Cherringham--Murder Most Wild

by Neil Richards

  The woman from Zakro looked irritated.

  Good, thought Sarah. Time to take that smug smile off her face.

  “Oh, did my assistant not mention on the phone?” said Sarah. “What I needed to talk to you about?”

  “Clearly not.”

  “How silly of her,” said Sarah, smiling. “Assistants, you know?”

  Heinrich’s pinched face registered nothing at that, stylus held tight in his claw-like hand.

  “Well here’s the thing. I also have another business, of sorts … working with an investigator here. We’re examining a recent fatality, that we believe might be connected to your local planning application.”

  Sarah watched Eva carefully.

  She looked confused. Or she did a good job of feigning confusion. Her assistant looked up, mouth open and brushed his hair from his eyes.

  “I see,” said Eva, her face revealing nothing.

  Sarah waited for her to say more, but the other woman just continued to stare.

  “You have heard about the death on Friday night, yes?” said Sarah.

  “I don’t believe so. Have we?” said Eva, turning to her assistant.

  “No,” said Heinrich.

  That was comical. ‘We?’

  “In which case, I’m afraid I can’t help you,” said Eva.

  “The gentleman concerned — Mr. Sam Lewis — was a key opponent of your planning application. He spoke at the debate last night.”

  “I don’t recall him.”

  “He provoked a near riot. You must remember that? And he owns Ingleston Farm, which borders the land you have purchased and on which you intend to build your supermarket.”

  “Really? I wasn’t aware of the man’s name.”

  “So you haven’t ever met him?”

  A long pause. Even Heinrich shifted in his chair, his perch suddenly uncomfortable.

  “Why are you asking me these questions?”

  “There is some doubt over whether Mr. Lewis’s death was accidental.”

  “Oh really? And how did he die?”

  “He was attacked by one of his livestock in the night. A wild boar.”

  “Hmm. How terribly unfortunate. I fail to see however, why that should be of any interest to me?”

  “As I said, his land adjoined Zakro’s proposed site and he was a vocal opponent of the development.”

  “Oh.”

  She said the word as if that bit of information was completely irrelevant.

  “And the police also believe his death was suspicious?”

  Sarah suddenly felt she was on weak ground — she hadn’t expected that question.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “But you do? And you aren’t the police? How interesting. Graphic design, I believe you said. Your expertise …”

  “Well, to be honest, it does seem rather a coincidence that he should die straight after making a big speech about–”

  The woman rolled her eyes.

  “So, you have dragged me out of my hotel, in this damned weather, just to talk about some poor farmer that died after a meeting I happened to speak at?”

  “No, not at all,” said Sarah, her own tone rising to match the Zakro exec. “What I really wanted to talk about was the way Zakro manages to win nearly ninety percent of its planning applications across the country, even when the majority of local people oppose the plans?”

  Eva Weiss’s face looked frozen. Eyes locked on Sarah now.

  “And how would you describe your role in that process? Because it seems to me you’re pretty much in charge every time.”

  Sarah sat back hard against the back of the sofa and watched Eva Weiss. The woman remained stone-faced. Then she slid her drink across to the centre of the table and gestured to Heinrich to get her coat with a quick wave of two fingers.

  “So. Just to be clear. Are you suggesting that I — in my position as a senior lawyer for Zakro — or my company, a major European retailer worth billions of euros — had something to do with this ridiculous man’s death?”

  “No, of course not,” said Sarah, “but with the village divided, so much at stake, I was just trying to—”

  “Trying to what? Slander me?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Oh no? I doubt you even know the definition of slander in this country. Well, I do. And I have a witness here. And a recording. Is that not right, Heinrich?”

  Heinrich nodded and tipped his tablet at Sarah before folding it back into a case and slipping it into his jacket pocket.

  So that’s why — the sycophant has been recording the whole conversation, she thought.

  Eva Weiss continued, tight-lipped, her voice low, but precise.

  “I strongly suggest you stick to your little graphic design business, my dear. Rather than throwing around slanderous accusations with no evidence to back them up.”

  Little business?

  Sarah fought back the urge to chuck her Coke across the table at this imperious woman.

  But she wasn’t finished …

  “Or better still,” she hissed. “Go home and look after your children, isn’t that what you single mums usually do in the evenings? And leave business to the grown-ups.”

  Wow.

  When backed into a corner, Eva Weiss could be something.

  Sarah was too stunned to say anything.

  The woman stood up and Heinrich handed her the coat.

  “What a complete waste of my time. I would say it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Edwards. But it hasn’t. Goodbye.”

  Sarah watched her turn and head for the door. Heinrich, after a slight bow, also pivoted on his heels and followed.

  Sarah swallowed. She realised she was actually shaking. Her face felt flushed.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit, she thought. I really messed that up.

  She glanced around the pub — had anyone else witnessed that? No, the early evening bar was still quite empty.

  Well, that was something, at least.

  What an idiot I am, she thought. Lost my cool totally. All the things I was going to ask her. The gentle lead-up, the killer questions.

  Out the window.

  All that she’d managed to do was alienate one of the key players in the mystery of Sam Lewis’s death.

  And for what — by suggesting that they killed him?

  What a crazy idea.

  How am I going to tell Jack?

  She drained the last of the Coke and ran through the meeting again.

  But then, the more she did, the more she felt better.

  Although the idea that Zakro Corp. or its lawyer might have been involved in murder was indeed preposterous, there were things that just didn’t add up.

  Eva Weiss had come to the pub with her assistant.

  She had recorded the conversation.

  She knew about Sarah’s kids.

  God.

  And those weren’t the actions of an innocent bystander.

  They were the actions of somebody — and a company — who had something to hide.

  Sarah’s detective skills had been blown out of the water — but she realised, the shaking subsiding after the Weiss-attack, that she’d come away with more than she could possibly have expected.

  Evidence perhaps that Eva Weiss and Zakro were up to no good — and feared being found out.

  The question was — just what were they up to?

  8. A New Suspect

  “Hey Sarah, don’t worry about it,” said Jack into his mobile.

  With his free hand, he opened the door of the wood-burner, tossed in another log, then went back to the sofa, and sat next to Riley.

  The Springer Spaniel grudgingly moved over to give him space.

  Though his boat — the Grey Goose — had two big leather sofas in the saloon, Jack knew that whichever one he sat on was always going to be the one Riley wanted to sit on too.

  “I should have known better, Jack,” said Sarah. “I mean — what was I thinking?”

  “No, no.
What were we thinking,” said Jack. “I’m as much to blame as you are. Hey — I’ve been doing this a long time. And you know what? In the real world, big corporations tend to avoid killing people to get their way. At least in any way they could ever be blamed.”

  “Bad for business?”

  He laughed, “Something like that. Extortion, sure. Threats. Push someone to the brink by any legal means. No problem. But homicide?”

  “And you don’t think I slandered her?”

  “Anyone else hear your apart from her employee?”

  “No.”

  “So it’s no big deal. Forget about it. Even with his ‘notes’, he’s an employee. Probably inadmissible. Just hearsay. And they wouldn’t be interested in all the press a court case would generate.”

  “Phew.”

  Jack reached down to the coffee table, lifted the heavy glass tumbler with its inch of single malt, and took a sip.

  “Now what’s that other thing you wanted to tell me?”

  He listened as Sarah told him about the recording, the fact that Eva mentioned her kids.

  “Hmm, don’t like that. But it is interesting. Sounds to me like she knows all about you.”

  “Exactly. But what does it mean?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I mean — why learn about you? Probably knows all about me as well. Covering every base.”

  “Jack, maybe this whole thing isn’t about Sam Lewis?”

  “How do you mean?” said Jack.

  “That whole council vote felt wrong — and maybe Tony thought so too …”

  “Hmm. Hang on. You think maybe he didn’t feel he could ask us straight out to investigate the council?”

  “Right. Maybe wanted us to see where things led. So he got us in to look at Sam, knowing — or hoping — we’d get inside Zakro?”

  “Wow. Could be,” said Jack.

  “So what shall we do?”

  “You got any ‘ins’ to the council?”

  “I’ve done some work for Mr. Bassett who heads one of the committees.”

  “Bassett, the funeral director? Kinda ironic, no?”

  “I’ll check him out tomorrow. What are your plans?”

  “Not sure. You’ve actually given me a lot to think about …”

  “And you do like to think things through.”

  Jack laughed. “That I do. Might head back to the Ploughman’s later. When all the farm guys start coming in. Get the skinny on Sam Lewis. If nothing else so we can move this investigation on.”

  “Okay. Catch up tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Oh and Sarah — if you get a chance — can you dig out the plans for the supermarket? Must be public record?”

  “I imagine so. I can find them online and email them over. Any particular reason?”

  “I don’t know. I just want to see how the land they’re buying fits against the Lewis farm.”

  “One of your hunches?”

  “Um, think we’ll forget my hunches for a while. Corporate killers — remember?”

  He heard Sarah laugh.

  “Okay. See you tomorrow. And thanks for the pep talk.”

  “Anytime.”

  Jack tapped off and put the phone down on the table.

  Then he turned to his dog.

  “What do you say to a bit of Tosca, Riley?”

  Riley didn’t move.

  Jack got up and went to the hi-fi.

  “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

  And he hit play and settled back on the sofa to think about the case.

  *

  The next morning, Jack got up early and took Riley for a walk in the meadows by the side of the river.

  He always woke early when a case got cloudy.

  And this one was cloudier than most. Had Tony really wanted them to investigate the council all along?

  Because the more Jack thought about it, the more he felt certain Sam Lewis’s death was suspicious.

  Surely that wasn’t a coincidence?

  He pulled his jacket tight against the chill winter wind and picked up his pace across the meadow.

  There had been a heavy frost in the night and the meadow grasses stood up white. In the summer, cattle or sheep grazed here — but as Jack turned to look back across the fields towards his own barge, not a thing moved.

  Just a trickle of smoke from the chimney of the Grey Goose where his wood burner was chugging through his pile of winter logs.

  And Riley, having the time of his life.

  He watched Riley racing through the frost, kicking up clouds of ice like he didn’t even notice the cold.

  “Come on, boy,” he called when he reached the main road, which traditionally signalled the end of the walk. “Let’s go get our breakfast.”

  And he turned and headed back towards the river.

  As he neared the Grey Goose, he saw the wheelhouse door open on the adjoining barge, and his neighbour Ray emerge, roll-up already in mouth and cup of tea in hand.

  At least, Jack assumed it was a cup of tea.

  Ray had long since rejected the notion that there was a right and a wrong time of day to drink alcohol.

  “Mornin’ Jack.”

  “Ray.”

  “Bit of a cold one.”

  “It is that.”

  “Care for one?” said Ray, holding up his mug.

  “Maybe not.”

  “Just brewed.”

  So it was tea.

  “Sure.”

  “And I got a job for you.”

  Jack thought about this. Whatever ‘job’ Ray might have for him, it would almost certainly involve some of the least salubrious members of Cherringham society.

  Even Ray referred to his mates as ‘peasants’.

  But a neighbour was a neighbour — and Ray was always there when Jack needed him.

  “Why not?” said Jack. “I’ll just drop Riley back for his breakfast and be right over.”

  He waited for Riley to finish his rabbit hunt, then took the dog back to the Goose, gave him some biscuits and water, and headed over to Ray’s for his cuppa.

  *

  “Tell yer what I think! Sam Lewis was murdered,” said Ray. “And I know who done it.”

  Jack held his tin mug of tea steady and stared at Ray across the battered Formica table of his barge’s cramped saloon.

  “That a fact, Ray?”

  “He didn’t die in no accident. But you know that, don’t you? That’s what you’re investigating.”

  Jack waited for Ray to say more.

  It never ceased to surprise him how news travelled fast around Cherringham and somehow always seemed to make its journey via Ray’s barge.

  “You know I can’t always tell you about a case I’m working on, Ray.”

  Ray grinned. “Nod’s as good as a wink, Jack.”

  Jack saw Ray wink to emphasise the statement.

  “But let’s say — I mean, for argument’s sake — I was working on Sam Lewis’s death …”

  “Hypothetical like,” Ray said with a wink.

  “Yep, hypothetical. What can you tell me?”

  Ray leaned in conspiratorially, his breath a combination of tea and whiskey.

  “You didn’t hear this from me, right Jack?”

  “Sure.”

  “What do you really know about old Sam?”

  Jack shrugged. “Bit of an old hippy. Long time green. Not the world’s most professional farmer. And no problem putting away a few drinks.”

  “Yeah, that’s Sam, right enough. But you see — Sam had a past.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Ten years ago, Sam was your go-to man round here for drugs. Sold ’em off that farm, he did. Worked for a dealer down in Bristol — Derek McEwan. And not just weed. Heavy stuff too. He was in a bad way, Sam was. And he took a lot of people down that bad road with him.”

  Jack realised that he and Sarah had failed to do their homework on the victim.

  “What happened to him?”

  “Cops got him bang to rights
. Dealing heroin. Nasty stuff, that. Should have got ten years.”

  “But he didn’t?”

  Ray raised a finger to the air, grinning. “Clever lad, our Sam. He did a deal with the fuzz — and sold the whole supply chain downriver. He cleaned himself up and got off with a two-year stretch. But Derek McEwan got fifteen — very bad one that he was.”

  Jack knew Ray was building up to the climax of his story.

  “Okay. So what’s the relevance of this now, Ray?”

  “Little bird told me last week that Derek was out. And word was that he had some ‘business’ to attend to.”

  “Sam?”

  “Could be, Jack, could be. Then Friday morning I’m filling up the motor over at the big Tesco’s in Cheltenham, and who do I see come out?”

  “Derek McEwan?”

  “Spot on. He doesn’t see me, so when he gets in his van I follow him — all the way back here to Cherringham.”

  “You see where he’s living?”

  “Close enough. He turned off the main road over at Clay Copse. Reckon he’s dossing down in the van there. I tried to warn Sam — that very Friday night! But he never got back to me.”

  Jack put his empty mug on the table. It was a possible line of enquiry — but was it just another coincidence?

  “It’s an interesting story, Ray. But from what I hear there’s no shortage of people around Cherringham had it in for Sam.”

  “Course. He was a right pain in the arse. His boars were always getting out, digging up people’s fields. So the locals hated him. He got in a right paddy about chemicals and animal cruelty and all that crap. Yeah, so the farmers hated him. He played music way too loud and he was a bit rent-a-mob. So the bloody village hated him.”

  Ray shook his head. “But I don’t think nobody ’round here would kill him. Know what I mean?”

  “And maybe this guy would?”

  “Oh sure. What I heard — not a day went by inside the nick when Derek didn’t talk about topping Sam Lewis the minute he got out. Nasty bit of work, he is.”

  “Okay, Ray. Could be something. Guessing … you told me this cause you want me to do something?”

  Again Ray leaned forward with his whisky breath. “I want you to come up river with me and we’ll find that bastid Derek McEwan and arrest him.”

  Jack laughed. “Arrest? I’m a little out of my jurisdiction, Ray.”

  Ray nodded, scrunched up his face. “A citizen’s arrest then, Jack. Me — backing ya up!”