Gordon Williams opened the door of the hall, followed by his wife and son, all smiles, bubbly with the adrenaline rush of the successful show.
But Gordy stopped upon seeing Sarah and Jack standing with Alan, in uniform, seemingly waiting for them … Alan had agreed to let her talk first.
You did the work, he had said.
Amazing. Not defensive at all.
But it was Gordon who spoke first.
“What? You again?”
With a nod, Jack indicated Sarah should take the lead.
And she ignored the husband. “Mrs Williams. We found Sammi’s phone. With messages.”
Sarah held it up.
“And there were photos from the toll bridge CCTV. The cameras saw you. The night Sammi died.”
The woman’s eyes turned even wider than when her clown-husband had his stage knife raised to her.
“You found your husband’s phone and realized what had been going on,” Sarah continued. “So you decided to text Sammi.”
Maureen Williams started shaking her head, horrified.
Gordon turned to her. “Say nothing, my dear. Our solicitor will—”
But, Sarah guessed, Maureen Williams had long ago stopped listening to her cheating husband.
She turned on him. “You. And your London whores. As if I didn’t know.”
Sarah shot a glance at Jack, wondering: is this how this should go?
“Maureen, darling, you must stop—”
“I must? You would have let that little bitch destroy us, destroy our family. Such a stupid girl, but you …” she gave a humourless laugh. “You like them that way.”
Sarah looked at Kaz, his face rigid, and she felt the worst for him, having to watch this scene.
Alan cleared his throat. “Mrs Williams, I’m afraid—”
But Maureen Williams — the woman scorned — wasn’t quite done. “She was so easily pushed into the water. Just skin and bones in her glittery frock, dressed so prettily for you! So stupid and easy to hold under the water.”
Sarah felt her stomach tighten. How do real police detectives do this? She wanted to take her hand, now tightened into a fist, and slam it hard into the woman who killed her friend.
Alan took a step closer. A hand to Maureen Williams’s arm.
“Alan, I’m sure there’s no need …” Gordon sputtered, sounding desperate.
But there was. Murder was murder, even here in this tight knit world of Cherringham.
“Mrs Williams, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me.”
And with those words, the policeman slowly, almost gently, started to lead her away.
Sarah wanted to say something more to the man who was really responsible for this — Gordon Williams.
But then she felt a hand to her elbow.
Jack.
Leaning close he said, “We’d best go, Sarah.” He took a breath. The air was cool for a summer’s night. “We’re done here.”
Sarah held her stare on Gordon Williams a few more moments. To say anything would only lower herself to his level.
So instead she said, “Yes.” And let Jack steer her away from the entrance of the village hall, back to meet up with her family.
The comedy or, in this case the tragedy, had indeed ended.
Epilogue
Setting sun in her eyes, Sarah heard a slight whirr and turned to see Jack’s fishing rod bend, as the line began feeding out from the reel.
“Got something?” she said.
“Appears so. Thought maybe I had gotten the whole fly thing wrong.”
“Guess not.”
She watched Jack begin to reel in the line very slowly, which is how she imagined such things were done. Her own father had been uninterested in such pastimes.
But she made a mental note: take the children fishing sometime, before they’re all grown and that window shuts for ever.
Then — a splash a few yards away from the boat as the fish flew out of the water.
Sarah leaned forward. “Fantastic. Never seen that.”
Jack kept reeling.
“Not the biggest trout I’ve ever seen. But should make a nice meal.”
The trout jumped one more time, twisting and turning, catching the sunlight.
“Grab the net if you would.”
Sarah grabbed the long pole, and leaned close to the edge.
“Now, when you can see him beside the boat, just scoop in and pull him out.”
The fish kept twisting in the water, but it didn’t jump again, and when it was nearly below her, Sarah leaned out, dipped the net into the water, and snagged the fish.
Jack had a big grin as Sarah held out his trophy to him.
“Well done,” she said.
“Dinner!” he said. “And I do believe it’s martini time.”
***
Jack had icy martinis in classic glasses in their hands in minutes.
“Stay for the fish?” he asked. “Doesn’t get any fresher.”
Sarah smiled. “I’d love to. But I need to get back for the children, they’ll be wanting a proper home-cooked meal tonight. Much as I can cook. Which isn’t much.”
Jack brought his martini glass close and clinked with Sarah.
“Here’s to your detective work.”
“Here’s to our detective work.”
“Always feels good. This solving mysteries thing.”
“Yes. Kind of … exciting.”
He turned to her. “And you know your friend Alan? He even said ‘thanks’. Got the feeling that he doesn’t mind quite as much having an old NYPD pro like me on the home — what do you call it?”
“Turf?”
“Yes. And now we know that your sweet old Cherringham may not be so cosy and innocent, who knows? There may be more ahead.”
She hadn’t even thought about that. She had done this for Sammi. But it had been better than fun.
Exciting, challenging — and Jack? Well Jack was Jack. Who wouldn’t want to play detective with the best?
“Sure. So,” she said, “Here’s to more.”
“Yes. Just as long as it’s not tonight. I have, as they say, a fish to fry.”
Then they both turned back to the setting sun, for a last quiet sip of the icy drink.
As Sarah knew that life in Cherringham — for both of them — had suddenly become much more interesting.
BASTEI ENTERTAINMENT
Digital original edition
Bastei Entertainment is an imprint of Bastei Lübbe AG
Copyright © 2013 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Schanzenstraße 6-20, 51063 Cologne, Germany
Written by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards
Edited by Victoria Pepe
Project management: Sarah Pelekies
Cover illustrations & title page © shutterstock: Kichigin; Buslik; Paul Matthew Photography
Cover design: Jeannine Schmelzer
E-book production: Urban
ISBN 246-0-1387-4792-7
Cherringham - Murder on Thames Page 10
