Cherringham--A Fatal Fall (6 page)

Jack thought about this.

The police were still working off the false ID. If Sparks knew, why hadn’t he told them?

Jack watched them all peer into their beers at that thought, as if the answer lay within.

“You mentioned he liked the ladies …”

Smiles and nods all around.

“Was there a girlfriend?”

“Oh — no shortage of those,” said Kevin, laughing.

“You mean here — in Cherringham?”

“He always had a couple on the go, for sure,” said Kevin.

“Hang on,” said Jimbo. “McCabe told me … well, he was just seeing the one girl, I think. Made a joke of it, saying maybe he’d lost his touch — but I reckon that he and this girl were a bit serious.”

Now we’re getting somewhere,
thought Jack.

“Any idea who she was?” he said.

But then he saw them shrug and shake their heads.

“You never met her?”

“No,” said Paolo. “He said she was very beautiful, too beautiful for us.”

“I saw them once,” said Viktor quietly.

Jack saw the others turn to look at Viktor with interest.

“Did you now?” said Jack.

“She was in his van,” said Viktor. “She had black hair.”

“When was this, Viktor?”

“One month later,” said Viktor. “Ago, I mean.”

Hmm, not much to go on,
thought Jack.

“That’s all?” said Jack, looking round the group. “No one else met her?”

They shook their heads.

“Was he normally like that? Kept the girls at arm’s length?”

“Come to think of it, no,” said Kevin. “He loved the craic, did Dylan. In the old days he was always bringing a girl along to the pub.”

“But not this one?” said Jack.

“Like I said — maybe she was a keeper,” said Jimbo. “Poor sod, bad timing eh?”

Jack watched the four men ponder this.

This was feeling more like a wake, Jack thought.

And with the sudden silence, and closing time nearing, maybe it was time for that wake to end …

“Time to head home,” Jack said. He stood up.

And then, surprisingly, Kevin stood up as well, putting on his coat.

“Me too …”

And he followed Jack out to the cold night.

Jack stood in the car park and pulled his hat tight around his ears. A heavy frost coated the cars, and his breath billowed white in the still night air.

“Not coming for a curry, Jack?” said Kevin, walking a little unsteadily over from the pub doorway.

Bit of food might just help that wobbliness …

“Kind of you to invite me Kevin, but curries are one part of the English way of life that I haven’t yet … adopted.”

“Ah well, maybe see you down here for another pint one night?”

“I’m sure you will. Thanks for talking to me … could be helpful.”

Jack waited for Kevin to head off, but the man seemed to have something more to say.

“So Jack … will you be attending the funeral on Friday?” said Kevin after a pause.

“If I’m welcome,” said Jack. “Is it in the church?”

“St. Francis’s,” said Kevin. “Though I don’t remember Dylan having much use for priests …”

“I’ll make a point of it. Kind of feel like I know this McCabe now …”

“I’d appreciate that,” said Kevin. “I doubt there’ll be much of a crowd. Sparks has given me a couple of hours off — since I knew him best — but the other lads will be hard at it.”

“No family I suppose?”

Jack watched Kevin shake his head.

“One other thing …”“Hmm?”

“Dylan had a van and caravan down at Iron Wharf. Far as I know, no one’s even been and sorted it, but …”

“You’re thinking it might be worth me having a look, huh?”

“Dylan had me down as his next of kin — the
eejit
— so the police gave me these …”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag with keys and a wallet. He took out the bunch of keys and handed it to Jack.

“To be honest, Jack, I couldn’t bring myself to sort it.”

“I understand,” said Jack.

He saw the big man swallow hard.

“You said Dylan might have had some gambling debts,” said Jack. “Any idea who he played with?”

“Well, you didn’t hear it from me. But there’s a bunch of rough guys working up on the motorway build — you know the new bypass? Word is they run an all-night poker game — real serious — over on the big caravan park up near Emmingham service station.”

“Think they might have put the squeeze on him?”

“If he was behind, dodging them … as I said, real rough bastards. Don’t want to mess with them.”

“Guess they’d know their way round a building site too?”

He saw a look in Kevin’s eyes, getting the implications. “Sure.”

Jack thought about this. “If I need to go and talk to anyone up there — would you come along?”

“If you think that it might have something to do with Dylan’s death — you bet.”

“Appreciate that. One other thing — did Dylan have a phone on him?”

“Police didn’t say. You think it might be important?”

“Maybe — maybe not,” said Jack.

Though he knew from experience that in Sarah’s hands a phone might unlock all kinds of useful information on a case.

“Right you are then,” said Kevin, wiping his gloved hand across his nose. “Anyway — it’s too damned cold for me out here. I’m off for that curry. See you at the funeral.”

Jack watched him head back across the car park to his three mates, then turned, and started to walk down the hill towards the bridge, and the river path that led to the Grey Goose.

*

As Jack walked, the only light on this moonless night came from the occasional car that drove past, heading down to the toll bridge and out of the village.

He passed the little Catholic church and the track which he knew led to the Convent of St. Francis. The church was dark and though the convent was just through the trees, he couldn’t see any lights.

It was late. People were in bed. Which was where he should be.

Then, half way down the road Jack heard a sound …

The unmistakeable scuff of footsteps on the pavement behind him. He stopped dead, turned, and peered up the road into the blackness.

Nothing.

Whoever was there had stopped too.

Jack waited until a car came down the hill. As it passed and its headlights lit up the pavement and hedges, Jack looked back up the hill.

But whoever had been behind him — maybe following him — had melted into the hedges. Maybe even passed through into the field beyond.

He turned and carried on towards the bridge.

Then as he left the road and started up the towpath along the riverbank he waited again in the darkness.

Had he been hearing things?

But whoever had been walking behind him must have turned and vanished …

If they had been following, maybe they had given up once they knew they’d been spotted.

Okay,
he thought.
I’ve been treading on somebody’s toes with all my questions …But whose?

“And watch out for the pavements, they’re very icy,” said Sarah, as she watched Chloe and Daniel go through the garden gate and head up the road towards the village.

“That’s because it’s winter, Mum,” said Daniel turning and grinning at her. “It’s a meteorological phenomenon.”

“Very funny,” she said. “Have you got your lunch?”

“Yes Mum, you already asked me. I can’t wait.”

Cheekier by the day.

I have to admit though — he does make me laugh
, she thought
.

“See you tonight then, love,” she said, but Daniel was already off, running across the road to join his best pal, Will.

Sarah watched the two of them spinning each other round on the icy pavement and had to stop herself from calling out loud to him to watch the roads.

Now that he went to the same big school as Chloe, she knew she shouldn’t treat him like he was still at the primary school.

But the trouble was he still
behaved
like a kid.

Whereas Chloe, now joined by her own best mate Zoe and deep in conversation, looked like she was eighteen already.

These hectic school day mornings won’t last for ever,
she thought.
Better enjoy them while I can …

She shut the garden gate and headed off into the village.

*

Coffee from Huffington’s in one hand, Sarah stood in the bitter cold outside the front door that led to her office, fumbling for her keys in her handbag.

Then she noticed that the door was slightly open.

That’s odd,
she thought.

It was only eight-thirty and the estate agents on the ground floor never opened up before nine.

And the little firm of accountants which occupied the middle floor were usually the last ones in around ten.

But she wasn’t alarmed. With Christmas just days away, maybe someone had come in early to get some urgent work finished.

She climbed the narrow staircase up the two flights to her office and again reached for her keys as she neared her own door.

And now she was worried.

Because her office door was open too
.

And unless Grace had beaten her to it then there’d been a break-in.

Or maybe there was a break-in going on right now.

Should she call out for Grace now? If someone was in there and they came hurtling out, she was trapped out here.

She knew what she ought to do. Go quietly back down the stairs, stand outside, call Grace on her mobile. And then call the police if Grace was indeed still at home.

That’s what she knew she should do.

Instead she pushed open the door and went straight in, calling out loudly.

“Hello? Anyone in here? Can I help you?”

She stood in the empty office, her heart pounding. She looked around. The desks were as she remembered leaving them the night before. Computers were turned off. Christmas cards all standing on every spare space. The little Christmas tree in the corner stood over the small pile of presents from the local businesses.

But the kitchen door was closed.

She and Grace
never
closed it.

She took a deep breath, walked over, and pushed it open.

Empty.

Relieved, she went back into the office, put her handbag on her desk, and sat down in her chair to think this through.

Someone had been in — there was no doubt about it.

She took out her phone and rang Grace.

Grace answered straight away. She was still at home but wouldn’t be long.

And no, she hadn’t popped in early to the office this morning — why?

Sarah explained and Grace said she’d be over as soon as she could.

Sarah looked around the office again. Whoever had broken in had been a professional. Nothing had been moved, nothing damaged.

She turned on her computer and went straight into the operating system. Years back when she’d been going through her divorce she’d been taught some of the dark arts of hacking by a detective she’d hired to track down her husband’s shenanigans.

And since then she’d always made sure that her own systems were doubly protected.

Her defences were rock solid — better than many she’d encountered working with Jack.

And now she could see that at some point in the night someone had tried to access her server. The trail of attempts was clear …

For more than an hour according to the log. And when they’d failed to get through her firewall, had someone actually come to her office to see if they could find the passwords?

No such luck here for them either.

Sarah and Grace knew better than to leave written passwords around.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

But it was all still scary. She picked up her phone to ring Jack and warn him.

She thought:
someone’s trying to find out what we are learning.

*

Jack parked his little Austin Healey Sprite in the lane by the entrance to Iron Wharf and casually walked in to the yard, hands in the pocket of his big winter coat.

Jack knew the old wharf well: whenever he had work to do on the Grey Goose he’d always come up here first for parts or advice.

A busy boatyard in the summer, used by locals and working boats, but now on a cold winter’s day the place was deserted.

As he strolled across the yard, he looked around at the ramshackle mess of old huts, sheds, piles of timber and rusting metal, winches, masts, railway sleepers, abandoned cars, and upturned boats.

He was looking for a caravan — Dylan McCabe’s caravan.

The yard owners often let people park their trailers or vans down here in the winter for a few quid a week. There were water standpipes dotted around — and an old toilet block which looked like it dated back to the steam age.

One of the boat owners emerged from a moored barge and passed by. He nodded to Jack and Jack nodded back.

But otherwise there was nobody about.

Jack passed a familiar caravan, its curtains shut, but a tell-tale trickle of smoke coming from an old tin chimney sticking out of its roof.

He remembered who owned it …

Terry Hamblyn, one of Cherringham’s dodgier characters, and who had crossed Jack’s path more than once.

Jack walked further down the wharf until finally, tucked away under a couple of trees at the very end of the yard, he spotted the caravan he was after, curtains drawn and next to it a white Ford Transit that matched the description Kevin had given him.

He walked straight over to the caravan, took the keys from his pocket, opened the door, and went in.

It took a few seconds for Jack’s eyes to adjust to the dark and when they did he wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

He’d expected a mess: dishevelled bed, washing up left in the sink, beer cans, food, McCabe’s clothes left lying around.

But amazingly the caravan was clean and tidy. Sink clear. Clothes folded neatly.

Jack looked carefully at the surface of the table: it had been wiped clean and smelled of bleach.

What was going on? Dylan had no family, he lived here alone and Kevin had the keys.