Cherringham--Blade in the Water

by Neil Richards

Jack caught up with Magnusson and the two bodyguards joined them as they walked back up the lawn.

  “Good of you to find the time to meet, at such short notice,” said Jack.

  “Lucky I’m here at all,” said Magnusson. “But I intend to race tomorrow.”

  “Single sculls huh? You good?”

  “I’m not in the habit of losing.”

  I bet you’re not, thought Jack.

  “I’m intrigued that an ex New York cop with a line in amateur detecting should have any business with me,” said Magnusson, turning to Jack as they walked.

  So the guy’s been doing his homework, thought Jack.

  “Intrigued, Mr. Brennan — but also alarmed.”

  “Oh, nothing to be alarmed about, I’m sure,” said Jack.

  They reached the rear entrance to the house and Magnusson stopped.

  “I must shower,” he said.

  Jack thinking … is my timer running?

  Then over his shoulder he called to the guards.

  “Take Mr. Brennan to the conservatory.”

  Jack watched him disappear inside the house then looked at the two guards. They gestured to a path that ran beside the house.

  What Mr. Magnusson wants, thought Jack, Mr. Magnusson gets …

  *

  Jack sat in the conservatory. A white marble bust looked directly at him from atop a black grand piano.

  Someone Roman, Jack thought.

  One of the slain Caesars perhaps?

  The room, with glass doors that opened to a rear garden, looked meticulously maintained. A mahogany coffee table was artfully dotted with over-sized books on sailing, competitive rowing, and boats.

  For reference, a giant globe stood on a stand in a nearby corner.

  The room’s colour scheme — muted greens, blues, with a large plush area rug nearly covering the gleaming wood floor.

  Tasteful.

  Doesn’t quite feel ‘English’ though, Jack thought.

  No books, save for the carefully stacked books on sailing; more décor than reading material, he guessed.

  Maybe there was an actual library somewhere? Or — more likely — Magnusson wasn’t much of a reader.

  Jack dug out his phone.

  He had put it on mute but he saw a new text message.

  ‘Met Donna Woods. Interesting and sad story. Meet up later?’

  Jack texted back; ‘Sure. At Magnusson’s. Nothing to report from here yet.’

  He hit send, which is when Anders Magnusson walked into the sunlit room.

  His singlet replaced with tennis shoes, and matching whites — the afternoon activity, perhaps.

  “Mr. Brennan, so sorry for the delay. Needed to get that practice in.” He smiled. “Like to make a good showing at the Regatta. The English think they own the crewing event. Good to show them otherwise, hmm?”

  Jack nodded. “Glad you could make the time for me.”

  Magnusson clapped his hands together. “How about a drink? G&T, beer, wine—”

  “Bit early for me. Cup of tea?”

  As if a sixth sense cued him, a classically dressed butler with upraised chin and hooded eyes entered the room.

  “Pot of tea, James.”

  “Yes, sir.” The butler said, performing a military turn on his heels and leaving.

  Then Magnusson sat down one of the other easy chairs.

  “You mentioned business, Mr. Brennan …?”

  Magnusson was flashing a brilliant smile. Obviously the word ‘business’ made him very happy.

  “Well, kind of …”

  Jack guessed he best tread carefully here.

  With the black suited goons not far away, probably wouldn’t take much to get a quick escort out of the manse, and off the property.

  Questions unanswered.

  “I’ve been, well, been looking into the matter of your … business associate … Martin Kent and his runaway boat?”

  The smiled faded. Though not completely gone, Jack guessed he would soon see it disappear.

  “Apparently he came here, to visit you, the day before his boat ran aground. Then, well—”

  Magnusson put up a hand, the gesture of someone used to doing such a move and silencing the room with a gesture.

  “Jack. Mr. Kent — Martin — is CEO of our company.”

  “ViaVita.”

  The word gave Magnusson pause. “Yes. And he often boats down here. Visit. He travels extensively. So yes, he did visit two nights ago. But as to—”

  Then, expecting James with a tea tray, Jack looked up to see what — back in the day — he would have described as a ‘blonde bombshell’ walk into the room.

  “Ah, Viola—”

  Kent’s wife. Here …

  Interesting.

  “Just chatting here with Mr. Brennan … about Martin.”

  Said — Jack thought — as if a warning.

  Viola held a glass in her hand, ice cubes rattling against the side as she walked over, her blue eyes locked on Jack.

  She managed the steps on towering stilettos without a problem.

  And with her eyes on Jack, he felt more like a prey, especially sitting in the over-sized easy chair, trapped in it pillowy cushions.

  “The American,” she said. She extended a hand, and Jack got up and shook it.

  The woman smiled. “A … New Yawker,” she added.

  “Guilty as charged,” he said.

  Viola sailed to the couch with her drink, adopting a pose that — if she wasn’t just a bit frightening — Jack would have to admit was pretty, um, distracting.

  Legs crossed, an early cocktail party in session.

  “Oh,” Magnusson said. “You are wondering why Viola … Martin’s wife is here?”

  “That thought did occur to me,” Jack said.

  “Martin and I have parted ways,” Viola said. “And Anders and I have become close. We three always travelled together.”

  Jack nodded.

  “Your husband, Mrs. Kent, appears to be missing. Would you have any idea where—”

  Again, Magnusson jumped in to fill in the gap.

  “I was explaining, sweetheart, that Martin often visits here. We saw him a few evenings ago when he boated down. But other than that …”

  Mrs. Kent nodded, as if getting the message.

  So far no goons had appeared to escort him out, so Jack continued.

  “Was he upset that night? I mean, about your relationship, anything …?”

  “No,” Magnusson said emphatically. “I mean, we discussed a few company things, the upcoming Regatta. But,” he shot a look at Viola who — as far as Jack could tell — had not taken her eyes off him.

  Quite disconcerting …

  “Yes. Martin accepts things — between V and me — as they are. And we are still all quite friendly.”

  Jack smiled.

  He wasn’t buying any of that.

  Something happened that night, he’d bet. But the chance of getting exactly what that was, from these two, seemed to be slim to none.

  “Good to hear,” Jack said. “So you last saw him here — two nights ago?”

  “We had dinner together,” said Magnusson. “Delightful meal, wasn’t it, my dear?”

  “Wonderful. Al fresco,” said Viola.

  The Italian for outdoor dining rolled off the woman’s tongue as if it was the name of some hitman.

  “And then Mr. Kent left?”

  “Cast off into the beautiful evening,” said Magnusson.

  “We waved him away from the jetty,” said Viola.

  Jack pictured the charming scene, three friends together in the moonlight — and didn’t believe a word.

  “And that’s the last you saw of him?”

  “Martin was — is — a very experienced sailor,” said Magnusson. “He often goes a bit walkabout. Likes his little … adventures.”

  At this, Viola rolled her eyes. “Does he ever.”

  “Unfortunate about his boat. But I’m sure he’ll show up soon. Have y
ou tried his mobile? Though he often has that off. Hates to have work interfere with pleasure.”

  “Believe the police may have tried …”

  At the ‘p’ word, Jack felt the two of them pause. The duo turning into a still life in this large, tasteful room.

  Then Magnusson nodded.

  “I’m afraid I do have some business to attend to …”

  The butler showed up with tea.

  Magnusson looked from Jack to his servant.

  “Don’t think we’ll have time for that, James, so—”

  “One more thing,” Jack said.

  Everyone’s a sucker for … one more thing.

  “The woman who came to your place a week or so ago. You yourself called the police?”

  Magnusson froze. His pearly whites now hidden behind tightly pursed lips.

  Then he turned to his butler.

  “James, you can serve the tea.”

  Apparently, time had been found for a little more talking.

  Amazing what catching someone off-guard can do.

  10. The Puzzle and its Pieces

  Magnusson waited until his butler had left the room.

  “That woman was deranged.”

  Jack looked from Magnusson to Kent’s wife, ice rattling in her glass with another sip.

  Jack reached down for his teacup, taking his time.

  He dropped in a brown sugar cube; no milk for him as usual. After a quick stir with a brilliantly polished silver spoon, Jack brought the cup up and took a cautious sip of the hot tea.

  “Really? She came from Buckton, I gather. Nice little village by the way.”

  The fact that Jack knew where the woman was coming from clearly rattled Magnusson.

  His posture changing, going from leaning back in his chair, legs folded, lord of the manor … to leaning forward, hands extended.

  “Look, Mr. Brennan. I explained this to the police. In my business, people can have grievances. If working with us doesn’t work out with them, they can take it personally.”

  Jack nodded. Then:

  “Personally? Not sure I understand?”

  Magnusson looked over at Viola as if she might be of some help.

  Little chance of that.

  “People invest in our product, join the ViaVita family …”

  Now it’s a family …

  “… and they have a shot at being an entrepreneur.”

  “Right. Selling your product. And for this woman, that didn’t work out. I assume—” Jack paused.

  Though Jack didn’t at all know Donna Woods, he already felt bad for what happened to her. Magnusson and his snake-oil business seemed like a trap designed to destroy people, suck them dry … their losses paying for this house, the grounds, the beautiful silverware, the garish, expensive art in the entryway.

  Lives broken, while Magnusson and his paramour lived the high life.

  He’d seen it before in Manhattan, cases involving the super-rich, people who acted as though they floated above the rest of the world and all its people, miles high, just like the private jets they used for everything from a business lunch across the ocean to a quick skiing getaway in Switzerland.

  Jack did his best to not let his disgust show.

  “Did she make any threats against you?

  Another sheepish look from Magnusson. “Well, hard to tell with all her screaming over the intercom. Threats, yes. Sure. Guess so. But to me she was just, as I said—”

  “Deranged.”

  Right thought Jack. How easy to throw a word like that around. Deranged. Crazy. Mad.

  And then you could simply write off the person and everything they said.

  “No explicit threat you could remember?”

  Magnusson shook his head.

  “And what about—” and here Jack looked at the statuesque blonde who now sported a pair of glassy eyes, the G&T doing its work — “what about any threats against the CEO of the company, Mr. Kent?”

  Another quick head shake.

  Perhaps too quick?

  “No. Not that I heard. I think she just tracked down my address somehow. Not hard to do. Came to harangue me.”

  “And she left when the police showed up?”

  “After a bit.”

  Jack smiled. He wasn’t sure how much to believe Magnusson about this, or about Kent’s visit. But Jack definitely had the feeling that the wealthy vitamin king had a lot he wasn’t telling.

  On cue, the two bodyguards in their black suits appeared.

  “Mr. Brennan, I have meetings. Calls to make.”

  Magnusson stood up.

  “I’m afraid …”

  Jack stood up as well.

  “No worries Mr. Magnusson. I think that this chat has been … quite helpful.”

  Jack let those words hang, hoping that they created a twinge of anxiety in Magnusson.

  If there are secrets there, Jack wanted to keep the executive on edge as much as possible.

  “Perhaps,” Jack said, walking to the two goons who waited to escort him out, “we can talk again.” He nodded to Viola, “Mrs. Kent.”

  And Jack left the mansion with his own personal escort to guide him back to his car.

  *

  At the car, Jack gave Sarah a call.

  “You on your way back?” he said.

  “Right. Traffic a mess from Buckton. How’d things go with Magnusson?”

  “Interesting. And for you, with Donna Woods?”

  “Sad. Disturbing, really. Doubt she’d hurt anyone. Though her boyfriend’s made of different stuff …”

  “Fancy a catch-up? Huffington’s in a bit?”

  “Great. Got other news as well.”

  “Good, I hope?”

  Silence. Then:

  “Not really. See you there in thirty. Should be quiet, late afternoon.”

  Jack wondered what Sarah’s other news was.

  Sometimes they’d get so caught up in what they did, with these cases that had come their way, it was easy for him to forget about real life.

  Other things that were important.

  Katherine used to say to him, Jack, you have a family and a life, not just that damn job.

  He’d nod. Yeah, he got that. But that ‘job’ — a homicide detective in Manhattan — it could be all consuming.

  Eventually he got better, balancing both.

  Something to watch here.

  “See you soon,” he said.

  “Bye!”

  And with the call ended, Jack took a last look at the rolling hills nearby, the manicured grounds of Magnusson’s estate, the house itself that looked out towards the distant village of Cherringham.

  What money can do, he thought.

  No matter how you got that money.

  He got in, and started up the Sprite, then drove onto the gravel driveway, the cream-coloured stones rumbling as he rolled down the hill slowly.

  *

  Sarah sat at the back corner table of Huffington’s.

  She had taken out her small spiral notebook, and jotted down things she wanted to make sure she told Jack.

  So old-school, she thought.

  But still the most efficient way to capture a few quick thoughts.

  Mostly she wanted Jack to feel some of her anger at what happened to Donna Woods. She didn’t know Magnusson, or Kent for that matter … but as of now, she could only wish them the worst.

  Then Jack came in, scanning the near-empty café before spotting Sarah and hurrying over.

  “Notebook out. Like it …” he said pulling a chair back and sitting down. “At our usual quiet corner.”

  Sarah smiled. “The waitresses here have amazing hearing.”

  “Gotcha,” Jack said, whispering.

  After they ordered the usual — pot of tea, and freshly made biscuits, she filled in Jack on her visit.

  He listened, and his face showed — not surprisingly — anger.

  Jack could be tough, she knew. But he had a sense of right and wrong, or fairness, that
was about as solid as anything Sarah ever experienced.

  He nodded. “Bloodsuckers,” he said.

  “Fraudulent, as well,” she added. “Classic pyramid scheme: rope people in, sell them something they have to sell, get them to rope in others—”

  “And on and on. And no court has been able to do anything?”

  “I imagine they have enough money for the best lawyers. Who knows, they can probably grease the wheels so the ViaVita scam goes on forever.”

  “Oh, they have money. You should see Magnusson’s place. Over the top.”

  Jane, one of the newer waitresses at Huffington’s, young, with dark hair, and equally dark eyes — and a dazzling smile — brought over the tea.

  “Thanks, Jane.”

  Jane nodded. “Enjoy,” the waitress said, retreating while Sarah waited to resume the conversation.

  And then she told Jack the even darker secret that Donna Woods had told her.

  “Wait a minute? They’re using this whole network to move prescription drugs?”

  Sarah nodded. “Steroids, oxy, other pain killers … who knows what else.”

  Jack looked around. “And the police can’t do anything about that?”

  Sarah leaned close. “Here’s the thing. Donna was asked by another distributor, what they call an ‘associate’. So it’s all word of mouth. I doubt you could find a direct link to ViaVita and its execs.”

  “Tracks well-covered …”

  “I’m sure.”

  Then he turned back and looked at her.

  “Unless somehow those tracks were uncovered …”

  Sarah took a bite of a biscuit. She loved it when the wheels inside Jack’s head started spinning. “What do you mean?”

  “We have this obviously crooked but well-protected company. And now stories of ViaVita using its network to peddle drugs. And on top of that — the company CEO is missing.”

  “Go on.”

  “Until you mentioned drugs I didn’t see the stakes high enough for murder.”

  “You think Magnusson and Viola did away with Kent? Then took his boat upstream, abandoned it?”

  “Well — we got the knife and the blood. At the very least — what if it’s all connected? Kent, the lawsuits, the drugs?”

  “Really?” Sarah said, not at all sure she knew where Jack was heading.

  Then he smiled. “Told you Ray saw someone, right?”

  She laughed. “I’m sure he sees things all the time.”

  Jack grinned. “Right. But, maybe he did. Look, the Regatta’s only a day away. Magnusson will compete — then vanish. If we’re to find out something, better be fast.”