Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

  “I see,” said Ralph. “Did he give any reason?”

  “Only that he’d originally contacted me to check that I was all right, and now he wanted me to be able to get on with my own life without intruding.”

  “Seems fair enough.” He stood up, rubbing his hair again. “But something’s still bothering you, isn’t it?”

  “I know it shouldn’t, but he said he’d be gone a minute and would then come back to say goodbye. Anthony confirmed that he did only stay for a minute – I just rang him to check – but then he went off without another word. It’s just odd.”

  “Unless he was rushing off to see a hypothetical girlfriend, you think,” said Ralph.

  “Then why didn’t he just say so? No need to keep it a secret. Though perhaps he thought it was none of my business.”

  Ralph shook his head and stood up, heading back to the bathroom. After two paces he turned. “Sorry I can’t solve your mystery, Marnie. It is curious. I can only think he realised it was later than he thought and went off in a hurry. You’ve tried his phone numbers?”

  Marnie nodded. “All of them, and he’s not got back to the flat. That’s what made me think he might be going somewhere else.”

  Ralph pondered. “Logical.” He smiled. “If he doesn’t return your call by tomorrow, I’ll get one of my contacts at the MoD to track him down with a spy satellite.”

  Marnie smiled back. “Good idea.”

  As Ralph padded back to the bathroom, Marnie felt her cheeks tingle. She reached over to the bookshelf and grabbed a thick volume with a silver cover decorated with the emblem of a three-pointed star. She quickly thumbed through to the helpline section and began scanning the pages. After a minute or two she turned to the inside back flap and looked at Simon’s handwritten notes. Her mind was racing. She picked up the mobile and hit the buttons.

  “Good evening. Mercedes helpline.” A man’s voice, calm, efficient. “Can I first take you though security, starting with your registration number and your postcode.” Marnie supplied the details. “Thank you. And may I have the third letter from your password.”

  Marnie looked at the word in block capitals printed inside the flap. “S, sierra.”

  “And the fourth letter?”

  “T, tango.”

  “And finally your mother’s maiden name.”

  “Oakham.”

  “Thank you, madam. Actually I see the car is registered to a gentleman.”

  “Yes, In fact, that’s the point. It’s my husband, Simon Walker.”

  “And you are?”

  “Marnie Walker.”

  “That’s no problem. What difficulty are you experiencing, Mrs Walker?”

  “It’s ... well, my husband has been taken ill. He’s been admitted to hospital in Northampton. I want to fetch the car, but I don’t know exactly where it is. It’s not the sort of vehicle you’d want to leave lying around, obviously, and for all I know it might be unlocked. You see the problem.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “A friend’s offered to drive me to collect it, but I can’t talk to Simon at the moment. Can you tell me where it is using your satnav system?”

  “One moment, please.” Marnie looked at the password as she held on. OYSTER. Strange choice, she thought. Simon had never liked them. In seconds the voice returned. “It’s on the A508 in Northamptonshire. Do you have a pencil ready, Mrs Walker?”

  Marnie took down a six-figure OS grid reference. “Just one other thing. Did Simon report any fault with the car by any chance?”

  “No, madam.”

  She thanked the helpline operator, disconnected and walked through to Ralph’s study to search the bookshelves.

  “Did you manage to get hold of him?” Ralph was standing in the entrance, his hair now combed. “I heard you talking on the phone. Everything okay?”

  “I took your advice and got him traced by satellite.”

  “You did what?”

  “Seriously. Mercedes have a satnav tracking system, for security. They gave me a grid reference. I’m trying to find it.”

  Ralph stepped forward and pulled a local map from the shelf. Marnie checked the numbers.

  “That’s odd. It’s hardly any distance at all.” She ran her finger along the co-ordinates and stopped. “On the main road between Hanford and Stoke Bruerne.”

  Ralph craned forward. “That’s where it crosses the canal between the locks. He must’ve stopped in the car park. Perhaps he wasn’t feeling well and had to pull over.”

  Marnie suddenly felt guilty about telling the helpline operator that Simon had been taken ill. “Hang on, Ralph. That doesn’t make sense. It’s north of here. Simon said he was going back to London. He wouldn’t pick up the M1 at junction 15. That’s miles out of his way. He was heading south.”

  “Unless your supposition about visiting someone was correct.”

  “Whether it was or not, he’s hardly gone any distance at all. The car didn’t break down. And I can’t imagine Simon arranging an assignation in a canalside car park.” Marnie raced over the options. Simon wanted a breath of air and a stroll by the canal to clear his head. In the dark? He was feeling unwell and stopped for a rest. All very sudden, but not impossible. He realised he’d gone the wrong way, stopped to turn round and for some reason decided to wait a while. What for? “No,” she said out loud. “Something’s wrong. It doesn’t add up.”

  Ralph turned to leave. “I’ll be ready in two minutes,” he said over his shoulder.

  *

  There was scarcely any traffic as the Volvo sped north. The road wound its way though darkness, passing Yore and Hanford. Five minutes after leaving Knightly St John they crested a hill and looking ahead saw light in the distance a mile or so away.

  “What’s that up ahead?” Ralph muttered.

  “Working late on one of the locks?” Marnie replied, peering into the distance. “They’re always doing something up there.”

  Ralph eased back at the end of a long straight, slowing as the road approached the bridge over the canal, ready to take the tight right turn into the car park. Through the trees on their right they could see lights flickering. It took Marnie a moment to realise that they were not flickering but flashing. They were blue lights: emergency vehicles. Her heart froze, and her stomach tightened.

  Ralph stopped the car in the parking area. They could see two patrol cars, with dayglow stripes on the side, an ambulance, people in uniforms, purposeful movement. They climbed out of the Volvo and rushed forward. Before they had gone six paces a uniformed policeman stepped towards them, hands raised in an unmistakable gesture.

  “Sorry. You’ll have to go back. There’s nothing to see.” He stood solid and immovable, blocking their way.

  Marnie strained to look round him.

  “I told you there’s nothing to see, madam. Now I’m asking you to leave.”

  “Who’s in charge here?”

  “Please.” The policeman stepped closer.

  “Is that Sergeant Marriner over there?”

  A hesitation. “And if it is?”

  “I need to speak to him.”

  “He’s busy at the moment. Now I’m asking you again to move away and –”

  Marnie suddenly called out, “Cathy!” The policeman stared at her. “Cathy!” Marnie shouted, this time much louder. At the sound of footsteps behind him, the officer looked over his shoulder. WDC Cathy Lamb appeared at his side, her face puzzled.

  “Mrs Walker? Marnie?”

  “What’s going on, Cathy?”

  “There’s been an accident. What are you doing here?”

  The policeman began, “I was telling them –”

  Ralph interrupted. “It’s a long story. Who’s been involved in the accident?”

  “We don’t know. It’s too early to tell.”

  With a gasp, Marnie grabbed Ralph’s arm and pointed across to the lockside. To Cathy Lamb she said, “That car. Is it involved?”

  All four turned to look at the car i
lluminated by arc lights, its metallic silver bodywork shining like the centrepiece at a motor show or a photo-shoot for a magazine. The light glinted from the three-pointed star on the bonnet.

  “Can you identify it?” said Cathy Lamb.

  Marnie nodded. In the background cameras were flashing intermittently around the lock chamber like fireworks on Guy Fawkes night. There were voices, among which she recognised Sergeant Marriner’s, giving orders.

  To the policeman Cathy Lamb said, “It’s okay, Rob. I’ll take them through.”

  The Mercedes was parked neatly in the bay nearest to the lock. Marnie went to try the door handle, but Lamb reached out to restrain her hand.

  “You know this car, Marnie? You’re sure?”

  Marnie walked to the rear to look at the number plate. “Yes, I know it. And you could easily work out who it belongs to by checking the national computer.”

  “We would, once we’d sorted out ...” She inclined her head towards the lock.

  Marnie followed her gaze, her eyes seeming hollow in the harsh floodlighting. “My former husband, Simon, owns this car.”

  Ralph moved closer and put an arm round her. “Perhaps he’s here somewhere,” he said softly, scanning the groups of men and women moving round the lock.

  Two men began pushing the balance beam to open the lock gates. Marriner and a few others descended the steps down to the lower level at the canalside.

  “When did you last see Simon?” asked Lamb.

  “Earlier this evening.”

  “So you can describe what he was wearing?”

  “Yes.” Marnie’s voice was flat.

  “Will you both wait here, please. And don’t touch anything.”

  She walked quickly away towards the steps. Marnie leaned against Ralph, drained of all feeling. They knew what was coming next.

  *

  Marnie squatted on the canalbank in the glare of the white lights, with Simon’s body lying beside her where they had dragged him out. He lay on his back, eyes closed, his head turned towards her as if he was telling her something in confidence. His lips were parted, and a piece of weed was stuck to his forehead like an errant curl of hair. His fine clothes were smeared with mud and slime. Ralph had offered to do the identification, but Marnie had insisted she was all right, and everyone had withdrawn to give her space. Closest to her now was Cathy Lamb, hovering attentively.

  After a few minutes, Marriner walked slowly forward with Lamb at his side. Marnie raised her head.

  “This is Simon.”

  To her ears it sounded absurd, as if she was making introductions. She reached out to touch Simon’s hand. It was unpleasantly cold, all life gone. For always and ever. She did not want this to be her memory. There was a pricking sensation in her eyes, and her vision blurred. Someone spoke, but she did not make out the words, aware only of the water cascading over the further lock gates and a rushing sound in her ears. It was time to go. She lifted the hand and stretched towards it, bringing it to her lips. As she kissed the pale flesh, she saw that Simon’s wrist was grazed, dark blue and red blemishes marked the skin where it had been scraped against hard surfaces, the stone, iron and timber of the canal lock. A hand was on her arm, easing her up. Marnie lowered Simon’s hand gently onto the stone edging as she stood.

  “Are you all right, Marnie?” said Lamb.

  “I suppose so.”

  Ralph was beside her again, holding her as she walked away. The group came to a halt beside the Mercedes. It seemed to Marnie like a monument to the man Simon had become, the new Simon with all the trappings of success, the Merc, the designer clothes, the luxury watch.

  “I’m very sorry, Mrs Walker.” It was Marriner. “There are some questions I’ll need to ask you, but they can wait until tomorrow.”

  Marnie was looking at the car, dazzled by the reflected light glinting off every surface. She turned to Marriner.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Why?” Marriner looked puzzled. He had seen the effects of shock on many victims of catastrophe, but even so the question seemed odd. Perhaps Marnie Walker was not as strong and composed as she always seemed to be. Perhaps she was after all just like any other woman.

  “Why did you come here? Why you? You’re a detective.”

  Cathy Lamb touched her arm. “We were still on duty when a call came in from people on a boat. It’s routine for us to be involved when there’s a fatal accident that’s in any way unusual.”

  Marnie turned her head towards the bank where Simon lay. She ran her tongue over her lips.

  Marriner began, “I think it would be best now if you –”

  “Oyster,” Marnie said clearly, to no-one but herself. “Of course.”

  Three faces looked blank.

  “It’s not an accident.”

  “What do you mean?” said Marriner.

  “Simon’s Rolex is missing. He’s been robbed ... of everything.”

  32

  It was one minute past nine when the phone rang in the office barn the next day. Sergeant Marriner apologised for phoning on a Saturday morning, but wanted to make an urgent appointment to see Marnie without delay. She told him he could come as soon as he wanted. Barely twenty minutes later the familiar grey car arrived bringing Marriner with DCI Bartlett and WDC Cathy Lamb. They walked in to the office barn to find Marnie, Ralph and Anne waiting for them, all three looking tired and subdued.

  Anne had been waiting for the Volvo to return the night before and had intercepted Marnie and Ralph by the garage barn. They had no choice but to tell her what had happened, and she had heard the news in silence, her eyes widening, tears making tracks down her cheeks. None of them had slept that night.

  They sat in a loose circle between the desks, and Anne did not ask if anyone wanted a drink. She simply busied herself in the kitchen area with kettle and pot to occupy her hands while the others talked.

  “You’ll appreciate I’ve got to ask you about last evening, Mrs Walker,” said Bartlett.

  “Of course. I’ll tell you everything I know, but I don’t think it’ll help you very much. I’ve no idea why Simon went to the car park by the locks.”

  Cathy Lamb opened a notepad.

  “Let’s begin with how you knew he’d gone there rather than why,” said Bartlett. “Presumably you must’ve had some idea he’d be where he was. You didn’t arrive on the scene by chance.”

  “It’s quite simple. Simon had been here for supper on his way back to London after a meeting. After he left I needed to have a word with him, but I got no replies from his phone numbers. Later in the evening I tried again, and the porter at his block in Docklands said he hadn’t returned.”

  “What was his state of mind when he left here?” Bartlett interrupted.

  “He was fine.”

  “You and your former husband often had supper together?”

  “No. He just called in for a chat as we were on his way home from Birmingham.”

  “We?”

  “Anne was here too. The three of us ate together.”

  “And the atmosphere was friendly?”

  “Certainly.”

  Anne set down the tray, and Bartlett looked up at her. “We had a nice supper together,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

  Bartlett turned back to Marnie. “So you needed to talk to Mr Walker again later that evening?”

  “That’s when I became concerned.”

  “What was worrying you? Was he agitated about something when he left?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Marnie sounded weary. “I told you, he was fine. It’s just that he said he was in a hurry and when I found he hadn’t got home much later, well, it made me wonder if he was all right.”

  “You didn’t wonder if your husband had gone somewhere other than home?”

  “My ex-husband, Inspector. Simon and I ...” Marnie’s voice faltered. “We split up years ago.”

  “And your relationship now?”

  “I’ve seen him a few times late
ly. He got in touch after hearing about what happened to me last year. It’s all been very friendly.”

  “And you, Professor Lombard, how would you describe your relationship with Mr Walker?”

  “Amicable, though I must admit I hardly knew him.”

  “You didn’t regard him as a threat to your relationship with Mrs Walker?”

  “Not at all. As far as I was concerned, he was welcome here any time. And he knew that.”

  “You weren’t here during the meal, sir?”

  “No. I arrived later, some time after Simon had left.”

  “Would you mind telling us where you were last evening?”

  “At a meeting in London. I left at about nine and came up on the train.”

  “Would you be able to give us the names of people at your meeting, sir?”

  “Certainly. Roland Miles and Max Womark of Kensington House Publishing. We ate at Max’s club off Pall Mall.”

  “Very well. Mrs Walker, you were telling me how it came about that you knew your ex-husband was at the car park where we found him last evening. Presumably you hadn’t just guessed that?”

  “No. I knew exactly where to go. At least, I knew where his car was.” Marnie explained about the Mercedes tracking system, and the police officers looked suitably impressed. Bartlett asked her to describe the enquiry process in detail, step by step.

  “You knew Mr Walker’s password,” he said. “Also his postcode and the car’s registration number. Is that right?”

  “And his mother’s maiden name,” Marnie confirmed.

  “You’d know that anyway, surely, as she was your mother-in-law. What I’m interested in is how you knew the other private details.”

  “Simon lent me the car manual. He knows I like that kind of thing ... he knew ...”

  “And he told you his password? Why would he do that?”

  “He didn’t, not directly. I spotted it in his notes at the back of the manual. I guessed what it was.”

  “How did you guess? The chances must’ve been very slight of guessing something like that.”

  “It was OYSTER. It was obvious.”

  “His favourite food?”

  “He had a Rolex watch. Oyster is a famous type of Rolex movement. When I saw it written there, I realised it was his password.”