by Leo McNeir
“Why didn’t she just use the key straight away?” Anne said.
“Last resort, maybe. Come on!”
Donovan was out of the car before Anne could react. She scurried after him, and he was already pressing the bell when she reached the pavement. Within seconds the door flew open.
“Where the hell …” The girl stopped in mid-flow. “Oh … who are you?”
“Friends of Dick,” Donovan said.
The girl had taken off the cycling helmet to reveal short spiky dark hair. She was frowning as she surveyed them.
“I’ve never seen you before,” she said.
“Why did you think I was Dick when you opened the door?” Donovan was seizing the initiative. “If this is his place, surely he’d use his key.”
The girl tossed her head. “I knew that was stupid as soon as I said it. Who are you anyway?”
“Donovan. This is Anne.”
“Donovan …” she repeated in a far-away voice.
“We’ve been filming Dick’s excavation.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Where?”
“Horselydown,” Anne said. “The Saxon remains.”
“Oh, those …”
“We know about … the other find, Donovan said. “King John and all that.”
“Why are you here?”
“You didn’t tell us your name,” Anne prompted.
“Judith.”
“Well, Judith, we’ve come to see Dick, find out if he’s all right. We’ve been worried about him.”
“Welcome to the club.”
“D’you think we might come inside?” Donovan said.
Judith stepped back and pulled the door open. “The sitting room’s on the right.”
The room was small, furnished with cast-offs. Anne remembered Zoë’s disdainful tone when she had invited her back to the flat in Docklands. Student digs … But there were shelves built in either side of the chimneybreast, filled with Dick’s books and box-files. Under the window stood a rudimentary desk using a worktop and two bedside cupboards, presided over by a red anglepoise lamp. Spread out on the desk were maps and charts, the largest of them overlaid with tracing paper on which dotted lines and arrows made a criss-cross pattern. For all its meanness, the room had an atmosphere that was at the same time cosy and purposeful.
“You too were worried about Dick?” Donovan said. “Don’t you know where he’s been this past week?”
Judith looked at them, as if weighing up whether they could be trusted.
“It’s important we find him,” Anne said.
“What if he doesn’t want to be found?” Judith’s expression wavered between defiant and wary.
“He has nothing to fear from us.” Donovan sounded reassuring.
“Probably not. You don’t look like the police.”
“The police?” Anne was shocked. “Why should Dick worry about the police?”
“Since Zoë Tipton was killed –”
“Zoë was what?”
“Dick said it was all his fault and the police would be looking for him. He was –”
“Judith,” Donovan said firmly. “Listen to me.”
“You can’t blame him for –”
“Listen!”
“You don’t understand,” she persisted.
“No, Judith. It’s you who doesn’t understand. Zoë Tipton isn’t dead. Okay? She was injured in an industrial accident. No-one’s blaming Dick.”
“What are you saying?” Judith sounded unconvinced.
“We were there,” Anne said. “Zoë looked dead, it’s true. But she came round just after Dick ran off.”
Donovan said, “Don’t you think it would have been on the news if she’d been killed and the police were hunting for Dick as a suspect?”
“I don’t have a radio on the boat, and Dick didn’t want me to buy any papers.”
“On the boat?” Anne repeated.
Judith nodded. “He’s been staying with me on my narrowboat since the … accident. But yesterday he went out and didn’t come back.”
“Did he say where he was going?” Donovan asked.
“No, but he looked very troubled.”
It felt as if they had reached a dead end.
“Perhaps you could tell us about Dick.” Anne looked around. “Is there a kitchen? Could I make us all a cup of tea?”
Judith led them to a small kitchen at the rear of the house that was evidently shared by the tenants. It was clean and tidy, and Anne guessed that Dick was the only occupant currently in residence. Judith found tea-bags and mugs, while Anne filled the kettle and set it to boil on the hob. There was no fresh milk in the fridge, but they found a lemon in reasonable condition among over-ripe apples in the fruit bowl. They returned to the sitting room and made themselves at home while Judith told her story.
*
Marnie took it as a good sign that Anne had not phoned back after an hour had elapsed since her earlier call. It made her no less impatient for news, but it was better than a swift message that they had drawn a blank. She had hoped Anne would eventually phone to say they had found Dick at his digs in bed with a chesty cold brought on by the damp conditions of the excavation, or something of the sort. But Ralph had thrown a bucket of icy water over that idea. He pointed out that Dick was conscientious enough to have contacted Professor de Groot to let him know, if that had been the case.
It was not in Marnie’s nature to sit around waiting for somebody else to let her know what was happening. She knew Anne and Donovan were quick-witted and resourceful, but that did not make it any easier. It did not make her any more patient.
*
They sat in the little room, each clutching their mug of tea, while Judith gave her account without interruption.
She had been Dick’s girlfriend for much of the past year, after meeting him when she visited the Glebe Farm excavations. She had been travelling down the Grand Union Canal on her parents’ boat, and stopped by when she discovered a full-scale dig on her journey south. The plan was for her to live on the boat while studying for a Master’s degree in history at University College London. Her father had arranged a mooring for her in Islington, and she was competent enough to run the boat solo from its usual base in Braunston down to its new home in London.
Dick had given her a guided tour of the excavations in Knightly St John and asked if they could stay in touch when he returned to continue studying for his doctorate at LBU. Their relationship had grown from then on.
She knew about Dick’s work in Norfolk and had accompanied him on one of his trips, but despite her love of boats, she was a poor sailor – I prefer to do my boating in a vertical position, rather than hanging over the side feeling sick, getting soaked by spray – and was happy for him to go on his expeditions alone or with his friend, Gerald Parfitt. Her knowledge of Dick’s discovery in East Anglia seemed no greater than what Anne and Donovan had learnt. Judith’s MA course was intensive and demanding, and when she and Dick were together they had other things on their mind than their fields of study.
Judith was well aware of the problems being caused by Zoë Tipton and how she sought to manipulate every situation for her advancement. It had irked Dick constantly that she saw the Horselydown project as just one more rung on the ladder of her career progression.
He told Judith it was just like Zoë to steal the limelight at Horselydown with her Roman ships and simultaneously cast doubts on his finds – his earth-shattering discoveries – in East Anglia. When he finally confronted her face to face, just the two of them down at the lowest level of the excavations, she had taunted him. She said he would be held up to ridicule by the archaeology establishment and would become a national laughing stock. In his fury, Dick had picked up a long-handled mattock and hurled it at the wall. He wanted to frighten Zoë into shutting up, but it made no difference.
Zoë had rounded on him, yelling that he couldn’t bully her into silence. She told him he was a disgrace to the profession. Dick told Judith he became
numb all over. He stopped hearing Zoë’s words. Her voice was just a series of sounds breaking over him like a tsunami, battering his eardrums till he could suffer it no longer. He had fled up the ladder, aware that she was yelling after him. And then it happened.
An even greater noise rose up from the dig, a roaring, rumbling, clashing cacophony. Dick looked back, but Zoë had disappeared. A huge cloud of dirt and debris, mud and soil enveloped the whole site below him. It was impossible to penetrate back down into that hellhole. Dick continued upwards while the cloud overtook him and threatened to drag him from the ladder and throw him into the abyss. His lungs seemed to be filled with dust, his mouth with grit. He had lain on the ground, coughing and wheezing, scarcely comprehending what was going on around him.
When he was able to move again, he had found the students crowded together beside the dig hole. They had lain Zoë’s body on the ground and everyone was kneeling. Dick could not bear it. He was convinced his wild reaction in flinging the mattock at the shuttering had caused it to become unstable and collapse. Zoë’s death was his fault. His world, like the excavation, had fallen apart.
“The first I knew about it was when Dick came hammering on the side of my boat,” Judith said. “He’d come back here, packed some things and … well, fled. He told me he’d killed Zoë. He hadn’t meant to do it but she’d driven him mad. Those were his words.”
“We all thought she was dead,” Anne said. “But suddenly she had a sort of coughing spasm. We called for an ambulance and they took her off to hospital.”
“And she’s all right?” Judith said. “No serious injuries?”
“Nothing worth talking about,” said Donovan. “The hard hat probably saved her. She was hit by flying debris and collapsed in the mud. One of the builders brought her to the surface, unconscious.”
Judith’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am. We were convinced –”
“Sorry, Judith,” Donovan broke in. “The question facing us now is, what’s happened to Dick?”
Judith shook her head. “I thought he must’ve come back here.”
“He hasn’t. So where else would he be likely to go? You know him better than we do. Think.”
“Er …”
“Does he have relatives he could go to?” Anne asked.
“Not really. His parents live –”
“In Canada,” Donovan interrupted. “We know that. Is there anyone else?”
Judith looked blank. “I can’t think …”
“Did you have a row?” Donovan said.
“No. What are you getting at?”
“Could he have gone to see an old girlfriend, perhaps?”
Judith spoke slowly and firmly. “We did not have a row.”
“Donovan’s only wanting to explore possibilities,” Anne said soothingly.
To their surprise, Judith gave a weary smile.
“What is it?” Anne said.
“It’s ironic, really. I’ve always felt I was second best where Dick was concerned.”
“There’s someone else?” Anne prompted.
“In a way. When I first met Dick and told him I was a graduate in history, he said that was the next best thing to archaeology. I’ve always had the feeling I came second in his life, after archaeology.”
“I’m sure that’s not right,” Anne said.
“Really?” Judith looked pointedly at Anne. “Did Gerald Parfitt mention me when you spoke to him?”
Anne hesitated. “Not actually, as far as I remember … but I may be –”
“There you are then. I doubt if Parfitt even knows I exist. When those two get together there’s only one topic of conversation.”
Anne began, “I’m sure you’re –”
She stopped in her tracks as Donovan leapt to his feet and made for the door. Judith gaped at his retreating back.
“Of course,” they heard him say as he rushed out into the narrow passage and threw open the front door.
“Sorry, Judith.” Anne rose hurriedly from her seat. “Gotta go.”
“Is he always like that?” Judith said, bewildered.
“You get used to it.”
Once again, Judith was left behind, wondering.
*
Marnie put the phone down after taking Anne’s call. It had been brief and sketchy to preserve her mobile battery. Marnie sat for some minutes, lost in thought. Eventually she phoned Ralph and filled him in on the latest development in the search for Dick Blackwood. She told him of their success in tracing Dick’s address in east London. Ralph was impressed. He was intrigued to learn that Dick had taken refuge with his girlfriend on her boat, but on reflection pointed out that this new information had brought them no nearer to finding Dick himself.
Marnie said she didn’t think Donovan would entirely agree with him about that. He had a very definite idea of what to do next. When Marnie told him, Ralph was surprised.
*
“Where?” Anne said, hastily fastening her seat belt as Donovan accelerated down the road. “What … now, right now?”
“When else?”
“You’re intending to drive all the way back to Norfolk this afternoon?” She looked at her watch. “This evening, this minute?”
“That’s the idea. That’s where we’ll find Dick. Don’t you think that’s what we have to do?”
“Not without fresh knickers!” Anne protested.
Donovan brought the car to a halt at the end of the street and burst out laughing. Anne had never known him react like that before, and she found it infectious. The two of them sat helpless with mirth until a van drew up behind them and Donovan had to drive on. He found a space twenty yards down the road where he could stop the car.
“What’s so funny?” Anne said, wiping her eyes.
“You are.”
“I was being practical, Donovan. If we’re going all the way back to Norfolk it’ll presumably mean staying overnight. If we’re to do that, I’d like some clean … clothes.”
“Knickers!” Donovan said and started laughing again.
“I don’t see what’s so funny about my knickers.”
Anne tried to remain po-faced, but failed. She snorted, which set Donovan off again.
“It’s a good job you’re not Ferdinand Magellan,” he said.
“I often think that,” Anne replied without hesitation. “Any particular reason this time?”
“I can just imagine him turning back from rounding Cape Horn.” Donovan changed to what he hoped was a Portuguese accent. “I ’ave no zee clean underpants. Back to Lisbon! We do zees journey some ozzer time.”
Anne sniffed. “But I was being serious. I would like some fresh undies. Wouldn’t you?”
Donovan gave in. “We’ll find a Marks and Spencer somewhere.”
“No need. We’ve still got clean clothes at Marnie’s flat. It’s just over the river. We could grab a quick shower, too.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Steer course zero-two-zero,” Anne said. “Come right full rudder – after the Tower of London – then full ahead both.”
Donovan recognised the U-boat allusion as an order. He didn’t like to remind Anne that U-boat crews scarcely changed their clothes at all when on tours of duty. He sighed and steered the Beetle towards Tower Bridge.
*
It was an hour or so later when Marnie took the next call. This time it was Donovan, and she was surprised to hear that he and Anne were about to leave her flat in Docklands. He explained that Anne had needed some things from the flat and wanted to shower before they set off back to Norfolk. She was using the hairdryer, so he offered to phone to save time. He apologised for whisking Anne away, and Marnie assured him the office would survive without her for another day.
Before hanging up, Marnie asked what things Anne had needed from the flat. She was amused by Donovan’s one-word reply.
*
There was heavy traffic heading north-east out of London, and they resigned th
emselves to making only slow progress. They listened to the news but soon tired of the car radio and drove for a long time without speaking. The silence was interrupted only by Anne’s navigational instructions as they gradually picked up speed.
Eventually she said, “I could use some of that tracing paper on the atlas to mark our route.”
“Yes.”
“Did you notice it at Dick’s place?”
“On the desk covering the map of the area.” Donovan sounded vague and distant. He was concentrating on the traffic.
“When my brother did the map reading on long car journeys, he’d mark the route with a pencil … drove my dad mad. He didn’t like smudgy pencil marks on his nice clean atlas.”
“I expect Dick was plotting King John’s journey across the wetlands,” Donovan said. “I’d like to have had a chance to examine the markings more closely.”
“Are you coming round to believing his story?” Anne said.
Donovan’s silence was so long that Anne wondered if he had heard the question.
“On balance, I think I do,” he said. “His jubilation was genuine. I don’t really go along any more with this idea that he could claim the discovery, produce artefacts and rest on his laurels.”
“I don’t either really,” said Anne. “But something’s not right.”
“You think he was lying about his collaboration with Gerald Parfitt? There’s definitely something strange about that.”
Anne made a signal to go straight on as they approached a roundabout. “Parfitt looked completely baffled when you told him what Dick had said about them working together. That must prove something.”
“It could only mean either Dick was telling the truth and Parfitt was mistaken, or that Dick was lying.”
“Yes,” Anne agreed. “And Parfitt can hardly have been mistaken about being away in Denmark.”
“Not the sort of thing that slips your mind,” Donovan said.
They retreated into their thoughts as the miles rolled by and they cut across country with the sun slowly going down over their left shoulders. Somewhere near Peterborough the rumble of the engine was joined by another rumbling. Anne put a hand against her stomach.
“Sorry, that was me. I think I must need something to eat.”