‘What note?’ Kate asked.
‘The note that was pushed through my door. I wouldn’t call it a note exactly because it was printed from a computer, I think. Do you understand computers, Nurse?’
‘Well, technology is hardly my strong point but I’m familiar with most of the ordinary stuff,’ Kate replied.
‘I can’t abide the things. Nevertheless, I know if something’s been printed on a computer and this was.’
Kate was enthralled. ‘What was?’
‘The note!’ Edina Martinelli looked at her as if she was an imbecile. ‘I told you, I had a note pushed through the door! I can show it to you if you’re interested. The police gave it back to me and I have it in my bedroom somewhere.’
‘What was written on the note, Miss Martinelli?’
‘I’ll tell you, Nurse, exactly what was written on it: “If you don’t stop that noise I’m going to have to find a way to silence you!” I gave the note to the police. I told them I was in mortal danger but did they care? Not one bit! As a result I don’t feel at all safe.’
Kate, fascinated, digested this for a moment. ‘Who do you suspect then?’
‘Probably next door. He’s a writer of awful books! Simply dreadful books! But he seems to make a lot of money so I suppose someone must like reading about murder, and blood, and gore – because that is what he writes.’
There was obviously an awful lot more to these residents than Kate could ever have imagined. ‘But surely he would just come to you and air his grievances, wouldn’t he? Why on earth would he put a note through your door?’
‘He came to the door on several occasions, but he wasn’t getting anywhere. I refuse to take orders from the likes of him. The man is a philistine; he has no appreciation of music at all. He probably thought that a mysterious, anonymous note would scare me and shut me up. But he doesn’t scare me and that’s the reason I went to the police.’
‘Surely you can’t be certain it’s him?’ Kate said.
‘But don’t you see? He’s a novelist! He uses a computer all the time. And he certainly wouldn’t want anyone to prove that it’s him by writing by hand.’
‘Couldn’t it have been anyone else?’ Kate asked, enthralled.
‘Well, I can tell you who it couldn’t have been rather than who it could have been. Edgar in Number 6 is a retired vicar, you know, so it couldn’t have been him. And he doesn’t possess a computer. He’s such a kind man, and we have dinner together often. And then there’s my dear friend, Hetty, in Number 1 downstairs. She wouldn’t harm a fly. And then there’s the Potter twins, two ancient old ladies who live next door to Hetty. Highly unlikely it would be either of them.’
‘So you have no idea who else might have written the note?’ Kate asked.
Edina considered for a moment. ‘Well, there’s that common woman in Flat 3 who is insanely jealous, of course, because her husband does little jobs for me; he made these bookcases, aren’t they nice?’
Kate agreed they were very nice.
‘He likes to escape and come up here. I’ve got him interested in opera, believe it or not. She’s only interested in stuffing her face with cakes. Have you seen them?’
Kate admitted she hadn’t.
‘Anyway, I don’t want to take up any more of your time. But, believe me, someone out there would like to see me gone.’
‘I can understand how concerned you must be after receiving a note like that, but surely falling down the stairs must have been an accident?’
Kate knew she would mull over this conversation later in the day but for now she should be concentrating on the purpose of her visit.
‘How are you coping with shopping and things?’ she asked, trying to remember to focus on Edina’s ankle.
‘Oh my friend Hetty’s been wonderful. She’s got me my shopping and my prescriptions and she brings up my ready meals which are delivered downstairs—’ At this point the doorbell rang.
‘Shall I answer it?’ Kate asked, carefully placing her coffee on a coaster on the elaborately carved side table.
‘If you would.’
Kate opened the door to a pleasant-looking, middle-aged man with close-cut brown hair.
‘Is she there?’ he asked and, without waiting for an answer, edged his way into the room.
‘Oh, it’s you, David.’ Edina Martinelli spoke without enthusiasm.
‘Hello, Edina. Just thought I’d call in as I was passing but, if this isn’t a good time…’ He glanced in Kate’s direction.
‘The nurse has been here to attend to my poor ankle. What do you want? As if I didn’t know!’
The man turned round to Kate and rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘She’s convinced somebody’s trying to do her in,’ he said with a sigh as he plonked himself on the pale blue sofa opposite.
‘This,’ Edina Martinelli said to Kate, ‘is my stepson, David Courtney. Believe me, no blood son of mine could have made such a mess of his affairs. Are you on the scrounge again, David dear?’
David dear stared at her icily. ‘I’m after what is rightly mine.’
Kate was beginning to feel uncomfortable in the midst of what was plainly some sort of family row. She drained her coffee cup. ‘I must go,’ she said, standing up. ‘I’ll just rinse out my cup first.’
There was a chilly silence while she rinsed out the cup and then picked up her bag. ‘I’m sure you’ll get used to that cast, Miss Martinelli,’ she said, pointing at the ankle, ‘but I’ll come back to check it in a week or so. I’ll see myself out.’
As Kate closed the door behind her she heard their conversation resume, voices raised, obviously arguing. She took a deep breath and headed down the stairs, first looking carefully to ensure there was no vacuum cleaner flex positioned across the top. Surely that had been an accident?
Kate made her way out to the car and sat inside, with the window
