Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

  “Why did you kill Simon?” she muttered breathlessly. “And Anne.”

  “Never ...” he murmured. “Never ... killed ... anybody.”

  “At the lock,” said Marnie. Her voice was weak and weary. “Simon.”

  “No ... no ... never killed ... no ...”

  “I know you did. You killed him for his watch.”

  “Never ...”

  “Liar!” she screamed and reached forward along his arm to take hold of his wrist, pulling at the watch.

  The man’s head went limp, and a trickle of blood rolled from the corner of his mouth. Marnie knew he was dead, knew she had found Simon’s murderer, and a great wave broke over her. A thousand images flooded into her mind. Simon and his precious watch, Simon standing with her in a hotel bedroom in moonlight all those years ago. Her last sight of Anne alive, racing to the house to rescue Dolly. Anne at her side, collapsing in laughter at a sign in a shop window that read ‘Ear-piercing while you wait’. Anne pretending her name was Anne Withaney. All the images were overflowing in her head as despair overwhelmed her. Marnie felt herself slipping away like a leaf carried by water over-spilling the lock gates. She knew she was fading and wondered if, like the man beside her on the ground, she too had been hit by the bullets, that she too might be dying.

  When she lost consciousness seconds later, she was not even aware that Marriner caught her as she collapsed. He noticed with surprise that she was clutching the dead man’s watch.

  *

  Ronny knew he ought to keep his head down, but he was mesmerised by the action unfolding before his eyes. He saw Anne race into the house, heard her exclamation followed by the gunfire. He left his shelter and began running down the slope, not knowing where he was going or what he could do. He vaguely registered the sound of vehicles coming down the track, but had no thought for them.

  Sliding over the grass, he was nearing the farmhouse when a man jumped out of a ground floor window and began running up towards the bushes. Seeing Ronny, he hesitated and veered off into the garden where the weeds were high and dense. At the moment the man changed direction, Ronny saw Marnie hurl herself across the yard, and simultaneously more shots were fired. The fugitive arched his back and pitched forward into the planting as Marnie herself tumbled under the hail of bullets. He saw her crawl towards the fugitive, but before he could get nearer two armed men ran at him, each with a hand outstretched, yelling at him to get away.

  Reluctantly he stopped and began walking backwards up the slope, seeing two ambulances rolling into the farmyard under guidance from the armed men. Paramedics immediately jumped out and began a rapid dialogue with the ASU men, who were pointing towards the farmhouse and its scrappy garden.

  Ronny stopped to watch, but one of the men shouted at him and he turned away to find his bike in amongst the bushes and go back to the village. His head was spinning with all that he had seen, and plodding up the track he felt overburdened by the weight of terrible events that he was carrying alone.

  *

  On Thyrsis Ralph was beside himself with anxiety. After Marnie’s phone call telling him to bolt all doors and stay inside the boat, he had strained every nerve and sinew trying to assess what was happening around him.

  Pressing his face against the windows, he caught sight of movement in the spinney, but he was unable to judge who was on the move. All he could make out was dark shapes crouching low, hidden by undergrowth and tree-trunks. The silence was eerie. No twigs cracked, no branches rustled. The scene looked peaceful and still, except that there was no sound of birds singing. The whole place was waiting.

  He was on his way to open the centre doors to gain a better view, when he heard a voice, magnified and echoing, coming from the far side of the spinney. It reminded him of the commentary amplified by loudspeakers at a sports event, and he stopped with his ears pricked to listen. In the middle of the boat, he was badly situated to hear what was said, but he caught one or two words.

  ... police ... building ... weapons ... head ...

  Ralph raced to the doors and tugged at the bolts, mounting the steps to throw back the hatch and lean out. All was silence again. He was scanning the area when new sounds reached him, muted cries, men’s voices, urgent, alarmed. The frustration was unbearable, and Ralph began easing himself onto the gunwale when a loud crack rang out, flat and hard. It was unmistakeably gunfire. More shots followed and more cries, one of the voices definitely a woman’s. Marnie? Marnie!

  He leapt onto the bank, heading for the farm when a voice called from the opposite direction.

  “Ralph! What the hell’s going on?” Anthony at the side doors on his boat.

  Ralph wanted to wave him back, but a sudden thought flashed into his mind. If the police came checking the boats, they would find Anthony and their whole plan would be blown. He turned towards Anthony.

  “Get away from here!” he shouted.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The police could be swarming over us at any minute. Just take the boat and go ... anywhere. Don’t come back till this evening and then be careful.”

  “What’s all that noise about?”

  “Gotta go, Anthony. Just do as I say.”

  Without another word, Ralph turned and ran into the spinney. Anthony watched him go and for several seconds stood undecided in the doorway. The unfamiliar sound of assault weapons firing broke out again. He hesitated no longer, started the engine and pushed off from the bank.

  *

  The news that Anne had been killed reached the village minutes later when the incident almost claimed another victim.

  George Stubbs was driving down the high street in his Range Rover when Ronny cycled round the corner from the field track in the middle of the road. For a second, George was sure the boy would move over, but when he kept coming, he hit the brakes and brought the big car shuddering to a stop as the cycle veered across his bows. At that point Ronny seemed to wake up and he stopped suddenly, hopping on one foot to keep his balance, leaning on the handlebars.

  George switched on the emergency lights and leapt out of the car at great speed for a man of his bulk. He ran up to Ronny and put his hands on his shoulders.

  Angela Hemingway was crossing the road by the shop, when the flashing lights caught her attention. Her first inclination was not to interfere. If Ronny Cope had done something to upset George Stubbs, that was a private matter. But there was something about the body language, the Range Rover stationary in the road just before a bend, George holding on to Ronny whose face was turned down. She ran towards them.

  Molly Appleton notice Angela’s sudden change of direction, and she came out onto the pavement to look down the street. Thus it was that in a few minutes Ronny found himself at the centre of a small crowd, being led into the shop for a glass of water. George propped the bicycle against the field hedge before parking his car outside the pub. He was crossing the road when two ambulances drove through the field gate and sped past him up the high street, blue lights flashing. Before he could reach the shop, the vicar rushed out. She grabbed him by the arm and begged him to take her at once down to Glebe Farm.

  On their way down, a grey Cavalier came up towards them, and as it passed, a hand reached out on the passenger side and planted a blue light on its roof. George found the way to Glebe Farm blocked by a blue police personnel carrier. A man in full combat gear with a stubby assault rifle at his side raised a hand, and George pulled up beside him. Angela at once got out.

  “What’s happened here?” she cried.

  The man shook his head. “There’s nothing to see. You must go back.”

  “I’ve not come to see anything,” Angela barked at him. “I’m the vicar in this village. What’s going on? Is anyone injured or dying?”

  The policeman eyed her dog collar and glanced across at George, who was now out of the car. “I can’t tell you anything,” he said. “You’ll have to go back. I’m sorry.”

  “Look.” Angela brought her face close to
his. “I know the people who live here. I’ve not come out of idle curiosity. If there’s someone injured or even dying, I can help them. It’s my parish.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “They’ve gone. There’s nobody here now.”

  “Is it true that someone was killed?”

  The man hesitated.

  “Was it a girl called Anne?”

  “I don’t know her name. Look, I’m not supposed to be talking about this. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “She was killed?” Angela persisted, staring him in the face.

  He nodded. “The girl, yes.”

  The colour drained from Angela’s face. She took a step back and swayed. George put his arm round her shoulders.

  “What about the others?” he said.

  “They’ve gone, all of them.”

  “So others were wounded,” said George.

  The policeman said nothing, lowered his eyes.

  “I see.”

  George looked at Angela, worried that she might faint. He himself felt numb. Slowly, Angela turned towards him. He felt her shaking as her head hit his shoulder and she was racked with convulsions, shuddering. Standing with a young woman in his arms, George Stubbs felt as cold as a block of marble.

  *

  In the late afternoon Alex and Jill Burton arrived home from work and were surprised to see the blue and white tape surrounding the farmhouse. Their first thought was that this was a safety measure, perhaps there were holes in the ground. But they saw the inscription on the tape: Police – do not enter, and exchanged anxious looks.

  Jill was the first to see the flowers, bunches stacked against the door of the office barn, as if Interflora had made deliveries and found no-one at home. Still puzzling, the couple walked across and examined them, obviously posies cut from gardens, a cheerful mixture of wallflowers, tulips, anemones and sweet William. Every bunch bore a label, and Jill stooped to read them. When she turned to look up at her husband, tears were filling her eyes.

  The messages on the labels were simple: In loving memory of Anne; We will miss you forever; God bless you and keep you in his love. More than one of them asked the question: Why?

  In the still afternoon, Jill and Alex clung to each other in the abandoned farmyard.

  36

  The taste of dirt had gone. With eyes closed, Marnie ran her tongue over her lips. Slowly she became aware of the smell of fresh cotton, a soft pillow, the sounds of footsteps nearby. She moved her head, and pain struck her at the same time as memory returned. Her heartbeat quickened, and she knew she had no desire to wake up, no wish to know where she was. Lapsing back into sleep, she had the faintest impression that a hand touched her forehead.

  When next she drifted up to the surface, Marnie could hear Ralph’s voice not far away, and a woman’s, answering him in the same measured tone. They were talking without emotion, as if the world had not fallen apart. Marnie was thirsty and knew exactly where she was. The smell of clean sheets was mixed with the antiseptic of hospital. She could feel now that her head was bandaged, and knowing better than to move quickly, she opted not to move at all.

  She opened her eyes and waited as they struggled to focus, gradually fixing on a plain cream wall, with a picture above a trolley. It was indistinct, no more than a tangled abstract of colours. The thirst needed to be tackled, and Marnie knew that if she could look in the other direction she would find a bedside unit and, with any luck, a jug of water. She closed her eyes and very slowly and gently began to turn her head. No stab of pain this time, she continued steadily one centimetre at a time until her left ear was touching the pillow. She paused, opened her eyes and jumped with shock. Wincing, she shut her eyes tight and let the spasm of pain rage through her head. It was all so unfair. This would be her waking nightmare forever. She felt a cool hand touch her hand, another smooth her forehead and warm tears formed under her eyelids. A tissue touched her face, a voice murmuring softly. She tried again to see, and this time it was the tears that blurred her vision. She reached up and took the tissue, wiping it across her eyes. She blinked, the room swirled in and out of focus like a mirage in a sandstorm, and a face took shape.

  Anne!

  Marnie choked, closing her eyes again, and felt herself supported under the shoulders as she wriggled to sit up. She ignored the pain in her head, held a tissue to her mouth and coughed dryly. A glass of water was pressed to her lips, and she felt cold splashes on her bare arms. She turned to stare at the girl standing at the bedside, reaching for more tissues, taking the glass from her.

  “Anne,” she said in a croaky voice.

  “With an ‘e’,” said Anne, smiling. “How are you feeling?”

  “How am I –” Marnie burst into tears, dabbing her face with a sodden tissue, having it replaced by Anne who was simultaneously pulling the pillows up behind her for support.

  The door flew open and Ralph crashed into the room, rushing across to hold her.

  “I think I’m going to ...” Her head fell back as she passed out.

  *

  Marnie awoke to find Anne wiping her face with a cold flannel. Ralph was holding her hand, while a nurse popped a thermometer attached to a blue curly wire under her tongue.

  “Are you hurting anywhere, my love?” said the nurse.

  Marnie seemed to consider the question for a long time. Her body was aching in every department, with head and left knee singled out for special attention.

  “I’m fine,” she mumbled round the thermometer.

  She looked from Ralph to Anne as the nurse removed the instrument and read the dial.

  “I can’t believe this,” said Marnie. “Is it all a dream?”

  “No,” said Ralph. “It’s been a nightmare, but it’s over now. And Anthony’s back on his boat.”

  “I didn’t dream about what happened to Simon?”

  “No.”

  The nurse rearranged the pillows and tucked the sheets around her. “You need more rest, Marnie. Your family can stay with you, but I want no more talking for a while. You must try to sleep.”

  “My family,” Marnie repeated quietly. “Yes.”

  *

  “Tell me about it.”

  Marnie had surprised herself by going back to sleep, and when she woke for the third time she was feeling more refreshed. While she had slept, Ralph handled the press and had a long conversation with Bartlett and Marriner. The nurse told her they had given her a sedative the previous day to help her rest, and they insisted on keeping her in hospital for at least one more night.

  Now she was able to sit up in bed and sip tea. “Tell me what happened. I still can’t believe this, that you’re here, that Anne’s alive, any of it.”

  Ralph nodded at Anne.

  “Well,” she said. “You can remember the policemen with guns?”

  “In the yard, yes.”

  “That’s right. And Dolly jumped through her catflap –”

  “Dolly! Is she –”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Truth?“ said Marnie, looking at Ralph.

  “Yes. Trust me. I’m an economist.”

  Marnie pulled a mock grimace. “Go on, Anne. You ran out and chased her into the farmhouse. Then you made a strange sound. What was that?”

  “It was shock. I ran straight into them.”

  “Them?”

  “Yes. There were two of them. That’s what surprised me.”

  “And Hewitt had a gun,” said Marnie. “I saw that when I came out of the office.”

  “Gun? No. He had a piece of scaffold tube. He was trying to break open the back door to get out. Is that why the police opened fire? They thought he had a gun?”

  “Yes,” said Ralph. “They were convinced he had a shotgun, so when they got sight of him they opened fire. Only it wasn’t him they hit.”

  “But it wasn’t you either,” Marnie said to Anne. “They told their leader that they’d killed you.”

  Anne looked down. “It was horrible,” she murmured.

>   “But it was untrue,” said Marnie.

  “No. They killed his partner, a woman.”

  “Oh. That’s what they meant: the girl’s down.”

  “She was about your age Marnie. The bullets hit her and ... she flew back against the wall ... and there was blood and ...” Anne’s face was a picture of misery.

  “What about you?”

  “I dived for the floor as soon as I heard the first shot. She was too slow. I saw these red lights on her chest – like little dots – as I went down, and next thing they all started shooting. It was terrible.”

  “A woman,” said Marnie in a dreamy voice. “What Frank was talking about.”

  “Yes, perfume,” said Ralph. “He said he’d smelt perfume when he was attacked.”

  “Of course.”

  They fell silent. The wall clock ticked. Marnie spoke first.

  “They must’ve attacked Simon that evening. Perhaps they followed him, drawn by the expensive car. How dreadful, to lose his life for a wristwatch.” She closed her eyes.

  “You had it in your hand when they brought you in,” Anne said in a subdued voice. “I couldn’t get it free until they gave you that injection.”

  “You came in with me?”

  “I was with you all the time. I rang Ralph to tell him what was happening. You were out like a light. The paramedics gave you oxygen. I sat beside you in the ambulance.”

  “And Bartlett took the watch as evidence?”

  “No. I er, hid it. I thought you’d want to keep it.”

  Marnie stared in front of her. “I wanted to kill that man, beat him to death with my own fists, but when it came to it, it was just so awful to see it happen like that.”

  “What did happen?” said Ralph. “Bartlett seems to think you’re a hero.”