Cherringham--Thick as Thieves (11 page)

Jack pointedly ignored the previous injunction to avoid tell-tale titles.

“Pass me your bank details. Bank of Cyprus, yes?”

Sitwell nodded.

“I’ll go, get that cash transferred — a-sap, as they say. You two sit here, enjoy the sun. Have another lobster roll — damn good, right?”

Jacks started towards the middeck and the cabin where Sarah waited.

“Be back in a jiff.”

“How’d it go?” Sarah said.

She heard Jack’s voice as it returned to normal. What she had overheard of his Texan had been so thick.

“Think I overplayed it, but they seemed to enjoy it. Here’s the bank info. Sure you can do this?”

Sarah sat with her MacBook Air open, ready to use Sitwell’s hacked information to make it look like the massive deposit had hit his account.

“It will look completely real, Jack. Wi-Fi is a bit sketchy here. But still.”

She took the bank account information. She could create a false memo, showing the transfer, and then send a secure email to Sitwell.

She had known that they would use the Cyprus bank, far enough away that the transfer might go unnoticed … and it was no doubt perfect for their dream of sunny isles and ouzo.

All about to disappear.

“Okay, think it’s set.”

She scanned it. The account number and bank transfer information looked perfect. The figure was staggering.

She looked up at Jack. “Almost feel sorry for them.”

“Ill-gotten gains,” Jack said. “But you’re right, it is a bit sad, hmm?”

“But not
that
sad. Hitting …
send
.”

And in a flash the email was flying at unimagined speed to Sitwell’s mailbox, confirming the life-changing transfer.

“You called Alan?”

“Done,” said Sarah. “Time for the last act, ’Osgood’.”

Jack laughed. “What a name.” And he put his Stetson back on and hurried to the aft deck, the
Princess
moving at a fast clip.

“We are moving faster, Mr Fielding, aren’t we?”

Jack looked around as if confused by the question.

“Dunno. I leave the captaining to the captain. But think we’re just about done here. Want to see if you got confirmation? The eagles should have landed by now.”

Sitwell dug out his smart phone while Cartwright pulled his chair close, looking at the small screen as if it was a genie’s lamp.

Sitwell’s voice was reverential. “It’s there.”

“Oooh!” Cartwright said.

Jack sat back on the chair. Bait taken. Cherringham just minutes ahead.

“Now, if you don’t mind–”

Sitwell nodded eagerly, and passed the leather satchel to Jack.

Jack knew that Michael was watching from above. He smiled and took the satchel, a quick unzip to make sure that the item was still there.

He slowly removed his Stetson, the sunglasses, the false beard and moustache …

Then in the street-worn voice of a NY detective, Texan Osgood Fielding vanished.

“Gentlemen, welcome to … Cherringham.”

And as the
Princess
kept a steady pace, other engines, and then sirens, filled the air.

A pair of fast-moving RIBs appeared from just behind a bend on the river. Down at that bend, a trio of police cars sat, lights flashing.

Sarah came running out of her cabin.

Sitwell and Cartwright stood up.

“You? What are
you
doing here?” asked Sitwell, though he’d clearly just put it all together.

“Making sure that you did not get one point seven five million dollars.”

The
Princess
slowed, her crew lowering a stairway for the arriving officers in their RIBs.

Very smooth,
Jack thought. In the first group of cops he could see Sarah’s pal Alan — exactly as they’d planned.

Then Sitwell, eyes wide, trapped and panicky, did something that was — to Jack — unexpected.

He grabbed the leather bag that Jack had put on the floor, ran to the railing of the yacht and leaped overboard.

Cartwright remained frozen — even as Jack and Sarah ran to the railing and watched Sitwell sink like a stone.

Jack turned to Sarah. “That’s one heavy plate. Would have thought he knew that. I mean, being a professor and all.”

Sarah laughed. “Maybe he never studied buoyancy.”

Meanwhile from the nearest boat, Jack watched Alan peel off his vest, kick off his shoes and dive into what must be a chilly Thames.

“Go Alan,” Jack called out.

The Cherringham police officer surfaced with a gasping Sitwell held in the rescue position as Alan swam to the shore.

“The pl-plate!” Sitwell said, sputtering.

“Be funny if they couldn’t find it. Lost treasure … lost again,” Sarah said.

Jack turned to her.

“I think they’ll find it. And a lot of people’s lives will change because of it.”

Sarah nodded. “I’m rooting for Pete and Becky.”

“Me, too,” Jack said as officers, now aboard, cuffed Cartwright who was acting as though he’d got off at the wrong train station.

And as they dragged him away, Alan got to the shore with Sitwell, the collar his.

Then Jack turned to Sarah. “After this, hosting the party–”

“It’ll be a piece of cake.”

Alan, in civilian clothes, stood close by Sarah, a glass of wine in his hand.

“Nice party,” he said.

“Isn’t it?” Sarah said, looking around the interior of Jack’s boat.

Most of the people who came — which was a good number of the village — stayed for much longer than what a ’drop-in’ would call for.

Not only did they all seem to enjoy spending some time on the barge on what turned out to be an uncommonly warm day, they also relished talking to people they saw every day, but normally only smiled and nodded to.

That
was interesting, thought Sarah.

She saw Jack talking to dear Tony Standish who had arrived early, and, hours later, was still here.

Her mum and dad had insisted on manning the clean-up … and empty plates and finished glasses were quickly scooped up.

Even Daniel and Chloe wanted to come, and they dived in, replacing crackers and snacks while charming everyone.

She saw Jack look over and smile. And she smiled back, as if to say …
we’ve done good
.

“You know,” Alan said, “I’ve started getting used to the two of you … being of some help.”

Sarah turned back to him.

Though Alan could be a by-the book person, even rigid, today he seemed looser, relaxed.

People can change
, she thought.

“Thanks Alan — but you know it took you diving into the water to recover Sitwell and the plate.”

Alan grinned at the memory. “Diver training. Search and recovery. All basic skills. But seriously — though I’m not saying you should just do what you want — this ’trick’ of yours has been a great help.”

Jack walked over with Tony.

“I am afraid Sarah, I must go,” Tony said. “Need to visit Mum who you know would have loved to be here as well.”

Alan looked at his watch.

It was a good forty minutes after the party was supposed to have ended and the sun was going down; the golden glow fading from the deck and the interior of the Grey Goose.

“But smashing party, Jack! Absolutely smashing!”

Sarah looked outside. A few of the other guests — Hope, Grace, and even Lady Repton who seemed to be lecturing the vicar — had walked down the gangplank but seemed reluctant to leave, still chatting on shore.

Yes,
she thought,
this has been a very special event.

Tony turned to Jack, and put a hand on the former NYC detective. “Jack — I think you should do this every year!”

Jack grinned, looked at Sarah.

“Agreed. Put it on your calendar.”

“Terrific!” Tony said.

It gave Sarah enormous pleasure to see Jack saying goodbye to his guests, and feeling like he was fitting in. No — more than that.

And then the last guest, Jerry Pratt turned around to discover that the party had in fact ended and, with a sheepish grin, sailed out wobbly … to the deck, onto the gangway and the safety of the shore.

And the party was over.

While her parents and kids tackled the washing-up, Sarah spotted Jack out on the deck, enjoying a massive cigar as he watched the last guests make their way back to the village.

When he saw her, he turned, rolling the cigar between thumb and finger.

“Great party, hmm?” he said.

She nodded. But then:

“You know, Jack, it was more than a great party.”

He took a puff and tilted his head.

“What do you mean?”

“Seeing everyone today, all these locals mixed up, laughing, talking — it wasn’t something you normally see here.”

“Class thing or something?”

“Maybe. But I think all of them are seeing themselves through your eyes, seeing each other as if
they
had arrived in this village.”

“Interesting. Fresh eyes?”

“More than that,” now Sarah looked over to the fields, already rich with the grasses and shrubs roaring back to life.

She took a breath. “It’s that you’ve grown to love Cherringham, that you love the pubs, the fields–”

“This river.”

A smile “Yes. I think it’s made them appreciate their world all the more.”

“Really?” Another puff. “Well, I have to tell you one thing.”

“Yes?”

“If I’ve given something back to the village, it doesn’t compare …”

His voice lowered, and she thought for a moment that he might even choke up.

 
“… does not compare, to what it’s given me.”

At which point her father and mother appeared, Michael holding a tray with four cut-crystal glasses, each with a half inch of dark liquid at the bottom.

“Sixteen-year-old Lagavulin,” Michael said. “A toast?”

“Absolutely,” Jack said.

He held up the glass.

“To Cherringham.”

Answered by clinking, then all their voices, loudly …

“To Cherringham!”

Cherringham is devastated. Otto Brendl, the likeable old man who had hosted the classic Punch-and-Judy show for the kids each summer, died suddenly of a heart attack. But while the memorial service is being planned, Jack becomes suspicious that Otto wasn’t just the friendly man next door. And maybe there’s more behind the heart attack? Soon Jack and Sarah are on the trail of a particularly sinister murderer — and together they will make out that there’s not only one kind of justice.

Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series
Last Train to London
by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards

Do you like what you’ve read so far? Please let us know by leaving a comment or a rating where you purchased this eBook. Your feedback improves the story. Happy reading!