Death in Little Venice

by Leo McNeir

  “Was the other MP Malcolm Grant by any chance?”

  “Yes, it was! How did you know that?”

  “Just a guess,” said Marnie. “It was in the paper that they were friends.”

  “That was him. Malcolm Grant. Very nice man. Now he was a different sort altogether, what my mum would call a gentleman.”

  The lady is my guest, Simon, she thought. To Faye she said: “A rescuer of damsels in distress.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh well,” said Marnie, “Time to be on my way. Have a good –”

  “Wait a minute! Did you say dish, Marnie? What about dish as in satellite?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “That was one of the problems we had. Tim Edmonds asked us to get a satellite dish installed. Said he wanted to get news programmes from Brussels; more like hard porn from Holland, I thought. Because his flat was in a listed building just by Regents Park, the planners wouldn’t allow it. He was really annoyed.”

  “Ah,” said Marnie. “That could be it. Yes. It all makes sense.”

  *

  For two days Marnie travelled steadily, taking Sally Ann up the long climb away from London and the Thames Valley, working her way through lock after lock to the Tring summit and the long pound in isolated, beautiful woodland over the Chiltern Hills. As the boat chugged along, Marnie thought about Tim Edmonds. He seemed to dominate her thinking for mile after mile, images of him haunting every waking hour. On one quiet stretch of water she phoned the police in London and told Inspector Bruere her idea about the dish on her business card. It made less impact than she had expected, and he only grudgingly accepted her solution to the mystery. She wondered if he was disappointed at not having something to suspect about her.

  It was during the steep descent on the other side of the Chilterns that Marnie became aware that something had changed. The weather had been grey for most of the time, with here and there an occasional glimpse of sun, and she had concentrated on managing the boat at a steady pace, the best way to make progress. She came upon a series of locks in her favour between the Wendover and Aylesbury arms and felt elated at her ability to run the boat, her boat, single-handed. While waiting for Sally to descend in a lock chamber, Marnie suddenly realised that she was no longer aching in her joints, no longer stiff in her movements. The journey, like her solo voyage two summers earlier, had made a new woman of her and she wanted to leap in the air and shout it aloud. Sally Ann had worked her old magic!

  With Christmas just a few days off, Marnie had telephoned Anne at breakfast time and told her she would be in Leighton Buzzard by mid-morning, all being well. The plan was for them to take Sally Ann north together, sharing the rest of the journey. They expected to reach Glebe Farm on Christmas Eve and Marnie would take Anne home that day to her parents. It seemed an odd arrangement, but Anne was keen to have another trip on the boat, Marnie welcomed her company and the journey would pass more quickly with Anne to help at the locks.

  On that day the sun was ghosting in and out of the clouds, the temperature if anything colder, but the brightness in the air and the anticipation of meeting her friend raised her spirits. Chugging through open country, Marnie ran her finger up the line of the canal in the cruising guide and calculated three more locks in the next few miles before reaching the town. There she would take on water and tie up for an hour to buy provisions at the huge supermarket a short walk from the cut.

  Ahead of her, Marnie saw the bridge by Slapton wharf. It was immediately followed by the first of the three locks. She hoped it would be in her favour with the gates already partly open. But the gates were closed and she pulled Sally Ann into the bank and made her secure between the bridge and the lock with a centre rope firmly attached to a bollard. She walked briskly to the lock, quickly turned the handle to raise the paddles and looked out over the countryside while she waited for the water to fill the chamber. When it was ready, she pulled open one of the gates and straightened up without a twinge. It felt good to be – What!?

  Her mouth opened and Marnie was transfixed, unable for a few seconds to move. Coming steadily towards the lock on the exact course for entering the chamber, was Sally Ann. Marnie ran down the towpath, unclear as to how she would get on board to avert a disaster, at a loss to know how the boat had managed to free herself from her mooring rope, engage gear and steer herself away from the bank. At once Marnie skidded to a halt, turned round and walked casually up to perch on the balance beam with her back to the boat. As Sally slid quietly into the lock, Marnie called over her shoulder.

  “You might as well put the kettle on. We’re probably both ready for coffee.”

  In reply she heard a shriek of laughter and looking round she saw Anne, in red and white ski-suit standing at the tiller smiling broadly.

  *

  That evening by the light of the oil lamps, Marnie was chuckling to herself as she put away the dishes after supper.

  “Did you say something, Marnie?” Anne was carefully pouring water into the cafetière.

  “No. I was thinking of you hi-jacking Sally like that and steering her into the lock. You had me fooled for a second.”

  “Just a second?”

  “Well, two seconds, then,” she said grudgingly. “You know, it was at the bridge after that one that we first met. You were trying to be invisible then, as I recall.”

  It was a measure of how much things had changed that she felt she could mention that day without it causing pain. Anne had been running away from home to save her family the expense of feeding her when her father was made redundant. She had hidden on the bridge but Marnie had spotted her and eventually invited her on board for lunch.

  Anne must have been reading her friend’s mind. “We’ve come a long way since then, haven’t we?” she said.

  “Good times, bad times,” said Marnie philosophically.

  “Mostly good, some brilliant,” said Anne. “And now here we are looking forward to our first Christmas at Glebe Farm. I feel as excited as a two-year-old.” She pulled out the coffee table in the saloon. “Do you want this newspaper, Marnie, or shall I put it in the bin?”

  *

  Saturday 24 December

  The following day was cloudier and less cold as they set off on the last leg of the journey back to the village they both thought of as home. The clouds grew thicker and denser, spreading a morning twilight across the country and they settled into a steady routine, waiting for rain that never came. When it was Marnie’s turn to huddle at the tiller, Anne kept them supplied with hot drinks. At locks, Anne steered while Marnie worked the gates and paddles. Chugging along between locks, they chatted about Christmas arrangements, about the next phase of the works at Glebe Farm, about the plans for projects on their client list.

  They talked intermittently about Tim Edmonds, his life, work and death. Anne had read the article in the newspaper the previous evening and had spotted a reference to the fact that the police were still looking for a tramp who might have witnessed the incident. Their description of the man they were seeking could have been any tramp anywhere.

  Marnie filled in the rest of the story, the note about the dish on her business card, how she had met Malcolm Grant, her doubts about whether it was murder or really an accident after too much to drink. To lighten the conversation, she told Anne what Mrs Jolly had said about Gary thinking she needed a brain transplant after she had given him the blank cheque. Marnie was glad that they had the care of the boat to occupy them, the daily routines of keeping the engine running smoothly, checking the batteries, attending to the stern gland, securing the mooring ropes. For long stretches there were practical boating matters to claim their attention, the demands of navigating a fourteen tonne craft through a winter landscape from early morning till night-fall. But again and again their thoughts returned to the body in the canal.

  At mid-day on Christmas Eve, under a lowering sky, they negotiated the last lock and soon saw up ahead the graceful curve of the final bridge before Knightl
y St John. Within minutes they made out the roofline of Glebe Farm through the leafless branches of the trees in the spinney. As they approached home, Marnie turned to Anne.

  “Let’s put all that business aside now. Let’s concentrate on making this a good Christmas. Here and at Ralph’s cottage, we’ll just get away from it all and forget about what’s happened. Put it all out of our minds.”

  “Oh yes,” said Anne. “Yes, let’s do that.” She became thoughtful. “Although I’m rather worried about you, Marnie. I thought you were fully recovered, but now, I’m wondering if you might have had a major relapse.”

  Marnie protested. “I’m fine. Never felt better.”

  Anne shook her head. “I mean, giving Gary a blank cheque. That’s not a good sign! I fear the worst. I’d better order the forms to file for bankruptcy.”

  Laughing, Marnie put an arm round Anne’s shoulder and they brought Sally Ann home to her dock at Glebe Farm in a flurry of sleet that they persuaded themselves was snow.

  8

  Saturday 24 December

  They secured Sally Ann in her dock and walked through the spinney, holdalls slung over their shoulders like seafarers, crunching the leaves underfoot, taking in deep breaths of cold fresh air, surrounded by silence.

  “Oh, it’s so good to be back here!” Marnie said. “I wonder where Dolly is … over at the Burtons’, I expect. Now, we can look forward to just peace and quiet, a nice lazy time.”

  “Er …” Anne began.

  Marnie looked suspicious. “Er what? You’ve got one of those looks.”

  Anne pulled a slip of paper out of her top pocket and waved it gently, smiling.

  “Not a list!” said Marnie. “Don’t tell me it’s your Do-It-Yourself Guide to Christmas.”

  “Just a few things we have to do,” said Anne brightly.

  They reached the office barn and Marnie put the key in the lock. “Stand by for the icebox,” she muttered. She pushed open the door and went in. “Wow!” The office was warm and there were vases of chrysanthemums on the desks. Small holly wreaths laced with gold ribbon decorated the walls, and Christmas cards were strung around the beams. A swag of red tinsel draped itself nonchalantly across the photocopier. In the centre of the room stood a magnificent tree decorated entirely with gold and silver baubles, lit all over with tiny white lights.

  “Blimey!” said Marnie.

  *

  There were more flurries of sleet and snow all afternoon and into the evening, and they swirled across the road making confusing patterns in the beams of the headlights when Marnie swung the Rover into the lane that led down to Ralph’s cottage by the river. The trees and bushes pressed in on her in the darkness as she trundled the last hundred metres of the journey and pulled up under the low eaves at the side of the house. A security light came on, revealing the stone cottage with its porch covered in straggling growth that would be a mass of roses in the summer. Ralph opened the door, welcoming Marnie into the warmth.

  “Welcome to my humble abode. Good timing. I only got here five minutes ago, myself. Supper will be ready in about half an hour. Let’s have a drink by the fire.”

  “Poetry,” said Marnie. In the sitting room Ralph took her coat as the first wisps of smoke began curling up the inglenook chimney and flames played around the kindling. “Is there anything I can do?” she said.

  Ralph pointed towards the window and lit a candle on the low table in the middle of the room. “If you want some exercise, you can switch on the Christmas tree lights. After that, sit down and relax. You need to conserve your energy for a big decision.”

  “Easy. Three lumps of ice and go easy on the tonic,” said Marnie. She admired Ralph’s tree, but had to admit to herself that it was not quite up to Anne’s standard. She flopped into the cushions of a deep armchair and stretched her legs, while Ralph went out to put her car in the carport. The cottage was just right for Christmas: beamy ceilings, restful table lamps, shelves full of books, deep windowsills and chintz curtains. It had central heating and all mod cons, backed up by the traditional comfort of the inglenook fire. She heard Ralph come back and the front door close, shutting out the cold night. He went straight through to the kitchen and sounds reached her of glasses tinkling. Ralph had asked Marnie to let him provide everything, and she had agreed.

  It was a cosy house and surprisingly homely, given that Ralph spent so much time away living in college for most of the week. Presumably this had been their home when Ralph’s wife was alive. Perhaps it was strange for him to have Marnie there, or perhaps it was all so long ago that it did not occur to him to make comparisons. She yawned.

  “I knew you were tired,” said Ralph coming into the room, armed with a tray of drinks and nibbles. Marnie’s mouth snapped shut.

  “It’s a fair cop, guv,” she said, taking the gin and tonic that Ralph offered her.

  He put down small bowls of pistachio nuts, olives and cashews, checked that the fire was drawing well and lowered himself into the armchair opposite. They drank a toast to Christmas and absent friends.

  “Ooh, this is good,” said Marnie.” Just the right balance.”

  “For dinner, I’ve tried to keep it simple,” said Ralph. “In my family the tradition was always to have fish on Christmas Eve, usually salmon. But I’ve opted for trout instead, to start a new tradition. Baked with herbs and flaked almonds. Is that okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And a bottle of Orvieto to go with it?”

  “Brilliant.”

  Ralph smiled at Marnie. “You’re easy to please.”

  “Any woman will tell you that the best meal of all is the one cooked for you by someone else. Anyway, it sounds delicious and I know how good you are in the kitchen.”

  “I suspected you might just be too tired to cook for yourself at the moment.”

  “Yes, but I’m a hundred per cent better than I was, thanks to good old Sally. That trip on the boat has restored me. I feel almost as good as new, even after all the running around today.”

  They took another sip from their drinks and stared contentedly into the flames. Marnie turned and pulled something out of her bag, handing it to Ralph.

  “What’s this?” he said.

  “I thought you might like to see Anne’s Christmas tree and decorations. I was so impressed, I took Polaroids of them.”

  He looked mightily impressed. “When did she do all this?”

  “She got her dad to drive her to Knightly before I picked her up.”

  “That tree’s a masterpiece,” said Ralph. “It’s amazing. Isn’t it rather a waste, though, as you’re going to be away?”

  “She’d thought of that. She told the Burtons they could have it as soon as we left. She just wanted us to have one because it was our first Christmas at Glebe Farm.”

  “I’m sorry not to have seen her,” said Ralph.

  “Never mind. You’ll see her soon enough. I needed to take her home after we’d been for a drink with Jill and Alex. Anne had got them to switch the heating on yesterday to warm the place up and come back this morning with the tree so that everything was ready for our return. She’s organised them to feed Dolly, too, while we’re here.”

  “That girl is a genius,” said Ralph. “She ought to be running the country.”

  “She is,” said Marnie. “Hadn’t you noticed?”

  As if by a pre-arranged signal, Marnie’s mobile began to ring in her bag on the floor beside her while at the same time the house phone joined in. Ralph got up to take the call in the kitchen.

  “It’s probably Anne now, checking up on us,” Marnie muttered as she pressed the button. “Hallo, Marnie here.”

  “Good evening, Mrs Walker. This is Chief Inspector Bartlett. Sorry to bother you on Christmas Eve.”

  Marnie froze. It was a voice from the past, the officer who had led the murder enquiry that summer. “Hallo, Mr Bartlett. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?”

  “We’ve been contacted by DCI Bruere at Lisson Gr
ove. It’s about …”

  “I’m sure I can guess what it’s about.”

  “Yes. Bruere explained about your involvement and asked me to mention something to you.”

  “I don’t think of myself as involved,” said Marnie. “All I did was find the body.”

  “Quite. Well, he asked me to let you know that they’ve found the tramp who probably witnessed what happened.”

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  “Not really, Mrs Walker. They found him drowned in the cut at Limehouse.”

  “Oh, how awful. That’s very sad. Do they know who he was?”

  “They just said it was a tramp.”

  “Just a tramp. He was a human being. He must have meant something to somebody, some time.”

  “I suppose so. The only name he was known by was Dodge. That’s as much as you get with these people. All a bit academic now, though.”

  “Yes, now that he's dead. The poor devil.”

  “’Fraid so. Will you be at home over the holiday, Mrs Walker?”

  “No. I’ll, I'll be in Oxfordshire, at Murton, for a few days. I’ve got my mobile with me, of course.”

  “Just in case,” said Bartlett. “Well, sorry to interrupt your evening. Good-bye. Oh, er … happy Christmas.”

  Ralph came in smiling as Marnie slipped the phone back in her bag. “Was it Anne? Ah, no. I can see by your face that it wasn’t.” Marnie explained. “Well,” said Ralph, “there’s nothing we can do about it. It’s a sad business all round. The best we can do is put it aside and let the police sort it out.”

  “Yes. It’s the only way to cope. Who was that on your phone?”

  “Randall Hughes. He just wanted to agree what time we’re seeing him on the twenty-eighth. And he said he’s looking forward to seeing us and wants to show us something he’s done since becoming Rural Dean. Says he has a new lease of life. I suppose that’s something we all have in common.”