Cherringham--Murder Most Wild

by Neil Richards

  “Guess this all took quite a lot of time, huh?”

  “Mine and Grace’s,” said Sarah.

  “It was good work.”

  “And it wasn’t wasted …”

  Jack saw her smile — and he’d seen that look before.

  “Oh? You found something else, huh?”

  He watched as she went to her briefcase and took out a small ring file.

  “Paper,” said Jack. “Old school.”

  She handed a single sheet to him and he read down.

  “Before I left the office tonight — just out of interest — I went online to see what I could find at Companies House about our friend Mr. Sloane. I printed out the results.”

  Jack looked at the sheet: it was a list of companies — and the addresses of their main offices.

  “Twenty companies,” said Sarah. “All specialising in commercial construction or associated trades. All founded in the last ten years. Spread around the UK. All located in towns and cities where Zakro have opened supermarkets.”

  She handed him a second sheet of paper from her file.

  “These are the names of the founding directors.”

  Then another sheet.

  “And these are the headline accounts for those companies in the years that Zakro’s supermarkets opened.”

  Jack carried on reading.

  “You seeing what I saw, Jack?”

  Jack put down the papers.

  “Hard to miss it,” he said.

  “Adrian Sloane set up every single company.”

  “Guy certainly gets around.”

  “And each one begins to turn over millions when Zakro arrive on the scene.”

  “Isn’t that quite the coincidence?”

  “But here’s the really interesting part, Jack. I got to look at all of Sloane’s bids. He offers a fixed-price on every one.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He brings the job in at the agreed price, no matter what happens.”

  “Hmm. He eats any overages …?”

  “Exactly. And if he can get it well under budget, then he rakes in a big profit.”

  “All seems pretty clear to me,” said Jack. “Sloane has used shell companies to make money out of every Zakro build.”

  “And he’s made a tidy sum out of it.”

  “Which — I dunno — he should have declared to Cherringham Council — right?” said Jack.

  “I’m sure. Conflict of interest — big-time!” She took a breath. “Jack, I think this is the ‘smoking gun’.”

  “It is,” said Jack. “Not the one we were looking for, mind.”

  “But maybe the one Tony wanted?”

  “Guess so. I’m only surprised he didn’t tell us this was what he was after from the word go.”

  “I don’t think he could, Jack,” said Sarah. “Not good form for a councillor to ask detectives to investigate the other councillors.”

  “Putting it like that — I can understand.”

  “I only wish we could have nailed Eva Weiss with a murder charge — I was looking forward to seeing that face eating lemons …”

  “Like I said before, not sure companies really go round committing murder.”

  “Sam’s death was just an accident all along,” said Sarah.

  “Ah, well,” said Jack. “That’s what I was beginning to think. But—”

  “You said you’d found something up river …”

  “That’s right. Ray and I went on a little boat trip this afternoon — and guess what we found? Or rather, who we found.”

  And he told Sarah about the ex-con in the woods.

  12. Fire in the Night

  Jack knew it was a dream.

  Still — so vivid. Dreaming he was rowing a little boat down the river, but not the Thames, the East River back in New York City.

  Then — in the dream — he heard his mobile rang.

  But it was for real.

  After years of sudden night-time calls, he acted on instinct. Hand reached out to put on the bedside light.

  Quick check of his wristwatch — one in the morning.

  Jeez.

  Riley was already up on the bed, wondering what was going on. Jack patted him.

  “It’s okay Riley. Sit.”

  Then he grabbed the phone, saw it was Sarah, slid to answer.

  “Jack.”

  She never asked you awake? He liked that about her.

  “What’s up?”

  “Just had a call from Grace. You know she lives up by the station? She says there’s a big fire in the industrial estate. She can see it from her flat. A builder’s yard’s gone up.”

  Jack was already working it out. “Let me guess, Sloane’s place, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “Not as far as I know. More engines coming from Oxford.”

  He stood up and looked around for his clothes.

  “I’m going up there now.”

  “Pick me up will you?”

  “Sure. See you in twenty.”

  He tapped the phone off and started to get dressed.

  Riley stood up on the bed, excited.

  “Sorry pal,” said Jack. “I’m heading out. But you’re going to have to stay here. This isn’t going to be a walk in the park.”

  And he headed for the galley to make himself a quick instant coffee.

  *

  Sarah saw Jack’s little sports car pull up at her gate and she zipped up her coat then stepped out and quietly shut the door behind her.

  She’d popped into her daughter’s room to tell her where she was going. Chloe had grown used to Sarah’s occasional midnight detective alarms, and she’d just grunted, turned over, and gone back to sleep.

  And then she had stuck her head into Daniel’s room. Fast asleep — no need to tell him that Chloe was in charge.

  Sarah shivered — it was so cold — then headed down the path and quickly climbed into Jack’s car.

  As soon as she had the belt on, Jack pulled away, the Sprite’s tail slipping a bit on the icy road.

  “Station huh?” said Jack.

  “Station Road. Past the block of flats.”

  “I know it.”

  Within a minute they were on the High Street.

  Sarah looked at all the unlit Christmas decorations hanging from one side of the street to the other.

  Cherringham was deserted. Not a soul out at this time on an icy winter’s morning.

  They drove in silence.

  Both of us thinking what this might mean, Sarah guessed.

  But as they turned towards the station, she could see a glow in the sky ahead and the flicker of blue lights.

  “Looks big,” said Jack.

  Then he pointed to an empty parking space outside the Railway Arms. “This should do.”

  He turned the car round in the empty street then backed into the parking space and turned the engine off.

  She’d noticed him do this before. Like a ritual. Or was it a habit?

  Ready for a quick getaway, she thought, as she climbed out of the car.

  He got out as well, and together they walked down Station Road towards Cherringham’s little industrial estate, past fire engines and police cars.

  In the dark, nobody challenged them and they were able to slip through the hurrying firemen and policemen and get close to the fire.

  They huddled together in a corner opposite the entrance to Sloane’s yard. Even there, twenty yards from the gate, Sarah could feel the fiery heat on her face.

  Inside the yard, she could see a two-storey trailer burning hard and — almost hidden behind a fierce cloud of flame and smoke — stacks of building material, much of it already on fire.

  A blizzard of sparks blew everywhere around them. Black, bitter smoke spewed from a stack of tyres.

  Three fire engines stood just outside the yard, ladders extended. Firemen with hoses edged close on all sides towards the fire, spraying great arcs of water into the blistering fire.
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  “A coincidence?” said Sarah. “A fire — now?”

  “Just what I was thinking.”

  “But who could have started it? Demonstrators?”

  She saw him shrug.

  “Could be,” he said. “Like Tony said — lot of people use a thing like this to settle old scores.”

  Sarah stared at the fire.

  She and Jack had decided not to bother Tony with their discoveries last night — and had planned to take all the evidence over to his office in the morning.

  But were events already making that visit redundant?

  “You’re going to have to move back please—”

  Sarah turned.

  A fireman, breathing mask pushed back from his blackened face was approaching fast, arms spread wide in his bulky uniform, ready to move them both on.

  She recognised him as one of the young crew from the local station — Gary.

  The firefighters were a good lot — and Gary had helped Jack and Sarah out before.

  Unofficially.

  “Gary,” she said.

  “Sarah. Jack. What the heck are you two doing here?” said the fireman. “Now listen, this whole area isn’t safe. There’s gas canisters in there; could go off. I don’t know what you’re up to, but you can’t do it here.”

  He led them quickly back towards Station Road, ushering them past police and more senior fire crew.

  “I hope there’s nobody injured Gary,” said Jack.

  “Lucky it happened this time of night — whole estate’s empty,” said Gary.

  “You think it was accidental?” said Sarah.

  “Not for me to say. A team will investigate.”

  “Don’t suppose the boss has been down yet?” said Jack.

  Sarah saw Gary stop now and look at both of them hard.

  “Hang on a minute,” he said. “All the questions. You on a case?”

  “Something like that,” said Sarah.

  She watched him weigh up what he was going to say next.

  “Sure. Mr. Sloane was just giving us a list of all the combustibles. Where to watch our step. Not too happy.”

  “Who would be.”

  “We’d hardly got the hoses out when he turned up. Came flying round that corner in his big car, he did. Jumps out, swearing, cursing all over the shop. We had to move him back — thought he was going to lay into us, we did.”

  “Can’t blame the guy,” said Jack. “Seeing his place burning like that.”

  “Sure,” said Gary. “Lots of people, see their place in flames — they lose it, don’t they? But see, here’s the thing. Sloane wasn’t even pretending it was an accident.”

  Sarah waited — she caught Jack’s eye, the light from the flames even here flickering on his face.

  “What did he say, Gary?” said Jack.

  “Grabbed my chief — actually grabbed him — and asked him straight out — quote — did you catch the bastard? Where is he?”

  “He wasn’t surprised by the fire?” said Jack.

  “Almost like he’d been expecting it,” said Gary.

  “And what happened then?” said Sarah.

  “He said he was going to find the bastard — and kill him.”

  “No name?” said Sarah.

  Then Sarah saw movement to the left, in the parking area by the site.

  “Wait. Isn’t that Sloane?”

  She pointed to the lot, and Sloane, as he ran, picking up the fiery glow, heading towards an over-sized black car. “Jack do you see—”

  “That’s Sloane? What’s he doing?”

  Then — as they watched — Sloane got into the car, backed up fast, sending a cloud of dirt and gravel flying backwards.

  She turned to Jack. “He’s … leaving?”

  Jack nodded. “And wherever he’s going — to leave this –it has to be important. Come on!”

  Sarah nodded to Gary, the fireman looking from Sloane’s car crazily racing away then back to her and Jack, hurrying to his Sprite.

  “Good luck,” said Gary, and he turned and headed back to the fire.

  Sarah ran to keep up with Jack, heading back to the car, jumping in as fast as he could. She climbed in fast as well.

  Thinking: I’m as confused as Gary!

  “Seat belt on?” Jack said, firing up the engine.

  She nodded.

  Jack spun the wheel and the Sprite roared off down the road into Cherringham.

  13. Clear as Mud

  Jack drove as fast as he could.

  So much so, Sarah reached out and touched his wrist.

  “Jack — pretty fast. Why are we chasing after Sloane?”

  Then Jack did something that was certainly atypical; he hit the steering wheel, and shook his head.

  He turned to her.

  “Because — we better see where he’s going. His Zakro deal going south? Now this fire?” Jack took a breath. “Anything could happen — and he sure the hell is going somewhere fast.”

  A few hours earlier they’d thought that this ‘case’ was no case at all. Nothing but dead ends.

  Now this late night chase?

  I'm missing something, Sarah thought.

  Big time.

  “I’m not following …” she said.

  “Look, I don't know what Sloane’s doing now. But I missed something. The connection. And you — well, you found out all that information, about Sloane, about Zakro. Important stuff. And I just didn’t put two and two together.”

  “And Sloane is going …?”

  “We’re about to find out.”

  Jack took a tight curve, again fast, the narrow road deserted at this time of night. But Sarah still felt her stomach tighten.

  They were well behind the fancy black car racing through the winding roads heading down towards the river — but Sarah could see its brilliant taillights snaking through the dark ahead.

  Sarah turned to him. The bleak road stretched straight ahead, towards Ingleston Church, and rocky lane …

  A turn, the medieval church on the left.

  To Sam Lewis’s farm?

  Why there?

  She sure hoped Jack didn’t take that pitted road this fast. The rocks and ruts would rip his Sprite apart.

  “He’s going to the farm,” she said the words slowly. “Why there?”

  Jack turned and looked at her. “Could make a lot of guesses, Sarah. But I bet we’re about to find out real soon.”

  “Did Sloane have something to do with Sam Lewis? His death … his murder?”

  For a moment, Jack sat quietly, navigating the bumpy road.

  “Don’t know. But he had the most at stake.”

  Jack turned the Sprite onto the road to the farm.

  If he was right, answers lay ahead, Sarah thought.

  But maybe more than simply answers …

  *

  After the bumpy ride to the farm, Jack hit the brakes, and Sarah had to reach out to the dashboard, the stop so abrupt. The Sprite slid a few feet in the muck.

  And in the headlights, she saw Sloane with another man, both just inside the barn.

  The thin man — now she realised, the man who had raced after Sloane in the High Street.

  “Joel?” she said.

  “Yes,” said Jack. “That’s him.”

  “But why?”

  But Jack had already popped open his door, and was out of the car.

  Sarah followed.

  Forewarned about the mud, she ignored it when her trainers sank to her ankles as soon as she stepped out.

  And the mud only got deeper as she hurried to keep up with Jack.

  She saw that Sloane — who had merely given them a sidelong glance — held Joel by the collar, the scrawny man’s splattered winter coat held tight at the neck.

  Sloane rattled him around like he was a marionette.

  And then, just a few feet away, Sloane — still holding the rattling Joel in one hand — slammed a fist into the scrawny man’s face.

  Once — then again, and ag
ain.

  The third blow of such force that it kicked Joel free of Sloane’s neck grip, sending him tumbling backwards into a mound of mud that seemed to swallow him whole.

  Which is when Jack said, at a volume, with a force Sarah didn’t think she ever form heard, “That will be enough, Sloane!”

  Sloane, standing above a curled-up Joel who still hadn’t attempted to scramble to his feet, turned to Jack, and said words that Sarah knew would not go down well at all.

  “Enough? Says bloody who?”

  *

  Jack stood only a few feet from Joel and Sloane.

  He heard the grunts of the boars in the background, clearly agitated by Sloane’s bellows, Joel’s yelps. Maybe sensing the violence.

  Maybe even smelling the blood that Sloane’s smash to Joel’s face had summoned.

  “Back off, Sloane. Now.”

  And at that moment, as if sensing an opportunity, Jack watched as Joel pressed on the mud with his arms, legs splayed, and started to rise out of the mud pile like some kind of monster.

  Jack knew that all of Sloane’s attention was on him.

  I'm no young cop anymore, racing after bad guys, going toe-to-toe with them. That was quite a few years ago, Jack thought, while he took measure of the man in front of him.

  And Sloane — he was a bull of a man, with a body some might think — incorrectly — was fat, while it was actually densely packed muscle, honed by years of building, working his way up and into an office, into ownership, but still keeping taut, fit.

  Both fists were balled as Sloane took a step towards Jack.

  Joel had finally stood up and then stood there, a mud being, not running away.

  That was interesting.

  Why wasn't he bolting?

  “You’ve done enough to him.”

  Another step, and Sloane was inches from Jack’s face.

  “Oh yeah? You mean did enough to this stupid bastid?”

  One fist unfurled, and Sloane aimed a finger at Joel.

  “He killed his brother, the stupid sod. And thinking I’d bloody pay him for it — pay him for murder! And when I didn’t? Set my building on fire.”

  The headlights behind Jack meant that he could see Sloane clearly, and despite the mud, Joel as well, while he remained a dark shadow to them.

  Joel then started violently shaking his head back and forth, more with each word Sloane uttered.

  “No, no — I didn’t set no fire. Swear to god. Must’ve been them protesters.”