Jack shook his head. Ray could be too funny …
But then he sat back and considered this. He’d planned to schmooze some of the farmers he knew up at the pub, see if any of them could shed light on Sam’s death.
This figure from Sam’s past seemed more like a diversion.
Lot of cons talk about their grudges, getting even when they’re released.
Then they go on and just live the rest of their lives on the outside.
But this McEwan sounded like one dangerous guy.
Wouldn’t hurt. Track him down. Have a little chat.
With Ray as backup!
“Tell you what Ray. Let me get some warm clothes on and put some fuel in the outboard. Then why don’t you come over — and we’ll go up river and see what we can see.”
“I’ll bring my axe,” said Ray.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” said Jack. “Why don’t we take Riley with us instead?”
“Just the job,” said Ray.
And Jack headed back to the Gray Goose to get ready.
9. Chapel of Rest
Sarah opened the door to Bassett’s Funeral Home.
Incongruously, a bell rang over the door as if it was cheery gift shop.
She had called Arthur Bassett to ask if she could come over to talk about the Zakro Deal — deciding that giving him a little advance warning might be a good idea, especially after the bruising Eva Weiss encounter.
“Certainly. Just come round. Straight away. I’ll see you enter — we have a camera at the door — and I’ll be right out.”
Now Sarah stood in the lobby of the home, realising she hadn’t been here since she saw her old school friend Sammi Charlton who had died at the weir about two years ago.
It seemed like yesterday.
And the smell! The mix of flowers, stale air and whatever potions and chemicals they used on the bodies.
She thought: winter or not, someone should really open a window.
Then Arthur Bassett came out, dressed in a black suit, a dark maroon tie, hands folded in front of him.
His pointy nose aimed down and his eyes tightly set close; the look seemed perfect for his choice of profession.
Though Sarah knew that Arthur’s father, Martin Bassett, had started the family business.
And unlike other businesses, which must suffer the vagaries of an up-and-done economy, this one — well, was always sure to have a steady flow of customers.
Bassett smiled as he saw Sarah.
He said her name as if she might be in the place shopping for a new sofa and raised his hand for hers.
“Sarah, What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Bassett,” she said, shaking his hand, the skin feeling waxy to the touch.
She had met Arthur Bassett many times, but she still felt they were not quite on first name terms.
She told him briefly how Tony had asked her to look into poor Sam Lewis’s accident … and she had a few questions about the council meeting.
“Ah, Sam Lewis,” then Bassett gestured to a room with a closed door to Sarah’s right. “He’s in there, you know, resting peacefully now.”
“Oh, I hadn’t realised …”
“His brother wanted him treated properly, even though I imagine the cost was a bit much for him.” Then Bassett nodded, and made a compassionate grimace. “I, of course, significantly lowered my usual rates. We too do ‘pro bono’ work here, from time to time.”
“Must have been, um, difficult?”
“Oh, yes. He was quite … well, let’s say that the body was deeply disfigured. Even with all the skills I have there wasn’t much I could do. Still, his face was remarkably undamaged.”
Bassett seemed to brighten. “So there will be a viewing. Of sorts. Perhaps you’d like to see, I can—” He gestured to the closed door.
Sarah was quick to raise her hand. “Oh, no thank you. Glad to hear you could help his brother that way. Especially since Sam created quite a bit of mayhem the other night.”
Bassett looked away. “That he did.”
“And you, you’re the head of the committee that approved the Zakro proposal?”
Bassett nodded. “I was glad to step up when the previous council members all resigned.”
“Yes, of course. Hmm, Mr. Bassett … I have a few questions about that.”
“About?” Bassett’s hands came unfolded and one wiry hand went to his chin. “What exactly?”
“The committee’s vote on that proposal. It seemed to happen all rather quickly?”
Bassett cleared his throat.
“We had discussed it prior to the meeting, of course. At some length. And it wasn’t the first meeting we had on the project. That public meeting — with the presentation — was little more than a formality.”
“Not to Sam Lewis.”
“Hmm?”
“He seemed to think he could stop it.”
Bassett smiled at that, giving him even more of a bird-like look.
It was hard to imagine Bassett doing any other line of work …
Perhaps a job up at Combe Castle, the tourist trap outside the village? The House of Oddities in the Castle basement held a series of grotesque tableaux: Arthur Bassett would make a perfect host.
“Mr. Lewis was executing his rights as a citizen. We must not fault him for that. But really, it was a matter for the council, and that had been properly decided.”
Sarah nodded at that.
She didn’t want to make the same mistake she had made with Weiss.
“And all those discussions? All — what’s the word — open to the public? Minutes taken?”
Bassett’s eyes went wide at that.
“Well, of course, I mean all—”
This time she had struck a nerve; perhaps she needed to proceed more gently.
But then, while Bassett was in mid-stammer, the door to the funeral home flew open.
And in walked Adrian Sloane.
And things just turned more interesting inside this shadowy place of rest, Sarah thought.
*
Jack pulled his small skiff close to Ray’s ramshackle barge.
“Ray? How you doing? All set?”
Jack half expected Ray to have dabbled in another morning constitutional or two, and have a change of heart about motoring up river in search of Derek McEwan.
But then Ray strode out of the wheelhouse, heavy coat on, his face looking far more serious than Jack had ever seen before.
“Left my axe back inside, Jack. Just like you asked.”
Jack smiled, holding the edge of Ray’s barge to keep his small boat close, the outboard motor in neutral.
Ray stepped down into the boat.
“No dog?” said Ray.
“Fast asleep,” said Jack. “We’ll be fine as we are.”
Jack let go of the edge, and grabbed the throttle of the small Evinrude outboard motor. He gave it a small twist, and pulled away, starting their trip upriver.
Ray sat in the front but he turned to Jack as they pulled away.
“You know, Jack. You haven’t been where we’re going. Staying on the Goose, near Cherringham and all that. Gonna see a bit of English life and countryside that you haven’t seen before.”
Ray as guide and raconteur …
Will wonders never cease.
“Great, Ray. Look forward to it.”
Jack opened the throttle, and now they picked up speed, sending a ripply wake streaming from the back to the shore on both sides.
*
The man who had walked in — Adrian Sloane — looked from Bassett to Sarah, the door still wide open.
“Arthur — something has come up.”
Then to make a point, he looked at Sarah. “Council business. We need to have a quick meeting in my office.”
But Sarah kept her eyes on Bassett.
Did he expect this arrival?
Or was he as surprised as she was?
But Bassett’s wide and beady eyes didn’t reveal much.
/> He just nodded. The contrast between the two men — the gaunt and spectral Bassett and the burly, successful builder Sloane couldn’t be more stark.
Council business, she wondered?
Or did Sloane want to make sure Bassett didn’t say anything about the meeting the Friday before? Nothing more about Zakro Corporation’s dealings with the council?
“I’ll just get my coat, Adrian.”
Then Bassett disappeared to his office on the back.
Leaving Sarah alone with Sloane.
And Sloane — not someone Sarah knew at all, other than seeing him at the parish council meetings — stood there, steady, cool, his eyes on her.
If he thinks I'm just going to walk out the door without trying a question or two, Sarah thought, well, he’s about to proven wrong about that.
“Mr. Sloane, I’m so glad you dropped by. I was just talking to Arthur here about the meeting the other night. About the vote. How fast—”
But Sloane’s meaty hand went up as if he was directing traffic in Piccadilly Circus at rush hour.
‘Excuse me, Ms. Edwards. But I’m afraid I have no interest in your questions.”
Sarah nodded.
Again Sloane kept his bullish eyes on Sarah.
Now would be a good time for Jack to be here, she thought.
And in the moments waiting for Basset to return with his coat to brave the wintry day outside, she decided to ignore Sloane’s warning.
She had time for one question.
And she knew that she’d better make it a good one.
*
Jack passed a new development of homes, nestled close to the river, all modern, secluded. Strictly for high-rollers.
People like the Goodmans, who Jack and Sarah had helped when their place downriver was robbed earlier in the year.
He wondered how that troubled couple was getting on.
With the engine making its steady chugging noise — Jack had learned back in Sheepshead Bay as a boy how to keep these little Evinrudes in perfect condition — he watched as the river and the landscape changed.
Suddenly the banks seemed to merge with the river, sloping gently down to the water, while any bucolic riverside walking trail would be one of your own making.
Ray turned back to him.
“See, Jack. Different up here, eh? Beautiful. The real England!”
Ray might not be stoked on whiskey or weed — but nonetheless he was in full expansive and patriotic mode.
“It’s beautiful, Ray,” Jack said over the engine’s burbling behind him.
And Ray was right. Jack could see stretches of farmland that rose from the river to distant hills.
Even in the middle of what was clearly a wintry day, it looked gorgeous. Hills that held their green colour in spite of the freezing temperatures.
And massive farms dotting the hills, all some distance from Cherringham.
As they went through a wooded area, Jack caught a glimpse of Ingleston Church through the trees.
Then, they passed the area where Jack knew Sam Lewis had his farm.
Such a beautiful part of the world, Jack thought.
And to think about the impact Zakro and its mega-market might have on it.
“What do you know about Sam’s brother?” he asked Ray, making the question sound casual.
He watched Ray deftly twirl a roll-up into existence then cup his hands and light it.
Ray wasn’t a man who liked to answer questions quickly.
“Not much to know.”
Well, that’s helpful, thought Jack. Let’s try this again …
“He into drugs too?”
“Nah,” said Ray, spitting some stray tobacco into the flowing river. “Not into anything much, far as I know. Certainly not boar.”
“But he and his brother ran the farm together?”
“Together? Hmm. They both owned it. But can’t say I saw Joel doing any heavy lifting, know what I mean?”
“They close?”
Jack watched Ray peer at him from the other end of the boat.
“Brothers,” he said. “Who knows?”
And Jack understood that was the end of that topic of conversation.
He tweaked the choke a tad on the outboard and took in this unfamiliar stretch of river.
He could see an old boat yard with a few river barges tied up in front of it.
Curtains drawn, the boats either empty for the winter or maybe the residents inside, keeping warm, reading, having a nap.
That had been Jack and his wife’s dream.
Cruise the rivers. Stop here, stop there. When the mood struck, move on.
After Katherine died, Jack held onto a piece of that dream.
The Grey Goose. Living on the river.
But travelling up and down as they planned?
He let that go.
Then — as if startled by their arrival — he saw the door on the deck of one of the boats open. A short, round man came out, big smile, a wave, his white hair flying in the steady breeze outside.
Jack waved back.
Ray did more than that.
“Good morning to ya!” he shouted.
The man kept smiling, waving.
The community of people who lived on the Thames.
Who loved this great and historic river.
Then Jack looked ahead.
The rolling hills suddenly gave way to an area of thick woods — as if someone had decided this is where civilisation ends and the forest begins.
Ray turned around.
“It’s up there, Jack. Where that McEwan fella might be staying. Hiding, more likely, I bet the bastid is!”
Jack nodded.
He turned the throttle down, so the engine gave off a mere purr, and hardly a wake at all.
And while Jack was there to look for an ex-con … he couldn’t help but think.
Damn fine place to be doing just about anything.
Then Ray pointed, his arm low.
Clearly enjoying being part of a detective team, Jack guessed.
“There, Jack,” he whispered. “Good place to beach her, tie up.”
Jack turned the throttle, engine off, and let the boat drift the last few yards to a muddy spot on the shore, sheltered by a stand of trees tight on the river edge.
10. Reasonable Doubts
Sarah smiled at Sloane. She heard Basset come out of his office and then gently shut the door behind him.
“Mr. Sloane, I've spoken to Eva Weiss. Can you tell me what promises Zakro made to the council or even to individual members to get such quick approval of their project?”
Boom!
She watched Sloane bunch up his fists.
God, she thought, he looks like he wants to take a swing at me.
Bassett sailed into the foyer, staying back a few feet, probably picking up on the tension.
Sloane spat out his words, slowly, as if that emphasis would make them true.
“Every offer — to Cherringham, to the council — by the Zakro Corporation is documented in the minutes. Public record, Ms. Edwards. Public damn record.”
Ooops, she thought. Hit a nerve with that.
Exactly what I wanted to do.
Bassett attempted to move the scene forward. “Adrian, perhaps we’d better hurry, to the meeting. Um—”
Sloane nodded, still eyes locked on Sarah.
She realised something interesting then.
Powerful man like this. Builder. Successful. Member of the council. She should be intimidated.
But she wasn’t.
Now that … was interesting.
Then Sloane nodded, he turned to the open doorway, then did a half turn back to Sarah as if he was about to say something else.
But, unfortunately, he caught himself, and with a nod, bustled out as fast as he had burst into this place of final repose.
Bassett giving Sarah a sheepish smile as he passed by her.
Then, oddly, Sarah was alone in the funeral home, Sam Lewis just a door
way away.
The chill from outside didn’t help as she shivered.
But she felt something for certain after her confrontation with Sloane.
There had to be something between Zakro and the council, or some of its members. Something that wasn't a matter of public record.
The question is, she thought, can I figure it out?
Then she left the now-spooky foyer and walked out to the High Street.
Not thinking of the gaggle of deadlines she and Grace still faced, but how she could crack into whatever Zakro might have done behind closed doors.
She walked down the street towards her office. Sloane and Bassett were ahead of her, heading for the Village Hall.
But they weren’t alone. A group of protestors dogged their steps, waving fists, and carrying some of the same signs from the night of the meeting.
She knew people were upset — but this crowd, they actually looked dangerous.
And they weren’t locals.
But Sloane and Bassett just kept walking straight ahead as if the protestors were invisible.
Just as she was about to cross the road, she saw a man emerge from behind a pick-up parked in the village square, and run across towards the two councillors.
Tall, skinny — unkempt.
He blocked their path, gesticulating. He looked upset, agitated.
Sarah was too far away to hear what he was saying, but it was obviously Sloane he was interested in — not Bassett.
She watched Sloane usher Bassett on ahead, then put an arm around the stranger and lead him down the other side of the Village Hall, clearly trying to calm him down.
A customer perhaps? Or someone upset by a council decision?
She lost sight of the two men.
I’m not going to catch up to those two, she thought. Might as well check in with Grace.
Then she crossed the road and headed back to her office, slightly dreading the amount of work she knew was waiting for her.
There were days when running a business and being a detective just didn’t add up.
*
Jack let Ray lead the way, tromping up the muddy riverbank, at least now wearing his hiking boots, Rockports that he had owned for years, still sturdy with a good waffle-grid on the soles.
A few feet from the bank and they were into thick woods, Clay Copse, Ray had said. The trees here close together, branches ready for a scramble in spring for sunlight.
Cherringham--Murder Most Wild Page 6
