Cherringham--Cliffhanger

by Matthew Costello

Sarah let him again rifle through the trio of pics. No danger of his destroying the prints, all so easy to reproduce.

  “Looks like,” Jack said, “you’re guilty of the attempted murder of Susan Braithwaite. You’re lucky — she’s okay. Still, think the people over here take such attempts pretty seriously, you know?”

  And Sarah could feel the man’s eyes searching the photos as if they were the instruments of his doom.

  “So,” Sarah said, taking her cue from Jack to push Murphy a bit, “with this evidence, with what you did, maybe best you tell us everything?”

  Tom Murphy looked up.

  Probably not the first time he’s been trapped, back to the wall, she thought. And in this case, literally.

  But with his eyes on Sarah, as if he could maybe convince her of something really important, he said.

  “But that’s just it. You don’t understand.”

  Sarah looked at Jack.

  “You see, I didn’t mean to push that woman.”

  Sarah felt an odd anticipation: what was this petty hood going to say? Were she and Jack right in what they’d put together?

  He took one of the photos.

  “That woman there? That… that was a mistake!”

  The words seemed nearly comical. Sarah felt that she might actually laugh.

  A look to Jack signalling, well, isn’t this an interesting confession?

  “A mistake?” Sarah said, managing a straight face. “Then, I guess you’d better just tell us everything.”

  She slipped a notepad out. Jack followed suit.

  And then Tom Murphy sprang from the bed, pushed between them both sending Sarah flying against the wardrobe, and fled through the door.

  Sarah quickly scrambled back to her feet, expecting Jack to go racing after — but he just stood calmly and shook his head slowly.

  “Shame,” he said, putting away his notepad. “We could have had this whole thing wrapped up here and now and gone straight to Huffington’s for coffee.”

  “Hang on. You not going to go after him?”

  “No. And here’s why.”

  She watched Jack go over to Murphy’s suitcase, tip it out on the bed, start searching every piece of clothing.

  “The minute we tell Alan,” he said emptying a washbag on the bed, “Tom Murphy’s pretty face is going to be on the watch list of every Western intelligence service. Don’t think he’s going to get very far.”

  Sarah joined him by the bed. Then saw Murphy’s jacket hanging on a chair in the corner. She picked it up — checked the pockets.

  In one — a phone.

  “Jack,” she said, holding it up.

  “Burner?”

  “Certainly cheap.”

  She tapped the screen.

  “Default password,” she said. “Has to be…”

  “You in?”

  She nodded.

  “Yep. Just checking call history.”

  She tapped a couple more times.

  “Perfect,” she said. “Two numbers.”

  “Two?”

  “Yep. Called — and received.”

  Jack smiled and shook his head: “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  She nodded: “Time to join the Cotswolds Historical Walking Tour?”

  “Exactly,” said Jack. “And I took the precaution of finding out just where they are this morning.”

  “Well then, what are we waiting for?” said Sarah, tucking the phone in her pocket and leading the way out of the dingy room.

  Time to reveal the mystery attacker, she thought.

  16. One Last Hike

  Sarah pulled up in the gravel car park near the imposing portcullis and entrance of Combe Castle, and turned the engine off.

  “Bit quieter than last time we were here,” said Jack, climbing out. “Remember?”

  Sarah nodded.

  In one of their earliest cases, she and Jack had been asked to help out on a movie shoot here, protecting the lead actress from a mysterious attacker.

  She looked across the car park — no sign of Will Goodchild’s minibus.

  “You sure they’re in there?” she said.

  “I rang the hotel first thing,” said Jack. “Idea was they walk the five miles from the village, along the river — then end up here with a castle tour.”

  Sarah looked up at the castle ramparts and saw the tiny pin-heads of a group just disappearing slowly around onto the river-facing side of the castle.

  “There they are,” she said, nodding towards the castle entrance. “Come on.”

  *

  As they climbed the cold, twisting stone staircase within the castle tower, Jack could just hear Will’s voice from above on the walls.

  Probably describing the order of Cromwell’s army on the opposite bank of the river, he thought.

  He knew that Will’s special subject was Cherringham in the Civil War — and this siege of the Royalist Combe Castle was one of his favourite battles.

  More than once, Jack had war-gamed the engagement at Will’s house, marvelling how passionate the historian became as the climax of the battle approached.

  “How’s the knee?” said Sarah, from below, as he carried on climbing towards the top.

  “Holding up,” he said.

  “All this walking and rowing you’re doing. Good for you!”

  “Not for much longer. My transportation problems soon will be — oh, aha, here we are.”

  He stepped out onto the castle ramparts, Sarah right behind him.

  And ahead, just ten or so yards away, he saw the group clustered around Will on the flat open top of the corner tower.

  Heidi, Stephanie, Danny, Julie, Melissa and Steve.

  Above them a Royalist flag fluttered. Below the stone walls, the river flowed dark and deep. Golden fields lay in squares on the opposite bank, disappearing in the distance into a deep wood.

  And above — a clear blue sky.

  The perfect setting, thought Jack, as Will paused in his speech, and the group turned to see the visitors.

  “Jack?” said Will. “Sarah?”

  Will clearly confused.

  “Morning everybody,” said Jack, smiling.

  “Um, delighted to see you, as ever,” said Will. “But — can I help with something?”

  “Oh, you’ve been help enough already,” said Sarah. “Thanks for the text this morning by the way.”

  “Of course,” said Will, “though I’m not sure I quite understand why you wanted to know about—”

  “Well, that’ll become clear in just a minute,” said Jack, approaching the group and smiling at them all. “If I could have your attention, hmm?”

  “Sure,” said Danny.

  “Any time,” said Melissa.

  Jack looked around the group, then: “Just wanted you to know that we’ve found out how Susan Braithwaite fell from Clevedon Crag — or, I should say — how she was pushed.”

  An instant bubble of conversation and exclamations from the whole group.

  “Whoa, whoa, let me finish, please,” said Jack, still in his nicest possible voice, a big grin making this little speech more like a prize-giving than the outing of a potential murderer. “And we know exactly who was responsible. And you needn’t worry — even as we speak that person is, I’m sure, being detained.”

  “But who?” said Heidi.

  “Why?” said Stephanie. “Why Susan?”

  “Excellent questions,” said Sarah, stepping forward to stand alongside Jack. “And in this case, very pertinent. Because you see — that little episode was in fact — a mistake.”

  “A screw-up, I would call it,” said Jack.

  “In fact, the intended victim was meant to be… one of you,” said Sarah.

  Jack waited for that to sink in, watching the four Americans closely.

  Still not knowing who was guilty — or who was innocent.

  The six members of the group swivelled and looked at each other, eyes wide. Behind them, Jack saw Will’s mouth open in disbelief
.

  This, he thought, is actually fun.

  “Which is why we thought we’d better come now. See you all. Just in case anyone had any ideas about, you know, making one last attempt — to kill, that is.”

  Silence. Jack turned to Sarah and nodded.

  “Luckily,” he said. “We have the mobile phone of the wannabe killer. And turns out, on that cell, there are actually two phone numbers. People he talked to every day, over and over again for the past week.”

  Jack paused, waiting for this to sink in.

  “So, we think these numbers belong to the real killers. Kinda makes sense. Wouldn’t you all agree?”

  Again, silence.

  “Sarah, if you would, please.”

  Sarah held the phone — then tapped a single key.

  “Last number redial,” she said. “Such a boon when you’re busy.”

  Jack waited, smiled at the group. “And the killer is…”

  He heard the phone ring just as its owner desperately rummaged in his coat to try and stop it.

  Steve Arnold pulled out his phone, hurled it over the battlements.

  “Oh, hi, Steve,” said Sarah, smiling and giving him a small wave.

  “This is all a mistake,” said Steve, “you can’t prove anything with—”

  But Jack saw the group back away from him.

  “Second number, please Sarah,” said Jack, smiling like he was on a primetime game show.

  But before anybody’s phone rang, Julie Klein broke from the group, pushed past Jack and headed for the stairs down the tower.

  The phone in her pocket rang, echoing loudly as she tottered down the perilous staircase and out of sight.

  Jack saw Sarah walk over to the edge of the wall and peer down into the car park.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about her getting away,” she said, turning back to the group. “There’s our local police force arriving — bang on time.”

  “Jeez,” said Danny. “So — God — who was the intended victim?”

  Melissa turned towards him. “With all due respect to Heidi and Stephanie — isn’t it obvious, you silly old goat, Danny?”

  “You?” said Danny, clearly still in shock. Then he embraced her tightly. “Jeez,” he said, after a few seconds, then turned to Jack and Sarah. “Thank you,” he said, clapping. “Thank you, guys.”

  And within seconds the rest of the group were clapping too, as approaching police sirens began to echo across the walls of Combe Castle.

  Jack turned to Sarah.

  “How about that?” he said, and winked.

  17. Table for Four

  “To catching bad guys,” said Susan Braithwaite, holding up her champagne flute for Heidi, Stephanie and Sarah to clink. “And to the good women who do the job! Cheers!”

  “Cheers!” said Sarah and the other women.

  The four of them sat at one of the street-side tables of the Spotted Pig, having enjoyed a long lunch hosted by Cherringham’s resident spy — who Sarah now realised was actually warm, totally human, and potentially even a very good friend.

  The lunch had been impromptu — and Jack had been invited, but he’d said he had another appointment and might only make it for the dessert.

  Strange that, Sarah thought.

  She looked at his empty chair and so hoped he would get there in time.

  For once, it had been left to her to draw the ends of the case together for her eager listeners. How Julie and Steve had bound their bitterness together in a plot against Danny and Melissa, thinking that an accident far from home might not be investigated.

  And how Steve had miscalculated — using his old high school pal Tom Murphy as an amateur assassin. Police had picked up Tom just the day before in a tweed hat and theatrical moustache, trying to board a boat for the Channel Islands.

  “He didn’t even realise that the Channel Islands were in the UK,” said Sarah. “He thought they were in France.”

  Finally, she’d recounted how Danny and Melissa were both filing for divorce and looking forward to closing the business and travelling the world together — while Steve and Julie were by all accounts heading for a prison stretch each.

  “You know, Sarah,” said Susan, “any time you want to give up the web business and do this for money — just give me a call. We could certainly do with more people like you.”

  Sarah smiled at her. “I’m flattered you say that, Susan, I really am. But you know — I’m really just happy doing this with Jack, and the partnership he and I have is the whole point of, well — you know—”

  “Speak of the devil,” said Susan, putting a hand on Sarah’s and deftly changing the subject.

  Sarah heard the throaty engine sound of a sports car and turned — to see Jack pulling up outside the restaurant.

  For a second, she expected the old Sprite — even though she knew it had been totally wrecked.

  Instead, there was Jack in what looked like a sleek version of his old sports car. Same shade of green, with wood trim and tan leather seats.

  But longer, more powerful-looking.

  Jack waved — but didn’t climb out.

  “He called me a couple of hours ago,” said Susan. “Said he’d made a promise to you a while back — and could he pick you up when lunch was over? A surprise! So, of course — I said yes.”

  Sarah turned and looked at Heidi and Stephanie.

  “You in on this too?” she said.

  They smiled and nodded.

  “Go,” said Stephanie.

  “Enjoy yourself,” said Heidi.

  “Thank you, all of you,” said Sarah.

  Then she rose from the table, picked up her handbag and stepped out onto the street, hardly believing this perfect afternoon could get any better.

  Jack climbed out, came round the car, opened her door, and she slid in. She watched him walk round again and settle into the driver’s seat.

  “Where to?” he said.

  “Anywhere,” she said.

  “Anywhere it is,” he said, putting the car into gear and revving the engine.

  So she sat back as he drove, the sun just dropping behind the hill above Cherringham, the May air still surprisingly soft, and Jack — she could see — so completely overjoyed to — at last — be behind the wheel again.

  Taking her for that first spin, as promised.

  Jack with his new car.

  Yes — the universe was finally back in order.

  END

  Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

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