No Secrets (MARNIE WALKER Book 6)

by Leo McNeir

  “Sorry. This is a very strange situation, Marnie. I’ve never had an experience to prepare me for what I’m doing at this moment. But I do believe what I said with total conviction.”

  “Okay. For what it’s worth, I agree with you.”

  “And you’ll go on helping me?”

  She sighed. “If I can. I told Neil a while ago that I’d do what I could. It’s just that …”

  “What, Marnie? Are you afraid you might be in danger?”

  “No. I’m afraid I haven’t got a clue what to do. Our best bet is if you can have the case re-examined. But something tells me the police aren’t going to be overjoyed at having their crime statistics damaged, or having Neil’s conviction declared unsafe. I don’t think they’re going to be on your side.”

  “On our side, Marnie.”

  “On our side,” she repeated.

  After enduring lectures from Ralph and Anne, Marnie explained about her meeting with Charles. With much tut-tutting of disapproval at Marnie’s “escape’, they sat down in the saloon on Thyrsis to watch the early evening news. The lead story was a government reshuffle and bitter recriminations from ousted cabinet members. Charles’s declaration made the number two spot.

  He spoke thoughtfully and confidently in front of the camera. His points were simple and clear. The evidence was largely circumstantial; the identification of the killer was made on a dimly-lit towpath by a neighbour who expected the man returning to be Gerard; interference with the gas system was not the weapon for a crime of passion; the lack of a strong alibi was not in itself proof of guilt. Moreover, Charles had taken the trouble to get to know Gerard and his sister over recent months. It would have been easy for Sarah to back up her brother’s story. Charles was convinced they were both telling the truth. He was convinced Gerard tried to kill himself when he lost all hope of a retrial or an appeal. He urged the authorities to re-examine the case.

  A junior minister from the Home Office stated that the authorities had already conducted a comprehensive review of the proceedings and had found that the investigation and trial had been carried out thoroughly. It remained the government’s view that the conviction was safe.

  The BBC’s legal correspondent pointed out that Charles Taverner had an influential circle of acquaintances and friends and it was likely that he would be taking counsel’s opinion, if he had not done so already. Standing outside the Old Bailey, the Central Criminal Court in London, the correspondent had ended his report with the speculation that this issue was not simply going to fade away.

  40

  On Wednesday morning Anne was up at the village shop by the time the two newspaper boys were filling their panniers for delivery. She bought a copy of every paper, dumped them on the front seat of the Mini and sped back to Glebe Farm.

  Charles made the front page, in varying sizes of article, in each paper. The story of a victim’s husband coming to the aid of her convicted killer was irresistible. He almost made the leading item in two of the tabloids but he had chosen to speak out on the same day as a pop singer chose to reveal she had had silicone implants. Editors have their priorities. All except the heavyweight broadsheets ran a series of photos, including shots of Barbara, Perfidia in Little Venice, Charles making his announcement outside the prison and the well-known image of a bewildered Neil being led into court. Predictably, the tabloids resurrected the headline, The Odd Couple.

  Opinions were divided on whether a re-opening of the case was likely. One tabloid vowed it would mount a campaign to secure a retrial and invited its readers to write in if they had any evidence that might prove to be relevant. Marnie voiced the opinion that this would result in thousands of letters. Most of them would come from misguided cranks, an enormous amount of work for the paper’s staff and a waste of time. Ralph commented that that was not the point.

  “Then what is the point, Ralph?”

  “To sell newspapers.”

  “Silly me.”

  Scouring every batch of photos, Anne made an exclamation from the inside pages of the Express. She held it up. There was a shot of Charles and Marnie outside the prison. It was a long-distance picture, the two of them in profile, and it looked as if Charles was either reaching out towards Marnie or had just released her from his grip.

  “That’s me all right. Charles was trying to convince me of his sincerity. Do you think I’m recognisable?”

  Ralph peered more closely at the photo. “It depends how hard anyone is looking at you.”

  Or for you, he thought.

  For all of Wednesday Marnie was grounded. Ralph had to return to Oxford for meetings and he made Marnie promise to stay at home and rest. She protested that her back was now fine, but agreed nonetheless to his demand. Anne announced that she would be working from Glebe Farm that day and was posted as watchdog. She would be at her desk in the office to ensure that Marnie was sensible.

  On his journey to Oxford Ralph should have been focused on the setting up of the International Working Group on the Global Economic Situation. It was to be based at All Saints College with Ralph as chairman, and in the shower that morning he had dreamt up an acronym for it, I-GES. He was sure it would appeal to his American colleagues. Many of them frequently began their sentences with I guess … He had felt quite pleased with it. Given the amount of speculation involved in any forecasting, it had a subtle irony. But now, trundling down the A43, his thoughts were entirely on Marnie. As usual, he conducted an interrogation of himself to sort out the issue.

  Did Charles’s decision to give public support to Gerard’s campaign have tangible consequences for Marnie? Answer: probably. No, definitely. It made any action by Marnie of potential interest to the actual killer.

  How had circumstances changed? Before, Marnie might have been casually coming into contact with the suspects, if they were suspects. Now, the killer would be on his – or her – guard. If he – or she – suspected that Marnie had an alternative agenda. Ralph did not like to contemplate the risks.

  Did that put Marnie in direct danger? Answer: possibly. Why not definitely? Because the killer might not make the connection between Charles and Marnie. How many people knew that Marnie was working on projects for Charles? How many people knew that Marnie and Barbara had had meetings and were becoming friendly? How many people knew that Marnie had been visiting Neil Gerard in prison?

  Ralph gave his full attention to negotiating the big roundabout over the motorway and slotting into the heavy but fast-moving traffic on the approach road to Oxford. By the time he was able to steer his thoughts back to Marnie, he had the situation in perspective. Everything depended on whether Marnie could preserve her anonymity.

  Was she in immediate danger? Perhaps not.

  Was she likely to do anything that might place her in jeopardy? On past performance … yes. Ralph was sure that if he pointed out the dangers of the situation, Marnie would just laugh.

  Was there any way she might become identified with Charles and his campaign? Tricky. Too many variables to judge. But one thought would not go away. There she was in the paper. Admittedly it was probably just an opportunistic long-range shot with a telephoto lens. It was grainier than the other images, but this time she was more recognisable than the earlier pictures in the other prison’s car park that had only shown part of her profile.

  Ralph turned off the by-pass and headed towards the city centre through tree-lined suburbs. Before devoting all his efforts to the one-way system, he was comforted by the fact that Marnie’s name did not appear in any of the articles or captions. The only person mentioned was Sarah Cowan. As far as she was concerned, the more people who knew of her intentions, the better. Her name was no secret.

  The truth was that Marnie, for all her protests, was glad to sit in the office and get on with some routine work. The back was still tender, every now and then giving her a reminder that all was not well. She smiled to herself when she saw the carafe of water topped by its inverted glass – a Victorian night-stand set found in the antiq
ue centre overlooking the canal at Weedon – and the box of painkillers beside it; Anne’s attention to detail. Going through her files and phone messages, Marnie tried to work out how she had given herself the injury in the first place. Was it the exertion of working the locks on the way up from Leighton Buzzard? Or was it the exertions in bed with Ralph the night they arrived back? It was probably a combination of both, one coming on top of the other, so to speak. That thought made her smile again.

  “Glad to see you’re on the mend.”

  Marnie looked up. Anne was standing by the desk grinning down at her.

  “On the mend?”

  “You’ve been sitting there smiling for the past ten minutes. Must be a good sign. You’ve had a droopy mouth whenever you thought I wasn’t looking your way up till now. What were you thinking of?”

  “Oh, you know, just odd things.”

  “Mm, I did wonder.” Another grin. “Well, don’t have a relapse, but here’s the post. I’ve slit the envelopes, but I thought you might like some gentle exercise, so you can take the letters out.”

  She put the pile of correspondence on the desk and went to switch on the kettle. Marnie’s spirits rose with the first item. It contained a cheque from Willards. In their early days that company had been the lifeblood of Walker & Co, but now, with a bigger portfolio of clients, it was just one contributor to their prosperity. Two or three bills were followed by a more substantial envelope, thick vellum with an embossed coat of arms on the flap. Marnie pulled out a card, the invitation to the opening of the new finance building. She read:

  Mr Clive Adamson

  Chairman and Group Chief Executive

  and the Directors and Management of the Findhorn Banking Group

  have pleasure in inviting

  Ms Marnie Walker Dip AD, MA, FRSA

  to the opening of the Spice Quay Finance and Trading Centre

  It looked impressive. The whole text was printed as if written by a calligrapher, including Marnie’s name. And someone else had an eye for detail; they had taken the trouble to check her qualifications. Here was no dotted line on which a minion had scrawled the name in ball-point pen.

  She quickly slipped the card back into its envelope and dropped it into her bag. Anne knew that Clive Adamson was on Neil’s list of ex-lovers and potential suspects. There was no point in causing her to worry.

  “Anything interesting in the post?” Anne called from the kitchen area.

  “A cheque, no, two cheques.”

  “Hurray! We can eat this month.”

  Anne brought coffee and sat beside Marnie while they went through the follow-up action from the day’s post: cheques for banking, invoices to send, bills to pay, phone calls to make, orders to confirm, clients to contact. A typical day in the life of a small but successful interior design company.

  Anne happily gathered up the empty envelopes and took them away with her notepad. She would have a busy hour before getting back to college work. Freed from basic administration, Marnie was able to concentrate on her designs. She checked her own jobs-to-do list and remembered to write a postcard for the shop notice board to fill Charles’s vacancy. Gardener/handyman wanted for general duties – apply to Marnie Walker at Glebe Farm

  Across the office Anne was writing out a paying-in slip for the cheques that she would bank later in the day. She was happy as always with any task related to running Walker & Co, but one cloud smudged her horizon. Her eyes strayed to the waste-paper bin beside the desk. Into it she had dropped the detritus from the morning’s post, the unwanted leaflets, unsolicited junk mail and envelopes. She knew one item was missing and her thoughts returned again and again to the thick cream envelope with the coat of arms that had been included with Marnie’s letters. She had double-checked the pile without making it obvious and now she was wondering what it could have contained that Marnie did not want her to see.

  Marnie waited until Anne went back to Sally Ann to make sandwiches for lunch. She pulled the card out of her bag and pressed buttons on the phone.

  “Judith Gross, good morning.”

  “Good morning. Is that the chairman’s secretary?”

  “It is. Head of secretariat.”

  “My name is Marnie Walker. I’m replying to –”

  “Ah, yes, Ms Walker. I remember your name. You were one of our later additions.”

  “That’s why I’m ringing. As it’s rather short notice for next Tuesday, I wonder if you’d mind me accepting the invitation by phone rather than in writing.”

  “Of course. I’ll put you on the acceptances list.”

  “Do you need me to confirm that by fax?”

  “That won’t be necessary. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “I was just wondering about directions to Spice Quay.”

  “All those details are on the reverse of the invitation. We have our own car park in the building. Would you like me to reserve you a space?”

  A pause. “I haven’t decided how I’m travelling yet, but a provisional space would be helpful.”

  “That’s no problem, Ms Walker. I’ll allocate you space number … let me see … one forty-one, that’s the first floor level. Perhaps you could let me know eventually if you don’t require it.”

  Marnie felt a fool. In her haste to conceal the invitation she had not thought to check the reverse of the card. That efficient woman – head of secretariat, no less – would think her incompetent. Marnie’s attempts to prove her wrong were to have dire consequences.

  The treatment had worked. Marnie had to admit to herself that Ralph had been right. In the shower that night she let the hot jets play down her back. She rocked forwards and backwards inside the cubicle, hands on hips, and tilted her torso from side to side. No pain, not so much as a twinge. Blessed relief.

  She had already told Ralph about the invitation and listened to his misgivings about getting further involved in the Gerard affair. She gave him the reply she had prepared in advance. It was just a function, loads of people would be there. It was a good opportunity to get a glimpse of Clive Adamson and Piers Wainwright, and Charles could obviously not be there. She would be nothing more than a pair of eyes. There was no possibility of danger, and in any case she would be with Philip, good, solid, reliable Philip.

  For once, Ralph was not sitting in bed reading his notes. He was standing by the porthole looking out at the canal. He turned and kissed Marnie lightly when she came into the sleeping cabin.

  “I’d offer you a penny for your thoughts, Ralph, but you might give me a lecture on the exchange rate mechanism.”

  He laughed. “Dangerous beasts, economists. How’s your back?”

  “Talking of dangerous beasts?” She grinned. “It’s good.”

  Ralph made a face. “So not just working the locks, then.”

  “Suffice it to say that I’m wearing a nightdress tonight,” she said primly, underlining the point by removing her bathrobe and draping it at the end of the bed.

  Ralph climbed across to his side under the opposite porthole and held the duvet back for Marnie to get in.

  “How was your day? How did the inaugural meeting of I-GES go?”

  Another face. “They didn’t like the acronym. I was overruled.”

  “But you’re the chairman,” Marnie protested. “Couldn’t you impose your will on the rest of them?”

  “It’s meant to be a democratic body and, well, they did have a point.”

  “Which was?”

  “They thought American colleagues wouldn’t appreciate the subtle irony – not their kind of thing, subtle irony.”

  “Really? So what did you go for?”

  Ralph cleared his throat. “Oxford Research and Analysis, the Global Economy.”

  “Catchy little title. Trips nicely off the tongue. You’re not serious, are you?”

  Ralph nodded. “Bit dull, isn’t it?”

  “I think your idea was much better. It had a more hi-tech ring to it.”

  “Thank you, darli
ng. Your loyalty is most commendable.”

  “Don’t mention it. But why Oxford Research and … whatever?”

  “It gives the acronym, ORAGE.”

  “That is good? In what way is it better than your idea?”

  “It’s French for a storm.”

  “I know what orage means.”

  “They thought it sounded more dynamic.”

  “And I bet you spent half the day discussing the title and acronym. Am I right?”

  “Of course. What are committees for? Though, actually, I did have time to follow up your question in the lunch break.”

  Marnie looked puzzled. “I had a question about the global economy?”

  “You had a question about Charles Taverner, his background.”

  “Yes! And?”

  “Rodney Forbes was there today. He’s got a personal chair at Manchester, but he was at Cambridge at the same time as Charles Taverner. Same college, same rugby fifteen.”

  “Great!”

  “It appears Charles was on some kind of army scholarship. And on graduation he took a short-term commission. It was part of the arrangement.”

  Marnie looked thoughtful. “Interesting, though I’m not really sure why.”

  “Actually, Marnie, that isn’t the most interesting part.”

  “There’s more?”

  “Mm. Rodney’s pretty sure Charles was on the staff of a General … something to do with logistics or communications or something like that.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “As far as Rodney recalls, the General, and consequently Charles, were in the Royal Engineers.”

  41

  Anne gave Marnie an old-fashioned look when she took her breakfast in bed the next morning. Marnie grimaced, struggling to lever herself upright.