Death in Little Venice

by Leo McNeir

  You obviously haven’t heard the news. That was what he said. The phrase turned itself over in her mind. What could it mean? Anne pondered for a while, but could make no sense of Bruere’s enigmatic statement: haven’t heard the news. One way to find out. Anne decisively gulped down her tea and scribbled a note for Mrs Jolly. Seconds later she closed the front door quietly behind her and set off down the street towards the news-stand by the tube station.

  As she approached, she saw him slipping a new notice into his Evening Standard billboard. She presented a coin when he straightened up.

  “Sorry, love. You’re too early. It’s not here yet.”

  “Okay. I’ll come back.” She turned to leave and walked a few steps before turning round to call out.

  “How soon will they arrive, do you think?”

  The newsman shrugged. “Anybody’s guess. Give it another ten minutes?”

  She hardly noticed his reply because at that moment she caught sight of the headline on the billboard.

  DEATH IN LITTLE VENICE

  *

  Turning the corner across the road from the canal, Anne saw a man and a woman walking up to Mrs Jolly’s front door. She reached the house as Mrs Jolly was letting them in and hoped the old lady would not be too intimidated by the detectives. Chief Inspector Bruere had brought a woman colleague whom he introduced as DS McLeish. The four of them stood close together in Mrs Jolly’s small entrance hall.

  “Now, Mr Bruere,” Mrs Jolly began, “you are a visitor in my house, and I know you have a job to do. I have to tell you that Marnie is just recovering from a migraine. You may talk to her for five minutes. If you stay any longer I will make a formal complaint to your superiors. Do you understand?”

  “Mrs Jolly, we are –”

  “I am a personal friend of the Commissioner. In fact his mother is my bridge partner. Have I made myself clear?” Bruere rolled his eyes, nodded and said nothing. Mrs Jolly looked pointedly at her watch and led the way upstairs. “I don’t want you opening the curtains. You can leave the door ajar to let some light into the room.”

  Bruere suspected that Mrs Jolly had other motives. “For our talk we shall need privacy.”

  “You shall have it.” She showed the detectives into the bedroom and went back downstairs to where Anne was waiting.

  Anne was wide-eyed. “Gosh, Mrs Jolly,” she whispered. “How long have you known the Commissioner?”

  The old lady gave it some thought. “Oh, I think it must be all of … two minutes.”

  *

  Bruere approached the bed in semi-darkness and pulled up a stool from the dressing table leaving his partner to stand near the door.

  “How are you feeling, Mrs Walker?”

  “Been better.”

  “You’ve had a migraine, I understand. Do you often get them?”

  “Not had one for a long time.” Her voice was faint. “Started as a headache and just got worse. I wasn’t quick enough to stop it.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Since yesterday afternoon.”

  “Did you know that Malcolm Grant was dead?”

  Marnie jumped, winced and closed her eyes, as a shooting pain pierced her skull. She put a hand to her forehead. Bruere watched and waited. There was a long silence broken only by the sound of Marnie’s laboured breathing. Gradually she settled down and half-opened her eyes as if checking that Bruere was still there. She swallowed. When she spoke her voice was dry and unsteady.

  “Did Malcolm … did he take the … poison?”

  “Poison?” Bruere spoke so loudly that Marnie raised a weak hand to silence him. “Did you say poison, Mrs Walker?”

  “Yes.”

  “What poison?” Marnie shook her head gently. Bruere continued, “I said … what poison?”

  “I heard you.”

  “Then I think you’d better explain. Take your time. We’ve got all day.” From the doorway came the muffled sound of a cough. Bruere half turned his head before looking again at Marnie.

  “We found a hip-flask in the canal at the spot where I found the body. I think it might have contained poison or some drug.”

  “And why did you not contact the police at once, Mrs Walker?”

  “I was going down … brain wasn’t connected.”

  “You do realise it’s a serious offence to withhold evidence from the police?”

  “I know, but I was in no fit state and it may have had nothing to do –”

  “We should be the ones to judge that.”

  Marnie began breathing more quickly. She seemed agitated. “I assumed that you must have done a thorough job as professionals and that it might have got into the canal after the murder.” Bruere followed her line of reasoning and even in the gloom with her eyes closed, Marnie could sense his annoyance. “So did he take the poison?”

  “No. He collapsed while out jogging on the towpath in Little Venice. He seems to have had a heart attack or some kind of seizure. By the time they managed to pull him out of the water it was too late to save him.”

  From outside the room came the sound of someone slowly climbing the stairs. Another faint cough from the doorway. Bruere stood up.

  “We shall be wanting a full statement from you, Mrs Walker. I’ll be back.”

  *

  Ralph had phoned Anne in response to her message and arranged to come straight back to London after giving his paper at the seminar. His arrival early that afternoon coincided with Marnie taking her first sips of water.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he said, holding her lightly. “As soon as my back is turned …”

  “At least I didn’t get murdered this time.”

  “We must be thankful for small mercies, I suppose. Your record is definitely improving.” He shook his head, suddenly serious. “You know, I blame myself for what happened to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If I hadn’t agreed to speak at that seminar …”

  “But I would’ve told you to go anyway.”

  Ralph looked miserable. “I never seem to be there when you need –”

  “Hey, stop that. Don’t get all guilt-ridden.”

  “I tried to ring you from Bristol. It was all such a rush going from my UCL meeting to catch the train. Then, when I did ring, all I got was a voice telling me I couldn’t get through to your mobile for some silly reason.”

  Marnie smiled. “Technology was never your strong point.” She kissed him gently. “Come on. It’s all right.”

  Ralph smiled back. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be comforting you.”

  “You’re useless.”

  “Thank you.”

  Marnie told Ralph the story of her visit on Wednesday to Malcolm’s flat and her theory about what happened to Tim Edmonds. He listened to her narrative in silence, nodding occasionally, shaking his head in astonishment when Marnie told him of Anne’s arrival and her pretended phone conversation with him. She ended with Bruere’s visit.

  “Yes,” said Ralph. “I heard about Grant’s death on the news. Extraordinary business. The newspapers are going to town, as you can imagine. Two MPs dead in the same canal within a few weeks of each other, closest friends. It’s certainly taken some of the pressure off the problems facing the government for the time being.”

  “Lying here, I’ve been thinking about your hindsight theory.”

  “A lot of help that was, but then it wasn’t meant as a way of solving crime.”

  “No. But it was all so clear in the end, the KSF.”

  “The peerage business.”

  “Yes. Or rather the sense of betrayal. It was all too much for Malcolm to take from his closest friend, the man he’d stood by in the worst crisis of his life.”

  “Hardly surprising,” said Ralph. “And quite disgraceful. I know it sounds dreadful, but I don’t really blame him for wanting revenge. If I’m honest, I think my sympathies are largely with Grant.”

  “I know what you mean, bu
t murdering someone, that’s another matter. I don’t believe in the death penalty, and that murder was planned in cold blood.”

  “I wonder how he felt afterwards, after he’d actually done it.”

  “That’s easy,” said Marnie. “He was grief-stricken.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “Yes. I got to know Malcolm over these past weeks. Those were real tears I saw in the church that evening. I’m convinced of that.”

  “Well, it was the loss of his dearest friend, I suppose, even if he’d been the one to kill him.”

  “Oh it was more than that, Ralph, much more. It was the loss of everything, his friend, his career, all his political ambitions.”

  “Yes. Powerful motives.”

  “But there was more to it than that, I’m sure of it. For Malcolm the worst thing would be to lose his good name. His loyalty to his friend, the respect of the other MPs, the high regard of his regiment, his reputation as a war hero. All that would be forgotten if he was found out. An officer and a gentleman; he’d just go down as a murderer. All his life he’d been the good guy. He’d thrown it all away in a fit of pride.”

  “How ironic. The murderer deserves more sympathy than the victim. Despite all that, you’re going to tell Bruere what happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose you must. You don’t have any choice.”

  *

  By late afternoon the patient was making a steady recovery. Anne had walked along to the tube station with Ralph and brought back a newspaper. There was a three page spread about the life and times of the two MPs, going over all the ground that had been covered at the time of Tim Edmonds’s death, and adding the final chapter of Malcolm Grant’s demise from a heart attack. Anne took the paper up to Marnie with a plate of crackers and a glass of mineral water. She found Marnie on the phone to Beth, reassuring her sister that she was fine.

  Marnie had washed, brushed her hair and changed into a nightdress provided by Mrs Jolly. It was white, made of thick cotton in a Victorian style buttoned to the neck, and it made Marnie look like a character from a Jane Austen novel. She was sitting up in bed attempting her first cracker when Bruere arrived in the early evening, again accompanied by DS Jane McLeish.

  “Are you feeling better, Mrs Walker?”

  “More human than last time you came.”

  “You appear to be making a remarkable recovery.” Marnie did not reply, but took a sip of water. “Tell me about the poison, Mrs Walker.”

  Marnie explained about finding the hip-flask in the canal, the testimony of Dodge, her theory about Tim Edmonds being poisoned or at least drugged as a way of getting him into the water to drown.

  “You seriously believe Mr Edmonds would stand around in the cold and dark of a winter’s evening on the towpath having a friendly drink when he was supposed to be visiting a friend nearby who would presumably have something to drink in his warm and comfortable flat?”

  “Based on an eye witness’s statement, yes. There’s nothing incongruous about two friends walking along together, stopping for a moment to have a nip from a flask.”

  “And this friend would be Malcolm Grant, no doubt.”

  “Who else could it be?”

  “Who else, indeed? You have evidence to prove this?”

  “Malcolm made it clear by his reaction on seeing the hip-flask.”

  “I was talking about evidence, not about intuition or feelings. I think you should be very careful about making unfounded accusations, Mrs Walker.”

  “Dodge saw what happened. If you handle him carefully, I think he could identify Malcolm. He’s more reliable than you seem to think.”

  Bruere shook his head. “A good brief would make mincemeat of him in court. He’d be worse than useless. You can forget about him. It leaves your case a bit thin, I’m afraid.”

  “But if you put everything together, it all fits.”

  “Try me.”

  “The car bomb.”

  “What about it?”

  “Malcolm had been a soldier, a commando. He knew all about explosives. He used it as a diversionary tactic to make me think he was an ally. He knew it was safe to go out after the explosion. I think he just wanted to check his handiwork.”

  “You seriously think he would’ve risked killing innocent passers-by just to make you think he was a friend?”

  “What if he had an accomplice, some loyal friend from his army days, someone who wouldn’t ask any questions, able to set it off when no-one was passing?”

  “Don’t you think that’s rather James Bond, cloak and dagger stuff, Mrs Walker? There was no evidence to link Mr Grant with the bombing.”

  “What about the fire on Magician?”

  “A leaking gas pipe. Forensic have established it beyond any doubt. The flame of the pilot light in the water heater was enough to set it off. Wrong again, Mrs Walker.”

  “You don’t think that was a strange coincidence after everything else?”

  “They do happen.”

  “There was a special car disguised as a taxi that he sent me home in once. What was that about?”

  “So? Hiring a taxi isn’t a crime, and there are plenty of hire firms about. Did you get its licence number?”

  “Of course I didn’t. Only the police think like that.”

  “The police like evidence and hard facts. So do courts of law. You yourself found the note from Edmonds to Grant, Mrs Walker. Are you saying that was a set-up?”

  “No.”

  “But you thought it corroborated Mr Grant’s story.”

  “I realise it proved nothing. He told me he’d phoned Tim Edmonds after getting the note. He met him on the towpath, and they walked together. It’s clear that they stopped for a drink under a lamp by the bridge. Malcolm knew the towpath would be deserted because it was closed after sunset. As a resident he had a key to the gate. He suggested a quick snifter to keep out the cold until they got back to the flat.”

  “You can’t prove any of this or produce any evidence that would stand up in court.”

  “In Malcolm’s flat I found a gun, a revolver.”

  “Oh yes? Did he threaten you with it?”

  “No. He didn’t get a chance to. I took it to stop it being used.”

  “Really? Where is it?”

  “In my bag, wherever that is.”

  “You admit taking a firearm without the owner’s consent?”

  “Yes. I was worried stiff what might happen. Anne was there. All I wanted was to get her away in safety.”

  “Did you know if he had a permit for it?”

  Marnie sighed in exasperation. “I didn’t ask him. I just got scared and took it.”

  Bruere wagged a finger. “Oh, Mrs Walker. And what about the hip-flask? Will we find that in your bag as well? We’ve found no trace of any such object in the flat.”

  “I left it behind in my rush to get away with Anne and the gun.”

  “You left behind a flask that you suspected might contain poison? That was your only evidence, Mrs Walker, and you left it behind.”

  “I was in a rush. I wanted to get Anne to safety. I just grabbed the revolver and ran.”

  “So you have no actual proof of anything at all.”

  *

  Ralph stayed for supper at Mrs Jolly’s invitation. She prepared a light meal, and Marnie felt well enough to come downstairs. She looked pale and tired, but was no longer in pain. Inevitably the conversation was dominated by Malcolm Grant and Tim Edmonds, two ghosts not yet laid to rest, at least not as far as Marnie was concerned. By the time they reached the dessert course, a traditional rice pudding, sprinkled with nutmeg, they were convinced that Bruere was right. Marnie was equally convinced that she was right, too. Everything she had experienced told her that Malcolm Grant had killed Tim Edmonds out of a sense of betrayal. She also recognised that she had no proof that would convince a court. They turned their attention to loose ends.

  “It’s curious that Malcolm left that message on the an
swerphone,” said Marnie. “It led the police straight to him.”

  “They were bound to question him anyway,” said Ralph.

  “Was it a sort of decoy?” Anne asked.

  Ralph nodded. “I suspect he left the message because it gave a time for him being at home that the police could check. It would place him there at about the time Tim Edmonds was murdered. He hadn’t counted on someone coming along on a boat when you did, Marnie. Without your arrival on the scene, the message was as good as an alibi. And he hadn’t expected there to be a witness across the canal who had seen the two men together. No-one ever thinks of tramps.”

  “The answerphone message was a kind of bluff, wasn’t it?” Marnie said. “If he was guilty, he’d hardly link himself with the victim. That’s what he wanted the police to think.”

  “What about the car bomb?” Anne asked. “Was that a decoy too?”

  “We’ll never know definitely, but there isn’t much doubt in my mind. I’m sure he didn’t want to kill me, though.”

  “My goodness,” said Mrs Jolly. “I’ve never had conversations like this at my dinner table before. What a horrible business this has been. I for one am heartily glad it’s all over.”

  “Me too,” said Anne.

  “This kind of thing can poison your life unless you’re very careful.” Mrs Jolly stood up. “Just leave these things on the table. Let’s have coffee in the sitting room.”

  26

  Friday 20 January

  Marnie and Roger Broadbent stood on the steps of the police station, hunched up against the cold.

  “I can’t believe I just did that,” said Marnie.

  “You didn’t have any choice. You told the police what happened. That’s all you could do.”

  “But I wanted to make them believe me.”

  “Look at it from their point of view, Marnie. They have to convince the Crown Prosecution Service that there’s a case. You yourself said Grant didn’t actually confess to anything.”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “Unspoken evidence is no evidence, Marnie. Certainly not a confession.”

  “But what about the poison? Bruere admitted that Malcolm had taken something, some sort of drug. They found it in his bloodstream. I know he took it and just went jogging till it took effect and he collapsed. I know it.”