“We better hurry.”
They bolted up the hill. Sarah with her daily morning jogs managed fine, but she looked back and saw Jack struggling a bit.
He kept promising that he’d take up running again.
Maybe after this, he would.
“You okay?” she shouted back not breaking her stride.
“Yup. We got to get to the car. Follow her.”
But Sarah saw that a light had appeared in the multi-car garage, and already a vehicle was sliding out.
Big. Powerful. Would she have anything else? But hard to see the make from here.
And now closing the distance, they were nearly back to where the rows of cars remained in an arc around the screen, watching the Hitchcock mystery play out — even in the rain.
She saw Amanda do a three-point turn in the big car, and begin to curve around all those parked cars, the spectators unaware that a real murderer was escaping.
And as soon as Sarah — steps ahead of Jack — reached all the parked cars, she saw a problem.
Jack arrived, breathing hard but looking okay.
“Jack. Look. The cars. All sandwiched in. It’ll take forever to get your Sprite out.”
“Right.” He looked around. “But — down there. At the front?”
“Hmm?”
“The vintage cars. Could get one of them out easy.”
And now it was Jack who took the lead, running right to the screen, but actually targeting the first row of cars.
As he ran straight to one car.
***
The Dodge Fury. The old NYPD police car.
Big V8, Jack had said.
The driver oblivious as Sarah went to the passenger side, which didn’t turn out to be the passenger side at all.
Of course! An American car.
And Jack got in the other side.
“Sir,” he said to the rather portly man in a NYC cop uniform, the outfit looking ready to pop its buttons,” we have to, um, commandeer this car. Need to chase … someone.”
Even in the dark, Sarah could see the man’s eyes light up.
“A real police chase! Absolutely crackers. Of course you can!”
Sarah saw the man slide away from the driving wheel.
“Jack, you get over here and drive.”
But Jack had already plopped into the right-hand seat.
“Best you drive. You know the lanes, the roads. Safer that way.”
“And we’re taking this, um, officer with us?”
“His car. Think he comes along for the ride.”
Sarah turned. She saw Amanda’s car winding its way down the twisting lane to the property entrance. The woman had a good lead. It looked like a silver Bentley.
A modern Bentley versus a ’70s era Fury.
Well, here we go, she thought.
Turning the ignition.
And with one touch to the accelerator, she felt the vehicle’s power as it fish-tailed forward, and she followed the curve made by the sea of parked cars, swinging around to the road that led out.
She gripped the steering wheel tightly; this was a lot of car to handle.
Then Jack leaned over.
Reaching for something by the steering column.
A switch, and suddenly she heard a siren. And saw the coloured flashing lights reflecting to either side.
“Really?” she said.
“We are chasing someone …” Then he laughed. “Might help us avoid an accident.”
She felt the car’s wheels slip a bit as she went from the grass to the gravel of the road out.
“I’ve never driven her this fast,” their uniformed passenger said.
Still excited … but Sarah guessed … a tad nervous.
As was she …
***
Out through the twin gates of Todwell House and onto the road.
Jack turned to her.
“Feel okay?”
“Going as fast as my nerves will let me.”
Ahead, Amanda’s Bentley also racing, heading towards the village.
The engine of the Fury sounded more like a jet engine, echoing off the dry-stone walls that lined the country lane.
Sarah was beginning to feel more comfortable in this giant car, picking up speed, closing on Amanda.
“Sharp one,” said Jack. “Careful now.”
Sarah saw the Bentley hang a tight left.
She hit the brakes and felt the rear of the police car twitch — but then she found the line and hit the throttle hard.
“Hey,” said Jack, “nicely done.”
Another screeching turn — and Sarah pulled the Dodge into the quiet little back road that ran past the edge of the village, past the doctors’ surgery, the back of the Angel.
Not so quiet now, Sarah thought.
And also — what must the villagers think seeing this “flashback” from a Starsky and Hutch episode, tearing through the quiet village lanes and roads? Siren on, lights flashing!
Madness.
”Any way we can get past her?” Jack said.
Sarah looked ahead, thinking … keeping her eyes on the slick road, hands locked on the wheel.
“Too risky to try — at least in the village. If she stays on here — then we’re heading for Cherringham Bridge. And after that, well, it’s a spider’s web of small roads. We could so easily lose her.”
And then? Sarah guessed if Amanda had some of Harry’s money put aside, all safe, secure, Harry none the wiser … it wouldn’t be hard to pull off a vanishing act.
Then Jack said …
“The toll!”
“Hmm?”
“The Bucklands! They can put the gate down. Close the thing.”
Could that stop Amanda?
“Worth a shot,” she said. “They might still be there.”
Jack already had his phone out. Sliding through his contacts.
Then: “Joan. Jen? Right, okay. You’ll never guess what’s heading your way now. A car. With a killer. So if you wouldn’t mind, to stop the killer …”
Jack laughed, the call ended.
“What did she say?”
“Jen — it was, by the way — she said: ’On it, Jack! Lowering the gate now.’”
But would that stop Amanda’s big Bentley?
Sarah kept her mind on the driving as the wet roads became narrow. With the cop car’s flashing lights, she saw oncoming drivers pull sharply to the side.
Gobsmacked to be sure!
And then ahead. The bridge — and the familiar tollboth on the far side. The Bentley racing towards it.
“Here we go,” Jack said.
And as they both watched, the distance between the two vehicles closed, they waited, and watched, the rain picking up, windshield wipers flying, the roads even more slippery.
“New tyres?” she said to the man in the middle.
“Hmm?”
“The tyres. New? Are they good?”
“Oh, absolutely. Michelin Defenders! Nothing but the best for this beauty!”
And Sarah had to admit, she was growing fond of this police version of a muscle car, barrelling towards the ancient bridge that was run as their personal fiefdom by the Bucklands.
“Okay …” Jack said.
Amanda’s Bentley nearly at the bridge.
The tale to be told in seconds.
Now on the bridge itself, the medieval stone lit up red and blue, the Bentley seemed to slow. Maybe some hesitation from her? Then speeding up again, jerking forward. Two figures off to the side.
The Bucklands — the crime aficionados — enjoying the show.
Across the bridge …
And the Bentley ran full-tilt into the gate.
But this was no flimsy gate. Sarah had seen it up close.
Heavy, a sturdy metal bar, as if to repel the invading hordes from Normandy!
Only this time, the Bentley smashed into it, slid left into the dry-stone wall that lined the road, then spun right — once, twice — before crashing into a hedge.
In seconds, she and Jack were there.
***
Amanda had — with difficulty — been able to prise open the heavy door of the car, and she staggered for a few seconds as if drunk, out in the rain, her body and the bridge bathed with the lights from the New York City cop car.
But otherwise unmarked.
Sarah went up to her.
“Best if you just sit down there, Amanda.”
“I’ve called for an ambulance for the culprit,” one of the Buckland sisters said. The other one walked over to Amanda as she squatted on the kerb, the Bentley behind her a wreck.
“And I’ve alerted Alan,” the other sister said. “He’s on his way!”
Then that sister took an ominous step closer to Amanda, all the fight knocked out of her.
“You’re going to have to pay for the damage. No one — and I mean no one — goes over our bridge unless we say they do.”
And then Sarah turned back to Jack.
“Going to kill the lights, Jack? Chase over?”
She saw him look back to the car, its owner now back at the wheel, wide-eyed, totally enjoying the fantasy. Lights flashing, siren on! A perpetrator apprehended!
“You know … kinda like them on. Just for a bit, know what I mean?”
And she smiled back: “I think I do.”
Epilogue
Jack walked straight into the garden, and Sarah turned from her still-new barbecue to see her friend.
Big smile, and bottle of wine in one hand.
“Wow. Does that ever smell good!”
He walked over to her, sun at his back. The clouds from the other night, all rolled away.
“Well — I can’t say I’ve ever made St Louis style ribs before,” said Sarah. “But they don’t look too bad.”
“Dry rub, hmm?”
“You bet. Makes a difference, doesn’t it? And the barbecue sauce — made from scratch. Molasses, honey, ketchup, mustard …”
“Can’t wait.”
He held up the bottle of wine. One of her favourites, a Picpoul.
“Shall I pop this?”
She nodded. And walking over to her small picnic table, Jack unscrewed the top.
“I see the guinea pigs have gone,” he said, nodding to the empty space by the hedge.
“Right! Well, Miriam came over this afternoon with a friend. Loaded them up. Took them away.”
“Some tears, I imagine? About Tim?”
Jack had been up at the farm when Alan confirmed they’d found Tim’s body.
Shallow grave. Just dumped there.
He’d called Sarah straight away.
Knew how this case seemed to have affected her more than others.
“She was putting on a brave face,” said Sarah. “But also — I think the idea of having those little companions was working its magic.”
Jack poured a glass of wine. Sarah, with her back to him, turned to the hot grill as if afraid the ribs might run away if untended.
“No kids tonight?” he said. “Thought Chloe was due home in time for the carnival?”
“Daniel’s with his pals down on the bridge, recreating our high-speed chase on their bikes,” she said. “As for my daughter, Chloe has begged another week in Croatia.”
“Really?” said Jack, surprised, walking over with two glasses of the dry white wine …
Then, “Ah, wait a minute. Let me guess … A boy?”
“Yup. ’Fraid so. A boy,” said Sarah.
“Swiss? Rich? Worth a fortune?”
“Poor, local — university student.”
Jack laughed. “Can’t give up work quite yet, Sarah.” Then he said “Oh — Alan called. Said it took a while, but Amanda appears to have decided it’s best at this point to come clean.”
She turned back. “Clean? Not a word I’d associate with her. Cornered, more like.”
“Apparently, she’s going to go for a deal on the table — if she reveals all. Funny thing, Alan said it was suddenly kinda hard to see her as the wealthy and polished wife of a successful MP.”
“Right. Even at the boathouse, she seemed more like her sister Karin,” Sarah said.
“I know. Tough. Lot of nasty street fighter in her.”
“More than a match for Harry. What about Bruno — and Karin?”
He nodded. “Oh, soon as the digging team found the body they started talking plenty. And they haven’t stopped. Both singing the same song. Amanda behind the whole thing. Tim just made the mistake of saying he was going to the police. So lovely Amanda told Bruno to take him up to the farm, work him over — scare him. But Bruno got tanked up first — lost it with him.”
Jack shook his head.
“Just can’t get good trained help these days, hmm?”
“And the others?” Sarah said. “Lionel? Larwood? Rogers — he involved?”
“Alan didn’t want to say too much there. Rogers still denying any knowledge of events. Which seems pretty unlikely to me.”
“I agree,” said Sarah. “By the way, I did the decent thing and handed the cash over to the police.”
“Really? Shame,” said Jack. “Was hoping that could be my new bilge pump fund.”
“Holiday in Australia, that was my plan,” said Sarah, sipping her wine.
“They’re all of them getting their own lawyers. Tony was asked by old Harry, but Tony deferred.”
“Of course.”
“Passed it on to one of his friends. My guess is — they will all do some time.”
“But not the way Amanda will do time?”
And at that, she saw Jack laugh. “Think the prison authorities better get ready. That woman could be a handful anywhere.”
She took another sip of the wine.
Then she stopped.
“Any news about Jordi?”
“Tough,” said Jack. “Parents died a few years back. There’s an uncle coming over. Take the body back, eventually, I guess.”
Sarah looked down the garden towards the river, thinking how lucky she was. Her two kids, happy. Alive. Even if one hadn’t come home yet …
“Hey,” said Jack. “We did good. That family know what happened now. Because of us.”
She nodded. Jack was right. She lifted her glass.
“We didn’t toast ourselves. Another case.”
Jack brought his glass close. A clink.
Another sip, the sun behind Jack now slicing through the trees.
“Cheers. We make a good team, Jack Brennan.”
He nodded.
And she thought: Best of all, moments like this.
She turned back to the ribs. The aroma — maddeningly good.
“Now, I do believe these ribs are ready.”
Jack grinned. “I’ll go get the plates!”
And, as she turned the ribs one more time, the spicy smoke streaming upwards, she thought: Things will get quiet now.
Always do.
Maybe for a long while.
But she hoped — really hoped — not too long.
END
Cherringham — The Body in the Woods
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