by Leo McNeir
The three sat at the dining table to make plans. Marnie would return to the site for discussions with Philip, Professor de Groot and the contractors. Her own work would be unaffected by any delays, but she needed to be aware if there were changes to phasing and timing. Anne said she would join her.
“Donovan?” Marnie asked.
“I’d prefer not to be around when the police get here, but I don’t have any choice. Everyone will tell them about me.”
“Police?” Marnie said. “Why will the police be involved?”
“Two serious incidents on the same site, one fatal, another that could’ve been fatal. The inspectors are bound to notify them, don’t you think?”
“I expect you’re right,” said Marnie.
“And then there’s the question of Dick Blackwood,” Donovan went on. “Where is he and what did he mean when he said, What have I done?”
“What do you think he meant, Donovan?” Marnie asked.
“Who knows? He was in shock. Perhaps he felt remorse after his row with Zoë that morning. For him, it was his last contact with her before she was killed.”
“You don’t suppose he could’ve meant something else?”
“That he himself had killed her?”
Marnie and Anne looked shocked. Neither spoke.
“Is that what you think he meant, Marnie?” Donovan asked.
“I wasn’t there, of course,” she said. “You were. What do you think? Or you, Anne?”
“We were all stunned at the sight of Zoë lying there,” Anne said. “I’m not sure I’d place too much importance on his actual words. We were all feeling like we wished we could’ve done something – anything – to bring her back from the dead.”
“And he wasn’t there when she, so to say, came back,” Marnie said. “So presumably he doesn’t know she’s alive.”
*
When the three of them returned to the building site they found two squad cars drawn up in echelon by the entrance gate. Between them was a dark grey Ford Mondeo, which Marnie guessed was an unmarked police car. She was right.
“That’s interesting,” Donovan said under his breath, as they walked into the compound. “No crime scene tape round the excavations.”
“Why’s that, d’you think?” said Marnie.
“Presumably, they haven’t decided a crime has taken place.”
“And the health and safety people are probably still examining the site,” Marnie added.
Beyond the dig area the students were assembled outside one of the huts and were being addressed by Professor de Groot. When he saw Marnie and the others he broke off and came towards them.
“Ah, Mrs Walker … Marnie … Philip Everett asked me to tell you he’s in the staff hut with the contractors. He’d like you to join them. A phasing meeting, I believe.”
“What’s happening here?” Marnie asked.
“The police are interviewing the students, and then I’m sending them off, probably for the rest of the week.”
“The week?” Marnie said. “There goes our timetable out the window.”
“I’m afraid it rather looks that way,” said de Groot.
“Who’s here from the police?” Donovan asked. “Is it chief inspector Bruere?”
“No. I gather these are from the City of London force, not the Met. Let me see … there’s a DS Crosby and a DC Haig. The sergeant asked for you by name,” he said to Donovan. “He wants to see you.”
At once Donovan excused himself and set off for the hut, where he surmised the interviews were taking place.
“Good luck in Ikea,” Anne called after him.
Donovan half turned and winked at her as he walked away.
Marnie and de Groot looked at her quizzically.
“Private joke,” she said.
*
An hour later the students had left the site. The architects’ phasing meeting had failed as they were unable to produce a revised programme until the investigation of the accident was completed. Meanwhile, work was in progress to make the dig area secure.
To his surprise, Donovan had found himself praised by the detectives for his prompt actions, which may well have saved Zoë Tipton’s life. It appeared that to everyone present when she had been brought to the surface, Donovan was regarded as a hero. To some, he was nothing less than a saviour. Both officers had stood and shaken his hand when he left the interview hut.
Marnie and Anne were waiting for him when he came out and both noticed his change of demeanour.
“Do I take it the interview went well?” said Marnie.
“You could say that.” Donovan had a twinkle in his eye. “I’m afraid it’s going to mess up your plans.”
“Oh? In what way?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to put up a statue to me. You’re going to have to redesign the entrance. Can we go while I’m still winning?”
Back at the flat Marnie rang Ralph to bring him up to speed. He was now cruising round Milton Keynes on the last leg of the journey and had nothing special to report. Only one lock remained before he hit the home stretch. Marnie was sorry not to be travelling with him, but she expected to be back at Glebe Farm some time the following day.
Ever practical, Anne was making sandwiches while Marnie was on the phone. Before eating, Donovan wanted to know how Zoë was faring. He knew she was being treated at the Royal London Hospital and he rang the A&E department. He told the duty nurse that he was Zoë’s brother and wanted to know to which ward she had been transferred so that he could visit her.
To his surprise there was no need for subterfuge when he rang the direct line for Saunders-Mayhew ward.
“I’m phoning about Zoë Tipton,” he said. “I’d like to visit her this evening.”
The nurse hesitated. “Are you Donovan, by any chance?”
“Yes, I am.”
“She’s been asking for you.”
“For me? Can I speak to her?”
“That’s not possible. She’s sleeping now. But you can visit her between seven and eight.”
*
That evening they went in different directions. Philip Everett needed to discuss the Horselydown situation with Marnie and invited her to dinner at his home in Islington. They left together by taxi. Anne opted to visit Zoë with Donovan, and a short bus ride took them almost to the hospital door.
Saunders-Mayhew turned out to be a grouping of individual rooms for patients requiring special treatment, rather than an open ward. When Donovan and Anne presented themselves at the nurses’ station, the sister on duty looked from one to the other. She was young with short brown hair and an authoritative bearing.
“We’d prefer it if she had just one visitor.”
“Is her condition so serious?” Donovan asked.
“She’s had a near-death experience and we’ve had to cleanse her system very thoroughly. It’s not surprising that she feels weak at the moment.”
“You said she was asking for me,” Donovan said.
“That’s correct.”
“But Anne and I both helped her at the scene, and it was Anne who called the ambulance.”
The nurse looked them over again before rising from her chair. “Wait here, please.”
She walked a short distance down the corridor and entered a room without knocking.
“D’you think Zoë’s all right?” Anne said quietly. “I didn’t think she’d have restricted visits.”
“Cleanse her system very thoroughly,” Donovan said under his breath. “I wonder what that means.”
Anne agreed. “Better not to think about it.”
Moments later, the nurse returned and led them to Zoë’s room. Before opening the door she said, “You can both go in. Ten minutes maximum. She needs plenty of rest this evening.”
Anne braced herself mentally, but was surprised to find Zoë lying back against the pillows looking relatively normal if rather weary. There were no tubes attached to her face, no drips, no hook-ups to equipment. Zoë
gave them a faint smile and gestured to two chairs.
“Nice of you to come.” Her voice was hoarse and she swallowed after speaking.
“How are you feeling?” Donovan said. “Or is that a silly question?”
Zoë attempted a shrug, and her expression changed to quizzical.
“I didn’t realise before, but now I can see the likeness.”
Anne looked at Donovan then back at Zoë. “Try that again.”
“It had never occurred to me that you and Anne were … I thought you were just friends.”
“What makes you think we aren’t?” Donovan asked.
“The nurse said you’d come with your … sister.”
*
That evening Marnie arrived back at the flat at ten-thirty to find Anne and Donovan watching the news on television. Anne straight away turned off the set and asked about the meeting with Philip.
“First of all, tell me about Zoë,” said Marnie. “How is she?”
“Delusional.” Donovan chuckled.
“You mean she’s hallucinating?”
“Absolutely.” Anne laughed. “The nurse told her we were brother and sister, and she believed her.”
“Actually …” Marnie looked at them appraisingly, “… that’s not an unreasonable assumption. But apart from that, how was she?”
“We couldn’t stay long,” Donovan said. “She was very tired, and we think they’d had to pump out her stomach.”
Marnie grimaced, her thoughts straying to pump-outs on Thyrsis. “Oh God, how awful.”
“She’d ingested quite a lot of mud and river water,” Donovan said. “Horrible thought.”
“The nurse thought she’d feel better after a good night’s sleep,” Anne said. “We can go back tomorrow.”
“Did Zoë say anything about the accident?” Marnie asked.
Donovan said, “We didn’t press her on that. She really wasn’t up to it. The police had seen see her and decided she was unfit to be interviewed. We just reassured her that the Roman ships hadn’t been damaged.”
“No mention of Dick?”
“Not a word.”
“How was your evening in trendy Islington?” Anne asked. “What’s it like? I’ve never been there.”
“Very mixed. Where Philip lives, the houses were built in the 1830s, three storeys plus a basement. Philip and Stella have a huge family kitchen at the lowest level, with a refectory table and a sofa for socialising while the meal’s being prepared. It has French windows leading onto a patio.”
“Sounds lovely. Modern furniture or antiques?”
“Mostly modern, but with a few old pieces.”
“And Stella?”
“Small, dark and bubbly.” Marnie grinned. “She’s delightful. Teaches textile design at a college like yours, Anne.”
“Do they have a family? Sorry, I’m sounding like the Inquisition.”
“Two teenage sons. They’re away at the moment, staying with Stella’s parents in Dorset.”
“Were you able to talk about the project?”
Marnie leaned back against the cushions of the sofa and breathed out slowly.
“Philip’s worried Willards might be getting cold feet about the design. They’re asking if it was too ambitious to have the lower levels exposed to the tides.”
“But … but surely that’s the whole point of the scheme … the archaeology being a living part of the building.”
“Quite.”
“So what do they want to do?” said Anne. “It’s a bit late to alter the whole concept when the work’s in progress.”
“That’s the line Philip is taking … plus the extra costs.”
“I can’t imagine the archaeologists are overjoyed,” Donovan said. “And don’t they have financial support from some sort of national heritage fund?”
Marnie ran a hand across her forehead. “The whole thing’s a mess. Two major accidents, one of them fatal, delays to the work, a cutting edge design now being called into question, a major archaeological project with two directors and no leadership …”
“But can you just alter the whole thing at this stage?” Anne said. “I mean, there are contracts and stuff.”
“Philip has agreed to talk to the contractors about modifying the lower levels. Instead of having openings where the tides will be visible as they come in and go out, they might opt for a more conventional structure with a retaining wall to keep the water out permanently.”
“So it becomes just like any other riverside building,” said Donovan.
Marnie nodded. “That’s about it.”
“How does Philip feel about this?”
“Cheesed off is the short answer. He’s trying to persuade Willards that the consultants’ calculations are correct and there should be no problem. He still hopes to convince them not to go back on the proposal.”
“So everything’s up in the air,” Donovan said.
“Everything and everyone connected with it,” Marnie agreed. “It’s a disaster in the making.”
20
Revisions
Tuesday 17 July, 1997
With building work halted, Marnie found herself on Tuesday morning in back-to-back meetings, together with Philip and Nigel Beardsley. They discussed the interim findings of the health and safety inspectors, revised timetables with the contractors and possible redesigns with their clients from Willards Brewery.
Donovan phoned the hospital and was surprised when the duty nurse in Saunders-Mayhew ward told him they operated an open-hours policy in that unit. He would be allowed a visit of up to twenty minutes if he came that morning, with two provisos: he would have to leave if a doctor came to examine Zoë; a police interview would take priority over his visit.
Donovan set off with Anne mid-morning, stopping briefly at a stall by the tube station to buy some fruit. On arrival at Saunders-Mayhew they learnt that the doctors had already examined Zoë, and the police had not yet appeared. Reminding them of the twenty minute rule, the nurse indicated Zoë’s room down the corridor.
Zoë seemed if anything even more weary than the previous day, but she cheered up when Donovan presented her with a bag containing a bunch of bananas and two peaches.
“What, no grapes?” She attempted a wan smile. Although she sounded tired, her voice was no longer hoarse.
“A cliché,” Donovan said, “and very over-rated. These will buck you up.”
“How are you, Zoë?” Anne asked, trying hard to conceal her feeling that Zoë looked poorly.
“You think I look bad,” Zoë said, “worse than yesterday.”
“No, I –”
“We all know it’s true. No need to spare my feelings. The truth is, I didn’t sleep properly last night … hardly slept at all.”
“Couldn’t they have given you something to help with that?”
Zoë shook her head and adjusted her position. “I don’t take pills … not if I can help it.”
Donovan stepped forward and put an arm round her shoulders to support her back.
“Anne, can you arrange the pillows to help Zoë sit up.”
When Zoë settled back, she looked more comfortable. She even smiled faintly.
“Look,” Donovan said, “I think you need to rest. We didn’t come to tire you out.”
“What did you come for?” Zoë realised she sounded sharper than she intended. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”
“But you’re right,” Donovan said. “We did have a purpose. Naturally, we wanted to see how you were. But we wanted to know if you could remember what happened to you.”
“I’ve been trying to put it out of my mind.”
“Sorry, we didn’t want to –”
Donovan cut Anne off. “You know the police will be coming to question you. They could be on their way here right now.”
“Your point being?”
Donovan shrugged. “It might help if you had things clear in your mind beforehand. They have a way of asking questions that can unse
ttle you.”
Zoë sighed, laid her head back and closed her eyes. “I don’t really remember all that much.”
“The brain shuts out what it can’t cope with,” Donovan said.
“You think that’s what it is?”
“I know how it works from personal experience. I was involved in a serious accident when I was a kid. It was a while before the event seeped back into my memory. Then I had nightmares for a long time.”
“You’re really cheering me up.”
“Can you remember anything?” Donovan persisted.
“I was down at the lowest level inspecting the ships. Dick appeared and we had an argument. That’s it … apart from …”
“Go on.”
“I heard a tremendous rushing sound, then something like an explosion. Dick’s words were ringing in my ears.”
“What was he saying?”
“Go to hell!”
There was a tap on the door, and the nurse looked in. “Everything all right?”
Zoë nodded. “Fine.”
“Ten more minutes.” The nurse smiled and closed the door.
“Why were you arguing with Dick?” Donovan asked.
Zoë closed her eyes.
“I accused him …”
No-one spoke for several seconds. Donovan prompted.
“The King John treasure?”
Zoë sighed again, her eyes still closed. “I said I didn’t believe he’d found it. He was furious … you can imagine.” She opened her eyes. “The colour drained from his face. I told him I had evidence that he hadn’t made the discovery.”
“You have actual proof?” Donovan said, incredulous.
“Yes. Well, a kind of witness statement. I’d spoken to Gerald Parfitt. None of Dick’s story was true. He’d invented it, at least the part that led to finding the place where the royal treasure lay.”
“But we know he was working up by the Wash,” Donovan said. “He can’t have invented all of it.”
“No. He’d been going on sailing trips with Gerald last year, and they’d been doing surveys along the coast, but that was it.”
“He really hadn’t found the treasure?” Anne said. “What about those pieces he produced?”
“I don’t know where he got them,” Zoë said. “But Gerald denied all knowledge. He said he’d been working in Denmark for months on a Viking project. Dick’s account was all news to him.”
