“Interesting. Why the rush?”
“Exactly! We both know how much everyone was invested in the deal.”
“So did they sign?”
“After a fair old slanging match, the council agreed to stick to the original timetable. This Friday…”
“We really should have gone.”
Sarah laughed. “There will be minutes.”
The wind blew her hair back. Probably only a few more weeks before it would get too cold for even Jack to ride around, top down. But for now, roaring through the English countryside, this was great.
“And June Rigby? Did she reveal her role in last night’s ‘circus’?”
“That’s what’s interesting. She was one of a handful who opposed moving forwards, at least for now. But they were shouted down and ultimately voted down. She stormed out.”
“So — no fan of the twinning there?”
“Exactly. And not only that, she said — and it’s for publication in the newsletter — she has immediately resigned her post as chair of the Parish Council.”
“I thought you said she had political goals beyond Cherringham?”
“She does… or did. But for now, she said she was ‘done’.”
Jack grew quiet for a few moments.
Then: “Intriguing. June Rigby gone, twinning full steam ahead, even with Laurent out of the picture. Everyone on the queue… for pots of cash.”
“Any thoughts? Your instincts telling you anything?”
“Yes,” Jack said laughing, “they’re telling me that this is one confusing case.”
“Even I can see that.”
“See,” he said. “You’re getting instincts as well.”
Then, a change of subject. “Want to talk over our approach with Simon?”
Jack nodded.
Sarah reached into her purse.
“Look, I even brought a notebook.”
“Now you’re a real detective. So first, we need to get Simon to tell us the true story.”
“Think he’ll do that?”
“Murder charge hanging over him? Weapon with his prints as evidence? I think he’ll be more than eager to talk.”
A stout prison guard with a grim face, scowl locked in and hair in a tight bun, led them to a room with a series of small tables, each with two facing chairs.
Just like TV, Sarah thought.
Jack, though, had obviously done this before.
This was exciting — but it also made her nervous. Did she really belong here?
Jack seemed to sense her unease and gave her a smile. “Why don't you take the lead, hmm?” he said. “Since you know him.”
“Can’t say I know him that well. Tried to keep my distance, to be honest.”
“You okay with that?”
She nodded. “But do drop in if I start to lose the plot.”
“Got your back, as they say.”
And with that, a door opened, and Simon, in a drab jumper and jeans shuffled in, eyes wide.
Slimy Simey looked very scared indeed.
Simon sat hunched in front of them.
He looked at Jack as though expecting the detective to start asking questions.
So Sarah jumped right in.
“Simon, how’re you getting on here?”
He turned to her, nodded. “All right. Not getting much sleep.”
She saw Jack give her a look. Good opening question, she wondered? A bit of empathy for the accused, before bearing down?
“Has Tony arranged a lawyer for you yet?”
Simon nodded, cleared his throat. “He has someone coming down from London. Friend of his experienced in such matters.”
Jack: “But you're okay speaking to us in the meantime?”
Simon nodded. “Tony said I should. And I want this this mess to go away as fast as possible.”
“So do we,” Sarah said. “For you, and for your grandmother’s sake. This has been very hard on her.”
Sarah doubted that Simon had much concern for others considering his personality and current dire straits.
“So, ask away,” he said. “This whole thing is a bloody fiasco!” He had let his voice rise, and Sarah saw the owl-eyed guard in the corner take a step forwards.
Do that again, and Simon might get scolded.
“Okay,” Sarah flipped open her notebook. “First, in your own words. What happened that night?”
“And this time, Simon, better not leave anything out,” Jack added.
Another clearing of the throat.
Sarah guessed that Simon was about to ‘sing’.
When your life’s on the line, even the truth is worth a try.
“Okay, first thing — I didn’t kill anyone.” He hesitated. “But I did give that fat French— um, I gave Laurent a lot of money.”
“You bribed him?” Sarah said.
“Absolutely! It wasn’t like everyone else wasn’t throwing money at him. But with him all pissed and ready to blow the thing up, I gave him another grand. To sweeten his already too-sweet pot.”
“But,” she looked at Jack whose eyes were locked on Simon, ready to detect a lie, “you still thought he might end the deal?”
“It was on the cards. Something about the hot tub, Marie, Lee, the others. I don’t know. Anyway — suddenly, twinning was the last thing he wanted to do.”
Sarah nodded. “That much we knew already. So — you went after him?”
Simon hesitated. If he were to admit this, it would be crucial. Tricky thing to do, especially since his defence lawyer hadn’t arrived yet.
“Yes. Found him in the bar. Tried to talk some sense into him but he wouldn’t listen.”
“You don’t know why he went out to the island?” Jack said.
“Not a clue.”
“So what happened next?”
“Bit later on, I went down to the lake. Clear the head — you know? Damned cold it was too. Saw the other boat all the way over there, on the island…”
“So you rowed out there?” Sarah said.
Simon nodded. He took a breath.
Now she felt chilled. It was almost as if she was back there, that night. Seeing this all through Simon’s eyes.
“Yeah. Got into the other boat. Pissed as well.” He shook his head. “Not too bloody easy to row, after all that wine.”
“You went to the island?” Sarah said, her voice low.
For a moment, she felt that she might indeed be talking to the murderer. That it was possible that Simon might in fact tell them — here, now — how it happened.
“No. I mean, I wanted to. Could barely row the damn thing. But I started out, got about half way. Hit something. Banged it with my oar. Got caught in the space between the rowlock and the boat. I — I—”
Sarah and Jack said nothing.
“I reached down to give it a push. Felt something soft, then, God, must have been the wound. The body. Floating upside down.”
Sarah nodded, her eyes locked on Simon.
“Somehow, I pushed the thing away. My hand… had his blood on it. Rowed like a lunatic back to the shore.”
Jack shot Sarah a look.
Next question would be his.
“So — that’s your story, Simon?”
13. The Truth
“It’s no story, I tell you! It’s the bloody truth!”
The prison guard came over.
“You will keep your voice down. There will be no outbursts in the room. Understand?”
Simon nodded sheepishly, and the woman, after giving her prisoner a good long glare, went back to her corner.
“Not a story,” he repeated. “That’s what I did.”
“Why not call the police right away?” Sarah said. “A body in the lake?”
Simon shifted in his seat.
“I could have. I mean, I thought of it. But a lot of people there that night had been, well, enjoying themselves—”
Jack leaned close, his voice low.
“You mean the coke?”
S
imon nodded. “I mean, it was a big night. Maybe we all went a bit over the top. I don’t know—”
“But you decided best not to have a late-night visit from the police?”
Simon hesitated. Sarah guessed he felt that he was on thin ice here. Admitting to drugs, not reporting a dead body on his property.
“Listen. I was going to call them in the morning. I mean, after I had cleaned up.”
“Tossed the drugs?” Jack said.
A nod. “But I was out for the count—”
Jack again: “So your grandmother got to be the one to see that body in the lake, to call the police.”
Jack did nothing to hide the disdain in his voice.
Simon became agitated, leaning close, his head swivelling from Sarah to Jack, and back again.
He may not have murdered anyone, but he sure looked guilty.
“I didn’t do anything to Laurent. I just… panicked.”
Sarah looked down at her notebook — a blank page. She was so caught up in Simon’s story that she hadn’t written down a thing. But now, as if for effect, she wrote down:
Tyre iron?
“What about the tyre iron?” She said. “Yours. And your prints on it.”
More agitation. Simon looked as if he was about to explode, his face beetroot red.
“I didn't know! You hear me? That might have been mine, if it had my prints. But last time I saw it, last time I used it, it was in my boot.”
“So let me get this straight,” said Jack. “You’re saying someone went to your car and got your tyre iron because they planned on killing Laurent?”
Simon nodded, but then quickly backtracked.
“I suppose so. All I know is that I don't know how it got into that lake.”
Weird as it was, with a squirming Simon in front of her, Sarah actually believed the man.
There were illegal drugs. There were bribes. Bad — horrible — decisions. He had the character of an alley cat.
But a killer?
Didn’t seem likely.
Which prompted an all-important question from Sarah.
“Simon. We know it wasn’t an accident. The police have the weapon, your tyre iron. So — tell us, why do you think someone would want to kill Laurent Bourdin?”
Jack looked over, a small smile on his face.
Guess I'm doing well, she thought.
Her first prison interrogation.
Simon’s eyes darted left and right.
“I don’t know.” Then, as if by becoming louder he'd become more convincing, he raised his voice: “I don’t know!”
The volume level made the guard storm over again.
“That will do. And time’s up, anyway. Time to get this one back to his cell.”
Simon’s eyes looked sunken, hopeless, as the woman grabbed his right bicep and pulled him up, and out of the straight-backed wooden chair.
Then his last words.
“Please. If not for me, for my grandmother… find out who did this… why they did it.”
He looked at his minder, her face stone.
She’s probably heard that one a thousand times.
And Sarah and Jack watched her guide him away from the interview area.
Jack was stuck behind a line of cars as the dual carriageway narrowed to one due to roadworks.
He turned to Sarah.
“Have another way around this?”
“Um, we could backtrack. But I think it would take more time than just waiting for the road crew ahead.”
“Okay,” he said.
When they had walked out of the jail, and driven round the Oxford ring road, Jack had been quiet, despite Sarah asking the inevitable… what do you think?
He had smiled as he scratched his head and said: “I’m thinking.”
Now, halted by the snail’s pace queue, he turned to her.
“Good work in there,” he said.
“The questioning?”
“‘Grilling’ is what we called it, back in the day.” Then: “What do you make of it all?”
“I was about to ask you the same.”
“Beat you to it.”
The car inched forwards a few feet.
“I believe him. Despite the evidence of the tyre iron. There was no real motive to kill Laurent. The bribe had been taken, the deal not really dead. Besides, Simon doesn’t seem the murdering type.”
“Agree. Problem is,” Jack looked right at her, “I don’t see a motive for anyone. Not for murder.”
That made her think…
Not for murder.
“Hang on. You mean, there's a motive for—”
“Dunno. If the deal was going south, people could try bigger bribes, more money. Angry, yes. But enough to kill? Doubtful.”
Another few feet.
There were going nowhere fast but that was okay. It was a good time to review where they were.
“Of course,” Jack said slowly as if the idea just came to him, “the Council chair, June Rigby. She doesn’t sound like a fan of the twinning.” He took a breath. “Maybe because it wasn’t her idea?”
“She was always behind it. But something must have made her change her mind.”
By this point they were only feet away from a road worker with a bright orange vest holding a paddle-shaped sign that alternated from “stop” to “go”.
Jack kept looking ahead. Then, a slap to the steering wheel.
An ‘ah-ha’ moment.
“All right. Now I’m convinced.”
Sarah could barely wait for where Jack’s instincts and training were about to bring him.
“We’re missing something big. And it has to do with that island. Been bothering me for a while now. One boat goes over. Laurent’s killed on the island. But if Simon is telling the truth and he never got as far as the island… Then who did? And how did they get there? The key to this is the island, the temple.”
Sarah saw where this was leading.
“The police have Simon dead to rights, unless we find something. And if I’m right — about missing pieces, about the island — then I'm afraid there’s one person we need speak to again.”
And suddenly Sarah knew exactly who.
“Lady Repton?”
“Exactly. Hate to bother the old gal, but if anyone knows that place, it’s her. Besides, she’s got a pretty quick and shrewd mind herself.”
Sarah laughed at that.
“That’s for sure.”
The sign in front of them twirled round, signalling that they could move off, and finally they were driving again.
“Want to give Tony a call? See if we can meet her this afternoon? After your conference call at the office, of course. But better sooner than later. I’m afraid time’s not on our side — or Simon’s either.”
And beyond the roadworks at last, Jack’s Sprite finally picked up speed as they headed back to Cherringham.
14. Secrets of the Hall
Jack stood by the side of the lake and peered at the island through the murky afternoon gloom.
“In the summer of course, it comes into its own,” said Lady Repton who stood at his side. “When I was a child we had garden parties down here. A string quartet would set up in front of the temple. They’d play long into the evening. There were lights in all the trees.”
“Must have been quite magical,” said Jack.
“Just memories now. And sadly no one left to share them with.”
“Does anyone go out to the island these days?”
“Only the gardeners. They have to cut the grass by hand. Awful job, you know.”
“I can imagine. Guess they use one of these?”
Jack pointed towards the two little rowing boats tied up to the jetty: he could see tattered stubs of police tape still fluttering from the railings.
“That’s right.”
“And there’s no other way out to the island?”
“No, these are the only boats.”
“Is it swimmable?”
“Looks h
armless, doesn’t it?” said Lady Repton. “But the water’s treacherous, especially at night. And especially — I imagine — after drinking all that wine! Mud, reeds, rocks — even as children we knew never to swim in there.”
Jack nodded. He could see the mist thickening over the lake. He shivered involuntarily and pulled his jacket tight.
“You should get back inside,” he said.
“You’re right. This is no day to catch a chill.”
“Maybe you could tell Sarah I’ll be another hour or so? I think she’s up in the house somewhere working…”
“Of course.”
“Meanwhile, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take one of the boats and check out the island.”
“Be my guest,” said Lady Repton. “As I said the other day, you have free run of the estate. My grandson is an idiot of the highest order, but I know he is innocent and I will not have him languishing in prison. In Bullingdon too of all places! Bullingdon! God forbid!”
Jack watched as she turned and headed back up the grassy slope towards the house, which was fast disappearing in the mist.
He walked down the jetty and climbed into one of the rowboats. He slotted the oars into place then untied the mooring rope and pushed away.
Seconds later he was rowing out towards the island.
What was that film?
No, it was a TV series, he and Katherine had watched on HBO. Brideshead Revisited.
If she could see me now, thought Jack. Rowing across an ornamental lake to my own private Grecian Temple.
To the Manor Born…
It only took a minute to reach the island — but threading the boat through the rocks which jutted out from the dark water’s edge took longer. Eventually Jack found the way through, and stepping out of the boat on to the grass, he looped the rope around a rock to secure it.
He looked around.
The island was no more than a hundred yards across. Meadow grass at the edges and then, in its centre, a dark wood of oak and chestnut trees, thick with ivy.
The temple was just as imposing out here as it was viewed from the house. Built of what white marble, it had a high porch suspended on four classical pillars: behind the pillars a tall heavy door stood just open.
Cherringham--The Body in the Lake Page 7
