Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

  “Marnie Walker, good morning.”

  “Marnie, it’s Frank.” He sounded agitated. “Look, the police’ve been here asking about the mugging.”

  “Are they making any progress?”

  “I don’t think so. They’ve got this strange idea that you know something about it.”

  “Me? Frank, let me assure you I don’t know any more than you do, well, obviously less, in fact. I’m sorry if you’re concerned about that.”

  “I’m not, really I’m not. The thing is, I didn’t seem able to persuade them that you couldn’t have known more than you said.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “They don’t believe you, Marnie. When they were talking to me they got a call from the station. I’m sure it was about the man you were supposed to be visiting in hospital the other day. I didn’t get all the details, but the inspector said something about him not existing.”

  “Of course he exists! We brought him in to casualty. Was it Inspector Bartlett, by any chance?”

  “That was the one, yes. Like I said, Marnie, I didn’t hear all the conversation, but I think they might be coming to see you. I wanted to let you know.”

  “Coming to see me now?”

  “I think so.”

  “Great. Okay thanks, Frank. But don’t be in any doubt. They’re making a mistake.”

  *

  Who were you visiting that day in hospital, Mrs Walker? What was his name? Why had you brought him in? Why were you involved? How long had you known him? Why was he at your mooring, on your property? What aren’t you telling us, Mrs Walker? Do we have to beat it out of you?

  Marnie hung suspended from chains in flickering torchlight in a dungeon deep in the bowels of police headquarters. In the shadows of the dungeon, torturers were lurking menacingly, clutching sharp instruments as Bartlett leaned towards her. She could feel his hot breath on her cheek, as a trickle of sweat rolled down her face into her eyes. She shook her head to clear it, and her desk came back into focus. The vision passed and she was sitting in the office barn, waiting for the police car to drive into the yard. Her mind settled on the questions, and gradually things became clear. She had to stick to her story, keep it simple, be consistent.

  Why did Bartlett think Simon Alexander did not exist? It was true that he did not exist, but how did Bartlett know that? What had he found out? Not for the first time she asked herself why she had got involved with Anthony Leyton-Brown, but she knew it was too late now to change tack. They had to hold on and give Anthony a chance to defend himself.

  *

  Marnie did not have long to wait before the familiar grey Cavalier arrived. Bartlett was out of the car before it stopped, striding across the yard while Marriner was still opening the driver’s door. The DCI swept into the office, and Marnie stood up.

  “Good morning, Mrs Walker,” said Bartlett briskly. “You look surprised to see us.”

  “Always a pleasure, though,” she said.

  Marriner followed his boss and closed the door behind them, nodding at Marnie. “We’re in our usual parking space.”

  “And I usually offer you coffee and you refuse, but I’m making one for myself. Will you join me?”

  To her dismay, they accepted. With coffee and a plate of biscuits giving the meeting a cosy atmosphere that Marnie felt it did not merit, she braced herself for the questions about the man she and Simon had been visiting in hospital.

  Bartlett dunked a biscuit, ate it and looked up. “You recently visited the place where Mr Day was attacked. Why was that, Mrs Walker?”

  Marnie was taken off-guard. “The place where ...?”

  “You were seen walking down from the lay-by and searching around where he was robbed. You do remember that, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” Bells were clanging in her head. They would ask what was her husband’s name, so as to check his version of the story. It would take only the simplest of enquiries to find out he was not just Simon Walker, but Simon Alexander Walker, and she would be in trouble with the police again. Damn! she thought.

  “Did my question surprise you?”

  “I just didn’t realise anyone else was there,” Marnie said feebly.

  “One of my officers in an unmarked car saw you walking down the field. You went off in a blue Volvo. That would be Professor Lombard’s car, would it?”

  “Yes,” said Marnie.

  “So I come back to my question: why were you visiting the scene of the attack on Mr Day?”

  “We were curious, that’s all,” said Marnie. “Frank’s a friend. I was going past. It was an impulse. We didn’t touch anything. Anyway, there wasn’t anything to see.”

  “Just curiosity, then,” said Bartlett. “Very well. And was it curiosity that brought you to the hospital on the day of the attack?”

  “No, of course not. I told you, we were there with a boater who’d had an accident.”

  “Ah yes, the disappearing boater and the disappearing boat. Very appropriate. How well did you know him. Mrs Walker?”

  “I thought I’d told you that already; I didn’t know him.”

  “Yet you’d rushed him into hospital and were concerned enough to ring up about his condition and check on his needs.”

  “Naturally. Anyone would do as much. And boat people in particular never pass another boat or boater in trouble. It’s a sort of unwritten code of conduct.”

  “Would it surprise you to learn that he doesn’t exist?” said Bartlett.

  Marnie was ready for this. She raised an eyebrow. “If he doesn’t exist, then how did he manage to discharge himself from hospital?” She was tempted to ask if he walked out through the wall, but restrained herself.

  “There’s no record of any Simon Alexander owning a boat,” said Bartlett. “We checked registrations with British Waterways.”

  It was the glance from Bartlett to Marriner that alerted her.

  “There is something I want to say,” she said. “Simon Alexander are the first names of my former husband. I think he may have given them to the man we took in to casualty just so the medics would have a way of referring to him.”

  Bartlett nodded slowly. “Just ... for convenience.”

  “I suppose so. The man was unconscious, after all.”

  Bartlett drained his cup and stood up. Marriner followed him to the door.

  “We knew about your ex-husband, Mrs Walker, his names. Can you tell us where we can find him?”

  Marnie looked blank. It occurred to her for the first time that she had no idea where Simon lived. “Inspector, you’re not going to believe this.”

  “Amaze me, Mrs Walker.”

  *

  The grey Cavalier groped its way over slippery grass and muddy ground up the field track, Sergeant Marriner steering carefully past the bumps, trying not to make his boss’s mood even worse.

  “Here we go again,” Bartlett said irritably.

  Marriner grunted, not sure whether the object of wrath was Marnie Walker’s testimony or his driving.

  “That bloody Marnie Walker!” Bartlett exclaimed. “Why’s she always trying to hide something from us?”

  “You think she is?” said Marriner.

  “Don’t you, Ted?”

  Marriner gave exaggerated concentration to his driving. “She does seem to be holding something back.”

  “Too bloody right! She knows something about the bloke who took the overdose. I bet she knows who he is. Did you show the staff in casualty the photo of Leyton-Brown?”

  “Yes. They didn’t recognise him.”

  “Probably too rushed off their feet, poor sods. Simon Alexander ... huh!”

  They reached the top of the track, and Marriner turned onto the road. “At least she came clean about the name.”

  “Don’t make me laugh, Ted. She only admitted that because she guessed we knew about him. I don’t know how she guessed, but she did. I could practically hear her brain working. What do they know? she was thinking. What should I say? She�
�s too clever by half, that one. It nearly got her killed last year. You’d think she’d have learnt a lesson from that experience.”

  “You don’t think she’s just trying to protect another boater from having to face questions from the police?” Marriner ventured.

  “The so-called unwritten code of conduct?” Bartlett hunched into his jacket as another shower began hitting the window. “D’you know what I think, Ted? I think you fancy Marnie Walker, and it’s warped your judgment.”

  “I’m only trying to be objective, sir.”

  “Then why d’you reckon she went to see the place where Frank Day was attacked? What’s your objective view on that?”

  “I think you’re right about her not knowing when to keep her nose out of things. She should’ve learnt that from last year at least.”

  “So just morbid curiosity?” said Bartlett.

  “I suppose so. What else could it be? You don’t think she’s in any way connected with the mugging. She’d hardly protect someone who’d attacked a friend of hers, would she?”

  “I think my judgment’s getting warped as well,” Bartlett muttered gloomily.

  “How come?” said Marriner. “Don’t tell me you fancy Marnie Walker!” He almost added as well, but stopped just in time.

  “Very funny, Ted. No, she gets under my skin so much that it puts me off my stroke. I should’ve pressed her harder about why she went to the scene of the crime and what she saw there.”

  “You think she might have ideas about that?”

  “Dunno. But she worked out who killed the vicar last year. You never know with that one.”

  *

  When Ralph returned, Marnie filled him in on the police visit.

  “It’s happening again,” she said. “I’m getting myself into deep water with the police. It’s just like last year. I told myself to give them all the information I could and now I’m making the same mistakes over again. It’s no wonder they don’t trust me.”

  “Do you think you ought to tell them about Anthony?” said Ralph. “About him being here, what really happened?”

  “I don’t know what’s best. All I’m trying to do is give Anthony a chance to clear things up.”

  “Well, you promised to get Simon to contact them when he’s next around. You can agree your line with him when he comes.”

  Marnie frowned. “Why should I wait for Simon?”

  “I thought you might want to talk things over together.”

  Marnie said slowly, “Ralph, why do you keep talking about Simon?”

  “I suppose ... I thought you were following a course of action that you’d agreed together. Didn’t you talk things over with him yesterday morning?”

  “No. Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “I had the notion it was something he said that made you act in that way.”

  “Simon? No. He just said he thought I had to get Anthony away from here, which was fairly obvious. And it only buys a little more time.”

  “It certainly achieves the object of the exercise,” said Ralph.

  “Not really. It’s only a short-term expedient. I’m hoping it’ll kick-start Anthony into deciding on his future and doing something about it. Actually, Ralph, there is something that’s been going through my mind. For some reason, I feel hesitant about telling you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’m not sure. To someone like you, someone with your straight way of looking at things, it would probably seem a bit crazy.”

  “Have you thought of talking it over –”

  “Ralph,” Marnie said quickly. “I’m talking it over with you.”

  “Okay.”

  Marnie took a long breath. “It’s just, well, do you remember I told you Simon said he felt so angry about what the papers had done, you know, especially on account of Melissa, that he wanted to rub the editor’s nose in the dirt?”

  “Yes, I remember. And how would he do that, exactly?”

  “By giving him some of his own medicine?” Marnie suggested.

  “But how could Simon do that?”

  “Oh, he wouldn’t,” said Marnie.

  “But I thought this was a plan you’d concocted together.”

  “No. Simon just started me thinking along those lines. It’s up to us now, you and me.”

  *

  For the rest of the morning Ralph found it almost impossible to concentrate on his work. For years he had managed a busy life of lecturing and research, writing and examining, interspersed with consultancy tours. He advised people at senior levels in governments and major institutions around the world. It was challenging and fulfilling. It brought him occasional large sums of money and an international reputation in his field.

  But since meeting Marnie, he had seen another side of life. Here was someone who handled matters that were out of his normal range, someone who had no fear of unorthodox approaches to problems. She took risks, even risking her life at Times. It was not unusual for her to do the opposite to what anyone might expect. In fact, on reflection, it was her normal response. You want to conceal a boat ... send it off up the canal where anyone might see it; you want to hide a man ... thrust him out into a conspicuous job where he will meet people every day; you find yourself hunted by one of the most powerful newspaper editors in the country ... He shuddered mentally.

  He heard a tap on the window and saw Anne’s face in the porthole.

  “Ready for a sandwich?” she called.

  They strolled together to Sally Ann. Ralph only now noticed that the rain had stopped. Anne seemed to have brought her sparkle into his life again. Breaks were appearing in the clouds, and patches of blue were showing. A wave of sunlight flowed over the canal and into the fields beyond. It was going to be one of those days when the country was scrubbed clean, and all around would smell of new growth, fresh blossom. Anne’s optimism.

  Ralph smiled at her. “So how did the driving lesson go?”

  “Great! My clutch pedal technique’s coming on a treat. I managed to make a very interesting noise with the gearbox before I got used to pressing the pedal right down. Hey, the sun’s come out. It’s going to be a lovely day. Perfect.”

  *

  “You can not be serious!”

  “Beth, for goodness’ sake! Why must you always sound like John McEnroe when you get all ... aerated like that?”

  “Marnie, have you gone out of your miniscule mind? I really mean it. What you’re planning to do is crazy. Have you talked this over with Ralph?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’ve ... sort of ... broached the subject.”

  “But you’ve not gone into detail?”

  “No. I’ve told Anne, though.”

  “And her reaction was the same as mine, I bet. She’s sensible, that girl. What did she think of your plan?”

  Marnie sighed. “Modified rapture, on the whole. She didn’t actually say much. Her mouth was hanging open. She’s got over it now, I think.”

  “Marnie, you’re rambling. When are you going to tell Ralph? You are going to tell him, aren’t you? You’re not just going to let him read about it in the papers one morning, wondering why he hasn’t seen you around the place for a day or two?”

  “I thought I’d tell him at supper time.”

  “What about Simon? Is he still around?”

  “No ... only from time to time. He thinks it’d be a good idea to rub the editor’s nose in the dirt. His words, not mine.”

  “I guessed. You’d be more graphic. Was this partly his plan?”

  “No. It’s all my idea, and it’s not properly formed yet. I’m still working out the details.”

  “Really? I see Simon’s hand in this. I can just imagine him swanning in and out, putting crazy ideas into your head. You know he was never heavily into sound judgment.”

  “I told you it wasn’t his idea, Beth. Anyway, Simon’s changed a lot. He’s into other things these days.”

  “Like what?”


  Marnie hesitated. “Like, well, poetry.”

  “Poetry? Simon?”

  “Sure. He writes haiku. That’s a kind of short Japanese poem.”

  “I had no idea he spoke Japanese.”

  “Beth, he ... oh, never mind. Anyway, that’s what he does. There’s no harm in it.”

  “No, not unless he’s writing them to you, there isn’t.”

  *

  When Marnie finished talking, there was silence. Ralph sat at the lunch table contemplating a few crumbs of bread remaining on his plate, chewing his lower lip. It was a habit he had developed since meeting Marnie. Anne pushed her plate to one side so that she could scribble a few notes.

  “Okay,” said Ralph eventually. “Presumably this follows on from what Simon said about wanting to rub Hawksby’s nose in it?”

  “No,” said Marnie. “Everyone seems to think this all came from Simon. I can’t understand it.”

  “Maybe because it seems so improbable,” Ralph suggested.

  “Well, whatever it may be, it’s my idea, though I suppose what he said might’ve lodged in the back of my mind. It struck a sympathetic chord, I expect.”

  “Mm.“ Ralph was chewing his lip again.

  Marnie said, “Tell me it’s crazy and I must be mad.”

  “Marnie, it’s crazy and –”

  “I didn’t mean that literally!”

  “Well, it does seem rather ... Run it past us again.”

  “It’s simple, at least the idea is. First we find the girl who had Hawksby’s baby when he was in the sixth form, to make sure of our facts. Then we write and tell him we know all about it and won’t hesitate to make the information public if he persists in hounding Anthony in his paper. We’ll confront him head-on.”

  Ralph was shaking his head, another habit he had acquired since knowing Marnie. “You’re talking about trying to blackmail the editor of a national newspaper.”