alley.
The yard was full of stuff. Empty crates, full crates, packing cases, dismembered cardboard boxes baled up for the refuse people to take, and everywhere scraps of squashed fruit and withered leaves.
Ganesh picked out a couple of apples and handed me one. I was surprised to find I was hungry. We sat down side by side and between bites at the apple, I told him as much as I could. It wasn’t much. Inspector Janice had given strict instructions that I wasn’t to talk to anyone about anything. But Ganesh wasn’t just anyone. Anyway, if he’d already heard someone had been found dead in the house, he knew nearly as much as I did.
However, I’d had some theatrical training, so I made a good story of it and finished up on a highpoint by suggesting the police thought it was murder.
Cheap theatricals didn’t impress Ganesh who looked sceptical. ‘Gossip around the place says she hanged herself.’
Word travelled fast. ‘They think someone helped her.’
‘Who?’ That was Ganesh for you, always the awkward question.
‘Us, probably. We didn’t.’ Something had occurred to me and it made things worse. ‘Gan, if it’s true, if someone killed her, she let him into the house.’
We had fixed up a proper lock on the front door. Or rather, Declan had. We locked it when we went out to stop anyone else taking over our squat, quite apart from the council getting in and repossessing us. When we were at home, we locked ourselves in as a matter of principle. Apart from the council, there were plenty of people out there who might like to make trouble for us, the developers for a start. We even blocked up the letterbox after dark to prevent anyone pushing lighted rags through it. That had happened elsewhere.
If one of us was alone in the house, we took extra care. Entrance was strictly by the front door. Terry would have locked it and not opened it for anyone she didn’t know and trust. The downstairs windows didn’t open easily. The wooden frames had swollen with damp and warped with age. The old sash cords didn’t work. Just to push the window open an inch took two people and more effort than it was worth.
‘When the police realise that, it’s going to make it look worse for us,’ I concluded. ‘Like an inside job.’
‘She knew people outside,’ he said, ‘people she’d have let in. Let the police go and hassle them.’
‘That’s the point, Gan. I can’t name a single one. We knew nothing at all about her, where she went, what she did when she left the house. She was always suspicious, secretive.’
Ganesh said unkindly that Terry had always struck him as a headcase.
At this point, his father came out to see why Ganesh had stopped working. Mr Patel has a sort of sixth sense which tells him where and when anyone he’s employing isn’t working one hundred per cent. I’ve worked in the shop on a Saturday and I know.
When he saw me, he looked relieved. ‘Ah! There you are, Francesca! We have all been extremely worried about you, my dear. What on earth is going on?’
‘She’s just telling me about it, Dad!’ Ganesh said patiently.
‘Terry’s dead, Mr Patel,’ I told him.
‘That other girl? This is very bad. How has she died?’
His brow furrowed into deep worry lines as I told him. Unwarily I let slip that the police thought the death might be suspicious. As that, he erupted, jabbing a forefinger at me in accusation and looking as if he was going to have a fit.
‘Murder! Murder, are you saying, Francesca? In this street? So near to my shop? In this place where you are living?’ He rounded on Ganesh. ‘Have I not told you so?’
Ganesh snapped back at him in Gujarati and, the next thing, they were at it hammer and tongs with me unable to understand a word.
But I didn’t need a translator. I could guess what it was all about. After a while Mr Patel turned and stamped off back into the shop.
Ganesh, breathing heavily, said, ‘Sorry about that.’
‘Never mind. I
The yard was full of stuff. Empty crates, full crates, packing cases, dismembered cardboard boxes baled up for the refuse people to take, and everywhere scraps of squashed fruit and withered leaves.
Ganesh picked out a couple of apples and handed me one. I was surprised to find I was hungry. We sat down side by side and between bites at the apple, I told him as much as I could. It wasn’t much. Inspector Janice had given strict instructions that I wasn’t to talk to anyone about anything. But Ganesh wasn’t just anyone. Anyway, if he’d already heard someone had been found dead in the house, he knew nearly as much as I did.
However, I’d had some theatrical training, so I made a good story of it and finished up on a highpoint by suggesting the police thought it was murder.
Cheap theatricals didn’t impress Ganesh who looked sceptical. ‘Gossip around the place says she hanged herself.’
Word travelled fast. ‘They think someone helped her.’
‘Who?’ That was Ganesh for you, always the awkward question.
‘Us, probably. We didn’t.’ Something had occurred to me and it made things worse. ‘Gan, if it’s true, if someone killed her, she let him into the house.’
We had fixed up a proper lock on the front door. Or rather, Declan had. We locked it when we went out to stop anyone else taking over our squat, quite apart from the council getting in and repossessing us. When we were at home, we locked ourselves in as a matter of principle. Apart from the council, there were plenty of people out there who might like to make trouble for us, the developers for a start. We even blocked up the letterbox after dark to prevent anyone pushing lighted rags through it. That had happened elsewhere.
If one of us was alone in the house, we took extra care. Entrance was strictly by the front door. Terry would have locked it and not opened it for anyone she didn’t know and trust. The downstairs windows didn’t open easily. The wooden frames had swollen with damp and warped with age. The old sash cords didn’t work. Just to push the window open an inch took two people and more effort than it was worth.
‘When the police realise that, it’s going to make it look worse for us,’ I concluded. ‘Like an inside job.’
‘She knew people outside,’ he said, ‘people she’d have let in. Let the police go and hassle them.’
‘That’s the point, Gan. I can’t name a single one. We knew nothing at all about her, where she went, what she did when she left the house. She was always suspicious, secretive.’
Ganesh said unkindly that Terry had always struck him as a headcase.
At this point, his father came out to see why Ganesh had stopped working. Mr Patel has a sort of sixth sense which tells him where and when anyone he’s employing isn’t working one hundred per cent. I’ve worked in the shop on a Saturday and I know.
When he saw me, he looked relieved. ‘Ah! There you are, Francesca! We have all been extremely worried about you, my dear. What on earth is going on?’
‘She’s just telling me about it, Dad!’ Ganesh said patiently.
‘Terry’s dead, Mr Patel,’ I told him.
‘That other girl? This is very bad. How has she died?’
His brow furrowed into deep worry lines as I told him. Unwarily I let slip that the police thought the death might be suspicious. As that, he erupted, jabbing a forefinger at me in accusation and looking as if he was going to have a fit.
‘Murder! Murder, are you saying, Francesca? In this street? So near to my shop? In this place where you are living?’ He rounded on Ganesh. ‘Have I not told you so?’
Ganesh snapped back at him in Gujarati and, the next thing, they were at it hammer and tongs with me unable to understand a word.
But I didn’t need a translator. I could guess what it was all about. After a while Mr Patel turned and stamped off back into the shop.
Ganesh, breathing heavily, said, ‘Sorry about that.’
‘Never mind. I
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