Devil in the Detail

by Leo McNeir

  “I told you. All our people are accounted for. I’ve spoken with the families concerned on the telephone.”

  “You think you might’ve found the bomber?” Marnie asked.

  “We can’t rule anything out at the present time. Please remember this is highly confidential information, ladies. It must not be divulged to anyone at all. In fact to do so could result in serious legal consequences.”

  “It’s not the sort of thing we’d be likely to chat about with our friends,” said Estelle.

  Marnie spoke again. “I take it we’ll not be able to enter any part of the building today, Superintendent.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Then I think we should leave. We’re only getting in the way here.”

  “Thank you for your understanding, Mrs … Did you say Mrs Walker?”

  “Yes,” said Serena.

  Harris’s eyes narrowed. “Mrs Marnie Walker, by any chance?”

  “Yes,” said Marnie. To the others she added, “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Leaving the site, Serena said quietly, “Does Harris know you, Marnie?”

  “Sort of.”

  *

  Anne completed the builders’ morning drinks round and slotted the tray into its place by the sink. The jar of instant was empty, and she debated with Dolly whether to forego her own mug that morning, but the cat’s contented purring as she slurped her milk persuaded Anne that she wanted to do the same. Locking the door behind her, she went through the spinney to fetch the ground coffee and cafetière from Sally Ann. She could not resist glancing over at the U-boat, and told herself she really ought to stop thinking of it like that.

  The dark grey boat still lay at its mooring, the mountain bike absent, all quiet. In the sunshine it looked less menacing, and Anne was crossing the bridge before she knew what she was doing, telling herself she would just check on the porthole curtains, perhaps one last time. It would only take a second or two.

  To her surprise, all the curtains on the towpath side were open. She put her face close to the glass of the first one and stared in. With the opposite curtains all drawn it was not easy to see into the cabin, but she managed to make out the details of the built-in furniture, all of it located down the left side of the boat. It occurred to her that the builders had carefully adjusted the underfloor ballast to prevent it from listing heavily on that side. In the front section she could see a workplace, with a laptop computer and other equipment. Further back was the dining area, with fitted benches either side of a table, the upholstery seeming to be a kind of grey tweed material. At the next porthole was the infamous photograph, and it struck Anne as odd that the boat owner should display it on full view where any passer-by could see it. It was almost as if he wanted people to know he had a swastika, as if it was a badge … or a signal.

  Anne straightened and walked along from porthole to porthole, seeing the galley, the sleeping cabin, the bathroom. It was all so well planned, so unified. The latest and most modern boats on the waterways, with all their expertly-fitted joinery and facilities, did not have an ounce of style compared with this. The thought depressed her, and into her head came an old saying, the devil has the best tunes.

  Reaching the stern, she suddenly noticed that the heavy black padlock was missing from the door. Pondering why this should be, she understood too late the implication. The voice came from behind her, and although it was quiet, it made her jump visibly.

  “It was you.”

  *

  Serena insisted on paying, and they found a table in the corner of the coffee house where they could enjoy a degree of privacy. At first they said nothing. There were so many thoughts spinning through their minds, they hardly knew where to begin. It was Serena who broke the silence.

  “How did Superintendent Harris know you, Marnie? It was like he suddenly recognised you, after not expecting to see you there.”

  “Marnie has helped the police with an inquiry in the past,” said Estelle.

  “Helped? In what way?”

  “Good question,” said Marnie. “They probably don’t see it that way. I, er, played a part in solving a kind of mystery last year. The trouble is, for a while the police thought I was concealing evidence to protect someone. They had me down as a suspect, or at least an accomplice. Then I nearly became a murder victim myself. So I’m not exactly their favourite person. They have, shall we say, mixed emotions about me.”

  “Phew! I don’t know how I missed it in the news. When was this exactly?”

  “Mostly during the summer holiday period.”

  “Ah, I was in the West Indies. My grandfather died, and I spent two months back home with the family. So …”

  “So I might be something of a liability if you’re going to be dealing with the police. I’m known to them, as they say.”

  “But as a murder victim, more or less,” Serena protested. “They can’t hold that against you.”

  “You were quick on the uptake about the body being found, Marnie,” Estelle said admiringly.

  “It was the only explanation for all that activity. And I saw a mortuary van in amongst the police cars.”

  “I think you’re going to need help from everyone you can get,” Estelle said to Serena. “Especially after last night.”

  “What about you, Estelle? Can you help?”

  “Sure. I’ll do what I can, but I’m likely to be going to Italy very soon. That’s why I’m up here working with Marnie.”

  “Well, like you said, after all that happened last night, we’re going to have to gather our allies around us.”

  “It looks as if you might not have to,” said Marnie. “If the bomber is the body in the ruins, I mean.”

  “I’m not talking about that. I mean all the other things.”

  Marnie looked blank. “What other things?”

  Serena and Estelle stared at her.

  “Don’t you listen to the news on the radio?” said Serena.

  “I was too rushed getting ready to come here. I haven’t even eaten this morning.”

  With perfect timing, one of the coffee-house assistants moved among the tables.

  “Bacon sandwich?” she called.

  Marnie raised a hand and gratefully took delivery of breakfast. Her companions momentarily regretted their decision not to order food with their coffee.

  “Tell me what the other things were,” Marnie said as she began on the sandwich.

  Serena answered. “It was another lot of attacks. More shops had their windows smashed. Asian restaurants, too. Some were sprayed with paint, things like Go home Pakis, Wogs out! No-one’s claimed responsibility, but everyone’s thinking it must be this New Force outfit.”

  Estelle joined in. “The report I heard said they’re targeting their victims so well, they must have local co-ordinators in every area. It’s just like the Nazi party when they started up in the 30s.”

  “But they’ll be dismissed as bigots and extremists,” said Serena. “They won’t fool the people in Britain.”

  “Germany was the country of Beethoven,” said Estelle reasonably. “And Bach and Goethe and a whole load of others. Hitler preyed on their fears and used the Big Lie technique.”

  “Was anyone hurt in these attacks last night?” said Marnie.

  “Nothing serious.”

  “And the police have no leads on who did the damage … no arrests, no people they want to question?”

  “They’ve not made any announcements to that effect. They don’t seem to have any idea.”

  “Not a single clue,” said Serena. “These people are really highly organised.”

  They drank their coffee, and Marnie finished her sandwich, each pondering the situation that faced them.

  “I suppose,” Estelle began. “I was just thinking. If they were really like the Nazis, they’d start laying blame on sections of the community … scapegoats.”

  “They’ve got no reason to blame us for anything,” said Serena. “The centre’s just a club. Nobody dr
inks too much; we’re strict about that. Nobody does drugs. In the daytime older folk play bingo.”

  “My guess is they’ll try to provoke the different communities into reacting to these attacks,” said Marnie. “Cause rioting on the streets. After a while people will forget who started it all and just see the latest images of violence on their TV screens. There’ll be black and Asian youngsters fighting the police.”

  “And the Big Lie will be used to lay the blame on them?” said Estelle.

  “That’s why we want to get all the youngsters away over the holidays,” said Serena. “It’s the one way to keep them out of trouble.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Marnie. “It’s building up. Everything will come to a head in the summer.”

  “Why now?” Estelle asked. “Why should they want to cause all this trouble at this particular time?”

  Marnie nodded. “That’s what’s been on my mind. I’ve been wondering. Could it be they’ve got a new leader, someone driving everything along?”

  Estelle shrugged. “Leaders are supposed to be charismatic. So why don’t we know about him? Why isn’t he up front leading?”

  “Maybe he’s not ready to make an appearance yet,” Serena suggested.

  “What’s he waiting for?”

  “We’ll have to wait to find out,” said Marnie. “But events are definitely building up. And there’s another thing. It’s going to get more dangerous from now on.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Serena asked.

  Marnie lowered her voice almost to a whisper. “The stakes are higher. If he really is as sinister as you think, he’s potentially got a martyr.”

  “How do you work that out?”

  “The body in the community centre.”

  “But that’s almost definitely the person who tried to burn the place down,” Serena retorted.

  “Who says so?”

  “The police for one.”

  “Really? You think they can actually prove that?”

  “They can prove if it was a white person,” Estelle said, gradually seeing the point Marnie was making. “Even if it’s burnt beyond recognition, forensic scientists can do that, but they can’t prove anything else. Is that what you mean, Marnie?”

  “Who’s to say that person hadn’t been abducted and died when the building caught fire again?”

  “But that’s ridiculous! It would be a downright lie!” Serena’s eyes were blazing. “Everyone would see that.”

  “It would be a Big Lie,” said Estelle.

  *

  It was a gloomy drive back to Glebe Farm. Even the fine weather failed to raise their morale, and when Marnie rang the office just before setting off, Anne had sounded strangely distant and remote, as if Marnie had said something to offend her.

  “What is going on?” Marnie muttered. “The whole country seems to be falling apart. What’s the matter with people?”

  “I think you were right when you wondered if this New Force thing was behind it all,” said Estelle. “Luther and I were talking about it last night in bed after …”

  “Listening to the news?” Marnie suggested.

  “Yes. Luther’s never been worried very much about racism. He thinks prejudice of some sort is everywhere, but it’s largely inactive and harmless. He’s quite generous about it, in fact. I think he’s inspired by Nelson Mandela; twenty-seven years in prison and he comes out saying he forgives his captors.”

  “You don’t have to be black to be inspired by Nelson Mandela,” said Marnie. “Or Christian to be inspired by Desmond Tutu, come to that.”

  “True. Both charismatic leaders. And if you’re right, Marnie, the New Force thing has a leader who’s keeping in the shadows till the time’s right for him to appear in public. I thought that was an interesting idea.”

  “It was only a guess. I’m no great shakes at politics. But something or someone seems to be pushing matters along. I saw it for myself on the streets of Leicester. That was an organised army. They had discipline, if you can call it that, banners, armbands, almost a kind of uniform.”

  “A uniform? What was it like?”

  “It was not so much a uniform, more a style. They had black leather jackets, black or grey jeans and T-shirts, thick boots. They were like renegade bikers, only without the bikes.”

  “I’ll keep a lookout,” said Estelle. “If we see anyone like that, maybe we should tell your police inspector, the one who came down that day I was visiting. What’s his name?”

  “Detective Chief Inspector Bartlett,” Marnie said slowly.

  *

  The next surprise of the day came when Marnie grabbed the handle of the door to the office barn and found it locked. She peered in through the tinted plate-glass window and could see that the equipment was working; small lights were glowing on the machines. Catching sight of Bob, the site foreman, Marnie called out.

  “Seen Anne anywhere?”

  “Not since coffee time this morning, me dook. She came running back through the trees like she was late for something and went in the office. Haven’t seen her since. Sorry.”

  He went back to the farmhouse and, just as Marnie was searching in her bag for a key, she saw movement in the barn, and Anne unlocked the door.

  “I thought you sounded odd on the phone,” said Marnie stepping inside, putting her bag down on the desk. “What’s up? Aren’t you feeling well? You look a bit pasty.”

  She touched Anne’s cheek.

  “I’ve done something really silly, Marnie.”

  As she spoke, Anne looked anxiously over Marnie’s shoulder towards the door. Marnie placed both hands on Anne’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

  “I’m going to sit you down, make you some coffee and whatever the problem is, we’re going to sort it out together.”

  As usual, Anne sat holding the mug in both hands. Looking at her friend, Marnie wanted to wrap her up and carry her off to a place where she would be safe from anything the world chose to throw at her. The trouble was, she had always thought of Glebe Farm as that place. Anne explained about her visit to the strange boat and being discovered there by the owner.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “Nothing. I ran like hell. I feel so stupid. And he knows I was on his boat. He just stood there looking at me and he said, It was you. That’s when I legged it. But he knows I was there trespassing when he was ill. Running off like that was admitting it.”

  She looked desperate.

  “Anne, you didn’t really explain to me why it is that you went back to the boat again.”

  “I felt somehow drawn to the boat. I wanted to check it out and look in again.”

  “And?”

  “The curtains were all open on one side. It was as if he had done it on purpose, set a trap. And he was there behind me … waiting.”

  “I don’t think he’d just lie in wait all day, Anne. That must’ve been a coincidence.”

  “It can’t all be just coincidence, Marnie. Ever since he came here there’s been all that race trouble and the fire-bombing, and here he is practically parked in our back garden, in his weird boat, looking like a U-boat Kapitän, covered with swastikas, dripping with black leather. That can’t just be a coincidence, and we haven’t done anything about it.”

  Anne was speaking breathlessly, and Marnie felt the weight of her words as a reproach to her own inactivity.

  “You’re right. Of course you are, and I should’ve spoken to Bartlett about him. He told me to watch out for any suspicious-looking characters.”

  Marnie was surprised by Anne’s reaction. She spluttered and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “That day when you first saw him, Marnie, you said you thought he looked like me!”

  “There you are, then, definitely dodgy. Seriously though, I’ll speak to Bartlett and get him to check out the Kapitän. Would you mind if I told Ralph first? He’ll be ringing as usual from Barcelona tonight.”

  “Good idea. I don’t su
ppose the Kapitän will come and murder us in our beds.”

  “I’ve had another thought,” said Marnie. “Did you notice if the boat had a proper licence and a registration number?”

  Anne spoke without hesitation. “I didn’t look, but I know he’ll have one. Just seeing how he keeps the boat, I’m sure he’s got all the documentation up-to-date.” She smiled. “I expect he writes lists for everything, like me.”

  “I might’ve known,” said Marnie. “Like I said, definitely a dodgy character.”

  *

  Marnie was at her desk talking over the Umbria project with Estelle when the phone rang. Anne was out on her post run, so Marnie took the call. It was a voice from the past. Valerie Paxton, the village school secretary, was phoning on behalf of Margaret Giles. Mrs Paxton had been prominent in the first few months of Marnie’s time in Knightly St John as a champion of the then vicar, Randall Hughes. Suspicious of Marnie as a newcomer, Valerie Paxton had not been as welcoming as she might be, and there was a tension in her voice even now.

  “Mrs Walker, I’ve been asked to give you a message from the head.”

  Marnie reflected that she was the only person in the village who addressed her as Mrs Walker, though she accepted it as a feature of school custom and practice.

  “A message? Is she away?”

  “She’s had to go to a meeting at the education office and she’s phoned to say it’s running late and she’ll not be back this afternoon.”

  “I see.”

  The silence that followed was so long that Marnie wondered if they had been cut off. She willed herself not to speak and was determined not to show her irritation. She failed on both counts.

  “You said you had a message. Presumably you’re going to tell me what it is?”

  “It’s about the … summer scheme – play scheme – or whatever it’s called.” Her tone was dismissive. “Because of the trouble with the community centre in town, the parents aren’t happy for their children to take part. They want to withdraw. Mrs Giles thinks they should discuss it and has called a meeting for tomorrow after school.”