The Body in the Woods

by Neil Richards

  A breath.

  “Not looking good.”

  Larwood looked away as if there might be an escape route nearby — in the blue sky, the clouds, the swirl of boats below, the crowds held rapt by the wacky regatta.

  Then to give the final push the Cherringham cop might need, Jack said: “Don’t make things any worse. Why don’t you just tell me the truth?” He took a breath. “Cop to cop.”

  Would Larwood take the offer? What was going through his head? Maybe he was considering a race to the airport to get the hell out of here?

  But perhaps knowing a call from Jack could stop that.

  No — he’s a smart enough cop to realise that his only chance is right here.

  And when he turned back to Jack he started talking.

  ***

  Sarah stood by her car in the centre of the village, torn by what to do next.

  Despite the things that Lionel Townes told her — amazing things, but still confusing — she had no answer to what had happened to Tim Simpson.

  She checked her watch. The regatta had already started.

  But right now Bruno was in hospital and he wasn’t going anywhere. And Karin — most likely — had already gone back to sit with him.

  Which meant that the Karin-Bruno residence — if that was the right name for it — was empty.

  There wouldn’t be another chance to check it out.

  She made a quick phone call to Grace who was sure to know the exact address.

  What didn’t Grace know about Cherringham’s inhabitants?

  Sarah knew the house wasn’t far out of the village — she could be there and back and get to the regatta before it was over.

  Jack had said “be careful”. But she’d been doing this long enough to work out her own risks.

  Decision made, she took out her phone and called Grace.

  ***

  “Look, Jack. Okay, so they helped me out with the villa.”

  “More than ‘help’.”

  Larwood said nothing.

  “What was the quid pro quo, Brian? Some favour? And did you buy that watch in Barcelona?”

  Then Jack added a bit that was — based on Sarah’s description — just a good guess, “the one Karin bought today?”

  Larwood shook his head.

  “No. I mean, today, yeah. They asked me what to do and I suggested she should go and get it.”

  “They asked you? Guess they had a habit of asking you things. Like coming back to Cherringham. Have a chat with me. Make me think there was nothing wrong at all.”

  Larwood looked around.

  “And that body? Murdered, as I’m sure you know. How exactly did you help with that?”

  Jack knew he was turning up the heat. Larwood would either retreat, or get a lawyer and hope for the best.

  Or …

  “Look — I didn’t bloody know anything about that. Back in the day, well, I just knew about Harry.”

  “Harry? His sexuality, hmm?”

  “Yeah. I knew the public didn’t know about that. Couldn’t know about it. Those days — it was like a different country then. But I got asked more than once — to help out. Things, sometimes getting difficult for Harry. Know what I mean?”

  He sniffed at the air, remembering. “And I knew how to keep quiet.”

  Jack felt his mind racing to take in what Larwood said.

  Though it all made perfect sense.

  “Being in charge round here, you know stuff. Family secrets. Back then, it was a secret to be kept.”

  Jack nodded.

  “No harm in that, right?”

  “Sure. But, well, I know you got reprimanded a few times. Things not reported. Little things. You looked the other way?”

  “Look, Jack, a small town like this but with powerful people. I just, well, did my best—”

  “I get it.”

  And Jack did. Many a city cop hit that slippery slope. Looking the other way. Yeah, for a favour. A gift. Maybe cash outright.

  “No crime in what I did.”

  “Not too sure about that, Brian.” Then Jack took a different tack, softening. “But you wouldn’t be the first cop. To do things like that. So what did you do?”

  The million-dollar question.

  Larwood looked down at the ground as if wishing he could disappear into it.

  “If you tell me now, maybe not so bad for you down the line, Brian.”

  And when Larwood looked up … he did.

  45. Karin’s House

  Well before the bumpy dirt and gravel road came to a stop in front of what looked like a ramshackle farmhouse, Sarah pulled off the road, tight against an ancient hedge, nicking her Rav-4 with a thick branch. The price of being an amateur detective, she thought.

  Then she started up the road on foot, trying to sense if there was any activity ahead. But it seemed perfectly still out here, a lonely spot, with barren fields on each side.

  No sign of Bruno’s van — perhaps Karin had taken that to see him in the hospital.

  If — as Sarah hoped — that’s where she’d gone after dropping the watch at Lionel’s hotel.

  And yet, that thought still didn’t perfectly calm her anxiety, walking up to the house. Knowing that if she was going to hunt for any clues about Tim Simpson, she’d have to go in.

  Door open, she hoped.

  And failing that, breaking in …

  ***

  She knocked on the front door and waited. No answer. Not a sound from the house. Another knock, this time louder.

  Then, with one final look behind her at the desolate gravel drive and scrappy lawn — and the empty lane in the distance — she gave the doorknob a twist.

  But the door was locked. Splintery, and like the whole house, in need of a paint job. Still a solid piece of wood, though.

  She guessed that the back door would be locked as well.

  She had learned a lot from Jack: about asking really good questions; and putting bits and pieces of clues together …

  And also how to break into a place.

  She dug in her shoulder bag and fished around for her nail file.

  Here goes, she thought.

  And she wedged the tip between the frame and the door. Then she began fishing for a spot where she might press against the curved bit of metal that fitted into the lock mechanism.

  That is, if it was that kind of lock.

  A deadbolt would be a different story.

  Something like that would require Jack’s lock-pick set, and his skill.

  But then she felt something, and when she wedged the tip in a bit deeper, she also felt some “give”.

  Then — like working a reluctant cork out of wine bottle — she twisted the nail file one way, the other, before she heard a pop.

  And as though giving up a fight, the door slid open a few inches.

  She was in.

  She took a look at her watch. This had better be fast.

  The place was deserted now … but when would Karin come back?

  She walked inside.

  ***

  First impression: the inside dotted with new, nice things that belied the house’s shabby exterior.

  A smart-looking leather sofa and matching armchairs. Thick carpet, looking new as well.

  And what had to be one of the biggest TV screens in Cherringham. She could imagine Bruno enjoying his beer, devoting his weekend days to this TV and football.

  As if they could afford these new things but didn’t want anyone to know.

  Into the kitchen — a mess here, dishes piled in the sink.

  Big American fridge — but sparse on essentials inside. Lots of processed meals, a few rows of beer bottles.

  And she continued exploring, moving to the upstairs, to the bedrooms.

  The first a double — with a giant king bed that left almost no space to get out of it; bathroom with gleaming new fixtures …

  But as Sarah moved around the bed, she quickly saw that this room was used only by Karin. No men’s cl
othes in the wardrobe or drawers. A magazine and bedside lamp on just one side of the bed.

  Not a trace of Bruno.

  Down the corridor, past two empty rooms full of stored boxes she found what she was looking for: Bruno’s bedroom.

  Piles of clothes, more beer bottles, some with cigarette ends crammed in, an exercise machine, DVDs scattered on the floor and another massive TV.

  Not much of a marriage, clearly.

  She went downstairs again, made a quick tour of the other rooms.

  For people who didn’t seem on the outside to have that much money, somehow Karin and Bruno had the cash for some pricey things here.

  But she also noticed something else that was obvious.

  No computer.

  No. Bruno and Karin probably — like a lot of people these days — used their phones for everything.

  That — was a disappointment. A computer could reveal so much.

  And the other observation; nothing she could see pointed to Tim Simpson ever having been here.

  Just evidence of Karin and Bruno’s recent — if well-appointed — life together.

  Another few steps, and then her phone vibrated, causing her heart to miss a beat.

  She took it out: a text message. From Alan.

  Bruno out of coma. Not able to talk. Yet.

  And that gave her goose bumps. When Bruno could talk, he might be able to say who pushed him off that balcony.

  Some drunken pal he was arguing with?

  Or …?

  Whatever — wandering around here on her own in Bruno’s house was not the most sensible thing to be doing.

  She looked at the time on her phone. What was Jack’s safety rule for breaking and entering — in and out in ten?

  She moved quickly back to the front door. Took another look around, and walked out of the house.

  She turned, seeing a couple of derelict barns and a small garage off to the side of the house.

  Might as well take a look.

  ***

  The barns were empty — just old farm machinery rotting under the smashed roofs.

  But on the door of the garage, she saw a padlock, the garage doors chained: this building was in use.

  Her nail file would be no match for the lock and chain.

  The doors themselves, solid wood, without any small windows. No way to see inside.

  Probably nothing to see anyway, she thought. And I’m running out of time …

  Then she stopped for a moment.

  Some noise.

  The sound of a car engine.

  She turned to look back at the gravel road.

  A car engine’s roar in the distance.

  Someone coming here? They’d pass her car, on the side of the road.

  And Sarah realised that she didn’t have any idea how she’d explain what she was doing.

  Always useful to have prepared a story to explain why one was snooping around.

  She listened.

  But the car sound grew fainter. Maybe on some other country road, leading to another secluded farmhouse.

  Her breathing returned to normal, and she was about to march back to her car, when she thought:

  Maybe a quick look around the back of the garage?

  ***

  The left side of the garage, just a wall.

  But a wheelbarrow stood there, upside down. Shovels.

  Maybe Karin did a bit of gardening? Looking around the abandoned scrubland which made up the rear garden, that seemed unlikely.

  She kept on walking — around to the back.

  And when she got there — besides seeing the empty field that probably produced food at one time and now did absolutely nothing under Karin’s stewardship, she saw the back wall.

  And a single window.

  She walked up to it.

  It was a “window” only by the loosest of definitions. Probably hadn’t been cleaned in decades. And even in the spots where it was actually transparent — the garage inside was dark.

  She looked up at the sky. A beautiful day, but the big puffy clouds were blocking the sun.

  A bit of sunlight would be useful.

  And then — as if a hippo-shaped cloud could read her mind — the big white cloud parted a bit, sending rays of sunlight to hit the back of the garage, to hit that window.

  And now when Sarah leaned close, cupping her eyes, light seeping in …

  She could see something.

  A car.

  And not only that, the make of the car. A Ford Fiesta. A licence plate just visible in the gloom.

  She stopped breathing for a moment — as if, with another breath, what she was seeing might vanish.

  Tim Simpson’s car.

  Right here.

  He had followed Bruno. Driven here. And was never seen again.

  She thought back to the wheelbarrow by the side.

  Those shovels leaning against the garage …

  She dug out her phone and took a series of pictures checking each, until she was sure she had captured the image of the car, and the licence plate.

  Then she backed away from the garage, thinking: Well, Jack and I have finally had a breakthrough.

  And one more thought:

  Well done, Sarah Edwards.

  46. Larwood Talks

  Jack watched the sailboats fizzing around on the river below, the crowds cheering. Then he turned back to look at the old Cherringham cop.

  What Larwood had done was definitely illegal. But, after all these years, there was a better way than jail for the cop to — as they said, in Brooklyn — “make it right”.

  “Okay. You know, I get what you did. Even why. But let’s not bullshit, hmm? It’s against the law. And for a cop?”

  “All I did—”

  Jack’s hands shot up.

  While he feigned empathy for Larwood — like he had for other cops he knew who crossed that line — he had no stomach for any of it.

  The job: to protect the innocent, not the guilty.

  Plain and simple.

  “I’m going to give you a shot at redemption, okay? Tonight. At the movie.”

  Larwood looked confused.

  “Pretty easy, really. Just tell those people we’re onto them. Getting close. Scare them, hmm? Bet you’re good at that.”

  “And what will that do?”

  “You just do it. Make sure they all meet you. Down at that boathouse — you know the place, hmm?”

  Larwood nodded.

  “When the movie starts. Tell them to stay out of sight. Tell them what I now know. What I think. And what I’m going to do.”

  Jack waited.

  “You can mention the words scandal. Maybe jail. You see, Brian, someone killed someone. We’re going to find out what they know about that.”

  He looked down and saw Sarah walking towards him, up the grassy hill.

  A good sight …

  Over on the river, it looked like the last loop of the regatta was happening.

  The last of the coconuts to be picked up!

  Jack would need get down there, help Daniel, be part of the race’s finish …

  But first — back to Larwood.

  “Think you can do that …?” Jack paused, and in that beat his tone changed. Now threatening: “I sure hope so.”

  No quick answer.

  “You’re out of options, Brian. You thought you could cover this up. But you know there’s way too much evidence.”

  Jack waited as Larwood stared into the distance.

  Then, finally, the Cherringham cop nodded. “Yes.”

  He was about to turn, but Jack stepped forward:

  “And don’t even think about doing anything else. Like, you know, running away. Sarah and I … good friends with Alan Rivers. You won’t get far.”

  Another nod.

  “I’ll do it, Jack. But after …?”

  “Dunno. Things could work out … maybe you get to fly back to Sitges. All forgotten, hmm?”

  And only then did Larwood walk aw
ay.

  Then, with his back turned, looking to the bridge that led this way from the village, Jack felt a hand clasp his shoulder.

  Jack turned to Tony, who had just put a hand on his shoulder, big smile on his face.

  “Jack, I must say — the village has never seen anything quite like this. Where did you get that coconut idea? Absolutely daft!”

  Jack laughed. It was indeed great fun to look out at the line of sailboats, navigating this way and that, trying to grab a coconut and not topple into the water.

  Then he turned back to his good friend, the trusted solicitor.

  “Well, Tony, I remembered when I first got here. My first Cherringham Carnival.”

  “Hmm …?”

  “Some game you had with coconuts …”

  “Ah — right, the coconut shy.”

  “Thought all those coconuts could be put to another use!”

  “I’ll say. Well it is quite a sight out there.” Then Tony looked at him. “The villagers love this, Jack. For that, thank you.”

  Then Jack waited a moment.

  He was about to suggest something — a bit outlandish.

  “Tonight’s movie. On the lawn?”

  “Yes? Your selection, I believe. Wonderful one, too.”

  Jack nodded. He looked down to Daniel who seemed to be having the time of his life handing the coconuts to the passing boats.

  Then he looked up to Ray, and saw that two of the light sailboats had just collided, bumper-car style. Ray — apparently in full possession of his faculties this afternoon — was trying to sort out the tangle and get them heading back to finish their loop.

  He turned back to Tony.

  “I have a favour to ask.”

  Tony’s eyes narrowed. Jack guessed that for Tony the word “favour” was always a cause for concern.

  “I’d like to change movies …”

  “What?”

  Jack nodded.

  Then Tony said: “Something to do with that business you’ve been looking into, hmm? Tim being missing?”

  “Yeah, could say that. And the body in the woods — and God knows what else. Well, we’re close, Tony. Think cracks are beginning to appear.”

  “And this different movie? Part of your plan, widening those cracks?”