Cherringham--A Fatal Fall

by Matthew Costello

  She opened the door, cold rushing in as if waiting for such a foolhardy move, and ran out to his car.

  *

  The construction site was only minutes away. Giant, temporary lamps on top of huge poles bathed most of the site in a milky light.

  Jack parked the Sprite well away from the lit areas.

  He pointed to Sparks’ office.

  “Okay. No way we can go there, and get in, without being in the light. Don’t see any CCTV but doesn’t mean there isn’t any. I have worked a few jobs in the city where things happened on a building site. And they tend not to look at the video unless something happens. If we’re in and out, nice and clean, shouldn’t be a problem, even if there are cameras.”

  Sarah took a breath.

  Even with the Sprite’s underpowered heater doing its best, she still saw a smoky fog billow from her mouth.

  It was the coldest winter she could remember in a long time.

  “So we just hurry over there, get in …”

  Jack nodded, then turned to her. “Ray told me where there’s a break in the fence. I can get through — then go break in. Then you can follow …”

  She shook her head. “Hey — I’ve been practising on locks. You know that, right? Watching you. Let me try to get in. The door lock looked pretty simple.”

  He kept his eyes on her, debating. Then: “Always like to have my partner try out their skills. You got it. I’ll be right beside you in case you need a hand.”

  Then, after he took another look at the site office …

  “You ready?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Then — it’s time to go.”

  And Sarah popped open her door, ready to race beside Jack.

  *

  “Damn,” she said, fiddling with the pick buried in the keyhole that did, indeed, look simple.

  “Take your time,” Jack said.

  Then Sarah felt something, the inner workings of the lock, and with a quick rattle, the door popped open.

  They quickly slipped inside.

  “You know, a lock like that — for future reference — might even open if you slide a credit card — something thin, bit of metal — between the jam and the door. Could be quicker.”

  “Thanks, professor.”

  He laughed as they stood in the darkness. “But you did good. Really!”

  And then she looked around the office.

  The computer on Spark’s desk. Filing cabinets. Walls filled with building plans.

  “Time to get to work,” she said. And Sarah walked over to the desktop computer.

  “And I’ll check the file cabinet,” Jack said, slipping out a small torch.

  And quietly, together, but searching in two different worlds, they looked through the records of Winters Construction for any information, any clues about Dylan McCabe.

  13. What the Record Shows

  Jack leaned back on the hard plastic chair in the dim light cast from the lamps outside and watched Sarah working at Sparks’ desktop computer.

  He’d never been a natural with computers — but he could see that as Sarah’s hands flew across the keyboard, her mind was totally in the zone.

  “Any luck?” he said.

  “Ton of emails,” she said. “And I think I’ve already found something interesting.”

  “Yes?”

  “Looks like Dylan wasn’t the only guy on site without a proper ID card.”

  “So Sparks was playing fast and loose with hiring, huh?”

  “And if he was turning a blind eye there, maybe he was cutting corners elsewhere …”

  “The kind of thing a whistle-blower might pick up on, huh?” said Jack. “You got the names of the other guys without cards?”

  “It’ll take some digging. I’ll dump it all on a drive to read later. Just taking a quick tour round the Winters Construction server, see if I can pick up any staff records.”

  Jack looked out of the trailer window into the brightly lit building lot. It was beginning to snow, just light flakes for now, fluttering in the glare of the arc lights. In another place, another time, the idea of snow falling in England, with just days until Christmas, would have been magical.

  But here — now — yards from where Dylan McCabe had fallen to his death, the snow was just another problem to deal with.

  “How ’bout you?” said Sarah, still typing.

  “Nada,” said Jack. “Just a lot of bills, plans. Everything to do with money and materials — nothing to do with people.”

  “That’s because it’s all on here — I hope.”

  Jack checked his watch.

  Don’t want to overstay our welcome, he thought.

  But it had certainly been right for Sarah to come along. The filing cabinets were pretty empty — emptier than he had expected for a busy building operation.

  Just like McCabe’s trailer and van — had someone been in here doing some careful gardening before the inspectors turned up?

  Or maybe before Sarah and I did …?

  And if that was the case — maybe someone was expecting them.

  Which means … maybe I was wrong about the CCTV? he thought.

  Maybe somebody’s watching right now …

  “Sarah — I think it’s time we were out of here.”

  Now he saw her stop and look across at him — concerned.

  “What? I thought we had plenty of time. You seen someone?”

  “No, I just suddenly got an itchy feeling and I learned to trust those feelings. I want us out …”

  “Okay,” she said. “If you really think so.”

  He got up and stood to one side of the window, and peered out at the main gate. No sign of movement — yet.

  He could hear Sarah behind him shutting down the computer.

  “Got what you need?” he said as she rose from the desk and joined him in the shadows.

  He watched as she held up a thumb drive: “No late night movies for me this evening.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  He gently opened the trailer door, just wide enough to slip through into the freezing air.

  As soon as Sarah had joined him, he shut the door, then used the picks to lock it again.

  *

  He nodded at Sarah as she led the way, crouching, across the hard, rutted ground, a gentle snow falling all around.

  The two of them slid through the gap in the fence — just as Jack spotted a set of headlights slide off the main road towards the building lot.

  As the vehicle got closer, Jack saw the words ‘Eagle Guards’ on the side. Some kind of security truck.

  Regular drive-by — or special order?

  He gently pulled Sarah down against the side of the fence. There wasn’t much cover, but a couple of parked cars might just obscure them.

  He and Sarah watched as the truck went by at walking pace down the side of the car park. Jack could see the guard in the passenger seat playing a powerful torch along the fence, its light catching the snowflakes in the air.

  The truck stopped level with them. Jack saw the exhaust cloud lifting into the night air.

  The beam from the torch played on the fence, then flickered across their faces.

  Jack took a deep breath, ready to grab Sarah and run …

  Then he saw the light shift and heard the truck ease into gear. He watched it move off towards the end of the road, and continue around the perimeter of the car park.

  “That’s quite an itch you have there, partner,” said Sarah.

  He turned to look at her, despite the close call, a grin on her face.

  He smiled back.

  “Owe my life to it,” he said. “Let’s get outta here.”

  And staying low they made it to the Sprite, then got in fast and drove away into the night.

  *

  Jack adjusted his black tie in front of the wardrobe mirror then stepped back to look at his reflection.

  It’ll do, he thought, watching a shaft of sunlight from the bedroom window catch dust in
the air.

  He was never comfortable in a suit and tie. And this — his only serviceable dark suit — had last been worn to Katherine’s funeral. Though it had seen plenty of service in the years before that.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, then turned and headed through the saloon, picking up his car keys on the way.

  “In your basket, Riley,” he said, and he watched his Springer shuffle reluctantly off into the corner. “Coming back soon.”

  Then he headed up on deck and locked the wheelhouse. He looked around. The snow must have fallen all night.

  The meadows on the far side of the Thames were shining white against the grey cloud which looked to threaten more snow.

  Upstream, he saw a pair of swans gliding gently in the current.Then, a glance downstream, towards Cherringham Bridge. Two boats down, he saw Ray emerge on his own deck, looking awkward in a brown pinstripe with unlikely flairs.

  “I’ll give you a lift,” Jack called, and he saw Ray wave to acknowledge him.

  He stepped carefully down the gangplank onto the fresh snow. Then, taking one look back at the Grey Goose, Jack turned and headed down the towpath.

  He hated funerals.

  *

  Jack sat in the second pew from the front thinking about the case while the parish priest said some well-intentioned but long-winded words about lost souls.

  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ray, seated next to him, cleaning his nails with an old penknife.

  Beyond Ray, Kevin looked like he was about to nod off.

  Across the aisle there was an old couple that Jack had seen around the village, and a couple of nuns from the convent that lay in the woods.

  He didn’t recognise the nuns, though he’d had business at St. Francis’s Convent a while back when the previous priest had died in mysterious circumstances.

  But for these few congregants praying quietly at the back, the church was empty.

  Apart from the occupant of the cheap coffin that lay on trestles just feet away.

  Jack heard the creak of the church door being opened. He turned to look.

  A woman had entered. Coat, scarf and hat pulled tight. She didn’t genuflect and slipped into the rearmost pew.

  Hard to make out — but she looked young, with dark hair.

  Jack turned back and faced the priest, who stood now at the altar, continuing the service.

  Now we’re getting somewhere, he thought.

  He knew exactly who that woman was …

  Even wrapped up in that scarf, there was no doubt about it — she had to be the girl in the photo.

  She’d turned up to the funeral. She and Dylan had been tight. He must surely have talked to her about the site, his worries, what he was up to.

  What he had discovered that maybe got him killed.

  All Jack had to do was talk to her after the service.

  The priest announced a hymn. Jack picked up his hymn book and prepared to sing, his thoughts not on the hymn, or the service, or even McCabe …

  But instead, the mystery girl at the back of the church.

  14. A Winter’s Morning

  When the service was over, Jack emerged from the church at the end of the line of coffin bearers — he couldn’t see the girl anywhere.

  She’d disappeared.

  He walked out onto the road that led up to Cherringham, checked both ways — but couldn’t see her.

  Then he slipped around the back of the church into the graveyard and looked out across the snow-covered fields, but there was no sign of her.

  The girl had vanished into thin air.

  He returned to the front of the church where the coffin was being loaded by pall-bearers into the hearse. He nodded to Ray and Kevin who were both huddled against the cold wind smoking roll-ups.

  Maybe the girl had gone ahead, to the crematorium? Kevin had told him that was the next stop, way over in Cheltenham.

  Jack hadn’t intended to continue — but if there was the slightest chance she was there, he was going to have to.

  But then his phone rang.

  “Sarah.”

  “Jack — service over?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay. I’ve been going through Gary Sparks’ emails — still got more to do, but I thought you should know this right away. I’ve got the name of the other person on the site using a false ID.”

  “Go on …”

  “Viktor Lupei. Mean anything?”

  “Does indeed. There was a Viktor the other night at the Ploughman’s — could be the same. You got a nationality?”

  “He’s down as Romanian — but that could be false too.”

  “No, that makes sense — I’ll check with Kevin and Ray, they’re both here.”

  “Also — something … Not sure if it’s anything …”

  “Tell me.”

  “There’s an email thread between Sparks and Winters. Very cautious. Winters telling Gary to ‘just do as he’s told’, Sparks getting nervous. Then Winters says — ‘no emails, we need to talk’. It’s dated the morning Dylan died.”“Might have nothing to do with Dylan,” he said.

  “Or it might …”

  His instincts told him Sarah could well be right.

  He looked over at the hearse which was about to drive away.

  “Sarah — you got an address for Viktor?”

  “Amber Flats — it’s up by the station.”

  “Okay. Ray will know where that is,” he said. “I think it’s worth checking out. Ring me if you find anything more.”

  He shut his phone, then went over to Ray and Kevin, knowing what he’d do next.

  “You guys going to the crematorium?” said Jack.

  “Seems right,” said Kevin.

  “That’s good of you,” said Jack. “Do me a favor would you, Kevin? I’m still trying to track Dylan’s girlfriend — and I think she might turn up there. Call me if she does, would you?”

  “Sure.”

  Jack turned to Ray.

  “Wondering if you’ve got an hour, Ray — give me a hand with a little something?”

  Jack saw Ray’s eyes narrow. He knew that Ray knew that ‘a little something’ meant more than just an innocent ‘something’ …

  “No problem,” said Ray. “Not a big fan of crematoriums, me. Not planning on going there till I’m good and ready, know what I mean?”

  “I’ll see you later, then,” said Kevin.

  Jack watched him turn and head towards his car, parked in the snow by the church gate.

  “Kevin,” Jack called. “Hang on. Did you see Viktor at the site this morning?”

  “Viktor? Hmm … He’s been ill. Not seen him for a day or two. There a problem?”

  “No, just might need to chat to him, that’s all. Drive safely now.”

  “I will. And thanks again — on behalf of the lads — for being here, Jack.”

  Jack watched him climb in his car and drive off. Then he turned to Ray.

  “You ready?”

  “This wouldn’t be anything illegal you’re getting me involved in now Jack, would it?”

  “Ray, you know me. Pure as the driven snow, eh?”

  “I thought so,” said Ray. “Lucky I got my gloves with me.”

  “Gloves?”

  “Fingerprints and fighting, Jack. Fella needs gloves for both, right?”

  Jack headed over to the Sprite and climbed in and Ray followed.

  “While I drive, Ray, why don’t you tell me about Viktor Lupei …”

  And he pulled out onto the snow-covered road, the back of the Sprite sliding in the snow as they headed up the hill into Cherringham.

  *

  Jack parked at the back of the Railway Arms and got out of the car.

  He’d told Ray about Sarah’s phone call and they’d spent a few minutes working out their tactics.

  If Viktor was working illegally, he might be nervous talking to Jack. The important thing was to reassure him he wasn’t in trouble.

  Not for tha
t, at least.

  “We just need to find out just how much Sparks is involved, Ray,” Jack had said. “I’m not interested in getting the guy thrown out of the country.”

  They walked in silence across the snow-covered pub car park then along Station Road.

  Jack rarely came up to this part of the village. The Railway Arms was a pretty dire pub that picked up its trade off the evening trains.

  And though he’d driven down Station Road he’d never needed to get out of the car. There were no shops or businesses up here: only a line of old terraced houses.

  “Just up here,” said Ray, pointing to a small side road. Jack followed him. Ahead he could see a tatty block of sixties apartments, with a line of overflowing rubbish containers at its side.

  “Alma Flats,” said Ray.

  The three windows of the tattered door to the flats showed a grim glass lobby inside, walls covered with ripped posters and old tape.

  Jack tried the main door — once upon a time there’d been a security lock on it, but he could see the whole mechanism had been levered off.

  With a nudge, the door popped open, the lock virtually useless.

  Once inside, he noticed a tattered list of tenants’ names, next to a graffiti-covered elevator.

  “Lupei — third floor, flat 8,” he said, then turning to Ray: “You know what to do?”

  “Oh yes,” said Ray, taking his gloves out of his pockets and putting them on.

  “If Viktor comes down the stairs and tries to slip away, don’t punch him Ray, please,” said Jack.

  “Oh, right. Yes, Jack.”

  Then Jack called the lift and when the doors opened he went in and hit the button for the third floor.

  This is one sight the tourists don’t get to see, he thought, as the lift rattled its way upwards.

  The doors opened on the third floor and Jack got out.

  He was in a corridor with floor-to-ceiling glass, faded blue paintwork on one side. He looked out through the windows at the snow-capped roofs of Cherringham.

  Beyond the village, he could see the meadows and the ribbon of black against snow white which was the Thames curving through the valley.

  He could just make out the Grey Goose at her mooring. This was some view. Only a question of time before a developer got permission to knock down these broken-down flats and put up swanky apartments …