Smoke and Mirrors: The next instalment of the riveting Marnie Walker series

by Leo McNeir

  Marnie began to protest. “Oh, I –”

  “They certainly do think that. And it’s curious, really. Why do people discriminate against the elderly? Doesn’t it occur to them that they’re going to be old themselves one day?”

  Marnie had never thought about it like that. She had scarcely thought about old age at all. Anne was walking beside her and she tried without success to imagine Anne as an old woman. It was impossible. Age, like accidents, happened to other people.

  “Mr Devere, I’m sure Celia wanted to make sure you were happy with the project.”

  The old man seemed not to have heard and continued with his theme. “I can understand people having prejudice against someone different – that’s the nature of discrimination, after all. Protestants against Catholics; Nazis against Jews; Shiites against Sunnis. You can do that when you’re never going to be one of them. But to show contempt for the elderly is very short-sighted. Some things cannot be changed.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “You see, it comes to us all in the end, at least … nearly all.”

  *

  Anne knew she had scored a hit when the location manager stopped in his tracks and spread his arms wide.

  “Look at this!” he declared. “Whoever set this scene up ought to take over my job.” He turned to Marnie. “Would I be right in guessing?”

  Marnie shook her head and pointed at Anne. “Her idea. Nothing to do with me.”

  The TV production team had arrived in two Range Rovers and immediately been led by Rob Cardew to the canalside for the meeting. Rob knew they rarely stayed in one place for very long and he was anxious to get started.

  Anne had set up the octagonal garden table on the bank beside Sally Ann under the cream parasol. On the table she had placed a vase filled with mixed roses picked from the farmhouse garden. Beside them stood two bowls and a jug, all of Dartington glass. One was filled with dark red cherries, the other contained a small mountain of strawberries. The jug held iced coffee. Places were set with bowls and tall glasses. In the afternoon heat, the master stroke was a pedestal fan borrowed from the office and set up a short distance away to keep the air moving.

  Once iced coffee had been served, they got down to business. With complete frankness the producer, Crispin Wade, declared that their previous two shoots on other sites had been disappointing. In coming to Knightly St John they were hoping to find something with a wow factor.

  The location manager, Roger Minton, asked if there had been any other discoveries in the area similar to Sarah Anne Day’s grave. Marnie could think of none. The conversation roamed round the possibilities of sites relating to witchcraft ancient and modern and, while the others were speaking, Marnie began to feel increasingly uneasy about how far the TV people would go in looking for their wow factor. The opportunity to voice her unease came when they asked if she had personally heard rumours or talk about witches.

  “Not at all. It’s not a hot topic in the fleshpots of downtown Knightly St John.”

  Crispin leaned forward, smiling. “We need evidence of witches, Marnie. Surely you have some local knowledge?”

  “Well, when I was last down at the coven …” She smiled back. “Seriously, Crispin, I’ve been here two years and I’ve never heard anyone mention …” Her voice faded. Toni Petrie had once explained that burials outside the churchyard were not uncommon for women accused of witchcraft. Marnie became aware that all eyes were trained on her.

  “What did you hear, Marnie?” It was the first time that Suzi Fraser-Jones, the assistant producer, had spoken.

  “Oh, nothing. I think someone once made a joke about witches being burnt at the stake –”

  “Hanged.” Adam Lewisham, the programme researcher, interrupted her. “Witches weren’t usually burnt at the stake in England, Marnie. Popular misconception. Witches were hanged.”

  Marnie put a hand to her throat. “Oh, I thought they –”

  “No. That was usual in Scotland, not England. Here they were hanged, apart from the ones that were drowned.”

  Marnie grimaced. She noticed that Anne was looking down at the table.

  “I didn’t realise …”

  “Not many people do. English witches were hanged, like Sarah Anne Day.”

  Marnie shook her head. “No, she wasn’t. She hanged herself.”

  “Do you have irrefutable evidence of that?” Lewisham spoke quietly.

  Marnie’s head was swimming. Evidence? What did they have? “I’m not sure. But everyone knows –”

  “Evidence, Marnie. We have to have firm evidence and keep an open mind.”

  Marnie raced through her memories of what they knew, what had been said at the time of the discovery of Sarah’s grave, but it was Anne who spoke first.

  “Do you have firm evidence, then, Mr Lewisham, that Sarah was hanged as a witch?”

  Lewisham smiled at Anne. “We’re beavering away.”

  “That’s very interesting. How do you do that, exactly?”

  Crispin Wade answered her. “It’s what makes Timeline different. Unlike most other archaeological programmes, we don’t concentrate on just one dig at a time. We take a subject and investigate it wherever the theme takes us. We have historians on the team who produce background details based on archive material from many sources.”

  Anne looked wide-eyed with admiration. “And your many sources are providing evidence that Sarah was hanged as a witch?”

  Wade looked at Lewisham. “As Adam said, we’re carrying out research.”

  “We had someone doing research for us about the Civil War.” Anne’s tone was matter-of-fact.

  “Who was that?” Lewisham’s tone was encouraging.

  “Just a friend of Ralph’s. What was his name, Marnie?”

  “Fellheimer.”

  Silence. Lewisham frowned.

  “Fellheimer. Guy Fellheimer? Oxford?”

  “That’s him.”

  Crispin Wade sat back and folded his arms. “You’ll want to check that out, Adam.”

  Lewisham nodded and made a note. “I think he’s at All Souls.”

  “All Saints’ College,” Anne corrected. “Like Ralph.”

  Suzi reminded the team about their time constraints, and Dick Blackwood led them off to visit the test pits. Rob Cardew stayed behind.

  “Thank you both for that. The people on the Glebe Farm dig are being spoilt.”

  Far from looking pleased, Marnie’s expression was serious.

  “Rob, do you think they’ll find evidence of witches here?”

  “Yes, I do. They’re confident they will.”

  “But not Sarah,” Anne said as she stood up and began clearing the table. “Guy Fellheimer produced her father’s will and other papers. Sarah was not a witch. That’s a fact, evidence.”

  Rob turned to Marnie. “What’s bothering you about this?”

  “I’m worried they’ll do harm to the village.”

  “How?”

  “By stirring everything up again. You don’t know what it was like when we first came here. Toni got killed. She’d only been vicar for a month. And if it hadn’t been for Anne, someone else would’ve died.”

  “But you’re satisfied that Professor Fellheimer had proof that Sarah Anne Day wasn’t a witch?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then don’t worry. Timeline may have its detractors, but if they find no evidence they won’t try and invent any.”

  Rob stood up and began piling plates together. Anne took them from him and carried them off to the galley. Marnie was watching Rob carefully.

  “Are you telling us everything, Rob?” She spoke softly.

  “Why do you ask?” He looked momentarily evasive.

  “Whenever you talk about archaeology, you light up. But when it comes to Sarah’s grave, you go quiet. Tell me it’s my imagination.”

  “The, er, remains are largely outside my scope, but …”

  “You know about them from your wife.”

  “
Yes.”

  “Is it just that you’re privy to information that the police want kept confidential? If that’s it, then fine. I can understand that. I don’t want to pry into things that are none of –”

  “There’s more, Marnie, something else.”

  “Oh?”

  Rob frowned. “I’ve no idea what it is. That’s the truth.”

  “But Rosemary knows?”

  “That’s what’s odd. She knows something’s going on, but no-one will talk to her.”

  “Then how does she know?”

  A shrug. “People turn up at the lab, ask questions.”

  “Police?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Seems reasonable. They have to investigate.”

  “She brought some papers home to work on the other night, as usual. Next day, one of the officers gave her a rollicking. Not allowed to remove anything at any time.”

  Marnie’s turn to shrug. “Forensic evidence, Rob. Wouldn’t you expect that?”

  “Marnie, no-one was there when she put the papers in her briefcase. She was the last person to leave the lab. No-one was there when she replaced them in the file. She’s always the first person in the lab next morning. So how could anyone know she’d taken them home? What do you make of that?”

  Chapter 18

  Arrested

  Anne’s first sight of Danny came when she spotted the pink hold-all at the entrance to the bus station. She swerved in and threw the passenger door open, tilting the front seat forward in one deft movement. As Danny pulled the door shut, Anne accelerated away like a racing car leaving the pits.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Danny.” She spoke breathlessly. “I seem to be behind with everything this morning.”

  “No worries.”

  “We had an enormous post and there were things that just had to be dealt with at once.”

  “Relax.”

  “It’s just that with only two of us in the office, there’s always –”

  “Anne, take it easy. It’s Saturday. Remember Saturdays? The weekend?”

  Anne breathed out audibly and loosened up her shoulders. “You’re right.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to a nice weekend in the country with a tootle on the boat, a few laughs –”

  “And a visit to the supermarket in Stony Stratford,” Anne added.

  “Especially that.”

  “I’ve got to pick up a few things for Marnie. Just a slight detour. Sorry.”

  “Anne, anything’s gotta be better than the week I’ve just had. It was so-o-o boring, sitting at home reading. I think uni’s gonna be hard work.”

  Anne swung the Mini off the roundabout at the end of the by-pass and headed for Stony Stratford. They were approaching the town when they saw a white van parked on the grass verge, its darkened glass rear windows facing towards them.

  “Looks like someone’s broken down,” Anne observed. “Hope they’re with the AA.”

  “Nah, it’s a speed trap. Look how everyone’s putting their brakes on.”

  Anne passed the van well within the speed limit and saw the writing on the side of the bodywork: Police Road Safety Unit.

  “My dad says it’s all a big con,” Danny said, “just to make money from speeding fines.”

  “Oh, look.” Anne pointed ahead.

  A grey Cavalier was coming quickly towards them. Anne flicked a stalk on the side of the steering wheel and waved.

  Danny swivelled her head as the car shot past. “Someone you know?”

  “I’m pretty sure that was Cathy Lamb’s car.”

  “Whose?”

  “She’s a detective.”

  “I thought it was a man driving.”

  “Really? I could’ve –” Anne stopped in mid-flow.

  “What is it?”

  Anne was looking in the rear-view mirror. “Uh-oh.” Her expression was puzzled as she began slowing down.

  *

  Marnie enjoyed her Saturday morning ritual. She donned white overalls, removed the cover from the MG and reversed it out of the garage barn. Going through the maintenance checks made a pleasant contrast with her normal work at the drawing board: oil, water, battery, tyres. She loved the car’s antique styling, the flowing wings, the exposed chrome headlamps and the smells of old leather and warm engine.

  Whizz-bang indeed! Celia’s description had been outrageous, but perhaps not too unkind or inappropriate.

  The little sports car burbled up the field track, dark green bodywork shining after its weekly rub-down. Marnie wanted to take it for a long run on country byways to feel the breeze in her hair and delight in the growl of the exhaust note, but not on that Saturday. She had to content herself with a short trip to the village shop followed by a brief sortie along the dual carriageway just to clear away the cobwebs and give the machinery an airing.

  Returning home down the track, she caught sight in the mirrors of a car pulling in through the field entrance. It looked familiar. Marnie left the MG to cool down in the garage.

  She turned the corner into the courtyard, expecting to find Cathy Lamb waiting for her. Marnie hoped their conversation would be brief. When she saw her visitor, she stopped abruptly.

  “Good morning, Mrs Walker.”

  “Mr Bartlett. This is a surprise.”

  Detective Chief Inspector Bartlett was a sturdy man around six feet tall, in his forties, with dark hair. He did not looked happy.

  “What brings you here this fine morning, a development with the grave site?”

  “That’s being dealt with by DS Binns. I’m here about Anne.”

  Marnie gasped. “Is she all right? Has there been an –”

  “She’s cited me as a witness, apparently.”

  “A witness to what? What’s happened?”

  “It appears that –” He turned his head. “Hang on. I think we’re both about to get an answer to your question.”

  The red Mini pulled up behind the unmarked grey police Cavalier and Anne stepped out. Danny climbed out on the other side. They both looked sheepish.

  After greetings and introductions, they went into the office. Marnie offered Bartlett a seat and asked Danny if she would make coffee while they spoke.

  “So what’s this all about?” Marnie asked Bartlett.

  The detective asked Anne to explain.

  “It’s a silly misunderstanding, Marnie.”

  “About what?”

  “I sort of got arrested.”

  “Arrested? What on earth for?”

  Bartlett interrupted. “That’s not strictly correct. Anne was stopped by a police motorcyclist working in conjunction with a road safety camera team.”

  Marnie was incredulous. “You, speeding? I don’t believe it.”

  “Not for speeding,” Bartlett corrected. “For signalling to an oncoming vehicle that a speed check was ahead of it.”

  “Is that a crime?”

  “It can be regarded as an offence, seeking to impede the police in their work.”

  “But I didn’t,” Anne protested weakly.

  “You deny flashing your headlights at me and making a gesture?”

  “No.”

  “Does anyone take sugar?” Danny called from the kitchen area.

  “Two spoons for Mr Bartlett,” Anne replied.

  Bartlett opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it.

  Marnie looked across at Anne. “You don’t deny doing what Mr Bartlett said? But you just said you didn’t do it. I’m getting lost here.”

  “Marnie, we were on the way to Stony Stratford. There was this van parked on the verge. Danny said it was a speed trap. Everyone was slowing down. After we passed it I saw this car coming towards us. I flipped the headlights and waved. Then this police motorbike came tearing up behind us with its lights flashing.”

  “Exactly.” Bartlett folded his arms. “If that isn’t an admission of guilt, what is it? What did you think you were doing, Anne?”

  Danny placed a cup in front of Bartlett on Ma
rnie’s desk. “Waving at someone called Cathy Lamb,” she said quietly.

  Bartlett looked up at her. “Cathy Lamb? What’s she got to do with it?”

  Danny shrugged. “That’s what Anne said at the time. I saw her wave at this car, asked her who it was. She said, Cathy Lamb.”

  Anne nodded. “That’s right. I was sure it was Cathy’s grey Cavalier, going really fast, just like Cathy drives. That’s probably why I was mistaken. It was well over the speed limit.”

  Bartlett cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

  “Oh it was.” Danny was emphatic. “It was really moving. But I saw there was a man at the wheel and said so. When the speed cop pulled us over, Anne said to him that perhaps DCI Bartlett would back up what she said.”

  “It was just a friendly wave.” Anne sounded deflated.

  Bartlett sipped his coffee. “Yes, well …”

  “A misunderstanding, like Anne said?” Marnie suggested.

  “Possibly.”

  “Of course, Inspector, I’m sure there was a good reason why you were driving so fast.” Marnie looked at him expectantly. “We’re really sorry to have held you up like this.”

  “I’ll speak to Highways.” Bartlett drained his cup and stood up. “Thank you for the coffee.”

  “A pleasure. Nice to see you again.”

  *

  They split forces for the rest of the morning. Ralph needed to finish a chapter in the book he was writing. Marnie had more loose ends to tidy up. Anne offered Danny a choice.

  “Anything I want, that I really really want?”

  Anne grimaced. “If you promise to leave out the Spice Girls impression.”

  “How about a nice quiet walk by the canal, then a spot of sunbathing by the water?”

  “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

  They wandered through the spinney. The sun was warming the air, even in the shade of the trees. When they emerged, Danny pointed ahead.

  “What’s happened to your boat?”

  “That’s not Sally Ann. She’s over there, alongside Thyrsis.”

  “Then what’s this, and why’s it covered up?”

  “It belongs to a friend. We’re looking after it for him. Come and see.”

  Anne pulled aside part of the cover to reveal dark grey paintwork. Danny stared for some seconds before enlightenment dawned.