And she picked up her phone and pressed a button.
*
“Know they were robbed. Not surprising …” Olli said, cake crumbs on his chest.
Sarah hadn’t taken out a notebook.
Not that she didn’t think that Olli would have any relevant tidbits to share … but she didn’t want to spook the kid.
His droopy eyes looked like they may have suffered more than a few tokes of weed the night before.
“Why is that?” she said.
He leaned forward in the chair. “Look at that bloody place they bought? New, so bloody big — right on the river. Might as well advertise to any robbers: come rob us. We’re loaded!”
Sarah nodded.
“And do you know anyone in the category?”
“What?”
Olli began to fumble in the pocket of the robe, and dug out a twisted bit of white.
A joint.
“Mind if I … par-take?”
“Go right ahead,” Sarah said, forcing a smile.
Olli lit the joint and took a hefty drag.
Followed by a wrenching, phlegmy cough that only added to the young man’s allure.
“Now — what did you ask?”
With the drag on the joint, Olli had remained leaning forward but now wore a goofy smile as he looked at Sarah.
And she was definitely getting a creepy vibe from him, in this gloomy sitting room-cum-crash pad.
He was leering.
“Know anyone who would have liked to rob your parents? Any of your, um, friends here be interested in that information?”
Olli cantilevered back into the chair, shaking his head.
“Hell, no. All good mates here. Salt of the earth.”
I bet, she thought.
And then she heard heavy footsteps from behind her.
Someone else surfacing from whatever shipwreck had passed for last night’s entertainment.
But this ‘mate’ was a sturdy looking item. In jeans. No shirt.
Sizeable biceps.
What they called ‘guns’ these days, Sarah knew.
And unlike Olli, his hair had been shaved down to a brush cut.
Sarah had clocked Olli taking note of the new arrival, eyes locked on.
“Jimbo … we didn’t wake you, did we?”
Jimbo seemed to be the alpha male of this pair.
‘Jimbo’ looked over at Sarah; nodded. Then took a few steps to the sprawling Olli Goodman.
“You said I’d get my money today, Olli. And today is damn well here.”
Olli forced a quick sheepish look at Sarah.
Then back to Jimbo.
“Right, and I will! Give me a few. Just got up. Got to tap some people who owe me as well. Today it is, my man.”
Jimbo shook his head.
He started to ask a question, looking at Sarah. “And who the hell — oh, forget it.”
Then Jimbo shook his head, turning back to the stairs … and as he went up: “Just get me my money.”
Sarah guessed he didn’t have to add ‘or else’.
Olli turned back to Sarah, grinning as if what had just happened was just all peachy.
But with this new bit of information, Sarah had a few more questions before racing to the train.
And Olli — joint in hand — didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
7. Everyone’s Got a Secret
Jack took a chair opposite Terry Goodman, who had his hands behind his head, in what seemed a forced effort to appear causal and relaxed.
I’ve been robbed.
So what?
“What can I do you for, Mr. Brennan?”
“Jack. And I’m hoping to help you, and Alan of course. With what happened.”
“Ah, the big NYC detective. Tell me,” Terry leaned forward, a big grin on his face. “Back in the ‘mean streets’, ever—”
And then — amazingly — the man held up his right hand shaped into a gun and made a gesture with his thumb — the hammer falling down and shooting.
What an ass, Jack thought.
But in the interest of their interrogation, he faked an affable smile.
“I never shoot and tell, Terry.”
“Ah … the things you must have seen. Bit quiet here for you in the Cotswolds, hmm?
“Just the way I like it.”
Jack acted to change the direction of the conversation. Terry was doing a reasonably good job of distraction.
And that attempt to distract … always a ‘tell’ if someone had a secret they didn’t want to talk about.
“How’s business been here Terry? Since you moved?”
“Here? This part of the world — the Cotswolds? Absolutely booming.”
Jack thought … didn’t look too booming outside.
But he said: “Good to hear. So, about the robbery. Must have you upset, hmm? You, Claire?”
“Right. Well. Things happen don’t they? Could’ve been worse.”
“How’s that?”
“Bastards could’ve taken my bloody shotgun! Or the silverware! Screamed bloody murder when we bought it — a small fortune!”
Terry leaned forward. “My guess — some pretty dumb crooks.”
Jack smiled at that.
Terry was acting all relaxed. The robbery a mere ripple in his successful, bustling life.
Jack was about to see about that.
“Seems to me that they certainly made a mess of the place.”
“Hmm? Suppose they did. Anyway — it’s payback time for my insurers, and about bloody time too the premiums they charge.”
“I could be wrong but I got the distinct impression the burglars were looking for something.”
Terry’s smile faded.
“What do you mean?”
“Overturning pillows, your bed, the way they pushed everything on the floor — even inside the walk-in closet.”
Terry nodded.
Either he hadn’t thought of that before — or he was doing his best to act as though Jack’s observation was completely new.
“Don’t know about that, mate. Just glad they didn’t get everything. And Alan’s going to have us on his regular rounds at night. So it won’t happen again.”
“Doubt it will …” Jack said.
That made Terry narrow his eyes.
“You mean … because once they ‘hit’ a place you’re safe? That it?”
Jack didn’t respond to that.
Let him think on it …
“But you don’t mind if I ask a few questions? I mean, I have officer Rivers’ blessing. I mean, you would like whoever did this to get caught, right?”
Terry balled his right hand into a fist, and gave his table a light pound.
“Absolutely. Hang the bastards.”
“Not sure it’s a hanging offense, Terry.”
“I just meant — throw the bloody book at them.”
“And to do that, they have to catch them.”
Terry’s bluster ended and he listened.
“It would appear that whoever broke into your place — through the back — knew the code for the alarm box.”
Terry nodded.
“I mean, it was functioning, turned on — so whoever got in had 30 seconds to enter the code, right?”
Another nod.
“Any idea who else might have had that code, Terry?”
The dealership owner looked away; he sniffed the air as if clearing out the cobwebs in his cranium. Then, to compete the picture, he gave his nearly bald dome a scratch.
“Nope. Claire has it. My son Olli too. But he’s away in college having more fun than he should. And me.”
“Just the three of you?”
Terry nodded.
And Jack immediately didn’t believe it.
“Well see, Terry, that’s the problem. Someone broke in, and had that code. Tell me—”
Jack let the pause linger.
“You have any idea who could have done this? Any enemies you’ve made?”
; “Who’d do it? Probably any bloody loser within 50 miles. But no enemies here, mate,” then he laughed. “Least none I know about!”
At that point there was a knock on the door and the receptionist stuck her head — along with the compelling upper half of her torso — through the crack of the open door.
“Mr. Goodman, your next appointment is due in a few.”
“Oh, thanks, Liz — um, Miss Hedley.”
Work done — Jack guessed — the receptionist vanished.
“Well, Jack, not much more to tell and I do have a big fish — I mean …” his grin gave his near-bald head a carnival look, “…a potential customer coming. Looking into the latest Lexus 4-wheel loaded. That will set ’em back a pretty penny, I believe you Yanks would say.”
Jack stood up.
“That we would. And definitely out of my league.”
Jack turned and started for the door. But he stopped just as his hand hit the doorknob.
He turned back to Terry.
“Say, if I have more questions, you will be available, right?”
Again Terry’s eyes narrowed. One of those people who telegraphed every ripple of disappoint they feel.
That could be useful.
“Um, why sure. You know where I live, where I work. As to drinks, I am a regular at The Angel.”
“Great. You just …”
Jack was going to give him something to think about as he left …
“…never know what might pop up.”
And then — just because it felt right — Jack held up his hand, mimicking a gun, and with a quick pull of the trigger finger.
“Talk to you later, Terry.”
And Jack sailed out of the office, feeling the eyes of the salesmen on the floor, still standing around as if they were marooned on an iceberg with luxury vehicles.
And also — the receptionist.
Head down, but she was doing a poor job of hiding her eyes looking up, watching Jack leave.
*
Sarah looked at her watch.
She’d have to dash for the train any minute.
And the longer this took, the more Olli had trouble focussing.
“Friend of yours?” Sarah said.
“Jimbo?” Olli said with a toothy grin. “You bet. Good mates.”
Sarah nodded, a small smile. “Didn’t seem too friendly just then …”
Olli made a wave through the air that sent a train of marijuana waving through the room.
“Oh, just owe ’im a bit of cash. No worries! Things always work out in the end.”
Then Olli nodded as if convincing himself. “Always do.”
“Money tight?”
Olli’s loopy smile faded.
“Right now. Sure.” Then back to his goofy grin. “I’m a student, bloody hell! We’re always, like, strapped, knowwotImean?”
“Sure. You have expenses.”
“Ex-actly!”
“Mum and dad good for it?”
That question seemed to make Olli suddenly cautious. As if he just became aware of what Sarah was up to.
“What do you mean?”
“You need money, they give it to you?”
“That’s kinda personal, now isn’t it?”
“Well, I am trying to help them with their robbery. So …”
She leaned forward even though it put her nose closer to the foggy cloud that enveloped the Goodmans’ son.
“You really sure you don’t know who wouldn’t want to steal from your parents? Maybe even looking for something … they would only know about?”
A big shift in Olli with that question.
His face turned sullen, and even the smoking joint was ignored.
“I told you — I don’t know anything? What part of that don’t you get?”
Sarah nodded.
“Oh, one other question.”
“Yeah? One last question I hope.”
“When was the last time you were home — in Cherringham?”
“I would have thought even you could work that out.”
Sarah didn’t rise to the comment.
“Guess you’ll have to help me.”
“I’ll spell it out for you. I’m a student. I study. This is term time.”
“Oh, I see,” said Sarah. “Silly me. So you haven’t been home since the beginning of term?”
“Bra-vo.”
“Not at all?”
“Correct.”
Olli was lying. But why?
Sarah looked at her watch.
Good time to leave him to stew.
“Oh, I’m late for my train.”
She stood up and started for the door.
Olli — ever the gentleman — remained sprawled in the easy chair, his dressing gown …
There was a word …
Right.
Akimbo.
A quick turn to him. “Thanks for talking, Ollie.”
“Right. Whatever.”
“And good luck with your money troubles …”
And with that, she hurried out of the house where she imagined — for the students in residence — studying was in reality way down on their list of priorities.
And she walked briskly back down the Cowley Road towards the city and the railway station.
She should just make it …
She thought: Need to call Jack.
Because it sure seemed like something was rotten in Oxford.
8. What About the River?
Jack parked outside Tesco’s — a place he rarely frequented.
Too much like America, he thought — it definitely didn’t feel very much like the Cotswolds.
Still, when you had certain necessities to buy, the big store could be useful.
Just as he popped open the car door, his phone rang.
Sarah.
“Hey, was going call you in a bit. Didn’t want to interrupt you if you were in mid-interrogation with Olli.”
Sarah laughed. “More like an intervention.”
“That bad?”
“What a stoner. And get this, not only did he lie about going home a few weeks back — but Jack — he has money problems.”
Jack looked out at the sea of cars in the floodlit carpark — Tesco doing a bustling business. He even spotted Christmas decorations in the windows.
Yes, that time was coming close.
And for Jack — it was always a tough time.
Sarah and his friends here helped … but still his thoughts would often drift back to Christmas time at home.
Home. Brooklyn.
And the life he had there.
“Now that is interesting,” he said. “How bad does he need the money?”
“Can’t tell. But the guy who showed up looking for it seemed none too pleased. Oh, hang on — have to show my ticket …”
Jack waited.
“There. I’ll be in Cherringham soon. And had a thought.”
“Yup?”
“I could look into Olli Goodman’s history online. Any traffic offences, legal problems. See if he’s stirred up anything in the hallowed halls of Oxford. Because I can tell you … he didn’t look terribly studious.”
“Great — work your magic.”
“That and get a quick supper on the table for the kids. Want to pop over?”
“Love to … but I had an idea as well, so I’ll have to take a rain check on that.”
He then told her how things went with Terry Goodman, and what he noticed there.
“The receptionist hmm?” she said. “You think maybe there’s some hanky-panky going on there?”
“Not sure. And though Terry claimed business is booming, it was mighty quiet. Maybe look into anything you can find out about Lux-4 … his dealership?”
“Will do. Might be late. Daniel’s been struggling with his maths lately.”
“Not my favorite subject in school either.”
“And your idea?”
“Right. Well, I am outside of Tesco’s, and about to pick up a nice six
pack of IPA …”
“IPA?”
“India Pale Ale, which I will bring by my friend Ray’s boat. Just a hunch. But have a couple of things to ask him about.”
“Ply him with — what do you Americans call them? — ‘brewskis’.”
“That’s the plan!” Jack said, laughing.
“Report later?”
“You bet. Soon as I am back on the Goose. You know … one quick observation … sounds like no one we’ve talked to so far is telling us the whole truth.”
“Yes. They all have secrets …”
“Right.” Jack took a breath.
Getting chilly and he had resisted bringing out his winter jacket.
But it was getting time for that.
“Okay. Best do my shopping … and talk later?”
“And I’ll get digging soon as I can.”
“Great. Bye.”
And Jack ended the call and headed into the big supermarket.
*
Despite the fact it was dark and cold, Ray sat outside, on the deck of his ramshackle boat, in the bare electric light from his wheelhouse, smoking …
Well — smoking something.
He saw Jack walking over.
“Jack! Wow! Haven’t seen you in yonks!”
“How you doing, Ray?”
“Never better! You know me,” he said with a grin.
Jack held up the six-pack.
“Care to share some of these with me?”
“Do you even have to ask? I’ll pipe you aboard!”
Jack walked up the rickety gangplank to the boat’s deck.
Ray made no move to get up so Jack imagined they’d be sharing the beer out in the cold.
With Ray probably having smoked or drunk enough insulation not to mind the chill.
Jack sat down on the metal chair next to Ray’s — a lawn chair, but with its red paint chipped, peeling away.
One of Ray’s ‘finds’ from the dump.
The way he probably outfitted most of his floating domicile.
Ray had lived on his barge for more than forty years and locals had told Jack they’d never seen him hold down a job for longer than a couple of weeks.
An advantage for Jack — because it meant that Ray had plenty of time to keep an eye on not just this stretch of river …
…but most of Cherringham too.
Least when Ray could see clearly.
As Jack handed him a bottle, Ray deftly produced an opener popped the top off then passed the opener to jack.
After a hefty swig, Ray clinked his bottle against Jack’s.
Cherringham--Follow the Money Page 5