by Leo McNeir
She almost screamed with joy when her fingers found the edge of the slipway. The trailer was still in place, taking up most of the width, but there was room for her to steer the inert body round the corner and onto the slope. Now the man became heavier, but the shallow rise of the ground was in Marnie’s favour and she heaved him half out of the water. After a pause, she tugged again with both arms and he was clear.
Marnie knelt on the bankside, elated at her achievement.
“Don’t go away!” she gasped, too weary to laugh at her joke.
She stumbled back to Sally Ann and found the mobile in the galley. She hit three nines, asked for an ambulance and gave directions. She grabbed the boatyard keys from the hook and dashed out to tackle the gates. Diverting to check the man on the slipway, she regretted she had forgotten to take a torch. He was still lying in the shadows, but seemed to be moving his head.
“You’ll be all right. Help’s on its way.”
He groaned. Marnie sprinted to the gates and turned the key in the deadlock before twisting the Yale open. The ground bolt was long and stiff and she had to struggle before it yielded. By the time she had pushed both gates apart and fastened them in position, she could hear a siren in the distance, steadily growing louder.
She jogged the short distance to the end of the street and signalled to the ambulance when its flashing lights appeared round the corner. Speeding back down the cul-de-sac, she entered the yard just ahead of the vehicle. It stopped inside the gates. Two paramedics in Day-Glo jackets climbed out, a man and a woman.
Marnie was panting. “He’s over there by the water.”
The man screwed up his face. “Whereabouts?”
Marnie pointed. “By that trailer. He’s on the ground in the slipway.”
The woman had a bag like a small suitcase and set off in the direction Marnie had indicated. The man took hold of Marnie’s shoulder.
“What about you? Are you injured?”
“Me? No, I’m fine. It’s him.”
“Your chin’s bleeding.”
Marnie raised a hand to her face. It was sticky. “Really, I’m all right. He’s the one who needs your attention.”
The man looked over her shoulder. “Perhaps not.”
Marnie turned. The other paramedic was standing by the trailer, shaking her head. Marnie’s heart almost stopped beating. Three letters flashed in her mind: DOA – DEAD ON ARRIVAL. She swayed. The man caught hold of her.
“No,” she gasped. “It’s not possible. He was moving, groaning.”
Marnie broke loose from the paramedic and stumbled towards the trailer. Sliding to a halt, she realised there was no man lying on the slipway. Apart from the trailer, it was empty.
“He was there … I dragged him out.”
She squatted down to look under the trailer. Straightening up, she felt dizzy and put a hand to her head. The paramedics exchanged glances.
“Look, he must have rolled under the trailer, or something.”
The man took a torch from his belt and searched around them. “Have you had a fight with your boyfriend?”
“What? Of course not. I’ve no idea who he was. I just heard a splash and –”
“How did you get that cut on your chin?”
“I tripped over a mooring ring while I was dragging him. We’ve got to find –”
“Can you describe this man?”
“No. It was dark. I couldn’t –”
“You didn’t recognise him.”
Marnie breathed out heavily, exasperated. “I’ve told you, I couldn’t see him properly. Look, why don’t we search the yard? He was unconscious, he can’t have got far. He’s probably –”
“We’ll do that. I’ll look around. You go back to the ambulance with my colleague and get that chin cleaned up. You may need stitches.”
With that the man walked off while the woman led Marnie away. Before they reached the ambulance Marnie broke free and ran back to the canalside.
“He must be here! We should all be searching for him.”
“That’s what we’re trying to –”
“Look!” Marnie pointed.
She knelt down at the end of the slipway and stood up holding a shoe. It was dripping with mud and full of water. Marnie turned it over to empty it.
“He was here.”
37
Lombard
Marnie slept badly and woke with a headache. She got up, took two painkillers and slipped back under the duvet, hoping that Peter had no plans for drilling steel or operating a power saw. If he did either, her head would fall off.
After a while the tablets took effect. She got up again and splashed her face with cold water. The previous night after the ambulance had left, she had stripped off, exhausted, grimy and dripping blood, and washed all over with a flannel before collapsing into bed.
The headache had been a bad start to the day, but it took a turn for the worse when Marnie saw her clothes lying on the floor, brand new clothes that she had worn for the first time for just a few hours.
The trousers were smeared with dirt, mud and oil, one leg torn at the knee. The top, previously white, was almost as dirty and stained with blood. Marnie padded along to the stern doors and tipped the ruined clothes out onto the deck. She checked her chin in the bathroom mirror. It was sore but clean and needed no stitching.
She pulled on shorts and a T-shirt and headed over to the showers. On the way back she met Peter crossing the yard.
“You had an accident? Your knee’s bruised, and your elbow’s grazed.”
“What hurt more was the damage to my new clothes.”
“Bad?”
“Ruined.”
“I’m really sorry, Marnie, if something here has –”
“No, no.”
“It’s one of the reasons I don’t normally let people stay on their boats –”
“It wasn’t the yard, well, not directly. I wasn’t going to mention it, but …”
She told him about the incident as they strolled towards Sally Ann.
“You saved his life, Marnie.”
“I’m not sure he wanted to be saved.”
“Whatever … you didn’t find him.”
“No. He just vanished.”
Peter’s eyes strayed to the water. “You’re sure he didn’t …”
“No. We got torches and searched everywhere, including the canal.”
“Did you get a good look at him? Would you know him again?”
Marnie shook her head. “No … and no … in that order.”
That Tuesday Gary was presented with an ultimatum.
“If you want the work, we leave by seven. Your choice.”
There was no way he could persuade Brendan to wait outside the tube station. Driving out of London, Gary sat thinking about Sheena. He went over all his anxieties and confronted his fears. He was not just worried, he was mystified. There seemed to be a conspiracy surrounding her. Brendan broke the silence when they were stuck in a queue of traffic at a roundabout.
“What is it with you these days, Gary?”
“What d’you mean?”
“Well, you always used to be good company, told jokes, had a laugh. Now, you just sit there.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Don’t give me that. I’m not stupid or blind. It’s obviously to do with this girl. What is it, she pregnant or something?”
“Nothing like that.”
“What then?”
“She went on holiday and hasn’t come back, no contact, not answering her mobile, not a postcard, not a word, nothing.”
“You mean all this is because some bird’s given you the elbow?”
“Nah, there’s more. It’s just … I dunno.”
The traffic crept forward.
“What more? I don’t get it, Gary. You’re talking in riddles.”
“The police want to talk to me.”
Brendan froze. “What about?” Gary said nothing. “Sheena?”
“Yeah.”
>
“Why? I don’t get it. You said she’d just gone on holiday. Why would the police want to talk about that?”
“I was asking about her in the pub. Someone told the police.”
“Gary, the more you tell me, the less I understand. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You remember that woman at Mile End, the one they fished out of the canal?”
Brendan put the van in gear as the stream of traffic began to roll.
“Jesus!”
“Exactly. Look, Brendan, you asked me what’s on my mind, now you know. It’s private.”
Brendan had to concentrate on the road. It was a while before he could take up where he had left off.
“You’ve been worrying that the woman in the canal in Mile End was Sheena?”
Gary sighed and said nothing. Brendan persisted. “Have I got it right?”
“Yes.” Gritted teeth.
“You needn’t have worried.”
“Why not?”
“Remember Leroy Monroe?”
“Rings a bell.”
“It should do. He was the kit of parts you pulled out of the pool in Little Venice a few months back.”
Gary had a mental image of the dismembered body spilling out of the broken crate.
“What’s that got to do with –”
“The word is, the Mile End woman … was his sister.”
“His sister?”
“Larissa. Seems she was more than a tad mixed up in her brother’s activities.”
“Bloody hell!” Gary stared through the windscreen.
Brendan smiled. “So, not Sheena.”
“No.”
Brendan chuckled. “I bet you were pretty … cut-up about her.”
Marnie needed to be out of the way while Peter worked on Sally Ann, but she lacked the energy to do the Oxford tourist thing. The sight of her new clothes lying in a filthy heap on deck gave her an incentive: retail therapy.
She retraced her steps to the boutique to buy trousers and top identical to the ruined ones. The owner of the shop recognised her and when Marnie explained what had happened, she offered a generous discount on the replacement items.
Marnie stopped off in a pub for a sandwich and got back to the boat as Peter was replacing the deck panels. He wiped his hands on a rag.
Marnie grinned at him. “Don’t give me the good-news-bad-news routine.”
“You’re in a good mood.”
“Who wouldn’t be? The owner of the boutique took pity on me and gave me a discount for the replacements.” Marnie nodded at the boat. “So what is the news, good or bad?”
“Could be worse. We don’t have to replace both batteries. I’ve got a new starter one on charge. I’ll install it this afternoon.” Peter looked beyond Marnie towards the far end of the yard.
“And the wiring?” she asked.
“I’ll check that later. First, I’ve got to sort out the little tiddler on the slipway.” Another glance over Marnie’s shoulder.
She looked round. A man was walking across the yard towards the trail-boat.
At another boatyard, about forty-five miles south-east of Oxford, Gary was trying hard to concentrate on fitting a new rudder post. He switched off the welding torch and pushed up the visor of his face mask to inspect the joints. He was also trying hard to adjust to the new situation concerning Sheena.
The good news was, she had not been dragged from the canal at Mile End. The bad news was, he still had no idea what had become of her or why she had made no contact with him for the past weeks.
When Brendan had told him that the Mile End murder victim was probably Larissa Monroe, a feeling of relief had swept over him. It had been short-lived. Before they reached the marina he was already tormenting himself with the obvious question.
If the Mile End victim wasn’t Sheena, where the hell was she?
Marnie left Peter to speak to his visitor. She took her bags inside and left them in the cratch, returning to deal with the ruined clothes that had been pushed to the rear of the deck. She was stuffing them into a bag to throw in the rubbish bin, when she spotted the shoe. It was caked in mud, inside and out. She knelt over the side to rinse it in the canal, holding it up by a lace to examine it as she pulled it out.
“Perhaps you should try using a different fly.”
Marnie’s head snapped round.
“Sorry if I startled you.”
She had been unaware of anyone’s approach. The man facing her was dressed in dark blue trousers and a pale yellow shirt. He was fortyish, tall and of slim build with dark hair, perhaps a little pale for the time of year. His voice was pleasant.
“I never had any better luck when I went fishing as a boy.”
Marnie smiled. “Sorry, I was slow off the mark.”
The newcomer continued looking at the shoe. “Is there some reason for washing that?”
Marnie had no real desire to explain, but felt drawn into conversation.
“Someone … fell in the canal last night and left this shoe behind.”
“And you rescued it. Do you know its owner?”
“No. It was dark. I didn’t see him properly.” She turned it over. “Interesting …”
The man moved forward for a closer look. “In what way?”
“It's a good make, hand-made, repaired not long ago, and this lace looks new.”
A telephone bell began ringing loudly across the yard. Marnie saw Peter walking quickly to his office.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. You can see it is, even with the mud.”
“You could be right.” The stranger looked at Marnie. “Are you going to deduce all sorts of things about the owner?”
Marnie studied the shoe from all angles. “Let’s see … It's in a classic style, hand-made in Earls Barton by a top shoemaker. I’d say this man had good taste. Obviously he wasn’t usually short of money.”
“Usually?” The man frowned. “Why do you say he wasn’t usually short of money?”
Marnie pointed at the sole. “Look how it’s been repaired.” The man came nearer. “These shoes carry a lifetime guarantee. The makers will rebuild them as often as the owner wishes. It's not cheap, but you always get top quality work.”
“Go on.”
“Well, these aren’t very old … perhaps a couple of years? You can tell by the marks on the leather.”
“Even though it’s just been fished out of the canal?”
“I think so. Look here. These repairs were never done by the makers, more likely one of those kiosk places.”
“So what do you conclude?”
Marnie reflected. “I think … the owner has a sense of style. He’s had the means to indulge it, but now he may be down on his luck. That might explain why he came to be floating in the canal last night.”
“This is very interesting.” The stranger sounded impressed.
Marnie could see Peter in his office, apparently immersed in conversation on the phone. She had things to do but couldn’t abandon the newcomer on the canalside.
“It looks as if Peter isn’t going to be finishing your boat for a while. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
A minute later the man was settled in a safari chair on deck, one leg crossed over the other. While Marnie was occupied in the galley, Dolly came out and sniffed at his foot, rubbing her head and flank against it. Marnie returned with a tray to find the cat sitting on the stranger's lap having her ears stroked.
“Put her down if she's a nuisance. I wouldn't want her spoiling your nice clothes.”
“She's no trouble. I'm fond of cats.” He took his coffee and poured in a measure of cream. Dolly caught a whiff of it and, ever hopeful, jumped down to investigate her bowl in the galley. The visitor took a sip. “Is this your boat?”
“I’m looking after her for my sister.”
The man’s eyes came to rest on the damaged clothes stuffed into the rubbish bag. Marnie felt compelled to offer an explanation. He let her reach the end of
her story before speaking.
“Brand new and ruined? It was very selfless of you.”
“What else could I do? There was no time to change … he might’ve died.”
“Of course.”
“My only worry is what became of the man. I’d dearly like to know.”
The visitor drank from his cup. “This is excellent coffee. Do you mind me asking what you do, I mean, apart from leading a nomadic life on the boat.”
Marnie explained in outline about her sabbatical while the man listened in silence. Then he said something that surprised her.
“I suppose you realise that sabbatical leave isn’t about going away. It’s about going back.”
Marnie hesitated. “Yes. I see what you mean, and I’m sure I will go back to my company when my journey’s completed.”
“So, an interior designer, not a detective.”
Marnie laughed. “Not a detective, no. I'm probably quite wrong about the drowning man. He was probably a drunken old tramp, who’d just been given those shoes from a charity shop.”
“Drunken?”
“Oh, yes. Didn’t I say? I’m sure he’d been drinking. I could smell alcohol on his breath.”
The man drank again and looked at Marnie over the cup. “Your reasoning is sound.”
“You think so?”
“The first part of your analysis seemed very fair. The drunken part … most perceptive.”
“I just smelled it on his breath.”
“Even so.”
Marnie smiled. “I thought my deductions about the shoes were the best bit.”
He shook his head thoughtfully.
Marnie was surprised. “You don’t think so? I felt quite convinced about that.”
The man put down his cup. “I think you overlooked another possibility, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“What was that?‘
“The shoes. It needn’t have been a question of money, of being down on his luck, as you put it.”
“How do you –”
