Dead in the Water

by Matthew Costello

  Jack turned to her. “So, believe you asked… what do I think? Well, seems to me we’re in a position where we need to wait.”

  “Wait?”

  “’Fraid so. For Hilary Tradescant to call back. Find out which teachers searched which lockers. Could be important. Maybe come back here – talk to them. And those kids. And then there’s your friend.”

  “My contact in London?”

  Jack smiled. “Breaking just about every police protocol I ever heard of. But if he can tell us who owns that van, might help us figure what that guy Ted was doing in the quarry.”

  “Could be that he and Rikky sell food at the raves,” said Sarah. “And Ted was just clearing away the rubbish?”

  “Sure, could be,” said Jack.

  “Or part of the drug connection?”

  “One can hope.”

  Another look away.

  A small breeze kicked in, and rustled Jack’s hair.

  And she had the thought just then: He can’t be leaving in a week or so.

  Can’t…

  “And speaking of connections, Ray offered to come by this afternoon and put in some time on the Goose.”

  “You actually trust his skills?”

  A laugh. “Don’t worry, I will be watching him. And talking to him…”

  “Hmm?”

  “The drug connection. Think I’ll see if Ray has any more thoughts on that.”

  “Ray. Um, I didn’t know you rated his deductive skills.”

  “Doubt he could spell that word. But as a loyal user and customer, someone who – I imagine – has ‘been around’, he may have some insights.”

  Jack took a breath. “Boots on the ground…”

  “You mean stoner on the ground?”

  A big grin.

  And again that thought, nearly painful.

  Jack can’t be leaving.

  “So – that’s my plan, get some work done and probe the recesses of Ray’s mind for drug-related insights. And you?”

  And that stopped Sarah.

  All through the conversation with the head she had been focused on the case. Great chunks of it seemingly there, and yet still so far away.

  But out here, looking at the grounds, she came back to another problem that had to be addressed…

  The distance that had sprung up between her and Chloe.

  For too long she had let that go.

  “I think – I’m going to spend the afternoon with the kids. A proper Sunday afternoon.”

  Jack nodded. Did he suspect Sarah’s concern… her worry about Chloe, about their relationship?

  Of course he did.

  “Good. Especially an afternoon like this.”

  The chat, the moment, had passed. And Sarah started walking back to the Sprite, when Jack touched her arm.

  “Sarah – keep your eyes open though, hmm? Despite all evidence to the contrary, I think we are getting close. And whoever is at the top of this ladder, will see that.”

  He was referring to the threat, and the break-in to her home.

  And she also knew that, last night, Alan had driven by about every thirty minutes.

  And a couple of times, waking, she had heard the throaty rumble of the Sprite.

  Still – a warning to be heeded.

  “I will.” She got into the sports car, and Jack did as well. Still perfect top-down weather.

  “Good. Keep me posted. If you get a call.”

  “You too.”

  And then, the engine rumbling, the car actually rumbling as well, Jack backed out of the space, and drove down the school driveway.

  Sun gleaming, the air warm.

  And yet – a chill here that had nothing to do with the weather.

  30. Half Truths

  Jack stepped back from the wheelhouse, brush in hand, to inspect his morning’s work.

  “What do you think, Riley? Like the color?”

  He looked across the deck at his springer, already in the shade under the table. Asleep. Not surprising in this heat.

  Only nine o’clock, and Jack could already see a blue haze on the far meadow, the air rippling over the distant trees.

  “Yeah, well, in your own time,” he said, stepping back to dab more marine gloss blue on a corner of the window frame that he’d missed.

  He and Ray had spent most of Sunday afternoon sanding down the paintwork on the Goose, ready for a painting blitz this week while the dry weather was forecast to continue.

  But though Ray had consumed enough beer to loosen any normal human’s tongue, Jack hadn’t managed to learn anything more from him about how drugs might be moving round the area.

  Still – they’d prepped most of the woodwork before it had gotten too dark to see, and Ray had finally shuffled off back to his boat, the right side of midnight.

  Which meant Jack had been able to get up nice and early, take the radio outside onto the deck, and start painting.

  Never a chore anyway on a day like today, watching the river slowly wake up, little boats chugging back and forth, locals giving him a nod or a wave.

  The BBC in the background – some polite disagreement about Anglo-Saxon poetry.

  But oh so very civilised…

  Civility…

  Don’t have much of that in the States these days, he thought.

  The church bell in Cherringham, up on the far hill, sounding the hours. Swans gliding in to land right by the boat. The odd ripple on the silver water from a fish grabbing a fly. Mug of coffee by his side. And Riley trotting over every now and then to watch the progress of the painting.

  Perfect.

  Gonna miss this when I go, thought Jack. Cherringham. Sarah. The Goose. Working on a case…

  And, on cue, his phone rang.

  He laid down the brush, wiped his hands quickly on a rag and picked up the phone.

  “Sarah.”

  “Jack – I just had Alan on the phone.”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “He says there’s been a break-in at Josh Owen’s house.”

  “Ah,” said Jack. “I was pretty careful not to leave a trace. He give you any details?”

  “Said someone broke in – trashed the place.”

  “Well, now. That is interesting,” said Jack. “Puts me in the clear, anyway.”

  “Course, if he’d asked me if you’d done it – who knows what I would have said.”

  “I’m thinking you would have told the truth, huh?” said Jack, laughing. “Can’t imagine you lying to a cop, Sarah.”

  “Especially one I went to school with…”

  “And here’s me with twenty grand’s worth of drugs hidden on the boat.”

  “Luckily – he didn’t ask. But he did say he’s going to be there for another hour or so…”

  “Meaning – he wants one of us to drop by, hmm?”

  “That’s how I read it,” said Sarah. “But, look – I’m locked in a meeting with Grace all morning and I’ve got deadlines stacking up.”

  “No problem. I’ll head over. You sound stressed.”

  “Yeah. I’m way behind here at work – and yesterday with the kids – not quite the day I had planned.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” said Jack.

  “It’s no big deal,” said Sarah. “Tell you about it when we meet.”

  “Sure,” said Jack. “We ought to try and talk to Tim today too. Remember, his memory of the pub that night doesn’t quite match Maddie’s?”

  “Good idea,” said Sarah. “Can you do it? Give Louise’s office a call; she’ll set it up.”

  “Will do. You just focus on your work this morning – maybe we’ll grab a bite at lunch, hmm?”

  “Great, thanks, Jack. See you later.”

  Call finished, Jack set about clearing up his painting gear.

  Then he headed below to change, thinking…

  Sounds like somebody knew the drugs were at Josh’s house. But who?

  And what would happen now that they had… disappeared?

  ***


  Jack parked on the grass verge of the narrow lane, right behind Alan’s little police car, then walked down to Josh Owen’s cottage.

  As he opened the gate, he saw Alan waiting by the front door making some notes.

  “Alan.”

  “Jack. Great! Sarah said you’d come over,” said Alan, looking up. “Could use the help!”

  Jack looked past him into the house. Even from here he could see scattered books, broken pictures, clothes strewn everywhere.

  “Quite the mess,” he said. “What’s the story?”

  He watched Alan put away his notebook, then the policeman walked over to the front window of the cottage.

  “Forced entry here – easy enough with these old windows – someone then just climbed in, shut the window behind them.”

  “We go in?”

  “Sure,” said Alan returning to the front door, then entering.

  Jack followed, stepping over the chaos in the hallway.

  He looked into the sitting room. The contents of the shelves had been swept onto the floor. Drawers lay up-ended on the floor. The TV was smashed.

  But it was the sofa and the armchair that caught his attention.

  He could see that the cushions had been slit open with a blade, the stuffing spilled everywhere. And the lining of the chairs had been slashed so the wooden frames were visible.

  “Not your average burglary then,” he said to Alan, nodding at the furniture.

  “No. They did that upstairs to the bedding too.”

  Jack watched as Alan went back into the hall and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Take a look at this,” he said.

  Jack followed, already knowing what to expect.

  As he went in, he saw the cupboard doors all hanging open, their contents hurled around the room, smashed on the floor.

  “Every food container, every bag of flour, sugar, cereal – emptied,” said Alan. He pointed to the corner of the kitchen: “See, the floorboards are up too?”

  Jack didn’t need to go over to inspect the damage.

  He could see the cupboard had been dragged to one side – and the small boards lifted up.

  That clinched it. Whoever had broken in here had been looking for the drugs.

  As if to read his mind, Alan turned with a “knowing” smile:

  “It’s possible they were looking for cash,” he said. “But this has to be drugs they were after, don’t you think, Jack?”

  Alan held the look.

  Did the police officer suspect that Jack knew things… that he hadn’t shared?

  Quite possibly.

  “That would be my guess,” said Jack, knowing exactly what the intruder had been searching for.

  Big question though – cards on the table – was he going to tell Alan that the drugs were now stored in a rope locker back on the Goose?

  He knew he should tell Alan – but he’d backed himself into a corner here.

  In the past, Alan had turned a blind eye on those rare occasions when Jack and Sarah side-stepped police procedure.

  But Jack knew the cop couldn’t ignore the removal of twenty grand’s worth of Class A drugs.

  Alan would have to charge him – no way round it.

  So Jack knew he had no choice.

  Somewhere down the line – if he and Sarah solved this case – he was going to have to massage his little misdemeanour out of the official narrative.

  “Okay, then. Raises a lot of questions,” said Alan. “We know Owen had drugs in his blood when he died. So… maybe he really was also dealing?”

  “Possibly,” said Jack. “But all the evidence Sarah and I have seen so far would suggest that’s very unlikely.”

  Alan smiled. “Um, you care to tell me what that evidence is?”

  Jack grinned back. “Maybe not hard evidence, Alan. Hints, signs – mixed with a little intuition. Nothing solid – yet.”

  “Right. Then, what does your ‘intuition’ say about this?”

  Jack looked around the shattered room. Remembered the hour he spent here just a few days ago – when the place was a snapshot of Josh Owen’s peaceful home life.

  “Don’t think I’m quite there yet.” Another smile. “I’ll have to let you know. Down the road a bit? That okay?”

  He saw Alan hesitate.

  This was a major break-in, a complete trashing of the place. Alan would like to do his job… solve the crime.

  But then he nodded. “Okay – but when you have something…”

  “We’ll bring it right to you.”

  “Good.”

  Then Alan turned and headed down the hallway to the front door.

  Jack followed him and they both stood outside in the front garden in the bright sunshine.

  “Guess you’re going to get the prints guys in?” said Jack.

  “For what they’re worth. Doubt we’ll find any.”

  Jack nodded.

  You won’t find mine, he thought, thankfully, remembering the gloves he’d worn when he was here before.

  “First Sarah’s place broken into – then here,” said Alan, turning to him. “Something tells me you two are deeper into this than you’re saying.”

  “Right,” Jack said, looking away. Deep? For sure. But as to what is going on… He took a breath. “This is a tough one, Alan.”

  Then he watched Alan take a roll of police tape out of his pocket.

  “Okay. I need to secure this place,” he said. “Just make sure you let me know when you need me.”

  Jack watched him walk back to the front door of the cottage – then the policeman turned: “I had a chat with Terry Hamblyn by the way, like you suggested.”

  “Anything useful?”

  “Not really. But I certainly got the message that the people we’re dealing with aren’t locals, Jack. You and Sarah take care – okay?”

  “Been the motto of my life, back in New York, and here as well.”

  “Safety first?”

  “Absolutely.” Then Jack nodded, and walked down the garden path, through the gate and onto the little lane.

  Before he got to his car, his phone rang.

  He didn’t recognise the number.

  “Hello? Jack Brennan.”

  “Jack, it’s Louise James here.”

  Jack had phoned the main school number before he left the Goose, hoping to set up a meeting with Tim.

  “Louise – I wasn’t expecting you to call me back personally – sorry for disturbing your morning.”

  “Not at all, Jack. The office said you were after Tim. But, look – he’s not been in this morning. He’s already missed two classes.”

  “He didn’t ring in?”

  “No. So out of character. And he’s not answering his phone. I hope you don’t think I’m overreacting – but, to be honest, Jack, I’m worried.”

  “No, you did the right thing,” said Jack, reaching the Sprite and opening the door. “Text me his address, and I’ll swing by his place now. He lives in the village, yes?”

  “Somewhere up by the cricket club, I think. I’ll dig it out. And Jack–”

  “Hmm?”

  “Thank you.”

  Jack heard a warmth in her voice that hadn’t been obvious before.

  “No problem.”

  He clicked the phone off, shut the car door, and started the engine.

  The address came through as he was turning the car round in the narrow lane.

  He drove off fast in the direction of the village.

  31. Wrong Place, Wrong Time

  Jack drove past the cricket club, then came off the main highway when his sat-nav told him to, and turned into Etheridge Crescent.

  The crescent was no more than fifty yards wide – a little semi-circle of four brand-new detached houses, each with a built-in garage and a postage-stamp front garden.

  Jack was sure these houses hadn’t even been built when he was last in Cherringham.

  In fact, as he looked around, he could see that the grass was newly laid and t
he identical shrubs and hedges had clearly been bought in one batch at the garden centre.

  He checked the address that Louise had sent to his phone – number four – straight ahead.

  He parked the Sprite, went to the door and rang the bell.

  No answer. He waited, and was about to walk away when he heard a noise from inside the house.

  He rang again.

  After another long wait. The door inched open and a face nervously peered out through the gap.

  “Tim Wilkins?”

  The sound of a throat being cleared. Loudly. “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Jack Brennan, Mr. Wilkins. I wanted to talk with you. Louise James said you didn’t show up at school today. She asked me to drop by, maybe check to see if you were okay.”

  Jack wondered if the half-lie would work.

  It did, and the door opened.

  “Okay. Um, come in.”

  He saw Tim step back behind the open door.

  As if he’s scared of showing his face, thought Jack.

  Jack stepped into the dark hallway of the little house, and heard the door shut behind him.

  A cough. Then: “Go through,” said Tim. “In the left there.”

  Jack took the door on the left and went into a compact sitting room.

  He quickly took in the room: shiny leather sofa, big TV – and not much else. Every surface was empty. No books, ornaments, photos.

  Not much personality on display here, he thought.

  He turned as Tim entered – and now, in daylight, he could see why the teacher might not want to show his face.

  He had one black eye and a big yellow bruise on one cheek. His lip had been burst and had a band-aid on it.

  And Jack could see that his ear was thick and swollen.

  No doubt about it – Tim Wilkins had been in a nasty fight.

  “Please – sit down,” said Tim, gesturing to the sofa.

  Jack sat and watched the teacher nearly fall back into the armchair.

  Based on that, seemed like his whole body had taken one hell of a beating.

  “So, when I spoke to Louise,” said Jack, “she was worried about you – up at the school, you know?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Tim. “I should have called.”

  Jack watched him carefully – he seemed to be in a state of shock.

  Time to discuss the obvious.

  “If you don’t mind me saying so – you look terrible,” said Jack.