Death in Little Venice

by Leo McNeir

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m going.”

  “Okay.”

  Marnie moved away, holding the scarf to her mouth, as the fire-fighter turned back to the blaze. She saw her speaking urgently with other members of her team, and they moved purposefully towards the still burning hulk. Marnie steadied herself against the wall to consider her options and backed into a pile of timber. She turned to find the tarpaulin that covered the MG. The plan took shape in her mind in two seconds. She heaved back the heavy material and stacked it on top of the timbers, gathered together the blanket and sheet that lay across the car and dumped them in the passenger seat. Pulling the BW key from her bag, she ran to the gates and dragged them open. The engine fired at the second press on the button, and Marnie eased slowly out into the street, stopping only long enough to close the gates behind her. Without looking back, she accelerated tentatively away, the engine still jerky and cold.

  She was lucky to find empty parking spaces round by the moorings, and was able to park the car close to one of the gates giving access onto the towpath. In record time, she changed into her flying gear on Rumpole while the kettle boiled. Minutes after arriving, she threw some clothes into her overnight bag, wrapped two hot water bottles in towels and locked the boat securely. First stop, the call-box by the tube station.

  “Ralph, it’s me.”

  “Are you on your way? Are you on the train?”

  “No. Slight change of plan. Listen. I’ve got the car. I couldn’t leave it there. Too dangerous. I’ll meet you at the cottage.”

  “Dangerous? You’ve been back to the boat?”

  “Yes. I’ll explain later. Ralph, I’m fine – okay? No injuries, nothing. But it’s terrible what’s happened. The boat on our mooring has caught fire. It’s horrible.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “I don’t know. Look, I’ve got to get away. Expect me any time. See you.”

  Marnie pointed the little car north and headed for the M40. Just before leaving north London for the motorway, she pulled into the side of the road feeling breathless, needing to calm her nerves for the journey. A few people were passing on the pavement and paused to look at the unusual car and its unusual driver. Marnie paid no attention, her thoughts on the blazing boat and its young owners. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel and breathed slowly and deeply, fighting to keep images of destruction out of her head.

  Against all her efforts, she heard a dreamy, contented voice. “You could solve all the problems in the whole world like this. Tea, coffee, a pint, a spliff … anything’d do.”

  Not quite all the problems, Michelle, she thought, pushing the gear lever into first and pulling away from the kerb.

  21

  Friday 13 January – morning

  Marnie came into the kitchen while Ralph was laying the breakfast table. The change in atmosphere since her last visit to the cottage had struck her as soon as she awoke. She had arrived very late and shivering to find Ralph waiting up with a hot toddy. They had collapsed into bed in each others’ arms, and Marnie had immediately fallen into an exhausted, unrefreshing sleep. Her first thought that morning had been of Jonathan and Michelle, and she had come as close as she could to praying that they had been somewhere else when Magician exploded. Before taking her shower she had phoned Anne to let her know she was unharmed. Ralph raised a finger and nodded at the radio as she walked in.

  “… are still unsure of the cause of the fire that destroyed a narrowboat in Little Venice, central London, late yesterday evening. Three fire-fighters, two men and one woman, were injured when a fuel tank exploded as they fought the blaze. All three were taken to St Mary’s Hospital Paddington, where their condition was described as comfortable. Deputy Chief Fire Officer Martin Blake has appealed for any witnesses to come forward. The police are particularly anxious to interview a woman who spoke to a fire-fighter at the scene. She is described as in her twenties or thirties, wearing a long dark coat and fur hat. The Home Secretary will today make a statement in the Commons about the state of the country’s prisons …”

  Ralph switched off the radio. “No prizes for guessing who that was. Did you get through to Bruere?”

  “No. I left a message. He’s not expected in until later this morning. Nor is Sergeant Wallace.” Marnie yawned. “Did they say anything about people being on the boat? Anyone injured … or anything?”

  “Not that I heard. You came in just as they mentioned the fire department. You caught the rest.”

  “Nobody could’ve survived that, Ralph. It was an inferno. I hope to God they weren’t on board.”

  “Did they live on the boat?”

  “Yes. They didn’t have much …” Marnie’s voice failed her. She sat down. Ralph knelt and put an arm round her shoulder. He could hear her breathing slowly and deeply, trying to keep control. She cleared her throat. “What do I do now?”

  Ralph stood up decisively. “You have something to eat, and we work things out.”

  As they ate breakfast, Ralph respected Marnie’s silence, leaving her to think matters over quietly. Like her, he had lived alone long enough to know the need for privacy. He was also unsure what he could say to alleviate her worries. After a while, Marnie looked up and smiled bleakly. “Sorry. I’m not good company this morning, lost in my thoughts.”

  “It’s hardly surprising, Marnie, after what happened last night, after all you’ve been through these past weeks. You could do with a break from it all.”

  “I could do with finding out what happened.”

  “Last night, you mean?”

  “That, and the whole Tim Edmonds matter.” She looked drawn and weary.

  Ralph stirred his coffee absent-mindedly. “Actually, Marnie, last night, when you rang just before the explosion, or whatever it was, you said you thought you understood what was going on, or something like that. Do you remember?”

  Marnie frowned. “When I phoned you, yes. But I keep thinking I’ve got something worked out. Then it all changes.”

  “Can you remember what it was this time?”

  Marnie stared at her plate for a few seconds. “I got this idea. I may be totally wrong, of course, but I had an impression from what somebody said.” She shook her head.

  “Go on,” said Ralph. “What was it?”

  “Well, I realised that the police don’t in fact suspect me or Malcolm. They’re keeping us on a string. I’m not sure how to put this. It’s as if they’re just watching us, using us to see if we might lead them to whoever murdered Tim Edmonds.”

  “You’re definitely convinced it was murder, then?”

  “Oh yes, I think so. If Dodge, the tramp, was right, I don’t see how it could’ve been anything else. There were two people there when he died. Can you think of any other possibility?”

  “Has Dodge told the police what he saw?”

  “They interviewed him at the time. He told us they didn’t believe him, or they couldn’t use his evidence in court. They probably have a point about that.”

  “And they haven’t spoken to him since he first gave his account of what happened?”

  “They’ve put him out of the reckoning. Anyway, I suppose they might still think he’s dead. He was the one reported drowned in Limehouse Cut at Christmas. Even if they know he’s alive, they regard him as of no use.”

  “And he’s gone back to where he lived? I wonder if that was such a good idea.”

  Marnie nodded. “Probably the last place anyone would expect to find him. It’s the same reasoning as me using the MG. Nobody would expect me to be in the most conspicuous car on the road. Great minds think alike, as the saying goes.”

  Ralph got up to fetch toast from the grill. “I can see why you think the police are hoping you and Grant might give them a lead, but frankly I think they’re being over-optimistic.”

  “Desperate, more like. Unless … I suppose …”

  “What?”

  “Well, perhaps Malcolm might have some idea who could’ve met T
im Edmonds in the park that evening while he was waiting for him. As his friend, there’s a fair chance he’d have a better clue than anyone else.”

  “Has he given any hint that he might know something?”

  “No, not really.”

  “But you’re convinced it had to be someone that Edmonds knew. It couldn’t have been a stranger who fell into conversation with him, asked for a light, asked directions, an attempted mugging that went wrong?”

  “I would’ve said all of those were possible if it hadn’t been for Dodge. He said they were chatting in a friendly way, and were even drinking out of a bottle.”

  Ralph looked sceptical. “Are you serious about that, Marnie? I mean, can you really imagine Tim Edmonds standing around in the cold and dark, drinking out of a bottle on the towpath? It just can’t be right. I can see why the police thought Dodge was dreaming it up.”

  “At the risk of looking a fool, Ralph, I believe what he said. I don’t think he had any reason to lie.”

  “But was he sober? Did he really see anything? It’s not much to build a case on, not for a murder investigation.”

  “I know.” Marnie sighed. “I just thought that Dodge was telling the truth. No-one’ll believe him because he’s a tramp and a wino. End of case. But it’s not the end of the story. He’s the only evidence there is, the nearest to a witness you could possibly have.”

  “We’re just going round and round the mulberry bush,” said Ralph.

  “And getting nowhere,” said Marnie. “It’s all so frustrating.” She nibbled a piece of toast without enthusiasm. “Can’t your hindsight theory come up with anything?”

  “Now I know you’re really desperate.”

  “I’m serious. Can’t you use your brainpower to help? You go round the world telling governments what to do, telling them they’re going wrong. Can’t you tell me where I’m going wrong?”

  “It’s really just a system of analysis, Marnie. My career is built on theories. That’s what I do.”

  He sounded so despondent that Marnie reached for his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to denigrate you. I really was just wondering if you could find a way to resolve things, if you could spot the clue or whatever that would make everything come clear, your key wotsit.”

  “My Key Significant Factor, the KSF, yes. Well, it’s true that there is usually a vital fact, or set of facts, at the heart of any issue. That’s fairly obvious to anyone. The trouble is you need to know all the facts to be able to build them into a conceptual model. In economics you can usually do this because in hindsight you can see all the forces at work. But in this case.”

  “There’s got be something,” said Marnie. “It’s getting me down, just sitting around unable to do anything about it, wondering all the time what’s going to happen next.”

  Ralph looked at Marnie sitting at the table, breakfast largely untouched in front of her. Her sense of frustration was so strong, he could almost feel it across the room. “I know what you need, Marnie. Come on. We’re going out. Let’s go for a walk, blow away the cobwebs. You could use some fresh air.”

  *

  The walk took Marnie and Ralph under pale grey skies across fields and through small woodlands, away from the canal. Ralph chose the route so as not to have reminders of boats and the disasters that can happen to them. The countryside was flat and uninspiring compared with the gently rolling landscape around Knightly St John, but the air was bracing and they both felt better for being outdoors. They said little at first, wrapped in their scarves and in their own thoughts, until they came to a stile at the edge of a spinney. Ralph climbed over first and turned to offer his hand to Marnie. Unaccustomed to being helped, she had not noticed the outstretched hand until she had already touched the ground. They smiled at each other.

  “Don’t tell me,” said Ralph. “I’m not very politically correct, am I? Practically Neanderthal.”

  “You are that rare and increasingly vanishing breed, a gentleman.”

  Ralph bowed. “Thank you, kind lady. But seriously, is it irksome, the way I behave?”

  “Of course not. It all depends on how it’s meant.” She took Ralph’s arm and they walked on through the thin trees, crunching frosted leaves under their shoes.

  “How can you tell how it’s meant?” he asked.

  “Oh, a woman can always tell.”

  “For example.”

  “All right, to take an extreme case, if George Stubbs offered his hand, it would be accompanied by a leer, even if you couldn’t see it. You’d know what he was thinking … slavver, slavver, slobber, slobber. He’d call you my dear, and you’d feel as if you were wearing a crinoline and bonnet, with long frilly drawers down to your ankles. That’s how he’d see you.”

  “Good god,” said Ralph. “You could sense he’d have all that on his mind?”

  “Oh absolutely, especially the frilly drawers!” They laughed out loud in the silent wood. Nearby a squirrel broke cover and ran bouncing along the ground before sprinting up a tree and away to the top branches.

  “I suppose, as a woman, you have to have all sorts of defence mechanisms,” said Ralph.

  “Instinctive,” said Marnie. “We’re programmed at birth.”

  “To be wary of men?”

  “Some men, not all. Remember, we’re also programmed to like men. That’s how the system works, at least for most of us.”

  “Thank goodness for that. And do you have a theoretical model for sorting out the ones who are okay?”

  “It’s an instinct, I told you.”

  “And how reliable is it, this instinct?”

  “Ah, now that’s a good question. Many a girl has been mistaken in her judgment.”

  “Men were deceivers ever?” Ralph quoted.

  “Yes. But again, not all men.”

  “We’re not all like George Stubbs.”

  “In a way, you are, Ralph. You’re totally transparent, but basically harmless. The same applies to both of you, but you’re at opposite ends of the spectrum. It’s all a question of whether the attentions are welcome.”

  “That’s very reassuring. I’m relieved to hear it. At least, I think am. What about someone like Malcolm Grant? Where does he fit in the scheme of things?”

  “Malcolm Grant … mm. Well, he’s a gentleman – old-fashioned term, but you know what I mean – he doesn’t come over as a predator, that’s for sure.”

  “I suppose it’s small details,” said Ralph, “patterns of speech and behaviour, that give you clues as to whether you can trust someone or not.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. Tone of voice, gestures, mannerisms, the way someone looks at you. They’re all indicators.” Marnie suddenly stopped and turned to face Ralph. “Actually, there was something I was going to ask you. I’ve just remembered what it was. You know when someone is given a peerage or a knighthood, do you know how it works?”

  “In what way?”

  “How do they get to know about it in advance?”

  They resumed walking while Ralph pondered the question. “It’s strange you should ask that, Marnie. Until a week ago, I’d never thought about it. I expect someone contacts you from some government department and you take it from there.”

  “How long in advance?”

  “Well, that’s the point. Normally, I gather, it’s several weeks before the announcements are made. Of course it varies as the officials in the Cabinet Office make contact with all the people being offered an honour. There are several hundred every time.”

  “So you’d expect a fair amount of notice?”

  “Normally, yes. Why are you asking this, by the way?”

  “Anne and I had tea – at the Ritz, no less – with Anthony James and Priscilla Barnes two days ago.”

  “Oh yes, he got a knighthood. New year’s honours. I saw it in the press.”

  “I didn’t,” said Marnie, grimacing, “and it was the waiter who told us. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known to congratulate him. Slightly embarrassing, but he took it we
ll. Anyway, apparently he’d been told weeks before Christmas.”

  “I think that’s the normal procedure,” said Ralph.

  “I have a feeling it wasn’t the procedure followed in the case of Malcolm Grant’s peerage,” said Marnie.

  “That’s very interesting. Why do you think that?”

  “When I was in his office, it was obvious he’d made no preparations to move from the Commons to the Lords. You’d think it had come as a last minute afterthought. Does that surprise you?”

  “No, not at all. That’s what I was going to tell you. On my trip to Japan, one of the officials in the British delegation to the conference was a Grade Five in the Cabinet Office – that’s quite senior – and he remarked on Grant’s peerage when he saw it in The Times.”

  “He was surprised Malcolm got it?”

  “Not really. Anyone can get offered an honour. These people don’t surprise easily. You only have to think of some of the characters who get knighthoods. No, what surprised him was that he’d been involved with the list before leaving for the Far East, and he couldn’t remember Grant being included at all.”

  *

  It was a couple in much better spirits who returned to River Cottage that morning. Ralph went straight to the kitchen while Marnie tackled the phone. She tapped out the numbers for the office and interrogated the answerphone. She heard the beep for the first message. It was timed for the previous afternoon.

  “Marnie, it’s Malcolm. Just to thank you for the message via your, er, colleague, the young lady. I look forward to hearing from you. Bye now.”

  Young lady, Marnie thought with an inner smile. Yes. The machine beeped a second time. It was Malcolm Grant again, but the tone of voice had changed markedly.

  “Malcolm again, Marnie. I’m terribly shocked about the fire on the boat in Little Venice. Awful business. Did you know the couple who were killed? I’m so sorry. Keep in touch and take care.”

  Marnie slumped back in the chair, her head swimming … the couple who were killed … She put a hand to her forehead, feeling faint and dizzy. Ralph put his head round the door.