Cherringham--A Lesson in Murder

by Neil Richards

  They were getting a bit over excited. The shrieking and laughter echoed louder and louder.

  She looked down to the far end of the pool. One group of girls seemed to be … fighting?

  She could see them scrambling and pushing each other.

  She saw someone pushed under the water.

  Then she realised — they weren’t playing.

  That screaming wasn’t laughter.

  What was going on?

  As if in slow motion she ran towards the shallow end, where now she could see the girls pushing each other, crying out, as if in a frenzy to get out of the pool.

  They’re panicking, she thought. Why?

  Lights are on. Danger over.

  I’ve got to stop this—

  And then as she got closer she saw a shape in the water.

  Not a float or a ring or a ball …

  Something that didn’t make sense. Something that didn’t fit, as she tried to figure out what it was.

  Then, finally seeing what it was … understanding what the shape was … she instinctively recoiled, then with a skid, she fell on the slippery, wet tiles.

  A rat.

  A rat, floating on the water. Brown, a foot long, its tail seeming longer, its mouth open, hair matted, eyes staring …

  Then another, right nearby, bobbing up and down in the now-heaving water as the screaming girls dragged themselves up the sides of the pool to get away, crying, yelling …

  And as Sophie picked herself up she saw there seemed to be rats everywhere in the pool. Ten, twenty, maybe more …God …

  So many rats floating among the panicking girls as they fought to climb the ladders, and escape.

  Their matted bodies pressed against the children’s black swimsuits as the water churned.

  As the girls scrambled from the pool and ran, Sophie picked herself up, staggered to the now-lit panic button on the wall, and hit it hard.

  A siren sounded and red lights flashed.

  She turned back to the pool. The last of the girls were running, stumbling along the side towards the exit.

  One small girl stood alone in the water of the shallow end, sobbing, frozen, eyes shut. Unable to move, shivering.

  Sophie could see dead rats floating all around her.

  She reached down under the girl’s arms and plucked her from the pool, then pulled, half-carried her, after the other fleeing Minnows towards the safety of the changing room.

  2. Cherringham Hall

  Jack pulled up in his Austin Healey Sprite right outside Sarah’s house and thought about putting up the top.

  Although it was a bright sunny afternoon, he’d learnt from bitter experience that October weather in the Cotswolds could flip in an instant.

  But if they were going on a run into the countryside, nothing could beat the Sprite with the top down …

  Heck, let’s risk it, he thought, and headed for his friend’s front door.

  It opened before he could even reach for the bell, and Chloe — Sarah’s daughter — stood there, hardly recognisable from when he’d last seen her in school uniform in July.

  “Hey, Jack — perfect timing!”

  “I’m famous for it, Chloe,” he said.

  He looked at her clothes. Short skirt, summer top, no coat, handbag, full make-up, the works.

  Well on her way to being a young woman, with all the challenges that would bring Sarah.

  “Rain’s forecast,” he said. “Chilly, too.”

  As in … maybe you’d want to dress for fall?

  “I know. Mum told me. That’s why I need a lift to the station …”

  “Oh,” said Jack, grinning.

  In many ways, Chloe reminded him of his daughter when she was that young. “I think me and your mom were about to …”

  Jack saw Sarah appear behind her at the door, putting on a coat.

  “Don’t listen to her, Jack,” she said. “She’s going to walk; she’s got plenty of time. The station’s minutes away. We’ve already discussed this.”

  “Mum, you are so mean!”

  Yes, he remembered those days. The ‘discussions’ that felt more like battles.

  “And Jack’s car has two seats only. Two — remember?”

  Sarah handed her some cash, and Jack watched the mother and daughter kiss affectionately.

  Good. Nothing serious there.

  “Ten quid for the train fare — not for shopping or coffees, okay? No trying to skip the ticket.”

  “Mum! When have I ever done that?” said Chloe, heading for the street. “Well okay, maybe once — and I forgot!”

  The girl’s grin was irrepressible.

  “The one time you got caught, hmm?”

  Jack stood back as the familiar scene played out on the garden path.

  “See you tonight,” called Sarah, “and text me if you’re going to be late.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Bye Mum, bye Jack!”

  Jack turned to Sarah: “She is growing up,”

  Sarah shook her head. “Tell me about it.”

  “We set to go?”

  She shut the front door and he walked with her to the car.

  “I’ll get you up to speed on the way,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat. “You think we should have the top up if it’s going to rain?”

  “Probably,” said Jack. “But hey, let’s live dangerously a little. It’ll be winter soon enough.”

  He started the engine and then pulled away.

  The little buzzy interchange of Sarah’s family had reminded him how he should get out more often.

  That, and the idea that he and Sarah were finally back on a case.

  If it was a case. As of now, they knew nothing.

  Either way, the thought of the drive to come, through the English autumn countryside had put Jack in a very good mood.

  *

  Jack pulled off the dual carriageway and nudged the Sprite through a couple of sharp bends, before relaxing as the road straightened out along the crest of a hill.

  “So, although it’s a private school, I know you guys call it a public school. I may have been here a while but, well.” He grinned at Sarah. “It still doesn’t make sense.”

  “Come on … It’s like that soda you told me about, the one they make in Brooklyn.”

  “Hmm?”

  “The egg cream. Has no egg, no cream.”

  He laughed. “Not exactly the same thing — but I hear you.” He looked up at the sky, clouds indeed turning darker.

  May have to stop soon. Get the top up.

  “But okay … if you go to that school, you get what’s called a private education.”

  “Exactly. It’s not difficult, Jack.”

  “No, not difficult,” he said. “As long as you agree with me that it’s not logical either.”

  And that made Sarah laugh.

  Yes, good to be out with her again. They had done and seen so much over the past couple of years.

  But it was always fun just to talk.

  A New York Yankee in Queen’s England.

  The road seemed to stretch for miles ahead.

  Roman road, got to be, he thought, something else he’d learned since moving here to live on his river barge. A straight road meant ancient — predating the hedges and farm tracks, a road made by the conquering legions.

  He slipped into fifth gear, just loving the moment, fields and woods dropping away into valleys on either side, big white clouds on a wide horizon.

  “How come I’ve never heard of this school if it’s such a big deal?” he said.

  “It’s very exclusive,” said Sarah. “And weekends and holidays, the girls tend to go into Oxford or down to London on their time off. Not much in a little village like Cherringham for them.”

  “Don’t want to mix with the yokels, huh?”

  “I suppose some of the parents might feel like that,” said Sarah. “As for the kids … look at Chloe. She can’t wait to be off to the big city!”

  “Right. You never thou
ght of sending Chloe there?”

  “Forty thousand a year? I don’t think so, Jack.”

  “Whoa — that’s sixty thousand dollars. Parents have got to be serious players, huh?”

  “Oh yes,” said Sarah. “Politicians, oil execs, pop stars, Far Eastern government officials, you name it …”

  “Hence the call to us — and not the police. Discretion’s the word?”

  “Exactly. They’ll only talk in person about … whatever it was.”

  Then Jack brought up something they had discussed.

  A slight change in how they did their detective work. Now with so many cases solved …

  “We going to charge them a fee?”

  “I think so — don’t you? The school can certainly afford it.”

  “You bet,” said Jack. “Usual split between the local charities?”

  Some months back, over a long and pleasurable dinner at the Old Pig on Cherringham High Street, Jack and Sarah had drawn up a list of suitable good causes that could benefit from their sleuthing.

  “Hmm, maybe. Though I was thinking … Chloe’s school’s fundraising for a new sports track.”

  “Okay,” said Jack. “Lion’s share to them — kinda like that. The Robin Hood principle, rich kids to poor kids huh?”

  “Exactly. Hey — better slow down a bit, Jack — the entrance is along here somewhere.”

  Jack dropped down a gear, enjoying the manual, so different from the automatics back in NYC.

  This … was driving.

  “Of course, we’ll have to deliver,” he said.

  “When haven’t we?” said Sarah.

  “True,” said Jack. “But most times when we get involved in a case, we know what the deal is. This time …”

  “Like I said — when they called, they definitely didn’t want the police looking into it. Had to be in person — and in the strictest confidence.”

  Jack slowed. Ahead he could see a discreet sign by a turning: Cherringham Hall School for Girls, Main Entrance.

  He indicated and turned. The perfectly tarmacked road dipped down through woods of oak and chestnut, eventually emerging into broad open meadows.

  “Wow,” said Jack. “Quite the public school.”

  Below, in the valley, among gentle pastures dotted with trees, lay the most beautiful English country house he’d ever seen. Behind it he could see sports fields, tennis courts, accommodation blocks, all carefully landscaped so as not to spoil the view of the house.

  “Sarah — whatever you were thinking of charging — add a zero … I mean, of course, a nought at the end, huh? In fact, add two noughts.”

  *

  Jack parked in the visitors’ car park at the back of the main house and put the top up on the Sprite. He’d hardly finished before a smartly dressed young woman came over.

  “Ms. Edwards? Mr. Brennan?” she said, offering her hand to them both. “I’m Fliss Groves, the headmaster’s secretary. We spoke on the phone. Do follow me.”

  Sarah watched the woman turn sharply on her heels and head back into the building at a clipped pace. She grabbed her briefcase from the car and looked at Jack.

  He winked at her: “You heard what the lady said. It’s the headmaster’s study for us … pronto!”

  She smiled, then hurried to catch up.

  As she crossed the threshold into the school building the smells took her right back to her own school days.

  From the age of seven to eleven she’d been at a girls’ boarding school near London. Her father had been in the RAF then, stationed overseas, and it was just the done thing to send the kids home to be educated.

  She’d hated it — so lonely for her, and when her dad retired and the family moved to Cherringham, she’d been overjoyed to be going to a normal day school — albeit one with two thousand pupils.

  Now, looking around the grand entrance hall here, with its two sweeping staircases and tall portraits of pupils past, nothing could be more different from Cherringham Comprehensive.

  She and Jack followed the briskly moving Ms. Groves through an archway down a corridor to a door with the word ‘Headmaster’ etched on it in gold leaf. She tapped gently on the door and entered, beckoning Sarah and Jack to follow.

  “Your guests from the village, Gavin,” she said, before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

  Sarah took in the huge room, filled with light from massive windows. And less an office, more furnished like a country house sitting room: three large sofas around a low table in front of a log fire. A desk, more modern portraits on the book-lined walls. Oak floors with thick Turkish rugs.

  And standing with his back to the window, a tall figure who now stepped forward to greet them both.

  “Sarah — Jack — yes?” he said. “I’m Gavin Ward. Welcome to Cherringham Hall.”

  He shook Sarah’s hand and she warmed to him immediately. Relaxed, in his forties, she guessed, and with an ex-military air she recognised from so many of her father’s friends.

  “I do so appreciate you coming out here at such short notice — weekend too, awful of me to presume …”

  “Your secretary made it clear that you had a serious problem, Mr. Ward.” said Sarah.

  “Gavin, please,” said the Head. “We’re all on first name terms here.”

  He gestured to the sofas and Sarah sat. She watched Jack take the sofa opposite. No accident, she knew from past experience: it was important they had eye contact in these first interviews.

  As if they could silently signal when it was a good time for a different line of questioning, like a ball being passed.

  “There’s coffee on its way,” said Gavin. “In the meantime, let me tell you what’s been going on.” He took a breath. “What happened.”

  Sarah watched him carefully. Behind the urbane smile of his introduction, she could see that he was under some strain.

  “Perhaps you will then be able to tell me if you can help us,” he continued.

  Sarah took out her notepad and pen. Gavin looked at them both in turn, and then began.

  “It all started about a month ago …”

  3. A School Under Siege

  “A month. Four terrible weeks. And Jack, Sarah — what I am about to tell you must remain in the strictest confidence. The reputation and security of Cherringham Hall is at stake. More than a century, shaping young girls’ lives—”

  Sarah watched Jack raise a hand, and the headmaster seemed to pick up on the fact that he didn’t need to launch into a speech about the long and glorious history of the school and its alumni.

  “That goes without saying, Gavin. Sarah and I only want to help your school with whatever the matter is.”

  Gavin smiled, nodded. “That is indeed what I have heard about you. Very discreet! Lady Repton was singing your praises.”

  “Great lady,” Jack said. He looked over at Sarah.

  One of those moments when the ball was being passed.

  Sarah ran with it. “Oh — I did mention to your secretary, that although we don’t take a fee for our services, we do suggest a donation to—”

  Gavin clapped his hands together. “Of course.” He reached over to his gigantic dark wood desk and picked up an envelope. “I hope you’ll find this appropriate.”

  He handed Sarah the envelope.

  No need to open it, she thought.

  Considering this plush environment, no doubt it was more than adequate.

  “Right then,” said Jack. “Perhaps you can give us the details?”

  Sarah watched Gavin leaned forward, as if having a conspiratorial chat.

  “At first, they seemed like pranks. A fire alarm set off, one whole house evacuated in the middle of the night, even had the local fire brigade turn up. That’s the kind of thing some of the more spirited — um — antic girls would do.”

  “Sure. Sounds like it,” Jack said.

  Despite what was sitting in the envelope, Sarah was beginning to wonder if there was anything here for them to investigate at al
l.

  “Then, there was the food incident …”

  “Food?” Sarah asked.

  Gavin nodded. “One dinner, and everyone who had the potato dauphinoise fell ill. Really … ill. And trust me, our kitchen is pristine, absolute highest marks for cleanliness, food preparation.”

  “You think someone slipped something into the dauphinoise?”

  Gavin raised his hands. “How else?” He took a deep breath as if stealing himself. “Then there were the cars …”

  “Hmm?”

  “Three of the staff’s cars were vandalised. Tyres slashed. Some of our best people! We kept that quiet, of course. But now I was getting rather worried.”

  “You could have called the police on that one,” Jack said.

  “When we didn’t know who or why? With all the support our parents have for this institution? I mean, what if it had been one of the girls?”

  “A Cherringham Hall girl?”

  Gavin leaned back. “Over the years, we have had our more difficult students. We’re not immune to the vagaries of our society today. Usually they are dealt with … one way, or the other.”

  Kicked out, Sarah guessed, no matter how much money Mum and Dad had.

  “But this most recent incident, from yesterday. I think — when you hear — you’ll understand why we called you. Frightening, really.”

  Sarah sensed that the headmaster was reluctant to even tell them what had happened.

  “It happened in the pool …” he began.

  *

  When Gavin stopped, Sarah saw Jack look over.

  Probably making sure my head isn’t spinning after that grisly tale.

  “Wow,” Jack said. “The other things — guess they are all serious enough. But that, those girls, the floating rats. Yikes …”

  “Exactly. I have had to speak personally to each and every one of the girls’ parents, to reassure them that we would spare no expense in finding out how such a thing could have happened.”

  No expense.

  Yes, Sarah guessed, whatever cheque sat in the envelope it would be for a significant sum.

  But when Gavin Ward stopped, he looked from Sarah, then to Jack.

  “I’m sure now you’ll understand why I called you. So tell me, what do the two of you make of this? Does any of it make any sense?”