Death in Little Venice

by Leo McNeir

  “Marnie, do you want coffee or shall I make us something to … What’s happened?”

  He rushed across the room as Marnie put the phone down. She could only think of Jonathan and Michelle, with their dreamy attitude to life … gentle hippies. She was choked, and felt tears streaming down her face, soundless and numbed as she saw the young couple sitting happily together that day on Rumpole, sipping their tea. They were so contented with so little. Marnie could not believe things could go on getting worse like this. When would it all end?

  A dreadful thought hit her like a hammer blow. Could it have been Anne’s use of the mobile that had led someone to their mooring? Could that innocent act have brought them to a horrible end in that blazing inferno of flames and black smoke? She was aware that Ralph was near her, that he was saying something. She tried to focus, to concentrate, but he stayed out of range. All her mind was taken up with the awful tragedy. It seemed to trigger again all the grief she had felt the previous summer when Toni Petrie had been murdered. Marnie felt like the Angel of Death, and was overwhelmed by the feeling that she was going to pass out. It was the smell of the brandy that began to bring her back to her surroundings. Ralph was holding a glass in front of her. She saw her hands shaking as she tried to grasp it. Ralph held it to her lips while she sipped the warming liquid. She coughed, and Ralph put the glass on the phone table to hold her in his arms.

  “Marnie, Marnie,” he said softly in her ear. “Just hold me quietly. I’m here. Don’t worry. I’m here for you.” He rocked her gently back and forth like a baby, holding her firmly but carefully. She held on, swallowing hard, trying to get her feelings under control. They both jumped as the phone rang beside them. Ralph automatically picked it up.

  “Ralph Lombard.”

  “Ralph, it’s Anne.” Her voice sounded jarringly cheerful. “Are you all right? You sound a bit … rushed.”

  “No. It’s, er, a bit difficult at the moment.”

  “Oh, sorry, I’ll ring later. I only wanted to say how pleased I was with the good news. I’ll call back this afternoon. Bye!”

  “No, no Anne, don’t go. What good news?” Marnie raised her head to look at Ralph, her face wet with tears.

  “About Jonathan and Michelle, from the boat that was burnt out.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It was just on the news. Apparently they’d gone to stay with Michelle’s parents for a few days.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “I’ve just heard Jonathan talking about it on the radio.”

  “Just a minute.” Ralph turned to Marnie. “They’re safe. They weren’t on the boat at all.”

  Marnie swayed in her seat as if the shock of good news was as great a shock as the bad news had been. “There’s no doubt?” she stammered.

  Ralph shook his head. “None whatever.” Marnie sagged forward, head in hands. Ralph spoke into the receiver again. “Sorry about this, Anne. We’d just heard the opposite. I’m so glad you phoned.”

  “Me too. Look, I’ll ring back later about arrangements when you’ve had time to catch your breath.”

  “Thanks.”

  Marnie wiped a hand over her face. “Strike me pink!”

  “I second that,” said Ralph. “Whatever it means.” He picked up the brandy and drank it in one gulp. “Would you like some more?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  Ralph pulled a tissue from his back pocket, and Marnie dabbed it over her wet cheeks. She blew her nose and smiled a bleary smile. “Did Anne say what had caused the fire?”

  “No, just that they were off the boat when it happened.”

  “I feel as if I’ve been put through a wringer.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying so …”

  “Don’t bother, I know. But I don’t care. You’ll just have to suffer the sight of me.”

  “My pleasure.” He gave her another tissue.

  “If they were okay, why did Malcolm leave that message? You’d think he wanted to shock me like that.”

  “It is rather strange.”

  “I had the most awful thought. Do you think Anne’s call to Malcolm could’ve been traced to the mooring?”

  “I’m not sure how these things work. Why do you ask?”

  “Could it just have been a coincidence that the day after Anne rings Malcolm, the boat on that mooring gets blown up? The mooring where we’d been staying?”

  “I don’t know. If I know her,” said Marnie, “she’s already worked that out for herself.”

  *

  While Ralph worked in his study, Marnie spent much of the afternoon on the phone arranging meetings, fixing delivery times with contractors, confirming details with clients and generally bringing life back to normal. She spoke to Anne and agreed to pick her up on Monday morning at the bus station in Milton Keynes.

  When Chief Inspector Bruere finally got through in response to Marnie’s message, he sounded irritable, the result of having made repeated attempts to phone her while the line was engaged. Feeling cheered that Jonathan and Michelle were safe, Marnie ignored Bruere’s tone.

  “I just wanted to let you know that I was the person who spoke to the fire-fighter by the boat.”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t sound surprised.”

  “Where you’re concerned, Mrs Walker? What were you doing there?”

  “Just checking that Jonathan and Michelle were all right. I’ve been using that mooring and I’d met them.”

  “And the car you drove away?”

  “My car.”

  “You can prove that?”

  “It’s here if anyone wants to inspect it. It’s the old MG I told you about, easy to identify.”

  “Okay. I suppose I ought to thank you for coming forward.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  He hung up. Marnie pulled a face at the phone.

  The last name on her list was Malcolm Grant. Before dialling his number, she keyed in 1-4-1 to prevent Ralph’s phone being traced by the 1-4-7-1 system.

  “Ah, Marnie, good to hear from you. You’ve caught me just before I leave for the weekend. Perfect timing.”

  “I’m not holding you up?”

  “Not at all. How are things with you?”

  “A lot better than they were after I got your last message.”

  Malcolm sounded unsure of her meaning. “My last message? I’m not sure I follow.”

  “You said you were sorry about the young couple being killed in the fire on the boat.”

  “Well yes, of course. It was dreadful.”

  “But they weren’t killed, Malcolm. They weren’t even there. They’d gone on a visit.”

  “Are you sure?” His tone seemed genuinely incredulous.

  “It’s been on the news.”

  “Good lord. I’ve been in a meeting all afternoon. I had no idea.”

  “What made you think they had been killed, Malcolm?”

  “I heard it on the news myself this morning. I’m sure of it. But you say they’re safe? That’s astonishing. I mean, it’s wonderful news. Were they friends of yours? I mean, are they friends of yours?”

  “In a way, yes. At least, I do know them.”

  “Well, I’m very sorry if I caused you any distress, Marnie. I assure you I only left the message after hearing the news on the radio.”

  “Of course.”

  “Were you wanting to fix a time to get together?”

  “Oh yes. Have you got your diary handy?”

  They agreed to meet on Wednesday afternoon.

  *

  That evening after dinner in the conservatory by candlelight, they sat close together on the sofa in the drawing room, a log fire crackling in the inglenook, with coffee and brandy. This time it was definitely non-medicinal. They had shut out the winter night, and the weekend was before them. Both were determined that they would relax as far as was possible and gather their strength ready for whatever lay ahead. In the background some Vivaldi was playing softly. It was
a perfect atmosphere and a perfect evening.

  Despite themselves they found it impossible to settle down to anything but the matters that were uppermost in their minds. They calmly and quietly talked over the Tim Edmonds affair, Marnie hoping Ralph might spot the key factor that would lead them to an understanding of exactly what had happened. She told him about the strange visit to the home of the Iron Lady. She described the meeting with Dodge. All the events were clear in their minds, and Ralph was coming to agree with Marnie about the police using her and Malcolm Grant to try to find a way to the killer. One thing was evident to them both: they were not in possession of the facts, at least not enough of the facts to be able to point to a definite solution.

  “Do you realise you laughed this morning, Marnie? You haven’t done that for a while.”

  “Yes, I know. It was the reference to the frilly drawers. Fancy you remembering that. You have an immoral memory.”

  “And you sound like something out of Noël Coward,” said Ralph. “Have some more brandy.”

  “I told you so, utterly transparent, just like George Stubbs. You see? Men are all the same. One-track minds.”

  “Nice to know George and I have so much in common, “ said Ralph.

  “Oh, that doesn’t mean it’s not welcome.”

  “Now you’re smiling. That must be progress.”

  Marnie turned to kiss Ralph. They tasted of brandy. “I may be wrong, and it wouldn’t be the first time in all this sorry business, but I have a feeling that things are going to get sorted out. Don’t ask me why. I just feel that way.”

  “Yes,” said Ralph. “Brandy has that effect on me sometimes, too.” Marnie threatened violence and Ralph got up to put a log on the fire. Crouching in the inglenook he asked, “Would you like me to go with you when you see Malcolm Grant on Wednesday? I actually have a meeting in London that day. I could easily arrange things to be flexible.”

  “I suppose it would help if we put our heads together. On the other hand, it might look like a deputation. And we are just supposed to be talking about his interior design.”

  “Well, you could call me on the mobile if you wanted me to join you. I won’t be far away. It’s an external examiners’ meeting at UCL.”

  “Okay. Let’s see how it turns out.”

  Ralph put a log on top of the fire and poked the other logs to set it in place. He spoke over his shoulder: “But don’t let me muscle in if you want to talk it over just the two of you. It’s no problem. I detect a slight reticence on your part.”

  “Of course not. It could be helpful to have you there. It’s just that …”

  “What?”

  “People who associate with me have a habit of getting their fingers burnt.”

  22

  Monday 16 January

  From time to time on that Monday morning, Marnie found her thoughts drifting back to the weekend. Waiting on the phone to be put through to a client, hearing the recorded music intended to placate the impatient, she would hear the sounds from Ralph’s hi-fi system. She would see the logs smouldering in the late evening, relive the walks across the still countryside, taste the wine. It had been perfect, almost perfect, had it not been for the mystery and menace hanging over them. Then the client would come on the line and she would be back to her busy world. In her professional life there were at least some certainties.

  Marnie and Anne went through their action lists, applied themselves to their usual routine. Dolly came in and went out at times that coincided with the opening of milk bottles. The day passed in a blur of phoning, organising, designing, liaising with suppliers, planning. Marnie fixed a date for the radiators to be delivered and calculated that the central heating would be working in cottage number two in about two weeks. Anne celebrated by making coffee and heating up the last two mince pies from the freezer. And by drawing up a new list.

  Marnie rang Days of Yore, the furniture removers who had her furniture in store, and arranged delivery times with Frank Day. His personal involvement in the previous summer’s murder was a reminder of the less cosy world outside, and he seemed subdued these days when he spoke to her. With that exception, she was happy to plan moving into the cottage. On the notepad Marnie doodled in the margins of her list, a chimney with smoke curling out, the grandfather clock that Ralph had given her at Christmas. She thought of her furniture. What was fine in a smart London flat would be less suitable in an eighteenth century cottage. She talked with Anne about new pieces they might buy. They discussed colour schemes, fabrics, carpets.

  In the late afternoon, as Anne was gathering together the letters to be posted and the list for the shop, Randall Hughes phoned. He would be calling by to see the new vicar and wanted to look in at Glebe Farm. They left the time of his visit flexible and promised that the kettle would be on as he came through the door.Anne set off up the field on her usual afternoon trek, armed with the shopping bag, a scarf pulled up round her face. Despite the cutting edge to the air, she was happy to be back to normal, shrugging off the cold, stepping out on the hard rutted track.

  Coming out of the shop she met Ronny walking back from the school bus. Gallantly he offered to carry the shopping and walk down with her to Glebe Farm. She accepted his company, but told him she was still strong enough to manage a loaf of bread, some vegetables and a box of Mr Stubbs’s best free range eggs. They chatted about this and that. Anne told him of their plan to move into cottage number two; he told her about his university options.

  Halfway down the field track, Ronny suddenly stopped and turned to her. “D’you remember when I set off that jumping cracker and you jumped out of your skin straight into my arms?” He was beaming.

  Anne did her best to flash him the heavy eyelids. It almost worked. She tried her deepest voice. “Not the kind of thing you’re likely to forget in a hurry,” she admitted, indulging him.

  *

  Anne leaned forward and sniffed the seats, her nose twitching like a rabbit’s. “I think I can smell smoke on this leather, Marnie.”

  “That’s hardly surprising. The car was only a few metres from the fire.” Marnie dropped the MG’s dustcover on the bonnet and leaned into the cockpit to sniff. “I think you’re right. You wouldn’t believe how dense it was. I could hardly breathe. The smell of it ...” She shook her head. “It’ll probably be a while before it goes. That’s one advantage of an open car, I suppose.”

  She retrieved the MG’s dustcover and began draping it over the front of the car. Anne took up her position on the opposite side, and together they spread it out until the whole car was wrapped up against the elements. There were no doors on this barn, which was scarcely bigger than a double garage.

  Marnie began fastening the corners to the chassis to keep the cover from blowing away. “I remember once, not long after Simon and I were married, a bottle of perfume got dropped in his car. He had a VW beetle that he’d restored himself, looked like new. It was his pride and joy. Anyway, the perfume spilled out and the car absolutely reeked of it. Simon said his beloved car smelled like a Bessarabian joyhouse.” She laughed at the memory.

  “A what?” said Anne.

  “That’s what he said. He was not best pleased I can tell you. In fact his humour wasn’t improved by my calling the car the love bug.” Marnie laughed again.

  “Whose fault was it that the perfume got spilled?” said Anne.

  “Oh, it was Simon’s fault. Oh yes. I would’ve been more contrite otherwise. I’d been using the car and left my bag in it. He’d put the bag on the back seat and the bottle fell out. When he pushed the driver’s seat back for his long legs, he ran over it. It cracked under one of the runners. The smell stayed in the car for months. When he came to sell it, he had to have the whole thing valeted and steam cleaned.”

  Dusk was coming down as they walked through the spinney. Marnie sensed that Anne had something on her mind and she waited, certain that it would come out. She was right.

  “Marnie?”

  “What is it?”

/>   “I know I shouldn’t ask, but did you and Simon have rows?”

  “No, not really. Oh, the odd disagreement like in any marriage, but nothing serious. The perfume incident was in our honeymoon period, if that’s what you’re thinking. No, the problems went deeper than that. Things were going well in my job and not so well in his. It didn’t worry me that I was earning more, but it bothered him a lot. After a while it undermined the whole relationship.”

  “Is it very different being with Ralph?”

  “Of course. Everything’s different. He’s established in his work and I am in my mine. We’re not in competition, and the differences make it interesting. That’s a simplified view, but it does help us get along.” She glanced sideways at Anne. “Is this anything to do with Ronny by any chance?”

  “Well, he was telling me about applying to go to university and planning a gap year.”

  “So you’re comparing your life with his.”

  “It was more the other way round really. He said he thought it was odd for me to have my gap year now before I do A-levels.”

  “But he doesn’t know about your circumstances and how you worked out what you wanted to do.”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “I said I needed to broaden my experience and the chance came along now, so I took it.”

  “Fairly forcibly,” said Marnie, “as I recall.” She laughed and put an arm round Anne’s shoulder. “You were very persuasive.”

  “I get the impression that Ronny thinks things should be done in a certain way. Do you know what I mean?”

  “You think he’s conventional?”

  “In a way,” said Anne. “I suppose most people are. That’s what makes it conventional. It’s just that I’ve got used to the way you do things.”

  “I don’t think of myself as particularly unconventional,” said Marnie.

  “No, I understand that, but you always think things out for yourself. You don’t do something because everybody else does it that way. Ralph’s the same. You both have interesting lives and you make things happen.”