by Leo McNeir
“Apart from this feeling you’ve had, and the trampled undergrowth, has there been any actual trace of a person?”
“Apart from the footprints, nothing else really. Oh, there was a cigarette butt, but it could’ve been dropped any time.”
“Did you pick it up?”
Jill looked puzzled. “No. Should we have?”
“No, of course not. I’ve been dealing with too many police officers. I’m starting to sound like them. Where was the cigarette?”
“Up at the back of the farm by the old kitchen garden.”
*
Marnie came to lean up against the draining board as Anne washed the coffee cups. “Did you hear that? It was Jill’s mini. I think she’s gone shopping.”
“Nice little car, that. Just right for her.”
“We’ll have to think about getting one for you some time. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Wow!”
Marnie began drying the cups. “While she’s out …”
“Ye-e-s.”
“No need to sound suspicious.”
“It was the way you said it, like a conspirator.”
“I was just going to suggest we had a look round the farm.”
“Yes. I was going to go on a hunt for Dolly.”
“Let’s do it now,” said Marnie. “While the coast is clear. I wouldn’t want to worry Jill.”
“Why should she worry?”
“Well, it must be a disappointment. Just married, moved into her first home with her husband, and feeling under surveillance from a prowler. That’s not what they expected at Glebe Farm.”
“So this isn’t just about looking for Dolly.”
“We’ll see.”
The trouble with Glebe Farm was its scattering of outbuildings, barns and sheds, the heaps of materials for the construction work. There was no shortage of places to hide. Marnie and Anne picked their way carefully round the farmhouse to the old kitchen garden, anxious to disturb nothing. It was Anne who found the first trace of intrusion. They kneeled down and examined the ground. Marnie pointed. “I think this is what they saw. All the other trampling was probably done by Jill and Alex. Pity.”
Anne stretched forward and reached into the flattened planting. She pulled out a cigarette butt.
“What do you deduce from that, Watson?” Marnie said, trying to sound more flippant than she felt.
“Someone’s been smoking here,” said Anne with a deadpan expression on her face.
Marnie inspected it closely. “It doesn’t look as if it’s been here very long. It seems to be fresh.”
“And it’s smoked right down to the filter,” said Anne. “That’s how kids smoke.”
“Or someone on surveillance who’s bored out of his skull and has nothing else to do?”
“You could be right.”
Marnie surveyed the area for some time before speaking. “No, I’m not.”
“Was that a trick question, then?”
“No. Seriously, Anne. Look at this place. What does it tell you?”
“Am I back to being Watson again?”
“If you like. What do you see? Look at it.”
Anne stared all around her and glanced at the cigarette. “Oh, yes. I see what you mean.”
*
For lunch, Marnie made a mixture of tuna and mayonnaise, sprinkled with black pepper and lemon juice, while two pittas warmed in the oven on Sally Ann. Meanwhile, Anne put together a small salad and tossed it in a little balsamic vinaigrette. Marnie stuffed the tuna and salad into the pittas while Anne opened a bottle of designer mineral water.
“So you think I’m right?” Marnie said to Anne, as they began eating.
Anne nodded agreement and chewed steadily. She swallowed. “Yes, definitely. This is delicious, Marnie.”
“I think your balsamic vinegar makes all the difference.” Marnie said, taking a sip of sparkling water. “I’d prefer a spritzer with it, if I’m honest. Look, coming back to the intruder, if that’s what it was. That was definitely not a pro.”
“No.”
“A professional of any sort, police, terrorist, or whatever, was not going to leave the place trampled underfoot like that. It’s too obvious.”
“And the cigarette end was a give-away,” Anne joined in.
“If it came from the same person.”
“And you think it did.”
“I think the butt was fresh. If it had been out there long, it would’ve rotted. So, yes, I do. At least there must be a fair chance that it did. And no pro is going to be watching somewhere with a lighted cigarette in his mouth. For a start it glows in the dark.”
“And it smells,” said Anne. “And leaves traces of ash.”
“We’d never find that,” said Marnie. “They must just think of us as hopeless amateurs, not worth even the basic precautions.”
“No, but if they did something and the police came to investigate, they might find it.”
“So what do we have? You think it was someone more your age.”
“Seems logical.”
“But why?” Marnie said. “What would be the point?” They ate in silence for a few moments. “Unless …”
“What?”
“There is that other possibility. Perhaps it was a tramp, like Jill said.”
“Looking for somewhere to sleep, somewhere sheltered?”
“Maybe. We’ll have a look for signs of occupation in the barns. There isn’t much real shelter down here, though. And I think tramps know where to look, usually. And they wouldn’t stand out there in the same place for long. Surely, a tramp would be searching around for somewhere to go.”
“So that knocks that idea on the head,” said Anne.
“Although there might be another reason.”
“For it to have been a tramp? What do you think?”
“What if he was trying to see us, get in touch, make contact?”
After lunch, they resumed their search of the buildings and grounds, becoming increasingly aware of their anxiety about Dolly. Of intruder or cat, there was no trace, and they turned back towards the office barn, neither feeling inclined to settle down to work. A faint sound behind them caused Anne to look over her shoulder.
“We’ve got company, Marnie.”
Approaching slowly down the rutted field track was a familiar, dark green Range Rover, shiny as new. The car drew up behind the hired Escort, and Marnie greeted George Stubbs with a handshake. He in turn patted Anne gently on the shoulder, and she smiled through her desire to pull a face.
“I heard you were back, my dear. You were spotted as you drove through the village.”
“Even in a strange car?”
“Of course. Townsfolk notice the car. Country people look for the person in it. Quite a difference, you see.”
“Yes. Well, George, what brings you here? Have you time for a cup of tea or coffee?”
George looked quickly at his watch. “Much as I would love to, I’m afraid this is only a flying visit.”
Marnie led him into the warmth of the office. “Fire away. What can I do for you?”
“It’s more in the way of what can I do for you, Marnie. I’m on my way to a meeting of the constituency management committee. Gerald will be there.”
“Gerald?”
“Sir Gerald Cornforth, you know, your local MP.”
“Oh, right. I see.”
“I was wondering if you needed any help?”
“From my MP?” Marnie wanted to say that she had seen enough MPs to last a lifetime.
“Yes. He’s a good chap, Gerald. Knows his way around where it counts. Good connections. If there’s anything you need to know …”
“That could cover just about everything, George. The police aren’t exactly forthcoming. I never know where I am with them.”
“I suppose not. Can’t be easy running an investigation.”
“Actually, I have had some help from an MP. Do you know Malcolm Grant?”
“Of course. I�
��ve met him at functions a few times. That’s what I call a man. Salt of the earth is Malcolm. Great fan of Maggie, too. Fine chap. Peer now, you know. Shame really. I thought he’d go far.”
“But you have a high regard for him.”
“Absolutely. First class. Top drawer. And he’s helping you, you say?”
“We’ve discussed the case of Tim Edmonds a few times.”
“Good. Good. Oh well, I’d better get along. If there’s anything I can do, just shout.”
Marnie walked with George out to his car. “George? If there was a stranger hanging around in the village, do you think someone would know about it?”
“Bound to, I’d say. You can’t have secrets in a place like Knightly. What sort of stranger?”
“I’m not sure. A tramp, possibly?”
“That’s most likely Woody.”
“Woody?”
“Nice old stick, been coming through for years. Mind you, I’d be surprised to see him at this time of the year. Usually he’s around in the spring.”
“Where would he be at this time?”
“No idea, Marnie. Sort of thing you don’t ask, really. We give him some food, bit of cooked ham, some apples from the loft, fill his water bottle. He’s pleasant enough. Does no harm. You look surprised.”
“Sorry. I just couldn’t imagine you knowing a tramp. It seems so odd.”
“You get all sorts in the country, Marnie. Can’t pick and choose.”
“I suppose not. Then, if it isn’t this Woody, who else might be around?”
George shrugged. “Search me. But I’ll ask in the village if a stranger’s been seen. You never know. Nothing else I can do?”
“Thank you, George, no. Oh, except … I don’t suppose you’ve seen our cat, Dolly? She seems to have gone for a wander.”
“Big black cat,” said George. “Fine looking beast. Odd time of year to go off.”
“Yes. We’re getting worried about her. She’s been missing for two days.”
“Mm.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll have a word with the dustmen.”
“Dustmen?”
“Yes. They sometimes … you know … on the road and all that.”
“Oh. yes.”
“Don’t look so glum, my dear. She’ll turn up. Nine lives, you know. I’ll keep a lookout. And if I hear anything about strangers in the village, I’ll call by. Remember, anything you need, don’t hesitate.”
Back in the office barn, Anne was sorting the contents of her in-tray into priority order. “Have you got enough to keep you occupied for now?” Marnie said. “There are one or two jobs I want to do on the boat.”
“Sure. I’m just getting organised.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in a while.”
Marnie drew the zip on her jacket up to her throat as she set off through the spinney. It would freeze again tonight, she thought. Reaching Sally Ann, she went on board only long enough to pick up a woollen hat, that she pulled down over her ears. Slowly she walked along the bank, scanning the surface of the canal as she went. After ten minutes, she turned back towards Sally Ann, and began walking in the opposite direction. Less than five minutes later she saw the small dark shape in the water on the opposite side of the cut. A lump came to her throat, and a wave of anguish swept over her. Somewhere behind her, she heard Anne calling, and began to retrace her steps as quickly as she could. Anne appeared from the trees.
“I wondered where you were when I looked on the boat and saw you weren’t … What’s the matter? What’s happened?”
“Er, nothing.”
“Marnie, you look upset. Are you all right? What is it?”
Marnie shook her head and must have glanced towards the canal. Anne looked past her and her eyes focused on the water. She stepped forward and stared.
“Is that …? Oh, no. It isn’t, is it, Marnie? It’s not Dolly, is it?”
Marnie put a hand on Anne’s shoulder. “I can’t quite tell.”
“But you think it is.”
They stood in silence for several seconds until Marnie made a move. “Come on,” she said quietly. “Let’s get Sally and find out.”
The diesel engine clattered into life at the first touch of the starter, and they eased Sally Ann out into mid-channel to slip slowly towards the shape in the water. Marnie edged the boat over towards the far bank and throttled back to coast the last few metres. She looked over the side while Anne stood behind her. There was no mistaking the small body floating half-submerged in the frosty water. It was a tiny lamb. A black sheep. Marnie raised a hand to her forehead and burst into tears. With a sob, Anne rushed forward and stared down.
“That’s not Dolly!”
Marnie rested both elbows on the roof of the boat with her face in her hands. Anne turned towards her friend and saw tears falling onto the deck. She put an arm around Marnie’s shoulder.
“But it’s not her, Marnie.”
Marnie coughed. “I know.” Anne reached into her pocket and pulled out a paper tissue. Marnie took it and dabbed her eyes. “Sorry, Anne. This is ridiculous. I should be the one comforting you.”
“It isn't as simple as that,” said Anne quietly. “Is it? You've been closer to the action than I have. It can’t be easy having to be brave the whole time. You've been under so much strain. And you know more about what's going on.”
“Do I?” said Marnie. “I wonder.”
*
Thursday 5 January
That afternoon in his office in the House of Commons, Malcolm Grant reached forward and switched on the lamp. The green glass shade glowed pleasantly and its brass stand shone, bringing the papers on his desk back into focus. He was surprised how gloomy the room had become even though it was still light outside. He had been sorting through papers when his mind had wandered off, thinking about his interview with Bruere, thinking about Marnie. She was often in his thoughts these days, too often for his own peace of mind.
He tipped the contents of the waste paper bin into a black plastic sack and felt sorely tempted to push everything from his desk into the bag as well. All his political career could be dropped into that bag and thrown out with all the other rubbish. House of Lords! Huh! Geriatric ward to make old buffers feel they still have somewhere to go, somewhere they can feel important.
“Why had your bin not been emptied over Christmas, Mr Grant, or should I be calling you Lord Grant?” Malcolm remembered Marnie telling him how irritated she was by the way the police used her name all the time. He had kept a straight face and explained calmly to Chief Inspector Bruere that he was technically still a commoner and that the cleaners would not enter his office without his permission, and that when he was not there, he could not give that permission.
“Is that normal, sir?”
“Yes. With all these so-called ’researchers’ about the place, you never know who might walk in and take a look at what you’ve got on your desk.”
“You think New Labour would do such a thing?” Bruere looked as sceptical as a Tory backbencher in a debate on European integration.
“Who said anything about Labour? We’ve had a leadership contest, remember? It’s better not to take chances.”
Bruere had said pointedly: “A contest in which you and Mr Edmonds took opposing sides.”
“We are allowed to think for ourselves here, you know. Tim and I had differences of opinion on several policy issues. We respected each other’s points of view. Hardly a motive for … Or do you see things differently?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. So where do we go from here?”
“Can you think of anyone who would have a motive for killing Mr Edmonds?”
“All politicians have enemies of one sort or another, Chief Inspector. Don’t you think it could have been a mugging that went wrong?”
“If it was, it went quite badly wrong, sir. His wallet was in his pocket, containing cash and credit cards, and he was wearing a gold Rolex.”
“And you don’t think it could have been an accid
ent?” Bruere had got up to leave. “I can tell you one thing is certain,” Malcolm said.
Surprise me, thought Bruere. “What’s that, sir?” he said.
“This business has nothing to do with Marnie Walker, nothing whatever.”
“Thank you, sir. That's very reassuring.”
Malcolm looked up at the clock, amazed to find that another half hour had gone. It would soon be dark outside. In front of him on the desk was a note from the Serjeant-at-Arms. He had a week in which to clear his office. He would have to apply for an office in the Lords. Even if they could find him one, it would not be like this. He would be starting from zero. Zero. He crumpled the note in his fist and dropped it into the rubbish bag.
*
Thursday 5 January – afternoon
“If we don’t go soon, it’s going to get dark.” Marnie was looking out of the office window as she pulled on her jacket.
Anne put her lamp out and stood up. “I just can’t think where she could be. Cats can get into such small places.” She opened her desk drawer and took out a torch.
“That’s a good idea,” Marnie said. “I’ll get mine from the car as we go out. Ah …”
“No torch,” said Anne.
“No car,” said Marnie. “Or at least not the one I was thinking about.”
“Shall I fetch the torch from Sally Ann?”
“We can go that way. It’d be just like Dolly to come and meet us as we go through the spinney.”
“I wish,” said Anne.
They walked quickly through the trees without speaking, collected the torch from the boat and returned, skirting the complex of small barns from behind. Anne was opening her mouth to remark on the stillness surrounding them, when Marnie grabbed her arm. They stopped in their tracks. Marnie put a finger to her lips and pointed ahead of them. Anne strained to see what Marnie had spotted. It took her a few seconds before she realised that about ten metres ahead of them someone was standing in amongst a small clump of bushes giving a concealed view of the buildings around the farmyard. The watcher was wearing a hood that prevented them from seeing his face.
