Devil in the Detail

by Leo McNeir

  “No. So what’s your point, Sherlock?”

  “My point? Look, whoever we’re looking for isn’t going to oblige us by travelling in convoys of coaches that we can identify, stop and turn back. If there are activists coming our way, they’re not giving us any help to find them. No, we’re dealing with some right clever bastards. That’s my point.”

  *

  After breakfast Marnie took Estelle’s notes and sketches over to the cottage and sat in the study reading them. The problems had been handled decisively, and the scheme elaborated with Estelle’s customary energy, flair and thoroughness. From time to time Marnie crossed to the other side of the landing to look in on Estelle from the half-open door. She lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, a pale shadow of herself.

  Convinced that she had moved unnoticed, Marnie was surprised when Estelle spoke. Her voice was clear. “What happens now?”

  A good question. Marnie had shied away from thinking about it. Estelle was gazing into the abyss of the rest of her life. The only consolation was that at least she would not be required to perform the identification of Luther’s body. Or perhaps she needed to see him one last time to say good-bye.

  Estelle interrupted her thoughts. “Marnie?”

  “Oh, well, I think it’s probably best to take one day at a time.” A cliché like so many others that sprang to mind on occasions such as this. Time will heal the pain … your family and friends will be a great comfort … you will have the memories of your time together … no-one can take those away from you …

  “There’ll be lots of days,” Estelle murmured.

  “Yes. Can I get you anything?”

  “No thanks.”

  Marnie turned to go.

  “What’s happening today, Marnie? Is anything planned?”

  “There’s the summer fete in town at the school this afternoon … if it goes ahead.”

  “Are you expecting more trouble?”

  “The police are expecting it, yes.”

  “Because of what happened to Luther?”

  “Partly, perhaps.”

  *

  While two officers carefully lifted out the chunks of rubble, a group of SOCOs sorted through it on the ground beside the skip, examining everything in minute detail. Bartlett had told Marriner and Lamb to stay at the scene in the alleyway, and Marriner watched proceedings with growing impatience. The sun was climbing, and it was hot work, the air filling with dust from mortar, bricks and plasterboard that irritated the eyes and caught the back of the throat. Marriner muttered something under his breath.

  “Sorry, sarge?” Lamb asked quietly.

  “I said they’re bloody slow.” He kept his voice low.

  “Just being careful, I suppose.”

  “Yeah, well, if they were our blokes I’d tell ’em to get a move on. They’re looking for a body not a fingerprint. And on that material they’re not likely to find anything significant at all. They ought to heave out the rubbish and get at what’s underneath.”

  Cathy Lamb did not really want to contemplate what they would find underneath, but she knew her sergeant was right. There were several tonnes of rubble to clear, and the sooner they worked through it, the better.

  “Are we staying on here, sarge? I mean, until they find whatever’s there?”

  Marriner nodded. “Bartlett will probably come on over once his meeting’s finished. He’ll put a bomb under them all right.”

  They jumped back as a lump of masonry was swung through the air to land on the cobbles. It disintegrated on impact, throwing up a cloud of dust and splinters of brick.

  “Sorry, sarge,” a voice called out from the skip.

  Marriner flapped a hand in front of his face to fan away the dust. “How much more is there?”

  “Too much. Bloody loads of it.”

  The other officer swore in the background. DS Croyland moved towards them.

  “It’s tough that the skip was full up,” he said. “They’re due to take it away on Monday. Just our luck.”

  “Probably why they chose it,” said Marriner.

  “They,” Croyland repeated. “That’s what I was thinking. It would’ve taken a few people a while to bury anything under that lot.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I mean, it must’ve been a gang. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Cathy Lamb nodded. Marriner’s eyes narrowed.

  “It doesn’t add up,” he muttered.

  “What do you mean? I thought you said …”

  Marriner shook his head but did not answer.

  “Ted?” said Croyland.

  “It’s not right, Martin.”

  “What isn’t?”

  Marriner walked away. He paced up and down before rejoining them.

  “How was this reported?”

  “You know how, a three nines call, one of the neighbours.”

  “Saying?”

  “They heard a noise like a scuffle, a disturbance, thought it was a fight.”

  Marriner looked thoughtful. “It doesn’t stack up.”

  Cathy Lamb’s mouth opened wide. She understood.

  “Why not?” said Croyland.

  “Think about it. What scuffle? How long before the neighbour rang in?”

  “She said she phoned straight away. She’d heard the Chief Constable on the radio: report any suspicious incident at once.”

  “And how long before anyone responded?”

  “There was a patrol car round the corner on the racecourse. It arrived in a couple o’ minutes.”

  “How long have your blokes been digging?”

  Sergeant Croyland pondered. “About a quarter of an …” Enlightenment dawned. “Bugger!”

  “Precisely. No-one had any time to attack and presumably murder someone – making a noise like a scuffle – bury them in that skip and make a getaway in the time it took your car to arrive.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “Just that. Whatever the noise was, it wasn’t what we’ve been thinking. It may have been made to attract attention.”

  At that moment a call rang out from the skip. They had found something.

  “What is it?” called Croyland.

  They peered over the edge. One of the officers was pointing. In amongst the dirt and mess they had uncovered something that was not builder’s rubble. Barely visible but still distinct between the bricks and plaster was the tail of a black shirt. They had reached their goal.

  “Well done, lads,” said Croyland, triumphant.

  Cathy Lamb looked at Marriner. He was scowling.

  *

  Serena parked in Garfield Road and sat staring at the playground. It looked like a film set for Henry V, small colourful tents pitched in a broad semi-circle like the English camp before the Battle of Agincourt. In the middle of the scene, in the title role was the figure of Dorothy Vane-Henderson in lilac twin-set and pearls, marshalling the troops, armed with clipboard and ball-point pen. Around her a small gathering of the general staff was waiting for orders, being sent off one by one to finalise the disposition of forces on the field of glory.

  Beyond the central group, scouts were busy fetching and carrying, their green uniforms providing a sense of stability and purpose. On the far side of the school grounds, Serena made out the blue-and-white light-bubbles on the roof of a patrol car, its two occupants standing beside their vehicle, keeping watch.

  Swinging her legs out of the car, she made her way towards Mrs Vane-Henderson, catching the crisp words of command as she drew nearer.

  “Emily, I want you to make sure Priscilla hasn’t put all the tombola prizes out at once. We need to keep a good number out of sight under the stall to fill in the gaps as the day goes on. Above all she must hold some bottles of wine in reserve.”

  Registering the arrival of Serena, she spoke to another helper who passed her something small and flat. She held out a hand in Serena’s direction, and at first Serena thought she should shake it. As she reached forward she realised s
he was being offered a badge.

  “Good morning, Serena. Nice to see you. You’ll need to put this on.” Her voice was a business-like staccato.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s your official pass. You must wear it at all times.“

  “What for?”

  “Without it you won’t be allowed on any of the stalls. With it, you’ll be available to help as and when needed.”

  “I wasn’t actually planning to work on any of the –”

  “Never mind. Needs must when the devil drives, as they say. We might all have to do things above and beyond the call of duty today. Here, take it.”

  Serena did as she was told with as good a grace as she could muster, fastening it to her sweatshirt. Her name was printed in black letters beside a red star and a number.

  “How are things going?”

  “As you can see, everything is under control. But you’ll have to excuse me now. There’s still a lot to sort out before we’re finally ready for the opening ceremony.”

  “Opening ceremony?”

  “Of course. There’s always an official opening and a short speech of welcome from a prominent person.”

  “Sure. You’ve got this, er, Leila Ravenswood person coming, right? From the TV soap.”

  Mrs V-H lowered her voice, putting on a brave face. “Not actually. She’s cried off. Her agent rang me last night. They consider it too dangerous … in the circumstances.”

  “What about the show must go on, and all that stuff?”

  Mrs V-H bristled. “No back-bone.”

  “So which prominent person do you have?”

  “Me.” The tone of voice suggested that it should have been obvious. “Ah, there’s the band arriving. Patricia, will you go and see that they have everything they need. Greg Roberts will assign scouts to carry any instruments and music stands. They’re to set up in the middle directly in front of the scouts’ main tent by the flagpole.”

  A middle-aged woman scurried away, and Serena realised she was now dismissed as Mrs V-H turned to another helper with a list of commands. She winced as a shrill squawking sound pierced her eardrums, feedback from the public address system. It wailed out from loudspeakers that were mounted on stands ringing the playground.

  Testing, testing, one two three, Mary had a little lamb …

  More deafening feedback. Serena saw another helper rushing towards the tent where the sound expert was coaxing the system into life. Serena guessed he was about to have some strongly-worded feedback from the prominent organiser that would have nothing to do with graphic equalisers. She would personally have liked to suggest something graphic that he could do with his loudspeakers – not to mention Mary and her little lamb – but contented herself with a tour of the grounds.

  The scouts were mounting guard on tape barriers they had set up across the playground to cordon off the stalls. Everyone involved in the setting up was sporting a badge, with stars in different colours, no doubt depending on the status of the wearer. She wondered what was the significance of her red star. Ancillary helper? Hanger-on? Liability? It was interesting that for all the brisk confident organising of the event, Mrs V-H had given priority to the question of security.

  And to underline the point, a woman without a badge, and armed only with two small children in a double buggy, was being politely but firmly escorted away by scouts, protesting that the children only wanted to look at the cuddly toys on the tombola stall.

  Feeling superfluous in the face of this bustling organisation, Serena dug out her mobile. She switched on the phone for the first time that day. Words appeared on the tiny screen: 1 missed call. She checked the voicemail, listened to a message and rang back.

  “Victoria, hi, it’s Serena. I got your message. What’s up?”

  She listened, made appropriate responses and hung up. Without delay she rang a familiar number.

  *

  Anne was at a loose end, unable to settle or concentrate, so she fell back on routine and set about tidying the office, starting with her own desk. She was beginning with the papers in her pending tray when Marnie crossed the courtyard and walked in.

  Anne looked up. “How’s Estelle?”

  “Like a wrung-out dish-cloth. It’s strange, she just sits there as if all feeling and emotion had been drained out of her.”

  “She’s not got any pills, has she?”

  “No. I’ve checked every cupboard and drawer. There’s nothing.”

  “Her bag?”

  “Ditto.”

  “What are we going to do, I mean about the fete today? What’s Estelle going to do? We can’t leave her here alone. I can stay with her if you like.”

  Marnie flopped onto her chair. “I must say I feel undecided. God knows what’s going to happen in town today. If it weren’t for the complication with Estelle, I know I’d have to be there. Other people are depending on us for support.”

  A warbling sound emanated from Marnie’s desk, and she picked up the mobile. On the screen she read one word: Serena.

  “Morning, Serena. How are things?”

  “Marnie, listen. I’ve had a call from one of our organising committee, Victoria Leyland. She lives in the middle of town.”

  “Trouble?”

  “You’ve heard about the skip the police are investigating? Well, her house backs onto the alley. They’ve found something. They’ve put screens up, but she’s been watching them through binoculars.”

  “Binoculars?”

  “Her husband does bird-watching. Anyway, they’ve found a cap, a red baseball cap.”

  “A red baseball cap,” Marnie muttered. “That sounds familiar.”

  “And they’ve uncovered something else. Victoria’s not sure what it is, but it’s got the police really excited.”

  “Something buried in the skip?”

  “Yes. And there’s more. Something is stuck behind the skip.”

  “Yes, I know. It was mentioned on the radio.”

  “Victoria says it’s something yellow, looks like a bike.”

  “A yellow bike? She’s sure of that?”

  “It was only a glimpse when they moved a screen to let someone in, but she couldn’t think what else it could be. Marnie, didn’t Donovan have a yellow bike?”

  “Yes.” Marnie noticed the past tense. Serena had already reached conclusions about the situation.

  “This could be more trouble, Marnie. What are your plans for today?”

  “Er, that’s complicated. Estelle’s in a bit of a state, naturally. I’m not sure what’s happening.” There was silence at the other end. Serena was waiting. “Look, let me go and see Estelle. I’ll try and talk to her. I won’t let you down, Serena.”

  “I know.”

  They disconnected. Marnie turned to find Anne staring at her.

  “What is it? What was that about the baseball cap and the yellow bike?”

  “They may have found them in town.”

  “In that skip?” Anne was turning paler than ever.

  “Perhaps Donovan hid them there.” Marnie sounded less than convincing.

  “Right.” Anne sounded less than convinced. She got up and went to turn on the radio, changing the channel from national Radio Four to the local station. Pop music. She turned down the volume but left it running quietly, ready for local news updates. “Serena wants you in town?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So now you’re even more torn than before.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “First you had Estelle to worry about, now you’re worried about me, because of the news about the yellow bike.”

  Marnie let out a long sigh. “I’d better go and see how Estelle’s bearing up. It’s decision time.”

  *

  Bartlett noticed the movement as soon as he began driving across town. People were thronging every pavement like a football crowd. And traffic was inordinately heavy for a Sunday morning. Cars were parked in every side street, every parking space taken. Everyone seemed to be hea
ding in the same direction. There was no speed or sense of urgency, but a steady tide was rolling towards Garfield Road.

  He pressed buttons on the mobile phone fitted to the dashboard. It was connected to a speaker, so that when Marriner answered, his voice filled the car.

  “What progress, Ted?”

  “Slow, sir. The SOCOs have dug down and found a black shirt. It was buried nearly two feet below the surface.”

  “Is that it?”

  “So far.”

  “What’s the thinking?”

  Marriner lowered his voice. “The locals think there was a fight and someone’s buried under the rubble.”

  “Is that your opinion?”

  “I can’t see how anyone had time to bury a body under all that lot and make a getaway before the patrol car arrived a couple of minutes later.”

  “Which means?”

  “I’m not really sure, sir. Are you coming over?”

  “I’m on my way. The traffic’s choc-a-bloc, and half the county seems to be on the streets. What’s it like where you are?”

  “Can’t get much impression down here, but there’s a crowd at each end of the alleyway.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Any developments, ring me at once.”

  He was tempted to clamp the blue light on the roof and turn on the siren, but the Chief Constable had ordered a low-key presence for as long as possible. He had the fan on full, and the car was starting to smell of exhaust fumes drawn in from the other traffic. This was one more day of that summer when he wished he had air conditioning.

  *

  Estelle followed Marnie out of the cottage, and even from where Anne was sitting, going through the accounts, it was obvious they were in heated discussion. It was also clear that Estelle’s usual spark of energy was extinguished. Marnie came first through the door.

  “I hear what you say, Estelle, but I think you need rest more than anything else. You shouldn’t even be out of bed in my opinion.”

  “I’ve been in bed forever, Marnie.” Her protest was in a dull expressionless voice.

  Marnie sat Estelle down at her desk. “You sit here and I’ll make coffee.”