“Yep. And, Chloe? Amazing work,” Jack said, getting up and putting a hand on her arm to thank her.
Sarah watched her go, then looked across at Jack.
“Well how about that?” she said.
“Apples, trees. But I am kinda blown away by your daughter, Ms Edwards. And think we got ourselves a paralegal, if that’s the right word,” said Jack.
“If she keeps studying, she’ll end up knowing more about the law than I do!”
“Me too,” said Jack laughing and opening a menu. “Now — I am famished. Let’s order dinner, and compare notes while we eat.”
11. Too Many Clues
Jack took a sip of coffee and leaned back in his chair. He and Sarah had had a full-on working dinner, comparing notes, and running through the day’s events, pausing only to share tastes of each other’s always remarkable meals.
For Jack, a hearty Boeuf Bourguignon. Sarah, the lighter-than-air Quenelles Nanuta.
And in between bites — the food disappearing — he and Sarah both agreed: everything he’d found at the house seemed to confirm Chloe’s theory that what happened to Zach must somehow be connected to the history of Blackwood House.
“So, Jack, you don’t think the other members of the group had anything to do with it?” said Sarah.
“They’ve all got solid alibis for the Thursday night,” said Jack.
“What about the fact that we don’t think they’re telling us the whole truth? Romantic triangles and all. Jealousy rearing its head?”
“Well, not much doubt there were some shenanigans going on between Zach and Ella,” said Jack with a shrug. “And I think Tom knew. No happy camper there. So, okay, let’s think on this. What if, for those missing three days, Zach was hanging out with Ella?”
“And maybe Tom found out, they had an argument, or a fight?”
“Leaves Tom feeling guilty, doesn’t want to get accused of killing him.”
“Or maybe Tom didn’t know,” said Sarah, “but Ella can’t reveal she was with Zach because now she doesn’t want to lose him.”
“Yeah. They’re all feeling upset and guilty, bottling it all up. Lying to us, sure, but not because they were involved in Zach’s death.”
“Right. Which leaves us with Zach, the mysterious secret room, and the drugs gang,” said Sarah. “Question is — did Zach think there was some kind of hidden treasure to be found in the house, or did he really just — literally — stumble upon it?”
“We know he needed to get his numbers up on his channel,” said Jack. “Maybe he thought this would be the show to do it? Uncover a secret locked room, tunnel in through the ceiling, open a safe, find a stash—”
“If the safe was still there. And based on Chloe’s digging — maybe lots of money in that safe?”
“Right,” said Jack. “And remember how I said the place had been ripped apart? Could be other people were looking for that stash too. Fact, unless the video shows Zach smashing through that floor, then somebody must have beaten him to it.”
“Would have been a cool story if Zach had stayed alive to tell it,” said Sarah. “Looks like one that you and I are going to have to uncover, Jack. But how? No one else to talk to, right?”
“Well, I’ve got an idea about that,” said Jack, with a grin. “I’m thinking I best have a chat with our old friend Ray.”
And at this, Sarah laughed.
“Ray of the six packs and spliffs?”
“Yeah. I mean, Ray does know things,” Jack laughed. “Certain areas of expertise. Might have an idea just what was going on in that house, and what the hell people were looking so desperately for.”
He slid his empty coffee cup to one side. “Still early,” he said. “Maybe I should drop in on him on my way back to The Goose?”
Ray’s boat was moored just downstream from Jack’s Dutch barge.
“Good idea,” said Sarah.
“How about you? Got plans?”
He saw Sarah take out a small data card.
“The video from Zach’s GoPro,” she said. “Going to watch it through tonight, see if there’s anything the police might have missed.”
“Good luck,” said Jack. “Not an easy job.”
“Thanks Jack. I figure it’s the least I can do, if we can find out what really happened that night.”
At that moment Julie came over, slid the bill onto the table with a smile.
“Dutch?” said Jack.
“You got it,” said Sarah.
They split the meal on the two cards, then left the restaurant. Outside it was a mild evening, the village quiet.
“Can I give you a lift back to the boat?” said Sarah. “I’m parked up in the square.”
“Think I’ll walk, thanks. Pleasant evening. Do some thinking on the way.”
“Always valuable!” said Sarah. “I’ll let you know if I find anything on the video.”
Jack watched her walk back up the hill into the village, then turned, crossed the road and walked down towards the river and home.
As he passed the Ploughman’s, he saw the doors open and a small, noisy group emerge.
One voice — or at least, the laughter — he recognised.
Chloe.
For a moment he was about to wave and shout a “hi”, but something made him stop.
As they headed up the High Street, laughing and joking, he recognised all of the group bar one. Megan, Tom, Ella, and the fifth — lean, bespectacled — from Sarah’s description he guessed was Luke.
So Chloe was out with the gang. Maybe now she knew about the drugs history of the house, she felt the investigation had moved on from her friend and the urbex crew.
Well, I guess it has, thought Jack.
But some instinct, some small quiet voice inside, told him that going drinking with that crowd — so many with secrets — was not a good call.
Still, none of my business either, he thought.
And he soon forgot about Chloe and her pals, and started making lists of questions for Ray, wondering how he and Sarah could move the case forward.
*
“Jack, my man. Been too long! Too damn long!”
Jack was at the top of the piece of wood that served as the gangway to his friend Ray’s ramshackle barge.
Though it was early evening, Jack imagined he might have just awakened Ray who did not — by any stretch — keep banker’s hours.
Jack took another step to stand on the deck of the boat.
In response, Ray looked up at the darkening sky as if determining what possible time of day it could be — dusk or dawn? — and then came onto the deck himself.
“Get you a cold one? Think I have a few lagers that survived the night.”
Jack laughed. “Appreciate that, Ray. But had a question. Something that I thought you might help with.”
Ray put on his best “okay, now I’m serious” face, which if Ray had had a mirror somewhere within his barge he’d see mostly came off a tad comical.
“All ears, Jack. You and Sarah up to things again?”
Jack smiled. “Maybe, Ray. Maybe not. So far, not much.”
Jack then gave him the briefest run down about the death of Zach, and the strong suspicions that now hung in the air.
“Oh. See. Doesn’t sound good.”
“Too right, Ray. And here’s the thing … something strange. Thought you might have an idea about.”
Ray pulled up a couple of old plastic chairs, as Jack told him about the drugs connection and the secret room.
“That house. Looks to me, being a former detective and all—”
“NYPD! New York’s finest. And well deserved, my friend.”
Jack smiled. The various cop shows broadcast here cemented in Ray — and maybe other’s heads — the legendary status of New York cops.
Though if pressed, Jack would generally agree. Damn fine indeed.
“So, the house … Well, looked like it had been tossed, many times. Holes in walls, furniture ripped apart.”
&n
bsp; “Gotcha. Like people looking for something?”
“Precisely. So, well, you get around, hear things, have friends …”
“Right on all counts, Jack.”
“Ever hear anything about that place? Who used to hang out there — kinda stuff that went down?”
And now Ray leaned close, lowered his voice.
“Not exactly, Jack but, you see, I never actually knew who owned that place, but I did know there was stuff went on there. Pretty out of the way, you know? Way I heard it, there was some kind of South American connection. Stuff arriving, people dropping by, stuff leaving, that kinda thing? If you get my drift?”
“Drugs? Coming, going? Some kind of distribution centre, you mean?”
“Ha! That what they call it in the NYPD?” said Ray, taking out his tobacco pouch and rolling up a spurious looking joint. “Anyways. Lot of ‘in and out’ going on, but one night everybody just left. Never came back.”
“Arrested?”
“No. Not to my knowledge. Let’s say, maybe they got a tip-off to move on fast, find safer pastures. Arrests — or worse — imminent.”
“Gotcha.”
“Guess nobody was too sure who owned the place, all the back taxes, all that. Mob fingers all over it. Place left empty. Stuck in the courts.”
Jack noticed that Ray hadn’t exactly focussed on the question he had been asked: namely, what could be in the house?
“And Ray, maybe something left behind?”
Ray lit his joint and took a puff. “Now, I have no knowledge of such things, you see. But I’m guessing — I mean an intelligent guess … what’s the word … surmising — maybe money stashed away? Drugs too? The departure being, as I said, a trifle rushed.”
Jack sat back. Ray’s guesses were good, but nothing Jack couldn’t have imagined on his own.
“Got it. Well—”
But Ray leaned forward again, as though they were having this conversation in a crowded pub.
“Jack, I do know someone who might have, well, known people there. Same line of work, if you get my drift.”
“I do. And this person, in jail, or—?”
Ray shook his head.
“No. On parole. Working at the butcher’s up in the village.”
“What, for Dave Trimble?”
Jack knew the butcher’s well. Dave Trimble was always happy to chat about aged beef and the difference between American and British cuts.
“Yeah,” said Ray. “Old Trimble’s got a soft spot for ex-cons.”
“And said person’s name?”
“Seth Clarke. He won’t talk to you” — Ray let that hang a moment — “unless you say you got his name from old Ray here. Kinda owes me.”
“I bet. Thanks, Ray. Think I’ll head there first thing.”
“Good. And, Jack, we got to get a proper catchup some night.”
“You bet. I’ll bring the beers.”
“My man. Like the way you roll.”
And laughing as he walked down the makeshift gangway, Jack thought, For all his fuzziness, Ray could sometimes produce the most surprising information.
*
Sarah sat on the sofa, mug of tea in one hand, mouse in the other. On the big computer monitor she played the output of her laptop, the video from Zach Woodcote’s GoPro.
She had the sound up so she could hear every step, but all she heard were the noises of Zach moving through the house, as far as she could tell, alone.
The whole thing was chilling. The methodical way Zach explored first the downstairs, the GoPro camera scanning the walls, the floor; before going up the stairs, past the giant grandfather clock, as still and dead as everything else in the house.
Every now and then the light from the GoPro caught a window and flashed bright.
She really wished she wasn’t on her own watching the last minutes of a man’s life play out as if it was some reality show.
So incredibly poignant. Heartbreaking.
The rooms all looked as Jack had described them. Each bedroom, the same scene. The holes gouged into the walls, dressers with their drawers ripped out, tossed to the side.
She noted Zach didn’t do any of that, just looked up and down, merely a voyeur studying the aftermath. She’d seen other videos Zach had made, and this one didn’t seem to have the drama.
But she knew that, just like a movie, the clever editing and soundtrack made all the difference.
That was the unique skill, the art, that had made Zach wealthy.
Finally, Zach reached the end of the upstairs corridor, the place where a door beckoned and — somehow — he would fall to his death.
She took a breath.
Stealing herself.
When the phone buzzed beside her.
Jack.
She paused the video, and grabbed the phone, glad to have the interruption.
“Jack,” she said, realising her voice sounded a tad breathless.
“Hey, you okay?”
She made a small and — she guessed — not very convincing laugh. “Sure. Just watching the video.”
“Oh — getting you rattled? Could leave that till tomorrow, or I can run over?”
“No. Just paused it now. Zach’s fall is about to happen. And you? Old Ray have any light to shed on Blackwood House?”
She listened as Jack related his conversation with Ray on the barge.
“So, no proof there might have been money stashed in the house?”
“Nope. But I’m going to speak to someone who Ray said might know more. Same line of work — out on parole.”
“Great. I’ll stay on the video. Maybe you swing by tomorrow and we can watch it together. It’s pretty rough, bumpy stuff. Easy to miss something.”
“Sarah. Why don’t you save those last minutes till morning?”
And at that Sarah laughed. “Yes, good idea. I do want to get some sleep tonight.”
“Me too. Oh — one quick thing …”
“Yes?”
She heard a slight hesitation. Sarah could read Jack’s pauses. His next words, a bit tentative.
“Chloe home?”
“Um, no. Out with Megan I think. You know, she’s still a young kid, the lure of the pubs and all that.”
Now it was Sarah’s turn to pause. “Why?”
“Right. Well, just saw her before. Yes, with Megan. And all the others.”
“That’s okay, right?” she said. “Guess whatever we learn about the house, about Zach, it seems like none of those guys has anything to do with it.”
And, too fast, Jack agreed.
“Yeah, you’re right. Just, well, you know me.”
“That I do. I’ll text her. Just to check up.”
“Yeah, doesn’t hurt. And see you for some tea tomorrow in the a.m.? And another look at the video?”
“Great. And Jack? Thanks for being concerned. I breathe easier with you around.”
Jack laughed. “Night, Sarah.”
And suddenly, she was alone, the video frozen. Only a few minutes left.
But minutes she’d definitely leave till morning.
12. The Meat Cutter’s Tale
Jack walked past the gleaming counter displaying every cut of beef that one could wish for — all looking wonderful, nicely marbled. Homemade sausages and plump chickens sat by the side. He went through to the prep room at the rear of the butcher’s.
It was 9am on a Saturday, and the shop was already busy out front. But when Jack took Dave Trimble to one side for a quiet word, and explained what he needed, the butcher had been happy just to let Jack go right on through.
In the bare white-tiled room, all steel surfaces and machinery, Jack saw a man using a fierce-looking blade to slice thick rib-eye steaks off a massive rib section.
Best not to startle him, Jack thought, more concerned about the man turning suddenly than any kind of deliberate reaction.
According to Trimble, the ex-con had been a model employee, with skills acquired in the kitchens of the prison where he�
�d served hard time for dealing.
Jack waited until another thick steak had been cut and peeled away before he spoke.
“Seth Clarke?”
The man in his white apron, marked with the deep crimson blotches of his work, turned, just-cut steak still in his hand.
“I checked, with your boss. About talking to you? Have some questions. My good friend Ray said you might be able to help.”
And just as “good old Ray” predicted, at the mention of his name the meat cutter’s scowl faded. A bit of a smile.
“Ray. That reprobate!”
Jack laughed.
The man put down the steak and the blade, went to a sink and washed his hands, then turned to Jack, voice low.
“Out back? Good time for me to grab a smoke.”
And Jack walked around the case, following Clarke as he led the way to the back area of the store, and a door to the outside and a small back yard.
*
Sarah had just finished watching the GoPro video. The image on the screen now still. All that jangly motion gone.
Because Zach Woodcote was dead. The final frames — Zach pushing open that door, stepping forward, then …
The image juddering, then tumbling into black space and ending abruptly.
And when Chloe poked her head in, it made Sarah jump in her seat.
“Mum — heading out.”
“Oh, sure. How are you, sweetheart? Didn’t hear you come in last night.”
“I’m good. Hung out with Megan. You know — give her a bit of support.”
“Of course, love. I’m sure she needs it.”
“Oh — can I cut some flowers from the front garden? The guys are going to do a kinda memorial thing for Zach, out at the old airfield. Like a service — but not. Know what I mean? Thought I’d join them.”
Sarah smiled, pleased to see Chloe being so thoughtful.
“Of course. Give Megan my love, won’t you?”
Chloe came into the office, gave Sarah an impromptu hug. Sarah savoured the warmth and closeness of her daughter for those seconds.
The video of another mother’s child just a black screen in front of her.
“If there’s time later, thought I’d do some more digging into those companies? See if any names or pictures pop up. That sort of thing?”
Cherringham--Killing Time Page 7