by Leo McNeir
Next, Ralph served them poached salmon in hollandaise sauce with minted new potatoes while each added their speculations on what motivated Charles to take the Free-Gerard-Campaign seriously. They all agreed the salmon was delicious but opinions otherwise varied from the possibility that Charles knew something he was not telling anyone to the idea that his curiosity had simply been aroused.
The crème brûlée arrived on the table without raspberries, but accompanied by a question from Anne. As far as Marnie and Ralph understood the situation, what was their gut feeling about Gerard?
Marnie. “All the evidence points to him being guilty …”
“There’s a but coming,” Anne observed. “I can feel it.”
“Not really, it’s just that, I can still see Gerard’s face pleading with me as I walked away from the table in the visiting room. And I can hear his sister just now on the phone asking me to help.”
“I count that as a but,” Anne said dryly. “Ralph?”
“I’m not sure I have enough information to form a valid opinion. I’ve only got the media accounts to go on. But I have to be influenced by the fact that the courts have judged the conviction to be safe to the extent they’ve ruled out an appeal.”
Marnie thought that was a typical balanced academic view. She looked at Anne. “You haven’t given your verdict. What do you think?”
“I think this has been a lovely supper and it’s been … food for thought.”
Ralph smiled. “That’s more evasive than my reply.”
Marnie smiled too. “Is that all? You’ve at least seen Gerard’s sister, which is more than Ralph’s done.”
“I was just thinking, now that my exams are over, I wanted to take a few days off, have a breather before I get back to studying.”
Ralph agreed. “Good idea.”
“So I could pop into the reference library on Monday and check out the newspaper accounts of the trial.”
Marnie looked sceptical. “I’m not sure you’ll find anything new there. The main points in the case could be summed up on the fingers of one hand: Neil Gerard had no real alibi; his sister failed to back him up in court; his fingerprints – and his alone – were found on the damaged pipe joint; he and Barbara had been heard quarrelling that evening; he’d stormed off in a rage – according to the tabloids.”
“That’s what I was thinking. I might take a look at the serious papers, including the big Sundays.”
Ralph narrowed his eyes. “I read the reports at the time. I think you’ll find Marnie’s right.”
Marnie stood up to put the kettle on. “The Little Venice Murder,” she muttered. “He was condemned by the highest court in the land.”
“But his case didn’t even get to the court of appeal,” Anne protested.
“I didn’t mean that one. He was tried in the tabloid press and found guilty by public opinion.”
17
The bombshell hit them the next day, Tuesday morning.
Anne had set off in good time to find a parking place near the reference library in town. Alone in the office, Marnie buckled down to a solid morning’s work, tidying up designs for clients, instructing the joiner fitting wardrobes in the farmhouse, sketching out a hotel project for Willards Brewery, her biggest contract. Before lunch she had cleared enough of the in-tray to phone Charles. She told him of the discussion on Sally Ann the previous evening, without mentioning Anne’s researches.
Charles sounded more cheerful. Marnie sensed he was preparing himself mentally to draw a line in the sand, to listen to the voice of reason in his head and walk away from any further involvement in the Neil Gerard affair.
“On reflection, Marnie, I really think the time has come –”
His words were drowned out by a loud crunching of gravel outside, a car skidding. Marnie braced herself for the sound of a crash.
“Charles, sorry, just a … Hang on a sec. There’s something …”
Marnie heard a car door slam and stumbling footsteps racing across the courtyard. The door burst open.
“Marnie!” Anne gasped for breath. “Did you hear that just now?” She put a hand to her chest. “On the radio …”
“What was it? Anne, what did you hear? Sorry, Charles, Anne has just run in. Something’s happened.”
Anne was struggling to speak. “I only caught the tail end of it, fiddling with the radio. Neil Gerard … he’s hanged himself in his cell.”
There were more than fifteen minutes to the next news bulletin. Marnie rang Ralph in his study on Thyrsis. No, he did not have the radio turned on. Molly Appleton in the village shop, usually first to get news on any subject, had been counting in a delivery and had heard nothing. No reply from Beth. No reply from her friend Jane Rutherford in Little Venice. Mrs Jolly had just come in from shopping. It was a nightmare, but at least making phone calls had used up some time.
The three of them huddled round the radio in the office. The news summary at twelve noon on the BBC. An economic report on the lack of a feel-good factor; the Chancellor would be making a statement to the House. Talks had broken down on the question of greater European Union integration. Come on! An earthquake in southern Japan … six point nine on the Richter scale … eight dead and thousands of homes damaged. A ship carrying nuclear waste, listing badly off the west coast of Africa … a potential environmental disaster. The other items concerned rumours of a ministerial scandal, a crisis in the management of the NHS and a shortage of teachers in inner-city schools. No mention of Neil Gerard. Damn!
Anne shook her head. “But I heard it. I know I did.”
“What were the exact words?”
“I’m not sure. I was on the dual carriageway, thought I’d find some music on the radio. I was pressing buttons to change channels and there was this news flash, something like Gerard who was in prison serving life for murder … bla-bla-bla … found hanging in his cell. I didn’t take it all in. I was in traffic. I thought there’d be more detail, but that’s all there was.”
Marnie frowned. “Odd that there was nothing about it on the national news. What do you think, Ralph?”
“I agree. Of course, it’s unlikely that Anne was mistaken –”
“I definitely heard it.”
“I’m sure. Then perhaps a suicide in prison doesn’t rate national importance. Do you know what channel you were on, Anne?”
“No. I had to concentrate on driving.”
“I was wondering if it might’ve been a local radio station.”
Anne agreed. “I’ve got a whole load programmed in the radio’s memory.”
“Any London stations? Can you get them up here?”
“Yeah, could’ve been. I’ve got Capital something and Metro whatever … a few like that.”
Marnie turned to Ralph. “I’m impressed you even knew local radio stations existed.”
“I’ve been interviewed on some of them.”
Marnie grinned. “Smartarse. I might’ve guessed.”
Anne sighed. “How do we find out about Gerard? I’m positive I wasn’t mistaken.”
“At the risk of being called a smartarse …” Ralph glanced sideways at Marnie, “I think that’s quite elementary.”
Two minutes later Ralph completed a phone call. His contact in the newsroom of Radio Oxford had solved the mystery.
“That was Carl Phipps, one of the news editors. He confirmed Anne’s story. Gerard apparently attempted to commit suicide this morning. It seems he used his shirt to make a “rope’ and hanged himself from the bars in his cell.”
“God! So he’s dead?”
“No. A prison officer looked in and saw him. He was unconscious but they rushed him to the hospital wing and revived him.”
Anne went even paler than usual.
“Why wasn’t it on the news?” Marnie asked.
“Carl thought national radio and TV would probably run the story on the main one o’clock programmes. Before noon they weren’t sure if he’d survive or not.”
A gasp from
Marnie. “Charles! I wonder if he knows.”
She rang Charles’s number. He sounded less than reassured. She could guess why and had had the same feeling herself.
“Thank you for letting me know, Marnie. I’m sure he wasn’t just trying to get attention.”
“I think it’s too soon to make a judgment about that.”
“Oh, I think he meant it,” Charles persisted.
“You can’t be sure.”
“Do you believe that? Really?”
“Well, it doesn’t look as if they thought he was a suicide risk. I think they have special procedures for that kind of thing.”
“That’s what I was thinking. It makes it worse, Marnie.”
“How do you work that out?”
“He wouldn’t be considered a suicide risk while he was mounting a vigorous campaign to get an appeal or a retrial. He kept going because he had hope for the future. Something changed that.”
“Let’s not speculate, Charles. We don’t know all the facts. Something might’ve happened in prison … bullying, threats, intimidation.”
“Something took away his hope. That’s what I think.”
It’s what Marnie thought, too.
18
Marnie had always thought Neil Gerard was a fine-looking man, but not that Friday morning. When they approached his bed he was bleary-eyed, as if he had not long been awake. It was nearly eleven. She guessed he had been under sedation.
The previous day he had been returned from hospital to the prison, where the authorities had installed him in the sanatorium for his first night back. Marnie was certain that Charles had pulled strings to obtain permission to visit him, and she had reluctantly agreed to take part. They had met in the car park, and Marnie told Charles this was the last time she would be coming to see Gerard. He accepted her decision and made the point that it was unlikely Gerard would be remaining in the prison where he had tried to take his life. He was sure they would move him, possibly to a secure hospital. And from now on he would be on suicide watch.
Entering the sanatorium, Marnie saw her role as nothing more than moral support. She was determined to let Charles do all the talking. They walked up to the bed. Gerard was propped up on pillows.
“It didn’t do any good, did it?” Charles said softly.
Gerard looked and sounded weary. “I didn’t succeed if that’s what you mean.”
“You know what I mean. What if they hadn’t found you in time?”
“Then I would’ve succeeded.”
“Doing that didn’t help your case.”
“Case … I didn’t care then and I don’t care now, not anymore.” He gestured to the chairs beside the bed. “If you’re staying, you may as well sit down.”
Marnie looked at Charles, who hesitated and took the chair next to him.
Charles leaned forward, continuing in the same quiet tone. “I told you I had the case checked by a barrister. We’ve taken separate legal advice. We’ve read all the court reports, including the statement by the appeal judges. It’s no good.”
“I’m glad we agree on something. That’s why I tried to find a way out.”
“Because you realised there was nothing to back up your story.”
“Because I couldn’t stand being kept in prison for the rest of my life … for something I didn’t do.”
Charles sighed and sat back in the chair. He looked exasperated.
“But the evidence –”
“What evidence?”
“All of it, even your sister not backing you up. What more do you want?”
“My sister is backing me up. She’s the only one.”
“And this is your way of repaying her?”
“I wasn’t trying to repay her. I was trying to kill myself.”
Marnie felt a pain in her head and winced.
Gerard noticed and continued. “Have you any idea what it’s like … to tie something round your neck, push your feet away from the wall and hang … the pain of it … the choking … your tongue starting to swell in your throat –”
Charles looked hastily at Marnie. “All right, all right. We get the picture.”
“No you don’t. You’ve no idea what it was like. And if you’re thinking it was some kind of cry for help – or whatever the cliché is – then you can forget it.”
Charles looked at him steadily. “You really, really meant to do it?”
“Yes.” Gerard grimaced and cleared his throat.
Charles turned and raised an eyebrow in Marnie’s direction. She did not know what kind of reaction he expected and lowered her eyes. And that simple unprepared gesture turned the conversation in a new direction.
“When we saw you before, you suggested that my wife had … other lovers.” Gerard looked up but remained silent. Charles continued. “How do you know that?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a simple enough question.”
“Well, we, talked about them.”
“You had rows about them?”
“No. She just told me about them. I suppose you’d call it pillow talk. Look, I don’t think I really want to go into all that.”
“You think it might turn me against you if you gave me the details?”
“Perhaps. Something like that.”
“Believe me, Gerard, it couldn’t make me more hostile towards you than I have been already.”
“Then let’s just drop it, shall we?”
Marnie was feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the whole situation. She moved as if to get up.
“Don’t go, Marnie, please.” Charles reached a hand towards her. “Please.”
Why do all these big, grown-up men have to have me there to hold their hands? She nodded and sat back.
Charles turned back to Gerard. “I’m trying to understand your story, your side of things.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Charles looked puzzled. “Is that a luxury you can afford?”
“I’m interested in the truth and, in my case, I suppose you could say it’s a luxury.” Seized by a coughing spasm, Gerard heaved himself up onto one elbow. Marnie quickly got up and passed him a glass of water from the table. When he stopped coughing, he lay back against the pillows clutching the glass. “But I gave up when I reached the conclusion that your visiting me in prison had nothing to do with keeping an open mind or giving me the benefit of the doubt, or maybe helping me.”
“You seem very sure of yourself. I would’ve thought someone in your position –”
“You’re not here to try to help me. You’re trying to find out why your wife was …” He swallowed as if he found it difficult to speak.
“Murdered is the word you’re looking for, I think.”
“No … unfaithful is the word. That’s what you’re looking for.”
Marnie spoke for the first time. “I don’t think this is getting anyone very far.”
Gerard agreed. “No. Why not get to the point? What have you come for? I’m a busy man. I’ve got years of thinking ahead of me.”
Charles hesitated. “Tell me … about the lovers. I find that difficult to understand. You don’t talk about other people, other lovers, when you’re in a relationship with someone.”
“Depends on the relationship. Maybe not when you’re married, but then I don’t know. I’ve never been married. But when you’re lovers, it’s different. There’s a greater freedom and honesty. You have no secrets. You talk about old lovers because the atmosphere between you is more frank, somehow more intimate, more sexy. You’re not trying to cover up. Everything comes out in the open.”
The silence that followed was so solid that Marnie stared at Charles, thinking he might have had a seizure. When he eventually spoke, his voice seemed to come from far away.
“These … lovers. You know who they are?”
Gerard made a barely perceptible gesture with one shoulder.
“How many?”
Gerard thought about it for a while. “Four.”
>
“Four others, apart from you?”
A nod.
Charles got up slowly and began walking away. Marnie stood. Reaching the door, Charles turned to look back. “No secrets,” he said.
Gerard shook his head. Charles opened the door and went out, his footsteps sounding along the passageway. Marnie turned to say good-bye for the last time, and Gerard looked up at her, a curious expression on his face. Not quite a smile. A thank-you?
Marnie moved her face closer to his. “I’ve got a question for you. What if they weren’t just old lovers, what then?”
She walked out without looking back and without waiting for an answer.
Charles was already crossing the car park when Marnie went out through the gates. He was plainly pre-occupied and walked head bowed, looking at his shoes. Marnie noticed them, black Oxfords, hand-crafted from fine leather, a discreet reminder of the world that Charles inhabited, a contrast with the drabness of the prison where Gerard would be spending the next thirty years or so. Charles looked up, saw Marnie’s Discovery and walked her to it. Neither of them spoke.
Standing with his back to the car, Charles looked at the prison as he had before. “Marnie, I know what you said, about it being the last time you’d visit.”
“I meant it, Charles.”
“I know. What did you make of what Gerard said back there?”
“I thought you were going to tell him he’d have to abandon any idea of your support. That’s what I thought this visit was about.”
“So did I.”
“Did you, Charles? I got the impression Gerard was right about your reason for coming.”
“Do you blame me?”
“I don’t see that it would do any good to rake over the past. If you sincerely believe Gerard was guilty, I think it’d be best to leave it at that. You don’t need to know who those other people might be.”
“If Gerard was guilty.”
“But you said –”
“I know about the evidence. But what about miscarriages of justice? They do happen, you know, despite all available evidence.”
“So?”
“What if it wasn’t Gerard?”