Cherringham--A Fatal Fall (8 page)

But even with that thought lingering, Sarah heard heavier steps on the stairs.

And she turned from the window as Winters entered the room, his face blank.

A few steps into the room, and he finally looked to her — then shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“Sorry about that,” he said, shaking his head. “Teenage girls — you know?”

“I’ve got one myself,” Sarah said. “It can be hard.”

“Those horses,” he said. “Life revolves around them.”

Sarah turned back to the window. She could just see the girl in the distant paddock, mounting one of the horses.

“I really don’t have any more questions, Mr. Winters …”

Which wasn’t true — she wanted to know if he had heard of any enemies of McCabe — but she knew this wasn’t the right time.

“Yes,” he said. “Well, you know what I know. Not much. And — if you have any other questions …”

“I’ll give you a call.”

“I’m really sorry about
…
that,” he said.

“It’s not a problem. I quite understand.”

“I can show you out …”

She was about to say ‘no’.

But then — that too would be embarrassing, as if she felt uncomfortable with him now.

So she picked up her coat and notebook, and let Winters walk her to the doors, the mood very different from when she’d entered the home.

*

When she got to her car door, she realised she could just see a bit of the paddock, and what looked like a horse trail leading up to a distant hill.

And Sarah also saw what had to be the girl on a horse, galloping full throttle, racing up to that hill.

It brought Sarah back to when she was young, when she rebelled a bit against her parents … and how getting out, in the cool air, away … somehow made things better.

For the moment, thoughts of McCabe and his death — accident or not — receded with that memory.

She had stepped into a very different kind of story.

And she knew — now — of only one way to shake it off.

She got into her Rav-4, slid her finger to unlock her phone’s screen and access recent calls.

She pressed one, then put the phone up to her ear.

Jack answered on the first ring.

“Hi Jack … I’m leaving Winter’s place now. Fancy meeting up at Huffington’s for an update?”

She wanted, no,
needed
that normalcy of Jack after the storm inside the house.

His answer … as expected.

“You bet.”

“Be there in fifteen,” she said.

And then she started her car and slowly took the circle driveway back to the path that lead to the gate, now opening on approach … as she drove away from the world of Charlie Winters and his family.

*

“Tough stuff to be in the middle of. Other people’s problems, struggles.”

Jack had insisted that they actually get some cake on this wintry afternoon. “And maybe a real coffee. Think we could both use some. Though I know I’m probably breaking some hard and fast Huffington’s rule. The tyranny of teatime,” he said, laughing.

She smiled at that.

And in fact their waitress — the always perfectly coiffed and made up Mandy, a grandma three times over! — did find their order of lattes a bit odd.

Jack laughed when she left.

“See … I
did
cause a stir.”

Sarah laughed too. “It is teatime.”

“I know, I know …”

And finally the clouds from her visit seemed to fade. Huffington’s was done up for Christmas, fairy lights all over the place, a big tree — a real one — filled with lights and ornaments made out of biscuits.

Genuine gingerbread men dangled from the tinsel-covered branches.

And she also realised that Jack must have — in the line of duty –encountered so many scenes like the one she just witnessed.

Maybe he had developed a thick skin about all that.

But then — if she knew Jack — she could easily see him feeling those things deeply.

And when the cakes — flaky milles-feuilles! — and the lattes arrived (with Mandy doing little to hide her eye roll) they tried to assess where they were with the tale of Dylan McCabe and his fatal fall.

Sarah took the last bite of her mille-feuille, a few stray flakes escaping which — being so incredibly tasty — she rescued from the plate.

“These are … so good,” Jack said.

“That’s my calorie count for the
week
. But yes. The pastries here are amazing.”

“Not a bad cup of joe, either.”

“
Cup of joe
,” she said, smiling.

Sometimes talking with Jack was like travelling to New York. It was as if he carried the city and its phrases around like an ambassador.

“Latte,” I mean, he said grinning.

“You do have Starbucks over there, yes? That word
is
known to you?”

“Sure but I always liked getting a hot cup from a street corner vendor, maybe with a bagel and — sorry, another expression — a
schmear
. Butter, that is. Many a cop’s breakfast …”

“Sounds nutritious.”

The more they talked, the more Sarah relaxed after the disturbing interview with Winters.

Jack had that effect on her. He could be a source of calm, no matter what dark stuff they might be looking into.“So Jack — where do you think we are?”

His eyes squinted. “Well, unfortunately outside of Ray’s eyewitness account, we don’t have much. And we do have to factor in … that it is Ray’s account we are taking about.”

“I know. Seems like such — I don’t know — an unlikely accident. But what do we really have?”

Jack shook his head.

At that point Mandy came over. “Anything else you two? More cake?”

At that, Sarah laughed.

“Mandy — this place is positively dangerous.”

“Maybe another …
latte
,” Jack said. Then to Sarah: “You?”

She shook her head. “If I do, I’ll be up for hours tonight …”

And as soon as she said that, she suddenly realised that, secretly, Jack had plans for them for that evening …

But first he pulled something out of his coat pocket.

A photograph.

*

Sarah took the photo.

“Kind of thing you get from one of those machines in the post office,” she said.

Dylan McCabe planting a kiss on a dark-haired young woman, big smile.

Hard to make out details — but one thing was clear — she was beautiful.

“Found this in McCabe’s trailer. Recognise her? Someone local?”

She shook her head.

“No. Could be a local. But,” she shrugged. “Hard to tell, but don’t think I’ve seen her in Cherringham.”

Jack took the picture back.

He held the picture up, examining it again as he spoke. “Maybe nothing, an old flame back in Dublin …”

She could tell from Jack’s voice that he wasn’t at all sure about that.

Mandy brought another coffee over.

“Why, thank you, Mandy,” he said.

Sarah guessed that he had charmed just about all the waitresses who worked here.“Let me guess,” Sarah said as he took a sip. “You have a plan. An idea about something we can do?”

“How’d you guess? It is a little, well, risky. So thinking I best do it alone …”

“I’m getting good at ‘risky’,” she said.

“That you are. Okay then …”

Another sip, and Jack also looked around to see if anyone still in the café this late in the afternoon might be listening.

And then:

“Where could we go to learn about McCabe, the phony ID, anything anyone knew about him … or didn’t know?”

Sarah looked away, thinking.

And then: “The construction office, their computer.”

Jack smiled. “Like I said, you’re getting good at this …”

And she had to smile back. “And you are suggesting that we break into—”

“
I
break in …”

But she shook her head. “
We
break into the office and look at the computer, records …”

“You want to do this?”

“Um, Mr. Brennan, do you know your way around a firewalled server, password protected files, encrypted documents?”

He grinned. “Can’t say I do. Okay. You’re in. It’s the one place where we might find something that no one — yet — has told us about McCabe.”

“That’s my thinking.”

“And after the funeral, think everyone will just move on … from this
accident
.”

The way Jack said it made it sound like the idea of McCabe having an accident was completely implausible.

“Pick you up around nine? Site should be deserted by then.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Jack nodded. Then, looking at her — unexpectedly … “You know, I couldn’t be doing this … any of this, what we’ve been doing in the village … without you.”

She beamed. She always knew Jack appreciated what she brought to their work. But still — hearing it was great.

“We’re a team, Jack. Right? And that’s what teams do.”

“That they do.”

And with a plan in place for the wintry night, they finished their coffee.

*

Sarah looked out of the kitchen door window.

No Jack yet.

Had he changed his mind?
But she knew he’d have called if he had.

Music echoed out of Chloe’s room and, when she last looked, Daniel had headphones on, playing a videogame — one with dragons and giants as opposed to fast cars and machine guns.

She had told them after tonight’s dinner of spag bol — always a favourite — that she’d be going out for an hour.

And she’d be back in time to make sure they hit their appointed bedtimes for school … Daniel around ten-thirty …

Chloe …

Well, these days, she pretty much decided when to go to bed. Sarah had had one or two rows about the issue — then realised it was time to pull back

Not just time to pull back — but
important
she pulled back.

There came a time when the teenagers started making their own rules.

At least in some things.

Then she caught the glare of headlights outside, and a small flash as Jack flicked the main beams of his Sprite.

She opened the door, cold rushing in as if waiting for such a foolhardy move, and ran out to his car.

*

The construction site was only minutes away. Giant, temporary lamps on top of huge poles bathed most of the site in a milky light.

Jack parked the Sprite well away from the lit areas.

He pointed to Sparks’ office.

“Okay. No way we can go there, and get in, without being in the light. Don’t see any CCTV but doesn’t mean there isn’t any. I have worked a few jobs in the city where things happened on a building site. And they tend not to look at the video
unless
something happens. If we’re in and out, nice and clean, shouldn’t be a problem, even if there are cameras.”

Sarah took a breath.

Even with the Sprite’s underpowered heater doing its best, she still saw a smoky fog billow from her mouth.

It was the coldest winter she could remember in a long time.

“So we just hurry over there, get in …”

Jack nodded, then turned to her. “Ray told me where there’s a break in the fence. I can get through — then go break in. Then you can follow …”

She shook her head. “Hey — I’ve been practising on locks. You know that, right? Watching you. Let me try to get in. The door lock looked pretty simple.”

He kept his eyes on her, debating. Then: “Always like to have my partner try out their skills. You got it. I’ll be right beside you in case you need a hand.”

Then, after he took another look at the site office …

“You ready?”

Sarah nodded.

“Then — it’s time to go.”

And Sarah popped open her door, ready to race beside Jack.

*

“Damn,” she said, fiddling with the pick buried in the keyhole that did, indeed, look simple.

“Take your time,” Jack said.

Then Sarah felt something, the inner workings of the lock, and with a quick rattle, the door popped open.

They quickly slipped inside.

“You know, a lock like that — for future reference — might even open if you slide a credit card — something thin, bit of metal — between the jam and the door. Could be quicker.”

“Thanks, professor.”

He laughed as they stood in the darkness. “But you did good. Really!”

And then she looked around the office.

The computer on Spark’s desk. Filing cabinets. Walls filled with building plans.

“Time to get to work,” she said. And Sarah walked over to the desktop computer.

“And I’ll check the file cabinet,” Jack said, slipping out a small torch.

And quietly, together, but searching in two different worlds, they looked through the records of Winters Construction for any information, any clues about Dylan McCabe.

Jack leaned back on the hard plastic chair in the dim light cast from the lamps outside and watched Sarah working at Sparks’ desktop computer.

He’d never been a natural with computers — but he could see that as Sarah’s hands flew across the keyboard, her mind was totally in the zone.

“Any luck?” he said.

“Ton of emails,” she said. “And I think I’ve already found something interesting.”

“Yes?”

“Looks like Dylan wasn’t the only guy on site without a proper ID card.”

“So Sparks was playing fast and loose with hiring, huh?”

“And if he was turning a blind eye there, maybe he was cutting corners elsewhere …”

“The kind of thing a whistle-blower might pick up on, huh?” said Jack. “You got the names of the other guys without cards?”

“It’ll take some digging. I’ll dump it all on a drive to read later. Just taking a quick tour round the Winters Construction server, see if I can pick up any staff records.”

Jack looked out of the trailer window into the brightly lit building lot. It was beginning to snow, just light flakes for now, fluttering in the glare of the arc lights. In another place, another time, the idea of snow falling in England, with just days until Christmas, would have been magical.

But here — now — yards from where Dylan McCabe had fallen to his death, the snow was just another problem to deal with.