Murder in Hampstead by Sabina Manea (read this if txt) 📕

carpenters’ cottages which had been recently elevated to accommodation for the professional classes. It was instantly recognisable even before Lucia saw the door number, being the only one without a modishly painted front door. The patch of grass at the front was missing the touch of a lawnmower. She rang the doorbell and waited for what seemed like an eternity.

The door was opened by a well-fed woman anywhere between thirty and fifty, complete with pink velour tracksuit, curled blonde hair, and laboriously applied eyelashes.

‘Hello. My name’s Lucia. I’m looking for Dr Oleg Ivanov.’

‘Hello, love. Well, you’re a bit late. He passed away a couple of years ago. What business have you got with him?’

‘I’ve come to bring news about a mutual friend. Someone he used to work with.’

‘Oh, that. Yes, he was always talking to me about his work. Not that I understood any of it, mind you. It came with the job, caring for him, that is. And I did it well, if I do say so myself. He was an easy one, I must say. No trouble at all – up early, at his desk and writing, then reading in his chair and only wanting plain little meals. No trouble at all. I was chuffed when he left me this place. Didn’t see it coming. Though you do think, all this time wiping his you-know-what, I deserve something for it, don’t I? He took care of me in the end. No family to leave it to, so it would have been a waste, nice house like this.’

The long stream of verbal diarrhoea was very welcome since it saved further questioning. Lucia was running out of steam – it was early afternoon, and she hadn’t had a chance to stop for lunch. Besides, she was itching to share her findings with Carliss. She found herself having imaginary conversations with him, filling him in on her findings, and berated herself for it. She didn’t need his approval.

‘I’m sorry to hear that he’s gone. Well, I’ll be off then. Thanks for your help.’

Typical, that it should be a dead end. After the initial elation of pursuing an exciting lead, Lucia was deflated. Still, what she had unearthed about the Professor was serious food for thought.

Chapter 9

There wasn’t anything Lucia was particularly keen to do, nowhere she had to go. The prospect of returning to her empty flat and whiling away the hours until she fell asleep didn’t really appeal. The Red Lion would be the perfect place to have a quiet drink and regroup. She was wrong. The pub was far from empty. Luckily, the crowd had spilled outside, cigarettes and vapes in hand. The clientele was the same as on a Friday, minus the ones who hadn’t been able to escape weekend family duties. The average age was early twenties – old enough to be drinking legally, young enough to live with their parents and be desperate to get out of the house after Sunday lunch.

Becky smiled conspiratorially from behind the bar. Lucia had her down as a good sort. She was nineteen and invariably looked picture-perfect, halfway between Old Hollywood and second-rate adult movie. Newcomers would often mistake her appearance for availability but were soon put right. Becky had a boyfriend in the Marines and a low threshold for suggestive comments.

‘Alright, Lucia? You’re not going to turn me down this time, are you?’

‘No, I’m definitely here to drink. Pour away.’

Becky fetched a large glass of the white Burgundy and stirred herself a sickly concoction of flavoured gin and tonic. It was the weekend for her too, after all.

‘Busy for a Sunday, isn’t it?’

‘Nah, this lot are always in here. Nothing better to do, I suppose. No chores, no kids. Might as well have a good time before they’ve got to be back at the grindstone tomorrow. Cheers then. I hear you got the big house. Not that it makes a difference, now the old bat’s gone.’ Becky leaned over, her gravity-defying false eyelashes quivering like giant spiders. ‘I hear you were there when she died. What was it like?’

‘Pretty awful. She must have been in a lot of pain. They took her to the hospital straight away, not that it made any difference.’

‘It’s mental. Like something you read about in the papers, but you never think you’d see it on your own doorstep.’ Becky looked more titillated than terrified, like she’d magically stepped into a popular crime drama. ‘And the coppers turned up. They don’t just drop in on every single person who’s kicked the bucket. They obviously think something fishy’s going on.’

‘Yes, I spoke to them. Adam was there too.’ Lucia left it there, hoping Becky would stay true to form and fill in the information gap.

‘Adam? Ooh, that’s exciting. Maybe he’s the one who bumped her off. Doesn’t strike me as the killing type. But then again, it’s always the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for. The ones who don’t look like they’ve got it in them.’ She was off on a wander in her imaginary murder mystery. ‘Getting him in to do all her dirty work and stringing him along like that. He must have just snapped.’

‘What do you mean, stringing him along?’

‘Oh, you know, everyone’s gossiping about it around here. He’s like her butler or something, running the house, doing all her errands, except he’s not getting paid for it. Or not getting paid enough. He spends plenty of time drinking the bar dry in here, and that’s not cheap. Mind you, he must have a day job. Always wearing that suit. He and Danny were having a good old chinwag in the corner the other day. I heard Adam whinging that he’s got no money. Tight old cow. It’s not like she was poor, with a pile like that.’

So, Adam and Danny hadn’t just ‘bumped’ into each other down