Death in Little Venice

by Leo McNeir

  The answer came from the man sitting across from her at the desk. His tone was calm. “You’re here because you asked to be here. You want information. You think we have it. Tell us what you want, and we’ll see if we can give you it.”

  “I’m trying to find out what I can about Tim Edmonds. You know why.”

  “Why? You tell us.”

  “You know I found him in the canal. Since then, rightly or wrongly, I’ve felt myself under suspicion. I’m convinced he was murdered. I wasn’t sure at first, but I am now.”

  “Why are you so sure?”

  “For the same reason that you are.”

  “The case has nothing to do with us. The Met’s handling it.”

  “Yes it does. You know all about it. You’re part of the … what d’you call it … the Parliamentary and Diplomatic Branch, or something like that.”

  “And why do you think we’re treating it as murder?”

  “Because of the evidence of the tramp, your witness.”

  The policeman looked appraisingly at Marnie. “Non-witness. Useless.”

  She went on. “If there were two people there when Tim Edmonds went into the water and died, that other person must have been involved. It can’t have been an accident, surely.”

  “The other person could’ve been you, Marnie.”

  “No. You know that’s impossible. Dodge told you I came along afterwards. Anyway, the idea that I might’ve been involved is ridiculous. I had no reason to want to harm Tim Edmonds. I didn’t even know the man, and I doubt I would’ve been able to overpower him if I’d tried.”

  “You knew Malcolm Grant.”

  “No. I know him now. I didn’t know him then.” The implication of the policeman’s remark suddenly struck Marnie. “Malcolm was at home waiting for Edmonds to visit him. You know that.”

  “Because you produced a note.”

  “Yes. From Tim Edmonds. I saw it with my own eyes. It had his signature. At least I think it was his. It’s evidence that can be checked by experts.”

  “It proves he sent a note. It doesn’t prove Grant was at home.”

  Marnie’s patience was wearing thin. “Oh, come off it! I know why you’re interested in Malcolm and me. You don’t suspect us. You think that one or other of us will lead you to whoever did it.”

  “Do you think you know who did it, Marnie?”

  “No.” She sighed. “I’ve got no idea. Not the foggiest. That’s why I want to find out more about Tim Edmonds.” In the silence that followed, Marnie rubbed her hand across her forehead in a weary gesture. She gazed around the room. All three men were looking at her, though the two at the console glanced at the screens every few seconds. In a quiet voice she said: “Are you going to tell me where this is?”

  “It’s the house of a VIP.”

  “So it’s not a base of some sort.” The policeman shook his head slowly. Marnie felt dejected and subdued. She had wasted her time coming here. The police had set this up to find out what she knew. Again. “Well, he must be a very important VIP to have you lot in his basement with all this.” She made a gesture towards the monitoring equipment.

  “Her basement, not his.”

  “A woman? Oh …” Marnie wanted to show that she could work things out for herself, wanted to reject the game being played of keeping her in ignorance so that she, a woman, felt at a disadvantage compared with these men and their macho armoury. Her mind was racing. What woman would receive this kind of security? She had no idea anyone had armed police in the house, presumably day and night, to guard her. It could not be the Queen, not here. Then who? An idea began to form. “Not … could it be … Princess Di?”

  The policeman across the desk smiled. A smug I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile. The two others smiled at her, pityingly. Damn! She hated this. Why did they always play games with her? Marnie was no militant feminist, she just wanted to have the opportunity to get on with her life on an equal footing with everyone else, but there were times when she wished she had the power to strike back at the attitude of … Ah, power … power that even men like these would respect. She sat back in the chair, ready for one more throw of the dice. She had nothing to lose. “I see,” she began, “so it’s the Iron Lady, is it?”

  The smile faltered, only for half a second, but Marnie knew she had hit the target. It was a small triumph. The other two turned to study the monitors. One made notes on a pad while his colleague adjusted the equipment. Marnie looked at her watch.

  “Even now she’s no longer the PM she gets this treatment? How long will this go on?” The policeman shrugged and said nothing. “Have you been running this sort of operation since she left office?” Marnie persisted.

  “I’ve worked for her since she was in office, known her for years.”

  “That’s a lot of tax-payers’ money. I’m amazed she approved, with her attitude to public finance. No cuts here, then …”

  “She’s worth it. She’s got more balls than the rest of them put together.”

  “Presumably she’s not here at the moment?”

  “If she was, you wouldn’t be.”

  “But you guard the house day and night in case of intruders, even now.”

  “Of course.”

  Marnie thought about the strange world of politics and power. How people could have that much ambition, she could not understand. The awesome responsibility, the public rows, the backstabbing, the life conducted in an atmosphere of hostility and confrontation. Every action interpreted by the press, every statement analysed in the media. The perks were there, of course, the red-carpet treatment, the privileges, the accolades when a vote was won in the House, the adrenalin surge on winning an election. But there was the downside. The fall from grace, the treachery from your own colleagues, the slide into the backwater of anonymity. All privileges withdrawn. All the dreams an illusion. Despite the trappings, everybody knew you had failed, been passed over. A bitter taste in the mouth. A bitter pill to swallow. A suicide pill, taken three times a day.

  “Do you ever get to see her at all?” Marnie was reduced to making small talk, wondering how much longer Ray would be inspecting whatever electrical fault had brought him here. If it was not all just a set-up.

  The policeman relaxed in his chair. “Sure. We get to see a lot of MPs, ministers, officials, especially her. She’s not as aloof as people might think.”

  “I can’t imagine her looking in to see you’re all right down here.” Marnie smiled to herself at the idea of the Iron Lady popping down in dressing gown and hair curlers with mugs of steaming cocoa before turning in.

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “A woman’s touch,” Marnie mused.

  “Lady,” said the policeman firmly. “She’s a lady, not a woman. I mean, a real lady. At all times, day and night. You never forget it.”

  “So she can cut public services to the bone, throw millions out of their jobs as part of a vendetta against the unions, but it’s all right because she wears suits and carries a handbag?”

  “Sometimes a country needs firm leadership, and it’s not easy to break the mould without people getting hurt. She’s like Churchill, a real leader.”

  “And a lady,” Marnie added. It was meant to sound mocking, but the policeman took it the other way.

  “That’s right. And it’s true what you heard about her not needing sleep, just like Churchill. Three or four hours a night, that’s all he needed. She’s just the same. Amazing. I’ve known her come down to security late at night after a big do. She’d stand there with a glass in her hand and chat. Next morning, she’s on the early news on the radio, sparring with those smart Alec interviewers, bright as a button. You wouldn’t believe it. Nobody knows half the story.”

  “Really?” said Marnie. The policeman nodded conspiratorially. “I always thought she was a bit of a prude.”

  A guffaw came from the men at the console. “You’re joking!”

  “But I understood she hated scandal or excess, upholder of Victori
an values and all that.”

  “That doesn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a drink with her friends.”

  “Yes, but look what happened to Tim Edmonds.”

  The policeman narrowed his eyes and leaned forward in his chair. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t mean how he died. I mean losing his job in the government because of the divorce scandal. He wasn’t the only one, either. Loads of them got the push if they strayed from the straight and narrow.”

  “She had standards, that was the point. She admired people who had standards, too. The trouble is, most of them couldn’t keep up with her. Didn’t have the …” He hesitated.

  “Balls?” Marnie suggested helpfully.

  “Stamina.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Some of them she had a lot of time for. She thought the sun shone out of Major’s …” He hesitated again. Marnie decided not to try to be helpful this time. “ … eyes.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “And your bloke, too. She had a lot of time for him.”

  “My bloke?” Marnie tried to imagine Ralph and the Prime Minister sharing a decanter of single malt on a sofa in number ten.

  “Grant. She thought he was all right. We saw him quite a bit at one time. Mind you, she wasn’t pleased when he helped Edmonds out after that divorce business.”

  “She confided like that in you, about one of her own MPs?”

  “Didn’t need to. It was obvious. Decidedly cooler for a while. What saved him was that he acted out of loyalty, as she saw it. She forgave him, but never wanted anything to do with Edmonds again. He’d blown it.”

  “Did she like him before that?”

  “Not as much as Grant. I think she suspected Edmonds was the sort of bloke to … you know. Very sure of himself, especially with women.”

  “Would that be … lady’s intuition?” Marnie suggested.

  “If you like.”

  “Come on, Pete!” One of the men at the console called across, turning in his chair. “You know she had a twinkle in her eye for Edmonds. Him and that Grant, they were always round there at one time. Everyone knew they’d both be ministers in the next reshuffle. She didn’t go for the ‘old boy’ line, but she thought those two were gentlemen, and that mattered. Even when they’d had a few – and they could knock it back, those two – they were always gentlemen as far as she was concerned. Edmonds got in because of Grant, but I’m sure she liked him. A lady’s man, he was.”

  “An Iron Lady’s man?” Marnie offered.

  “No, not like that. She was never like that. But she liked her admirers round her.”

  “Are you saying that Tim Edmonds used his looks, his charm, to curry favour?”

  “Don’t you?” said the policeman opposite her, bluntly.

  “I’m not a court favourite,” said Marnie.

  The policeman laughed. “It was a bit like that. What did she used to call them? The gentlemen of the libation. That was it. She had nicknames for quite a few people, but that’s another story.”

  *

  There was only light traffic as Ray drove Marnie back the way they had come.

  “Where can I take you?”

  “Oh, any tube station will do. I don’t want to take you out of your way.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ray? How did you fix all that? I don’t get it. Did you and Philip plan this evening?”

  “Not at all. Phil knew that I’d come across Tim Edmonds and said you were trying to find out about him. He thought we might just have a chat. At first I didn’t see the point. But then I got a call from the site agent about the electrics going on the blink and I remembered the police talking about Edmonds after he was found dead. Grant’s name cropped up too. So I thought this was a chance that was too good to miss.”

  “Just a chance, a coincidence.”

  “Sure, cub’s honour.” They drove on in silence. “So was it any use, Marnie?”

  “Good question.”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  “After talking to the police, do you ever?”

  “Oh, I was trying to be helpful.”

  “Sorry, Ray. I didn’t mean it like that. I just need to think about it. Whatever else it was, it was certainly one of the strangest experiences of my life.”

  “And you won’t go talking about it to anyone.”

  “No. I’ll be as silent as the … well, you know.”

  Ray dropped her at the nearest tube station. Arriving back at Warwick Avenue, she realised for the first time that evening that she was hungry, and walked round to the late supermarket. A ready-mixed pasta salad and a melon were everything she wanted. Everything apart from a glass of wine. She stopped off at a call-box to ring Ralph.

  “Marnie, where have you been?”

  She was surprised at the anxiety in his voice. “To see a friend of Philip’s, that’s all.”

  “Anne was so worried about you. She rang me to ask what to do.”

  “She knew where I was going. Ah, no, she didn’t, for a good reason. Neither did I. I’ll ring her directly.”

  “I think you should. How did it go, your meeting?”

  “Well, it was really rather extraordinary. I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”

  “And you’re okay? You sound okay.”

  “Yes, I am. I’m fine. I think things are becoming clearer. I can see what the police have been doing. It makes more sense now.” She looked over her shoulder, aware that she was standing in the street at an open call-box, discussing the most controversial murder enquiry in the country.

  “But are you any nearer to understanding what actually happened?”

  “Well, that’s another matter, really. I think I can see – my god! What was that?”

  Marnie peered round the side of the call-box, frantically trying to make sense of what she had seen. A sudden flash had lit up the area, followed by a deep booming that rocked the ground.

  “Marnie? Marnie? What’s happened? What is it? Speak to me!”

  She could hear Ralph’s voice from the receiver. She answered him breathlessly. “I don’t know. It was like a fireworks display, must have been an explosion. Dear god!”

  “What is it? Marnie, you must get away from there. At once. Don’t hang around. Get a cab, anything. Get to the station. Come to Oxford. I’ll pick you up. Go now!”

  “All right.”

  “You mean that? You’ll leave straight away?”

  “Sure. See you!” She put the phone down and added, “as soon as I can.” There was something she had to do. It took her a minute to reach the pool of Little Venice, where heads were appearing from boats, and people were coming out on deck. Across on the other side of the bridge she could see flames reflecting off the water under the bridge over the arm leading to Paddington Basin, the arm where until that morning she had been moored. She jogged in the direction of the bridge by the bank where the waterbuses tied up, the bridge that would take her back towards the mooring. The night air was blasted by the sound of fire engine sirens wailing. Seconds later she saw an ambulance screaming over the bridge. Cars had stopped by the roadside, doors left open, their passengers leaning over the railings trying to get a view of the blaze. All traffic had stopped. Marnie kept running, turning down the road under the elevated motorway, trying to make sense of what she had seen.

  Ahead, two fire engines were lined up at the side of the road, their orange lights flashing. As she drew nearer, the air became heavy with the smell of burning, a strong odour like oil and rubber that irritated her throat and brought tears to her eyes. She pulled the scarf round her mouth and jogged on. Hoses lay across the pavement and disappeared through the door in the towpath wall. Under ark lights, helmeted figures wearing bulky uniforms were milling backwards and forwards, and although no-one paid attention to her approach, Marnie knew she would not be able to push past them to see the fire. Without slackening speed, she crossed the road and skirted the fire engines and the ambulance that had pulled
in behind them, reaching the pavement again twenty metres further along where the drive led back to the wooden canal gates.

  Marnie reached in her shoulder bag, first taking out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, then finding the BW key that she always carried. With all attention diverted by the blaze, nobody noticed her opening one of the gates. Once inside, Marnie stood in the shadows and surveyed the scene. It was her worst fears, a nightmare. A boat was blazing, flames and smoke pouring from the windows. Teams of fire-fighters were aiming hoses through smashed windows into the cabins. Marnie shuddered at the realisation that the burning boat was tied up at the mooring that until that afternoon had been the temporary home for Rumpole. In the beams of light from the fire engines, she could see the name of the stricken boat clearly. It was Magician.

  Marnie leaned back against the gate and drew breath, immediately regretting it as the acrid air choked her and she began to cough. Wiping her eyes and pulling up the scarf, she pressed ahead on instinct, desperate to find out about Jonathan and Michelle. When she was still several metres from the boat, a figure stepped forward and blocked her way. Marnie tried to pass, but it was impossible. The fire-fighter raised the visor on the bright yellow helmet and, to her surprise, Marnie found herself looking into the eyes of a young woman.

  “Get back!” she shouted. “You shouldn’t be here! Leave the area now!”

  All Marnie could say was, “My boat …”

  “That’s your boat?” the fire-fighter cried out against the roar of the fire. “Is anyone on board?”

  Marnie shook her head. It was too complicated to explain. At this distance it was obvious that anyone on that boat was not going to survive.

  “Are you sure there’s no-one on the boat?” The fire-fighter was shouting in Marnie’s face.

  With an effort of will Marnie pulled herself together. “Jonathan and Michelle.”

  “Understood. Now please get away. There’s nothing you can do. Give your name and address to the officer at the fire engine. Go now!”

  Marnie nodded and began to turn. Suddenly she stopped and grabbed the arm of the young woman, pointing over her shoulder. She shouted. “In the hatch at the bows be careful. There may be spare gas bottles. Big ones. Thirteen kilos. I don’t know for sure, but watch out.”