by Leo McNeir
“He wasn’t wearing a watch when we found him, Mrs Walker.”
“But you will have seen the marks on his wrist where he would’ve been wearing it,” said Marnie. “Either it was dragged off his wrist when he fell into the canal, or somebody removed it in a hurry. I saw the grazing clearly. Did you find his wallet? It was two-tone leather, made by Bugatti.”
“You’re exceptionally observant, Mrs Walker.”
“I gave him the wallet years ago as a birthday present. He’d always wanted a Bugatti – they were great classic cars, you know. This was the nearest I could get.”
Bartlett shook his head. “No wallet, Bugatti or otherwise.”
“A mugging that went too far?” said Ralph.
“That’s the big question,” said Bartlett.
“No it isn’t,” said Marnie. The police stared at her. “The big question is why Simon was there at all.”
*
Marriner drove more carefully then ever as the police car climbed the sloping, rutted track up to the village from Glebe Farm. He did not want to put his DCI in a bad mood by bouncing him roughly against the roof of the car, and he knew that Bartlett could be on a short fuse when faced with a possible murder investigation. Past experience taught him that it was better to drive in silence leaving the DCI to his private thoughts.
“Do you think it was a murder, sir?” said Cathy Lamb from the back seat. Marriner grimaced inwardly. “Or perhaps manslaughter if he was mugged and it went too far?”
“Let’s not jump the gun,” said the DCI.
“But the watch and the wallet ...” Lamb continued.
“The watch could’ve been dragged off his wrist when he went into the lock. And the wallet ... perhaps he wasn’t carrying it for some reason. Or maybe it’s in a special compartment in the car. That thing seems to be full of secrets. Pity we can’t just dial up the Mercedes helpline and get them to solve the bloody thing for us.”
Marriner pulled out onto the village street at the top of the track. “I expect they log the calls they get at the helpline,” he said.
“Yes,” said Bartlett. “You’d better get onto them and check out Walker’s story. You’ve got the manual?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You think Marnie – Mrs Walker – was telling the truth, sir?” Lamb asked from the back seat.
“What I think is irrelevant, Cathy. It’s of no importance. We’ve got to build up the picture with facts. I want you to check with forensic when they’ll be able to let me have the report on the car. And dig out the file on the muggings while you’re at it.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll want it on my desk when I get back from the autopsy.”
*
Anne cleared the cups and saucers and began washing up. It gave her something to do to occupy her mind. Ralph returned the chairs to their normal places and put a hand on Marnie’s shoulder. She was sitting staring in front of her.
“You okay?” he said quietly.
“Yeah.” She reached up and put her hand on his. “I wonder what happens next. Bartlett will probably want a statement, I expect.”
“He seemed more courteous than usual,” said Ralph. “At least he won’t be suspecting you of anything this time.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it, if I were you.” She stood up. “It’s all so awful and somehow unsatisfactory, Simon just popping out like that, saying he’ll be back in a minute, and then, that’s it ... forever.”
Marnie walked back through the spinney with Ralph. She felt hollow inside and needed some fresh air. Reaching across to take his hand, she said, “I wonder what happens about Simon. What needs to be done, and by whom? Who handles his affairs? I keep thinking I ought to be doing something, but strictly speaking it has nothing to do with me these days.”
“Who’s his next of kin?” said Ralph.
“I don’t know. He was an only child. His parents married late and both of them died years ago. Perhaps there was a note in his wallet to say who should be contacted in the event of ...”
They came to a halt at the edge of the spinney, facing the water. Marnie looked over to Anthony’s boat moored snug against the bank beyond Thyrsis.
“What do we do about him?”
“I think he’d better lie low,” said Ralph. “If we try and move him, we risk running into the police or journalists.”
“Yes, we can do without that complication. We’ll stock him up with supplies and pretend he isn’t there. As if ...”
In the trees above them rooks were crowing. To Marnie the eerie sound seemed appropriate to the desolate feeling inside her.
“I think it must’ve been a mugging, can’t think what else it could be. But why was Simon there in the first place? What reason could he possibly have for going in that direction and stopping in that car park?”
“Could he have been meeting someone, do you think? Did he have any connections round here apart from you, Marnie?”
“None that I know of. In fact, now that he’s gone, I realise how little I know of his life these days.”
“I’m sure the police will be able to go through his papers and find out who was his next of kin, who’d be his executor, that sort of thing.”
Marnie put a hand to her mouth.
What is it?” said Ralph.
“Executor,” she muttered. “It sounds like ‘executioner’.”
*
Anne was putting crockery in the cupboard when the phone rang. She dashed to her desk to pick up.
“Walker and Co, good morning.” She tried to sound positive and businesslike. There was no answering voice at the other end of the line. “Hallo, Walker and Co. Anne Price speaking.” Still nothing. “I’m sorry but I can’t hear you at all.” She waited a few moments. “Hallo? There must be a problem with the phone, I’m afraid. I’m going to hang up, but please try again. Good-bye.”
She sat at the desk waiting. Ten seconds, thirty seconds, a minute. Marnie came into the office and looked at her. Anne picked up the phone and dialled one-four-seven-one.
“You were phoned this morning at ten forty-three. The caller withheld their number.”
The automatic message was given by the usual calm, impersonal voice, but it made Anne want to scream in frustration. She wanted to throw the phone through the window and smash it to pieces in the yard outside. Looking up at Marnie with her sad eyes, Anne got her cares in perspective and felt herself calm down.
“What was that, Anne?”
“Nobody there when I answered the phone. I thought it might’ve been Marlene.”
“Oh yes,” said Marnie. It was like an afterthought, as if the whole business with Anthony was a million miles away and a hundred years ago. “And?”
“Nothing.” The statement seemed to sum up how they both felt that day. “I’ll get drinks ready for the builders. There are only three on site this morning. Things are slowing down till we get the roof slates.”
Two minutes later, while Anne was loading the tray, a car was heard pulling up outside. Neither of them went to see who had arrived, and it was a surprise to both when the door opened and Angela Hemingway looked in. She went straight to Marnie, who stood up, and put her arms around her.
“I’m so sorry, Marnie. I’ve just heard about your loss.”
“You’ve heard? How?”
“Molly Appleton. I was in the shop when she had a call from her brother. His wife’s cousin is a paramedic and was on duty last night. He was there by the canal. I came at once.”
“That’s very nice of you, Angela. The old bush telegraph. Have a seat. Will you stay for coffee?”
Marnie explained what happened the previous evening and asked Angela if she could think of any reason why Simon – or anyone – might go in that direction when they were heading for London: roadworks, an accident, a diversion, anything. Angela had no ideas and apologised that she was unable to help.
“All I can do, Marnie, is offer my support and my prayers. I know you’re an agnostic, but I really do believe in the valu
e and the power of prayer. I shall pray for Simon’s immortal soul, for his sake, that he should be at peace.”
“Bless you, Angela,” said Marnie. “That’s really kind of you. Though I suppose I shouldn’t say ‘bless you’, given that I’m not religious, but you know what I mean.”
“Of course I do, Marnie. And there’s no reason why you shouldn’t wish someone God’s blessing, if it’s sincerely meant. No blessing is ever wasted.”
Marnie smiled. “I’ll try to remember that, Angela.”
“And if you don’t mind, Marnie, I shall pray for you, too. I think you could use some peace right now.”
*
There were no more phantom phone calls, and Marnie and Anne occupied their time with work, immersing themselves in practical everyday business to take their minds away from the unhappiness that hung in the air like a black cloud.
At bedtime Marnie kicked off her slippers and slid under the duvet beside Ralph. She cuddled up to him, realising that her thoughts had been on Simon all day.
“I’d ask how you’re feeling, Marnie, but that would be a silly question. I can remember what it was like when Laura died.”
Marnie raised her head from the pillow. “But it’s not the same at all. Laura was your wife, the centre of everything. With Simon it was different. Our closeness was in the past. It was over long ago.”
“Even so ...”
“Of course. Loads of memories, and the strange feeling he left behind, just going off. And being found at the lock like that. So many unanswered questions.”
“I suppose we’ll never know the answers,” said Ralph.
“Well at least I see how to sort things out now, thanks to Angela.”
“Angela? You think praying will help?”
“No, but seeing the organised way she approached the problems, it made me get my own thinking organised, too. And it’s quite straightforward, really. I’ll get in touch with our solicitor, the one who handled our affairs when we were married. He dealt with the divorce for Simon when we split up. He’ll know what to do.”
33
Unusually for her, on Sunday morning Marnie wrote a letter by hand to explain the situation to Colin Parfitt, who was both Simon’s solicitor and his squash partner. In the past he had been their solicitor and had handled the conveyancing on their house. When Marnie and Simon split up, it seemed logical that Colin would act for Simon, so Marnie had used her father’s solicitor. It had all been managed as amicably as possible in the circumstances, but Marnie could not face the prospect of phoning Colin, and the idea of sending an e-mail seemed crass.
Anne offered to take the letter up to the post-box, but Marnie wanted to post it herself, and Ralph thought it best to let her have a solitary walk. Marnie was a bundle of emotions, too numb for tears, she knew they would come later. Tramping up the field track, she recalled the words of her old yoga teacher: listen to yourself, follow your instincts.
By the time she got back to Glebe Farm, Marnie seemed composed, the colour was in her cheeks and her self-possession had returned. They agreed to have a quiet hour or two catching up with paperwork and other chores, leaving till later the decision on how to spend the rest of the day. Anne already had an idea of what would be decided, but said nothing, contenting herself with tidying up the filing and making the office ready for the coming week. She did not stray far from the phone all morning and was growing increasingly disappointed and concerned that there was no word from Marlene.
Shortly after noon Ralph walked into the office. Marnie gathered her files together and looked up from the drawing board.
“Finished?” she said.
“As much as I need to do for today. How about you?”
“Sure. Anne?”
“Me too.”
“So, what’s it to be?” said Marnie.
*
Sally Ann chugged steadily in mid-channel with Anne at the tiller. There were furrows on the canal surface, and flashes of light on the water from the sun half-hidden among high wisps of cloud. It was the kind of day to restore the human spirit, and Marnie needed such a day more than at any time she could remember.
Shortly after setting off, she noticed a puff of grey smoke from the engine and spent some minutes hanging over the stern rail watching the exhaust pipe and listening to the beat of the engine. She realised that with all her other preoccupations she was probably neglecting Sally Ann, and her mind was busy with the thought of the routine checks she should be making at regular intervals. She told herself not to take for granted the things that were in her care. But Sally Ann had a stout heart, and the old two-cylinder engine thumped steadily once it had warmed up and seemed happy enough.
“Are you all right, Marnie?” said Anne. “I thought you were being sea-sick over the back of the boat.”
A pale smile. “I’m fine. Just listening to the engine.”
“I think it’s okay. I did the usual checks the other day – engine and gearbox oil, grease in the stern gland, drop filter, bilge pump – the things you showed me.”
Marnie hugged her friend. “Where would I be without you?” At that time of asking it was meant only as a rhetorical question.
“I’d better make us a drink and earn some brownie points too,” said Ralph, stepping down into the cabin.
Marnie perched on the lid of the gas bottle holder, leaned back against the bulkhead and closed her eyes in the intermittent sunshine. The familiar sounds and movement of the boat brought some comfort, but she had a weight in the pit of her stomach that she thought would be with her for the rest of her life. Without opening her eyes, she heard the engine note diminish as Anne slowed for a moored boat, heard a called greeting and Anne’s cheerful reply. She felt Sally Ann take a bend and straighten up, listened as the engine boomed louder in a bridge hole, noting the solid banging of a healthy machine, followed by Anne’s cry of thanks to a boat that must have given way to them. The everyday sounds and experiences of the canals that she had come to know and love, the restorative power of the waterways, though life would never be quite the same again.
Marnie wanted the journey to go on like that forever, Anne’s steady hand guiding them along, Ralph caring for her needs. She felt a slight sway as the boat responded to the tiller and knew they were swinging round the bend with trees on both sides, one of them overhanging at the mid-point of the curve, obscuring the way ahead. It was the sudden deceleration and the clanking of the gear lever, coupled with a muttered “Uh-oh!” from Anne, that told her something was amiss. Marnie opened her eyes and stood up quickly. It took a second or two for her to focus, and she felt momentarily dizzy. As the feeling passed, she was aware that the canal was partially blocked by a boat adrift across their path. By now, Anne had the engine running fast in reverse, and Sally Ann lost all momentum. The obstruction was a forty-five footer, green and red, with yellow lining and a faded black hull, and as she looked at it Marnie had a sense of déjà vu. She could not see the bows, but knew the name of this boat before it came in sight. Sure enough, within seconds she could read it on the side: High Jinx.
“This is becoming a habit,” she muttered.
“It’s the boat that was adrift the other week,” said Anne.
Ralph came up from below. “D’you see who it is? What on earth’s going on?”
Marnie pointed. “I think it must be another of your Oxford chums. Look, he’s punting.”
On the stern deck a stocky man in jeans and sweater could be seen trying to push the boat towards the bank with a pole. Anne eased Sally Ann as close to High Jinx as she could without ramming, and Ralph went forward to speak to the ‘punter’ from the cratch. He would offer to tow the other boat to the side.
It was an easy task, and soon the stranger was waving his thanks, at the same time reaching in his pocket for a mobile phone. Ralph walked back along the gunwale to the stern deck.
“What was the matter this time?” said Marnie.
“Transmission packed up, apparently. He reversed away from th
e bank because of the muddy bottom, and when he put it in forward, nothing happened, couldn’t get it to go in either direction. Said he’d been there for about ten minutes when we showed up.”
“Did you tell him we’d already rescued him once before?”
“Yes. He said he had no idea, probably the afternoon he’d taken a siesta after a long journey the previous day and he probably failed to tie her up correctly.”
“Yeah,” Marnie agreed. “So what’s he doing now?”
“I gave him Pinkerton’s emergency number. They’ll come out and sort it for him.”
“On a Sunday? He’ll be lucky.”
*
They were both proved to be right. On the return leg of their trip, with Marnie at the tiller, they came upon High Jinx where they had left her. Coming closer, they could see that the panels of the stern deck had been removed and in the open engine compartment two men were bending over, examining the machinery. One of them was in dark blue overalls with the name Pinkerton written across the back. Neither looked up as Sally Ann slid past at half speed.
As Marnie nosed Sally Ann into the docking area, she resolved not to go near the answerphone. Anne had made no such resolution and as soon as the boat was tied up securely, she ran through the spinney to the office barn. All three messages – from Beth, Mrs Jolly and Philip Everett – were personal to Marnie, and she saved them. There was nothing else, no faxes, no e-mails, and even though Anne had been assailed by other anxieties, she was becoming increasingly worried about the fate of Marlene.
34
The report on the autopsy carried out on Simon reached DCI Bartlett on Monday morning. It confirmed the views expressed orally by Dr Rod Gregory, the forensic pathologist, when conducting the examination. The results were inconclusive. Bartlett called for Sergeant Marriner and pushed the report across the desk for him to read.