A shout of fear and horror from the man who — as she came lower — she suddenly realised was …
Bruno.
And he crashed through the roof of one of the stalls.
Sarah saw the crowd around the stall suddenly pull back, people falling over each other, frightened.
And — inexplicably — a great wall of water splashing from the smashed stall.
As her seat reached ground level again, Sarah looked across and saw that Bruno had fallen — amazingly — into the bobbing duck stall, the little yellow ducks scattered for yards. The water had broken his fall.
The water which now began to streak with blood.
The Big Wheel came to an emergency stop. She grabbed the metal frame and looked into the crowd that now had gathered round Bruno. Screams and crying.
She looked up to the balcony above and for a second saw a movement — but it was gone.
Whoever had been chasing a stumbling Bruno had vanished.
She was trapped, swaying in the air, ten feet from the ground and unable to do what every instinct told her to do. Race to the village hall and find whoever had just pushed Bruno off to what might be his death.
***
Jack and Brian sat on the deck of The Grey Goose, their single malts in hand, looking up at the village.
The music had stopped. And instead of flashing neon in the sky — Jack could see the blue lights of what had to be police cars or ambulances.
And the sound of more sirens on their way.
“What’s going on, do you think?” said Brian.
“Must be serious. And I got friends up there tonight.”
His phone pinged with texts and he read them quickly. Then he turned to Brian.
“Seems our friend Bruno Carter has had a bit of an accident,” said Jack. “Fell off the balcony of the village hall. Been taken to hospital.”
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” said Brian, shaking his head. “And wasn’t you, eh? Got your alibi sitting right here, Jack?”
Jack read the next text.
He turned to look at Brian.
“Sarah says he didn’t fall,” said Jack. “Looked like he was pushed.”
“What? You’re kidding …”
“Still think there’s nothing funny going on?” said Jack.
Suddenly all of Jack’s questions — his suspicion — returned.
And a few seconds ago he had been ready to walk away.
He looked at Brian, thinking maybe the old Cherringham cop was changing his mind too.
Jack stood up. He needed to think through things.
First thing tomorrow, meet up with Sarah.
For now, the evening was over.
Then to Brian: “Maybe Sarah and I do have something to solve, hmm?”
And Brian stood up, nodding.
“You never know. Thanks, Jack. The steaks, the drinks. And if you need more old cop thoughts …”
Jack nodded. Right now though — he just needed his own clear thoughts.
And for those to be clear, he’d have to wait until morning.
36. A Missing Piece Found
Jack stood in front of Sarah’s whiteboard while she held her phone close, eyes on him, nodding.
“Yes, Alan. If there’s any change, let us know. And yes — of course I can come in to file a report. Whenever’s good. Right. Thanks.”
Jack turned to her as she put her phone away. He’d barely had time to take a cup of breakfast tea from her, and bring her up to speed on his chat with Brian Larwood, when Alan called.
“So?”
“Bruno’s in a coma.”
Jack nodded. “And the prognosis?”
“Doctors said he could come out of it any time, or … who knows.”
“And no one else saw who was on that balcony with him?”
“Only me,” Sarah said with a smile. “Though I’m pretty sure Alan believes me.”
“Of course. Still, could have been anybody.”
“They were kids, Jack. Probably in town just for the fair.”
Sarah picked up her cup of tea from the table and walked close to the board.
“What do you think?” she said. “Last night in the square — I saw nearly every single one of these guys …”
Jack looked at the cards and post-its that floated around the photo of Tim Simpson and Sarah’s drawn outline of a body.
Lines went all over the board. From Simpson to Harry. From Lionel to Tim and Amanda. From Amanda to Karin.
From Simpson to the dug-up body.
A big question mark. The unknown blackmailer.
A line to them all — but totally unknown.
And now, right in the centre of the board, a new victim: Bruno Carter himself.
But what did it all mean?
“I have this feeling that whatever’s happening — it’s getting out of control.”
“I know,” she said. “Which is why, when I got back last night … I did some more digging.”
Jack saw that she had her pad in hand.
Jack nodded. “Tell me — you found something.”
“I think so. Couple of things, really. And if I’m right, we have a lot to do today.”
“And, God, already busy enough. I have to get to Swindon and back in time for the regatta. Then we got the carnival procession. And the big drive-in movie after.”
She nodded. “Time may not be on our side.”
Jack could see that whatever happened to Bruno — and neither of them were fans, to be sure — it had rattled Sarah.
He made a note that he’d have to stay close. Let Sarah know that he wasn’t far away.
That was important.
“Okay.” She sat at her computer, turned it on, then flipped the page of her notebook. “Prepare to be surprised.”
***
“Okay,” she said, bringing up her search windows. “When I got back last night I couldn’t sleep. So I came down, made a cup of tea, and really got stuck into the local news archives.”
Sarah scrolled through screens.
“See here: Cherringham newspapers, county papers. Even the nationals. It’s all digitised now — so much easier to go deeper. I didn’t expect to find much on Tim Simpson, to be honest. But I figured Harry Tyler’s been an MP for years, so there should be a ton of records around him.”
“And were there?”
“Oh God — thousands. Look.”
She started to scroll through the records. Pages of newsprint, with highlighted areas, flew past.
“He was elected in 1990. The body was buried in or around ’98. So I started at ’95 — and worked forwards.”
“Pretty tedious stuff, hmm?” said Jack.
“Totally. Lots of speeches about family values, ideals, integrity. Plenty of support for local industry and farmers. Got to say our Harry never failed to put the Cherringham view in the House of Commons.”
“Guess that’s what you pay your MP for,” said Jack.
“Something like that,” said Sarah. “Anyway, by 2am I was about to give up — hadn’t found a thing — when I came across this.”
She scrolled up a page and expanded it: a big headline, then a black and white photo set in a page of text.
“From the sports pages of the Cherringham Gazette.”
She saw Jack lean in.
“‘Cherringham MP says charity cricket match to become yearly event,’” he read. “Hey — the Todwell Toddlers — that’s my new team, no?”
“Right,” said Sarah, laughing. “The Todwell Toddlers played a Cherringham XI and raised two hundred pounds for the Church Roof fund.”
“A worthy cause,” said Jack. “So what’s the deal?”
“Okay. Take a close look at the photo of the Todwell team. And the names underneath.”
She watched Jack lean in closer and read — then step back.
“Well, waddya know,” he said. “There’s Harry. And if I’m not mistaken that’s a very young Tim Simpson standing right next to him.”
“And on either side?”
“Oh yes. Lionel Townes, looking just as buttoned down, and, Mr Insurance himself, Malcolm Rogers … without the paunch.”
“Now listen to this — in Harry’s own words …”
She scrolled down the page and leaned in to read. “‘For a scratch side, I think we did rather well,’ said the MP. ‘Most of the team come from the estate workers — and very creditable players they are too. I also managed to enlist a couple of old pals from college. And Tim here, another alumnus of slightly more tender years, a very talented historian who came down from Oxford in May and is helping me this summer with the family archive.’”
“Wow. So much for not knowing him. Harry invited him to stay.”
“Exactly. I checked the Oxford connection.”
“Oh yeah — I remember now, Rogers was at Balliol — I saw his college photo when I was at Tim’s office,” said Jack. “That’s where Harry went too? Old chums, hmm …”
“Yep. And the mysterious Lionel Townes? I went back into the university records. All three were contemporaries, though a good twenty years older than Tim. But it turns out that Harry, the charming new MP, was invited to speak at the Oxford Union that April. Followed by dinner at Balliol. All documented.”
“And you think that’s where he met young Tim?”
“Makes sense — no?”
“Perfect sense,” said Jack.
Sarah watched him go over to the board and stare at it for a few seconds. Then he took the names — Harry, Lionel and Rogers — dragged them together. Put a ring round them — and drew a new line to Tim Simpson.
“What’s the date on that article?” he said.
“June 27, 1998,” said Sarah.
“So — Tim is invited to work at Todwell that summer. But in the autumn, he leaves, and gets a job in the village. And then — suddenly, dramatically — he jumps ship again and heads to Bourton.”
“Where Harry’s school chum hires him. Maybe no questions asked? And this is after Tim got involved in a fight — according to your pal Brian,” said Sarah.
“Hmm, Brian said he has some old paperwork back in Spain that might give more info — be good to see that,” said Jack.
Sarah nodded. Then saw Jack look at her quizzically.
“What’s up?” he said. “You look like you got more to tell me?”
“I do,” she said. “But I’m not sure you’re going to like hearing it.”
But before she could say anything, there was a knock at the door.
Daniel popped his head in. This room off-limits, he knew.
“Mum, I need to … Jack, hey!”
She saw Jack turn, a smile quickly back on his face. “Hey Daniel, ready for the regatta? I have the coconuts down there already.”
“You bet. Going to head there early. Check everything.”
Jack shot a look at Sarah. “Good, I should be there on time.”
Then Sarah raised a hand.
“Daniel, before you go, remember that little job we talked about?
And grinning, he said: “Ah, yeah — the guinea pigs — no problem! I’m right on it.” Then he turned to Jack. “Jack — this afternoon — it’s going to be amazing!”
With that, Daniel removed his head from the open door.
Sarah had to look up at Jack and say, “By the way — coconuts?”
Another laugh. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Then he turned back to face her.
“So — you were going to tell me something that I wasn’t going to like.”
And Sarah took a deep breath and started …
37. A Spanish Connection
“Okay,” said Sarah. “So — I got to thinking about your new friend Larwood last night.”
“Hmm?” said Jack. Now he was curious.
“He was the cop in charge here twenty years ago?”
“That’s right. And he said there was nothing particular he could recall about that time. No missing people.”
Jack saw Sarah’s hand go up. “I know. Nothing unusual in that — it was a long time ago. But last night I thought — isn’t it kind of a coincidence that he turns up now?”
“True. But he did say he came back because he heard about the body and wondered if it might have happened on his beat. That’s an instinct I understand.”
Jack saw Sarah nod at that — but he knew there was something bothering her.
And he needed to know what it was.
“Of course. Anyway. While I had all the news records open — I did another search. Any mention of missing persons, but also this time, for Brian Larwood.”
“And?”
“Okay. Larwood was — as he told you — a sergeant back then. No shortage of mentions in the local paper — after all, he was here for a good ten years. Ending in ’98 when the local paper reported him as taking early retirement. Off to Spain.”
“Yeah. That’s what he said — had back trouble. Got offered a deal — jumped at it.” Jack picked up his cup of tea. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Afraid so. Took a while. Lot of digging. But I did find references to two internal enquiries where Larwood was investigated — and cleared. A car accident where proper procedures weren’t followed. Some rich kid in his dad’s Mercedes. And a brawl at the Angel, with one name conveniently missing from the report.”
Suddenly Jack started to get a bad feeling. Not just about Larwood. But also about last night …
Two old cops bonding.
But maybe much more than that happened.
“So,” he said, “it looks — you think — like he was pushed to retire?”
“Wouldn’t you say? Leaving early. What does it sound like to you?”
Jack knew that kind of behaviour well.
Something cops could do.
For a friend. Or sometimes, something else …
Cops, never well paid. And to get some cash, to make a bit of paperwork vanish?
Could be a hard one to resist.
“But Jack,” Sarah took a breath, “I’m afraid that’s not the only thing. Curious, yes. Suspicious even. But I was able to get into property sales records for Catalunya. Going back to the nineties. Talk about an easy system to hack …”
“I’m smelling a break?”
“Larwood moved to Sitges in ’98. Bought an apartment — think you call them condos?”
Jack nodded — real interested now, and thinking that what Sarah had said about him not liking this was going to be true. “Go on.”
“Want to guess who sold him the condo?”
“I wouldn’t even—”
“Harry Tyler.”
And at that, Jack stopped looking at Sarah.
Not pleased, he turned back to the whiteboard.
“And Jack — here’s the thing. I looked at other sales in the same block at the same time …”
“Let me guess,” said Jack, turning back to her. “Brian got a big discount.”
“Paid less than half the going rate.”
Jack nodded.
Sarah could guess what bothered him. And she imagined that didn’t sit well.
“Sorry, Jack,” she said.
“Oh, nothing to be sorry about,” said Jack. “Pretty clear now Brian Larwood lied to me last night. Not only did he know Harry Tyler. But it sounds to me like Harry Tyler owed him. Question is — for what?”
Sarah nodded. And though she knew Jack was upset — maybe even angry for having been sucked in, almost ready to walk away from the case — now his wheels were turning.
“Not only that, he did his best to get me off this case. Nice and casual. Cop to cop.”
“Who just happened to be back in Cherringham …”
“Precisely. Who better to get an old cop off the trail than another cop? And I fell for it.”
She guessed Jack would just shrug off any reassuring words. Instead: “What do you make of it all?”
In answer, Jack reached down to the table, took a sharpie marker and wr
ote something down on a post-it.
Then placed the post-it in the dead centre of the whiteboard right next to the little circle of Harry, Lionel and Rogers, with all its lines criss-crossing.
She could read the name quite clearly.
Larwood.
“I think, partner — you have just given us a big break.”
He tapped the post-it. A missing piece of the puzzle, not missing any more.
She sensed Jack’s mind racing. Pieces coming together …
“Hey, Mum!”
Sarah turned, to see Daniel at the door.
“I did the cage,” he said. “So I’m heading off.”
“Thanks love,” said Sarah. “Guinea pigs okay?”
“Yeah, going crazy! But guess what? I found something.”
Sarah looked at Jack for a second, then back at Daniel as he came forward and put a large envelope on the table.
“Stuck right at the back of the cage,” said Daniel. “It’s all wrapped up with tape.”
Sarah watched as Jack picked up the envelope.
“You think it might be important?” said Daniel.
“Could be,” said Jack. “Tell you what — you head down to the river, start setting things up. And I’ll join you in a couple of hours.”
“Great,” said Daniel, heading for the door. “See you!”
And he was gone.
Sarah looked at Jack. He raised his eyebrows — then reached in his pocket and took out a clasp knife.
“Don’t think this is going to be guinea-pig food,” he said, cutting through the tape.
Then he peered into the envelope.
“Well waddya know,” he said, turning it upside down and tipping the contents onto the table.
Packs of fresh, wrapped notes fell onto the table.
“Let me guess,” said Sarah. “Fifty thousand pounds?”
“Looks like it,” said Jack.
“So that’s one mystery solved. Rogers’ money.”
“Two mysteries, I think,” said Jack. “This is what Lionel was looking for the other day in Tim’s backyard.”
“Of course,” said Sarah. “But now the question — why?”
She reached forward, stacked the money and slotted it back in the envelope.
“Got somewhere secure?” said Jack.
The Body in the Woods Page 20
