Stick in the Mud: A riveting murder mystery

by Leo McNeir

  Even the biggest success of her short career, the huge contract at Horselydown, had become tainted with tragedy. And she had a sense of foreboding that all was not as it seemed with the dramatic discovery claimed by Dick Blackwood.

  Anne stood up and walked over to the window, staring out over the river that was sparkling in the morning light. Where are you, Dick? she wondered. And what the hell is going on?

  *

  Cathy Lamb returned to divisional HQ in Towcester and went straight to the desk of DS Marriner, who was on the phone. There had been two more burglaries during the night, and she had been sent to investigate. But it was not the wish to report back to her sergeant that kept her hovering over him. As soon as Marriner replaced the receiver, she perched on the edge of his desk.

  “No prizes for guessing what’s on your mind, Cathy,” Marriner said. “But first of all, what about the burglaries?”

  “Could be the same: houses unoccupied, owners away on holiday, alarms disabled –”

  “Inside knowledge,” Marriner interrupted. “There’s a link there somewhere.”

  “I’ll get on and write it up, sarge.”

  “You do that. Is it the same make of alarm, Cathy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Leave the report till later. We’ve got some visits to make.”

  “In the meantime, can I ask …?”

  “The boss has spoken to the Met. We can expect a result on the Luger tests probably tomorrow. Rigby will phone to let us know.”

  “Will he be brought up here following the arrest, sarge?”

  “First things first, Cathy. Let’s get the results back from ballistics.”

  Lamb tried to conceal dissatisfaction, but her expression betrayed her feelings.

  Marriner glared at her. “You have a problem with that?”

  “Well, I just thought, in view of the seriousness of the case …”

  “Cathy, we need more than suspicion to hold someone in legal possession of a firearm. The boss says we do everything by the book. Okay?”

  “I was just concerned he might make a run for it, sarge.”

  “Don’t worry. The Met will be keeping an eye on him.”

  Lamb grinned. “When they pulled that stunt with the bike on the roof, I thought they might’ve startled him into giving the game away.”

  “I think that was the idea, Cathy.”

  “Yeah, but he’s too cool a character for that,” Lamb said.

  “That’s what bothers me,” said Marriner. “But don’t worry. Once the report on the weapon is in, our young Mr Smith will have nowhere to hide.”

  *

  With no locks to negotiate until beyond Uxbridge, Thyrsis made steady progress after slipping her temporary mooring in Little Venice. After rounding Browning island in the pool, Marnie had looked back at the tree-lined waterway that had been her original base for Sally Ann. She still thought of it as a kind of home, still regarded this quiet corner of London as the most attractive section of urban canal anywhere in the country.

  “Do you ever miss your life in London, Marnie?” Ralph was on the tiller. “Ever miss Little Venice? Any regrets?”

  “None at all. I did well here, but I came to realise I wanted something different. Anyway, we’re not so far that we can’t come back any time we want to, or need to.”

  “True, and of course you have the flat in Docklands.”

  Marnie nodded. “And the project in Docklands.”

  Ralph smiled. “The best of both worlds.”

  “Almost.” It came out as an automatic reaction before Marnie could stop herself. “I mean …”

  “I know what you mean,” Ralph said. He reached out and took her hand.

  Marnie squeezed Ralph’s hand and let go to turn and sit on the stern rail. “It’s strange, but every time I feel happy, something crops up to bring me down to earth with a bump. I can’t help thinking about Dr Fennimore and now this business with Donovan and the police. I wonder what led them to him.”

  “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know,” Ralph said, “unless …”

  Marnie completed the sentence for him. “Unless he’s arrested and has to stand trial.” She frowned. “I can’t believe this is happening, Ralph.”

  Ahead of them, another boat was coming their way. It was a fine modern craft with gleaming paintwork, a huge antique headlight in the bows and polished brass-work throughout. The steerer was a man with white hair, accompanied by a woman in a smock top with blue jeans. Both were smiling with contentment. As they passed, the steerer called across.

  “Glorious day!”

  “Wonderful!” Marnie replied.

  Ralph raised a hand before easing Thyrsis back into mid-channel.

  “Wonderful,” Marnie repeated quietly to herself. “But for how much longer?”

  *

  Anne and Donovan were growing impatient. After waiting for half an hour, Anne called in on the clerk of works. He confirmed he had had no word from Zoë Tipton and suggested to Anne that she might try the site agent in the next hut. The result was the same. She left the hut to see Donovan talking to the students who were sitting about on the ground. Most had removed their hard hats and were sunbathing or chatting.

  Anne began walking over to Donovan who turned and met her halfway.

  “Any joy?” said Donovan.

  Anne shook her head. “What about the students? Anyone been in touch with them?”

  “No contact. Not a word.”

  “The case of the disappearing archaeologists,” Anne said.

  Donovan nodded. “The Archaeologist Vanishes – Alfred Hitchcock’s lost masterpiece.”

  “What are we going to do?” Anne asked. “I don’t fancy waiting around here all day.”

  Donovan looked at his watch. Before he could speak, Anne read his mind.

  “Good idea,” she said. “Coffee. Let’s go to that little place round the corner, or would you prefer to go back to the flat?”

  Donovan indicated the students with a toss of his head. “What about them?”

  “It’s tough, but I think they have to wait for Zoë or Dick. They don’t have much choice, but we do. What d’you say?”

  Donovan agreed. He went over to the group, gave one of the students a card and returned to Anne.

  “I left my mobile number for Zoë or Dick to ring when they show up, if they want any filming. The students seem happy enough in the sunshine for now, so let’s go.”

  *

  While Ralph steered the boat, Marnie went below to make coffee. Waiting for the kettle to boil, on impulse she rang her sister.

  “Got time for a chat?”

  “When I regain consciousness,” Beth said in a cheerful tone. “Two phone calls in the same month … must be a record. Usually you’re too busy with … Ah, what’s that?”

  “What’s what?”

  “I can hear an engine running. Are you on the boat?”

  “No, it’s the Starship Enterprise. I’ve been abducted by aliens.”

  “Shock, horror,” said Beth. “Don’t tell me you’re still on holiday.”

  “We’re sort of back on holiday. But it’s not quite as simple as that.”

  “There’s a surprise! So tell me more.”

  Marnie brought Beth up to date on the Horselydown project and Dr Fennimore’s accident.

  “We saw it on the local evening news,” said Beth. “They interviewed Philip. He looked really drawn.”

  “With good reason,” Marnie said. “He could’ve been held responsible as architect in charge.”

  “But he wasn’t, was he?” said Beth. “So everything’s back to normal, presumably.”

  Marnie hesitated.

  “Marnie? You there?”

  “There are one or two things going on in the background, Beth.”

  “Another surprise! Why is nothing ever straightforward where you’re –”

  “Seriously, Beth.”

  “Give me a for instance.”

  “For a start, one of
the other archaeologists has made a big discovery –”

  “The Roman boats, I know.”

  “No, this is something quite different.”

  “The Saxon skeleton? We’ve heard about that, too.”

  “Same archaeologist, different find. I can’t talk about it at the moment, but it seems to be very significant. I expect an announcement will be made quite soon.”

  “That seems like good news to me, Marnie, but your tone suggests there’s something bothering you. Is something else going on?”

  “It’s … Donovan. The police have been questioning him.”

  “About what?”

  “We think it’s in connection with the shooting of Garth Brandon.”

  There was silence while Beth trawled her memory. “That fascist politico?”

  “Yes.”

  Another pause. “You’re saying the police think Donovan had something to do with it? That’s absurd.” No reaction. “Marnie? It is absurd … isn’t it?”

  “Well …”

  “My God … you think he –”

  “Better not jump to any conclusions, Beth.”

  “Sounds to me like you already have.”

  *

  They opted for the Italian café round the corner from the building site. Anne ordered a cappuccino, Donovan a mocha. While they waited to be served, Donovan reached across the table and touched Anne’s hand.

  “Are you fretting about something?”

  She gave a grim smile. “You’ve usually got everything worked out. What do you think it is?”

  Donovan gave this some thought. “Hard to tell. We’re rather spoilt for choice. My guess would be, you’re thinking about work.”

  “This is the longest time I’ve spent away from Glebe Farm since that first summer. I went camping in Scotland with my folks.”

  “So I recall. Was it good?”

  Anne laughed. “We got flooded out.” Her smile disappeared. “I came back at the time of …” She remembered that first tragic death in the village. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “So I guessed right?”

  “Not really. Look, Donovan, there’s something I want to … or rather, I need to –”

  Before she could finish the sentence, Donovan’s mobile began warbling. He recognised Zoë’s voice. Her tone suggested impatience that they were not at the site waiting for her to arrive.

  “Hi, Zoë. We’ll be with you shortly. Give us ten minutes.”

  “Where are you … precisely?”

  “In a café … Fellini’s … just down the road from –”

  “I know where it is. Wait for me there. Order me a double espresso.”

  She was gone. Donovan pressed the red button.

  “Boots and saddles?” Anne said.

  Donovan placed a hand on hers. “No rush. She’s joining us here.”

  He signalled to the waitress.

  *

  Bernard de Groot was at his desk reading through the morning post. It included three invitations. The first offered a three-year contract as principal guest lecturer with the Mediterranean shipping line, Cruises of Distinction. The second was a request to be keynote speaker at the next spring conference on archaeology at the University of York. The third invited him to take part in a television documentary on King Arthur entitled, Avalon – fact or fiction? The intercom sounded. He pressed a button on the receiver.

  “Yes, Sarah?”

  “I have a call on the line from Horselydown. It’s Philip Everett, the architect. He says it’s rather urgent.”

  “Put him through.”

  De Groot waited for the connection, wondering what else could go wrong at the building site. He tried not to appear too anxious when he announced himself. On the few occasions when they had met, de Groot had been impressed with Philip Everett, who seemed capable of handling problems with admirable composure. It was the same that morning.

  Philip was concerned that the students had been waiting in the compound for over an hour with no sign of a site director to take charge of them. He had tried the numbers for Zoë Tipton and Dick Blackwood but had got no further than voicemail. De Groot assured Philip there would no doubt be a simple explanation for their absence and promised to investigate without delay.

  When he hung up, he pressed the intercom button, called Sarah Lockyer in and asked her to make enquiries. She was back within five minutes with the news that someone thought they had caught sight of Zoë, but Dick had not been seen in the building that morning. De Groot asked her to enquire further: the local student hostel and the archaeology department in Cambridge for Zoë; his home address for Dick. She should also ring them on their mobiles and leave messages if necessary on their voicemail. They were to contact the professor at once.

  When Lockyer went out, de Groot sat thinking. He did not like the way the situation was developing at Horselydown. It could get even worse once the news of Dick Blackwood’s important discovery was made public. Above all, he was starting to feel that something about that discovery was not right. He would ask Blackwood for a thorough briefing on the project and would from now on take a direct personal interest in it.

  But first things first. That morning’s priority was Horselydown. Zoë and Dick had much to answer for. De Groot took the three invitation letters, scribbled reply – yes on each one and placed them in the tray marked Secretary. He got up from the desk, checked the car keys were in his pocket and headed for the door. He was not the only one who was much in demand that morning.

  *

  Anne spotted Zoë through the café window, approaching at high speed. The sight made her think of a guided missile homing in on its target. Donovan noticed her expression and glanced over his shoulder. Obviously the same thought occurred to him.

  “Incoming!” he said quietly.

  Zoë opened the door, scanned the interior and marched towards their table. She stood over them, staring down like an avenging angel.

  “Did you know about this?”

  Zoë folded her arms in a posture of blatant antagonism. The other customers interrupted their conversations to focus on the newcomer.

  “Good morning, Zoë,” said Donovan. “Nice to see you. Shouldn’t you be supervising the dig?”

  “What? Oh … Bernard marched in, saw me, had a bit of a whinge, then buggered off. I got the students started and decided to do the same.”

  Anne spoke in a hushed tone. “Zoë, why don’t you take a seat? We’ve ordered your coffee.”

  “Well … did you?” Zoë persisted, staring at Donovan.

  “Did I what?”

  The stare became a glare. “I asked you a question.”

  In reply, Donovan stood up, pulled a chair out and took Zoë by the arm. She stiffened and, for a brief moment, it seemed as if she would resist. But with Donovan’s urging, she relented and sat down. When she spoke, her voice was hushed, but only to the extent that customers at nearby tables had to strain a little to eavesdrop.

  “Now look here, I want a straight –”

  “Yes, we did.” Donovan’s tone was unapologetic.

  “Why would Dick tell you about it and say nothing to me?”

  Anne pushed Zoë’s coffee towards her and was not surprised to be ignored.

  “He didn’t.” Donovan’s expression became thoughtful. “But it’s interesting you should see it that way.”

  “Now you’re talking in riddles,” Zoë said, bristling. “If Dick didn’t tell you, who did?”

  “Donovan worked it out,” Anne said.

  “Impossible!”

  “Why impossible?”

  “Because even the –”

  “What did Fennimore tell you,” Donovan said, “that day when Dick came back after being absent for a few days?”

  Zoë narrowed her eyes. “Is that when he told you? He was so full of himself. Everyone could see he was bursting to talk about his … great discovery.”

  “Anne’s already told you, he didn’t tell us anything. I just thought a
bout it and put two and two together. Sorry about the cliché. Your coffee’s getting cold.”

  Zoë looked momentarily off balance. She seemed to notice the double espresso for the first time and raised the tiny cup to her lips. She took a sip.

  “I don’t know what the hell’s going on here.”

  “You could try answering my question,” said Donovan.

  “Your question?”

  “That day, Dr Fennimore took you aside and spoke to you in private. We saw your reaction and assumed he’d taken you into his confidence. So what did he tell you?”

  Zoë’s eyes lost focus as she thought back. “He just said … something like … Dick would be spending some time away from the dig as he’d made a major discovery … elsewhere.”

  “No details?” said Donovan.

  “When I asked him what the so-called major discovery was, he wouldn’t go into detail.” Zoë was calmer now, speaking more slowly. “But he did say he thought it would rock the world of archaeology to its foundations.”

  “And overshadow your Roman ships find, presumably,” Donovan said quietly.

  Zoë made no response.

  “Have you actually found out about it now?” said Anne.

  Zoë sniffed. “I was in the department first thing this morning. I bumped into Miles’s secretary and she mentioned it. She just came out with it, no doubt assuming I’d been told as a senior member of the team.”

  “So you haven’t heard anything from Dick.”

  “Not a word.”

  “Dick told us you’d saved his life,” Donovan said.

  Zoë looked up sharply. “What d’you mean? How?”

  “You phoned him just before the scaffolding crashed down. He had to move away to get a better signal. That’s why he was clear when the accident happened. Why were you calling him?”

  Zoë thought back again. “I wanted to have it out with him. I wanted him to tell me straight what he’d found that was so important.”

  “Didn’t you realise that was the exact moment when the scaffolding fell? You must’ve heard it.”

  Zoë’s expression was bleak. She shook her head. “The line went dead. I thought Dick had cut me off.”