Death in Little Venice

by Leo McNeir

  “If you’re sure I’m not intruding.” He squatted down to stroke Dolly’s head.

  “Have a seat. Give me two minutes.” She turned to the kitchen end of the office while Randall lowered his tall frame into Marnie’s chair, abandoned by Dolly who homed in on her saucer of milk, quietly purring. “Marnie will be sorry to have missed you. We have a lot of catching up to do after Christmas and, well, you know.”

  “I can imagine. You always seem very busy. But you still make the best coffee in this parish.”

  “New vicar better at communion wine, is she?” Anne said, grinning over her shoulder.

  Randall laughed. “Am I so obvious? Don’t let on!”

  “Is she settling into the village?”

  “Yes. She hopes to come down to meet you both later in the week. Will you be around?”

  Anne poured water into the cafetière. “I’m not sure, actually. We have to go to London tomorrow. I don’t know how long we’ll be staying.” She loaded the tray. “Perhaps Marnie can give her a ring, fix a time so she doesn’t come down here to find we’re away.”

  “Good idea.”

  Anne picked up the tray, concentrating on keeping it balanced. She had taken three steps into the office when the phone began ringing. She stopped, working out whether to go forward or back to the sink.

  “Shall I pick it up?” said Randall.

  “Please. I’ll just put these down.”

  As Randall went to reach across the desk, the answerphone cut in. He waited. After Marnie’s brief message, there was a sound like an intake of breath followed by a sniff. Anne remained where she stood, still holding the tray.

  “It’s me,” said a gruff voice. “You there?” Randall looked surprised. This did not sound like the sort of person who engaged an interior designer.

  “That’s Dodge,” said Anne in a stage whisper.

  “Dodge?” said Randall.

  “Anybody there? Sod it!”

  “Randall, press the ‘hands free’ button, would you. I don’t want to miss him. It could be important.” She stepped forward, careful not to drop the tray.

  Anne called out. “Dodge? Is that you?”

  “Yeah. Who’s that? You the posh bird?”

  “No. It’s Anne, her friend.”

  There was a pause. The voice was doubtful, suspicious. “I don’t know no Anne.”

  Randall was baffled by the conversation and looked enquiringly at Anne.

  “Yes you do. We met the other day on the canal.”

  Another pause. More suspicion. “I don’t know no Anne,” Dodge repeated.

  Anne felt helpless, desperate not to lose the call. “Yes you do. You remember.”

  “You ain’t the posh bird, posh bird wiv the lovely arse.”

  Randall’s brows knitted together. Anne had a sudden flash of inspiration. “No. I’m, er, skinny bint, no tits.”

  The effect on Dodge was recognition. “Oh, yeah. Right.”

  The effect on Randall was more dramatic. His mouth gaped open and he sat bolt upright in the chair. Anne tried not to laugh and only just managed to level the tray as the coffee pot began sliding across it. Randall collected his wits. His mouth closed with a snap. He coughed.

  “Someone there?” said Dodge.

  “No, Dodge, it’s just me. Marnie’s out. I can take a message for her.”

  The voice was full of doubt again. “I dunno …”

  “Yes. You know me. You can tell me what it is. Please don’t hang up. What is it?”

  “The police’ve been back.”

  “I’m sure they won’t hurt you, Dodge.” Anne quietly lowered the tray onto Marnie’s desk.

  “It ain’t the police I’m worried about, it’s the bloke, ’e’s been back too. ’E was lookin’ over ’ere. I think ’e saw me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Nah. Dunno.”

  “Did he say anything, call out to you or anything?”

  “Messin’ about wiv a stick, couldn't make it out. He were up to somethin’.”

  “What was he doing exactly?”

  “I couldn't see proper. It were dark.”

  “Dark? When was this? “

  “Last night, late.”

  “Any idea what time?”

  “I dunno. It'd been dark a long time. I seen ’im before. It were ’im.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Too dark to see, ’Ad an ’at on, dark clothes. Dropped a stick in the water. Took ’im a long time to get it out.”

  “What was he, young or old? Tall, short? Fat, thin? Can you think of anything I can tell Marnie when she gets back?”

  A pause. “’E was … like a fit man.”

  “Okay. Did you see what kind of stick it was?”

  “Dunno, maybe like a walkin’ stick.”

  Anne shook her head. “What did he do with it? I don't quite understand about the stick in the water.”

  “I told yer.” Dodge was becoming impatient. “’E kept grabbin’ at it, like it was slippery and ’e couldn't get ’old of it. That’s all I know.”

  “Okay, Dodge. I'll tell Marnie. And thank you very much.”

  “Yeah. I don’t want no trouble.” There was a click and he was gone.

  Anne stood silently pondering for a few seconds, chewing her lip, certain that there were many more questions she should have asked. She became aware of Randall again.

  “Obviously not a client of yours,” he said quietly.

  “Believe it or not, that was our witness.”

  “Witness?”

  Anne nodded. “He may have been there when the MP was murdered.”

  “So he was definitely murdered?”

  “We think so. He’s a tramp. He’s quite nice, really, even if his language is a bit …”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry if I sounded rather crude. He speaks like that sometimes. I wanted him to understand it was me. It was the only way to remind him who I was. I hope you weren’t shocked.”

  Randall smiled. “No. Well, not really. Believe it or not, I'm regarded as being on the liberal wing of the clergy.”

  “I thought you weren't supposed to be political.”

  “No. I mean, we're meant to be the broad-minded ones, taking things in our stride however, to use your word, ‘crude’ they might be.”

  “You should try being a woman,” said Anne with feeling.

  24

  Wednesday 18 January

  It was easy, even in the darkness before dawn, to push Rumpole out of her mooring, steer into mid-channel and point her nose towards the black hole of Maida Hill tunnel. The street lights on both sides of the canal gave enough background illumination to make their task simple, and Anne had walked slowly back along the towpath to join Marnie on the stern deck as the bows swung out and they pulled away from the bank. Standing together, they both yawned in unison, the yawns turning into a suppressed laugh.

  Marnie pulled the collar of her ski-suit up around her neck, musing that she seemed to be spending more time in fancy dress these days than in normal clothes. The breath clouded in front of her face, and she felt its warmth reflecting back onto her chin as she guided the boat into the tunnel.

  Anne leaned forward and turned on the headlamp, yawning again from cold and tiredness. Croissants were warming in the oven, with a further batch standing by in case they met Dodge. It’s hideously early. How do we get into these larks? she thought, dreaming of her warm bed. It was all too clear. The previous day at Glebe Farm, she had told Marnie about the call from Dodge as soon as she returned from her meeting. Because he had spoken on the answerphone, they could listen again to the conversation and Marnie had replayed it three or four times, listening intently. Without hesitating she had persuaded Randall to take them to Milton Keynes to catch the first available train to London. Marnie seemed obsessed with the idea that they had to be on the spot to find the solution to the mystery of the death of Tim Edmonds.

  The whistling of the kettle brought Anne
back to her surroundings, and she gratefully went below to prepare breakfast. Attending to her mundane tasks, she wondered if Marnie was becoming excessively dominated by the mystery, driving herself to the limit to try to resolve it. Her worries were confirmed when Marnie called down asking Anne to pour a shot of cognac into her coffee.

  Back on deck, Anne held out the mug. “Are you okay, Marnie?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Marnie smiled through the steam. “You think I’m going loopy because I ask for a drop of brandy?”

  “You don’t usually drink alcohol at breakfast time.”

  “Actually, I’m thinking of having it on cornflakes in future. It’ll make a pleasant change. You can order some of that marmalade with whisky in too, if you like.”

  “I’m serious, Marnie.”

  “I’m not. So don’t worry. I just felt cold inside, that’s all.” She pulled a glove off to pick up a croissant and dunk it in her drink. “Mm, a big improvement with Courvoisier!”

  Anne smiled at her. “To tell you the truth, I was worrying that you might be getting a bit obsessive about things.”

  “And it was driving me to drink? Of course. Logical conclusion. No, actually, what’s worrying me is Dodge.”

  “You think he may have imagined what he saw?”

  “No. The more I think about it, the more I believe every word he said. Really. No, I’m worried about why he phoned us. It was a miracle he phoned at all.”

  “I thought he just wanted to be helpful. You’d been nice to him, and he wanted to pay you back.”

  “Maybe. But I think he was motivated by fear. And I think he was right.”

  *

  They motored slowly past the boats moored in the basin of Lisson Grove, through the short tunnel under the tube line, to emerge into Regent’s Park. In the light borrowed from the street lamps some distance away outside the park, they could see ducks sleeping, heads tucked under wings, on landscaped grassy banks sloping down to the path. Within a few minutes they saw the outline of the blow-up bridge looming ahead of them. Marnie reduced engine speed to idle and let Rumpole drift gently up towards the bridge, easing her into the side to come to a halt a few metres before the steel columns.

  “I think we’ve got to assume the man was searching the water roughly where I found the body,” said Marnie. She spoke in little more than a whisper.

  “I know it sounds a silly thing to say,” Anne began, “but you don’t think it could just have been a man who’d dropped a walking stick into the canal and was trying to get it out?”

  “I don’t.”

  “He could’ve been having difficulties grabbing it because he had a bad back, or something, if it was a walking stick.”

  “Humour me, Anne. I know it was more than that. It can’t just have been a coincidence.”

  “Okay.” They looked down at the grey water in the darkness, Anne at a loss to know what would happen next.

  “Won’t be a sec,” said Marnie, disappearing below.

  Anne heard a door open somewhere in the cabin, followed by sounds of rummaging. A minute later, Marnie re-appeared holding a child’s fishing net. “I knew we had one of these. So, where do we start?”

  “Good question,” said Anne.

  Marnie switched off the engine, hopped onto the towpath and walked a few paces. “I think it was about here.” She dipped the net into the water and reached down till she touched bottom. “I think there’s nothing for it but to drag up and down until I find something.”

  “What about using the magnet?”

  “I don’t know that it’ll be metal. Let’s see how we get on with this.” She walked slowly along the edge of the towpath, scraping the net through what felt like a thin layer of soil on the canal bed, while Anne watched her. After a few moments, the girl went below and came back holding a pair of trainers. She stepped down to join Marnie.

  “Try these. I think you’ve got to have a system. Why not mark the bank in sections and use Rumpole as a boundary?”

  Marnie agreed to let Anne try out her idea. They first pulled the boat forward to mark out the approximate area of the search, then tied her up at each end, using the gangplank at the stern to hold her away from the bank, and the short pole wedged up at the bow. This gave them a sweep of the length of the boat and a channel of nearly two metres width. Anne placed the trainers about two metres apart on the bank at the end nearest to the bridge, and Marnie began systematically trailing the net slowly up and down between the shoes.

  “I like your system, Anne. It at least makes me feel I haven’t covered the same area twice or missed part of it.”

  “I’ll do the next section, if you like, while you have your coffee … and brandy.”

  Marnie smiled sweetly at Anne in the half light. “One day, Anne, you’ll make a really interesting mother-in-law.” Anne stuck out her tongue.

  Very soon afterwards, Marnie stopped dragging.

  “Got something?” said Anne. She unhooked the torch from beside the control panel and shone it down at the surface.

  “Yes. I can definitely feel something down there.” She fiddled with the net handle, trying to get some purchase on the object. “The trouble is, now that I’ve located it, it isn’t easy getting a hold.” She tried twisting the handle in an attempt to scoop up her find.

  “Can you feel how big it is? Is it heavy? Why not try dragging it towards the bank?”

  “That’s an idea.” Marnie held the handle in both hands and began scraping the net towards her. “It’s moving. I don’t think it’s all that heavy. It seems solid, though. God knows how I’m going to get it out. It’ll be like one of those fairground crane things where you keep dropping whatever you’re trying to pick up.”

  “What about a bucket?” Anne ran back into the boat and brought out the plastic bucket from under the sink. She tied a light rope to the handle and kneeled down to tilt it on its side in the water until it filled up. It sank, and she dragged it close to the bank, angling it with the rope to face the net. Marnie kept scraping her prize along the bottom.

  “I’ll never believe it if we find it first time,” said Marnie concentrating hard.

  “Have you any idea what it is you’re looking for?” said Anne.

  “Not really. But I think I will know when we find it.” She scraped firmly with the net. “That definitely moved. I think we’re there. Try lifting the bucket … very carefully. I don’t want it to fall out.”

  Anne took up the strain on the rope and inch by inch pulled against the weight of the water. Soon the bucket broke clear of the canal, and she hoisted it onto the bank. Marnie began rolling up her sleeve, muttering, “This’ll be pleasant, plunging my arm into icy water in mid-January, but I daren’t risk tipping it back into the canal.”

  “Be careful, Marnie. Whatever it is might be sharp.”

  Marnie knelt on the path and winced as she felt around in the bucket, up to her elbow in freezing muddy water. “God! This is cold. I must be mad. Don’t agree with me!”

  “Never said a word.”

  “Ah … what’s this?” She gripped her catch carefully and lifted it out. Anne shone the torch onto a small object covered in slime, the size of a paperback book. Marnie swished it around in the water to rinse off the mud. “Oh …” She swished it again and held it up to the light.

  “What is it?” said Anne.

  “I think it’s a hip-flask.”

  “Is it what you expected, now that you’ve found it?”

  “Mm …”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “Well, it’s not much of a murder weapon, is it?”

  *

  There was an atmosphere of anti-climax on Rumpole for the rest of the morning and through lunch. Marnie had examined the hip-flask through the transparent bag, but there were no marks to identify the owner. They had spent almost another hour fruitlessly searching the rest of the area they had marked out on the canal until finally, as the sky was ligh
tening, they had turned the boat back to Little Venice under a dull grey dawn. They had seen nothing of Dodge and had had no thought of disturbing his rest on the other side of the canal in the shelter of the tall bridge under his pile of blankets and tarpaulins. Thoughts of the way he lived only added to the gloom of that icy morning as Rumpole headed for home.

  Back at the mooring they had planned their day, Anne sitting opposite Marnie at the galley table, notepad open, ready for anything.

  “What do you reckon about the hip flask, then?” Anne asked.

  Marnie hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

  “Aren’t you going to take it to the police?”

  “In a way, I suppose I should. But …”

  “But what?”

  “Well, they would’ve found it if it had been there all the time, surely.”

  “You think they dragged the canal?”

  “That’s what I don’t know. Perhaps they didn’t. He had a head wound and was drowned. So would they drag the canal? Is that their normal procedure?”

  “You should still let them have it, Marnie.”

  “And probably make myself look a fool, as usual. I mean, what does it prove? It’s a hip flask covered in mud. I want to think about it before I decide.” She sighed. “Let’s hope this isn’t all a waste of time.” Her disappointment was sliding into despondency.

  “You’ve still got your meeting with Mr Grant. You had to come for that, so it won’t all be wasted.”

  “No, I suppose not, but I’ve dragged you down here for nothing.”

  “That’s all right. I’m part of the team. But you won’t be wanting me at the meeting, I expect.”

  Marnie shrugged. “I want to try out my ideas about the police using us as decoys, and I don’t think I could do that if we weren’t alone. Malcolm’s not likely to speak frankly if someone else is there, particularly someone he doesn’t know.”

  “No probs,” Anne said brightly.

  Marnie reached across the table and touched her friend’s hand. “No probs,” she mimicked, smiling. “So, what would you like to do? You can have the afternoon off … do something interesting.”

  Anne thought for a moment. “Well, I could spend most of the time queuing for the exhibition at the Tate in the cold. Oh, I know, I could go to the sales. I’ve got some Christmas present money to spend.”