Cherringham--Killing Time

by Matthew Costello

Maloney blinked, maybe registering the neat little box that Jack had created for him. He said nothing.

  “Good. So why don’t you let me take my quick look, then I’m out of your hair.”

  Not that Maloney had much hair to be out of.

  Then, as if a smidge of a threat might be useful.

  “Think things will be easier for you all around, if you just let me do that.”

  Maloney stepped back.

  And to recover his stature: “All right. But be quick about. Don’t touch a damn thing. You got that?”

  “Sure do,” Jack said as Maloney turned and left him alone.

  Jack waited until he had gone, then started down a long corridor that must lead into the centre of the house.

  Flicked on his long silver flashlight, loaded with new 4-C batteries.

  A nice, bright and steady light.

  But also, weighty enough to use as a weapon if the ghosts that reputedly haunted this house turned out to be more human than spirit.

  8. Down the Rabbit Hole

  Sarah leaned closer to Alan’s desk.

  “The GoPro video,” she said. “Shows everything?”

  “All time-stamped as well. Shows the exact time Zach fell from the upper floor.”

  “Forensics match that, yes?”

  Alan shrugged.

  “Forensics at best gives you a rough window. Add to that the fact that some days have gone by — makes the results even less reliable.”

  “Alan — do you think Jack and I could get to see that video?”

  Alan took a big breath. He’d probably seen that coming.

  *

  As Jack moved slowly, carefully — he certainly didn’t want to fall through a rotten section of the floor himself — he immediately saw something so unusual.

  Many of the rooms he passed had holes in the walls, making them look like chunks of swiss cheese. Long swaths of wallpaper coiled on the wet floor.

  Rooms that contained a desk or a chest of drawers — those drawers were yanked out, tossed to the floor, the smashed wood looking like piles of kindling ready to be burnt.

  A couple of rooms had fireplaces and there the stone work had been hacked and chipped at as well.

  To anyone else the damage might have looked random, but years ago, working cases in NYC, Jack had come across similar scenes.

  And he knew this had all the earmarks of someone not just randomly looking. No. This was somebody knowing something was here — and deliberately searching.

  But searching for what?

  He couldn’t figure this house out at all. The place was expensively furnished, but it was like out of a catalogue: mostly chrome and white leather, with nothing to show who the owners might have been.

  Was it maybe just an investment property, anonymously furnished so it would sell fast when the time came?

  But no — in the kitchen Jack saw signs that someone had been living here, perhaps with a staff. Serving trays were laid out ready to be filled. Dinner plates dusty and dingy, but neatly stacked. Cutlery lined up, ready to be laid on tables.

  Somehow that had been interrupted.

  Could it be a wealthy overseas owner who kept the house as a country hideaway?

  Jack was sure, whatever it was, Sarah could find out. There wasn’t much she couldn’t.

  Still, this place was so weird.

  One by one, he walked the rooms. At the end of the last corridor was a locked door.

  But not a normal door. It looked like heavy steel plate with an overlapping steel frame for extra security.

  He slowly ran the flashlight over it. Although he could see a handle set into the door, there was no sign of any lock.

  An electronic lock? he guessed.

  But where was the control? And what was its purpose? A vault? Or maybe some kind of panic room? Those were about the only places he had seen doors at all like this.

  He stepped back from the metal door, looked carefully around him.

  Stacked in a pile against one wall were sheets of old plywood and, close by, various lengths of battens.

  He lifted one of the sheets away from the wall and could see, on the other side, wallpaper that exactly matched the covering on the corridor walls.

  Then he understood. This metal door? It had been concealed behind a false wooden panel.

  And what Jack was looking at was where someone had ripped the panel away.

  Zach maybe. Was he searching for this?

  No question. He and Sarah would have to check the GoPro video, that is, if they could get access to it.

  He found a bit of metal on the floor, tried to lever the door open. But it held secure.

  Now Jack was even more curious. What the hell was on the other side?

  For now, he gave up and walked back to the centre of the house; back to the staircase that led to the second floor. He stopped, aimed his flashlight up and around.

  At the bottom of the staircase, he saw a grandfather clock — massive but silent — as if guarding the hallway, its stationary brass pendulum reflecting Jack’s flashlight.

  He started up the staircase, emerging on another long corridor with doors off to one side. Bedrooms. One by one he worked his way through them, searching.

  In each one he saw the same thing: drawers spilled onto the floor, mattresses cut open, floorboards pulled up, holes punched into walls.

  Back into the corridor, Jack walked carefully, slowly. The floor under his feet had a little give to it.

  Definitely not safe at all.

  At the end, a door was open. Left open.

  Of course. From when Megan and Luke walked this same route.

  On the ground next to it was an aluminium ladder — he guessed left behind by the emergency team that had got Zach out.

  He moved slowly now, light pointed down until he stood in the doorway. His flashlight caught the jagged boards right ahead, bent, pliable jutting out. And just beyond the jagged wood boards — an emptiness.

  A drop.

  A nasty hole in the floor.

  The place where Zach fell to his death.

  Jack pointed his flashlight down into the darkness below.

  *

  Sarah stood outside the police station. With a breeze and chill in the air, it definitely felt like rain on the way. Considering the grimness of what she had just seen, pretty appropriate.

  She had her earbuds in as she hit Jack’s contact info, calling him.

  Imagining that his own explorations in the abandoned house must be grim as well.

  Jack answered, sounding a bit breathless.

  “Sarah.”

  “Jack — all okay?”

  “Um, guess so. Right now — looking at the spot where they found Zach. Plenty of debris here to smash your head on.”

  “Giving you some ideas?”

  “Might say that.”

  “No ghosts?”

  “Think maybe I put ’em off. How’d your visit with Alan go?”

  “Saw the photos. Pretty disturbing.”

  “I bet. Know what that kind of scene can look like. And the video?”

  “That’s just it. Alan doesn’t have it. Said with a clear case of an accident the property belongs to the parents or, in this case, his mum. Dad long gone.”

  “Too bad. No chance that we—?”

  “Not right away. Alan said he’d ask. But he also said the video merely confirms what we already know. Zach alone. The fall, the day, time.”

  “Right.”

  Sarah waited.

  “Jack, I’m getting that feeling that you aren’t quite convinced about it being an accident?”

  “We can catch up when I get back. Some stuff here … well, kinda odd. Two things really.”

  “Go on.”

  “Somebody’s been in the house — maybe a bunch of somebodies — ripping the place apart.”

  “Vandalising?”

  “No. Looking for … searching for something. Holes in walls, furniture ripped apart.”

  “Wow.
What do you suppose that is?”

  “That? I don’t know.”

  “And the other thing?”

  “Look — I doubt I’d make the cut as an ‘urbexer’, or whatever they call themselves. But this place where Zach fell? Something not right about it.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Not sure myself.” Jack laughed. “Just one of those feelings I get. Anyway — I still got a way to go searching here.”

  “Okay. Well, be careful.”

  “I will.”

  “Meanwhile — I was thinking — we haven’t spoken to the guy who was with Megan that night.”

  “Luke.”

  “That’s right,” said Sarah. “Luke Sharp. I got his address from Megan. Lives just down the hill past the cricket pitch. Apparently doesn’t have a steady job so he should be there.”

  “Good idea. Need check out the other member of the gang too. Tom?”

  “Yep, Tom Hanson, I’ve got his details,” said Sarah. “You know that little coffee place — does the juices? He works there.”

  “Great. I can drop by when I’m done here.”

  “Okay then, I’ll go see Luke. Catch up later?”

  “Yup,” said Jack. “Oh — was thinking — maybe you could get Chloe to do a little online digging about this place? Who owns it, who lived here, kinda thing?”

  “Sure, I’ll give her a call.”

  “She wanted to help, you know?”

  “Yeah, it’s a good idea. Hey — shall I make a reservation at the Spotted Pig? Grab some early dinner?”

  “Fantastic. Just the ticket after wandering around this creepy house.”

  “Okay. Speak soon.”

  And then Jack was gone. Sarah pinged a message to Chloe, then looked at the address for Luke, doubting she would learn anything new from him, not with Megan describing what had happened.

  Still, Jack had taught her rule one: leave no stone unturned.

  *

  Jack tested the ladder to make sure it was secure, then swivelled slowly and carefully round, stepping backwards through the jagged hole in the floor, flashlight stuck in his back pocket. Descending into the dark room where Zach’s body had been found.

  Once at the bottom, flashlight in hand, he stepped over chunks of debris and slowly scanned the room.

  The place was empty, save for a simple office table with a single desk light and a couple of fold-up chairs.

  Nothing on the walls — just bare plaster. No windows.

  The floor — simple boards, barely visible under the scattered plaster from the smashed ceiling.

  And just one door.

  He walked across, ran the flashlight over it. No need to check — he knew straight away. This was the steel door at the end of the corridor that he had just inspected minutes ago from the other side.

  A button on the wall next to it.

  He pressed — but nothing happened. Not surprising — the power to the whole building was disconnected.

  Then he went over to the table, pulled out one of the chairs and sat on it, looking at the room.

  Thinking: Who? Why? What for?

  He knew one thing: this was no panic room. No survival materials, stocks of food, water. No bed. No communication system.

  It had to be some kind of vault. But for what? Paintings?

  He played the flashlight on the wall again. Nothing. No holes, no marks. Which left — light now pointed down — the floor.

  Slowly he criss-crossed the room, carefully checking the floorboards for any signs they’d been lifted recently.

  But nothing.

  He walked over and stood under the hole in the ceiling.

  And then realised, this great pile of plaster and wood laths was not directly under the hole, where you’d expect it to be.

  Rather, the bulk of it was a foot or two to one side.

  Perhaps the emergency services had moved it when they dropped down to pick up Zach’s body?

  Possible, sure. He picked up a piece of wood and began to roughly push away the debris into a corner.

  Then he got down on his hands and knees, placed the flashlight on the floor, and ran his fingers over the bare timbers. Looking for … feeling for …

  A loose plank.

  And there it was — or rather, there they were.

  Two short pieces of wood just a couple of feet long, inserted almost imperceptibly into the run of boards.

  He took out his picks, slid one under the edge, and levered up the boards, just enough to then gently pull them to one side.

  Then brought his flashlight close and pointed it down, into the space.

  The boards had been placed flush on top of concrete, with no gap. And under these boards, Jack could see that the concrete had been laid with a perfect square cut-out.

  A cut-out that contained a heavy, metal floor-safe. The lid was closed and Jack could see a combination lock on the top — six wheels.

  But he didn’t need the combination. Someone had already drilled the safe open.

  He reached down and raised the lid. As expected, the safe was empty.

  Whatever had once been in it — taken.

  Everything started to make sense.

  Zach had found this secret room and — somehow — paid the price for it.

  Jack stood there trying to, oh so slowly, think things through.

  Zach must have been looking for the safe. Found the hidden steel-plate door downstairs. Made his way upstairs and … and …

  He was faced with two different possibilities (and wished Sarah was here to talk though it with him.)

  Had Zach fallen to his death, down to where — long before his fall — the safe had been emptied? The prize gone?

  Or had Zach, who was so experienced, not fallen at all, but smashed a way through the ceiling from above, then climbed down into this room while the safe was still locked. And then it was cracked.

  But not by Zach.

  By someone else who wanted that prize all to themselves.

  And Zach suddenly was in the way. A perfect motive for murder.

  But that’s not what the video supposedly showed.

  Supposedly.

  Everything about this points to a murder over the contents of the safe, he thought.

  Yet, standing there in the dark, the dust motes creepily drifting by his giant flashlight, he knew there was still no real evidence of that.

  Except for the empty safe itself. And somebody had gone to the trouble of covering that up.

  Jack took out his phone and took a few photos to show Sarah.

  Then he looked up at the ladder. Placed the light in his pocket again, and started back up, the only way out of this hidden room.

  9. At Home with Luke

  Sarah took a lane just outside the village proper, that skirted the windblown cricket pitch — a twisty stretch of narrow road that passed some small homes. They were just cottages really — some with neat gardens girded with a low white fence, others looking as if whoever lived there just didn’t care anymore.

  Until she came to one — no number — but doing the maths, Sarah knew it matched the address of the place where Luke supposedly lived.

  This cottage belonged to the camp of those who had given up keeping orderly, well-maintained paths and gardens.

  According to Megan, Luke didn’t actually live here, but in a smaller place — if one could imagine that — at the back.

  She stopped her car and got out.

  There was the semblance of a path that led past the cottage to an even smaller dwelling — the place hardly bigger than a shed — a door with a single window either side of it.

  Luke Sharp’s home.

  She rapped on the door, flaking ancient white paint as she did. In a flash, the door opened and a young man peered out at her behind oversized glasses.

  He had the classic pasty complexion of someone who spent too much time in front of a computer screen or games console. And dressed in the ubiquitous uniform of the twenty-something male:
jeans, surfer’s T-shirt, tattered trainers.

  “Luke Sharp?” Sarah said.

  The young man tilted his head at her, confused, as if visitors were uncommon.

  Sarah smiled. “I’m Sarah Edwards. Your friend Megan gave me your address. I’m looking into what happened to Zach. Think we could chat?”

  She saw something in the man’s eyes. A few seconds of indecision, then he opened the door.

  “Sure,” he said. “Megan told me you might come round. Dunno what else I can say, but come in.”

  *

  Once inside the tiny cottage, Sarah saw the place was no more than a single room: kitchen at one end, at the other a bed, and a couple of battered armchairs by a flimsy stove.

  In one corner, a tiny table, a pair of work chairs piled with papers.

  But on that table, a top-end laptop.

  In the other corner, a cheap portable wardrobe, the long rectangular box taking up a good amount of floor space.

  And one strange thing.

  A hefty-looking pair of dumbbells just visible under the bed frame.

  She watched Luke stand awkwardly by the bed, as if uncertain how to deal with guests.

  Sarah smiled. “Just wanted to go through what happened that day when you and Megan found Zach.”

  “Yeah, Megan said. You do investigating … with an American guy?”

  “That’s right. All we’re doing is trying to make sure the police aren’t missing anything.”

  “Right. Yeah. That’s good. That’s a really good thing.”

  “You happy talking?”

  “Yeah. Totally. Zach was … an amazing guy. Owe it to him to get the facts.”

  Sarah looked over at the table, and Luke seemed to realise this little meeting was going to require sitting down.

  He rushed over, moved the laptop, cleared the papers from the chairs.

  They both sat, and Sarah took out her notebook.

  “So why don’t you talk me through how you and Megan went out to Blackwood House that day?”

  Sarah doubted Luke would tell her anything new about the day, but she wanted to get him talking, loosened up.

  She made notes as Luke confirmed everything she had heard from Megan.

  But she also got something else from him; how creepy and scary it was going into that house.

  Luke Sharp almost seemed too timid to be one of the urban explorers.