No Secrets (MARNIE WALKER Book 6)

by Leo McNeir

  Marnie felt better now that she had rationalised the position. But then she realised that he could have met with an accident on his journey, and anxiety began hovering over her again.

  Clearing the lock at Stoke Hammond, Anne signalled to Marnie that she wanted to talk. They conferred on Perfidia’s stern deck, poring over the cruising guide.

  “How far do you want us to go this evening, Marnie?”

  Marnie ran a finger along the route on the map, noticing that Anne had been writing notes on her pad. “What did we make the total journey … about twenty-nine miles, fourteen locks … that’s forty-three lock miles, say roughly fourteen hours or so?”

  Anne nodded. “That’s what I reckoned.”

  Marnie looked around them, thinking out loud. “Only one small lock before the outskirts of Milton Keynes … then afterwards one at Cosgrove … another long run past Glebe Farm to the Stoke Bruerne flight … then the tunnel, and it’s not much further after that. What are you thinking, Anne?”

  “We’ve got plenty of time. Whatever we do this evening is a bonus. I was just thinking it would be nice to tie up somewhere quiet for the night.”

  Marnie returned to the cruising guide. “Somewhere near Willowbridge?”

  “Fine.”

  With Anne once more at the tiller, Marnie prepared the mooring ropes for their arrival. She walked through the boat and emerged in the cratch. For the next twenty minutes she was on the lookout for a suitable spot to tie up for the night. Alone again, she allowed her thoughts to wander. They settled very soon on the other name that had been going through her mind. There were questions relating to Sarah Cowan that would not go away.

  The more she thought about it, the more she found the position of Sarah intriguing. If under questioning she had simply said that her brother had looked after her during the night in question, that would probably have been an end to it, a solid alibi. By default, her evidence had played a major part in convicting Neil. Marnie reminded herself that they had explained all that. Even so, it felt somehow unsatisfactory. And there was more. Marnie wondered if Neil had become suspicious of her. He had given his reasons for not wanting Sarah to hear the tapes. But was that the truth? If this was his last resort, would he really not want Sarah – the organiser of his appeal campaign – to help him? The tapes were intimate, sure, but Sarah was a grown woman. There was nothing in the tapes that would cause Neil serious embarrassment. Marnie was an outsider whose discretion he valued. She could understand that. But Sarah was his sister and keeping it in the family was a certain way of guaranteeing that the details of the relationship with Barbara would remain private.

  And then there was the burglary of Neil’s flat. Could that have had something to do with Sarah? Who else could have known what to take? But that was wrong. Sarah did not know about the tapes … according to Neil. Marnie shook her head. It was all very confusing. So what did she know for certain about Sarah?

  She had failed to support Neil’s account by giving him an alibi.

  Neil was unwilling to share the tapes with her.

  She would know where to look in the flat if somehow she knew about the tapes.

  Was there anything else? Not really. Sarah was doing all she could to run Neil’s campaign. By her commitment she had persuaded Marnie to keep an open mind. She was fighting gamely for her brother’s freedom. Marnie could see the face that had confronted her in the prison car park. She could see Sarah glaring at her in the street on the morning of the burglary. The burglary … It had been Sarah who had told the police about Marnie’s presence there. She had not hesitated to implicate Marnie. More confusion.

  Her head still full of doubts and questions, Marnie became aware that the boat was slowing. A long whistle drew her attention back to Anne. Marnie turned her head and saw Anne pointing at the bank. It was a good place to moor. Marnie gave a thumbs-up, and Anne brought Perfidia gently into the side.

  “What were you thinking about, back there?” They were eating supper in the dining area, and Anne asked the question while pausing to let a knob of butter melt on her corn on the cob. “… as if I couldn’t guess.”

  “At the lock where you had to wake me up?”

  “Yes.”

  Marnie thought back. “Your guess is probably correct.”

  “But what in particular?”

  Marnie attempted a smile. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about you-know-what.”

  “But it’s on your mind the whole time, and I don’t want just to be left guessing.”

  “Well, I was wondering about Charles, where he is, what he’s doing, how he’s feeling. Everyone goes on about Neil, but we mustn’t forget that Charles has at least as much right to our sympathy. He’s the completely innocent party in all this.”

  Anne frowned. “I’ve been thinking about that, too, and …”

  “Go on.”

  “I don’t like to. It seems unkind.”

  “You’re wondering how much Charles is to blame for Barbara looking for solace outside their marriage?”

  “Yes. Something must’ve been wrong. I mean, Barbara wouldn’t just suddenly have got curious and felt like having a lover – lovers – would she?”

  “No. But you can never judge how things are inside someone else’s relationships. There are too many imponderables that you just can’t know.”

  “Is that what you were thinking about?”

  “Not quite. I was thinking that suspicion is the worst part of this whole affair.”

  “You suspect Charles, you mean?” Anne was incredulous. “I thought you saw him as the victim, as a victim.”

  Marnie picked up the corn and gnawed it thoughtfully. “I was thinking about Sarah.”

  Anne started on her corn. “So was I.” Marnie waited. Anne wiped her mouth with the napkin. “While you were having your shower and I was putting the corn on the stove, for some reason I began thinking about Sarah not backing Neil up. I mean, why be so pedantic about it? Why not just say he was there looking after her?”

  “We’ve been over all this, Anne.”

  “I know, but then I wondered why he didn’t trust her about the tapes and why she told the police she’d seen you at the scene of the burglary.”

  “I know. We’ve said all this before.”

  “But I’d never thought about it this way. Hasn’t it occurred to you, all the time her reaction is to push the police in the direction of somebody else?”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  Anne stared down at her plate. “It’s funny how doing routine things makes your mind wander, you operating the locks, me beating eggs in a bowl for an omelette.”

  “Anne, I’m not following. What do you mean?”

  “Suppose Sarah wasn’t really as bad that night – the night of the murder – as she said she was. Suppose she slipped out when Neil was asleep on the sofa. She didn’t vouch for him. If he was sleeping, he couldn’t vouch for her.”

  Marnie stared at Anne across the table without speaking.

  “Am I being silly, Marnie?”

  “Silly isn’t a word I’d associate with you.”

  “But you think I’m off target.”

  “I can’t see how your argument fits together. Why would Sarah want to harm Barbara?”

  “Jealousy?”

  “He’s her brother. That would be too extreme a reaction, surely.”

  “What about anger? Because of Neil, Barbara was being unfaithful to her husband.”

  “So?”

  “Hadn’t Sarah’s husband left her for another woman?”

  “Mm. How could she know what to do on the boat?”

  Anne shrugged. “I dunno. But she lives alone. She must know about how things work, gas pipes and all that.”

  “How did she even know where Barbara was that evening?”

  “Neil might’ve told her. Barbara was more likely to let a woman on board Perfidia than a man.”

  “That’s a point. And you’re thinking she’s running his campa
ign out of a sense of guilt, because she didn’t believe they’d pin the murder on Neil?”

  Anne sighed. “Not really. I suppose it’s all too absurd. Perhaps silly is a word you ought to apply to me.”

  “Nonsense.” Marnie smiled. “Obsessive perhaps, but not silly. Have you been having thoughts about any other aspect, or any other suspect?”

  Anne paused. “Mike Brent.”

  “Really? Why Mike Brent in particular?”

  “I don’t know any of the others.”

  “Of course. What were you thinking about him?”

  “He’s, well, the odd one out, isn’t he?”

  Marnie nodded encouragement and returned to her corn while Anne continued.

  Another shrug. “I mean, the others are all quite rich or powerful, and the artist is famous. Mike Brent is none of those. I suppose he’s got a good job, but why would Barbara be attracted to him?”

  “You yourself said he came across as pleasant and friendly. Attraction is a very personal thing. Opportunity also plays a part, doesn’t it?”

  “Actually, Marnie, I don’t think I’m very well qualified to judge. At my age anyone over thirty – oops, sorry, forty – seems old, and I can’t imagine what it’s like.”

  “Barbara was over forty. Didn’t you think she was stunning?”

  “Like a film star.”

  “There you are, then.”

  “But men …”

  “What about Ralph? He’s over forty.”

  “He’s great, really lovely, but …”

  “You can’t imagine him as a romantic lead.”

  “He’s as old as my dad.”

  “Okay. Let’s get back to Mike Brent. What were your thoughts about him?”

  “If they did have a relationship, I could imagine it being a bigger deal for him than for the others. Rich or famous people must have more opportunities. Mike is more ordinary. He might feel stronger about Barbara because he might not expect to get involved with someone like her.”

  “So if she tried to end the affair – if it ever was an affair – he might be more upset, more inclined to react violently?”

  Anne stood up to clear the plates. “He might feel more desperate.”

  Marnie ran a thumb across her lips. “I think you’ve got a point there.”

  35

  By their normal standards Marnie and Anne were up late on Saturday morning and sat down to breakfast listening to the eight o’clock news headlines on the radio. Both had slept soundly after the hours spent in the fresh air the previous day. Although they were well rested, the world seen through the portholes was colour-washed a pale grey by low cloud cover, and there was a subdued atmosphere in the cabin.

  Anne studied the cruising guide while munching Weetabix and announced that the first lock was less than two miles ahead at Fenny Stratford. Marnie declared that she would walk that distance along the towpath to blow away the cobwebs. As soon as the table was cleared she set off at a brisk pace armed with her windlass while Anne guided Perfidia away from the bank and settled down to the boat’s moderate cruising speed. For several minutes they were travelling in close proximity, but as Anne slowed to pass moored craft, Marnie began to extend her lead and was soon striding away into the middle distance. Half an hour later Marnie pushed open the gate of the shallow lock to admit Perfidia and very soon climbed aboard for the long uninterrupted journey round the varied landscape of Milton Keynes.

  Taking turns to steer, Marnie decided to interrogate the answerphone back home in the office barn before going below to make their morning coffee. Using the mobile she quick-dialled the number, a pencil and notepad lying in expectation on the roof of the boat beside her. Anne noticed Marnie’s expression cloud over.

  “What’s up?”

  Marnie pulled a face. “That’s odd. No messages.”

  “Nobody loves us.”

  “Possibly not, but yesterday was a working day, and there are always calls on Friday afternoons. I’d have expected half a dozen messages at least.”

  “True. Was the machine working properly?”

  “Yep. The voice told me I had no messages.”

  “Were you expecting anything important, Marnie?”

  “I was hoping maybe there’d be something from Charles.”

  “Mm.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, it was you who said he should go into hiding.”

  Marnie looked crestfallen. “I’ll make coffee.” From the stern door, she turned back. “Anne, does it seem to you like Barbara’s starting to seem unreal, like when you get back to work after a holiday and everything seems so far away and long ago that it might never really have happened?”

  “That’s exactly how it feels.”

  “I only met her twice …”

  “But she’s back, isn’t she? She’s come back to you in the tapes.”

  “But that isn’t real. It feels like I’m just clinging on to her by my fingertips.”

  Marnie turned and backed through the door to go below. Anne concentrated on steering the boat. It seemed to her that neither Marnie nor Barbara was going to let go of the other.

  The excitement of the afternoon was to stop at a marina in Milton Keynes for a pump-out and to take on water. Feeling under no time pressure, they stopped again for a stroll round the village of Great Linford and tied up outside a pub a short distance further on to take lunch in its canalside garden. It surprised both of them that they managed to avoid talking about Barbara and Charles or Neil and Sarah for so long.

  Anne looked up from a cheese and pickle sandwich, fingering a crumb in the corner of her mouth. “You know, Marnie, this is going to be a real test of endurance or willpower.”

  Marnie looked puzzled. “Piece of cake. I’ve done this journey single-handed in the past, no problem.”

  “Not what I meant. We’ll be passing Glebe Farm about two hours after we leave here.”

  “So?”

  “Even money says you’ll have to stop to check the answerphone in the office barn.”

  “You shouldn’t gamble. You’ll lose your shirt.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “Hah … hah. Forget it. I’ve already checked the machine, did it when I went to the loo when we arrived here.”

  Anne shook her head. “Have you always been like this?”

  “Focused, you mean?”

  Anne flashed the Death Stare. “Were there any messages?”

  “Two. Beth wanting a chat. Jane Rutherford wondering if we’d reached a decision about repainting the name on Perfidia. I’ll ring them tomorrow night.”

  “Did they say when they were phoning?”

  “Both rang this morning.”

  “Mm.”

  “That’s right, no calls at all on Friday afternoon. Odd.”

  “Are we actually going to continue past Glebe Farm or do you want to call in for the night at home?”

  “Might as well carry on. Isn’t that what you’d like?”

  “Sure. So come what may and whatever you say, I just keep steering us past Knightly. Are those my orders?”

  “If you like I’ll put them in a sealed envelope only to be opened once we’ve cleared the territorial waters of Wolverton.”

  Anne laughed. Later, as they resumed their journey and the afternoon wore on, her estimate proved to be correct. In little more than two hours they cleared the lock at Cosgrove and travelled on through pleasant Northamptonshire fields and meadowland, making their approach to Knightly St John. Leaning against the bulkhead beside Anne, Marnie seemed relaxed. But it came as no surprise to Anne when Marnie reached into her pocket and pulled out the mobile. Anne rolled her eyes while Marnie pressed buttons and raised the phone to her ear.

  “Hi Angela, it’s me, Marnie.” She paused briefly to poke her tongue out at Anne. “How are things? Everything okay back at the ranch?”

  “Nothing to report, really. I’m just going over tomorrow’s sermon … bane of my life, sermons.”

>   “No visitors, commotion, excitement?”

  “Well, there was one thing. I’m not sure if I handled it very well.”

  Marnie became serious. “What happened?”

  “Dolly brought me a mouse.”

  “Was it dead?”

  Anne, unable to hear the other half of the conversation, looked startled.

  “Very. She just came into the cottage and dropped it on the kitchen floor.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Told her she was naughty, picked it up in a tissue and put it in the bin.”

  “That wasn’t the right thing to do.”

  Anne mouthed, what is it?

  Angela sounded glum. “I thought not. What should I have done?”

  “You should’ve eaten it – preferably swallowed it whole.” While Angela made yuck-yuck noises at the other end, Anne’s expression went through three shades of horror. Marnie continued. “Then you should’ve praised her hunting ability and given her a saucer of milk as a reward.”

  Anne laughed quietly and helplessly at the tiller.

  Angela replied in mock – or possibly real – horror. “Marnie, you’re dreadful!”

  “She was only showing her gratitude to you for looking after her.”

  “Please tell her not to bother in future!”

  “We’ll be passing Glebe Farm in the next ten minutes, but we’re not stopping. We’ll probably spend tonight up by Hanford. We’re well up to schedule.”

  “Right. I’ll bring the mouse down for you, if you like.”

  “Great. Dig it out of the bin. I’ll give it to Anne as a tea-time treat.”

  More grimacing from Anne.

  “Oh. there was one other thing. You had a visitor yesterday evening, Friday.”