Happier days, for sure.
“Used to stay at Todwell House. With him and Amanda. She wasn’t up at Oxford — but I’d, um, got to know her over the years. Liked her. Really liked her. She was fun.”
Sarah guessed — another secret being revealed here.
Lionel, Amanda ….
“Anyway — that summer I’d hardly seen Harry. He and Amanda had gone out to their place in Spain during recess. You know, when parliament wasn’t sitting. Not much for me to do, so I was in London setting up some investments. Then I heard on the grapevine that Harry and Amanda had had another of their big rows.”
“That happen often?”
“God. All the time. Anyway, I heard she’d buggered off to the States to go and help out on some big charity dinner or something. Don’t remember what — that was what she did, you know. Her work. So Harry was out in Spain on his own in the villa. I did think maybe I could get out to join him — bloody nice place it was. Big pool, up in the hills above Sitges. Private. Very private.”
“But you didn’t go?”
“Too busy. If I had — well — none of this would have happened, would it?”
Sarah just watched Lionel, not interrupting, letting it just flow, holding back questions.
She thought: I’m about to hear what really happened. Amazing.
“Who knows? So there I am down at the Ship in Wandsworth one night, having a few pints — when Harry rings. He’s in a dreadful state. Says I’ve got to come now. Don’t tell anyone, he says. Come now! Big trouble! So I say, ‘Bloody hell — to Spain?’ And he says, ‘No — Cherringham’. Then he puts down the phone. So I get in the car and off I go. Good three hours it takes me. Anyway I get to the house and the whole place is dark but I can hear voices, so I go round the back and everybody’s there on the terrace and there’s a full-on bloody argument going on.”
“Who’s everybody?” said Sarah. “Who was there?”
“What?”
“On the terrace. Who was there?”
“Oh right. Well, Harry, obviously. Amanda. Karin. Bruno. Tim.”
“Tim Simpson?”
“Well yes — of course. You know, Harry and Tim.”
Sarah saw Lionel look at her as if she was somehow stupid for not knowing the full line-up that night.
Harry and Tim? What did that mean?
She nodded to him to keep going …
“Everyone’s shouting, crying, grabbing hold of each other, all in the dark, mind, and then I notice there’s a wheelbarrow off to one side and next to it there’s something under a blanket, like somebody lying down.”
Lionel took a breath as if fortifying himself.
“A-and I go over to it and I pull the blanket back and—”
Lionel swallowed hard.
The memory now clearly so real.
He’s never told this story, Sarah suddenly realised. No wonder it’s pouring out like this.
“The shape — somebody lying down. A young man. But … God. He’s not lying down. He’s dead. Just there. Looking up. His eyes …”
“You must have been very shocked.”
“Of course! Shocked? God! I didn’t understand what was happening. So I get hold of Harry who’s standing there like a zombie and I start shaking him, trying to get him to tell me what the hell has happened. But no, he’s in too much of a state. He can hardly talk. So Amanda takes me to one side and explains.”
Lionel looked up at Sarah — and she could see he was having trouble holding it together.
She got up, went to the bathroom and poured a glass of water — came back and handed it to him. He drank, then continued.
“Here’s the thing. You need to understand this. You see Harry and Amanda are married. But Harry’s always been … well you know? He’s gay … These days no big deal, is it? But back then? Enough to kill an MP’s career stone dead.”
“So Amanda and Harry’s marriage was just a convenience?”
“Pretty much. I mean — sure they’re fond of each other. And Amanda certainly loved the house and the car. But in bed? Zilch.”
“So Harry had partners?”
“One-offs mostly. Kept it pretty quiet.”
Sarah suddenly realised …
“Like Tim Simpson?”
Lionel nodded. “That’s right. Harry met him in Oxford — had a bit of a soft spot for him. Invited him to stay. Put him up in the old boathouse that summer. Think Tim — quiet sort — had a crush on him too.”
“Did people around Harry know his secret?”
“Family. Close friends, I imagine. Sure.”
“So, what did Amanda say to you that night?”
Lionel took another sip of water.
“Yeah. Right. So, turns out when she left Harry out in Spain that week, he got bored one night, went down to the centre of town — you know Sitges, right?”
Sarah nodded. The bars had quite a reputation.
“And he picks up this young lad — not underage mind, don’t get me wrong, just a young guy in his twenties — they go back to the villa, and the guy stays the night, then the next night, then the next. Ends up staying over a week. Harry falls for him big time, you see. And the guy — name of Jordi — feels the same way.”
“Wait — then Harry goes to Barcelona, buys Jordi a Rolex? To show how much he cares?”
“The watch. Yeah. Well, I was coming to that — see, that’s the pay-off, isn’t it? Harry knows he’s going to have to come home one day. Every party has to finish some time. Reality dawns. Can’t be an MP and have a gay Spanish lover, can you? So, Harry gives him the watch, and goodbye Jordi. Does the big farewell at the airport, all hugs and tears, and flies home to forget about it.”
Sarah nodded. She could see where this was going.
“Let me guess — Jordi doesn’t play by the same rules. Doesn’t forget about it.”
“Spot on. Week later — and remember, Amanda’s still in the States, so this is the spiel Harry gave her and she gave me — Harry’s on his own in Todwell House one Friday night when the doorbell goes. And guess who’s on the doorstep?”
“Jordi.”
“Bag over his shoulder, Rolex on his wrist, big grin on his face, I imagine. And Harry — throwing caution to the wind — can’t keep his hands off him.”
“But he must have known it was too dangerous?”
“Affairs of the heart, hmm? Men and their libidos, you know. He told me later — he thought it would just be a final fling, no big deal …”
“But for Jordi it was more than that.”
“Big time. Not sure he understood Harry’s position. The risk. Course I don’t know what would have happened if Amanda hadn’t come home unexpectedly from New York that very weekend. In fact — that very day that Harry called me.”
We’re catching up to that body in the wheelbarrow, Sarah thought.
Lionel looked away again.
As if he was there once more, on that terrible night.
43. The Body Gets Buried
“She walked in on them that afternoon — in the bedroom. Doing all sorts of drugs apparently, they were. Totally out of it. She blows her top, takes Harry downstairs, tears a strip off him, threatens to leave. Harry sobers up. Takes a few hours. Meanwhile, the kid’s upstairs asleep. Or so they think.”
Sarah began to realise where this was going.
“Harry heads upstairs, ready to explain to Jordi that it’s all over. That he’s got to go home, back to Spain. But when he goes into the bedroom — apparently — Jordi’s out cold. So he goes over to check his pulse—”
Sarah saw Lionel blink back tears.
“—and poor kid, the poor naïve kid, he’s just … well … he hasn’t got a pulse. He’s dead. The drugs, you see? Overdose.”
“And Harry panics,” said Sarah.
“Totally. But luckily, Amanda’s there. Calms him down. And they talk through the options. All of which likely lead to the termination of Harry’s career and possible criminal charges.”
“So Amanda comes up with a plan?” said Sarah, imagining the capable woman taking control.
“Yep. First she gets Harry to call me.”
“Why?”
“Because I have all the cash, all the accounts. I can make things happen.”
Sarah nodded. The fixer.
“Then she phones her sister and tells her to make sure she brings her husband, Bruno.”
“Let me guess — because Bruno’s the practical one. The one who got up to some dodgy stuff in the army, so I hear.”
“Exactly. Strong as well. And not only has he seen dead bodies — but he knows how to deal with them.”
“What about Tim?”
Lionel gave a sad laugh.
“Poor stupid Tim. You see, he was away seeing his parents for the weekend — came back to the house right in the middle of the ‘party’, if that’s the right word for it.”
“Why did he get involved?”
“Surely you can guess? Harry was Tim’s hero. And more. Kid was besotted. But also — the others bullied him. Bruno scared him. Amanda bribed him. They told him he had better play along or the country would lose a great politician. He didn’t have the guts to say no.”
“Then — all of you actually took Jordi away and buried him?”
She saw Lionel nod.
“Harry knew a good spot upriver. Bruno said he knew how to do it. So we all get busy. Someone burns all the clothes. Someone else cleans up. We find some sheets — wrap up the body. Harry says his goodbyes. Then we put the body in the barrow. God — my stomach churning. Then we take it in turns to push the barrow down to the jetty. Put it in a boat. And off we go.”
Sarah tried to picture them all … pushing a dead body across the grounds to the boat.
Not a night you would forget.
“Then we all rowed upstream to this bit of woodland that Harry said nobody went to. Dug the hole in between the trees. Buried the body. Then we rowed back to the house and we all went home. And never said a word about it — until a couple of weeks ago. Since then — everything’s gone mad.”
“You said that Jordi died in bed — of an overdose.”
“Yes. That’s what I always thought.”
“But forensics says he was strangled.”
Sarah stared at Lionel. This was so crucial.
“So they said in the papers,” said Lionel. “That’s what I just don’t get. I mean — I saw him, lying there on the ground. Before we put him in the barrow. Not a mark on him. Peaceful. And dead.”
“But the police report is clear — somebody tied something round his neck and killed him.”
Lionel shook his head. “T-that can’t be true.”
Sarah thought through what Lionel had told her.
“Okay, how about this?” she said. “What if Jordi wasn’t actually dead when you looked at him lying on that sheet?”
“Oh, God,” said Lionel. “What the hell are you saying? That somebody spotted he was still alive and … finished him off?”
Lionel stared at her.
Stunned.
Sarah shrugged.
Lionel’s bad day had just turned worse.
“Sounds like any one of you could have been alone with Jordi — before you took him down to the boat. Any one of you could have … finished him off.”
“Jeez. Well, it bloody wasn’t me.”
“Can you prove that?” said Sarah.
“This is madness. Harry wouldn’t have killed the boy. Nor would Amanda — I mean — why? Karin — same thing, why? Bruno — maybe — apparently he liked killing people in the army. But why? And Tim? That mouse? Come off it.”
“So you don’t buy the forensics.”
“I didn’t say that. I just can’t believe any of them would do … that. Kill a man in cold blood. God, it makes my skin crawl to think about it.”
Sarah stood up, walked to the window and looked out.
Across the gardens in the village square she could see the big fairground trucks loading up, getting ready to go.
Tonight, she knew, the streets needed to be clear for the carnival procession. Led by the vintage cars, which would all then go on to Todwell House for the drive-in movie and the awards ceremony.
It seemed so bizarre to be in here dissecting a murder from twenty years ago, while somewhere in Spain, Jordi’s parents might still be alive. Still hopelessly waiting for news. Still desperate to find out what had happened to their son decades ago.
For the first time in this case she had the thought: so terribly sad.
She suddenly felt an urge to cry.
But no, not now, she thought.
Because this wasn’t the time.
Right now — she needed more questions answered.
She turned and looked at Lionel, sitting, whimpering on the bed — and realised something else.
The story that Lionel had just told had all been about him — and about Harry.
He’d shown no concern for the boy at all. Poor kid — lost and alone, buried for twenty years in a rough grave in a silent wood by the Thames.
Did Lionel give a damn?
She felt her heart harden.
“Lionel — you’ve told me what happened twenty years ago,” she said. “Now you’re going tell me what’s been going on this last week. And don’t even think about lying to me.”
“Are you kidding? This bloody week? I don’t know what’s happening!”
“But you know about the blackmail?”
“All I know is that people are vanishing, getting hurt, and that—”
Sarah held out her hand to shut him up: “We’re going to start with the day Jack found you at Tim Simpson’s house. And go from there. And when we’re done,” she jabbed her finger at him, “you’re going to stay right here and wait for instructions.”
She saw Lionel’s face fall.
Any hopes he had that she wasn’t going to repeat all this to the police, were clearly being dashed.
He had told her so much because he was scared.
Sarah had seen that before. Fear … an amazing motivator to tell all. To confess.
And what Lionel had told her in this hotel room had changed everything …
44. The Cop’s Tale
Jack put his phone away and looked down the river at the busy sailboats, tussling with each other, leaning away from the wind.
Sarah had just left Lionel, and what she had told Jack answered some questions — but raised new ones.
And now — though Jack was watching the race — his mind was really in a different place: running through the intricate possibilities thrown up by Lionel’s confession.
Analysing motives, timelines, relationships.
Desires. And fears.
Who really killed Jordi? What happened to Tim? Who pushed Bruno?
Who was the blackmailer?
That is, if there even was a blackmailer.
Lionel had opened a window on the past. But it seemed he was as much in the dark about recent events as anyone — and Sarah said she believed him.
Lionel had been way too shaken to even think about lying. So scared — and confused.
Even so — what she’d got so far was enough for Jack to begin to piece together what had been happening for the last couple of weeks. And already he could see the outlines of a plan that would unmask the truth.
But to make that plan work — he needed Larwood.
He looked over and saw the old cop by one of the tea tents — so tall, towering over many of the villagers.
Smiling, pointing to the boats, the bright sun hitting his bronzed face, the Spanish sun having turned his skin into a ruddy leather.
Larwood looked over.
Saw Jack. Waved.
Jack waited.
Everyone else’s eyes on the boats — this spectacle. And then Larwood started walking over.
Why not? thought Jack. We’re old buddies. Chums.
Larwood’s words having done their work the night before. Or so Larwood thought �
�
He had a big grin on his face, until he came abreast of Jack.
“Jack — gotta tell you — the village has never seen anything like this.”
For a moment Jack forced a smile onto his face.
“Might be my first and last regatta.”
Larwood looked out at the river, glistening in the afternoon sun, the clouds still at bay.
“Not sure about that,” Larwood turned back to Jack. “People having this much fun—”
Larwood froze.
Probably — Jack guessed — because he could see that Jack’s smile had vanished. And Jack had his eyes locked, not on the sailboats, but on Larwood.
“Er, what’s up, Jack?” Larwood’s own cop sense telling him something was happening.
“Brian, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
A nod from the old Cherringham cop.
“Your place in Spain. How you got it.”
Larwood said nothing.
Not yet, at least, Jack thought.
“And about something else … what you told me on my boat …”
Jack said those last words as if the lies Larwood told were all the worse because of where it happened.
Sharing drinks, steaks on The Grey Goose.
And he had me, Jack thought.
Until now.
”We talked about a lot of things …” Larwood’s tone now matched Jack’s. Guarded.
“You said you didn’t really know the Tylers?”
Larwood nodded.
“And yet … yet … they sold their condo to you. At a knock-down price. Seems like a mighty strange thing to do for someone you don’t know. Out of the blue, hmm?”
Larwood just nodded. His face had taken an even harder turn. And Jack imagined that, as warm as Larwood’s smile might be, get him mad, and he could be trouble.
No matter. This time, it was Jack playing the game.
“You lied to me, Brian. Flat out. About the Tylers, your condo and actually about your ‘early’ retirement. You got into some trouble, didn’t you?”
For seconds, Larwood stood there.
Probably debating whether he could just talk his way out of Jack’s neat trap.
But Jack had a few more cards to play.
“And that body? We know where the watch came from, Brian. Barcelona. Just a hop from your little town of Sitges. And there’s Tim Simpson, who’s now missing, who got interested in that body. And there’s what looks like an attempt to kill Bruno last night.”
The Body in the Woods Page 23
