Dead in the Water

by Matthew Costello

  “Hang on. You think someone spiked Josh’s drink?”

  “That’s one possibility,” said Sarah.

  “At the pub?” said Maddie, now thinking hard. “God. Everyone was buying rounds. Putting them on one tab. Beers just turning up on the table. The place was packed, it would have been so easy for someone to–” Then a beat. “But why?”

  Sarah pressed on.

  “How about actually buying illegal drugs round here? Is that possible – in Cherringham?”

  “Are you kidding? These days, of course it is.”

  “Where?”

  “Pubs. Up at the station on a Friday night. And there are raves – they seem to be coming back big time. Course, there are the clubs in Oxford.”

  “But what about here at the school?”

  Sarah saw Maddie pause, uncertain.

  “Guess some people think so,” she said.

  “Do you?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Did you help in the locker search the other day?”

  “Not me, no,” said Maddie, after a delay. “Tim, Josh, some of the other year heads – they did it together.”

  “But nobody found anything.”

  “Nothing. Doesn’t mean it’s not a problem. I’m sure there’s weed around – in the sixth form. And ecstasy too, probably.”

  “What about acid?”

  “Dunno,” said Maddie. “LSD? Tripping? I don’t think kids really do that round here. Maybe coke.”

  Maddie was opening up, Sarah thought.

  “You sound like you’ve got some experience of this?”

  A deep breath. “I taught for five years in London before I came here. Got to know what to look for. Saw the damage drugs can do.”

  “Okay – you know the signs. Think back to how Josh behaved.”

  Sarah saw Maddie nod.

  “You’re right,” she said. “Yeah. It makes sense now. Out of context, it didn’t occur to me. Not Josh. But yes, with that combination, I can believe it. But I know Josh wasn’t a user.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Hundred per cent.”

  Maddie seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then–

  “Why would anybody spike Josh’s drink though? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “You can’t think of anyone who had a grudge against him?”

  “No way,” said Maddie, with a catch in her voice. “Everybody loved Josh.”

  Looking at the young teacher, her eyes suddenly so bright, Sarah had a sudden insight.

  Everybody loved Josh.

  Especially you, hmm, Maddie?

  “What about the kids?” said Sarah.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well – could one of the students have done it?”

  “No, I can’t believe it. I mean – there must have been one or two who didn’t get on with him; there always are, but – spiking drinks? No.”

  “What about somebody doing it just for a laugh – you know? Kids don’t think things through sometimes.”

  “Hmm, I suppose it’s possible,” said Maddie. “How horrible if that’s what it was.”

  Sarah saw her thinking about this – her face frowning.

  “Have you remembered something?”

  “Yes. There were some kids in the pub that night. Hanging round in the streets after.”

  “Go on…”

  “The kind – you know – who might just be dumb enough to do something that stupid.”

  “Were they at the prom too?”

  “No – they’re in the year below. Different group – I think they were just taking advantage of the big crowd to get drinks.”

  “Underage?”

  Sarah saw Maddie nod. She didn’t press Maddie on why she didn’t get those kids kicked out that night.

  “Perhaps you could let Louise have the names? She and I can think about talking to them.”

  “Of course,” said Maddie.

  Sarah heard an electronic tone echo around the school.

  “I’ve got a class,” said Maddie, getting up. “Sorry.”

  “No problem,” said Sarah, getting up too. “You’ve been an amazing help.”

  “I hope so,” said Maddie, heading for the door.

  Then she turned, and Sarah saw her face, serious, worried.

  “If one of those kids did spike Josh’s drink – then that would be serious wouldn’t it?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Would it be murder?”

  “I don’t know what the exact charge would be,” she said. “But yes – it would be very serious. So not a word – yes?”

  “Of course,” said Maddie.

  Then she turned and left. Sarah waited for a few seconds then followed after, thinking.

  I hope I can trust her not to talk about this. Because if word does get out, this is one nasty hornets’ nest I have just disturbed.

  9. A Walk by the River

  Sarah drove down the school drive which led out onto the main Gloucester road.

  As she waited at the junction she noticed a burger van parked up in the lay-by further up the road, with a few cars and a couple of trucks to one side.

  And – worryingly – even from here she could see a handful of students hanging around outside it, drinking coffee and eating.

  10.30 in the morning? That allowed? she thought.

  The school sports fields ran right up to the fence behind it – easy enough for kids to sneak through.

  But that was no excuse.

  Instead of turning left into the village, she took a right and drove past, glancing quickly across.

  Yes, in amongst the truck drivers and other single males drinking tea, there was a bunch of Cherringham High students, eating, laughing, drinking.

  She drove another half mile, then found a turning and came back.

  The kids had gone.

  Morning break over, maybe?

  She drove on, making a mental note to ask Louise about it.

  Then, as she followed the road back into Cherringham she tried to switch into office mode.

  Detective, mum, web-designer…

  Who was she? All three? Sometimes she wished she could be none of the above.

  What she really wanted was to sit in her beautiful new garden and read a book.

  No, better than that: she wanted to buy a little rowing boat with cushions, yes, and a chequered blanket and float downriver with a good friend and a picnic hamper and a bottle of wine.

  Wouldn’t that be just about perfect?

  ***

  Work was a blur of emails and Photoshop, and it was nearly six before she managed to escape.

  She’d planned to leave earlier so she could get home, and set up her new home office.

  Instead, when she opened the front door of the cottage and Riley came bounding up, she remembered he hadn’t been out since morning and she was going to have to give him a good walk first.

  She looked around for any sign that the kids had been home and had gone out again, but there was nothing.

  Not unusual: this time of year, sunset so late, they often hung out with friends after school, eventually tumbling into the house when their stomachs told them it was time to eat.

  Sarah grabbed Riley’s lead, clipped it on his collar, and headed out into the warm summer’s evening.

  At first she thought she’d head west up towards Mabb’s Hill, her favourite early evening walk – and one of Riley’s favourites too.

  But then she had a thought: kill two birds with one stone, walk up to the Ploughman’s and come back the way Josh had gone on that fateful night, from the village down to the bridge.

  Work the crime scene – that’s what Jack always said, didn’t he?

  So, instead of heading north up the lane towards Cherringham Bridge Road she went northwest, across the fields.

  Most of this land was pasture. But there was no livestock in sight so she let Riley off his lead to “do his crazies” as the kids called it.

 
; Fifteen minutes later, and she had passed behind the Catholic Church and the road to Mogdon Manor, and stepped out onto the narrow pavement of Cherringham Bridge Road.

  No time now to drop into the Ploughman’s though, just a bit further up the hill.

  Be good to ask Billy the owner about the night of the death.

  Could do that later.

  For now, Sarah clipped Riley’s lead on and walked down the hill towards the bridge.

  Riley – as ever – pulled hard on his lead just as he always did when they walked near the river.

  Sarah knew that if his lead came off even for a second he would be in the water – and then he’d stink the house out for the rest of the evening.

  The sun was still high enough above the hills that Sarah could feel its warmth on her back.

  And though there was quite a bit of work traffic on the road, this walk down to the bridge was still peaceful.

  At last she could think.

  Sarah imagined Josh, weaving down the road here in the dark, crashing into the hedges, slipping on the pavement.

  She could see the river sparkling in the distance, and hear the water rushing over the weir by the bridge.

  But that night there had been a heavy mist. And Sarah knew those mists could be impenetrable.

  Had the river been Josh’s intended destination?

  Or did he just walk out of town because he felt like it?

  Maddie had heard Josh talking on the bridge – what if he wasn’t alone? Everybody seemed to be assuming he was – but what if he was with someone?

  Maybe he had a meeting arranged? Even in his drugged state…

  Or all along had he been planning to just… jump?

  As she approached the bridge, she looked instinctively upriver to where in the distance, she could just see Jack’s barge, The Grey Goose, still moored.

  Could do with you here, now, my friend, she thought.

  Riley pulled hard, wanting to cross the road; but she tweaked the lead and he fell in reluctantly behind her.

  And now she was on the bridge itself.

  Cherringham Bridge – nearly seven hundred years old in parts and still as solid as a rock.

  Worn stone arches, the Thames rushing between them, and at one side a weir where she could see the water bubbling and hurrying.

  She looked down at the parapet and leaned over.

  Josh might well have stood here, on this very spot – his hands mossy and scuffed with the climb up onto the stone.

  Sarah took a deep breath and tried to put herself into that moment.

  A few years back, a short while after she’d returned to Cherringham, an old friend of hers had drowned at this very spot.

  And she and Jack Brennan had met and become friends and solved the mystery of her murder.

  She looked downriver to where the Thames curved away out of sight.

  Her new house was just a few hundred yards past that curve, its garden reaching down to the black reedy waters.

  Did Josh’s body float past her garden that night, face upturned towards the stars?

  She shuddered and tried to dismiss the image, then turned to look across the road, and gazed upstream at Jack’s boat in the far distance.

  She wondered when – or if – her partner in crime would return.

  Been so quiet these past few weeks. No emails, no texts, nothing.

  And then Riley yelped loudly and pulled so hard on his lead that she dropped it.

  In seconds, he was across the road and racing to the far parapet, then along the pavement and slipping under the rails down to the towpath, taking the corner like a greyhound, his lead trailing.

  “Riley!” she shouted. “Riley!”

  But he was gone.

  Damn!

  She checked for cars, then crossed the road herself and rushed to the other parapet.

  Now she could see Riley already a hundred yards away, racing, flying, down the towpath towards Jack’s boat.

  “Crazy dog!” she said to nobody. “You’d better not get in that water or I’ll kill you.”

  Then she headed after him, cursing.

  Whatever is that dog up to?

  10. A Surprise

  Jack Brennan pulled at the sodden plywood until it came loose from the boat’s timbers, then threw it onto the pile of rotten wood in the corner of the engine room.

  After a year away from The Grey Goose he hadn’t expected her to be in perfect shape, but he’d never imagined her to have shipped water like this.

  A small leak on the deck of the old Dutch barge had gone unnoticed by his neighbour Ray through the winter – and this mess was the result. A flooded engine. No electricity. A hefty bill for repairs, no doubt.

  And at least a month’s work before he could put the boat on the market.

  He turned to the fuse box on the wall – he could see the wood was warped and covered in mould. The whole thing was going to have to come off.

  He picked up a wrench, opened the fuse box and got to work on the bolts.

  Then he heard a dog barking and looked up.

  Well – of course – people loved to bring their dogs out here, by the river and the boats for a good run.

  Always lots of barking. But this bark – he knew.

  Riley.

  And though he liked the idea of seeing his dog again after a year…

  Would he even remember me?

  Jack immediately had another thought.

  If that’s Riley, it means Sarah is here as well, just outside.

  Jack put down his wrench. Then he wiped his hands on an old rag, and waited, listening to the sounds that were now drifting in from outside The Grey Goose.

  Riley’s bark had grown louder.

  Just outside.

  Then – on the deck.

  And with a bunch of feelings that he really didn’t have a handle on, Jack walked up the staircase out of the boat’s engine room.

  ***

  As soon as Jack emerged into the summer twilight, Riley – who was literally spinning in circles, eyes locked on Jack – came bounding to him.

  The hit – Riley flying in the air, right at his master – sent Jack tumbling backwards.

  Riley – crazed, licking, yelping. Like a kid whose dad had come home after so many years.

  “Easy, boy. Easy.”

  Jack gave the dog’s head a tousle and then he looked out to the ramp of the boat, then to the path beside that ramp, to see… Sarah.

  Standing there.

  And her face?

  Not pleased, Jack thought. Stunned maybe.

  And Jack began to think the decision he had made – regarding this sudden return, regarding Sarah – had to be among the worst he’d ever made.

  Riley still went this way and that around Jack’s feet as he began to walk to the ramp. To look at Sarah, the rich, golden sun low in the horizon hitting her face.

  What to say? he thought.

  And the best he could muster was:

  “Sarah… hi.”

  ***

  And when she didn’t come up the ramp, Jack went down, a dizzy Riley following.

  He cleared his throat. “I imagine you were taking Riley for a walk. Shall we walk? Talk?”

  A nod.

  It was hitting him hard that Sarah wasn’t talking.

  So he took a step onto the path that led along the river, then curved towards the meadows and the narrow lanes that ran past nearby farms.

  He let a few seconds go by; the discomfort he was feeling, immense.

  “Guess you’re wondering why I’m here–”

  She stopped. Turned.

  Looked right at him.

  A year had gone by. But this wasn’t the Sarah he knew. Had she changed that much?

  Something sure had.

  “No. What I’m wondering, Jack–” again, a coldness that was entirely new – and horrible – “is how you could come back here – I imagine, from the looks of things you’ve been back for a bit–?”

  “Ju
st a day. Last night, and–”

  “And you never told me you were coming back? I mean, am I missing something or weren’t we friends? Maybe, with all our work together – partners? And you can’t send a simple email, a bloody text, and–”

  “Hey, hey, hang on. Can I explain?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  And Jack knew that Sarah wasn’t an eye roller.

  It was that bad.

  “Go on.”

  He resumed walking.

  Maybe the gentle breeze, the last bit of warmth, the sun still barely up could make this easier.

  But he wasn’t at all sure about that.

  ***

  So he told her about his daughter’s accident – in more detail than in his emails. The event that had forced him to leave Cherringham over a year ago.

  How his daughter and her husband nearly died.

  And their sweet little Ada – his grandchild – was miraculously unharmed in her amazing car seat.

  And while he spoke, Sarah softened some, asking questions about the recovery, about how his daughter and her husband were doing now.

  Until he had reached a point in the story where he couldn’t delay it any more.

  “So then, I eventually made a decision.”

  She nodded. Not seeing at all what was coming.

  She said: “To come back?”

  Jack hesitated, turning his eyes away from her, looking toward the ancient church across the river, its windows now catching that last sliver of sun.

  “No.”

  Another breath.

  He could easily spend hours interrogating the tightest criminals Manhattan could serve up.

  Piece of cake compared to this.

  “My daughter, my granddaughter. In LA. And I started to think, you know–” now he looked at her, “that maybe that’s where my life was. That this: beautiful Cherringham; my boat; even what we had been doing together… Well, maybe my real life was with my family back in the United States.”

  He expected another comment, perhaps a bit more anger.

  But instead, Sarah – good, wise Sarah – said: “I understand. They are your family. And they’re so far away.”

  Jack smiled.

  “Tell me about it. You know how long it takes to fly from LA to London? Too long.”

  And Sarah smiled back at that.

  Then, the old ruined church – so many memories – just across the water, she stopped.