Death in Little Venice

by Leo McNeir

  “Nuclear.”

  It was during the starter course after the first sip of wine that they began to unwind and talk. They kept their voices low.

  “This claret's rather good,” said Malcolm. “It seems ages since our last meal together.”

  “Lunchtime.” Marnie felt the memory flood over her, and her stomach tightened. “Although, of course, we didn’t actually eat anything. It's been a busy day.”

  “Best to try and put it behind you.”

  “It was nearly my last. I almost put it behind me permanently.”

  Malcolm reached across the table and touched her hand. “A dreadful shock, but you've come out of it, and you have to move forward. It's the only way.”

  “Easy to say.”

  “I know. But I do understand. I was there too.”

  “You were amazing, totally unflapped. I think they call it cool under fire.”

  “Let's just say I'm used to certain types of situation. I was in the army for a long time. You were the amazing one. Most people go to pieces and hide under the table.”

  “Most of them did, the sensible ones.”

  “But not you, Marnie. You wanted to get out there and see what was going on.”

  “Take the high ground. It nearly got me killed last time I did that. Some people never learn.”

  “It's in your blood. I saw it a lot in the army. You could call it character or breeding. Sometimes the least likely men could show real bravery in action.”

  “I didn't mean to be brave. Curiosity probably got the better of me, that's all.”

  “Oh, I didn't say you were brave – foolhardy springs to mind.” He smiled at her over the rim of the wine glass. They laughed quietly together. “You know, Marnie, it's funny meeting you like this, all on account of what happened to Tim. I think you would've liked him.”

  “I don't really have much impression of him, apart from what I've read in the papers.”

  “The papers, yes. Well, you won't get much of an impression there. Though he was always good at handling the media. He could do these soundbites. Most of our lot can't. We try and say too much, I suppose. All brought up writing essays at Oxbridge. But Tim could do it. That's why Major used him in his campaign.”

  “I thought Major was quite good with the media. His soapbox and all that.”

  “Useless.”

  Marnie was surprised at the bitterness. “Don't you think he came over as quite a sincere person?” She was amazed to find herself defending a Tory Prime Minister, and to a Tory MP.

  Malcolm did not even look up. He just sat there shaking his head, muttering. “No sense of leadership. No charisma.”

  “Not even on the soapbox?” Marnie said lightly.

  Malcolm snorted. “Blessed soapbox. Silly stunt.” There was derision in his voice. She remembered what Ralph had said about enemies in your own party. The plates from the first course were cleared away. Malcolm poured some more wine.

  “Tell me about Tim Edmonds.”

  Malcolm shrugged. “The PM used him to keep himself in office. Tim could make up for the things he lacked himself. He went on using him.”

  “I meant as a person, as your friend.”

  “As my friend. They don't come much better, Marnie. We hit it off from the start. We met while serving on a committee, had a drink afterwards. It went on from there. He was good company, no bullshit.”

  “I suppose you had the same ideas and a lot in common.”

  “Same ideas? What gave you that impression?”

  “Well, you were both MPs in the same party. It's a reasonable assumption.”

  “Actually, we disagreed about a number of fundamentals.”

  “Such as?”

  “Oh, the usual, Europe, monetary policy. Tim wasn't as keen on Maggie as some of us. I thought she was the best thing to happen to this country since Churchill. He wouldn't have cow-towed to the bureaucrats in Brussels.”

  “But she still signed all those treaties, the Single European Act and all that.”

  “Expediency, Marnie. Anyway, we had different views. So what? We all have our own views. We all think we're God's gift.”

  “Do you all think you can be Prime Minister one day? Really?”

  “Of course. What else do we have? Egos and ambition. Only a fool would deny it. Now Tim's gone. What a bloody waste.”

  Marnie began on her next course and took a sip more wine. Tentatively, she asked: “Do you think he was murdered?”

  “No! I don't know. I really don't. I'm seeing someone at Scotland Yard tomorrow. I'll try to find out what's going on. I'd like to think it was a dreadful accident. He was keen on his drink was Tim. He could’ve slipped and hit his head and fallen in the canal.”

  “I think he did possibly smell of drink, actually,” said Marnie.

  “Did he? Did you tell that to the police?”

  “Not in so many words. It’s hard to be sure. There was the smell from the engine, you see. Diesel’s quite strong. But I think I could smell something else. It might've been alcohol.”

  “I think you should add that to your statement, Marnie.”

  “Won’t they find that suspicious? I mean, if I suddenly alter my statement.”

  “The police find everything – and everyone – suspicious. It’s just part of their job. I think you should tell them.”

  “But the autopsy will've revealed whether he'd been drinking, wouldn't it?”

  “It may depend on how much water he ingested. I still think you should mention it.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  “Tell me, Marnie, do you have any ideas about what happened that evening? Did you see anything or anyone there or nearby, anything at all that might help?”

  Marnie shook her head. “I might've had an inkling of someone on the towpath, but it was dark and I was busy with the boat. I saw nothing that would help when I tried to pull him out of the water. The police said a tramp might've seen something.”

  “A witness?”

  “Maybe, but he was found floating in the canal himself at Limehouse a few days later. Apparently he'd fallen in and drowned. Probably drunk.”

  “Poor devil. So that's all you know?”

  “Yes. Not much to go on.”

  “I don't think anyone will ever –” As he spoke, a faint warbling sound interrupted him. Malcolm reached into a pocket with a muttered apology. “Grant … I don't think so … Look, I can't talk now, I'm having dinner with a friend … Yes … I don't know … What time? Very well. I'll be there at ten.” He folded the phone, the smallest Marnie had ever seen. “No peace for the wicked, as they say.” He smiled at her.

  “Problem?”

  “Apparently there's to be a division at ten o'clock. All hands to the pumps. That's the trouble with soldiering on with a wafer-thin majority, I'm afraid.”

  “So you have to go. Of course.”

  Malcolm looked at his watch. “Not immediately. I have a little time. Where were we?”

  “Agreeing that we're not getting anywhere, I think. I wonder what happens next.”

  “I'll talk to the Commander at Scotland Yard in the morning, see if I can find out what progress they're making, if any.”

  “In my experience of dealing with the police, they don't give much away.”

  “Well, I'm on a police policy committee and being an MP sometimes has a few advantages, even if we have no actual power, despite what people might think.”

  “That's what Ralph says, Ralph Lombard. You saw him with Michael Blissett in the Commons that day.”

  “Oh yes. Everyone knows Lombard. Ralph. I only know him slightly, but on the whole I think he's quite plausible. Perhaps a little suspect at times.”

  “In what way?”

  “Perhaps he leans a touch too far to the left for some of us, but I'm sure he thinks he's being objective. He has the reputation of being a bit of a know-all. Believes he's one jump ahead of the rest of us. Do you know him well?”

  “Quite well.”

&nbs
p; “But he's not around at the moment?”

  “He's in the Far East on a lecture tour. He's talking about an impending crisis that's going to affect the 'tiger economies'.”

  Malcolm raised his hands, palms upward. “I rest my case, m'lud.” He smiled.

  “I still don't know what happens next.”

  “I can let you know how I get on tomorrow. Can I ring you at your sister's?”

  “I might be out. Things to do. I've got to arrange transport. I'm in a mess.”

  “Of course. On your mobile, then?”

  “Look, why don't I ring you at a given time? That may be easiest.”

  “Fine. Say about eleven? I'll be out by then.”

  There was the usual argument about the bill. Marnie insisted that she had chosen the restaurant and it was her turn to pay. As usual she lost, faced with Malcolm's firm belief that a gentleman pays the bill when with a lady. She found this tiresome, but tried to appear grateful and put it down to experience. They left the restaurant and emerged onto the pavement just ahead of another couple. Two taxis were passing and Malcolm managed to wave them both down, signalling to one to wait. He opened the door of the first cab for Marnie, but she refused.

  “You go first. You're in a hurry. I'll take that one.”

  “If you're sure.” He kissed her on the cheek and got in.

  Marnie walked slowly back to the waiting taxi as Malcolm pulled away. She opened the door as his cab performed a U-turn, and he raised a hand as he passed. His taxi turned the corner and headed off towards Primrose Hill. Suddenly, she called in to the driver. “Sorry. I've left something behind. I have to go back.” She waved to the other couple who were standing at the edge of the pavement. “You can have this one if you want it. I can't go just yet.” They accepted and she went back to the restaurant, standing in the doorway until the taxi was out of sight. Secretive behaviour was becoming a habit. For a few minutes she watched as one or two taxis went by. As another one came into view on the opposite side of the road, she moved out quickly and hailed it from the roadway. It pulled in.

  “Are you a taxi?”

  The driver gave her the weary look of cab drivers the world over. “The sign on the roof's meant to be a clue.”

  “I meant are you free. I couldn't see if your light was on.”

  “Sure. Where to?”

  “Paddington station.”

  “You're on.”

  Marnie spent the journey trying to resist the temptation to look out of the rear window at the following traffic. The first time she looked, she realised it was a waste of time. Car headlights looked like car headlights. She thought about suddenly getting the driver to stop so that she could change taxis, but dismissed this as paranoid. It also occurred to her that she would be an easy target standing at the roadside if someone was following her with malicious intent.

  “Driver, could you go via Little Venice, please.”

  “Little Venice? It's not very direct from here.”

  “I know, but I'd like to see the boats.”

  “You're the boss.”

  Before long, they swung off the main road, and there seemed to be no other vehicles immediately behind them. They ran along the canalside past Sally Ann's old mooring, past friends who had no idea that Marnie was in hiding just around the corner. The taxi was lucky to take the left turn over the bridge by the pool of Little Venice just as the lights were turning red. It joined the road coming down from Westway in light traffic and aimed towards the station, parallel with the arm of the canal leading to Paddington Basin. Marnie opened her wallet and took out a fiver, enough for the journey with a generous tip. She passed it through the partition by the driver's head.

  “Can you drop me just before the flyover, please. This is for you. Keep the change.”

  The area looked deserted and unwelcoming. “You sure you want to be dropped here?”

  “My ex-boyfriend's pestering me. I don't want the hassle.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Marnie got out quickly and the taxi pulled away. She stood in the shadows for a few seconds beside the door in the wall. Nothing strange happened. Several cars passed. Two huge juggernauts buffeted the air around her, engines roaring as they changed gear. At any other time she would have regarded these surroundings as hostile, not the place for a lone woman at night. Now she saw them as her camouflage, her sanctuary. No-one would expect to find a solitary woman in a place like this, at least not a woman in her right mind.

  On board Rumpole, Marnie checked that the curtains and blinds were drawn and put on the light. Everything was in order. She took out the new mobile and rang a familiar number. Anne's mother answered, her voice anxious. They were not used to having phone calls at ten o'clock at night. Their life was normal. Marnie apologised, and Anne was summoned down from her room.

  “Are you all right, Marnie? I was wondering about you.”

  “That's why I thought I'd touch base. I've just come from dinner with Malcolm Grant.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Okay. I think he's as bewildered as I am.”

  “Remember Ralph said not to trust anyone.”

  “Ralph isn't here.” She wondered if he would ever be around when he was needed, but rejected the thought as unkind. “I'm ringing Malcolm tomorrow. He's going to Scotland Yard to see some bigwig, and we might find out what's happening.”

  “Then what?”

  “Well, I'm getting tired of the cloak and dagger routine. And I don't really think anyone's following me. If they were serious professionals, they'd have caught me by now. The car bomb probably was just a coincidence. I think once I've heard from Malcolm I'm going to head for home.”

  “I'll be ready when you are.”

  “Okay. I'll try and sort out a car. What are your movements tomorrow?”

  “Shopping with mum in the morning. Back for lunch.”

  “Expect to hear from me.”

  “I'll start packing.”

  “Of course. Anne, I'm sure things will be all right. There's nothing to worry about.”

  “Good.”

  Marnie pressed the stop button, glad that she had reassured her friend. She was pleased that one of them was not worrying.

  Anne put down the phone and sighed. She noticed that Marnie was still not telling her where she was staying.

  13

  Wednesday 4 January 9.00 am

  Marnie waited until her patience was exhausted the next morning before ringing the MG garage at around nine. She got through to Michael Dent.

  “We were just talking about you. Or about your car to be precise.”

  “You've got trouble?”

  “Well, not really. You do realise we did quite a lot of work on it when it was here a couple of years ago. It obviously hasn't been driven since. In fact, it was booked in for a new clutch and never turned up.”

  Marnie thought back to the turbulent days of the end of her marriage. A new clutch on the MG had been the last thing on her mind. “I'm sorry. There was a lot of turmoil in my life at that time.”

  “I quite understand. The point is, there isn't all that much to do to get her on the road again. She'd benefit from being used, actually.”

  “What do you have to do? How soon could I have it back?”

  “Basically, it's the new clutch and replacement of most of the pipes and hoses. They've gone brittle and rotted. A day's work.”

  “How long to get the parts?”

  “Mrs Walker, we are the stockists.”

  “I see. And when can you fit the job in?”

  “Do you hear that?” In the background was the sound of an engine running. Michael Dent came back on the line. “That was your car.”

  Marnie was incredulous. “You've got it going?”

  “Not actually moving, at least not until we get the clutch in. But that's not a big job and we're never busy at this time of year. If all goes well, you can collect her in a day or two.”

  “So I'll be able to drive it straight away?”r />
  “If we could have her here for a few days we could make sure everything's okay. A car that age needs looking after. And then you'll need tax and insurance, of course. Oh, and one other thing, you may have noticed that it's winter. Brass monkey weather out there. The car has no heater.”

  Through Rumpole's porthole window Marnie could see that a thin crust of ice had formed on the canal in the night, trapping the film of scum and debris on the surface into swirling patterns. She scribbled a list of jobs to do and thought of Anne with her constant supply of sticky yellow notes. First stop was her insurance broker. Not good news.

  “This is a tricky one, Marnie.”

  “You think it might not be a write-off? I could put the remaining bits of the Rover into an envelope and post them to you to save the loss adjuster a journey if you like.”

  “It's not that. The problem is: what was the nature of the explosion?”

  “My recollection is a sort of loud bang followed by burning and a lot of smoke.”

  “Marnie, I'm being serious. Was it vandalism? in which case you are covered. Was it a terrorist attack? in which case it counts as an act of war, and you're not covered.”

  “What! You mean the insurance might not pay up?”

  “I'm working on it, believe me, but it's not straightforward.”

  “What can I do in the meantime? I've got to have transport, otherwise I'm stranded.”

  “You can hire a car for up to five days. I'll give you a phone number. Quote your policy reference and they'll bill the company direct.”

  Marnie arranged the hire on the phone, surprised how easy it was, and glad that something was going right.

  *

  Beth and Paul's house looked quiet from the outside as Marnie parked the hired Ford Escort on the drive. The inside was just as quiet, and there was no evidence of any intrusion, planting of bugging devices or hidden cameras. Paranoia, paranoia, she muttered to herself, walking through to the kitchen and the door to the garage. It looked empty with the MG gone. Beth would be pleased.

  Marnie surveyed the wall of shelving and from the top took down a bulky cardboard box that was dusty but intact. She blew the dust off at the back door and opened the box on the kitchen table, before taking the contents upstairs to Beth and Paul's bedroom. Standing in front of their full-length mirror, she tried on the items. They were a trifle big for her, but not excessively so. The leather bomber jacket with its sheepskin lining was highly fashionable, though this one had never seen the King's Road, Chelsea. It had been issued to a Lancaster navigator, a cousin of her father, at an airbase in Berkshire in 1944. The flying helmet, also of leather and well-lined, was a reasonable fit, if slightly eccentric. Marnie did not care about making a fashion statement. Her aim was to make herself unidentifiable. With the aid of her scarf and dark glasses, she achieved just that. She also wanted to keep out the cold while driving an open sports car in January.