Devil in the Detail

by Leo McNeir

  “Is that the official view, then, sir? A rival from inside the far-right block?”

  “Well, it’s not completely far-fetched. We know there were tensions between the various groups, even violence. There were those photos in the press, New Force yobs smashing the car of one of Brandon’s closest supporters.”

  “You’re sure they were New Force, sir?”

  “We didn’t manage to catch any from New Force as such, but they had just beaten the shit out of some poor black lad who got in their way, nearly killed him. And the camera cannot lie, supposedly. But … there are too many buts in this.”

  “And you’re not totally convinced about the inside job theory, sir. It seemed pretty clear-cut the way you described it.”

  “That would mean several of them were in on it, Jack. They’d have to be to stand a chance of making it happen.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “They were all in a state of shock, genuine, not acting. I’m convinced of that.”

  “So where does that leave us, sir?”

  “Up a well-known creek without a paddle.”

  *

  Marnie’s desk had never been so tidy. Alone in the office, with Anne preparing a sandwich lunch on Sally Ann and Ralph working in his study on Thyrsis, she had been going through all the items in her in-tray and pending-tray for half the morning, wondering why Estelle had not rung, assuming that the flight from Pisa had been delayed, steadily filling the waste-paper basket beside the desk, when the phone rang. But it was not the call she had been expecting.

  “Marnie Walker.”

  “Marnie, it’s Molly. I think you’d better come up to the shop.”

  “Er, it’s not a good time just now, Molly. Estelle’s due back this morning and I want to be here when she rings.”

  “Ah but that’s just it, she’s here.”

  “In the shop?”

  “Outside, sitting in her car, been there a few minutes. She hasn’t moved. I was going to go out and see if she was all right, but Richard said he thought I should ring you first.”

  “I’ll come straight away.”

  For the first time that day Marnie noticed the weather. A thin veil of clouds was filtering the sunlight and it was cooler than it had been for some time. A merciful respite from the heat. Merciful … There was not much mercy about, she thought as she steered the Discovery up the track to the village. Marnie braced herself for what was to come.

  She drove past the shop, made a three-point turn and pulled up behind Estelle’s Golf. Opening the passenger door, she quietly slid into the seat. The engine was running and the radio was playing. It was a chat show, with a studio audience joining in. Marnie pressed the power button to switch it off. In the silence that filled the car, Estelle moved her head slightly towards Marnie, her eyes still staring ahead.

  “Estelle,” Marnie said gently.

  “It was on the news.” Estelle’s voice came from far off. Incongruously the sun chose that moment to break through the clouds and light up the village. “A mention … in a list of headlines … his name … the police still investigating … no progress yet … and then a quick round-up of the weekend weather prospects.”

  “I’m so sorry, Estelle. I tried to contact you, left messages. I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

  “Seeing the village, I couldn’t go any further, felt paralysed.”

  Marnie put a hand on Estelle’s shoulder. “Let me drive you.” She had become aware of faces looking out from the shop window and did not want Estelle to remain there, a figure of curiosity, all her emotions on display in the high street. “Let me take you home. Are you able to stand up?”

  Marnie got out and walked round to open the driver’s door. She reached in, undid the seat belt, took Estelle’s arm and helped her out, spotting her handbag and a file of papers in the back. While Estelle steadied herself, Marnie leaned in and took the bag. Pushing the door shut with a knee, she led Estelle to the Discovery and guided her into the seat. Having once received traumatic news herself, Marnie understood that in her state of shock Estelle knew little of what was happening to her and would remember even less. Drawing away from the kerb, Marnie raised a hand to Molly in the window.

  By the time they reached Glebe Farm, Marnie was making plans to seek medical help. Neither had spoken. Estelle was stunned, her expression glazed, as if all her feelings had been cauterised. There were no tears, no exaggerated outbursts, none of the outpourings that Marnie had expected. Standing at the passenger door, she paused briefly, looking at Estelle. The face that she had always regarded as attractive in its habitual animation had taken on a new appearance, and Marnie saw for the first time that in repose Estelle was possessed of a remarkable and sombre beauty.

  She led her friend across the courtyard and into the cottage that had been their first home, where they had become Estelle and Luther, and would be no more. Her only consolation at this sad return was that Estelle seemed disconnected from her surroundings. The full realisation of what had happened to her would come later. And it would stay with her for always.

  Sitting Estelle on the bed, Marnie slipped off her sandals and made to lift her feet off the floor, but Estelle resisted. It was the only sign she had given that she recognised where she was and what was going on around her.

  “You need to rest, Estelle. I’m going to phone the doctor.”

  “No.”

  “You need help,” Marnie insisted gently.

  Distressed, Estelle pointed vaguely across the room. “In my bag, my sleeping pills. That’s all I need.”

  She remained sitting there while Marnie located the box and pressed a tablet out of the foil wrap. After taking the pill with water she settled back on the pillow, lying on top of the duvet. Marnie wondered about helping her to undress, but decided to make as little fuss as possible. She feared breaking through the tranquillity that seemed to be protecting Estelle from the pain that would overwhelm her once the numbness had worn off.

  It was strange to be in Estelle’s company in that monastic silence. Marnie added more water to the glass from the bathroom washbasin and set it down on the bedside table. Estelle was staring up at the ceiling like a cadaver. Marnie picked up the box of sleeping tablets and put it in her pocket. As an afterthought she went back to the bathroom and checked the wall cabinet for any more pills. There were no others there or in the handbag. Marnie would have felt guilty at this invasion of private space and possessions, but knew she had no choice.

  Now Estelle’s eyes were closed, and she was breathing steadily. A crunching on the gravel drew Marnie to the small front bed-room that had been Luther’s study. She saw Anne hovering in the doorway of the office barn. A tap on the window and Anne looked up, realising at once why Marnie was in the cottage. With a final glance at Estelle, Marnie went quietly downstairs and out into the courtyard.

  “Estelle’s back?” Anne spoke in a whisper.

  “She’s lying down. I gave her a sleeping pill.”

  Anne was alarmed. “She’s got sleeping pills?”

  “No. I’ve got them.”

  “Good. How is she?”

  “Traumatised.”

  “Will she be all right?”

  “One day … perhaps.”

  *

  Anne had made simple sandwiches with what she could find in the fridge: cucumber, cheese and tomato, ham with mustard, granary bread. Sparkling water with chunks of ice and lemon and a bowl of strawberries completed the table. It looked and smelled delicious, and all three of them felt sad that they ate without enthusiasm or interest.

  “Thanks for making this, Anne. It’s wonderful.”

  A fleeting smile acknowledged Ralph’s words.

  “Marvellous.” Marnie had just returned from checking that Estelle was resting.

  “When my wife died I had a course of sleeping pills. They knocked me out for several hours and I felt groggy for most of the next day.”

  “I suppose it’s the right thing to do.” Marnie sounded
unconvinced. “If she sleeps from now till bedtime and then dozes through the night, perhaps that’ll be for the best. It’s only putting off the grieving.”

  Anne suddenly put a hand to her mouth.

  “What is it?” said Marnie.

  “Will the police want to question her? She’d never stand it. They wouldn’t do that, would they?”

  Ralph wiped his lips with a napkin. “I don’t see why they should. They’ll probably want to search the cottage, though.”

  “Why?”

  Marnie touched her arm. “They always need to find out all they can about a victim of crime. Don’t worry. I’ll arrange for Estelle not to be there when they do it.”

  They ate on without speaking, all three focused on Estelle and her misery. Marnie was planning to spend most of the day in the cottage, trying to concentrate on designs and plans, on hand for Estelle if needed. Ralph would field any phone calls that came in and ensure privacy as far as he was able. Anne dreaded Estelle’s eventual and inevitable return to reality and all the pain it would bring. She had seen enough emotion these past weeks to last her a long time. Without warning she suddenly spoke.

  “Ronny phoned this morning. He wanted to apologise.”

  “What for?” Ralph seemed puzzled.

  “Because of our argument. He thought he was being left out of things.”

  “He was really jealous?”

  “Yes. I told him he had no need to be.” Anne frowned. “That’s not true, actually. He was right to be jealous.” Marnie and Ralph waited. “So, anyway, he was saying the police had been round to see him. That must’ve got the curtains twitching in Martyrs Close.”

  “What happened?” said Marnie.

  “They asked all sorts of odd questions, about his bike, other bikes, baseball caps. It was weird.”

  “Did he think they treated him as a suspect?”

  “He wasn’t sure. He didn’t understand what was going on. I told him they’re always like that.”

  “Is he worried?”

  “Confused. I told him he’s got nothing to be concerned about as he’s entirely innocent of anything.”

  Ralph changed tack. “What about Donovan? Have you heard from him lately?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe he’s gone back to London. His uncle’s funeral must be taking place some time now.”

  Anne began gathering plates and cutlery from the table. “Coffee?”

  Marnie opted to take hers to the cottage to be near Estelle, while Ralph had files to sort out on his computer. Anne was at a loose end.

  “Would you like to bring some work or a book and sit in the cottage with me?”

  “Thanks, Marnie. Perhaps I’ll go for a walk first.” She suddenly looked up. “That’s funny. I went round to get my sandals from the Mini. Estelle’s car isn’t there.”

  “It’s outside the village shop.” Marnie explained about Molly’s phone call. “I ought to go up and get it some time.”

  “Why don’t I do that? I can walk up and drive it back. I’m sure I can manage it.”

  “I don’t know what I did with the keys. Maybe I left them in it.”

  “No probs. We’ve got a spare set in the cupboard in the office. I’ll take them from there.”

  Anne set off, glad to have something useful to do.

  *

  Molly Appleton was certain that no harm would come to Estelle’s car while it was parked outside the shop, but that did not prevent her from looking at it every few minutes. In normal times she would never have given it another thought. Nothing was ever stolen or damaged in Knightly St John. It would be unthinkable. Thank goodness the old values still prevailed in some small parts of the world. But in these strange times, with undesirables and hooligans running all over the county, people were learning to think the unthinkable.

  So it was that she was glad when Marnie rang briefly to let her know that Estelle was sleeping and that Anne was on her way up to collect the car. Minutes later Anne walked into the shop, bought a toasting loaf, potatoes and red peppers, and exited to drive the Golf home.

  She dropped the shopping onto the passenger seat and checked the controls. It all looked reasonably clear, and the engine started without fuss. Wondering about the insurance position, she tip-toed the car along the high street while the road was empty and took it gently down the field track on the lookout for any passing rabbits that might crash into her. Without mishap she turned into the garage barn and parked between the Discovery and Ralph’s Volvo.

  It was while she was closing the door that she spotted the file on the back seat and recognised it as the travel folder that she had given Estelle for the Italian trip. It would contain all the receipts, documents and ticket stubs needed for her travel expenses claim. Glad to be able to relieve Estelle of at least one care, she yanked the back door open and pulled out the folder. Before going over to the cottage she let herself into the office barn and dropped it on her desk. She would tackle it in the morning.

  Feeling restless, Anne slowly crossed the threshold out into the sunshine and closed the door behind her. Without thinking, she found her steps leading through the spinney towards the canal. Reaching the bridge, she paused and looked over at Donovan’s boat, once regarded with suspicion, now a question mark without an answer. Where was Donovan? What had become of him?

  Anne walked down and stood on the towpath, touching the boat’s handrail. He had not gone home to see his family, she was sure of that. He would have found some way of letting her know. Or would he? Did she matter that much to him? Only one thing was certain. Standing by Donovan’s boat, she heard his voice as clearly as if he was there with her, echoing loudly as if they were standing in a tunnel.

  I hate the Nazis to death … to death … to death … to death …

  *

  Marnie met Anne in the entrance to the cottage and ushered her back outside so that they could talk without fear of disturbing Estelle. Even so, she spoke in a hushed tone, walking quietly across the courtyard.

  “You were gone a long time. I was beginning to wonder what had become of you. You managed the car all right?”

  “No probs. It was fine. How’s Estelle?”

  “It’s uncanny. She’s lying there like Sleeping Beauty.”

  “Only her handsome prince isn’t going to come and wake her up,” Anne said solemnly.

  “No. You’d hardly know she was breathing.”

  “But she is …” Anne looked anxious.

  “Yes. Don’t worry. I only gave her one pill.”

  “I’m not worrying now.” She stopped walking and turned to Marnie. “I’ve been thinking. That’s what I was doing. I went for a walk by the canal, needed to get my thoughts straightened out.”

  “Yes. You’re in need of some TLC, too. That was a horrible thing to happen yesterday, finding Luther like that, coming on top of your row with Ronny.”

  Anne said nothing. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, breathing deeply.

  “Have you told me everything, Anne?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t see anything – or anyone – when you were in the tunnel?”

  “Only Luther, honestly. Marnie, Ronny was nowhere near there. He didn’t have time to get round to –”

  “Anne, I didn’t think he did. I was only wondering, was Luther – look, I really hate to ask you this – but was he dead when you got there? He didn’t say anything before he died?”

  “He was definitely dead.” Anne’s eyes flickered in the direction of the cottage. “No doubt about it. You don’t have any ideas, do you, Marnie?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “But you do have an idea about what happened to Brandon, don’t you, Anne?”

  Anne was knocked off balance by the sudden change of subject. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I know you so well. In all the time we’ve lived and worked together you’ve only kept something from me about this Brandon business, an
d on one other occasion. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Marnie waited patiently. Anne was silent for almost a minute, visions of her night in Garfield Primary school swimming in her mind. She saw Donovan coming back from the shower, the towel round his waist, the smile as he came into the common room, the strange feeling of excitement and apprehension as he slipped into her sleeping bag. She saw the half-open drawer on his boat, the shadow of the pistol – the Luger – the box of medals and the Iron Cross. “Yes. You knew about the other thing I kept from you, didn’t you?” Marnie nodded. Anne continued. “And you know about Brandon now, or at least what I think happened.”

  “Yes. I think so. Anne, listen, your private life will always be your own affair. I’ve no desire to pry or interfere in personal matters. But I am glad there are no secrets between us.”

  “No.”

  “You’re not going to do anything about the Brandon affair, are you, contact the police or anything?”

  “Would you?”

  Marnie looked her straight in the eye. “Definitely not.”

  *

  Marnie felt the mobile vibrating in her back pocket; she had switched off the ringing tone to maintain silence in the cottage. Hastily she pushed aside her papers, leapt to her feet and rushed to the front door, pressing the green button as she crossed the threshold. It was Serena.

  She sounded calm but resolute. “I’m starting to think the anti-fascists are as bad as the BFP and New Force. They just will not take no for an answer.”

  “And there’s not much you can do to stop them,” Marnie sympathised. “What are they planning?”

  “God knows, some counter-demonstration, I expect. I’ve told them it will only do more harm than good. The media will love it. I wish the whole fete would just disappear. I can’t think why I agreed to it in the first place.”

  Marnie groaned. “I rather recall it was my idea, at least partly, my brainwave to involve the voluntary organisations. I suppose it seemed a good idea at the time.”

  “I’m not blaming you or anyone else, Marnie, but things have moved on – become more dangerous, if that’s possible – and we could really do with a break from it all right now.”