Stick in the Mud: A riveting murder mystery

by Leo McNeir

  Zoë held the coin still. Donovan counted to ten in his head.

  “And cut,” he said.

  “Wow,” said Anne, switching off the microphone.

  “Wow indeed,” Zoë said in triumph.

  *

  Marnie handed over the tiller to Ralph and went below to change into a T-shirt. The afternoon had warmed up considerably, even though huge fluffy clouds were sauntering across the sky. She came up on deck clutching her mobile and hitched herself up onto the roof beside the stern door as she pressed a button on the speed-dial.

  “Hi Beth, it’s me.”

  “Marnie? I don’t believe it. You’ve actually found time to phone your big sister? How can this be?”

  “Easy. I’m on holiday.”

  “I must be hallucinating,” said Beth. “I think I have to lie down.”

  “Ha … ha …” Marnie said slowly. “But I’m serious. Ralph and I are taking some time off.”

  “That’s great. So where are you? Thailand? Acapulco? The Riviera?”

  “Actually, I think we’re somewhere in Hertfordshire.”

  “What is it, some kind of mystery coach tour? Doesn’t seem like your style, or Ralph’s.”

  “I think you know what we’re doing, Beth. We’re on Thyrsis, having a week on the canal.”

  “Well, that’s better than nothing.”

  “What d’you mean? It’s perfect, and so is the weather. We’re having a wonderful time.”

  “Sure. I’m only kidding. So Anne’s in charge of the office?”

  “No. Dolly’s in charge this week. Anne’s having a cultural break in London, staying in the flat. Donovan’s keeping her company.”

  “Very nice. So you’re all just mooching around.”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I’m pleased for you. You all deserve some R and R. It’s nice not to have a care in the world.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “It’s nice not to –”

  “Beth!”

  *

  While Marnie and Ralph were wrestling with the thorny problem of where to stop for dinner that evening, Donovan was making a Spanish omelette, and Anne was preparing a mixed salad. Working together in the kitchen, they sipped spritzers.

  After their meal, Anne and Donovan took coffee into the drawing room to watch the day’s footage. Anne tried to imagine the final edited version with cutaways interspersed with Zoë talking to camera. When they reached the end, Donovan pronounced it as okay.

  “You didn’t doubt it would be, did you?” Anne asked. “You take a lot of care to get things right.”

  Donovan shrugged. “I’m never sure until I’ve had a chance to view the footage afterwards.”

  “I don’t think you make mistakes, Donovan.”

  “Huh! I once set up an interview at college as an exercise. It looked fine until we watched it on the monitor in class.”

  “Something went wrong?”

  Donovan nodded. “You could say that. I’d got the lighting lined up poorly around the subject’s head. He came out looking like a chimpanzee with luminous ears.”

  Anne shrieked with laughter. When she subsided, she added, “But this shoot went well, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  Anne watched Donovan as he disconnected the cables and packed the equipment away. By now, having known him for almost two years, she felt she could sense how he was feeling.

  “Donovan, is something bothering you? If it’s the footage, you’ve got no reason. It looked great to me.”

  He stowed the equipment in the bedroom and returned to sit beside Anne on the sofa.

  “It’s Dick Blackwood,” he said.

  “What about him?”

  “Didn’t it strike you as odd that he failed to show up today? He was due on site.”

  “Is it such a big deal?” said Anne. “Didn’t Dr Fennimore say he was working on his thesis?”

  “That’s what he suggested.”

  “What else would he be doing?” Anne said.

  “That’s the point.” Donovan looked thoughtful. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there was more to it than that.”

  Anne wondered if this was another of Donovan’s mysteries. Maybe. But he rarely made mistakes.

  11

  Pied-à-terre

  Wednesday 4 July, 1997

  On Wednesday Donovan had an unexpected day off from filming. When they left the flat, he told Anne he would only be doing establishing shots and general views of the diggers at work. At the end of their session the previous day, Zoë had told them Dr Fennimore was returning that morning with a team of student archaeologists. They would spend as much of the day as possible scraping mud from around the Roman timbers under Zoë’s direction.

  “It will give you a great chance to watch me – I mean us – in action,” she had said.

  “So you’ll be getting your hands dirty?” Donovan had asked.

  Zoë had fixed him with an unblinking stare that lasted several seconds before giving him the benefit of the doubt. “Sure … at some point.”

  That morning Anne and Donovan walked up from the pedestrian tunnel under the road to be greeted by a familiar sight. In the building compound a small crowd was involved in what looked like some kind of disturbance.

  “It’s becoming a daily ritual,” Donovan said quietly. “Messiah Zoë casting the money-lenders out of the temple.”

  “I can’t see Zoë in that crowd,” Anne said.

  “Nor can I, in fact, but you can bet she’s in the thick of it. Come on.” Donovan turned to Anne. “Unless you want to beat it while the going’s good?”

  “I think I’d better come.”

  Once inside the compound, Anne and Donovan went straight over to the crowd without donning their protective clothing. Donovan was spotted at once by the site agent, who was looking flustered.

  “Donovan, I’m sorry but I must insist you hold back from further filming, at least for today. We have to make the site secure.”

  “Fine by me,” Donovan said in an even tone.

  The contractor added, “And it’s in everyone’s best interests. The boats have to be protected from tidal erosion.”

  “Ships.” The voice came from behind the agent. Zoë emerged from the pack. “They’re ships not boats.”

  “I don’t care if they’re the Battlestar Gallactica, young lady. They have to be protected, and we have to install more shuttering around the deep excavations. It’s not stable down there.”

  “It seems fine to me,” said Zoë. She looked as if she was on the brink of exploding. “The archaeology gets priority. It’s in the contract and –”

  Donovan raised a hand. Everyone looked at him.

  “Zoë, we already have a mass of unedited material. Surely the safety of your students is paramount. If the builders say there’s a risk, you have to respect that. Whatever the contract stipulates, this is not your call.”

  “Health and safety,” the site agent muttered.

  It was the familiar catch-all mantra. He was going to say more, but Donovan gave him a don’t-chance-your-luck look and he wisely desisted.

  “I can see I’m outnumbered here.” Zoë sounded deflated. “So where does that leave us? What happens now?”

  Donovan replied. “The builders make the site secure and protect the ships. I get on with editing the footage. You presumably need to write up the results so far and bring the students up to speed.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” Zoë conceded, but with little grace. “When can I see the material?”

  “I should get it edited today,” said Donovan. “If you like, we can take over the staff hut so that everyone can watch at the end of the afternoon.”

  Zoë turned to the site agent. “I don’t want to hold you up. You can be getting on with your health and safety works.”

  The builders turned as one and marched off. Zoë took Donovan by the arm and walked him away from the rest of the group. Anne fell into step beside them.


  “No-one sees the edited footage until I’ve had a chance to view it,” Zoë said under her breath.

  Donovan acquiesced. “Okay. Where d’you want the viewing to take place?”

  Zoë frowned. “That’s the problem. We need somewhere private.”

  “The university?” Donovan suggested.

  Zoë shook her head. “Can’t go all the way back to Cambridge.”

  “I meant Barbican,” said Donovan.

  Another frown from Zoë. “No guarantee of keeping it private at LBU.”

  “You could come back to our place.” Anne spoke for the first time. “It’s just a few minutes’ walk from here.”

  Zoë considered this. “Student digs,” she muttered. “Okay.” A weary sigh. “That’ll have to do.”

  Anne and Donovan traded glances but made no comment.

  As they turned to leave in different directions, Donovan said, “No Dick Blackwood again?”

  Zoë’s only reply was a who-cares shrug as she walked away.

  *

  Marnie watched Ralph power-walking along the towpath towards the next lock, over a mile away. For a man whose only exercise was walking, he was in good shape. A few times each day he chose to follow the towpath between locks rather than travel on Thyrsis. It gave Marnie time for her thoughts. Relaxing at the tiller, she let her memory float back to her first long solo journey on Sally Ann a few years earlier.

  It was on this stretch that she had spent part of a day with Anne, who was then running away from home to ease the pressure on the family finances. Her father had been made redundant from work for the second time in as many years, and Marnie encountered the fifteen year-old schoolgirl on the journey, desperate and depressed. Noticing the name of the boat, she had told Marnie she was also an Anne … Anne with an ‘e’. The nickname had stuck and was still used on occasions.

  That day had been a turning point for both of them. Anne found a role-model for life; Marnie found a friend who was to become her greatest support and ally.

  Marnie smiled inwardly at the memories from that journey – a time she always thought of as Sally Ann’s summer – and she felt the waterways working their old magic on her. Every mile she travelled boosted her spirits. She could think of no better way to relax and unwind.

  Up ahead, she saw Ralph turning the windlass at the next lock. Marnie’s last thought before concentrating on her approach to the chamber was the hope that Anne too was having a relaxing time in London.

  *

  Anne was lying flat out on the biggest cream sofa in the drawing room, a mug of tea steaming on the low table beside her, when the bell rang. She sat up, clambered over the pile of catalogues and brochures and padded to the hall. On the video screen she saw Donovan in the entrance at ground level. She said a cheerful Hiya! into the microphone and pressed the entry button. Opening the front door to the flat, she left it ajar and went to the kitchen. As soon as Donovan shut the door behind him, she called out.

  “Tea?”

  “Great.”

  They met in the drawing room and kissed. Anne looped her arms round Donovan’s neck and went limp.

  “So you’ve done the tourist thing, I gather,” Donovan said.

  “I’m putting my feet in for a retread,” Anne whispered into Donovan’s shoulder, without loosening her grip or looking up. “How did your day go?”

  “I got the editing done.”

  Anne moved her head to look into Donovan’s face. “How did it turn out?”

  “Okay … usual form.”

  Anne broke off her embrace and went into the kitchen area where the kettle had switched itself off. “You don’t sound too ecstatic.”

  “The camerawork was all right. The zooms weren’t jerky. The lighting wasn’t brilliant. The sound quality was a bit below par.”

  “Oh dear … was that my fault?”

  Anne returned with a mug, which she deposited on the table beside her own. Donovan was pleased to see a slice of lemon in the golden liquid.

  “Thanks, Anne. No. It was nobody’s fault … a limitation of the equipment. I expected as much.”

  They flopped down onto the sofa. Donovan eyed the museum catalogues and the small pile of postcards.

  “You’ve had a busy day, too.”

  Anne rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. What time did we agree to meet Zoë?”

  Donovan checked his watch. “In about half an hour. I’ll go and collect her from the site.”

  Anne grinned. “And bring her to the student digs.”

  *

  Donovan met Zoë in the staff hut where she was hanging up her yellow jacket in the locker. Across the back was printed the title, Capital Archaeology, and below it were the initials ZT. She asked for a minute to change out of her protective boots and thick socks and sat on a chair flexing her toes. Donovan noticed her feet were neat and slim as she put on her sandals.

  “Hard day?” Donovan asked.

  “Mm … I could really use a shower,” Zoë said.

  “We have one in the flat. I’m sure you’d be welcome to use it.”

  “I don’t have any towels with me.” Zoë sounded as if that was final.

  “Believe it or not we have towels.” Donovan smiled at her. “There’s even shower gel and shampoo. You’d be amazed how civilised we are.”

  Zoë gave him a look that spoke of reserving judgment.

  On the way to Butler’s Wharf, Zoë asked how the film editing had gone, and she paid little attention to their surroundings as Donovan gave an account of progress. It was only as they ascended in the lift that she became aware they were in a modern building.

  “Where is this?” she asked.

  “It’s a conversion,” said Donovan. “Used to be a warehouse or something.”

  “It doesn’t look bad.”

  “Uh-huh.” Donovan led the way across the lift lobby on the fifth floor, opened the front door and stood aside to let Zoë enter the flat. “After you.”

  Zoë was stunned. She stopped in the middle of the open-plan living space and looked across to the dining area beside the large windows with their view of the river, the City and Canary Wharf beyond. From the adjoining kitchen area Anne called out a greeting and emerged to meet her.

  Zoë regarded Anne appraisingly, as if seeing her for the first time.

  “You live here?” she asked, her voice dripping with incredulity.

  “It belongs to Marnie, actually.”

  “But …” Zoë seemed unable to find the right words. “But I thought … you hung out in some barn in the sticks. That was the impression I got from Dick.”

  “This is our London pied-à-terre,” Anne explained.

  Zoë closed her eyes and let out a long slow breath. She could feel grit between her toes in the sandals and dust on her skin. She knew there was grime under her fingernails and dried mud in her hair.

  “Donovan, is that offer of a shower still on?”

  “Sure. I’ll get you some towels.”

  “You can stay for supper if you’d like to,” Anne added. “It’s only something simple. I’m making a Greek feta salad to go with baked trout. Oh, and there are strawberries from the market.”

  “And a white wine from Bordeaux,” Donovan chimed in. “Nothing grand.”

  With eyes still closed, Zoë thought of the little room in the student hostel where she was staying, the tin of soup in the cupboard and the ready-meal with her name on in the fridge in the communal kitchen. She smiled wearily and let out a sigh.

  “I will lay my bones here forever.” She turned to Donovan. “Lead me to the shower.”

  *

  The evening went well, much better than Anne or Donovan could have imagined. Zoë was surprisingly good company, relaxed and friendly, showing genuine appreciation of the meal. She regaled them with a stock of humorous anecdotes about her experiences on digs all over Europe.

  After the meal they all three cleared away then retired to the drawing room where Donovan had connected the cam
era to the television for viewing. Zoë watched his film of the dig with intense concentration, saying nothing, merely nodding her head from time to time. She reserved all comment until the last image faded to black.

  “Remarkable,” she said. “You were right about your equipment not being up to professional standard, but your average viewer would scarcely have known.”

  “The sound quality’s pretty ropy,” said Donovan. “Not much I can do about that.”

  “It’s the images that count,” said Zoë. “Less than perfect sound is okay in such a restricted space … adds to the atmosphere.”

  “I’ve got hold of a better microphone and recorder for the next time. I’m assuming there will be more filming. Is that right?”

  Zoë smiled. “Oh yes. That’s right, all right. You wait till you see what I’ve got in store for tomorrow.”

  12

  Disaster

  Thursday 5 July, 1997

  Anne had a long-awaited phone call after breakfast on Thursday. She had expected Marnie to make contact at some point during the week, but had been surprised that she had held off for so long. It was a sure sign that Marnie was enjoying her break and putting all thoughts of work behind her.

  “How’s the culture vulture?” Marnie said. “Worn your trotters off yet?”

  Anne, who was not sure that vultures actually had trotters, could hear an engine rumbling in the background.

  “Not quite. I’ve spent some of the time helping Donovan with his filming. I’m now a sound engineer. How about you and Ralph? Trip going well?”

  “Great. We’re on the outskirts of London … should reach Little Venice tomorrow. Is Donovan still filming? I thought he’d have finished by now.”

  .No. He’s assembling a lot of material. You remember Zoë?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Quite. Well, she’s discovered the remains of these Roman ships at the bottom level, three of them no less. Donovan’s been making a record of the dig. It’s apparently very important.”