Death in Little Venice

by Leo McNeir

  “The camera always lies.”

  “Does it?” said Anne, picking up the papers.

  “Of course. It only shows one side of the story.”

  Marnie said, “What I want to know is how did the photo get taken in the first place? How did they know we’d be there? Was someone following Malcolm? Or me?”

  “I doubt it,” Ralph said. “Probably a freelance acting on his own initiative, recognised Grant, took some shots.”

  Anne looked at the photos. “Why didn’t he get more of Marnie? That could be anyone. It’s not really recognisable unless you know her.”

  “It looks as if he’s shot these from across the road with a telephoto lens. With all the traffic, buses and so on, these were no doubt the best he could manage. What did you do next, Marnie?”

  “Got into a cab, I think.”

  “That’s how he lost you.”

  “And now they’ll be trying to find me.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s only a matter of time. I’ve got to go. I’ll leave today instead of tomorrow.”

  “You think it’s wise to go back to London?”

  “There’s more camouflage in London and that’s where it’s happening. There’s nothing I can do here, and I could be traced if I went to your house. Anne can go back to her parents for a few days. The press won’t be able to find out anything here. They’ll soon lose interest and give up.”

  Anne pulled toast from under the grill and put the slices in a rack on the table. “I’m not going home, Marnie.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. There was no reaction. She bent down to take rolls out of the oven and put them in a basket. “I’m not sure if you heard that. I said I’m not going home. You need me with you. Ralph agrees with me.”

  “Well, now –”

  “See?”

  “Anne, I didn’t –”

  “You can’t,” said Marnie. “I don’t want you to get involved. It could be dangerous.”

  “You’re going into hiding, aren’t you?” said Anne.

  “I’ll be keeping under cover, yes.”

  “And you think they – whoever they are – won’t be able to find you, right?”

  “That’s the general idea.”

  “And what about me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How long do you think it’ll take them to track me down? As soon as they find out about you, they’ll find out about me. One look in the phone book under the name Price in the Leighton Buzzard area, and they’ll have located me. I’ll be a sitting duck.”

  Marnie looked at Ralph. He stared back at her. She sighed. “Why do I never win an argument with Anne?”

  “Do you want the three-hour lecture?” said Ralph. “Welcome to the club.”

  *

  Ralph pulled back the blanket covering the cockpit and heaved Marnie’s bag and Anne’s rucksack into the space behind the seats of the MG. Marnie had warned him to be careful not to trip over the wires running across the floor. He discovered one fan heater humming away in the driver’s foot well and another under the car trained up towards the engine. It was seven forty-five, still dark, and they had packed in a hurry. The simple but effective heating system was Marnie’s idea, a trick she had remembered from times past when she and her husband ran the MG all year round.

  Marnie and Anne appeared from the office barn. In the beams of the outside lights, Ralph could not help thinking they looked like astronauts starting off on a mission. Marnie was in full flying kit and was talking into her mobile. Beside her, Anne was togged up in boots, jeans, her thickest jacket and a baseball cap, her apricot scarf wound several times round her neck. She carried a plastic carrier bag. As they drew nearer Ralph could hear Marnie’s conversation.

  “… and you’re sure that’s okay? … Sure, sure … I will … Of course I will … No. Anne’s coming too … You try stopping her … I know …”

  Anne said to Ralph, “Marnie wanted to let Roger know we were coming, make sure it was all right.” He nodded.

  Marnie finished her call. “Okay, then. Let’s get going. Sorry to dash off, but I think we’ve got to be away before anyone can get to us.”

  Anne cleared away the fan heaters while Marnie and Ralph hugged. From the carrier bag she took two hot water bottles and dropped them onto the seats. She was smiling when Ralph turned to kiss her goodbye.

  “Look after yourself, Anne. And look after Marnie.”

  “You bet.”

  They bumped up the hard ruts of the field track, Anne with a road map, a file of papers and the inevitable list on her lap, the seats still warm from the fan heater, the hot water bottles pressed into the small of their backs. It was an icy, misty morning, the first hint of light showing on the horizon away over to their left, the glow from the headlamps picking out the tufts of grass between the bumps, catching a glimpse of the tails of rabbits scampering for cover.

  “Why don’t we put the hood up?” Anne asked.

  “More trouble than it’s worth. And it doesn’t make much difference. The wind just buffets around under it. We’ll use it if it rains, though.”

  “How long will it take to get there in this?”

  Marnie glanced across at her friend. “You don't 'get there' in a classic MG. You motor. and it's not a 'this'. It's a thoroughbred performance car.”

  “Oops! Sorry. I’ll try again. How long will it take us to motor down to London in your classic sports car?”

  Marnie hesitated as they reached the top of the track where it joined the road. She revved the engine briefly and pushed the lever into first gear. “We should do it in under a fortnight.”

  *

  As the morning grew lighter, Anne was surprised how long the journey seemed to be taking. The little car gave the impression of speed, but everything on the road seemed to overtake them, especially coming out of roundabouts. Even lorries swept past them on the straight, buffeting them with a bow-wave of air pressure and flooding them with turbulence in their wake. Anne had to pull a second scarf out of her rucksack and tie it round the baseball cap to keep it in place.

  Several cars paused and ran beside them for a short distance while overtaking, driver and passengers peering out at them and smiling. Some gave a thumbs-up before pulling ahead. Marnie realised she looked like a remnant from the Battle of Britain. Quite a few cars coming from the opposite direction flashed their headlights, and Marnie waved back. One modern MG sports car gave them a friendly blast from its horn, its driver punching the air like a racing driver winning a grand prix as he swept past. Marnie hooted back and flashed the headlights.

  Anne shouted in Marnie’s ear. “I thought we were meant to be inconspicuous. We’ve been waved at by just about every driver in the south of England!”

  “Trust me,” Marnie bellowed back. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Anne shrugged. “You’re the boss. You’re in control.”

  “Don’t exaggerate.”

  The car seemed altogether more complicated to drive than the modern Rover, and Anne watched Marnie’s strange ritual with the gear lever as she changed down for roundabouts. She noticed that Marnie changed first into neutral, blipped the accelerator, then slotted the stubby lever into gear. Once or twice there was a grating sound that made Marnie wince, but mostly the operation was smooth. With the sounds from the engine and other traffic there was little chance of prolonged conversation. After an hour, Anne tried not to think about the cold. The draught coming from the floor was making her feet numb, and she lowered the hot water bottle into the footwell to combat the chilly blast of air. At least it stopped some of the wind whistling through.

  By the time they reached the edge of London, Anne was thinking back with longing to the times when they would travel down in the Rover, the engine barely audible, the temperature warm and comfortable, carpet under their feet, a CD playing softly, the instrument panel glowing in different colours. This car felt like a faster version of the narrowboat.

  While waiting at traffic lights on the
North Circular, Anne leaned nearer to Marnie. “Where to first, your old office?” Marnie nodded in reply. “And we’re leaving the car at Chiswick tonight?” Another nod. “It’s very nice of Beth to agree to you leaving the MG in her garage again.”

  “Ah.”

  With Marnie now wearing dark glasses, and the scarf drawn up round her chin, it was difficult for Anne to read her expression. “Ah? You mean, ‘ah’ as in she doesn’t know?”

  “She does know.”

  “What then?”

  “Agree isn’t quite right.” Marnie engaged first gear and accelerated away as the lights changed to green.

  *

  Tuesday 10 January – morning

  By the time Marnie turned into the car park at Everett Parker Associates, all the spaces were occupied. She drove round to the side door and drew up outside, blipping the accelerator twice before switching off the engine. They climbed out, grabbed their bags and went in, glad to feel the rush of warm air inside the building.

  Anne pulled off the baseball cap and ran a hand over her hair. “Can you just leave the car there, Marnie? Are you allowed to do that?”

  “The worst that can happen is that someone will drool over it. It’ll be fine.”

  In the reception area Marnie asked for Faye Summers and Philip Everett, and while they waited, Anne walked around thawing out, looking at the drawings and photographs lining the walls. The colour scheme was off-white with grey carpet and steel furniture. Anne whispered to Marnie. “One day we’ll have something like this, won’t we?”

  “You like the style?”

  “Mega. Who designed it?” Marnie gave a slight bow. “Really? It’s great.”

  “It’s also time they changed it. Anyway, I thought you liked our office the way it is.”

  “Oh, I do, but it would be nice to get some more pictures up. I’ll do it when we get back.”

  “Good idea.”

  Faye Summers came through a door at the back of reception and stared at them. “Wow, Marnie! Is that really you?” They hugged and Marnie introduced Anne. “Glad to meet you at last, Anne. I’ve certainly heard a lot about you. Come through to the office. Everyone’s dying to see you, Marnie.”

  “I’ll look in after seeing Philip. We’re running a bit late. I just wanted to say hallo.”

  “And show off your new gear. Did you fly down by Tiger Moth?”

  “More or less. We landed in the car park.”

  “You look amazing, as if you’ve just stepped out of Vogue magazine, 1939 edition! Who said fashion’s all in London? Every time we see you, you're setting a new style. Brilliant, Marnie! I'm absolutely green.”

  “Faye, your father came from Trinidad, not Mars, and you are decidedly brown. Anyway, green wouldn't go with that sweater.”

  Behind them there were footsteps on the stairs and Philip joined them, ushering Marnie and Anne up to his office. “I like the gear, Marnie. It looks like battle dress. Quite appropriate for you, I’d say.”

  For an hour they discussed projects while Anne took notes. Philip passed them a series of letters, briefing details and photographs. Marnie gave an update on progress with the Willards Brewery jobs.

  “You’ve landed on your feet with Willards, Marnie. It’s set you up.”

  “Thanks to you giving me the work.”

  “They wanted you anyway. It made sense to co-operate. And it was just the right time to start up on your own.”

  “It seemed a big gamble when I took the plunge.”

  “Yes, but with hindsight we can see that you were in the right place at the right time.”

  Marnie said: “With hindsight everything falls into place. And not long ago I found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “What do you mean? Oh, the Tim Edmonds thing, yes. That must’ve been pretty horrible. Dreadful business. Have the police sorted it out yet? I only know what I read in the papers.”

  “Same here. We’re none the wiser.”

  “It’s funny that,” Philip began. “You know how it is when you hear a name or a word that you’d never heard before, and then you just keep hearing it all the time. The name Tim Edmonds came up in conversation only the other day, and I’d never heard anybody ever mention him.”

  “Someone talking about the case, after seeing it in the news?”

  “No. It was at a meeting. I was talking to a site agent and a clerk of works, Ray Curtis, who turned out to have done an extension on Edmonds’s house.”

  “A clerk of works for a house extension? That’s rather unusual, isn’t it?”

  “His house in Esher, mansion, I should say. Grade Two star listed building, late eighteenth century. They certainly weren’t hard up for a bob or two.”

  Marnie saw the gold Rolex gleaming in the dark water. “I don’t suppose he really knew Edmonds, not a lot in common.”

  “Ray seems to have got on well with him. Apparently he was very free with the drinks after a meeting. They’d go into the house and talk over the project, usually armed with a good single malt.”

  “I’d be quite interested to meet this Ray Curtis.”

  “Meet him?”

  “I’m interested in anything or anyone who could cast some light on what happened to Tim Edmonds.”

  “If you’re serious, I could get a number for you. Are you going down to see your old team?”

  “Just briefly. I’ve got a lot on today. I may try to pop back and see them later in the week, if that’s all right with you? I don’t want to disrupt work too much.”

  “That’s fine, Marnie. Any time. I’ll dig out the number and let you have it. Anything else we can do for you while you’re here?”

  “Just one thing. Can we refill our hot water bottles?”

  *

  Downstairs, reunited with her former group, Marnie asked if she could make a phone call to check her answerphone. She was still not using the mobile except when necessary. There were three messages. The first was Malcolm Grant just ‘touching base’, asking Marnie to ring when she had a moment. The second was the builders merchant reporting that he still did not have a date for the delivery of the radiators. The third was a surprise.

  “Hallo, Marnie. This is Priscilla Barnes. We’ve been thinking about you a lot, and we hope you’re okay. We’d love to see you again. If you come to London, give us a ring and we'll get together.”

  *

  In the lobby by the exit they pulled on their travelling gear, ready to brave the elements again. Anne was in heaven and felt that she could float naked through the streets of London without noticing the temperature. But she nonetheless grasped her hot water bottle as a precautionary measure.

  “And they really said I could come, too?”

  “Of course.”

  “That’s amazing. Tea with Priscilla Barnes and Anthony James at the Ritz. I can’t believe it. I can’t wait for tomorrow afternoon. Shall I wear my new skirt?”

  “Why not. And talking of luggage, I think we’ll go down to Little Venice and drop off the bags on Rumpole before we take the car round to Beth.”

  They climbed into the MG, positioned their hot water bottles, and Marnie started the engine. Anne settled her hot water bottle. “Everything we do is magic,” she said dreamily. Marnie smiled, but her thoughts were somewhere else. In her pocket was the number where she could reach Ray Curtis that afternoon.

  *

  At the first attempt to stop, they had a lorry on their tail and Marnie had no choice but to keep rolling under the elevated motorway and go round for a second lap. Seeing the volume of traffic approaching the junction, she turned off back towards the way they had come and pulled into a side street near the bridge by the canal, outside a pub.

  “This is going to be tricky. There’ll be no easy place to pull over with all this traffic.”

  “What can we do?” said Anne.

  Marnie shook her head. “Dunno. Let me think.”

  “Why don’t I carry the bags round while you wait here with the car? We’re n
ever going to be able to park there, or even stop.”

  “No. And the kerb’s too high for me to mount it. I’d risk damaging the spokes on the wheels.”

  Anne got out and reached behind the seat for the rucksack. Marnie passed her the key-ring. “The big key is for British Waterways locks only. For Rumpole, it’s the smaller one here. Don’t go in at the back like Sally. Use the side doors like Thyrsis.” As an afterthought she added, “And don’t worry about the caravan. It’s all locked up and empty. There’s no-one there.”

  “Okay.” Anne pulled out Marnie’s bag and slung the strap over her shoulder, gripping it in both hands.

  “Can you manage the two of them like that?”

  “No probs. Back in a minute.” Anne set off but almost immediately stopped and turned round. “Caravan? Did you say caravan?”

  “Yes.” Marnie caught on. “Oh, right! How stupid. Presumably it didn’t get there by boat.”

  Anne put the bags back in the car, set off at a jog and was back in under five minutes. Marnie was walking up and down the pavement to keep warm. Anne’s nose was pink, but she was smiling.

  “There’s a gate just a bit further on. I think it’ll be tricky. It’s right on the junction. You’ll probably have to reverse in. I tried the BW key and it fits the lock. The gates are a bit stiff. I don’t think they’ve been opened for a while. You can drive in all right. The surface is okay and it’s clear.”

  “What about somewhere to park?”

  “I don’t think you can get in beside Rumpole, but you’ll have room nearer to the gate. You won’t be blocking anybody in.”

  “Let’s go for it.”

  This time it was easier. Marnie waited for a clear run at the junction, and was able to move over and reverse the MG off the road while Anne leapt out and dealt with the gates. Once inside with the gates locked behind them, they were able to park the car up against the wall by a pile of timber stacked under a tarpaulin. Marnie surveyed the scene.

  “The car can be seen from those offices down the cut.” She pointed.

  “Does that matter?”