“Sure,” said Jack, sitting on one of the two office chairs by the little desk.
No wonder the case was being run from Oxford, he thought, looking around the tiny office. There was hardly enough room here to process the village parking tickets let alone solve a major crime.
Jack waited while Alan made the tea, then came and sat opposite him.
“Let me guess,” said the policeman. “The body in the woods.”
“Spot on,” said Jack, smiling.
He told Alan that he and Sarah had been out to the crime scene, but he decided to keep most of their theories to himself.
For now.
Jack sipped his tea, then took a packet of cookies from his jacket pocket, placed it on the table.
“Ginger nuts?” said Alan appreciatively.
“Help yourself,” said Jack.
They were the strangest cookies he’d ever eaten, but he knew they were Alan’s favourite.
“Second guess,” said Alan, taking a cookie and biting into it. “You want to see the forensics? This being what we call a ‘bribe’?”
Jack shrugged. “Every cop has his price?”
Alan laughed. “Okay — you do know that would be illegal,” said Alan, “what with you being a civilian.”
“Totally,” said Jack. “Though of course, in practice, that oath I swore back home, I imagine, still binds me. Protect and serve?”
“Think our rules here might be a little more stringent. But—”
“And look, I know how tough it is for you here, on your own, to compete with all those teams of homicide detectives in Oxford.”
“True.”
“And I’m guessing, said team are not going to bust a gut on this extremely cold case. Leaving Will and the village short-changed on the dig.”
He watched as Alan took all this in.
Then the cop leaned forward to the computer, flicked on the monitor, tapped in some instructions then tilted it round so Jack could see.
“Fancy another cup of tea?” he said, passing the keyboard across. “I’ll just go put the kettle on.” Alan grinned. “May take a few minutes …”
***
Left alone, Jack flicked through the screens. Totally standard forensic photos.
The corpse, from every angle of course. And then the X-rays, showing bones, any damage, even childhood injuries, and dental condition.
After a second run-through, Jack sat back, thinking …
He had seen lot of photos and forensic reports like these, so nothing shocking.
Still, the story they told was always amazing … as was the story they didn’t tell.
“So, anything leap out at you, Jack?” said Alan, returning with a fresh pot of tea.
Alan lowered his voice.
“Thinking about what you said, Jack. Since the big boys in Oxford took the case …”
Then the cop leaned forward … “If you happen to see anything about this that they’ve missed? Anything at all.” He smiled. “Well — I’d love that.”
“Me and Sarah — we’re just dabbling, Alan. But sure. We can try. So right … a few things I notice …”
Now Jack used the mouse on Alan’s hardly state-of-the-art computer to bring images up to make his points.
“The bone density and DNA tests show he was late teens. Caucasian. And your scene of crime guys show no ID present at all. Nothing. And no jewellery, no watch. Dental images have been out into the system; but no match there. Twenty years ago, that’s not surprising. Little bit before the digital age.”
“And definitely twenty years ago?”
Jack nodded. “Like dating a tree. A young man, no one we know of, leaving no record of having gone missing. Something, hmm?”
“Anything there about what the Oxford Police could be doing with all that?”
“You mean … investigation-wise?” said Jack.
Alan nodded.
“No, that would be some chief investigator or lead detective’s job. They’d look at this, create a plan. Thing is, what’s that plan?”
“How do you mean?”
“What’s the plan if you get no DNA matches, ditto for dental work. Does show he broke a leg, childhood injury according to the forensic guy … but that could be anyone, anywhere.”
Alan looked away.
Jack guessed that the local Cherringham officer would really like it if he and Sarah made a breakthrough.
These local village police “departments” … underfunded, treated shabbily, and in most cases disappearing completely.
Then Alan brought his gaze back to Jack.
“Then I suppose there’s nothing here you and Sarah can do?”
Jack smiled. “Now, did I say that?”
And Jack’s grin was matched by Alan. “What then?”
“Well, the internet is an amazing thing. Stuff buried there that might not show up on any police record or report. And while twenty years is a long time, there have to be people who were around then … maybe still here right now.”
“Enough for you to carry out an investigation?”
A nod.
Then: “And best thing, Alan — with no report of a missing person, no report of a suspected murder — I doubt the Oxford police will go too deep into those woods. In the good old US of A, every major department throughout the country has stacks of files of such cases. Body found, who knows who — and nothing else. Just dies, unsolved.”
Jack stood up and waited while Alan closed the files on the computer.
“Keep me posted, eh, Jack?”
“Deal,” said Jack. “Though, like I say, we’re not really taking this on as a case.”
“I realise that. But best if I know. Might be helpful if you two step on any toes.”
Jack wasn’t exactly sure what Alan was referring to.
But, like departments everywhere, he guessed that a big city police force could be protective, even paranoid about their “ownership” of a case.
“You got it. Oh, one thing you could help with. This station here …”
“Cherringham?”
“Yeah. Twenty years ago — guessing there were more cops, maybe a chief too — that what you call him?”
Alan nodded. “Hmm. Back then, I think there were two young guys, and a sergeant in charge who’d been here donkey’s years. Don’t recall his name. Course, I was still at police college then! I can look it up. That was long before they started with all the centralising and downsizing.”
“All the -zings …”
A smile. “Eventually just down to little old me. But even when I got my posting here, there were still two of us behind the desk.”
“But this chief? Think maybe he’s still alive, know where he is?”
Alan looked as if the thought had never occurred to him.
Which, Jack guessed, could very well be true.
Alan — salt of the earth. But his detecting skills? Not exactly earth-shaking.
“Haven’t a clue, Jack. But I can look into it.” A grin. “I’ll try to get the name at least, if you think it might help.”
“It might — you never know.”
Jack turned to leave.
“Jack, how go the plans for the carnival? I hear you got yourself roped in to the regatta at the last minute.”
Jack had his hand on the door, ready to leave.
“Couldn’t be better. Just off to meet the insurance guy, and Sarah. Have a really, um, interesting idea for this year’s kids’ events.”
“Fantastic!”
“Yup. Think this will be one carnival that Cherringham won’t soon forget.”
Alan nodded, grinned.
And as Jack left, he thought of the words he just said.
Though he knew what he meant …
A carnival not to forget.
He also knew that sometimes those words could have another meaning.
When something bad happened.
But as he left the office, he shook off that feeling.
So many year
s on the streets of New York. Too many.
That’s all.
And still looking for — expecting — trouble anywhere.
10. A Missed Appointment
Sarah felt the midday sun, strong, bright, making even the old chiselled stone of Cherringham Bridge look new, refreshed.
Nearby, on the shore and near the towpath, clumps of wild grasses blew back and forth.
The whole thing was about as idyllic an English setting — an English day — as one could ask for.
She looked around for Jack.
He’d said he was running just a few minutes late, but she had been in her car, ready to go … so she’d decided to just head down to the bridge anyway.
But now it looked like Simpson was also running late.
And for the moment, Sarah was left with her thoughts.
This summer, both the kids were heading off. Just for a few weeks. But soon, they were going to really leave.
It had her thinking. What turns does your life take when all that’s done?
Maybe it was time to start … seeing people? Testing those waters?
Dating …
Not that she didn’t get asked out. But she always claimed — pretty accurately — to be busy.
But she wasn’t going to be that busy for much longer.
And also there was the idea of being alone — well, that didn’t seem like much fun.
Of course, there was always work, her friends — and Jack.
Still …
Then — lost in these new and challenging thoughts — she saw Jack’s green Sprite driving in her direction.
She watched as he pulled off the road and parked. Jack was tall; it always seemed such an effort to free himself from the amazingly small sports car. Almost comical.
A big smile to her. A wave.
Now that was something that always made her feel good.
And he hurried over.
***
“Alan’s actually sending you documents from the police in Oxford?” She laughed.
They stood at the stone wall of the river bridge. Last year, someone had died here.
A lot of places in this village had taken on a new meaning as the number of cases they solved grew.
They had made new friends; discovered dark secrets.
But, though they’d solved one or two cold cases, there’d been nothing like this till now.
He turned to her. “I know. Amazing, hmm? He’s not happy being brushed to one side, tell you that. We’ll look at them together. Get you up to speed with what I saw.”
“Anything useful?”
“No, not really. But here’s one thing …” Jack leaned close.
So quiet here save for the babbling of the river below. The current took a few kinks left and right here as it hit big patches of stone, narrowing the flow and creating small silvery splashes.
“Yeah?”
“The fact that the corpse had nothing on it, well, means — in my opinion — whoever did this went to great lengths to make sure nobody could ID the body.”
“So definitely murder?”
Jack laughed. “Hey! Think we need a lot more information before we can be sure, detective …”
And still smiling, Jack looked at his watch.
“This Simpson guy … running late.”
Then Jack looked down to his phone.
“Any message?” she asked.
He shook his head.
Then he turned back to her. “Worse ways to spend some time on a perfect English day.”
“Hope this weather stays with us through Carnival Week.”
“Me too. Been to some summer carnivals back in New York, and a storm comes barrelling in off the ocean.” He laughed. “All that cotton candy melting away.”
She looked at him; imagining what he must be remembering. People probably still laughing, enjoying it all.
Summer. Goes too fast.
“Hey, how about you tell me your idea for the regatta. Daniel’s dying to know …”
“God. So’s Tony and the rest of the committee. One reason I wanted you here, besides helping me navigate the insurance requirements. Figured be good to have a local by my side when I explain it.”
“And local I am. So?”
“Okay. Here it is. And please, tell me if you think I’m daft!”
“Daft? Jack Brennan? Never …”
And as they walked down to the towpath from the bridge, he described his plans.
***
“They did this in Sheepshead bay. For young people mostly, teenagers. A kind of rally, in the bay.”
“Okay, so far, sounds pretty much what we have every year.”
He tilted his head.
“Yep but here’s the difference. We mix it up a bit. So you have lots of teams — I don’t know, six? Eight? Each team has two boats with two people in each one. But one has to be a rowboat, and the other a small daysailer … not sure what you call them here.”
“Daysailers.”
Jack laughed. “Okay. And one boat, the sail boat for example, has to loop around a buoy, say down there before the bend—”
She saw Jack point to where the river curved out of sight on its way to Oxford and beyond.
“Yeah …”
“Right around the buoy, but one person in the boat carries something … each year different. One year, a bucket of clams, another a six pack of brewskis.”
Sarah laughed. “Brewskis …”
“Yeah. Part of the fun is seeing who tips over, and drops the ‘prize’. Once passed, the other boat does the loop too, ferrying the item.”
“Sounds pretty chaotic.”
Jack turned and looked at her.
“Sure! Done right, it is. You see, the trick is for the competing rowboats and sailboats to stay out of each other’s way. But at such slow speed it’s more like bumper cars than anything else. Team with the most laps wins.”
And she laughed again. “I’ll tell you one thing … it’s definitely not the usual kids’ races.”
“Crazy? Too crazy?”
“Sounds like a real hoot, and I think the kids will love it.”
A nod. Then: “But here’s the real deal.” He took a breath. “Another wrinkle to make it fit with the whole carnival theme. Half the teams need to dress in something typically British … the other half, typically American.”
“Typically British?”
“Dunno. Could be blue coats and red coats. You know — War of Independence? Or I dunno — cowboys and bobbies.”
“Jack — I don’t think we call them ‘bobbies’ anymore.”
“Wallace and Grommit? Batman and Robin? Make the dressing up part of the whole competition.”
“Why not!”
And then they both laughed, as if, looking out at the river here, they could already see people in costumes on the small boats, racing around.
Then Jack squinted.
“Not sure how the insurance guy will feel about it.”
“As long as everyone has life jackets on it sounds harmless to me.”
Which prompted Jack to dig out his phone again.
“Still no message. Said he’d be here quarter past noon. 12:30 now.”
“Maybe call?”
“Yeah. Got his office number. Maybe he forgot. Tony really emphasised that getting the insurance all set was important.”
“Give him a call. Where’s his office?”
For a second she looked at Jack, hesitating. As if he knew something about this, that he hadn’t told her.
Yet.
Then: “Yeah. Good idea. He’s based in Bourton-on-the-Water I think.”
“The Cotswolds’ second-sweetest village.”
“Nice, right? Okay. Guess reschedule if we have to.”
And she watched Jack press his phone — the water bubbling below them — for the moment, thinking nothing was that odd about the missed appointment.
11. A Sudden Departure
Sarah watched as Jack held the phone up
, dealing with the missed meeting.
Smile on his face:
“Oh yes, hello. Name’s Jack Brennan. Oh, and good afternoon to you, Miriam.”
He really has learned to move at the more measured pace of the English countryside, she thought.
Jack had said the fast-paced, gimme a cup of coffee and buuttahed bagel dialogue of TV cop shows pretty much nailed how it was back on the NYPD.
Here, one took one’s time …
“Ah. I’m calling since I had an appointment at noon, in Cherringham with—”
A pause. Jack’s smile fading.
Something unexpected here.
“Really? And when did Mr Simpson tell you that? Rather sudden, isn’t it? Of course, I know you would never pry. Of course not.”
Now Sarah was curious.
“Well, good. This other agent …?”
Jack hesitated.
“Tomorrow? I see. Maybe I’ll stop by and meet him — go over things there? Good? Good. No, thank you Miriam. And I guess … see you tomorrow. By-ee.”
Jack had perfected what he described as the “sung bye”. The voice rising slightly. Strictly a UK phenomenon, he had explained to Sarah.
She had laughed at that since that was — in fact — exactly how she did say the word.
Jack brought his phone down — eyes narrowed. Thinking.
“Sounds like you heard something interesting. Miriam — the secretary, I imagine?”
A nod. “Miriam. Very sweet. Look forward to talking with her cause … yeah … something interesting indeed.”
***
They walked along the towpath.
Sarah really needed to head back to work; so much work piling up and her assistant Grace, as amazing as she was, could easily getting swamped.
Summer ads, events, and people already planning their advertising for Christmas. The year was going so quickly, at least in her work. She was always rushing, looking ahead to the next season.
“Turns out that Mr Simpson sent an email at the weekend. Said he was really stressed, needed a break, and was off to Morocco for a few weeks. Asked her to get other people in the office to cover his meetings. Then, like that, he was gone.”
“Morocco?”
“What Miriam said — and I got the impression she was pretty baffled by the whole thing. Morocco — that a regular holiday destination round here?”
The Body in the Woods Page 6