Stick in the Mud: A riveting murder mystery

by Leo McNeir

  Donovan stopped. “Sorry, I’m not with you.”

  “It’s a funny thing, but some days when I arrive I find she’s already gone out. If I spared her a thought it was to assume Gerald had taken advantage of the tide, but …” Donovan and Anne waited while Horsfall collected his thoughts. ‘… I’m not really sure if the tides had anything to do with it.”

  They began slowly walking on again.

  “So what are you saying, Mr Horsfall?” Donovan said.

  “If there is a pattern it’s that Gerald chooses to take her out some time between my going home and my coming back in the morning.”

  “Is that a normal pattern of sailing here?”

  Horsfall blew air through his lips. “People are all different, but I would say Gerald’s the only one in this marina who tends to do that.”

  “So you haven’t seen him around with our friend, Dick Blackwood?”

  “Can’t say I have. I don’t in fact recognise the name.”

  Donovan stopped in the car park a few yards from the VW, and Horsfall stared at it, appraising it from end to end.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr Horsfall,” Anne said.

  “My pleasure.” He returned his gaze to the car, which was shining in the late afternoon sunlight. “That’s a little beauty. Was she in that condition when you bought her?”

  “Better,” said Donovan. “We’ve had her from new.”

  Horsfall looked sceptical. “That car’s older than you are … seventy-one plates, aren’t they?”

  “By we, I meant my family.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly looked after her … and added quite a few extras, I see. I like the wood-rimmed steering wheel …”

  While Donovan patiently answered Horsfall’s questions about the merits of Twin Hot Spot exhaust systems and Koni shock-absorbers, Anne knew he really wanted to know more about Parfitt and Arabella. He seized his chance when Horsfall gave him an opening.

  “You’ve been here before, of course.”

  “Here?” Donovan said. “Oh, today, you mean. Yes, we dropped by this morning. I was curious to see the boat and, as I said, perhaps run into our friend who sails with Gerald.”

  “This other archaeologist …” said Horsfall, “Dick, er …”

  “Blackwood,” Donovan supplied. “Yes?”

  “Well, as I said, he’s not known to me.”

  “I’m guessing, but I think Dick may be one of the reasons why Arabella is in such good order.”

  Horsfall looked puzzled. “What makes you say that?”

  “She’s in very good shape, considering her owner’s a novice. Everything about her looks just right.”

  “A novice?” said Horsfall. “Gerald Parfitt? I don’t know where you got that idea.”

  Donovan frowned. “I thought he’d only recently acquired Arabella.”

  “That’s true, but she’s not his first boat. He’s had others over the years. He’s a fine sailor, very experienced.”

  *

  Anne finally got through to Marnie that evening and gave an outline of the day’s findings. After their conversation had ended, Marnie ran through everything in her mind. Nothing seemed to add up.

  She was sitting out in a deckchair on the bank while Ralph was in the galley on Thyrsis. He had offered to make a small treat to round off the weekend, and when he appeared carrying a tray containing two glasses of Pimm’s, she congratulated him on his choice. They settled down in sybaritic bliss to watch the sun dipping towards the horizon. As they sipped, Marnie gave Ralph an account of what Anne and Donovan had learnt that day.

  For a while Ralph made no reaction. He put his glass down on the picnic table between the deckchairs and sat gazing ahead.

  Eventually he said, “You know, Marnie, I can’t make head or tail of what’s been going on. Everyone who’s spoken about the events of this summer seems to be describing a completely different set of circumstances.”

  “I’m reassured to hear you say that, Ralph. I was beginning to wonder if it was just me.”

  “Perhaps it’s all a case of Chinese whispers. We hear part of the story and it changes each time it gets passed on.”

  Marnie frowned. “But the versions we hear are by the actual participants. Dick says one thing, Zoë says another. We see one side of things, Donovan and Anne come up with something else. This Dr Parfitt has a different take on it altogether.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser …” Ralph said quietly.

  Marnie shook her head. “This isn’t a fantasy, darling. Something’s going on that we’re not seeing.”

  “Perhaps it’s just a matter of differing perceptions of the same thing,” Ralph suggested.

  Marnie looked sideways at Ralph, who was sipping his drink. Spoken like a true academic, she thought. She kept that to herself.

  “You know what I think, Ralph? Someone’s lying. It’s as simple as that.”

  “But do you know who that person is?” Ralph said.

  Marnie shrugged. “I don’t think we’ll be any the wiser while Dick’s gone to ground.”

  “Well, one thing seems certain,” Ralph said. “He doesn’t appear to have gone to sea.”

  24

  Donovan’s Plan

  Monday 23 July, 1997

  Anne could not help feeling guilty the next day. To be having a leisurely breakfast before packing up the camping gear felt like playing truant on a Monday morning. Donovan was in no rush to be away early. He wanted to give the so-called-rush-hour traffic, as he put it, time to clear the roads. Although he was as attentive to her as always, Anne noticed that when she glanced in his direction, his mind was elsewhere. She knew he was not just trying to understand the situation, but seeking to move beyond the immediate.

  They drove out of the camp site just after nine and turned westwards. Anne opened the road atlas on her lap.

  “Home, James, and don’t spare the horses,” she said in a la-di-da voice.

  “Yes, madam.” The reply came with clipped vowels.

  Anne smiled. “It is home, I assume.”

  “Where else?” said Donovan.

  “Just checking. I’m never quite sure with you.”

  “I’d like to call in at Dick’s digs in London, but first we need fresh clothes and …”

  “And what? Come to think of it, how can we call in at his digs when we don’t know where he lives?”

  “That’s what I’ve been thinking about.”

  “And have you come up with an answer?”

  “I might have.”

  “I’ve been wondering about it, too,” Anne said.

  Donovan continued. “The only people who know where he lives are at the university.”

  “But they won’t divulge his address, will they?”

  “No.”

  “Then how will you get hold of it?”

  “Is there any chance you could be free over the next few days?”

  “That depends on Marnie and on how much there is to do at the office, but these are the summer holidays, so I suppose I might. What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m still working on it.”

  “But this is where the university comes in, is it?”

  “More specifically, Anne, it’s where you come in.”

  *

  Marnie was standing on the newly-laid terrace at the back of the farmhouse, surveying the jungle, when she heard the familiar burble of the Beetle coming down the field track. Inside the building a cacophony of banging could be heard. From the kitchen came the sound of units being knocked into place. From upstairs she could hear nails being hammered into slatted shelves for the airing cupboard. This was the chorus of the finishing touches. After two years of steady progress on the renovation, completion was in sight. Soon the action would shift to the garden. Marnie grimaced at the thought.

  Round by the garage barn, car doors were slamming shut. Next came footsteps on gravel and voices, Anne calling out to Steve the carpenter. A minute later, Anne and Donovan joined Marnie on the terr
ace. After hugs all round, Anne turned to face the garden.

  “Well, it’s obvious what has to be done here,” she said.

  “That’s good news,” said Marnie. “I’ve been puzzling over it for ages. Tell all.”

  “First step, we send for Dr Livingstone to lead the expedition.”

  “Do you design gardens as well as interiors, Marnie?” Donovan said.

  “I’ve got some ideas, but I want to talk to some friends in London first.” With a sigh, Marnie turned and walked them round the side of the house. “Let’s change the subject. Just thinking about all the work that has to be done out here makes me feel weary. What I want to know is if you found out anything in darkest Norfolk. Why don’t you tell us all about it over lunch?”

  Ralph joined them on the bank for a light meal of scotch eggs, cheese rolls and yogurts. They accompanied this with chilled lemonade that Marnie had made the day before. Anne gave an account of everything they had learnt on their trip, which added little to what Marnie and Ralph already knew.

  “So all rather inconclusive,” Marnie said.

  “At least we’ve now heard all sides of the story,” Donovan pointed out, “even if they all contradict each other.”

  “All sides except one,” Ralph observed. “Strictly speaking.”

  “I was counting what Dick had told us before as his version,” said Donovan.

  “And that seems like all we’re going to get,” Marnie added.

  “Not really.” Donovan paused. “The next step is to get the whole picture – and the whole truth – from Dick.”

  “If it was that easy …” Marnie said quietly.

  “Donovan’s got a plan,” Anne piped up, “or at least an idea. Haven’t you?”

  They looked at Donovan. He hesitated, choosing his words with care.

  “It’s a long shot, more the germ of an idea at the moment …”

  “For contacting Dick?” Ralph said.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know where he lives?” Marnie asked.

  “That’s the problem,” said Donovan.

  “I expect some of the students might know,” Ralph said.

  “Are they back on the site?”

  “I think they must be,” said Marnie.

  “Then that’s our first port of call,” Donovan said. “That would make everything much easier.”

  “I’ll ring Philip and find out.” Marnie reached for her mobile and pressed buttons.

  The conversation was longer than they expected. Yes, the students were on site. They were working under the supervision of the two postgrads with Professor de Groot looking in from time to time. No, Dick had not reappeared. When Marnie mentioned that they would like to find out if anyone knew Dick’s address in London, Philip gave her an immediate answer. None of the students knew where he lived. Philip had asked the group if they could let him have contact details, but they only had his mobile number. When he made the same request to de Groot, the professor simply said his secretary was chasing him up.

  “So that’s another dead end,” Marnie said.

  “Not necessarily.”

  They all looked at Donovan again.

  “Second port of call?” said Anne.

  Donovan nodded. After a moment’s pause, he sat forward and outlined his plan. When he finished, Marnie was the first to respond.

  “Sorry to say this, Donovan, but it strikes me as a bit … well, flaky.”

  “I’m open to any other suggestion,” Donovan said mildly.

  “Have you thought about security?” Ralph said.

  “I’m hoping it’s the same as at Brunel in the long vacation. There are lots of new faces around, attending summer schools and the like.”

  “True.”

  “What about you, Anne?” Marnie asked. “How do you feel about your part in it?”

  Anne took a deep breath. “Well … the bit that bothers me isn’t so much smearing my face with shoe polish, abseiling down the side of the building at midnight wearing a black jump suit and breaking in through the office window …”

  “So what is the problem?” Donovan said, deadpan.

  “I’m not sure if I’m up to disabling the alarm system and cracking the combination code on the safe to get the personnel files out.”

  Donovan shook his head dismissively. “Piece of cake.”

  Anne smiled. “So … all systems go, then.”

  *

  They put the first phase of Donovan’s real plan into action that afternoon. Anne typed a brief note on Walker and Co headed paper, asking Dick to get in touch with her at the office as a matter of urgency. She was plucking an envelope from the stationery rack when Donovan stopped her.

  “Don’t you have something in a different colour?”

  “Colour?” Anne looked up at him. “All our envelopes are this cream vellum.”

  “No. It has to be coloured … the brighter the better.”

  “We only ever … ah, just a mo …”

  She opened a drawer in the desk, rummaged around and tentatively produced an oversize envelope in bright blue. “Will this do?” Her tone was doubtful.

  “Absolutely. It’s perfect. Will it fit in the printer?”

  “Should do.”

  It did. On it Anne printed Dick’s name and the address, care of the archaeology department at LBU and sealed the note inside. Then she stamped FIRST CLASS in bold letters in the top left hand corner, and underneath in smaller letters she stamped PERSONAL and CONFIDENTIAL. She completed the operation with a first class stamp and held it up for inspection.

  “I think that looks imposing enough,” she said.

  “Almost.”

  “Almost? What more do you –”

  “You’ve got nice handwriting, Anne. I want you to write in black felt-tip …”

  Anne picked up a marker pen and waited.

  “To the left of the address write URGENT in capitals, then Please forward underneath it.”

  When this was done, Donovan pronounced himself satisfied, and they went hand-in-hand together up to the village to post the letter with the rest of the office mail.

  25

  A Busy Day

  Tuesday 24 July, 1997

  They left after breakfast on Tuesday morning. Marnie assured Anne that she could survive in the office without her for another day. They all wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on, and this seemed their best bet. Anne packed her overnight bag under Donovan’s guidance and once again climbed into the Beetle beside him.

  It was an easy trip, with the VW cruising steadily in moderate traffic, and their progress seemed effortless. Donovan had installed a cassette player beneath the dashboard and had made up some compilation tapes that created a soothing atmosphere as they rolled along. Anne enjoyed the mixture of flowing instrumental music from all ages on guitar, lute and keyboard.

  It was only when she thought about what lay ahead that she felt uneasy.

  ooo0ooo

  Their first stop was at Donovan’s house, tucked away in its quiet cul-de-sac not far from the Grand Union in Uxbridge. Donovan sifted through the post while coffee filtered in the kitchen and Anne used the bathroom. She liked his house. It was like another world, filled with objects that seemed exotic and foreign. Many of them were foreign: the books on the shelves in German and Swedish – Donovan’s mother had spent much of her childhood in Sweden where her parents were refugees from the Nazis – certain items of furniture, table lamps, paintings and wall hangings. Even the smells were foreign. Especially the smells, she realised.

  In the kitchen, the rich aroma of coffee blended with a background smell of something like vanilla. The storage jars on the workbench, the crockery, the equipment, all made her feel as if she had passed through a curtain to a place hidden from outside influence.

  Donovan came in and dropped junk mail and discarded envelopes into the waste bin. Without a word, he returned to the hall. Anne heard him press the button on the answerphone. After a beep a message played, a
young woman’s voice. Anne could not make out what was being said, but she recognised it as German. Whoever it was – and Anne could make an educated guess – she did not sound happy.

  When Donovan came in a second time, he sat at the table with a sigh and began pouring coffee.

  “Problem?” said Anne.

  “That message was from Uschi. Onkel Helmut is in hospital.”

  Uschi – short for Ursula – was Donovan’s cousin living in Germany. Anne had met her when she came over to stay with Donovan in London the year before. Onkel Helmut – presumably uncle – was her father.

  “Is it serious?” Anne bit her lip. “Sorry. Silly question. You know what I mean.”

  “Could be. He’s having tests. Seems he collapsed while out walking in the forest.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Sixties.”

  “Do you need to go?”

  “I might. Uschi’s going to keep me posted.”

  Donovan withdrew into his thoughts while they drank coffee, and Anne thought it best not to intrude. Eventually, Donovan stood up and cleared away the cups and saucers. He quickly washed them and Anne dried. While she was putting them back in the cupboard, Donovan checked the rooms upstairs and came down to record a new message on the answerphone in German, giving his mobile number.

  “I want to look in on the boat … make sure she’s all right.”

  “Fine,” said Anne. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

  *

  When they arrived at the street with a view onto the canal, Donovan drove slowly down its full length. He asked Anne to look unobtrusively into each of the cars parked on her side of the road to see if anyone was sitting in them. At the end, he turned back and, satisfied that they were not under surveillance, parked in a gap from which they could clearly see XO2 at her mooring.

  They opened all the windows, portholes and doors to air the boat, and Donovan went from bow to stern checking that everything was in order. He turned on the gas and the water pump, switched on every lamp and turned every tap on and off. He tried the shower and asked Anne to let him know when the Paloma came on.