by Leo McNeir
“Hallo,” Marnie called out.
“Hallo?” came the reply. Not Bella. Not a woman.
Marnie moved to the galley entrance and found a young man blocking the corridor by the bathroom. He was very tall and had to stoop to avoid contact with the ceiling. He was dressed in blue with a number on the epaulettes of his jacket and the badge of the Metropolitan Police on his breast pocket.
“Good morning, officer.”
“Morning. Mind telling me what you’re doing on this boat?” His tone hovered on the edge of politeness.
“I’m here with the owner’s permission, in fact at his request. I’m taking her for works to be carried out at Bull’s Bridge boatyard.”
“And you are?”
“Marnie Walker.”
“Ah …”
It was the usual response Marnie received from police officers on giving her name. The constable spoke into his radio, giving a brief report on his findings. Marnie heard the reply from the station loud and clear in the confined space of the cabin. He was to bring her in to headquarters. When he finished the call the young man raised an eyebrow. Marnie nodded.
“Give me two minutes to lock up.”
DCI Bruere flipped open a pack of Benson & Hedges. “And there was I thinking we’d seen the last of you on this case, Mrs Walker. But you always seem to turn up when we least expect you.” Marnie looked pointedly at the cigarettes. “You don’t approve of me smoking?”
“I gave up nearly three years ago. Smoking while questioning me might count as torture under the Geneva Convention.”
Bruere gave a small sigh. “A convert, they’re the worst.” He closed the lid and rested his elbows on the desk. “Why were you on the boat?”
“I told your constable. Charles Taverner has asked me to deal with the house and the boat. Perfidia needs a safety certificate for selling, has to be thoroughly checked over – and any faulty parts replaced – before I get her inspected. The rules are very strict, and after what happened …”
“We’ll have to check that out with Mr Taverner.”
“Do you doubt me?”
“Routine, Mrs Walker.”
“Doubting what I tell you is routine?”
Bruere permitted himself a momentary smile. “I must remember to tell that to Jack Bartlett. He’ll enjoy it.”
“So glad I keep you amused. But why can’t you believe me? What other reason would I have for being on the boat?”
“We check everything. It’s what we do in the police. You of all people should know that by now.”
“Charles is in Antigua for another week or so.”
“I knew that.”
“But you didn’t know he’d asked me to move the boat.”
“No. He didn’t think to tell us.”
“Did you tell him the boat couldn’t be moved?”
“Do you know the old Gestapo joke – we ask the questions – Mrs Walker? I’m supposed to be conducting this interview.”
“Look inspector, I haven’t done anything wrong. Charles asked me to deal with the boat as part of our contract. I’ve booked her in at a boatyard. She’s due there this afternoon and I’m running late.”
“No, you’re not.”
“It’s a full day’s cruising to get to Bull’s Bridge.”
“You’re not running late because you’re not taking the boat. It’s as simple as that.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The … boat … stays … put. Which bit of that don’t you understand?”
“You obviously hadn’t made it clear to Charles Taverner that Perfidia couldn’t be moved.”
“Oh yes I had. I told him quite explicitly. The boat was needed in case it had to be examined for further evidence. Now I find you trying to remove it to have the equipment altered.”
“Are you saying you think I’m deliberately trying to move the boat to conceal possible evidence? That I’m colluding with Charles to – what’s the expression – to pervert the course of justice? That’s a very serious matter.”
“We think so too.”
“I can’t believe this, inspector. You actually suspect me of being involved in some kind of cover-up with Charles?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it. And anyway, I thought you already had your suspect … Neil Gerard.”
Bruere stared at Marnie and, without taking his eyes off her, he opened the pack of cigarettes, took one out and lit it, all in one rapid movement. Marnie’s mind was racing. What did Bruere mean?
“You can’t possibly be suggesting that somehow Charles and I are involved in some plot with this Neil Gerard character to destroy evidence. That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m not suggesting any such thing, Mrs Walker. I just wondered what you were doing on that boat – using keys we didn’t know existed – given that Chief Inspector Bartlett has established that you did in fact know the accused.”
Marnie felt she was being pushed into a corner. “Talking of the accused – and Mr Bartlett knows my only link with Gerard was an article he once wrote about me a couple of years ago – the woman on the next boat, your witness on the night of the murder, says she didn’t actually see Gerard clearly when he was supposed to have returned later that evening.”
Bruere half turned his head to exhale smoke. “That wasn’t our only evidence, Mrs Walker. We have Gerard’s fingerprints, and his alone, on the gas fittings. The same gas fittings that you were trying to get removed.”
Marnie spent the journey home gazing out of the train window in a state of confusion. What on earth was going on? Could the police seriously believe she was participating in a conspiracy? And why had Charles asked her to take Perfidia away for repairs when Bruere had specifically told him the boat had to remain untouched?
It was all a mess. Perfidia was still in Little Venice with no repairs carried out. Jock Mackenzie had not been best pleased when Marnie phoned to say she had to let him down, even though it was not her fault. Marnie had got up before the cockerel and wasted half a day, with the added bonus of finding herself once again on the wrong side of the police.
Exasperated and bewildered, she was back in the office at Glebe Farm in time to join Ralph and Anne for lunch. Anne was heating soup in the kitchen area and waved towards Marnie as she entered.
“Hi! You’ve got some messages on your desk. There’s one from Mike Brent.”
Marnie peeled off her coat and flopped down at the desk. “He’s supposed to be away with flu.”
“Yeah. He sounded awful.”
Marnie picked up the phone and pressed buttons.
“British Waterways Little Venice, good afternoon.”
“Hallo. This is Marnie Walker. I have a message to ring Mike Brent.”
“I’m not sure if he’s still here. Hold on.”
Two clicks.
“Marnie, hi. I believe you were trying to get hold of me.” He sounded weary and slightly breathless.
“Yes, that was yesterday. How are you feeling?”
“Been better.”
“I wanted to ask you about a mooring for Perfidia. That’s rather been overtaken by events now.”
“Perfidia? Why did you want a mooring for her?”
“I’m handling things for Charles Taverner in view of, well, you know.”
“Of course. I didn’t realise you were involved, Marnie.”
“After my visit this morning that’s probably not quite the way to put it. I came down especially to get her to Jock’s boatyard – Charles wants a complete check-over and redec before selling – and the police picked me up.”
“The police?”
“It’s a long story, Mike. The point is, they won’t release her at present. So I suppose I do need a mooring after all.”
“Mm.”
“Are you okay?”
“Just thinking. Did they say how long they wanted to keep her here?”
“Didn’t give a date. I’m sorry, Mike, it’s rather out of my hands for now
.”
“We’ll find somewhere for her, may have to box and cox. We’ve got some boats out for a while, but they’ll be returning soon.”
“I don’t like to burden you.” She felt like saying, You sound like hell. “You’ve got enough on your plate.”
“Don’t worry, not your fault. I’ll be glad to help.”
“You must’ve known the Taverners from their time in Little Venice.”
“Sure. I knew them quite well. Nice couple, lovely boat. We’ll take care of her.”
“Did you say you were taking her to Jock’s place?”
“Yes. That’ll be another day used up.”
There was a pause. “I could take her there if that would help.”
“To Bull’s Bridge?”
“Depending on when they release her.”
“Oh no, that would be asking too much.”
“Marnie, it would be doing me a favour. I don’t want an extra boat here any longer than absolutely necessary. I’d get her down there as soon as they give the word.”
It was the best news she had had all day.
11
As the weeks went by there were regular references in the press to the Little Venice Murder, most of them containing salacious details about Barbara’s infidelity with her lover. Marnie could hardly bear to read the reports. They trivialised Barbara’s death as the result of a meaningless tiff about nothing. The only good news was that the police did not pursue any further the possibility of Marnie’s involvement or her alleged acquaintance with Neil Gerard.
During that time Marnie finalised the plans for the vicarage, the contract for the sale of The Old Rectory was completed and Angela moved into cottage number three at Glebe Farm. Marnie and Ralph presented her with a name plaque, The New Vicarage, which they hung on the wall beside the front door. She could take it with her to the new house when it was finished.
Marnie wondered if Charles would ever live in the village and suspected that he would only keep the house long enough to complete his contract with her. She had little contact with him apart from the occasional brief reply to her questions on the scheme design and on matters of detail. I leave that to your judgment, became a standard message. Marnie took it to mean, I don’t really care.
The trial began in March and lasted just a few weeks. Charles did not attend the proceedings, except when he was called to give evidence about his whereabouts at the time of the murder, his wife’s state of mind and details about her boating experiences. He stated that he knew nothing of her liaison with Gerard. He had never heard of him and had never met him. Barbara had always seemed happy with their life together, and he admitted that he gave her total freedom to pursue her own interests, his role as chairman of a large City finance house making it difficult for him to take as much leisure time as he would have wished. He came close to breaking down a number of times while giving his testimony, but managed to maintain a dignified composure and seemed to gain the sympathy and respect of the jurors.
The press reports revealed that Neil Gerard and Barbara had been lovers for two years, which the accused man freely admitted. He gave his testimony in a calm, quiet voice, answering each question succinctly and without hesitation. He had met Barbara while covering the London Boat Show as a journalist and they had had a drink together in the bar. They had seen each other on all three days of the event – Barbara always bought a season ticket for the show; he was there to work – and they had agreed to get together afterwards ‘for a drink some time’. He insisted that Barbara had phoned him a week or so later to suggest lunch. Their next meeting had been at his instigation. He was writing a test report on a luxury river boat on the Thames, and they agreed to spend the day together cruising the upper reaches.
Two parts of his evidence shocked the court. The first was that Gerard made no attempt to produce an alibi. He admitted that he and Barbara had had a heated argument on the afternoon of her death. He described it as a ‘silly row about nothing that Barbara blew up out of all proportion’. It was as if she wanted to pick a fight. He thought the only way to calm the situation was for him to leave her to cool off. He agreed he had left the boat with Barbara shouting after him, and his defence counsel stressed that this proved the accused had left the boat while the deceased was still alive. Counsel for the prosecution did not contest this point.
Where had he gone? Instead of returning to his flat, he went to his sister’s house. She had been divorced for some years and lived alone. He went to see her because she had gone down with flu and he was worried about her. The court prepared itself for her corroborative testimony. Gerard admitted that when he arrived, letting himself in with his own key so as not to disturb his sister, he found her sleeping. He stayed for the night, using the sofa in the living room as a bed. In the early hours of the morning – he could not be sure exactly when it was – she woke up coughing, and he made her a hot lemon and honey drink. She had sipped this and gone back to sleep. The next day was Saturday, and Gerard stayed for the weekend, nursing his sister as she began to improve.
When questioned about his movements he was adamant that he did not return to Perfidia that Friday evening. He claimed he was at his sister’s house all night and knew nothing of Barbara’s death until the following morning when he heard the news on the radio. Why didn’t he go to the police? His evidence could have been valuable. He said that he regretted not coming forward, but was sure his account could do nothing to help. With hindsight he wished he had gone to the authorities at once.
The second shock came when his sister, Sarah Cowan, gave her account of that night’s events. Did her brother come to her house? Yes. Did he stay the night? He did. Was she certain? No. I was asleep, probably delirious. I had no idea about the time of his arrival. Could he have gone out again while she was sleeping? Yes. Did she wake in the night and find him there? Did he give her a lemon and honey drink? Yes and yes. When was that? I can’t tell you. I felt too drowsy to know. Did the drink contain alcohol? I assume it did. It was an old family remedy, and we usually made it with rum. So it would make you go to sleep? It could have that effect, but I was feeling very weak and unwell and it wouldn’t have taken much to knock me out.
The testimony revealed Gerard to be a caring and devoted brother, but as each question was put and each answer given – without wavering or hesitation – it began to dawn on the jury that she was not giving her brother an alibi. Their stories coincided in every way, but the consistency only made Gerard’s situation worse. She was so ill that he decided to stay to look after her. Therefore she could not vouch for every minute – or even hour – of his presence. Was she saying that she could not – or would not – help her brother by providing him with an alibi? I’m answering your questions to the best of my ability. Would it not be easy to say that her brother had stayed in the house all night? Yes. Did she believe in her own mind that he had done so? Yes, definitely. Then why did she not simply testify to that effect? Because I swore on oath to tell the truth and that’s what I’m doing. Wasn’t she being rather naive in this? No. Neil didn’t kill Barbara Taverner. I know he didn’t. So there’ll be no evidence to prove he did.
The prosecution gave Sarah Cowan an easy ride. They had no reason to treat her as a hostile witness, and there was no-one else who could corroborate her brother’s story, arriving at her house in a quiet street after dark on a cold winter’s evening.
When the police gave their evidence, the trap closed round Neil Gerard. Barbara had died from asphyxiation caused by inhaling gas. She had drunk an excessive amount of alcohol, taken in conjunction with sleeping pills, and had died from carbon monoxide poisoning. The source of the gas had been the butane supply on Perfidia. Investigation had revealed that someone had tampered with a valve under the sink unit in the galley. Fingerprints were found on the faulty valve. They belonged to Neil Gerard. He explained that he had checked the whole system at Barbara’s request. There were no other fingerprints on any part of the gas connections, even though Gerard insiste
d that Barbara had had others – whom he could not name – look at the pipework, because she had been concerned about it.
The case for the prosecution could not have been simpler. Neil Gerard and Barbara were lovers and had had a row that afternoon. On that same evening Barbara had been drugged with sleeping tablets while drinking alcohol and had been poisoned by gas. There was no question of her committing suicide. Gerard could not prove his whereabouts, and a witness had testified that she had seen him return much later. His fingerprints – and his alone – were to be found on the faulty gas pipes that had led to Barbara’s death. The Queen’s Counsel summing up for the prosecution did not use the term, an open-and-shut case, but several newspapers described it that way when they reported the next morning that Neil Gerard had been found guilty of murder by a unanimous verdict and had been sentenced to life imprisonment.
They also reported that when the verdict was announced after less than two hour’s deliberation by the jury, Neil Gerard had slumped forward, needing to be supported by the guards in the dock, and his sister had collapsed in the gallery.
The tabloids ran the story for a week, with scenes of Little Venice to add local colour, and photos of Barbara pulled out of the archives showing her in glamorous dresses attending functions in the City of London, at her husband’s side leaving Buckingham Palace after he received his CBE, at Wimbledon for the tennis championships, at Henley for the regatta, at various charity events, and at Royal Ascot, complete with hat.
Of Neil Gerard the papers had little to show. He had spent most of his adult life behind the scenes, behind the camera. A long-range shot of him being led away after the trial, standing in a yard at the back of the court building, waiting to board the prison van, was so grainy that he was barely recognisable.
Marnie felt drawn by sheer curiosity about the life of the friend she almost had, and as she scanned each article she marvelled at how little she had known of Barbara’s world and her secret love affair with the man who had touched her own life, however fleetingly.
