Death in Little Venice

by Leo McNeir

  Ralph chuckled. The taxi accelerated away and turned into Hyde Park where the traffic was thinner. “I was surprised you didn’t know about Tim Edmonds. He was in the news quite a lot a few years back. Big scandal.”

  “I was probably having problems of my own at the time. Anyway, there’s been so much scandal with this government, so much sleaze, it’s been hard to keep up with everything that was going on.”

  “And yet he had your card in his wallet.”

  “I know,” said Marnie. “It’s weird. I’ve no idea how he got it.” She shook her head.

  “There’s probably a simple enough solution,” said Ralph. “We’ll sort it out.”

  “Yes. Let’s forget it for this afternoon. I just want to enjoy the day. Lunch at the House of Commons followed by the carol service sounds like excellent therapy to me.”

  *

  By the time Marnie and Ralph took their seats in St Margaret’s church the place was filling up rapidly and there was a hubbub of muted conversation, much of it no doubt centred on the death of Tim Edmonds. Marnie had a strange feeling. Here were all these people talking in shocked whispers about the dead MP while, unknown to them, the person who had discovered his body was sitting in one of the pews just a few feet away. They found themselves almost at the back with only one row behind them. Marnie leaned up against Ralph to murmur. “We were lucky to get in. Any later and we’d have been on the pavement. And I thought we were early.”

  “No danger of that,” he muttered softly. “This is entry by tickets only. A lot of the front rows are reserved for members of the government. Half the cabinet and a load of other ministers from both houses are probably here. You’re doing it again.”

  “What am I doing?”

  “Rubbernecking.”

  “Am I? Surely not. Is that the Chancellor over there?”

  Ralph gave her an old-fashioned sideways look and they settled down to reading the programme. Senior members of the main parties were doing the readings, including the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition. A day of contrasts, Marnie thought. Interrogation by the police and now this. She had enjoyed lunch with Michael Blissett, punctuated by numerous handshakes as friends of his came past their table and wished them a Happy Christmas. He had not applied for a ticket to the carol service for himself … Not quite my scene … but had obtained them for Ralph as a favour. The organ struck up the opening bars of the first carol, Lo, He comes … and everybody stood up to sing as the procession made its way down the centre aisle.

  As the service progressed, Marnie let her thoughts drift over the events of the past year. She found herself wondering at her daring to give up a secure career in London to set up her own design company in Knightly St John, renovating the derelict farm buildings to live and work in them herself and let the cottages and barns as a source of income. Amazingly, it was working out as well as she had hoped, with the support of Anne as her right hand, her trusted right hand.

  She admired the Christmas tree by the altar, so heavily weighed down with decorations, ribbons and lights, that the green branches were scarcely visible, and she thought of the parish church of St John in Knightly, no less beautiful than this one, the scene of two terrible murders separated by 350 years, almost the scene of her own death a few months earlier. The thought made her shudder and she hoped no-one noticed it as the congregation sang Hark the herald angels. But Ralph seemed to notice and he moved closer so that their arms touched. She realised that he had a good baritone voice and sang in tune, unlike the woman behind her who sang flat, half a note later than everybody else. It was very off-putting, as Marnie, despite being a committed agnostic, wanted to do justice to the carols that she had known and liked since childhood.

  The service must have lasted about an hour, but it ended too soon for Marnie. The congregation was asked to remain standing while the procession made its way out, and she tried not to stare at the famous faces as they walked past. The Prime Minister was smiling at everyone and their eyes met for a second. It seemed to be the norm for politicians to look straight in the eye, as if they were trying to impress people with their sincerity. The Leader of the Opposition was a few paces behind him, with a serious expression, his gaze straight ahead. As the guests of honour left the church, a muttering of conversation started up, half the congregation seeming to want to have a quiet word with the other half. Marnie recognised it as the way things were done in Westminster, to take someone aside for a quiet word. The church looked wonderful with its Christmas tree and candles, the organ, its pipes gleaming, softly playing an anthem.

  Ralph turned to speak quietly to Marnie, as if he had been reading her thoughts. “Wouldn’t it be marvellous, if it was all true.”

  “What?”

  “All this … religion … Christmas.” His voice was barely audible.

  Marnie looked at him carefully to make sure she understood what he was saying. He seemed genuinely moved at the thought. She replied quietly. “You mean, marvellous if it all meant something, literally?”

  Ralph nodded. “Sorry, Marnie. Is that offensive?”

  “Probably, but not to me. As something personal I think religion’s fine, if you’ve got it. It’s when people organise it that the problems come along.”

  They turned to move out into the aisle and Marnie had to hold back waiting for the shuffling crowd to move on before she could take her place. She bent down to pick up her order of service as a memento and, as she did, she noticed a man sitting alone at the far end of the back row, a distinguished looking man in his fifties. It was his posture that attracted her attention. He was hunched forward and at first she thought he was praying, but instead realised that he was struggling to control his emotions. He looked desperately sad and she was sure his cheeks were damp as he stared in front of him, eyes downcast, with an expression of utter desolation, oblivious to everything going on around him. Marnie turned to ask Ralph if he recognised the man, but Ralph had already moved into the aisle and by the time they had the chance to speak, they were outside, someone she did not recognise was having a quiet word with Ralph and the moment had passed.

  As Ralph made no effort to introduce her to the stranger, Marnie waited a few paces away, taking his action as a signal that he did not want to prolong the conversation. A minute later he turned to take her arm and they walked slowly down the path towards the West front of Westminster Abbey.

  “Sorry about that, Marnie. That was one of the policy advisers from the Opposition. They want me to attend a meeting in the new year.”

  “I didn’t think you got that closely involved with the individual parties.”

  “I don’t. Anyway, I had an excuse. Even the new generation of whiz-kids don’t expect me to cancel the White House to talk to them about monetary policy.”

  They stood on the pavement and the cold air swirled around them, whipped up by the passing traffic in Parliament Square, jostled by passers-by, shoppers, tourists, the never-ending London throng.

  “It’s funny,” said Marnie, looking up at the ancient façade, newly cleaned and shining in the floodlights. “I thought we were going to be in there for the carol service, in the actual abbey.”

  “No, it’s always held in St Margaret’s. It’s Parliament’s parish church. Or did you think they’d renamed the abbey after Mrs Thatcher? Now there’s a thought.”

  Marnie laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” She took hold of Ralph’s arm. “What now? You have to get back to Oxford for your committee?”

  “’Fraid so. Academic Board. Special meeting to talk about funding. If you like, you could come back with me, make yourself at home in my rooms and we could go out for supper afterwards?”

  “You could eat another meal after that lunch?”

  “Well, a drink then. I don’t like to let you out of my clutches when I’ve got you.”

  “Sounds tempting, but it would be very late and I have to be here to see the police.”

  “Yes.” Ralph sighed. “You’re right, of c
ourse. Never mind. We’ll have Christmas together.”

  They took a cab to Little Venice where Ralph dropped Marnie off before going on to Paddington station not far away. She stood for a few moments looking down from the raised pavement over the railings at the boats. It had always struck her as a strange sight for the middle of London, the street lights reflected off the water, the gaily-coloured narrowboats drawn up along both banks like a gypsy encampment in the heart of the city. A romantic, almost exotic scene. It pained her to think that it was now touched by a murder enquiry and even more to think that she was involved in it. Marnie went on board to switch on the heating and switch on a lamp to welcome her back before crossing the road to call in on Mrs Jolly.

  “Come in, my dear. Let’s go through to the living room. I’ve made a few things for a sort of late tea. We can sit by the fire and make ourselves comfortable.”

  It sounded as homely as if Marnie was back in Knightly St John. Taking a seat on a sofa opposite the fire, Marnie realised how tired she felt. It had been a long day and she was still not fully recovered from her injuries. The low table held a traditional mixture of sandwiches and petits fours, with a Yule log and mince pies to add a seasonal touch. As a centrepiece, four advent candles were burning in a wreath of holly. Mrs Jolly re-appeared carrying a Royal Doulton tea-pot and settled onto her favourite armchair. She leaned forward to pour.

  “I thought a nice pot of Darjeeling would revive flagging spirits, Marnie. There’s nothing quite like it on a winter’s day. Milk or lemon?”

  “You must be a mind reader, Mrs Jolly. Lemon would be perfect.”

  “The slices are in that ramekin by the cucumber sandwiches.”

  Marnie almost purred with pleasure as the warmth and cosiness of the room enveloped her. The fire may have been of artificial coals, powered by gas, because of London’s anti-smog laws, but it was near enough to the real thing. She sighed and sank back into the cushions.

  “That’s better,” said Mrs Jolly. “Just help yourself to whatever you need and relax. If you feel up to it, tell me about your day.”

  Marnie smiled at the old lady. “Do you remember what I said about a quiet life?”

  7

  Tuesday 20 December

  It was before eight on Tuesday morning when the mobile rang. Marnie was sitting over a cup of coffee in the saloon on board Sally Ann, thinking.

  “Marnie, it’s Ralph. Sorry to ring early, but I knew you’d be up and about.”

  “No problem.”

  “Look, I’ve had a thought, about your business card, the one the police found on Tim Edmonds.”

  “All contributions welcome. I’ve drawn a complete blank.”

  “Could it be one of your team?”

  “Who?”

  “The dish.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, the police seem to think it was meant to be you, a logical and very obvious deduction.”

  “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “But could someone from your department have given him your card, or do they all have their own?”

  She pondered. “It varies. Some do, some don’t.”

  “So it’s possible?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Any idea who it could’ve been?”

  Marnie thought about her old team. Most of them were young women and most of them were presentable with good dress sense. But a dish, as in dishy, that could only really be one of them. “I’ll give Faye a ring … Faye Summers.”

  “Does she measure up to the description?”

  “In all departments. A good choice of words, Ralph. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Marnie went back to her coffee and her thoughts. Through the window, she looked out on a grey day, dry and cold. She loved Little Venice, but really did not want to be there. She felt hemmed in and longed to be out in the country again, back in Knightly St John where she knew she belonged. Perhaps, after the police had taken her statement … Suddenly, she nodded decisively and reached for the phone.

  “Anne? Hi! How are you?”

  “Fine, Marnie. Where are you, in the dungeons? Do I have to saddle up the white charger?”

  “Not yet. I’m still on Sally, but I’m thinking of escaping.”

  “Can you do that? Don’t you have to get permission from the police?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ve had enough of London and I’d like to get home. How would it suit you?”

  “Do you want me to come back down to London?”

  “No, I don’t know when I can leave. But I could pick you up on the way.”

  “Fine. I’ll be on standby whenever you’re ready. I’ll go and pack.”

  Marnie knew Anne would be starting one of her inevitable lists before the mobile reached the table. Immediately it rang.

  “Marnie? It’s Priscilla, Priscilla Barnes. I hope it’s okay to ring so early.”

  “Absolutely fine, Priscilla. I was going to call you. Thanks for your note.”

  “That’s okay. What happened to you? Are you all right? We heard on the news about …” She lowered her voice, “the body of the MP in the canal and wondered if you’d got involved in any way.”

  “I found him.”

  “Oh, my god, you poor lamb! It must have been awful for you.”

  “Not very pleasant. Anyway, I’m giving a statement to the police and that should be the end of it.”

  “They said the police were treating it as a suspicious death.”

  “That’s right, but I don’t know what else they’ve found out. They don’t give much away. Tell me, what happened to you and Anthony?”

  Priscilla sighed theatrically. “Marcus had engine trouble, condensation in the fuel supply, I think. We’d forgotten to keep the tank filled to prevent it. So he had to leave her en route. Marcus is not mechanically minded, I’m afraid. He works with special needs children. He’s great with kids, not so good on machines.”

  “I’m glad he was okay.”

  “Keep in touch, Marnie, and have a good Christmas. We’ll get together another time.”

  Finishing the last of the coffee, Marnie thought about her own fuel tank. Sally Ann consumed so little diesel that she hardly ever thought about checking. Time to write a list. Anne would be proud of me! she thought. Too early to ring Faye Summers at the office, she pressed another set of familiar numbers.

  “Beth, it’s me. How are things?”

  “Hi Marnie! Okay. What about you? Did you hear about that business of the body in the canal, that MP?”

  “Beth, don’t get hysterical, right? There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

  “You’re kidding! I don’t believe it.”

  “I haven’t said it yet.”

  “You don’t have to. What happened?” Marnie gave a brief outline. “That’s strange,” said Beth. “The police didn’t say a woman was helping them with their enquiries or anything like that.”

  “If they meant me, they’d probably say a woman was hampering their enquiries, as usual. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’m here in Little Venice for the moment, I’m okay and I’m going back home as quickly as I can, as soon as I’ve talked to the police. Sorry I haven’t got time to see you. We’ll have to sort out about the MG another time.”

  Marnie was surprised how well Beth had taken it. There was no doubt that Beth was giving her an easy ride since Marnie’s brush with death in the summer. In fact, Marnie did not know what she found more difficult to manage, her sister’s nagging or her understanding. She got up and crossed to the sink in the galley to wash her coffee cup. Through the slats of the venetian blind she saw a police car parked on the street the other side of the railings and two police officers staring down at her from the raised pavement.

  When she had ushered them into the saloon, Marnie indicated chairs and they sat down. Chief Inspector Bruere was accompanied by a much younger man with a boyish, rather gentle face, who pulled out a notebook. Bruere introduced him as DC Knight.

  “Usually I go
through the ritual of offering coffee at this stage, but so far no-one has ever accepted.”

  “Well I will, if you’re offering, Mrs Walker,” said Bruere. “It’ll be my only breakfast today.”

  “For both of you?” The younger man smiled and nodded. Marnie lit the gas under the kettle and put four croissants in the oven. “You want to sort out my statement?”

  Bruere nodded at his colleague. The young man took a document from his pocket and pushed it across to Marnie to read.

  Bruere said, “I want you to check that these are the key points relating to your account of what happened, Mrs Walker. If you agree them, we’ll get you to sign the formal statement shortly.”

  The notes seemed accurate enough. Marnie nodded and passed them back to him. She signed it and gave it back to him.

  “Have you managed to find the tramp they mentioned in the papers?” she asked.

  “We’re working on it.”

  “But it’s true that you think there might have been a witness?”

  “Like I said, we’re working on it, Mrs Walker.”

  Marnie said, “So is this visit a good or a bad sign? For example, am I able to leave London? Can I head back to Northamptonshire?”

  Bruere hesitated. “There are one or two matters we want to clarify, but, yes, you can go home. I think we’ve got your home phone number.”

  “It’s on my business card. And I gave you my mobile number. You can reach me on it when I’m travelling if you need to. It’ll take me four to five days to get home.” Bruere raised an eyebrow. “I’m travelling on the boat, inspector.”

  “Of course.” Both policemen looked around at the interior, taking in all the details of the saloon and the galley. Bruere seemed lost in his thoughts for a few moments. “Four or five days, right. Well let’s see if we can make some progress, shall we? The business card, the one we found on the body. Have you anything to add to what you said at the station?”

  Marnie thought about Ralph’s idea that dish could refer to one of her team, but she had not yet checked it out. “Look, I have an idea about that, but it’s nothing definite. I’d rather wait till I have a clearer picture.”