Stick in the Mud: A riveting murder mystery

by Leo McNeir

  *

  As a rule, Anne did little to tidy Marnie’s desk, but on that morning it was more than usually cluttered, a sure sign of Marnie’s inner turmoil. Taking a transparent plastic envelope, Anne filled it with the jottings, lists and notes littering the surface and placed them in the pending tray. She dropped the pens and pencils into their holder in the desk-tidy and made a neat pile of the project folders to one side of the blotter. After straightening the notepad beside the phone, there only remained a calculator to sully the pristine neatness of Marnie’s workplace. Anne opened the top drawer and made a space for it among the boxes of paper clips, staples and filing tags. As she did so, she moved a piece of paper that appeared to contain a handwritten note. It was very brief and in a hand that she did not recognise. Anne had no qualms about reading it; anything connected with the office could be relevant to her.

  Hallo Marnie

  It’s been a long time. I read about what happened to you in the papers. I missed it first time round - abroad on business. Nearly murdered, car bombed! I was worried about you, thought I’d look in. I’m in the area – I’ll call back in the next few days. Hope you don’t mind. A lot to catch up on.

  Love,

  Simon

  Anne froze. Simon was Marnie’s late husband, who had been murdered two years earlier. Feeling like an intruder, Anne replaced the note and closed the drawer.

  She slid Marnie’s chair under the desk and stood for a few seconds with both hands resting on its back. Ralph meant more to Marnie than anyone in the world, Anne was certain of that, but she had been deeply affected by the death of Simon who had come back into her life for a short time. Both had drawn a line under the past and moved on, and they had come to an understanding, with no feelings of acrimony or regret.

  In that moment, thinking of Marnie, Anne found her thoughts drifting to Dick Blackwood. Was there someone in the world who really loved him, who would care about his death? Judith of course was his girlfriend, but was she the great love of his life? And more to the point, was there anyone in the world who could hate Dick enough to want to kill him?

  *

  At the police station the duty sergeant gave Marnie directions to the morgue, a short drive away. They were surprised to find it was a pleasant modern brick building. Marnie turned into the access road and stopped at the pole barrier with red and white stripes. She pressed a button on the console near the barrier and a metallic voice invited to state her business. Having declared that they had come to carry out an identification, she was instructed to park by the entrance.

  As soon as she stopped the car, a young man in a white coat came out and greeted them. Ralph explained that he would be carrying out the task, while Marnie said she would wait in the car park. The young man introduced himself as Dr Wiseman, senior pathologist, and he led the way into the building. His manner was friendly, no doubt designed to put visitors at their ease in what would certainly be one of the most unpleasant experiences in their lives.

  “I understand you’re not actually related to the deceased.”

  “No. You could say he was an acquaintance.”

  Dr Wiseman pushed open a door leading into a short corridor. The place smelled like a hospital.

  “But there’s no doubt you would recognise him?”

  “None at all. I first met Dick last summer, and I’ve seen him quite a bit these past few weeks.”

  Dr Wiseman stopped outside a door and turned to face Ralph. His expression was a blend of serious and reassuring.

  “This is the viewing area. I’d like you to go in and stand by the internal window. The deceased is in the next room. When you’re ready, I’ll pull aside the sheet covering the body so that you can see his face. When you’re satisfied, just turn away and I’ll come back to collect you.”

  “Fine.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Ralph swallowed.

  “Just one other thing. There are some signs of predation. It’s quite normal when death occurs at sea. I’m afraid parts of the face have been subjected to scavenging. It’s unfortunate, but there’s nothing we can do to conceal it.”

  “I understand.”

  Ralph wished he was a million miles away, but tried hard to appear calm. Wiseman opened the door and stood aside to let Ralph enter.

  *

  Waiting outside in the car, Marnie attempted to cheer herself up. In her bag she carried a cologne stick not much bigger than lip-gloss. It was called Ice by 4711, and she ran it across her forehead and round her throat. The car instantly smelled fresh and clean, and the evaporating perfume cooled her skin. She closed her eyes and shut out the horrors of the world around her. But even the sharp tang of eau de Cologne could not lift her sense of guilt at letting Ralph perform the identification. She was hugely grateful to him for offering to undertake the awful task.

  When she opened her eyes again, she saw Ralph exiting the mortuary. He looked tense, and her heart went out to him. She at once pushed open her door and went round to open the tailgate. In the luggage compartment she pulled out a hold-all and, by the time Ralph joined her, she produced a small bottle, unscrewed the cap and held it out to him. It was a miniature of brandy from the emergency supplies. Without hesitating, he took the bottle and swallowed half its contents in one gulp.

  “I should’ve been in there, Ralph. Thank you for doing that.”

  Ralph looked puzzled. “You? Why should you?”

  “I was the one who said we’d do it. It was cowardly of me to –”

  “It wasn’t Dick.”

  Marnie thought she had misheard. “Sorry?”

  Ralph shook his head. “Whoever it was, it wasn’t him. It was some other poor …” His voice cracked.

  Marnie nudged his elbow, and Ralph needed no second bidding to take another swig from the bottle.

  “Not Dick? You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely. I’d rather not go into detail, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course.”

  Marnie took him in her arms and hugged him tight, aware of a strange mixture of smells, cognac and cologne.

  “You smell nice,” he said.

  Marnie attempted a smile. “So do you. Come on, darling, let’s get out of here.”

  Back in the car, Marnie phoned Anne to let her know the outcome, while Ralph opened the atlas and plotted the route for home. Marnie manoeuvred the car out of its space and drove up to the barrier. The car was still rolling when the bar rose quickly, and she accelerated out into the street. As she changed gear, she noticed Ralph shudder.

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, darling.”

  “One of us had to.” He gently smoothed her thigh with his hand. “I’m glad it wasn’t him.”

  “Yes, that would’ve made it even worse.”

  Ralph indicated she should take a left at traffic lights. “But it still leaves him out there somewhere.”

  Marnie made the turn just as the light changed to amber. “Yes. This isn’t over yet.”

  *

  Anne replaced the receiver and sat quietly for a few moments feeling numb but relieved. She knew well what Ralph had gone through. A little more than two years previously she herself had been asked to perform the identification of a dead girl. It was the most traumatic experience of her life. She was rising to make a cup of tea when it occurred to her that the task could have been even more harrowing for Ralph. It could have brought back memories of the time his wife had died. Ralph had been at Laura’s bedside when she succumbed to illness a dozen or more years earlier.

  Anne was pouring freshly-boiled water into the teapot when the phone rang. She skipped across to her desk and picked up the receiver. It was Donovan, and the news was good.

  “The doctors are pleased with his progress.”

  “Brilliant!”

  “Yes. His condition is stable. They said these first days after an attack are critical, but he’s doing well.”

  For a few minutes they spoke about Onkel Helmut and the
family.

  “Hold on, Anne. Uschi is saying something.” Anne heard a German voice in the background. The voice came nearer as Donovan raised the phone again. “Uschi wants to speak to you. Here she is.”

  “Hallo, Uschi? I’m really sorry about your dad. I hope he’s feeling much better.”

  “Hi. Thank you, Anna. He’s going to be fine. The doctors are very pleased with him.” Uschi spoke with only a slight accent. “Oh sorry, I called you Anna. I meant, Anne, of course.”

  “No probs.”

  “You see, we always say your name like German when we talk about you here.”

  “You talk about me?”

  Uschi laughed. “Oh yes. My mother interrogates Nikki – I mean Donovan – all the time.”

  “Oh …” Anne was taken aback.

  “German women …” Uschi left the rest of the sentence unsaid, as if it was unnecessary. “She asked Donovan how your German was coming on.”

  In her mind’s eye, Anne saw the book and cassette tapes on the bedside table that she practised on every night.

  “How did she know about that?”

  “So you are learning German?” Uschi sounded elated. “Mutti will be so pleased. She’s also been asking him when you are coming to see us in Germany.”

  “Say hi to Mutti.” Anne pronounced it to rhyme with sooty. “But I’m afraid I don’t really have any plans to visit you.”

  “Yet.” Uschi laughed again.

  On that enigmatic note, Uschi passed the phone back to Donovan.

  “It must be nice for you to be in Germany again, Donovan, with your family.”

  “Yes, though my aunt makes a big fuss of me. She’s always plying me with questions about my life in England, my studies, my friends. You get the picture.”

  “Uschi says she asks about me.”

  Donovan laughed. “Incessantly. She’s very curious. Germans are like that … nosy.”

  “Donovan, listen, I er … have some news for you.”

  Donovan noticed the change of tone and immediately became serious.

  “About Dick?”

  “Yes … sort of. A body was washed up on a beach opposite Whittleham after Arabella was picked up abandoned by the Coastguard. Marnie and Ralph went up to Lincolnshire this morning to see if they could identify it.”

  “And?”

  “It wasn’t Dick … just some other young man.”

  “They were sure of that?”

  “No doubt about it. I suppose there was only an outside chance it might’ve been him.”

  “So still no sign of Dick?”

  “Nothing.”

  Donovan paused for a moment. “I can’t get my head round it just now. Let’s talk about it when I get back.”

  “D’you know when that will be?”

  “If Onkel Helmut is out of danger I’ll return some time over the weekend, probably Sunday night.”

  “As soon as that?”

  “I have a lot of preparation to do for the new term … a lot of reading.”

  After disconnecting, Anne poured her tea and sat looking round the tidiest office in the western world. She was sure even Donovan’s aunt would approve.

  In Göttingen, Donovan refocused his thoughts on the situation awaiting him in England. On impulse he checked the speed-dial on his mobile and found Dick’s number. The call went straight to voicemail.

  The voicemail memory for the number you are calling is full. Please try later.

  29

  A Visitor

  Monday, 30 July, 1997

  It had been a weekend for families. Anne went home to Leighton Buzzard to stay with her parents and brother. It made a pleasant change to lead an ordinary life and do normal things like go to the library, do some shopping and visit the market. Over meals, her mother asked if Anne was still seeing Donovan and was concerned to hear about his uncle’s illness. Anne was amused to notice how easily her family slipped into the habit of referring to him as Onkel Helmut. She smiled inwardly when her mother asked casually if Donovan would be going back to Germany when he had finished his studies. Replying that she had no idea what his plans were, Anne reflected that it was not only Germans who were curious.

  Marnie and Ralph meanwhile had Beth and Paul to stay at Glebe Farm. It was a momentous visit by her sister and brother-in-law, the first time anyone stayed in the actual farmhouse for decades. The choice was either for the guests to stay on Sally Ann or to move in to the house, where the renovations were practically completed.

  When Beth and Paul saw the spacious guest bedroom with its built-in wardrobes and the fully-tiled and equipped bathroom, it was no contest. On a Saturday morning there was too short notice to arrange for furniture to be released from storage. Ralph and Paul consequently carried the mattress from Sally Ann through the spinney and up the stairs to the bedroom. Chairs were brought across from the office barn to complete the temporary furnishing. As evening fell, Marnie left Ralph in charge of the galley to take a dark blue sheet up to pin over the window to keep out the next day’s early dawn light.

  On Sunday evening, after waving off their visitors, Marnie had a phone call from Philip Everett. Could she attend a meeting on Monday morning at Horselydown? Was there a problem? Marnie asked. The answer surprised her. The archaeologists had finished their work – amazingly – on time and on budget and wanted to make a handover presentation to the clients and their contractors. Professor de Groot had phoned Philip at home on Sunday afternoon with the request. Guessing that the professor wanted to make the point that archaeologists could also be relied on as professionals, Philip had at once agreed and spent an hour on the phone summoning the various parties to attend. Almost without exception they agreed, some of them sounding incredulous.

  Marnie’s next step was to alert Anne. They agreed that Anne would travel down to London by train after the rush hour had subsided, and they would converge on the site for a ten-thirty start.

  *

  Marnie saw the gathering inside the construction site when she arrived on Monday morning and her heart sank. Fumbling in her shoulder-bag for the security pass, she heard hurried footsteps behind her and turned to see Anne coming at high speed. One look at Marnie’s expression wiped the smile from Anne’s face.

  “Hi! What’s up?”

  Marnie nodded in the direction of the crowd in the middle of the compound. At that moment a cheer went up, then another, then another.

  “I thought …” Marnie looked bewildered.

  “Don’t tell me,” said Anne. “You thought Zoë was in there having her usual rant with the builders, right?”

  “Got it in one. Come on. Let’s see what’s going on.”

  A cry went up as soon as the students spotted Marnie and Anne, and some of them broke away from the bunch to usher them into their midst. They found themselves standing with Professor de Groot and the postgrad site directors lined up for a group photograph.

  “Isn’t Donovan with you?”

  Anne recognised the voice at once. Turning, she found Debbie in her green denim fatigues, smiling broadly.

  “He’s been away for a few days.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Before the conversation could go any further, they were called together for more photographs, and Philip Everett waved to them from the site office. The students cheered and punched the air as several camera buttons were pressed by helpful builders. As the fists were lowered, Marnie excused herself and took Anne off for the handover briefing.

  Bernard de Groot was accompanied in the meeting by the two post-grad site directors, who would each give a short PowerPoint presentation, one on the Saxon skeleton, the other on the Roman ships. One site, two important finds. It had been a memorable though at times tragic excavation. Before the presentations, de Groot asked those present to observe one minute’s silence in memory of Dr Fennimore. Everyone rose and bowed their heads, standing round the table with the muted sounds of construction machinery seeping in from outside. When de Groot murmured a subdued t
hank you, they resumed their seats and the meeting began.

  *

  After the archaeologists finished their talks, Marnie and Anne stayed behind for a review meeting with the contractors. There were no serious issues to address, and the discussion lasted barely an hour. Marnie was asked to give an update on her side of the work, and she impressed as ever with a succinct, off-the-cuff résumé of progress.

  As they were leaving the hut, Marnie saw de Groot emerging from the dig site. He walked over to thank her and her ‘young colleagues’ for their help with recording the excavations. He gave Marnie his card and asked if Donovan would get in touch to arrange for copies of the film material to be handed over in due course. They would form an important part of the archive.

  “Are you happy with how things have turned out, professor … apart from the dreadful accident, of course?”

  “Call me Bernard, please. Yes, it’s been a significant excavation, and we’re all delighted with the plans to keep it, so to say, alive in situ.”

  “And have you heard anything from Zoë Tipton?”

  “Not lately. I gather she’s making a good recovery, and she’s already submitted the report on her findings here.”

  “What about Dick Blackwood?”

  De Groot shrugged and lowered his voice. “Not a word. Have you heard anything?”

  Marnie was silent for a long moment. “No. We did think, at one point … Well, let me just say we know he’s gone missing, and there’s a possibility that he may have met with an accident at sea.”

  “You think so, too? Yes. I’ve been informed though that a body washed up was found not to be him. That’s all I know at present.”

  “He’s been working apparently with an archaeologist from UEA,” Marnie said.

  “That would be Gerald Parfitt, yes. I’m keen to speak with him, but I gather he’s not available, either.”

  “No. He’s away in Denmark.”

  “Ah, yes … the Roskilde project. Do you know when he’s coming back?”

  Marnie glanced sideways at Anne, who replied.

  “After the weekend, I think.”