Murder in House by Veronica Heley Page A

there. Ellie swallowed. What Thomas said made sense, but she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to tangle with the woman again. It required a vast expenditure of energy even to think about it, and at the moment she felt completely and utterly limp, without a working muscle anywhere in her body.
    Thomas had cocked his head, listening. Rose must have turned her television up, for they could hear it quite clearly now. ‘My dear, do you think it’s about time we reorganized things for Rose?’
    Another anxiety. ‘I promised she wouldn’t have to go into a home.’
    He patted her hand. ‘Of course not. But the stairs are getting too much for her, so couldn’t we rearrange her sitting room to make it into a bed-sitting room? There’s a washbasin and toilet in the cloakroom off the hall, which she could use temporarily, but perhaps we should put a shower in that little room off the kitchen that we only use for storage?’
    â€˜I didn’t want to make any changes while she could still get up the stairs to her bedroom, but you’re right. I’ll ask Stewart to get things moving.’ She sighed. ‘Some days she brightens up and is almost her old self again. We’ve been friends for so long, and she made Aunt Drusilla’s last few years so happy that I feel really bad about this. I did think I could do everything for her myself, but I can’t and now I worry about leaving her when I go out shopping or to see people. Now there’s this troublesome affair of Ursula’s to worry about. I agree. It’s time to do something.’
    â€˜Don’t lay a guilt trip on yourself, Ellie.’ He was right, of course, but facing facts was never comfortable. Ellie got up to turn off the sidelights and put the day’s papers into a tidy pile for recycling. ‘The other day she said she was sure she could hear my aunt’s bell ringing for her to take in the tea. Then she laughed at herself, and I laughed with her. Five minutes later she’d cupped her hand around her ear, listening for it again. But she’s not unhappy, is she?’
    â€˜No, my dear. She’s not. Now, come to bed?’
    Tuesday morning
    It was past eleven the next morning before Ellie had attended to various business matters and got herself out of the house. As she nerved herself to push open the door of the police station, she told herself that helpful and intelligent members of the police force did exist, and that not all the officers at this station treated her as a bumbling idiot, although she could think of several who did.
    She fantasized that in response to her request to see DI Willis they would say that the DI was away on a sabbatical, or had been transferred to another division – perhaps to the moon? – or even, of course, that she had been demoted and was therefore no longer available to reduce Ellie to the quivers.
    â€˜Detective Inspector Willis?’ The desk sergeant raised his eyebrows. ‘You might just be lucky. Who shall I say?’
    â€˜Mrs Quicke. Ellie Quicke. It’s about the student who was killed early in January.’
    His eyes sharpened. It was clear he’d heard of her, and that what he’d heard failed to amuse him. He accessed an internal phone. ‘There’s a Mrs Quicke here to see you, about that student who killed himself.’ He listened, flicking a glance up at Ellie, smoothing out a smile at what he was hearing from the DI. He put the phone down. ‘I’m afraid she’s not available. Perhaps you’d like to talk to one of our WPCs?’
    Ellie reddened. ‘I’ll wait.’
    â€˜Perhaps you’d care to sit over there?’ He was being elaborately polite. Ellie wondered if forced politeness were worse than rudeness, but now that she was here, she would wait and see what she could find out. So she sat. And waited. The seat was hard. Several people came in from outside and spoke to the