This woman clearly not schooled in police interviews — did she realise what she was saying, how much she was already giving away?
Interfering? Interfering with … what?
Sarah could just hear a whispered voice from somewhere inside the house: was that Archie himself giving instructions?
“Archie — I can hear you,” said Sarah into the gap in the door. “Why don’t you just come out here — and talk to me?”
“You can’t treat us like this,” said the woman. “Go away or I’ll … I’ll …”
“You’ll do what? Call the police? I doubt that—”
But with that the woman slammed the door.
Sarah stared at the door for a few seconds, memorising the woman’s words — then she headed back to her car and sat absorbing the implications.
It was pretty clear: whatever had happened to Bernard Mandeville — Archie was somehow caught up in it.
But how?
And why would an unassuming railway volunteer get himself involved in a kidnap?
It had to be for money …
She took her phone out of her handbag and texted Jack.
Dinner at my place? Got lots to tell!
For once — from Jack — an instant reply: Me too! See you there.
Then, just as she was about to put her phone away, it rang.
*
“Grace. Everything okay?”
“All good, Sarah. In fact — very good.”
“Branscombe Farm Shop? They went for it?”
“Yep, the whole deal!”
“Awesome! Well done, Grace!”
“Well done us! Teamwork. You coming by the office?”
“Um, dunno. Getting late. Might go straight home. Any messages?”
“This guy called Tim rang, said he had something to tell you. Wasn’t sure if it was important or not. I gave him your number — hope that was okay?”
“Tim from the station? Yep, that’s fine.”
“Great. Oh and that other thing …”
Sarah remembered — she’d asked Grace to help on the case.
“You got something?”
“The mysterious Signora Grisoni? I rang every hotel in the area. And guess what? Lucked out. A Sofia Grisoni stayed at the Bell — right here in Cherringham — last Saturday. One night.”
“Fantastic!”
“There’s more—”
“She’s stayed there before?”
“You got it. Every Saturday for the last six weeks.”
Sarah felt a chill go through her. Things were coming together. Threads were becoming real leads.
Though still no clue where they led.
“Wow! Terrific — well done again, Grace!”
“I’ve got details, too.”
“How did you—?”
“Remember my pal Tracy?”
“Tracy — as in Tracy your future bridesmaid?”
“That’s the one. She’s just got a part-time gig on the hotel reception — and I can tell you, she doesn’t miss a thing. Got a description, home address, bank details …”
“Grace, you’re a star.”
“This detective game — it’s all about who you know, Sarah!”
“Ha, don’t I know it! Text me the details, will you?”
“I’m on it. Good luck — and see you tomorrow morning.”
“Night, love,” said Sarah, putting her phone down.
Amazing Grace!
Though Sarah had a twinge of concern. All that — surely not legal. And although she was used to bending the rules — this time she had involved Grace …
She checked the time.
Branscombe Farm Shop might still be open: just time to pop in there, grab something special to cook and a bottle of local wine — and then supper with Jack and Daniel.
And a whole ton of catching up.
She turned the car round, and drove back into Cherringham, excited and buzzing with the thought of the evening ahead.
Finally — with this impossible case — things maybe beginning to fall into place.
12. Suspicious Activity
Jack walked into Sarah’s hallway and then followed her into the small sitting room.
It couldn’t have looked cosier. Fire fully ablaze in the fireplace, and — on an end table — a serving tray with a silver shaker, small bucket of ice, and two long-stemmed martini glasses, each with a perfect curlicue of lemon dangling from the lip of each glass.
“I thought,” she said, “we’d chat in here before dinner. Compare notes.”
“Good idea,” Jack said. Taking one of the matching chairs facing the fire. “Otherwise, we’ll have Daniel becoming a member of our team.”
“Speaking of which, I already have Grace doing way too much.”
“Bet she loves it!”
“She does,” said Sarah. “But Jack — I do get edgy when she crosses the legal line sometimes.”
“Tricky thing to control,” said Jack.
Sarah’s concern for her young business partner didn’t surprise him. “I’m sure you’re on top of it.”
“I hope so.” Then she gestured to the shaker. “Want to do the honours?”
And Jack, reached over and grabbed the chilled container filled with ice and vodka, and shook it as hard as he could.
“Such a great sound, hmm?” he said.
“Certainly signals the end of the day.”
“Precisely.”
Jack handed Sarah a glass and, with both glasses catching the warm yellow and red of the fire, they clinked.
“To finding Bernard Mandeville,” said Sarah.
*
After those first icy sips, Jack opened his notebook, and Sarah did the same.
“So,” he said, “the doctor visit. Anything worthwhile?”
“I’ll say. Though it took some pressure. Doctors these days don’t like bending the rules.”
“I noticed. And …?”
“Finch told me he’d been taking care of Bernard on a regular basis for years. And, while he had the normal issues for someone ageing, nothing really dramatic.”
“Not the feeble man that everyone saw take the train each Sunday?”
“Exactly. But then about a year ago his family became dissatisfied, they—”
And Sarah stopped.
Because she had seen Jack smile at that line.
“Hang on — something funny there?”
“Um … wait till it’s my turn,” said Jack. “Carry on.”
Perhaps, she thought, this was going to be an evening of surprises.
“So, they sacked Finch, and brought in this doctor from London.”
“McTavish.”
“And he’s been the one handling his care ever since.”
Jack nodded.
“But get this — McTavish’s web site is ages old, goes on forever about holistic medicine and cures. And when I called the office number, it went straight to voice mail. No message. Just a beep. Suspicious, don’t you think?”
Which is when Jack nodded. “Yup. And to add to that suspicion … wait till you hear what ‘the butler’ had to say.”
“Go on. You think he’s involved in whatever this is?”
“Not sure about that. He and his daughter certainly act suspicious. But get this, also after some not so gentle prodding, Seddon let something rather interesting slip.”
Then Jack took a sip of his martini, perhaps enjoying the suspense he was creating.
“Turns out, the three children? Bernard’s ‘family’ …?”
“Yes?”
“Not his. All three, offspring of his second wife.”
“Really?”
She picked up her glass.
This was something worth thinking about.
“Wow. That is suspicious. They didn’t breathe a word!”
“I know. All this talk of ‘Daddy’. When they were just step-kids.”
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire, the wood popping and hi
ssing, as the flames lapped upwards.
Then: “But, Jack, here’s the thing. They came to us for help. Asked us to find out what might have happened. So, for them to have done something …”
“I know. Doesn’t make sense.”
“And the doctor? Could be they just didn’t have confidence in Finch?”
“Could be.”
And Sarah knew from the tone in his voice that Jack didn’t buy that.
She stood up.
“Lot to think about.”
“Yup — and still, not really any further along solving the impossible.”
“How about I throw the pasta in the water, get the Bolognese on the table? Care to help?”
“Always!”
“While I’m doing that — I’ll tell you how what happened when I went round to Archie Reynolds’s house.”
“He say much?”
“No. But in a funny way, his wife did …”
And as she walked out to the kitchen, Jack followed. Daniel would join them soon, and then talk of their vanishing gentleman would have to be put on hold.
*
Sarah watched Jack slice the thick country loaf, taking care with the serrated knife. The crust, a thick brown, sent crispy shards flying onto the cutting board.
“You got this bread here?” he said.
“Yes, at the new farm shop we just signed. The place is amazing.”
Sarah meanwhile used tongs to pull out the bucatini, and pile it high in a large Delft bowl decorated with a dark blue rabbit.
“They make everything themselves, right there. That loaf, this pasta, the Bolognese sauce — and Jack, you really should see their steaks.”
She ladled the thick sauce atop the steaming pasta, while Jack brought the slices of bread over just as Daniel popped in.
“Hey, Daniel,” Jack said.
“Hi, Jack,” Daniel nodded.
There was a time when Sarah’s son was bursting with endless questions for the NYPD detective. But these days … it seemed his phone screen held his attention rather firmly.
And whoever was on the other end of his texts.
“Daniel …” Sarah said. “Screens? Dinner?”
He nodded as he literally hopped into his seat, sliding his phone away.
All that energy, she thought. Teenagers … positively explosive.
“Mum — Sam just texted. And guess what his whole family is doing over the holidays?”
Sarah watched the boy look from her to Jack as if playing a kid’s game.
Only in this game, he didn’t wait for an answer.
“They’re all going to New York! New York! We should do that.”
Jack turned and smiled at Sarah.
She took her time. Daniel dreamed of visiting the city he knew so well from films and TV …
… and from Jack.
But her son also knew it could be tough being a single mum, stretching those pounds.
But she said: “Maybe, sometime soon, Daniel. Work’s been hectic.”
“Well, if you do that, I think I’d better come along,” Jack said. “Been a while since I’ve been back. And you’d have the best tour guide.”
Sarah could see that all this talk of a big city trip in their future had Daniel psyched, as the kids said. But he had wasted no time to dig into the Bolognese.
“Mum — this sauce you bought is — great! Even better than—” Her son caught himself. “Um — almost as good as yours!”
And Sarah laughed.
“Told you, Jack, this new farm store, is really—”
Which is when her phone rang.
Normally she’d ignore it.
People can leave messages.
But being in the middle of a case, she raised a hand.
“Let me just check …”
She slid her phone out of her front pocket.
On the screen, she knew the name.
Tim Waite.
Said he’d call …
And she pressed the green button as she stood up from the table.
13. Lights Out
Jack watched Sarah move close to the stove. And while twirling forkfuls of the pasta — it was indeed pretty terrific — he watched Sarah on the phone, and listened.
“Tim. Yes. No, it’s quite all right. Just … dinner …”
Then quiet, as she listened.
“Uh-huh. Right. On the return, you say?”
Jack saw Sarah fire a look at her.
“Exactly when?”
Another pause.
“Right. Okay. That is … interesting. It might mean nothing. But thank you. Really. Yes … and good night.”
And Sarah, her eyes now wide, slid the phone back into her jeans and came back to the table.
She resumed her pasta twirling.
Until Jack said: “And that was?”
Jack saw her look at Daniel, hesitating.
“Tim Waite.”
Jack nodded.
Of course, they had told him — and old Reg Syms — to call if anything occurred. And now he guessed … something had.
And Jack assumed that Sarah was being a little hesitant around Daniel. But then he saw her put down her fork, take a sip of the Brunello, and shake her head.
*
“He said — well, it just occurred to him — that on the return trip, just as the train was about to hit Winsham Tunnel, the train lights went off.”
“What?”
“Tim said he didn’t think it was important. They were only off for a few minutes. Came on again after the tunnel.”
Jack looked over at Daniel. Normally, they’d have a conversation like this without her son all ears.
But with the call just happening … bit late to lock that door.
“Guess,” Jack said thinking it over for a moment, “that it may not be important. Imagine train lights can flicker on and off, and it was daylight. I mean—”
He turned and looked right at Sarah as though he might be missing something.
“—what difference would it make?”
But it wasn’t Sarah who had something to add.
But her son …
“No difference at all, Jack. Unless you were in Winsham Tunnel.”
At that, Jack turned to the boy, who was looking more like a man every day … taller than his mother.
“What do you mean?” Sarah said.
“With no lights? Well, can you imagine? And that old tunnel — wow — it goes on forever!”
That gave Sarah pause.
“And you know this … how?”
On Daniel’s face, Jack could see that the boy had been caught in an inadvertent trap.
“Um, well, I just—”
With the full bore of his mother looking right at him, he told the truth.
“A while back, a few of my mates … we thought we’d walk it. It’s one of the longest train tunnels in the south of England. Was kinda cool.”
Daniel grew more animated, perhaps — Jack thought — in the hope he was selling the logic of the clearly dangerous thing they did.
“You forgot to tell me about that little adventure,” Sarah said flatly.
But then, she turned back to Jack.
“Daniel’s right. You remember when we went through? Without the lights — it would be pitch dark.”
Jack nodded, still thinking, and at the same time, absolutely sure that they were missing something.
“But … So what? We saw the compartment, the windows. Don’t see how anyone could actually get off a moving train. And those tunnel walls only inches away, no place—”
“But, Jack,” Daniel said, chiming in again. “That’s just it. When we walked through the tunnel, we saw it has those … things … kind of doorways? Every hundred yards or so. Like openings. I guess workers used them to store things or something. But they were all empty when we were there.”
Jack looked away.
For a moment, neither Daniel or Sarah said a word.
All of them thinking about that tun
nel, the lights out, the train roaring through — and the missing Bernard Mandeville.
*
Sarah waited.
She wasn’t sure what this all could mean, but the pieces were falling together: lights out, the dark tunnel, the alcoves Daniel described …
Somehow, it all seemed important.
And surely not a coincidence.
Then Jack shook his head and grinned.
And while she didn’t know what he was about to say, from that look, she knew it might be interesting.
And if they were lucky, important.
“Guess — not that I approve of such things — there’s only one thing to do.”
And Sarah imagined that he knew what he was going to say.
“We need walk through that tunnel too.”
“You think they’ll let us?” said Sarah.
“Maybe,” said Jack. “Though it might take a day or two to organise, I imagine. However …”
“What?”
“If the tunnel is connected to what happened to Bernard — we don’t want to alert anyone that we’re going looking.”
Sarah nodded. “So — you mean we just do it? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”
“Those trains only run every hour or so. We plan it right, we’ll be okay.”
She saw that Daniel sported a big grin. His mother plotting to perform the same illegal activity that he had.
“Whatcha think?” Jack said.
Sarah knew that Daniel had his eyes locked on her. But she nodded slowly.
“Yes. You’re right.” Then she turned to Daniel. “But Daniel — not a word to anyone. Clear? Deal?”
And Daniel nodded. While as a teenager he could — with increasing regularity — push back against her parental restrictions, she knew that she could take him at his word.
He was that kind of kid.
Jack stood up.
“Agreed then. Tomorrow. Early, hmm? I’ll check the schedules, you pick me up on the way … and in we go.”
Then he turned to Daniel who may have just provided them with a very important but of information.
“As for now … dish duty for us, right Daniel?”
And the boy popped up and began helping Jack gather up the dishes … the utensils … the bowl of what was left of the tasty pasta.
While Sarah sat, enjoying the last of the wine, and thinking about that long, dark tunnel.
Cherringham--The Gentleman Vanishes Page 8