As long as Jack stands still and doesn’t move, thought Sarah, he’s quite convincing.
But then Daniel bowled again — and the illusion fell apart …
In the next net, Sarah could see the Cherringham bowlers practising. The ball flying down the nets, smashing into the wicket with a loud clang.
This should be interesting, she thought.
***
Jack looked down the length of the pitch at Billy Leeper who wore a big grin.
Billy had the ball in both hands and was casually tossing it in the air and catching it, while he pointed and ordered the fielders into place.
Jack felt a trickle of sweat run down the side of his face. This damned helmet was uncomfortable. And the bat in his hands felt so weird.
Flat, the handle thin — not at all like a good old Louisville slugger.
And heavy too. In fact, all the gear felt heavy — the massive pads which came up nearly to his hips and seemed designed to stop you going faster than walking pace.
Odd in a game that was measured in runs.
He stood upright and looked around the field. Although a few fielders dotted the boundary, most of them stood a lot closer in.
He’d seen enough of the game so far to know what that positioning meant: they all expected Jack to pat the ball into someone’s hands.
Maybe they’re right, he thought. But how hard can it be just to stop the damned thing hitting the wicket?
And Billy — though he was big — seemed pretty casual about the way he was about to chuck that ball down to him.
So maybe he could surprise them all. And anyway — he couldn’t do worse than Harry, the Todwell opening batsman — who’d been “out” with his first ball, taking an angry swipe and missing completely.
Back in the pavilion, Jack had watched him come in and throw his bat down, before storming off to the changing rooms.
Same as in baseball after a ninth-inning strike out!
The next batsmen had done little better — which was why Jack had found himself so quickly in the firing line, joining Brian Larwood the other ex-cop “at the crease” as they called it.
He watched Larwood tip back his helmet too and walk casually down the pitch.
“Remember, Jack — you have to protect the wicket.”
Jack grinned. “I do know that. Just — I think that task might be beyond me.”
Larwood laughed and headed back up to the other wicket. Jack had chatted briefly with the guy while they were fielding, and he liked him. Two old cops. What they had done — what they had seen — no one but the two of them here would be able to understand that.
Now Jack waited, until finally Billy gave a nod to the umpire, who nodded back.
For a second, Jack was back in Little League, waiting while the pitcher goes through the motions, winds up, time slowing down.
Not quite as athletic here.
He watched as Billy took a single step forward, wound up his arm in some weird almost slow-motion action — and lobbed the ball down the pitch.
It looped high in the air and landed on the ground just a couple of yards in front of Jack — definitely something that would never happen at a Yankees game!
Then the hard, red ball took a strange bounce and spun away just as Jack attempted to swing at it.
But he wasn’t even close. Whatever Billy did to that ball, it jumped in a crazy way after hitting the ground.
Jack nodded. He saw people smiling, nodding, probably enjoying the American playing this game, and obviously completely at sea.
Voices from all around: “Go on Billy! Nice one! Lovely ball, Billy keep ’em coming!”
Reverend Hewitt — wearing the big floppy hat that indicated he was the umpire — looked over, and gave Jack a sympathetic shrug.
Billy bowled another, and — no different this time — it seemed impossible for Jack to get anywhere near it with his useless bat.
The ball’s movement totally baffling.
Jack pushed his helmet up from his face and wiped the sweat away.
He saw his fellow batsman give him a wave then stroll casually down the wicket and tip his helmet back too.
“Jack, bit of advice, mate. Keep the bat vertical to the ground. That way even if you do nothing, there’s still a good chance your wicket won’t get hit. Remember — it’s not baseball.”
Jack laughed. His coach as old as he was.
“And your swing. Has to be smooth and level. Not shooting for the sky.”
“But how do I hit the darn thing?”
At which question Larwood had a magic answer.
“Try and watch his hand when he lets go. And watch what the ball does after it hits the ground. Billy’s a leg spinner. Good one too. So keep your eyes on that spin, Jack.”
And Jack nodded. Made sense.
With these quick tips, maybe — Jack thought — he had a shot.
And he waited while another ball came flying to him.
***
This time he kept his eyes on the spot where the ball hit the ground, shifting his legs and his hold on the bat.
The ball popped up, seemingly violating the laws of physics.
But Jack was ready for the spin, his bat adjusted, as per Larwood’s advice, and he started his swing.
Not a massive, to-the–moon blast. But more level, steady.
And then …
Contact. A definite, satisfying “ping”.
The ball flying out through a gap in the fielders. The Cherringham team scrambling.
And Jack ran.
That part — not so different than baseball! Until he crossed with Larwood and stood safely at the other wicket, a run scored!
“Nicely done, Jack!” Larwood said from the other end.
“Over,” said the umpire.
Jack watched the fielding team shuffle their positions and realised that now — he was once again going to have to face the bowling.
But this time with a different bowler.
He looked around the field to see who was stepping up.
And saw it was Bruno.
And for some reason, it seemed the pitcher was not happy with Jack.
And how unhappy — he was about to find out.
31. Dustup
Jack watched as Bruno organised his fielders. And from the distance, all the guys were moved back — he worked out that Bruno’s bowling was going to be much faster than Billy’s.
When Bruno seemed satisfied with his positioning, he turned and walked back away from the wicket, seeming to count his paces. Seven, eight, nine, ten …
Jack saw him stop and scrape a line in the grass with his boot, then turn and face Jack, ball in hand, feet shuffling like a bull pawing the dirt in front of a toreador.
Some bull, thought Jack. Some toreador.
Then, with a cue from the umpire, Bruno started his run.
As he reached the far wicket, his arm came hurtling over in a blur and the ball rocketed towards Jack.
This time, it didn’t careen into the ground only to spiral off in a different direction.
But neither did it — as Jack would have thought — target the to-be-protected wicket.
No. This throw hit the ground about halfway down the wicket and flipped up right at Jack’s head.
Jack had dodged plenty of intentional pitches aimed at him, playing back on his high school team back in Brooklyn. A bit of strategic warfare that was part of baseball.
With Jack’s twisting move out of the way, the ball went flying into the keeper’s mitt.
Larwood looked startled at the force of it.
Reverend Hewitt — the ump — addressed Bruno as he turned back to start the whole process again.
“Careful there, bowler. No bouncers please!”
A warning.
Guess what Bruno just did — not allowed.
Jack looked over at Larwood. Clear to both of them what that was meant to do.
Intimidate.
Larwood took advantage of Bruno’s long run in to amble do
wn the wicket again with a bit of advice.
“You can hit that, Jack. Same idea, nice and steady, but at that speed, straight at you, faster.”
Jack nodded.
He didn’t want to get hit. And he didn’t want the wicket to tumble — God forbid!
But he also had something else he wanted to do. Maybe press a few useful buttons here.
He gave a nod to Bruno who he saw had reached the end of his run-in and now stood waiting to deliver.
As in …
Go on. I’m ready.
***
Sarah watched Jack and thought: something’s going on here.
Karin had seemed none too pleased with any of the questions she and Jack had been asking about Tim Simpson.
Had she told Bruno? Asked him to give Jack a bit of a warning?
And now as she watched, she wondered if Bruno meant to really hurt Jack?
So — like everyone else — her eyes were locked on the two of them, and this long run in before the next delivery.
She saw Bruno lean back, arm in motion. Those long arms could put a lot of speed into that ball.
She held her breath.
***
Jack kept his eyes on Bruno’s hand, tightly curled around the cricket ball.
In baseball they had a term for what was coming.
A “heater”, aimed right at Jack.
Might end Bruno’s spell playing for Cherringham today. But maybe — for the upset Bruno — worth it.
Then the ball — released.
Jack saw Larwood in his line of sight. Time for coaching over. Jack on his own.
He tightened his grip. Began his swing.
Only now he wasn’t getting the cricket bat into position to hit the ball in such a way he could get another run.
As much as he’d like to do that, there was another matter to attend to here.
A button to be pushed.
How hard an edge did Bruno have?
The bat in motion.
The ball — so damn fast. Jack hoped he had the angle right, the plane of the bat facing correctly.
After all, if this failed …
Then — contact. The cricket bat creating a satisfying crack.
But instead of sending the ball pinging out past the various fielders — the ball flew right back at …
Bruno.
Who after his massive throw was unprepared — and just yards away.
Jack saw Reverend Hewitt’s arm rising in some kind of signal. That bowl — for whatever reason — about to be called illegal.
But, like everyone, the umpire was too busy watching it fly.
Bruno knew he had a bullet coming right at him.
Needing to catch that rocket.
Jack thought: good luck with that.
And the ball careened dead centre into Bruno, his hands in position to catch it.
And when it hit his cupped hands in front of his face, Jack heard the crowd groan.
It would be that painful.
Bruno seemed to stagger back, then — as if the leather-covered ball was a piece of hot lava — let it fall to the ground.
And it took only seconds for what happened next …
***
Sarah wondered if Jack had meant to do that. Either way, she watched as Bruno ran from his bowling position and stormed at Jack.
Reverend Hewitt remained standing, gesturing, calling for Bruno to return to his position, all the spectators watching a charging bull heading straight towards Jack.
But then, feet away, Billy Leeper and Todd Robinson, the wicket keeper, raced in, stopping Bruno’s charging train, grabbing him, holding him firm.
And then Sarah heard Bruno say to Jack — in what seemed a most un-cricket-like way — “You bastid!”
Then she saw Jack look over. A smile on his face.
I guess he had a good reason for doing that, she thought.
As for her, on what was meant to be a sleepy, summery day of tea and cricket, she was suddenly worried.
32. Beers and a Brawl
Sarah watched Jack, sweaty in his whites, take a sip of the cold beer.
“Thought you people didn’t believe in ice-cold beer?”
“A day like this, you bet we do.”
The Cherringham team had won the match, but that victory wasn’t what everyone was talking about.
“You certainly stirred things up out there,” she said to him.
“Really?” he grinned. “Hope so. And how about you, in here?”
“Well, I don’t think you’re going to get far asking Harry about Tim’s employment history.”
“Why that?”
“I pressed Amanda on it, and she went from charming hostess to Gorgon. I’m pretty sure Harry will follow the same line — if you can find him.”
“He’s not here?”
“Came in. Didn’t change. Piled in his car and drove off.”
“Interesting. Both lying then. And acting panicky. But why? You think she’s protecting him?”
“Could be. But from what? Why not just say ‘hmm, maybe Tim did work for us, I can’t remember’? When I went to talk to her, she was having a really intense conversation with her sister.”
“My new pal Bruno’s wife?”
Sarah nodded. “In fact — it was just like when I saw her arguing full on with him up at Todwell House. And speaking of that, Jack, what were you up to out there? Not sure I get why? I mean, if you meant to do it.”
“Oh, I did. Your son has a future as a coach, by the way. Great advice he gave me.”
“Okay. But what’s up with Bruno?”
Jack paused, looked around.
They stood on their own, off to the side of the pavilion where the teams and their friends and family relived the game over beers and the quickly vanishing sandwiches.
“A lot of things not making sense here. You know? All that money flying around. Threatening emails. Tim gone, but certainly not on vacation …”
“You fear the worst?”
A long pause. Then a nod.
“My instinct says … yeah. Something real wrong here. Then Harry lying, his wife backing him up? And the sister, her lout of a husband turning up out of nowhere all agitated — and definitely giving me a warning signal out there.”
“I think those two aren’t terribly good at acting ‘cool’.”
“Right, exactly. So I thought, we got a hornet’s nest, let’s start sticking some sticks in it.”
She grinned at that. “Doesn’t that produce a lot of agitated and angry hornets?”
“That would be the idea. By the way — I saw Alan Rivers earlier on the Cherringham team. You manage to catch him?”
“Hmm,” said Sarah, “think it was the other way round — he caught me. Wasn’t too happy about me dropping his name in Bourton the other day.”
“Ah.”
“He did say that he covered for us. And also that it was best he didn’t know what we were up to. At least — until we had something solid.”
“But you told him anyway?”
Sarah laughed. “A little. I said we were worried about Tim. Oh — and I asked him to check out Tim’s car on the Police National Computer. See if it had turned up anywhere odd. Run of the mill old Ford so he said it wasn’t exactly going to stand out.”
“Good thinking, anyway. And right, forgot to ask — your pal get anywhere with our friend Lionel and his plate?”
“Surname checked out. And no police record. Interestingly — a London address.”
“Hmm. So not local then?”
“Nope. Doesn’t stop him being a friend of Tim’s of course — but kind of unlikely.”
“Never know. Could be a work connection. College pal, maybe. That something you can follow up?”
“Yep, no problem.”
“Great. Meanwhile — think I need to find Alan myself — want to get an update on the forensics.”
“One step ahead of you, Jack. Dead end in the UK database, apparently. Alan said they passed on
the DNA to Interpol but that’s a long shot. One thing he did say though — if you still want to talk to a cop who was here twenty years ago? Then there’s one right over there.”
Sarah pointed across the crowd to where Brian Larwood stood, pint in hand, in the middle of a laughing crowd, telling a story.
She saw Jack smile.
“Well, there you go. I knew he was a cop — but he didn’t say he was a local.”
“Apparently, back then he was Cherringham’s very own sergeant.”
“You don’t recognise him?”
“I was probably still at school when he was here, so I didn’t meet the police that much.”
“Goody-two-shoes, hmm?”
“Just never got caught,” she said, winking.
She watched Jack drain his beer.
“So listen,” he said, “while standing out in the field, had some ideas.”
“More prodding of hornets’ nests?”
“A bit. But actually in this case, some actual detective work.”
“Will wonders never cease?”
“Thinking that tomorrow morning, going to head over to that watch shop in Swindon. Regatta doesn’t start until two, so plenty of time. Way I see it — if Alan’s guys have hit a dead end — then that watch — could be damn important.”
She looked around the room. “Well, now that you’ve helpfully stirred up the hornets … and with it being the opening night of the fair,” she took a breath, “maybe I’ll go along this evening, see who I can bump into.”
“Perfect. Meanwhile, think I’ve got something else I’m going to do tonight.”
Jack and his secrets.
“But I’ll call you late. Hopefully not too late?”
She nodded. Then: “Good luck with the races tomorrow!”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. All set. Your son knows all the details as my ‘number two’. Even knows about something that I think will, um, amuse even the longterm regatta fans.”
“Oh, no worries on that score. Everyone’s looking forward to it.”
Another big laugh.
Such an American laugh, she thought. Big, loud — like the country itself.
But then — Billy Leeper appeared by Jack’s side. And no smiles there. Something was wrong.
***
“Jack. Er—”
Sarah saw Jack turn to Leeper. “It’s Bruno. Been hitting the beers, maybe a drop of the hard stuff he brought too. Think he’s getting ready to have a ‘go’ at you.”
The Body in the Woods Page 17
