Read Online Murder in Mind by Veronica Heley - Free Book Online Page A

doorbell.
    There was Caroline Topping, small, dark and only a little plumper than Ellie remembered her to have been. She was flourishing a piece of paper. ‘Got it! I remembered just in time that my friend told me you’d moved into a big house, and of course it’s in the phone book, but I’m not sure that this photo is any good.’
    Ellie ushered Caroline into the big sitting-room at the back of the house and offered coffee, but Caroline was in a hurry . . . Had she always lived life at this pace? It appeared that her son Duncan had returned home wearing someone else’s jacket, and she had to drop it back to its owner and collect his, which she sincerely hoped he’d taken home instead, but you never know with children, do you? So if Ellie didn’t mind, she’d just leave the photo with her and be off.
    â€˜Well, thank you; but it’s really the police who need it, not me. Couldn’t you take it in to them tomorrow?’
    â€˜Sorry, no can do. Half-term, and we’re off tomorrow, sharing a rented house down in Cornwall, right by the beach, I do hope the beds are all right, for my husband complains something shocking if they’re too hard or too soft. So I won’t be here. Look, I took a chance on a quick snap of the clown with my mobile phone and it hasn’t printed off very well. I think my printer needs a new colour cartridge, but you can see what he was like, a bit.’
    â€˜Was it definitely a man? How could you tell?’
    â€˜Oh. I don’t know. I assumed he was male because clowns usually are, aren’t they? Quite young, I thought. Someone doing work experience, clowning for the play centre, you know? That’s what I thought, if I thought at all, which I didn’t because it was all a bit chaotic that morning . . .’
    She burbled on, but Ellie concentrated on the photo, which showed the clown in profile. A tallish person to judge by the way he/she towered over the children. Thin, to judge by a spindly neck, though wearing bulky clothing. A rubbery clown’s face with a wide, smiling mouth. A mask? Ginger wig, with longish hair all over the place. Red coat, wide lapels, huge buttons. Baggy black trousers. Caroline hadn’t got all of him or her into the frame, and the polished black shoes were not included.
    One white-gloved hand held a plate stacked with biscuits while the other hand clutched the strings of a number of brightly coloured balloons: red, blue and yellow.
    Caroline pointed to the clown’s right hand. ‘The end of each balloon string was tied round into a loop, so that they could be given out quickly. Quite clever, really. The clown said, “Roll up for a birthday treat!” or something like that. All the children ran up and took a biscuit and a balloon each in orderly fashion, except that that one child pushed everyone aside to get at the biscuits. She wasn’t interested in the balloons, only in the biscuits.’
    â€˜Abigail, I assume?’
    Caroline pulled a face. ‘Everyone knows Abigail. Knew. She was more often there than not. The kind of child your child avoids, you know? Although I shouldn’t speak of her like that, not really. Dreadful, dreadful thing!’
    â€˜I think it’s important that the police get a clear picture of Abigail, because her father wants to sue the play centre for failing to stop her eating the biscuits. Oh, and he’s sacked the au pair for the same reason.’
    â€˜Has he?’ Mrs Topping looked at her watch. ‘That’s a bit over the top, isn’t it? I must keep an eye on the time, because—’
    â€˜What was the au pair like?’
    Caroline screwed up her face. ‘Couldn’t say “boo” to a goose, as my mother used to say about a girl who lived down the road from us. Turned out the girl was being abused by her father but none of us knew that at the time. This girl was Polish. Nice enough, but not really up to