Cherringham--Trail of Lies

by Matthew Costello

Sarah put down her notebook, leaving it open, pen next to it.

  Holly’s eyes — dotted with tears as she struggled to hold it together.

  “So,” Sarah summarised, “that night, you knew that Jasmine had gone out … like Amy? Maybe even after Amy had left her tent?”

  A nod.

  “That they could have both been out there together?”

  Another nod, and now it seemed as if Holly couldn’t even bring herself to look at Sarah.

  “Holly — you know that this could be important?”

  A slight turn in Sarah’s direction.

  “Yes.”

  Sarah paused as she got ready to ask a question where — not for the first time — she didn’t have any idea what the answer might be.

  But still knowing that answer could mean so much.

  “But Holly — why?” Then, as if the girl needed exact clarity in the question: “Why didn’t you tell anyone what you saw that night? You must have a reason?”

  Holly stood up. As if simply sitting at the table, and finally telling the truth, was all too much.

  “That morning. When we saw that Amy was gone, when we looked for her. When mum called the police … I was so scared.”

  Now Sarah’s turn to merely nod.

  Taking a breath.

  Listening to Holly — Sarah could picture it, the morning in the woods cool, Amy’s tent empty.

  The confusion, the panic, the fear — and then something else happened.

  “We were just sitting there — waiting. Not doing anything. I remember … I looked at Jasmine. She looked as scared as I felt. I mean — both of us — so worried. But I had to ask her. About the fact that she had left her tent — in the night. And h-had she seen Amy in the night, were they …?”

  The girl stopped, tears interrupting this confession.

  Sarah hanging on every word.

  A deep breath, and Holly continued. “And she like … like … turned. Right up in my face. I mean, she didn’t like me anyway. Made no secret of that. Like I ruined the hike just by being on it.”

  Sarah had quietly opened her notebook, took the pen resting on the table. A click. Whatever was to come, she wanted to capture the exact words Holly would say.

  About Jasmine.

  “And, right in my face, she said ‘you don’t say a damn word to anyone about that. Do you hear? Not a word.’”

  The girl stopped. The small but cosy kitchen so still.

  Finally, Sarah said something ….

  “And is that all, Holly?”

  Pen in hand. Writing down the halting words.

  “No. Jasmine also said that if I did … if I did say she went out, she’d say it was me. I had left my tent. Gone out. Maybe with Amy. That somehow, I was with her. That it was my fault that Amy, you know, Amy …”

  And now Holly’s hands went to her face, and the tears just flowed.

  *

  The makeshift door to Josh’s shack flew open, the frame barely big enough to let Jack enter.

  And once inside — the place dark, and rank, with the smell of clothes worn for months. The loamy smell of earth and the woods mixed with the cloistered stench of the shack.

  Practically unbreathable.

  Until — with the help of thin shafts of sunlight slicing through the ill-placed planks of the shack’s walls — Jack made out a cot.

  And next to it, a cheap blue metal folding chair, looking out of place in the bizarre setting. Clothes hanging from nails, probably — in cold months — the only insulation this dismal room got.

  Newspaper articles taped to the walls, too. A protest at a nuclear plant. A new factory being blockaded.

  A collection of Josh’s greatest hits.

  Jack had entered such places before.

  Places where strange men kept strange secrets.

  Living a life in a place beyond most people’s comprehension.

  Josh was right behind him.

  “Y-you can’t do this. You got to—”

  But by simply standing there, Jack effectively blocked Josh from slipping into his den.

  He looked around for something, anything, that might reveal whether Josh just had a scuffle with Callum over the cars, the noise, the precious woods.

  Or something else.

  Another wooden plank — anything but flat and smooth — served as a shelf, with tattered paperback books stacked four high. More clothes, but nothing suspicious.

  Jack felt that if he didn’t find something, anything, soon, the moment — the momentum — would be gone.

  His own lie — that he had something on Josh — about to be found out.

  Then Jack saw a spot where one of those single, razor-thin shafts of light hit something.

  Something — mostly buried under what looked like t-shirts.

  Jack reached up.

  “You need to leave now! This is my bloody place, my—”

  But Josh’s protests were cut short as, with a slight push, Jack exposed whatever was catching that light.

  Like blue-green jewels. Sparkling, even now sending reflected bits of light shooting onto the dingy walls.

  Jack grabbed it.

  And held the aquamarine phone case, studded with glass “jewels”.

  Held it.

  And he immediately guessed who that case belonged to.

  *

  Jack turned, Josh backlit, half inside the shack, half outside.

  He held up the case, made it wobble in his hand.

  “So Callum was right. And I’m guessing I know who this belongs to.”

  Josh staggered back. Step after step. Nearly comical. Back out to the full sunlight, as Jack walked out of the shack, holding the case.

  “I don’t know—” Josh started.

  Jack finished.

  “Who this belongs to? Yeah, and how it ended up in your tidy little shack, almost hidden?” Jack looked at the case. “I think you do know.”

  Jack thought of a word. Came from his homicide courses with the FBI in Quantico. How the psychologists, the experts on killers, always spoke about the drive of some murderers to find — to keep — a souvenir.

  Is that what this phone case was — a souvenir?

  Jack knew the police hadn’t found Amy’s phone.

  He gestured at Josh’s log couch, signalling that he should sit. And for the second time this afternoon, Josh looked as if he had been beaten, sitting down so slowly, steadying himself with one hand.

  Looking like a good stiff breeze would blow him right over.

  “The police will be mighty interested in this case now, Josh. You know that, right?”

  And Jack also had to check himself here. Could Josh be dangerous?

  Cornered animals … cornered people. Not much difference.

  Josh looked up.

  His voice as hollow and empty as it could be.

  “I know.”

  Jack waited — the garish blue-green case sparkling in the full sunlight.

  “All right,” said Josh. “I’ll tell you what happened. Okay? Everything that happened that night. Y-you’ll have to believe me.”

  No promises on that score, Jack thought.

  But he nodded, and remained standing over Josh, case in his hand.

  Is this going to be a confession?

  Or …

  The woods so still. No bird sounds. No skittering of squirrels jumping from branch to branch. Perfectly still.

  “That night — middle of the night — I heard noises. Down where they bring their damn cars. Woke me up. Car engine, music — so I went to see …”

  A big pause, as Josh was now somewhere else.

  Reliving it.

  “… who it was making all that noise.”

  14. A Deadly Cover-up

  Sarah stood at the door to Jasmine’s house and waited.

  What Holly had told her about that night could be so important.

  Had Jasmine — when she left her tent that night — seen something? Did she actually know what happened to Amy
?

  Then there was the other big question. Would she even tell Sarah?

  The door to the expansive home opened, and there stood Jasmine’s mother.

  “Oh, Mrs Todd …”

  The woman looked confused, and Sarah noted that she held a tissue in one hand. Crumpled up, but at the ready.

  Had she been crying? Upset over something?

  “I was hoping I could speak to your daughter. Got a few more questions I’d like to ask her.”

  But Mrs Todd was already shaking her head.

  “S-she’s not here.”

  Sarah nodded.

  Then, the woman in the doorway stepped back and spoke — as if she felt compelled to tell someone.

  “She went to where that boy works.”

  Shaking her head, maybe Jasmine’s decision to go there triggering a fight, anger, maybe even threats … with this mother losing.

  “That boy?” said Sarah, though she already knew what the answer was going to be.

  “Callum,” the woman and said, her face set, stony.

  Did Jasmine know about all his texts with Amy that night?

  Was she now confronting him?

  Or worse — was she warning him?

  A nod. “That garage. Bulstrode’s. That’s where he works.”

  Sarah nodded. “Thank you,” she said softly. And then, as Sarah turned to go, she heard …

  “She’s not in any trouble, is she? My girl — she didn’t do anything?”

  And rather than lie, Sarah said as she turned to walk back to her car …

  “I don’t know … I hope not.”

  *

  “That punk? Callum? He’s fired. As of an hour ago!”

  Sarah stood amidst the repair bays, filled with cars being worked on. In one bay, though — there was no activity.

  And Ted Bulstrode was pacing the oil-stained concrete, shaking his head.

  The other workers gave a good impression of being hard at it, but — Sarah knew — all listening.

  “He didn’t show up?” said Sarah.

  “Oh, he showed up all right. Late as usual. But then, just a little while later, after all the lads here got going, hitting the day’s jobs, this girl shows up.”

  “A girl?”

  A nod. “Yeah. Waltzes in like she owns the bloody place. Looks around, then storms over to Callum.”

  “Did you hear what she said to him?”

  Bulstrode shook his head.

  “No. But next thing I know, he puts down his tools, and starts heading out. So I shouted at him, ‘Hey, Callum, where the hell you going?’”

  “And?”

  “He didn’t say … not a bloody word back. Just dashed out with the girl like his house was on fire.”

  “See anything else?”

  “Nah. Just the two of them, getting into his truck. Tearing out of here.”

  “No idea where they were going?”

  “Dunno. His place maybe? Tell you — looked like the two of them had some big thing going on. You know what I mean? Some kind of problem. Maybe going to his place to sort it.”

  “His place?”

  “Crappy little cottage, other side of Iron Wharf. Think his dad owned it before he died.”

  Sarah nodded.

  And she had to think, What was happening here?

  Because it sounded like Jasmine and Callum were scared … perhaps even running.

  “Thank you,” Sarah said, as she turned to hurry to Callum’s place.

  But she also knew something else.

  Best alert Jack. Make sure he knows where I’m going.

  As Sarah walked away from the noise, the grinding and pneumatic sounds of the repair shop in full swing, Bulstrode shouted above the din.

  “If you see ’im … if you see that bastid … tell him his job is gone.”

  Sarah nodded as she pushed open the swinging door, like leaving an oily, dark part of the universe for the sun and air outside.

  And as she walked, she slid out her phone to text Jack.

  *

  Jack felt his phone buzz in his pocket but ignored it. This wasn’t the time to be looking at texts.

  He stood still, motionless, as Josh told the story of that night in the woods.

  “Took me about ten minutes to get through there, you know? I don’t use the main tracks. Like to stay quiet. Anyway, when I got there — where they do their driving around, smashing up the forest — it wasn’t what I expected.”

  Josh paused, as if the memory was too painful to bring back to life.

  “Just one car, hmm?” said Jack, standing to one side, still not moving.

  “Yeah — just one. Foley’s car. That big red thing. Gas guzzler. Monster.”

  “And who was in it?”

  “Both of them.”

  “Both?”

  “Foley. And the girl. The girl that got — the one that died.”

  “Amy.”

  “Her, yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure,” he said, nodding.

  “And what were they doing?”

  “They were — you know — in the back seat.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I was going to go. Come back here. I didn’t want to — you know — I’m not like that.”

  “But something happened—”

  “The girl — Amy — somehow she saw me. She shouted. Then Callum, he got out the car. I kinda froze — didn’t know what to do.”

  “What then?”

  “He came over, grabbed hold of me, called me a pervert, other names, and started pushing me around. Said he’d tell everybody about me watching them, told me to bugger off.”

  “So you left?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t want any trouble.”

  Jack waited. This story wasn’t over. Needed a nudge.

  “But, Josh — you didn’t come back here.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I started to. I really did. But I hadn’t gone more than a few hundred yards, when suddenly I heard them arguing. Like — real loud. Foley shouting. Then the girl’s voice. She sounded scared. Real scared. So I turned round and went back. I thought maybe it was all my fault. Like — maybe I could put it right, if I just went and talked to them.”

  He turned and Jack could see Josh’s face drawn — his eyes bloodshot.

  “You do believe me, don’t you?”

  Jack ignored the question. Waited.

  “So I went back. Really careful. Through the trees. So dark, you know? But I know my way — the deer tracks. You can use them. Anyway. I got close — to the car. Lights on inside it. But — see — here’s the thing. It wasn’t what I thought. They weren’t in the car any more. See — what I’d heard — what I thought I’d heard — wasn’t what was happening.”

  Jack looked at him. His face echoing the shock he’d clearly felt that night.

  “What did you see Josh?” he said. “What did you see?”

  And Jack waited while Josh looked away — and took a breath.

  *

  Sarah drove past the gated track that led down to Iron Wharf, and then carried on slowly down the little lane as it zig-zagged around fields on the flat land that flanked the river.

  Dry-stone walls, bushes and trees lined the road, making it hard to get her bearings.

  This — not a road she came down much. It seemed to go on for miles. The lane was so narrow that if somebody came the other way, she’d have to reverse and find a passing point — a gap in the wall maybe, or a gate into a field.

  From memory — the lane itself was a dead-end. Hardly anybody lived down here. Just a few scattered cottages in the fields either side.

  And one of them, the cottage that Callum Foley apparently lived in.

  But which one? She’d asked Grace to get online and text through an address if she could find it — but she hadn’t heard her phone ping.

  She stopped in the middle of the road and reached for her phone.

&
nbsp; No signal. So, no chance of anything from Grace. And no way of knowing if Jack had seen her message.

  Or if he had found out anything from Josh.

  She clipped the phone into the cradle on the dash — at least then she’d see if she suddenly got reception again — and carried on driving slowly down the lane, peering over the top of the walls and through gaps in the hedges.

  Checking out each cottage for signs of life as she went by.

  The road now straightened — stretched ahead for half a mile or maybe more.

  She dimly remembered Jack talking about this bit of lane — part of the old Fosse Way, a Roman road that crossed England.

  Then — a flash of red in the corner of her eye as she passed a small, tumbledown farmer’s cottage, set back a hundred yards or so from the lane.

  She stopped.

  Backed up slowly. Stopped again and looked through a gap in the trees.

  Yes.

  A shiny red pickup, exactly as Jack had described it — looking totally out of place parked up in the overgrown garden that surrounded the house.

  She checked her phone again. Nothing.

  Go back, find a signal, call Jack? she thought.

  No.

  There was always the chance that Callum — and Jasmine if she was with him — might disappear.

  She backed up further, then turned in past the broken, rusted gate and drove slowly towards the house.

  I can handle this, she thought.

  15. Nowhere to Hide

  Jack scrambled down the wooded slope, lost his balance and slid the last ten feet through the scrub, landing with a painful thud on the dirt track next to his Sprite.

  He waited for a few seconds, catching his breath, and making sure he hadn’t actually broken any bones. Then, he got to his feet as fast as he could and brushed the mud off his jeans and jacket.

  Hmm. If the guys back in Brooklyn could see me now.

  He laughed at the thought, but then groaned as he took a few steps forward to the car — his hip was surely going to be a mass of bruises.

  It’ll take a few Lagavulins to sort this tonight.

  He opened the car door, and slowly eased himself into the seat. A squeeze at the best of times, but now the car felt like some kind of instrument of torture, as he reached out and pulled the door shut.

  Must call Sarah, he thought — and took out his phone. He saw he had a text from her. She was on her way to meet Callum and Jasmine …