Dead in the Water

by Matthew Costello

  “Oh, really?” said Tim. “I haven’t looked in a mirror.”

  Jack waited for Tim to explain. The seconds ticked by, but Tim just stared blankly.

  “What happened?” said Jack, knowing he was going to have to lead this.

  “Car accident,” said Tim, blurting out the words as if he’d just thought of them. “Banged into a tree.”

  Jack nodded sympathetically.

  Though he knew Tim was lying through his teeth.

  “This morning?”

  “Um, last night.”

  “Must have been quite a smash,” said Jack.

  “Um, yes, it was,” said Tim. “Terrible.”

  “Anyone else involved?”

  “No, no, just me. And the tree.”

  Jack grinned at that. Sometimes people lying can be so funny.

  “In the village?”

  “Um, no. In the country. You know? Dark. Narrow roads, missed a bend – wallop.”

  “Nasty. You must have been pretty shaken up.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Car must be a wreck,” said Jack.

  Tim hesitated, not having gone that far in the development of his fabricated tale.

  “Er – pretty bad – yes,” said Tim.

  “Guess you couldn’t drive home?”

  Another pause, as Tim slid deeper and deeper.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “So you got a local garage to pick it up, give you a lift home?”

  Now, Jack thought, Tim was truly sunk.

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “You didn’t go to hospital?”

  “Hospital?” said Tim, looking unsure. “Um, no – it wasn’t that bad. Looks bad. But it really isn’t.”

  Tim tried to grin, but Jack could see his face was too cut and bruised – the teacher’s expression became a lop-sided grimace.

  Definitely could have used the attentions of a doctor.

  “No bones broken!” he said. “Grin and bear it, eh!”

  Jack nodded, then paused. This whole story was… just that – a story. And not a very good one either.

  “Hey – can you give me the name of the garage? I know most of the guys round here – they work on my Sprite. I can make sure they cut you a good deal.”

  “The garage? Um. I don’t remember.”

  Boy, was he bad at this.

  “They took your car, but you don’t remember their name?”

  Tim’s mind searched for something plausible. “Th-they said they’d call me. Today.”

  “Ah, I see,” said Jack.

  Again he waited, just to see where Tim’s nerves would take this conversation.

  “Why – er – why are you here?” said Tim.

  “Oh, thought I mentioned it?” said Jack. “I wanted to speak with you. And Louise asked me to drop by, check you were okay.”

  “Speak to me…?”

  “Yes. And now I can see you’re all right,” said Jack.

  Though that was clearly not true.

  “Though I guess you’re going to be off work for a few days.”

  “Hmm, yes. I suppose so.”

  “Any chance of a coffee, Tim?” said Jack, putting on a big grin. “Gotta say, I sure could do with one.”

  “Oh, um – yes,” said Tim, getting up. “I’ll go and make you one.”

  Jack watched Tim get out of the chair with difficulty, then leave the room, and waited until he could hear him puttering in the kitchen.

  Then he got up and quickly started to search the room.

  Because he had a pretty good idea why every surface in here was so clean and tidy.

  ***

  Jack rolled the sofa forward a couple of feet.

  Ta-da!

  Behind the sofa, a shattered mirror and a broken painting had been hurriedly propped up against the wall.

  Next to them he saw a black garbage bag.

  He pulled it out and peered inside: wrapped up in some bloody newspapers were pieces of what looked like pottery; a vase maybe, a shattered mug and plate?

  And handfuls of torn, blood-stained paper towels.

  That had been the noise Jack heard when he rang the bell: a frightened Tim Wilkins clearing away evidence of the beating he’d taken in this very room.

  He pushed the sofa back and looked around.

  A rug looked out of place in the corner of the room. Jack went over, pulled it back: a large blood-stain on the carpet.

  Must have been quite a fight, albeit a one-sided one.

  Jack doubted Tim knew how to throw a punch let alone how to avoid one.

  He went through to the kitchen at the back of the house.

  As he walked in he saw Tim leaning on the counter top, head in hands waiting for the water to boil.

  “Tim,” he said.

  The teacher stood up quickly and Jack could see he’d been crying.

  The guy was a mess…

  “You want to tell me what really happened? How you really got those injuries? Who the hell beat you up?”

  But the teacher just shook his head.

  “Like I said – I had an accident in the car.”

  Jack stared at him.

  Tim must now know that Jack knew… he was lying.

  “Listen. Whoever did this – whoever is putting pressure on you – for whatever reason – I can help you. We can help. Police don’t even need to be involved, Tim.”

  Jack watched him think about this. Then:

  “All right. I’ll tell you what happened. Just between you and me – okay? I was drinking. Way over the limit. Driving home from the pub. Stupid really. Had too many pints, came off the road, nobody hurt. I won’t do it again. End of.”

  Another fantasy story.

  Jack stared at him – the guy was scared, but he clearly wasn’t going to own up to being beaten up.

  “Okay,” said Jack. “Have it your own way.”

  He looked around the kitchen, wondering if there was any more he could do here.

  This room at least still had pictures and photos on the walls and on the fridge.

  Jack walked over to a framed set of photos, looked at each one. Holiday pics mostly – Tim and the same girl on beaches, camping, backpacks on, hiking.

  “Your partner?” he said.

  “Hmm?” said Tim, blinking. “Oh yes – um – Maddie.”

  “Oh yeah – Maddie Brookes – she teaches at the school too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Been together quite a while, huh?”

  “Seven years,” said Tim.

  “She’s very pretty,” said Jack. “Gonna tie the knot? Sorry – that’s rude of me…”

  “No, that’s okay,” said Tim. “Um, yes, year after next.”

  “Quite a wait.”

  “Need to make certain we’re financially secure – you know. Teacher’s salary. Hard to make ends meet.”

  “Sure.”

  Jack waited for Tim to say more, but the teacher just stood looking uncomfortable.

  Jack looked around at the other photos.

  “You and Josh used to hang out quite a bit,” he said.

  “Um, yes.”

  “Don’t suppose… you have any photos of him I could borrow?”

  Jack watched Tim look around at the photos on the walls and fridge.

  “Um, no,” he said. “Don’t seem to have any in here.”

  Hmm, thought Jack. Is that strange? Maybe not…

  “It’s no big deal,” said Jack, looking at his watch. “Forget the coffee, I’d better get going.”

  He turned and headed toward the front door – then stopped and faced Tim.

  Who probably thought – mistakenly – that Jack had decided not to ask any more questions.

  Fatal error…

  “Just one more thing,” he said. “On the day of the prom you helped with the locker searches…”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Sorry, Tim – you know I’m working with Sarah Edwards, trying to figure
out what happened to your friend Josh – maybe I didn’t say?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Jack could see that Tim was thrown by this change of tack.

  Good, he thought. Might finally get some truth around here…

  “My apologies, there,” said Jack. “But – let me get this straight – you were paired with somebody, yes?”

  “Yes. But look, I already talked this through with your friend.”

  “I know,” said Jack. “I don’t think she asked you though, at the time – who you were paired with?”

  Jack saw Tim screw up his face, as if remembering was too difficult.

  “I don’t know – Josh, I think,” he said. “Does it really bloody matter?”

  “No, no, I’m sure it doesn’t,” said Jack. “Just crossing t’s and dotting i’s – you know?”

  “Sooner you’ve done that the better,” said Tim. “This… thing… going on and on. Josh didn’t deserve this.”

  “No,” said Jack. “He didn’t. I’m also guessing he didn’t deserve to die.”

  Jack let that line resonate. Then:

  “Well, I gotta go…”

  He opened the door and walked out in the bright sunlight to his car. Behind him he heard the house door slam.

  Banged-up Tim… not happy…

  He climbed into the Sprite, fired up the engine, and put his sunglasses on.

  Someone had really worked over poor Tim Wilkins.

  Badly enough that he would say nothing.

  So – what did Tim know? Was he protecting Josh? Did they find something together?

  Or had Josh found out something before he died – and shared the information with Tim?

  And now the people who had drugged Josh… were coming after Tim?

  Something had happened with that locker search – but what?

  Time to talk to Tim’s girlfriend Maddie Brookes again – and also the bird-watching French teacher. Ms. Tradescant?

  What kind of name is that anyways? thought Jack. Like someone out of a Sherlock Holmes story.

  No call from her yet.

  Just before he pulled away, his phone pinged with a text. He flicked through: it was from Sarah.

  Meet me at the office. Bring some sandwiches. We’re going for a drive!

  32. Day Trip

  Sarah clicked her seatbelt into place and looked across at Jack as he climbed into her car and shut the door.

  “Sorry – this is such a rush,” she said.

  “No problem.”

  “And you’re happy with me driving?”

  “Would have been nice in the Sprite, especially on a day like today but no, you’re right – this car’s much more anonymous.”

  Sarah leaned forward to set the sat-nav for Gloucester.

  “Gloucester. Want to tell me why we are going there?”

  She pulled away.

  “Do I ever…”

  ***

  “So when Phil phoned an hour ago, he had the details about the van from the quarry.”

  “Yup – and registered to Rikky’s Burgers?”

  “That’s just it – no! Turns out the vehicle is owned by a company called Midas Leisure – and the address is bang in the city centre, right across town from Rikky’s so-called ‘office’.”

  “Wow. That’s odd, right?”

  “Exactly what I thought. I checked the online street view straight away. Thought I’d find some kind of warehouse – but no. Place turns out to be a snooker hall – with a club in the basement.”

  “Think I’m starting to see where this is going. Anything else?”

  “Yes. I rang an old friend who works for BBC radio in Gloucester – and she said the club has a very dodgy reputation.”

  “As in?”

  “Drugs, underage drinking, fights…”

  “Hence – this road trip.”

  “We should check it out, shouldn’t we?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Sarah could tell Jack was impressed.

  “And no chance for a bite. Got sandwiches?”

  “Dropped into Huffingtons – but the queue was way too long.”

  “Check out the bag on the back seat – I think Grace put an extra sandwich in there for you. And a coke.”

  “Great,” he said. “BLT.”

  Jack handed her a bottle of water and she took a sip.

  Then she pulled out onto the busy road that ran past the school.

  “Just ahead, by the way,” she said, “you’ll see the infamous burger van.”

  She slowed as they drove past the parking area.

  But she could see the shutters were down on the van and there were only a couple of trucks parked.

  “No kids today, huh?” said Jack.

  “Guess Rikky and Ted must be at home rustling up some of their ‘organic’ lunch options,” said Sarah.

  “Or worse.”

  “Worse? I’ve seen their greasy burgers and falafels. Not possible,” said Sarah.

  Then, when she was settled onto the Gloucester road: “Okay, hand me a sandwich – and let’s catch up.”

  ***

  “I don’t get it,” she said. “Why would Tim lie?”

  “Think he must be scared – very scared.”

  “So – whoever is trying to find the drugs, thinks that Tim knows where they are?”

  “Looks that way.”

  Jack had finished his sandwich and now rummaged around in the bag until he found the coke.

  He looked over at Sarah.

  “How about that. My favorite cookies,” he said, looking out of the window and watching the fields and low stone walls zip by. “Wish I had an assistant like Grace. She’s a mind-reader.”

  “I’m keeping my fingers crossed she doesn’t leave when she gets married,” said Sarah.

  “Make her a partner – in the business.”

  Sarah took her eyes off the road to look at him. “Hmm. You know – not a bad idea.”

  “Think she’d go for that?”

  “I bet she would,” said Sarah.

  ***

  Lunch on the run over, Jack looked out of the window again.

  The winding road they’d been on had straightened out, and they were driving down a long escarpment, fields on either side with a view for ten, twenty miles.

  Wow, he thought. Forgot how beautiful this area is.

  “Okay,” he said. “Back to business. You want to hear my theory?”

  “Sure.”

  “Go back to the day of the prom. Let’s assume that someone – a student – had the stash of drugs at school that day. Maybe not even planned that way. A mistake. See – if you were dealing drugs at a school you’d never carry that kind of amount. And also, you’d have it in sellable wraps.”

  “Okay, makes sense.”

  “Anyway – suddenly – there’s a locker search. Our suspect goes crazy. Thinking: I’m gonna get caught! He hangs around in the school, near the lockers, trying to see what’s going down. Finally, the teachers leave. But when he gets to his locker – the drugs have gone! Vanished! He thinks – a teacher must have found them.”

  “Of course. Then what?”

  “Not sure. Maybe the kid goes into meltdown, waiting for the knock on the door. But nothing happens. So he puts together a list of suspects who maybe took the bag.”

  “Teachers?”

  “Could be. But also maybe students. You see, he can’t be totally certain the drugs disappeared in the locker sweep.”

  “All right. Let’s assume a teacher took the drugs. Why not hand them in immediately, report the kid?”

  “Got me there. I don’t know – for now. But here’s one idea… That evening our suspect sticks with the prom crowd all the way to the pub, can’t stay away, checking everybody out. Who’s using? Who’s acting suspicious? He hangs out all evening with the party people. Then he sees Josh – obviously stoned.”

  “Right. Easy for anyone to see that.”

  “And, aha, he thinks, he must be th
e guy who got my stash! So he lets Josh go home, thinking – tomorrow I’m going to sort this. But then Josh disappears. Dies.”

  “Interesting. And then our suspect doesn’t know what to do…”

  “Exactly. Couple of days go by. Meanwhile, his boss, for want of a better word, starts to lean on him – what’s happened to the stash? Our suspect owns up – and now his boss is seriously pissed with him.”

  “The kid is in trouble.”

  “Right. And now, remember, these guys don’t take prisoners. They say to our suspect ‘we want our drugs back – or cash equivalent – or you’re toast.’”

  “Scary.”

  “Yep. Big threats going down. Maybe even life or death stuff. So, once the fuss about Josh settles, our suspect breaks into his house – but he finds nothing.”

  “Wait – how did he know about the floorboards in the kitchen?”

  Jack laughed. “That – is a good question. I don’t know.”

  ***

  Sarah drove, and thought about what Jack had said.

  About the drugs, the floorboards, the trouble this kid – the suspect – was in.

  She turned to him. “Jack, maybe before the prom this kid suspected Josh – went round to his house, saw him hiding the stash?”

  “Hmm. Possible. But then, instead of going to the Ploughman’s, he’d just break in that night, wouldn’t he?”

  Yeah… Sarah thought. That made no sense.

  “Okay, so put that to one side. More ideas?”

  “Not sure how good they are. More questions than answers. But, maybe our suspect breaks into Josh’s place, can’t find the drugs, thinks – shit – must have been one of the other teachers that took them from the locker! And he goes to the next one on the list.”

  “List?”

  “The list of teachers who did the locker search.”

  “Ah, I see. And next on the list is Tim Wilkins?”

  “Exactly. So – just an idea. But maybe he goes to Tim’s house at night – scares the hell out of him. Or maybe now his pals are involved, it’s the real heavies who go round there, give Tim a major beating. But Tim genuinely knows nothing – so the guys give up.”

  “Only after leaving him in a mess. And then?” said Sarah.

  “Well, guess he’s not off the hook. Whoever beat him might be back. Now Tim’s going to lean on the other teachers too, one by one. Has to really. Until somebody owns up.”

  “Wait a second. Something I don’t get… Why didn’t Tim just say to you this morning – help, I’ve got a bunch of drug dealers after me?”