She heard the front door open, then footsteps in the hall.
“Hey Mum,” came Chloe’s voice, “you home?”
Seconds later, Chloe appeared in the doorway.
“Wow, you’ve been busy,” said her daughter.
“You like?”
“Awesome. Can I have shelves like that in my room?”
“Ask grandpa – he’s the carpenter round here,” said Sarah. “You eaten?”
“Hattie’s mum made us dim sum.”
“Hmm – good for Hattie’s mum. Puts me to shame.”
Chloe smiled at her.
“Don’t worry – they weren’t very nice really. I think they were frozen.”
“Good,” said Sarah smiling. “That lowers the bar!”
Chloe laughed. “You’re still a way better cook than anyone, Mum.”
“Go on – keep saying that and I’ll raise your allowance.”
“Um – what allowance?”
“Cheeky.”
“Can I do you a tea?” said Chloe.
“Thanks, love.”
Chloe turned to go then stopped:
“Oh – Hattie said she saw you in school today?”
Sarah didn’t want to break the moment, this mum-daughter easiness.
“I’m doing a bit of work for your new head,” she said casually, not wanting Chloe to know exactly what she was up to.
“Rather you than me,” said Chloe, disappearing towards the kitchen.
Sarah turned and followed her, as far as the doorway where she could see Chloe in the kitchen filling the kettle, then, innocently:
“She not popular?”
“Old Limb was a pushover,” said Chloe. “Ms. James seems a bit, er, keen.”
“That a bad thing? Not sure a pushover should be running a big school.”
“I’m seventeen, Mum,” said Chloe, turning towards her and leaning back against the worktop. “I really don’t need people like her telling me what to do.”
Ouch…
A not-so-hidden message there.
Sarah wanted to talk to Chloe about drugs up at the school. But she felt that this was suddenly not the moment.
She walked over to the kitchen cupboard. Time to change the subject.
“Got some biscuits here – if Daniel hasn’t nicked them already,” she said. “Want one?”
She found the pack of biscuits and put them on the big pine kitchen table.
“Where is the boy-monster anyway?” said Chloe, taking a biscuit.
“Upstairs in his bedroom with Abbie,” said Sarah.
“At this time of night? Sorry – I don’t remember you letting me do that with my boy friends.”
“I don’t remember you playing Settlers of Catan,” said Sarah. “Maybe you had other things on your mind.”
As soon as she said the words, she knew they were wrong.
Completely wrong.
Chloe froze for a second. It could go either way. Then a small smile from her daughter, the storm cloud passing.
“Surely not,” said Chloe, putting their teas on the table. Then she laughed. “Daniel’s weird. So’s Abbie.”
“They do get along. Good friends I think,” said Sarah, taking a biscuit too.
Chloe looked around alarmed: “Hey – where’s Riley?”
“Ah, well, now here’s a surprise,” said Sarah. “Jack’s back.”
“Whoa – Mum. I didn’t know about that – did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“What happened?”
And as Sarah started to tell Chloe about her evening, she realised she wasn’t going to get any more work done on her office tonight.
And that was just fine.
Having this one-to-one time with her daughter, both of them sitting cosy in the new kitchen, folding doors open to the soft summer night, was not something she was going to miss at any cost.
***
Jack watched Ray lean back against the wheelhouse, puffing hard on his scrawny roll-up until it glowed red in the dark.
“Okay. This is all, you know, off the record, eh, Jack?”
“When did we ever talk on the record, Ray?”
“Hmm, true. Very true.”
Ray seemed to consider this, then reached for another bottle of Newcastle Brown.
Jack waited patiently while his neighbour flipped the top off and took a long swig.
“Thing is, it all depends what you mean by ‘drugs’. I mean, the old wacky baccy – yer common or garden weed, as it were – well not much changes there. Least, not from where I’m sitting. I knows a bloke. We have a drink up at the Ploughman’s. He sees me right. Been like that for donkey’s years.”
Donkey’s years? Whatever does that mean? Guess I’m still learning the local lingo, Jack realised.
Jack knew from previous cases that the car park of the Ploughman’s was a regular haunt for low-level dealing. No matter how much Billy the owner cracked down on it, the guys involved always drifted back.
“But what about the real stuff? Coke, acid…” said Jack.
“Uppers, downers and roundabouters, eh? Don’t touch it, you know that, Jack.”
“But, Ray – between us – you know where people deal.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Ray rolled a loose bit of tobacco round his mouth then spat it into the river.
“And maybe you’d know if there’s more of that stuff about than there used to be.”
“Might be…”
“So if there is… is it new people – outsiders – or the locals getting greedy?”
Ray took another swig.
“Well, now you mention it, Jack, I’m thinking maybe it is new people. Here’s a thing. You remember Terry Hamblyn?”
Jack nodded.
A couple of years back, working with Sarah on a case, he’d had a run-in with Terry Hamblyn, who lived in an old trailer on Iron Wharf just downriver.
No upstanding citizen, Terry made a rough living selling anything that caught his eye – ideally illegal, and strictly for cash.
And he also had a bit of a rep as one of the sometime dealers who hung out at the Ploughman’s.
“So, anyway,” said Ray, “word is that Terry’s moved out of that market totally. Gone clean.”
“You know why?”
“Broken nose had something to do with his decision, I believe.”
Jack took a swig of beer, swatted away a mosquito that had settled on his arm.
“No idea who administered said nose?”
Ray shook his head.
“All I know is – it weren’t anybody I knows personally. I would have heard, see? Not the kind of thing any of my mates would keep to themselves.”
“So, you thinking somebody wanted Terry out… to take over his business?”
“Looks that way,” said Ray.
Ray looked away. “And I’m guessin’, Jack, probably not a local.” A big drag on his rollup. “But I tell ya… that’s all I know.”
Jack thought about this. He guessed he wasn’t going to get any more information out of Ray.
He pointed at the rest of the beers.
“You finish these off, Ray,” he said. “I’ve got a bit of an early start in the morning.”
“Much obliged,” said Ray. “You off anywhere special?”
“Iron Wharf.”
Ray pondered this for a few seconds.
“Oh. I see. Um, well don’t give Terry my regards, will you? I’d hate him to know I’d been thinking of him.”
Jack laughed and stood up.
“I won’t, Ray. Thanks for your help.”
“No worries. And good to have you back, mate.”
Jack nodded and headed back to the Goose to sleep.
***
As he climbed back aboard, Riley stood on deck waiting for him.
Time for a nightcap, thought Jack, thinking about how he’d handle Terry, next day, and planning who he’d go see next.
Then another thought.
&nb
sp; Unexpected.
It was good to be back at work.
PART TWO
One Last Case
14. The Team at Work
Sarah went up the marble steps of the Bell Hotel and reached forward to push the door – and then stopped in her tracks as it swung open automatically. Surprised, she went in.
The Bell had long been known around Cherringham for its faded elegance and even more faded customer service.
Then it had closed for six months and undergone a spectacular renovation.
Sarah had missed the grand opening – though she’d been on the guest list (a thank you for solving an awkward problem with suspected ghosts a couple of years back).
So – this was her first chance to really see inside. She liked what she saw. The best of the old features had been retained but warm fabrics and rural chic sofas softened the formality.
She crossed the entrance hall into the lounge.
In the far corner, sitting alone, she spotted a young man in jeans and a cardigan – shoulder bag propped up by his side on the sofa. He had a laptop open on his knees and didn’t see her walk in.
Couldn’t look more like a teacher.
Sarah walked over to him.
“Tim Wilkins?”
He looked up nervously, nearly knocking his laptop to the floor, then stood, grabbing the machine awkwardly under one arm and offering Sarah his hand.
“Um, yes, hi. Sarah, yes?”
Sarah shook the offered hand, then gestured to the sofa.
“Do sit, please,” she said, smiling. “Have you ordered any tea or coffee?”
“Er, oh, no I haven’t. I didn’t know if you – I mean – I wasn’t sure who–”
“Don’t worry,” said Sarah, “this is on me.”
“Oh, great.”
As if on cue, a waiter appeared and Sarah ordered for the both of them.
When the waiter had gone, Sarah smiled again and nodded to the laptop.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet here – I’m sure you must be very busy.”
“Yes, well, you know. End of term. Lots of paperwork.”
“Have you been at the school long?”
“Six years.”
“You teach English, yes?”
“And I’m a head of year.”
“Hence the paperwork, I suppose.”
She saw him nod. Then he leaned forward:
“Um – I meant to ask you – why?”
“Why?”
“Why here?”
“Oh, I see,” said Sarah. “Louise thinks it’s best if we keep the meetings at school to a minimum – and I thought – this time of day – unlikely we’d bump into many locals in here.”
“Ah yes, I see,” said Tim, sitting back. “Pretty pricey. Tourist place.”
“Exactly.”
“Not for the likes of me,” said Tim, with a small laugh, appearing to relax a little. Then he quickly explained: “Er, you know. Teacher’s salary. I don’t mean – that I haven’t been in places like this, you know…”
“Oh God, don’t worry, I know exactly what you mean – I buy my coffee at Huffington’s and even then I’m still always horrified at the price!”
Sarah watched him laugh and blink at her. He’d clearly been very nervous. High-strung personality? But now, at last, he seemed to be calming down.
There was no doubt about it though – he was going to be hard work.
***
“In you go, Riley. Back soon.”
Jack shooed his springer spaniel down into the saloon of the boat, closed the shutters, and clicked the padlock.
He climbed down into his little dinghy, still moored behind the barge.
He’d spent a couple of hours the day before cleaning her up and setting her back in the water. Then another hour with the outboard clamped in a big water butt on the riverbank, changing the plugs and getting it running sweetly again.
At least the dinghy was ship-shape even if the Goose wasn’t…
Now the outboard started first pull – sweet.
He untied and pushed off from the side of The Grey Goose.
The morning sun was bright and the river a flat calm as he headed downstream. He unzipped his fleece, enjoying being on the water again.
He looked across the bank at the meadows. Such rich shades of green!
So uniquely English…
Apparently it had rained most of the summer – but luckily it seemed he’d brought some of that LA sunshine with him.
Past the weir now, the little engine buzzing away and under the main arch of Cherringham Bridge.
As he passed through, he looked back at the bridge and remembered what Sarah had told him of Josh’s final minutes.
This time of day, with this weather, the river was perfectly swimmable – and often kids came down to the water’s edge in the summer evenings and splashed around.
But at night, after heavy rain, no moon, pitch black, a long drop, drugs in your system…
No chance.
More than once in his long career with the NYPD, Jack had helped dive teams pull bodies out of the East River.
There were few sadder – and more gruesome – sights.
Ahead, a pleasure cruiser came towards him from round the bend in the river. As it passed, the families on board waved. Jack waved back, the moment snapping him out of thoughts of grimmer days on a murky river so far away.
And just a couple of minutes later, he reached his destination on the far bank: Iron Wharf.
Over the years, Jack had been a regular visitor here, scanning the “for sale” notices, picking up bits of chandlery, chatting up the locals, sometimes for information or leads on a case.
Now, as he tied up on the visitors’ mooring and clambered up the side of the jetty onto the hard, he remembered how at home he felt on the river.
When he’d first come to live in England he’d not been on a boat for years. Now, once again, it felt the most natural thing in the world.
He looked around: the yard hadn’t changed while he’d been away. The sprawling place still full of old sheds, piles of timber, and boats in all states propped up with great wooden beams. Grass and weeds grew over stacks of rubbish and old iron.
This mix of nautical junk and treasure was where Terry Hamblyn lived.
Jack crossed the boatyard until he came to the familiar ramshackle old trailer.
The curtains were drawn tight across the dirt-smeared windows and Jack couldn’t see any sign of smoke from the aluminium chimney that poked out of the roof.
Was the master of the beat-up trailer not home?
He pressed his ear to the side of the trailer: not a sound.
But Jack remembered the hours that Terry worked – though “work” wasn’t exactly the right term to describe the guy’s daytime activity.
Right now, sure as anything, Terry would be lying near comatose on his thin sponge mattress, dead to the world.
Well, that was just going to have to change.
Jack leaned forward and banged on the metal door.
15. Revelations
Sarah watched the waiter silently pour their coffees and waited until he’d gone. Then:
“You mind if I take some notes while we talk, Tim?”
“Um, no. It’s fine.”
Sarah took her notepad and pen from her bag and started to write.
“You know why I wanted to talk to you, yes?”
“Yes, of course. The head was very clear.”
“And you know about Josh, yes? The blood tests?”
Sarah knew that Tim wasn’t supposed to know yet. But she wanted to test just how effective that policy was proving to be.
“Um, I don’t know,” said Tim. “I don’t think I’m supposed to know about the drugs – am I? But I do. I’m sorry.”
Sarah nodded. “That’s all right, Tim. You don’t have to tell me how you know, and nobody’s going to get in trouble for telling you. I imagine it was Maddie, yes?”
She watched Tim no
d, guiltily. “Um, yes. She told me a couple of nights ago.”
Well at least that confirms these two as a couple, she thought.
“And were you surprised?” said Sarah.
She expected Tim to react as Maddie had, with some kind of expression of outrage.
But instead he took a long time to reply – and Sarah had one of those little rushes of excitement that always came when an unexpected crack opened up in a case.
“Tim, you can talk to me, you know. I’m not the police,” she said, leaning forward and looking at him directly, “and I’m not here to apportion any kind of blame or get anyone into trouble.”
“Yeah, sure,” said Tim quietly, looking round the lounge. “I understand that.”
Sarah looked around too: the place was empty but she also lowered her voice.
“So the question… Were you surprised when Maddie told you that Josh had drugs in his system?”
She watched him take a deep breath.
“This is just between the two of us, yes? And you won’t tell anyone at the school?”
“Tim, if you know something that is going to help us solve this – help the school and the kids who study there – then I think you really have to tell me.”
Sarah saw him blink again, his eyes screwing up with the strain.
“Okay,” he said. “What I’m going to tell you, I’ve not told anyone, not Maddie, not anyone. I really liked Josh, he was great, like – a real mate. Fact we used to go out sometimes – have a few drinks – too many drinks! He loved pubs. Clubs. I didn’t like clubs, though – too loud, you know? But pubs, yes.”
Sarah could see him now, animated, the memory of Josh almost, it seemed, energising him.
“Go on,” she said softly.
“So, couple of months ago, me and Josh went out to this singles bar in Oxford – I didn’t tell Maddie, she’d kill me if she knew about this and you mustn’t tell her – okay?”
Sarah nodded.
“Right. So this bar, it’s a sort of a pick-up place really. Anyway Josh wanted to have some fun and he kind of made me go. He could be very persuasive, you see. So we went there and it was very dark and there were lots of girls and we got talking to them – well he did. I wasn’t really very good at that.”
Sarah had a hard time picturing Tim in that shark-infested environment.
“Yeah, and he really got on with these two girls. But then it had got late. And he said let’s go to this other club with them that was still open. And off we went – up the Cowley Road it was, I think, though I was already a bit pissed, you know? We got to the club and then – well – then it happened.”
Dead in the Water Page 7
