No Secrets (MARNIE WALKER Book 6)

by Leo McNeir

“I’ll drop the keys in at the office.”

  “Okay. Gotta go, Marnie. See you!”

  Marnie disconnected and rang the office to check the answerphone. How did people live before we had modern gadgets? she wondered, listening to the ringing tone. One message.

  “Marnie, this is Sarah. Isn’t it wonderful? Neil’s solicitor thinks there’s a real chance he’ll be released soon pending a review. I’m so grateful for all your help. We’ll talk soon. Bye!”

  50

  On Sunday night they had stopped within easy reach of Bull’s Bridge and enjoyed a dinner of baked salmon with herbs, a tossed salad and sliced fresh pineapple. The galley smelled of hot bread, a part-baked small stick finished off in the oven, as Anne unstoppered the rest of the red wine. They had left themselves a final run the next morning of around four hours to their destination, but the last of the locks was behind them, and with their customary early start they expected to be in Little Venice in good time for lunch.

  Monday morning saw Marnie guide Perfidia under the white-painted arch of Bull’s Bridge to turn left onto the Grand Union’s Paddington Arm. An hour or so later she was steering a twisty course through an industrial zone before heading towards open parkland. Marnie had a private rule never to phone anyone before nine o’clock in the morning. She checked her watch. As the second hand swept to the top of the dial, she pressed buttons and dialled Charles’s mobile.

  He sounded tired. “Hallo, Marnie.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Do you want us to meet in London today? We’re about two hours from Little Venice.”

  He hesitated. “I’m not sure. There’s a lot happening and I can keep in touch just as easily from up here without being pestered by journalists.”

  “I understand. I’ve been reading about the situation in the press. Can you fill me in?”

  “Well I ,er, don’t like to –”

  “What’s the problem, Charles? I don’t get it. All that can’t talk on the phone business goes back to when calls were put through by operators. No-one can hear what you’re saying.”

  “I suppose not.” His voice was flat.

  “So what is going on?”

  “Over the past few days there’ve been … developments. You know that the so-called witness was arrested last week in a drug operation by the police.”

  Marnie was getting impatient. “The whole country knows that, Charles. It’s in all the papers.”

  “While she was being held, she told one or two people that she’d ‘assumed’ it was Gerard who returned to Perfidia on the night of the murder. She said she couldn’t swear she’d seen him clearly.”

  “But she did … swear, I mean. She gave evidence to that effect.”

  “Which is why what she said in custody was important.”

  “But what she said to drug suspects wouldn’t count as reliable evidence, surely?”

  “It’s not as simple as that, Marnie. One of the people was an undercover police officer. That’s why I was reluctant to talk about it. It’s all strictly confidential. You won’t read that in the papers. Keep it to yourself.”

  “Absolutely. So this undercover person reported what he’d heard?”

  “She … it was a woman officer. She got Belle Starkey talking and became convinced she was telling the truth.”

  “Would the police want that story made public? I thought they were certain of Neil’s guilt.”

  “They didn’t have much choice, Marnie. The story was public anyway. Other suspects had heard her and they blabbed to the press after they were let out.”

  “So where does that leave Neil Gerard?”

  “My QC is pressing for an early release pending a re-examination of the facts. One fingerprint on a gas valve isn’t enough to convict a man of murder when the only witness to his presence at the scene admits she could’ve been wrong.”

  “I suppose it changes everything.”

  “Of course. We’re arguing it’s suspicious that only Gerard’s fingerprints were found on the gas system.”

  “And the fact that you, Charles, are involved in seeking his release must add huge weight to the argument. But I bet the police won’t be happy at being made to look foolish.”

  “On the contrary, Marnie, it speaks volumes for the integrity of Bruere and his colleagues.”

  “Will he be in trouble because of the wrongful arrest and imprisonment of Neil?”

  “No, his investigation was done by the book. Gerard was right. Everything was properly conducted, except the wrong person was convicted. I’m just so relieved it’s turning out like this.”

  Marnie had a sudden insight. “Do you think you know who did it, Charles?”

  “No. I have no idea. But I’m absolutely certain it wasn’t Neil Gerard. I believe he’s a man of complete honesty, at least in that regard.”

  “That’s very generous of you, considering …”

  “I have to face the facts, Marnie. I have to accept that Barbara played her part in deceiving me. Any man might have succumbed to her beauty and charisma. I know I did.”

  There was nothing Marnie could say. Having known Barbara and heard the tapes, she knew he was right.

  Charles had the last word. “I keep thinking, thank goodness we don’t have capital punishment, Marnie. If we did, Gerard would have been hanged.”

  For Marnie, Little Venice was the prettiest place on the whole canal system, or at least as much of it as she had seen. Returning to Sally Ann’s old base always felt like a home-coming. From gliding slowly past the first of the moored boats, to passing under the bridge and into the pool by Browning Island was always magic. But not that day.

  Within sight of the first moorings Marnie brought out the binoculars and focused into the distance. Even at that range she could see a mass of boats clustered round the island. The telephoto effect made it look as if the travellers formed an impenetrable mass of vessels, and she could imagine the struggle that Mike Brent and his staff were having, trying to keep the passage clear for through traffic. She passed the binoculars to Anne, the word chaos in her mind, and rang Jane Rutherford to let her know they were approaching. Her next call was to the BW office, where she left a message for Mike Brent on the answerphone to tell him they had arrived.

  The first craft in line was a houseboat, a converted barge, and in accordance with Mike’s instructions Marnie tucked Perfidia in behind it. Muttering excuse-me to the absent owner who was at work, they stepped onto the bank, walked through his tiny garden and out by the gate into the street. Halfway to the bridge they were met by Jane beside her boat. She surprised Marnie by linking arms with her as she told them the whole story of the police drugs operation while they walked to Mrs Jolly’s house.

  The word in Little Venice was that the police came across the drugs ring as soon as they began investigating the dismembered body in the sack. A tattoo and DNA had led them immediately to the house of the corpse where they picked up a trail to the local drugs network. It had been a piece of inspired, opportunistic policing that had caught the underworld off-guard and led to dozens of arrests. Significantly, Marnie thought, Jane did not mention that it was an undercover police officer who heard Belle Starkey’s rash utterances and reported them up the chain of command. That remained a secret.

  They stopped at the bridge to look down on the pool. Where normally the only craft present were the waterbuses at their station on one side and the art gallery and other barges on the other, with the tree-covered island in the middle, today all was a shambles. Stacked three and four abreast all around the pool, the travellers’ boats presented an outlandish spectacle. Most were in dire need of a lick of paint; many were piled high with logs, sacks of coal and bicycles on the roof; some were covered overall in tarpaulins in various shades of black and grey; rust was a favoured option. Of the occupants nothing was to be seen.

  Anne spoke first. “Blimey. It looks like the Harbour from Hell.”

  “I thought Mike was
supposed to be sorting this out,” Marnie observed in a neutral tone.

  Jane was uncertain. “There’s some sort of meeting going on, I think.”

  “So where is everybody?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Marnie. Mike’ll handle it.” She tugged her arm. “Let’s go and have lunch.”

  Predictably, the conversation at Mrs Jolly’s house centred on the body in the canal, the drugs raid and the impact of Belle Starkey’s recanting on the Neil Gerard campaign. There was only one part of the whole situation that interested her, and she waited patiently for the chance to raise it.

  “Roger, as a lawyer, what do you think are Neil’s prospects for getting an appeal or a retrial or whatever? What’s likely to happen to him now?”

  Roger Broadbent dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Any number of things are possible, Marnie. It depends what’s going on behind the scenes. I imagine there’ll be discussions between the judiciary, the Crown Prosecution Service, the police …”

  “Charles Taverner’s got a barrister involved, a QC. Would that make a difference?”

  “It can’t do any harm. We’ll never know the details of what they’re discussing, but if the various parties agree that the case against Gerard was unsafe after all, he could be released quite soon. There are procedures.”

  “And does it seem that way to you, from what you’ve heard?”

  Roger shrugged. “It’s impossible to tell, Marnie. Why don’t you ask Charles Taverner? You’re still in touch with him. He’ll know everything that’s going on, I’m quite sure of that.”

  It was about the time when Marnie thought they should be leaving, that she discovered her mistake. While looking in her shoulder bag for a paper tissue, she spotted Perfidia’s keys. Damn! she muttered under her breath. Anne noticed this from across the room and raised an eyebrow. Marnie lifted the key ring out of the bag. In reply, Anne’s mouth formed a letter O.

  Mrs Jolly noticed this exchange. “Something wrong, Marnie?”

  Marnie raised the keys higher for all to see. “I was supposed to drop the keys into the BW office for Mike to move the boat.”

  Glancing towards the window, Roger said, “I doubt much will’ve happened over the past hour or two.”

  “Even so, I know they want to get things sorted out as soon as they can.”

  “Why not pop over there now?” Anne said. “I promised Mrs Jolly I’d help clear up. I’ll stay here, and you can give me a ring when you want me to come over.”

  “Good idea,” Mrs Jolly agreed.

  Marnie got up. “I expect I’ll be about fifteen, twenty minutes.”

  Two surprises followed in quick succession. As Marnie reached the bridge she caught her first glimpse of the pool. Someone had waved a magic wand. The travellers’ boats had vanished. She scanned the whole area. Not one remained. It was as if they had never been there. Then her eyes fell on an unexpected sight. Tied up on the far side of the pool, just beside the waterbus moorings lay … Perfidia. To reassure herself that she was not mistaken, Marnie reached into her bag and pulled out the keys attached to their familiar ring with the green cord and the cork ball. She frowned in concentration. How had Perfidia been moved to this new place from the far end of the moorings when Marnie held the boat’s keys in her hand?

  What were the possible explanations? Had she been towed down from where they had left her? Unlikely. And why would they do that? There was one way to find out. Marnie walked briskly along the footpath, over the next bridge and down to the BW office in the old toll house. It was a charming Regency cottage with iron railings round the tiny courtyard entrance. She rang the bell and pushed open the front door. A third surprise awaited her. The lobby by the reception desk was almost filled with a pram. Three women were standing round it, talking in hushed voices, and they looked at Marnie with expressions that urged her not to make a noise. The occupant of the pram was sleeping.

  One of the women recognised Marnie and smiled at her, indicating that they should talk outside.

  “Sorry about that, Marnie. Karen hasn’t chosen a very good day to drop in on us. She used to work here. We haven’t seen her since she left to have the baby.”

  “You’ve had quite a busy time, I gather. Actually, I came to see Mike.”

  “Sorry, he’s not here at the moment. He popped out to see one or two people when the travellers began leaving.”

  “When will he be back, do you know?”

  “Not sure. He’s always in and out, you know what he’s like.”

  “Will you tell him I called by. And thank him for moving Perfidia. I’ve just got to fetch some things from the boat before I leave.”

  “That’s no problem.”

  Marnie walked slowly under the bridge and stood for a short while on the towpath contemplating Perfidia. Something was bothering her. It felt like a dream that had evaporated on waking and was impossible to recapture. She tried to concentrate hard, and was attempting to get back to the source of her concern by a process of systematic thought when she heard a voice behind her.

  “Excuse me, excuse me.”

  It took Marnie a few seconds to realise the voice was addressing her. She turned to see the woman with the pram.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry, but you’re blocking the path. I need to get by.”

  Marnie snapped back to consciousness. “Oh, yes, thoughtless of me.”

  “I would’ve said it was the opposite.” The woman smiled brightly. “You seemed to be full of thoughts.”

  Marnie stepped aside to make room for the pram to pass. “Yes, I was. But it’s no excuse.”

  “That’s all right. I saw you in the office just then. You used to have a mooring here, didn’t you? You won’t remember me, but everyone knows you.”

  They began walking slowly along the path. “You’re Karen,” Marnie said. “And you used to work in the office until junior here came along.”

  “That’s right!” She seemed delighted. “It’s great being a mother, but somehow you become invisible. Everyone gives all their attention to the baby.”

  “Do you mind that?”

  “No, not at all.” She laughed quietly. “It’s just such a surprise to be reminded that I’m a person in my own right.”

  “When did you leave?”

  “Christmas.”

  “So you had a combined leaving do and Christmas party, a nice send-off.”

  “Not really. Don’t you remember? There was that dreadful flu epidemic. It was like the Great Plague of London round here. There were no parties, not even a glass of wine.”

  “Of course. The office was virtually shut down. You must’ve been the only one left in the place.”

  “More or less. At the end there was only Mike and me.”

  “Mike? I thought he had a bad dose, too.”

  “He did. He had the worst dose of all, apparently. I heard he went off the same day that I left, so the office had to be shut down early. I remember putting something in his in-tray – something he’d left on the photocopier – and then I just went.”

  “So no memorable send-off on your last day.”

  Karen looked serious. “It was memorable, all right. I can’t ever forget it.”

  “You felt so lousy with the flu?”

  Karen shook her head slowly and lowered her voice. “It was the day Barbara Taverner was murdered, the fifteenth of December.” They had come to a halt beside Perfidia. Karen looked at it as she continued. “The boat was moored just round in the arm, next to Belle Starkey. It’s awful to think I was coming out of the office at about the time she was …”

  They both stared at the boat. It lay at rest, a silent witness unable to tell its story.

  Marnie put a hand on Karen’s arm. “You’ve got other things to think of now.”

  They parted company on a more cheerful note, and Karen pushed the pram up the slope to the bridge. Marnie watched her go and then let herself in to the boat. Unbeknown to her, her conversation with Karen had been observed
from the bridge.

  Something was wrong. Marnie dumped her bag on the table in the boat’s dining area and sat down while confused thoughts assailed her from all sides. She tried to untangle everything. What’s bothering you, Marnie? Make one of Anne’s lists. Put your worries in order.

  She sat back. Her bag was lying on its side, and she could see the boat keys that she had just dropped in it. The keys … what about the keys? All right, she thought, there’s a question about the keys. Just leave it like that for now. That’s item one.

  Who had moved the boat to the pool from the end of the moorings? That was easy. It must have been Mike or one of his staff. But there was something else that concerned her about moving the boat. It was a memory from way back, and she only now realised it was a question that should have been asked some other time. Confusion was creeping over her again, and she decided to leave the matter of moving the boat as item two.

  The greatest source of doubt was Karen. It had been a simple conversation, just a few words spoken between near strangers, but it had unsettled Marnie for reasons she could not fathom. The flu epidemic … It was like the Great Plague of London round here … What could it be that was troubling her? The fifteenth of December, the day Barbara was murdered.

  Marnie added up her mental list of questions: the keys, moving the boat, the flu epidemic, the day Barbara died, Karen in the office, abandoning it because she felt too ill to struggle on. The questions flew around in her mind, racing out of control. But gradually they fell into a pattern, formed a perfect circle. Everything began to fit together. All had become clear. It all made sense, and in that moment she knew exactly what had happened.

  The knock on the side door made Marnie jump. She was gathering herself to reply when the doors opened and someone came backwards down the steps. As she watched the black shoes and the dark business suit descending, their wearer turned and Marnie found herself confronted by Charles Taverner.

  “You,” she said. “I thought you were in Knightly St John.”