“Kind of place you go in the winter — not the height of summer. Could have sent you a text at least.”
Jack stopped and turned to her.
“Yeah, there’s that. Easy enough to do, hmm? But Miriam — didn’t have our meeting in her diary.”
Sarah looked away.
“She didn’t even know about it?”
“Right. But he did, for sure. I think, even stressed out, needing a break stat, you’d call … text … no?”
A nod.
“Maybe he forgot?”
A bit of a smile returned. “Maybe.”
Meaning …
He didn’t believe that.
She wondered why.
“Jack — this chap Simpson — is he on the Carnival Committee?”
Jack nodded at that. “Sort of. I mean, he was there, the agent of record indemnifying the whole week.”
“Sort of?”
“At the meeting, he sat through the whole thing, glued to his phone.”
“Pretty common these days.”
A small laugh. “I know. But not like this. The Bucklands with their full-on show of all the carnival events, and he didn’t look up once. Caught my attention.”
“Meaning?”
“You know when you’re with someone … and they get news, big news. It’s like the room, the people in it, all disappear. Just the screen, with the words.”
“Maybe it was bad news. A family bereavement, you know—”
“What kind of family crisis ends with a dash to Morocco? And what’s up with not letting me know?”
“Got me there, Jack. Good question.”
Jack’s smile broadened. “Exactly. Now, if we had an answer …”
She looked away from the towpath.
They stood far from the bridge now, the path on each side of the river with matching sloping meadows that led to winding roads, woods, all the beauty that was only minutes away from the heart of Cherringham village.
“Anyway, I’ve arranged to meet another insurance guy tomorrow at their office.”
“Sounds good.”
“Meanwhile, I need to get back to the Goose — damn plumbing is still acting up a bit.”
“More electric problems?”
“Something to do with the bilge pump this time. But I’ll root around before I call for help. And, oh yeah, still want to rope Ray into helping with this race. If he turns up.”
“Somebody else gone missing,” said Sarah. “It’s becoming a habit.”
She saw Jack take this in. Then: “Don’t forget Daniel.”
“Hmm?” said Jack.
“For the regatta. I talked to him last night and he’s absolutely up for a supporting role somewhere.”
Jack grinned at that as if he already had some secret activity that he would surprise her with once the Carnival Week began.
But for now …
“I’d better dash. Speak later?”
“Yup. And don’t forget our mystery corpse. Maybe worth looking at just what was going on in the village twenty years ago.”
“God — not much, I imagine. Place was dead. And I was already long gone up to London to find fame and fortune. And party.”
“Now that,” Jack said, laughing, “would have been something to see. Bet you were a handful for your parents.”
“Oh — was I ever.” Then, as if the past twenty years flashed before her, “Took a while for things to settle down. If this is settling down.”
“Works for me.”
And then Sarah turned back on the towpath.
“Later, Detective!”
“You bet,” Jack said.
And as she walked away she had the feeling that Jack simply stood there watching her.
Not a bad feeling at all.
***
Jack had got wedged into one of the tightest parts of The Grey Goose; the bilge pump had been cleverly installed in a nearly unreachable place in the aft part of the barge.
A smaller guy might have been okay. But Jack was beginning to feel like he could easily become trapped down here.
Riley seemed fascinated by the whole process. Keeping his distance, looking on.
Jack looked at the pump — just one bolt left to undo.
Less than a year ago it had had a new gasket fitted — but for some reason the damn thing wore out regularly — and he had a pretty good idea what to expect when the head finally came free.
Pushing his hand into the tiny gap between the pump and the boat’s timbers, he slid the monkey wrench into place and made the turns, each one just a few clicks.
Thinking all the time about Tim Simpson.
Why was this bugging him so much?
He didn’t know the guy from Adam. But one thing he did know: that neat, careful diary and the tiny gold pen, did not belong to a man who, on a whim, shot off to Africa for an unplanned vacation.
Morocco? That guy?
Finally the nut came free.
He grabbed a flashlight, lifted off the gasket cover and peered in. If the pump had any life left in it, all should be good.
The gasket seemed okay — but he took it out, greased it anyway and slotted it back in place.
Then he tightened all the nuts and sat back, trying to stretch his tortured back.
He looked at his dog.
“Well, Riley. What do you think? Head topside. Give her a test. And, if all is good, think we can celebrate with a martini and, you, one of those bacon chew things you like. Sound good?”
Riley seemed to nod.
Jack slid his way free, nearly having to squirm out of the cramped space, until he could just about sit up, back up some more, then — finally — stand up, sort of, head down, and go topside and see if the pump seemed to be working at full force.
***
But the martinis were going to have to wait.
The pump — when it did splutter into action — barely squirted out more than a cup full of oily water. As Jack and Riley peered over the side of the Goose together, Jack could see that the dog was not impressed with his master’s plumbing skills.
“Going to have to get a new gasket,” Jack said as much to himself as to Riley.
Then he thought: the chandlers he used for boat supplies was just the other side of Bourton. Why not kill two birds with one stone? Pick up the gasket — and drop by the agents.
Save a trip tomorrow.
And also …
Stop this constant niggle in the back of his mind that the disappearing insurance agent was actually something he should check up on.
He knew that Sarah hadn’t really understood his concern — hardly surprising.
But something was ringing Jack’s alarm bells.
And back in New York, even as a new cop on the beat, he’d learned to act on those deep, almost subliminal, warnings.
Learned the hard way — by once ignoring them and missing a kid getting hurt bad by the parents.
That lesson had always stayed with him. And the regrets.
Not that Jack thought that this guy Simpson was in danger. No reason to think that.
But maybe there was someone, somewhere, that might know about his sudden uncharacteristic trip abroad.
Someone who might know if he was on medication, or maybe had personal “issues” that his office was unaware of.
But first a good shower might be in order.
He turned off the pump and headed below decks to get changed, still thinking …
Morocco?
And also …
What’s happened to Ray?
12. A Day Trip
Jack found a place to park his little Sprite on the edge of Bourton and walked through to the centre.
Second-prettiest village, Sarah had said — and maybe that was true.
But it was the most crowded for sure. This time of year, Jack could hardly see the cafés and gift stores for the milling crowds of tourists.
He threaded his way through the visitors, looking for Tim Simpson’s insurance office which his secretar
y, Miriam, had said was on the High Street.
The name: “Rogers and Partners, International”.
Jack looked for a brass plate, expecting something pretty respectable with a name like that.
But when he reached the right street number — he saw it was just another gift shop.
He went in anyway, and asked the young woman behind the counter who was dealing single-handedly with what looked like a whole coachload of Chinese visitors.
Barely looking at him, she pointed to an open staircase in the corner of the store.
Not terribly grand.
He climbed the stairs and emerged in an open, shabby office area with two or three desks — the place empty as far as he could see.
“Hello?” he said. “Anybody home?”
He saw a door open at one end of the office, and a woman appeared. In her late forties, flowery old-fashioned dress, tired-looking and — it seemed to Jack — flustered to find someone in the office.
“Oh — so sorry — did you have an appointment? Who are you? Only look — um, I’m really sorry — but you see, there’s nobody in the diary — in fact to be honest there’s nobody here — other than me. Are you here to see Mr Rogers?”
The whole speech came out in a rush.
“Miriam — that right?”
“Well … yes.”
Jack saw her blush. Her hair seemed somehow to have come undone and she brushed it out of her eyes, then tried to pin it back without success.
He stepped forward, held out his hand.
“I’m Jack Brennan — we spoke on the phone? And I’m so sorry if just turning up like this is a problem — I was passing through and thought it might be worth stopping by.”
“Oh yes. Of course. You had an appointment with … Tim. Not in my diary, as I mentioned, but … er, Tim, he … um—”
He saw her swallowing hard as if saying the name was an ordeal — then she burst into tears, and fled to the far corner of the office.
Well. Something was going on here.
Jack walked over: she was bent down on the other side of a desk, scrabbling in one of the drawers for something.
Back in the States, Jack might have been concerned about what she was going to pull out — but he felt pretty confident that, here in the Cotswolds, secretaries didn’t usually keep handguns taped under the desk.
“Miriam — I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” she snuffled, finally pulling out some paper handkerchiefs and wiping her eyes and nose. “Not your fault. It’s me. Silly me.”
Jack waited while she seemed to compose herself.
“God I don’t know what’s wrong with me these days. Crying like that at the drop of a hat. Ridiculous.”
Jack crouched down, level with the desk, trying to take the measure of the situation. He could see tears still flowing down Miriam’s cheeks.
“That your kitchen back there?” he said, gesturing towards the door she’d come through.
He saw her nod a yes.
“Well then, why don’t I make us both a cup of tea then we can chat?”
She nodded again and smiled at him, her eye make-up smudged, face pink.
He smiled back, stood up and headed for the kitchen.
Ever since he’d moved to England he’d been a big fan of the power of a cup of tea to resolve even the most difficult situations.
It rarely failed.
***
Jack put two mugs of tea on the desk then pulled up an office chair and sat patiently opposite Miriam.
“Thanks so much,” she said.
He watched her take a sip.
“That better?”
“Much,” she said, nodding. “You must think I’m a complete chump.”
Jack shook his head. “I have met a chump or two in my day, Miriam. Very much doubt you are one.”
He saw her smile and thought how much younger that smile made her look. Then she sat up straight as if remembering her role in the office.
“Were you hoping to see Mr Rogers?” she said. “Only he’s not due back for another half hour.”
“Well, I thought I might see him. But really I wanted to talk to you about Tim. About his going away.”
“Ah.”
Jack could see that the mention of the name had again jolted her.
“Get the feeling you’re worried about him, aren’t you?” he said.
“I am,” said Miriam. “It’s hard for me to hide, I suppose. Worried? Yes. Very.”
“Mind me asking why?”
“This whole thing — disappearing. It’s just so … out of character.”
“Go on,” said Jack, taking a sip of tea and watching her carefully. She frowned.
“If I might ask, why are you so interested?” she said. “I mean — you don’t know him. Why should you be bothered?”
Jack smiled. “Ah. Good question. Okay, here’s the thing.” He needed to take care with his words. Miriam did seem to get rattled easily.
“I used to be a cop, back in the day. And sometimes, even now I’m not a cop any more, when people do something — like you say — out of character, well, a part of me gets concerned that maybe something’s up, you know?”
He waited to see how Miriam was taking his explanation.
“I think I understand,” she said, not with a terrible amount of confidence.
“I mean, somebody might be in trouble, right? And if nobody follows up on the little clues then maybe a bad thing happens that could have been stopped. Guess that’s why I’m here. You could say it’s a selfish thing, I suppose. Me wanting to get rid of the nagging worry. But that’s the honest truth.”
Jack saw her take this in, then nod.
“Okay. And you think with Tim — Mr Simpson — there is some kind of trouble?” she said, taking another sip of tea.
“Probably not. But you were going to tell me exactly why you’re worried.”
“Oh yes,” she said.
She looked away. And Jack was suddenly glad he had dropped in on this office and found Miriam.
13. Unusual Behaviour
“Maybe begin just by telling me about him, you, this place, how it works. You know?”
Jack knew he’d get more information if they started wide, then kinda crept up on the issue.
“Right. Well. There’s just the three of us. Mr Rogers — he’s the boss, he handles all the big clients. Then there’s Tim — he does the routine, day-to-day policies. And me — I kind of run the office. I’ve been here twenty years now. Tim joined just after me.”
Casually, Jack had slipped a notepad out. Now he flipped it open, without losing eye contact with Miriam, and took some notes.
“I helped him out, showed him the ropes — you know? Course it wasn’t his first job, but he was very shy in those days. Still is. Funny really, over the years I’ve become a bit like a mum to him — you know?”
“Maybe that’s why you’re so upset now,” said Jack.
“Hmm, I suppose so. I do care about him. Care a lot.” She took a breath. “Long time to work with someone.”
Jack wondered if maybe once upon a time, in spite of the age difference, Miriam had hoped that she and Tim might become an item.
Seemed it hadn’t turned out that way. Romance or not, he couldn’t imagine working in this dingy office for twenty years without some kind of emotional connection to the other people.
“So does he have a wife — a family?”
“No. Lives on his own. Never talked about family.”
“Quite a loner then,” said Jack. “No sports? Hobbies?”
“Not that he ever mentioned.”
“Girlfriend? Partner?”
“If he did — he never told me,” said Miriam.
“He live locally?”
“Oh, yes. On that estate behind the hospital,” said Miriam.
“I’ve never been there, of course,” she added hurriedly, as if worried that Jack might get the wrong idea.
She sounded mou
rnful too, as if she had realised that now she never would.
And, for a second, Jack also had the thought that perhaps Tim might not be coming back — and that Miriam’s life might be about to change forever.
“Right. Still, you’re worried. Can you tell me why?”
“So, well, it started a couple of weeks ago. He came into work on the Monday and he was all over the place. Looked like he hadn’t slept all weekend. He didn’t seem to know what was in his diary — I had to keep reminding him all day.”
“Not his usual behaviour?”
“Not at all! Always on top of appointments and his work. Seemed like a different person. Then he kept disappearing, slipping out of the office, going outside. I could see him through the window there, sitting on a bench by the stream on his phone. Then he’d come back in, do a bit more work, still looking distracted. Then off he’d go again. And he was sending texts nonstop.”
“And that upset you?”
“Well, yes,” said Miriam. “It seemed to me as if, maybe … he was in some kind of trouble.”
Jack nodded. He remembered Tim at the meeting, hunched over his cellphone.
Those phone records would make interesting reading.
He made a note.
“Maybe he had got himself a girlfriend,” said Jack. “And was having a bit of a rocky time?”
“It’s possible, I suppose,” said Miriam. “But I don’t know. I just don’t think they were those kind of phone calls.”
This was proving most interesting.
“What kind of calls were they?”
He watched Miriam think about this for a few seconds.
“The way he acted? I think the calls frightened him. And made him angry.”
Jack nodded.
That didn’t sound like a secret relationship.
“So what happened then?”
“Well, this went on for a couple of days, same odd behaviour. Disturbing, really. Then one day he came in and he seemed to be a bit more like his usual self. I asked him if everything was all right and he made a big joke out of it. Said there’d been a bit of family trouble, but — no worries — it was all sorted.”
Jack nodded. He saw something in the observant Miriam’s eyes.
“But you don’t think he was telling you the truth?”
“No. You see, he’s never talked about family. Ever. Anyway, I didn’t go any deeper. I was just happy he seemed to be getting back to his normal self. But then …”
The Body in the Woods Page 7
