Devil in the Detail

by Leo McNeir

  “Of course. No-one left the table in the timeframe you’ve described. We were all together. We saw and heard nothing.”

  “Anne left the table,” Marriner reminded her.

  “Yes, but –”

  “Why did she leave? Why was she in the tunnel?”

  Marnie put her hand on the back of Anne’s head resting against her shoulder.

  “She needed a few moments of peace and quiet. She’d had –”

  The constable’s radio crackled. He announced himself and listened. A disembodied voice could be heard.

  “… a suspicious sighting. A boy was seen at the time of the incident cycling away from the scene. Almost ran into a group of mothers and children. The description was of a youth in a light sweater or T-shirt wearing a baseball cap, last seen heading north towards the A508.”

  The constable spoke. “Sarge, there was a boy on a bike when we were on our way here.”

  “Did he fit that description?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Marriner stared at Marnie.

  She felt uncomfortable. “What’s the matter?”

  “Boy on a bike,” Marriner said softly. “Light sweater, baseball cap. Could it be …?”

  “What’s on your mind?” Ralph asked.

  Marriner became aware that the whole group was surrounding him. “We had a sighting of a boy on a bike in a baseball cap after the shooting yesterday.”

  “Sergeant,” Ralph began. “There are over half a million people in Northamptonshire. There must be thousands of boys with bikes and baseball caps.”

  “Ronny would fit that description.”

  The voice dropped into the conversation like a stone in a pond. Everyone looked at Dorothy Vane-Henderson.

  “Ronny who?” Marriner asked her.

  “Ronny Cope. He was here not long before you arrived, sergeant.”

  “And nobody thought to tell me?”

  “I was about to, but I got interrupted,” said Marnie. “Anyway, we didn’t know you were interested in a boy on a bike, and it hardly mattered. He wasn’t even here when Anne discovered …”

  Marriner’s brows creased. “I’ll want to know exactly what Anne was doing in that tunnel at that precise time.”

  Ralph moved closer to speak quietly. “Mr Marriner, he’d had words with Anne and had left in a rush, a tiff between teenagers, just one of those things.”

  “Nevertheless we shall have to check it out, sir. Can someone give us his address?”

  While they were talking, the ambulance rolled into the car park and two paramedics got out, walking quickly towards the group. Marriner directed them to Anne and while all attention was focused on the girl, Marnie stood up.

  “Just popping to the loo,” she muttered quietly. “Won’t be a minute.”

  *

  Ronny threw his bike down on the gravel drive and charged into the house, bounding up the stairs to his room. He slammed the door behind him and stood breathing heavily staring out of the window, seeing nothing.

  Outside, his mother was on her knees weeding at the top of the garden, a trug lying beside her on the lawn. The quarter-acre was her pride and joy, with curved borders to the immaculately trimmed grass, mown in neat stripes every week by her husband. It was packed with colours like an impressionist’s palette, an exuberant high summer display. She had heard sounds in the house, and knowing that Ronny had returned home, she did not move when she heard the phone ringing.

  Ronny was on his way to the shower when the call came. He stopped at the top of the stairs, waiting for the answerphone to cut in. At the sound of Marnie’s voice he pursed his lips.

  *

  Marnie was back almost before Marriner realised she had gone. Her hair was combed, and a faint fresh tang of Cologne hung about her.

  “I feel a bit more capable of facing the world now,” she said to Marriner. The paramedics had taken Anne to a separate table and were kneeling beside her. “This is a dreadful business. Do you think it could’ve been an accident?”

  Marriner looked doubtful. “Did Mr Curtiss seem like the kind of man who could slip in a place like that and accidentally kill himself?”

  “What else could it be? I know you don’t think Anne – or any of us – was involved. He was a very dear friend, a lovely man.” She took a few deep breaths.

  “We’re going to follow every lead we can get, Mrs Walker.”

  “We’ll co-operate fully, but I assure you none of us has the slightest idea of what happened.”

  “You all knew Mr Curtiss was coming to join you?”

  “Yes.”

  “There are seven plates of food on the table.”

  “We had a ham sandwich for Luther.”

  “So what about Ronny Cope? What was he going to eat? Or did he just come to have a … tiff with Anne?”

  “He was going to stay, but they had a quarrel. I suggested we keep the sandwich for Luther. Actually, Ronny didn’t know Luther was coming. I’m sure you’ll check that out. You don’t seem to miss much.”

  “It won’t be me, Mrs Walker. The DCI was on his way here, but instead he’s calling in on Ronny to ask him a few questions.”

  “Mr Bartlett?”

  Marriner nodded. He glanced at Marnie’s shoulder bag. “Talking of details, is your mobile phone in there?”

  “My …? Yes, it should be.”

  “Aren’t you sure? Could you just check. I’d like to see it, please.”

  Marnie reached in and gave Marriner the phone.

  “I’m not very good with these things,” Marriner said in a conversational tone. “You’re probably much more technically-minded than I am. Do these ones have a way of showing what was the last call you made?”

  “Mm, yes. You can bring up the last ten numbers, I think.”

  “Can you show me?”

  He handed her the phone and moved round to watch over her shoulder. Marnie began scrolling back through the last numbers dialled.

  “Not so fast, please. I’d like to make a note of the numbers. Can you tell me whose they are? That last one, for instance, whose is that?”

  “It’s Serena’s mobile.”

  “When did you call her?”

  “Shortly after we arrived here. I wanted to check she was on her way.”

  “And that’s the last time you used the phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “And when did you last speak to Ronny Cope on the phone?”

  “That I can’t remember for sure. I’ve rung him several times recently, making arrangements for the summer scheme. My phone bill looks like the National Debt. I rang him twice this morning from the office, but his line was busy.”

  “And you’re sure you haven’t spoken to him since?”

  “Positive. That’s the trouble.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I was the cause of the so-called tiff with Anne. He thought she’d forgotten to invite him, but it was my fault for not persevering. It slipped my mind completely.”

  “We’ll need statements from all your people here, but we can do that later. And I’ll probably need a copy of your itemised phone bill in due course.”

  “Certainly. I never realised you were so suspicious.”

  Marriner gave her a weary look. “It’s called routine. We have to check everything. It’s all in the detail.”

  “The devil is in the detail,” Marnie muttered.

  “That’s right. I assume this is all your planning group. Apart from Ronny, is everyone else present?”

  The simple question hit Marnie like a sledgehammer. Of course everyone was not present. Luther would never be present again. Pain and anguish struck her a double blow as the recollection of Luther’s death reared up.

  “No.” Her voice was choked and dry, barely audible. “Estelle’s not here. She’s in Italy, due back tomorrow. God knows how I’m going to break this to her.”

  *

  Carolyn Cope heard a car on the drive and turned off the hose. Moments later the doorbell soun
ded. She waited to see if Ronny was coming down to answer it. The bell rang again. Adjusting her sunhat from which unruly wisps of hair were visible, she walked round the side of the house and was surprised to find a man and a woman standing at the door.

  The man produced a warrant card and introduced himself as DCI Jack Bartlett. His colleague was WDC Cathy Lamb. Mrs Cope ushered them into the garden to sit at the table under the parasol while she went in to tell her son they were waiting to see him. The police officers sat admiring the garden, and could hear Mrs Cope calling up the stairs. After her initial surprise, the police intrusion was made to seem like a regular social visit.

  “Ronny’s just coming down now. He’ll only be a minute or two.” She laid a tray with a jug and glasses on the table. “I thought you might like a cool drink while you wait. This is my homemade ginger beer.”

  “What’s keeping your son, Mrs Cope?”

  “He was in the shower.” She began pouring the drinks.

  “At this time of day? That’s a little unusual, isn’t it?”

  “He’d been out on his bike.” She lowered her voice as if imparting shameful information that could offend the neighbours. “He was a bit sweaty, I expect.”

  “That’s his bike on the drive?”

  “It was. I’ve just put it in the carport.” She rolled her eyes. “You know what boys are like.”

  She passed Bartlett and Lamb a glass of chilled cloudy liquid. Cathy Lamb grabbed hers as fast as she could without undue haste, dreading that her boss might decline the offer.

  “Do you know where he went on his bike, Mrs Cope?”

  “To Cosgrove. They were having a meeting of the summer scheme group. He likes to help.” The voice lowered again. “And he likes to see Anne, of course. Now you drink up and I’ll tell Ronny to get a move on.”

  When Ronny came out into the garden he looked wary. The detectives stood up, but Mrs Cope thrust a glass of ginger beer into her son’s hand and sat him at the table. The expected questioning looked like a quiet chat as they all sat holding their drinks. Bartlett declined the offer of sandwiches and coffee, and Cathy Lamb opened her notebook. The first questions established Ronny’s movements, timing and his conversation with Anne at the pub. He answered succinctly and without hesitation. When Bartlett asked about his quarrel with Anne, he looked down at his lap before replying.

  “It was stupid, really. It wasn’t Anne’s fault. They tried to ring me, but our phone was engaged –”

  “That must’ve been me,” Mrs Cope interrupted. “I had a long chat with my mother this morning. Dad’s recovering from a heart attack, and the doctors have said he needs one of those bypass operations. Mum’s worried stiff about it and –”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs Cope, but time is pressing and we’re investigating a possible case of murder.”

  “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her cheek.

  Ronny jerked upright, splashing ginger beer into his lap. “What?”

  Bartlett was watching him closely. “You didn’t know, Ronny?”

  “Murder? Christ! Sorry, mum. Who’s been murdered?” Ronny shuddered as he spoke.

  “Mr Luther Curtiss was found dead soon after you left Cosgrove. We’re treating his death as suspicious.”

  Ronny closed his eyes and breathed out audibly. “Luther! I can’t believe it. It’s, it’s all so … incredible.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  “When did I …? Er, this morning.”

  “At what time was that?”

  “Around eight, eight-thirty, I suppose.”

  “Where did you meet him? Can you remember what you said to each other?”

  “We didn’t actually meet. I just saw Luther out jogging. He came past the house when I was getting up. I saw him from the upstairs landing window. He didn’t see me.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  Ronny shrugged and said vaguely, “Jogging gear … grey, I think.”

  “Can you tell me where you were yesterday afternoon?”

  “Yesterday? I was here, mostly in the garden. Mum got me helping with the weeding for a bit. Then I sat out reading, listening to music on the walkman.”

  “That’s quite right, Inspector. He did all that flower-bed over there and dead-headed the roses. He’s good at that sort of thing.”

  “Do you have a red baseball cap, Ronny?”

  At each sudden change of tack by Bartlett, Ronny frowned and paused to think. “I expect so. I think I’ve got a Ferrari one somewhere. That’s red.”

  “You gave that to Tim,” Mrs Cope corrected him. To the police officers she said, “That’s my youngest. He usually wears it for his paper round.”

  “Do you have any other bikes?”

  Ronny looked puzzled. “No. I have had others in the past.”

  “Have you ever owned a yellow bike?”

  “No.”

  Bartlett glanced at Mrs Cope, but she added nothing. He stood up. Cathy Lamb finished her drink with a smile at Mrs Cope.

  Bartlett continued. “Have you spoken to Marnie Walker on the phone this morning?”

  Ronny shook his head. “No. I saw her at the pub, but we didn’t speak.”

  “Who rang earlier, then?” asked Mrs Cope. “I heard it when I was in the garden. I thought you answered it.”

  “No, mum. I was in the shower. I didn’t answer the phone.”

  “Do you have an answering machine?” asked Bartlett.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you mind if we just checked it, Mrs Cope?”

  “I’ll show you where it is.”

  There was no light glowing on the machine, no messages recorded. Bartlett rested an index finger on the box for a few thoughtful seconds. He pressed a tab, and the tape compartment flipped open. Extracting the cassette, he held it up. It was fully rewound, and he put it back in place. Finally, with Ronny and his mother looking on impassively, he picked up the receiver and pressed four buttons. 1 – 4 – 7 – 1. A message told him that the last caller had withheld their number.

  *

  The village was small, but sizeable crowds had formed, appearing as if by magic near the pub and at the end of the pedestrian tunnel where Luther had been found. That area was cordoned off and screens erected to enable the scene-of-crime officers to work in privacy. The ambulance had left to be replaced by a plain dark blue van that had reversed off the road down towards the tunnel entrance, where it waited patiently for the police to authorise the removal of Luther’s body.

  Ralph was unaccustomed to driving the Discovery and he manoeuvred it cautiously past the groups of onlookers who were standing together speaking in muffled voices at the car park exit. Behind him, Marnie sat with Anne, holding her hand.

  “Are you sure you want to do this now?” Ralph said to Marnie.

  It was Anne who answered. “I want to get it over with. The sooner I do this, the sooner they’ll leave me alone.”

  “And the sooner we can get on with other things,” Marnie added. “You’re really sure you’re feeling up to it?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Ralph was puzzled. It was Marnie’s custom to try to shelter Anne from difficult situations, but now here they were setting off for the police station to make her statement when she was still looking dazed. This was not Marnie’s normal behaviour.

  Ralph studied her face in the rear-view mirror. “Do you think you know what happened to Luther?”

  “Haven’t a clue. Try not to drive on the pavement, Ralph.”

  “Damn! Sorry.” He straightened the car and kept his eyes on the road. “That business with your mobile, Bartlett wanting to check the numbers you’d called.”

  “Wanting to see if I’d rung Ronny to warn him.”

  “Of course. But you had, hadn’t you?”

  “Not on the mobile. It’d be a give-away. There’s a payphone just by the door to the Ladies. I used that. No-one can find out. I made sure of it.”

  Ralph s
miled wryly. “You always have everything worked out.”

  “All I know is we have to get daylight between us and the investigation. We’ve got a lot on our plate, the summer scheme, the fete on Sunday, worst of all, Estelle coming back tomorrow. And now a possible second murder. Someone’s got to contact Luther’s family and tell them what’s happened. The whole thing’s a nightmare. I want to clear the decks. Then Anne can recover from her ordeal.”

  Ralph concentrated on his driving. Marnie was right. Luther’s death would add to their worries and increase the danger surrounding them. He turned onto the main road and accelerated.

  *

  DCI Bartlett briefed Superintendent Harris by phone on the Cosgrove situation. DS Marriner was setting up the incident room down the corridor. With all the troubles in town they were short-handed to investigate a second suspicious death that would probably turn into a murder inquiry. WDC Lamb pushed backwards into the room carrying two mugs of tea.

  “Do you think it was a blow to the back of the head, sarge?”

  “Let’s wait for the autopsy report. No point trying to guess. Thanks, Cathy.” He took the tea. “I’m gasping.”

  Cathy sat on the edge of a desk. “It just doesn’t add up, big strong bloke like that. He’s hardly likely to trip and fall over. The surface wasn’t bumpy.”

  “There was an irregular bit just at the entrance to the tunnel,” Marriner pointed out.

  “Even so, what are the other possibilities? Perhaps he was ambushed, maybe a New Force gang was lying in wait.”

  “In a tunnel, in a country village, miles from town, like trolls, on the off-chance that some black person would come along?”

  “Well someone attacked him, sarge. It could’ve been racially motivated. Perhaps he was being followed or got mugged and it went wrong.”

  “Can you seriously imagine any mugger going for a strong fit bloke like that in a confined space? Too big a risk of getting thumped back.”

  “Well someone attacked him, sarge, and he did fall back and hit his head. They struck him with enough force for the fall to be fatal. I don’t think one person could’ve done it alone.”