by Leo McNeir
“Seems like it,” said Marnie. “I think we have to believe Maurice isn’t over-reacting by hiding away. This latest incident with Dominic tends to back up his story.”
“I have been wondering,” Ralph began, “if perhaps Dominic has been asking too many questions for his own good.”
Marnie agreed. “And we don’t know where he’s been making his enquiries, though presumably among Maurice’s circle of acquaintances.”
“So back to my question,” said Ralph. “What do we do about Maurice? What can we do?”
“I suppose …” Anne began.
Marnie and Ralph waited.
Anne looked apprehensive. “Well, we do think he’s gone away of his own free will, don’t we? We don’t think someone could’ve …”
“I have to say, that thought had occurred to me,” Ralph said quietly.
They sat in silence until Marnie spoke. “We’d better try to find him.”
“Easier said than done,” said Ralph. “We know roughly where he started from, but we don’t know which way he travelled.”
“He’d want to be somewhere fairly remote, where no-one would be likely to stumble across him.”
“Almost anywhere on the canals could be fairly remote,” Ralph pointed out.
“But not too remote,” said Anne. “He’s not very mobile and he’d need to be able to shop.”
“If I were in his position,” said Marnie, “I’d find somewhere away from roads and habitation within reach of a town where I could go in, get food and stuff and then slip away afterwards.”
Ralph opened a drawer and pulled out a map of the waterways. He tapped the place where they believed Maurice had tied up.
“From here he could’ve headed towards Northampton. That would meet Anne’s criteria.”
“A lot of locks to tackle single-handed,” said Marnie. “He’s not in the best of health.”
“Okay, so up towards Braunston. There’s the Leicester arm, a lot of secluded territory up there, and Crick would be a useful place to get supplies.”
“So that’s a possibility,” Marnie agreed. “Where else?”
“Braunston itself?” said Ralph.
“Wouldn’t it be rather busy up there?” Anne said. “And good access for cars.”
“Not Braunston, then.” Ralph ran his finger along the map. “You could go round to Napton and take the South Oxford. You’d have miles of secluded country, with Cropredy or Banbury handy for shopping.”
“Or the North Oxford,” Marnie added, “direction Coventry.”
Anne sighed, staring at all the canals radiating out from Braunston, hub of the canal system. “He could be anywhere.”
Chapter 42
The Red Mini
On Tuesday morning Anne made her way puddle-hopping on the path through the spinney to join Marnie and Ralph for breakfast. That night she had floated off to sleep in a confused state, her mind filled with maps of waterways, sprawling across the country in all directions. Arriving on Sally Ann ahead of the others, she set about preparing their first meal of the day, ready to take her first decision of the day.
Over orange juice, grapefruit, toast and coffee they agreed they needed mobility if they were to stand any chance of locating Maurice and returning him to the bosom of his family. Anne announced she had an idea. Marnie and Ralph gave her their full attention. She began by reminding them that it was almost impossible to find someone who wanted to hide away on the canals.
“You’re right, Anne,” said Marnie. “Remember that time you were looking for Donovan, and he was lying low nearby. You almost missed him because he’d tied up under the shade of …”
Marnie stopped in mid-sentence. All three of them were casting their thoughts back to Donovan’s visit when Anne had found his boat concealed under overhanging trees. It had been almost invisible, yet only half a mile from Glebe Farm.
“Donovan!” Marnie said. “That’s who we need to help us.”
“Just what I was thinking,” said Anne.
“During term time?” said Ralph, the university professor. “I don’t think we should encourage –”
“No,” Anne interjected, “but he could come at the weekend, if he’s free.”
“True,” said Ralph. “Will you contact him?”
Anne nodded. “He phones me up a few times a week. I’m sure he’ll come.”
“Tell him to bring his bike,” said Marnie. “That’s the sort of mobility we need.”
Anne agreed. “And we need more than that. We need Donovan’s way of looking at things. If anyone can figure out where Maurice might be hiding away, it’s him.”
*
Knowing Donovan screened all calls on his home number in west London, Anne left a simple message.
“Hi! Ring me.”
*
Marnie spent the first half of the morning at a meeting with clients, so Anne minded the phones while annotating a design for discussion. When Marnie returned, Anne climbed up to the attic for some serious reading. Her mobile warbled just before noon. Taking the call, she failed to hear the door open in the office below.
Anne quickly explained to Donovan what they had in mind. He expressed some doubts about the prospects for finding Maurice, or indeed anyone in hiding on the waterways, but agreed to give it a go. He would come up on Friday, setting of at lunchtime after a morning workshop in college.
Feeling elated, Anne got up from her giant beanbag and descended the wall-ladder, aware of voices in the office. She hopped off the last rung and turned to speak. Something about Marnie’s expression put Anne on her guard. She looked towards the doorway to see Cathy Lamb, notebook in hand.
“Everything all right?” Anne said.
“Cathy wants to have a word with you.” Marnie’s tone was flat, a clear warning signal.
Anne walked across the office and perched on the corner of her desk. She hoped the body language demonstrated a relaxed frame of mind with nothing to hide, camouflaging the fact that beneath the surface her mind was racing. Why was Cathy Lamb here? Why the solemn faces? Before Anne could speak, Ralph came into the office and greeted the detective in his habitual cordial tone.
“Morning, Cathy. Has anyone offered you refreshment?”
“No thanks, Ralph, er, professor. This is what you might call a professional visit.”
“Fine. Shall we sit down, then?” He pulled up a chair and gestured for Lamb to take a seat. “We don’t want to stand on ceremony, do we?”
Lamb hesitated before she sat down.
“So, Cathy … or should I say, detective constable … what have you come to tell us? Presumably you have news following your enquiries into Dominic Brodie’s accident, assuming it was an accident.”
“That’s rather the point, professor,” said Lamb.
“So you do think another vehicle was involved,” said Ralph.
“We have reason to believe so, yes.”
“And you can identify it?”
“Possibly.”
Ralph glanced at Marnie and Anne. “That’s very interesting,” he said. “Can you tell us more?”
Lamb checked her notebook. “A witness has stated that a car was seen following Mr Brodie.”
Ralph nodded encouragement. “With a description?”
Lamb looked uncomfortable. “Yes.”
“Up near Blisworth, presumably?” said Ralph.
“No, here in Knightly St John.”
“Goodness,” said Marnie. “He was under surveillance all the time he was in the village.”
“Blimey,” said Anne.
Lamb frowned. “That’s how it seems.”
“What more can you tell us?” Ralph asked.
Lamb hesitated. “We have a description. The car was … a red Mini.”
Anne gasped. Lamb continued, glancing occasionally at her notes.
“A neighbour living in the high street was cleaning her front windows. She saw the Mini come slowly round the bend and then pass another car – subsequently identified as Mr Brodie’s Lexu
s – which had pulled up outside the pub. The Lexus left shortly afterwards. The red Mini came back round the bend very slowly a few minutes later as if it had made a circular tour. Passing the spot where Mr Brodie had been parked, the Mini speeded up and went quickly down the high street in the direction his car had been facing.”
Silence descended on the office. Lamb stared at Anne, whose cheeks were glowing pink in her pale face. She opened her mouth to speak.
“Before you say anything, Anne …” Lamb looked down at her notebook.
Oh my God, I’m going to be charged, Anne thought. She swallowed hard.
Lamb looked up again. “Another neighbour reported seeing a red Mini parked in the front garden of a cottage that’s currently unoccupied on Sunday morning. Someone appeared to be sitting in the driver’s seat. It remained there for some time. The neighbour thought it was odd, but took no action because he thought the car looked vaguely familiar.”
“Er,” Anne began.
Before she could say anything further, Ralph began laughing. Everyone stared at him.
*
“You know, Ralph, I sometimes think you’re our secret weapon.”
Marnie took a bite of her sandwich. Ralph smiled. Anne looked as if she had been squeezed through a wringer. They were having their lunch break on Sally Ann, away from the phones and other distractions in the office.
“I knew there must be some reason why you kept me on,” said Ralph.
“I can think of loads of reasons,” Anne said, picking up her mug of tea, “but being a secret weapon is definitely a good one. When Cathy interrupted me I thought she was going to arrest me and take me in for questioning. Anything you say will be taken down and used in evidence, and all that.”
“It was just absurd,” said Ralph. “And Cathy knew that perfectly well. Once she knew we were only trying to protect Maurice’s privacy, everything fell into place.”
“But the fact that I went after Dominic in my car,” said Anne. “That must have looked suspicious. Then him saying he’d been run off the road.”
“You know what I think happened?” Marnie had finished chewing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Dominic had gone round a bend and found another car coming towards him virtually head-on. It’s a narrow country road up there, and my guess is he had to swerve to avoid it. We’re used to that sort of thing; it happens all the time. A Londoner like him would be taken completely by surprise. I suspect he threw the car over and lost control.”
“What about the other car involved?” Anne asked.
Marnie shrugged. “By the time he’d gone round the bend, Dominic’s car would’ve been out of sight. He wouldn’t give it another thought.”
Chapter 43
Unexpected Visitors
Wednesday was catch-up day. At least that was the theory. After so many disruptions to the work schedule, Marnie was determined to engross herself in her projects. Like so many theories, it failed to stand up.
Walker and Co made a good start, with half a morning of concentrated effort without interruption. By morning break-time Marnie was soldiering on to great effect, and Anne had dealt with the post and its follow-up before returning to her attic to study. She had two classes in college that afternoon and a deadline for handing in an essay. As usual she descended the wall-ladder to prepare refreshments for the two builders working in the farmhouse. From the kitchen area she called across the office.
“Did you know we were running low on coffee, Marnie?”
Marnie looked up. “I think I got some the other day in town. It might be on Sally.”
“I’ll go and look.” Anne headed for the door, pausing briefly to slip on some shoes. “Won’t be long.”
It had rained again in the night, and the path through the spinney was a mud-bath. She was stepping round a puddle when a distant sound made her stop dead. She listened. There it was again, a faint cry. She walked on, straining to listen in case the sound came again. The next time it occurred, it was absorbed in the splash as Anne caught the edge of a puddle. Am I imagining things? she wondered.
When she emerged from the spinney, everything looked normal. Sally Ann nestled in the docking area at right-angles to the canal; Thyrsis lay at her mooring on the main line. But all was not normal. There was doubt in Anne’s mind. On impulse, she turned left and skirted the spinney, coming back round to the cluster of small barns beside the farmhouse.
An unexpected but familiar sound led her to one barn in particular. When Anne reached it, she peered inside. She could scarcely believe her eyes.
*
Ralph arrived for coffee while Marnie was finishing a call to Willards Brewery, her biggest client. He walked across to the kitchen area, noticed that the kettle was warm and switched it on to heat up again. Marnie was putting down the phone and Ralph rummaging in the cupboard looking for coffee, when Anne swept into the office.
“You won’t believe this,” she said. “We’ve got visitors.”
At that moment a sound of rushing water could be heard, the unmistakable swish of the toilet flushing. In the background they could hear a tap running.
“I know,” said Marnie.
The door to the washing area opened, and Ralph and Anne found themselves staring at Ben. He beamed at them.
“I’ve just run into Poppy,” said Anne. “She’s in the stable barn, checking out her old quarters.”
“So that’s where she went,” Ben said. “I thought she might’ve come round here to see you all. I was coming through the spinney when I needed the loo. Thanks, Marnie.”
Marnie nodded. “Is your mum coming to see us?”
“Any minute, I expect. She’s just shutting the boat up. As soon as I unhitched Poppy, she trotted off. By the time I’d stowed the bridle and rope, she’d disappeared over the bridge.”
The electric kettle was just switching itself off when Willow knocked on the door and entered. For the next five minutes or so there was a bustle of coffee making, with Anne taking drinks out to the builders and Ralph dealing with those in the office. He was serving out the mugs when the office door opened, but instead of Anne returning from the farmhouse site, another unexpected visitor walked in. He was dressed in a black leather jacket, dark grey sweater and black jeans.
“Donovan,” said Marnie. “We thought you weren’t coming till Friday.”
*
Much as Marnie was delighted to see her visitors, she was determined to get on with earning an honest crust. In consequence she invited Willow to make a quick call to Leonard Fletcher to sort out hay and straw for Poppy, then arranged to see everyone again at the end of the working day. Her less than subtle hint was understood.
Willow accepted the offer to use the washing machine in cottage number three. Ben was allocated the task of seeing to Poppy and the stable barn, though he would much rather have spent time with Anne. She elected to take a walk with Donovan.
On his way out, Ralph offered to accompany Ben to the stable barn to pay his respects to Poppy. Ben understood that he was being escorted from the premises and went with a reasonably good grace.
The sky was heavily overcast, so Anne thrust an umbrella into Donovan’s hands and pulled on her winter jacket. Neither spoke as they walked through the spinney. They crossed over the accommodation bridge and, by an unspoken decision, turned north on the towpath past Glastonbury. It was Donovan who eventually broke the silence.
“So, Maurice Dekker. What do we know about his plans?”
“Zilch,” said Anne. “He just took off. One minute he was here – or somewhere round here – the next minute, he’d gone.”
“So where am I supposed to begin looking for him?”
“I think we were hoping you’d have some bright ideas about that.”
They walked on for a while without a word. When the towpath widened, Anne linked arms with Donovan, who gently squeezed her arm with his. She set herself the task of guessing what he would suggest, visualising the waterways map, with branches spreading in all directions. T
he more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that Maurice would seek the most remote location. That meant probably either the Leicester Arm, with Crick as a source of provisions, or the South Oxford, with Banbury or Cropredy for supplies.
Donovan’s verdict was succinct.
“South.”
“South Oxford?” said Anne. “That’s what I was –”
“No. Due south on the Grand Union.”
“South?” Anne repeated, her tone incredulous. “But that would take him back to London, the one place he’s trying to avoid.”
“Exactly,” said Donovan.
“Why would he go there?”
“I was thinking what would I do in his position.”
“Probably the opposite of everybody else,” Anne suggested with a grin.
“That’s what I thought. I don’t know the guy well, of course, but he’s managed to stay out of sight for quite a while, so he must have his wits about him. South makes sense, but only provided he’s got the flexibility to move around.”
“You’re serious?” Anne’s tone was doubtful.
Donovan nodded. “That’s what I’d do, the last place you’d expect him to go.”
“For a good reason,” Anne said. “He probably thinks someone down there is pursuing him with revenge in mind.”
“Did he say that?”
“More or less. He seems to be scared to go back.”
“Scared?” said Donovan.
“We think so.”
Donovan stopped and turned to face Anne.
“Then he’s going to be very disappointed. The canals north of London are blocked off by landslips. If he got through, he’ll be penned in with no way out. If he’s this side of the blockages, he can’t get any further. Either way, he’s trapped.”
*
Anne wanted to make the return of Willow and Ben as much of an occasion as she could. A quick dash to the shop produced two results. The first was that the whole village would now know that the boat people were back. The second was the purchase of festive supplies in the form of nuts, olives and nibbles and the inevitable bag of apples.