by Leo McNeir
“Why not tell us now and let us decide?”
“It’s quite possibly a blind alley. I don’t want to waste your time.” Bruere snorted and shook his head. Marnie made coffee and put the croissants in a basket on the table. She set down two plates, a sugar bowl and a small jug of milk. It was a very cosy scene. Almost. Bruere spooned two sugars into his cup and stirred slowly. “I wish I’d never found the body,” said Marnie.
“So does Tim Edmonds,” said Bruere. “And you still insist you can’t explain about the victim carrying your business card in his wallet and you maintaining that you didn’t know him. That’s your story?”
Marnie sighed. “What have I got to do to get the police to believe me?”
“Just try helping us, Mrs Walker.”
“But I’ve told you all I know.”
“About your card?”
“Honestly, it’s a mystery to me. I can’t explain it, really. But I will do all I can to work out what it means. I’m going to ask my old team at Everett Parker. Somebody there may be able to come up with something.”
“What makes you think that?”
Marnie shrugged. “Perhaps one of them used one of my cards. It’s possible.” Knight made a note. It was the first thing he had written. “You’ve got their address and details on the card you found on the body. You can check it out. There you are. That’s all you wanted to query.”
Bruere picked up a croissant and tore a piece off in his fingers. He frowned. Marnie wondered if he was not sure if he should dunk it in his coffee. He glanced over his shoulder towards the galley. Perhaps he wanted some jam. She was on the point of offering when he spoke.
“Who is MG, Mrs Walker?”
“Sorry?”
Bruere pointed with the croissant at the cork notice board on the wall of the galley. Anne had put it there for messages, lists, reminders. There were a few postcards, one of Anne’s canal sketches, a list with some of the items crossed out. It gave a homely but purposeful touch. In the middle of the list were the two initials. “MG,” he repeated. “Who is it?”
Marnie shook her head. “What is it?” she said.
Bruere scowled. “MG. Who is it, Mrs Walker?” He spoke slowly with a hint of menace.
“MG isn’t a who, inspector. MG is a what. It’s a car. The note is to remind me to speak to my sister about it. I have a pre-war MG sports car. It’s taking up all the space in my sister’s garage. I need to arrange to move it up to my place in the country.”
Bruere looked at Knight who was drinking coffee to wash down his croissant. She had the awful feeling that he was going to splutter and she tried not to smile. That would have been a bad move. Even so, Bruere did not look pleased and seemed to suspect that Marnie was trying to be clever.
“Do you know Malcolm Grant?” Bruere said suddenly.
“Malcolm Grant,” Marnie repeated. “Malcolm … Grant. I think I have heard the name somewhere, but I can’t place it.”
“You don’t know him?”
“I don’t know him.” This was beginning to sound familiar, she thought.
“His initials are MG.”
“I’ve worked that out. But those are not his initials on my memo-board, except by coincidence.”
“We seem to have a lot of coincidences where you’re concerned, Mrs Walker.”
*
After the policemen had left, Marnie went around tidying the boat inside and out, as if she was trying to clean away the contamination of their enquiry, their murder enquiry. While she moved around the cabin she laid her plans for the return journey. But first there were matters to be settled. On her list she wrote:
1. Faye
2. Ralph
3. Diesel
4. Anne
Satisfied with the boat, she reached for the mobile, rang Everett Parker Associates and asked for Faye Summers. A man came on the line, explaining that Faye was out all morning.
“Is that Andy? It’s Marnie. Listen, I need to talk to Faye about a job we did, or might have done, for an MP.”
“Tim Edmonds?”
Marnie was taken aback. “Yes. Have the police contacted you?”
“The police? No. It was on the news and we were saying that we’d done a job at his flat.”
“Who handled it?”
“Faye and Hannah. Hannah mostly, I think. It was while you were away that summer.” Of course! That would explain it. Hannah was working part-time after having a baby.
“Can I speak to Hannah?”
“She left months ago, Marnie. Needed more time for the family.”
Marnie arranged to ring later. While she was pondering her next move, she noticed that a message was waiting on the mobile. She pressed the arrow: Please ring Ralph – urgent.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Ah, the system works! I never really trust machines.”
“Sometimes they’re more reliable than people,” said Marnie. “At least they’re there when you want them.”
“Which is why I rang. Marnie, slight change of plan. I’ve got to come to London again. There’s someone I need to talk to at the LSE. He’s about to go to South Africa for a month, and I’m meeting him this afternoon. Could we have dinner together?”
“Ah, that would be difficult. The police have been and told me it’s okay to leave. Is there something urgent you want to talk about?”
“I want to try to get to the bottom of that question of the business card so that you can finish your statement and put this all behind you. And I wanted to see you again and give you moral support. But you really have to set off?”
“It’s nice of you, but I must get Sally home before Christmas. If I don’t go now, she could be stranded for months by lock closures.”
“Would you be able to see me at lunch-time? I’ve arranged to meet Michael Blissett again at the House. Or is it too much of a rush?”
“No. In fact, I want to talk to you about the case, anyway. Perhaps I could just come for a chat and then leave you to have lunch with Michael? Sorry to be unsociable, but time’s running out.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be there by about eleven-thirty. Can you make that?”
“Okay. Ralph, do you know someone called Malcolm Grant?”
“Of course. Known him for years.”
“Who is he?”
“An MP. Why?”
“The police were asking me about him. They took me by surprise. I couldn’t place him, though I thought I’d heard the name.”
“You’ll probably hear it again, too. He was Tim Edmonds’s closest friend.”
*
By the time Marnie had changed – she wore a charcoal grey jacket and skirt that she thought were suitable for the House of Commons – it was almost eleven as she emerged onto the stern deck of Sally Ann. Along the towpath the entrance gate clanged and she saw Gary re-connecting the padlock. He came towards Sally Ann with his usual walk, a cross between a swagger and the rolling gait of a seaman.
“Gary, what are you doing?”
He looked guilty but managed to keep the twinkle in his eye. His tone was defensive. “Nothin’.”
“No, no. I mean what are you doing today?”
“Ah.” The twinkle turned to a grin. “What do you have in mind, blue eyes?”
“I need the tank filling with diesel.” Gary ran a working boat with a diesel pump that supplied most of the boats in Little Venice at a surprisingly reasonable rate.
“Oh. I thought my luck had changed.”
“Could you do it this morning? I need to be away at lunch-time.”
Gary thought about it. “Yeah. I’ve got to see a man about a dog, but I could do it before I go. How much do you need?”
“I don’t know. Just put in as much as she’ll take.”
“How will I charge you if you’re not here? Or more to the point, how will you pay me?”
“Good point.” Marnie rummaged in her shoulder-bag. Cash or cheque were the only options. “I’ll give you a cheque. If I sign it, you can f
ill it in when you’ve finished. Okay?” There was no reply. “Okay?” She looked up. Gary was frowning with his mouth open.
“Fine, Marnie. Er, fine. That’s fine.”
She signed a cheque and tore it out. “You won’t let me down, will you? I want her filled up, so we don’t get condensation in the tank.”
“Trust me, Marnie. I’m a boatman.”
“Good. Must dash. See you. Have a good Christmas!” She set off towards the tube station and looked back to see Gary staring at the cheque in his hand. “And I’ve got brown eyes!” she called out over her shoulder. If Gary replied, she did not hear it.
*
“Have you been waiting long?” Marnie met Ralph at the entrance to Central Lobby.
“Just arrived,” said Ralph, kissing her. “You know, I still can’t get over the new hairstyle.”
“A lot seems to have happened since you first mentioned it. Have you announced our arrival at the desk?”
“Yes. Michael’s on his way down. We’re going to have a drink in the Pugin Room and then lunch. It’s not too late to change your mind if you’d like to eat.”
“I really ought to get back, but thanks for the offer. Can we have a quick word before Michael gets here? I’ve told the police that Edmonds could’ve got the card from one of my staff at Everett Parker. It’s possible that he was given it while I was away the summer before last. He had his flat redecorated and a member of my team worked on the design. She was part-time, mainly working at home, so she may not have needed her own business card.”
“Is that usual?”
“It happens. I’m going to speak to Faye about it later this afternoon. It would certainly help explain the mystery.”
“Good. And what was that business about Malcolm Grant?”
Marnie shrugged. “The inspector saw MG on my notice board and thought it could’ve referred to him.”
“MG?”
“My old sports car. Beth wants me to get it out of her garage. It’s been there for, well, a few years, actually.”
Ralph looked puzzled. “I wonder why they’re interested in Malcolm.”
“You said he was his closest friend.”
“Yes, I expect he’s helping them, too.”
“Well I hope he gets better treatment from the police than I do. They never seem to trust anything I say. What do you think they could be asking him about?”
Ralph shook his head. “Establishing his last movements, perhaps. I don’t know. But they were very close. Neighbours too, more or less.”
“Constituencies?”
“No. Quite the opposite, in fact. Edmonds was London Riverside. Grant represents one of the Lake District areas. But they both have places in north London. Grant was a terrific support to Edmonds at the time of the scandal. Rumour has it that he took Edmonds in hand and stopped him going completely downhill, serious drink problem and all that.”
“Sounds like a good friend to have.”
“Ah,” said Ralph. “Here comes Michael.”
The MP greeted his visitors warmly and ushered them through to the long and ornate ground floor corridor leading to some of the restaurants and bars that give the Houses of Parliament the reputation of being the best club in Britain. The style of decor here too was Victorian Gothick, with rich colours, thick carpet, the walls hung with paintings of Parliament, an elaborate ceiling. It was the usual bustle with people thronging the corridor, some striding purposefully with pre-occupied expressions, others standing in pairs or in small groups having a quiet word with their colleagues. For a few moments Marnie’s attention was distracted from her concerns. She enjoyed the atmosphere, the movement, the sense that important decisions were being discussed by people who had influence if not, according to Ralph and Michael, actual power. The dynamism of the place gave it a feeling of urgency, prevented it from seeming like a museum. The whole place was alive.
Towards the end of the corridor, Michael stopped and moved aside to let Marnie go in front of him. They were standing at the open door of a large high-ceilinged room with magnificent tall windows overlooking the Thames. It was furnished like a sitting room with groups of comfortable armchairs and sofas around small tables. To the left was a bar, and drinks were being served by a uniformed waiter. At eleven-thirty it was already half full.
“This is the Pugin Room, Marnie. He designed the interior of the House after the old building was destroyed by fire, as I’m sure you know, and …” Before he could finish the sentence, a man passing behind them whispered in his ear and he spun round. Marnie thought she had seen the man on television in the news, but she could not put a name to him. She was thinking that she would have to pay more attention to politics and politicians if her relationship with Ralph was going to continue, when Michael turned back to her. “Sorry, Marnie, won’t be a minute. Alastair wants a quick word. Would you like to take a seat. We’ll be with you directly.” He indicated the Pugin Room and she went in. Ralph was drawn into conversation outside with the two men. A quiet word, thought Marnie, taking a seat at a table in the middle of the room.
She tried not to indulge in rubbernecking, but was sure she recognised some of the faces around her. With a sense of achievement she spotted a former Home Secretary at a corner table with a smartly dressed woman and two teenage boys. Don’t stare, Marnie. Be discreet! She noticed the waiter hovering over her and glanced towards the door to see if Michael and Ralph were coming. Unsure what to do, she looked up at the waiter and smiled.
“I’m waiting for friends to join me.” Instead of withdrawing, the waiter remained where he was and a frown crossed his face.
“Actually, madam, this room is reserved for –”
“It’s all right, Simon, the lady is my guest.” The voice came from behind the waiter, but it was not Michael Blissett’s voice. This was more silky. Marnie strained to see who was claiming her and discovered that it was a man in his fifties in a formal pin-striped suit. He sat down opposite her. “What would you like?”
Marnie was flustered but determined not to show it. “A mineral water, please. Sparkling.”
“Your usual, sir?”
“No. Nothing for me, Simon. I have to keep a clear head.” He smiled at Marnie.
“You have a meeting?” she said.
“No,” said the stranger. “A liquid lunch with the chairman of a Select Committee.” He had good bone structure and looked fit for his age, like a City banker who kept up his jogging.
Marnie smiled. “My name is Marnie Walker. I’m actually waiting for Michael Blissett. He’s talking to someone in the corridor.”
“Shame on Michael. He’s a good chap, even if he is on the wrong side. But abandoning you here shows appalling judgement. My name, by the way, is Malcolm Grant.”
“Malcolm …” She held out her hand, struggling to contain her surprise. “… Grant. Hallo.”
He looked confused. “I don’t believe we’ve met, have we? I know I would have remembered.”
“No. No, we haven’t.”
“Is something wrong? You seem rather startled, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
For a moment Marnie was uncertain about what to say. But then, remembering the problems she had had with the police in the past through giving an inaccurate impression, she decided on frankness. “Mr Grant, I ought to say to you that I was the person who discovered Tim Edmonds in the canal. I know he was a friend of yours and I’m sorry.”
Grant’s expression faltered for just a second. He smiled grimly. “He was, he was indeed. It must have been an ordeal for you.” Marnie nodded. “And no doubt the police have been questioning you, too.”
“Twice,” she said.
“Such a harrowing business. Still, we have to do what we can to help. At least once they’ve finished with their questions you can put it all behind you.”
“Well, not quite, actually,” said Marnie. “It’s a little more complicated in my case.”
“Really? In what way? Oh, sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t be asking.
They’ve no doubt told you not to talk about it to anyone.”
The waiter arrived with Marnie’s drink, giving her a few seconds to consider how to reply. “It’s odd really, but I told them I didn’t recognise the man in the water. It was dark and he was, well, you know. Later they found my business card in his wallet.”
“His wallet? So he wasn’t mugged. I see.” Grant looked thoughtful, his mind far away. Marnie did not speak. The MP focused on her again. “In a way, that could be comforting, if it could have been an accident, I mean. Do you think it was?”
“I just don’t know.” It was her turn to look thoughtful. She had assumed the man had been murdered. But why did she think that? He was wearing an expensive watch, his wallet was intact. Perhaps she was expecting it to be a murder enquiry. Suspicious circumstances might mean anything. She recalled the smell of drink. Suppose he had had a drop too much, stumbled and slipped on the towpath, hitting his head on the iron pillars of the ‘blow-up bridge’. Everyone was going to drinks parties at this time of the year. She became aware that Grant was speaking. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you were saying.”
“Your card. It’s just that, if you didn’t know Tim, I wondered how he came to have your card in his wallet. Such an odd coincidence.”
“That’s what I said to the police. My firm did the redecoration of his flat in north London and one of my group must’ve given it to him.”
Grant nodded. “Last year during the recess. Tim came up to visit us while they were doing it. I must say you don’t look like a painter and decorator.”
“I’m not. It’s an architect’s practice. I used to be head of the interior design group. I have my own firm now.”
“Of course.” He looked at his watch and glanced over his shoulder towards the door.
“I am sorry to hold you up,” said Marnie. “Having to nursemaid me like this.”
“That’s all right. It’s a pleasure. I was just thinking … my own place down here. It’s a nice flat, but it could do with smartening up. Hasn’t been decorated for ages. I wonder if you’d care to have a look and see what you think.”
“Certainly.”
