Cherringham - A Dinner to Die For

by Matthew Costello

  Jack nodded and looked away.

  Sarah had learned a lot from him.

  How to ask questions. How to look for those moments when someone isn’t telling all. How to push someone and try to get them to reveal something that they wished they hadn’t.

  But with all that, Jack’s rock-solid instincts as a homicide detective transcended all their investigating.

  A sixth sense.

  “So – what do you think, about Sam, about what’s been going on?”

  Jack sniffed the air, still laden with the smells of the scallops and the rich sauce.

  A deep breath.

  That breath was one of Jack’s own “tells”. That things were not adding up, that something here troubled him.

  “I like Sam,” he said, stating the obvious. “And I hope Julie understands when he does as he promised…”

  “Tells her about his true history with Anna?”

  “Yeah. Tough one, but I think he’ll follow through. I just… don’t see him hiding anything, save that history with Anna. Sure, he has a temper. Sure, he’s stressed. But–”

  “It doesn’t add up?”

  A smile, wrinkles on Jack’s brow evaporating.

  “Could say that. Then, there’s Anna.”

  “I get the feeling… you like her?”

  Jack let the cheeky question hang in the air.

  For a moment – though it was hard to tell in the golden glow of the saloon – she thought Jack’s face reddened… just a bit.

  And Sarah thought, There is something between them. Whether Jack has admitted it to himself or not. And while she was working out exactly how she felt about that, Jack answered.

  “I do. She’s struggled with a lot of things. Worked hard. And, well… just don’t see her doing any of these things either.”

  “Even if she thought Sam was behind the bad reviews – the cancellations?”

  Another pause.

  “Not sure,” he said. “I mean, how well do we really know anyone, even Sam?”

  “Hmm. I suppose, if I’ve learned anything in our years working together, it has to be that.”

  Though Sarah certainly felt she knew Jack as well as any close friend she had ever had.

  In fact – maybe better than anyone.

  As Jack stood up, gathering up the empty plates, Sarah felt a sudden and unexpected flicker of… what was it? Unease? That maybe one day another woman might be sitting here, sharing a meal with him.

  She pushed the thought away, to deal with later.

  “Makes many a detective cynical. Somehow, I avoided that. Cynicism. Eats you up. Still – as you’ve seen – people do have their secrets.”

  “They do, Jack.”

  Sarah also stood, grabbing the salad bowl, ready to pitch in with cleaning up.

  Jack had always told her: When you’re on the Goose, you’re a guest.

  To which she always responded: A good guest always helps with the washing up.

  At least in this country!

  And they continued to talk as they cleaned the small kitchen area of the boat.

  *

  Then, finally, espressos.

  But Jack had suggested they step out to the deck. The interior of the ship had grown hot, some fresh air would be good.

  Perhaps, Sarah thought, it might give them some fresh ideas as well.

  “Quite the night for stars,” Jack said. “See the Pleiades there?” he pointed. “The Seven Sisters. So clear you can make out each one.”

  Sarah took a sip of the sweetened, near syrupy coffee.

  “I’ve been thinking…”

  “Always a good thing.”

  “Well, two things really. Is there more to the Karl Desmond story?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I mean, with his background – bars, tacky restaurants up north – he could have made enemies, right?”

  “Good thinking.”

  She held her demitasse high. “And, fuelled by this caffeine, when I get home I’ll dig deeper into his life.”

  “And number two?”

  “The food poisoning. Seems as though Anna has just shrugged it off.”

  “Yup. Old news. Like she wanted to forget it.”

  She turned to Jack. “Think we need to know more about how that could have happened? I could go to the local fish supplier.”

  Jack held her look. It was dark, but for the glow from behind them, and the faint light of the stars lighting the deck, their breath frosty as they spoke.

  But she could see him smile, the lights of Cherringham in the distance.

  “You absolutely sure you weren’t a detective in some previous life?” he said.

  She laughed. But that laughter died as she noticed what was in the distance.

  The glow of the village, both sleepy and shimmering in the misty, winter night.

  But at the far end of what must be the High Street, a brighter glow, arching upwards.

  Irregular.

  Flickering.

  Growing.

  “Jack–” she said, touching his arm.

  “Turn around, look!”

  And Jack did, to see a big fire, blazing in Cherringham.

  12. A Burning Question

  Sarah grabbed Jack’s arm.

  “It’s somewhere at the top of the High Street. Near the Bayleaf.”

  Jack nodded, both of them mesmerised by the sight.

  “Or maybe… even the Bayleaf itself?” he said. “C’mon – we gotta go.”

  And she raced after Jack, down the plank, hurrying to the Sprite.

  When Jack moved, he moved fast, and she had to run to keep up with him.

  She jumped into the passenger seat just as Jack fired up the engine.

  Seconds later, they peeled out of his space near the Goose, kicking up frozen dirt and bits of stone.

  He must’ve done this a lot, Sarah guessed. Back in the day.

  When minutes could mean the difference between life and death.

  She looked at her watch. Eleven-thirty.

  On a week night, the Bayleaf would be long closed by now. Especially with lacklustre bookings.

  So, if the fire was there – with luck there’d be nobody hurt.

  But this restaurant war had suddenly turned dangerous – maybe even deadly.

  She held the door handle as Jack took the turn onto the toll bridge across the river, and they headed up towards the village.

  Good thing the roads were deserted.

  Because Jack was driving as fast as he could.

  *

  As they tore up the High Street Jack could see flames licking above the rooftops ahead and smell the drifting smoke.

  “It is the Bayleaf,” said Sarah.

  “Yep.”

  He slid to a sudden stop on the road opposite, then popped open the car door and looked across at the burning restaurant.

  By now the fire had claimed the dining room, the flames consuming everything made of wood.

  But with the tremendous heat, it wouldn’t be long before it started to engulf the plastic, even the metal, sending who knows what noxious fumes all over the sleeping, unsuspecting village.

  He looked at Sarah.

  “No sprinklers? How–?” Then, “You okay?”

  Her face caught the glow of the fire.

  A nod.

  Then she said, “What do you think happened? Something in the kitchen?”

  He turned back to the restaurant.

  “Don’t know, Sarah. Wish I–”

  Then he saw one person running towards the fire. Some people had walked up from the nearby Angel, pints in hand as if this was some kind of show.

  But one person – racing here.

  A woman.

  At the same time, the wail of a siren in the distance.

  Minutes, he thought. Then the fire truck will be here.

  But he kept turning from the fire to the racing figure. Until…

  “Anna.”

  T-shirt and jeans, a fleece – clothes clea
rly just thrown on.

  Jack guessed she’d run from her apartment in the village.

  “God, no!” she said.

  The words were loaded with so many feelings. Fear. Loss. The terrible sadness of seeing something you love disappear before your very eyes.

  Sarah put an arm around Anna.

  “The fire truck will be here any minute.” But Jack could see even if they made quick work of the blaze, with the damage so far, the place would be a write-off.

  Anna’s restaurant gone.

  Most likely never to rise again.

  Jack watched the flames grow, building in the way that only a well-fed fire can.

  Then he saw something move. In the back.

  “What?” he said. A step forward.

  For a second he thought the billowing smoke and dancing flames were playing tricks.

  But no–

  “There’s someone in there.”

  The figure stumbling. Most likely overcome by smoke. Close to passing out.

  He knew Sarah would know what he was going to do.

  “Jack, Wait! The fire brigade will be here. Any minute. Just–”

  But waiting – when a human life was at stake – was never his strong point.

  And, after scanning what appeared to be a path through the flames, he bolted.

  Hearing only one more word as he entered the mayhem.

  “Jack!”

  *

  The front door had been blown open, probably by a sudden burst of flame, glass shattered.

  Jack came to a dead stop once inside.

  Standing outside, he had seen a path through the maze-like barriers of fire.

  But now – whatever path had been there seemed to have disappeared.

  A deadly illusion.

  But, looking up, this area was not yet engulfed in smoke – he could still see the figure. Immobilised, probably blinded by the smoke.

  A dead person in minutes if they didn’t move.

  Jack shouted above the constant train-like roar of the fire.

  “Don’t move!” Then to offer hope: “I’m coming.”

  And having made that promise – the person standing stock-still – Jack now had no choice.

  Path through the maze or not…

  *

  From his time in the force, and from friends in the fire department, “New York City’s bravest”, he knew a few things about fire.

  You could pass licking flames if you did it fast.

  It was – one FDNY Chief once explained to him – as if the fire needs to catch hold of you. Just a second or two to begin its nasty work.

  Once Jack even tested that out. Rescuing a man who would turn out to have set the fire that nearly killed him.

  And it was true. Split second, and you were okay. Any more and you were dead.

  So now, looking around, knowing that every second counted, he made his move.

  A quick cut left, where a pair of bonfires still had not merged. He barely felt flames licking at his legs as he raced through.

  Clouds of smoke billowed around him.

  Another thing he knew from his FDNY friends: the smoke could be even deadlier than the flames.

  He put his arm up to his mouth. Not much of a filter – the sleeve of his puffer jacket.

  Better than nothing, he hoped.

  Ahead though – damned hard to see with the growing smoke cloud. The man, still standing, but wavering.

  About to go down.

  Jack had to move now.

  And he leapt over one, two, then a third chunk of what had been a beautiful hardwood floor – now burning to a crisp blackness.

  He grabbed the man.

  But to do that he had to lower his arm from his mouth, and now he was as vulnerable to the smoke as the man.

  Tick… tock… he thought.

  “Hang on,” he yelled to the man. “Hold my arm!”

  No way could Jack carry the man out. Too much room for potentially lethal errors. Carrying was something fire fighters were trained to do.

  Instead, he pulled the man – fast, stumbling, nearly drunk with smoke. Staggering.

  Jack – eyes watering, throat completely dry – took breaths of the superheated air only when he had to.

  Backtracking, he saw that the narrow chasm through which he had passed only seconds before… had disappeared.

  And now there was a wall of flame instead.

  *

  Still, with an even larger wall of fire billowing towards them from behind, Jack had no choice.

  He had one thought.

  Namely, one last fact about fires.

  That death by fire…

  Might be the absolute worst way to go…

  “Okay,” he said to the man. “We’re going to do this. Okay?”

  And with that last “okay”, Jack ran to the wall.

  *

  And it could have been hopeless. The wall of fire more than a match.

  But then, feet away, suddenly it was as if it was raining in the place.

  Not raining, but the biggest downpour ever, water shooting all over, hitting them both, hitting the floor.

  And he could see that whoever was on the hose from the engine outside, had it squarely aimed on where Jack needed to run.

  And with the fire kicked back by all that blessed water, he moved fast, still darting to avoid the persistent flames.

  Until…

  Amazingly…

  He stood outside.

  Across the street – a crowd watching.

  Behind him, the fire team working so fast, axes out, water hitting the entire building.

  And Sarah–

  A sight for – literally – sore eyes.

  Someone came to relieve Jack of his burden – he recognised Alan Rivers.

  And only then did Jack look over to see who it was he had rescued.

  Sam.

  13. Changing Plans

  Sarah touched Jack’s arm.

  “Jack. God. You okay?”

  In answer, he croaked. But then managed a smile.

  “Might be coughing for a few days but… but other than that…”

  He looked at the fire team at work.

  “Those guys. Damn good. And fast. Saved our lives.”

  Sam was sitting on the kerb – Alan crouched beside him, on his radio. He saw Sarah look over.

  “They just called for an ambulance. Bad burns to his right forearm, hand. Smoke inhalation. Needs go to hospital.”

  No one so far had said the obvious: namely, what the hell was Sam Walters doing inside the Bayleaf?

  But then – someone did.

  Anna Garcia came racing over to Sam. Behind her, the sous chef, Paddy, in pyjamas with a parka pulled tight around him.

  The show was not quite over.

  *

  “You!” Anna’s voice carried over the noise of the fire hoses hitting the smouldering building. “You did this!”

  “Jack…” Sarah said.

  As she looked at Jack she had to wonder – did he think what a lot of people including Anna had to be thinking…?

  Sam must have started the fire.

  She turned back to Sam. Alan still had a hand on the hunched-over chef, waiting for the paramedics.

  Anna was inches away from them.

  “You let it come to this… that you’d burn me down!”

  Sarah heard Jack take a breath, then – never one to walk away from a difficult scene – take a step closer to Anna.

  But it was Sam who spoke, his words sounding hoarse and raspy, mixed with coughs.

  He also held his right arm at an odd angle as if someone had stuck it there.

  “No. I–” the next words lost to heaving coughs.

  “Maybe best be quiet,” Alan said.

  Sarah guessed that, if it was suspected Sam had something to do with the fire, he would get medical help – and then end up behind bars.

  It didn’t look good.

  “I was locking up at,” another raspy cough
, “the Pig. Saw a glow. Walked up the street. Saw it was your place. I–”

  Sam started hacking again, finally needing to turn to the side and spit.

  And Sarah thought: The young father-to-be… lucky he can breathe.

  And lucky that Jack got to him, and got him out.

  But what if Sam had started the fire, only to be caught in his own blaze?

  “Saw the fire. Ran to help.”

  “Right!” Anna said. “You expect me… you expect any of us to believe that?”

  Sam shook his head.

  “It’s the truth, and–”

  More heaving.

  “W-when I got here, I saw someone. Inside the restaurant. In your bloody restaurant.”

  And between coughs, Sam’s voice had raised.

  “I went in to help. Get them out. Got cornered by the fire.”

  And Sarah had to wonder, Could that be true?

  “Don’t see anyone else in there now, do you?” said Paddy, stepping forward to stand alongside Anna.

  “Yeah, so where the hell–?”

  Jack slowly raised a hand to Anna’s shoulder.

  The chef turned to him.

  “Why don’t we wait and see what the fire inspector says.” Jack nodded to Paddy. “Alan too, hmm?”

  And though Anna seemed like she was ready to rip Sam in two, she stopped. Paddy shrugged, walked over to stand near the firemen, shaking his head at the smoking ruin.

  Jack did know how to calm things down.

  The flashing lights of the fire engine were suddenly matched by the siren and swirling lights of the ambulance.

  They stopped, opened the back, and slid out a stretcher. The village’s Chief Fire Officer – Teddy Barnes – walked over. He spoke to Alan.

  “I’ll have my team start on this tonight.” A look down to Sam as two paramedics hurried over. “Find out what happened.”

  Alan nodded. “Thanks.”

  And then Sarah watched as they both backed away and the paramedics eased Sam onto the stretcher.

  But in doing so, Sam’s right arm, which he had held out, must have brushed against something – and he winced. Now in the glow of all the lights, Sarah could see the red skin. And she knew Sam had burned his arm, and badly.

  “Easy, mate,” one of the paramedics said, now taking more care to see that the burned arm touched nothing as they ferried Sam to the ambulance.

  Jack still stood with Anna. He spoke again, this time very quiet.

  And when he’d finished she nodded, face still grim, angry as she turned and walked away.