Cherringham--Cliffhanger

by Matthew Costello

  “Danny? Yeah. Likes an audience.”

  “I see. Very congenial,” said Will.

  “Guess so.”

  Will unscrewed the cap of his flask.

  “That coffee?” said Steve.

  “Um, no, tea.”

  “Ah, too bad. A hit of caffeine would be nice.”

  Will turned to look at him.

  Even if it had been coffee, he wouldn’t have shared it, at least not willingly.

  What is it with these people, he thought, reaching for his cheese and pickle sandwich. Can’t I get a minute’s rest? Don’t they even have a modicum of—?

  But as he raised the sandwich to his lips, he saw a blur of colour out of the corner of his eye, a tumbling, rushing flash of purple that literally bounced off the rock above and behind his head with an awful thud, and then landed on the steep rocky ground just in front of him.

  For a second he wasn’t sure what had happened.

  Then he saw the shape move, and a limb — maybe an arm — flopped over and he realised — God! — it was one of his walkers.

  And as the shape groaned, then made a terrible gurgling sound, Will stood up, his sandwich falling from his hand, to see that the shape was…

  Ms Susan Braithwaite — her face and blood-matted hair now visible inside her purple hood, her eyes rolling.

  In slow motion, Will was aware of Steve Arnold standing too. Stepping towards to the motionless body.

  “Oh God!” he said, turning slowly to Will, his face furrowed in confusion, his mouth open in shock. “W-what do we do?”

  But Will was already reaching for his phone to call the ambulance, and looking up to the cliff behind them to see if anyone was there.

  But the ridge above…

  Deserted.

  4. Will’s Secret

  Sarah pulled up close to where the line of boats was moored, the barges catching the sunlight while the Thames glistened.

  It was exactly that kind of afternoon: picture perfect, warm for May, with just a hint of a breeze blowing off the water.

  And she immediately saw Jack, sitting on his deck.

  With him, Will Goodchild.

  When Jack had asked if she could come over for a chat, saying that Will had something he wanted to talk about, it wasn’t exactly a convenient time. With her assistant Grace knee-deep in final wedding plans, a lot of the work — understandably — now fell on Sarah’s shoulders.

  Still, she also had this thought: if Will Goodchild — such a good friend of her father’s and a sweet, gentle man who knew more about the history of this area than anyone — wanted to see the two of them, together…

  That meant only one thing.

  Something wrong.

  She turned off the engine, popped open the door of her Rav-4, and started walking the plank leading to the deck of Jack’s boat, The Grey Goose.

  A third folding chair awaited her, placed perfectly to catch the late afternoon sun.

  *

  “Sorry,” she said. “Took a few minutes to tidy up some things. Busy days!”

  Jack smiled. His large hands cradled a cup, still warm enough that a thin plume of steam arose from it.

  “Fancy some?” he asked.

  She smiled. “God no. Another cup of tea and I’ll explode.”

  She turned to Will, and one look at his face revealed an unfamiliar Will Goodchild. Lips pursed, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed.

  Clearly, deeply concerned about something.

  “Will, it’s good to see you. I hear you’ve been doing terrific business with your Cotswolds walks.”

  She could see that her words did nothing to lighten the look on Will’s face.

  But he nodded. Forced the smallest of smiles.

  “Will here wanted to speak to the both of us,” Jack said.

  Sarah nodded. Knowing what that must mean.

  Jack took a sip of his tea and turned to Will, giving him space to add a few words.

  “Um, yes. You see, on yesterday’s walk, just around lunchtime.” The man paused as if remembering the moment, back at whatever idyllic spot he had taken his customers. “There was” — he looked up — “an accident.”

  Sarah leaned forward, the sun on her face feeling so good, the perfect amount of heat.

  And she was, as the expression goes, all ears.

  *

  “I was telling Jack, we were up on Clevedon Ridge. And the woman who had the accident — Susan Braithwaite — she fell from the crag. Had to go to hospital in Oxford. Fractured elbow, cracked rib, some nasty scratches, a cut or two. But all things considered — thanks to a tree growing off the side of the cliff that broke her fall — not terribly damaged.”

  He took a breath.

  “Could have been far worse. They released her this morning. Last night my other walkers decided to carry on with the tour. Just an unfortunate accident. Nothing to cause them to reconsider their plans. They’re quite the group.”

  Sarah nodded. Will’s life — she imagined — was probably so orderly. He got his kicks from researching the twists and turns of battles and struggles from centuries ago.

  So this happening, to his fledgling business, must be a blow.

  She waited. Knowing that there had to be more.

  “But today, well, we hiked down to Chedham Copse, near the Roman villa? Hard to find without a guide. Anyway, the walkers… Some of them interested… A few complaining about the mud… I ended up having a private chat with one of them.”

  Sarah listened carefully, every now and then looking at Jack, his eyes squinting in the sunlight. Riley, his spaniel, sat by his side, looking as though he too was enjoying this wondrous time, topside, in the sun. It had been a tough winter for Cherringham. This spring: most welcome.

  “A German woman. She had seemed quiet all morning, and then she made an effort to walk beside me as we did this big trudge across the meadow near Mabb’s Farm. Just the two of us.”

  Will rubbed his cheek, and looked away.

  “She spoke to me about the accident. And she said that she had seen Susan on the crag.” Will cleared his throat. “To be honest, I didn’t have a clue what she was going to tell me. But, you know, all the same, I looked around — no one within earshot. She went on and said, and these were her exact words: ’I can’t be totally sure — I was at some distance — but I think I saw someone else up there. Someone right behind Susan. And that was just before she fell!’”

  Only then did Will look up, turning from Sarah, then to Jack, eyes still narrow.

  “So, now you see my, um, problem, hmm? What happened on my walk, well, maybe it wasn’t an accident at all.”

  *

  Jack scratched Riley’s head while Will got Sarah up to speed.

  He had a lot of thoughts, about what Will had said.

  But he had learned — more and more as they worked together — to wait for the instincts of his partner in, well, crime.

  No longer teacher and pupil really.

  Most of what Jack knew — about interrogations, and digging for secrets, revealing things hidden — she had become as good as he had ever seen.

  All that, and a great person to share a rib-eye and a martini with.

  “Hang on, Will,” she finally said. “The woman, released from hospital, she’s back home now, yes? Mending?”

  “Yes. Her cottage is just outside the village.”

  “And what exactly did she say about the incident?”

  “That’s just it. She said she slipped. The ground and rocks were wet. Could happen. Said there was no one on that cliff but her. Insisted on it.”

  Jack felt Sarah turn and look at him.

  Yup, her instincts kicking in.

  “And did you speak to anyone else? About the fall?”

  “Oh well, just the police — Alan.”

  Alan Rivers. Cherringham’s finest and the only occupant of the village’s tiny police station. A good man, and one who had learned to appreciate the occasional help he and Sarah could offer.
<
br />   He did a good job of hiding the fact that he still — in all likelihood — carried a torch for Sarah Edwards since their schooldays in the village.

  “You called him?” said Sarah.

  “Um, no, actually, he called me.”

  “Really?” said Sarah. “When was that?”

  “When?” said Will. “Um, well, the night of the accident I think. Yes, he said he was calling from the hospital.”

  “Did that surprise you?” said Jack. “That he called?”

  “Put the fear of God into me at first!” said Will. “Thought maybe the whole thing was my fault!”

  “But he reassured you?” said Sarah.

  “Absolutely. Said it sounded like a run of the mill fall, told me not to worry.”

  Jack saw Sarah glance across at him. Something not right.

  “Did he ask you any questions?” said Jack. “About what happened?”

  “Only if I’d seen her fall,” said Will. “Which I hadn’t really. I just saw her… well… you know… hit the ground.”

  Jack saw Will look at both of them, then frown: “Why are you asking me that?”

  “No reason, really, Will,” said Sarah. “Just seems a bit unusual. Police don’t normally get involved in a minor accident.”

  “Hmm, yes, I suppose so,” said Will. “But I was glad to hear from him — put my mind at rest. Maybe that’s why he called. To do that.”

  “Of course,” said Sarah. “So, he’d already talked to Ms Braithwaite?”

  “Yes. Apparently she told him what she told me. Just a silly slip. Not at all my fault. Nothing for anyone to worry about. So that was it.”

  Then silence. A few people on other boats had broken out their small barbecues, ready to inaugurate the season with a meal on deck.

  Not about to let an evening like this slip away.

  “And what does Ms Braithwaite do?” said Sarah. “She’s local, yes?”

  “Financial analyst apparently,” said Will, nodding. “Whatever that is. Sounds a bit high powered.”

  “London?” said Jack.

  “No,” said Will. “Cheltenham I think she said.”

  Jack waited, knowing Sarah would ask more.

  “And the woman who thinks she saw something?”

  “Stephanie Bruckner, from Gelnhausen, Germany. Beautiful cathedral there, by the way.”

  Jack turned to Sarah. “She did tell Will that she might have been mistaken.”

  Will nodded. “That she did. But here’s the thing: she didn’t really sound unsure at all. And the way she waited to talk with me, just the two of us.”

  He took another deep breath.

  “She thinks she saw something suspicious. And I have to say, I believe her.”

  Now Jack leaned forward. Riley stirred a bit, maybe thinking they’d be hitting the meadow for a run.

  But Jack, arms resting on his legs, closer to Will, said, “Will — what would you like us to do?”

  “Sorry to ask. But, I don’t want to bother Alan. I was just wondering, well, can you, the two of you, look into it? I mean, there’s still a potential insurance issue. But then, too, for my new business, the scandal. I mean, what if it was no accident at all? I’ll be honest with you, I’m a little frightened. What if one of my clients was responsible?”

  And now Jack looked at Sarah, though he had no doubt what her response would be.

  She put a hand out. Touched Will’s shoulder.

  “Sure. Sure, we can. Maybe give us all the people’s names, what you know about them? And we can start by talking to this Susan Braithwaite.”

  Jack added: “We can say that you asked us to check in on her, see how she’s doing.”

  Will nodded.

  “Yes. I’ll do that, do you have some paper?”

  But Jack had already dug out a frayed notebook and a pen from his back pocket.

  “Most of the Americans, they’re all staying at the Bell.”

  “Americans?” Jack said, laughing. “You didn’t mention that.”

  “Not Americans like you, dear Jack. The two other women, one from the States, the other, as mentioned, Germany, are staying at the Bucklands’ bed and breakfast.”

  The Bucklands.

  Jack, and everyone in Cherringham, well knew that the twin Buckland sisters ran — in perpetuity thanks to a decree from Henry VIII — the small toll bridge where a sign still announced the cost of bringing geese and goats across.

  Added to that, the twins — Jen and Joan — were avid mystery fans.

  Which, amazingly enough, had proven useful before.

  “Didn’t know they had turned their home into a bed and breakfast.”

  “Oh, yes. And they get a lot of mystery fans there. And people who want to stay in what was once a medieval stone gatehouse near the bridge’s toll booths.”

  The inside of that house, Jack thought, would be something to see.

  “Oh, and I can give you the address for Susan Braithwaite. As I said, she lives close by. Okay, here are the names: there’s Danny Klein. He’s—”

  Jack took down the names and what Will knew about them, looking forward to the moment when he and Sarah could talk and plan. Did Will really have anything to be worried about?

  5. Just a Silly Fall

  Sarah drove slowly over the rocky, bumpy lane that supposedly led to the cottage where Susan Braithwaite lived.

  Jack leaned forward.

  “You sure there’s going to be anything around here? Pretty deserted.”

  “Tell you something, Jack, I thought I knew, pretty much every inch of Cherringham. Certainly never knew about this particular spot. It’s isolated all right.”

  “Mighty reclusive,” Jack said, still leaning forward.

  Sarah’s Rav-4 hit a bump that shook the two of them back and forth.

  “And not great for my suspension either.”

  “Guess she has to do this every day for work. Be interested to see what she drives.”

  “Financial analyst? I’m thinking whatever she drives, it’s way beyond our pay-grade, Jack.”

  She made the car inch forward, slowly, doing whatever she could to avoid hitting another crater.

  Then the rubble-filled lane curved right, past a stand of dense bushes, and there it was.

  And in sharp contrast to the gauntlet that was their journey from the main road to here, the cottage looked…

  Well, manicured.

  A perfect little gravel path. Carefully tended flowers and shrubs — hydrangeas, chrysanthemums, and some Sarah couldn’t identify — arrayed on each side of the path leading to the front door.

  The cottage itself: decidedly small but in perfect condition, recent paint job, bronze gutters glistening.

  “I’m amazed she can get any workmen to trek here,” she said. “I mean, to maintain this place? Talk about off the beaten track.”

  Jack had turned quiet as they got closer — something that used to throw her off but which she knew was all part of his process, as he tried to completely focus on every detail.

  Still a trick she was working on.

  “Unless maybe she does all the work herself. Aha! Check out the Range Rover.”

  And parked to the side was a sandy-beige Range Rover. Not so much upscale suburban — more a vehicle that looked like it could handle a safari, heavy duty tools, and manage this rocky lane with ease.

  Sarah stopped the car.

  She and Jack had decided to start with the accident victim, and maybe put this whole thing to bed at the very start.

  A quick chat here — then maybe some equally quick interviews with the other hikers.

  Probably all to confirm exactly what Alan had told Will.

  Just an accident.

  Though, on the reason why he had got involved, they were less clear. Sarah had called Alan after Will had left, but, so far, he hadn’t returned her message.

  Keys out of the ignition, she turned to Jack.

  “All set, Detective?”

  He smiled at
that.

  “Why, I think I am.”

  And she watched as he popped open his door, and pulled his tall frame out of her Rav-4.

  How he’d managed to squeeze into, let alone drive his Sprite — now sadly a bit of crumpled metal and a memory — she never knew.

  Guess the pleasure of driving such a machine was compensation for all the discomfort.

  And then Sarah opened her door and followed Jack up the neat path to the cottage.

  *

  Jack watched as Sarah, slightly to the front, knocked on the door.

  He didn’t see a bell anywhere.

  Made sense. Not likely to get many visitors out here!

  But he did see, just above the door lintel, a very tiny white cylinder.

  A camera — wireless, it looked like — connected to the cottage’s Wi-Fi most likely. Viewable on a smartphone. Maybe a built-in motion detector?

  If Susan Braithwaite was up and about, she would have already seen their arrival and be near the door, waiting.

  But after the knock, the door did not immediately open.

  Jack knocked again.

  After another pause — as he looked at Sarah, her face looking confused as well — the door opened.

  And there was Susan Braithwaite.

  Brown hair pulled back, her face marked by bruises and cuts, a bandage on her forehead, and her right arm in a substantial sling.

  And her response — a single word.

  “Yes?”

  Sarah took a breath and, Jack saw, managed a smile.

  “Ms Braithwaite, Will Goodchild, a dear friend of ours, asked if we could look in on you, see how you’re getting on?”

  The door — Jack noticed — hadn’t opened a millimetre more.

  The woman nodded at that.

  “Um, well then, you can tell him I am getting on just fine.”

  The woman’s eyes, pretty steely, Jack thought.

  Of course, no one is going to be happy having a bad fall, going to hospital, getting bandaged up, holiday over.

  But this woman… her face…

  Even ignoring the cuts and bruises…

  “Harsh” was the word that came to mind.

  Sarah fired a quick glance at Jack, perhaps thinking that their interview had just ended.