Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

  “Good afternoon,” said Anne. “Good afternoon ... Inspector Bruere.”

  *

  Asterios looked up and shook his head at Marnie when she opened the café door. She had not really expected good news, but was still disappointed. It was lunchtime and all the tables were occupied. Marnie found a stool at the counter and felt obliged to order something. She waited while Asterios finished making up an order behind the counter. He passed her a sandwich and a cappuccino. She looked at him in surprise.

  “Is for you.”

  “But I didn’t –”

  “Is all right. Is on the house. Please.” He nodded. The decision was final.

  Marnie reached into her bag. “You must let me –”

  “No. You are worried about your friend. You aren’t hungry, right? So I give you this so you have something to keep your strength up. Take it.”

  Marnie had often travelled to Greece on holiday and knew well the generosity of the people. Even so, she felt her eyes prickle at this act of kindness in a bad time.

  “Evcharisto,” she muttered, dragging out some of her tourist Greek. “Evcharisto poli. Thank you very much.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She reached across the counter and touched Asterios lightly on the hand. He turned his hand over and squeezed her fingers firmly but gently.

  “Parakalo,” he said formally. “You’re welcome.”

  Marnie smiled, her eyes moist. “This must be the only café in London where the owner tips the customers.”

  Asterios laughed softly, turning his head towards the door at a flash of colour, mixed colours, outside in the street. A car had drawn up, white and blue squares on the side, blue lights rotating on the roof. Half the clientele of the café suddenly looked nervous. Marnie stifled a gasp and almost slipped from the stool as the door of the police car opened and Anne climbed out. Her rapture was modified when from the front passenger door appeared Detective Chief Inspector Bruere.

  *

  Marnie watched the lift doors close and exhaled slowly. She was relieved that DCI Bruere and his side-kick were heading down for the exit. Back in Simon’s living room, Anne was lying on a sofa, hand trailing to the floor, pretending to have passed out. Or was she pretending? Marnie leaned back against the door to the flat after closing it.

  “Why do the police never seem to believe me?”

  “Probably because –” the reclining shape began.

  “That was a rhetorical question, Anne. You’re not meant to supply an answer.”

  Anne swung her legs round and sat up. “Do you think it was a good idea letting Mr Bruere smoke in here? I don’t expect Simon would be very happy.”

  “I hoped it might make Bruere feel relaxed.”

  “Good,” said Anne. “Somebody had to be.”

  “What do you mean? I thought I was very convincing as being perfectly at ease.”

  “Well, don’t hold your breath for the Oscar nomination.”

  “Thank you.”

  They looked at each other and smiles slowly spread across their faces. Marnie crossed the floor and hugged her friend, kissing her on the forehead.

  “Do you think you ought to ring Ralph and let him know I’m back?”

  “I already have. I phoned him from the bathroom. I was only pretending I had to go to the loo.”

  Anne laughed. “You’re like a real spy, Marnie!”

  “I also checked our answerphone. Guess what? We’ve got Anthony’s boat back at home.”

  “Andrew and Kate have delivered it?”

  “Yep. They didn’t waste any time. I can’t blame them wanting it out of the way. They’ve moored up just beyond Thyrsis.”

  Anne collected the cups and saucers, including the one that Marnie had offered Bruere as an ashtray. They cleared everything into the kitchen and began washing up.

  “So go on. Tell me what happened. Where did they take you? How did they get you to go with them? And what was Marlene like? Everything.”

  Anne told her story while drying the dishes. It differed markedly from the version she had given to DCI Bruere. As far as he was concerned, Anne had simply been visiting a friend for a sandwich lunch. They had been astonished to find the house being watched by the police. A search of the premises from loft to cellar had revealed nothing. While the search was carried out, Bruere had hooked up to the National Police Computer but could find no information on Avril. When Anne had stated that she was staying with Marnie in Docklands, they insisted on driving her back to check she was telling the truth. Bruere was openly suspicious, but despite all his efforts could find no evidence of wrong-doing on the part of anyone in sight, and reluctantly let matters drop.

  “What next?” said Anne.

  “Well, Bruere will be wearing out the phone line between his office and Bartlett’s, comparing notes about my nefarious activities. That’s guaranteed.”

  “Will that mean trouble for us, more trouble?”

  “I don’t see how it could. We’re not breaking any law. At least, I think we aren’t.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I want to go down and get some flowers to put in the flat to thank Simon for letting us stay.”

  “I mean, what are we going to do next about Marlene?”

  Marnie perched on the arm of a sofa. “Frankly, Anne, after what happened today, I feel like dropping the whole business. I nearly died worrying about you.”

  “But just before the police put me in their car, I got her to promise to keep in touch. It was the last thing I said to her ... phone us tomorrow. She said she would. At least I think she did. She sort of muttered it.”

  “You really think she’ll help us or, more to the point, Anthony? She was part of the plot against him, remember. I’d be very wary in her shoes.”

  “I think she might, maybe for his wife’s sake. But she is pretty scared.”

  “How will she know where we are?”

  “I slipped one of your business cards under my mug for her to find when the police took me away. It’s got all your details on it, so she can get in touch at the office or on your mobile.”

  “My business card!”

  “What’s the matter?” said Anne. “I thought you wouldn’t mind. It’s the only thing I could think to do and –”

  “Of course! That’s how they knew my mobile number for the trick message about the parking space. I gave my card to that Fran woman.”

  “It’s a good job they got out of the house before the police came,” said Anne. “Otherwise they’d have found it on Fran.”

  “God, yes,” said Marnie. “Bruere would’ve had a field day. And Bartlett ...” She rolled her eyes and looked at her watch. “We’ve got to get a move on. I can’t leave the car there much longer. I’ll be glad to get home. I’ve had enough of London.”

  “So we’ll just have to wait for Marlene to get in touch, then,” said Anne.

  “Don’t count on it. And frankly, after what we’ve been through, I for one –”

  “But we’ve got to help her if she does, Marnie,” Anne said urgently. “Maybe it means more to me. I’ve met her. We’ve got to get her away from there, get her life back. We can’t let her down. Not now we’ve found her, almost.”

  “Where have I heard that before?”

  28

  Amazingly, the normal world was still waiting for them when they returned to Knightly St John. Marnie looked out at the builders moving round the farmhouse, one of them singing as he climbed a ladder. She saw the men turn and smile at Anne as she took out the tea tray. Anne knew all their preferences: who took milk, how many sugars. They knew her as the girl from the office with the friendly face. They had no idea that on the day before she had been picked up by the police at a house suspected of being used by drug dealers and vice rings, and driven through London in a squad car.

  Marnie had collapsed bone-weary into bed the previous night after a supper that consisted of hot chocolate and two digestives.

  In the office early, they hit the ground ru
nning from the sheer pleasure of leading a normal life, even if they knew it could not last. When the phone rang, Marnie picked it up with a feeling of apprehension.

  “Walker and Co, good morning.”

  “Hallo, my dear.” A warm and homely voice.

  Relief. “Hallo, Mrs Jolly. How are you?”

  “Oh fine, and I won’t keep you long. I know how busy you are. I just wanted to ask if you’d heard the news on the radio this morning ... the Today programme.”

  “’Fraid not. We leapt straight in at the deep end of the in-tray. What did we miss?”

  “It was about that MP chap ... you know. Well, it was about his wife actually. The inquest verdict was suicide committed while the balance of her mind was ... something or other.”

  “Disturbed, perhaps? Did they say anything about Anthony himself?”

  “Only that he hadn’t been seen since those photos appeared in the paper. Paul Pinder hinted that a lot of the blame rested on the MP because he’d left his wife to face the music.”

  “Paul Pinder seems to have forgotten that he himself orchestrated some of that music on his own programme.”

  “I’d forgotten that. I suppose he’s what you’d call an investigative reporter. He’s usually very good.”

  “You seem to be a fan, Mrs Jolly.”

  The old lady laughed. “I always thought he performed a public service, exposing things people wouldn’t otherwise know about, especially the secret lives of politicians. But listen to me rambling on. You must have lots to do in the deep end of your in-tray, so I’ll leave you to get on. Bye, my dear. Give my love to Ralph and Anne.”

  Anne walked in as Marnie was putting the phone down.

  “That was Mrs Jolly. She heard the inquest verdict on Anthony’s wife. Suicide. Not much of a surprise.”

  “Talking of surprises ...” Anne nodded towards the window.

  Marnie looked out and frowned. “I thought you said surprises.”

  A grey Vauxhall Cavalier was pulling into the yard.

  “I think that’s Sergeant Marriner’s car,” said Anne.

  “Perfect.”

  The detective sergeant was alone. He parked in his usual place, and Marnie opened the office door as he approached.

  She called out, “The ‘reserved’ sign with your car’s number on it is nearly ready.”

  Marriner smiled faintly as Marnie offered him a seat, and Anne waved a mug at him.

  “Thank you, Anne. Milk and one sugar, please.”

  “Now you have got me worried,” said Marnie. “Accepting a cup of coffee for the second time in a matter of days.”

  “After the morning I’m having, Mrs Walker, I’d be glad of anything.”

  “And it’s only just nine o’clock,” Marnie pointed out. “When did you start?”

  “Just after six.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  A wry smile. “Tough question. My memory’s not that good.”

  Marnie turned towards the kitchen, but Anne was already rummaging in the fridge. She held up two packets.

  “The choice is: in the blue corner, crumpets; in the red corner, croissants.”

  “Don’t know when I last had crumpet,” he said, without a trace of innuendo.

  *

  Ralph was at first puzzled as to why his scanner was not functioning. The message on the computer’s screen told him it was unplugged, and he knelt down to follow the cable back to the socket. Its place had been taken by the lead for Marnie’s mobile phone charger. Before pulling the plug, Ralph pressed the button on the phone to check if it was fully charged.

  In the mobile’s window, words came into view: 1 message. Ralph tried another button to check the charge, and a longer text appeared. He tried to return to the main screen, and the text changed to: Calling. He put the phone to his ear, and a woman’s voice came on, brisk, efficient.

  “Becky Thornton.”

  “Oh, sorry, I think I’ve pressed the wrong button.”

  “Who d’you want?” She sounded busy, anxious to get on with whatever she was doing.

  “No idea. I accidentally pressed a button on a friend’s phone and there you were.”

  “Who’s the friend?”

  “Marnie Walker.”

  “Ah ...”

  “She’s not here just now, but I’ll be seeing her very soon and – ”

  “Perhaps you can get her to ring me.”

  “Yes, of course I’ll – ”

  “Let me give you my number in case you’ve accidentally wiped it.”

  Feeling hugely inadequate, Ralph took down the number and disconnected. He had no sooner pressed the red button to end the call than it began ringing and vibrating in his hand. Muttering that it seemed to have a life of its own, he pressed the green button and hoped he was now mastering the technology.

  “Hallo?”

  “Ah, I seem to have mis-dialled ... unless you’ve had the operation.” A man’s voice, educated, confident.

  “Who did you want to speak to?”

  “I was hoping to speak to Marnie Walker.”

  “This is her phone. Who is that, please?”

  “Randall Hughes. Is that ... Ralph?”

  “The very same. Hallo, Randall.”

  “So you’re working the switchboard now.”

  “Yes, promotion at last.”

  “Marnie all right?” An edge of concern in his voice.

  “Fine. She left her phone in my study. Can I ask her to ring you back?”

  “Actually, it involves all of you. I wondered if you might be free to pop over this afternoon. I want to talk to you about Tony.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, but I’d rather talk to you in person ... and in private.”

  *

  Marriner picked it up carefully so that the butter did not drip over the edge. Anne certainly knew how to do crumpets. Hidden talents, that girl. He winked at her. She smiled in return.

  “So, no Inspector Bartlett to hold your hand?” said Marnie.

  “No. It doesn’t work like that. Don’t believe what you see on television. It’s the sergeants who do the real detective work. And the DCs.”

  “Is this visit real detective work? I thought it was a social call.”

  “Partly. We don’t really do social calls in the CID.”

  “You surprise me. Tell me something, then. Why was Chief Inspector Bartlett involved when Toni was murdered? Do inspectors handle the murder cases? Is that how it works?”

  “Not in the field, not normally. They’re usually back at base, masterminding things from behind a computer.”

  “Then why was he here?”

  “Good question. Bit of an exception, the church and all that, words in ears in high places. He got involved at the start as normal and then it all started happening around us.”

  “And Bruere, in London? He’s a DCI. He was very much involved when Tim Edmonds was murdered at Christmas.”

  “That case was special, too. One MP as victim, another as a suspect. Anyway, I think Bruere likes to get stuck in, hates being desk-bound. Course, I’ve never met him in person. But I gather you’ve been paying him a visit, Anne. Social call was it?”

  “Is that what this visit is all about?” Marnie asked.

  Marriner said to Anne, “DCI Bartlett was curious to know why you were found in a house known to be frequented by some of our friends.”

  Anne had stopped smiling some time before. She had guessed where the conversation would be leading.

  “I was visiting someone,” Anne said simply. “It’s the truth.”

  Marriner stared at her. “Well, it’s not a crime, just an odd coincidence. They turn up expecting to find some villains, and there you are.”

  “They had nothing on Anne’s friend,” Marnie said. “She was just renting a bedsit in a house. Not her fault if the house was used for other things.”

  “We were wondering what she was doing in London, Anne, this friend of yours. She wasn’t a student,
had no job, no family in the area.”

  “Probably looking for work,” Marnie suggested. “You’ll have to ask her that, or rather your friends in the Met will.”

  “Difficult,” said Marriner. “She’s disappeared.”

  *

  They were on the road again, this time heading for Brackley, with Ralph at the wheel, Marnie beside him, Anne in the back. They looked like a family out for a drive, except that Anne was checking through her ‘Jobs to do’ list and sending text messages on the mobile. For much of the journey Marnie had her eyes closed.

  “You okay?” Ralph said.

  “Still a bit weary. How about you?”

  “I’m all right. But then I haven’t been running around masterminding the escape of you-know-whom.”

  Laughter came from the back seat. Ralph looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Anne grinning at him.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he asked in mock indignation.

  “You-know-whom,” she repeated, laughing again. “No-one would ever guess you were a professor, Ralph!”

  “Huh!” he exclaimed, smiling. “So, Marnie, tell me about Becky Thornton. What did she have to say?”

  “Not a lot. She was under pressure ... deadlines.”

  “Is she a journalist?”

  “No, a researcher. She’s with that Lifelines programme on television.”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of it,” said Ralph.

  “It’s quite famous,” Anne chimed in. “Do you know This is Your Life?”

  Ralph looked at her in the rear-view mirror again. “Of course.”

  “Well, it’s its rival on another channel.”

  Ralph said, “They must be running out of lives by now. That programme’s been going for centuries. I wouldn’t have thought they needed another one. There doesn’t seem much point.”

  “Ah, but it’s different,” said Marnie. “Lifelines goes out live, just like This is Your Life did years ago. Makes it more spontaneous.”

  “Does that make it better? Have you seen it?”

  “Not a whole programme. I saw a bit once when I was tuning the video. And I read an article. Apparently it’s all arranged in utmost secrecy. Even the audience don’t know what they’re going to see. They get tickets, thinking it’s a variety show with famous stars. Millions watch it.”