by Leo McNeir
“No. I wouldn’t look in someone else’s cupboards, not without a proper reason.”
Anthony said, “Anne, you’re not making sense. The police took away all Melissa’s medicine bottles. They know what she took and how many. You couldn’t have seen anything. You’re making a mistake.”
“You must’ve bought sleeping tablets that day in London,” Anne said quietly.
“That’s nonsense. The police had all the evidence they needed to prove Melissa took her own life. They were in no doubt about it. Nothing can change that fact. Nothing can prove anything different.”
“I can.”
Marnie said, “How can you be so sure of this, Anne?”
Anne looked Anthony in the eye. “I’ve got the bottle in my pocket.”
Marnie stared. Anthony’s mouth opened. He put his hand to his head as if in pain.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I can prove you bought the sleeping pills in London that day.”
“That means nothing.”
“If Anne’s right, it means whatever happened was premeditated,” said Marnie.
Anthony groaned. “Even if it were true – which it isn’t – it doesn’t make any kind of case against me. No-one can prove anything different.”
“Do you really believe you can prove it, Anne?” Marnie asked, incredulously.
Anne reached in her pocket, pulled out a small bottle of tablets wrapped in a paper tissue and gave it to Marnie.
“I don’t think you should open it. The police might want to check it for fingerprints. It came from a chemist’s in London, near Limehouse. It’s got Anthony’s name on it.”
“I get them regularly,” he said. “Repeat prescriptions. I’ve been taking them for years.”
Anne said, “It’s got the date on, the day Melissa died. It proves he bought them that day in London.”
“It would never stand up as evidence,” Anthony said firmly. “Someone must’ve put the wrong date on the label. That isn’t proof.”
“Surely it would raise enough doubts to make the police investigate further,” Marnie said.
“It would be entirely circumstantial. My word against ... who’s? There’s no-one who could testify against me. You’ve just cleared my name in public, both of you. You’ve personally vindicated me. And I’d deny everything. The police wouldn’t even bring charges. They’d have to give me the benefit of the doubt.”
“Not when they see the photos you took of me in the bathroom,” Anne said.
“Anne!” Marnie exclaimed. “You couldn’t do that!”
“Marnie’s right, Anne. Think about it. You couldn’t. You won’t do that.”
Anne looked at him steadily. She could tell he was still in much pain, but his expression was confident. He was not in the slightest doubt that he was right. She could hear his voice again – Most women don’t have the guts. He was on safe ground. How often had he exploited that knowledge?
“We’ve come all this way,” Anne said. “I’m not giving in now.”
Marnie began, “But Anne –”
“No. I don’t care. He mustn’t be allowed to get away with it. I don’t know if the police can make a case against him, but someone has to start. Otherwise it’s all been a waste of time, everything you’ve done, Marnie. All our efforts for nothing.”
“My god,” Marnie said. “Do you realise, nothing has been what it seemed? Everything’s been an illusion. We’ve been trying to protect Anthony, and all this time we’ve been sheltering a murderer.”
Anne picked up the mobile phone. “Let’s do it here and now, phone Sergeant Marriner.”
The boat rocked gently, and footsteps were heard on the stern deck. Ralph came down into the cabin.
“Sorry to take so long. The Master rang just as I was leaving, wants me to ...” He looked at the three faces turned towards him. “What’s up?”
Anne said, “Everything’s fine, Ralph. Couldn’t be better, really. Who was it who said – revenge is such a pure motive?”
*
The red boat looked strange with the blue and white police tape attached all round it, like bunting for a waterways festival. But there was nothing festive about the officers who clambered on board to examine the boat. They were wearing white overalls that covered every inch of their bodies, with hats, gloves and goggles to complete the ensemble.
Anne’s bottle of pills had been taken away for examination in the same car as Anthony, and she perched on the stern rail on Sally Ann, watching the proceedings with grim fascination. She had asked to be allowed a few minutes to herself, a space in time to be alone until she had to face more questioning. Marriner and Cathy Lamb were on their way from the station to interview her and were expected at any minute. Dolly had crept under the bed in the cabin, unwilling to emerge while all the police officers were swarming around the boats. Marnie and Ralph were with Bartlett in the office barn. They had a lot of explaining to do about Anthony.
The arrival of Marriner and Lamb coincided with a commotion on the red boat, and the two detectives veered off when hailed by one of the scene-of-crime officers. After a brief huddle, Cathy looked across at Anne and waved to her to join them.
As she approached, Anne saw they were holding a transparent envelope. Cathy passed it to her.
“Do you recognise this, Anne?”
Inside the envelope was a watch, and Anne knew it at first glance. She had seen it before, heard all about it from Marnie, knew the gold and steel case and the five-pointed crown on the dial. She did not even need to read the name Rolex.
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Is it ...?” Cathy began.
Anne nodded. “It’s Simon’s.”
“It seems to match the description that Marnie gave us,” said Marriner.
Anne handed it to him. “Marnie will tell you for sure, but I’m pretty certain about it. If you want to check, look on the back of the bracelet. It should be a different make from the watch ... a fixoflex.”
Marriner brought the envelope close to his face and peered in at the watchband. “Fixoflex, yes.”
“Does this mean that Anthony killed Simon?” Anne said quietly.
“It means we have some more questions to ask him.”
“I’d better come with you.”
“That won’t be necessary, Anne,” said Cathy Lamb gently.
“I want to be there when you show the watch to Marnie.”
*
After the police had left, Anne made a phone call to let her parents know what had happened. Marnie and Ralph and Anne sat in silence on deckchairs beside Sally Ann.
Eventually Marnie said, “How are you feeling, Anne?”
“All right. But I’ve felt better. How about you?”
“So-so.”
“It must’ve been a shock for you, seeing Simon’s watch like that.”
“Yes ... and no.”
“How come?”
“That day, when the muggers were shot. The man – John Hewitt – said he never killed Simon. I couldn’t see why he’d lie when he knew he was dying.”
“So what did you think had happened?” said Ralph. “Did you think it might’ve been an accident?”
“I always had my doubts. There was no reason I could see why Simon would’ve chosen to head in that direction.”
“Why did he?” said Anne.
“He didn’t, not alive, anyway. Bartlett thinks he must’ve spotted something that made him realise what had happened to Melissa. I expect it’ll all come out at the trial. Simon was always very perceptive, had a quick brain. But he was obviously taken unawares by Anthony, who probably grabbed the nearest weapon to hand. The only way to get rid of ...” Marnie’s voice faded. “He needed Simon’s car to get up to the locks, no doubt had the idea of making it look like a robbery that had gone too far. That’s why he kept the watch.”
“And why he couldn’t throw it away,” said Ralph. “Too much risk of it
being found and identified. I wonder if they’ll find his wallet.”
Marnie shrugged. “Who knows?”
“How did he get back?” said Anne.
Marnie pointed across the canal. “Along the towpath and over the bridge. It’s only a couple of miles. It’d be deserted at night, and even if he’d been seen, he’d have been just another jogger.”
“Do you think they’ll have enough to make out two cases of murder?”
“Marriner seemed to think so. What do you think, Ralph?”
“That was my impression,” he said. “And whatever they decide, I don’t think the photographs of Anne will ever see the light of day. My guess is, Anthony will confess and plead guilty. There’s nowhere for him to hide any more, no Marnie to rescue him this time.”
Marnie said, “You were pretty perceptive, Anne. You did well to spot that medicine bottle in the cabinet when you were looking for tablets for Anthony. Pure Sherlock Holmes, that was.”
“Not really,” Anne replied. “It was easy ... elementary, you might say.”
“How did you make the connection?”
“The same way that Simon did, maybe. It was the date on the bottle. The twelfth of May. The day Melissa died was the day of my first driving lesson. And Simon knew that, too. It was my Red Letter Day ... a day I’ll never forget.”
44
Towards the end of that afternoon, Marnie began to feel restless and thought she too might go down with a headache if she did not stir herself. Leaving Ralph and Anne dozing in deckchairs at the water’s edge, she wandered through the spinney and met Dolly stalking dragonflies. They walked together to the office barn.
It seemed an age had passed since Marnie had last checked the post, and she unlocked the door, bending to retrieve the letters lying on the mat, while Dolly remained outside, washing behind her ears on the doorstep.
Not wanting to stay long, Marnie left the barn door covering the windows unopened, and switched on the main office lights. She quickly sorted through the collection. One envelope bore the franking stamp of Ridger, Parfitt and Anderson, Simon’s solicitors. She picked up the paperknife and tipped out a letter and another, smaller envelope. The letter from Colin Parfitt began with condolences that were brief but sincere, and went on to explain that Colin was Simon’s sole executor. He would make all the necessary formal arrangements, but wished Marnie to know that, with the exception of a few small donations, she had been named as the only beneficiary in Simon’s will. Marnie felt her stomach tighten, and tears filled her eyes.
She reached for a tissue from the box on her desk and read on. There was one matter on which Colin needed to consult her: he had been notified by the police that the Mercedes could be released to his custody, and he asked for Marnie’s instructions. She made a pencilled note in the margin – Sell.
He had been to Simon’s flat to check that it was secure and had obtained keys that he would pass on to Marnie when they met. Colin ended with the promise to phone her in the next few days to arrange a meeting. In a PS he added that he had found the enclosed envelope on Simon’s desk and thought she would wish to have it without delay.
She looked at it with curiosity. It was a plain white envelope with the single word Marnie handwritten on the front. She flipped it open with her thumb and discovered no letter but a solitary piece of paper with a few lines of writing.
Old Wounds
Time heals
It takes away the pain
Time washes over scar tissue
But were they right who said
That wounds open
That blood flows again
In the presence
Of the malefactor
Marnie stood quietly for a few seconds and read the poem again. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear Angela Hemingway’s voice ... no blessing is ever wasted.
God bless, Simon, she said in a whisper, and keep you safe ... wherever you are. She raised the paper to her lips and held it there for a few seconds before slipping the poem into the top drawer of her desk. She walked to the door and put out the lights.
If you enjoyed Kiss and Tell check out Endeavour Press’s other books here: Endeavour Press - the UK’s leading independent publisher of digital books.
For weekly updates on our free and discounted eBooks sign up to our newsletter.
Follow us on Twitter and Goodreads.
About the author
When not writing novels, he is a linguist and lexicographer. As director of The European Language Initiative he compiled and edited twelve dictionaries in fifteen languages, including English, since the first one was published by Cassell in 1993.
They include the official dictionaries of the National Assembly for Wales (English and Welsh), the Scottish Parliament (English and Gaelic) and a joint project for the Irish Parliament and the Northern Ireland Assembly (English and Irish).
For the record, the others are specialist dictionaries in Basque, Catalan, Danish, Dutch, French, German, Greek, Irish, Italian, Portuguese, Russian, Scottish Gaelic, Spanish and Welsh.
Leo and his wife, cookery writer Cassandra McNeir, live in a 300 year-old cottage in Northamptonshire.
www.leomcneir.com
