Stick in the Mud: A riveting murder mystery

by Leo McNeir

  “We could use soured cream in the oil and vinegar to make a German-style dressing. We’ve got some in the fridge in the office barn.”

  “Good idea,” said Marnie. “And what about garlic bread for starters? I know we’ve got some baguettes in the freezer over there.”

  “And if we need another side dish, what about Russian eggs? We’ve got plenty, and there’s mayonnaise in the cupboard.”

  Marnie had the oven heating up and six eggs in the pan before Anne reached the spinney. When she returned, she found Marnie threading chunks of onion with green and red peppers on wooden skewers as kebabs ready to join the meat on the barbecue. By the time the Reverend Dr Randall Hughes and the Reverend Angela Hemingway walked arm-in-arm through the spinney, the smells wafting round the table were mouth-watering.

  For the evening they were both out of uniform. In place of Angela’s habitual grey costume and clerical collar, she was wearing a summer dress of pale primrose with a white cardigan over her shoulders. Instead of his full-length black cassock with buttons down the front, Randall was in jeans and a suede jacket. They looked relaxed and happy together, and Marnie was in no doubt about their important news.

  Randall proffered a bottle of claret, which Ralph gratefully placed in the centre of the table alongside an Aussie shiraz.

  Kissing Ralph on both cheeks and eyeing his apron, Angela said, “Ralph, you’re amazing. Just look at all this wonderful spread. I don’t know how you do it.”

  Ralph gave the most Gallic of shrugs, using both hands. “Sometimes I even amaze myself,” he declared with a brave but unconvincing attempt at looking modest.

  Marnie and Anne flashed each other the heavy eyelids but refrained from comment.

  *

  In anticipation of Randall and Angela’s announcement, Marnie had a bottle of champagne chilling in the freezer. Neither of the guests referred to their something important during the meal, and Marnie wondered if Ralph could have misunderstood. By the time they had advanced to chilled stewed rhubarb with Greek yogurt, she decided they needed a little prompting.

  “So,” she began, “what news, then? Is everything well in church circles?”

  Randall and Angela looked blank.

  “I think so,” said Angela.

  “The usual mixture of piety and back-stabbing.” Randall grinned. “All good clean fun.”

  Marnie looked across at Ralph. It was his turn to take a hint.

  “Do I remember rightly that there was something important you had to tell us?”

  More blank looks until suddenly Angela lit up.

  “Oh that! Yes, of course.” She turned to Randall. “Shall I tell them or will you?”

  Marnie moved her chair back from the table in preparation for going to fetch the champagne. She was putting her napkin down beside her plate, when Randall spoke quietly.

  “We’ve got the final go-ahead to move Sarah into the churchyard.”

  The statement was met with an initial silence. Ralph was the first to speak.

  “That was the news you meant when you phoned this afternoon?”

  “Yes,” said Randall.

  “At last,” said Angela. “It’s great news, isn’t it?”

  Marnie stood up. “Wonderful. Would everyone like coffee?”

  *

  It was warm enough to sit outside until Randall and Angela rose to leave. Marnie walked with them through the spinney to their car while Ralph and Anne cleared the table.

  In the sleeping cabin on Thyrsis later that night, Marnie sat on the bed, brushing her hair. She asked Ralph if, on reflection, Randall had given any clue about the something important when they spoke on the phone.

  “No. Those were his exact words.”

  “I suppose it is important in a way,” Marnie said. “After all, Sarah has been outside the churchyard for the best part of three hundred and fifty years. Even so, it’s not quite what we expected.”

  Ralph did not contribute further to that topic of conversation. As Marnie began peeling off her dressing gown, he had other things on his mind than the reburial of a woman who died in the seventeenth century.

  Sarah Anne Day had taken her own life at the age of twenty-three, had in fact hanged herself from a beam in what was now Marnie’s office. They believed she was suffering from remorse following the murder of the vicar and the part played in his killing by her own father.

  Angela, as the new incumbent, had been determined to have Sarah re-interred in consecrated ground. In this she was supported by Randall, who was not only rural dean but also her predecessor in the parish. Permission had now finally been received from the bishop, despite strenuous opposition from the local archdeacon.

  All this was fascinating to anyone with an interest in local history, including Ralph at other times, but not as he watched Marnie’s long back come into view as the dressing gown rolled away from her elegant shoulders. She slipped it off, lay it across the foot of the bed and turned to put out the light on the shelf above them.

  Ralph was just reaching out to draw her towards him, when he heard a sharp intake of breath in the darkness. Marnie had suddenly remembered the champagne in the freezer. By morning, the bottle would undoubtedly have shattered. She leapt out of bed, leaving a bewildered Ralph clutching the sheets.

  “Don’t start without me,” Marnie called out over her shoulder as she skipped naked along the passage to the galley.

  2

  Setting Off

  Saturday 16 June 1997

  The following morning after breakfast, Anne realised she had overlooked something. It was Saturday. Ralph had set off early to chair a weekend seminar at his college in Oxford, and Marnie was catching up on work in the office. Anne was in her attic room doing some serious reading for her college course when Marnie’s words hit her.

  … you may be hearing about it again … and sooner rather than later …

  What had she meant? Anne scrambled up from her giant beanbag. She thought back to their conversation. They had been preoccupied with finding a way across Leicester to avoid the heavy traffic, and the subject had gone out of her mind. The need to prepare for dinner and the arrival of Angela and Randall had completed the shut-out.

  Almost sliding down the wall-ladder, Anne found Marnie absorbed in a design, writing notes on a pad. Not a good time to interrupt. Marnie’s concentration in that kind of work was always intense. Turning back to the wall-ladder, Anne heard Marnie’s voice behind her.

  “Yes, you’re right. We need to talk.”

  *

  They sat by the canal on safari chairs with a picnic table between them. It was a fine, warm morning, and Marnie had suggested they take their work outside. They had changed into shorts and T-shirts and had settled down comfortably with mugs of lemon tea, and the furled parasol standing by in case of need.

  “I love mornings like this,” Anne said. “It’s so quiet here, and there’s that lovely watery smell from the canal.”

  Marnie agreed. “It’s perfect, though there were times last winter when I thought we’d never sit outside again.”

  They both shivered at the memory.

  “It was great eating outside last night,” said Anne. “One of my favourite things. Though I thought it was a pity we had to have Sarah’s reburial brought up again.”

  “So did I.” Marnie stretched and yawned. “I’ve had quite enough of witchcraft and lugubrious goings-on to last me a lifetime.”

  Anne became serious. “That’s why I was rather surprised that you bought those books about pirates and hangings and bodies being covered in pitch.”

  Marnie smiled. “Bet you’re glad we didn’t produce sticky toffee pudding for dessert last night.”

  Anne groaned. In her mind’s eye she saw a body hanging in chains beside the Thames. She heard the gallows creak as the corpse swung in the breeze, while its eyes were pecked out by crows. She shook herself.

  “Go on then, Marnie, tell me about it. Let’s get it over with.”

  “There�
�s not a lot to tell, really. And ideally I wanted to give you and Ralph the news at the same time.”

  “I thought you would’ve done that already,” said Anne, “last night after we’d gone to bed.”

  “No,” said Marnie. “We were … bushed. It was too late to go into all that by then.”

  Anne looked at Marnie over the top of her sunglasses. “Really?”

  Marnie ignored her. “Okay, here’s how it is. We have a new contract from Willards. They’re part of a consortium developing a site in London. There’ll be a boutique hotel with a wine bar and a bistro. We’ll be handling the interior design for Everett Parker.”

  “Wow!” Anne exclaimed. “That’s terrific. When do we start?”

  “The site works are already underway. It seems they’ve been preparing the ground for some weeks.”

  “And they’ve only just now appointed you to do the interior design?” said Anne. “Why the delay?”

  “It’s London. They have to allow time for the archaeologists to do their thing.”

  “So it’s central London?” Anne asked.

  “Yes.”

  There was something in Marnie’s tone that sounded an alarm bell for Anne.

  “This is where the books about pirates come in, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is this site, Marnie?”

  “It’s that place … Horselydown.”

  Anne repeated the name.

  “Horselydown … on the south bank of the Thames, opposite the Tower of London.”

  “You know it?” Marnie was surprised. “I’d never heard the name before it came up at the meeting yesterday.”

  “I was quoting,” said Anne, “from your river pirates book. It’s one of the places where they hanged them.”

  “I thought that was further along, the other side of Butler’s Wharf … St Saviour’s Dock.”

  Anne shrugged. “That’s what it said in your book.”

  “Well, that’s all going to change. Willards are building a beautiful hotel. There’ll be a small gallery, too, a sort of living museum at basement level. We’ll get stuck in to the design and you can forget all about pirates and hangings and such.”

  “So what happens next?”

  “We study the brief and start putting some ideas together.”

  “When do we get to see the site?” Anne said.

  “Philip wants us to meet there as soon as possible.”

  Anne ran through the diary in her mind. The early part of the following week was clear. The same thought was occurring to Marnie.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she said.

  *

  Anne was in her element, working through her to-do list. She and Marnie quickly packed their bags for London. Marnie wrote a list of instructions for the builders working on the farmhouse and arranged for tenants to feed Dolly over the weekend. Anne tidied the office and recorded a new message on the answerphone. They drove to the supermarket for provisions and returned home via the garage where Marnie filled the Disco with diesel and put it through the car-wash.

  Marnie phoned Ralph at college during the seminar lunch break to tell him of their spur-of-the-moment plan. Promising to leave him food for the time of their absence, she asked him to check the post each day in case anything urgent arrived.

  In the early afternoon they made their final preparations. With last-minute instructions to Dolly – You’re in charge – Marnie checked the boats and the office barn while Anne loaded the car. They climbed aboard the Disco. Marnie put the key in the ignition and looked sideways at Anne.

  “All set?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Marnie gunned the engine and pointed the car up the field track. As on so many occasions when they travelled together, Anne felt the world was full of promise and new beginnings. She smiled to herself. It was not the same as setting off on Sally Ann, but it was good to feel the call of the open road.

  3

  Sticks in the Mud

  Sunday 17 June 1997

  Marnie woke to what she considered a typical London Sunday morning. For all its vastness and its population of nearly eight million, the city was bathed in an almost eerie silence. She climbed out of bed and stood at the bedroom window, looking down at the river. The tide seemed to be ebbing, with a swift flow towards the Thames Barrier and beyond it the estuary and the sea. Away to her left she could see occasional traffic on Tower Bridge, but no sound penetrated the double glazing. She sensed that London was not yet ready to throw off its duvet of pale grey cloud and get up to face the new day.

  In the bathroom Marnie looked at the marble tiles and heavy chrome fittings as she stepped into the shower and thought how good it was to have modern facilities. The past three years living on Thyrsis and Sally Ann had been fun, but that phase of her life was coming to an end. Now she was looking forward to moving into the house at Glebe Farm.

  Towelling herself dry, she became aware of a faint hissing in the background. Anne was up and about, taking a shower. It was time for them both to face the new day.

  *

  The plan for Sunday morning was simple: a walk and generally mooching about. A few phone calls to friends and family, a look at the Sunday papers, a chance to catch up on reading, then lunch at a riverside restaurant. A relaxing break before embarking on the new project.

  It was not to be.

  The first part of the programme followed the plan. Marnie caught Ralph for a quick chat after breakfast at his Oxford seminar, while Anne used her mobile to ring her parents. Marnie’s next call was to her sister.

  “Hi Beth. Hope I’m not disturbing a lie-in.”

  “Cheek! We’ve been up for ages. How are things in the wilds of the country?”

  “Fine. I’m standing in the bedroom looking out over the water.”

  “No bodies floating in the canal?” Beth’s flippant tone concealed a hint of anxiety.

  “Not that I can see, especially as the water in question is the Thames. I’m looking at Tower Bridge, with a glimpse of the Tower of London behind it.”

  “You’re in Simon’s flat? Sorry, I mean … your Docklands flat.”

  Marnie felt her stomach turn momentarily and paused to catch her breath before replying.

  “Anne and I are here. We’ve got meetings tomorrow, a new project just down the road. Look, I know it’s all rather last-minute, but would you and Paul be free to join us for lunch?”

  “Sure, why not? We haven’t anything else planned. It’ll be a good excuse to drag Paul away from his computer … and me away from the kitchen.”

  “Good. I’ll book us a table somewhere.”

  “Marnie, there’s one condition …”

  “No, Beth, this is my treat.”

  “What? Oh, we can argue about that later. No, I was going to say let’s keep it simple. No talk of murders, mayhem, dead bodies or –”

  “See you at noon, Beth.”

  One call later, Marnie had a table reserved for twelve-thirty in one of the restaurants at street level of the Butler’s Wharf building. The ease and convenience of city living struck her as in marked contrast to the environment she had chosen in what Beth had called the wilds of the country.

  It was time to wander out and pick up the Sunday papers. Marnie and Anne both chose shirts, slacks and sandals for this first outing as they took the lift down to the lobby and exited the building.

  “Shall we have a look at the site?” said Anne. “I’m bursting with curiosity to see the place.”

  They made their way between the twin blocks of the restored Victorian wharf buildings, on cobbled paving beneath the overhead network of wrought-iron bridges linking the upper floors. A pedestrian subway led them under the traffic on the approach road to Tower Bridge and brought them out onto the bankside facing across the river to the Tower of London.

  Barriers had been erected to guide passers-by round the development site that had been fenced off with tall green chain-link panels clipped together. T
hrough the mesh Marnie and Anne could see large areas of excavation. Mounds of spoil were dotted about like rubbish tips. In the foreground a row of grey huts lined the access road, forming a short street of offices and changing rooms. Beyond them a collection of diggers painted bright yellow were lined up like dinosaurs at rest. A faint odour of damp soil hung in the air.

  “All this?” said Anne. “It’s a big site.”

  “It’s a big project,” said Marnie.

  The fence panels beside them were festooned with signs. The names of the various contractors filled one of them, listing the builders, structural consultants and architects. Anne was intrigued by one of the names: Capital Archaeology. She was thrilled to see Walker and Co, Interior Design Consultants, just below Everett Parker Associates, Architects.

  The next panel carried a series of instructions and announcements: hard hats were mandatory; steel-capped boots were required; visibility jackets were to be worn at all times; all visitors were to report to reception; no unauthorised access was permitted. And so on, and so on.

  Concluding that they had seen all there was to see, Marnie and Anne were turning away when they heard raised voices from somewhere inside the compound. Men were shouting, apparently calling out instructions. It was strange as no-one was in sight. They scanned the whole area and were about to give up when a man appeared about thirty yards away, reaching the top of a ladder from a hole in the ground roughly the size of a tennis court.

  As soon as the man cleared the ladder another head appeared. Then another and another. The men, all hard-hatted and clad in the same bright yellow jackets, streamed towards the huts. One man seemed to be arguing with the others. Marnie and Anne strained to hear them, but the men were speaking in a heated undertone that was drowned out by the noise of the traffic approaching Tower Bridge.

  The first man had now reached one of the huts and was taking hold of the door handle when his arm was restrained by the man behind him. The other men caught up with these two and the discussion continued on the threshold. The second man, who had restrained the first, seemed to be pleading with the others, pointing back towards the deep excavation. The first man was shaking his head in a manner that was unmistakably adamant. The others looked on.