The man’s moustache was dark and neatly trimmed. A clearly expensive haircut, and trendy but serious eyeglasses. For projecting the air of a successful, powerful businessman, it was perfect.
“Hello,” Jack said.
“Um, yes, er, hello.”
The man didn’t move — suddenly stock still — something that Jack often noticed startled people did. The man stayed planted as if not sure whether to dash away fast, or slink to the nearest door and out.
Jack also saw something next to the man. A small cage, wood-framed, covered in chicken wire.
And animals inside …
Making lots of noise.
Since the man didn’t say anything, Jack stuck out his hand.
“Jack Brennan. This is Tim Simpson’s place — isn’t it?”
The wide-eyed man nodded, then seemed to flinch as if he shouldn’t even have done that.
But he didn’t offer his name in return.
With such an edgy prey lurking in Simpson’s backyard, Jack pressed on.
“And you are?”
The man didn’t start to question as to why Jack was asking questions. But he also didn’t offer much in the way of information.
“Er, Tim. Right. Yeah, I’m a friend of Tim’s. Just stopped by — but as you see …” The man looked around as if the empty garden area explained the missing part of the sentence.
But Jack didn’t see anything. Apart from the cage, and the animals who were now quite visible as being guinea pigs.
The frantic chirping noises they made continued.
Funny thing. Jack had a fifth-grade teacher who had a lot of animals in the classroom. A lizard. Some fish. And a guinea pig that made exactly that noise.
When it was hungry.
If this was Tim Simpson’s garden, he’d been gone for a while now and — from the sound of things — had left the guinea pigs unfed and untended.
“A friend? Good. You see, Mister—”
Again, the man didn’t take the bait.
“I came here hoping to catch Tim,” said Jack. “Make sure everything was okay.”
The man’s owl eyes widened again.
He didn’t like hearing that.
“You think, what? Something has happened?”
Jack smiled. The dapper businessman with the perfectly trimmed moustache wasn’t saying much but his reaction spoke volumes.
“Apparently, he decided to go away. Guess I missed him.”
The businessman stared.
“Yep,” said Jack. “Looks like he already left — for Morocco.”
The man in the suit rolled his eyes.
“God, no.”
“Morocco — that bad a place? Never been.”
The humour was lost on the man standing in front of the guinea pig cage.
Jack walked over. The poor things — five or six of them — seemed to be starved.
And now Jack stood right next to the man.
“Guessing you didn’t know that he left, hmm?”
As Jack watched, the man remained frozen, eyebrows furrowed, mouth half open. Then he seemed to recover his balance — as if only now realising what he looked like.
He took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and crouched down to wipe his shoes. Then he stood, neatly stuffed the handkerchief back in his trouser pocket — and smiled.
His face now charming, relaxed.
“Actually, old chap, I knew he was going to be away for a few days. Thought he was off to the South of France, catch some of that Mediterranean sun. Morocco? Well, there’s a turn up.”
He put a hand gently on Jack’s arm.
“Good old Tim,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Full of surprises — eh?”
“Seems that way,” said Jack.
“No wonder he asked me to drop by, feed these little fellas.”
“That was nice of you.”
“Always happy to help Tim out.”
Jack nodded. “What friends are for. You known Tim long?”
“Ha! Since forever! Go way back, me and Tim.”
“You in insurance too then?”
“Insurance?”
“Tim’s line?”
“Ah yes, of course. Umm, no, not insurance. City. You know?”
“Gotcha.”
The man seemed to realise he was being interrogated. Frowned.
“Jack — Brennan — was it?”
Jack nodded again.
“Umm, Jack, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly did you want with Tim? I mean, this is his back garden. Chap’s away on holiday. And you just stepped through the gate. I mean, if I were the suspicious type — not that I am, mind—”
“Oh right,” said Jack. “Very rude of me. Here’s the thing. Tim and I are on the Carnival Committee together. Had some last-minute plans to talk through — just needed Tim to sign off on them.”
He saw the man breathe a sigh of relief — didn’t even attempt to disguise it.
“Carnival! Of course! It’s carnival time! Bunting. Posters everywhere.”
Jack felt he’d been approved in some mysterious way: as membership of the Carnival Committee somehow made him …
… a decent chap.
Jack saw him laugh, and laughed along too. Then: “Didn’t quite catch your name, Mr …?”
“I’m so sorry — how dreadfully rude of me,” said the man, putting out his hand for Jack to shake. “Lionel. Lionel Townes.”
“Nice to meet you, Lionel.”
“And you, Jack.”
The man grinned again, his fringe falling across his forehead. He swept it away, then awkwardly faked looking at his watch as if in white rabbit mode, racing to tea.
“God! Is that the time? So late!”
He started for the gate.
“You’ll have to forgive me, dear chap. Love to chew the fat but must go. Meetings.” Then, as if it answered everything: “Important stuff.”
Jack watched as Lionel fiddled with the gate. His haste making the operation of the latch a tad tricky.
“Toodle-pip!” he called over his shoulder.
Then, with the quickest of charming smiles, he headed to the front of the house and, Jack guessed, the black Lexus parked in front.
And before the gate closed behind him, Jack casually followed, giving the man a few paces’ lead.
***
Jack watched the Lexus fly away.
Doubt the Bourton police would approve of the speed, if they happened to be near.
Jack looked down at his notepad.
He had the licence plate number. Could be, as he said, just a rather quirky friend of Tim’s.
But Tim Simpson seemed — well — not the type to have such a successful and wealthy friend.
Albeit, a pretty nervous one.
So, if not Tim’s friend, who the hell was he?
But as Jack stood there, car vanishing, he could hear the poor little guinea pigs — still unfed — squeaking for food.
And he went back to the yard.
***
Near the cage, he saw a wooden garden cabinet with a padlock. Fortunately, Jack had his lock-pick set, and the padlock popped open in seconds.
Inside, the usual array of garden tools — and a twenty-pound bag of “Benson’s Best Rabbit and Guinea Pig Food”.
Jack took a nearby scoop, grabbed a big shovel-full, and walked back to the starving furballs. He knelt down, opening the small door to the cage, and poured the green nuggets into a large bowl.
Bit of mayhem as he watched the little animals jockey for position around the bowl. But there were plenty of yummy green nuggets for everyone, not to worry.
Squatting there, Jack had a chance to think about what he had discovered in this visit to Tim’s house.
Love to get a look inside. But not in broad daylight.
That would have to wait.
Now — it was time to head back to Cherringham.
Barbecue and a catch-up with Sarah awaited.
He peered in at the little creatu
res. From what Miriam had said, it seemed unlikely that anybody was going to come round and feed them.
Certainly not Lionel Townes.
Lionel Townes — if that was even his real name — was lying through his teeth.
Something happening here.
That’s for sure …
He stood up.
And made a decision …
16. Steaks — Medium-rare
Sarah watched Jack inspect the smoking barbecue as if it was an entry in a Homes and Gardens competition.
He seemed to enjoy the prolonged evaluation.
“Nice arrangement of charcoal. All burning well.”
He turned and looked at her. “You see, you want to wait for that perfect moment, the black charcoal, all turned white hot — ashy.”
“Yes, sir.”
He laughed. “And for such a promising fire …”
He opened a plastic bag and pulled out a large item wrapped in deep-orange butcher paper …
…then lifted it high in the air as Sarah’s dog Digby came racing out of the house and across the terrace, jumping excitedly, tail wagging.
“Sorry, Digby!” he said. “These are way too good for you!”
“Over here,” said Sarah firmly to the springer. “Lie down, boy. Lie!”
Jack waited until Digby’s manners returned: the dog lay a few feet away now, looking bashful but still totally alert.
“Don’t worry — Riley’s just the same,” said Jack. “Can smell a sirloin at a hundred yards.”
He unwrapped the prize slowly.
The steaks were massive.
“These all come from one cow?”
Another laugh. “Steer, we call it in the States. And yeah, guess … they are a tad thick. But trust me, cooked on this high heat, properly — fantastic. Kids joining us?”
“Oh, yes. Chloe’s in final checklist mode before her great adventure.”
“She’ll miss the carnival?”
“Not all of it. She’s due back at five o’clock on the last day — and not a minute later. As I keep reminding her.”
“Good kid, I’m sure she’ll be bang on time. And Daniel?”
“Oh no worries there. Told him you would reveal the whole regatta plan, and he is very psyched.”
“That’s great. He’ll be terrific.”
“Right then.”
Sarah clapped her hands together, so pleased on this perfect summer’s eve, the river glistening with the shimmering spots made by the golden sun still over the horizon.
The heat of the day tempered with just the right amount of breeze.
“And I did not forget the perfect aperitif for such a carnivores’ feast.”
“Shaker at the ready?”
“Absolutely. I’ll go and sort that, while you can just take in the view.”
She paused to look at her own back garden. Hard to believe this place was hers. So perfect …
“Gladly.”
And Sarah ran into the house for the tray with matching glasses, twists and olives in small bowl, and the icy shaker of martinis.
***
Chloe and Daniel tucked into their steaks.
Sarah would have thought them way too big. But the evidence before her eyes showed the kids were having no such problem.
And the corn on the cob, dripping in butter, also seemed to have vanished.
“Great steaks, Jack!” Daniel said.
“Why thanks, Daniel.”
She saw Jack turn to Chloe. With her life moving so fast, the big trip about to happen — Chloe could often seem to be off somewhere else even when at the table.
“And Chloe — you’re heading off tomorrow, no? Excited?”
That got a reaction.
“God I can’t wait! I mean, a whole ten days travelling! My best friends. Some amazing cool cities.”
“Cool bars, you mean,” said Daniel with a grin.
“Just coz you’re too young, shrimp,” said Chloe to her brother, laughing.
“Not forgetting a festival in Croatia — isn’t that right?” said Sarah.
“Sounds like some trip,” said Jack. “You’ll have a ball.”
“I’ve not told Mum about the bungee-jumping yet,” said Chloe.
“What?” said Sarah with mock horror.
“Just kidding, Mum,” said Chloe, laughing.
“Bungee jumping is the least of my worries,” said Sarah.
She caught Jack’s eye and he smiled at her. Then he turned back to Daniel.
And she thought: Jack is so good with my kids. Understands them. A friend to them as well as me.
“Who cares about bars and festivals, Daniel? You got Cherringham Regatta, hmm?”
Daniel paused in his steady slicing of the last of the medium rare meat off the bone.
“Mum thinks I’ll love it.”
Jack teased him. “Yeah, could be. I mean …” he looked away, milking the moment. “What I’ve got planned, it is a little crazy.”
“The village carnival could use some of that, Jack,” said Daniel. “To be honest — sometimes round here you’d think it was still the nineties or something.”
Jack laughed. “The nineties? That long ago, hmm?”
Sarah stood up.
“You cooked, Jack. I’ll clear up. Chloe help? And then early night for you, my love. And Jack — you can tell Daniel your plan.”
She leaned down to her son, for a stage whisper …
“Oh and Daniel — I think Jack’s also got a bit of a favour to ask you.”
“Favour?” said Daniel. “What favour?”
She watched Jack stand up too and turn to Daniel.
“Here’s the thing, Daniel. I already checked it with your mom and she’s cool,” he said. “But it’s totally your call.”
“I don’t understand,” said Daniel.
“Come up to the car, and I’ll show you,” said Jack.
“Sure,” said Daniel, now looking intrigued.
She looked at Jack who grinned back at her and headed up the garden followed by her son.
She and Chloe took the empty plates and the ravaged corn cobs back to the house, the sun finally beginning to fade. A perfect twilight settling in.
***
Jack and Sarah sat outside, alone — Jack with a refill on his martini, Sarah still sipping hers.
She looked across the lawn at the guinea pigs peering out through the mesh wire of their cage — their new temporary home.
“He seemed pretty happy to look after them,” said Jack. “I did explain, it was just short-term while somebody was away.”
“When he was a kid in the old house he always wanted pets,” said Sarah, “but the place was too small.”
“Look at you now,” said Jack. “Dog, guinea pigs …”
“Talk about bad planning,” said Sarah. “Another year or two and I’ll be living here on my own.”
“Don’t knock it — the pets’ll be such a comfort in your old age,” said Jack smiling.
“Hey, enough of that ‘old age’,” she said, laughing. “I’m planning on having a second childhood.”
“Good for you,” said Jack, reaching for his martini. “Hope I can be part of that.”
She leaned across and clinked glasses.
“Don’t worry — you will be. Whether you like it or not.”
“To second childhoods,” said Jack, raising his glass.
***
“Okay,” she said. “The troops are fed and gone. Shall we compare notes?”
“Yeah, I mean, I think I learned a lot today. Though not sure what it means. But …”
Sarah loved moments like this.
Just Jack, reviewing things.
“You go first — ’fraid I have rather slim pickings.”
Jack nodded.
“Well … guess for now we can forget the body from the dig.”
“I’ll say. There’s something going on with Tim Simpson, from the sound of it.”
“That’s what my gut says as w
ell.”
“Tell me again what happened at Simpson’s house — every detail.”
And Sarah listened as Jack described again his encounter with the man in the pin-striped suit, nearly drowned out by a chorus of guinea pigs!
***
Sarah laughed.
“Oh — I wish I’d been there to see that. It must have been surreal.”
“Yeah. But there’s some interesting things. This Lionel Townes, wealthy guy with his Lexus and Savile Row suit, said he’s a friend of Tim’s, a lowly insurance agent.”
Sarah shook her head.
“Hmm — doesn’t really fit, does it?”
“No. And the fact he wouldn’t give me his name at first.”
“I assume you pressed him?”
“Did I ever? Everything short of flashing my old NYPD badge and asking for ID. The only thing that worked was him hearing the words ‘Cherringham Carnival Committee’. And then, soon as the chit-chat was over, boy, did he bolt from the place.”
Sarah looked away. What could it possibly mean?
The money, Simpson vanishing. The mysterious Lionel Townes in his expensive suit.
The abandoned guinea pigs!
But what did it add up to?
“I did get his licence. So we can check if he is who he says he is.”
Jack pulled out his notebook and tore out a page.
Sarah took it. “Tracking that down should be easy enough.”
Jack laughed. “I know — you got friends. So, that’s how I spent my day. Interesting, hmm?”
“Absolutely. Though I’m not quite sure what to make of it.”
“Me either. If this is really a case, not just Simpson going on a stress-driven escape to Morocco, there is so much we don’t know. So, I know you’ve been busy at work, but did you dig up anything interesting?”
“I didn’t think so before. But given what you’ve just said, maybe.”
Sarah sat back, the gentle breeze making the hot summer evening just about perfect.
“A few interesting things to share with you,” she said. “Shall we head inside and plan, hmm?”
And Jack nodded.
17. A Case of …?
Sarah cleared a space on her office desk and Jack put down the tray of coffees.
When she’d moved into her new home, she’d made a point of making this room into her office — and at times like this it was invaluable.
Lockable, secure and a no-go zone for the kids, it was more than her home office. It was crime central.
The Body in the Woods Page 9