by Leo McNeir
“I’m so relieved to hear it. Is it true what they put in the papers, about you capturing the murderer?”
“It depends which paper you read. Most of them got it roughly right. One of the tabloids had me wrestling him to the ground and beating his brains out. That was slightly exaggerated … I was unconscious at the time.”
“Thank goodness you’re all right, Marnie.”
“Thanks for looking after Dolly.”
“As Anne would say, no probs. Oh, and I let Mr Taverner in for the burglar alarm brochures. He said he’d arranged it with you.”
“Was he able to find them?”
“Yes.”
“So what other excitement has there been in Knightly St John?”
“I’ve got some news.”
“Randall is going to make an honest woman of you?”
“Working on it, Marnie. Even more surprising than that …” She beamed. “I can move into the new vicarage whenever I want. Of course the diocese will write to you formerly and pay you for the notice period.”
Marnie waved a hand. “Don’t worry about that. What are your plans?”
“The removal people are coming on Friday, and I thought I’d have a housewarming party on Saturday evening. Can you come?”
“I’ll need to check the social calendar with Central Headquarters –‘
“We’re free,” Anne chipped in.
“That’s great. Will Ralph be back?”
“He’s borrowing Air Force One from the President for the journey.”
“Naturally. I’ve already invited Mr Taverner, by the way.”
“He’s accepted?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a good sign.”
As soon as Angela had left, Marnie tried Charles’s number again. He was screening calls but picked up the receiver when he heard her voice. She reported on her confrontation with Mike Brent, and he filled her in on the remaining details from his side of the story.
“Charles, are you sure you’ve got enough actual evidence to make this stick?”
“More than enough, Marnie. We’ve got your testimony for a start.”
“But that could be regarded as my word against his. What if he says he tripped and fell into me … an accident in a confined space?”
“No jury would believe that. And don’t forget we’ve got Belle Starkey’s change of heart.”
“Something overheard after a drugs bust?”
“Not quite.”
“I know there was an undercover policewoman there, you told me.”
“More than that, Marnie. It’s still confidential but … the conversations were recorded.”
“Bugged? Is that allowed?”
“The police routinely use bugs in their cells. It’s not like telephone tapping. This is admissible evidence.”
“So what next?”
“The Home Office will make an announcement before the end of the week. Neil Gerard will be released pending a re-examination of the case.”
“And you’re convinced that Mike Brent was the murderer.”
“Marnie, there isn’t the slightest doubt in my mind. Neil Gerard was entirely innocent, just as he maintained all along.”
Guy Taplow looked down at his list of phone calls: the prison, the Home Office, the QC. All of them were ticked off. Only one item remained. It was one of the strangest things he had ever been asked to do, even by the standards of a City of London practice.
“Good morning, Linford Cruising.”
“Good morning, I wonder if you can help me. It’s rather short notice, I’m afraid, but would you have a boat available for this week?”
“I’ll see what we can do, sir. How many berths do you need?”
“Er … not many.”
“We have boats that can sleep up to ten people.”
“Oh, no, just a small one would do.”
“Four berths? That’s the smallest we have.”
“That would be fine.”
“For how long?”
“A month.”
“A month … I’ll just check for you. Would you mind holding on?”
The man was back in two minutes. “Yes, we can manage that, sir. We have one of our newest boats available. We’re just coming into the high season now, but we can offer you a discount for a long booking like that.”
“Thank you.”
“When would you like to pick the boat up?”
“Soon. I’ll get back to you on that.”
“Certainly, sir. We’ll check her over today and she’ll be ready for you any time from tomorrow morning onwards.”
“That’s fine.”
“Now, can I take your name and credit card details?”
Neil Gerard was looking more relaxed than ever, sitting at a table in the visitors’ room opposite his sister. Sarah came up every other day and they had begun making plans for his freedom. The duty officer interrupted their conversation with the news that another visitor had arrived. They looked up expecting to see Guy Taplow, Marnie or Charles Taverner, but were surprised to find it was none of them. A young man in a bomber jacket and jeans was being led to the table. The brother and sister exchanged glances, each as baffled as the other. Neil stood up and shook hands, introducing Sarah. It was an odd location for such social niceties.
“I’m David Sumter. I work for Mr Taplow.”
“What can I do for you?”
The visitor spoke in a low voice. “Shall we sit down? Less conspicuous.”
“Of course. Have a seat.”
“I’m here to make arrangements … for your release.”
“Arrangements?” said Sarah.
The young man looked at Neil. “Is it possible to talk in private?”
Sarah looked alarmed. “Why would he want to do that?”
“Mr Sumter, my sister has run the campaign to get me out of prison. There’s nothing anyone can say that she can’t hear.”
“And I’m the one making arrangements with my brother for when he’s freed.”
“Are you aware how much media attention you’ll receive, Mr Gerard?”
“Yes, and I’m dreading it, but it’s inevitable.”
“Not necessarily.”
“I think you’d better tell me what you have in mind.”
53
On Thursday Ralph arrived home from his meetings as the evening meal was in preparation. It was like a normal day, apart from the fact that the meetings had taken place in Washington DC and he was returning by taxi from Heathrow. While he showered and changed, Marnie mixed together an avocado, two hard-boiled eggs, an onion and mayonnaise, an old favourite, for the first course and Anne set the table on the bank under the parasol.
It was a cheerful scene that greeted Ralph when he stepped out of Thyrsis, a harbinger of summer meals to come. Marnie invited him to open the bottle of sparkling wine, a Spanish Cava, and there was a satisfying pop as he performed the task without a trace of spillage. They sat down, shaking out gingham napkins, and Ralph asked if Marnie could bear to give him the latest news. With no display of emotion she described everything that had taken place.
At the end of the story Ralph poured more wine into their glasses, his expression thoughtful. Replacing the bottle in the cooler, he muttered, “Yes.”
Marnie picked up her glass. “Charles is convinced they’ve got the right person this time.”
“So are you, I should imagine, Marnie, after what he tried to do to you.”
“I am, though he was the last person I suspected, to be honest.”
“That’s how I felt, but there was something that made me wonder … It was only while I was pondering all this during the flight that I realised what it was. Mike Brent knew you were working for Charles Taverner, but he couldn’t have known you were involved in the Neil Gerard affair. Then those indistinct photos appeared in the papers. Only someone who knew you could recognise who that person was, and even then it wasn’t easy at first. I think that’s how he made the connection.”
> “I bet he scanned every photo to try to see who the mystery woman was,” Anne said.
“Yes. The other ex-lovers had never seen you before, Marnie, so they had no chance of working out who you might be.”
“But they all met me later.”
“Sure, but not in any way that would help them recognise you from the photos.”
Marnie nodded slowly. “There’s something else that’s been bothering me, Ralph. Have you had any thoughts about why Neil’s fingerprint was on the gas valve?”
“Oh, I think that’s probably fairly straightforward.”
“Elementary?” Anne suggested.
“Perhaps. Neil is knowledgeable about boats; Barbara was concerned about the safety aspect and the new regulations. It’d be natural for her to ask him to check everything was all right. So how was he going to do that … short of dismantling the interior and testing the whole system?”
“Just see that everything was securely fastened?” said Marnie.
“I think so. What else could he do? He probably gave the valve a tug, found it was firmly in place and that was that.”
“Makes sense. It’s funny how the so-called evidence – once you’ve broken one part of the story – doesn’t seem so convincing any more. The witness proves to be totally unreliable, there’s a perfectly good reason for the fingerprint and Sarah’s story seems credible. The whole edifice falls down and he’s going to be set free.”
“When will that be, Marnie, any idea?”
“Any time now, as far as I know.”
Earlier that afternoon a Ford Escort had drawn up at a side door of the prison on the outskirts of Milton Keynes. Two men got out and went inside. One was carrying a holdall.
Fifteen minutes later two men exited by the same door, heaved the holdall in the boot, got in the car and drove off unhurriedly.
No-one paid any attention to a man who walked out of the front door with other visitors and boarded a minicab waiting for him at the kerb.
The paparazzi were scanning all the people entering and leaving the building, but they recognised no-one. Their concentration was intense, like hunters stalking a wild and dangerous prey. Some had motorcycles standing nearby ready for pursuit. Their jobs depended on results.
The evening was becoming cooler, and they decided to have coffee on Sally Ann. Anne poured Ralph a brandy and surprised them by announcing that she had been working out one of the questions.
“I know it’s not very important in solving the actual crime, but I’ve been thinking about those dates in the diaries. They were just blinds, weren’t they? Barbara got me to put them all in our calendar to make her diary look convincing.”
Marnie had made that deduction long before. She said simply, “It convinced Charles all right. He thought she was seeing me frequently about the projects.”
“He wouldn’t question any appointments with someone reliable. It would be as if you were vouching for them.”
“You’re right, Anne. In that way I was being used … without knowing it. We all were, I suppose. Barbara was good at covering her tracks, and we were part of the camouflage.”
Anne picked up her coffee cup in both hands. “I’m sorry it was Mike Brent … never thought it would be him … didn’t know he could have such a temper.” She shuddered.
Ralph swirled the brandy in his glass. “People can react in unexpected ways if they think they’re being put down … or if they think a woman is getting the better of them. You found that out the hard way, Marnie.”
“Certainly did.” She reached across the table and touched Anne’s arm. “I’m sorry too that it was him. You liked Mike, didn’t you, Anne?”
“Yeah. It was probably just a flare-up … now it’s ruined his life … and Barbara’s, of course.”
“And Charles’s too,” Marnie said quietly.
The phone had rung that afternoon in the study at the old vicarage, and Charles had looked up from the correspondence he was reading. He waited for the answering machine to cut in. When he heard the voice, he did not pick up the handset.
“Hallo, this is Sarah Cowan … Neil’s sister? I’m just phoning to say how grateful I am for your support … despite everything. I never really thought you’d get involved. It was a long shot. I just did everything I could think of to try to get my brother released. And we both appreciate what you’re doing so that he won’t have to face the media until he’s ready for all that. This whole business has taken its toll of him, as you know. Anyway, I don’t know if I’ll get the chance to see you in person or even speak to you on the phone. But thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart.” The voice faltered. she cleared her throat. “He’s a good man, my brother. Thank you.”
There was a click, a beep and the line went dead.
A good man, she had said. Yes, I’ve known that for quite a while, he thought.
At the time of Sarah Cowan’s phone call the unremarkable Ford Escort drew into a visitors’ parking slot at a marina on the edge of Milton Keynes. David Sumter from Sheridan Taplow Cornelius, solicitors, got out and went in to reception, leaving his passenger in the car. Five minutes later he came out accompanied by an older man wearing overalls and a windcheater bearing the logo, Linford Cruising, and signalled to his passenger. Neil Gerard climbed out, took two holdalls from the boot and followed them along the landing stage.
The older man unlocked a boat on the end of the line and showed them in. “Will you be travelling alone, gentlemen?”
David Sumter replied. “No, one or two friends will be joining us shortly. We’re picking them up tomorrow.”
“Have you been on a narrowboat before?”
“Many times.”
“So I don’t need to show you the ropes … tell you about locks and so forth?”
“No, thanks.”
“Let me just explain the controls of this boat, then. You’ll find it all very modern and simple to run.”
They were soon on their way with Neil at the tiller. The man from the hire company watched them go, saw that the boat ran straight and true and was satisfied that it was in good hands.
Sumter waited until they were out of sight of the marina and reached into a holdall. He pulled out three objects and laid them on the roof. The first was a mobile phone.
“This is for you. It’s a pay-as-you-go, not registered in any name, so it’s not traceable to you. It’s fully charged and loaded with about sixty pounds’ worth of credit. There are no numbers stored in its memory, and you should keep it that way, just in case. We know the number and can use the phone to contact you.” He pointed to a yellow note on the back of the casing. “This is my number. Memorise it and throw the note away. Use it only if you have to.”
“Right.” Neil frowned. “Is all this cloak-and-dagger stuff really necessary?”
“The press are tenacious and quick-witted. We don’t think they’ll be watching the canals – no-one runs away at four miles an hour – but it pays not to take any chances. It’s up to you, but if you spend time chatting to your friends or family, someone could pick you up. It happened to Margaret Thatcher; it can happen to anyone. Mobiles are not secure.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
Sumter took the next item. It was a baseball cap. “Here. Put it on now and wear it all the time you’re visible on deck. It’s not much of a disguise but it’s better than nothing, and no-one will pay it any attention.”
The last item was a small pair of binoculars.
“You think I should take up bird watching as a hobby?”
Sumter took them out of their pouch. “Use these to scan bridges in the distance before you get close. Look out for anyone loitering.”
“If it’s the paparazzi won’t they be looking at me with their own binoculars?”
“Possibly. So don’t spend ages studying them. Any doubts, just moor the boat on the opposite side to the towpath, close the curtains in the sleeping area and lie low for an hour. That should do it.”
“And if they’re
as persistent as you say they are?”
Sumter shrugged. “They’ll find you, and you’ll be pestered day and night. This is the best we can do. With luck, it should get you clear.”
“Why not just drive me to an airport and stick me on a plane? I could be away at four hundred miles an hour.”
“Think about it.”
Sarah finished packing Neil’s cases after making her phone call to Charles Taverner. She had already been to her brother’s flat some days before and collected his clothes as planned, ready for him to get away. It was only a matter of time before the media caught up with her. She loaded the luggage into the hire car and set off through London’s traffic for the M1. There were no roadworks or accidents and she made reasonably good time to Luton, where she left the bags in a lock-up storage unit. When the time came, it would be handy for him to collect the bags, make the short taxi ride to the airport and take the first available flight out of Britain.
Sarah turned the car back to the motorway and headed north. She had arranged to stay with an old school friend living in the Lake District until all the fuss had died down.
The Linford Cruising narrowboat was travelling at a steady pace round the edge of the new city and had put a couple of miles between itself and the marina. A bridge came into view up ahead, and Neil dutifully raised the binoculars to his eyes, keeping the boat firmly on course with the tiller under his arm.
“Uh-oh … There’s someone waiting on that bridge.”
Sumter took the glasses from him and focused them into the distance. “Good.”
“Good?”
“This is where we part company.”
The countryside around them resembled moorland rather than the outskirts of a large town, and Sumter scanned the area to make sure it was deserted. Satisfied, he gave the binoculars back to Neil. “No need to stop, just drop me on the towpath under the bridge.”
Neil slowed, pulled over and the two men shook hands. In a trice Sumter was gone, whisked away and out of sight in seconds. The boat chugged on. Quiet waters, Neil thought. Not a bad way to pick up the threads of my life.
