racing car driver impression.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Aunt Maggie.”

“Oh, is she okay?”

“She’s fine. But the house isn’t. We’ve been broken into. She’s over there now, dealing with the police. And one guess who else is there.”

From her driving it seemed pretty obvious. “Alex?” I hid the hope in my voice as best as I could, but my stomach filled with butterflies when Cordi grunted in affirmation. She mumbled under her breath a stream of obscenities, presumably aimed at her ex.

All I could think of was how he looked at me in the library. As though I were a chocolate muffin and he were a starving man. I tried not to let the image of him eating me show on my face, but I still blushed. Cordi was too distracted with anger to notice, thankfully.

“Did your aunt say if anything was taken?”

“The old bat didn’t say anything about that. Just complained about my lack of security. When we arrive, don’t let her get to you. She’s a mean-spirited witch at times.”

If Alex was there, I doubted I’d even notice. I gripped the hand rest on the passenger door and prayed we’d get there in one piece as Cordi took a bend at high speed.

***

I breathed a sigh of relief when Cordi parked outside of her place.

We hadn’t crashed and died in a ball of flame. Which was always nice. My legs were shaky when I got out. A number of nosey bystanders were hanging around outside their town houses, watching what was going on at Cordi’s.

The sun was shining, and the heat made sweat drip down my back.

An unmarked black BMW was parked in front of Cordi’s space. Alex’s, I was told. Behind that was an old Citroen 2CV in bright yellow, large rusted parts colonising the doors and roof.

“Aunt Maggie’s witch-mobile,” Cordi said, nodding to the out-of-place car. “She uses it to fight crime. And by fight crime I mean nag anyone and everyone.”

Cordi locked the car and walked around the front.

The door to her house was ajar. I heard voices coming from inside. One in particular caught my attention: Alex’s. Deep and resounding, he commanded someone to leave the mess where it was.

When Cordi led me in, the place looked even worse than it did before.

Books and broken shelving barred the hallway. To our immediate right, the doorway led into the living room. That was much the same, though it was difficult to say how much of that was due to the break-in and how much was my fault from the cat-plus-bookcase incident.

Alex stood in the middle of the mess, a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other.

Next to him, hunched over and almost half his height, was an old lady with her white hair in rollers and pink-framed bifocals resting on her hooked nose.

She looked up at Cordi and sneered.

“Oh, so you’re finally here, then,” she said with a nasally voice, adjusting her beige cardigan around her skeletal frame. “You took your time. As though I don’t have enough to do with your uncle needing me to care for him, you’ve let this happen. Look at the state of this place. You brought this on yourself, Cordelia. How many times did I tell you to improve the security, eh? I feared for my life working here on my own. A gangster could have beaten me to death; you know what it’s like these days.”

Alex was smirking, trying not to laugh.

He still wore his biker’s jacket and looked entirely too casual, and too hot, for a regular cop, but beneath the jacket I could see his badge hanging around his neck on a chain. A uniformed officer appeared from the back of the room. Maggie fixed him with a stare, freezing him to the spot as if she were Medusa.

“Auntie, I got here as soon as I could. I don’t control the traffic, you know.”

“Excuses, Cordelia. Always with the excuses. If you weren’t gallivanting about the town with your”—she looked at me with a beady, scrutinising eye, and her face took on an expression of disapproval. I knew that look from experience—“young punk friends, maybe this place wouldn’t have been targeted. Your mother and father, God bless their souls, didn’t die and give this place to you for it to become a drug den for riff-raff.”

Alex placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Maggie. There’s no risk of riff-raff here.”

“It’s not the point,” she said.

Cordi sighed loudly and shook her head. “For a start, this isn’t my punk friend. This is my new employee. Your more-capable replacement.”

Oh great. ‘Aunt’ Maggie’s gaze bored right into me like some kind of heat ray, pinning me in place. Perhaps she was a witch after all.

She raised an eyebrow and looked me up and down.

“Before you say anything that you regret, Auntie, can you please just tell me what’s gone on? Actually, don’t, you’ve said enough already, and unless you want me to throw you out, I suggest you let Alex tell me.” Cordi crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Maggie opened her mouth to retort, but Cordi glared at her. “I mean it. Alex, what the hell happened here?”

Alex stepped over a collapsed pile of debris and stood in front of Cordi between her and Maggie. He consulted his notebook. “Mr. Crawford, the neighbour, called me an hour ago to tell me that a locksmith was working on the front door.”

“Wait, what? Locksmith? And why was Crawford calling you?”

Alex shrugged. “We’re friends still. He thought it looked suspicious and gave me the heads-up.”

Cordi’s nostrils flared. “Just how much spying on me has that old fool Crawford done for you?”

“None. Cordi, please, this isn’t about us. It’s about someone breaking in and trashing the place. I’ll need you to go through and tell me if anything’s missing.” He looked around then. And like the rest of us knew that would be an impossible task given just how much stuff there was here.