Devil in the Detail

by Leo McNeir

  In the other car Bartlett sat in silence while his sergeant drove to the station. Eventually Marriner spoke.

  “That was more than just a convincing performance, sir.”

  “You reckon?”

  “She nearly passed out when those black kids said the boy was alive. Good job you were there to catch her.”

  “Mm. You don’t think she knows more than she’s telling?”

  “Marnie Walker and Anne with an ‘e’ … you never know with those two, sir. But I don’t think she was acting back there.”

  “No, maybe not. I told Lamb to see what she could get out of her on the way back, but I doubt she’ll get much.”

  “We’ve got no evidence, sir, no witnesses, nothing. No chance of her giving us a lead to what’s going on.”

  Bartlett grunted. “And there’s no sign of her in any of the photos in the paper. When we get back, ring up the editor, find out if they have any shots they didn’t use. If they have, check ’em out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bartlett ran a hand round his jaw. “I wonder …”

  “Sir?”

  “Who took those photos? A bit of luck to have a photographer on the spot at that precise moment. They’re good clear shots, very professional.”

  “I’ll find out, sir.”

  “You know, there’s a lot about this that doesn’t meet the eye. Who trashed that BMW? They weren’t black. They were a white gang, far-right hooligans, New Force or whatever.”

  “That car belonged to one of Brandon’s lot,” Marriner observed. “A rival mob, perhaps?”

  “In-fighting, you mean, Ted? Mm. Like the brown shirts.”

  “The what?”

  “The brown shirts, the SA, Hitler’s storm troops when he came to power. They were massacred by the SS, their own side, but deadly rivals.”

  “That might be the answer to what happened to Brandon, sir, killed by one of his inner circle who wanted to take his place. Who else could get that close to him?”

  Bartlett shook his head. “God knows. It’s all a right bloody mess. Here we are, trying to follow up any tiny lead, and the killer’s just gone, vanished.”

  “Or being protected from within the organisation, sir, if it was an inside job.”

  *

  At Glebe Farm Anne told her story to Marnie and Ralph. All eyes were moist when she explained about Buzz, and Marnie immediately rang Serena to give her the news of his survival.

  Ralph crossed the courtyard and called up to Luther. He signalled from the upstairs window that he was using the phone in the study and would come down as soon as he could. Anne went to switch on the kettle. Ralph hovered outside.

  By the time Marnie had finished her call, Anne had coffee ready in the office.

  “I knew we should’ve gone to the school this morning.” Marnie was brisk and business-like. She stood in the doorway of the office barn. “There are so many things to sort out with Serena.”

  Anne handed them each a mug. “We’ll see her soon enough. We ought to be leaving as soon as we’ve finished this.”

  Marnie sipped her coffee. “Is Luther in the cottage?”

  “He’s on the phone,” said Ralph. “He’ll be down in a minute.”

  “I think I can guess who he’s calling.”

  Right on cue Luther stepped out of the front door.

  “Have you spoken to Estelle?” said Marnie. “I’ve been meaning to ring her.”

  “No luck. Every time I phone, they say she’s out. I’ve left a message for her to call me back.”

  “She’ll have her hands full. It’ll be frantic. We didn’t want to change her travel plans yet again.”

  “I wanted to check the arrival time of her flight tomorrow.”

  Anne turned to her desk. “I’ve got a note of it in the file. I can give you a copy, if you want.”

  Marnie said, “It’s today’s plans that are concerning me just now. Are you ready to leave for Cosgrove, Luther?”

  “Is it time already? I’m struggling to finish a paper for my supervisor, my first assignment for the university. I wanted to get it done before Estelle gets back, keep the weekend clear.” He smiled.

  “Of course. Then you stick to your plan. We’ll fill you in on what we agree when we get back.”

  “It won’t take me much longer, another hour or so. If you go on to Cosgrove, I can walk or jog down as soon as I’ve finished here. It’s only a couple of miles.”

  *

  Bartlett put the phone down and finished scribbling notes on a pad. Superintendent Harris, who was heading the Brandon investigation, was bogged down in a mass of routine. House-to-house inquiries were underway but revealing nothing. No-one could give a description of Brandon’s killer, even the eye witnesses to the shooting. A ‘fair-haired man in black’ was the best they could manage. No-one had spotted where he went when he left the scene. Either the killer was very clever, with a car standing by to whisk him away, or the BFP people had hit the deck and kept their eyes shut out of fear for their lives. Probably both.

  It irked Bartlett to be stuck out on the periphery of the murder investigation, following up minor leads. He looked down at his notes, desperate to be in at the centre of the action.

  One man in black

  Fair hair – slight build

  4 shots fired

  3 hits

  Point-blank range

  Pistol – 9mm – Luger

  No retaliation

  No description of killer

  Killer vanished

  No sound of car – odd

  Inside plot?

  The more he pondered the facts, the more convinced he became that there was another possibility. Marriner could be right. Only one of Brandon’s own people could get so close to their leader. Only they knew Brandon’s movements and where the party HQ was situated. Who else would be likely to have a Luger? All the signs pointed to one of them.

  Why had no-one reacted or tried to stop the killing? Were there dissidents in the group? Bartlett drew a circle round inside plot, becoming increasingly convinced this was an assassination from within the party.

  Harris was keeping an open mind. He was an experienced officer and played it by the book. He knew that murders were solved by method and painstaking thoroughness. But all the witnesses were telling the same story. They all seemed genuinely stunned. The police knew shock when they saw it, and Brandon’s people had been scared out of their wits.

  There had been only one sighting from a neighbour living near the scene of the crime, but Harris was inclined to discount it. A woman had seen a boy on a bicycle leaving the vicinity just after the shots were fired. He was cycling steadily without undue haste, possibly wearing a light grey sweater and a red baseball cap, with the peak turned to the back. Her impression was that the bicycle was a light colour, maybe white or yellow. Her view of the boy lasted only a few seconds and her last sight of him was when he signalled and turned a corner.

  Bartlett had doodled a bike and a baseball cap on his pad. He bit his lip and scratched through the drawings. Someone who has just shot a man dead did not saunter off on a bicycle and make hand signals. Harris was probably right, and in any case there had been no other sightings of the boy.

  A knock on the door, and Sergeant Marriner stuck his head in.

  “Those photos in the paper, sir. They were handed in anonymously to the newspaper office yesterday morning. A roll of film was left in reception for processing, marked urgent. No-one remembers who delivered it. There was a whole film, twenty-four exposures. The editor says we can see the others, but they don’t show any more than we’ve already seen in print. No girl with blonde hair anywhere in sight.”

  “Okay.”

  “Cathy Lamb’s here. She’s just got back. Do you want a word?”

  “Wheel her in, Ted.”

  As soon as she walked through the door, Bartlett knew Lamb had had no success in pumping Anne for information.

  “Nothing?”

  “No, sir.
She just dozed in the car most of the time. I think she was overcome at finding out the boy was alive. It’s all been a bit much for her to take.”

  Bartlett scowled. “I suppose so. She’s not exactly built like a wrestler, that one.”

  “Oh, but she’ll get over it, sir. She’s as tough as old boots.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was certainly shocked, no doubt about that. But her whole performance today was … like an act.”

  “Go on, Cathy. Let’s have your woman’s intuition.”

  Lamb resisted the urge to kill her boss with a karate chop to the neck. “The clothes, the make-up. It was like … camouflage. And that perfume. It was really expensive, much too sophisticated for a girl of – how old is she? I bet it was Marnie Walker’s.”

  “So what’s your point?”

  “She got all dressed up. trying to look like an English rose to make an impression. I’m sure of it.”

  *

  Luther heard movement outside and leaned over from the desk to look down into the courtyard. Marnie and Ralph were leaving the office, both carrying folders. They made their way round the corner of the barn to the Discovery, leaving Anne to lock the office and bring up the rear. She too was carrying a folder, clasping a note pad on top of it in her fingers, and as she turned away from the door she looked up in his direction and their eyes met. Her face lit up in a smile, and slipping the office keys into her jeans pocket, she gave a friendly wave, standing in the sunshine. On impulse Luther blew her a kiss. Anne laughed, wrinkled her nose, gave another wave and jumped in the air before turning to go.

  The car doors slammed, and Luther moved to the window, leaning out to watch the Discovery climb the slope up the field track. Silence and peace returned to Glebe Farm. For a few seconds he stood, elbows resting on the window-sill. This was a good place, he thought, good people leading interesting lives. He knew that despite the current troubles, he would always look back with affection on this time in this place with Estelle and, whatever they did in the years ahead, together or not, he would be glad they had shared this experience.

  He returned to his seat, conscious now of the hum from the computer, its screen filled with notes as he tried to convert them to coherent flowing prose. He began re-reading his last paragraphs, ready to move on to Conclusions.

  His eyes strayed to the telephone, and he looked at his watch for the umpteenth time that morning. Estelle would ring soon and tell him how things were progressing in Umbria. He would sit there while she enthused about the landscape, the architecture, the climate, the villa where she was working. It would be her usual over-the-top gushing, and he loved it. A woman of passion and passions. They would make a life together and perhaps one day they would make a home as good as this one.

  The phone rang. He seized it quickly. The sound that greeted him was a steady rushing, the background noise of a car on the road.

  “Hi Luther! It’s Anne. Heard anything from Estelle?”

  “Nothing so far.”

  “Seeing you just now I realised I hadn’t given you the time for her flight back tomorrow morning. In case I forget later, she’s due to land at 9.45.”

  “Thanks, Anne. I’ll make a note of it.”

  “I’ve got the terminal and flight numbers as well in the office.”

  “That’s all right. She’s got her car at the airport. She’ll be driving straight back, probably be in time for lunch, if the flight’s on time.”

  “Great. See you later. Hope your paper’s going well. Bye!”

  *

  They were passing the turn to Yardley Gobion when Anne’s mobile began ringing. She read the name on the screen. “Marnie, it’s Ronny. Did you invite him to the meeting?”

  “Tried to. His line was busy.”

  Anne pressed the green button. “Hi Ronny. We’ve been trying to phone you.”

  “Yeah? When?” He sounded incredulous.

  “This morning.”

  “Well, I’ve been here.”

  “Right.” Anne waited. It was his call.

  He gave in first. “So why were you phoning?”

  “We’re having a meeting about the fete on Sunday.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “I’ll come down.”

  “It’s at Cosgrove, at the pub.”

  “Are you on your way there now? Sounds like you’re in the car.”

  “I’m in Marnie’s car. We’re almost there. Sorry we missed you.”

  “Yeah. You seem to have been missing me a lot these days.”

  “Yes.”

  “Shall I come on the bike? It’ll take me ten minutes or so.”

  “Sure. That’s great.”

  He disconnected.

  “He’s coming on his bike,” Anne explained. “Is that all right?”

  “Of course.” Marnie looked at Anne in the rear-view mirror. “Is he all right?”

  “He sounded … not quite all right. I think I’ve been neglecting him since … well, just lately.”

  “I’ll tell him I rang a few times but his line was engaged. I thought he might be surfing the Net. Maybe I should’ve tried harder, but it’s been a busy morning.”

  Ralph turned in his seat with a grin. ”I’m sure your charm will win him round, Anne.”

  “Yeah.”

  *

  Luther was able to wrap up his closing argument with a series of succinct points. He read his last paragraphs, made some amendments, saved to disk and closed down the computer.

  The most direct route to Cosgrove was alongside the canal, and he set off to cross the bridge near the docking area. Picking up the towpath, he glanced briefly in passing at the battleship-grey paintwork of X O 2, noting how it contrasted with the colours of Sally Ann and Thyrsis on the opposite bank. He strode out, relishing the walk ahead of him in the sunshine. Luther measured his pace carefully. It would be anti-social to arrive hot and sweaty for lunch in the garden.

  Tomorrow Estelle would be home, and he would take her out for a quiet lunch so that she could tell him all about her trip. Unless she had something else in mind.

  There was a hint of a smile on his face as the mobile began ringing at his belt.

  *

  They had reached the pub garden when a dark green Range Rover turned into the car park behind them. George climbed out, followed by Margaret Giles, while Dorothy Vane-Henderson waited for him to walk round and open her door.

  “Where’s Serena?” George asked, kissing Marnie on the cheeks. He had that frisky look in his eye. “Where’s my lovely fellow-Jamaican?”

  “Coming in her own car. She wanted to be independent in case she got called back to town.”

  “Then we’d better grab some tables before the lunchtime crowd arrives.”

  George’s haste was unwarranted; the garden was almost empty. It was just on noon, and the lunch period had scarcely begun. While the others pulled two tables together to accommodate their group, Ralph went with Anne into the bar to organise drinks and collect menus. They chose quickly, and Anne was on her way back to rejoin Ralph when she saw Ronny coming down the road. She waited for him to ride in and dismount.

  “Hi! That was quick. We’re ordering baguettes. What do you fancy?”

  He rested the bike against a wall and fitted the lock on the wheels. “Whatever.”

  “That type’s not on the menu.” She smiled.

  “Ham, then.”

  “And to drink? We’re mostly having spritzers.”

  “Fine.”

  She added two ticks to her list. “We’ve got a big table in the garden. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She was true to her word, and came out to find Ronny standing where she had left him. She smiled again.

  “Marnie’s sorry she couldn’t get through when she rang, figured you were surfing.”

  Ronny looked hot from his exertions on the bike. He said nothing, gave a slight nod.

  “Will you give me a hand with the drinks? We’ll need tw
o trays. There are seven of us.”

  She turned towards the pub, but Ronny grabbed her arm, moving closer.

  “I want to talk to you.” His voice was gruff. Anne could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

  “Sure, but I think we should fetch the drinks first. People are waiting.”

  Without a word, he released her arm and walked quickly into the building. Anne followed. Ralph was loading glasses of spritzer onto the trays when they arrived and greeted Ronny in friendly fashion. Anne hoped it would calm him down, but he seized one of the trays so forcefully that the glasses clashed together, spilling their contents and all but fell over.

  “Steady, old lad,” said Ralph easily, stepping back to avoid being splashed. “We can’t slurp it out of the tray.”

  He lifted the tray and gave it carefully to Ronny who muttered an apology and headed for the exit. Anne took the other one. At the table, she distributed glasses while Ronny left, apparently to help fetch the food. Again, Anne set off after him and found him round the corner waiting for her.

  “Ronny, look, I’m sorry. We did try to contact you but –”

  “Not here. Let’s walk by the canal.”

  “We can’t. The path’s on the other side.”

  Ronny breathed out loudly in exasperation.

  Anne pointed. “There’s another part of the garden over there away from the rest. Come on.”

  *

  Marnie looked at her watch. “Where’s Serena got to?”

  “You’re not worried about her, are you?” said Ralph.

  “These days I worry about everything. She should be here by now.”

  “You could try her mobile.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  Marnie pressed buttons on her phone. A message told her that the number she was calling was not available at that time. She should try later. Ralph tried to sound reassuring.

  “She’s probably got it switched off because she’s driving. You usually do that.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes. Look, Marnie, let’s give her a few more minutes before we have the nervous breakdown, okay?”