Cherringham--Death on a Moonlit Night

by Neil Richards

  Someone who’d hurt a woman in the past.

  And if all that was true, then she and Jack would need to do everything they could to protect Grace.

  But before that, she’d have to rule out the idea that they were missing anything.

  So, standing there, at the door — open to the garden — she picked up her laptop.

  Maybe working outside, on a night like this, could indeed work some magic.

  Sarah certainly hoped so.

  She walked out into the moonlit night.

  *

  She sat at the small garden table, her laptop screen almost no match for the bright light above, making the glass-topped table sparkle.

  And she realised that she was looking at some of the same news articles and reports she had seen earlier.

  All about the charge against Nick, the woman he attacked.

  Finding absolutely nothing new.

  Then — a bit of luck, or just persistence paying off — she saw that one story mentioned Nick came from Bristol.

  How’d I miss that? she wondered.

  Then she quickly hit the keys, entering “Nick Marston”, “Bristol”.

  And then — finally — an unseen story on the charges against Nick. This time, mentioning his parents.

  Just their names. Mr and Mrs Henry Marston.

  And a quote from Nick’s dad.

  Saying what any parent would.

  Believing what any parent would.

  And yet.

  “That’s not my son. My Nick — would never do anything like that. Ever.”

  She sat back.

  That word, somehow resonating.

  Ever.

  Some power in that word, and not just typical parental loyalty. A fiery fierceness to it.

  Matching how Sarah imagined Grace felt.

  But Grace could be wrong, she thought.

  She took a breath, the night beginning to cool. A chill creeping up from the river with the mist. The hot summer day finally yielding to a cool, milky-white night.

  And with that chill …

  She heard a sound.

  A cracking noise. Near thunderous in the absolute stillness of her garden.

  The sound of a stick, a twig snapping.

  Something that happens when a foot steps on a stray bit of wood.

  And she realised … she wasn’t alone.

  *

  For a moment she didn’t move. Barely breathed.

  When she and the kids had moved out here, away from the village, she’d loved how close it was to the river.

  So private. So perfect.

  But also — so isolated.

  Could have just been an animal, she thought.

  But the same instinct that had made goosebumps sprout on her arm told her …

  No animal made that noise.

  She looked around, scanning the bushes and hedges that ran the length of the garden down to the river. Pausing as she peered at a thick tree trunk that could easily hide somebody standing there, watching her in the dark, the mist creeping up the lawn.

  She didn’t have to remind herself: a brutal, cold-blooded murderer was still on the loose.

  She stood up slowly. Remembering that the kitchen door was open. Wide open. Inside — both her kids, maybe sleeping, maybe playing games online with friends.

  Vulnerable, she thought.

  And, as she stood, another sound, a crunching noise. A clump of dried leaves, a bit of undergrowth, all dry from the day’s heat.

  And then — at the edge of the garden — she saw someone.

  Hidden from that bright moonlight by the shade of the big elm tree, its heavy leaves not letting through even a sliver of light.

  She tried to find her voice.

  This wasn’t the first time she had been in a scary situation.

  She remembered some things Jack had told her. His words — “when you move, move fast”. A bit of self-defence he’d taught her; basic stuff.

  But this shape, under the tree, didn’t move.

  She was about to say, in what she hoped would be a clear, forceful voice, “Who’s there …?”

  But she didn’t have to say a thing. Because the person hidden by the tree spoke.

  Quietly, almost gently. Voice maybe shaking a bit.

  “Sarah. It’s Nick. I need—”

  He faltered.

  “I n-need to talk to you.”

  Then nothing.

  Nick. Who, from all the evidence, shot and killed someone a few nights ago.

  Still — that voice sounded afraid.

  So, standing stock-still at the little table, Sarah said.

  “Okay. Come into the light, Nick. Then — we’ll talk.”

  *

  Grace’s fiancé walked over, looking around nervously as if others might surprise him here.

  “I—I didn’t know who to turn to. And I know, you, and Jack, been talking to people. Looking into things.”

  Sarah nodded. “For Grace.”

  It was hard to keep an edge out of her voice. This man had Grace so worried. Running away, hiding.

  He nodded. “I love her, Sarah. You have to believe that, but, but—”

  He took a step closer, and Sarah stiffened. She was alone out here with someone who might be a killer.

  Despite how he sounded.

  “I needed to tell you what happened. What I think … is happening. I-I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

  Sarah nodded.

  Then: “Okay. But let me call Jack, he should—”

  Nick started shaking his head. “No. I just want to talk to you. I trust you. I don’t really know Jack, I—” His voice grew more agitated.

  Sarah raised a hand to Nick’s shoulder. The gesture spontaneous. More instinct; trying to soothe him.

  “If anyone can understand, if anyone can help, Nick, it’s Jack Brennan. Besides — what we do, we do together.”

  Then, with finality, “I'm going to call him.”

  She looked at Nick’s darting eyes as if he might — at those words — run away.

  Bolt off into the night, turning fugitive once again.

  But finally, his eyes locked on hers, he nodded.

  “Okay. All right. Got to trust you.” The smallest of smiles then.

  And Sarah slid out her phone, pressed Jack’s contact info. Phone to her ear.

  Then: “Jack. Can you come over?”

  He had been asleep, sounding groggy. Asking now what was happening that required him to come to her house.

  And she simply said: “Someone’s here. And I think we’d better talk to him together …”

  10. The Fugitive Confesses

  Jack spotted Sarah and Nick, down by the river, sitting on a small bench near the jetty used for Daniel’s kayak, that small boat sitting upturned, close to the water’s edge.

  Well away from the house.

  From anyone hearing, seeing them.

  Soon as Sarah called, half-awake, Jack had raced here, the streets and lanes of Cherringham empty, eerie in the quiet summer night.

  Pools of mist in the fields.

  Jack walked down — thinking.

  I couldn’t be more curious about what Nick will say.

  He just reminded himself: be ready for anything.

  Even the truth.

  *

  Sarah looked up at Jack, standing beside them.

  There was a small metal chair he could pull close. But instead, he chose to stand, facing Nick, who sat close by her, all hunched up as if this was a chilly night, icy winds all around.

  *

  “Nick. Why not tell us what happened? Why you ran?”

  Sarah took a look at Jack. Standing. Arms folded. The stance saying so clearly how unsure he was about this late night interrogation, about meeting Nick here.

  And after what he’d heard today, about Nick’s innocence.

  Nick looked up, first to Sarah, then to Jack.

  He took a deep breath, steeling himself.

  “The ni
ght before we had that dinner. You know? The night Lee Taylor died. Something happened.”

  Sarah felt a chill. Was he about to confess?

  She held her tongue.

  Were her worst fears about to be proven true?

  So sad for Grace.

  “There’s a … woman. She came to my place. I was supposed to be going out. With Grace. But—”

  “You knew this woman?” Sarah remembered reading of the court case. His pleading guilty to a charge of assault.

  Against a woman.

  He nodded. “I — we, um, used to be together. In London. Before I moved up here. Name’s Tracy. But she—” a look right into Sarah’s eyes, “she could turn nasty, violent. Out of the blue.”

  To her side, she saw Jack unfold his arms.

  Maybe sensing the first discrepancy. Perhaps — a lie.

  And Jack said, “Hang on a minute …”

  *

  His voice low, calm in the dark. And now Nick’s head turned towards the big New York detective standing beside him.

  “We know what happened in London, Nick. You assaulted a woman. Pleaded guilty. Are you saying this Tracy is the same woman, that—?”

  But even before Jack finished Nick had started shaking his head.

  “No. I mean … yes, I did plead guilty. But she attacked me.”

  “Oh really?” said Jack.

  “I’m telling you the truth. We were together a couple of years. It was … okay. But then things changed. She changed. Suddenly not controlling what she said, what she did … her emotions. God, her actions. Things got bad, then … worse.”

  He looked away — the memory painful. He turned back to them, a sad smile on his face.

  “And then — you know — things turned dangerous. She threw stuff, pulled a kitchen knife on me. The terrible threats she made. It had to stop. I had to stop. So, one night I said we’d have to end things. That I was going to move out. And that … that was too much for her. Despite our fights, the constant screaming … that was something she just couldn’t allow.”

  He took a breath.

  “She couldn’t let me go.” He looked up at them. “Not … without a fight.”

  Sarah saw Jack nod. Probably, on the streets of the Big Apple, he had heard similar stories before.

  But Sarah had seen the police reports of the case, read the newspaper accounts …

  All making Nick look bad.

  She looked to see Jack’s reaction. Jack’s face didn’t give anything away. He nodded.

  “Nick,” she said, trying to match Jack’s tone, voice low. Her kids’ windows were open. Too loud, and they might stir. Walk down here. Not good. “Nick — I’ve seen the reports. And they don’t say that. They say you had an argument, and then you attacked her.” She looked at Jack. “You pleaded guilty.”

  More head shaking, and her heart surprisingly went out to Grace’s fiancé, now seeming like a trapped animal, in a cage from which there was no escape.

  “No. You see, I didn’t get a real lawyer. Not a good one. Just someone starting out that they assigned to me. I didn’t have money to hire a better one. He said — he convinced me — to plead guilty. That it would be better than trying to fight it in court. He said it was impossible to prove that she did it — that she lost it, attacked me — without witnesses. Too difficult—”

  Instinctively, Sarah reached out and touched his arm.

  She wasn’t sure that she believed him. Not yet. But seeing his pain, the haunted eyes gleaming under the moonlight …

  Perhaps a mother’s instinct.

  “And the other night … this woman … showed up again?”

  Back on track now, Nick nodded.

  “Even after I moved out, she kept looking for me, stalking me. It was mad. Like no escape. I moved all over London. Then, coming here, meeting Grace. Thought I could finally have a life. Thought I’d finally got away.”

  He took a breath as if the word “Grace” took him to somewhere important.

  And again: “I love Grace. Do anything for her.”

  “So, this Tracy showed up again?” Sarah said prompting. She realised that Jack was letting her steer this.

  Nick looked up at the two of them, turning from one to the other.

  “Yes. And something happened that night …”

  *

  Sarah watched Nick look across the gently flowing water of the Thames, the slightest of mists hanging just above the surface.

  “I was getting ready to go out — then the doorbell rang– and it was Tracy. Standing there. It was a big shock. I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do. At first I didn’t want to let her in. But she seemed so … calm. Like, in good shape. Not crazy for once — you know? But — even so — I knew I had to be careful.”

  Yes. One guilty charge of assault.

  Add another, and Nick would not escape serious jail time.

  “I told her I had a new life. That I’d moved on. Then, like a switch being turned, she said, ‘Heard you were getting married. I just wanted to wish you well. How about a quick drink to sign off on the whole thing? The end of us. Beginning of your new life.’ So I let her in. I knew it wouldn’t be just a quick drink. But somehow I couldn’t … didn’t want to … upset her? You know? I mean, I knew anything could happen. I guess I thought I could maybe manage her …”

  Sarah said nothing.

  From the reeds in a marshy area nearby, she heard the intermittent peeps of frogs.

  The only other sound.

  “So she sits down. Takes off her coat. All calm, smiling. She had this shopping bag — takes out a bottle. Champagne. And I’m thinking, ‘God, what am I doing? I’m supposed to be meeting Grace.’ Anyway, we go in the kitchen, I get some glasses, she opens the bottle and we start drinking.”

  He stopped. A last pause before he was — Sarah guessed — about to reveal a secret.

  “She was all smiling and, like, chatty. Talking about old times. The two of us, back in London. Then Grace phoned — and I went into the kitchen and I heard myself lying to her, saying I wasn’t feeling so good, might be out later.”

  “Why did you do that, Nick?” said Sarah.

  “Stupid, really. I thought I could just drink the wine, talk to her, and maybe she’d go. Maybe Grace wouldn’t need to know.”

  “You never told Grace about her?”

  “No way!”

  Sarah waited for Nick to calm down. Then he continued.

  “When I got back to the sofa, Tracy had poured me another drink. So I drank that and things were okay, and then, all of a sudden, I was out. Gone. Like — totally blank. I don’t know what happened.”

  Sarah looked to Jack. And even his eyes had softened.

  Yes. He had a way of telling whether the truth was coming out.

  “Next thing I know, it’s morning. I wake up in the bedroom. Hell of a hangover. House empty. I’m on my own. No clothes on. Bedroom a total mess, sheets all over the place. As if … but … I just can’t remember. As if — God, maybe I …”

  He left unsaid what he feared had happened.

  And Sarah knew that this was why Nick acted so guilty, drinking so much, feeling ashamed when they met for dinner.

  “So what happened then?”

  “All hell broke loose — phones going off, emails, the lot. Nothing to do with Tracy. It was work. Police. They’d found Lee. I had to get to the store, open up the office, take over. I didn’t have time to think about Tracy — I just got on with stuff.”

  “Then we all met for dinner — that evening.”

  “Right. I was still hungover, God knows how much I’d drunk the night before. I felt lousy.”

  “So when dinner finished, Grace took you home.”

  “Yeah. I was in a right state. Well — you know that. You saw it.”

  Then, as if sensing a key detail was missing, Jack spoke.

  His voice now softened.

  We’re on the same page, Sarah thought.

  “What made you run, N
ick?”

  A quick nod. His face solemn.

  An important detail.

  “Okay, so that night, after Grace got me home, I started thinking about Lee. How he was shot. You know? With a shotgun, that’s what the police said. I don’t know why, really — but I just thought I should check my gun. Keep it locked up. Special cabinet. It was still locked. Key was where I usually keep it. All looked okay. But when I opened the cabinet — the gun was gone.”

  “Then next day you heard about the gun in the river,” Jack went on, the pieces falling into place.

  And Nick stood up, still in his trap, struggling.

  “That’s right. I just thought — that’s got to be my gun, hasn’t it? Then I didn’t know what to do. Thought maybe I had done something that night. Something that I couldn’t remember. Something that would hurt Grace. I couldn’t face that. I knew the police were going to figure it out and come looking for me, so I just panicked. Ran.”

  “Where to?” said Sarah.

  “Slept up in the woods. Other side of Winsham. There’s an old gamekeeper’s hut. But I knew that wasn’t the answer.”

  He looked at both of them again.

  “That’s why I came here. Tonight.”

  He looks on the verge of tears, Sarah thought.

  Trapped indeed.

  Which is when Jack did something that in one simple move calmed the young man, if only a bit.

  While also signalling — we’re not done here.

  His big hand moved to Nick’s shoulder, easing him, urging him to sit down.

  Then: “Sorry, Nick — there’s one more thing I got to ask you …”

  11. To Catch a Killer

  Nick sat back down slowly, unsteadily, shaken. His words — mighty convincing — all fitting what Jack thought of Grace and her judgement.

  But there was something else to ask about that didn’t fit Nick’s tale, but did fit the fact that he might indeed be guilty.

  “I went to Hardwick’s,” Jack said. “Just today. Spoke to Charley. Good friend of yours?”

  “Yeah,” Nick said. “Sure.”

  “And Robin.”

  Nick shook his head at that name. No love lost there.

  “And I’m afraid both of them told me about your fight, with Pete Bailey.”

  “Hang on,” Nick said, the first time he had raise his voice. “That was all Bailey’s fault. He’d been drinking, I told him he was fired, and—”