by Leo McNeir
“What day was that?”
“Saturday, last Saturday morning.”
“Where were you at the time you saw it?”
“On the bridge, the further one. I found a parking space as soon as I arrived and I was on my way here when I paused to look at the pool.”
“That must be a first.”
Marnie’s eyes widened. “The first sighting of your crate?”
“No, the first time I’ve heard anyone say they got a parking space as soon as they arrived.”
Marnie smiled. “Why are you interested in the crate?”
“Have you seen it since then?”
“No. I haven’t been along that way. Has it caused an accident? Someone said it could be a real hazard to a GRP.”
The officer closed his notebook and tucked it into a breast pocket. “Not just to a GRP,” he muttered and stood up. He failed to remember the lack of internal height of the cabin.
“Mind your –”
Marnie was too late. She winced at the sound of the impact as his head hit the ceiling. The policeman made his way carefully out through the boat while Marnie followed him onto the stern deck.
“Thank you, miss.”
“You didn’t tell me why you were interested in the crate.”
“You really don’t know?” Marnie shook her head. “Don’t you read the papers or watch the news on TV?”
Marnie thought how obsessed she had become with getting the boat ready for her sabbatical. The outside world seemed to have receded into the background.
“Sorry. I’ve been very busy with work this week.”
The policeman looked at her steadily. “The crate was pulled out of the water yesterday morning and found to contain parts of a dismembered body. Good afternoon, miss.”
Back in the cabin, Marnie searched in the cupboards and was relieved to find a bottle of brandy. She poured herself a good measure, gulped down half of it and sat at the table. It had been the first time she had ever been questioned by the police. She hoped it would be the last. She had been a boater for just one week.
8
Lesson
“I think you've got to watch that one.” Jane took the cup of coffee that Marnie handed to her.
It was Monday, and Marnie had gone to Little Venice straight from the office. They sat out on deck having a quick cup before Marnie’s first boating lesson.
“In what way?”
Jane looked thoughtful. “Well, for a start, Gary knows a lot about boats, that's for sure. The trouble is, he knows that you don't know about them, and he’s the type who’d try to exploit that.”
“I know what you mean. Still, he did help me out.”
“Oh yes, he'd always do that. Boat people are usually a very decent bunch.”
“And he's quite personable,” Marnie observed.
Jane looked thoughtful again. “Yes, and that’s another thing. He is personable and he knows it. I never quite trust a man who smiles all the time he's talking to you.”
They both nodded sagely.
“What does he do, for a living, I mean?”
“Good question. You’ll find that’s a feature of life on the waterways, not knowing what people do in the … real world, so to say.”
“I don’t follow.”
“On the cut – that’s what a lot of folks call the canal – you tend to know people mainly just by their first name – or sometimes a nickname – plus the name of their boat as a kind of identifier.”
“So I’m not Marnie Walker round here, just Marnie, brackets Sally Ann?”
“Exactly. I’m Jane, brackets Joshua.”
“And Gary? What’s he got in his brackets?”
Jane pulled a funny face. “Doesn’t bear thinking about!” They laughed. “His boat’s called Garrow, and he lives on it, though strictly speaking he’s not supposed to. He doesn’t have a residential mooring.”
“And you don’t know what he does for a living?”
“I’ve seen him drive one of the waterbuses. Sometimes he ferries cargo on other people’s boats, does odd jobs. But I’ll tell you this, he knows everyone and everything that’s going on. If you want anything, talk to Gary, he’ll arrange it. The rest of the time …” She shrugged.
“How curious.”
“That’s the cut, a private world in more ways than one.” Jane stood up. “Ready for your lesson?”
Marnie remained seated. She had put off talking about the crate, but felt it could not be ignored any longer. “Before we do that, have you been visited by the police?”
“The police? No, why, should I have been?”
“I would’ve thought so by now.”
“What d’you mean?”
“You know that box floating around in the pool like an iceberg?”
“Sure. It’s about time BW pulled it out. It’s going to be bad news for somebody.”
“It already has been.”
“Pulled out?”
“Both.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You haven’t heard what happened?”
“We were at my sister’s for the weekend, remember? I’m out of touch. Tell me.”
“This policeman came here asking questions on Saturday. It seems the box was pulled out of the water on Friday and they found a body inside, or rather, parts of a body.”
Jane’s hand leapt to her mouth. “Oh my God!”
“I’m surprised they haven’t been along to question you. I got the impression they wanted to talk to everyone.”
“We only got back last night. What did he ask you?”
“If I’d seen the box. I told him I had, once, but that was all I could tell him.”
Jane looked shocked. “Phew! A body … how horrible.”
“Jane …” Marnie hesitated over asking the question that was troubling her. “Not sure how to put this.”
Jane saved her the effort. “The answer is no. We don’t regularly get bodies dumped in the canal, if that’s what’s on your mind. Supermarket trolleys, yes, from time to time, the occasional beer can.” She pulled a face. “The odd condom, but not bodies. This is not gangland.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ve just spent a fortune on curtains.”
Before the lesson began, Jane did a quick tour of inspection of the controls. She checked the level of diesel in the tank using a bamboo stick. It seemed to Marnie a suitably archaic way of doing the job. On her car a computer measured the fuel in litres to two decimal points.
Jane explained about the bilge pump, the stern gland, the fuel pump, the isolator switches for the batteries, the drop filter and the engine cut-out. Marnie took copious notes.
“Any questions so far?”
“Where do you go for fuel? And how many miles does she do to the gallon?”
“Marinas and boatyards mainly. If you fill up, you can forget it for the rest of the year. Don't drip diesel onto the deck. It's very slippery.”
“Right. What next?” Marnie’s pencil was poised over the notebook.
“Something quite important,” said Jane. “Try to relax. Don’t look so serious. Enjoy it. It’s meant to be fun. It is fun. Write that down.”
Marnie kept a straight face while she wrote. “Boating … is … fun. Got it.”
“Okay. Let’s get the deck back in place and take her for a tootle!”
While they were fitting the bulky sections of decking, Marnie saw Old Peter's boat glide by. The old man stood holding the tiller, immobile as ever, without glancing in their direction. Jane did not notice him pass, and Marnie said nothing.
When the deck was replaced, Jane stretched her back. “Ready for off?” Marnie raised a thumb. “Good. Routine for starting.”
Marnie concentrated hard. She took a deep breath. Jane laughed and shook her head.
“I know, I know,” Marnie said. “This is fun and I have to enjoy it. I just don't want to get it wrong, that's all.”
“Of course. Just get the routine clear and it’s a doddle.”
> Marnie spoke as she wrote the note, “Tootle equals doddle.”
Jane laughed, disconnected the mains electricity supply and hopped back onto the deck.
“Now, you switch on the fuel pump. It's the same as the bilge pump, only you press it down instead of up.”
Jane moved aside to let Marnie perform the action.
“Then you check the gear lever’s in neutral and press the starter button.” Marnie did this and the engine began thumping. Jane looked over the stern at the exhaust, which gave off light grey puffs of smoke. Jane seemed content with this.
They cast off and the bow swung out slowly towards mid-channel. Marnie felt ridiculously thrilled at this and instinctively put a hand on the tiller.
“Over to you, skipper,” said Jane. “Take her away.”
Marnie pulled the heavy lever to engage forward gear and pressed down on the accelerator. Nothing happened. The handle was rigid. The engine was idling and the boat was barely moving. Marnie had no idea what to do.
“We can go a bit faster,” Jane encouraged. “We're clear of the moored boats.” She bent down to the accelerator and pressed. Feeling the resistance, she unscrewed it to loosen the grip, pressed it down a couple of inches and left it there. Sally Ann gained speed with the wake bubbling behind her, heading for the tunnel. The prow slid forward into the darkness. Jane switched on the headlamp.
Marnie was not sure whether to tell Jane she had never actually handled the boat before. She was becoming aware that steering Sally Ann was not as simple as she had thought. Now, under power and in a dark, narrow tunnel, Marnie felt disoriented and found it hard to keep the boat pointing straight ahead. Every now and then, Jane gave the tiller a prod to adjust the course.
Jane said something. The engine was too loud for Marnie to hear properly but for one ridiculous moment, she thought Jane had said that a boat was coming in from the opposite direction. She stared in horror. The far end of the tunnel had become much brighter. She was looking at a headlamp. A boat was coming in from the opposite direction.
Marnie felt panic-stricken. What do I do now? Are we going to crash? How deep is a canal, anyway? She was wondering which side you were supposed to pass on – try to pass on – when Jane pointed to the right. By now, the other boat was almost upon them. Marnie held her breath as she squeezed Sally Ann as close as she could up against the wall.
Just as Marnie was congratulating herself on a brilliant manoeuvre, Sally Ann struck the retaining barrier and bounced off. The noise as they hit the other boat amidships was like the striking of a great bell and it echoed down the tunnel. Marnie found that she had closed her eyes and, when she dared to open them, the boat had passed. She gripped the tiller hard, looking straight ahead, breathing heavily. When they emerged at the other end, Marnie experienced a feeling of gloom far darker than the tunnel.
Jane was laughing jubilantly. Marnie thought she was laughing at her mistake, but she was looking back into the tunnel.
“Well, that’ll teach him. You’re not supposed to enter the tunnel when another boat’s in already.” Jane adjusted the tiller, still laughing. “He won't do that again in a hurry!”
“Who won't?”
“Gary, of course. Didn't you recognise him?”
“No.” Marnie bit her lip. “I was … too busy … concentrating.”
“Well you're a cool one and no mistake.” There was admiration in Jane’s voice.
“Concentrating … on keeping my eyes shut.”
They both laughed out loud.
After Jane had left, Marnie sat at the table in the cabin – no, the saloon – and wrote notes of what she had learnt. She was starting to feel she was making progress. The boat was becoming less of a mystery.
It was also becoming less of a jumble. She had brought with her the remaining curtains, and spent half an hour taking down the old ones, putting up the new. During the course of her work, she needed more light and turned on the oil lamps.
Still fired with energy, she cleared the cupboards, putting everything that seemed out of keeping or just plain ugly into a black plastic sack. Standards were going to rise under Marnie’s stewardship.
In the lamplight the new curtains transformed the whole interior. She pondered. If she replaced the flooring with new carpet tiles and spread a new cover on the bed, Sally Ann would be a completely different boat.
Dusk had changed to night now. Little Venice was lit up, looking its most theatrical. Marnie wondered if the waterways could be her world for the whole summer. Then she remembered the crate floating partly submerged in the attractive waters of the pool. Was this world as charming as it appeared on the surface, or did it have a sinister side that she had barely glimpsed?
Gary hopped ashore from Garrow that evening just before ten and set off for the pub. He was uncertain about the reception he might receive from Gravel, but sure he would be around, even though they had made no arrangement to meet. It came as no surprise when he found himself flanked by two dim shapes in a dark corner.
Gary played it cool. “Hi.”
“Hallo, Gary.” The unmistakable gravelly voice. “You’ve been a busy boy.”
“It was tricky, getting it out. The crate was covered with slime and –”
“I know, my friend. I was there. It had to be opened anyway sooner or later. You just made it that bit more … dramatic. I see they’ve cleaned up the puke from the bank.”
“Doesn’t go down well with the tourists … piles of vomit and bits of dead body lying about can give a place a bad name.”
“You could have a point there, Gary. Why don’t we go to the pub for another little chat?”
“Fine, but it might be crowded.”
“Don’t worry, I expect we’ll squeeze in somewhere.”
The pub was busy, with standing room only, but by a quirk that Gary did not think was a miracle of coincidence, Gravel’s usual table in the corner was unoccupied. They had scarcely had time to sit when Gravel’s sidekick placed tumblers of whisky in front of them.
“You’ve been round here quite a while, Gary.” Gravel was scanning the bar as he spoke.
“A few years.”
“You must know a lot about what goes on.”
Gary shrugged. “I try to keep out of most of it.”
“But you hear things, gossip, rumours. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, s’pose so.”
“Talk to me about the old geezer with the boat down the Paddington Arm.”
“Old Peter?”
“That’s the one.”
“What about him?”
“Gary …”
“I dunno much about him, really. He used to do work on boats, but he’s getting on a bit now. Must be well in his seventies.”
“I hear he’s eighty-three.”
“There you are, then.”
“Tell me about the rumours, Gary.” There was an edge of impatience to the gravelly tone.
Gary racked his brain. “Rumours,” he murmured. He sipped the scotch, scratched his ear. “Oh, that was ages ago. I didn’t believe it then.”
“What didn’t you believe?”
“Stands to reason. No-one would own something valuable and live in a beat-up old caravan on the bank.”
“Something valuable,” Gravel repeated. “Like what?”
“Dunno. No-one ever said. There was something about him having this … valuable stuff, that’s all.”
“You used to know him, Gary. You were mates, or so I heard.”
“Not mates, really. I helped him with a couple of jobs, changed a fly-wheel on an old engine once. Two-man job that was. Stuff like that. He never said much, didn’t drink, didn’t bet. Not an easy bloke to be mates with.”
“You must’ve formed an opinion about what it might be. Think back. Did he ever mention anything that might give you some idea?”
“I told you, he never said much at all. I don’t know where you got the idea he had valuables. Always seemed skint to me.”
Gravel
took a long pull at his whisky. Gary waited.
“Do you remember Arthur Fredericks, Gary?”
“The name does seem familiar.”
“Working boatman, one of the old breed, worked Joshers way back.”
“Yeah, I remember. Doesn’t he live down Limehouse way?”
“Not any more.”
Gary had a vision of body parts falling out of a smashed crate. He took a hasty sip of scotch.
“He died a few weeks back. At his funeral someone told me he’d been big buddies with Old Peter yonks ago.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. All these old boys knew each other. They’re dying out now.”
“Which is why it’s important to find out about them while they’re still with us, Gary.”
Gary was getting the picture. “You want me to find out about this valuable stuff Old Peter’s supposed to have stashed away under his pillow?”
“That’s right. Then we can have another little drink together.”
Gary downed his scotch. “That’ll be nice.”
Marnie got home around ten o'clock and headed straight for the shower. The phone rang while she was undressing.
“Hi Marnie, it's Beth.” Her sister's voice was as clear as if she was in the next room.
“Where are you?”
“In Boston, in the apartment with my feet up. Just been shopping. How's things?”
“Okay. How’s the sabbatical going?”
“Fine. Paul’s enjoying being in a department that actually has some money for research. What about you? Any improvement with Steve?”
“Er no, haven’t seen him. I'm much too busy.”
“Work isn't the only thing, Marnie.”
“I know. In fact, I've asked for a sabbatical. Phil’s agreed I can take the whole summer.”
“No kidding? That's great! So you’re coming over? We’ve got loads of room here.”
Beth’s suggestion took Marnie off guard. She had been to the States once before and had had a great time. It surprised her to realise that she had not even considered that as an option. “Well, actually, I had thought about going somewhere on Sally Ann.”
This time it was Beth who paused. “Sally Ann? You want to go for a trip on the boat?”