Cherringham--A Lesson in Murder

by Neil Richards

  Tim took a sip. “Better than the bloody blizzards you Yanks get.”

  “True fact.”

  And after a moment of silence, after that first warning sip — something so soothing about a rainy day and a scotch — Jack came back to his question.

  “You didn’t repair the slashed tyres from the teachers’ cars? The manager up at the school said—”

  Tim leaned across his desk as if someone might be listening … even though the shop was empty.

  “Listen, Jack. There were slashed tyres. Four of them. Nasty bit of work. Deep cuts. Of course, they called me, and I went and took care of it. But it was only one car.”

  Another sip as he looked Jack right in the eye.

  “And one teacher. Emily Braithwaite, her Range Rover. Brand new, I might add, and top spec.”

  “On a teacher’s salary?”

  “Well public school, and she’s also a — what do they call it, House Mistress? Still, not a cheap set of wheels, Jack.”

  Jack nodded.

  This was so strange. Why would Weiss tell him that three teachers got vandalised? Not just one.

  He was also glad that he came here directly, without a mention of it to the headmaster.

  “I assume you met this Emily Braithwaite?”

  Tim nodded. “Sure. Really upset, she was. But then, who wouldn’t be?”

  “Did she say who she thought might have done it?”

  “No. I asked her straight up, like, and she, well, snapped at me. Like, ‘just get the damned tyres sorted’. So — that’s what I did.”

  “Right.”

  “Jack, something more happening there?”

  “Now Tim, I think you know me better than that. Could be something. Could be … nothing. Can’t really say.”

  “God — you are just like those real detectives on TV.”

  And Jack laughed as he finished his glass and stood up.

  “Another?”

  “Love to. Save it for my next visit.”

  Tim was already pouring is own refill.

  “You’re always welcome.”

  Jack headed to the door, the rain now — thankfully — just a drizzle.

  “Oh Tim — next tune-up … it’s all yours.”

  Then Tim Cooper tilted his glass to Jack as he went back out to the Sprite.

  8. An Unexpected Delay

  After a quick dinner for Daniel — a reheated chilli from the night before that drew no complaints — Sarah brought her laptop into the kitchen and began to learn as much about Cherringham Hall as possible.

  Which so far, wasn’t much at all.

  The school had press release articles in the local newspapers about each year’s graduation, always featuring a guest speaker of renown, as if the exclusive girls’ school was more of a university.

  Last year, a research scientist with the NHS, the year before an award-winning poet. And always pictures of the departing Sixth Form, bright smiles, all hopeful, their brilliant futures fully assured.

  Then there was the money.

  Gushing reports of ‘generous donations’ from a dizzying variety of sources. Prince Said, Lady and Lord Burwell, the Sankano Energy Corporation. An endowment from George DeLong.

  Hmm, Freya’s dad perhaps? thought Sarah.

  It had to take a lot to keep that country club up and running, but Karl Weiss and his fundraising team didn’t seem to have any problem getting the cash.

  And Sarah guessed that the donors could be assured of the absolute best treatment when their daughters attended the exclusive school.

  Interesting.

  But on the surface, not at all suspicious.

  She was beginning to doubt that she’d find anything disturbing about the school, at least in the public record online.

  She took a sip of her mint tea, now turned lukewarm, and looked at the kitchen clock.

  Just after eight.

  Chloe had sent a text more than an hour ago.

  ‘On my way. Home by eight.’

  She thought of what Jack said, how bringing up a teenage daughter could be quite a ride. Letting them do things … to be free, while you worried. She realised how much she not only loved Chloe but also how she could so easily worry about her.

  Doing this alone, she thought, is going to be hard.

  Another sip of tea, and back to her computer — so many web pages open that she struggled to pick up the meandering trail of her digging.

  Now she expanded her search of ‘Cherringham Hall’ to newspapers from all over the UK. After all, the school population came from all over the country.

  Never knew where she might hit something.

  She’d also wanted to check out Gavin Ward and Karl Weiss. The Head had invited them to look into this, but what better cover for a hidden scandal?

  But then — she heard the back doorknob rattle, twist, turn …

  And in walked Chloe.

  *

  Her daughter looked as if she had caught the full brunt of the storm from hours ago; though now dry, her hair and clothes were pasted to her body.

  Chloe quickly put a smile on her face.

  “Hey,” Sarah said. “You’re home.”

  Her daughter nodded. “Said eight. Close enough.”

  Sarah nodded back. “Looks like you got a little wet, love?”

  “Stupid storm,” Chloe said.

  Guess all teenage girls took pretty much everything personally.

  “Yes, it was pretty bad here too.”

  Sarah restrained herself from reminding Chloe that she had been alerted to the possibility … probability of rain.

  Got to tap into my inner teenage girl, she thought.

  And that kind of critical comment wouldn’t help at all.

  “Like some dinner? I have—”

  “No thanks. Grabbed some pizza with the girls. Just want to shower, get out of these things.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Chloe picked up a towel from the pile of dry washing that Sarah had just taken out of the tumble dryer.

  “Can I use this?”

  “Course.”

  Sarah watched her daughter head for the stairs. But then she stopped and turned:

  “Trains were really delayed, you know.”

  “That right?” said Sarah, not sure why this sudden excuse.

  “They made the announcement at Oxford station. Person under a train at Cherringham.”

  “Oh gosh, Chloe, I didn’t know, hadn’t heard …”

  “Dunno who it was. But Mum — what if it’s someone I know? God — someone from school?”

  And Sarah could see straight away that Chloe was upset. Who wouldn’t be?

  And she needed to talk about this.

  “Chloe, love, that’s awful. I’m so sorry. It’s such a terrible thing when somebody—”

  “They must have waited for the through train. You know, the fast one that doesn’t stop.”

  Sarah waited for Chloe to keep talking. But then her daughter turned and went upstairs.

  More than just upset.

  “So that’s why I’m late. All right?” came Chloe’s angry voice from upstairs, like a challenge.

  Conversation closed, thought Sarah. At least, for now …

  She looked down at her teacup.

  And thought of the poor soul up at the station earlier in the evening who must have felt they’d run out of choices and suddenly had no reason to live.

  Time for a fresh cup … and she walked over to the electric kettle.

  She knew that later in the evening, when Chloe was ready, they would talk again. If nothing else, just sit with her daughter.

  Be there for her.

  And just as suddenly the night seemed chillier, and being a parent … even harder.

  9. A Policeman Calls

  Jack woke to the sound of Riley barking — an unusual phenomenon by itself — and a heavy knocking on Grey Goose’s door.

  He squinted at the clock. Eight a.m.

  Tad early for
the morning post, he thought, then remembered it was a Sunday — so this was no postman calling …

  He slid out of bed, his left knee hitting him with its typical wake-up painful jolt. Back felt a bit creaky, too.

  The weather, he wondered? All this English dampness? Or the result of too many chases and bang-ups with bad guys back on the streets of NYC?

  More loud knocks, sounding very official.

  “I’m coming … I’m coming … hang on there.”

  He didn’t know who was at his door at what — he felt — was still an uncivilised and early hour … but he didn’t bother putting on trousers.

  Wake me this early, and you get me in my boxers and — this morning — a faded blue T-shirt promoting ‘Coney Island’.

  He climbed the steps up to the wheelhouse and opened the door to see Alan Rivers, his police hat and mac shining wet with rain.

  “Alan … what’s up?”

  Then before Alan could answer, Jack opened the door wider. “Come in. Had hoped the damn rain had ended.”

  Alan followed him down the steps into the galley, dripping, nodding. “Maybe in a few weeks,” he dead-panned.

  “Cup of coffee? I can brew one up …”

  “Thanks. But it’s a busy morning.”

  Alan took off his hat. “You’ve been helping up at Cherringham Hall?”

  Jack laughed at that. “You heard? Not much help there yet, Alan. Though a lot of people with secrets …”

  Alan didn’t smile. The police officer was in a serious mood, and Jack’s instincts also told him something was up.

  “One of the teachers, lady called Emily Braithwaite. Apparently … she jumped in front of a fast train up at Cherringham station.”

  Emily Braithwaite.

  “God …”

  Jack looked away, thinking, and Alan caught it.

  “The name Braithwaite. Mean something to you?”

  A nod. “Was planning on speaking to her tomorrow. Her car was vandalised a while back, and there were other incidents …”

  Alan looked at Jack. “You know what? Maybe I’ll have that cup of coffee after all.”

  “Good. And I can fill you in?”

  “That’s the general idea, detective.”

  And Jack headed through to the galley and set about making some coffee.

  *

  Jack had called Sarah with the news about Braithwaite … and then she told him that she had already heard.

  And how she knew it.

  So when she invited him to come over for a quick breakfast before they went back to Cherringham Hall, he quickly said yes.

  A little support to Sarah, Chloe … this morning would be good.

  She had the door open before he could knock.

  He walked into the kitchen.

  “Smells good. That bacon?”

  She smiled. “And those pancakes you like. Fresh … well, fresh from the freezer.”

  Jack laughed.

  “Like being in Maine on a winter’s morning. Good stuff. And the kids … Chloe …?”

  “Awake. But they haven’t surfaced yet.”

  Jack had told her that Alan wanted them to carry on. But he thought he should give Sarah a different option.

  He sat down at the table. “You know, I can deal with asking more questions today. If you want to stay—”

  “Chloe and I had a good long chat. Some tears, mostly I think she’s just upset by the idea that someone could do that.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “But … as I said, a good long chat about life, the challenges, how people face things. Finally, that I would always be there for her.”

  She poured coffee into his cup. He raised it, a slight tilt of a salute before the first sip.

  “A good mom. She’s a lucky girl.”

  A half-smile from Sarah. “Doing the best I can.”

  “And that’s pretty darn good, I think.”

  “Anyway — Chloe has plans today with friends, Daniel too. So they’re both going to be busy, and I can head out as soon as we’re done with breakfast.”

  “Great. Not the same without you.”

  And at that moment Daniel shuffled in, wearing a dressing gown, tufts of hair pointing to the ceiling.

  “Jack … hi!”

  “Hope you’re hungry,” Sarah said. “I’m doing Jack a real American breakfast — pancakes …”

  “Brilliant!” her son said.

  Then Chloe walked in.

  Would she still be rattled? Jack wondered.

  But Chloe had a smile on her face upon seeing Jack. She seemed to like it whenever he came to visit.

  And, for far from his home, that always made him feel good.

  “Miss Chloe, good morning.” “Hi, Jack!”

  And without any sign that she was still brooding about last night, Chloe sat down.

  Must have been some good talk the two of them had.

  The right words, the right time. What a difference that could make.

  Then the pancakes started landing on the table, the smell just about the most wonderful thing ever.

  And they all dug in.

  *

  As Jack drove down the long drive towards Cherringham Hall the rain finally stopped. He turned off the windscreen wipers.

  “You sure a surprise visit is a good idea?” said Sarah.

  Jack laughed. “In this line of business, a surprise visit is always a good idea.”

  “Certainly a lot busier today,” said Sarah, nodding towards the playing fields that lay beyond the big Sports Hall.

  He looked across. There were three, maybe four hockey games under way. Groups of girls and adults stood on the sidelines watching.

  As they drew closer to the house, a movement at one of the windows over the main doors caught Jack’s eye. A tall figure peering at them, curtain pulled aside.

  “Looks like the Head,” said Jack, nodding to Sarah, “Noting our arrival. Surprise over.”

  As Jack watched, the curtain was swiftly drawn back again and the figure disappeared.

  He parked the little Sprite in the visitors’ car park at the side of the main building next to a line of mini-buses and coaches.

  As he and Sarah climbed out a group of young girls ran by in sports gear, carrying hockey sticks, and laughing together.

  “Life goes on,” said Sarah. “See the coaches? Looks like they’re playing one of the Oxford schools.”

  “You think maybe the police haven’t told them about Emily?”

  “Ward will know, for sure. And the staff. But I suspect the pupils won’t find out until this evening … maybe tomorrow in class.”

  “Don’t want to spoil the team performance, huh?”

  As they walked towards the main doors, Jack noticed a sleek black Porsche 4WD with black windows.

  “I’m in the wrong business.”

  “Car like that just wouldn’t look right on you, Jack,” said Sarah.

  She opened the doors and they went into the hall.

  “Oh, I’d give it a try,” said Jack.

  The door to the offices opened immediately and Jack saw Fliss Groves emerge and walk briskly towards them.

  “Ms. Edwards, Mr. Brennan, we weren’t expecting you.”

  “We had some questions we needed to ask,” said Sarah.

  “It’s Sunday,” said Ms. Groves.

  “Appreciate that, Fliss, but you know, what with the events of last night, we figured perhaps things were getting a little urgent …” said Jack.

  Ms. Groves looked alarmed and stepped closer.

  Someone else whose default position is to keep things secret, thought Jack.

  “If you are referring to the passing of Ms. Braithwaite then I must insist that you breathe not a word to any members of the school,” she said. “The students must be told properly, with appropriate counselling available.”

  “So you know?” said Sarah.

  “The police telephoned last night.”

  “They’ve not been up here
yet?” said Jack.

  “Tomorrow morning, I believe.”

  “But the children don’t know?” said Sarah.

  “Mr. Ward took the decision to defer making the news public until this evening.”

  “We won’t say anything, I can promise you that,” said Sarah. “But I really do need to talk to one of your Sixth Formers — Freya DeLong.”

  “Freya?” said Fliss. “What about?”

  Jack could see she was concerned. “Just a couple of questions, probably nothing important.”

  “Well, it’s not possible. Not today.”

  “Oh?” said Sarah.

  Jack sensed that Ms. Groves was now looking for an excuse.

  “Why, um … she’ll be watching the hockey. I doubt she’ll be back in House for at least an hour.”

  “That’s okay, Fliss,” said Sarah. “I’m happy to wait. You don’t mind me waiting here?”

  Nicely done, thought Jack. That put her on the spot …

  “Oh — and I need to talk to Mr. Weiss too, this morning,” said Jack. “Is he here?”

  “He’s in a meeting. For at least another hour.”

  “How about the Head?”

  Jack saw her pause.

  “He’s not here.”

  “Really?” said Jack pleasantly. “When’s he expected back?”

  “Um … this evening, I believe.”

  Not a good liar, this one.

  “Shame. Ah well, I’m happy to wait to see Mr. Weiss.”

  “This is most inconvenient,” said Ms. Groves.

  Jack smiled at her, watching the wheels spin.

  She shook her head, eyes rolling like pinballs.

  “Very well,” said Ms. Groves. “Take a seat. I shall let you know when Mr. Weiss is free.”

  “And Freya?” said Sarah.

  “As I said — at least an hour.”

  “I think I’ll wait in the car, Jack,” said Sarah.

  Jack turned to her. That hadn’t been the plan. What was she up to?

  “My back — you know? On these chairs.”

  “Sure,” he said, seeing her half-smile and suddenly understanding. “You’ll be much more comfortable there.”

  He watched Ms. Groves turn on her heels and return to her office, while Sarah headed out of the main doors.

  And when his partner turned right towards Florence House, rather than left to the car park, he knew exactly what she was up to …