by McNeir, Leo
*
Beth and Paul had long since given up trying to make conversation at the bedside. Occasionally Beth would lean over and whisper something to Marnie, but it made her feel self-conscious and in any case she could not think of much to say. She wished Anne was there with her non-stop murmuring in Marnie’s ear.
They had grown accustomed to the constant coming and going of the nurses, endlessly reading the indicators and writing notes on the graphs, checking the bottles and sachets that fed the drips with plasma and drugs. In the late afternoon the degree of activity increased as first one nurse took the readings, then summoned a colleague and they were finally joined by the consultant. Beth felt her mouth go dry as she watched the three of them standing in a group on the opposite side of the bed, talking in quiet voices. She sensed that something had happened and looked up at the readings glowing in different colours, the numbers flickering by the slightest of margins, no more than a decimal point of variation. It seemed no different from any other time, but the medics remained talking, heads close together, faces serious in concentration. One of the nurses walked away and returned in moments with a new plastic bag of fluid that she used to replace one of the existing bags on the console. She made notes on a chart and re-joined the discussion. Beth strained to hear what was being said and suddenly felt Paul’s hand touch her own. She swallowed. If only they would talk to us, she thought, and held her husband’s hand in a tight grip.
As if he had heard Beth’s thoughts, Dr Morton turned and looked in their direction. He spoke to the nurses again and walked round the bed. Beth wondered how often he managed to smile in his work. He seemed to carry with him a constant air of seriousness and concern, a man who could not afford a single mistake in anything he did. It made Beth’s work seem trivial in comparison.
“We’re going to reduce the level of sedation,” he said. “Now that everything is stable for the moment, we’re going to bring her back up to the surface.”
“Is that a sign of progress?” said Beth feebly. Morton gave the merest hint of a smile.
“One step at a time,” he said.
*
Marriner and Lamb followed Dixon, the estate agent, from room to room in the vicarage. Already it was beginning to smell of neglect and, for all the weather had mainly been fair, inside the house was cold with a threat of dampness.
“Hard to tell,” said Marriner standing in the master bedroom. “What do you think, Cathy?”
“It’s all neat and tidy, sarge.” She went over to the window and looked down into the garden. “Same as outside. It’s all being looked after.”
“That’s Mr Stubbs,” said Dixon. “He’s arranged to have the garden maintained.”
Marriner stood by the bed. “It doesn’t look as if anyone’s sleeping here,” he said. “The bed’s not been touched.”
“Is that what you think is happening?” said Dixon. “Someone living here?” There was no reply from Marriner or Lamb. “You can always tell when someone’s got in. We see it all the time. There’s usually a terrible mess. You wouldn’t believe what goes on. I mean, some of the bathrooms are disgusting. It’s like –”
“Yes, sir, we can imagine,” Marriner interrupted him. “We see the less appealing side of human nature all the time in our work.” Cathy Lamb was looking in the cupboards.
“Yes, of course,” said Dixon. “But there’s no evidence of a break-in, is there? And the garage was locked. The house looks to me just as it was when I came over to check all the services were turned off after the Reverend Petrie …” His voice trailed away. Marriner looked grim. Another blank. Bartlett would go through the roof if they did not find something soon. Cathy lifted up the edge of the counterpane and looked under the bed.
“Thank you, sir,” said Marriner, turning to leave the room. “If anything comes to light, I’d be glad if you’d –”
“Sarge?” Cathy was pulling something out. “Have a look at this. It seems to be …”
“A sleeping bag,” said Dixon. It was a good quality piece of equipment. The label gave the make as Blacks of Greenock.
“Do you know if this was here when you came before?” said Marriner.
Dixon frowned and shook his head. “Sorry, can’t help you there. I certainly didn’t see it.” Suddenly his expression lightened. “Just a minute.” He opened his file and studied it closely. “There’s no sleeping bag shown on the inventory. It might have been put there in the last week or so.”
“Right,” said Marriner. “Let’s check the whole house again for any other signs, now that we know someone has been here.”
“It could just have been overlooked, sergeant. How could anyone have broken in? There’s usually a broken window or a lock forced. I know for a fact that everything was secure. We’re very careful about that sort of thing.”
“Who might have a key to the property?” said Cathy.
“A key? The vicar, of course, but all her things are still being held at the police station. We keep one at the office. There may be a spare somewhere.”
“Is that all?” said Marriner. “Anyone else?”
“No. Oh, the previous vicar might still have one, I suppose. Mr Hughes.”
*
Ralph tried not to notice the tiredness that was weighing him down as he turned the hired car out of Oxford towards the northern by-pass. He sustained himself by thinking of Marnie in hospital and the need to get back to Anne as quickly as he could. Somewhere on his list of priorities was a shower and a change of clothes.
The first indication of a problem was the flashing of warning lights up ahead. He strained his weary eyes to see what was happening in the distance and groaned inwardly. There was a tailback on the approach to the A34 roundabout. The problem was that the roundabout was still a long way off. Everything was at a complete standstill.
*
Anne stirred in her sleep, blinked and was instantly wide awake. She sat up, trying to remember how she had come to be lying on the bed on Sally Ann. The sudden movement caused the cat to stretch and yawn.
“Hallo, Dolly,” Anne said automatically. She looked at the sleeves of the unfamiliar white dressing gown and her recollection returned. She felt a weight in the pit of her stomach at the thought of Marnie and stood up to check the time. How long had she been asleep? What had happened? Where was Ralph? She must have stood too quickly, for she was momentarily dizzy and had to sit down in the saloon. Her eyes focused on Ralph’s note. He had written the time of his departure. Just over an hour ago. With luck he should be back any time now. The mobile lay on the table. She rang the ITU. No change. She left a message for Beth and Paul that she would be on her way back soon and found the key to the doors of Sally Ann.
All her clothes were in the loft in the office barn and she belted the bath robe around her as she set off through the spinney. All was quiet in the early evening. Anne loved this place, despite all that had happened, and she wondered if Marnie would ever walk here again. She quickly put the thought out of her head. It was a form of heresy and that was a word she had learned to hate.
The first sign that all was not as it should be was the door to the office barn. Anne could not believe that Ralph would leave it open and she knew it had been closed when they arrived. She stopped and looked carefully for any other abnormality. There was nothing for it but to go on and she trod quietly, advancing from tree to tree to the edge of the spinney. It was then that she heard the sound, as if a chair had scraped on the floor. Could it be Ralph? That was the logical answer, but she could not see the car and all her instincts told her that it was unwise to assume too much these days. She crept forward without a sound, reached the side of the barn and listened. There seemed to be a low murmur from inside. Anne took a deep but silent breath and looked round the corner into the office. What she saw made her gasp.
Two men were in the middle of the office, one kneeling, the other lying in front of him. Anne could not see who was on the floor, but at once recognised the back of Albert Fletcher
. Her sudden intake of breath caused him to turn and, as he caught sight of her, his eyes grew wide with shock. It was a feeling they both shared. Anne could now see the man lying on the floor. It was Randall Hughes, as pale and as still as death. On the ground beside Albert Fletcher lay a heavy pocket knife, its blade unfastened.
Later, when she looked back on that moment, Anne could not remember why she acted as she did. All her instincts made her want to run away as fast as her legs would take her. But there was something about the scene, something pathetic about Albert Fletcher kneeling there, staring at her, desolate. Without a word she rushed forward and knelt beside the old man. She saw the dreadful bruising round Randall’s neck and the remains of a belt in the farmer’s hands. The end had been sliced through by a sharp blade and the other part was dangling from the beam over their heads. Randall Hughes groaned and his head moved from side to side, his eyes flickering.
“You’re shaking, Mr Fletcher. Are you all right?” He stared at her without speaking and she got up to fetch a glass of mineral water. “Here. Try some of this.” While he sipped, she took the cardigan from the back of Marnie’s chair, rolled it up and put it under Randall’s head. She could think of nothing else to do.
“I thought,” the old man began. “I thought you were …” He could not continue and Anne urged him to take another sip of water. Tears filled his eyes as he lowered the glass. “I have done a wicked thing.” His voice was a dry croak. “I will never be forgiven.”
“I think you’ve saved his life, Mr Fletcher.” She looked up at the piece of leather belt hanging down. “I couldn’t have done that. Your sharp knife saved him … that and your strength.”
“But I have done wicked things.”
“No, no. That’s not true. You’ve saved his life.”
“I saw them, Marnie and the vicar. I saw them at the gravestone, when I was walking. I saw what it was and kept an eye on it. I thought it was heresy, thought it was my duty to smash it. Now it’s come to this.”
“He’ll be all right,” said Anne, desperate to know what to do. “Would you like a drop of brandy? Marnie keeps some in the cupboard for emergencies.” She quickly fetched a small cognac and raised the glass to his lips. He coughed and Anne wondered whether to try pouring a few drops onto the lips of Randall Hughes, who was regaining consciousness, breathing raggedly with open mouth. She jumped at the unexpected sound of the mobile ringing in the pocket of the dressing gown. She pulled it out and pressed the green button.
“Anne? It’s Ralph. Look, I’ve been held up but I’m clear of Oxford now. I’m in Bicester. Should be with you soon. Are you okay?”
“Yes. Ralph, there’s been an accident. I’m not sure what to do. Mr Hughes has, er, injured himself.”
“How?”
She lowered her voice. “I think he’s tried to hang himself.”
“What?!”
“Yes, in the office barn. I’m here now with Mr Fletcher. He cut him down and saved his life. What should I do? Must I get the police? I’m really out of my depth here.”
“Oh god,” said Ralph. “Are you in danger?”
“No.”
“What state is Mr Hughes in? Does he need emergency treatment?”
“He’s coming round.”
“And the old man?”
“I’ve given him some brandy, but he’s very upset.”
“Sounds like you’re doing all the right things, Anne. I suggest you ring Mr Fletcher’s family and get someone to pick him up. Ask for someone to stay with you and Mr Hughes till I get back. I’ll be about twenty minutes.” She ran off and did as Ralph had said. Randall Hughes was still not fully conscious and the marks on his neck were becoming increasingly dark and livid. Anne noticed the stubble on his jaw; he looked like a vagrant.
“I wanted to atone,” said the old man, putting a hand on Anne’s shoulder. He closed his eyes. “I could not believe what I did … such a wicked thing.”
“You don’t have to tell me, Mr Fletcher. It’s all right. Talk about it when you feel better.”
“No, no. I want to tell you. I have to tell you. You are good. You’re a good girl, Anne. When I saw you come in, I thought you were … her.” He raised his eyes towards the beam. Anne wondered who he meant.
“What you did was very good, Mr Fletcher, very good.”
The farmer shook his head. “The gravestone. I desecrated it, smashed it to pieces. It was a dreadful sin. I am ashamed. And I damaged the car, took the photos from the boat.” He hung his head. “It was her gravestone, her who hanged herself.” Anne stared up at the beam, at the hook that hung near her desk, where she worked every day, under the loft where she slept every night.
“Never mind,” she said with difficulty. “No harm’s been done and you’ve saved Mr Hughes. I think that pays it back, don’t you?”
The old man looked intently at her face. “You don’t know who killed the vicar, do you?”
“No,” said Anne. “I’ve no idea. Do you?”
“No, but I know it wasn’t him.” He looked down at Randall.
Anne was shocked at the thought that anyone could have suspected him. “Of course not,” she said.
“He’s not a bad man, just wanted different things.” The old farmer searched Anne’s face with a desperate stare. “You can’t go on hating for ever. It’s wrong, evil.”
“I know. You’re right. That’s what Marnie says about Northern Ireland.”
“It’s the same thing. God forgive us and God bless you, my dear child.” Anne was really not sure how to handle this and was relieved to hear a car bumping down the field track faster than seemed wise. A dusty Land Rover pulled into the yard. Anne helped the old man to his feet as Leonard Fletcher and Molly Appleton rushed into the barn. They stared in amazement.
“Thanks for phoning me. I picked Molly up on the way down. Maureen’s busy with the kids.”
Molly knelt beside Randall and loosened his collar. She fetched a tea towel from the sink, dampened it and applied it to Randall’s forehead. He groaned. “Leonard, you take your dad off home. We’ll manage here all right.”
“What happened, exactly?” said the younger man. Anne pointed to the piece of belt hanging from the beam.
“Your father cut him down.” She picked up the knife, closed the blade and handed it to Leonard.
“Have you phoned the police?” he said.
“No. Only you. Ralph said just to phone you till he gets here.”
“It’s just, for everyone’s sake, it may be better not to …”
“I know,” said Anne. “Don’t worry. Ralph will do what’s right.”
Randall began to come round after the two men had left. He grimaced and raised a hand to his neck, swallowing painfully. Molly put her hands on his shoulders.
“Just lie still for a bit, vicar,” she said. “You’ve had a nasty shock.” His eyes opened slowly and he looked from Molly to Anne to the beam and the belt. He was breathing quickly now, but Molly turned the damp cloth on his head. “Just take it gently.”
“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” said Anne.
“He’ll mend, yes. We don’t want any more unhappiness in this village. We’ve had more than our share.”
“We don’t need to tell anyone, do we?” said Anne.
“That may depend on what your friend says. But I think Leonard was right.”
Minutes later Ralph arrived in the hired car. Anne gave him an account of everything that had happened, including what Leonard and Molly had said. During Anne’s narration Molly sat on the floor beside Randall, who was now awake and could hear every word.
Ralph took Anne to one side and spoke softly to her, his hands on her shoulders. “Anne, what do you know about Mr Hughes?”
“He’s been in hiding.”
“You mean from the police?”
“I suppose so, from everyone.”
“He’s a suspect?”
I don’t know. I do know Marnie’s been very worried about him.”
“Only to himself. He told Marnie it was all his fault, that he let Toni down.”
“And Marnie wasn’t afraid of him? You’re sure of that?”
“Absolutely. I think she was afraid he might do something like this. I’m sure she didn’t blame him. Nor does Mr Fletcher.” She looked round at Randall, resting on one elbow, rubbing his neck. “Nor do I.”
“I see.” Ralph thought hard.
“If Marnie was here,” said Anne, “I know she’d want to help him. She thinks he’s suffered enough already.”
Randall spoke softly, his voice unfirm. “Where is Marnie?”
Ralph frowned and knelt down beside him. He put his hand on Randall’s shoulder. “Why did you do this?”
Randall shook his head slightly. “God knows, or perhaps he doesn’t. I thought I could atone in some way for what I did. If I hadn’t told Toni not to report the vandalism to the police, she’d be alive today.”
“Do you know who killed her?”
“I truly have no idea.”
Ralph looked at Randall intently for some seconds. “How do you feel?”
“Foolish is the short answer.” His voice was hoarse.
“Are you in pain?”
“Discomfort.”
“Are you …”
“I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
“Do you know the police are searching for you?”
“I couldn’t face anybody.”
“They know where you were, or at least, they have a pretty good idea.”
“Pity. I’d rather not …” He cleared his throat and swallowed. “I’d rather not be seen by them in my present state.”
