by Leo McNeir
Anne had found some rhubarb in the freezer – a long-forgotten gift from a client – and it was heating up on a low flame on the cooker. When she cleared the plates from the main course and began spooning the fruit into dessert bowls, Ralph noticed a folder on the corner of the workbench.
“Are those your press cuttings, Anne?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’d quite like to have a look at them after we’ve eaten.”
“Sure.”
With the dishes stacked in the sink and coffee served, they spread the cuttings out on the table. The information was stark and clear: Melissa Dekker and her baby had died in childbirth; her husband had soon afterwards caused a catastrophe at work and had not been seen since. Marnie and Anne sat back and picked up their coffee cups. It surprised Marnie that Ralph continued to pore over the documents with intense concentration.
“Something on your mind, Ralph?” she asked.
“I was just wondering … What does this tell us about Maurice?”
“Nothing that we didn’t know already,” said Marnie.
“I’m not so sure. Look at this, for example.” Ralph pointed at the funeral notice. “… private funeral at St Joseph and All Saints’ Church, Hampstead …”
“We did know that,” said Marnie.
Ralph continued. “…family members only, no flowers …”
“That’s understandable, given how grief-stricken they must have been.”
“And look here.” Ralph ran a finger over the paper. “…mourned by mother, father, brother and her devoted family …”
Marnie craned forward. “Ah, I’m beginning to see –”
“No mention of her husband,” Anne cut in. “Why’s that?”
Without looking up, Ralph said, “I come back to my question: what does this tell us about Maurice?”
“You mean what can we deduce, Holmes?” said Anne.
“Exactly.”
“What do you make of it, Ralph?” said Marnie.
“First of all, Melissa’s family are obviously Catholics.”
“We know Maurice is.”
Ralph continued. “Then, there’s no mention of Maurice in the funeral notice.”
“I thought that might’ve been because he’d disappeared,” said Anne. “He just wasn’t around at the time of the funeral.”
“Which in itself is bizarre,” said Ralph.
“So your conclusions are?” Marnie asked.
“The family are Catholics, Melissa died in a maternity home, and her family turns its back on Maurice, who can’t stand the emotional pressure.”
“That’s not surprising,” said Marnie.
Ralph looked up. “Possibly, but it’s not the whole story. There’s more to it.”
“Something about the birth, you mean?”
“Yes. What if it involved an abortion?”
“And the emotional pressure was about a sense of guilt?” Marnie suggested.
“That would also make sense,” Ralph said.
“Could that mean the family blamed Maurice for his wife’s death?” said Anne.
“It could certainly explain why Maurice left,” said Marnie. She turned to Ralph. “Is that what you were getting at?”
“More or less.”
“What else is there?”
“The one remaining question: what is the family’s intention now in trying to get in touch with Maurice?”
“Yes,” Marnie agreed. “And what should we do about it?”
“If anything,” said Ralph.
Chapter 37
The Gate
On Thursday morning Marnie dumped her bag on the back seat of the Discovery and looked up. The year had drifted into February and the sky was already light, but ominous dark clouds were gathering, and she went back to the office to fetch an umbrella. That morning’s meeting would involve walking round a hotel site, and she had no desire for a soaking. In the office Anne was typing up correspondence and invoices. She warned Marnie the forecast promised heavy showers with a risk of flooding on country roads.
“Perhaps you ought to take Sally Ann instead of the Disco,” Anne said.
Marnie stuck out her tongue, winked and was gone.
Pulling away from the garage barn, Marnie switched on the local radio station, hoping to pick up traffic news. Halfway up the field track the music stopped – a Golden Oldie from the sixties – and a news bulletin cut in. The first two items concerned a post office robbery in the north of the county and the appointment of a new manager for Northampton Town football club. Item three grabbed her full attention.
The County Coroner has issued an open verdict in the case of the death of school teacher, James Meadows, whose body was discovered in the canal at Knightly St John two weeks ago. The police initially treated this as a suspicious death. However, no witnesses have come forward, and the investigation has produced no evidence of foul play.
Turning onto the High Street, Marnie pulled up by the village shop and dug out her mobile. She rang Anne with the news and asked her to tell Ralph when they broke for coffee. Anne asked if they should let Willow know the coroner’s verdict. Marnie hesitated for a moment and said they could discuss it with Ralph that evening. With a glance at her watch, she crossed the pavement and went into the shop.
There were no customers, and Molly was stacking shelves. Seeing Marnie, she smiled but the smile quickly faded.
“Oh, Marnie, I think I did a silly thing.”
“What did you –”
“I gave the game away. That man phoned.”
“Dominic Brodie?”
“He rang soon after you spoke to me. I wasn’t very clever.”
“What happened, Molly?”
“It was like you said, him wanting to get in touch with Mr Dekker. I told him what you said I should, but then, oh dear, I said was he the brother-in-law.”
“That’s all right, Molly. He is the brother-in-law.”
“But he hadn’t mentioned that before I said it. He must’ve known I’d heard about him from you.”
“Ah … Well don’t worry, Molly. The family just wants to make sure Maurice is all right. Let’s see what Mr Brodie does next and take it from there.”
“I feel such a –”
“No, no. it’s fine. Really it is.” Marnie checked her watch. “Look, Molly, I have to go, got a meeting. I just wanted to ask you something. If you see Margaret Giles today, can you tell her the coroner gave an open verdict on Mr Meadows. I just heard it on the news.”
“All right. What does that mean, actually?”
“I think it means the police don’t know what happened.”
“So Mr Meadows might’ve been –”
“I don’t think we should jump to conclusions, Molly. I’m sure it was an accident, but there’s no definite proof of anything, so the court has to keep an open mind.”
Marnie was turning to leave when Molly said, “I still feel guilty about what I said to Mr Brodie.”
Marnie gave her a reassuring smile. “No need, Molly. No need for any guilt at all.”
Crossing the pavement, Marnie reflected. Guilt. It seemed to be the flavour of the month.
*
It was a long day. Anne ran the office, dealt with correspondence, took phone messages and studied Marnie’s latest designs. By mid-afternoon she was reading a book on post-modernism for college. On Thyrsis, Ralph completed another chapter of his book and compiled notes for its final chapter: Conclusions.
Marnie spent all morning in a site meeting at the Willards’ hotel that was undergoing refurbishment. The group comprising managers from the company plus the private architects was walking the grounds when the first shower struck. Marnie earned envious glances from the men – as usual, she was the only woman present – when she quickly produced her folding umbrella and was able to walk serenely back to the building while they bolted and scurried to protect their suits.
The meeting continued through lunch at a nearby Willards’ pub on the Leicester
Arm of the Grand Union Canal. This suited Marnie well as her next meeting was at a Georgian country house near the village of Cold Ashby. It was her first commission for a makeover in that part of the county, and she hoped it might help spread her reputation.
By the end of the afternoon Marnie was glad to head home. She was stifling a yawn as she turned off the high street onto the field track and suddenly had to brake hard to avoid ramming the gate that was blocking the entrance.
“Bloody hell!” she exclaimed and climbed out to open it.
She heaved the metal gate back into its normal open position and fastened it securely to a wooden post with the length of wire. As she laboured, Marnie noticed footprints in the muddy ground and wondered who could have been responsible for barring her way. A childish prank, perhaps? Marnie bent down. The prints looked too big for children’s feet, and whoever they belonged to, they seemed to have headed down the track, eventually disappearing in the grass.
On entering the office, Marnie was surprised to find WDC Cathy Lamb drinking tea with Anne. Mystery solved, she thought. Or was it? Perhaps Lamb had walked down from the village because the gate was closed. They exchanged greetings while Anne got up and poured Marnie a cup of tea.
“What brings you to Glebe Farm?” Marnie asked. “I assume it’s not a social call.”
“We don’t do social calls, Marnie, even in the wilder excesses of community policing.” Lamb smiled. “Two reasons, actually. I wanted to get some photos of the place by the bridge where Mr Meadows was found, just for the records.”
“Really?” Marnie looked sceptical.
“Everywhere was covered in snow when it happened. Now, you can see clearly where the stone edging is, where he hit his head. It would be treacherous in snow and ice.”
“Does this have anything to do with the open verdict?” Marnie asked. “I heard about it on the radio this morning,” Marnie added, sipping her tea.
“No. It’s just for the file.”
“So you’re closing the case?”
Lamb shook her head. “An open verdict means the case remains open.”
“But presumably you know it was an accident, so you won’t be pursuing it like a suspicious death.”
“It’s all about evidence, Marnie. I’m not giving any secrets away when I say there are unresolved issues in this case. They all came out in court.”
“Such as?”
“We can’t be certain how Mr Meadows died.”
“So he didn’t just drown?”
“Not necessarily.”
“What then?”
“The doubts are about the blow to the head.”
“You think someone could’ve struck him?”
Lamb shrugged. “We’ve no way of knowing. The head injury was consistent with striking the stone edging to the canal.”
“What was your other reason for coming?” Marnie said.
“We’ve been asked by Mr Dekker’s family if we can trace him. They’re concerned about his state of health.”
“I’ve already given you his mobile number.”
“It doesn’t seem to be operational.” Lamb sipped her tea again before adding, “And of course no-one has given us any helpful information about his boat.”
“Cathy, I know it’s none of my business, but he is a grown man who for some reason has chosen to go travelling on the waterways. If he wants privacy, surely he has a right to it.”
“That’s what we told his relatives.”
“And your reason for asking us about him?”
“As I was coming anyway, sergeant Marriner thought I ought to mention it to you, in case you had concerns of your own.”
“I don’t. I think he should be left to get on with his life.”
“Do you, Marnie?” Lamb finished her tea and put the cup on Anne’s desk. “That was lovely, Anne. Just what I needed.” She stood up. “Time to leave you in peace.”
Marnie also got to her feet. “I’ll give you a lift back to your car. It’ll save you traipsing through the mud in the field.”
Lamb gave Marnie a curious look. “Thanks, but no need. I’ve come in the Land Rover.”
Marnie’s turn to be curious. “I didn’t see it.”
“I parked round the back of the barns near the bridge. I wanted to photograph down there, remember?”
“So you didn’t walk down?”
“No.”
“When you arrived at the top of the track, did you shut the gate behind you?”
Lamb shook her head. “No. Should I have? All the times I’ve been here it’s always been open.”
“Well, it was closed just now,” said Marnie.
Anne joined in. “That’s not the first time someone’s shut the gate. I think it’s ramblers. They come through assuming it’s a public footpath and close the gate behind them, thinking they’re following the country code.”
Marnie looked thoughtful. “Could be.”
She walked with Lamb out to where the police Land Rover was parked.
“There’s no need to escort me, Marnie,” said Lamb, smiling, “unless you want to make sure I leave the premises.”
“Always a pleasure to see you, Cathy. Come any time.” Marnie grinned. “I was forgetting … you do.”
She waved the detective off and stood for a few moments until the Land Rover was out of sight. Then she bent down and looked at Lamb’s footprints in the damp soil. Whoever had interfered with the field gate, they had bigger feet than Cathy Lamb.
Chapter 38
Encounters
The first phone call on Friday morning came as no surprise to Marnie. Molly Appleton rang from the shop with news that a letter had arrived for Maurice Dekker. The envelope bore a London postmark and was marked URGENT in block capitals.
Marnie opened the top drawer of the desk and took out Maurice’s card. She pressed buttons on the phone. After three rings the answerphone invited her to leave a message.
“Hallo, Maurice. It’s Marnie Walker. I need to have a word. Please ring me. Bye.”
*
Anne was badly in need of fresh air that morning. She had stayed up reading until after midnight and her head was muzzy. Her first intention was to take a walk along the towpath, but they were running short of milk, and she volunteered to go to the shop instead.
A shower caught her as she reached the top of the field track. Pulling up the hood on her jacket, she jogged the rest of the way along the high street and reached the shop door at the same time as Liz Parchman, the wife of the publican. Liz and Jim were owners of The Two Roses, opposite the shop, and their daughter Grace lived in cottage number two at Glebe Farm with her husband, Will. As they pushed open the door, Anne and Liz muttered under their breath about the weather.
Anne was adding a packet of Hobnobs to her basket when she overheard part of the conversation at the counter between Molly and Liz.
“… arrived last night and asked if we had a room, out of the blue.”
“At this time of year?” Molly sounded incredulous.
“I know,” said Liz. “I mean, we don’t get that many visitors in the summer, mainly ramblers and the like, but in the middle of winter …”
“What is he, a rep or something?”
“Don’t know. Just said he wanted a room for a few nights, visiting the area. Very well dressed, posh sort of voice, smart car.”
Anne looked through the shop window and spotted a Lexus in the pub car park. She took the basket to the counter.
“Up from London, is he, your visitor?” said Anne.
“That’s right. He signed the visitors’ book the way Londoners do, you know, house number and street with just the district code, NW something.”
Molly smiled knowingly. “They think London’s the centre of the universe.”
“Oh, and while I remember, he wants a paper each day.”
“Which one, Liz?”
“The Times.”
“I’ll order it from tomorrow till further notice. What name shall I put on it?
”
“Brodie.”
*
Anne’s mind was racing as she left the shop and strode back down the high street. The rain had eased off, and she dug the mobile from her pocket and began awkwardly pecking out the numbers for the office barn, the carrier bag swinging with every pace.
Damn! Marnie’s line was engaged. Perhaps at that very moment she was talking to Maurice Dekker. Or perhaps she had already arranged for him to come to Knightly to collect his letter from the post office. Why did that matter? Why did the thought of Maurice running into his brother-in-law bother her so much? The answer was simple: there had to be a good reason why Dekker had covered his tracks so cautiously. His sense of unease seemed to transfer itself to everyone who came into contact with him.
Anne stepped round the mud at the entrance to the field track and half-jogged down the slope. When she reached the office barn, she opened the door as Marnie was obviously terminating a conversation on the phone.
“Hold it! Wait!” Her voice was breathless. “Don’t hang up!”
Marnie stared at her in surprise and spoke into the handset. “Hold on a moment.” She looked up at Anne. “What is it?”
“Are you talking to Mr Dekker?”
“Yes.”
“There’s something you have to know.”
Anne explained about the sudden arrival of the visitor at The Two Roses, a visitor called Brodie. Marnie relayed the information to Dekker. He took the news calmly but remained adamant.
“He said the family was concerned for your well-being, Maurice,” Marnie said gently.
“Be that as it may, I don’t want to see any of them.” His tone left no room for discussion. “You must respect that, Marnie.”
“Very well, but it does leave us with a question to answer.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your letter. What do we do about it? Presumably you won’t want to come here to collect it now.”
“No.” A pause. “Could you collect it for me?”
“I don’t think Molly and Richard can do that, Maurice. It’s your name on the envelope.”
“I’ll phone and ask them to release it to you, Marnie.”