Jack saw this sink in. Callum’s face revealing nothing.
Not the first time this guy’s stood in front of a cop, he thought.
So he added, just to raise the stakes a tad, “In fact, where exactly were you the night she died?”
Callum’s eyes narrowed.
“What the hell — you trying to—”
“And don’t you dare give me any of that ‘Amy who?’ BS — capiche? Or we might have to go straight down the street to the police station and let them continue this conversation.”
Jack watched Callum shake his head and scratch his cheek for a second. Then he stepped forward, dragged the chair out with a bang, and slumped onto it, legs splayed.
“All right,” he said. “So, I did bloody know Amy. So—what?”
“How well?”
“Well enough,” said Callum, his stare challenging, tone now sly. “Know what I mean?”
“I thought you and Jasmine were an item?”
A smirk. “Who told you that?”
“Are you?” said Jack, ignoring him.
“If she says so,” said Callum, with a shrug. “Hate to break her heart — if she has one!”
“But let me see if I got this straight — you were seeing Amy too?”
“Seeing her? God. I’m not a kid. She fancied something different. I was around.”
“Around — that night — when she died?”
Callum’s smirk vanished.
“No.”
“But you talked to her?”
“On the bloody phone. You know that. But hang on. Wait a minute — how do you know that? That’s private, that is. There’s laws — like — data laws—”
Jack ignored his protest.
“So that night — why all the texts, the calls?”
Jack watched Callum carefully. For the first time, the young man paused — thinking about his answer.
Maybe sensing danger, slowing down.
“She wanted to see me — when she got back from that stupid walk. But I didn’t want to.”
“Why?”
“Look — pain in the arse she was. Had too many bloody opinions. Know what I mean? Yak, yak, yak. Always trying to tell me how she felt. As if—”
“So — you’d dumped her?”
“Don’t you bloody listen? I said I wasn’t going out with her. Just having a bit of fun.”
“Got it. When did you last see her?”
“I dunno. Guess … week before she died?”
“Where? Your place? The pub?”
“Duh — no.”
“So where did you meet — at Amy’s place?”
“No way. Her parents would go positively mental. Especially that father of hers. Ha — they didn’t like their pretty little daughter getting some from — in their opinion — a lowlife like me.”
“But they knew about you?”
“Oh yeah. Her dad — what a prick. Saw a text from me on her phone. Ordered her not to see me. Got well pissed with her, he did, tried to ground her. Some hope for that. Amy liked … what she liked”
So much for Peter Roberts saying there’d been no arguments recently, thought Jack.
Another lie. Another secret.
“All right. Where did you hang out?”
“My motor,” said Josh, nodding to a big, red, customised Ford pickup, that was parked up at the side of the workshop. Over-sized tyres, decals, the works.
Jack could just imagine the scene.
“Out in the countryside somewhere, hmm?”
“Yeah.”
“Shipton Woods?”
“What? Where’s that?”
“Where Amy drowned.”
“No.”
“You don’t know it?”
“Nope.”
“Never been there?”
“’Fraid not.”
Jack changed tack.
“What about Jasmine? What did she think about you and Amy?”
Callum laughed at that.
“You stupid? She didn’t know, did she? Who’d tell her?”
“And if she did find out?”
Callum laughed. “Bloody well kill me, she would.”
Interesting choice of phrase, thought Jack.
“Got a temper, has she?” said Jack.
“Oh, yeah. And then some. Right hard bitch when she wants to be.”
Callum looked right at Jack as if challenging him. “Though at the right moment, all that … has its advantages. If you know what I mean.”
Jack remained poker-faced.
This guy’s attitude to women was something revolting to behold.
“And she still doesn’t know about you and Amy?”
“No way,” said Callum. “And I’d like it kept that way — know what I mean?”
Jack stared at him, then shrugged.
“Can’t promise, Callum. That kind of thing — always has a way of getting out. Don’t you find? Nasty secrets don’t always stay secret for long.”
Callum looked like he was going to say something — but clearly changed his mind. He stood up. “We done?”
“For now.”
Jack watched him slope off to the door and head back into the workshop.
Then he took out his cell and called Sarah.
“Hey,” he said.
“Jack — got anything?”
“Maybe,” said Jack. “This is getting interesting. Can we catch up?”
“Got a presentation in half-an-hour, then a full-on site review for a client. Fancy supper?”
“Sure,” said Jack. “Come over to the Goose. I’ll throw something together.”
“Great. Just what I need. See you later.”
Jack put the phone down, already planning what to cook.
10. Dinner on Deck
“One minute,” called Jack, giving the pasta sauce — made from scratch — one last quick stir.
“Can’t wait,” called back Sarah from the deck above.
Jack drained the pasta, swirled it with a little oil, then tipped it into the big sauce pan, stirred the whole lot together.
Handful of fresh parsley on top, then — grabbing the heavy dish with both hands — he climbed the steps up to the deck where Sarah sat sipping wine in the evening sun.
“Ta-da!” he said, placing the pan on the little table. “Bucatini all’amatriciana alla Jack. Help yourself.”
While Sarah dished out the pasta, he unscrewed the cap on a fresh bottle of good chianti, topped up Sarah’s glass and poured himself a fresh one.
Then he sat to eat.
*
Sarah put down her fork for a second.
For a couple of minutes, they’d both said nothing, just savouring the moment, the wine, the food.
She looked around, taking another sip of wine.
The evening sun just beginning to drop behind Cherringham up on the far hill, a soft blue sky, just some high vapour trails, the distant chatter of other river folk out on their boat decks on this absolutely perfect evening.
The sound of Charlie Parker drifting softly up from the hi-fi down in Jack’s saloon.
And Riley fast asleep on his rug on the corner of the deck.
The only discordant note — the real reason for their meeting tonight.
Over Martinis, Jack had told her of his meeting with Callum Foley — and the surprising news about Amy.
Now, as she tucked back into her pasta, it was her turn.
“So — I finally got a call from Alan up at the police station,” she said. “One of those now-or-never twenty minutes to review the files and ‘you were never here, I never saw you’.”
“Good for him,” said Jack. “Anything we should know?”
“Post mortem pretty clear — a blow to the head ‘commensurate with a fall onto rocks’, then she drowned.”
“Poor kid,” said Jack, shaking his head. “What a waste.”
“I know.”
Sarah nodded. Waited.
This death — hard to deal with for both of us, sh
e thought.
“I guess — nothing to ring alarm bells there,” he said.
“Nope.”
“Any witnesses we missed?”
“Not as far as I could see. They interviewed that guy Josh you met. He’s a credible witness, apparently. Though off the record, Alan calls him a pain in the proverbial.”
“Why’s that?”
“Back in the spring he was up and down to the village constantly telling Alan he had to clear the joy riders out of the woods.”
“Joy riders?”
“Lads on bikes, cars, off-road things — scrambling. You know — racing around in the mud. I can understand why he’d complain — getting them everywhere these days. Take your life in your hands going for an evening walk.”
“This Josh — he been living rough for a while, hmm? Off the grid?”
“Couple of years now. He turned up with the anti-fracking protesters — remember them?”
“Thought they all packed up and went home.”
“They did. But Josh apparently felt a ‘connection’ with the woods. Built a kind of den — stayed.”
“That illegal?”
“Probably. But guy like that, dedicated, harmless, nobody seems to mind him. Heart’s in the right place.”
“He got a record?
“Some arrests, apparently,” said Sarah.
“Protest stuff I imagine?”
“Obstruction, trespass, harassment,” said Sarah. “Spell in prison in one case.”
“Interesting,” said Jack. But he didn’t say any more.
Sarah scooped up the last of the pasta, put her fork down on her plate.
“That was delicious, Jack — thank you. Mystery ingredient — capers, hmm?”
“Spot on. And a touch extra chilli, of course.”
“Of course.”
She waited while Jack finished too. Topped up his glass, then hers.
“All right then,” he said. “Where are we, you think?”
“Okay,” she said, always enjoying this process of reviewing the case. “From what you describe, it seems kinda unlikely that Amy just fell into the water near the camp.”
“Yep. Even lost in the dark — it would have been a fight to get through that brush, to the cliff.”
“And — whether accidental or not — she entered the water some distance away. Possibly even a mile or so. Which makes me wonder, what was she doing so far from the camp?”
“Exactly.”
“Now, we know Holly and Jasmine were both lying when we talked to them. But we don’t know what the lie is. Or what their motive might be for lying.”
“Or even if it’s the same lie,” said Jack. “Or the same motive.”
“Good point, Mr Brennan. Might be conspiracy or just coincidence. Or could be a perfectly innocent reason.”
“True. On the other hand—”
“Could be deliberate,” said Sarah. “We also know that Callum lied to you. First of all, denying he even knew Amy. Or her parents.”
“Oh — don’t forget — Amy’s dad lied too. Said there was nothing in recent weeks of any concern — but according to Callum, he grounded her. Might be a temper there.”
“You’re right. Oh — and I forgot to say — I mentioned Callum to Daniel, just kind of … in passing.”
“Guy’s got a rep, yeah?”
“Oh yes. Left Cherringham High two years ago — but hangs out at the school gate in his shiny red car, flashing the cash. Trolling. You know the type.”
“Do indeed. A predator,” said Jack.
“Exactly.”
Sarah waited while Jack got up, put the plates and pan on a side table, then brought over some cheese and fruit.
“Okay,” he said. “For the sake of argument—”
“No better way—”
“What if Amy fixes to meet up with Callum in the woods that night. We know from Josh that a car was in the woods — remember? She waits till everybody’s asleep, heads down the trail to where he’s parked. But they have a fight — Callum loses it, kills her, dumps the body in the lake, gets out of there.”
“Possible,” said Sarah. “Or he hits her — bang — she’s out, he panics. Dumps her somewhere. Not dead. But definitely dazed. Then — she wakes — gets lost, stumbles into the lake.”
“Also possible.”
“Course — it might not be Callum’s car that Josh heard that night …”
“True.”
“And we’re only taking Josh’s word for it. How reliable is he? Could be he heard music the night before. Week before, even!”
“Think he was pretty together,” said Jack.
“Together enough to kill Amy?”
“Strong enough, for sure,” said Jack. “No stranger to confrontation. And he did say he wandered the woods a bit.”
“You think he’s a suspect?”
“Just keeping an open mind.”
Sarah cut some cheddar, popped a grape into her mouth.
“Another take?” she said. “Jasmine figures Amy’s messing with her guy. She wakes, follows Amy. Confronts the two of them, they all fight, gets out of control, Amy runs off, gets lost, ends up in the lake. Callum and Jasmine cover their tracks.”
“Hmm, not bad. But Holly said she didn’t see or hear Jasmine leave her tent?”
“Hmm, you’re right.”
“You got another?” he said.
“Don’t think so. Though I’m pretty certain we can rule Holly out of the list.”
“True,” said Jack. “Though she’s lying about something.”
“Hang on — maybe she did see Jasmine go? Too scared to talk — or out of some kind of misguided loyalty thinks she should stay quiet?”
“Okay, yeah, that works. And don’t forget — we’ve also got another suspect. The father …”
“Peter Roberts. Hmm,” said Sarah. “Has a temper. Old-school dad. But surely he’d throw Callum in the lake, not his daughter?”
“True. But what if he’s out in the woods that night too, sure that Amy is going to meet up with Callum. He sees what she’s up to, they argue, he loses it — pushes too hard, she falls. Bang.”
“That’s a stretch — but not impossible,” said Sarah. “Then he asks us to look into it — to cover his tracks? Maybe I should head over tomorrow — find out where he was that night.”
“I agree,” said Jack. “Remember — he lied to us about Amy’s last weeks?”
“Right. A good liar, too …”
“Meanwhile — we need to lean on Callum.”
“Good idea,” said Sarah. “Whichever way we run this — he’s always one point on the triangle.”
“You’re right. But how do we break that triangle open?”
“I think … we go back to the girls. Or rather — I go back to the girls. I want to tear any lies away, see what’s underneath them.”
“Starting with Holly, hmm?” said Jack. “I don’t think the kid’s got it in her to lie for real.”
“Good idea. How about you?”
“Think — I’ll head back to the woods. I want to talk to Josh. See if he’s ever come up against Callum Foley. If so — I want to hear first-hand how that guy is in an argument. Did he turn violent? But also, how did Josh deal with that?”
Sarah sat back, turning the shape of this thing over in her mind.
“You know, Jack, maybe it’s time we played these people at their own game.”
“Meaning?”
“Tell a lie — to draw a lie.”
“Hmm, not a bad idea,” said Jack, draining his wine glass. “Turn up the pressure a bit.”
“Exactly.”
He stood up and Riley got up from his rug, shook, and sauntered over to see if there were any treats on offer.
“Coffee?” said Jack.
“Sure,” said Sarah, getting up to help clear the table. Then, as she followed Jack to the steps that led down to the galley she said, “You thinking Callum did this? That it really was murder?”
“Qu
estion one — maybe. Question two — yup. I’m beginning to think that way.”
Sarah nodded, and took a breath. “If you’re right — then we’d better be careful tomorrow. Both of us.”
11. The Elusive Truth
Jack guessed that there were a lot of people — in Cherringham or in Shipton — that could tell him how to find the shack that Josh called “home”.
But he was pretty sure he didn’t have to go any farther than the dilapidated boat, moored a few yards down from his, and belonging to his neighbour — stoner and all-around guy perpetually at a loose end — Ray.
Though he might not be much of a success by society’s standards, in his own way, the affable Ray — always up for a spliff or splitting a six pack — knew a lot about the people here.
The places where they worked, lived, drank …
And maybe even their secrets.
And so, even without knowing the degree of haze that Jack might face, he decided to ask Ray about Josh, secretly hoping that there may be more to learn than merely a place in the woods and how to get there.
*
Jack knocked on the door of what passed as Ray’s saloon.
Inside, through a filmy window, Jack saw Ray’s abode in all its glory.
Scattered crisp bags, empty of course, gathered on the floor, next to a standing ashtray filled with a mix of joints smoked down to a nub, and equally worn-down roll-ups.
Though lately, Ray had been protesting that he was getting into a health kick.
The roll-ups were going to go.
But probably, Jack guessed, in “Ray time”.
This week, next week, whenever.
Jack rapped at the door again, harder, and finally he heard movement from inside.
Ray stirring, stumbling, A truncated bit of a curse as he made his way to the door.
The shabby boat’s captain wasn’t much of an early riser. In fact, he wasn’t much of riser, period.
The door, its wooden frame bloated by decades of moisture without any attempt to be sanded, trimmed down, painted, maintained — popped open like a reluctant cork.
“Jack, what the—”
Ray looked down at his wrist to a non-existent watch.
“What you doing, man? What time—?”
Jack smiled. He and Ray always got along, and while Ray might seem perturbed by the intrusion …
That would pass.
“Morning, Ray. Was going to ask you about something. Some directions.”
Cherringham--Trail of Lies Page 6
