Cherringham--Trail of Lies

by Matthew Costello

  Dammit, he thought.

  He called her. Waited.

  It went straight to voicemail.

  “Sarah. I’ve found out what happened. Call me now.”

  Then he put the phone away, clamped his belt tight — ignoring the pain in his hip — fired up the Sprite, and hit the pedal to the floor, handbrake still on, spinning the little car on its axis, then roaring off down the road towards Cherringham.

  *

  Sarah parked on the drive, a few yards away from the red Ford, and climbed out of her Rav-4.

  She could see the doors of the pickup were open — the tailgate too.

  As Jack would say — looks like somebody’s getting out of Dodge, she thought.

  She walked slowly towards the front of the house. Tattered curtains on the front windows and upstairs. Nobody in sight.

  The front door: paint peeling. A faded sign: “Myrtle Cottage”. She tried the door handle. Locked. She could hear the sound of music playing — heavy beats pounding.

  Back round to the side — where the pickup stood near a door into the house …

  … that was open.

  She heard a voice calling inside the house. Loud to be heard over the music. A female voice. Then a man’s responding.

  Jasmine and Callum?

  Had to be …

  She stepped through the back door into a kitchen. Boxes stood on an old table — looked like they’d been packed in a hurry.

  Fridge door open — fridge empty.

  On the floor and table — plastic shopping bags filled with tins, bread, microwave meals.

  She stepped past — into a hallway with open stairs. The music really loud now, coming from upstairs somewhere.

  She walked past the stairwell down a short hallway and into a small dining area — where she saw Jasmine stuffing clothes into a big canvas shopping bag.

  Sarah, unseen, took a breath.

  “Hi Jasmine,” she said.

  The girl spun round.

  “What the hell—?

  “Going somewhere?” said Sarah, taking another step into the room.

  “What’s it got to do with you? And what the hell are you doing in here? You can’t just come in here—”

  “Oh but I can,” said Sarah. “Because we need to talk.”

  “Talked to you already.”

  “You did. But you lied. Now I want to hear the truth.”

  “What—?

  “About what really happened that night. How you followed Amy into the woods—”

  “No way—” said Jasmine, putting down the bag and moving closer to Sarah.

  The girl’s fists clenched.

  Sarah stood her ground.

  “Amy … was seeing Callum, wasn’t she? Though maybe you didn’t know that when you followed her.”

  “That’s rubbish,” said the girl, her face now just a yard from Sarah’s. “That never happ—”

  “Must have really hurt — seeing your best friend with your boyfriend. Hey — maybe you actually saw them — together?”

  Sarah paused. Let the words sink in.

  “Hmm? Arms round each other?”

  “That’s bullshit. I never left my tent — that whole night.”

  “’Fraid that’s not what Holly says—”

  “Holly? That little geek—”

  Time for another white lie, thought Sarah.

  Why not? The last one worked …

  “Sorry. We have another witness too,” she said. “Someone who can place you—”

  But before she could finish the sentence, Sarah saw Jasmine’s eyes flicker — to look over Sarah’s shoulder.

  And in a split second she realised that Callum must be there …

  …but she was too slow to turn …

  She felt a crashing, agonising pain on the side of her head and she fell back and sideways, her head whipping round to catch just a glimpse of Callum towering over her with a length of wood in both hands …

  Then she hit a pile of chairs hard — and everything went black.

  *

  Jack raced up Cherringham Bridge Road, going fast through the gear changes — then braked hard, and took a left down Mogdon Lane, the tail of the Sprite twitching, sliding on the wet road.

  A flick of the wheel though, and the car steadied.

  Another couple of hundred yards, accelerating hard — then he hit a fork in the road. He took the left turn marked Iron Wharf.

  Top down. Speedometer winding up to forty — this lane so narrow that the speed felt crazy.

  But Jack knew he had no choice. On the phone, Grace had told him where Sarah had been heading.

  And also that she’d been waiting to hear from her for an hour.

  After what Josh had said — Jack knew Sarah could be in danger.

  The gate to Iron Wharf flew by and Jack slowed slightly, peering at every house he passed, looking for the red Ford.

  And for Sarah’s Rav-4 …

  *

  Sarah stood up slowly, her head throbbing with pain at the movement, her whole body taut and cramped.

  She felt sick — and had to lean against a table for a few seconds before she could lift herself fully upright.

  How long have I been out, she thought. Seconds? Minutes?

  The music had stopped. The house felt empty. She took stock.

  Her breathing hurt and rattled. Cracked ribs, for sure. There was blood on her t-shirt and hands. She touched the side of her head — and felt a gash on her hairline.

  She looked for something to focus on. An old poster on the wall swam into view — blurry, but if she really concentrated — just readable.

  She guessed that she had concussion. Based on that, she should just sit still, call an ambulance.

  Wait for the police.

  But with no signal — that just wasn’t an option.

  She needed to stop Jasmine and Callum …

  Then she heard a car start outside — the big throaty sound of a pickup.

  She staggered to the door, then out through the kitchen to the drive — just in time to see the Ford slew onto the grass past her car, slide for a few yards, then head out through the gate, and onto the lane.

  Callum at the wheel.

  Jasmine next to him.

  Got to follow them, she thought. Got to drive …

  And she shuffled over to her car and climbed in.

  *

  Jack threw the Sprite round the curves as the lane bent to the winding curves of the countryside.

  The car, so responsive, like a tiny fighter plane, exhaust crackling with each gear change.

  And, all the time, Jack checking cottages and houses set back in the fields and slopes away from the lane.

  Looking for Sarah’s car. Or Callum’s.

  The road familiar: he’d come down here many a time with Riley years ago, when he first moved to Cherringham. Long country walks, checking out archaeological remains, seeking traces of this country’s amazing history.

  One last corner — and sure enough — there was the Roman road disappearing into the distance, just as he remembered it.

  But not quite as he remembered it.

  As he straightened up, he could see — just a few hundred yards ahead — Callum Foley’s red Ford pickup heading towards him.

  The vehicle, bouncing high on its suspension, picking up every bump in the road.

  Must be doing sixty, seventy, he thought.

  More tank than car.

  And coming straight at him.

  At this speed — maybe just twenty seconds away.

  And not slowing down.

  The lane too narrow for Callum to pass.

  If he even wanted to.

  Jack looked ahead for any break in the stone walls. A hundred yards up the lane he could see a gate. If he hit the gas, he just might make it in time, pull off the road, get out of the way.

  But the gate might not open.

  It was too much of a risk.

  Only seconds to do … something.


  He twisted in his seat — his back and hips still in agony from the fall — and peered down the lane behind him.

  Nothing. And reversing with some guy hurtling down the road towards him — no way that was a good idea.

  Jack had run out of choices.

  There was nothing he could do.

  It was all down to Callum Foley.

  Would he stop?

  Or would he try and power on through?

  He looked up through the windshield.

  The Ford was still tearing down the lane towards him.

  If anything — going even faster.

  How crazy was the kid?

  Jack turned off the engine and quickly jumped out of the Sprite.

  He looked one last time at his little green sports car.

  Then ran to the wall as fast he could. Grabbed hold of the stone.

  Lifted himself up — and dropped over the other side into the field.

  His already-bruised hip gave way and he fell onto the ploughed soil with a gasp.

  But he managed to get up again.

  Had to get up again …

  Then he ran — limped — staggered — as fast as the pain would allow him into the field and away from the lane.

  Hearing the Ford barrelling closer and closer. The engine noise not falling.

  Five litres of brute power.

  Only stopping when he heard the explosion of metal on metal — the terrible wrenching, grating, smashing sound of the massive Ford wiping out his beloved Austin-Healy Sprite.

  Now he spun around to see — the Ford crushing into the little car, then flipping it high over the opposite stone wall where it rolled, and then somersaulted — end over end — to lie in a smoking heap of trashed, crumpled metal.

  And at the same time — in just a few crazy seconds — the Ford slid sideways after the impact, starting to spin in the confined space of the walled lane, but then catching a front wheel in the ditch and flipping onto its side, screeching and sliding along the stone wall, sparks flying, until it, too, finally came to a halt.

  16. Truth Will Out

  Sarah skidded to a halt behind the toppled Ford pickup, pushed open the door and leapt out onto the lane, falling over dizzily onto the grassy verge, then picking herself up and hobbling towards the wreckage.

  As she approached, she saw the tailgate fly open and Jasmine pull herself out and drop onto the road, where she sat in a sprawl.

  Sarah ran to her, held her by her shoulders.

  “Jasmine — you all right? What happened?”

  The girl looked at Sarah, clearly dazed, then nodded.

  “Callum?” she said, turning back to the Ford.

  Sarah left her on the road and went over to the pickup. The side windows had smashed, and she could see Callum still in the driving seat, head down, held in place by his seat belt.

  Bloody.

  He took a breath.

  But alive. Conscious.

  Groaning.

  “Callum — don’t move, ok? There’ll be an ambulance here any minute.”

  She couldn’t reach him — but she knew in her state there was nothing she could do for him anyway.

  She turned away to go back to Jasmine.

  “Car,” said Callum, his voice groggy. “What happened to the other damn car?”

  Sarah turned back.

  Another car?

  Sarah felt an icy chill at those words.

  “What car?” she said. Then louder. “What car?!”

  But Callum didn’t answer.

  She stepped back into the lane, looked around and saw part of a chrome bumper in the ditch.

  And a green panel in the middle of the road.

  Green.

  Some instinct made her look across the other side of the stone wall into the field — to see the smoking remains of the other car involved.

  A little green sports car.

  It had to be—

  Instinctively her hand went to her mouth—

  “Oh God. Jack …”

  “I know,” came a voice from behind her. She spun round as fast as her injuries would let her to see …

  Jack clambering over the other stone wall into the road, his face smeared with blood, his clothes torn and muddy.

  “Total right-off,” he said. “Has to be.” He came closer, and then she saw him stop dead. “Jeez, Sarah — are you okay? What the hell? Your head—”

  And as he came over to her and held her she felt a wave of anger go through her.

  “I thought you were … out there in that field somewhere,” she said. “I thought you must be … dead.”

  “Really? You think I’m going to let a couple of lowlifes like that kill me?” said Jack, stepping back and looking at the wound on her head.

  He grinned at her.

  “Bad enough they destroy my car.”

  Sarah heard a distant siren and looked up. Far down the lane, blue lights approaching; police and ambulance from the sound of it.

  “They okay?” he said, nodding towards Jasmine and the wreck.

  “They’ll live.”

  “Long enough to face a court, I hope.”

  “How did you know where to find me?” she said.

  “Grace.”

  “Good old Grace,” she said. Then suddenly she felt her legs going.

  “Think you’d better sit down,” said Jack.

  “If I can.”

  “Me too,” said Jack, wincing.

  “How come you’re such a mess?” said Sarah. “You weren’t in the crash.”

  “Long story,” said Jack.

  “I’m all ears,” said Sarah.

  *

  Jack watched the paramedic shut the ambulance doors, and waited until they had pulled away.

  Then he lifted himself up slowly onto the trolley bed and looked across at Sarah who lay on the other bed.

  “Another fine mess you got me into, Sarah Edwards,” he said.

  Sarah grinned.

  And, not for the first time, Jack thought, Love that smile.

  “How embarrassing is this?” she said. “The two of us off to hospital together after a case. I’ll never live it down.”

  “Least we don’t have to ride with Callum and Jasmine,” he said.

  “Think they don’t want to risk me punching his lights out,” said Sarah.

  “Attagirl,” said Jack. “See? You’re sounding better already.”

  “I think the painkillers are kicking in. You’d better not listen too carefully. I can get pretty rude on ephedrine, apparently.”

  “Nothing I’ve not heard before.”

  “Don’t you bet on it.”

  Jack laughed. Then groaned as a shaft of pain went through his hip.

  “So — you want to hear what Josh told me?” he said. “Before you drift off?”

  “Sure. But I think I figured it all out,” said Sarah. “Jasmine was suspicious about all those texts Amy was getting that night. Right? She went after her, down into the woods — disturbed the two lovers. All hell let loose — and somehow Callum killed Amy. Either deliberately — or by accident. Either way — I can vouch for how hard that bastard hits.”

  “And Josh?” said Jack.

  “I kinda second-guessed that one already. He was lurking. Saw what happened. Didn’t tell. That right? I get full points?”

  “Well … nearly. Impressive. But no cigar, I’m afraid.”

  “What?”

  He watched as Sarah tried to sit up and look at him.

  “Ow, ow.”

  She sank back onto her pillows.

  “Remind me not to lift my head up ever again, okay?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  “So tell me. What did I get wrong?”

  “Oh, you’re right about Josh. He saw everything. And knew — with his record — if he owned up to being out in the woods that night, he’d be the prime suspect. And Callum made it pretty clear to him that would happen.”

  “So wait. If it wasn’t Callum, then �
� it must have been Jasmine?”

  “Correct,” said Jack.

  “He saw Amy and Callum together — let loose — and then what?”

  “According to Josh it was one helluva catfight. Callum watched. Probably enjoying it, knowing him. In the end, Jasmine pushed Amy hard — she fell, hit a rock.”

  “She was dead?”

  “So they thought. Both of them had been smoking, of course,” said Jack. “The two of them dragged her to the lake, dropped her in.”

  “God.”

  “Guess they hoped it would look like an accident. Josh saw it all. Managed to pretend to himself afterwards that it didn’t happen. But he’s in a bad way now. Handed himself in, though I can’t see what the point of charging him would be.”

  “So Jasmine — she was the killer all along?”

  “Yep. Though Callum’ll be charged too.”

  “You know — I can buy that. There’s a kind of … hardness about that girl, I didn’t like. You know what I mean?”

  “Oh I do,” he said. “Seen it before.”

  And he lay back against the pillow again and thought of other suspects he’d come across before, suspects who’d killed.

  “Why do you think they were running?” said Sarah.

  “They both thought we were getting close. And what they did — leaving the scene of a murder, accident or not — big stuff. Callum had threatened Josh — make sure he didn’t talk to us. But Josh … didn’t buy it. Said he wouldn’t lie any more.”

  “Good for him,” said Sarah. Then, suddenly anxious, she tried to sit up again. “God, Jack — somebody needs to tell Amy’s parents. They need to know—”

  “Hey — it’s okay,” said Jack, reaching across, putting a hand gently on her arm. “Alan will do that, don’t you worry.”

  He watched her sink back onto the pillow.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then: “One question, Jack.”

  “Sure.”

  “What car you going to get?”

  “Well,” he said, sitting up again. “Glad you asked me that. When I was up at Bulstrode’s this week, Len did his very best to sell me …”

  “Wait,” said Sarah, one hand raised. “Don’t tell me.”

  “Surprise, huh?”

  “Surprise,” she said. “Just turn up in it one sunny morning when we’re both better. Take me out for a spin. Buy me lunch in a country pub.”

  “Deal,” said Jack, leaning back again.

  Imagining that day already, and smiling to himself at the thought.