Devil in the Detail

by Leo McNeir

  “Well, no, that’s just it. Everything seemed to point to there being a body in that skip, but there wasn’t one … only some clothes.”

  “What clothes?”

  “We found a black shirt and a red baseball cap buried in amongst builders’ rubble. And a bicycle, a mountain bike, yellow. Familiar?”

  Anne bent down to retrieve her knife. She seemed to have some difficulty in picking it up.

  “Why should it be?” said Marnie. “Ah, I see. Weren’t you looking for someone on a bike wearing a red cap in connection with the Brandon killing?”

  “That was a line of enquiry we were following.”

  “And also when you were investigating Luther’s death,” Ralph added.

  Anne re-emerged from under the table and laid the knife beside her plate.

  “Correct,” said Bartlett.

  Ralph passed his knife to Anne while still looking at Bartlett. “You’re keeping an open mind on that?”

  “Until we’ve had a chance to speak to Miss Greenwood we’re keeping every option open.”

  Marnie was looking puzzled. “So how can we help you with the skip business?”

  “Are you missing anybody from your group of colleagues, associates?”

  “We’re not the ones who wear the black shirts, inspector.”

  Sergeant Marriner returned with a tray, placed cups and biscuits on the table and sat down.

  “And we don’t possess a bicycle between us,” Marnie continued. “Or a baseball cap, for that matter.”

  Ralph shuddered. “Heaven forbid!”

  “What about you, Anne?” Bartlett turned suddenly to face her.

  “What about me?”

  “Do any of those things mean anything to you?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve seen enough black shirts lately to put me off them for life. Yes, I’ve seen plenty of baseball caps, too, and mountain bikes. They’re all the rage.”

  “Not much to go on,” said Ralph.

  The detectives drank their coffee.

  Bartlett ran a finger over his lips. “There was one other thing. We found part of a strap of some sort, leather. Does that mean anything to any of you?”

  “We’ve probably all got belts made of leather,” said Marnie.

  “This has been identified as more the kind of strap fitted to shoulder bags.”

  Marnie bent down and lifted her own bag by its strap, holding it up for inspection before lowering it again.

  “Very nice too,” Bartlett observed. “But the one we found was sturdier, thicker, more masculine, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t mean to be unhelpful,” said Ralph, “but most men don’t carry shoulder bags, at least not in this country.”

  “Precisely. So one who did would be easier to spot.”

  “I don’t possess one. An old-fashioned briefcase – rather battered – is more in my line.”

  “What about you, Anne? You’re very quiet.”

  “I’m not very masculine.”

  Bartlett smiled. “I meant, do you know anyone who might have such a thing?”

  Before Anne could reply, Marnie said, “Mr Bartlett, we live in a very conventional English village. There aren’t any trendies with continental-style accessories knocking about in Knightly St John. I could check out George Stubbs, if you like.”

  Marriner grinned. “We have to check every possibility, Mrs Walker. You know how we work by now.”

  “Yes. But I can’t say I understand why you think we might know anything about some unidentified person – someone you can’t trace – whose possessions have turned up in a rubbish skip in Northampton.”

  “What’s it all about?” said Ralph. “Why can’t those items just be old clothes that have been discarded?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to work out, sir. Someone took the trouble to make sure they came to our attention.”

  “And you expected to find a body? Seems far-fetched to me.”

  “We think we were being led to expect to find a body.”

  “This is too subtle for me, inspector. I’m just a humble professor of economics at Oxford.”

  Marnie said, “Are you saying you think there was a body but that it’s vanished?”

  “Maybe.”

  “For what purpose, do you think?”

  Neither detective spoke.

  “Perhaps someone wanted to lure you away from the action?” Ralph suggested.

  “Or it could’ve been a sign,” said Marnie. “A warning, perhaps. Maybe they removed the body because bodies contain clues, evidence that could be traced back to their killers.”

  Anne stared into her cup.

  *

  The hours passed slowly, sitting at Estelle’s bedside while the nurses and doctors adjusted drips and made alterations to the machines that were regulating her survival. Intensive care was well-named. Every few minutes someone came to check readings and settings. Every alteration was noted on charts and forms. The specialist staff conferred in groups huddled round the equipment that was keeping her alive.

  After a time Marnie asked what was happening. The head of the unit told her they were monitoring Estelle’s condition closely. It was possible they would need to operate if haemorrhaging occurred in the brain. So far she seemed not to be in danger, but things could change rapidly. How soon she might come out of the coma was anybody’s guess.

  An hour later her eyelids began to flicker. The staff became animated, carried out more adjustments, ushered Marnie, Ralph and Anne out of the way. After ten minutes Marnie was allowed back with warnings not to stay long and not to tire Estelle with too much talk.

  Surprisingly, it was Estelle who was able to do the talking. Her voice was quiet and husky, but her mind was clear.

  “The nurse said I had a hairline fracture of the skull from a brick.”

  “Yes, but you’re going to be all right,” Marnie whispered.

  “You think so? It aches like hell. She said you caught me when I fell. Another blow on the head could’ve finished me off.”

  “Don’t think about it. Just get better.”

  “Did I tell everyone about Luther, or did I just dream that?”

  “You said it to stop the fighting, and it worked.”

  “Good. But it was the truth.”

  “Estelle, you were travelling that day. We all know that.”

  “You’re hopeless at lying, Marnie.” She closed her eyes and took several shallow breaths. “Anne will tell you. I changed my flight back. I couldn’t wait to get home to sort it all out. I was desperate.”

  “But you didn’t know where Luther would be on Friday at that time. How could you?”

  “When I was approaching Knightly I rang him on the mobile. He said he was on his way to Cosgrove. I turned off and waited for him by the tunnel.”

  “Just take it gently, Estelle. Don’t over-tire yourself.”

  Estelle ignored the warning. “There was no-one there to see me.”

  “Did you have an argument?”

  “Yes. I was so jealous of Luther and Serena. I’d seen the photos in the press. Molly was faxing the articles every day.”

  “Serena’s a happily-married woman with a super husband and lovely children.”

  “I know, but the papers made them look like … an item.”

  “They weren’t.”

  “I’d missed him so much and he just seemed to want to talk about Serena, how marvellous she’d been. I’d lost someone before. It nearly destroyed me then. It was Luther who brought me back from the brink, but I could see it happening all over again. Something inside me just snapped.”

  “It was an accident,” said Marnie. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “He went to put his arms round me. I was ready to be persuaded there was nothing between him and Serena.”

  “That’s absolutely right.”

  “But I still felt angry, hadn’t got it out of my system. I yelled at him. I pushed him away, just to hold him off. He stepped back. I think h
e caught his heel on something. He slipped backwards, hit his head on brickwork at the side of the path. I thought he was just knocked out. I rang for help and ran away.”

  “Why?”

  “I was in a state, almost hysterical. It never occurred to me anyone might get into trouble. When I’d calmed down I realised I’d been a fool. I went back, saw the ambulance, the police, people looking on. No-one paid any attention to me. I decided I’d go and see Luther in hospital and make it up. Then I heard about him on the radio in the car … that he was dead.”

  Tears rolled down Estelle’s cheeks. Marnie reached for a tissue and wiped her face.

  “You need to rest.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it, Marnie? A big strong guy like Luther … a small woman like me. One unlucky fall and it kills him. A brick cracks my skull and I’m alive.”

  *

  Marnie parked the Discovery opposite Serena’s house. She was pulling the door handle when Ralph took her arm.

  “Will you tell Serena about Estelle, what she did, and why?”

  “I don’t know. Why rake up problems? We have enough already.”

  “Sometimes it’s best to tell the truth,” said Anne. “It’s going to come out anyway, eventually.”

  It was Serena’s husband Rod, quiet, serious and dignified, who answered the doorbell. He showed them into the living room. A minute later he returned with Serena. As always she looked as if ready for a photo shoot, but her expression betrayed her anxiety.

  “What’s happened to Estelle?”

  “She’s conscious, out of danger, desperately unhappy.”

  Rod put an arm round his wife.

  “Was it true?” said Serena, “what she said about Luther?”

  “Yes.”

  “I had hoped she was only saying that to defuse the situation.”

  “Me too. But they had a minor row. It was just a tragic accident.”

  “Why were they having a row? She’d only just got back from her trip.”

  Marnie glanced at Rod. “It was just a silly misunderstanding about some private matter.”

  Rod shook his head slowly. “A fine man like that, someone we all admired. It’s very sad.”

  “And very brave of Estelle,” Serena added. “What she said made our side back down. It was because of her courage and honesty that major bloodshed was averted. You realise that.”

  “Bartlett said the arrival of police reinforcements played a part, too,” said Marnie.

  “He’s right. But it could still have been a full-scale battle. I felt really proud of Estelle and of our community, how mature they were when they knew the truth.”

  “Tell the truth and shame the devil,” Anne muttered. They all looked at her. “That’s what my gran always used to say.”

  *

  It was a sombre homecoming. They had hardly spoken in the car all the way back from Northampton. Even the turn off the main road on the last mile into the village did not seem to raise their spirits. Marnie looked over her shoulder at Anne.

  “Are you okay back there?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “You haven’t said much all day.”

  “I’ve been thinking about things.”

  “We’ve all got a lot on our minds,” said Ralph. “And we’re probably down on blood sugar. We’ve hardly eaten a thing since breakfast.”

  “I’ll do something with pasta,” said Marnie. “That’ll revive us, and it won’t take long. All right with you, Anne?”

  “Fine. I’ll help.”

  “Anne, don’t fret about things. With any luck Estelle won’t be charged. I don’t think Bartlett will find any actual evidence against her.”

  “I was thinking about something else.”

  “Oh?”

  There was no reply from the back seat.

  “What is it, Anne?”

  The car drove in to the high street, past the village shop.

  “I was wondering … what became of Donovan.”

  “I must admit …” Ralph stopped himself in mid-sentence.

  Anne continued it for him. “You thought he was murdered and his clothes dumped in the skip as a warning, but they didn’t leave his body in case it could be traced back to his killers.”

  “Oh Anne,” Marnie forced her concentration back to driving. “Let’s talk about it when we get home. It’s not far now.”

  She would be able to comfort Anne and try to reassure her once they were back at Glebe Farm. It would be easier to make her feel better in their own surroundings. She hoped the sight of the farm complex would lift their morale as it always did. But it was not to be.

  Reaching the bottom of the field track where the ground levelled out, her heart sank. Parked outside the office barn stood the grey Cavalier of DCI Bartlett.

  The Chief Inspector and his sergeant were sitting in the office when Marnie pushed the door open. Bartlett gave his version of a smile when they walked in.

  “How did you get in?” said Marnie. “We left the office locked. Has there been a break-in?”

  “Only by us,” said Marriner. “We know the place so well, we even know where you keep the spare key hidden.”

  “Are you going to run true to form and turn down my offer of coffee?”

  “Yes.” Bartlett looked serious. Then his expression softened. “I for one would prefer a cup of tea, if that’s on offer too.”

  Anne went straight to the kitchen area and filled the kettle, glad to have something to occupy her hands.

  Bartlett came straight to the point. “We’ve been able to speak with Miss Greenwood. They gave us five minutes, and we’re going back tomorrow.”

  Marnie sat down. “I hope you’re bearing in mind the condition she was in when she spoke at the microphone.”

  “A fractured skull would hardly help her think properly,” Ralph added.

  “She wasn’t able to tell us very much,” Bartlett admitted.

  “There’s nothing we can add to what she said.” Marnie hoped she had deflected any further questioning in that direction. “We were all together at the pub when the incident took place. And Anne didn’t arrive on the scene till some time later.”

  “Quite so,” Bartlett agreed.

  Anne was tinkling tea cups in the background, laying a tray.

  Marnie continued. “We’re assuming it was about Estelle that you came to see us.”

  “I think you’ve worked out why we’re here, Mrs Walker. We certainly don’t suspect you or your friends here of any part in what took place.”

  “Makes a pleasant change,” said Marnie.

  “That’s what we were thinking.”

  “Can you use what Estelle said as a confession?” Ralph asked. “I would’ve thought her statement would be highly questionable in the circumstances.”

  Bartlett looked at Marnie. “I’m sure your lawyer – Mr Broadbent, isn’t it? – would wish to stress the mitigating nature of the circumstances.”

  “I expect he would, and rightly.”

  Anne brought the tray from the kitchen and set it down on her desk where she began pouring tea. Marnie went to help her and gave out the cups and a plate of biscuits.

  “Are you intending to charge her, chief inspector?”

  “Good question, Mrs Walker. How we proceed rather depends on whether we believe her or not. She could’ve just made it up to stop the riot. But I expect you’ve thought of that.”

  “Presumably if she says nothing more you wouldn’t have anything to charge her with?”

  “It would be difficult under the law as it currently stands to take matters further, if she refused to co-operate.”

  Anne moved between the visitors with a bowl of sugar. Both detectives took a few lumps. She stood in front of Bartlett.

  “Estelle was telling the truth when she confessed.” Her voice was quiet but it seized the attention of everyone in the room.

  Bartlett was quick to regain his composure. “You have evidence of this? You saw something in the tunnel?”


  “No. But I know she wasn’t lying. She changed her flight and came back a day early to see him. That’s how she could be there.”

  Bartlett’s eyes narrowed. “You have proof that she changed her flight?”

  “Ticket and boarding card.” She nodded towards her desk. “In the blue folder.”

  “Why are you doing this, Anne?”

  “Because if it doesn’t get told, no-one will believe her story. People will think she was only making it up as an excuse to stop the fighting. Then there’ll be more trouble. She wouldn’t want that, not after all she’s been through.”

  “You realise people might think you’re betraying her?” said Bartlett.

  “I don’t think so. And it doesn’t matter. You have to fight the enemy with the truth. A friend of mine made me see that.”

  Bartlett sipped his tea. Marriner watched Anne intensely. She turned and sat at her desk. Marnie and Ralph said nothing, trading glances as they tried to make sense of what Anne was doing.

  “Now listen to me.” Bartlett put down his cup. “Anne, you did the right thing. Don’t be in any doubt that we would’ve found out about her coming back a day early when we checked her movements, airline manifests, security camera images, credit card records. And what you didn’t know is we also have a trace of lipstick that I believe we’ll establish by DNA testing came from Estelle.”

  “So you had all the proof you needed all the time,” said Marnie.

  “That isn’t really the point.”

  “I thought you thrived on facts and hard evidence. That’s what you’ve told me in the past.”

  “Of course. But we also have to take the circumstances into account. What Estelle did yesterday was a brave thing, and it helped prevent a major catastrophe. By voluntarily helping us with our enquiries – yes, I know you’ve heard that phrase before – she, and you Anne, have given us the full picture. I shall be reporting everything to the Crown Prosecution Service, including the circumstances.”

  “Will you be urging them to bring Estelle to trial?” said Ralph.

  “That’s for the CPS to decide. But I think it’s clear that what happened was almost certainly an accident.”

  “A reasonable assumption, given the way they felt about each other. That was clear to everyone who knew them.”