Stick in the Mud: A riveting murder mystery

by Leo McNeir

  “Did you manage to get the whole picture out of Dr Fennimore’s secretary?” Anne asked.

  “No,” Zoë said. “I couldn’t really question her without letting on that I was in the dark. It would be too degrading. I just made appropriate noises. All I gathered was …” she lowered her voice, “Dick thinks he’s found King John’s lost treasure in the Wash.”

  “That’s about it,” said Donovan.

  “I don’t see how he could manage that single-handed,” Zoë said.

  “He seems to have struck up some sort of partnership with a landscape archaeologist at UEA.”

  “Oh? Who’s that?”

  Donovan hesitated before replying. Zoë drew an impatient breath.

  “You may as well tell me. I’m going to find out sooner or later. And I probably know this character anyway.”

  “A guy called Parfitt.”

  “Oh, Gerry Parfitt … sorry, I mean Gerald.” Zoë pronounced the name with exaggerated emphasis. “Actually, Gerald’s quite sound, though I wouldn’t have thought marine archaeology was his thing.”

  “Do you think Dick’s discovery is really major, Zoë?” Anne asked.

  Zoë reflected. “I suppose it is.” She picked up her cup and looked at them over the rim. “If we can assume it’s really true …”

  *

  For Marnie and Ralph it was a near-perfect cruise out of London. The occasional cloud took the sting out of the sun, maintaining a steady warmth, tempered by the faintest breeze. The engine on Thyrsis was fitted with a heavy-duty silencer, and the boat cut through the water with a deep muted burbling, a far cry, Marnie thought, from the clatter of the Lister on Sally Ann.

  That afternoon, with one hand on the tiller and the other holding the cruising guide, Ralph suggested a pub supper. He recalled a place within walking distance of Cowley Peachey Junction that had a good reputation for its bar meals. Marnie agreed, and they made plans for the rest of their day. The aim was to take the boat up beyond the turn-off for the Slough Arm after eating, tie up for the night and tackle the first lock the following morning.

  Once again Marnie thought of her first voyage on Sally Ann a few years earlier, when she was learning about boating. Perched on the roof by the hatch, she looked back at Ralph whose confident steering made everything look easy. She smiled inwardly at the memory of the many errors she had made in her apprenticeship on the water.

  That journey had led her to a new life, a new direction in her career and several new relationships. Ralph was one of the most important of those. Now, on this trip, Marnie was glad she had put her solo days behind her. She was happy with Ralph, enjoying their easy-going manner of running the boat. It was a reflection of their life together as a whole. She hoped Anne and Donovan were equally enjoying being together for the time that remained to them.

  A feeling of anxiety engulfed Marnie as she remembered the investigation that was hanging over Donovan.

  Marnie was brought back to the present by Ralph pointing ahead, stretching up to his full height from leaning on the tiller. Marnie swivelled round. At first she could not see what had attracted his attention. Then she spotted it, the unmistakable shape of Donovan’s boat. XO2 lay at its mooring a hundred yards or so ahead, looking sinister in its dark grey paintwork.

  Marnie turned and nodded at Ralph. “Exodos,” she said.

  But Ralph was looking further ahead and pointing away from the canal. This time Marnie immediately saw what he intended. Parked on the road with a clear view of the waterway stood another unmistakable shape: its bodywork painted in white with yellow and blue chequers, surmounted by Perspex blue lights. The patrol car was clearly lying in wait, and Marnie was offering no prizes for guessing who its prey was likely to be.

  17

  New Scotland Yard

  Thursday 12 July, 1997

  Next day, Anne experienced a new and unexpected sensation. She loved Marnie’s flat. It was spacious, comfortable, beautifully furnished and equipped. But for the first time, Anne felt something akin to homesickness for Glebe Farm, her attic room and Knightly St John. No doubt it would have been different if Donovan had stayed with her, but he had returned to XO2 after an early supper the previous evening. They were both keen not to antagonise the police.

  Arriving back at the mooring, he had phoned to let her know he was still at liberty. Seeing the police car parked within view, he had left the porthole curtains open and turned on all the lights in the boat. Anne had laughed when Donovan announced he had commissioned a neon sign to put on the roof: AT HOME WITH NOTHING TO HIDE. But it had been half-hearted laughter, and Anne had felt a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach. For how much longer would Donovan be free? she wondered. When they were together she could not bring herself to raise the subject of the police investigation, and Donovan only hinted obliquely at the situation. It was as if they were both trying to put off the evil moment.

  Her other call that evening had been from Marnie. She had been phoned by Philip Everett asking if she could take part in a site meeting with the client on Thursday morning. There was no specific request for interior design to be on the agenda, but the subject could be raised. Marnie explained where she was and offered to come back into town, but Philip had insisted that she continue on her journey.

  “I can go,” Anne had volunteered. “I’m here and I have my file with me. No probs.”

  Marnie needed little persuasion. Anne could maintain a watching brief, and they went over the main aspects of the project in preparation.

  Before ending the call, Anne had told Marnie about the conversation in the café with Zoë, and Marnie assured her they would soon be leaving London to return to the real world of their life in the country. The thought had consoled Anne when she went to bed that night, alone.

  Looking out of the window at the riverscape below, Anne was determined to shake off her negative mood. She saw that the sky was overcast with a thin layer of clouds and read that as a sign of fair weather to come. Mentally changing her name to Pollyanna, she laid out her most cheerful summer clothes on the bed before taking a shower: a primrose yellow top, stone-coloured linen trousers and a matching linen jacket to give a note of formality for the meeting. On the floor she placed her navy deck shoes to complete the ensemble.

  Turning her thin body in the hot turbojets of the shower, and permitting herself to use a small amount of Marnie’s best Chanel gel douche, she thought of counting her blessings. Before she had made one complete turn she rejected the idea. Let’s not overdo the Pollyanna bit, she thought.

  Fragrant and refreshed, Anne picked up her shoulder bag, locked the flat and set off on the familiar route to Horselydown. The closer she drew to the compound, the firmer her state of mind grew. She realised she was tired of coping with the egos and tensions of the archaeologists. Her priorities were to give her best efforts to Marnie and the design project and to give her full support to Donovan for as long as she could.

  With a spring in her step and a rod of tempered steel in her backbone, Anne said goodbye to Pollyanna, flashed her pass at the security guard and walked purposefully towards the staff hut. Before she reached it, a whistle pierced the air. She turned to see Donovan coming through the entrance gate. He waved and smiled as if he had not a care in the world. Anne smiled back as she waited for him to join her, and the sun began sweeping the clouds aside.

  *

  Good news and bad news were waiting for WDC Cathy Lamb when she arrived at divisional HQ that morning. The good news was there had been no further burglaries in the night; the bad news was there had been no results from ballistics in London.

  She grabbed DS Marriner as soon as he came into the office.

  “Any word from the Met, sarge?”

  “You’re keen, Cathy!”

  “It’s our most important case,” she protested, adding, “… after the burglaries, of course.”

  “Wrong,” said Marriner. “It’s number three. A girl’s been reported missing in the Hanford area. Grab your note
pad. We’ve got work to do.”

  Marriner asked Lamb to drive, and they set off at a fast pace, knowing it could be a grim enquiry. The village of Hanford was on the Grand Union a few miles north of Knightly St John, and inevitably the question would arise as to whether the girl had ended up in the canal.

  Lamb knew she had to give her full attention to the case in hand, but she could not help thinking of the residents of Glebe Farm and their friend in London who was top of her list of priorities.

  *

  For Marnie, that day came close to perfection. They had locked through at Cowley straight after breakfast, taking their second mugs of coffee with them to drink on deck as they cruised to the next lock at Uxbridge.

  Ralph wanted to use the bathroom, so Marnie found herself alone at the tiller watching the suburbs slip by, thinking back to that first solo voyage on Sally Ann. Not quite solo, she reflected. She had in fact had one companion, a stowaway. A sturdy black cat had come aboard at Kensal Green and despite all Marnie’s efforts to put her ashore, she had insisted on remaining a member of the crew. The cat eventually became Dolly and was even now in charge at Glebe Farm.

  Although it was little after seven o’clock, Marnie had to reach into the cabin to take her sunhat from its hook by the control panel. She hitched herself up onto the stern rail and scanned the horizon in all directions. Then she thought of Donovan, and a wave of anxiety washed over her. Somewhere not far away was the modern campus of Brunel University where he was laying the foundations for the future. These were very much his home waters. But for how much longer, Marnie wondered. And what future?

  *

  No-one knew where the rumours began, but people were starting to talk. While Anne was checking with the site agent where the team meeting would be held, Donovan wandered across to the students to find out what was on their programme for the day. As before, they were uncertain, and this was causing them no little dissatisfaction. Understandably, they were gaining the impression that the dig lacked direction on account of events taking place elsewhere.

  Neither of the two site directors had shown up so far that morning, despite the promises given the previous day by Professor de Groot. When one girl openly wondered if Dick Blackwood’s absence owed more to the fatal accident of Dr Fennimore than to some other project, there was a general rumbling of assent from the group as a whole.

  “What are you saying?” Donovan asked.

  The girl replied, “Well, we think it’s a bit odd that Dick has absented himself since Dr Fennimore was killed …”

  “… and he was the only person down there at the time …” another student joined in.

  “… the only witness to the accident,” yet another said.

  “… if it was an accident,” a fourth added.

  “But the inspectors have established that,” Donovan said.

  The first girl stepped forward. “But it was all a bit hasty, wasn’t it? They were only down there for a day when they declared it an industrial accident. Next thing, the builders are called in and everything gets rebuilt.”

  “You seem to be suggesting that the accident was something else and that the inspectors and contractors conspired in some sort of cover-up.” Donovan was trying to point out how absurd the rumours were, but even as he spoke he realised he was equally trying to convince himself. “Why would they do that?”

  “That’s what I said.” It was another of the young women. “It’s all too improbable.”

  “Yeah, but Dick can do no wrong where you’re concerned –”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “But it’s true.”

  Donovan raised a hand. “I think you’ll find the inspectors had to produce a rapid report because the site was unstable. The scaffolding was being reinforced when part of it collapsed. They had to rebuild it urgently before any more damage was done.”

  “So it’s just a coincidence that Dick’s gone missing, is it?”

  “Why not?” Donovan said. “He’s definitely involved with a major project outside London.”

  “So we’re told, but that’s all gone very quiet, hasn’t it?”

  Some of the group were looking over Donovan’s shoulder, and he turned to find Anne coming up behind him. The students looked at her expectantly.

  “Any news?” one of them asked.

  “Only that I’ve got a meeting with the contractors and client shortly.”

  “You have?” The tone was puzzled. “Why you?”

  Anne adjusted the leather document folder conspicuously under her arm. “Because I’m a member of the design team …” She spoke in a clear, confident voice. “… interior design consultant.”

  The student indicated Donovan while still addressing Anne. “You’re not …”

  Donovan said, “No. Anne’s not my assistant. She’s just been helping me as a friend.”

  Once again, the students shifted their focus. This time, Donovan and Anne saw Zoë Tipton entering the compound. Seeing the gathering of students, Zoë veered in their direction, quickening her pace, searching the group with her eyes as she drew nearer.

  “Right,” she said decisively. “Naomi, Jonathan … I want you to take the group down to the lower level. Everyone is to return to their positions from yesterday and carry on. I’ll join you in a couple of minutes. Any questions? Good. Let’s get going.” As the students began moving off, Zoë turned to Donovan and Anne. “I’ll be back directly.”

  Before either of them could react, she was gone. Anne drew breath but said nothing.

  Donovan spoke quietly. “She knows something.”

  “Then why didn’t she say anything?” Anne said.

  “Zoë obviously believes in the old adage: never apologise; never explain. To do so in her view would be a sign of weakness.”

  “On the other hand, it could be politeness,” Anne said.

  True to her word, Zoë reappeared a few moments later, decked out in all the regulation safety gear.

  “There you are,” she said briskly. “Okay, I want to –”

  “Good morning, Zoë,” said Donovan.

  “What? Oh, yes. Good morning.” Zoë made to walk off. “Now –”

  “We were wondering where you’d been.”

  Donovan remained immobile. Anne looked at her watch.

  Zoë hesitated as if searching for a suitable answer. The implied question had clearly taken her by surprise.

  “I wasn’t aware that I had to explain myself.”

  “Fine.” Donovan gave the impression he was in no hurry to move. “Your students have been waiting for quite a while, but of course, that’s not really my business.”

  Zoë stared back. There was fire in her eyes.

  *

  House-to-house enquiries were already in progress when Marriner and Lamb arrived in Hanford. The missing girl’s mother had reported her absence at breakfast time as soon as she realised her daughter had not come home the previous night. After a few quick calls to the girl’s friends, she had phoned the police in near hysterics. A WPC in uniform was sitting with her when the detectives entered the house.

  Normally, the police waited forty-eight hours before taking action on a case of this sort, but the authority had decided to step up a gear following a number of incidents earlier in the year when girls had been targeted by a sex offender. The media had at that time launched a major campaign, criticising the force for inactivity. This was the first time a girl had actually failed to reach home after a night out with friends, and the Chief Constable had issued instructions to take all necessary steps as a matter of urgency.

  Search parties were fanning out across the fields around the village, and a television news crew was filming the action from a vantage point on raised ground. Another had set itself up on a bridge over the canal nearby, keeping watch over the teams roaming the towpath.

  When Marriner and Lamb completed their interview with the mother, they left the house to review progress with the search.

  “It’s at times like
this, you wish Marnie Walker was around,” Cathy Lamb said.

  Marriner looked surprised. “How’s that?”

  “Whatever you think of her, sarge, you know she’d be out here like a shot, helping us on that boat of hers. So would her professor.”

  They arrived at the canal to find that one enterprising constable had already recruited a boat-owner to assist the operation. Navigating at slow walking pace in mid-channel, the narrowboat carried two officers who scoured the water on the opposite side of the canal from the towpath. Each of them carried a bargepole, hunting in the reeds and bushes.

  *

  Fifty miles to the south, Marnie and Ralph were cruising along, oblivious to the intense activity taking place near home, grateful for the regular succession of locks that punctuated their journey, making them concentrate on running the boat. In Rickmansworth they stopped off at a canalside supermarket to take on stores. Back on board Thyrsis, Marnie changed into her shorts before they set off on the next stage of the voyage.

  After casting off, Ralph joined Marnie briefly on the stern deck before tackling Batchworth Lock. He looked her up and down.

  “You know, Marnie, that could be described as a hazard to shipping.”

  Marnie pretended not to understand. “Oh, I think there’s plenty of room between the moorings and the lock. No-one’s going to –”

  “You know perfectly well what I mean.”

  In reply, Marnie flashed him the heavy eyelids.

  “And that Marlene Dietrich look could make it even more hazardous.”

  Marnie smiled. “Do I take it there’s a compliment in there somewhere?”

  “Not so’s you’d notice.” Ralph draped an arm round Marnie’s shoulders. “Isn’t this wonderful?”

  “Yes.” Marnie took a deep breath. “I love shopping at Tesco’s … the variety … the special offers …”

  Ralph made a growling sound. Marnie reached forward to reduce speed at the approach to the lock and steered closer to the bank. Before Ralph stepped ashore, he patted her bottom.