by Leo McNeir
“Did you ask who was making these enquiries?”
Anne shook her head. “I just let it drop, didn’t want to seem interested.”
“Probably the best thing to do,” Donovan agreed.
“I don’t think it could be a coincidence that someone’s looking out for a boat like Maurice’s,” said Anne.
“No. I’ll tell you about this afternoon on our way back in the car, but one thing’s certain. Someone really is looking for Maurice. It’s not his imagination.”
Chapter 45
Pursuer
On Friday morning Marnie smiled inwardly as she looked at the group sitting at the breakfast table on Sally Ann. The three usual occupants were now joined by Donovan. It felt good to have him back again. His strange mixture of insights and action, combined with an almost ascetic style, made him at times a rather exotic companion.
The previous evening he had accepted the offer to stay so that he could finish the job, as he put it, and bring Maurice back to where they could ensure his well-being. Yet Donovan automatically assumed he would sleep on Sally Ann and not join Anne in her attic room. He wanted to keep up the appearance of being there as a friend of Ralph’s.
By the time Marnie, Ralph and Anne appeared on board, Donovan’s sleeping bag was folded on the bed, and he was seated at the table taking notes from a textbook while the kettle was heating on the hob. When Marnie expressed surprise that rolls were warming in the oven, Donovan grinned and held up a list given him by Anne the night before. He gathered up his papers while Anne began putting out the dishes for breakfast.
“So, Donovan,” said Marnie, “you have a plan for today?”
*
Under a grey sky, Anne dropped Donovan at the spot where she had picked him up the previous evening, and together they hauled the mountain bike out from the rear of the Mini. He told her to expect to hear from him in minutes while he cycled along the towpath to meet Maurice. Once he made contact, or if there were any problems, he would ring her mobile.
“D’you think he’ll still be there?” Anne asked.
“Who knows? For months all his instincts have been to hide. Overnight he could’ve had second thoughts and decided it was better to trust in himself than rely on other people. If he’s where I left him, it may just be because he’s run out of energy.”
Anne handed Donovan a carrier bag of provisions and wished him luck. Donovan pulled on his rucksack, walked the bike down onto the towpath and cycled off. Anne checked the time. Ten minutes, he had said.
Donovan rode at a steady pace, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Although no-one was visible on the towpath, the pursuer could be anywhere watching for movement along the canal. Donovan spotted Maurice’s boat after five minutes, tucked into the opposite bank, half concealed by the overhanging branches of a willow tree. At every window the curtains were drawn, giving the boat an abandoned look. For a moment Donovan was filled with a sense of foreboding.
He cycled past without stopping, not turning back until he had ridden on for a hundred yards or so. Arriving at a straight section of the canal, he could see ahead for a considerable distance. He pulled out the binoculars and scanned the terrain in all directions. The country was deserted. He turned back and halted across the water from the boat.
To his surprise, he had no sooner pulled up than the hatch slid open and Maurice pushed open the rear doors. The engine coughed into life and ticked over at a fast idle, warming up as Maurice released the mooring ropes front and rear. While waiting, Donovan took out his mobile and rang Anne.
“He’s here. You can go back now. I’ll call you later.”
Maurice poled away from the bank and reversed out of his hiding place. He brought the boat over to Donovan, who carried the bike down below and opened Anne’s bag marked in felt tip with the number one: a flask of coffee, rolls ready-filled with butter and honey and two bananas. Breakfast was served.
*
Anne drove home playing a mental game that she had devised to help her understand how Donovan’s mind worked. It surprised all of them at Glebe Farm how often Donovan seemed to do the opposite of what everybody expected.
She pictured him travelling on the boat with Maurice and tried to imagine their conversations, neither of them being prone to small talk. Maurice would probably want to know about the blockage on the canal and about his pursuer.
Mulling over the possibilities, the journey back to Knightly St John passed quickly, and Anne soon found herself parking outside the village shop. Armed with a list, she moved among the shelves, gathering basic supplies. She was homing in on the fruit and vegetable section when she heard a voice from behind her.
“No need to buy your usual bag of apples, Anne. I’ve got some waiting for you on the counter.”
Anne turned. Molly Appleton was beaming at her, carrying a box of baked bean tins, which she began lining up on the shelf.
“Apples?” Anne repeated.
“You buy some for Poppy most days, don’t you? Well, we’ve still got loads in the apple loft from our own trees, lots more than we need. You’re welcome to have some.”
“Thanks, Molly. That’s really kind.”
“You’re welcome. Do you know if Willow will be staying long?”
“Not sure. The canal’s blocked off down towards London, so they can’t get through.”
“And what about Mr Dekker? Still in touch with him?”
Anne hesitated. “Not directly.”
Molly continued. “Only there was someone in the shop yesterday asking after him.”
“Oh?” Molly had Anne’s full attention. “Who was that?”
“I didn’t speak to them. It was someone buying stamps from Richard.”
“Do you know what he told them?”
“What we always say,” said Molly. “If they want to get in touch, they can write care of the post office here.”
“Did Richard say what the person looked like?”
Molly smiled indulgently. “You know what men are like.”
I do indeed, Anne thought. But some are more dangerous than others.
*
There was no conversation on the boat as it glided along. Donovan insisted that Maurice remain below, and his demand met no opposition. After two hours of travelling, Donovan tied up in a remote spot and went below to put on the kettle. From Anne’s carrier bag he produced a jar of honey, a lemon and a miniature of rum. When the kettle boiled he mixed a generous teaspoon of honey in a mug with the juice of half the lemon plus half the rum. Adding a teaspoon of sugar, he stirred the drink and gave it to Maurice.
“What is this?” Maurice asked, staring into the mug.
“Something to help you feel better, at least alleviate your symptoms.”
“Another of your German concoctions?” Maurice spoke without hostility, though with a measure of suspicion.
“No. I think this is British. Try it. It tastes good. I’m going back out. We’ve got to keep on the move.”
“No sign of anyone?”
Donovan shook his head. “Not so far.”
“Perhaps he’s given up,” said Maurice, sipping the drink.
“You can never tell.” Donovan turned to go. “I’m hoping that at least he might be looking in the wrong place. Our best form of defence.”
Our only form of defence, he thought.
“You were right,” Maurice said as Donovan was leaving.
Donovan half turned. “About what?”
Maurice held up the mug. “It does taste good.”
*
It was an impulse decision. Marnie was on her way back from a meeting in the north of the county – the country house redecoration project – when she veered off the ring road and drove to the general hospital in Northampton. She guessed that she would make it in time for a short visit to Dominic’s bedside within the afternoon visiting hours.
On arrival, she found him sitting up reading a newspaper. He was still wearing the neck brace but otherwise looked relatively no
rmal.
He gave her a weak smile. “It’s good of you to come, Marnie.”
“How are you feeling?”
“The headache’s not as bad as it was, but I’ll feel much better when I’m out of this neck brace. They’re still not telling me when I can go home.”
“I’m sure you’re in good hands. I just looked in to see if there’s anything I can get you.”
“I think I’m okay, thanks.”
“Karen not here?”
“She had to go back to London, back to work. She’ll be coming this evening.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to you, Dominic. It must have been very nasty. But you seem to be improving.”
“I was lucky.” He touched the side of his head. “Actually, there is one thing you could bring me that would make me really better.”
“He’s gone, Dominic, left the area.” Marnie refrained from mentioning that they were making concerted efforts to bring Maurice back. “He took off a few days ago.”
Dominic’s expression darkened. “I don’t think any of you understand how much danger he’s in.”
“You think some of the companies he damaged are out to get him?”
“It has to be a possibility. These are big players, powerful corporations. He brought some of them to the brink of ruin, damaged their reputations in a world where credibility and trust are everything.”
“But they wouldn’t hire hit men or –”
“Who can be sure what they might do, Marnie?” Dominic lowered his voice. “You don’t know that world. Some of these companies are richer than some small countries.”
“You’re making me nervous, Dominic.”
“I’m only telling you the way it is.”
“And you believe that by taking him home you can give him more protection than he can derive from keeping hidden?”
“We can start the process of rehabilitating him. I’m convinced of that.”
“I don’t understand. How do you think you can do that?”
Dominic grimaced and altered his position. Marnie reached forward and adjusted his pillow.
“Thanks, Marnie. To answer your question, by bringing him back into the family, we can show how much support Maurice needs. We can explain he made his mistakes while under great psychological duress. He shouldn’t be blamed for that.”
“Will that make any difference?” Marnie’s tone was sceptical.
Dominic nodded. “They just need to understand that he was suffering tremendous stress. They’re major companies, not gangsters. If we can persuade them that Maurice himself is damaged, I don’t believe they’ll be out for revenge.”
*
Perched on the roof of the boat, Donovan tried to look relaxed as they cruised along. He also tried to look different from usual. He had brought with him some changes of clothing. That morning he was wearing pale blue denim jeans and his red ski jacket, topped off with a light blue woolly hat. While he looked calm, he was completely focused, his mind alert to everything around him. Every minute or so he would casually glance back over his shoulder.
Donovan knew it was only a matter of time before the pursuer worked out that Maurice had turned north again. Maurice and Donovan had a tactical advantage, but it was only a fifty-fifty bet. Donovan believed the pursuer would act in one of two ways. Either he would begin searching from the south up to the north, or he would go a certain distance northbound and let Maurice come to him. The question that was exercising Donovan was which would it be.
Donovan had learnt from experience a basic principle that he applied to problems. You needed speed, the element of surprise and a fall-back plan. Speed is what they needed now, the one commodity a narrowboat did not possess.
Question. Would the pursuer act in a logical manner? Faced with a dilemma, most people reacted in haste, and in so doing risked taking the wrong decision. Here, the pursuer was probably lying in wait some miles to the south, with plenty of time to weigh up pros and cons. Logically, it made sense to begin tracking Maurice from south to north. The alternative held too many opportunities for things to go awry. If the pursuer went too far north, it would take longer for Maurice to reach him, and Maurice might meanwhile decide to find a hiding place and lie low in a secluded area and wait for the canal to be re-opened. That way, Maurice could slip through the net.
As far as speed was concerned, the boat had what was known in motor-racing circles, as track position. The key now was to maximise that advantage.
Donovan consulted the cruising guide. They were in open country with only isolated houses along the way. Ahead lay a section where bridges crossed the canal, most of them roadways, together with a sequence of locks at fairly regular intervals. For a pursuer this was ideal terrain for catching up with them. Donovan knew they had to pass through this area in the minimum time possible. He called down to Maurice in the cabin and explained what he had in mind.
Minutes later Maurice looked up from the interior, clutching the mountain bike by the handlebars, muttering that he was ready. Donovan checked that all was clear ahead and behind and steered for the bank.
Pushing the boat off, with Maurice back at the tiller, Donovan cycled towards the first bridge. He had donned his dark jacket and baseball cap and hoped that, if he was spotted, the pursuer would not take him for the same cyclist who had passed him on the towpath the day before.
He reached the bridge within five minutes and quickly satisfied himself that no-one was waiting there. As Maurice lined up to go through, Donovan removed and repositioned his cap, the all-clear signal, and went down to the path where he had left the bike. He waited just long enough to see the nose of the boat emerge before haring off to the next obstacle. It was a lock and, as luck would have it, it was set against him.
Donovan pulled the windlass from his belt and began working at the paddles. The boat came in sight as the level in the chamber steadied. Donovan was pushing one gate open when a nearby voice made him freeze.
“Need a hand?”
Donovan turned to see a man standing behind him beside the lock chamber.
*
When Marnie returned to the office, Anne gave her a message from Beth. She had decided at the last minute to pay a visit to their parents, who had retired to southern Spain. Paul, Beth’s husband, was going to an academic conference in Utrecht and would be away for a week. Beth thought it a good opportunity for her to swap the chill of the English winter for some Almeria sunshine.
“Beth asked if I thought there was any chance you might go with her,” said Anne.
Marnie rolled her eyes. “Did you tell her how much work we have on at the moment?”
“No. I just said I’d ask you to ring her back.”
Marnie told Anne about her visit to the hospital. She asked if there had been any word from Donovan. Anne shook her head.
“I’m not really expecting him to phone. He’ll have other things on his mind.”
*
Donovan carried on pushing the balance beam to its widest extent, acknowledging the stranger’s offer of help with a brief nod. If this was the pursuer, he had out-manoeuvred them comprehensively, catching them at almost the first attempt. Donovan was impressed, but that feeling was a luxury and he indulged it for only a few seconds. He had heard that in military circles it was said that all tactics changed on first contact with the enemy. This could be one of those moments.
Donovan needed a fall-back plan, and he had only the minimum time to devise it. To gain some of that time, he paused after opening the gate as if to catch his breath. The new plan was formed in that moment. He smiled at the stranger.
“D’you know about doing locks?” His accent was north of England. “Only it would be useful to have a bit o’ help.”
“I know what’s involved.” The stranger’s English was unaccented. “What can I do?”
Donovan pointed towards the boat that was now homing in on the lock about fifty yards back.
“We’re both getting over the flu. Me dad’s wor
se than I am, shouldn’t be out o’ bed, really. Could you close the gate behind us and then pass us through? It’s a lot to ask.”
“No, no. I can do that.”
“Ta very much. I’ll leave the key on the beam here. You can give it me once we’re out on t’other side.”
“Okay. Looks a nice boat,” the stranger observed.
“Will be when we’ve got her home and painted.”
“How far are you going?”
“Leeds.”
Without another word, Donovan went down the slope to the bank, grabbed his bike and waved at Maurice to pull over. He quickly hopped aboard, heaved the bike onto the roof and told Maurice to go below and stay out of sight, before easing the boat into the lock.
The stranger was as good as his word, closing the gate and operating the paddles to bring the boat up to the next level. He pushed open the nearside gate and handed the windlass to Donovan.
“Should I shut this gate behind you?” he asked.
“Should do, but it might just swing open again. Thanks for your help.”
“I hope your father will be better soon.”
Donovan smiled, at the same time advancing the throttle. On reaching cruising speed, he looked back. The lock was now thirty or so yards behind, and the stranger was pushing the gate closed, facing in their direction. Donovan gave the man a cheery wave, which he returned.
They cruised on. The next road bridge was about two miles away. Time for another decision. Maurice looked up at Donovan from inside the doors.
“What do we do now?”
Donovan hesitated. “We stay as we are till after the next bridge.”
“And then?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether we see a friendly face looking down at us.”
*
Marnie settled into a conversation with Beth. She felt she owed it to her sister after neglecting her for so long. Beth repeated her hope that Marnie might go with her for a week in Spain. To Beth’s disappointment, but no great surprise, Marnie pleaded an excess of work.
“Pity,” said Beth. “Mum and dad would love to see you.”