by Leo McNeir
“You think it was planned that way?” Marnie said almost in disbelief. “Entrapment, like his wife said?”
“Could be. And her hand on his wrist there. Look. We’re supposed to think that she’s trying to remove it from her ... well, from where it is. But if you looked at it in a different way, you could almost imagine that she’s holding it there.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Marnie conceded. “But there’s still all this detail about his private life, pornographic magazines and prostitutes. And the girl is only supposed to be fifteen years old.”
“It doesn’t produce evidence about any of that,” Anne said. “It only reports reliable sources as saying that.”
Ralph pulled the article closer. “The girl is alleged to be a minor and is believed to be in hiding. They don’t seem to know anything reliable about her, except that she’s disappeared. The accusations are all innuendo in the headlines. This reliable sources stuff is just put in to overcome legal problems.”
“So he could sue them if the report isn’t true?” Marnie said. “If they can’t produce evidence, he could get substantial damages?”
Ralph looked sceptical. “Unlikely, I would’ve thought. What chance would he have of winning once the jury saw those pictures?”
“Zilch,” said Anne.
“Quite.”
6
It was mid-morning on the following day when they had a visit from an old acquaintance. Marnie and Anne were working through their lists of phone calls. Replacing the receiver, Marnie noticed that Anne was fiddling with a small package.
“How’s it going, Anne?”
“Is that a subtle way of asking if I’m making coffee?”
“Of course not. Are you?” Anne flashed her the Death Stare. “What have you got there?”
Anne held up a mobile phone. “Ralph’s new toy. Same make as ours, but look how small it is. I think it’s shrunk. He must have dropped it in the canal.”
“I didn’t know Ralph had entered the world of high tech. That’s amazing.”
“He hasn’t,” said Anne. “He’s got no idea how it works, says he’s suffering from technology fatigue, wants me to get it working, then show him how to use it.”
Marnie laughed. “He had to go on a course to operate his electric kettle.”
Anne got up and went over to the kitchen area. “Like I said ... subtle.”
Marnie smiled to herself, picked up the phone and dialled a frequent number of her own. She brought her sister up to date on events at Glebe Farm.
“Are you kidding?” said Beth.
“About something like that?” Marnie said. “Of course I’m not kidding.”
“And he’s actually staying at your place? I can’t believe it.”
“Sure. I’ve let him shack up with Anne in her room over the office here. It seemed the logical thing to do with a man accused of serial sex offences involving young girls.”
In the background Anne shrieked in mock horror.
“Marnie!” Beth exclaimed.
“Well, honestly. Can you really imagine us accommodating him here? He’s come on a boat and he’s staying on it down by Thyrsis.”
“Now I know you’re winding me up. Anthony Leyton-Brown, Mister Smoothie, on a narrowboat? That is not believable.”
“Believe it or not, it’s the truth. And it’s also a secret. The last thing we need is the press descending on us.”
“How long’s he been there? On the news it said he’d disappeared a week or two ago.”
“He’s just arrived, a couple of days, that’s all.”
“What are you going to do with him?”
Marnie became aware that Anne was making gestures, pointing towards the window. She glanced up and saw a grey car pulling into the yard. “We’ve got visitors,” she said to Beth. “And I think I know who it is.” She watched two men get out of the car. “Just what I need: Chief Inspector Bartlett and Sergeant Marriner. I’d better go. If you don’t hear from me later today, get in touch with Amnesty International, Torture Department. Tell them to organise a search party.” She ended the conversation and hung up.
“Shall I make extra coffee?” Anne asked.
Marnie shook her head. “They never accept. They’ll only stay long enough to make me incriminate myself, as usual.”
She watched the detectives cross the yard. It was a path they knew well. When Marnie was involved in the enquiry into the murder of Toni Petrie, the first woman vicar of Knightly St John the previous summer, the police had been regular visitors to Glebe Farm. Marnie had had a number of unfortunate interviews with them and had gained the reputation of being unreliable. She thought it was all just a series of misunderstandings. The police thought she was just unco-operative. They must be desperate, she reflected, if they were coming to her for help.
The men walked into the office and were greeted by a smile from Anne in the kitchen and a brave face from Marnie, doing her best to look welcoming. She stood up and offered a hand.
“Would you like tea, perhaps?”
Marriner opened his mouth, but Bartlett spoke first. “No, thank you, Mrs Walker. We can’t stay long. We’re just making a few enquiries in the area.”
“Enquiries,” Marnie repeated. She had learnt that the less she said, the less scope there was for being misunderstood.
“Have you noticed anything suspicious or unusual in the area in the last week or so, any strangers around?”
“Not here,” said Marnie.
“On the canal? Any sign of an attempt to get into your boat, damage to doors or windows?”
“No. None at all.”
“And you’re sure there’s been no-one here that you didn’t know or expect?”
“No-one.”
“You hesitated there, Mrs Walker. Do you want to reconsider your answer?”
“No. I was just thinking.”
“About anything or anyone in particular?”
Marnie said slowly, “About you, actually.”
This time Bartlett hesitated. He frowned. “What about me?”
“I was wondering why a Detective Chief Inspector should be making enquiries about attempts at pilfering on canal boats. I thought you only handled serious crimes.”
“All crime is potentially serious, Mrs Walker. Did you think we’d come about some other matter?”
“You tell me.”
During this exchange they had remained standing. Bartlett suddenly surprised Marnie by taking the seat beside her desk, while Marriner stayed where he was near the door. Marnie sat down, and Anne returned to her chair.
“You’ve heard about the disappearance of the MP, Anthony Leyton-Brown?” Bartlett said. Marnie nodded. “We have reason to believe that a man answering his description has been seen not far from here.”
“I see.”
“Since this was the last area in which a sighting has been made, we’re following up every lead. Have you any ideas as to his whereabouts?”
“I didn’t realise he’d committed a crime. I thought he was just accused in a newspaper of some sort of sleazy behaviour.”
“What about a man having sex with a minor? Would you regard that as a crime, Mrs Walker? Would that be serious enough for you?”
“Of course it would. But I still didn’t think officers of your rank would be directly involved in something like that.”
In the background Marriner cleared his throat. Bartlett leaned forward. “Any matter involving an MP with that amount of high profile has to be given priority, Mrs Walker. It’s a fact of life.”
“I understand.”
“And sex with an underage girl is a form of rape and carries severe penalties. As a woman you’d surely agree with that, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Then let me come back to my question. Have you any idea where he might be?”
Looking back later, Marnie realised that that moment was the turning point. She knew that she had only to tell Bartlett that Anthony Leyton-Brown was on
a boat fifty metres from where he was sitting, and the law would have taken its course. So why had she held her tongue? If he was innocent, the truth would set him free. Or would it? Was Ralph right about his chances of a fair hearing? She heard Anne’s voice in her mind. Zilch. Was it the lonely suffering of his wife, the doubts about the so-called evidence from reliable sources, the convenient disappearance of the star witness? Did the camera lie, she wondered, by only telling part of the story?
“You think his disappearance has something to do with me?” said Marnie.
“I didn’t say that, Mrs Walker. I only asked if you’d seen him or knew where he was. Mind you, you do have a funny way of being in the middle of trouble.”
“That’s honest enough. So this is routine now, is it? You round up the usual suspects? Top of the list, M. Walker, Glebe Farm.”
“You’re very secluded down here, Mrs Walker. If someone wanted to keep out of the public eye, he could do worse than hide himself away in a place like this. Also, he’s an MP, and you’ve had contact with politicians in the past.” He was referring to her finding the body of a murdered MP in the Regent’s Canal in London during the winter.
“I’m sorry, Inspector, but on this occasion I can’t help you.”
“So you haven’t seen him.” Bartlett glanced back at Marriner.
Marnie shook her head. “I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”
“Will you get in touch with us if you see anything suspicious?” said Marriner. He walked over and handed her his business card. “You’ve got all my contact numbers there.”
“If I see anything suspicious, I will.”
“Thank you.”
“And if you’re worried about him disappearing,” Marnie added cheerfully, “why don’t you drag the canal round Sally Ann just to be on the safe side ... for old time’s sake?”
Marriner showed the flicker of a smile. Bartlett stood up. “Nice to see you again, Mrs Walker. You’re looking much better, good as new, if I might say so.”
“Slightly better circumstances than last time we met,” said Marnie.
“At least you’re not a murder victim this time.”
“No. I must be losing my touch.”
*
It was the setting more than any other factor that had attracted Marnie to Knightly St John and Glebe Farm. The first time she had ever seen the place two summers ago, she was suffering from sunstroke, after steering Sally Ann for too long without covering her head.
The following year, on a whim, she had returned for a day with Anne to find the whole place, farmhouse and barns, spinney, boat dock and a few acres of land up for sale. It had been the biggest gamble of her life to give up her job in London, her secure, well-paid job, as Beth kept reminding her, sell her flat, her desirable flat in fashionable Hampstead, and put everything into a business.
Marnie felt uneasy as she sauntered slowly towards the docking area that morning, uneasy about concealing information from the police, but she had not been able to bring herself to turn him in. It went against all her instincts, and she only hoped that she was not going to find herself in trouble for harbouring a man suspected of a serious crime, the virtual rape of a minor.
Marnie stopped and leaned up against a tree, her head spinning with questions and doubts. She suddenly had a mental image of herself dressed in a loose-fitting white shirt with wide sleeves and black tights, muttering: To be or not to be ... A smile spread across her face, and she almost laughed. Why do I do that? she thought. Why do I always have this daft tendency to see a funny side to serious situations? Either I’m going ga-ga or maybe it’s just my way of coping.
The shock at hearing a voice close beside her tore away the smile, and she almost screamed. It was a soft voice, but it came without any warning.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Oh, my god!” She put her head back against the tree and drew a deep breath. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”
“So do I now. I am sorry.” He certainly sounded sorry. “I didn’t mean to alarm you like that.”
Marnie breathed out audibly. “It’s okay. I’m just feeling edgy, that’s all. One of those days.”
“Then don’t let me intrude. But I would just like to say I’m sorry about the other day, my rudeness when I was occupying your mooring. My name is Anthony Leyton-Brown.” He offered his hand.
“I know.”
“Of course you do. But I thought it was time I behaved like a civilised person again.”
Marnie took his hand. “Marnie Walker.”
“Very glad to meet you, Marnie Walker.”
*
Anne took a fresh cloth out of a drawer in the galley on Sally Ann that evening and spread it over the table. “Well, this is a turn-up for the book, whatever that means.”
“How do you mean it?” said Marnie.
“First, we meet this rude man, then we find out he’s a child molester and rapist –”
“Alleged child molester and rapist,” Marnie interjected.
“Okay, alleged child rapist. Then you withhold information about his whereabouts from the police and become his accomplice or accessory or something, and invite him round for supper.”
“You see a slight inconsistency of approach there, right?”
“That’s one way of looking at it. I suppose something made you change your mind.”
“You did.”
“I did?” Anne look startled.
“When you pointed out what was in the papers.”
“But I was just surmising, guessing, really. I don’t know what really happened.”
“Exactly. Let me ask you something, Anne. What would you have thought if that had been me?”
“You?”
“Yes, me. What would you have thought?”
“I dunno. I would’ve wondered what was going on, I suppose.”
“You would’ve thought it out of character?”
“Of course.”
“You might’ve given me the benefit of the doubt, at least initially?”
“Sure. You know I would.”
“And you’d want to know why I was behaving like that. You couldn’t work it out for yourself?”
“How could I? It would be so unlike you, I’d want to find out what was going on.”
“Right.” Marnie spelled it out slowly. “And yet we look at photographs in a newspaper of a complete stranger and immediately think we can judge him when we know nothing about him.”
A slight movement of the boat told them that someone had stepped onto the deck, probably Ralph. There was a rapping of knuckles on the steel door.
Marnie called out. “We’re in the galley.”
“Hallo. May I come aboard, please?” It was Anthony Leyton-Brown.
“Yes. Come through.”
He arrived carrying a bottle of wine. Marnie was surprised; he was over an hour early. He read her expression.
“Sorry to arrive when you’re busy, but I’ve brought this. I couldn’t get any flowers, obviously, but I wanted to bring you something. You don’t have to open it tonight, of course, but if you did want to, it would need to be opened and kept at room temperature for about an hour before drinking it.” He held out the bottle.
Marnie took it. “That’s a kind thought, but really not necessary. I’ll open it now so it’ll be ready for when you come.”
“Well, don’t feel obliged. But it needs to be drunk in the proper conditions if you wanted to. I couldn’t very well arrive with an opened bottle of wine, and I haven’t anything else to give.”
“Thank you.” Marnie glanced at the label and suddenly added: “Oh, sorry, this is my friend Anne. Anne, this is Mr Leyton-Brown.”
He reached over and shook her hand. “Good evening.”
“Hallo.”
“Er, you might need to be a bit careful with the cork, by the way. It may be a little fragile at that age.”
“I see. Do you think, I mean, would you like to do the honours? It would be such a shame if I mad
e a mess of it after you’d gone to all this trouble.”
“I’d be glad to. But I haven’t gone to any trouble. It’s only a bottle of wine, after all.”
Marnie reached into the drawer and handed him the corkscrew. Anne stood back and watched, turning her head slightly as a shadow passed the window.
“I think someone’s coming, Marnie,” she said. Leyton-Brown paused momentarily and looked up from his task.
“Ralph, I suppose,” Marnie said. “I’m not expecting anyone.” She called out, “Come through. We’re in here.” To Anne she said, “I can’t find the red onions. Without them, the red onion flan will be rather deficient.”
“I think they’re under the workbench at the back.”
Marnie opened a cupboard and knelt down to rummage. “Brilliant. Anne, you’re a genius.”
“Er, hallo.”
The man’s voice made Marnie twist round in surprise and stand up quickly. For a moment a wave of dizziness swept over her, and she had to steady herself against the workbench.
“Are you all right?” The man reached out a hand and held her arm, aware that two further pairs of eyes were staring at him.
“You surprised me, that’s all. I’m fine.”
He took his hand away. “You did say to come through.”
“I thought you ... never mind.” She glanced hastily in the direction of Leyton-Brown and decided against introductions. “Actually, I think I could do with some fresh air to clear my head.”
On the stern deck, Simon turned to face Marnie. “Look, I didn’t realise you had someone ... someone with you, I mean. You got my messages?”
“Yes. It was still a surprise seeing you just standing there like that.” They were both speaking quietly.
“Sure. And I could see it wasn’t a good time to turn up. You’re obviously in the middle of preparing a meal together.”
“You couldn’t have known that. Anyway, what brings you here?”
“Believe it or not, I read about you in a newspaper at O’Hare airport, Chicago. I had a wait before my flight, bought a copy of the Times, and there you were.”