by McNeir, Leo
“Listen! What’s that?” They stood up, straining to hear. “Something wailing.”
“It’s the car alarm!” said Marnie. She thrust the photo at Anne and headed for the door, grabbing her torch from the worktop. Anne chased after her, seizing the meat tenderiser mallet from the galley as she passed. Marnie led the way, taking a different route through the spinney from the usual path. They stooped low, moving as quickly and as silently as they could in the dense darkness, stopping beside the office barn to stare at the car. It stood alone in the yard, lit up by the automatic security lighting, its hazard lights flashing, siren howling.
“What makes it do that?” Anne whispered. “Has someone tried to steal it?”
Marnie shrugged. “Any movement can set it off. Wait there a moment.” She advanced cautiously out of the shelter of the barn, looking in all directions, and stopped by the driver’s door.
Anne followed her. “Is it all right?”
“Seems to be okay,” said Marnie. She pointed her key at the car to stop the alarm and made a quick tour of inspection while Anne stood looking out for any sign of movement. “Windows and doors all right ... tyres untouched. No damage I can see ... wait a minute ...”
“Something wrong?” said Anne. Marnie was squatting at the back, running her hand along the boot.
“Look at this.” Anne glanced down, not daring to take all her attention from the yard.
“I’d say someone’s been trying to break into the boot,” said Marnie. “Do you see this?” Anne squatted beside her. The bodywork was scratched and chipped, buckled where an attempt had been made to lever it open. “I’d say this was caused by a sharp implement.” As she spoke the light went out. Anne gasped. Marnie steadied her arm with a firm hand and stood up. Immediately the light went on again. “Don’t worry. It goes off after a while if there’s no movement in its range.”
“I nearly had heart failure!” Anne’s voice was breathless.
“I suspect our visitor was equally surprised by the lighting and the alarm, obviously someone unfamiliar with modern car systems. That’s why he didn’t manage to spring the boot open.” She felt the bent bodywork.
“But he could still be around,” said Anne, her eyes wide open.
“I doubt it,” said Marnie. “Too big a risk that we’d call the police at the first sound of trouble.”
“Might not be a bad idea,” said Anne.
“Let’s get back to Sally.” Marnie led her friend swiftly through the dark, not giving her time to be afraid, holding her by the arm until they stood on the aft deck of the boat. In the glow from the cabin door, Marnie looked at Anne.
“What are you smiling at?” said Anne.
Marnie pointed at the tenderiser mallet. “You look like Attila the Hun!” She turned the girl and guided her down the steps into the cabin, colliding with her back when Anne stopped suddenly without warning.
“Marnie!” Anne’s chair was lying on its side on the floor. On the table the cup had been knocked over, the tea spreading in a puddle across the wooden surface like a pool of blood, drips falling steadily onto the rug. Marnie turned and shut the double steel cabin doors behind them, pushing home the bolts. She picked up the chair and Anne began mopping the tea with a dish cloth, wringing it out in the sink under the tap. Dolly emerged from under the bed and stretched.
“If only Dolly could talk,” said Marnie and poured her some milk. She stood up with a sudden movement. “The photos, they’ve gone. Damn! Oh well, at least we’ve still got the stone pieces.” Anne reached into the back pocket of her jeans.
“And we’ve got this one,” she said. “The one with the bible reference.” Marnie took it from her and held it to the light. She pulled open the map drawer and found the magnifying glass, holding it over the photo.
“It looks like John 15: 23-25.” Without a word Anne fetched the old paperback Bible that Toni had given her and searched through the New Testament.
“This is it. Shall I read it out?” Marnie nodded.
“He that hateth me hateth my Father also. If I had not done among them the works which none other man did, they had not had sin: but now have they both seen and hated both me and my Father. But this cometh to pass, that the word might be fulfilled that is written in their law, They hated me without a cause.”
26
Sunday 6 August
The night from Saturday through to Sunday, 6 August was a restless one as far as the crew of the narrow boat Sally Ann were concerned. Marnie lay in bed, weary but unable to close her eyes, the adrenaline of the evening’s excitement and exertions still running, as she rehearsed again and again the visit to the crypt, the attempted break-in on the car and the mystery of the inscription on the headstone. She was convinced that whoever had splintered the wood round the padlock of the crypt door had also tried to get the boot open. The two locks swirled together in her mind as one image, the sharp point pressing in to snap them open. Both times she had foiled the attempt. This presumably meant that both times she had come close to the vandal. Who else could it be? That person was out there somewhere, perhaps just outside. At first the idea did not worry her. It would take more than a tin-opener to break through Sally Ann’s thick coat. But then Marnie realised that they did not need to break though the steelwork or the doors. It would be easy to smash one of Sally’s big windows and throw in a petrol bomb. In seconds she and Anne would be roasted alive where they lay. Suddenly cold and sweating, Marnie resisted the temptation to sit up for fear of disturbing Anne.
On the camp-bed in the saloon, Anne could not switch off her brain. Over and over she repeated the text from the gospel to herself in the darkness, mouthing the words soundlessly, her lips moving like a monk at prayer. She had read it only a few times before they put out the lights, but it had become indelible in her brain, so that she could recite it completely without hesitation. It was as if her mind had taken a Polaroid photograph of the text and imprinted it into her memory. She knew beyond any doubt that she would be able to chant it like a mantra when she woke in the morning.
He that hateth me hateth my Father also.
What did it mean? Why were Sarah Anne Day and her father hated?
If I had not done among them the works which none other man did, they had not had sin: but now have they both seen and hated both me and my Father.
It seemed to be for something they had done. Well, obviously, she thought. Why else? People cannot hate you for what you think. Could they hate you for what you believe? Could that be different?
But this cometh to pass, that the word might be fulfilled that is written in their law. Something to do with the law. What law had they broken? Was she taking this too literally?
They hated me without a cause.
Worst of all, Sarah Anne believed herself to be innocent.
Hated for no reason.
Yet she still committed suicide. Why do people commit suicide? They have no hope any more. Fear? Shame? Despair? Guilt? But she did not think she was guilty of anything. Oh god, it’s confusing.
Her last vision before exhaustion dragged her down, was of the point of the stonemason’s chisel chipping at the headstone, neatly writing the inscription all those hundreds of years ago. She saw the hammer tapping away, and then it began to swing through the air, taking the shape of the sledgehammer that had been lying on the dusty floor of the crypt, flying through the air to smash the headstone to pieces. Anne was too exhausted to resist the blow and she fell down the deep dark stairs of the tower into a troubled, restless and tormented sleep.
*
Marnie sat up in bed and turned onto her side to look round the partition into the saloon.
“What are you doing?”
“Reading the bible,” said Anne. She was sitting at the table, already dressed, her bed folded away, holding the torch close to the pages so as not to disturb Marnie by opening the curtains.
“That’s a fine and proper thing for a good girl to be doing on a Sunday morning. What time is it? Shal
l I fetch your shawl and bonnet?
“Eight o’clock. I’ve put the kettle on and the croissants are in the oven.”
“That’s fine and proper, too.”
“Do you hear that? The church bells have been ringing for the past ten minutes. I expect it’s in memory of Toni.”
“There’ll be a morning service,” said Marnie.
“Eight o’clock matins,” said Anne. “There was a notice up in the shop. I’ve been thinking about the inscription.”
“So have I.”
“Do you know what it means, Marnie? I mean, is there something you haven’t told me that might explain why they were hated, Sarah Anne and her father?”
“You know everything I know.”
“And you don’t know why she killed herself?”
“All I know is she committed suicide. It was in her father’s will. Ralph showed it to me.”
“I wonder how she did it.” Anne’s face became sad and thoughtful.
Marnie sniffed. “I can smell the croissants. We don’t want them to burn. Do you want to wash, or shall I go first?”
“You go first. I’ll have a shower after breakfast.”
Marnie emerged five minutes later from the cramped confines of the heads to find the table laid outside and Anne carrying the breakfast tray. It was a peaceful scene on a fine summer’s morning in the heart of the English countryside, faint sunlight, shining water, birds singing, steam rising from the lip of the pot, the smell of coffee.
“I’m certainly ready for this,” said Marnie. She smiled at Anne, who was pouring coffee into Sally Ann’s best and only china.
“It would be an awful shame if anything spoilt all this, wouldn’t it?” said Anne. She lifted the napkin from the bread basket and offered Marnie a croissant. There was a crock of fresh butter on the table and a glass dish containing home-made strawberry jam, a remnant from the village fete. Anne decided to fill her croissants and eat them like a roll, while Marnie dunked hers French-style.
“Nothing’s going to spoil it,” she said.
“But I think that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Who said I was worried?”
“Well, I can’t be the only one,” said Anne. “It’s understandable after what happened last night. And you’ve put everything you’ve got into Glebe Farm.”
“You came back, so things can’t be too desperate here.” They sipped coffee and waved as the first boat of the day slipped past, its diesel engine throbbing quietly. The steerer was a good-looking young man wearing only a pair of shorts. He raised his coffee mug in salute and stared at them until he was out of sight. “I think we should have some ground rules, just a few sensible precautions. There’s no point in doing anything silly.”
“I’ll make a list, shall I?” said Anne.
“Naturally. For example, we won’t go through the spinney alone after dark. For the next few days, we’ll both sleep on Sally. We’ll keep her locked when we’re not on board and we’ll both carry a torch in the evenings. Oh, yes, and definitely no weapons.”
“Weapons? We haven’t got any weapons.”
“Meat tenderiser mallets count as weapons.”
“Just a precaution,” said Anne.
“Yes, well, if there had been anyone there and they’d got hold of it …” She left the rest to Anne’s imagination.
“Before I have my shower,” Anne began.
“You feel a list coming on?”
“No. Well, yes, but I was thinking. We could move the stones from the boot of the car. Do you know where you want to put them?”
“I know the very place,” said Marnie without hesitation.
*
While Marnie and Anne shifted the pieces of gravestone, heads were bowed in the church as prayers were said for the soul of Toni Petrie. The congregation was full as the Reverend Jim Fowey, brought out of retirement as a caretaker minister, spoke the words from the Authorised Version, just as they used to be said before the new ways had come to replace the old order.
There were many tears shed in church that morning and many who searched their consciences for feelings of guilt for the dreadful event that had shaken Knightly St John to its foundations. Everyone present took comfort in the familiar form of the service as they had known it for most of their lives. Some believed that if everything had been left well alone, the tragedy would never have happened. Confusion over motives and beliefs was rife and, while all felt regret, one in their midst was suffering a mortal anguish, an aching in the soul, pain brought on by the knowledge of personal complicity in a most dreadful and shameful act.
The murderer of Toni Petrie was present in church that day.
*
On Monday morning a grey mist hung in the air as if autumn had come early. It hovered over the surface of the canal and coated Sally Ann in condensation. Marnie and Anne walked briskly through the spinney enjoying the novelty of the cool moist air, both of them wondering what they might find awaiting them as they approached Glebe Farm. But all seemed normal. Marnie went to inspect the car while Anne opened up the office barn. It was seven-thirty, a new week and there was work to be done. They liked the early start each day, the feeling that they were ahead of the game. Anne began her usual routine, switching on the computer, checking the paper in the printer, emptying the waste bins into a plastic sack. She glanced at the answerphone as Marnie came through the door.
“That’s strange. Look at this, Marnie. Did you know we had messages on the machine?” They looked down at the figure 2 glowing red in its window.
“They weren’t there when I closed the office on Friday.” She pressed the playback button, the machine peeped and they waited. Silence. Only the sound of the tape running.
“Odd,” said Anne.
“Perhaps someone misdialled, wanting our fax machine,” she said. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” Anne shrugged and nodded. The machine peeped again.
“Hallo, Marnie? It’s Ralph. I’m stuck in New York! You wouldn’t believe the hassle. It looks as if I shan’t be back until early on Tuesday. I expect it’s now about six-thirty your time, Monday morning. As soon as I reach Heathrow I’ll give you a ring. Hope you’re OK. Bye for now.”
“He sounds a bit fraught,” said Anne.
“Yes,” Marnie sighed. “I hope he’s not messing things up for himself with his American colleagues. He was supposed to be going on to Harvard. I think they want to offer him a chair, make him a professor.”
“He must be very concerned about you,” Anne said with a twinkle in her eye.
“No doubt, but I don’t want him to damage his career because of it.”
“I’m sure he won’t,” said Anne. “He’s too intelligent to do that.” She surveyed the office. Marnie felt proud of her efforts at keeping it tidy. “This place could do with straightening out,” Anne continued. “But I think I’ll do it at the end of the day. We’ve got plenty to get on with for the moment.” Marnie sagged mentally and sat down at her desk.
It was just after nine when Anne was boiling the kettle for the first coffee run to the builders, when she crossed to the door and announced the arrival of a car in the yard.
“What sort?” said Marnie from her desk.
“Cavalier like ours. Dark grey.”
“How many people?”
“One. A man. Looks quite pleasant. Like a sort of uncle.”
“That’ll be Sergeant Marriner. He’s not too bad, especially when he’s alone.”
“I’ll get another cup out.”
“Don’t bother. They always refuse.” Marnie rose as the detective came into the office. She was determined to give full, clear answers and hold nothing back.
“Good morning, sergeant. This is my colleague, Anne Price. I expect you’ll want to talk to her.” Anne walked forward to stand beside Marnie. Marriner seemed unsettled.
“That’s right, Mrs Walker, I will do, but not at the moment. I’ll come back with a WPC, though I’m not sure when that will be.” If Anne felt
as if she had arrived at the dentists to be told her treatment was being postponed to another day, she did not reveal it. Marriner continued. “There’s something I need to ask you, actually.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee, sergeant?”
“No. Thanks all the same. I can’t stay long.”
“Then at least have a seat.” He settled on the spare chair and Marnie sat down, while Anne perched on the corner of the desk.
“Have you seen the former vicar, Mr Hughes, recently?”
“Yes. He came here early last week. We chatted briefly, just a few minutes. Then he left. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Have you any idea of his whereabouts?”
Marnie reflected that only a policeman would ask a question in that way. She concentrated on the facts. “No, I haven’t. I did try to ring him the other day, but he wasn’t at home.”
Marriner nodded, as if she had given the right answer. “Yes. We know about your call. Why did you ring him, Mrs Walker?”
Marnie shrugged. “I was concerned about him. When he came to see me, he looked terrible. Blamed himself for what had happened. Said it was all his fault.”
Marriner’s eyes narrowed. “What did he say exactly?”
“I don’t remember his exact words. Something like … his fault because he’d urged Toni not to go to the police about the vandalism. He didn’t want there to be a lot of trouble and hoped it might go away. That’s why he blamed himself.”
“He wanted to keep her quiet?”
Marnie was shocked by the question. “Only in the sense of avoiding a row so soon after he began his new post as Rural Dean.”
Marriner looked down, deep in thought, frowning. “And you have absolutely no idea, no idea at all, where he might be at the moment?”
“I haven’t seen him or spoken to him since that day. I’m sure he felt as shocked as anyone at what happened and felt guilty at his part in it. I feel the same way.”