by Leo McNeir
“Nobody seems to have seen your gang of villains, Cathy. Did they just vanish into thin air?”
“Maybe …” She stared in front of her. “Maybe they were hiding on a boat on the canal.”
“Maybe, maybe,” Marriner mimicked. “Let’s get the evidence together before we jump to conclusions. If the DCI hears you going on like that, he’ll go up the wall. Facts and evidence, that’s the way forward.”
“May– … perhaps when Anne comes in and gives me her statement, we’ll have some facts and evidence to go on.”
Marriner blew on his tea to cool it. “Don’t count on it, Cathy.”
*
Serena was on the phone to her colleague, Jackie Brice. There was a crowd of reporters outside the front door and no way that Serena would be leaving the house to meet the returning coaches that evening. Jackie was on the same grade as Serena in the council’s hierarchy but she took her orders and accepted Serena’s authority – at least on this project – without question. That was how it was. Serena was a leader.
“Leave it to me. I don’t think there’ll be any problems.”
“I hope you’re right, Jackie. But things could be hotting up. If anything happens, you phone me, right? I’ll come over straight away.”
“Sure. Are you okay?”
“How can I answer that? One of my friends has been found dead, my home’s under siege by reporters, and I think a TV crew’s just arrived on my doorstep. Meanwhile my mother’s trying to keep my kids occupied in the garden in the play pool.”
“Just ignore the media and keep your head down.”
“I don’t think it’s quite that simple. Any minute there could be riots all over town. If anyone’s going to have to say something to keep things calm, it’s got to be me.”
The doorbell rang.
“Gotta go, Jackie. We’ll talk soon.”
Serena took a deep breath and opened the front door. The reporters surged forward. Flash bulbs went off like starbursts.
“Hallo, Serena. I’m Clare Saunders from TV News East.” Behind her a cameraman was lining up. A microphone like a giant furry caterpillar was extending towards her over the journalist’s head. “Any chance of an interview or at least a statement?”
Serena’s inner voice told her to keep calm and dignified. “I’m not sure I have much to say, but I’d be glad to help if you’d then please leave for my children’s sake. All this attention is very scary for them.”
“We believe you were in Cosgrove when the body of Mr Curtiss was found. Is that correct?”
“Yes. We were having a meeting of the summer scheme organisers, a working lunch.”
“Why Cosgrove? It’s a long way out of town.”
“Several of our group members live in that area.”
“Were you present when the body was discovered?”
“No.”
“How well did you know Mr Curtiss?”
“I only met him quite recently through the summer scheme.”
“Would you say you were friends?”
“I’m friends with all the members of the organising group.”
“You were photographed with him a few days ago in the local press. You seemed to be on good terms.”
“Like I told you, we were friends. He was a good man and a good –”
“Would you describe your relationship as close?”
“What do you mean … close?” Her eyes blazed. “I’m a married woman with a husband and a family.”
“But it has been suggested that you and Mr Curtiss were –”
“Suggested? Who suggested what? What are you talking about?”
“The photo in the paper made it look as if you were more than just –”
“What on earth do you mean?” Serena was appalled and could not keep the emotion out of her voice. “This poor man is dead, and you just want to rake up scandal about him. You should be ashamed of yourself, asking questions like that.”
“This is a matter of major public interest, Mrs McDowell –”
“It’s muck-raking.”
“Are you saying –”
“I’m saying nothing more to you. You’re a disgrace to your profession. Now get away from my house and leave me alone. You disgust me!”
Serena turned and slammed the door behind her. She staggered forward and slumped on the stairs, holding her head. Minutes passed before her rage subsided.
*
“And you didn’t see anyone, Anne, or hear anything that made you suspect there’d been a fight or a struggle in the tunnel when you reached it?”
“Nothing. I was thinking about Ronny going off on his bike, and how upset he was. I was upset, too, not really paying attention to anything else.”
Cathy looked down at her notes. “How long was it between Ronny leaving and you going for your walk?”
“Not long … a few minutes.”
“Five, ten, fifteen?”
“Maybe five.”
“How did Ronny get on with Luther?”
Anne looked surprised at the question. “Fine.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Of course. I thought I was just here to give a statement.”
Cathy nodded. “Sorry. I was just trying to fill in a few gaps.”
Anne looked straight at Cathy. “Ronny admired him … and his family. They were great sportsmen and women, you know. Ronny was impressed.”
“I have to ask you this, Anne. Think carefully. Was Luther dead when you found him, to the best of your knowledge? Or did he say anything before he died?”
Anne shook her head. The memory came back. Two tears slid down her face.
Cathy re-read the notes for Anne’s statement. She went into the tunnel, saw a body, recognised it, the police arrived. Sergeant Marriner had been right. They had learnt nothing.
*
The builders were already packing up for the weekend when the Discovery rolled into the yard at Glebe Farm. Mentally exhausted, Anne went to phone her parents and assure them she was all right before having a rest in her attic room. Ralph made his way through the spinney to Thyrsis to check messages. Muttering that the day was practically over and she had done virtually no work, Marnie collared Bob the foreman for a quick review of progress on site before settling down to a list of phone calls. Opening the filofax, her heart froze when she saw the first item in the diary for the following day: Estelle returns from Italy. She scribbled a note to ask Anne to remind her about the arrival time of her flight.
Time raced by. Wading through the ‘jobs-to-do’ list, Marnie was astonished to hear a recorded voice informing her that the Willards Brewery switchboard was now closed, that office hours were eight-thirty till five-thirty, Monday to Friday. Replacing the receiver she looked up at the clock in disbelief. As she did so, the evening newspaper came through the letterbox and hit the doormat.
Marnie’s shoulders sagged when she saw the front page. The headline was Another Murder? Below a photograph of Luther and Serena laughing together, was the caption Police treating man’s death as suspicious. Turning to the inside, Marnie found the story continued on page three with a photograph of Serena looking angry by her front door. Serena McDowell, organiser of the popular summer scheme for children, and a close friend of the deceased man, Luther Curtiss, was ‘disgusted’ at what had happened.
The article went on to describe how Luther’s body had been found by another member of Serena’s ‘inner circle’ of friends and asked if this could have been a revenge attack following the shooting of BFP leader Garth Brandon the previous day. It ended with an appeal for witnesses who might have seen anyone or anything unusual near the scene of the ‘incident’.
A sudden thought leapt into her mind, and Marnie grabbed the phone.
“Knightly Stores, Molly Appleton.”
“Molly, it’s Marnie. I’ve just seen the paper.”
“Isn’t it dreadful, Marnie? Richard and I are totally stunned.”
“Yes. I’m thinking about Estel
le.”
“Oh that poor young woman …”
“I just wanted to check that you aren’t faxing her the newspaper.”
“No. Not any more. Wasn’t she due back yesterday?”
Marnie sighed with relief. “We had to change plans. She’s flying home tomorrow morning.”
“Oh dear. You’ll want to break the news to her yourself, I expect.”
Not quite how I’d put it, Marnie thought.
30
Oversleeping was becoming a habit. Squinting through one eye, Marnie could see the line of brightness where the curtains joined over the porthole in the sleeping cabin and for the second day in succession she lay soporific for half an hour. Ralph stirred. She wondered if he felt as exhausted as she did. They always slept naked, enjoying the close bodily contact, but for the past two nights they had not made love, fading instead into a sleep that was as disturbed as it was unsatisfying.
Lying on her back with eyes closed, she could feel Ralph’s side against her hip, and he turned slightly towards her. If this was the beginning of an advance, she had to admire his fortitude and resolve. But it was followed by the sound of his breathing out in a long sleepy sigh, and he continued to lie inert beside her.
Reality started to seep into her consciousness. There was no need to rush. No coaches would be setting off from Garfield that morning. Shortly, stalls would be set up for the fete; scouts would be mobilised to help with lifting and carrying instead of supervising embarkations and departures. This was the weekend.
And then it struck her. Saturday. Today Estelle was coming home. Marnie made a rapid mental calculation. She would already be at Pisa airport, probably queuing at the check-in, clutching the change of flight confirmation that Anne had faxed her, or waiting in the departure lounge, watching the monitors for boarding information. Was she flicking through a glossy Italian design magazine, ignorant of the dread that awaited her? Or did she know already about Luther? Would European papers carry articles on the death of one man in a tiny tunnel in a little English village? What a bombshell lay ahead of her. Marnie’s stomach tightened at the thought that she might have to be the one to break the news.
*
The police had drafted in every available officer to resume house-to-house enquiries that Saturday morning. DCI Bartlett’s station superintendent had long resigned himself to the overtime budget going into freefall that summer. Every house in Cosgrove received at least one visit, with DS Marriner taking charge of the operation.
When Bartlett arrived, they stood on the towpath above the tunnel entrance. Marriner had nothing substantial to report.
“Well some bugger must’ve seen something, Ted. For crying out loud …”
“The trouble is, sir, it’s a very secluded spot, just there. See how the ground slopes down, with these steep sides and vegetation all round. It’s like a funnel. You’d have to be right on the spot to see anything.”
Bartlett looked decidedly unhappy. “Have you had replies in all the houses?”
“Not all, sir.”
“So there’s a chance of getting information later on.”
“Not really. We’ve checked. The empty houses are where people are away on holiday. No hope there.”
“Blast! We’ll have to widen our enquiries.”
“Sir?” Marriner experienced a feeling approaching panic. There was a caravan park nearby, with hundreds of trailers, maybe thousands. Most of them were occupied now with owners who had just arrived for a weekend in the country. It would be a nightmare to have to comb that lot.
“Check out all the boats on the canal.”
Marriner looked glum. “How far do we extend the search, sir?”
Bartlett scowled and pointed south. “That way as far as the Iron Trunk aqueduct. And don’t forget that side arm near the lock. North, go up as far as the next pub. There are some moorings up there.”
Could be worse, Marriner thought. He wanted to do a thorough job, but had no expectation that this would reveal anything. His frustration was palpable. It was a relief when Bartlett looked at his watch and announced he had to go. A meeting with Superintendent Harris in Northampton. Walking away, Bartlett suddenly turned and called back over his shoulder.
“When you’ve done the boats, you’d better get started on that caravan park.”
*
It was a quiet breakfast on Sally Ann. The sky was overcast with a light breeze, and they decided to eat on board. Ralph made the preparations while Marnie went to see how Anne was feeling after yesterday’s ordeal. They returned together arm-in-arm through the spinney and paused on the stern deck to look across the water at X O 2. There was no yellow mountain bike on the roof. The hatches and doors were shut, the curtains all tightly drawn.
They had only half an ear between them on the radio news programme that was broadcasting quietly in the background.
Ralph took his seat at the table. “This morning we’ve got to take it easy. We’ve got two tough days ahead of us, though I’d be surprised if the police let the fete go ahead tomorrow. It could be a major target for troublemakers.”
“There could be trouble enough whether the fete goes ahead or not,” said Marnie. “New Force don’t need an excuse.”
“Okay, so we’ve got Estelle returning today and the fete tomorrow. I expect Estelle will have heard about Luther by the time she gets here.”
“What time does she get in, Anne?” Marnie asked.
“Nine forty-five.”
Marnie looked at the cabin clock. Ten to eight. “If I set off now and made good time, I could probably get to Heathrow to meet her.”
Ralph reached across the table and took her hand. He spoke gently. “Marnie, that’s a very kind thought, but I think you need to take care not to over-stretch yourself. Estelle’s going to be hit hard whatever you or anyone else does. Putting pressure on yourself won’t make things any better.”
She closed her hand over Ralph’s. “Maybe my concern would be an intrusion. And perhaps she’ll prefer to go to her flat first rather than drive up.”
“I’d come with you if you wanted to go and meet her,” said Anne. “But I think Ralph’s right. We’re all feeling the strain.”
Ralph straightened up. “More coffee.” He picked up the pot and began pouring.
“Are we expected anywhere today?” Marnie asked.
Anne shook her head. “Mrs V-H said we should leave everything to her army of helpers and the scouts.”
“A formidable line-up,” said Marnie. “I wonder how the investigations are getting on.”
Ralph passed Marnie the milk jug. “There was nothing on the news about Brandon. I think they’re no further forward. And all they said about Luther was that inquiries were proceeding.”
“Which presumably means the same. Two murders in public places, one with a crowd of witnesses, and no suspects. A mysterious boy seen in the vicinity … on a bike … in a baseball cap … both times. And that’s it.”
Anne took a piece of toast. “You’re not suggesting it was the same person?”
Marnie said, “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just looking at the facts as we know them.”
“Well, one boy on a bike was Ronny. He can’t have had anything to do with Luther’s death.”
“Is that certain?” said Ralph.
”Ralph!” Anne looked shocked.
“I’m not suggesting he did. But to the police his actions must seem suspicious. You yourself said he was jealous of Luther … and Donovan.”
Anne was bewildered. “You think the police might suspect Ronny of a double murder, one of them out of jealousy over me?”
Marnie chewed her lip. “Donovan hasn’t been seen since … No, this is all too far-fetched.”
“So what do we know for sure?” Ralph rested a finger on the coffee pot. “Fact: Ronny storms off in a jealous rage. You didn’t see where he went after he left you. He nearly runs down a group of women and children, reliable witnesses. Minutes later, Luther’s body is found
nearby.”
“But –”
Ralph’s raised hand cut off Anne’s interjection. He put a finger on the milk jug. “Fact: Brandon is shot dead surrounded by his own people – also reliable witnesses – at a location that was their secret hideout. Shot, mark you, with an unusual weapon. In both cases a boy on a bike is observed leaving the scene of the crime immediately afterwards.”
“I can’t believe you’re suggesting that Ronny killed Brandon and Luther,” said Anne.
“I’m not. I’m simply pointing out what we know for certain about what happened in both cases, and how it must look to the police.”
“You think they could suspect Ronny?”
“Of course they do, as things stand at the moment. What else do they have to go on?”
“But …”
There was no interruption from Ralph this time. He waited. “But what?”
“Ronny’s not like that. He’s not capable of … It’s too ridiculous.”
“What do you actually think, Ralph?” said Marnie.
“We can’t arrive at any conclusions. We only have the reports on the radio. The police will know much more than we do. At least, I hope they do.”
“I don’t see how the murders can be linked. They can’t be racially motivated –”
“On the contrary. They could both easily be racially motivated.”
“I mean not if they were committed by the same person. Brandon’s white, Luther’s black.”
“Let’s assume two separate murderers, then,” said Ralph. “Brandon could’ve been killed for a political motive. I’d have thought that’s highly likely.”
“Could he have been shot by a concealed sniper that no-one could see?” Anne asked.
“No. We know he was shot at point blank range with a pistol.”
“So it must’ve been someone in his own group,” said Marnie.
Ralph nodded slowly. “Which could explain why no-one has come forward to identify the killer.”
“Like Julius Caesar,” Anne said quickly. “We did it in English Lit at school. He was killed by the senators, his own people but all rivals, jealous of his power.”
