Cherringham--Blade in the Water (8 page)

“Don’t think we’ll have time for that, James, so—”

“One more thing,” Jack said.

Everyone’s a sucker for … one more thing.

“The woman who came to your place a week or so ago. You yourself called the police?”

Magnusson froze. His pearly whites now hidden behind tightly pursed lips.

Then he turned to his butler.

“James, you can serve the tea.”

Apparently, time had been found for a little more talking.

Amazing what catching someone off-guard can do.

Magnusson waited until his butler had left the room.

“That woman was deranged.”

Jack looked from Magnusson to Kent’s wife, ice rattling in her glass with another sip.

Jack reached down for his teacup, taking his time.

He dropped in a brown sugar cube; no milk for him as usual. After a quick stir with a brilliantly polished silver spoon, Jack brought the cup up and took a cautious sip of the hot tea.

“Really? She came from Buckton, I gather. Nice little village by the way.”

The fact that Jack knew where the woman was coming from clearly rattled Magnusson.

His posture changing, going from leaning back in his chair, legs folded, lord of the manor … to leaning forward, hands extended.

“Look, Mr. Brennan. I explained this to the police. In my business, people can have grievances. If working with us doesn’t work out with them, they can take it personally.”

Jack nodded. Then:

“Personally? Not sure I understand?”

Magnusson looked over at Viola as if she might be of some help.

Little chance of that.

“People invest in our product, join the ViaVita family …”

Now it’s a family …

“… and they have a shot at being an entrepreneur.”

“Right. Selling your product. And for this woman, that didn’t work out. I assume—” Jack paused.

Though Jack didn’t at all know Donna Woods, he already felt bad for what happened to her. Magnusson and his snake-oil business seemed like a trap designed to destroy people, suck them dry … their losses paying for this house, the grounds, the beautiful silverware, the garish, expensive art in the entryway.

Lives broken, while Magnusson and his paramour lived the high life.

He’d seen it before in Manhattan, cases involving the super-rich, people who acted as though they floated above the rest of the world and all its people, miles high, just like the private jets they used for everything from a business lunch across the ocean to a quick skiing getaway in Switzerland.

Jack did his best to not let his disgust show.

“Did she make any threats against you?

Another sheepish look from Magnusson. “Well, hard to tell with all her screaming over the intercom. Threats, yes. Sure. Guess so. But to me she was just, as I said—”

“Deranged.”

Right
thought Jack.
How easy to throw a word like that around. Deranged. Crazy. Mad.

And then you could simply write off the person and everything they said.

“No explicit threat you could remember?”

Magnusson shook his head.

“And what about—” and here Jack looked at the statuesque blonde who now sported a pair of glassy eyes, the G&T doing its work — “what about any threats against the CEO of the company, Mr. Kent?”

Another quick head shake.

Perhaps too quick?

“No. Not that I heard. I think she just tracked down my address somehow. Not hard to do. Came to harangue me.”

“And she left when the police showed up?”

“After a bit.”

Jack smiled. He wasn’t sure how much to believe Magnusson about this, or about Kent’s visit. But Jack definitely had the feeling that the wealthy vitamin king had a lot he wasn’t telling.

On cue, the two bodyguards in their black suits appeared.

“Mr. Brennan, I have meetings. Calls to make.”

Magnusson stood up.

“I’m afraid …”

Jack stood up as well.

“No worries Mr. Magnusson. I think that this chat has been … quite helpful.”

Jack let those words hang, hoping that they created a twinge of anxiety in Magnusson.

If there are secrets there, Jack wanted to keep the executive on edge as much as possible.

“Perhaps,” Jack said, walking to the two goons who waited to escort him out, “we can talk again.” He nodded to Viola, “Mrs. Kent.”

And Jack left the mansion with his own personal escort to guide him back to his car.

*

At the car, Jack gave Sarah a call.

“You on your way back?” he said.

“Right. Traffic a mess from Buckton. How’d things go with Magnusson?”

“Interesting. And for you, with Donna Woods?”

“Sad. Disturbing, really. Doubt she’d hurt anyone. Though her boyfriend’s made of different stuff …”

“Fancy a catch-up? Huffington’s in a bit?”

“Great. Got other news as well.”

“Good, I hope?”

Silence. Then:

“Not really. See you there in thirty. Should be quiet, late afternoon.”

Jack wondered what Sarah’s other news was.

Sometimes they’d get so caught up in what they did, with these cases that had come their way, it was easy for him to forget about real life.

Other things that were important.

Katherine used to say to him,
Jack, you have a family and a life, not just that damn job
.

He’d nod. Yeah, he got that. But that ‘job’ — a homicide detective in Manhattan — it could be all consuming.

Eventually he got better, balancing both.

Something to watch here.

“See you soon,” he said.

“Bye!”

And with the call ended, Jack took a last look at the rolling hills nearby, the manicured grounds of Magnusson’s estate, the house itself that looked out towards the distant village of Cherringham.

What money can do,
he thought.

No matter how you got that money.

He got in, and started up the Sprite, then drove onto the gravel driveway, the cream-coloured stones rumbling as he rolled down the hill slowly.

*

Sarah sat at the back corner table of Huffington’s.

She had taken out her small spiral notebook, and jotted down things she wanted to make sure she told Jack.

So old-school, she thought.

But still the most efficient way to capture a few quick thoughts.

Mostly she wanted Jack to feel some of her anger at what happened to Donna Woods. She didn’t know Magnusson, or Kent for that matter … but as of now, she could only wish them the worst.

Then Jack came in, scanning the near-empty café before spotting Sarah and hurrying over.

“Notebook out.
Like
it …” he said pulling a chair back and sitting down. “At our usual quiet corner.”

Sarah smiled. “The waitresses here have amazing hearing.”

“Gotcha,” Jack said, whispering.

After they ordered the usual — pot of tea, and freshly made biscuits, she filled in Jack on her visit.

He listened, and his face showed — not surprisingly — anger.

Jack could be tough, she knew. But he had a sense of right and wrong, or fairness, that was about as solid as anything Sarah ever experienced.

He nodded. “Bloodsuckers,” he said.

“Fraudulent, as well,” she added. “Classic pyramid scheme: rope people in, sell them something
they
have to sell, get them to rope in others—”

“And on and on. And no court has been able to do anything?”

“I imagine they have enough money for the best lawyers. Who knows, they can probably grease the wheels so the ViaVita scam goes on forever.”

“Oh, they have money. You should see Magnusson’s place. Over the top.”

Jane, one of the newer waitresses at Huffington’s, young, with dark hair, and equally dark eyes — and a dazzling smile — brought over the tea.

“Thanks, Jane.”

Jane nodded. “Enjoy,” the waitress said, retreating while Sarah waited to resume the conversation.

And then she told Jack the even darker secret that Donna Woods had told her.

“Wait a minute? They’re using this whole network to move prescription drugs?”

Sarah nodded. “Steroids, oxy, other pain killers … who knows what else.”

Jack looked around. “And the police can’t do anything about
that
?”

Sarah leaned close. “Here’s the thing. Donna was asked by another distributor, what they call an ‘associate’. So it’s all word of mouth. I doubt you could find a direct link to ViaVita and its execs.”

“Tracks well-covered …”

“I’m sure.”

Then he turned back and looked at her.

“Unless somehow those tracks were uncovered …”

Sarah took a bite of a biscuit. She loved it when the wheels inside Jack’s head started spinning. “What do you mean?”

“We have this obviously crooked but well-protected company. And now stories of ViaVita using its network to peddle drugs. And on top of that — the company CEO is missing.”

“Go on.”

“Until you mentioned drugs I didn’t see the stakes high enough for murder.”

“You think Magnusson and Viola did away with Kent? Then took his boat upstream, abandoned it?”

“Well — we got the knife and the blood. At the very least — what if it’s all connected? Kent, the lawsuits, the drugs?”

“Really?” Sarah said, not at all sure she knew where Jack was heading.

Then he smiled. “Told you Ray saw someone, right?”

She laughed. “I’m sure he sees things all the time.”

Jack grinned. “Right. But, maybe he did. Look, the Regatta’s only a day away. Magnusson will compete — then vanish. If we’re to find out something, better be fast.”

“Another chat with Ray?”

“We do have a patrol to do. If I can catch him when he’s relatively sober.”

“Is he ever? And let me follow this drug story. Might be something in the news archives, some associate arrested.”

“Good.” Then Jack looked right at her.

“You said … you had other news?”

Right. She had said that.

Though in the scheme of things, it didn’t seem so important.

Still Jack had his eyes on her. “Kids okay?”

“Never better.”

“Then?”

She looked away for a moment then back. “You know that big account? Tivoli Travel.”

“I do. Your pitch. Went well …?”

“Thought so — but they called when I was in Buckton. Said ‘
they decided to explore other avenues’
.”

“Damn. Know you were hoping to land that.”

“It would have set Grace and me up for
months
. Now, we’ve just got the usual bits and pieces to cobble together.”

Then Jack did something unexpected, almost — Sarah thought — out of character.

He reached across the table, and gently tapped her right forearm.

“That stinks, Sarah. But you know … There will be others. As big.” He smiled. Somehow so reassuring. “Even bigger.”

“I know,” She took a breath.

He was right. Win some, lose some.

“It’s just that … we did such a lot of work for that pitch.”

“Useful elsewhere?”

Sarah thought about that for a second and nodded. “Possibly. I mean, it might work for one of the travel agencies in Oxford. Maybe they’d like to hear some new ideas …”

“There you go.”

Sarah looked at her watch.

“And now dinner and kids beckon.”

She reached into her purse. “I got this,” Jack said. “You can get the next one.”

“It’s a deal. Let me know how your chat with Ray goes? And I’ll let you know what I find.”

“You bet …”

Sarah smiled, and then dashed out of the café, leaving Jack to finish his tea and the last remaining biscuit, which — knowing Jack’s taste for them — wouldn’t be long for this world.

Ray was already waiting at the Grey Goose to begin his patrol with Jack.

If nothing else, Jack thought, he’s eager.

But as he walked up the gangway to the barge, he saw something in Ray’s eyes.

Lager, cannabis … or excitement?

He’d soon find out.

“Jack … Jack — I got some
news
.”

Jack opened the door and Riley bounded out. A quick jump onto Jack and then the Springer raced off to the meadow, answering nature’s call.

“Do tell.”

If Ray had any news, Jack knew it would have to be filtered based on the source.

“Shall we do our rounds while you talk?”

“Right, so, last night,” Ray followed Jack off the Goose, as they began walking the riverside, the sun down, their citizens patrol kicking in at dark. “I went down the Ploughman’s.”

“Not surprised,” Jack said.

“And one of the lads there, works down at the Wharf, says he spotted something interesting at the old Iron Works.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You know the Iron Works? Derelict place. Falling down.”

“I’ve seen it, from the river,” said Jack, making conversation. “So what did this guy spot then?”

“A brand new tender.”

“So? It’s a wharf — no? You kinda expect to see boats at wharves.”

“But it was a tender I saw that night Jack! Coming down the river!”

“I wanted to ask you about that.” Jack looked at a barge as they passed it. Dark, owner away.

All quiet.

Probably not much point to this, he thought. Still, good to show solidarity with the other boat people. And with the Regatta starting tomorrow, the whole vigilante patrol would soon be over …

“Yeah, all shiny and new, not like one of them beat-up tenders you see around here. Like something off a yacht.”

Jack stopped.

“So you’re saying …”

“That whoever I saw that night
dumped the tender at
the Iron Works. Though the guy did say that he didn’t see it when he came back the other way. Maybe the fella we’re after is gone.” Ray paused, leaning into Jack, the wafting smell of whiskey emanating from his teeth-deprived mouth. “The killer—”

“Don’t know if we have a killer yet, Ray. And maybe the guy isn’t gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Whoever it was could have tied up, looked around, then moved the boat out of sight.”