Contents
Cover
Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series
About the Book
Main Characters
The Authors
Death on a Moonlit Night
Copyright
1. A Shot in the Dark
2. Dinner at the Spotted Pig
3. Scene of a Crime
4. Pulled from the River
5. Where’s Nick?
6. Ignoring Evidence
7. Closing Time
8. The Truth about Nick
9. A Bump in the Night
10. The Fugitive Confesses
11. To Catch a Killer
12. A Woman with a Past
13. Breakthrough
14. A Trip to Oxford
15. What Happens Next?
16. The Falling Out
17. Hardwick’s
18. A Party at the Ploughman’s
Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series
“Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series” is a series made up of self-contained stories. The series is published in English as well as in German, and is only available in e-book form.
About the Book
When the boss of the big local DIY outlet is murdered on a moonlit night, all the evidence points to the store’s junior manager. And when police retrieve the murder weapon from the Thames, the manager goes on the run. But Jack and Sarah are not at all sure of his guilt. Can they uncover the real killer before it’s too late for the runaway suspect?
Main Characters
Jack Brennan is a former NYPD homicide detective who lost his wife three years ago. Being retired, all he wants is peace and quiet. Which is what he hopes to find in the quiet town of Cherringham, UK. Living on a canal boat, he enjoys his solitude. But soon enough he discovers that something is missing — the challenge of solving crimes. Surprisingly, Cherringham can help him with that.
Sarah Edwards is a web designer who was living in London with her husband and two kids. Three years ago, he ran off with his sexy American boss, and Sarah’s world fell apart. With her children she moved back to her home town, laid-back Cherringham. But the small town atmosphere is killing her all over again — nothing ever happens. At least, that’s what she thinks until Jack enters her life and changes it for good or worse …
The Authors
Matthew Costello (US-based) is the author of a number of successful novels, including Vacation (2011), Home (2014) and Beneath Still Waters (1989), which was adapted by Lionsgate as a major motion picture. He has written for The Disney Channel, BBC, SyFy and has also designed dozens of bestselling games including the critically acclaimed The 7th Guest, Doom 3, Rage and Pirates of the Caribbean.
Neil Richards has worked as a producer and writer in TV and film, creating scripts for BBC, Disney, and Channel 4, and earning numerous Bafta nominations along the way. He's also written script and story for over 20 video games including The Da Vinci Code and Starship Titanic, co-written with Douglas Adams, and consults around the world on digital storytelling.
His writing partnership with NYC-based Matt Costello goes back to the late 90's and the two have written many hours of TV together. Cherringham is their first crime fiction as co-writers.
Matthew Costello
Neil Richards
CHERRINGHAM
A COSY CRIME SERIES
Death on a Moonlit Night
»be« by BASTEI ENTERTAINMENT
Digital original edition
»be« by Bastei Entertainment is an imprint of Bastei Lübbe AG
Copyright © 2017 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Schanzenstraße 6-20, 51063 Cologne, Germany
Written by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards
Edited by Eleanor Abraham
Project management: Kathrin Kummer
Cover illustration © shutterstock: jason2009 | suns07butterfly | Justin Black
Cover design: Thomas Krämer
E-book production: Urban SatzKonzept, Düsseldorf
ISBN 978-3-7325-4554-4
www.be-ebooks.com
1. A Shot in the Dark
Lee Taylor hit “send” on his weekly sales analysis email, listened for the satisfying whoosh, then shut down his laptop. He walked over to the glass wall and looked down onto the shop floor.
From up here, face close to the glass, he could see not only the different departments — plumbing, lighting, tools, timber, kitchens, home furnishings — but also (and so much more important) his employees.
His workers.
Were they working? Working hard?
That was the important question.
What a stroke of genius from Hardwick (the company founder back in Texas) all those years ago, to clothe the whole workforce in bright pink polo shirts.
“What colour could be more joyous, more inclusive, more fun — than pink?” Hardwick used to say to journalists eager to discover the secret of the great chainstore’s success.
But Lee knew the real reason — had it on good authority from a senior exec on his last training course in the States.
The real reason — workers can’t hide in a pink shirt.
How brilliant that was! And how very true, even here in the English Cotswolds, thousands of miles away from Hardwick’s flagship store in America.
And even though it was nearly the end of the day shift, everybody tired, looking forward to the weekend — Lee could see if there was any slacking off, any lurking, any lazy chatting in dark corners.
I’ll have none of that, he thought.
It helped that his office — way up here in the cavernous warehouse building — was visible from every one of those dark corners. Helped too that each and every one of those workers knew that if they didn’t deliver one hundred per cent every minute of the damn working day, they would be docked pay — no arguments, no talking back, no disputes.
No unions, of course, he thought, smiling to himself.
I’m judge and jury!
He ran his eye up and down the aisles, peering down the tall canyons of racks and shelves, looking for slackers.
Three pink shirts re-stocking external doors — and taking their time over it. In kitchens, the sales desk looked unmanned.
And down in the paint section, that pink shirt hadn’t moved for at least a minute.
Dawdling …
Not good.
Lee made a mental note to check names and rotas.
Then he did a quick head count of customers in the aisles. Not bad, he thought. A perfect June evening outside, but still the lure of do-it-yourself worked its magic, drawing the locals in for cut-price tools and home improvement.
All assisted by helpful, smiling workers who might have felt like being anything other than helpful, or smiling. But they knew they’d better — or else!
His glance flicked across to the bank of CCTV monitors: yes, the car park was filling up for the Friday evening rush. Weekend warriors about to attack so many summery projects!
Result!
That email — his fifty-second weekly analysis for head office since he’d taken over the Cherringham store — told the story of his success in clear, stark figures that the regional director couldn’t ignore.
Overheads — mostly staff costs — down ten per cent. Sales up ten per cent.
In just twelve months! he thought. Bloody genius that I am — even I didn’t expect that.
Another year here and he’d be sure to get Swindon or Gloucester. Or maybe even one of the big Birmingham stores. Who knows — London?
He grinned, then a voice behind him: “Mr Taylor.”
He swivelled to see Nick Marston at the door.
“Nick.”
He waited. Watched
his young assistant manager blinking at him. He nodded to Nick to enter.
“Got the report on Bailey,” said Nick, holding up a file of papers.
“And?”
“Don’t you want to read it?” said Nick, offering the report.
“I trust you, Nick. It’s why I made you my ‘number two’. Just tell me what it says.”
“Oh, right. Okay. Well, it’s pretty clear he started it. Apparently, he was mouthing off in the pub at lunchtime, had a few too many, said he was going to come back and …”
“Have a go at me, hmm?”
“Er, yes. Anyway, seems like he got into a scrap with one of the part-timers, and—”
“So, drinking, fighting on the premises — and we have witnesses, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Fair enough. And more than enough. Where is he now?”
“Cooling off in the staff room.”
Lee checked his watch. He really didn’t need this.
He wanted to get home, watch the match, have a couple of single malts. And anyway, it was time Marston did some of the dirty work round here.
After all — that’s why he’d promoted him.
“Nick — I haven’t got time for this now,” he said. “You deal with it. Go down there, hand him his notice. I’m not having that kind of behaviour in my store.”
He could see Nick taken aback at what he was being asked to do.
“Really?” he said. “Bit of trouble, yes. But Bailey’s been here since the place opened.”
“All the more reason to get rid of him,” said Lee. “Clear out the dead wood.”
“But, Mr Taylor, he’s very popular with the rest of the staff and the customers, you know, and we’ve already lost so many good people—”
“‘Lost’, Nick?” said Lee, smiling. “This isn’t about ‘who likes who’, who’s good, who’s funny, who’s popular. We’re a business. With a bottom line. You do get that, hmm?”
Nick nodded, looking uneasy.
“You’re the assistant manager. Do it.”
Lee knew he didn’t have to add “or else”. He guessed that Nick was smart enough to know that he was dispensable too.
“Anything else?” he said.
Nick shook his head.
“Good,” said Lee. Smile back on his face. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
He waited while Nick seemed to think this through. Then, finally, when he’d turned to go: “Don’t forget, Nick — this is your store tomorrow and Sunday.”
He watched Nick turn round again, run his hand through his hair nervously.
“I expect to see some really good numbers come Monday morning. And I don’t want any bullshit excuses like last week.”
He saw Nick step forward. “Wait a second. That’s really not fair, Mr Taylor. You know we had staff problems. No one in plumbing for hours — that wasn’t my fault—”
“Whoa, Nick, cool it, hmm? We’re done arguing about that, okay? Just make up for it this weekend, you hear?”
He stared at Nick, eyes locked on his, daring Nick to come back at him.
“You got something else you want to say to me?”
But Nick’s shoulders dropped and he looked away.
“No, Mr Taylor.”
Now Lee stepped closer, smiled.
“Good,” said Lee. “And remember, first name terms, that’s the Hardwick way. One big happy family.”
“Yes, Lee” said Nick, blinking again.
Lee edged even closer — close enough, he knew, to make Nick uncomfortable — then patted him gently on the shoulder, smiled at him.
“Good man. Off you go then.”
He watched Nick turn and walk out. Then he shook his head: the guy was so easy to manipulate — too easy. He picked up his car keys and briefcase from his desk, and left the office, thinking: I need to move on. Need a challenge. This stupid place isn’t big enough for me.
*
Lee pushed the remnants of his takeaway to one side, took a swig from his glass of scotch and put his feet up on the coffee table.
One bonus from Melissa walking out on me, he thought. I get to watch the footie and have a curry — any time I like.
And he could leave the washing up the whole weekend — and nobody would moan at him.
Toilet seat up? Down? Who the hell cared? Best of all — because she did the walking — that divorce settlement should go nicely his way.
Course, there were some disadvantages to her surprise departure — but nothing that a nice relaxing massage in the Thai place in Swindon couldn’t cure.
He leaned back in the sofa, picked up the TV remote and channel-hopped. The game, boring. Two-nil up with ten minutes to go — and it didn’t look like anybody wanted to score that much.
Maybe catch a movie instead.
God, it was hot tonight. Even in a T-shirt and his old shorts.
Quick dip in the pool might be nice.
Then he heard a car coming down the gravel drive.
He looked up at the open window just as the outside security light flicked on.
He sat up and could see a car pulling up on the other side of his Audi.
He peered through the big sitting room window out into the garden, trying to see who it was.
From the shape of the car — an older model Ford — it looked like his mystery visitor was Nick Marston.
Problems?
He shook his head.
If it’s more trouble up at the store, I’m going to kick his arse all the way back there to deal with it himself, he thought. What’s the point of having a dog that doesn’t bark?
He walked out into the hall, then slipped his boots on, opened the door and called out: “Nick? What the hell?”
The security light flicked off. Now the circular drive was in darkness. Just the light from the moon, making shapes in the bushes.
Best change the timer on that light. Goes off too fast.
Now in the dark.
“Nick? That you?”
He stepped out onto the drive, his boots uncomfortable with no socks, and walked over to the car. With this movement, the light came back on.
Yes. Nick’s car all right — and the idiot had parked right up on the grass!
“Well don’t just bloody sit there!” he said, walking up to the side of the car.
Then he stopped.
The car looked empty. But that wasn’t possible. He hadn’t heard a door open or close.
What was going on?
“We playing games then?” he called into the garden. “Cos I’m not into bloody hide and seek, mate.” He waited. Then: “You been drinking?”
No response. The whole garden quiet. And out here — a mile or so from the village — quiet meant quiet.
Not a sound. And suddenly Lee felt uncertain. This was …
Weird.
The security light went out — so he turned and walked back towards the house. No light. He waved an arm, but still the light didn’t come back on again.
Funny — why’s the motion tracker not working?
And then the lights in the house went out. All of them.
Darkness again. He stopped dead, standing on the gravel. His eyes still not adjusting.
Moonlight making flickering shapes on the lawn.
“Okay. What the hell’s going on? Nick? What are you playing at?”
This was not good. Screwing around like this, drink or no drink. Nobody did this to him and got away with it. This wasn’t a joke.
He stepped, carefully in the darkness, towards the house, now framed against the moonlit sky.
Then saw a shape just a couple of yards away — in the doorway.
The doorway of his house.
“What the hell are you playing at?” said Lee, walking fast towards the shape, his fist already raised to strike, when he caught a glimpse of a stick, held tight.
No … not a stick …
A gun.
He grabbed at it, his other hand trying to push away the intruder, but his f
oot slipped on the loose gravel, and he turned, twisting, falling, losing his balance.
An impossible light and sound and flash of energy exploded in his face. And then pain. A terrible, intense pain arced across his stomach and chest and face.
He felt himself falling backwards in slow motion, his head tilting. And, as he fell, and the back of his head hit the sharp gravel, the last thing he knew for sure was …
God. Someone just shot me …
And then he didn’t think any more.
2. Dinner at the Spotted Pig
Jack Brennan strolled up Cherringham High Street in the early evening sunlight, feeling mighty pleased with life.
He’d risen at dawn, had a blissful walk in the dewy meadows with his dog Riley racing ahead, and been back on the boat before the river had even begun to wake.
Then — taking advantage of these long June days — he’d scrubbed and cleaned the whole deck of The Grey Goose in preparation for its new coat of anti-slip paint tomorrow.
That will be a major job, long overdue, he thought.
And now — showered, shaved and ready for a great night out — he was looking forward to dinner at Cherringham’s best restaurant The Spotted Pig, and their perfect Martini that almost, almost took him back to his favourite bar in Manhattan.
Looking forward, also, to an evening with his good friend Sarah, and her assistant, Grace, who was bringing along her fiancé, Nick, for them both to meet.
A big deal for Grace, he knew.
“Jack, I think you’ll really like my Nick!”
Jack hoped so. Grace was, as they say, a keeper.
She had planned an engagement party in a week’s time — and she wanted to talk through her wedding plans with Jack and Sarah. Jack felt honoured to be asked — although he knew nothing about weddings other than you needed a tux, and it was good to show up.
He guessed that really he was there to confirm that he, too, thought Nick was as wonderful as Grace believed.
As he pushed open the door to the restaurant, he saw a police car parked across the street outside the fish and chip shop. Not a local car — but one of the big Volvos. A young-looking cop came out carrying two big bags of food, climbed into the car and drove off up the street.
Cherringham--Death on a Moonlit Night Page 1
