No Secrets (MARNIE WALKER Book 6)

by Leo McNeir

  Marnie overtook a van, using the wipers and washers again to clear spray from the windscreen before replying. “That’s the big question. I’m keeping an open mind until I’ve heard the story.”

  “Mm.”

  “Anne, you could’ve opted to stay behind. I don’t want to drag you into something against your will.”

  “I know, but I had to come. I didn’t want you going off on your own.”

  “Why not? It’s only a matter of finding some tapes in Gerard’s flat. We’ll be in and out in ten minutes.”

  “I’m glad you think so, Marnie. Are things ever that simple?”

  “You think it’ll take longer to find them?”

  “That’s not what’s on my mind.”

  “Then why don’t you just tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “I … I suppose I’m scared.”

  “Scared? What of? The flat’s unoccupied. We know where to find the key. We know what we’re looking for. No-one’s going to be there. What’s there to be scared of?”

  “I can’t quite describe it.”

  “Are you worried we might discover someone else is the murderer and they could try to … stop us?”

  “I had thought of that, and I suppose it’s part of it. You seem to have come round to thinking that Gerard’s innocent now, so – if you’re right – someone else must be guilty.”

  “That follows, but if we did find out anything, I’d hand it straight over to Inspector Bartlett and let him get on with it. Don’t be in any doubt about that. I know my limitations.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “So is that it?”

  “Not quite. There’s something else. I’m finding this new development with the tapes kind of … well, spooky.”

  A voice from beyond the grave, Marnie thought. Spooky is the word. And so it was, as they reached the outskirts of the capital and Marnie took the roads across north London to Neil Gerard’s flat that they prepared themselves mentally. Barbara Taverner was about to re-enter their lives.

  Londoners are not early birds, and on a cool Sunday morning the traffic was sparse as they made their way through empty streets of drawn curtains. In another hour or two life would return to the huge city, but by then Marnie and Anne would be heading for home up the M1. At least that was the plan.

  As usual the traffic lights conspired against Marnie and stopped her at every intersection. The two of them had been silent since their earlier exchanges when Anne took up the theme once again.

  “Gerard can’t be leaving his flat empty for the next thirty years, or however long he’s going to be in prison, can he?”

  “I think he’s decided to keep it for the time being, like an act of faith. To sell it would be an admission that he’s staying inside for life.”

  “That puts a huge burden on you, Marnie. Does he realise how unfair he’s being?”

  “It’s only natural. He’s entirely focused on his own needs just now. In a way it’s all rather pathetic, pinning his hopes on his sister’s campaign, relying on me to find evidence that will get him freed.”

  “And these tapes are somehow going to do that, provide this extra evidence? I don’t get it. What are they exactly?”

  “That’s what we’re here to find out. I’ve been wondering if they’re like love letters, only recorded on tape instead of being written down.”

  “I’ve never had a love letter, but I can’t imagine what might be in them that can possibly prove anything.”

  “Neil was vague about their exact contents. He said they were Barbara talking about her life, their relationship together, past relationships as well. It was just pillow talk, he said, but it might reveal something.”

  “Pillow talk. That sounds a bit old-fashioned. Marnie, why did she make the recordings?”

  “According to Neil she said she was too lazy to write. Seems it was her way of extending their affair, adding some extra spice. It is an odd thing to do, that’s for sure.”

  “Do you think she was an odd person, Marnie?”

  “You mean odd like deviant?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I think she liked to live life in the fast lane. You might think that’s another old-fashioned term?”

  “But she doesn’t seem to have been an old-fashioned kind of person, does she?”

  “Whatever she was – and the more I think about her, the less I realise I knew her – we’re about to find out. This is Neil’s street. We’re looking for number thirty-two.”

  Marnie turned the big car into the side street and almost at once both she and Anne gaped in unison. Fifty metres ahead of them the road was blocked. Two police cars and a number of unmarked cars filled the street. Blue lights were revolving, people in uniforms were milling about. A small crowd had gathered on the pavements. This is becoming a habit, Marnie thought.

  “Something tells me we won’t have to look too far to find number thirty-two,” said Anne.

  Marnie stopped the Discovery in the middle of the road between parked cars and began to get out. Anne followed. “Are you just going to leave the car here?”

  Marnie shrugged. “I don’t think anyone’s going to be moving. Anyway, I just want a quick look.”

  Anne was proved right. Number thirty-two was the centre of all the activity. They walked quietly along the pavement until they were as near as possible without being obtrusive and attached themselves to the back of the onlookers. Gerard’s flat was on the ground floor of a spacious Edwardian house that had been divided up like most of the properties in the street. Uniformed officers were coming and going through the front door. Some others in plain clothes were standing in a group outside talking earnestly together with a woman. Marnie was aching to know what was going on, but did not want to draw attention to their presence.

  To Anne she said casually, “I wonder when it happened.”

  A man standing beside her turned. “It was the woman opposite. She was up in the night to feed their new baby. She went to open a window, saw a light on in the front room.”

  “She thought that was suspicious? Couldn’t it have been the person who lives there?” Marnie asked innocently.

  The man lowered his voice. “Not really. He’s inside, I mean in prison … for life.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’ve heard of the Little Venice murder? That was him, Neil Gerard.”

  “Gosh. So no-one’s living there at the moment?”

  “No. He’s kept the flat on, says he didn’t do it.”

  “And now someone’s broken in?”

  “The burglar got away before the police could get here, but he got the usual things first.”

  Marnie’s heart sank. “The TV and video, hi-fi … that kind of stuff?”

  “Yeah, all that. Gerard was into music, had a huge collection of CDs and tapes, hi-fi equipment, all cleaned out now, I reckon.”

  Damn! Marnie was struggling to phrase her next question when she felt a nudge in her side. Anne nodded pointedly towards the front of the house. Marnie froze. The woman talking with the police officers was Sarah Cowan. Slowly Marnie turned away, muttering a non-committal remark to the man. Anne followed. They walked at an unhurried pace back to the car and had almost reached it when they heard urgent footsteps behind them.

  “Marnie!”

  They turned to find Sarah Cowan bearing down on them, her expression a mixture of anger and bewilderment.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Marnie hesitated, unsure how to reply. She knew she looked as guilty as if she had committed the burglary herself. “That seems to be your usual way of greeting me, Sarah.”

  “I said what are you doing here?”

  “I know it must look odd –”

  “Odd? My brother’s flat has a break-in and the next minute you’re on the scene. What’s going on? And don’t tell me you just happened to be passing.”

  “Tell me about the burglary. What’s been taken?”

  Sarah tossed her head impatiently. “What d�
��you think? What they always go for, of course.”

  She doesn’t know about the tapes, Marnie thought. She doesn’t realise the importance of what’s happened here. Sarah’s suspicion returned.

  “Are you going to tell me exactly why you’ve come here at this hour of the morning? You must’ve set off ages ago.” Her eyes narrowed. “… unless you were here already.”

  Marnie took Anne by the sleeve and began to lead her away. “We’re doing something for Neil. That’s all I can say.”

  “Funny he didn’t mention it to me! What is this thing you’re doing?”

  “I can’t tell you just now.”

  “Why ever not? Look here, Marnie, I want to know what you’re up to.”

  “I told you.”

  “You told me nothing. Maybe you’d better explain to the police. I’m sure they’d be interested to know.”

  Marnie looked her straight in the eye. “You made the wrong assumptions once before, Sarah. Don’t repeat that mistake now.”

  Sarah was left staring after them as Marnie and Anne got into the car and reversed up the street. She was still standing where they had left her when Marnie turned into the next road and accelerated away.

  Anne breathed out audibly. “Phew! That was awkward.”

  “It’s more than awkward. We’ve lost our chance of finding the tapes.” Marnie was glancing nervously in the rear-view mirror, expecting that any minute a police car would come after them with siren wailing.

  Anne broke into her thoughts. “What do we say if the police catch up with us?”

  “That’s easy. We tell them the truth. We’re doing nothing illegal. We have the owner’s permission to retrieve his property from his flat.”

  “So why didn’t you just tell Sarah what we were doing?”

  “That’s a good question, Anne. The simple answer is I’m not sure … instinct, perhaps.”

  “About what?”

  “It’s hard to explain. I found myself wondering why Neil hadn’t told his sister about what we were doing for him. Why shouldn’t she know? After all, she’s leading his campaign. And yet he isn’t confiding everything in her. It made me think of client confidentiality. If he wanted his sister to know about it, then it was up to him to tell her, not up to me.”

  They pulled out onto a major road. The traffic was still very light, and no other car was following them.

  “I’ve got another good question,” said Anne. “Where are we going? Oh and a follow-up: what are we going to do now?”

  “Easy.” Marnie paused for effect. “I haven’t a clue. And while we’re on questions, try this one. Was this a straightforward burglary, or did the intruder know what they were looking for? Were they doing the same as us? Did they just beat us to it?”

  Anne looked anxiously over her shoulder. “Well, at least the police aren’t following us.”

  “No. But our old friend Chief Inspector Bartlett might be making plans to camp out on our doorstep back home at this very minute.”

  “Great, though he could be in for a surprise.”

  “You mean, me telling him the plain and simple truth, without keeping anything back?”

  “Exactly. He’ll probably pass out with shock.”

  Marnie thumped her friend gently on the arm. “You’re a great comfort, Anne, you know that?”

  “Seriously, Marnie, what are we going to do now? Charles Taverner’s got us into this, and everything’s gone wrong.”

  Marnie paused again, but this time it was not for effect. “Charles Taverner,” she repeated thoughtfully. They stopped at traffic lights, and Marnie leaned forward, resting her forearms against the wheel. She remained there immobile for several seconds. Anne watched and waited.

  The lights changed. Marnie pushed the car into first gear and accelerated off.

  “Anne, what tape do we have in the cassette player?”

  Anne pulled it out and read the label. It was handwritten. “Carly Simon, Greatest Hits. You want me to play it?”

  “Is it the original?”

  “No. It’s a copy. You know we always keep the originals at home and make copies to use in the car in case they …” Her voice faded away.

  “Like we make back-up disks of all our computer files in case they get lost or damaged,” Marnie added. “At least everything important.”

  Anne sat bolt upright. “You think Barbara might’ve kept copies of the tapes?”

  Marnie steered the car into the side of the road, pulled on the handbrake and switched off the engine. She blinked rapidly a few times. “Those tapes were meant to add spice to their relationship,” she said quickly. “If Barbara gave a set to Gerard, it’s logical that she’d keep copies for herself.”

  “So where are they now?” Anne asked.

  Marnie ran a thumbnail over lips. “They’re not on Perfidia. She must’ve kept them at home.” In her mind Marnie saw again the small TV and music room at Templars’ Wharf, Barbara’s den, the bookcase stacked with records, videos, CDs … and cassette tapes. “Charles said everything had been cleared out and sent over to the new penthouse. I bet that’s where they’ve gone, if they still exist – Bermuda Reach.”

  Marnie dug into the door’s pocket and picked out the mobile. She turned it on and sat staring at it.

  “Who are you phoning?” Anne asked. “Not Charles Taverner?”

  Marnie shook her head, switched off the mobile and thrust it at Anne. “I don’t think so. Before I said anything to him about this, I’d want to know exactly what was on those tapes. Probably best if he never knows about them. He should certainly never hear them.”

  She reached behind her and grabbed the shoulder bag on the back seat. Rummaging in it, she fished out the bunch of keys belonging to Perfidia. One by one she identified them, muttering to herself. “Boat ignition, side door, steerer’s door, Templars’ Wharf, vicarage … ah, yes. This must be it.” She started the engine. Hesitating momentarily, she made up her mind, engaged first gear and moved off.

  “So where are we going?” Anne asked.

  “Bermuda Reach. Where else?”

  Marnie parked the Discovery one street away from the marina and they walked to the edge of the development. It was still barely eight o’clock and no-one was stirring, only two cats slinking along the quay after a night on the prowl. There was no sleek Jaguar saloon, no Aston Martin roadster. They were steeling themselves to go forward when a movement on the far side caught their eye. They eased back into the lee of the nearest building to observe. It was a security guard in uniform on patrol, walking towards the lodge beside the entrance road. Marnie signalled wordlessly to Anne and they withdrew.

  Back at the car they sat and went over the options. Marnie thumped the wheel.

  “Damn! I really don’t know what we’re doing here. I never asked to get involved in this crazy scheme.”

  Anne nodded. “I suppose there’s no point mentioning that we made a special effort to get up with the cockerel to be here.”

  “I’ll strangle that bloody bird when we get back.”

  “So will I. We’ll take turns.”

  Marnie’s face cracked into a grin. “It’s not funny, Anne.”

  Anne laughed weakly. “I know. That’s why we’re not laughing.”

  “And don’t ask me what we’re going to do next.”

  “Of course not.” Pause. “But since you mention it …”

  Marnie fiddled with the clasp on the shoulder bag in her lap. On impulse she opened it and looked inside, pulling a business card from one of the slots intended for Visa and MasterCard. “Bloody Ian Stuart,” she muttered.

  “That’s two bloodies in two minutes. Angela would be shocked.”

  “Then she shocks easily.” With nothing better to do, Marnie read Ian Stuart’s card. She stiffened.

  Anne craned her neck to see. “What is it?”

  Marnie raised a finger and shook her head. She did the thumb against the lips thing, a sure sign she was plotting. “Have you still got the mobile?”


  Anne handed it over and Marnie pressed buttons, reading them from the card. When she finished, she gave the card to Anne. At first she could see nothing out of the ordinary. It was designed purely for the Bermuda Reach development. Company logo, name, site office, contact numbers. But there, in small print at the bottom, was an additional phone number:

  Site security (24 hours)

  Marnie’s voice was calm and relaxed when she spoke into the mobile. “Good morning. This is Marnie Walker of Walker and Co. Are you currently on duty at Bermuda Reach? … Good. My company’s handling the restaurant/wine bar design. I need to check some details. I’m down in London and I’d like to do it before heading out of town this morning after breakfast. Would that be convenient?” She listened and pulled a face. Anne edged closer to listen at Marnie’s ear.

  “… only authorised persons on site. Those are my instructions.”

  “But I told you, I do have authorisation. We’re handling that contract.”

  “Sorry, miss, but you’re not on my list. I can check for you but not until Monday.”

  “I don’t understand. Ian … er, Mr Stuart, said I could have access at any time.”

  “But your name isn’t on my contractors’ list. I’m sorry.”

  Marnie bit her lip. “We’re doing the work for Willards Brewery and they –”

  “Willards? You should’ve said. Just a minute.” Pause. “What did you say the name was?”

  “Marnie Walker.”

  “Walker and Co? That’s fine. You’re on their list. When do you want to come? I’m only on duty for the next half hour.”

  “I’m staying nearby, so I’ll come straight away.”

  She disconnected and clenched a fist. “Yes!”

  They sat for a count of five minutes – it seemed like an age – working out their plan. Just as Marnie was reaching for the ignition key, Anne spoke.

  “Marnie, does the penthouse have its own garage?”

  “There’s a block for residents’ cars round the back on the service road. It’s carefully camouflaged with a terrace garden on top. Why?” As soon as she phrased the question, Marnie knew the answer. If she had a spanking new Jaguar, she’d want to keep it in a garage, too,