by Leo McNeir
Marnie was puzzled. “I suppose so, yes. But –”
“And you’re quite certain he was completely unknown to you.”
Marnie hesitated. “Well I, I didn’t recognise him.”
“But now you’re having doubts?”
“Only because of the way you’re asking me the question. I assume you must have a reason for pressing me on this, but I honestly don’t know what it could be.”
“Mrs Walker, did you tell one of the officers last night that you had an engagement at the House of Commons today?”
“Yes, but only because I wanted to agree a time to come in this morning. It’s a lunch engagement. I’d rather like not to be late for it.”
“With whom did you have, do you have, this lunch engagement?”
“It’s with Professor Ralph Lombard of Oxford and Michael Blissett, the MP.”
“You know many MPs?”
“No. None, really. I’ve met one or two through Ralph. Just acquaintances. This afternoon we’re going to the carol service for MPs and their guests at St Margaret’s church, Westminster.”
“Can you give me your impressions of the dead man you found, Mrs Walker.”
It was ridiculous, but Marnie was beginning to realise that this was no simple interview. “Inspector … er …”
“Bruere.”
“Inspector Bruere. Is there something about this business that you think I know that goes beyond my finding an unknown man in the canal last night?”
“You tell me.”
“It’s just that this feels more like an interrogation than taking a statement, which is the reason I offered to come here. If there’s more to this than I realise, perhaps you should have suggested I might be joined by my solicitor.”
Inspector Bruere shrugged. “I’m only trying to clarify one or two details in your account of what happened so that we have the full picture.”
“I thought that’s what I was giving you.”
“Then shall we get back to my question? Your impressions of the dead man?”
Marnie pictured him lying in the dark water and suppressed a shudder. She took a deep breath. “I would say he was well dressed, wearing a dark coat, obviously good quality, shortish hair, well cut, his fingernails neatly manicured and clean. Oh yes, I noticed he was wearing two rings and what looked like a gold watch, a Rolex I think. It occurred to me that he hadn’t been mugged.”
“You’re very observant.”
“I was with him for some time.”
“You were with him for some time. And you’re sure you didn’t know him?”
“Yes. Yes, I am. Quite sure.”
“Does the name Tim Edmonds mean anything to you, Mrs Walker?” He watched her closely while she considered this for several seconds.
“It does seem to ring a bell, actually. I wonder … Tim Edmonds.” She repeated the name slowly. “Or was it Edwards?”
A half smile flickered across Bruere’s face. “Edmonds.”
Marnie nodded decisively. “I think I have heard the name, though I can’t remember the circumstances. Is it someone famous?”
“Is that the best you can do, Mrs Walker? Think again.”
Marnie shrugged. “It’s not a case of the best I can do. You either know someone or you don’t.”
“Quite so.” Bruere reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object. He slid it over the table towards Marnie. It was a transparent plastic envelope. “Do you recognise that?” Marnie picked it up and looked at the contents.
“It’s one of my business cards. Where did you get it?”
“You’re quite sure about that, Mrs Walker?”
“Of course I'm sure. It has my name on it and the name of my old firm. What else could it be?”
“Your old firm.”
“Everett Parker Associates, yes. I worked with them for nine years before leaving to start up my own company last summer.”
“So whoever had this must have known you for some time.”
“Yes. Or rather, they must have met me some time ago. I give cards out all the time. That’s why we have them, to give them to people.”
“Would it surprise you to know we found that card in the wallet of the dead man, the man you say you didn’t know?”
Marnie was visibly shocked. “I … I don’t know what to say. I didn’t recognise him at all. I’m sure I didn’t know him. Who is he?” Bruere raised an eye-brow. Marnie looked down at the card. “Is he – or rather, was he – this Tim Edmonds you asked me about?” Bruere nodded. Marnie shook her head. “No. I have no recollection of having met this person.”
“Can I ask you to turn the card over, Mrs Walker.” As he spoke there was a light knock on the door and a policeman walked into the room. He went across to Bruere and whispered in his ear. Bruere muttered something inaudible and the policeman left. Marnie turned the card over. On the reverse side, a single word was written: dish! “I do believe you’re blushing, Mrs Walker! Ring any bells now?”
Marnie sighed. “It’s a complete mystery to me. I can’t explain it at all.”
“Odd coincidence, though, wouldn’t you say? You find his body, say you don’t know him, and in his wallet is your business card with a rather personal comment on the back. To me it seems to suggest that you did know him and possibly rather better than just as a business contact. Does that sound a reasonable interpretation to you?”
“No! Look, I know when I know someone. The man I found last night was not someone I knew. Don’t be in any doubt about that.”
“That’s your story and you’re sticking to it?”
“It’s not a story. It’s the truth. And I think before we go any further, I’d like to talk to my solicitor.”
“He’s on his way,” said Bruere. “There’s someone waiting for you outside.”
“Waiting for me?”
“You must have told someone you were coming here this morning.”
“Certainly not my solicitor. I thought I was just coming to give a statement. I mentioned it to a neighbour in Little Venice – an old lady who lives opposite the boat – in case people wondered why I missed the carols last evening. I told her I was coming here and she invited me for coffee afterwards. Nobody else knows I’m here. Can I go now?”
“Of course. Thank you for your help. I’m sure you appreciate we’ll need to see you again soon. How can we contact you, Mrs Walker?”
“I’ll be staying on the boat for a few days. Let me give you my card. It’s got my mobile number.”
“Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”
As Marnie was escorted out to the entrance area, the duty officer pointed to the far side. She looked across to where several people were sitting and at first could not see anyone she knew. The person she expected, Roger Broadbent, her solicitor, was certainly not among them. Suddenly, from the middle of the group a single person stood up and waved, with an expression that was half pleasure, half anxiety. Anne with an ‘e’ walked quickly and determinedly across the hall and greeted Marnie with a kiss on the cheek and a theatrical sigh.
“Honestly, Marnie, you shouldn’t be allowed out! Are you all right?”
“Am I all right? You’re supposed to be the invalid!”
“Me? No, I’m okay. It was just a touch of ‘flu. I’m better now. Do we have to stay here or can we go back to Little Venice?”
Marnie took her by the arm and headed for the door. “Come on. Let’s go and get a decent cup of coffee.”
“Good idea,” said Anne. “Mrs Jolly’s expecting us. We’re all due there in half an hour.”
Out on the pavement, Marnie hailed a cab. “What do you mean, all?” When they were in the cab driving away, Marnie repeated her question.
“Well, there’s Ralph of course. He’s coming by train from Oxford because it’s quicker than driving. And Roger’s coming too. He said he wanted to make sure everything was as it should be. Is it?”
Marnie wearily put her head back on the seat of the taxi. “I suppose this is what’
s known as the Bush Telegraph. One word to Mrs Jolly and the phone lines are melting all over the south of England.”
“Well, someone had to do something and I was nearest, I suppose.”
“And I‘m really grateful, but to answer your question, no, I don’t think it is as it should be.”
“It must have been awful for you, Marnie, but at least they can’t try and pin it on you this time.”
“Wanna bet?”
*
“Well, in any other circumstances I’d say how nice it is to see you all.” Mrs Jolly was handing round biscuits to go with the coffee served in her best china. They sat in her living room like a family visiting a favourite aunt on a Sunday afternoon. Suddenly, Anne delved into her shoulder bag and pulled out a slip of paper.
“Oh, I nearly forgot. This is for you, Marnie. It was tucked into the door of Sally Ann. I found it when I went on board this morning. Nice handwriting.”
Marnie looked at the note addressed to her in a fine flowing hand. She opened it and read. “It’s from Priscilla, asking if I’m all right. In the end they gave up waiting for Marcus and got a cab. They were surprised to find I hadn’t made it to the carols. I’ll phone them later.”
Roger Broadbent leaned forward. “So, they gave you quite a grilling. Strictly speaking, they should’ve suggested that you go along with your solicitor.”
“Yes, but I would’ve said it wasn’t necessary. At least until Bruere produced my business card and starting making all sorts of insinuations.”
“Very odd,” said Ralph. “And did he actually say it was Tim Edmonds that you found?”
“That’s what I understood. Do you know him?”
“Oh yes, fairly well. Don’t you remember him? He was quite prominent in the Prime Minister’s leadership campaign in the summer. Could’ve been a high flyer at one stage in his career.”
“He was my MP,” said Roger. “I’ve seen him once or twice at public meetings, very smart sort of chap, always immaculate.”
“Classic English gentleman,” said Mrs Jolly.
“You all seem to know him better than I did,” said Marnie, “but I wonder if you’d have recognised him in the canal almost in the dark. Bruere doesn’t seem to realise what it was like, and somehow you don’t expect to find someone you might know, or know of.”
“My mum thought he was really dishy,” said Anne.
“And that’s a strange thing,” said Roger. “That note on the back of your card. What was that about?”
“Beats me. I haven’t a clue.” Marnie turned to Ralph. “What was he like, this Tim Edmonds?”
“Mid to late forties, as Roger said, very smart dresser, good with words, quite a wit on his day, very good in debate. Came in at the ’83 election, I think, expected to go far, quickly made PPS to the Attorney-General, promoted to the Whip’s Office a year later, career set to take off.”
“But it didn’t?” said Marnie.
“Own worst enemy,” said Roger. “Too fond of the good life, went to his head.”
Ralph nodded. “That’s right. He was quite wealthy from all accounts, criticised for not trying hard enough, and a tendency to drink more than was good for him.” Marnie remembered the smell of alcohol the night before. “Mind you, that was all behind him. Lately he’d been a reformed character, so much so that he was expected to be rewarded for his efforts in the next reshuffle.”
“What efforts?” said Marnie.
“He was a key player in the PM’s campaign, among other things. Since the scandal that brought him down, he’d got on with working for the party and that helped restore his reputation to some extent.”
“Sorry to be so ignorant,” Marnie sighed, “but what scandal?”
“He was cited in a divorce case about three years ago, an affair with the wife of a prominent QC.”
“Harold Larkin,” said Roger.
“Yes. Shortly afterwards his wife left him, accusing him of being a serial adulterer. It didn’t help that she was the daughter of Michael Anstey, now Lord Anstey, one of the grandees of the Tory Party, former cabinet minister in the Heath government and a major contributor to party coffers. Result, as you can imagine, Tim Edmonds rapidly became persona non grata.”
“There were lots of stories about his drinking habits in the constituency,” said Roger.
“And in the House,” said Ralph. “I remember one occasion when he was asked to withdraw by the Speaker and an opposition MP, Derek Campbell I think it was, suggested that his initials stood for Tired and Emotional.”
“I don’t get that last bit,” said Anne. “Or the bit about PPS.”
Ralph turned towards her. “PPS is Parliamentary Private Secretary, it’s like an assistant to a minister, good experience for high flyers. And ‘tired and emotional’ is a euphemism. According to the traditions of Parliament, the members cannot be described as ‘drunk’. Instead, they use …”
“Oh, I see. T and E like his name.”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re sure he was no longer like that?” said Marnie.
“That’s my understanding. When John Major announced the leadership campaign, Edmonds was one of his strongest supporters, did a lot of work behind the scenes as well as being up front in the hustings. It’s well known that Major was not keen on the sound-bite approach, mainly because he’s no good at it, but Edmonds was and fed him some good lines.”
Roger chipped in. “The word locally was that he might be made a junior minister. He’d got a good reputation helping in by-elections and because the Conservatives kept losing them, he was regarded as loyal and dedicated to the party.”
“So we could rule out suicide,” said Mrs Jolly. Marnie forced herself not to look in Ralph’s direction. “It could only have been an accident or murder. And if the latter, definitely pre-meditated, if he hadn’t been robbed.”
A silence fell on the group as they digested this. It was the first time any one of them had mentioned the word ‘murder’ and now it hung in the air like smoke in the bar of a pub.
“Here we go again,” said Marnie eventually. “Only this time I want to handle things better. I’m not going to make the mistakes I made last summer. If possible, I’d like to keep everything quiet.”
“Quiet?” said Anne.
“Yes, if I can.”
“Er, that might be difficult.”
“Why?”
Anne pulled a face. “I did mention to one or two people that you were being interviewed by the police.”
“I see. And?”
“Well, for a start the vicar’s holding a prayer vigil in the church, the W.I. is organising a petition, the school’s putting up posters all over the village, the local paper’s running a Free Marnie campaign and the Appletons are sending you a food parcel from the shop.”
“Ha … ha!” said Marnie slowly.
*
The cab was held up in heavy traffic for a few minutes at Marble Arch. It was twelve-thirty. Anne was on her way home on the train. Marnie and Ralph were heading for the Commons. The newspaper sellers were doing a brisk trade in the early lunchtime editions on the crowded pavements, the headlines proclaiming: MP DEAD IN CANAL MYSTERY. Ralph checked his watch as the driver slid open the glass panel and leaned back.
“Christmas shopping!” he called over his shoulder. “Everyone’s gone mad.”
“Panic buying,” Marnie suggested.
“Prob’ly. I could go through the park if you want. It’d be quicker but it’s a longer route. Up to you.”
“Go for it,” said Marnie.
“Okay, love.” He pulled over so that the nose of the taxi was half into the outside lane and edged up to the bumper of the car ahead. Marnie shuffled closer to Ralph on the seat and linked arms. She was worried about the effect on him of all the talk of drowning in the canal. He glanced at her and smiled.
“Are you okay, Marnie?”
“Of course.” She squeezed his arm with hers.
“I’m sorry this had t
o happen. It must be awful for you after all you went through in the summer.”
“We’ll just have to see it through,” she said. “At least we’re not in the front line this time.”
“I saw in the paper that the police believe there was a witness,” said Ralph.
“A witness?”
“Apparently. The report said the police were trying to trace a tramp who was known to be living on the opposite side of the canal. There was at least one tramp there, it seems.”
Marnie thought back to the times she had passed that way on Sally Ann and seen pallets covered with blankets and tarpaulins under the bridge set back on a mound rising from the water’s edge. It was a well-known haunt for tramps and had provided shelter for years. But she did not know if they stayed there through the winter and on the evening when she found the body, there had not been a flicker of life or movement across the water.
“If they had a witness why were they giving me such a hard time?”
Ralph shrugged. “To see what else they could find out, perhaps.”
“Yes. All because of that card, I expect. Well, I don’t suppose the tramp will’ve gone far. When they’ve got his testimony that should sort things out. And once my statement’s out of the way and we’ve resolved the card business, we can bow out.”
The traffic crawled forward and within seconds their taxi had eased into the outer lane and gained space as the lights turned to amber, racing across the empty road junction at the top end of the park to take pole position at the next set of traffic lights.
“I hope so,” said Ralph.
“Tomorrow I’ll give them my statement and that’ll be that. No more grilling, no more trying to catch me out.”
“You said they’d given you a hard time. Did they grill you?”
“It felt like it. I seem to bring out the animosity of the police. Do you remember Inspector Bartlett? He never believed a word I said. This one, Inspector Bruere, kept calling me Mrs Walker all the time, very annoying.”
“He was probably goading you to see if you were the violent type, the sort who could commit murder.”
Marnie was indignant. “Yes. Well, he nearly found out.”
