Getaway With Murder

by McNeir, Leo

  Anne breathed in deeply. “It could be worse,” she said.

  “Yes. The battle isn’t over by a long way.”

  “You mean she’ll be all right?”

  “It’s not as easy as that,” said the consultant. “I’ll tell you as soon as there’s any development, for good or bad.” He pulled open the door and confirmed the situation to Beth, whose anxiety was plain.

  “I think I’d better get you some breakfast,” she said to Anne.

  “But I’m not hungry. I couldn’t eat anything, really I couldn’t.”

  “A little fruit juice,” said the consultant. “You need fluids. You’re not going to be able to help Marnie if you don’t look after yourself. I could quite easily confine you to your room, you know. Technically, you’re a patient here too.” A firm voice, but kindly.

  “I don’t want to leave Marnie. Could I drink it up here?”

  “Out here,” he said. “Not in the unit. Anne, the police want to question you. They said it’s very important. I’ve told them you’re in no state to talk to them at present.”

  “I’ll do anything I can to help,” she said.

  “Yes, I know, but you may not be as strong as you imagine.” He turned to Beth. “How do you feel about this?” Beth looked at Anne and saw a thin, pale girl of sixteen, with a bruised face and dark smudges under her eyes from lack of sleep, her skin unhealthily translucent and her eyes still partly glazed by the aftermath of shock.

  “I think,” said Beth, “that Anne is as solid as a rock.”

  The consultant considered this statement for some seconds before he spoke. “Two minutes, then.”

  *

  It was just after eight o’clock when the big Virgin Atlantic Jumbo touched down at London Heathrow and rolled down the runway to its stand at Terminal Three. Twenty minutes later Ralph retrieved his luggage and went through customs. He had never been stopped before, but perhaps his pre-occupied expression led the officials to ask him to open his bags, questioning him all the while about the reason for his trip to the United States, the places he had visited, the nature of his business. He bore it all with calm and patience, knowing that to argue or show stress would only make things worse. It was several minutes later that the official carefully repacked the cases and wished him a pleasant onward journey.

  He stopped briefly in the arrivals hall to ring Marnie’s number. The answerphone clicked on and he left a message that he was on his way.

  “What’s your price to take me to Northamptonshire?” The cab-driver put his head on one side and eyed Ralph up and down.

  “You’re looking at about fifty quid, but the roadworks on the M25 mean the most direct route may be slow.”

  “Let’s say fifty-five if you can find a better way round. Okay?”

  “Fair enough.”

  *

  “How are you feeling now?” They were sitting in the office in the ITU, Anne, Marriner and Cathy Lamb, under strict orders to be quick and not put Anne under any stress. The consultant had warned that she could find it too much of a strain at this stage and make herself too ill to be of any help.

  “All right,” said Anne.

  “We have to ask you some questions so that we can find out who did this,” said Cathy. “Do you think you can help us?” Anne nodded.

  “Did you see anyone at the church yesterday evening?” Anne was surprised how painful it was to think back. Her head began to throb as if a great bell had suddenly clanged inside her brain. Her breathing quickened and she began to ache all over. The detectives exchanged glances, wondering if this was really a good idea. If anything, they thought Anne had become even paler. “Would you like some water?” said Cathy. Anne took the glass and held it without drinking. She tried to find the words, but felt she might pass out again and closed her eyes. Marriner leaned forward as if to speak, but Cathy put her hand on his sleeve and shook her head slightly.

  “Take your time, Anne, “ she said softly. “No hurry. We can wait.” Marriner sat back and restrained himself. Slowly Anne opened her eyes. In her mind she saw a face, twisted with pain and fear. He was terrified, a man pursued, running. Anne took a sip from the glass. The water tasted like dust. Another sip and she cleared her throat.

  “Frank was there,” she said quietly.

  “Frank?” said Marriner.

  “Frank Day. He came out of the church.”

  “That was before you went in and found her?” said Cathy.

  “He was scared, ran out.”

  “Are you sure it was him? It was dusk. Did you see him close up?”

  “He ran past me by the gate. He was scared.” Anne spoke quietly, staring ahead of her, not looking at Marriner or Cathy, as if speaking to herself.

  “Was he holding anything?” Anne tried to picture him, but it made her feel worse and she shuddered.

  Marriner leaned over and whispered in Cathy’s ear. “We need to know if he was stained with blood.” Cathy frowned. She had found it hard enough to ask Anne to think about the murder weapon. This was even worse.

  “Was he holding anything?” she repeated gently.

  “Don’t think so, don’t remember.” Anne could recall only the face, the expression, the staring eyes.

  “Can you remember his clothes?” said Cathy. She was almost whispering now. “What was he wearing?” Anne struggled to remember. Why was it important? she wondered. What did it matter what clothes he was wearing?

  The door opened and the consultant came in. Immediately Anne’s head snapped up.

  “Is Marnie all right?”

  “Still the same.” He turned to Marriner. “That’s really all I can allow for the moment.”

  “I’ll need to talk to you, sir,” said Marriner, glancing pointedly in the direction of the unit. “But first I’ve got to follow up what we’ve been told.”

  “Of course. You know where to find me, sergeant.”

  *

  “Where exactly do you want, guv’nor? Northampton itself, is it?”

  “It’s a village in the south of the county. Knightly St John. It’s on the Grand Union Canal near Stoke Bruerne.”

  “You might have to give me directions when we come off the M1. Do you know how to get there?”

  “Yes, I’ll tell you. Come off at the junction before the Northampton turn. I’ll guide you from there.”

  “Righto!”

  *

  On the radiophone Marriner rang the station while Cathy drove. “Suspect is Frank Day. Lives at Priory House, village of Yore, near Towcester.”

  “We’ve got him, sergeant,” was the reply.

  “Got him?” said Marriner.

  “He’s at Towcester police station. DCI Bartlett is interviewing him now.”

  “How did that happen? We’ve only just found out he was involved.”

  “Turned himself in about an hour ago. The DCI says you’re to join him at Towcester.”

  “We’re on our way,” said Marriner. Without waiting to be told, Cathy flicked the indicator to change direction, and swiftly crossed two lanes of traffic in the unmarked grey police car. She accelerated firmly away, heading south out of town, while other drivers, taken by surprise at the Cavalier’s rapid change of direction, exchanged glances, shaking their heads, silent testimony to the vagaries of women drivers.

  *

  The cab-driver reached behind him and slid the glass partition aside, leaning back to speak. For the last few miles he had been listening to the radio as they made their way up to the M1.

  “Funny that,” he said over his shoulder.

  “What is?” said Ralph.

  “Well, you know what it’s like. Until this morning I’d never heard of that village, now they’re talking about it on the radio. Always the way, innit?”

  “The village?” said Ralph. “Knightly St John? What did they say?”

  “Been a murder there. Some woman.”

  “It was the vicar,” said Ralph. “She was murdered in the church a couple of weeks ago. Have they
got a suspect?”

  “No. This was just now. Last night, it said. Must be another one.”

  “Are you sure? What did they say exactly?”

  “I didn’t catch all of it. I wasn’t paying that much attention, but I heard the bloke say Knightly St John. It was like a newsflash. I thought they said there’d been another murder in the church. Someone’s helping the police with their inquiries. They always say that.”

  “Could you let me know if they mention it again?”

  “Righto!”

  *

  Marriner and Lamb arrived at Towcester police station as Bartlett decided to take a break from interrogating Frank Day. The DCI met his colleagues and took them to the canteen. If anything, Bartlett seemed even more exasperated than usual.

  “What’s the situation with Marnie Walker?”

  “No change,” said Marriner. “Still alive, just. In intensive care.”

  “What are the odds?”

  “Not good. The man in charge gives her an outside chance at best.”

  “So she could survive?” said Bartlett in surprise. “How many times was she stabbed?”

  Marriner looked uncomfortable. “Chief, we came away as soon as we got the statement from the girl about Day. The consultant gave us two minutes. We got the name and contacted the station. They said to come here at once. We thought – I thought – that should be top priority.”

  “Okay. I’ll want a full report on Walker after we’ve finished here. Did you see her?”

  “Yes, what there was to see. She’s covered in dressings and tubes. The machine’s keeping her alive.”

  “They operated in the night?” said Bartlett.

  Marriner nodded. “Yes. What about Day?”

  “You’re not going to believe this,” said Bartlett. “He says he found her and ran out to phone for an ambulance.”

  “That’s rubbish,” said Marriner. “The girl rang for help.”

  Bartlett shook his head. “Switchboard have confirmed. They logged two calls. The first was from a man. It came in just ahead of the girl’s, less than a minute between them. He gave the number of the phone box in Knightly. It tallies.”

  “Then why didn’t he go back afterwards?” said Marriner. “Guilt, most like.”

  “He said it brought it all back, the other murder. He said he couldn’t stand it.”

  “He’s confessed to murdering the vicar?” said Marriner.

  “Not quite.”

  “But he was involved in the murder of Toni Petrie?” said Cathy.

  “Like I said,” Bartlett continued. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  *

  On the M1 there were roadworks between junctions 10 and 11, causing the traffic on both sides to queue for several miles. Because of this, Ralph’s cab was stationary when the next radio news bulletin was given.

  “Can you hear this, guv’nor?” The driver slid the glass panel open and Ralph leaned forward to listen.

  “… was taken to Northampton General Hospital, where she underwent emergency surgery during the early hours of this morning. The victim is believed to be a local businesswoman and close friend of the Reverend Toni Petrie, who was murdered in similar circumstances ten days ago. A man is helping the police with their inquiries. In the City, share prices have regained some of their earlier …”

  “Did they give a name?” said Ralph.

  “No. Just said it was a woman.” The traffic began to creep forward. “Someone you know?”

  Ralph felt as if he had received an electric shock … ‘close friend’. Who else could it be? Emergency surgery … murdered in similar circumstances. He tried to think clearly, overwhelmed by fatigue and almost despair. “Look, can you go on to Northampton, please? I don’t know the town, but we can ask someone the best way to the General Hospital.”

  The driver could think of any number of humorous replies to that question, but, seeing the desolate expression of his fare and hearing the anxiety in his voice, he thought better of it.

  *

  Time passed. As the morning dragged on, Anne sat close to Marnie’s head, talking to her about the projects, telling her what was happening around them, looking up occasionally at the coloured display above her, wondering what would happen if the machine was switched off. A momentary panic gripped her as she wondered how long they would keep Marnie alive by technology. She had never seen anything like this before, except on television, where serious-faced doctors were usually wrestling with their consciences before telling tearful relatives that there was nothing more they could do. Here, there was only calm efficiency, nurses constantly monitoring and adjusting. Half an hour ago they had suddenly conferred amongst themselves with the consultant and taken the motorcyclist off to the theatre again.

  Beth was sitting beside Anne, having sent Paul to the canteen to have some coffee, when Marriner and Cathy Lamb returned. The detectives were shown into the office, where the consultant joined them some minutes later. He made no apology for keeping them waiting.

  “I’d like to ask you about Mrs Walker,” Marriner began, “about her condition.”

  “She has serious multiple injuries and a considerable degree of trauma. She has lost a great deal of blood and part of the operation involved the treatment of haemorrhaging. X-rays suggested a punctured lung, but we found that this had not occurred. There are two broken ribs, a possible impact injury to the spine, a head injury that has certainly caused severe concussion, but does not appear to have fractured the skull. The main concern derives from the possibility of internal bleeding, particularly in the brain, which could lead to sudden haematoma with disastrous results.”

  “How sudden would that be?” said Marriner.

  “In layman’s language, depending on the rate of haemorrhaging in the brain, Mrs Walker could die at any moment.” There was something that bothered Marriner in this description as he digested the facts outlined by the doctor.

  “Is it a good sign the longer she stays in a stable condition?” said Cathy.

  “Not necessarily.” The consultant spoke in a quiet, even tone with no trace of emotion. “The stable condition, as you put it, is brought about by our equipment. Mrs Walker is heavily sedated and the machines are regulating her systems artificially.”

  “Doctor,” Marriner began. “There’s something I’m not clear about in all this. You’ve described her injuries, but made no mention of stab wounds. Our understanding was that Mrs Walker had been stabbed, the same as Reverend Petrie.”

  “Mrs Walker has not been stabbed, sergeant. Or, if she was, something deflected the blade. Of course, it’s true that she has sustained a chest injury. The two broken ribs are the fourth and fifth, located roughly over the heart.” He put a hand on his own chest by way of illustration. “I cannot say how the injury was caused, but I can tell you it was a very severe blow and could easily have been fatal.”

  “No idea what could have caused it?” said Marriner.

  “It would take a thorough examination of the area to arrive at an understanding of what precisely happened. Even then, it wouldn’t necessarily explain what had caused the injury.”

  “Are you still of the same opinion about her chances that you explained earlier?”

  “Yes. We have to monitor what’s happening and take action, but it’s still too early to tell what the outcome will be.”

  “Further surgery perhaps?” said Marriner.

  The consultant stood up. “Sergeant, that would be speculation. We just don’t know at the moment. In her present condition, even to move her could be dangerous.”

  *

  “I don’t think we’ve got any case at all, sir,” said Bartlett. He was ready to hold the phone away from his ear if the ACC exploded.

  “But what about the confession?” The tone was subdued. The frustrations of this case seemed to be affecting everyone.

  “He said he felt guilty about not going back to the church after ringing emergency. He said – you’re not going to believe this
, sir – that his family were responsible for killing the vicar in the Civil War, and he thought history was repeating itself.”

  “Is he a nutter or trying to pull the wool over our eyes?” said the ACC. “What evidence have you got?”

  “We’ve done a thorough search of his house. We’ve checked the clothes he was wearing yesterday, all his other clothes. We’ve had him clinically examined from head to foot.”

  “And?”

  “He’s clean, totally clean.”

  “There must have been some blood on him, surely?”

  “Not a drop, not a speck anywhere. He says he went straight for the phone as soon as he saw her.”

  “On his shoes?”

  “Nothing. He didn’t go near her.”

  “Bullshitting? Covering up?”

  “I don’t think so, sir,” said Bartlett. “He’s a complete bag o’ nerves, but I don’t see how we can seriously regard him as a suspect. There’s just nothing to go on.”

  There was a silence at the other end of the line. “What about Mrs Walker?”

  “Ted Marriner’s just rung me. He’s seen the doctor in charge of the ITU.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Morton.”

  “Very sound. What’s he say?”

  “She could go at any time.”

  “Not able to speak?” said the ACC.

  “No chance, in a coma. Marriner’s spoken to the girl again, just briefly, told her not to say a word to anyone. Morton’s keeping an eye on her, won’t let us question her again, says she’s in shock.”

  “Any luck with the old farmer … what’s his name?”

  “Fletcher. Yes. Dodds and Bathurst ran into him in the village. Seemed normal enough, just goes on long walks, always has done. They asked him if any of his implements were missing. He said they were welcome to check whenever they liked, but he thought everything was in its place. Waste of time there.”

  “Okay, but make sure they check him out,” said the ACC. “What about the missing priest?”

  “Hughes,” said Bartlett. “No sign yet, highly suspicious. It’s time we put out another call: press, TV, radio.”

  “Agreed. Go ahead. Keep me posted.”

  *

  Why did I do it? Why did I do this dreadful thing?