After giving Ibrahim his instructions for the day, Elizabeth headed straight over for this chat. She is in her usual chair.
“He absolutely seems the type to have had enemies. T-shirt, big house, more tattoos than Ron, so on and so forth. The police will be making a list of suspects right now, and we’ll have to get our hands on it. In the absence of the list, though, why don’t we look at whether Ian Ventham killed Tony Curran? You remember Ian Ventham? With the aftershave? Ventham and Tony Curran had a little fight. Ron saw them, of course—when does he ever miss a thing? And Joyce said something about Pizza Express, but I knew what she meant.”
Elizabeth tries to mention Joyce more often these days, because why deny it?
“Shall we make some reasonable assumptions? Let’s say that Ventham is unhappy with Curran, or Curran is unhappy with Ventham. It doesn’t much matter which. They have something to discuss, and yet they meet in public, which is peculiar.”
She checks her watch. She is subtle about it, despite everything.
“So, let’s say straight after the consultation meeting, Ventham has bad news to break. He fears Curran’s reaction so much that he meets him in public view. He hopes to placate him. But in Ron’s view he was unsuccessful. I’m paraphrasing Ron there.”
There is a small sponge cube on a stick next to the bed. Elizabeth places it in a jug of water and wets Penny’s dry lips. The metallic chirp of Penny’s heart monitor fills the silence.
“So how would Ventham react in that scenario, Penny? Facing Curran with a grudge? Switch to plan B? Follow Curran to his house? Let me in, let’s just talk about this, perhaps I’ve been too hasty? And then, wallop, as simple as that, don’t you think? He kills Curran before Curran kills him?”
Elizabeth looks around for her bag. She places her hands on the arms of the chair, ready to leave.
“But why? That’s the question I know you’d ask. I’m going to try and take a look at their financial relationship. Chase the money. There’s a man in Geneva who owes me a favor, so we should be able to get Ventham’s financial records by this evening. Either way, it sounds like fun, doesn’t it? An adventure. And I think we’ll have a few tricks that the police won’t. I’m sure they’d appreciate a bit of help, and that’s my task for this morning.”
Elizabeth gets out of her chair and walks to the side of the bed.
“A real murder to investigate, Penny. I promise I won’t let you miss a thing.”
She kisses her best friend on the forehead. She turns to the chair on the other side of the bed and gives a small smile.
“How are you, John?”
Penny’s husband, John Gray, puts down his book and looks up. “Oh, you know.”
“I do know. You always know where I am, John.”
The nurses say Penny can hear nothing, but who is to say? John Gray never speaks to Penny while Elizabeth is in the room. He comes into Willows at seven each morning and he leaves at nine each evening, back to the flat that he and Penny had lived in together. Back to the holiday trinkets and the old photos and the memories that he and Penny shared for fifty years.She knows that he talks to Penny when she is not there. And every time she walks in, always after knocking, she notices the fading white prints of John’s hand on Penny’s. His hand back on his book, though he always seems to be on the same page.
Elizabeth leaves the lovers together.
15.
Joyce
Every Wednesday I take the residents’ minibus into Fairhaven to do a spot of shopping. On Mondays it goes to Tunbridge Wells, half an hour in the other direction, but I like the younger feel of Fairhaven. I like to see what people are wearing, and I like to hear the seagulls. The driver’s name is Carlito, and he is generally understood to be Spanish, but I have chatted to him a number of times now, and it turns out he is Portuguese. He is very good about it, though.
There is a vegan café just off the seafront that I found a few months ago, and I am already looking forward to a nice mint tea and an almond-flour brownie. I am not a vegan and have no intention of ever becoming one, but I still feel like it’s something that should be encouraged. I read that if mankind doesn’t stop eating meat, there will be mass starvation by 2050. With respect, I am nearly eighty, and so this won’t be my problem, but I do hope they sort it out. My daughter, Joanna, is vegetarian, and one day I will take her there. We’ll just drop in, as if me visiting a vegan café is the most natural thing in the world.
The usual crowd are always on the bus. There are the regulars, Peter and Carol, a nice couple from Ruskin who take the minibus down to visit their daughter, who lives on the front. I know there are no grandkids, but nonetheless she seems to be home during the day. There will be a story there. There’s Sir Nicholas, who just goes for a stroll now that they won’t let him drive anymore. There’s Naomi, with her hip that they can’t get tothe bottom of, and a woman from Browning whose name I have never quite caught and am now too embarrassed to ask. She is friendly enough, though. (Elaine?)
I know that Bernard will be in his customary position at the back. I always feel like I would like to sit next to him—he is jolly company when he turns his mind to it—but I know he visits Fairhaven for his late wife, so I leave him in peace. That’s where they met, and that’s where they lived before they moved in here. He told me that since she died he would go to the Adelphi Hotel, where she used to work, and polish off a couple of glasses of wine, overlooking the sea. That’s how I first found out about the minibus, if I’m honest, so silver linings. They turned the Adelphi into a Travelodge last year, so now Bernard sits on the pier. That is less desolate than it sounds, as they recently revamped it, and it has won a number of awards.
Perhaps I will just sit next to him at the back of the bus one day. What am I waiting for?
I’m looking forward to my tea and brownie, but I’m also looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet. The whole of Coopers Chase is still gossiping about poor Tony Curran. We are around death a lot here, but even so. Not everyone is bludgeoned, are they?
Right, that’s me. If anything happens, I will report back.
16.
As the minibus is about to leave, the doors slide open for a final time, and Elizabeth steps in and takes the seat next to Joyce.
“Good morning, Joyce,” she says, smiling.
