“And look — Karin. Getting them together. This is it.”
Another glance at the screen.
If the group in the tent were looking up at the screen, they, too, would see the boy, face grim, moving through the woods, and finally finding …
A body.
This body fully dressed — in a suit and classic Oxford shoes. And then the camera turns to see, just as the boy does, a bullet hole in the man’s head, blood slowly oozing.
“God, Jack, if this doesn’t spook them …”
Thinking: they’ll see straight away that someone’s picked this movie — on purpose.
They’ll see that someone knows all about them.
“Should we get out of the car?”
“No, hang on a second. Last minute. Wait until he gets them moving.” He turned to Sarah. “If he gets them moving.”
“With someone like him — an old cop — giving me a warning, I’m pretty sure I’d listen.”
“Especially if you were the killer.”
And then—
She saw them walk out of the tent — the quartet: Harry, Amanda, Karin, Lionel — led by Brian Larwood.
Out of the overhang of the open tent.
Abandoning their Champagne flutes.
Looking around.
And — as if he were leading a tour of the grand estate — Larwood began walking, moving them away from the tent. To the side of the hill, away from the cars, curving down, out of sight towards the river.
“We go?” she said.
Jack nodded. “Yes. Stay close. Don’t forget that there’s someone in that group that’s killed once, maybe twice … and tried — with Bruno — a third time.”
The summer night had turned cool. Dew already falling. The weather of this beautiful day changing, the cloud cover total.
And together they slipped out of the small Sprite, walking in front of a row of cars, bending down to block as little of the screen as possible.
Sarah took what she guessed would be one last glance at the movie.
An old man, with a gun. Talking to himself.
And then they left the amazing scene of this mad English drive-in …
For the unknown that lay ahead.
49. The Boathouse
Sarah guessed if Harry and the others looked back here they might see two shapes, following them.
Then what? Would they make a run for it?
But her fears seemed baseless, as they kept hurrying down towards the river.
Thinking maybe that the boathouse was a sanctuary while they found out about this threat. They had slowed a bit as it seemed Amanda had paused to remove her heels. No way those spikes could make it down this slippery slope.
More than one slippery slope tonight, thought Sarah.
“Ever been inside?” Jack said, as they neared the boathouse.
“Years ago. The council sponsored an Open Day,” she nodded. “It’s pretty isolated.”
“Good. See all the windows open? Where can we go?”
“You mean, to hear them?”
“Yes.”
Jack’s voice a whisper, even though they were far enough away.
With Amanda now shoeless, the group had picked up the pace.
“If we go to the dock side — looks darker there. Could get close to the windows.”
She turned, saw Jack nod.
“Then that’s what we’ll do. Think the party’s about to get started.”
And indeed it did. They all streamed into the boathouse, the lights coming on. Harry looking around, as if he sensed they might have been followed. But Sarah knew that she and Jack were well hidden.
Then she watched through the open doors as Harry went to a cabinet.
To the fully-stocked bar. So many bottles — some glistening deep amber, others crystal clear — one Bombay Sapphire bottle, vivid blue as though lit from behind.
“Drinks first, it looks like,” Jack said.
They kept moving down, slowly, steadily, heading to the dark side of the house and the dock when …
Awkward moment …
Sarah felt her phone vibrate. She dug it out of her pocket.
Looked down.
And for a moment she had to stop.
“What is it?” Jack said.
Sarah had quickly tilted the phone, pressing it close to her blouse, killing the light.
The timing, she thought.
They just got lucky.
“A text,” she said. “Alan. He’s on his way back. Bruno’s talking.”
And even with the two of them skulking down the slope in the dark, she could see Jack’s grin.
***
They moved slowly along the creaky boards of the dock, hearing them squeak and groan — Sarah terrified that they would be heard.
But the voices inside the boathouse now raised and yelling.
Sarah took a position below an open window. Jack, too, inches away. Scary, yes. But she had to admit …
So exciting.
She looked at Jack, his eyes alert.
Then a voice, loud, bleating.
The show had begun …
“And that bloody film? What the hell’s that all about? Who changed the damned film to one with my own bloody name in it?”
Then Amanda spoke, and Sarah wished she could see.
“Will you please pull yourself together? It’s not your name. It’s the stupid title of the film, you ninny.”
“I am not a—” Harry started.
Then Larwood, cutting him off. “Now — all of you — calm down.” A pause. “Especially you, Harry. Yeah, maybe someone got the film changed. And I think I know who.”
“Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
The sound of ice hitting glass. Pouring.
Amanda again. “Harry! Quite enough ‘oh Gods,’ for God’s sake.”
Then a new voice, Lionel — sounding every bit as shaky as Harry. “Y-you brought us down here, to tell us what’s going on. I just know that the two of them–”
Karin: “That nosy bitch and the stupid yank …”
Lionel: “Yes, well, they know what we did — back then. They know. Don’t you understand? We can’t play around with this any more, blackmailer or no blackmailer.”
Sarah looked at Jack.
The moment they entered — it would be on his cue.
For now, patience.
Then Amanda spoke again. This time her voice had a harder edge.
“Whatever are you saying, Lionel? They know? Just how do they know? Did you go to pieces over this? Did you — damn it! — blurt out things that you shouldn’t have?”
A moment of quiet.
“It’s worse than that, I’m afraid.” Larwood playing his role. “I spoke to Brennan. Cop to cop. They do know what happened that night.” Another big pause. “And also — they know who killed the boy. And tonight they plan on outing whichever one of you did it.”
“It’s got absolutely bloody nothing to do with me,” Lionel began yelling.
Then Harry chimed in: “No one killed anyone. He just — just — I don’t care what any report says!”
“What you all need do is march out of here,” said Larwood, “down to the police station. Make proper statements. Tell Alan all about it. Before this mess gets any worse.”
“That,” Amanda said flatly, as if cutting through his words, “is a stupid idea. And I absolutely hate stupid ideas.”
The time to move — it has to be getting close, Sarah thought.
A last act in the boathouse, fortifying drinks in hand.
She felt a drop of rain. The clouds suddenly opening. The perfect sunny day now slowly melting into what could be a nasty summer storm. Another drop.
And maybe another reason to go inside, to join the huddled group.
But still Jack remained crouched.
“Really?” Larwood said. “I mean, Amanda, wasn’t it you who ‘summoned’ me, asking for help? To send those two off the trail. And now—”
“Y-you di
d that Amanda?” Harry said. “Brian, I, I thought you came over from Spain just to visit. The old haunts and all …”
“Right,” Larwood said, laughing. “Seems like there’s a lot you don’t know, Harry. And I for one am not paying the price for it.”
“Goes for me too,” said Karin. “After all, I didn’t do nothing but help bury a dead body.”
“No one,” Amanda said, “is doing anything. They don’t have proof. They can’t have.”
Sarah had her face pressed close to the dark wood slats of the boathouse. Then Jack touched her elbow. She was so rapt in the conversation, she nearly jumped.
He leaned close, his voice a barely audible whisper.
“Okay. Think it’s time.”
And, as Jack stood up, she followed suit. The door to the boathouse just steps away.
And once again she reminded herself: someone in there … is a murderer.
***
Jack pushed open the door, which made an appropriate warning creak.
And all the players froze.
He looked at Sarah, her phone in hand. To be used at exactly the right moment.
“Well,” he said, “here we are. The whole gang.”
Amanda took a step closer. “This is private property. I know you may not have that concept in America … but here, we do.”
She had pronounced the word “America” with as twangy and condescending an accent that a Brit could summon.
Jack smiled at her.
“You see, Harry,” said Jack, “your friend here — this cop — the guy you bought with the villa,” he looked at Harry, a statue with his glass of gin and ice, “is actually here to help us tonight.”
“We didn’t buy—”
Sarah spoke up. “Spare us, Harry,” she said.
She has gotten good at these confrontations, Jack thought. A natural sense of timing.
Wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end.
“Thanks to Lionel, and Larwood, and a lot of research, we know what happened,” Sarah continued. “I mean, it was twenty years ago, but we know it all. About the villa. About the missing person report from Spain never being posted locally, thanks to Sergeant Larwood who you had in your back pocket.”
“And Amanda — thanks. Now we also know you brought Brian back to Cherringham. To manage us.”
Now Jack took a step closer to Harry’s wife. “And, as you might guess, my partner and I … we don’t like being managed.”
“Oh,” Sarah said, as if it was an afterthought. “We’re missing one player, aren’t we? Tim Simpson.”
Harry looked like he was about to mumble the word “Morocco”, but then stopped.
“Karin — you’ll be interested in this, I’m sure. We found Tim’s car today. In your garage. I wonder how it got there?”
Jack saw Karin’s eyes widen.
Oh, this is good, he thought.
“And while we didn’t find Tim, I’m sure the police will. The forensics still fresh. And we all know about forensics now, don’t we?”
Jack looked around at all of them, their eyes glued, seeing every shred of their complex web coming undone.
“Cause,” Jack said, “it appears that Tim was all ready to crack. The blackmail card — maybe backfiring?”
“Interesting,” said Sarah.
Jack saw her move around the room slowly, seeming to savour this moment, each of the gang watching her intently.
“I wonder who the blackmailer was? PinkBunny. You, Karin? Maybe hand in hand with Bruno? Or perhaps you, Amanda — looking to fund a new life? Or Lionel — maybe you thought you could play the market with your pals here? Not you, surely, Harry? You don’t need the money. Or do you? Somebody certainly wanted the fifty grand we found at Tim’s house …”
“Guess Tim never found out,” said Jack, taking over. “But ready maybe to go to the police. Couldn’t have that, now could we? Least — that’s what the murderer thought.”
“I’m no killer,” Lionel said.
That at least was believable, Jack thought.
Jack turned to Sarah.
He wanted her to play these last cards.
Really — most of this — her breakthrough. And coming from her, the exposure even more chilling.
Sarah nodded, and continued the story. “So Jordi — killed twenty years ago. Drugged but not dead. One of you couldn’t have him waking up, making a mess of things, hmm?”
She looked right at Harry whose bobble-head went left and right, his face furrowed: “What? But that doesn’t make any—”
“And Tim? Police investigations? After all you have accomplished? An MP. Money. Power. To lose it all?”
“Bruno …” said Karin.
Sarah turned to Karin.
“Yeah. Victim number three. But he got lucky.”
Then she turned back to the group. “Jordi’s killer. Right here. Someone strong enough to manage things. Shape things. Someone who could do the hard thing. The deadly thing. Ask yourself — was there someone alone with Jordi while you were all getting things ready that night? The wheelbarrow, the sheets, burning the evidence, finding the shovels …”
This, Jack knew was taking a leap. But his instincts told him it was a good shot to take.
“Someone who saw Jordi stirring. Someone who in that instant figured how it might go. Jordi alive meant embarrassment, scandal, disgrace. Goodbye big house. Goodbye friends in high places. Goodbye money. And, after all, he was nearly dead. Think about it. Only one of you had that chance. To strangle the last bit of life out of him. Isn’t that right? You all know who.”
Bravo, Sarah, he thought.
Then Jack watched.
As everyone in the room turned to one person.
50. The Killer Runs
Sarah waited.
She almost didn’t have to say a word.
Not with everyone’s eyes on Amanda.
Each remembering that night. And seeing now the so-likely possibility — certainty even — that Amanda, alone with Harry’s toy boy, decided to keep him dead.
And it had all nearly worked.
”Isn’t that what happened, Amanda?”
Amanda snapped back. “You have nothing. Absolutely — nothing.”
She saw Jack walk to the centre of the room. The group had backed away while Amanda took steps to one side of the boathouse.
Alone. Isolated.
“Oh, I think once you are booked they’ll get all the forensic information they need,” Jack said. “In fact, I’m sure of it. And Tim … his car? Like Sarah says … a lot more evidence there. Maybe Bruno did that — Karin helping.”
Jack paused.
Always so effective, she thought …
“But who told him to, hmm? Who made that call? Had to be someone who knew Tim well, knew him of old, knew that if he panicked, started talking … well, it wouldn’t be good for anyone.”
Another pause.
“Now, who could that be?”
Amanda’s eyes looked wild. As if she was looking for an escape hatch from this trap.
But this time, there wasn’t one.
“Best you join the others, Amanda,” said Jack. “Head down to that little Cherringham police station. Time for everyone to come clean.”
Larwood’s face shifted at this.
Maybe he thought he’d get off.
Despite what was said, that wouldn’t be Jack’s style.
One thing he hated above all — was dirty cops.
“Oh, one more thing,” Sarah said, raising her cell phone. “We heard from the hospital. Bruno. He’s talking.”
She let the words hang a minute.
Then: “He told the police who tried to push him to his death from the rooftop.”
A look to Amanda.
“Guess who?”
“Who … what about the blackmailer?” Harry said, clearly clueless even now. “W-we all got threatened — all of us. Didn’t we? I thought …”
He turned to Amanda. “No. That … was you then?�
�
Sarah thought of Bruno, lying in the hospital bed and the final pieces suddenly fit together. “No, not Amanda,” she said. “Just Bruno looking to pick up some quick cash. Off all of you — that right? But only Tim paid up. Dear old Bruno — bit of a loose cannon, hmm? Which is why he had to go — isn’t that right?”
She turned to Amanda.
“What did you plan to do next, Amanda — with Bruno out of the way? Grab the blackmail money yourself? Maybe even pick up the blackmail scam too, run with it? Why not? With Lionel perhaps? Start with £50K in a separate account. Build your escape fund? That’s why you sent Lionel to Tim’s house to search for the money — isn’t it?”
Harry turned to her, betrayed.
“Lionel?” he said.
“I suffered long enough with you,” Amanda said.
The woman, now a caged lioness, Sarah thought.
And she should have held that thought.
Should have predicted what happened next.
***
Amanda reached out to a box on the wall, and killed all the boathouse lights.
And on this cloud-filled night, with a slow rain now splattering the open windows, they were all plunged into darkness.
Sarah hurried to the wall, stumbling, searching in the gloom for the box with the switches.
Then, slapping her hand at the switches, the lights back on.
And Amanda was gone.
“What?” Larwood said. “Where the hell is she?”
“Didn’t see that coming,” Jack said.
The door to the boathouse was open.
“Let’s go.”
But first Sarah turned to the stunned group they were leaving behind.
“All of you. You know where to go, what to do. Don’t even think of doing anything else.”
And then she joined Jack, racing out of the boathouse, chasing Amanda in the darkness, over the wet, slippery grass.
***
But they had lost Amanda out there, on the sprawling back lawn.
Jack stopped.
“She could have gone anywhere,” he said.
Sarah looked around as well. The rain suddenly coming harder, and it was so dark back here. You could easily have a dozen people racing around this great lawn and you wouldn’t see any of them.
Then Jack pointed.
“Wait, look up there. Side of the house.”
Sarah turned, looked. “The garage.”
The Body in the Woods Page 26