Cherringham--Murder Most Wild

by Neil Richards

  Bushes all around with dried leaves that the wind had yet to blow off.

  “There’s a place near here,” Ray said. “Least–”

  Ray stopped, looked around, and Jack wondered if letting Ray serve as guide to the ex-con wasn’t more akin to chasing the proverbial wild goose.

  “There used to be. Nice spot you could hunker down, no one would see. Just not sure …”

  Jack came abreast of Ray. Not much to be seen in any direction.

  But to the east, Jack thought he saw a place where the thick stand of trees thinned.

  “How about there, Ray. Worth a look?”

  And Ray, the wilderness guide nodded. “Yup. Looks promising, it does, Jack. Just mind your step, roots and stuff.”

  Jack had to smile at that.

  Taking safety advice from the gregarious and usually lubricated Ray was novel — and amusing.

  They moved in the direction of what, with the trees thinning, was clearly a more open area.

  Until the trees simply ended.

  And in a circle girded by the trees — hidden by those trees — Jack could see a narrow lane that probably led back to the road.

  He saw a beat-up van. Missing hubcaps. Looking like it had been given the cheapest of paint jobs — a splotchy navy blue — probably to hide its former life as vehicle to deliver bread or potato chips.

  Ray’s hand flew backwards.

  “There it is. Got to be.”

  And now, if that was indeed McEwan’s van — it was time for Jack to ask Ray to stay back a bit.

  “Ray,” Jack said. “Um, let me do the talking, okay?”

  Ray nodded. “You got it, Jack. But be careful. He’s a nasty one …”

  And then, before Jack really had thought about how he was about to proceed, out walked a man from the back of the van.

  Jack watched him set out, unzip and answer nature’s call mere feet from his van’s back door.

  And — not missing a beat — he turned, saw the two of them.

  “And what the fook are you two gawking at?”

  *

  Without a pause, Jack walked over to Derek McEwan.

  He had dealt with a lot of ex-cons. Those who could be useful, those who had gone on the straight and narrow, and those who were all set to pick up where they left off.

  One thing Jack knew: tread carefully.

  You just never know.

  “Derek McEwan? Jack Brennan.” Jack looked around. “Nice little hideaway you have here. Secluded.”

  McEwan — unhurried — finished what he was doing, and turned to Jack.

  “And what bloody business is it of yours, yank?”

  The last word was spit out as if an insult.

  Before Jack could answer, McEwan looked past Jack.

  “Is that … that waste of space, Ray? You travellin’ with the very best of Cherringham, eh?”

  Ray responded to the comment by removing the distance between him and Jack, clearing his throat as if about to say something—

  But Jack gave him a look.

  And Ray — sober, thank god — got the message.

  Keep a lid on it.

  “I’ve been asked by someone on the village council. To look into what happened to Sam Lewis. Guess you know that name?”

  McEwan nodded. He wore a ratty looking lambskin coat with a dingy fur, most assuredly faux, collar. Open, to show his chiselled chest.

  And tattoos.

  Guys doing time inside, got a lot of ink done. To mark who they were. To pass that time. Emerging decades later, looking equal amounts of bizarre and — to many — terrifying.

  The coat’s sleeves were short, and Jack saw a serpent on McEwan’s left arm whose head stretched down to his fist where it spit out fire.

  Jack couldn’t make out the words that had been tattooed just below the knuckles, each word running down a finger.

  Doubt they are ‘love, peace and joy’, Jack thought.

  But also like a lot of ex-cons, whatever shape McEwan had entered prison, he had devoted a good portion of his day to lifting weights, until he was one tightly wound mass of sinew and muscle.

  No easy guy to get to rollover, Jack knew.

  For one of the few times he had been doing this, investigating in Cherringham, he wished he had his standard issue police revolver, his .38, safely attached to his belt, holster flap unbuckled.

  McEwan spat on the ground.

  “Sam fookin Lewis. You mean the bastid that sold me up the river, yank? That one?”

  “Yes. That one.”

  Then McEwan grinned.

  Good dental work exposed — again thanks to the gentle care given to our murderers and drug dealers.

  “Heard he had a bit of a pig problem?”

  Jack felt Ray shift beside him. Ray liked Sam. And never a paragon of self-control, Jack guessed Ray was having a problem standing here.

  “Yeah. Heard that one of them damn wild pigs he raised decided to change the bloody menu. And have Sam for dinner.”

  McEwan laughed.

  Ray couldn’t hold back any longer.

  “You just shut up, you—”

  McEwan took the opening and stepped up to Ray.

  “Or what? Going to blow some weed in my face?”

  Then, as Jack looked on, questioning his decision to let Ray walk up here, he watched McEwan give Ray a bump. McEwan’s chiselled chest sent Ray stumbling back a few feet.

  Jack turned quickly.

  “Ray. Easy, hmm?”

  Ray looked from Jack to McEwan, then back again.

  But he stayed where he had been bumped.

  But again — this wasn’t Jack’s first rodeo with a belligerent ex-con.

  “You’re saying you had nothing to do with that … accident?”

  “Wish I had, mate, wish I had. Would have paid good money to watch.”

  And now Jack took a step closer to McEwan.

  Jack might not be in the bulked up and cut shape of McEwan. But he was tall, a good six inches taller than McEwan.

  Closing the distance of their face-to-face might be useful.

  “And all those threats you made? About getting even?”

  Another toothy grin from McEwan. “Right. Just threats. Whadda they say, yank? Talk is cheap.”

  Now Jack thought he’d play a card that McEwan would have no knowledge of.

  “Because you see, Derek. What happened to Sam Lewis … turns out that it was no accident.”

  McEwan’s eyes narrowed.

  *

  For a few uncomfortable moments, McEwan said nothing.

  “You’re not in-sin-uating that I had anything to do with that?”

  “Dunno, Derek. Threats. Your history with Sam. Bad blood, you know?” Jack smiled.

  McEwan rubbed his fists together as if considering taking that fateful swing.

  “And I imagine — I mean, I bet it works the same way here, in England — that you are on some kind of probation,” Jack nodded. “Imagine they keep someone like you, just released, on a real short leash. Hmm?”

  Jack had pressed a button.

  It didn’t take much — least in the States — to get someone with McEwan’s record to be called in.

  Lot of hassle for an ex-con. Sometimes they could find themselves bounced right back into a jail cell.

  Another spit to the ground.

  “Sure, I said things. So bloody what? I didn’t do anything to that rat. Glad he’s dead? You bet. But my hands …”

  And now McEwan opened his hands.

  Jack briefly made out one word.

  Doom.

  “My hands are clean.”

  Jack nodded.

  “Okay, Derek. Just gonna suggest something to you. Okay?”

  McEwan waited.

  “Until we’re done looking into this, think you best stay,” Jack looked around at the naturally secluded area made by the ring of trees, right here. Enjoy your freedom. But don’t move.”

  McEwan sniffed the air.

&nbs
p; Now seeming more a cornered rat than deadly snake.

  “Wasn’t plannin’ on going anywhere, Brennan.”

  Good, finally lost the ‘yank’ word.

  Jack nodded. He gave a sidelong glance at Ray who — amazingly — had been able to keep his mouth mostly shut.

  “Great. Cause I’m sure someone would notice. Some river person.”

  A nod.

  Then — to reclaim some of his bluster — McEwan made a wave with his arm.

  “Now bugger the hell off.”

  Jack waited as McEwan went into his van.

  And then he turned to leave the spot.

  *

  When Jack happened to look left.

  To the front of the van.

  There was a pit where McEwan had lit a fire. Charred wood. White ashes. A place to heat up some tinned food. Keep the chill off.

  But to the side of that pit, as if put there to dry off.

  Boots.

  Jack took a deep breath.

  He hadn’t noticed before. That … smell.

  Hadn’t really registered. But seeing the boots, coated with great mustard yellow muddy splotches, it came to him.

  The same mud he’d cleaned off his own Clarkes.

  And the same acrid smell from Lewis’s farm.

  “Jack, we goin’?” Ray said.

  Jack nodded.

  He scratched his chin, weighing whether it was worth dragging McEwan out to explain the boots, the smell.

  And then decided that — for now — better keep that interesting bit of information to himself.

  Let McEwan stew. Could talk to him later.

  But the boots showed McEwan had been to the farm.

  He could have been there that night.

  “Jack? We heading back?”

  For now, information just for himself and Sarah.

  “Right, Ray. Back to civilisation.”

  Ray nodded, clearly happy to be leaving.

  And they walked through the woods, down to the riverbank and Jack’s beached boat.

  11. A Catch-up and Questions

  “Thanks Jack.”

  Sarah took the stack of dirty plates from Jack and then started to load the dishwasher. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Daniel and Chloe drifting away out of the kitchen, towards the sitting room.

  “Hey kids, come on, guest in the house. And he shouldn’t be doing the washing up!”

  “No problem. I’d only be doing it myself if I was back on the Goose,” said Jack, clearing pudding bowls from the table.

  “Anyway—” said Daniel. “Jack’s not a guest.”

  Sarah stood up. “Oh really?”

  “He’s family,” said Chloe, smiling.

  Sarah caught Jack’s eye.

  Wonder what he thinks about that? she thought.

  Sarah watched her daughter smile at Jack. “Isn’t that right Jack?”

  “Not for me to say,” said Jack, piling up the bowls on the kitchen worktop. “I guess I try and do my share of the chores when I’m round here — that make me family?”

  “You do more than Daniel,” said Chloe, putting saucepans into the sink.

  “Hey! That’s not fair,” said Daniel at the fridge. “I do loads of stuff. I even put some clothes in the washing machine today.”

  “Yeah,” said Chloe. “But you didn’t turn it on, did you? Add detergent?”

  Sarah watched her son digging around inside the fridge for more to eat.

  “We already had pudding Daniel.”

  “Think one of these yoghurts needs eating today, just checking dates,” he said, his head still almost inside the fridge. “Safety first.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine tomorrow,” said Sarah laughing. “Just bring me your plate.”

  “Oh all right,” he said closing the fridge door and heading over to the kitchen table.

  She watched him pick up the plate as if it weighed a ton, then slot it casually into the dishwasher and turn to go.

  “Housework,” he said in a groan. “Not very interesting, is it?”

  Then over his shoulder, as he headed past Chloe out of the room: “Hey, you know what? If that supermarket does get built, they do amazing puddings.”

  “Duh, Daniel, that’s not the point,” said Chloe turning sharply to him. “You are so selfish …”

  “Just saying,” said Daniel with a grin. “And there’d be loads of Saturday jobs for me and my mates.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this. Mum you can’t let him say that!” said Chloe, her voice rising. “Didn’t you just hear all the reasons why it’s so totally wrong what Zakro is doing?”

  Sarah wiped her forehead and looked at her daughter — ready to fight for the cause.

  “Chloe, love, leave it — he’s just winding you up,” she said. “And anyway — look.”

  She nodded towards the door. Daniel had slipped away upstairs, job done.

  “He’ll have his door locked and his headphones on already,” she said. “You shouldn’t let his teasing get to you.”

  “I know,” said Chloe, her shoulders dropping. “It’s just — it’s just so important, right?”

  “Yes it is sweetheart. And I’m proud of you that you have such strong feelings about it. You just can’t expect everyone to agree with you.”

  She watched Chloe take this in then laugh.

  “You’re right, Mum,” she said. “I do expect everyone to agree with me, don’t I? But you know what? If they don’t agree — I’m going to convince them!”

  She grinned at Jack too then headed upstairs herself.

  Sarah turned to Jack. He was smiling.

  “I wonder where she gets that attitude from?” he said.

  “I can’t imagine,” said Sarah, smiling back at him.

  He walked towards her.

  “I guess — if I’m family — I should make the coffee. You want some?”

  “Love some,” she said. “I think you know where it all is.”

  “Sure do.”

  She watched him fill the little cafetiere.

  “Bring it through to the sitting room,” she said. “I’ll set up the computer.”

  “Don’t start the show without me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Sarah. “You’re going to find it very, very interesting …”

  *

  Jack put the tray down on the coffee table next to Sarah’s laptop and handed her a coffee, then took one himself.

  Dark, rich … just the way he liked it.

  Sarah as well it seemed.

  Sarah had put the TV on and now picked up her phone.

  “Fingers crossed,” she said, tapping the phone. “This should work …”

  Jack saw the TV screen light up — and then Sarah’s movie of the council meeting was playing on it.

  “One day you must tell me how you do that,” he said, nodding to her phone and the TV. “It’s on your phone — but it’s on the TV too.”

  “Just pretend its magic, Jack,” she said.

  “Sure looks like it to me.”

  Jack could work a laptop. He was happy with a DVR set top box.

  But he knew that getting devices to ‘talk’ to each other like Sarah did was something he’d never understand.

  He sat back and sipped his coffee while Sarah fast-forwarded the video.

  “Okay,” she said. “This is the PowerPoint that my new friend Eva Weiss showed at the council meeting. I’ll slow-mo it now, okay?”

  Jack watched the screen carefully.

  “Plans for the supermarket build, huh?”

  “Exactly,” said Sarah freezing the frame. “These are the latest that were put to the council — you see last month’s date on the plans?”

  Jack sat forward and peered at the screen. “Gotcha. So that’s Ingleston Church — and that’s Sam’s farm and his land. And there’s the main building and carpark, yes?”

  Sarah nodded. “Look carefully at the entrance roads.”

  “Right … see them,�
�� he said.

  Now Sarah picked up her laptop and placed it on a table next to the TV.

  She scrolled through some pages then clicked — and a set of plans appeared on the laptop screen.

  “Now look at these,” she said. “And compare.”

  Jack looked at the plans on the computer — then at the ones on the TV.

  Then he realised.

  “Whoa.”

  “Interesting,” said Sarah. “No?”

  “Very,” said Jack. “The plans which Eva Weiss showed you at the council meeting have the road going all the way round the back of the village and then in.”

  “But the plans that Grace scanned have the road running right through Sam’s land and up to the main road.”

  “That must save at least a mile of road, maybe more,” said Jack, sitting back and pondering this. “So what’s the date on the plans on the laptop?”

  “A year ago,” said Sarah. “Now look at this.”

  Jack watched as she scrolled and clicked again — and a new set of plans came up.

  “Six months ago,” said Sarah. “And still shows the road going through Sam’s land.”

  “Where did you get these?” said Jack.

  “Grace went up to the planning headquarters and took scans, right from the time Zakro first submitted rough plans for the their build.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Jack. “Why put the road going through Sam’s place when they didn’t own the land?”

  “There’s a ton of paperwork goes with this,” said Sarah. “But I think Zakro were assuming that, with enough money greasing the wheels, they’d have no problem buying the land all around the site. And they did — mostly. All apart from Sam’s fields.”

  “Mud from one end to the other.”

  “Expensive mud,” said Sarah. “Given what they paid for the land on the other side, Sam would have been a millionaire.”

  “If he’d accepted.

  “But Sam stood his ground,” said Sarah. “Three months ago Zakro’s plans suddenly changed — and the other road appears on the maps.”

  “Zakro figured out that Sam would never sell?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then the idea that they were behind Sam’s death doesn’t fly anymore.”

  “Yes,” said Sarah. “They did the deals to buy land on the other side of the village.”

  “And Sam became just another annoying demonstrator — not an obstacle.”

  “Right,” said Sarah. “Not what I thought we’d find, to be honest, Jack.”