‘My apologies,’ Kate murmured again, ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Well, you know now. And if you were any kind of opera aficionado you’d be well aware of the roles I sang. Anyway, you’re not here to discuss my career, you’re here to look at my poor ankle.’ She lowered herself onto a pink velvet chair and propped the ankle up on a matching footstool.
Kate bent down and examined the plaster thoroughly. ‘To be honest, Miss Martinelli, it seems absolutely fine. It’s exactly as it should be and I’m sure you’ll get used to it.’
The woman snorted. ‘Six weeks, they said. I shall be a prisoner in here for six weeks with a plaster cast that’s far too tight!’
‘Miss Martinelli,’ Kate began, ‘I know it might feel tight but it really isn’t—’
‘I’m wearing it and I say it is,’ Edina Martinelli interrupted. Then, in a change of tone, ‘Would you like a coffee?’ With that, she hobbled into the kitchen, jewellery jangling. ‘Give me a minute and I’ll warm up the pot. But you’ll have to pour it and carry it through.’
‘That’s fine,’ Kate said. ‘Now tell me, is there anyone who can help you get down the stairs? It might cheer you up to sit in the garden and get some fresh air. It’s still very warm.’
‘I’m not going down any stairs until I am completely healed,’ Edina Martinelli snapped, ‘not after what happened to me.’ She sighed loudly and plonked herself down on the pink chair again. ‘You go and get the coffee. No milk or sugar for me.’
Kate did as she was told. ‘What was the problem with the stairs?’ she asked.
‘What happened was that somebody – who could only have been Sharon the cleaner, although of course she denies all knowledge of it – somebody left the flex of the vacuum cleaner right across the top of the stairs and I did not see it. That’s the problem, of course, I walk tall and look straight ahead, always conscious of my deportment. And the next thing I know I’m tumbling down the stairs – and there’s a lot of them. It’s a wonder I didn’t break my neck because, you see, somebody wanted to kill me. I’m so lucky to have got away with just a broken ankle, and massive bruising, of course, but that was not the intention of my would-be killer. Somebody wishes to kill me, Nurse, mark my words!’
‘It must surely have been an accident?’ Kate said.
‘It was not an accident! It certainly would appear to be Sharon but, unlike some of the others round here, she had no real reason to wish me dead and she would be a convenient scapegoat. I can’t begin to tell you what some of these people are like.’
‘But surely none of them would want you dead?’ Kate said soothingly as she poured the coffee.
‘There are several who’d want me dead! I told the police, of course, but they didn’t listen. I know that somebody wants me dead. And I showed the police the note.’
‘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
