Cherringham--Trail of Lies

by Matthew Costello

  She watched his shoulders droop as he accepted there was going to have to be a delay.

  “Very well,” he said. “I will do that. Maybe even … today. When the people leave …”

  Then he turned to his wife who was in mid-conversation with Tony.

  “Christine.”

  Sarah watched her turn to him numbly, then shake Tony’s hand. The two parents nodded a goodbye.

  “I’ll be in touch,” said Peter Roberts as he took his wife’s arm and slowly walked down the path towards the funeral cars.

  Sarah turned to Tony.

  “Did you hear any of that?” she said.

  “Didn’t have to,” said Tony. “Peter’s been bending my ear on the subject for the last two weeks. Not surprised he’s reached out to you.”

  “Why?”

  “He doesn’t think his daughter died accidentally,” he said. “He thinks something happened. That she was murdered.”

  4. Amy’s Last Night

  Jack raced up the stairs to Sarah’s office.

  He opened the door, and saw Sarah at her desk, and seated nearby, two people. Afternoon sun pouring in.

  The two of them turned to see him as he entered.

  “Sorry — the Goose burst a pipe, had to deal with that.”

  “The Grey Goose,” Sarah added. “Jack’s boat.”

  The couple nodded at the news as Jack grabbed a chair and pulled it close.

  “Jack, the Roberts were just telling me the police ‘version’ of what happened to their daughter.”

  Jack nodded.

  Version — they called it.

  He was tempted to take out his small spiral notebook.

  But this wasn’t a case yet.

  He had seen a lot of grieving parents during his years on the force in New York.

  Grief could do strange things to people.

  Thinking of all the what-ifs; all those should-haves; anything to push away the immense, overwhelming reality of the loss.

  In this instance — from what Sarah had said to him on the phone — this distraught couple didn’t believe that their daughter, only months away from university and the rest of her life, had somehow had a terrible accident.

  Jack nodded. Keeping quiet for now.

  Peter Roberts continued.

  Jack had to wonder if his wife shared his fears, his suspicion …

  … his — perhaps — paranoia?

  Sometimes, it was the men — the husbands, the fathers — who struggled to accept the reality.

  Some never did.

  “Yes, um, the police team—”

  “The SOCOs?” said Jack, using the British term for the crime scene officers.

  “Yes. After they found … Amy’s body, in the lake … that local chap Alan Rivers had a look around, then they brought in a whole team from Oxford. Stayed for days. God knows what they were doing. Then the policeman in charge said what they thought happened — and as far as I can tell, nobody questioned it. Nobody.”

  Jack fired a look at Sarah. He knew that — through Daniel and her own connections to the school — this death had hit her hard.

  For the past weeks, Sarah had been different. Clearly rattled.

  Loss like that, affects all parents.

  “They said that my daughter,” the man reached out and clutched his wife’s hand, “must have woken up on the night. Then left her tent and somehow—”

  He took a breath.

  So hard for him.

  “He said — it was dark, she must have got lost, disoriented.”

  Jack had followed the story in the local paper when it had first happened and, at the time, felt it just looked like a tragic accident.

  But now he heard in the man’s voice, that Peter Roberts — and maybe his wife — didn’t believe it at all.

  “That my Amy then — supposedly — somehow wandered to that cliff edge!”

  His voice shook.

  “Somehow, took a step off. And fell — hit her head on the rocks. Then just slipped … slipped … into the lake. And drowned.”

  And, at that, his wife started crying.

  Jack wondered how many tears they had both shed.

  Both parents themselves thinking when will it end? The pain. The tears.

  And Sarah passed over a small box of tissues.

  For a moment, quiet.

  *

  Keeping his voice as low as possible, Jack spoke.

  “And what about the inquest — I’m guessing there’s going to be one?”

  “Some bloody use that will be,” said Roberts, with a grunt. “Police have already decided what happened.”

  “And you’re convinced they’re wrong?”

  Jack watched Peter Roberts look at his wife.

  Was she on board for opening all this up? Jack wondered. Or was she hostage to the obsession now driving her husband?

  At that glance, Christine Roberts looked down.

  Couples … Jack thought. Amazing the ways they learn to communicate. Sometimes without words. Just a look. A touch.

  He and his Katherine had been like that. And not a day went by that Jack didn’t miss her.

  “My Amy.” A breath. This was still so difficult for him. “Our Amy — she was a bright girl. And they tell us, she goes wandering off, middle of the night—”

  Now Jack looked at Sarah. She had to be processing this quite differently. Kid the same age. A daughter not much older.

  Something he best keep in mind.

  “Top of her class, so smart, she was going to read law, you know. Cambridge gave her an amazing offer, and—”

  The man’s wife reached out. Touched his hand.

  Steadying him.

  “She gets up, so she’s going to take her torch, isn’t she? She’s not daft. We’ve all been camping. All those girls had torches. She’d take it with her. Find her way out of the tent, into the woods — and back.”

  The man’s voice, having started low, began to rise, as if the outrage at what had happened was still growing.

  “Um, Peter—”

  Sarah’s voice gentle. As if she might calm the storm.

  “But the police … did they find her torch?”

  Peter Roberts turned to Sarah as if the question made absolutely no sense. Then a slow shaking of his head.

  “No. They didn’t. No torch. Not in the bloody tent, not anywhere!”

  Then the man turned back to Jack. “Can you explain that?”

  The man waited, leaving the challenge solidly with Jack.

  Jack asked the obvious.

  “And they searched the area?”

  “Yes. Spent days. But in the end, you know what they said?”

  Jack waited.

  “They said, out there, woods everywhere, trails everywhere. If she’d wandered around lost, the torch dropped, maybe batteries dead … could have been anywhere.”

  Again Sarah:

  “And the lake, where she was …?”

  “Where they found her body? Yes, they searched there too. Divers even. Nothing. Now you tell me — does that make any sense at all?”

  And again, Jack looked at Sarah. Guessing that she must be thinking what he was.

  That nothing Peter Roberts had said so far suggested murder.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said. “But a missing torch — on its own—”

  “But it all adds up, doesn’t it? And here’s the other thing. They found her body, not by the cliff, oh no, but on the far side, caught up under some fallen trees. So how did it get there then?”

  The man nodded, as if the meaning of his words were obvious.

  But back in New York, Jack had seen what currents and tides could do to a body, moving here, there, until finally it was fished out.

  Never a pretty sight.

  Jack looked at Sarah, then back at Peter.

  “When somebody drowns, the body often … well … it drifts. It’s very common, Mr Roberts.”

  “No, no, no. Something happened. That night. In those wood
s. And we don’t have a damn—”

  Again, the slightest trembling of the man’s lip. Always so close to losing it.

  He stopped.

  And then his wife spoke. Her voice so hollow. A type of voice Jack had heard may times back in New York. A voice worn to a whisper. By the sobs. The tears.

  “Tell him, Peter. The other thing.”

  Peter Roberts turned back to look at Jack, then Sarah.

  “And you know what? What else they didn’t find?”

  Jack waited.

  “My Amy’s phone! Up in the middle of the night. No torch. No phone?”

  And the man looked away, perhaps — Jack thought — remembering his daughter crouched over her cell, an image familiar to any parent.

  Yet another terrible thought making that loss, the grief so hard.

  Thinking: If only we could go back in time.

  Then the girl’s mother looked up, eyes wet, like pools slowly filling — looking at Jack but giving Sarah her final locked-on stare.

  Jack waited, then turned back to her husband.

  “Mr Roberts, apart from these police … failings … which you mention, is there anything that makes you think somebody might have wanted to harm Amy?”

  The man seemed surprised by the question.

  “What do you mean?” said Roberts.

  “Trouble at school. Threats, maybe? Recent fights, arguments? Some kind of changed behaviour in your daughter before she went on the hike?”

  Jack looked at both of them and for a second saw a flicker of something in the man’s eyes.

  Something he’s not telling, thought Jack.

  Then Peter Roberts’s face went still again.

  “No, nothing. Everybody loved Amy.”

  He looked to his wife for confirmation and she nodded.

  “And there’s no chance,” began Sarah, pausing for a second. “I’m sorry I have to ask this. No chance — she might have taken her own life?”

  “Never,” said Mrs Roberts.

  The word was spat out so quickly — angrily.

  “That day she left,” Amy’s father added, “she couldn’t have been happier.”

  Jack watched as his wife reached over, took his hand, squeezed it tight.

  “So, will you help us?” she said, turning back to Jack and Sarah. “Help us find out? What could have happened?”

  And at that, Sarah, who Jack thought had also started tearing up, turned to him.

  One of those moments.

  No need for them to speak about this.

  And Jack leaned forward, a small physical gesture to accompany his words.

  “Well. We’ll try.” A look to Sarah. A nod back in confirmation. “We’ll try to find out what we can. Not sure we can promise—”

  But his words were cut off as the two people — feeling such relief, even at such a terrible moment — fell into each other.

  And stayed that way for minutes.

  *

  Sarah grabbed a notebook from her desk.

  She saw Jack follow suit as they now quickly got down all the details that the couple could share, starting with the names of the other two girls on the trip.

  The route they took. What happened when.

  Her assistant Grace was away, tending to details for her wedding. That big date getting close! Giving them privacy.

  Notebooks closed, Sarah stood up.

  If she and Jack were to help, they had best sort out what they could possibly do.

  Once the Crime Unit were satisfied this was an accidental death — well, that was usually it.

  And what were the odds they could be wrong?

  The couple stood up, Jack and the man shaking hands, but Christine Roberts giving Sarah a hug.

  And Sarah wasn’t sure she had ever felt this immense sense of obligation to help before.

  Jack’s last words as the couple walked down the wooden stars, wood creaking with each step: “We’ll let you know … if … when we find out anything.”

  And then they were gone.

  Sarah turned to Jack. And damn, if she didn’t feel on the edge of crying herself.

  Her notebook filled with names, timings, events.

  Not a single suspicious thing she could see.

  “What have we just got ourselves into?” she said.

  5. A New Case

  Jack had suggested they walk past the church, down a small lane, to the grassy area behind.

  A quiet, soothing stroll — a place for the two of them to sort out things — just yards from the summertime bustle of Cherringham High Street.

  “What are you thinking?” she said.

  Jack gave her a look but kept walking.

  “I’m thinking … been in this situation before. You know, once, this ten-year-old boy went missing in Bay Ridge.”

  Then he added, “That part of Brooklyn, it’s near the ocean, the Verrazano Bridge. I was a newbie — least as a detective. Just a few years in. And I hated to let things go. But everything had been done — all the people talked to, stories checked. It was time — I was told — to hang it up.”

  Sarah came to a rickety wooden gate attached to a moss-covered stone wall. She undid the latch, and they passed through.

  “But you didn’t ‘hang it up’?”

  “Nope. Kept at it. On my own time. Strictly against the book. But didn’t want this little kid to become just another face on a milk carton.”

  Jack paused. The ground was dry as they walked — the mud of the path packed hard. Hadn’t rained in quite a while.

  “Then — found something. A little … discrepancy. Led to another. Then, bit by bit …”

  He stopped, sun in his face. And Sarah could tell it was as if Jack was back there. Like it was yesterday, and not thirty years ago.

  “Found out what happened.” He took a breath. “Sadly — no milk box for that kid.” He looked away. “But a funeral.”

  “And you feel about this the same way?”

  “Look, Sarah, I don’t know. The crime scene people … top notch. Probably scoured as much of the woods as they could for the torch and cell. They’d have to spend weeks, months … and even then, could be anywhere.”

  He started walking.

  “And a fall like that? Onto rocks — that’s the official version, yes? Accident makes sense. And the body — well, that could have ended up anywhere. But also something else that’s clear, something that must have come out at the autopsy — no sign of any kind of assault.”

  “Right. And also — what’s the motive?”

  “Exactly. Course we haven’t seen any witness statements yet — if there are any. So we don’t know who else might have been around that night — if anybody.”

  “And yet — we said ‘yes’.”

  And at that, for the first time — and was it ever welcome — he laughed.

  “Why, yes we did. To put those people’s minds at rest, at least. Got things we can check on, double check stories …”

  And she knew he was thinking about that other case from so long ago.

  “The girls she was with.”

  A nod. “Start there. Not much I know …”

  As they came to a small slope downwards, the early summer afternoon was growing warmer.

  “Jack — I had a thought.”

  “Good. Which is?”

  “How about I call Alan? Now. See if we can look at the official reports. Might be more there.”

  And another laugh. “I know Alan has been pretty comfortable, um, helping us lately. Still — sharing the case details? No crime. The incident resolved. Dunno …”

  “Worth a try, don’t you think?”

  “Okay. Why not … Maybe then we can figure who we actually need speak with.”

  And Sarah slid out her phone.

  Alan Rivers’ number — right there in her recent contacts.

  Says something about my life, she thought.

  And she made the call.

  *

  Jack watched Sarah nodding
; close enough to hear her.

  “Yes, Alan. The couple simply wanted us to look into—”

  From Sarah’s face, the call with Alan Rivers not going terribly well.

  “We just thought … I mean if nothing else … if we could see the interviews maybe? A copy of the files. Just a look, really.”

  And at the next pause, Sarah looked right at Jack and made a frowny face.

  Nope. However good their relationship with the local constabulary was, right now it wasn’t helping.

  Then: “You will … think about it? Yes?” Her face relaxed. “Thanks, Alan. Really. If nothing else, for those poor people.”

  And then the call ended.

  *

  “Well, that seemed to go well,” Jack said.

  “I’m afraid he wasn’t pleased with the request.”

  Jack nodded. “If his superiors found out — or whoever ran the team that investigated — it wouldn’t be good.”

  Sarah forced a faint smile. “But — he did say he would think about it.”

  Jack nodded. He knew Alan appreciated what he and Sarah had done over the years; how they had solved crimes that might have easily gone unsolved.

  “So,” Sarah said, “I guess we’re on our own. What do you think? Chat with the two girls?”

  Jack nodded.

  “You take one, me the other?” said Sarah.

  Now Jack looked away.

  Their walk had taken them to the edge of the village. They were on the cusp of a well-trimmed meadow. The type of patch of earth that — for some reason he couldn’t put his finger on — always seemed uniquely “British”.

  Was it the colour? That brilliant green? The gentle slopes, and slow, rolling hills that spoke of a land that was ancient, a land settled, peaceful.

  Unlike the often earthquake-ravaged parts of the States, with its jagged mountain ranges slowly bumping into each other.

  Old world versus the new world.

  “I think not.”

  “Hmm?”

  “The girls — after this morning — probably on edge. Rattled. I think we’d fare better together. I mean, you have a connection to them. Daniel in school and all.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. But you think today, right now? Feelings are going to be raw.”

  And Jack rubbed his chin, knowing that he was guessing about this.

  “Hmm — maybe too raw. Tell you what — for now, why don’t we head back to your office, get our heads round this case? Think you can get me all the newspaper reports going back to when this happened?”