Cherringham--The Body in the Lake

by Neil Richards

  “Blow the smell away, huh?”

  Jack watched Harry carefully; interested to see how he took this comment.

  “Ha! Very good!” said Harry, laughing loudly. “Truth is — after all these years you don’t notice the smell at all. Least I don’t. Mrs. Howden though…”

  Harry laughed.

  “So your plan for the turbines, that for the good of the local environment?”

  “For the good of my profits, I hope. We’re also recycling all the droppings. Mixed with wood chips makes a great fuel. Going to build a methane plant.”

  Jack realised he was learning more about raising turkeys than he ever thought he would, or wanted to.

  “Makes sense. Customers want green these days — and they want their meat looked after nicely.” Jack turned to look over the expansive field and sheds. “Nice operation you have here.”

  “Thanks. And I don’t blame those customers,” said Harry. “It’s a short life being a turkey on one of my farms. I don’t begrudge them a bit of comfort. Going free-range too — partly. You can taste the difference.”

  Jack nodded, hoping that he could end this part of the conversation. He wanted to get down to the real business of his visit.

  “Anyway,” said Harry. “Enough talking turkey.” Another laugh. “Let’s grab a coffee.”

  And with that he turned on his heels and climbed the shiny brick steps to his double-fronted house as Jack followed.

  “Tell you Harry, this sofa of yours is as big as my sitting room,” said Jack.

  Harry laughed. “You live down on the river, don’t you?”

  “Got an old Dutch barge.”

  “Must be great fun. Like it here in ye olde England?” said Harry, clearing a pile of French books out of the way and putting a mug of coffee down in front of Jack.

  Jack watched as the big man sank back in a massive white leather armchair opposite.

  “Most of the time,” said Jack, suddenly realising that instead of doing the interviewing, he was being interviewed himself…

  This guy’s either clever — or he’s genuine, thought Jack. Time to take control.

  He took out a small notepad and pen. Over the years he’d found it to be a very useful accessory.

  Kinda focuses the mind.

  It had an immediate effect.

  “Notebook? I wonder if I should have my lawyer here,” said Harry. “Just kidding, Jack — Tony said I could trust you. So I will.”

  “That’s good of him,” said Jack. “Just want to ask a few questions. Trying to help Lady Repton.”

  “Fire away,” said Harry. “We’ll have to be quick, mind — my wife will be home soon and I’m under orders to take her out to dinner tonight.”

  “Sure,” said Jack. “No problem. So why don’t we start with the obvious question…”

  “Do I think Simon Repton killed Laurent Bourdin?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You sound pretty sure.”

  “Oh, I am. Simon Repton doesn’t have the balls.”

  “Who does?”

  “Lee Jones. That French bird, the deputy mayor. Or even June Rigby. Cold one, she is.”

  “You?”

  Harry laughed. “Of course — but you knew that already.”

  It was Jack’s turn to laugh.

  “So — in your opinion — where does that leave us?” said Jack.

  “Motive, of course,” said Harry. “But you know that. NYPD and all. Now see, that’s where it gets tricky, though.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, as far as I’m aware, every single one of us ‘suspects’ wants the twinning to go ahead. Needs the twinning, you might say. For various business reasons — we’re all into this up to our necks. So killing Laurent wouldn’t benefit any of us, would it? Could jeopardise the whole thing.”

  “No,” said Jack. “But what if I told you Laurent was going to pull out of the twinning?”

  Jack watched as this piece of news sunk in — Harry clearly didn’t know this, or if he did he was seriously a good poker player.

  “That doesn’t make sense. His village needs it as well. When did he change his mind?”

  “Saturday night, apparently.”

  “Shit,” said Harry. “If that’s the case, it changes everything. Who knew?”

  “Simon certainly. Marie claims she didn’t. The others — I don’t yet know.”

  “So what the hell else do you know? Damn. Is the twinning off?”

  “Marie is ready to sign on Friday apparently. You’ll have to talk to the council to see if their plans have changed.”

  Jack watched him carefully.

  “You got a lot riding on this Harry?”

  “Absolutely. About five million. Nothing illegal, mind. But Laurent assured me the twinning would help my inward investment in the St. Martin food processing industry.”

  “Smooth the wheels, huh?”

  “Exactly. So I need this little episode sorted and fast. Little over-extended on my lines of credit. Shit. You’re sure Marie’s still on board?”

  “Harry, this isn’t my business. It’s just something I heard.”

  “Yeah, yeah. God.”

  Harry got up, and Jack watched him as he went to the window and looked down upon his empire, the lines of turkey barns stretching into the misty distance.

  “Maybe whoever killed Laurent had nothing to do with us?” said Harry, not turning round. “You know, some guy just passing through. Druggie or whatever…”

  “Anything’s possible. But it’s pretty unlikely, Harry. Three in the morning on a deserted country estate? No, my guess is it’s someone you know. If it isn’t you, of course.”

  “Shit. You damn well know it wasn’t me. Maybe it was Simon.”

  Bit of backtrack there…

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened that night?”

  When Harry turned to face him, Jack could see that the man’s tough exterior had been pierced by the news of Laurent’s about-face.

  This five million deal is higher stakes than he’s making out, thought Jack. The guy’s now suddenly rattled…

  And really rattled people could do anything.

  Harry walked Jack through the evening — the champagne reception, the presentation, the dinner… Everything normal, above board, a lot of drink consumed but then as Harry put it:

  “I’ve been involved with this thing for the last two years and I’ve never seen people drink as much as they did on Saturday. And the other stuff, well…”

  “Other stuff?”

  Harry paused and Jack could sense he was uncertain how much to give away.

  “You’ve talked to the others about this, haven’t you?”

  “The coke. That what you mean, Harry?”

  “It was like an end-of-term party, you know? Madness.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Here’s the thing, Jack,” he said, leaning across conspiratorially. “We’ve had a few trips to St. Martin over the last year or two. And let’s just say people’s moral compasses have got a bit disorientated on occasion.”

  “Yours too?”

  “Good God, no, I’m happily married, me,” said Harry quickly. “But Lee for instance — I know for a fact he had the hots for that deputy mayor, Marie. And it sure looked like it was reciprocated.”

  Jack nodded, man to man.

  “I mean, I don’t blame him mind, she’s quite a looker,” he continued. “But I did have to warn him off — for the sake of the whole deal, you know.”

  “What was the big deal? She’s a single woman, no?” said Jack innocently.

  “You’ve got to be joking. She and Laurent were an item,” said Harry. “Don’t want to lay the goose that’s laying the golden egg!”

  There’s a joke in those words, Jack thought.

  But Harry was certainly in no joking mood. “I see. What about Simon? What did he get up to on those trips?”

  “Good question. I think
he had a hankering for the same fruit. But our Lee wasn’t going to let that happen. And like I said — Simon’s not a dog I’d back in a fight. He backed off sharpish and looked elsewhere, so I hear.”

  “Anyone in particular?”

  “There were five of us in that hot tub Jack — you do the math as you Americans say.”

  “I see,” said Jack, making a note in his notepad. “Do you think Laurent realised, by the way?”

  “What? About Lee? Well, that’s the thing, you see. We’d only been in the hot tub for—”

  “Not that damned hot tub again, Harry,” came a powerful female voice from behind them. “Puh-lease.”

  Jack turned. A tall, stocky woman in her forties in a long dark expensive-looking coat stood in the doorway.

  “Vanessa, my dear,” said Harry getting up. “I didn’t hear your car…”

  “Too busy boring our guest with salacious stories, I suspect,” said Vanessa coming over to Jack and offering her hand.

  “Vanessa Howden,” she said.

  “Jack Brennan.”

  “Ah, the famous American detective.”

  “Ex-detective,” said Jack carefully. “And not famous by any stretch of the imagination.”

  “Jack’s trying to find out a little about Saturday night, my dear,” said Harry. Jack sensed that Harry had an alpha rival in his wife.

  Interesting…

  “He’s working for Lady Repton,” added Harry.

  And Jack made a note of that. He hadn’t told Harry about the Repton connection when he’d made the appointment to see him. News travelled fast in Cherringham — he knew that. But somebody had phoned Harry, warned him what Jack was up to.

  “Oh really?” said Vanessa. “Well I’m not sure there’s anything we can tell you that we haven’t already told the police, Mr. Brennan.”

  “Harry was just telling me about the hot tub.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know.”

  “But you weren’t there, Mrs. Howden?”

  “I went to bed after the dinner. Hot tubs are not for me.”

  Jack turned to the now-cowed husband. “But Harry, you carried on partying — so perhaps –?”

  Vanessa didn’t take her eyes off Jack as she spoke: “As I’m sure Harry told you, he only stayed for a few minutes with the others and then he too came to bed.”

  Jack looked from Vanessa to her husband. Harry seemed confused, standing next to Vanessa, her face set, unreadable.

  Something going on here, he thought.

  “That right, Harry?” said Jack.

  “Yes, th-that’s right.”

  “Really? I thought you hung out for a little longer in the tub with the party crowd?”

  “Good lord, no. Not at my age.”

  Too quick with that.

  Jack made another note.

  “I mean, obviously I could hear them all in there. Very noisy! Music and all sorts!”

  “But you didn’t stay…”

  “Dipped my toes. Thought better of it. Back to the room, cup of tea, lights out. Isn’t that right, Vanessa?”

  “Absolutely,” said Vanessa, just as quickly. “So I’m not sure how we can help you, Mr. Brennan. Such a tragic event of course. And even more desperate to hear that Simon Repton himself may have been somehow involved. You must give my condolences to Lady Repton when you see her.”

  “I will,” said Jack, closing his notepad. Vanessa Howden’s body language made it completely clear: it was time for him to go.

  She smiled at him and nodded towards the door.

  “Now you’ll have to forgive me,” she said. “But Harry and I have a social engagement and we mustn’t be late. So I’m terribly sorry…”

  Jack knew what it meant when English hosts said that.

  It meant get your sorry ass out of here.

  But Jack wasn’t quite ready to leave. At the front door, he took out his notepad and pen and turned sharply to Vanessa, surprising her.

  “Sorry — just for the record Mrs. Howden — when precisely was the last time you saw Laurent Bourdin?”

  The move — and the question — had exactly the result he wanted. For the first time, Vanessa looked confused. She swallowed — turned to Harry who stood beside her, clearly seeking help.

  “At the dinner,” she said.

  Nice. Composure blown.

  “Um, no Vanessa,” said Harry quickly. “After the dinner but before we all — they all — went off to get swimming costumes.”

  “So then — before Sarah left?” asked Jack quickly.

  “What?” said Vanessa. “No, after.”

  This was great. Their story was in tatters.

  “Yes, after,” said Harry.

  Jack smiled at them both, and made another note in his notepad.

  “Good,” said Jack, putting away his pad and pen with a smile. “That was very helpful.”

  He turned and headed down the steps at the front of the house to his car, aware that Harry and Vanessa must still be at the open door looking down at him.

  Boy, I wish I could see their faces, he thought.

  Because the turkey farmer and his wife were lying through their teeth.

  That was good.

  Now all I gotta do is work out why.

  And with that, he climbed into the Sprite and sped away back to Cherringham.

  10. Smooth Operator

  Sarah pulled off the main road and parked next to the long line of smart black SUVs which fronted Jones & Co — 4WD Specialists.

  As she got out and hurried to the sales office, she looked back across the forecourt: her mud-splattered old Rav-4, with its dents and stickers, its little orange foam ball on the aerial and its missing hubcap, certainly lowered the tone of the whole place.

  She couldn’t help but smile. That car was nearly as old as the kids and she wasn’t ever going to get rid of it.

  That’s something her budget wouldn’t allow.

  As she entered the reception area she could tell instantly that this was not your average second-hand car dealership.

  She looked around: smart sofas, deep carpets, glass shelves with trophies and awards — and not a pin-up calendar in sight.

  But the whole place was strangely empty. The reception area was ringed by a series of small glass-walled offices — all empty too. She checked her watch — it was nine a.m.

  And Lee Jones had assured her he was going to be here. Sarah needed to be back at the office at nine-thirty — back to her real, paying job — and she didn’t have time to waste.

  So where is everybody?

  Then she heard raised voices. An argument echoing from the back of the garage. Off to a corner she saw a door marked “Service and Parts”. She went over and opened the door — and walked right in.

  What would Jack call this?

  Chutzpah…

  It led to a small corridor and another door.

  She found herself in the middle of what looked like a labour meeting, and it didn’t seem to be going well.

  A dozen workers — mechanics in overalls, salesmen in suits — stood in a rough circle, arms folded, tempers up. And in front of them — Lee Jones, shirt sleeves, hands full of paperwork, gesturing as if to pacify this angry crowd.

  “I’ve made guarantees, now, haven’t I? I’ve given my word and I don’t want any more of this, this crap, now—”

  Sarah watched as he noticed her at the door and spun round.

  “What the — Sarah? How did you…?”

  “I’m sorry, Lee — there was nobody on reception — I just thought I’d better find you,” said Sarah, aware that the whole room had turned to her.

  Bad timing, she thought.

  Lee jumped on a reason to escape the meeting.

  “No problem, no problem.”

  He turned to his workforce. “I’m sorry fellas; I have to take this meeting. We’ll carry on at lunch — okay? Until then, please, just concentrate on hitting these damn schedules — all right?”

  There was a lot
of muttering and shaking of heads as the group slouched off.

  Lee turned to her, gave a sigh and ushered her back towards his office. No question that he was grateful for her unexpected arrival.

  “Nick of time, Sarah. They were ready to eat me alive!”

  “I envy you Sarah. Nice little business you’ve got, no staff problems, come and go when you like…”

  Sarah watched as Lee leaned back in his leather executive office chair and put his hands behind his head, comfortable now he was back in his own office.

  She could have told him that running a family as a single mum and steering her design company single-handed through a recession was no piece of cake, but she wanted Lee to feel in charge.

  Comfortable. Safe…

  That way he might tell her something useful.

  So she smiled and shrugged. “Can’t have been easy for you these last couple of years,” she said.

  “Too bloody right,” he said straight away. “But you try telling that lot back there. And now all they want to talk about is wage increases? It’s like the bleedin’ seventies all over again. If it wasn’t for me they wouldn’t have a bloody wage to increase. Know what I mean?”

  “So is business bad?”

  “It’s been better. Some weeks, it feels like we’re coming out of it. Others, you can hear the paint drying in here! But if they think they’re going to hold me hostage wanting more money — well, the hell they will.”

  “Must be a lot of money, I mean, tied up in all those cars sitting out there?”

  “Tell me about it. I’ve got to shift three a month just to cover the overheads. Thirty K a pop, that’s a lot of pennies sitting in the rain waiting for a buyer.”

  “Lot of euros.”

  That made Lee pause.

  “Well — there you have it, Sarah, there you have it, hmm? You’ve got to be in it to win it, as they say — and that’s why moi, j’aime les francaises!”

  “That’s very good, Lee, you’ve obviously got a gift for languages.”

  “Not the only gift I got,” he said, leaning forwards and giving her what she guessed was his best seductive smile. “Shame you didn’t stay on Saturday you know, you might have had fun…”

  Jack had told Sarah on the phone about his little chat with Harry Howden, so she knew that Lee fancied himself as a bit of a ladies’ man.