Getaway With Murder

by McNeir, Leo

  “Of course. I understand.” Marnie had to struggle to keep her attention focused on the men. She had the feeling she was going to speak in clichés, use the kinds of expressions witnesses used in detective films.

  “I believe you tried to see the Reverend Petrie yesterday morning. Is that correct?”

  “Yes. I needed to have a word.”

  “Would you mind telling me why you wanted to see her?”

  “I’m handling a project for her, repairs to the church porch. There was something we had to discuss.”

  “Can you tell me exactly what that was, please?” Marnie hesitated. She found it difficult to think straight. “It must have been quite urgent, miss. You seemed to be very agitated when you spoke to my officer.”

  “I was surprised to see the police cars and the tape blocking the road.”

  “Yes. And the matter that you needed to speak with her about? The urgent matter?”

  “Well, I’m not sure exactly.” Marnie tried to force herself to concentrate and organise her thoughts. The inspector began to speak, but she raised her hand and made a supreme effort to be coherent. “I’m sorry. I haven’t slept very well. This has been a very stressful experience. Toni was a friend, you see. Now, she sent me a note asking me to see her about something urgent. She said she needed my help on a matter that was bothering her. That’s why I was anxious to see her and why I’m not sure what the exact matter was.”

  “She sent you a note on Monday morning? How did she do that?”

  “No. It wasn’t on Monday. It was, er, Friday. She left it when she called round, while I was out.”

  “She left a note that was urgent and you waited three days before going to see her. Is that right, miss?”

  “I tried to contact her several times. Molly Appleton in the shop will tell you that.”

  The sergeant made a note. “You said the vicar was your friend,” he said. “How long had you known her?”

  “Just a few weeks.”

  “And you were doing some work for her.” He looked over his shoulder. The scaffolding and cement mixer were framed in the window. “Do you work for a builder?”

  “I’m an interior designer. I was looking after a project for an architect I used to work with in London.”

  “And you got on well with Reverend Petrie.” Marnie nodded. She was finding his way of putting questions irritating, simple statements based on what she had already told them. He seemed to invest her words with hidden meanings. “She was a close friend?”

  Marnie shrugged. “She was a friend. We’d only known each other a short time.”

  The inspector took up the questions. “So your friend left you an urgent note on Friday and you went round to her house on Monday morning in a state of some anxiety. Why were you anxious on Monday morning but not on Friday or Saturday or Sunday? What was in the note that made you feel anxious? Do you have the note, miss?”

  “I’m not sure, I mean about the note, whether I still have it. There was something she wanted to discuss. Something was bothering her. I tried to contact her, but never quite managed to. That’s why I was anxious, concerned, on Monday. I wanted to get it sorted out. That’s all it was.”

  “And you destroyed the note?”

  “Destroyed? It was just a note. I may still have it somewhere. I don’t know.”

  “Can you remember exactly what the note said, miss?”

  Marnie drew a deep breath. “It was something like she had a problem and wanted to talk to me about it.”

  “Did it refer to the porch directly?”

  “No. It just said a problem.”

  “And you assumed it meant the building work,” said the sergeant. The statement was simple enough, but Marnie knew the note had nothing at all to do with the porch and could not understand how she had fallen into the hole of telling the police a story that she knew, and they would get to know, was false.

  “It didn’t mention the building work. It might have been something else, something more personal. She was new to the village and may have turned to me as a personal friend. I didn’t turn out to be a very good friend after all, did I?”

  “Do you live on the premises, Miss Walker?”

  “Yes. Well, actually, at the moment I’m living on the boat. It’s moored by the canal through the spinney.”

  “Do you live here alone?”

  “I have an assistant.”

  “Where is your assistant at the present time?”

  “She’s away on holiday. She left on Friday. Toni, the vicar, took her to the bus station while I was out. That’s when she left the note for me. She’ll be away for two weeks. She’s in Scotland with her parents and her brother. Her name is Anne Price, and she’s sixteen.”

  “Do you know how we can get in touch with her, where she is at the moment?”

  “No. They’re camping somewhere in the Highlands.”

  The detectives stood up. “That’s all for now, thank you. I’d like to see the note if you come across it. I may have further questions in due course.”

  In due course turned out to be later that afternoon. Bartlett arrived with Sergeant Marriner while Marnie was finalising a design for Willards’ head office. She had gone over the same area on the plans three times when Bartlett knocked on the open door and came in without waiting for an invitation.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs Walker. Sorry to trouble you again so soon. I don’t suppose you’ve come across that note? We really would like to see it.” Marnie noticed the change in title and realised they had been making enquiries about her.

  “It could be on the boat. I honestly don’t recall what I did with it.” She reached down to the waste paper basket and looked in.

  “Would it be convenient for us to take a look now?”

  Dolly was curled up on the roof of Sally Ann and raised her head as Marnie and the policemen came aboard. The sergeant stroked her head.

  “This is your cat, Mrs Walker?”

  “Yes. Dolly.”

  “And your boat?”

  “Yes. Well, no, actually. Sally Ann belongs to my sister and brother-in-law. They don’t use it much.”

  “Obviously not,” said Bartlett. Marnie showed the detectives into the cabin. The note was on the workbench in the galley. Bartlett read it and passed it to Marriner without comment. They exchanged glances. “This is rather more than just a routine note about some building repairs, wouldn’t you say, Mrs Walker? Or are you suggesting that the reference to you being the only person she is able to talk to relates to your professional expertise?”

  “I thought it would be on a more personal matter,” said Marnie.

  “A more likely assumption,” said Bartlett.

  “The problems of women vicars,” said the sergeant softly. He was wiping his hands together. Marnie found the gesture almost threatening and wondered if they could become aggressive. She suddenly felt uncomfortable, alone in the boat with the two men. She stepped back and bumped into a chair.

  “Do you remember what shoes you were wearing at the weekend?” said Bartlett.

  Marnie looked down at her feet. “Not these. I had on some casual flat shoes on Saturday and a pair of sandals on Sunday.”

  “Could you show them to me, please.” Marnie had to squeeze past the men to open the cupboard at the head of the bed. She produced both pairs.

  “Not a lot of room for your clothes,” Bartlett observed. “I’m always surprised how many things ladies have. So many different pairs of shoes, for example. My wife has piles of them.”

  “I keep most of my things in a wardrobe at the back of the office barn.” Bartlett raised an eyebrow. “Because if you keep them on the boat, they start to smell of the engine.” She pointed to the steps. “It’s just behind there and the smell of diesel seeps through after a while.”

  The policemen sniffed the air. “I see what you mean. It’s faint, but it is there. What were you wearing on Saturday? Do you remember?”

  Marnie looked up at the cabin roof. “A sweatsh
irt and a pair of jeans.”

  “Have they been washed since you wore them?” Marnie felt as if they were making a judgment on her personal habits. She felt uncomfortable again, as if they were mentally undressing her. Their questions and tone made her seem trivial. They seemed to be holding her life up for examination and finding fault with her feminine foibles.

  “Not yet. I only wore them that one day.”

  “So they’re in the wardrobe in the office?” said the sergeant.

  “Yes.”

  “We’d like to borrow them for a day or two, if you have no objection. And your casual shoes and sandals as well.” He looked down at his hands, spreading out his fingers, palms turned upwards. “Would you mind if I washed my hands? I seem to have some fur on them.” Marnie felt relieved and foolish and showed him the heads.

  “Sorry. Dolly moults in warm weather. Her fur gets everywhere. I’m always having to clean up after her. You can use the navy blue towel.” She turned to Bartlett. “Can you tell me what happened to Toni?”

  “I’m afraid it’s early days, miss … Mrs Walker. We’re still making routine enquiries. We have to establish the basic facts. Tell me something. Do you approve of women priests?” The question took Marnie by surprise.

  “I … don’t really have a view on the matter. I’m not religious, not a churchgoer. I don’t see any reason why women shouldn’t be priests.”

  “You’re not religious, you don’t attend the church, but you were the vicar’s friend, the one she turned to, the only person she could talk to about a mysterious problem.. Are you telling us you really don’t know what was worrying her?”

  “She was concerned at some vandalism in the churchyard. That may have been the problem.”

  “Nothing about this has been reported to us,” said Sergeant Marriner standing in the doorway of the heads, drying his hands. “What kind of vandalism? Do you know when it happened?”

  “Damage to a gravestone. A week or so ago.”

  “Do you know why it wasn’t reported?”

  “I suppose because Toni didn’t regard it as sufficiently serious.”

  “Not sufficiently serious,” said Bartlett slowly. “Mrs Walker, she was killed shortly afterwards. We regard vandalism as a serious matter. One violent crime can lead to another.”

  “I expect Toni hoped it might be an isolated incident and wouldn’t happen again. She’d only just settled into the parish. You must understand that she wouldn’t want to bring in the police as soon as she arrived. For all she knew it was just a freak incident.”

  “Mrs Walker,” Bartlett began, leaning forward so that his face was close to hers in the cramped space at the foot of the steps. He spoke softly. “I once heard an Irish story about a man who died. Someone asked his neighbour what he had died of and the neighbour couldn’t remember, but he thought it wasn’t anything serious. I shall want full details of this vandalism, all the facts, and I don’t want you to withhold anything. Now let’s fetch those clothes and shoes.”

  Marnie watched their car bumping up the track, trying to understand why and how she had made such a mess of their interviews. She was Toni’s friend and, more than anyone else, she wanted to find out who had caused her death. She knew she should be giving the police all the help she could, but something in their manner put her on the defensive. The suspicion with which they approached her made her actions seem questionable, made her want their meetings to finish so they would go away and leave her alone. At this very moment she knew she should get in her car, drive to the police station and give them a complete statement of everything she knew. They would think her wish to find the unknown killer of the vicar in the Civil War utterly silly and whimsical, the schoolgirl fantasy of a woman who had made a mess of her private life, now lived alone on a boat with a cat and worked in a makeshift office in a creaking barn. None of this was important. Only the finding of Toni’s killer should matter. And yet, and yet. Niggling at the back of her mind was the thought that whatever she said, they would interpret it in some other way. She knew they did not trust her or believe her. Bartlett had made that much clear. From now on, she would be more direct with them, sharing all she knew, doing everything possible to work with them for Toni’s sake.

  It was only when she turned and found herself standing alone in the silence of the deserted yard, that it occurred to her how isolated she was.

  *

  “She’s hiding something,” said Marriner as the car bumped and lurched up the field track. “Does she farm all this?”

  “No. She just owns the farm buildings. She’s doing them up to sell. Probably make a quick buck and get out before the punters find the roof leaks and the windows don’t fit. You know these flash London types. Ouch!” Bartlett’s head made contact with the roof as Marriner failed to miss a deep rut.

  “Sorry, guv. She’ll have to do something about this road, too.”

  “Well, that’s her worry. In the meantime, you could try slowing down.” He rubbed his head and braced himself in the seat. “But you’re right. There’s definitely something she’s keeping back.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “My guess is she knows what that note means and it isn’t about repairing the church. Most likely it’s connected with the vandalism. Anyway, we’ll get forensic to have a look at it and see what they come up with.”

  “We ought to have some reports from the house to house enquiries by now,” said Marriner.

  “Always assuming you manage to get us back in one piece.”

  *

  Marnie was locking the barn door when the phone called her back to the office. She was hoping it might be Ralph. It was Molly Appleton. She sounded agitated.

  “Marnie, I thought I’d let you know you’re going to have a visitor. The vicar’s coming down to see you.”

  Marnie’s vision clouded over as the floor moved under her feet. “The vicar?” For a second she wondered whether it had all been a horrible dream caused by something she had eaten.

  “Well, Randall Hughes, actually. He’s very upset, not himself at all. I heard him telling George Stubbs in the shop he was coming to talk to you.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Molly.”

  “That’s all right. Are you okay down there? We know Anne’s gone on holiday. She was telling us about it the other day. Not keen to go, was she?”

  “No. But I’m glad she’s out of all this.”

  “So you’re by yourself then.”

  “Yes. Though I seem to have the police for company at frequent intervals.”

  “Same up here. They’ve been knocking on every door in the village. Richard and I have been questioned three times already. Did we see anything suspicious, did we have any reason to suspect anyone, any strange goings on.”

  “They’ve got to do that, I’m sure,” said Marnie.

  “Don’t take it the wrong way, Marnie, but they wanted to know about you and we did mention that you’d been asking for Toni on Saturday. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. Anything we tell them will establish a clear picture of what happened.”

  “They wanted to know all about you and what you were doing. We only said what everyone knows, you know, your work at Glebe Farm, living on your boat, Anne working for you. Of course, there’s nothing else to tell.”

  “I’m sure you did the right thing, Molly. As far as I’m concerned you can tell them anything you know. I’m only too glad if it helps find who did this dreadful thing.”

  “Well, don’t feel alone down there. If you get nervous, you can always come and stay in our spare room till, you know, till they find …”

  “Yes, I know. And thank you for the offer. I’m all right at the moment, though it’s been a terrible shock. It was good of you to phone, Molly. And please don’t worry about talking to the police, whatever they want to know.”

  “Now there’s a funny thing,” said Molly. “It was really odd. Do you know what they asked us? Did we know if you had any pets?”


  “Pets?”

  “Yes. Did you have any animals? We told them about Dolly. Anne’s always telling us stories about her. Why should they want to know about a cat?” In the background Marnie heard a car pulling into the yard and brought the conversation to a close. She went to the door to meet Randall Hughes, still thinking of the police asking about Dolly, recalling the bulky shape of Sergeant Marriner rubbing his hands together in the cabin.

  Seeing Randall coming towards her, it almost seemed as if Toni had never existed, that this had always been the vicar, in his long black cassock, coming to call on routine church business. But as soon as he came nearer, Marnie saw a different man. His face was lined and gaunt, his expression drawn into a frown. He smiled but it vanished instantly. Marnie ushered him into the office, sat him on Anne’s chair and put the kettle on.

  “Marnie, have the police been to see you?”

  “Twice so far and I expect they’ll be back soon.”

  “Did they give you any indication of what happened, how Toni was killed?”

  “None at all. They didn’t tell me anything, just asked questions. I suppose they’re trying to put together an outline of the events.”

  “You know about the gravestone, don’t you?” said Randall. “You know what happened.”

  “I was the one who told Toni about it, yes.”

  “And you helped move it.”

  “Into the crypt,” said Marnie. “I haven’t told the police about that, about the vandalism, or rather about the details. I mentioned there had been vandalism and they wanted to know why Toni hadn’t reported it to them. Do you know why?”

  He sat silently staring at the floor for a few seconds. “We talked about it on the phone. I should have urged her to report it at once. Instead, I, I suggested we wait and see what would happen. Now we know what happened. Dear God …”

  Marnie got up and made coffee. “I told the police I thought she probably didn’t want to involve them in anything so soon after moving here. It would be an unhappy start to her ministry.”

  “It turned out to be an unhappy end,” said Randall. “I blame myself, of course.”

  “You can’t do that. You mustn’t. Why should you? Reporting something to the police wouldn’t have solved anything. We don’t know who did this or why. The police don’t know, either.”