Cherringham--Death on a Moonlit Night

by Neil Richards

  Chloe lay on the sunlounger, earbuds in, studying for her exams.

  Or — sunglasses on — maybe she was sleeping. Hard to tell — but Sarah knew better than to intervene.

  She had planned on a similar relaxing afternoon — sitting with her feet up, reading the Sunday papers and enjoying a pot of tea.

  Instead, she was searching for any mention of Nick Marston and Lee Taylor online.

  And so far, not having much success.

  Years back, during a bitter divorce, Sarah had hired a private detective who’d hacked her ex’s mail — and chased down her husband’s assets that he’d been hiding from the lawyers.

  Pure magic.

  That detective had taught her some very useful IT skills in addition to her legitimate web-design qualifications. Tricks of the trade. Her other trade. And over the years she’d used these to great effect working with Jack on cases.

  She could go places most people couldn’t: not quite the dark web, but certainly cracking sites, even when password protected.

  So whatever the police might have on Nick and Taylor — she felt pretty confident she could get it too.

  She’d started with Lee Taylor.

  His professional social media sites seemed to show he’d gone a long way with very little schooling. Lots of jobs, lots of promotions. From the Hardwick’s website (once she’d got into the “employees only” area) she saw his name come up a lot over the last five years or so.

  Not connected to news stories about charity collections or visits to the local schools, the stuff the big stores did to show they were part of the community, and not just there to suck out all the cash they could.

  No. Taylor — had a reputation as quite a “new broom” — turning stores around, changing systems, lowering costs.

  Then a bit of a different story from the Manchester Evening News.

  Taylor, divorced, with an out-of-court settlement.

  Other than that, not much. Social media accounts with some strong views. No-holds-barred arguments about politics and football. And the replies showing Taylor making enemies as a result.

  But nothing really to suggest anything other than a tough, self-made guy in his thirties going places and suffering no fools.

  Then — onto Nick Marston.

  But there, too, nothing out of the ordinary. Not much on social media — just the usual comedy videos and lads’ humour. Good credit score, solid mortgage record.

  Really ordinary. And stable.

  Deeper, and she saw that Nick moved to Cherringham from London three years back and quickly had quite the social life — all of which could be tracked through local newspaper reports: rugby club, gym membership, clay-pigeon shooting.

  Hence the shotgun, she thought.

  Even a bit of success on the local motocross circuit.

  All so reassuring.

  When she’d come home from seeing Jack, she’d told Grace she was going to search for Nick online — and warned her she might not like the results.

  But Grace was quick. She had total faith in Nick: “Whatever you find, I don’t care. We need to clear him, and I know he’s innocent”.

  And so far, it seemed, she was right.

  But unless she and Jack could find a secret reason for Nick to run from the police — the only conclusion had to be that he was guilty of murdering Lee Taylor.

  She flicked back through her notes. Where had Nick lived in London? Somewhere in Ealing.

  She pulled up some West London newspaper archives and put his name into the search engine, with a five-year filter, then waited.

  This was going to take time.

  *

  Jack sat next to Robin at the sales desk as the bathrooms expert selected brochure pages to print.

  “Heard this place was crawling with cops, Friday?” he said.

  “God. Tell me about it,” said Robin. “Unbelievable. I mean — murder! You watch stuff like that on telly, on the news. But you never imagine it happening in your own backyard, do you?”

  “Must have been very upsetting,” said Jack. “Boss of the store — that right?”

  “Yeah, Lee Taylor,” said Robin. “Good man. In his thirties. Shocking.”

  “Way I heard it — robbery gone wrong?”

  “Really? That in the papers?” Robin shrugged. “Whatever. Terrible waste. Taylor didn’t deserve that.”

  “When the cops were here … they say they got any idea who did it?”

  “Don’t think they’re supposed to talk about stuff like that, right? But—”

  Jack watched Robin look around, then lean in conspiratorially.

  “—word is they’re after one of the blokes from here. Fella called Nick Marston.” Another shrug. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  “You know him then?”

  “Nick? Sure. Fact — he threw a punch at my mate Pete just last week. I had to step in, pull ’em apart.”

  “Violent type, hmm? Temper?”

  “Absolutely. Can turn in the blink of an eye into a nasty piece of work,” said Robin, shaking his head. “First off, he fired Pete. Then when Pete comes back to get his gear from his locker, Marston lays into him.”

  “Big step — from that to killing someone though.”

  “Dunno. He hated Lee. Always bad-mouthing him, he was. Never to his face though. Oh no. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”

  Jack waited while Robin went over to the printer, then came back with pages and quotes.

  “Kinda scary, I guess. When you think you were working right alongside someone who turns out to be a killer,” said Jack.

  “Yeah. Dodgy bugger was Marston,” said Robin. “Ask anyone who worked with him. Very dodgy.”

  He handed Jack the brochures.

  “Anyways, good riddance to bad rubbish,” he said with a broad grin.

  “Make your life bit easier without him around I guess?”

  “Too right,” said Robin with a cheery grin. “These quotes, by the way, are good for two weeks. You go home, Mr Brennan, have a good think about these bathroom suites, no pressure, come back to me and we’ll do you a nice deal.”

  “Appreciate your time,” said Jack, getting up. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  Very helpful indeed, he thought.

  He took the brochures, put them in his cart, and headed off towards the paint section.

  But half way down the plumbing supplies aisle his phone rang.

  “Sarah.”

  “Jack. Can you talk?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve found something — on Nick — and you’re not going to like it.”

  “Funnily enough, I was going to say the same thing to you. You’d better go first …”

  8. The Truth about Nick

  “I’ve been checking the papers where Nick lived in London before he moved to Cherringham. Just three months before he left — Nick was found guilty of assault. Big article, photo, the works.”

  “Hmm,” said Jack. “Some kind of pub fight?”

  “No. This is the bad part, Jack. He attacked the woman he was living with. Cuts, bruises …”

  “What? And this is the guy Grace wants to marry.”

  “I know,” said Sarah. “I can’t quite believe it.”

  “Think I’m beginning to,” said Jack. “He plead guilty?”

  “Yup,” said Sarah. “Got a suspended prison sentence.”

  “And Grace didn’t know?”

  “She doesn’t know, yet,” said Sarah. “I’m not quite sure how to tell her.”

  “Tough call. We better talk about that — poor kid.”

  Then he felt a tap on his shoulder.

  “Excuse me, sir,” came a male voice and he turned — to see a guy in a suit with a pink tie (Hardwick’s pink, too) giving him a look.

  “Sarah — I gotta go,” he said into the phone. “Catch up later, hmm? Bye.”

  Jack put away the phone and smiled at the man — though he never liked anybody tapping him on the shoulder.

&
nbsp; “Store’s closing, sir,” he said. “Going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Jack saw the guy’s name tag: Charley.

  “Sure,” he said.

  Charley. Nick’s friend.

  Was worth a shot.

  “Though to be honest, Charley — I’m not really here shopping.”

  He watched the man take a step forward, his body language suddenly threatening.

  “If you’re another goddamn journalist you can head for that bloody door now — before I kick you through it myself.”

  Even ten years off the beat, Jack knew he was in good enough shape that that wasn’t ever going to happen.

  Still, this Charley had balls.

  “No need for that, Charley,” he said. “I’m a friend of Grace’s. She said I should come talk to you — about Nick.”

  Jack saw Charley frown and take a deep breath. He looked around as if to see if anybody was watching, then: “Not good timing.”

  “I know. Place is closing,” said Jack. “Just ten minutes?”

  “All right,” said Charley after a pause.

  He nodded to an open staircase that Jack could see led up to offices, with floor-to-ceiling glass. “Head up to the office there. Taylor’s … I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.”

  *

  Jack sipped his plastic cup of coffee and looked at Charley who sat at the big desk.

  Behind him, the now-empty store was visible through the tall glass wall. “Appreciate this, thanks.”

  “Sure,” said Charley. “So, what are you then — some kind of private detective?”

  “Something like that,” said Jack. “Known Grace a while, wanted to help her out.”

  “I can’t imagine what she’s going through right now.”

  “She’s a tough kid.”

  Charley seemed about to say something but stopped. Jack waited, then: “You’re not a big fan of journalists then?”

  “They’ve been in and out the store all day. Getting in the way. Interfering.”

  “Nature of the beast,” said Jack, taking another sip.

  “‘Beast’. Right word for them.”

  Jack nodded.

  “You said … Grace sent you,” said Charley.

  “That’s right. You and she … old friends?”

  “We are.”

  Jack waited for Charley to go on, but he didn’t.

  Interesting, he thought. Maybe a little backstory there — between Charley and Grace?

  He made a mental note to mention it to Sarah. Then he took out his notebook and pen.

  Turned to a clean page.

  “You know what this is about?” he said.

  “I’m not an idiot. Cops think Nick shot Lee Taylor.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “But he’s a pal of yours, hmm? A good mate?”

  “Well, yeah. Play footie together. Go out, pubs, clubs …”

  “Work together.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So then — you must know him pretty well. As well as anyone, hmm?”

  Jack watched Charley shrug: “I guess so. Thought I did, anyhow.”

  “Not so sure now?”

  “Cop I spoke to said Lee was shot with Nick’s gun. He also let it slip that they even got Nick on CCTV chucking it in the Thames. Kinda hard to see a way round that, hmm?”

  “True,” said Jack. “But can you see Nick pulling a trigger on Lee? You gotta really hate someone to do that. Or not care.”

  Charley shrugged. “Right. Until this weekend, I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

  Jack waited.

  Change of tack needed here, he thought.

  “What about Lee Taylor?” he said. “You get on with him?”

  A hesitation.

  “Sure.”

  “Good boss?”

  “Guess — good as any.”

  Jack looked around the office. “This his office?”

  Charley nodded.

  “Looks like you’re in charge now,” he said.

  “For now. Was Nick — until yesterday.”

  “How’d that work then? You worked under Nick, he worked under Lee?”

  “No. Me and Nick were both section managers. But he got promoted to assistant store manager.”

  “When?”

  “Few months back.”

  “Oh,” said Jack. “So you guys … kind of rivals?”

  “No. We were friends. He got the promotion. I didn’t. End of bloody—”

  “You never wanted this job?”

  “Sure,” said Charley. “I’m not stupid. Course I did. Store manager’s money’s a big step up. Compared to what I get.”

  “Worth killing for?”

  “What?” said Charley. “What the bloody hell are you implying?”

  Jack raised his hands from the table. “Whoa, whoa! You’re getting me all wrong. What I’m saying is — maybe Nick did it for money? To get the top job — see what I mean?”

  “Oh, right.”

  Bit of a hair trigger there, Jack thought.

  “Getting married, that’s a big expense. Start a family maybe — even more. Good salary — you gotta want that.”

  “Yeah. Who doesn’t? But even so … Nick … shooting someone …”

  “He ever violent?”

  Another pause.

  “Nick? No. Well — I mean, no more than anyone. I mean — football, he could lose it sometimes. But — don’t we all?”

  “I heard just last week he had a fight with someone here. Guy called Pete.”

  “Pete Bailey? Yeah, guess he did.” Charley shrugged.

  “Did you see it?”

  “Personally? No, but—”

  “You just heard about it?”

  “I read the report. Bailey was stinking drunk. Nick … I don’t know. Maybe he went a bit over the top. Lost it? Who knows?”

  Jack waited. One man’s fight was another man’s polite request to leave the premises …

  Then: “So you don’t know anything about Nick’s criminal record?”

  He watched Charley carefully. This was clearly news to him. Big news.

  “What?”

  Jack shrugged.

  “He beat up a woman. In London. Before he came to Cherringham.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  Jack shook his head.

  “Got a prison sentence. Suspended.”

  Charley shook his head slowly and seemed to deflate.

  “Jeez. Nick? Prison? That doesn’t … I don’t know what to …”

  “He never said anything about that?”

  “It’s not something you’d boast about, is it?” said Charley. “God. Does Grace know?”

  “Not yet.”

  Jack waited for a few seconds for this to sink in. Then asked the key question.

  “Did Nick ever say anything about Lee? Anything you now think back on — that maybe could be significant?”

  He watched Charley run his hands through his hair.

  “Threats, you mean?”

  Jack watched him.

  Must be difficult, having your old friend taken to pieces in front of you.

  “They didn’t get on, obviously.”

  “Obviously?”

  “Lee could be a tough boss. All stick, no carrot. Know what I mean?”

  “Sure.”

  “We go for a beer sometimes after work, down at The Ploughman’s. Nick used to joke about what he’d like to do to Lee.”

  “Violent stuff, hmm?”

  “Put it like that, well … Yeah, suppose so. Said he wanted to beat the sod up. But he was just joking, you know? Banter.”

  “Maybe not banter to him?”

  Jack saw Charley swing round in his chair, run his hands through his hair again.

  Under stress, thought Jack. Big time.

  “The police questioned me,” he said, turning back. “But I didn’t say any of this stuff to them. I’m thinking now … Maybe
I should have? Maybe I never really knew Nick. Maybe him and Grace — is a bad thing.”

  “You known Grace a while?”

  “Years,” said Charley, looking pensive. “She’s a real gem. Was a time …”

  Jack waited for him to continue, but he just shrugged. He folded up his notebook and stood up.

  “I’ve taken up enough of your time, Charley,” said Jack.

  “Thanks.” Then he put his card on the table, slid it across: “Anything else you think of — give me a call, hmm? I can see myself out.”

  Then he turned went out of the office, and down the steps.

  He saw his cart standing loaded with paint and sand for the non-slip.

  After all this, he hadn’t paid — and now the tills were shut.

  He’d have to come back tomorrow.

  He walked through the empty store and a security guy let him out of the main doors.

  Jack climbed into his car and paused, looking across at Hardwick’s.

  Up on the higher level through the glass, he could just see Charley still sitting at Lee Taylor’s desk.

  Nick Marston was as near as damned. Motive. Weapon. No alibi. Forensics.

  God, and even a history of criminal violence.

  And, it seemed, not many friends left, least here, ready to bat for him.

  Just Grace.

  Jack still couldn’t help feeling this was …

  … almost too tight a case.

  And that made him suspicious.

  He started the engine, made a tight turn in the empty car park and headed back to Cherringham.

  9. A Bump in the Night

  Sarah opened the big sliding doors of the kitchen and looked out onto the garden. The moon — straight overhead.

  Long moon shadows made patterns on the dewy grass.

  A gentle mist was slowly forming down at the bottom of the garden where she could just make out the milky flow of the river.

  A perfect summer’s eve.

  Daniel, Chloe — both up in their rooms, maybe even sleep. But Sarah didn’t feel tired.

  Or perhaps her worry about Grace was keeping her awake.

  And then there was this: a feeling that she must be missing something in looking into Nick’s past.

  Jack had called as soon as he got back from Hardwick’s. And everything he learned only made it look worse for Nick.

  The realisation … suddenly growing irrefutable.

  Grace, her assistant, her friend, could be engaged to a killer.