by Leo McNeir
They accepted Ralph’s offer of tea, explained that they needed the basic facts and told Anne they would need a statement from her in due course. She told her story again, and the detectives listened to the end without interrupting.
“Why were you at the house, Anne?” Bartlett asked quietly. Marriner flipped open a notebook.
“I went to see Ronny. He’s been abroad on his gap year. Mrs Appleton in the shop said he’d come back.”
“He was expecting you?”
“No. I just sort of popped in.”
“Lucky for him that you did. Did he say anything to you when you found him?”
Anne shook her head. “He was unconscious. I rang 999 as soon as I saw him.”
“According to our records you asked for the police first, then an ambulance.”
“I saw the house had been burgled, then I saw Ronny … on the floor.”
“Did you see anybody leaving the building or anywhere near it?”
“No-one.”
“Weren’t you worried that the burglar might still have been there?”
“It looked as if they’d been disturbed, left in a hurry. The milk bottle holder was knocked over; the gravel on the drive was all churned up.”
“That’s very observant of you, Anne. Did you see any vehicle on the street, a van perhaps?”
“Nothing. I came through the churchyard, not along the road. Mr Bartlett, how is Ronny? He looked dreadful.”
“Too early to tell. We’ve sent an officer to the hospital to talk to him as soon as he comes round. Anne, is there anything you can add to what you’ve already told us, anything unusual or suspicious, anything at all?”
Anne sighed. “I don’t think so.”
“I wonder …” All heads turned as Marnie spoke. “There has been something suspicious, Mr Bartlett. Twice in the past week or so a car’s been down here. It just came and went without stopping, as if wanting to find out if anyone was around.”
“Did you report it if you thought it might be a prowler?”
“There wasn’t anything substantial to report.”
Marriner joined in. “You’ve no explanation for who it might’ve been?”
Marnie hesitated for just a second before replying. “No.”
The detectives made no reaction. Bartlett took up the questioning. “What sort of car was it?”
“We didn’t see it. That’s why we had nothing to report to anyone.”
“We? Who else?”
“Angela Hemingway – the vicar – she’s staying in one of the cottages. She heard it one time. Before that, I’d heard it.”
“But not seen it. So you don’t know that it was the same one.”
“You asked if we’d seen anything unusual, anything at all. No-one comes down here for no reason, not normally. Two visits seems an odd coincidence.”
With a nod Bartlett stood up. “Thanks for the tea. We’ll be in touch about that statement, Anne.”
Marnie walked the two men out to their car.
“Can I ask you something, Mr Bartlett?”
“Sure.”
“Is it at all possible that you might be keeping us under surveillance?”
“Is there some reason why we might want to do that, Mrs Walker?”
“Perhaps in connection with the murder enquiry?” Marnie suggested.
They stopped at the car, and Bartlett turned to face her. “Let me tell you two things. First, if we were keeping an eye on you, you wouldn’t know anything about it. Second, we’re not, and for one very good reason. There is no Taverner murder enquiry. It’s finished. The murderer is in prison for life, unless he manages to top himself.” Bartlett saw Marnie’s grimace. “Sorry. I should’ve said until he gets let out on parole, which will probably be all too soon for my liking.”
“It’s a lot of years to spend in jail,” Marnie observed. “I hope you’re confident you’ve got the right man.”
“We are. Don’t let his sister’s campaign fool you. I’ve seen it all before. My guess is she feels guilty at not helping him. This was a really sound case. I’d strongly advise against further contact with any of them.”
“I hear what you say, inspector, but you must see that Charles needs to draw a line and rebuild his life.”
Bartlett spoke slowly to emphasise the point. “There’s nothing to stop him doing that.” He climbed into the car and opened the window. “Everyone involved in a murder investigation is somehow damaged by it, worst of all the victim’s loved ones. Take my word for it. You do the design work; leave the policing to us. Stick to the rules, eh?” He pulled on the seat belt and clicked it in. “And that’s another thing you can do – make sure Mr Taverner gets proper security at the vicarage. When we were investigating the death of the previous vicar, I noticed it had no alarm system at all.”
“I’ll pass on your advice.”
“And take it.”
Beside Bartlett, Marriner started the engine.
Marnie leaned forward. “One last question. When the police arrived at the Copes’ house, your colleague addressed me by name. If you’re not keeping an eye on us, as you put it, how would he know who I was?”
Bartlett smiled. “That’s easy. All our officers know you, Mrs Walker, from past contact. I wouldn’t want you to think you’re notorious. Let’s just say Glebe Farm is like a home from home for us.”
The car reversed out of the courtyard, turned between the barns and drove off up the field track. Marnie watched it go.
Marriner took it gently over the bumps. Nothing put his DCI into a bad mood more than bashing his head on the roof of the car, especially after a conversation with Marnie Walker.
“I know what you’re thinking, sir.”
“Yes. She’s doing it again.”
“Keeping something back from us?”
“Got it in one.”
“You think she has an idea why someone might be keeping watch on her?”
“Definitely. That’s why she asked if we were. She wanted to be able to rule out that possibility.”
Marriner steered carefully round a tussock. “Any idea who it might be?”
“My guess is it was probably our burglar sizing the place up.”
“Not likely to be anyone else, is it, sir?”
Bartlett held on firmly as the car passed over a series of ruts. “Knowing Marnie Walker, it could be anybody, Ted. With that woman, who knows what might be lurking in the background?”
22
On Tuesday morning Anne did not turn up for breakfast. Marnie went looking for her and found her working in the office barn. She had had a restless night, the events around the burglary preventing her from sleeping. The only solution was to be active. She had got up at dawn and started drafting a statement on the computer while all the facts were fresh in her mind.
After a shower and breakfast her spirits had revived and she went straight back to the desk to check the draft and print off a copy. Marnie watched her from across the office, impressed as ever with Anne’s level of concentration.
Anne was on the phone when the first call of the day came in, so Marnie picked up the receiver. Charles Taverner. He announced that he was coming to the vicarage and asked Marnie to see him. They agreed a time to meet at the house. When Marnie disconnected, she heard the familiar piping of Anne’s computer as it linked up to the Internet.
“Checking for e-mails, Anne?”
“And sending one.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve just been on to the hospital. Ronny’s regained consciousness.”
Marnie breathed out audibly. “Thank goodness. You did well to get them to tell you about him. They’re usually strict about releasing details of patients.”
“They were. But I asked them if a woman police officer was there, and the nurse said she’d just come back on duty. I asked if it was Cathy Lamb, and they let me speak to her. She told me.”
Marnie grinned. “How did you know that, Holmes?”
Anne twirled an imaginary
moustache. “Elementary, my dear Watson …”
“Well?”
“She’s the only woman DC I know, so I just guessed.”
Marnie laughed. “A brilliant deduction! So what’s the e-mail you’re sending?”
“My statement. Cathy gave me the address …” Anne raised a finger and struck the keyboard. “… and there it goes.”
“Are you planning to visit Ronny, Anne?”
A hesitation. “Dunno. I suppose so. I was worried when I saw him lying there like that. I thought he was … well, he didn’t look good, that’s for sure. Ronny’s a bit of a problem but, yeah, I’ll drop round and see him, just a short visit. Do you want to come?”
Another hesitation. “Not this time. I’ve got a meeting with Charles Taverner.” And I’ve got problems of my own …
Marnie had the feeling with Charles that he was always moving the goalposts. He did it again. She had been on the point of leaving Glebe Farm for the vicarage when he rang from the car on his mobile. Could they meet instead by Stoke Bruerne bottom lock? It was a reasonable enough request. He had been sitting in the car for a couple of hours and wanted a walk in the fresh air before going over the house. A stroll along the towpath was ideal therapy. But Marnie suspected Charles had in mind to get her away from the decorating project to talk about another subject. What he did not know was that Marnie had her own concern, and it was pulling her in several directions at once.
She walked out to the car, pulled open the door and took a decision. Damn!
Marnie arrived first and was staring at the weed growth on the lock gates, watching the water splash over the top and through the gap in the middle, when she heard the broad tyres of the Jaguar rolling down the access road. Its paintwork was shining like new as it drew alongside the Discovery, putting it to shame with its light coating of dust from the field track. Marnie fixed a welcoming smile and raised a hand.
“Good of you to come, Marnie. Hope the sudden change wasn’t a nuisance. Such a nice day, I thought it’d be good to stretch a leg.”
“You’ll be able to do this more often when you move up. Do you have a firm date yet?”
“A few weeks, assuming you tell me everything’s ready when we do the inspection.”
“No problem.”
“Good. And thank you, Marnie. Your handling of, well, of everything has been most impressive. I don’t know what I would’ve done …”
“There is one thing. There’s been a burglary in the village, and the police have advised on the need for an alarm at the vicarage.”
“Oh?”
“Someone we know actually interrupted the burglar and got clobbered for his pains, a young man, a friend of Anne. He’s in intensive care.”
“Good lord! You’d think that out here in the country … still, crime is everywhere.” He turned and looked at the Jaguar.
Marnie nodded. “Yes, and with a car like that on the drive …”
They set off slowly along the path in the spring sunshine.
“Can you see to it, Marnie? Can you organise an alarm or do you want me to get a specialist to come and advise on a system?”
“I can deal with it locally if you wish.”
“Excellent. We have a very elaborate security system at our house in Templars’ Wharf.”
“I saw it, the CCTV camera, the monitor in the kitchen.”
“Oh yes. Intruder alarms everywhere, motion sensors, dead locks on doors and windows. God knows what we’d have done if the place had caught fire and we had to get out in a hurry!”
“Perhaps something a little less elaborate for the vicarage?”
“Probably.” His voice was suddenly vague as if his mind was already moving on.
Marnie knew the signs. “I’ll get onto it at once. I’m not sure how long it takes to –”
“Marnie, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“I know.”
“I thought you probably did.”
“I ought to tell you that the police officer who mentioned the need for an alarm also gave me his views on Gerard’s appeal campaign. He was involved in part of the case.”
“What does he think?”
“That the case against Gerard was rock solid.”
“And now that you’ve been with me to see Gerard, is that your view?” Marnie shrugged. Charles continued. “That business about the lovers, I’ve been thinking about it. Perhaps it was just a blind. I was wondering about going back and confronting him, challenging him to produce names, facts, not just random accusations.”
Marnie wanted to bite her tongue off, but she failed. “I did.”
Charles stopped abruptly. “What did you say?”
“I did just that, confronted him, demanded names.”
“How did he react?”
“At first, evasively. But then he agreed to think about it and let me have some names. They arrived by e-mail yesterday, names and a few notes on each one.”
Charles stared into the distance. When he spoke his voice seemed to come from far away. “How many?”
“Four.”
“Four lovers … Jesus Christ! Oh, sorry, Marnie. Four in addition to himself.”
“Yes.”
“Over what period of time?”
“A few years, it seems.”
“Dear God.”
Charles turned and began walking on. Marnie followed slowly in his wake, wishing she had no part in this, wishing she had never returned to the prison or asked for the names. Beyond the lock was a line of mooring bollards for boats waiting to go through. On that morning the place was deserted. There, the river Tove passed culverted under the canal to emerge in a clump of trees, and a line of fencing protected the edge of the towpath from the drop down to the river level a metre or two below. Charles leaned against the fence, looking down to the stream. Marnie stopped beside him, resting her back against the ironwork, facing the opposite way towards the canal and the fields beyond. All around them was pastoral tranquillity and peace, light clouds dappling shade and sunlight on the landscape.
“Charles, I really am sorry. I only wanted –”
“Thank you, Marnie. You acted for the best, I know that.”
“Would you like some time to yourself? I could join you at the house in, say, half an hour?”
Charles shook his head slowly. “All the professionals think it’s a solid case,” he said quietly. “On paper it seems that way to me, too. But what did Gerard say? The trial was perfectly fair … just wrong.”
“It sounds like you’ve come to agree with him, Charles.”
“Haven’t you? Isn’t that why you went back to see him, to get the names?”
“I don’t know. I think perhaps I wanted it to be him, didn’t want there to be any lovers.”
“I wanted that too, more than anything. But now that you’ve got the names, they won’t go away. And they could be suspects. Do you have them with you?”
“Yes.”
For a full minute Charles said nothing. Marnie waited for him to ask her to hand over the list. When he spoke it was as if he was changing the subject.
“I have to accept the loss of the most important person in my life. A whole part of my life has gone for ever.”
“Barbara was very special,” Marnie agreed. It sounded lame to her ears, but she realised that many expressions of emotion appeared banal and trite.
Another silence. It seemed to enclose them in a glass box and shut out the world. No birds were singing, no sounds of traffic penetrated to where they stood. Everything in the universe seemed centred on them, and Marnie could feel the weight of it pressing in. Through the heavy air she sensed that Charles felt it too. When he spoke again his voice came to her like a memory or a dream.
“I’m almost sixty, Marnie. I’ll never experience anything like it again. I’ll never be in love with anyone, never know what it feels like to have that kind of relationship. All the excitement and apprehension of making love with someone for the first time, building a bond
with another person, another woman. All of that’s gone.”
“I understand.” Marnie felt impatient with herself at making these feeble mutterings. She was unaccustomed to having this kind of frank conversation with a man old enough to be her father.
“Do you, Marnie? I often wonder if women really understand what men think. To me, life is about women. We’re attracted to them. That’s the system. That’s how it works. When that part of our lives comes to an end, well, that’s more or less it, really. If I were twenty years younger, perhaps some day I could make a new start. As it is, in that timespan there’s a good chance I’ll be dead.”
Marnie could feel his pain. “That’s why you want matters resolved.”
He nodded. “Putting my affairs in order … unfortunate choice of words, in the circumstances.”
“It’s understandable, but you mustn’t give up on life, Charles.” Damn! Another cliché.
“Getting at the truth isn’t giving up, Marnie. You know that.”
“I do, but I worry about the pain it could cause you, and in the end you might find that the police and courts have been right all along.”
“That’s a risk I’ll have to take. But somehow I’m not ready to give up yet.” He gestured. “Those names, Marnie.”
She pulled out the paper. He read slowly, a deep frown creasing his features. Pronouncing each name, his tone registered a reaction. “Stuart …” Comprehension. “Adamson …” Distaste. “Wainwright! …” Amazement. “Brent … Brent!” Bewilderment.
He re-read the notes. “These comments are Gerard’s, presumably? They’re his own words?”
“I assume so. They seem to be, unless Sarah paraphrased what he told her.”
“Interesting. At least it would be, if it wasn’t so bloody awful.”
“You had no inkling of these relationships, Charles?”
“Of course not. It’s hardly something Barbara would tell me about, is it?”
“I meant now, in hindsight. Looking back, you can’t think of anything that made you wonder?”