by Leo McNeir
Langton asked about Mike Brent. His injuries were more serious. X-rays had shown up a fractured skull and there was some evidence of bleeding in the brain. He was being prepared for surgery. The detective went out to phone a situation report back to base. He reappeared briefly to explain that he would be returning to the station.
Questioning Marnie would wait until the morning.
51
Anne awoke in a strange bed. She felt tired but was surprised to have slept at all that night. The alarm clock showed it was almost eight. Blinking up at the ceiling in Mrs Jolly’s spare bedroom, she pieced together the events of the previous day and was glad it was all over. Mike Brent, if he survived surgery, would probably be tried and sent to prison for murdering Barbara. Neil Gerard would be released. The Odd Couple campaign would be completed, and Charles Taverner would finally have closure.
There was a sound from downstairs; Mrs Jolly was active in the kitchen. Anne called down to ask if she might take a shower before breakfast. Covering herself in suds, she went over the jobs to do, people to inform. Before anything else she would phone the hospital to check on Marnie.
Mrs Jolly stood beside her in the hall while she rang the ward sister. Yes, Marnie had had a peaceful night. Yes, she was feeling much better. Yes, they could visit her later that morning and she would probably be allowed to go home. No, they could not speak with her at that moment; she was with a police officer. Was it DCI Bruere? The nurse hesitated. Yes, she believed that was his name.
Anne left Mrs Jolly’s contact number in case she was needed. Eleven o’clock seemed a long time away.
It was outside normal visiting hours when Anne arrived alone at the hospital, but she insisted she had only come to take a patient home and was allowed up to the ward. Marnie was sitting up in bed, wearing a hospital nightdress. Anne hugged her gently and took a seat. Marnie explained she had to wait for a doctor to see her before she could be discharged.
While they waited, Marnie told Anne everything that had happened after she left Mrs Jolly’s: the chance meeting with Karen and her baby, the unexpected appearance of Charles and the confrontation with Mike Brent. She spoke softly so that no-one in the ward would overhear.
“You took a big risk, Marnie. You must’ve known he’d attack you. Weren’t you scared, being alone with someone you suspected of being a murderer?”
“I felt angry, just couldn’t stop myself. Once I’d started, I just went on and on, each time he tried to argue his way out.”
“How did you immobilise him?”
“I remember he dived at me. After that …” Marnie shrugged and winced. She rubbed the back of her neck with one hand.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Marnie?”
“I can’t wait to get out of here.”
“Did the police say you could go home? They told me Mr Bruere was here earlier.”
“He had someone with him. They took down everything I said to make a statement.”
“Then what?”
“When it comes to court, I’ll be called as a witness.”
“And Neil Gerard?”
“A sore point with Bruere. He was in a meeting yesterday with Charles’s QC when your three nines call was picked up. He reported back afterwards, and the lawyers acted immediately. Bruere said Neil would be released very soon. The police weren’t opposing the petition submitted by the defence team.”
“That’s good. Do you know what happened to Mike Brent?”
“I asked Bruere. Mike’s in intensive care. He was in the operating theatre for four hours. They said his condition was critical but stable.”
Anne was wide-eyed. “Does that mean he could die?”
“He’s got a reasonable chance of surviving. Bruere thinks I caught him a lucky blow on the temple with the heavy whisky glass and he hit the corner of the radiator head first.”
Anne grimaced. “I’d call that an unlucky blow … for him. Lucky for you.”
They had not noticed that a doctor and nurse had arrived. Anne was asked to wait outside while they examined Marnie. Eventually a nurse came out to fetch Anne, and she returned to find Marnie dressed and ready to leave.
“You’re sure you feel all right, Marnie?”
“I will be when I get out of this place. Let’s go.”
But she was not all right. In the ground floor reception area, while Anne was wondering where they would find a taxi, Marnie suddenly leaned heavily against Anne and almost fell. They collided with a passing nurse, a young man with a shaved head and brilliant white teeth in a deep brown face. He led Marnie to a seat and asked about her condition. Anne did the explaining. Marnie was back on the ward less than ten minutes after leaving it.
Mrs Jolly was surprised but unfazed when Anne reappeared on her doorstep, and she welcomed her back with coffee and biscuits and the offer of the spare room for as long as she needed it. Anne spent the rest of the morning on the mobile. Charles Taverner was not reachable by phone, and she could guess he would be closeted with his QC and the police. For a fleeting moment she wondered if Bruere might now regard Charles as a suspect, but she dismissed the idea as absurd and continued with her calls.
As she worked through the list, she wondered if real people had vanished from the world, leaving only answering machines in their place. She left messages for Jane Rutherford (progress report on events and Marnie’s injury), Roger Broadbent (ditto), Angela Hemingway (return delayed, please continue looking after Dolly). She even left a message for Ralph on the voicemail service of his hotel in Washington and included Mrs Jolly’s phone number.
Half an hour later Ralph rang, fresh from the breakfast terrace in DC. He listened in silence to Anne’s account, asked a few rapid questions and announced he would be on the next available flight back to Britain.
Preferring action to worrying, Anne went round to Perfidia after lunch to sort out the boat. In the saloon she gasped when her eyes fell upon the bloodstains on the corner of the radiator and on the floor. Leaving the area that had been the scene of one murder, one murderous attack and a collision that might yet prove fatal, she quickly packed the two kitbags, cleaned and tidied the boat and locked up. She paid a brief visit to the Little Venice office to tell the staff where she could be reached if needed.
Back at Mrs Jolly’s, Anne interrogated the office answerphone and began another round of calls to keep Walker and Co up and running. At four o’clock Mrs Jolly tapped on the dining room door and came in with tea. Anne was querying a delivery date for materials, scribbling rapidly on her pad. Mrs Jolly could see it was covered in notes and numbers and she marvelled that this slip of a girl, as she regarded her, could be so businesslike. Anne ended the call, wrote something on the pad and looked up.
“You’re a life-saver, Mrs Jolly. Thank you.”
“No, that’s you, Anne. I can’t imagine what Marnie would do without you, and you so young.”
“Oh well, I’ve –”
She was interrupted by the phone ringing. It was Marnie.
“How’s the patient?” Anne asked.
“Better than I was. What about you?”
“Everything’s fine here and at the office. I’m at Mrs Jolly’s.”
“Did you go to the boat?”
“Yep. Locked up, checked her over, packed our bags. Everything’s done. We don’t have to go back any more.”
“Where are our bags?”
“They’re here. Don’t worry about anything. It’s all under control. I’ll fill you in on the details at visiting time.”
“Er, look Anne, there’s no need to come this evening.”
“Oh? What’s up?” Suspicion.
“Nothing.”
“Marnie …”
“It’s been a tiring day, that’s all. Did you get in touch with Ralph?”
“He said he’d be coming back straight away.”
“There’s no need, really.”
“Too late to stop him now. Are you sure you’re all right, Marnie?”
“
Of course. I’d better go. Talk to you later.”
Anne reported the conversation to Mrs Jolly who had hovered, listening to Anne’s side of it. At the end she delivered her judgment.
“Well, I can only say I’m glad Marnie’s being sensible. I think you must be a good influence on her, Anne.”
Anne tried not to look too incredulous. As the old lady left the room, she sat at the table softly tapping the pad with her pencil.
A brief announcement that the police were about to re-open the Little Venice murder enquiry made the nine o’clock news on BBC television. Until that reminder of the outside world, Anne had been feeling totally cosseted. It was like staying with granny. They had been watching Mrs Jolly’s favourite sitcom, after which she left the room, returning minutes later with mugs of hot chocolate. The drink was still too hot to sip when the newsreader gave out the police statement. Anne exchanged glances with Mrs Jolly, wondering how the media got hold of information so quickly.
The round-up of regional news for the London area added no more details, and Anne sat curled up in an armchair, holding her mug in both hands, thinking through the implications of this new development.
Someone else had also been doing some thinking. Mrs Jolly was surprised when the phone began to ring and was muttering that no-one ever called her so late when she went out to the hall. Anne put her mug on the coffee table and uncurled herself. It had to be Marnie. Anne was on her feet as soon as Mrs Jolly came into the room and handed her the phone.
“Did you see the news, Marnie?”
“Yes. This is what I want you to do …”
Barely twenty minutes passed before the taxi pulled up outside the hospital. The spring evening had given way to dusk, and darkness was descending. Marnie had been waiting inside and emerged looking brighter than she had been in the morning.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this, Marnie.” Anne pushed the kitbags out of the way and shifted over so that Marnie could climb in. “Can you just do that, discharge yourself without the doctor’s permission?”
“Of course, I was a patient not a prisoner.”
“Isn’t there such a thing as doctor’s orders?”
Ignoring the question, Marnie sat back as the cab pulled away. “You’ve told the driver Euston station?”
“Just like you said.”
On arrival at the terminus Marnie headed straight for the first class counter and booked two tickets on the next train to Milton Keynes Central. They caught it with a minute to spare and found seats in a quiet corner of an almost empty carriage. The train had just begun moving when Marnie dug out her mobile and pressed buttons while Anne looked on.
“Hi Angela, it’s Marnie. Just wanted to let you know we’re on our way back. I didn’t want you to get a surprise when our taxi turned up so late.”
“Anne’s message said you were in hospital, Marnie. What are you doing? Nobody gets discharged at this time of night.”
“Long story. The fact is I’m fine and there was no need for them to keep me in.”
“Has this anything to do with the item on the news?”
“You mean the police reopening the Little Venice case?”
“No. I mean what I’ve just seen on ITN, News at Ten.”
“Something new?”
“A solicitor’s issued a statement that Neil Gerard’s conviction will be judged as unsafe and he’s about to be released.”
“I see.”
Despite Marnie’s protests, Angela insisted on meeting them at the station. The tunnels outside Euston prevented any further arguments by cutting them off.
“What do you see?” Anne asked.
Marnie outlined the latest development. “I’ve done the right thing. By tomorrow morning the news media will be camping on the hospital doorstep waiting for me.”
“That’s why you waited till it was dark before checking out.”
“Yes.”
“But how would the news people know you were there, Marnie?”
“God knows, but they would. They’d be queuing up to pounce on me as soon as I walked out of the door.”
“Mystery Woman Nails Little Venice Murder Suspect,” Anne suggested.
“You’ve almost got a future in tabloid journalism, headlines department.”
“Almost?”
“You missed out Shock Horror.”
52
Marnie could not believe how tired she had felt when they arrived back at Glebe Farm on Tuesday night. Now, in bed and still feeling exhausted the next morning, she could not believe she had set the alarm for six o’clock. Eyes closed, she groped on the shelf above her head and pressed the button to switch it off. The sound continued, and she recognised it as the intermittent ringing of the phone.
“Marnie Walker,” she croaked.
“Hallo, darling. I didn’t catch you in the shower, did I?”
“Not that I noticed.”
“How are you?”
“Wonderful.”
“Seriously.”
“Don’t push it.”
“Okay. Listen, I’m booked on an early flight tomorrow morning. It’s the soonest I could get.”
“What day is that?”
A pause. “Thursday. Marnie, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Do you want me to fetch you from the airport?”
“I’ve arranged a taxi. I’ll ring when I arrive at Heathrow.”
“Have a safe journey.”
After disconnecting she flopped back on the pillow. Her last thought before dozing off was that she had not thanked Ralph for phoning.
Anne decided to let Marnie sleep for as long as she needed before preparing breakfast. As soon as the village shop opened, she drove up in the Mini and bought a copy of every daily paper. This was becoming a habit. She piled them on the passenger seat and headed back to a pot of coffee and a solid session of reading and marking up.
It was almost eight-thirty and long after they normally started working when Anne saw Marnie emerge from Thyrsis, stretching both arms above her head. There was a faint mist hanging over the countryside that promised a fine day. Anne got up from the table, turned the gas on under the kettle and lit the grill for toast.
“Hi, Marnie. How are you feeling?”
“Amazingly, you’re not the first person to ask that question so far today.”
“You’ve been talking to the mirror? Bad sign.”
“Ralph phoned.”
“From Washington. That’s nice.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
Anne smiled brightly. “Is this a new gratuitous violence streak or do you have a reason?”
“He phoned at six o’clock.”
“How kind of him.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Yes. He must’ve waited up till one o’clock local time especially so as not to disturb you. He knows you’re an early bird.”
Marnie saw the truth in what Anne was saying. She had not thought of it like that. “Okay. He’s just been reprieved.” She sat down and drank some orange juice.
“Talking of reprieves …” Anne indicated the pile of papers on a chair.
“Are those today’s?”
“Yep. They’re full of the Odd Couple story. I’ve gone through the whole lot and picked out the Neil Gerard articles. You were right to get out of London last night. The paparazzi will be swarming all over the place.”
Marnie dabbed her lips with a napkin. “It’s not going to be so easy for Neil.”
Like Marnie, Charles Taverner had returned to Knightly St John. As far as he knew, the purchase of the vicarage had never been made public. The media had always focused on the glamour angle in the Barbara Taverner murder case, stressing the link between Little Venice and the “luxurious Docklands residence’ at Templars’ Wharf. The Taverners’ cottage in Sussex had been mentioned once or twice for lifestyle colour, but the Old Rectory had remained a secret.
At about the time that Marnie and Anne were walking through the spinney
to the office barn, Charles was picking up the phone in his study a short distance away. He was surprised to hear the answerphone telling him there was no-one available to take his call at Walker and Co. He left a brief message and passed to the next name on his list.
The solicitor had barely reached his office in the City of London when Charles’s call was put through. After the briefest exchange of pleasantries, Charles came straight to the point.
“Listen, Guy, there are various things I want you to do as a matter of urgency. And whatever happens I want to remind you that all this is strictly confidential between us. I’m talking to you as my solicitor, not as a friend.”
“Of course.”
“You’re not recording this conversation?”
“No.”
“Very well. Please bear in mind that my name is not be mentioned in this matter at any stage. Is that understood?”
“Absolutely. It goes without saying.”
“Good. Here’s what I want you to do …”
“No luck?” Anne was looking at Marnie across the room. Marnie had replaced the receiver.
“Line’s engaged. Charles must be working through a list. If he’s going to work from the vicarage he ought to think about having an extra line installed so that he doesn’t block incoming calls.”
“Shall I add that to my list?”
Unusually for him, the solicitor dialled the number himself without involving his secretary. The operator on the prison switchboard answered immediately.
“Good morning. I’d like to speak to the governor, please. This is Guy Taplow of Sheridan Taplow Cornelius, solicitors. It concerns Mr Neil Gerard on whose behalf we are acting.”
Marnie admired Angela’s radar system. She always seemed to arrive in the office when coffee was brewing. On that occasion she was wearing the concerned-vicar expression from her repertoire.
“To save you asking, Angela, I’m fine.”
