by Leo McNeir
Releasing Marnie’s hand, the detective moved past her and withdrew a chair from the table. “Won’t you take a seat?”
“Thank you.”
As Marnie sat, the officer guided the chair under her. Marnie noticed that Bruere was looking down at his papers.
“Why are you here, Mr Bruere?” Marnie asked.
Bruere’s head snapped up, but Robertson replied first.
“We always attend a fatal, Mrs Walker. This could be a crime scene, in which case it has to be handled strictly in accordance with procedure.”
“But a chief inspector?”
Bruere quickly raised a hand to stop Robertson. “I happened to be on duty and available when the call came in. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll ask the questions.”
“Of course. I was only curious.”
“You said you were part of the architect’s team.”
“I’m responsible for the interior design.”
“And where were you when the incident took place?”
“I don’t know exactly, probably somewhere north of Uxbridge.”
“Uxbridge?” Bruere looked confused.
“Ralph and I were travelling down by boat. I got a call from a colleague on site and we came in straight away.” Marnie attempted a smile. “If you have a list of suspects, inspector, I think you can safely remove my name.”
Bruere remained silent for a long moment.
“By leaving the site without my permission, you set a bad example, Mrs Walker, and you undermined my authority.”
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention. But you should’ve thought to get food for the students.”
Another long moment passed.
“Yes.” Bruere’s tone had softened. “I didn’t realise …”
“Shall I go now,” Marnie asked, “or do you have more questions?”
“No more questions.”
“It was an accident, wasn’t it?” Marnie said.
“What makes you so sure, Mrs Walker?”
“I, er … I had a talk with one of the archaeologists.”
“Which one?”
Marnie hesitated. “Dick Blackwood.”
“Why did you question him about it?”
Bruere’s phrasing put Marnie on her guard. “I didn’t question him. We were just talking together … as friends. He was upset.”
“What did he tell you?”
Marnie stood up. “I think he should tell you himself, in his own words.”
DS Robertson rose from his seat and opened the door for Marnie. She thanked him and went out.
*
Anne and Ralph pulled the mini-market trolleys over the uneven ground to the site exit; it was easier than pushing them. Two of the students, one of each sex, helped lift them over the roughest section. When Anne turned to thank the students, she was surprised to find that Donovan had materialised beside her. He indicated they should waste no time in leaving the compound and took over Ralph’s trolley. Ralph returned to wait for Marnie with Dick Blackwood and the students.
They were well clear of the site before Anne spoke.
“Where did you get to? One minute you were there, the next, you’d vanished. Was it your natural aversion to the police?”
Donovan glanced over his shoulder as they neared the kerb. There was a gap in the traffic and, rather than take the subway tunnel, they raced across the approach road to Tower Bridge. Once on the opposite side, Donovan did not slow down, keeping up speed until he turned the corner of the side street. Anne struggled to control her trolley as she jogged along and found Donovan waiting for her round the corner. She stopped beside him, panting and grinning.
“What’s funny?” Donovan said.
Anne laughed. “A supermarket trolley as a get-away car … it’s gotta be a first! And of course I get the one with a wonky wheel.”
Donovan smiled at her. “And I’m guessing you probably didn’t get a sandwich, either.”
“You’re right, I didn’t. Did you?”
Donovan shook his head. “Come on. Let’s take these back to the shop and see what that café has to offer.”
They were in luck. After reuniting the trolleys with the Indian lady in the shop, they walked to the Italian café, and Donovan guided Anne to a table in the corner away from the window.
“So what did happen to you?” Anne said when they were settled.
“I made a couple of phone calls. I rang the library at London Barbican University, said I was filming the dig here and writing it up for my project. I said I needed the title of Dick’s research thesis for the appendix to my report.”
“Brilliant! So you found out what he was researching, so you could work out what he’d discovered.”
“It was a good idea,” Donovan said, “… in theory.”
“But?”
“The LBU librarian said the title was something like, Repression and resistance: uprisings in the wetlands of north Norfolk and south Lincolnshire in the early Norman period. Something like that.”
“Oh …”
“Exactly.”
Silence descended on them as they started on their sandwiches. Donovan spoke first.
“Of course, I hadn’t expected it to be like, Buried treasure in the outskirts of London, but even so …”
“Disappointing,” Anne muttered between bites. She swallowed and took a sip of coffee. “You said you made a couple of calls?”
“Yeah. I rang Dick’s department to find out where he’d been those days he was away.”
“And they told you?” Anne sounded surprised.
“I said I was filming his research as part of my own media project and I was planning to go with him on his next field trip. I needed to book accommodation, but with all the hassle surrounding Dr Fennimore’s accident, I didn’t want to bother Dick when he was being interviewed by the police. I was speaking to the departmental secretary, and she said she’d give me the information if I faxed her my request in writing on my own department’s headed notepaper.”
“She treated you as suspicious?”
Donovan nodded. “I expect she thought I was a journalist.”
“So can you do what she wants?”
“Sure. I’ll go in this afternoon.” He grinned. “No probs.”
*
Marnie was surprised that Dick was kept waiting by the police before being interviewed at length. Instead of seeing Dick at once, the detectives sent for the students, leaving Dick cooling his heels in the compound. Marnie noticed he had taken a bottle of mineral water from Donovan’s trolley but had not even opened it. She walked over and suggested it would do him good if he had something to drink.
“You don’t want to get dehydrated,” she said. “You’ll need a clear head once Bruere gets started on you.”
Dick looked alarmed. “What d’you mean, Marnie?”
Marnie took the bottle from his hand, unscrewed the top and gave it back, indicating that he should drink. He took a mouthful and a deep breath.
“The chief inspector will ask you all sorts of questions about what happened.”
“There’s not much to tell,” Dick said. “We were looking at the ship remains when the scaffolding came down. That’s it.”
“Not entirely. He may want to explore other areas, for example, your relationship with Dr Fennimore.”
Dick looked baffled. “Relationship? Why?”
“The police have their methods,” Marnie said. “They’re very thorough.”
“I can only tell them what I saw.”
“Dick, they’ll want to look at all the angles.”
“What angles? They ought to be looking at why the scaffolding collapsed.”
“They will. They’ll probably also want to know why you and Fennimore were down there together at that time and why he was standing under the scaffolding and you weren’t.”
Dick looked flustered. “Why are you telling me all this, Marnie?”
“Because I’ve been questioned by the police about other cases and
I know how easy it is to get drawn into saying the wrong thing. You can learn from my mistakes.”
“What do I have to do?”
“First, stay calm and try to relax.”
Dick pulled an easier-said-than-done face. Marnie continued.
“Answer each question accurately and simply. Just stick to the facts. Don’t embellish. Don’t fall into conversation. Don’t offer opinions. Don’t speculate.”
“I wasn’t expecting anything like this,” Dick said.
“It may not be as bad as I’m making out, but it’s as well to be on your guard. Remember, anything you say could be misconstrued and even turned against you.”
Dick looked worried. “You make it sound as if they’ll be trying to catch me out.”
“Not really, but it may feel like that. They’re just doing their job.”
“You think they regard this as a suspicious death, Marnie?”
“They’ll probably treat it as such until they’re convinced otherwise.”
Dick took a gulp of water. “I thought I was just a witness, but you’re telling me they may well regard me as a suspect.”
Marnie looked him steadily in the eyes. “Until they’re convinced otherwise.”
*
On her way back to the compound, Anne encountered Ralph going in the opposite direction. He said he had asked for permission to leave as he had work to do. Bruere had responded reasonably on the grounds that Ralph had not been present when the accident took place and could be contacted later if the need ever arose.
“What about Marnie?” Anne said. “The same applies to her.”
“She wanted to stay with Dick. He’s in a very nervous state, and she thinks he needs supporting. Where’s Donovan? I thought he was with you.”
Anne explained about Donovan’s attempts to learn more about Dick’s mysterious find. With Ralph working on his papers in the flat and Marnie in the compound, Anne decided that her time was best spent shopping for their evening meal. Ralph watched her go, the thin waif of a girl who took control of practical matters and held everything together.
The Indian lady in the mini-market greeted Anne like a friend and joked that she hoped Anne did not want a sandwich – the shop had run out! Anne rummaged around until she found pizzas in the freezer. She chose three large ones on the off-chance that Donovan might return, and supplemented them with lettuce, garlic, peppers, spring onions, cucumber and tomatoes. She found some passable Spanish red in the wine section and took two bottles. Dessert was Greek yogurt to which they would add honey from the supplies in the flat.
Weighed down like a bag lady, Anne sighed as her mobile began ringing while she was saying goodbye to her new shopkeeper friend. She carefully set the bags down near the doorway, pulled out the phone and pressed the green button.
“Have they applied the thumbscrews yet?” It was Donovan.
“Can’t talk,” said Anne. “I’m a bit stretched at the moment. I’m on the rack.”
Donovan chuckled. “Any news?”
“I’m at the mini-market getting food for tonight. Can you join us?”
“Thanks, but I’ve got a lot of editing and writing-up to do. I’ll be along first thing in the morning.”
“Okay. We’ll throw yours in the bin. How d’you get on?”
“I sent the fax to LBU. They said to phone back for a reply in half an hour.”
“D’you think it’ll be okay?”
“I’ve got my fingers crossed.”
“I’d do the same if I could,” Anne said, eyeing the shopping bags at her feet.
*
Dick was calmer now. After walking around the site with Marnie, going over all the questions the detectives might ask him, he felt less stressed. When DS Robertson came out of the staff hut – now known as the interview room – and waved him over, he thanked Marnie for her help.
“Just take it gently and you’ll be fine,” she said.
“Sure.” Dick grinned broadly. “I’ll probably go in, pass out and then confess to everything.”
Marnie smiled back. “Good idea. I’ll organise the firing squad.” Her expression changed. “Seriously, Dick … take care.”
He was making his way across the site when his mobile rang.
“Dick, this is Sarah Lockyer, Professor de Groot’s secretary.”
“Hi Sarah. This had better be quick. I’m just going in to be questioned about the accident.”
“Then I’ll be brief. Do you know a Donovan Smith?”
“Sure.”
“Is he at Brunel?”
“That’s right.”
“And he’s filming your work?”
“Yes, for a special project.”
“Will he be going on your next field trip?”
Dick realised they had not talked about that, but he liked the idea, and they got on well together. It could be a real bonus.
“I’d like that, Sarah, but we haven’t actually discussed any details.”
“I think he wants to make travel arrangements.”
“Great. Look, Sarah, I’ve gotta go now, okay?”
“Of course. Leave it to me.”
Dick arrived at the door of the interview room, which DS Robertson was holding open.
“You’re going to have to switch off the mobile, please,” the detective said.
Dick complied with the request and went inside.
*
Donovan waited until two minutes past the time set by the departmental secretary before calling back. He tried to sound relaxed. As soon as he announced himself he could tell by the tone of her voice that his ruse had worked. Sarah Lockyer told him she had spoken with Mr Blackwood who had confirmed they were indeed collaborating on his project. Donovan took down the name and address of a B and B run by a Mrs Yarrow. The surprise came when Ms Lockyer gave the address as a village in the vicinity of King’s Lynn.
“That’s Norfolk, presumably,” Donovan said.
“Of course,” said Lockyer, her voice edged with suspicion. “I thought you’d know that.”
“I always check with addresses,” Donovan said calmly, his mind racing. “I don’t trust these postcodes. You have a phone number for Mrs Yarrow?”
The secretary’s voice relaxed again. “Yes and actually I seem to recall it comes under the Wisbech exchange in Cambridgeshire.”
“I rest my case,” Donovan said, smiling.
“Will you be checking with Gerald Parfitt?” Lockyer asked.
Who the hell is – Donovan was back in overdrive. “We haven’t really discussed more detailed arrangements, and with Dick so taken up with the police enquiry …” He hoped Lockyer would pick up the thread.
“Of course,” she said. “If I give you his contact details, you can do whatever seems appropriate.”
Yes, that would be best,” said Donovan. “Thanks.”
*
“The University of East Anglia?” Anne said. “I don’t get it. Dick’s a postgrad here at Barbican. And who’s this Gerry Parfitt?”
“Gerald,” Donovan said. “He apparently insists on Gerald.”
“Okay, so who is he?”
“Research Fellow in the Centre for Local History. Look, Anne, my battery’s running low. Find Dick and ask him when he’s next going on a field trip. Get the dates. My guess is, it’ll be soon.”
“All right, but we’re still no nearer to finding out what’s going on.”
“Really?” said Donovan. “But it’s staring you in the face.”
“What d’you mean?”
“I would’ve thought it was fairly obvious.”
“Donovan, you’re always doing that, coming out with these gnomic utterances. Why can’t you just … Donovan? Are you there?”
Anne found herself listening to silence. The connection was dead.
Ralph had installed himself in the master bedroom, reading in a Victorian button-back nursing chair, with his papers spread out on the bed, and Anne did not think he would wish to be disturbed. With no-one to sha
re her thoughts, she sat at the dining table, gazing down at the broad river meandering into the distance. She had barely begun trying to work out the conundrum set by Donovan, when she heard the front door open and Marnie call out hallo.
They exchanged news. Marnie had been interviewed by a constable who allowed her to leave as soon as he had established that she was miles from the site when the accident happened. For Ralph, the good news was that the police would not be wanting to question him at all.
Anne relayed her conversation with Donovan and was relieved when neither Ralph nor Marnie could see what was supposedly staring them all in the face.
13
The Last Great Mystery
The next morning was Friday, and all was eerily quiet when Anne went out before breakfast to visit the building site. She stopped several yards short of the perimeter fence and looked in. There was no hum of generators, no diggers tearing at the ground, and the cranes were standing at rest, silent sentinels.
Anne was turning to leave when she spotted Nigel Beardsley coming out of the staff hut. She advanced to the site entrance, called out and waved him over. A new security guard was on duty, one Anne had not seen before, and he advanced in her direction.
“Can I help you, miss?”
Anne pulled the security pass out of her shirt pocket and waved it at the guard. He insisted on taking it from her, studying it carefully, then checking her name against his list of authorised persons. By the time he handed it back with a grunt, the architect had reached the fence, and Anne told the guard there was no need to let her in.
“What’s happening, Nigel?” Anne spoke through the chain-link fence.
“Philip’s down there now with the health and safety inspectors.”
“But not you?”
Nigel shook his head. “It’s still so unstable below ground they want as few people as possible in the area.”
“What’s the feeling?” Anne asked.
“Well … hard to say, but it seems the contractor ordered everyone out. Then Blackwood and Fennimore climbed down afterwards by themselves.”
“And no-one warned them?” Anne said.
“No-one even saw them until … you know.” The architect looked despondent. He added quietly, “Wrong place … wrong time.”
“An unfortunate accident,” Anne said. “Is that what they’re saying?”