Stick in the Mud: A riveting murder mystery

by Leo McNeir

  “Even so, I shouldn’t have said –”

  “You’re right in one sense, Anne, but not in every sense.”

  “Go on.”

  Donovan took a mouthful of lager. “Zoë will use this shoot in a number of ways for her own purposes.” He put down the glass. “At the very least, she’ll treat it as an opportunity to gain a little more experience in front of camera. Even with an unknown film-maker like me, it’s useful extra practice.”

  “But you’re a very good photographer, Donovan. That comes through in everything you do.”

  Donovan nodded. “And she can tell that. Otherwise she wouldn’t stick with it, believe me.” Another sip of beer. “Next thing is, she’ll want a copy of the finished film, at least the part that features her work on the excavation.”

  “Will you let her have it?”

  “Sure. Why not? Unless the university forbids it, which they won’t. And I’ll make sure I have a credit on the tape I hand over.”

  “What will Zoë do with it?”

  “Use it as an example of her work, I expect … and prove this find was hers, of course.”

  “So it’ll be like part of her CV,” said Anne.

  “In a way, yes, a stepping stone on the way to becoming a new star in the world of archaeology.”

  “You think she sees everything in those terms?”

  “Don’t you?” said Donovan.

  “So she has a master plan?” Anne said. “A clear goal?”

  “I think so. You can never be certain about other people, but I have a pretty good idea of what she has in mind, and it doesn’t involve spending the rest of her life scrabbling around in the dirt, scraping up sherds of pottery.”

  “What do you think she has in mind?”

  “I think it’s fairly simple. She wants to be the next Barny Guthrie … an archaeologist, sure, but in the public eye on television with her own series.”

  “She’s certainly well qualified for it,” Anne agreed, “with her doctorate and reputation. And she’s got the looks, all right.”

  “And the determination,” Donovan added. “In that way, she’s rather like you, Anne.”

  Anne started and almost spilled her spritzer. “Me?”

  “Yes. Why are you surprised? You’re ambitious. You want to be like Marnie. I’d say you were quite determined in your own way.”

  “But I … I just –”

  “I know. You just want to do the job. Nothing wrong in that. The difference between you and Zoë Tipton is, you’re not ruthlessly pushing yourself forward all the time.”

  Anne looked reflective. “What about you, Donovan? Would you say you’re ambitious?”

  Donovan gave a brief wistful smile. “I’m not as fortunate as you, Anne. I don’t have a clear goal. I just like to do interesting things. I’ll have to wait and see where they lead.”

  “So what’s next for you?”

  “One step at a time. Today, it’s filming here … my project.”

  “And tomorrow?”

  “More of the same. My guess is, Zoë will want to be filmed at surface level, talking to camera, wearing full equipment.”

  “Hard hat and yellow jacket?” said Anne.

  Donovan shook his head. “Eye shadow and lip gloss.”

  Anne laughed. They both drank and imagined Zoë preening herself in front of the camera, standing beside the top ladder leading down into the excavations. But in that regard they would be proved wrong.

  10

  Mega

  Tuesday, 3 July 1997

  Marnie could hardly believe it was only Tuesday as she prepared breakfast in the galley on Thyrsis while Ralph used the bathroom. Through the window she could see the Chiltern countryside through a faint mist under an opaque sky. She felt as if they were suspended in a parallel world, far removed from everyday reality, and had lost track of time and place. Ralph came into the galley looking refreshed and tanned and kissed Marnie on the lips.

  “Ralph, where are we?”

  “Oh god, she’s gone doolally. That didn’t take long. Two days away from the drawing board and her brain’s ceased to function.”

  Marnie gave him the Death Stare. “Seriously. Where is this?”

  Ralph shrugged. “Somewhere in Bedfordshire or Hertfordshire, I presume. Hadn’t thought about it.”

  “I suppose that’s a good sign,” Marnie said. “Proves we’re benefiting from the holiday. All the same, I’d like to have a rough idea of our location.”

  Ralph poured hot water into the cafetière. “We can check the cruising guide with the map after breakfast.”

  They took their seats and helped themselves to orange juice, toast and marmalade. Outside, they could see the light was already improving. It would be another sunny day.

  “I wonder what Anne and Donovan are doing,” Marnie said, spreading butter on a slice of toast.

  “Having a nice time, I hope,” said Ralph. “Anne’s probably soaking up the culture in the museums and galleries. Donovan’s no doubt filming Dick and his bones.”

  “Interesting that Anne hasn’t phoned.”

  “Were you expecting her to, Marnie?”

  “Not sure what I expected, really.”

  Ralph poured Marnie more coffee. “My guess is, she’s giving us time to ourselves and enjoying a relaxing break in the Metropolis.”

  *

  Anne was in no rush to set out on her quest for culture that morning. She knew that some cities in the world were early starters, but London was not one of them. People were still heading for work after nine, and she wanted to let the tubes and buses settle down to their normal off-peak rhythm before crossing the capital.

  She and Donovan had a leisurely breakfast by the window, watching the sky gradually clearing in the distance downstream over the sky-scrapers of Canary Wharf. Anne had assembled her guidebooks and street maps the evening before, and she observed Donovan as he put together his equipment and removed the batteries from the charger. Living with him for just that short time, she was learning about him.

  For all his self-assurance and confidence in his own judgment, he was an easy-going companion. She had feared he might be so used to living alone and taking account of his own wishes that he would find her presence intrusive. She remarked on this as he fastened the straps on the rucksack.

  Standing up, he looked at her for a long moment. “It’s not me, it’s us.”

  Anne pondered what he meant. “You mean we get on together?”

  “Partly. You’re a tidy person, though not obsessively so. If you’d been messy, you’d probably have driven me mad.”

  Anne grinned. I feel the same way. But you said partly?”

  Donovan reflected again. “You’re fun to be around.” Donovan grabbed the rucksack. “Are we ready for off?”

  “Let’s go for it.”

  *

  It was cooler as they stepped out that morning. Anne, who was wearing blue cotton slacks and a fawn linen shirt, hesitated on the threshold, wondering if she should take a jacket.

  Donovan looked up at the sky. “By the time you reach the British Museum it’ll have warmed up. You might not want to lug a jacket around all day.”

  Anne could already see sunlight falling obliquely in the street beyond the wharf buildings. She agreed with Donovan’s assessment and said she would go with him as far as the other side of the underpass.

  When they climbed the steps and looked across to the construction site, they experienced a sensation of déjà vu. Inside the compound men were rushing in all directions. Their voices could be heard even from fifty yards away. Like a scene from an animated cartoon film, figures were bustling and scurrying about, some carrying ladders, others arc lights, some were pushing wheelbarrows, others carrying sheaves of picks and shovels.

  And there at the centre of operations, surrounded by a small coterie of men in suits, was inevitably Zoë Tipton.

  “I think I’d better come with you,” said Anne, “at least as far as the gate. I ought to know
what’s going on.”

  Zoë spotted Anne and Donovan as soon as they entered the compound and waved them over. Even before she spoke to them, they sensed a marked change in her manner. Whereas the previous day she had been excited, on that morning she was on a higher plane of exultation.

  “Donovan, do you have your equipment with you?” There were no preliminaries. She spoke breathlessly.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Get geared up …” She glanced at Anne for the first time. “… both of you.”

  “Anne isn’t due to be here today,” Donovan said.

  Anne touched his arm. “It’s okay. I’ll stay if it’s important.”

  Zoë appeared not to have heard either statement. She stepped forward and placed both hands on Donovan’s shoulders.

  “Why is it only you, Donovan?” she said.

  “Why is what only me?” He seemed baffled. “What d’you mean?”

  “Why are you the only one who seems to understand the importance of what I’m doing here?” Her eyes were sparkling.

  Because I’m the only one pointing a camera at you and making you look good, he thought. He said, “Do I take it you’ve made another discovery?”

  “What have you found?” Anne asked quietly.

  Zoë released one hand and placed it on Anne’s shoulder, as if they were conspirators.

  “You won’t believe it,” Zoë said. She pronounced the next three words slowly and distinctly. “It is mega.”

  *

  Marnie looked down at the exhaust as Thyrsis pulled slowly away from their overnight mooring. Only faint pale grey fumes emanated from the tailpipe as the engine burbled and the water boiled around the rudder. They had checked the oil levels in the engine and gearbox and adjusted the stern gland the night before on arrival. Now, everything seemed to be running smoothly, as Ralph made his way along the bank to climb aboard beside Marnie after pushing the bows free.

  They had tied up for the night in an isolated stretch of water in a long pound between locks at the southern end of the Tring summit. As usual, they had woken to find other boats moored in line with them on both sides. Marnie smiled to herself, wondering if boats were naturally gregarious or just afraid of the dark. She steered Thyrsis slowly into mid-channel, waited until they had cleared the line of moored craft and accelerated up to cruising speed.

  The morning air was cool, and for that first stint Marnie had draped a long navy blue cardigan over her shoulders. By the time they were approaching the first lock of the day, the sun was shimmering through high clouds and the air was warming. Marnie removed the cardigan and dumped it on the gas bottle container while Ralph strode along the bank towards the lock, windlass in hand.

  Waiting for Ralph’s signal to advance, Marnie again wondered how Anne was enjoying her holiday in London. She looked forward to hearing what discoveries Anne had made in the abundant galleries and museums of the city. She knew there would be a collection of postcards to admire, together with guidebooks and probably a few textbooks on artists and architects that would be useful to Anne’s studies.

  Marnie also wondered how Anne and Donovan were getting on together. They were not accustomed to being with each other on a day-to-day basis, and living in close proximity would be an interesting experience for them both.

  Up ahead, Ralph waved. Marnie pushed the accelerator and guided Thyrsis forward, through the still water, into the waiting lock chamber with practised ease.

  *

  Donovan was faced with a problem. By now, the excavated area was much too big for his lights to cover overall. The only solution was to divide the space into individual sections and film them separately. He would later edit them together with shots of Zoë and detailed cutaways.

  In her hyped-up state, Zoë was keen to make a start in front of the camera, but Donovan persuaded her he had to have the total site in the can before anything else. He asked Anne to start recording sound while he filmed, and when she asked what sound he wanted, he surprised her.

  “Wild sound.”

  Anne looked blank. Donovan explained.

  “I want a constant, consistent background sound level that I can build on. Give me about ten minutes’ worth, okay?”

  Anne grinned at him in the subdued light. Her reply was delivered in a deep, gruff voice in an accent straight from Hollywood central casting.

  “You got it … ten minutes … on the wild side. Yo!”

  Connecting two cables together, Donovan shook his head, chuckling. Beside him, Zoë was champing at the bit.

  “Ten minutes?” she said in disbelief.

  Donovan turned to face her. “Don’t you have something you can do in that time … make-up, perhaps?”

  Zoë’s expression hardened momentarily, but almost immediately relaxed. She left without a word.

  By the time she returned, Donovan was setting up lights around the original timbers, having worked back in his filming to the starting point for that day’s exposition by Zoë. She walked straight up to him.

  “I hope you’re –”

  “We can begin now,” Donovan said quietly. “First, I want you to tell me what all this is.”

  Zoë’s eyes flashed as she glanced at the unprepossessing wet soil. “I’ve made more discoveries since yesterday.”

  Donovan positioned her under the lights and saw that she had applied the same subtle make-up as the day before. She looked like the proverbial million dollars, though he would never tell her that. He noticed she was wearing perfume, and she saw that he had noticed.

  “Morale booster,” she murmured.

  “Okay. You were telling me what you’d found.”

  Zoë pointed. “You can see more timbers there … there … and there.”

  “More vessels?” said Donovan.

  “We now have three in all, three Roman trading ships.”

  “Definitely Roman?”

  “Beyond any doubt.”

  “They couldn’t be ferry boats?” said Anne.

  “Is my judgment being called into question here?” Zoë’s tone was icy.

  “Not at all,” said Donovan. “We just need to establish the facts.”

  “Those are the facts. Three ships … Roman … trading vessels. All extremely rare and well preserved in the mud. This could be the site of the original port of Roman Londinium. Do you understand how important this is?”

  “That’s why I’m asking the questions,” said Donovan. “I need to know what to stress, particularly when I’m editing the film together.”

  Zoë became calmer. “Of course. Are you ready to begin filming me?”

  Donovan nodded. “We’re ready.”

  “The light’s better at surface level,” Zoë said. “Shall we do some shooting down here and some up top?”

  “We need to shoot everything down here,” said Donovan. He knew why Zoë wanted it different. “Sound levels,” he explained. “We need to keep clear of traffic noise up there.”

  “Okay.”

  Donovan sensed her disappointment. “Perhaps by way of introduction we could shoot some footage of you at ground level before descending to the remains.”

  Zoë considered this. Donovan continued.

  “If we filmed outside the compound, looking in to establish the scene, you could appear in camera without the hard hat and hi-vis jacket. Then I could film you getting togged up to go below ground. How would that be?”

  Donovan knew she would like that. He would be able to film her at her best.

  “I like it,” she said. “Let’s get started.”

  “One last thing,” said Donovan. “Where’s Dick Blackwood this morning?”

  “Why d’you want to know about him?” The edge was returning to Zoë’s voice.

  “I don’t want him blundering into the scene while we’re filming.” Donovan’s tone was even. “That’s why I need to know if he’s likely to arrive out of the blue.”

  “No idea.” Zoë frowned. “That’s odd, actually. He should be here today. Never m
ind. This isn’t his kind of thing. Now, where shall I stand?”

  *

  For the next hour Zoë produced a presentation worthy of any mainstream TV channel. Donovan backed her up with precise, unfussy filming. Avoiding the excessive zooming in and out and panning of amateur film-makers, he compiled a clean, clear series of images that kept the viewer’s attention focused on the subject matter.

  And what a find Zoë Tipton had made!

  She guided Donovan around the timbers, pointing out details of the ships’ construction, indicating the fine points that gave clues as to where the ships had been built, what cargoes they had carried and in what period they had operated. Anne and Donovan were impressed. They had to concentrate hard on their respective tasks, rather than merely listening to her exposition.

  Donovan was announcing that they had probably achieved all they could that morning, when Zoë produced her trump card.

  “One last thing,” she said, pointing at one of the vessels. “Over here.”

  Donovan moved the camera on its tripod and realigned two of the lights, indicating to Anne where she should position the microphone.

  “Tell me when you’re ready,” Zoë said.

  “What are you going to do?” Donovan asked. Zoë shook her head. “Zoë, I need to know what I’m shooting … head and shoulders … big close-up …” He grinned. “… full frontal?”

  “I’m going to kneel here and point at that part of the ship. Then I’m going to reach forward and pick something up.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll follow you in with a zoom, then a close-up on your hand. Keep it steady.”

  He lined up the shot, called to Anne to run sound and gave Zoë a countdown to action. After a brief pause, she began speaking.

  “Perhaps the most interesting find is right in front of us, what every archaeologist needs above all else … dating evidence in situ. How old are these vessels exactly? What can we deduce without waiting for results from the laboratories? The answer is here.”

  She leaned forward, while Donovan zoomed in smoothly. Her long slim fingers reached into a gap in the timbers and she withdrew her hand to reveal a tiny object. She held it up in the light and turned it slowly as she spoke.

  “The Romans had the custom of placing a coin in the caulking in the bows at the time of construction. This is a golden solidus, beautifully preserved, clearly depicting the head of Theodosius the Great, who was emperor from 379 to 395 AD. This ship therefore dates beyond doubt from the last years of the western Roman empire. That probably explains why they’re here now. When we examine them in the laboratory, I’m sure they’ll give up more of their secrets.”