Cherringham--Death on a Moonlit Night

by Neil Richards

  That amount of food … must be quite a job on somewhere tonight, thought Jack, remembering times back on the beat in NYC when he had been sent out on errands for boxes of Chinese food for the squad.

  A far cry from tonight’s meal, he thought, pushing open the door to The Spotted Pig and giving a nod to Sam, the owner who was mixing drinks behind the bar.

  “Got you guys a nice corner table in the garden, Jack,” said Sam. “Sarah’s out there already. Drinks coming right up!”

  “Perfect,” said Jack, and he threaded his way through the tables to the terrace out back.

  *

  Sarah saw Jack coming out into the garden and waved him over.

  “Congratulations,” he said to Grace, giving her a kiss on both cheeks, before sitting at the table. “Whoever the young man is, he’s made me insanely jealous.”

  “Don’t worry, Jack, I won’t let it stop you buying me drinks or paying for dinner.”

  “You’ll be lucky if that happens,” said Sarah, turning to Grace. “Turns out that Jack’s very liberated — he always makes sure we go halves, isn’t that right?”

  “Force of habit,” said Jack, taking his seat. “Cop should never owe favours. Course, I might make an exception for you, Grace.”

  “Ha, now you’re making me jealous, Jack,” said Sarah.

  She watched as Sam brought a tray of drinks to the table, and left them with menus. She waited while Jack examined his Martini then carefully took a first sip — a ritual she knew best not to interrupt.

  “Now that hits the spot,” he said, smiling at them both and raising his glass. “Cheers!”

  When everyone had their glasses raised, Sarah turned to Grace: “And here’s to Grace — my wonderful assistant — without whom my business would never have taken off!”

  “To Grace,” said Jack, and they drank. Then when he’d put his glass down: “Nick not here yet? Looking forward to meeting him properly.”

  “Oh, he’s going to be a little late,” said Grace. “But he phoned to say not to wait.”

  Sarah reached over and squeezed Grace’s hand.

  “You still sure he’s going to be up for this?” said Sarah. “Not the best timing.”

  “Sorry,” said Jack, “am I missing something?”

  Sarah turned to him: “You didn’t hear?”

  “Been painting the boat all day. Not talked to a soul. What’s happened?”

  She turned to Grace who nodded. Then she looked around at the other tables, busy with diners, and lowered her voice: “Nick’s boss — man called Lee Taylor — was killed last night.”

  “Murdered,” said Grace.

  “Jeez,” said Jack, shaking his head. “God. That’s bad. Must have been one hell of a shock for Nick. For you too — did you know the guy?”

  “I only ever met him once,” said Grace.

  Sarah could tell from Grace’s expression that maybe she didn’t like said boss too much.

  “But still …”

  “What happened?” said Jack. “Do you know?”

  Sarah checked again that they weren’t being overheard, then leaned in: “Well, Nick says there was a break-in at Lee’s house. Lee must have disturbed them — and they shot him.”

  “In Cherringham?” said Jack. “Gunshots would have everyone out on the street, no?”

  “Other side of Winsham Hill,” said Grace. “Quite a way out.”

  “Ah, so pretty isolated,” said Jack, taking a sip of his Martini. “Guess they got Nick helping, taking statements, hmm? Contacting employees?”

  “They called him first thing this morning,” said Grace. “Been non-stop.”

  Sarah saw Grace chew at her lower lip. This was upsetting for her … especially this week.

  “Tough thing to happen,” said Jack. “He works in that Home Depot kinda place out on the old airfield, no?”

  Sarah saw Grace nod. “Hardwick’s. Big chain. And Nick — they made him assistant manager. So, I think, for now, he’s acting manager.”

  “Been there a few times. Pick up stuff for the boat,” said Jack. “Really big store — must be quite the responsibility. Nick okay with that?”

  “I doubt he’s had time to think,” said Grace.

  Then Sarah looked over, and saw Nick standing in the door to the terrace. She waved.

  “Guess we can ask him ourselves,” said Sarah. “Here he is.”

  *

  Jack sat back and watched as Nick and Grace hugged, then Nick gave Sarah a kiss.

  Tall and slim, late twenties, athletic build — he seemed a good match for Grace.

  But, right now, bags under his eyes, face taut. Jack could see the stress.

  Jack leaned across and shook his hand.

  “Jack Brennan. Great to meet you.”

  It took a second for Nick to smile and respond.

  “Yeah. Er, great to meet you as well, Jack.”

  Stressed indeed.

  Then: “Um, think maybe we’ve met before, at a couple of village events — but guess that was before you and Grace were an item.”

  Jack saw him turn to Grace then, the smile easier as she grinned back.

  That was good.

  They all waited while Sam brought out a bottle of Picpoul — a favourite of Sarah’s — and poured some glasses.

  Then: “Nick — just sorry we’re meeting under a cloud like this,” said Jack. “You must have had quite a day.”

  “Tell me about it. Police phoned me about seven, got me to meet them at the store and open up early.”

  “Poor Nick. You weren’t feeling well anyway last night, were you?” said Grace.

  Jack saw Nick look confused for a second.

  “Hmm? Oh right, yeah.”

  Sarah’s assistant turned to Jack and Sarah.

  “We were supposed to be going out for a few drinks with friends to tell them about our plans but Nick came down with some kind of bug,” said Grace, putting her hand on Nick’s on the table.

  “Um, yeah. Stomach thing — you know.”

  “Bad night all around, hmm?” said Jack. “Tough break.”

  “Big shame,” said Nick.

  “You all over it? Okay now?” said Sarah.

  Jack saw Sarah shoot him a look.

  Sarah, maybe thinking this bit of stomach flu, whatever, was … A little odd?

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Nick, picking up a menu from the table. “All good. Pretty hungry now, you know? You guys ordered?”

  “Not yet,” said Jack. “Let’s do that.”

  And he passed the menus round, thinking: The kid. Uncomfortable.

  Least that was the vibe Jack was getting.

  And if so, why?

  Jack had built a thirty-year police career on knowing when people were not telling the truth — looking for small tells, body movements, eye contact.

  And Jack’s best guess: Nick Marston — nice guy, trusted friend, and fiancé to the lovely Grace — was not telling the truth.

  *

  Sarah watched as Nick ordered another bottle of wine. They were still only half way through the main course but it seemed like he’d already had most of the first bottle all by himself.

  He was stressed. But was that all it was?

  She looked over at Grace and could tell that she had noticed too — her smile seemed strained as she watched her fiancé knocking back the glasses of wine.

  Of course, though Nick hadn’t talked about the murder at all, it must have been a big shock.

  And sure — shock affected people in unexpected ways.

  “So, Nick,” said Jack, “what’s it like working up at the big store? Good prospects? I mean, before this all happened to your boss?”

  “It’s fine, it’s good. No, it’s great. One big happy family — you know? The big happy Hardwick family!”

  His tone was off, Sarah thought. Nick was maybe not happy with the prospects at all.

  The wine arrived, and he grabbed the bottle, topped up his glass.

  “Nick and I talk
ed,” said Grace, taking the wine and pouring for everyone around the table. “I mean, it’s been a tough year, love, hasn’t it? At the store. With the new boss.”

  She turned to Jack and Sarah: “They’ve made a lot of people redundant over the last few months. Nick even thought he was up for the chop — didn’t you, darling?”

  Nick nodded. “Looked that way for a while.”

  “But then Mr Taylor …”

  Sarah watched Grace. This whole thing clearly upsetting to her as well. Again, she put a hand on Nick’s.

  Then she carried on: “Anyway, as it turned out, Mr Taylor made Nick assistant manager, even though he’d only been there a year. I was so proud.”

  “You must be very good at the job, Nick,” said Sarah.

  “Oh yes,” said Nick, “terrific.”

  That tone again. Not even trying to hide the sarcasm.

  And maybe something more there?

  The next words — the hint of a slur: “But you know what I'm best at? Apparently, I’ve got a real talent for firing people. Pruning the ‘low branches’. Getting rid of the ‘dead wood’ they call it at head office.”

  “Tough having to do that,” said Jack. “People can get angry.”

  “Yeah, bloody angry — with me,” said Nick.

  He stopped. Sarah guessed that Nick suddenly was aware all eyes were on him.

  His anger …

  “As if I make the choices. I’m just the bloody messenger.”

  He laughed loudly, then: “Anyway — now the bloke who writes those messages is dead so maybe life’ll get a bit easier. Let’s drink to that!”

  As Nick raised his glass, Sarah noticed that people on other tables had stopped talking and were looking over.

  She saw Jack clink glasses with Nick and lean in, maybe to quieten him down a bit.

  “So, Nick,” he said. “Tell me about this Mr Taylor. I’m guessing a bit of a shark, hmm?”

  “Lee? As he wanted to be called — like he was my mate,” said Nick, “he was a right bastard — and I can tell you if the police are looking for who killed him they’re going to have a lot of suspects. Every bloody person who works up at that store for starters.”

  “The cops spent the day interviewing the staff, hmm?”

  “Yeah. They took me down there, lights all flashing, you know, like in a TV show. Then I had to get everyone in and tell them what happened. Can’t say there were a lot of tears.”

  “They interviewed you too, hmm?”

  “Yeah. Twice. This morning,” said Nick, pouring himself another glass of wine and taking a slug. “Then they came back, did the whole thing again. Pissed me off, that did. I was trying to get the damn store back in shape, get people motivated. We send live feedback of sales to head office — they get on your back straight away if things aren’t rolling, you know?” He took a breath. “Murder or no murder.”

  “I’d hate to work somewhere people were looking over your shoulder all the time,” said Grace. “Must be so stressful.”

  “Curious. Any idea why they interviewed you twice, Nick?” said Jack.

  “Apparently, I was the last person saw Taylor alive, in the office last night. Apart from some bloke who delivered his curry. And the bloke who shot him! Least that’s what one of the police told me. Don’t know why that should be important. They should just write down a list of everyone who worked for him. Not a person on the list wouldn’t have bumped him off given half the chance.”

  “A lot of enemies?” said Jack.

  “Fired a dozen people in the last six months,” said Nick. “And some of them — well it was really bad — the way he did it.”

  Sarah saw Grace shift in her seat. This talk — uncomfortable for her. “So awful though,” said Grace. “I mean, no matter how horrible he was. To be shot on your own doorstep. Terrible.”

  “Yeah, shotgun too,” said Nick. “Very nasty.”

  Sarah watched him stand.

  “Need more wine,” he said, then he turned and looked down at them. “Who’s drinking all this bloody stuff, I’m not getting a look-in!”

  Then Sarah saw him sway. He put out a hand and nearly toppled the table over.

  “Whoa!” said Nick. “Incoming!”

  “Nick!” shouted Grace, reaching across to steady him.

  Then he staggered back and slopped into his seat.

  Sarah got up — but Jack was already ahead of her, waving to Sam for assistance.

  Jack put a hand on the boy’s shoulder as if to steady him. “You’ve had a bad day, son,” said Jack. “Totally understandable. So why don’t we get some coffee in you, and then pop you in a taxi home, hmm?”

  But Nick was already falling asleep and didn’t answer.

  Jack turned to Sarah.

  Not the special dinner either of them thought they were going to have.

  Then she looked at Grace.

  Her assistant.

  Her wizard at meeting deadlines and handling customers.

  Her hand still on Nick’s.

  As she cried.

  *

  “Fancy a nightcap?” said Sarah as they reached the lane that led to her cottage.

  Jack paused, breathing in the soft night air, and looked up at the full moon. In the distance, up in the woods below the village, a female owl called. He waited for the male to call back.

  Living here, he’d become quite the birder. Something soothing in recognising the calls, the habits of the local birds, and the migratory birds … here one day, gone the next.

  And Riley enjoyed them as well, mostly as items to be chased!

  “Very tempting, after tonight. Disturbing, hmm? Nice quiet chat …”

  “But …”

  He laughed. “Yes, but. But — I have to be up at the crack of tomorrow to get my deck painted and I know if I come over now it won’t be just one, it will be two and it could easily be three—”

  “True enough,” said Sarah. “Anyway, the kids’ll be in bed — least they should be. They’ve both got their last exams on Monday and I shouldn’t keep them awake chatting and having fun.”

  Jack turned to go, then turned back.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said.

  “Do I think Nick was lying tonight?”

  “You saw it too, hmm?”

  “I don’t know him that well — but well enough not to like what I saw.”

  “I can’t believe Grace would pick the wrong kind of guy,” said Jack.

  “Me neither. But — another thing — I know he was drinking pretty steadily, but surely not enough to make him conk out like that?”

  “Yeah, what I thought. Course — who knows — he may have a problem. Might have been putting it away all day long. Rough day.”

  “Grace would know. She’s no fool.” She took a breath. “Maybe I’ll call her later. Just to check in.”

  “Good. Something off there. Not sure what,” said Jack. “But, hey — probably not going to figure out what was up, least not tonight. And I’ve got my deck to paint. And you — what you got lined up tomorrow?”

  “Taking the dog to the vet with Daniel first thing. Then my usual exciting list of mums’ chores — washing, tidying up after the kids, mowing the lawn …”

  “You know — I just realised — we never talked about Grace’s engagement party or the wedding plans. Wasn’t that the whole point of the evening?”

  “Jack, you only just realised?”

  He laughed.

  “Guess my social skills are getting a little slack.”

  “I forgive you. Now go home, you’re getting up early, remember?”

  “Yes ma’am,” said Jack. And he gave her a kiss on both cheeks just the way Europeans do, then headed off down Cherringham Bridge Road towards the river and his boat.

  3. Scene of a Crime

  Jack reached out and touched the section of deck about to be covered with its first coat of new paint and sealant.

  The feeling … smooth. Not a bad job scraping away the old paint,
getting down to raw wood.

  As if interested in the project, Riley ambled over and, nose down, examined the deck.

  “What do you think, boy? Pretty good sanding, hmm?”

  Riley tilted his head and looked at Jack as if unsure what to answer.

  And Jack thought back to the times he’d spent with his father, doing this very same thing. Maintaining their boat in Mill Basin — the Atlantic, unforgiving against the wooden eighteen-footer.

  Those days on the boat were the rare times he’d seen his father relax — really relax — the boat hopping from choppy wake to wake, sending up a salty spray. The breeze, made by a speedy little Evinrude outboard, pinning their hair back.

  It was such a good memory.

  And funny how you can be doing something decades later, and suddenly … you’re back.

  Though this job, this boat, was a different story.

  No rough Atlantic brutalising it on a regular basis. This boat was protected in its berth here on the Thames — the river, here at least, sleepy — fitting the quiet, gentle nature of Cherringham.

  Usually quiet, that is.

  Jack dipped his brush into the can of paint. This was a job he’d tackle over these early weeks of summer, taking advantage of the cool morning air.

  No real rush.

  He applied the first stroke, the wood of the deck seemingly thirsty for the cream-coloured paint.

  *

  Jack stood up. He’d made good progress.

  Kneeling on the deck for a long stretch had had some interesting effects on his body though. Cramps and small aches that, he had to admit, seemed new. His body not as limber as it used to be.

  Perhaps a walk would shake it off. This early it was still cool, though summer had definitely hit Cherringham.

  He had a clear view downriver to Cherringham Bridge.

  And — what do you know? — down there, it was anything but quiet.

  He spotted Alan’s police car, but also two other official vehicles. One looked like an ambulance, the other, a black car with a flashing red and blue light signalling that it was no limo.

  Something to do with that store manager being shot?

  People were gathered on both sides of the now-closed bridge.