Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

  “Roger!”

  “I’m trying to help you, Marnie.”

  “But I’ve done nothing, so the police can prove nothing.”

  “You’ve admitted to being at the scene at about the right time. Your alibi is from two people also implicated by their own admission. Your ear-ring was found there. Your face is scratched. The victim has positively identified you as his attacker, with another man. How much more do you think they need to regard you as a suspect?”

  Another silence. Roger could hear Marnie breathing.

  “Oh, God.” she muttered.

  “Have they told you how bad the victim is?”

  “Fractured skull, broken –”

  “No, I mean the prognosis.”

  “That’s bad enough, isn’t it?”

  “Believe it or not, Marnie, it could be worse. If he were to die, you’d be in deep schtuck with that ID. Though actually, things could be worse in another way.”

  “You’re really cheering me up, Roger. Do go on. I’m so glad you’re there for me.”

  “They haven’t actually arrested you.”

  “Yet.”

  “Could be significant.”

  “How?”

  “Where did the attack take place, precisely?”

  “Over the hedge in a field beside the towpath. I told you.”

  “Did you go over the hedge at any time, even briefly?”

  “No.”

  “Did Ralph or Anne?”

  “Course not. It’s too high and too dense.”

  “So you won’t have left any footprints on that side, and forensic won’t have a match with the field soil on the soles of your shoes.”

  “Obviously not. That’s why I’ve not been arrested?”

  “Could be. They’re still gathering evidence. Time’s on their side.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Where’s Bartlett at the moment?”

  “Just outside the office in the yard. He’s been talking on his mobile.”

  “Can you ask him if he’ll speak to me.”

  Marnie opened the door and went out. “Mr Bartlett, my solicitor would like a word with you, if that’s possible.” He held out his hand. “It’s Roger Broadbent. You’ve met before.”

  Bartlett took the phone. “On several occasions,” he muttered.

  Marnie made a diplomatic retreat into the office, where Anne was tidying the kitchen area ready for departure. She cast a rueful glance at Marnie.

  “It’s all ridiculous,” Marnie murmured, collecting the papers on her desk and putting them in the pending tray. “There’s obviously been a serious crime committed, and all they can do is –”

  Marnie stopped abruptly as Anne nodded in the direction of the door. Bartlett was coming in. He handed the phone back to Marnie and went out without speaking.

  “Hallo, Roger?”

  “Right, well you’ll be pleased to know you’re not going to the station, at least not today.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “I’ve got Bartlett to agree that as you’ve been so co-operative – letting him have your things without the need for a warrant – he’ll have tests carried out on whatever he takes away before further questioning.”

  “Great! So we’re not being dragged off to the cells.” Marnie was elated.

  “Marnie!”

  “Sorry.” More contrite. “Thanks, Roger. What now?”

  “We wait till they contact you. Because I’m down here in London, he’ll give me warning in good time if he wants me to come up.”

  “That’s good. Well done.”

  “He’s a reasonable man, Marnie. If you treat him fairly, he’ll be the same with you. You’d do well to remember that. And wait till I’m there before you make any further statements. Ralph and Anne the same. Just keep everything cool.”

  *

  The strain was too much. After Bartlett and Marriner left – taking with them half of the entire wardrobes of the three suspects – Marnie announced that she felt ready to collapse and suggested taking the rest of the morning off. They sat out beside Sally Ann in deckchairs under the garden parasol and drifted into sleep. Dolly startled Anne when she leapt into her lap, but eventually settled under Anne’s deckchair, curled up in a ball.

  It was early afternoon before they returned to consciousness, Ralph’s nostrils twitching at that most English of smells, bacon sizzling under the grill. He opened one eye and saw that Anne’s deckchair was empty. Dolly was also absent. He could guess why and had a shrewd idea where the cat was. The smell was emanating from the window of the galley on Sally Ann. Ralph stretched his long limbs and yawned.

  No breakfast ever tasted so good. They ate egg-and-bacon sandwiches by the waterside, to the accompaniment of birdsong. Anne the vegetarian enjoyed the baconless variety, to the delight of one contented black cat who crunched her share from a saucer on the grass beside the table. When they had finished they returned to their deckchairs and sat back.

  With his eyes closed, Ralph said, “Anyone else feel like a zombie?”

  “Trying to give’em up,” Marnie muttered in a dreamy voice.

  Ralph glanced across at Anne, who was dozing with the cat in her lap. “How are you feeling, Anne? You’ve done wonders. That breakfast was brilliant.”

  “Mm. Actually I don’t feel bad ... considering. I think it was relief at not being hauled down to the 87th Precinct for the Third Degree.”

  “Good old Roger,” Marnie murmured.

  “Yes,” said Anne. “It was Roger who gave me the idea for the late breakfast . I kept saying to myself he’d saved our bacon, and that did it. Then I got thinking.”

  “Oh yes?” Marnie recognised the signs. “About what?”

  “Well, I’ve sort of had an idea. It first came to me during the night while we were spraying the boat. I don’t think you’ll like it.”

  *

  On arrival back at the station, Bartlett had a message to contact Chief Superintendent Scutt. He made the call, left DS Marriner dealing with forensic and went along to see the Head of CID.

  Scutt was an old hand, tough and shrewd, good at handling the politics. He waved Bartlett to a chair. “Did you bring her in, Jack?”

  “Not this time, sir.”

  “I see. And your reasoning?”

  “I didn’t want to rush it. We’ve got an ID from a semi-conscious victim with serious head injuries. No formal statement as yet. I wanted firm evidence to go with the ear stud.”

  “So you’ll be getting a warrant. She won’t be able to get out of that.”

  “No need, sir. Walker offered to let us take anything we wanted from all three of them. She seemed almost pleased to co-operate.”

  “Co-operate? Walker? The words don’t even sound right together.”

  “Her actual words were, You can take the bloody lot as long as you leave us something to wear tomorrow. We came away with shoes, clothing by the armful. And that’s part of my reason for not bringing her in.”

  Scutt looked steadily at Bartlett without comment. He nodded for him to continue.

  “Either she’s very convincing or she didn’t know what I was talking about. She acted as if she really had nothing to hide. We seemed to be on different wavelengths.”

  “What’s new? So where are we on the assault?”

  “I’ve got her solicitor ready to come up from London as soon as I’ve got the report from Forensic.”

  “You want to confront them with as much evidence as you can. Play it by the book.”

  Bartlett frowned. “Ye-e-s.”

  “Nothing wrong with that, Jack. Get all the ammo you can. We’ve got to be copper-bottomed on this. National press are going to take a big interest. We want it sorted, quick and clean. No balls-ups.”

  “I know that, sir, but ...”

  “But what? You know Walker was at the scene. The victim named her. You’ve got her ear-ring. What more do you want?”

  Bartlett shook his head. “It’s just ... You never kno
w where you are with Walker or what’s going on in the background. She never gives anything away. You never know what she’s up to.”

  “You’re saying you believe her because she withholds information?” Scutt snorted.

  “No, sir. I’m just saying she’s very deep, that one. And also, I just don’t see her – or them – being caught up in violence. The professor, the girl ... it doesn’t add up.”

  “The photographer might’ve started it, Jack. They might’ve tried to take his camera away, and it all got out of hand.”

  Bartlett shook his head. “Another thing that doesn’t add up. A photographer from a national daily taking shots at a canal boatyard at that time of night.”

  “No great mystery there,” said Scutt. “We know his paper’s looking for the vanishing MP, probably photographing anything that looks in the least unusual. Some people moving a boat after dark, could be worth following up. Why were they moving it at that hour, anyway?”

  “Walker said it was the only time they had free. They were going to paint it for a client. The boatyard woman corroborated their story. Walker’s name’s up on the jobs board in the office. It all looks straightforward.”

  Scutt narrowed his eyes. “You know Walker. Is she the sort to take offence at someone filming her activities?”

  “She’s the sort who wouldn’t be able to keep her nose out,” said Bartlett. “I could imagine her asking him what he thought he was doing.”

  “And he being a cocky sod up from London giving her a stroppy answer,” Scutt surmised.

  “Could’ve been something like that. It’s why I wanted more evidence, sir.”

  “All right. Keep me posted every step of the way on this one, Jack.”

  Bartlett began to rise from his seat. “Yes, sir. I’ll be back in a few days.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “I need a reply from Forensic, sir.”

  “Tomorrow,” said Scutt.

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  “I don’t care if it’s Christmas, Yom Kippur or Red Nose Day. I’ll authorise the overtime. You tell Forensic I want that report PDQ. And if they don’t know what those initials mean, tell them to talk to me.”

  *

  The short afternoon passed quickly, with Ralph back on Thyrsis, allegedly working on his new book, and Anne reviewing progress on Walker and Co’s current projects. Marnie spent an hour on the phone to Roger explaining everything frankly. Nearly everything. She did not tell him about Anne’s latest brainwave. She talked about Anthony Leyton-Brown and explained about Melissa. She told him about the snooping photographer and why they had crossed over the canal to check Stevie’s story. Roger listened patiently without interrupting and finally told Marnie that her best course of action was to tell everything to the police, just as she had told him.

  “Thanks for your advice, Roger. I know you’re wanting to protect my interests, but there’s more to it than that. If I tell Bartlett the whole story, he’ll track down Anthony, and we’ll have no chance of getting at the truth.”

  “Marnie, that’s not your problem. You’ve got to proceed with caution here. Listen to me. My concern is to prevent you getting arrested on a GBH charge. Nothing gets the police more lively than a crime involving violence. And don’t go underestimating how bad things are looking for you. The facts are not on your side.”

  “But I didn’t do anything.”

  “How are you going to prove that, Marnie? If it comes to trial, what evidence are you going to offer? The best defence barrister in the world can’t work miracles.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “Forget trying to sort out Anthony Leyton-Brown’s affairs. You’ve got enough problems of your own to worry about. Talk to Bartlett and hope he accepts your story. That’s what I’m saying.”

  After hanging up, Marnie checked the other messages. Most were from Stevie. One was from Simon telling her to keep in touch, especially if she needed any help. Two were from clients. One was a familiar voice from London.

  “Hallo, Marnie. Are you there? Can you hear me? Oh dear, this is one of those answering things. Well, I just thought I’d give you a ring to see how you are. I expect your life has settled down to a comfortable routine now. I hope so, anyway. Perhaps I might see you and Anne some time if you’re coming this way? Keep in touch, my dear. Lots of love to you and your friends. Oh, yes, I forgot to say … it’s Mrs Jolly, of course. Bye, dear.”

  “Comfortable routine,” Marnie repeated, looking up Mrs Jolly’s number. “Some hopes.”

  *

  Marnie enjoyed cooking. She found it a relaxing distraction from the issues that confronted her at work. Best of all, she liked preparing the meal with someone else, so that the whole process became a social occasion. It also had other advantages. It meant she could talk about plans without having to look that other someone in the eyes. At the end of the working day she found herself in the kitchen with Ralph and Anne, relating her conversation with Roger.

  “Good advice,” said Ralph, dicing a cucumber.

  “But it’s your friend – almost friend – that we’re trying to help,” Marnie protested, peeling spring onions.

  “Of course, but you’ve got to draw a line somewhere. Roger’s right to advise you to concentrate on getting your own problems sorted out. And even that’s not going to be easy.”

  “Whatever Roger says, I’m innocent and the police can’t alter that.”

  “Ever heard of miscarriages of justice? We could end up as the Blisworth Three.”

  Marnie grabbed a little gem lettuce and began cutting it into wedges. “I still think we shouldn’t give up on Anthony, if only for Melissa’s sake. She’s dead because of what the newspaper people did. There’s a miscarriage of justice for you.”

  Ralph shook his head. “I respect you for what you’re trying to do, Marnie. You know that. But your time would be better spent clearing up this matter with the police.”

  Marnie sighed over her chopping board. “Well, nothing’s going to happen on that front over the weekend, so we can use the time as breathing space.”

  Anne collected the cucumber and onions and put them beside the bowl of quartered tomatoes on her part of the workbench. It was her job to organise the ingredients for the salade niçoise and arrange them in the bowl. She handed out cooled salad potatoes and a green pepper to the production line and drained a tin of tuna into the sink. “What did Roger think about my idea?”

  “Er, well ...” Marnie began. She concentrated on cutting the potatoes.

  “You didn’t tell him.” Anne took a hard-boiled egg and began shelling it. “Did you?”

  “Not in so many words,” Marnie admitted without looking up.

  Anne cut the egg lengthways into quarters and tipped it onto a saucer. “Because ...?”

  “I thought, well, it seemed to me ...”

  “The worst idea since the invention of gunpowder?” Anne suggested.

  “I just wondered how practical it was.”

  “So you think it’s crazy.”

  Marnie frowned. “I think it’d be risky and it could well be dangerous.”

  “Not bad reasons for turning it down,” Ralph muttered, trying to be helpful.

  Marnie reached for a jar of olives. “Oh, I didn’t say we should turn it down. I just didn’t want to talk to Roger about it.”

  “Because he’d think it was crazy,” Anne said.

  “Yes – I mean no! He’d just object on the grounds that, you know ...”

  “Using myself as a decoy could be the most stupid plan he’d ever heard.”

  “At the risk of repeating myself, Ralph began. “Not bad reasons –”

  “You’ve got a point there,” said Marnie.

  “Thank you,” said Ralph.

  “No. I meant Anne has a point. It completes the circle, makes good the weakness in my own plan. It probably won’t work out – and it’s not without risks – but Anne’s the right age to be a contact, and might be our only chance
of finding the girl in the newspaper photos.”

  *

  They sat round the table after an early supper feeling listless and unsettled. Anti-climax hung in the air. Anne offered cognac, but there were no takers, though Dolly expressed interest in a drop more milk, and Anne was glad to have something to do.

  “We ought to take stock of where we are,” said Marnie. Ralph agreed.

  “And what we do next,” Anne added, closing the fridge door.

  “Is there any brandy in the cupboard?” Marnie asked.

  Noting the change of mind, Anne put the bottle and two cognac glasses on the table. Ralph poured.

  “The press are onto us,” Marnie said. “Or onto me, at least. I don’t know how, but they certainly know my name. Unless ... Do you think Bartlett just made that up to see how we’d react?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Ralph. “The fact that the victim named you was what brought him here.”

  “Well, Bartlett can do what he likes, but he can’t find anything firm to implicate me in the attack. He’s not going to find a trace of my skin under the man’s fingernails, or anything else. He’s got nothing but the name to go on. It’s my word against his.”

  “And ours,” said Anne.

  “Quite. So what’s our next move?”

  “Wait for further contact from Bartlett, presumably,” said Ralph.

  “I mean with Anthony.”

  “I would’ve thought he’s safely out of the way.”

  “I don’t think we can assume that. We mustn’t underestimate them. I’d never have guessed they knew about me, but that man was able to tell the police my name. We’re going to have to move quickly again.”

  “No-one’s going to recognise his boat,” said Ralph. “Not after the repaint. And Anthony’s well away by now.”

  “Not so sure,” said Marnie. “They’re watching us and probably watching the canal. As soon as the man in hospital can talk to his colleagues, they’ll be homing in. They’ll ask everyone about us and about boat movements around us.”

  “You think they could trace the boat after what we’ve done to it?” Ralph said.