The Body in the Woods

by Neil Richards

  He looked around. The river silent. The waning moon not up yet.

  So dark, just the glow of the village in the distance, the air turning a bit cool, dew falling before what was — they said — going to be another hot day tomorrow.

  He walked down the creaky plank to the boat. Soon Riley would get a late-evening run, startling fireflies and kicking up a dew-filled spray as he raced through the grass, just enjoying a perfect night for man and dog.

  ***

  Sarah looked up from the Moleskine notebook with its tidy page of entries made by her daughter, Chloe, who sat facing her in the kitchen.

  Sarah had already looked over it once: Chloe’s packing list for her upcoming Interrail trip with her girlfriends from school.

  A grand tour of Europe’s capital cities — Paris, Brussels, Amsterdam, Berlin, Prague.

  Chloe had sold the idea as an “amazing cultural experience”.

  But Sarah knew full well what this trip would also involve …

  Clubs, bars, adventures, boys …

  And a lot of sleepless nights for Mum back home, worrying what Chloe was getting up to.

  But her daughter was eighteen, and Sarah knew the words “I’m not letting you do it” were just not going to cut it any more.

  Instead, she’d got as involved in as much of the planning as Chloe would allow — making sure that phones, money, emergency plans, and addresses were all checked and double checked before she left.

  Sarah had been a few years older when she did her own first madcap trip to the Greek islands and she had to admit she was envious of Chloe’s upcoming two weeks of freedom.

  And though she was happy to see her daughter taking this big — and hopefully responsible — step, it reminded her that Chloe was growing up so fast. Daniel, too, was right on her heels.

  Chloe, off to Uni in the autumn. Daniel, already chomping at the bit.

  And then …?

  Sarah had to admit to wondering what things would be like then. Having been the heroic single mum for so long (with the occasional visit of their dad), a big part of her life had been all about the kids.

  And this summer, straight after the carnival, Daniel was also off, for a two-week stay with his dad in London.

  Dad and his new wife.

  Nice enough woman … I suppose … she thought.

  Her old feelings about what had happened didn’t die easily. The sting of a cheating spouse never fades, she thought …

  “So, Mum, what do you think? All looking good, yeah?”

  Good? It all looked great.

  She looked up and smiled at Chloe.

  “I think you have more than enough clothes there, Chloe.”

  “Still reckon I need another pair of jeans …”

  Sarah laughed. “I know that feeling, but remember you’ve only got the one bag, love!”

  Chloe looked worried.

  As Sarah looked at her daughter, she realised how much she was going to miss her — despite their recent tricky moments. Not just in the summer weeks ahead, but in the years to come.

  Having a kid. Made one so … vulnerable.

  “Okay, then.” Impulsively she reached out and closed a hand on Chloe’s. “So glad you’ll be back in time for the carnival.”

  Chloe smiled and nodded back. The carnival probably seemed like such a “villagey” thing. So small, when the whole world beckoned.

  Still, she imagined Chloe and her friends would enjoy it all. Maybe their last summer just being kids.

  “I hear,” Chloe said, getting up from the big kitchen table, “that the ‘eats’ this year will be especially good.”

  “Hot dogs!” Sarah said laughing. “I think we know who to blame for that. Poor Jack. He told me he was expecting clam chowder and chilli, not junk food.”

  And with that, Chloe left the kitchen.

  And, for a moment, Sarah just sat there looking at the plates and the dishwasher. Debating …

  Do an hour’s work first, then clear up? she thought. Or clear up first?

  But before she could decide, her phone buzzed. She looked at the screen, wondering who could be calling at this hour.

  Will Goodchild?

  Strange. Will was an old friend of her father’s, but apart from the occasional family Sunday lunch she rarely met him.

  He certainly wasn’t somebody who made social calls.

  She tapped the screen.

  “Will?”

  “Ah, Sarah.”

  Sarah got up from the table and went to the French windows, wide open onto the garden in the warm evening air.

  Silence from the other end.

  “Everything all right, Will?”

  “Hmm, yes. Well, no. Not really.”

  “Oh dear,” she said. “I’m sorry to hear that …”

  More silence. Sarah waited, wondering why Will had called her.

  “I’ve only just got home, you see, and I had to talk to somebody. I was going to call your father, then I remembered — of course — that he and your mother are—”

  Will’s voice sounded wobbly.

  Whatever was up?

  “It’s just — I don’t know what to do.”

  “Has this got to do with the dig, Will? Has something else happened?”

  Sarah knew that Will was running the Roman dig — and, like all of Cherringham, she’d heard about the discovery of human remains on the site.

  So far there’d been no confirmation of the exact age of the find.

  “Happened? Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

  Sarah heard him swallow hard.

  “It’s just such a shame, Sarah. We were all set to get back to work, you see. Drama over — you know? Lots of lost time to catch up. But then — the police came back this very afternoon. Out of the blue! Blocked off half the field. And now they say they might have to stop the dig completely!”

  Sarah frowned.

  “Really? But why? Wasn’t it all pretty straightforward?”

  “So it seemed — at first. But now they’ve got the autopsy report — you know, forensics — and apparently that’s changed everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sarah — the police. They’re saying … they’re saying that the body in the woods wasn’t buried that long ago …”

  Will’s voice dropped to a whisper:

  “And that it rather looks as though the poor soul … was murdered!”

  6. A Trip Upriver

  Jack climbed the steps from the saloon onto the deck of The Grey Goose and placed the tray of breakfast things onto the little teak table.

  And just as he did, his phone vibrated.

  He slid his phone out of his shirt pocket to see a text from Sarah.

  Can’t wait for that coffee! With you in five!

  Breakfast with Sarah. What a treat. And what a surprise too.

  Over the last few months things had gone quiet in their little detective sideline. But they had made a point of meeting regularly, for a lunch or dinner now and then.

  Staying in touch.

  And he had to admit, whenever they weren’t investigating he missed his time with her.

  It amazed him that not too long ago he had contemplated — well, no, actually planned on — leaving it all. The village. This boat. Sarah. All his good friends in this place that had become a second home.

  Though — try as he might — he never felt quite like a native.

  Not that anyone seemed to mind!

  He might be a stranger in — to him — a strange land, but everyone seemed perfectly okay with that.

  Coffee on and croissants already warming, he texted back.

  Then he stood up and looked down the riverbank, past Ray’s barge towards the bridge.

  Even though it was still early, he could see people out and about on the river. An old motor cruiser chugged up from the bridge, sailing upriver.

  A skiff skimmed across the flat river like a water insect.

  And over on the far bank, the morni
ng dog-walkers dotted the meadows.

  Then he saw Sarah appear on her bicycle by the bridge, bright pink top, heading down the tow path towards the Goose.

  “Perfect timing, Riley,” he said, as his spaniel appeared in the wheelhouse, wagging his tail in anticipation of Sarah’s arrival.

  Then he went down into the galley to get the croissants out of the oven.

  ***

  “Bliss,” said Sarah taking a sip of coffee. “How come I can’t make it like this back home?”

  “Ah well,” said Jack, “I’ve got the time to choose the blend, grind the beans, find the perfect coffee pot …”

  Sarah put down her cup and leaned back in the canvas chair.

  “True. I was up at six this morning to take Chloe to the station — last shopping trip in Oxford before her big trip. A clothes emergency apparently. Then I had to sort Daniel with lunch for a kayak trip he’s doing with his pals. Dropped off some posters for Grace to proofread for Monday. And I thought Saturdays were my day off!”

  She watched as Jack slid the tray of warm croissants across the table.

  “Perfect,” she said.

  “So what’s the reason for the surprise visit? Not that I’m complaining, mind. Always a treat to see you.”

  She chose a croissant and spread a dollop of Jack’s homemade marmalade onto it — then took a big bite.

  “Murder,” she said dramatically. “Murder most foul.”

  “Ha! Is there any other variety?”

  “Take a look at this — today’s local. Page four.”

  She dug in her bag and pulled out a newspaper, handed it to Jack who started to read.

  “Will Goodchild rang me last night; very upset. You remember, a week or so back they uncovered bones at his dig upriver?”

  “Yup,” said Jack, leafing through the paper, “been meaning to go up there take a look. Will sent me an open invite.”

  “Well, it was more than just ‘bones’,” said Sarah. “See what I mean?”

  Jack opened the paper, and read the headline aloud: “‘Police treating dig discovery as crime scene’.”

  Then the words below: Murder suspected.

  “There’s not really much of a story there,” said Sarah, “I think they’re spinning a lot from a very small police statement. There’s an interview with a chap called Cresswell who’s Will’s boss, apparently. And some of the students. But read the rest …”

  She waited while Jack read the article and also sneaked a bit of croissant to Riley who sat under the table. She watched a swan make a graceful landing on the river.

  “Doesn’t sound like they have much to go on,” he said, putting the paper down. “What did Will have to say?”

  “He’s not that interested in the body,” said Sarah. “But he is very worried it’s going to ruin his dig.”

  “Ah.”

  “Apparently he only has a four-week window before the farmer gets the field back. And Will says the police don’t understand. Says they’re obstructing vital historical research.”

  Jack smiled: “Knowing Will, I’m sure he’s made himself very popular with the investigating team.”

  “I’m sure. But he seemed to think you and I could ‘use our influence’ to speed the whole thing up,” said Sarah.

  Jack laughed: “Really? Influence? I suspect most of the police in this county see us as a total pain in the ass, don’t you?”

  “Exactly,” said Sarah. “Though not quite the phrase I’d use.”

  “Maybe worth a chat with Alan up at the station?”

  Alan Rivers was Cherringham’s local — and only — police officer. Back in the day, he’d gone to school with Sarah and he usually let Jack and Sarah do their investigating unhindered — especially if he was the cop who got the collar in the end.

  A good man and a good cop.

  Sarah often wondered how his arrest figures compared with other Cotswold villages. Over the last few years (on the back of their investigations) he must come across as a veritable Sherlock Holmes.

  “I rang him this morning,” said Sarah, “to see if he could give me any idea how the investigation was going. He didn’t have much to tell me. In fact, he ended up asking me questions.”

  “Let me guess,” said Jack. “Wondered if we have worked on any cases recently with a missing body?”

  Sarah laughed. “Yeah, he was fishing all right. But also pretty miffed that the whole thing’s been handed over to Oxford police.”

  “I can imagine,” said Jack, leaning back in his chair and looking out over the river. “So what is the case anyway?”

  Sarah poured herself another coffee. “Not much to go on as far as I can see. The victim’s male — teens or twenties. No ID.”

  Sarah could see that Jack was already getting interested — even though they had no proper involvement.

  And she felt her own interest catching too.

  “Any idea how long he’s been in the ground?” he said.

  “Forensics are still working on it apparently. But Alan said first indications are … maybe twenty years.”

  “Whoa. That’s one cold case all right. They got a cause of death?”

  “Trauma to the throat apparently,” said Sarah.

  “What was left of it, I guess,” said Jack. “I’d love to see the forensics. Just out of professional curiosity, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Sarah knew that back in his days in the NYPD, Jack had worked many murder cases — and seen a lot of bodies, in all states.

  “Here’s the thing,” said Sarah, “that age — and buried twenty years — it could be one of my contemporaries. Might even be somebody I knew.”

  Jack nodded. “Doesn’t have to be a local.”

  “Maybe not,” said Sarah, “but buried just up the river from the village?”

  “You’d remember if someone local went missing,” said Jack. “I mean — Cherringham — it’s a tight little community.”

  “True,” said Sarah, “but what if it was someone who went away to university, or to work, into a new life? Someone who never came back, apart from that one time, that one day? Who’d know? Who’d connect their disappearance to Cherringham?”

  Sarah was aware how far-fetched that sounded. She shrugged and raised her eyebrows at Jack — almost a challenge.

  She saw him smile.

  “It’s a theory,” he said, “and you know me, I like theories.”

  Sarah laughed and sat back in her chair. “You know, Jack, I miss what we do.”

  “And I miss it too,” said Jack, grinning. “Guess there’s no harm in sniffing around this a little?”

  “Will did say that anything we can do to speed things up maybe buys him a little more time for the dig.”

  “Two birds with one stone? Oh — by the way — I got drafted into helping with the regatta last night.”

  “I suspected as much when I heard they’d invited you along.”

  “Yeah, well, get this. Tony wants me to revamp the kids’ races. The whole shebang, in less than two weeks. No way I can organise it in time on my own. I’m gonna grab Ray for some heavy lifting. But I need someone who’s a real maestro at organising.”

  “Me? You’re kidding! Sitting here with you is as close to boating as I get these days.”

  “Seriously, you’d ace it. You run a family and a business — kids’ races gotta be a piece of cake. And your dad has run the regatta for years, you must know all his tricks.”

  “Jack, I made it my business to stay well away from Dad in regatta week.”

  Sarah thought it over. Would she have time? “Tell you what. Daniel’s got some spare time on his hands, and he’s been in those races since he was ten. Why don’t I ask him?”

  “Hey, great idea. And that frees you up to come along with me to the crime scene this morning.”

  “As you would say, it’s a no-brainer,” said Sarah.

  “Day like today — perfect for a nice little trip upriver.”

  “Deal
,” said Sarah. “You get the boat sorted, and I’ll clear this lot away.”

  She slid the cups and plates onto the tray and headed down into the galley, while Jack headed aft to prep the little boat and its outboard.

  As she rinsed the plates in the tiny galley, she thought of how her summer had been panning out — with Chloe and Daniel away on their separate travels she hadn’t been looking forward to being more or less alone in an empty house. No kids — just her and the dog rattling around the cottage.

  But now Sarah felt that maybe summer might be fun after all.

  ***

  Jack sat in the bow of the little dinghy and watched Sarah tweak the mix on the outboard, then settle back and twist the throttle.

  The boat sprang forward, the engine now sounding as sweet as it ever had.

  “Kinda nice to be a passenger for once,” he said. “That damn outboard is the bane of my life.”

  “Sounds like dirty plugs to me, Jack,” said Sarah making a very serious face. “You really should get it serviced.”

  “That an offer?”

  “Ha! Only if you pay me.”

  “Every cent I have goes into keeping the Goose afloat,” said Jack. “And fighting crime doesn’t pay the bills.”

  He sat back in the boat and watched the riverbank flow by. He rarely had good reason to go upriver, so he wasn’t so familiar with this landscape.

  They passed meadows; trees looping over the dark, fast-flowing river; big houses dotted along the riverbanks, with perfectly mown lawns and smart boats tied to their jetties; fields that looked unchanged in hundreds of years, with wheat waving in the hot sun, under a perfect blue sky.

  “What a morning,” he said. “Kinda interesting to think — if the Romans did have a crossing up here, then I’m guessing the legions marched over those very hilltops. All the way past Cherringham — whatever it was then, maybe just a fort — down towards the Bristol Channel.”

  He saw Sarah nod without much enthusiasm.

  Jack knew that this ancient past was just something Sarah had grown up with and no longer even noticed.

  But to him, even though he’d lived in England for a few years, it was still a source of excitement and discovery.

  ***