Cherringham - Murder on Thames

by Costello, Matthew; Richards, Neil

  ***

  Lower Runstead turned out to be one of those sleepy little villages where you never see a soul on the street.

  Jack drove carefully past trim-stone cottages and high hedges, until Imperial House came into view, set back behind tall sweeping walls and a pair of imposing spiked iron gates.

  When they drew up, the gates opened automatically. Mr Williams clearly had security who were on the ball.

  As they drove up the long gravel drive, Jack guessed that once upon a time, Imperial House had been the old manor house, given a modern make-over. Extensions front, back and sides — and probably a pool and gym in the basement.

  “Not for the likes of you and me, Jack,” said Sarah beside him.

  “And let us thank God for that,” said Jack. “Just look at all that shrubbery.”

  They rounded a fountain, nestled on perfect lawn, and pulled up next to a big black mud-spattered Range Rover Sport. Jack took note. A young guy in T-shirt and jeans, tall and nonchalant, stood beside the vehicle, hosing it down.

  Jack noticed how the guy smiled at Sarah as she got out of the car. And how Sarah smiled back.

  “Nice car,” said Jack. “Must go like a rocket, huh?”

  “And some,” the young guy said. “When I get to drive it, that is.”

  “We’re looking for Mr Williams,” said Sarah, joining him.

  “Just ring the bell. Someone’ll come.”

  But before they could, the front door opened and a tall, bronzed figure emerged. Pink polo shirt, classy chinos, snakeskin belt, Rolex watch: Jack knew this was the boss — Gordon Williams.

  And he also knew instantly the relationship with Mr Car Wash.

  “Dad — you want me to do the inside too?” said the boy. The son’s tone showed no enthusiasm for the task.

  “No, that’ll do, Kaz,” said Williams, pausing for a second. “Pop it in the garage would you when you’re done? Good lad.”

  His son nodded and carried on cleaning.

  Williams approached, hand outstretched to greet them.

  “Good of you both to come,” he said, with a charming smile. “This way, we’ve got coffee on the terrace.”

  Hardly stopping, he led them all the way round the side of the house to where a series of terraces led down to the river and a perfect view of meadows and woods beyond.

  Jack took in the view. ‘Good of you both to come,’ he’d said. As if he’d invited them. This guy was interesting …

  A table and chairs with a big ivory parasol to shade it from the morning sun had been set up. A young woman in a maid’s outfit stood ready to pour coffees and teas. Williams motioned them to sit and they all waited politely while the maid poured the drinks.

  Jack watched as Williams with a practised micro-gesture of one finger instructed the servant to go.

  “So, Miss Edwards. As I said on the phone, I’m happy to help — but I’m not sure there’s much I can add about poor Sammi.”

  “I gather she worked for you, Mr Williams?” said Jack.

  “Well, that’s not really how it was,” said Williams. “Sammi was the face of Imperial.”

  He picked up a brochure from the table and handed it to Sarah.

  “We construct high-end luxury cruising yachts. And Sammi was our key model last year for the new “C” Class range. So she worked freelance with us really — not for us.”

  “So you didn’t know her?” said Jack.

  Williams hesitated. Then: “No, on the contrary, we got to know Sammi very well. We all spent a month together in the Maldives on the photo shoot.”

  “We?” said Sarah.

  “My wife, Maureen. My son Kaz — who you just met.”

  “Isn’t that unusual? She was just the model, wasn’t she?” said Jack.

  Williams smiled at Sarah.

  “You knew her didn’t you, Miss Edwards? So you can understand how she soon became more than just a model on the shoot. Such a lovely girl, so generous and lively. She became a real friend. To all of us.”

  Jack tried to work out this little foursome, all at sea on a luxury boat. Interesting …

  And unbelievable.

  “You can imagine how terribly upset we were to hear of her death,” Williams concluded.

  “I’m sure,” said Jack.

  He waited — and hoped that Sarah wouldn’t fill the silence.

  She didn’t. She was getting good at this.

  A minute passed.

  “So what exactly did you want to ask me?” said Williams. “I have a rather tight schedule you know, and I do need to, um, get back to work.”

  “Ah, I see,” said Jack. “I’m sorry — I thought my colleague here had already told you why we needed to see you?”

  Williams shrugged.

  “Well, no, not really, she just said it was about Sammi and she was an old friend.”

  Jack smiled and watched Williams carefully.

  “Ah that explains it. Well, to get to the point, Mr Williams. You see, we believe Sammi was murdered. Possibly by a man in the local area with whom she was having an affair. And we wondered if you might know anything about that?”

  Jack looked for the tell. Williams leaned forward, shocked.

  “Murdered? But that’s — if you believe this, you must go to the police straight away, Mr Brennan.”

  “We have,” said Sarah.

  “We were wondering where you were on the night that she died?” said Jack.

  Williams grabbed the arms of his chair, his body instantly rigid.

  “I’m not sure you have any right to ask me that.”

  “Guess we could suggest to the police that they ask you,” Jack said.

  Williams looked away, then back to Jack. “I was in London at the Boat Fair. And I assume from your question that you believe I am that ‘man in the local area’?”

  “We’re not discounting anything, Mr Williams,” said Sarah.

  Williams got to his feet.

  “Interview over, I’m afraid. You’ve obviously been very affected by Sammi’s death. As we have too. But please — don’t let your imagination run away with you. I was very fond of Sammi, and I certainly would never have wanted any harm to come to her.”

  As he spoke, Jack saw a woman emerging from the house.

  Taller than Williams, elegant in skinny jeans and a white blouse, she was lean and tanned and in her fifties.

  She came over and Williams went to her, put his arm around her.

  “My wife, Maureen.”

  Jack nodded to her.

  “Maureen — I’m afraid our guests are leaving. They have another engagement.”

  Mrs Williams looked surprised and disappointed.

  “Oh. I’m sorry to have missed you. You were friends of Sammi’s — isn’t that right?”

  “I was, Mrs Williams,” said Sarah.

  “So sad,” said Mrs Williams. “She was such a pretty thing. A ray of light, isn’t that right Gordy?”

  Williams nodded, not taking his eyes off Jack.

  “It’s always the best that are taken away from us,” continued Mrs Williams. “Don’t you agree?”

  Jack nodded.

  “My condolences anyway to you,” Mrs Williams continued. “So awful, what happened. We’ve been so very upset.”

  Williams gently ushered them away towards the side of the house.

  Just before they rounded the building, Jack looked back and saw Mrs Williams wave sadly, then turn and look away to the far hills.

  Did she really think Sammi was one of the ‘best’?

  Was ‘Gordy’ telling the truth?

  The truth about Sammi — her life, her lover and her death — was proving to be as elusive as ever.

  13. The Principles of Murder

  Sarah couldn’t help but grab the edge of her seat as Jack drove.

  Though it was a small car Jack still seemed to hug the hedges and approach every curve as if a tank was roaring at him from the other direction.

  She caught him look at h
er.

  “Nervous? Don’t worry, Sarah — I’m getting the hang of this. Though those tunnels where you I — I dunno—”

  “Give way?”

  “Right. Those seem like they were designed for accidents.”

  “We get our share.”

  “People should honk, or something—”

  “Not very British, that. People are just expected to know how to …”

  “‘Give way’. Right, ESP.”

  She waited a few moments as he negotiated another corner.

  “Jack, you have any ideas about what just happened? With Williams?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “How about we stop for a pint and you can think aloud? There’s a sweet riverside pub just ahead, The Swan.”

  “You got it. Though you may not like what I’m thinking …”

  And Sarah forced her hands to release the death-grip on her bucket seat as they hit the straight, probably an old Roman road that led to the pub just ahead.

  ***

  As if it was a prop, a lone swan, looking sooty and dishevelled, circled near them as they sat at a picnic table right on the edge of the water.

  “Guess she’s looking for a hand-out. Food here any good? Never been.”

  “Think they can manage the staples. Fish, chips. Sunday roast.”

  She watched him take a sip of his beer, still quiet, as if expecting her to push him with questions. Maybe all detectives — real ones at least — kept their thoughts to themselves.

  But they were in this together.

  So push she did.

  “You found nothing suspicious about Gordon Williams?”

  “Did I say that? Suspicions? Everybody has those. And no, I’m not buying the ‘happy family travelling with the young cover girl’. I can easily imagine that old Gordy had other less wholesome interests in your friend.”

  “Then — he might have a motive for killing Sammi!”

  “You see a conclusion and you do like to jump, hmm?”

  He grinned at her, and she realized what an amateur she must sound like.

  “It’s something, isn’t it?”

  “Well, we’ve had nothing until now. Although Robbo looked as guilty as hell despite there being no evidence. Or motive.”

  “That we know of.”

  “Touché. Then there’s Sammi’s dear old dad with his money issues. As to Gordy, could it be an affair gone wrong? Possibly. But despite wanting us out of there asap when our questions turned uncomfortable, I didn’t see anything else. And if he said he was in London, then I imagine you can check that out pretty easily? Your computer friend, huh?”

  “Probably.”

  She took a sip of her beer, the sun low in the sky, shining on them with a golden light.

  Then: “What about Kaz?”

  “Yes. The son washing the car. You mean, maybe he was involved somehow with Sammi?”

  She immediately felt how little they had.

  Another smile from Jack as if he had let her questions prove his point.

  They had nothing.

  “You still haven’t told me what you think.”

  He looked away, squinting at the sun.

  “Pretty pub this. This whole country’s filled with them.”

  Then back.

  “What do I think? I think it is just possible that Sammi did exactly what the police believe. She killed herself.”

  “No.”

  Jack’s eyebrows went up.

  “You yourself said she couldn’t have drowned upriver.”

  “True. That didn’t happen. But she had drugs in her. Wouldn’t take much — a few gulps of water at the weir.”

  “And why at the weir?”

  “Why not?”

  She leaned across the table. “I know Sammi. And despite everything she’d gone through, whatever bad times she’d had in London, she wouldn’t have killed herself.”

  “People can be pushed to the edge, Sarah.”

  Jack said those words as if he suspected that Sarah herself had faced some edges. Marriage, divorce, single parenthood.

  None of that too pretty or too easy.

  “Trust me. I knew her, she was my best friend.”

  Jack nodded. “Okay. I will do just that. So then that leaves …” he tilted his beer glass to her, “… murder.”

  “Right.”

  “And when you have nothing — which pretty much is what we have — then there is only one thing to do.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Back to first principles of murder and investigation.”

  “This is feeling like master class.”

  “You can take notes if you like. But one of the first principles of any detective work is that if you hit a wall, if you have nada, and you’re not seeing any next step, then it’s back to what we pros call … ’square one’.”

  She laughed at this. He might get quiet sometimes but he could be funny once she got him talking.

  “And what is ‘square one’ in this case?”

  “You tell me, Sarah.”

  This IS a class.

  She thought for a moment.

  “The woman who found Sammi. Lou Tidewell.”

  “Exactly. We’re assuming that she told the police all she saw. But that is an assumption, and assumptions can be fatal. Literally.”

  Jack downed his beer.

  “So we need to talk to her.”

  But Jack shook his head. “No. You need talk to her.”

  “What — you have something better to do?”

  “I do want to finish that fly. I mean, it is my intent to determine whether there really are any fish in that river. But —”

  He put his empty glass down.

  “Another?” she said.

  He shook his head.

  “I haven’t met the woman, but I imagine if the two of us show up and one of us is an American with a lot of questions, it’s possible we’ll learn nothing. We have a far better shot if you go on your own. Ask questions. See if the police missed anything — or maybe she’s remembered something since that could be important.”

  Sarah nodded. Though not at all sure she wanted to do this questioning herself, she also felt pleased that Jack thought she could do it.

  “Kids all right for a bit?”

  “I’ll need to fix them tea in a bit. But I have time to stop at Lou’s place. Not far from the weir. If she’s home, I can try talking to her.”

  He nodded.

  “And you — off to finish that fly?”

  He shook his head. “Um, no. Actually I’m going to do something else.”

  “Which is?”

  “In the interest of plausible deniability, best I tell you after I do it. In case something should happen.”

  “You’re going to do something illegal?”

  He looked at his watch, the sun now sitting at the horizon and a gentle breeze off the river that actually felt cool.

  “Did I say that?”

  He stood up. “We’ll compare notes in the morning. Now I’ll take you safely back to the village.”

  She followed him, leaving her pint half full. “And remember to ‘give way’.”

  “Absolutely …”

  14. Square One

  Sarah knocked on the cottage door. A small planter to the side of the entrance dripped with an assortment of colourful flowers. She heard the TV blaring from inside, and knocked a bit louder.

  The TV went silent, and in second Lou Tidewell stood at the door.

  While Sarah didn’t know her well, the woman was a familiar sight in the village, with her dog and her rustic country dress. Any excuse to wear bright green Wellingtons.

  Would she know Sarah at all? People in a village could be very careful about whom they talked to.

  “Mrs Tidewell—” Sarah said as Lou opened the door.

  “Sarah Edwards?”

  That answered that question.

  “Yes, Mrs Tidewell—”

  “‘Lou’, please. Is there som
ething wrong?”

  Sarah looked at the woman at the door wondering if she could possibly have anything more to tell about the morning she found Sammi.

  “I was wondering. It was my friend Sammi who you discovered. I was wondering if we could …” Sarah forced a smile, “… chat a bit.”

  The woman didn’t smile back. “She was a friend of yours? Didn’t know that. And I told the police everything.”

  But she stopped as if something about Sarah touched her. “Oh, all right then, come in.”

  Lou opened the door and led the way to the sitting room. A Golden Labrador raised its head sleepily as Sarah entered, and then lowered it as Lou indicated a chair with white lace antimacassars perfectly in place, as if waiting for the infrequent guest.

  “Tea?” Lou said.

  “That would be great.”

  Whatever was to come would certainly go easier with a cup of tea as a prop.

  ***

  “Such a terrible thing. A young girl like that. And she was your best friend. So sad.”

  “Years ago,” Sarah added. “We had fallen out of touch. Now I’m just trying to understand.”

  The woman nodded as if it that made sense.

  Sarah wasn’t sure it did.

  “Don’t know,” Lou said, “what could possess someone to take their own life. I mean, we all have hard times, right? Somehow we carry on.”

  Was it that Lou in her role of village elder and general know-it-all had knowledge of Sarah’s own tale?

  She wouldn’t be surprised.

  Sarah put down her teacup and leaned close to Lou as if she was sharing a secret.

  “But you see, that’s just it. I don’t think Sammi did take her own life. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

  The woman’s eyes went wide.

  “But the police seem quite certain that she drowned, that she had to have jumped in and—”

  Sarah nodded. “I know. I’ve spoken to them. Which is one reason I’m here. Is there anything you remember about what you saw that morning … Anything that you thought … odd?”

  “I told the police everything, dear. I mean as soon as I saw it was a young girl, that she was dead …”

  Lou’s voice shook a bit, the memory clearly unpleasant. “I wanted to get as far away as possible. Forget the whole thing. So I don’t think …”