Cherringham--A Bad Lie

by Matthew Costello

  “Talking to yourself again, Mum?”

  Sarah smiled and turned to her daughter, who was pouring a glass of orange juice. “Helps keep me focused. And you — science revision all done?”

  “Yup. Not so sure I’ll do that great in the exam. Anything to do with chemical bonding? It’s like reading Martian!”

  Sarah laughed. She always made sure that, between her job and working with Jack, she was ‘there’ for her two kids.

  So far she thought she was doing a pretty good job.

  “Just do the best you can, right?”

  “If you say so,” Chloe said, taking a sip of her juice.

  “I’d help, but I’m afraid it would be worse than Martian for me.”

  Chloe nodded and walked over. A hand to her mother’s shoulder.

  That hand — feeling so good.

  “I know, Mum. I think … really, I’ll do okay.” A pause. “Going to bed now.”

  “Night, sweetie.”

  Then — because you can’t say it enough, “Love you.”

  And as Chloe sailed away to her room, “Love you too …”

  Sarah turned back to the screen.

  Seemed like there was nothing there. She was going to have to go through it all again. She must be missing something.

  *

  It was one in the morning, and three mugs of coffee later, when she finally made the breakthrough.

  The college website had recently put up a massive gallery of photos taken at a big fancy dress reunion party earlier in the year.

  The evening had clearly been wild — it was an art school after all.

  The photos of the ex-students were tagged so she could see the names just by rolling her cursor over the faces. She’d gone through them one by one, looking for Josh — but so far without any luck.

  Then one picture — everybody, amazingly, dressed as chickens in big yellow outfits — caught her eye and made her laugh.

  She rolled her cursor over the faces — and then stopped.

  Because apparently, right inside one of those chicken costumes, was a man called Marcus Cotter.

  Marcus Cotter.

  Josh’s best man. And yet he told Jack that he’d met Josh after college. He’d just happened to answer an ad and move into their shared house.

  But here he was — at the art school reunion.

  The same art school.

  Marcus Cotter had lied. He had been at St. Martins with Josh.

  Quickly, she opened the files she’d downloaded that had all the class lists. Marcus Cotter was easy to find. And just two names above his — a name she’d ignored at first:

  Davey Andrews (Leeds).

  Davey? Or Josh …? Same person?

  She logged in to a births and deaths records site she often used and put ‘Davey Andrews Leeds’ into the search window.

  Hit enter and watched the screen fill with information.

  It only took a couple of minutes to find a Davey Andrews that fit the bill.

  Full name — Davey Joshua Andrews.

  Josh.

  Born in Leeds. Parents deceased. An older sister.

  It had to be him.

  She did a more general search.

  And found a link to a school — a big comprehensive school on the outskirts of Leeds. Plus a couple of mentions from local newspaper searches about Under 14’s football from nearly twenty years ago.

  Josh was the league’s top goal scorer.

  But then nothing, which was odd.

  Again, records for Josh Andrews just seemed to dry up.

  Like he’d gone missing for a few years.

  On a hunch, she went to a criminal records site she’d used before. Now that she had a full name and date of birth, it was worth trying.

  And that’s when it got interesting.

  She got a hit.

  Josh was in there.

  She took a deep breath and tried to go deeper.

  But the link led to a dead end.

  The record was closed to the general public. And that could only mean one thing: Josh Andrews was a minor when he committed whatever the record was about.

  What had to be a crime.

  This was where the trail ended. A sealed court record from way before Josh ever got to art school in London.

  So what was the crime?

  And did she have any right to find out?

  She knew the answer straight away — the moral and legal answer.

  No.

  But what if this was the only way they could find Josh? What if his safety — maybe even his life — depended on her knowing what was in that file?

  She sat back at her desk and thought hard about what to do next.

  Then she leaned forward, emailed Jack, closed the laptop, and went to bed.

  11. Ghosts From the Past

  Jack climbed the steep, winding stairs to Sarah’s office, careful not to spill the two coffees he’d just picked up from Huffington’s.

  When he reached her office door, it was open and he went straight in.

  Sarah stood by the printer, feeding sheets of paper.

  “Jack, just have to finish this. Won’t be a minute.”

  “Got you a coffee,” he said, handing over a latte.

  He watched her take a sip.

  “God. You saved my life. Sorting the kids was a nightmare this morning, and I didn’t even get a cup of tea, let alone breakfast.”

  “Well, you’ll appreciate these then …” said Jack, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bulging paper bag.

  “Croissants. Still warm.”

  “Terrific. Grab some plates from the kitchen. I’m nearly done.”

  “No Grace yet?” said Jack, walking over to the tiny kitchen and taking two plates from the drainer.

  When he went back into the office, Sarah had moved to the small meeting table and started sipping her coffee.

  “So get this. She’s got the hots for the guy in the printers, so I, um, gave her the job of picking up some roughs first thing.”

  “The perfect boss and matchmaker — all rolled into one.”

  “Got to keep the staff happy,” said Sarah, smiling. “Without Grace I’m doomed.”

  He sat at the table, slid a plate across to her and put the croissants in the middle.

  “So what have you got, Jack?”

  Jack took a sip of coffee.

  “Not exactly good news — but it’s a lead.”

  “Go on,” she said, taking a croissant.

  “First thing this morning, after I saw your email, I called my old pal in London — you know, the guy I used to liaise with when I was still in the NYPD?”

  “Still happy to help, hmm?”

  “Seems so — though I sure do owe him a lot of favors now. Anyway, I explained the situation. He asked me a lot of questions. Said he couldn’t promise me anything, but he’d see what he could find.”

  “And? I’m on tenterhooks here, Jack …”

  “He rang back. He went into the police national computer. Made some notes. Turns out our groom-to-be has quite the record. First offence — aged 14. Possession of drugs. Bit of minor violence, theft.”

  “Well, that’s not so bad, is it?” said Sarah.

  “Gets worse. Real gang stuff. Drugs. Big-time buying, selling — real dealing. And not pot or weed. What you call Class A here in England.”

  “God. How awful. But he ended up at art school. So what happened? How did he get out?”

  “Well, my pal did a little more digging. Called a friend who worked the case. Seems Josh got caught up in a turf war while he was still at school. Somebody died. Josh knew things. Cops persuaded him to do a deal in exchange for a shorter sentence.”

  “Poor kid. How long did he get?”

  “Five years.”

  “Still at school? He probably wasn’t much older than my Daniel.”

  “Yep. Too young for prison. So, he went to a young offenders institution.”

  “You said he did some kind of deal?”r />
  “Yeah. He turned witness against the other guys in the gang. They were older — those guys went down for ten, fifteen years.”

  “Wow,” said Sarah. “No wonder he didn’t talk about his past.”

  “Don’t blame him,” said Jack.

  “So is that it? What happened after he came out?”

  “The guy in Leeds didn’t know. According to the computer record, he served his time and was released. Period.”

  “And these other guys — who got fifteen years,” said Sarah. “They’d be out by now.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  Sarah paused for moment, “And maybe after revenge.”

  “Makes sense,” said Jack.

  “You think Josh has gone back to Leeds?”

  Jack nodded.

  “It’s a reasonable assumption. If they’ve started to threaten him — maybe he thinks he can put a stop to it.”

  “You think we should try and find him?”

  “I do. But how? We don’t have much to go on.”

  He watched Sarah get up from the table and take their plates through to the kitchen.

  “What about Marcus — the best man?” she said. “He lied about how he met Josh. Maybe he knows something.”

  “Could be. He must know more than he was telling.”

  “He’s still in the village. I could call him.”

  “Good,” said Jack. “Right now all we have is a missing groom with a dark — and hidden — past.”

  He watched as Sarah took out her phone and tapped the number.

  Then started speaking …

  *

  “What? That … that’s unconscionable, prying into records like that,” said Marcus. “I ought to tell the police.”

  Sarah watched the best man carefully. He sat in the armchair of the Bell lounge, arms folded, face stern.

  “God. Accessing Josh’s file. It’s against the law. You know that, don’t you?”

  Marcus hadn’t lowered his voice, but fortunately the room was empty.

  Sarah looked at Jack, on the sofa next to her. Was he going to reply?

  If they handled this wrong, then yes — she and Jack could very much be in trouble. So would Jack’s pal in London.

  “We know that Marcus. And we have no intention of revealing what we know.”

  “That’s not the bloody point. What Josh did as a child — he was fifteen years old, for god’s sake — is kept in a closed file for a reason. So nobody can ever know. So he can rebuild his life.”

  Jack leaned forward.

  “But Marcus — Josh has rebuilt his life, hasn’t he?” said Jack. “Became an artist. Made good friends — like you. Found someone he loves. We’re not going to put any of that at risk.”

  Marcus nodded, put his head in his hands.

  “Oh jeez. This is just shit. Sorry. I mean, this whole situation.”

  “We can help, Marcus.”

  “No you can’t. You’re just going to make things worse.”

  “We can find him,” said Jack. “Get him to come home.”

  “Then what? Don’t you understand? Those guys in Leeds — they don’t piss about. They’ll come after him. Kill him.”

  Sarah saw Jack glance across at her.

  Marcus is right, she thought. What can we do?

  “They haven’t yet, though, have they?” said Jack calmly. “Think about that. They know he’s here. If they wanted to kill him — they’d have done it by now.”

  “So what do they want?”

  “Who knows? Make sure Josh’s life is miserable? But whatever it is, it won’t be solved by him going after them on his own. That’s why we have to find him. And you have to help us.”

  Marcus sat back in his chair again, shaking his head. Sarah could see the pressure he was under.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Me and Josh — I’ve kept his secret as long as I’ve known him. Not another soul knows. I can’t just …”

  “The other night, at the golf course,” said Jack softly. “You knew what he planned, didn’t you?”

  Marcus looked at Sarah, then at Jack.

  Jack was in control, he knew what he was doing.

  Sarah could see that Marcus’s eyes were wet.

  “He told you because he trusted you. So that whole evening — all through the pranks, the tying up. All that time, you knew what was really happening. I misjudged you, Marcus. I thought you didn’t care enough about Josh. But now I see, you were looking after him, helping him.”

  Sarah could see Marcus focussed on Jack, their eyes locked. Jack’s words calming the guy, taking the edge out of him.

  “Sure. It’s true. It wasn’t easy. Gary, Ryan — they didn’t know a thing.”

  “Josh told you he was going back to Leeds …”

  “I even said I’d go with him. He told me I was an idiot. Too bloody soft. It’s true.”

  “Josh. He knows how to take care of himself, does he?” said Jack.

  “And some,” said Marcus. “My guess — you don’t want to mess with Josh.”

  “But he’s been out of that world too long, Marcus. These guys — they use guns now, not fists.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s going to get himself killed.”

  Sarah saw Marcus’s eyes fill again. Jack caught her eye, nodded. She leaned forward.

  “Marcus,” she said. “Josh trusted you. And he was right to do that. But now you’ve got to trust us. Jack knows how to deal with this kind of thing. I promise you. You’ve got to tell us everything you know. About the other night. And about where Josh has gone.”

  “We can help, Marcus,” said Jack. “We can make it go away.” A breath. “I promise.”

  She watched the best man look at her, then at Jack. Then with a sigh, he began.

  “Okay. Alright. It all started a couple of months ago. Josh phoned me in London. He was in a terrible state. He’d got a letter — the first one. It said he should start running … and keep on going.”

  As Sarah listened, she looked at Jack.

  She’d never heard him make a promise like that before.

  Could they really fix this?

  She hoped it was a promise he could keep.

  12. A Trip North

  Jack leaned back in the leather seat of the big Audi and looked out the passenger window at the city of Sheffield as it slid by.

  They’d been driving a couple of hours; slow going — the M1 motorway just mile after mile of road works.

  He thought back to the last time he’d been in these parts.

  A few years ago, when Katherine was still alive, they’d spent a month touring Scotland and the north of England.

  This grey morning, despite its billows of low grey cloud, reminded him of that wonderful vacation. Up here they’d first seen canal barges — and vowed to buy one and retire to England, live a gypsy life going up and down the waterways.

  It hadn’t turned out that way.

  Just a few years later she’d been diagnosed, and then the end had been so quick.

  So quick.

  And she was gone from his life.

  For some reason he wasn’t sure of, he had made the trip to England alone a year later … when he finally retired.

  He’d bought the Grey Goose, and settled down with the intention of doing nothing but getting a dog and learning how to fish.

  He thought his detecting days were over.

  Then he’d met Sarah and everything had changed.

  And now here he was, heading to what she said was one of the roughest parts of Leeds to confront a drugs gang and somehow — he had no idea how — persuade them to back off their revenge, this drama that was none of his business.

  Why did I make that promise? he thought.

  Where the hell did that come from?

  But when he looked across at Marcus in the driver’s seat, he remembered why.

  He hadn’t liked the guy when they’d met at the pub. But he now knew that Marcus’s cynical jokes, hi
s aloofness, his apparent lack of concern was all just a cover.

  Marcus had acted as a mentor to rough-edged Josh Andrews from the day they first met at art school.

  Best mates, he’d learned Josh’s deepest secrets and kept his counsel all these years.

  So what if he worked in the City and earned thousands?

  He was loyal, trusting and — even though he’d never been in a fight in his life — determined to save his friend whatever happened.

  That, Jack had to admire.

  The guy’s face looked grim, concentrating hard on this busy motorway with its tiny lanes and non-stop, relentless lines of traffic.

  “You never told me why you didn’t stay in the art world,” said Jack.

  Marcus shook his head and grinned. “You think I’d be driving one of these if I had?” said Marcus.

  “Good point,” said Jack.

  “One in a thousand artists makes any real money,” said Marcus. “And I knew I wasn’t that one in a thousand.”

  “You think Josh is?”

  “You know, he could be,” said Marcus. “He’s that good. In time. If he gets a break. One big commission — that’s all it takes. The art speculators … like lemmings.”

  “He’s that talented?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  “I know one thing, he’s lucky to have you as a friend. Not many people would make this trip.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know how much help I can be.”

  “Rough area, huh?”

  “Rough? Not the half of it. He took me back when we graduated. Showed me round his ‘turf’. Walked the streets a bit.”

  “And nobody recognised him?”

  “It was the middle of winter. Snow. We had hoods up. We had a drink with his sister, then left.”

  “No parents?”

  “Died when he was twelve. Been doing drink, drugs. Car crash.”

  “Where’d the art talent come from?”

  “See — that’s the thing. One teacher at school. And another in prison. Good people, both. Saw his talent. Believed in him.”

  “And then you were there at college to keep the faith.”

  “He was a mate. Is a mate.”

  “Well, let’s hope we find him before he throws it all away,” said Jack.

  And he turned back to the window to watch the bleak moorland flow by as rain began to spatter the windshield.

  *

  Sarah sat at her office computer trying to work.