Cherringham--Death on a Summer Night (10 page)

And that made him think of something …

Those lakes were deep in parts — very deep.

He thought back to his time as a detective in New York. The early morning calls to the East River, one a year at least.

A body dumped in the hope that it would disappear.

But the fast-flowing waters of the East River never kept those secrets for long, and the body would emerge one day, drifting in the tide.

Here though, these gravel pits were a different matter entirely.

Those still, black waters would easily swallow a body and never spit it out.

If I had to get rid of a body in these parts,
he thought,
that’s where I’d go.

He turned and headed back down the hill to his car.

Just time to pop into the butchers and get some steaks for the barbecue.

He had a lot to tell Sarah.

But that could wait. They’d swim and eat first.

That was what he’d promised … and it sounded perfect.

Sarah watched Daniel at the bow of Jack’s barge take a running leap into the air, plunging into the river.

Jack laughed.

“That water has to be cold,” he said.

“After this week, I think even the chilly Thames has warmed up. He certainly seems to be enjoying it.”

She looked back at Chloe, recently returned from her father’s place in London and — it seemed — not actually back yet.

Headphones in.

Sunglasses on.

Bathing suit worn — it would appear — for decorative purposes only.

“Guess Chloe won’t be joining her brother?”

“Doesn’t appear that way.”

She felt Jack looking at her, maybe picking up her concern.

About raising a teenage girl largely by herself. About the impact of the glittering London life of her father as opposed to sleepy Cherringham.

Jack tilted the ice shaker towards Sarah. “Ready for the rest of your martini?”

“I do believe so. Not the kind of drink you gulp down, is it?”

Jack laughed. “The writer James Thurber once said, ‘One martini is all right. Two are too many, and three are not enough.’”

“Quoting writers now are we?”

“When it comes to my favourite beverage … why not? For me one will do, icy cold, sipped. Shall I put on the steaks?”

Sarah watched Daniel pull himself up the side of the barge, using a ladder Jack had hung by the side.

“Maybe in a bit. Let Daniel get a few more jumps in, and maybe for Chloe to get hungry.”

“Smell of sizzling steak should do that.”

“Hey Mum, Jack — watch this!”

Daniel yelled loud enough so that Sarah saw even Chloe — reclining against the rear cabin wall of the ship — turn and look.

And then Daniel took another leap, and tucked his legs up.

His drop into the river this time sent a giant splash shooting up.

“A cannonball!” Jack said. “Used to do those all day at the Farragut Pool.” He leaned close. “The goal was always to get people wet standing on the side-lines.”

She smiled at that, and over Jack’s shoulder saw Chloe shake her head at what she probably viewed as silly, unsophisticated, or—

Who knew?

She hadn’t talked much since she came back except to say how much she liked London, “Dad’s great apartment,” the cool restaurants …

The high life.

Sarah well knew its pull.

Daniel scrambled up the ladder again.

“See it?”

“Sure did,” Jack said. “Surprised there’s any water left in the river.”

Daniel grinned at that.

Jack’s so good with him
, she thought.

She had her eyes on Jack as Daniel did another run. Only this time when he did, Jack turned away.

She knew that look, into the distance, signalling that he suddenly wasn’t simply watching the water show and enjoying the martini.

And as he turned to her, she discovered that she was right.

*

“I had a call with Alan. Just a chat to see if there was anything we should know about Henry Trask.”

“Really. Anything interesting?”

Jack looked away. “Not much. But he did say there was a decades-old ‘nuisance report’ on Trask that had him lurking outside people’s homes. Happened a few times, then never again.”

“Maybe his new wife … Dinah’s mother … didn’t appreciate it?”

Jack tilted his head. “Yes. Could be. But the lurking? It’s exactly a person like that … that would stop, pick someone on the road.”

“Jack, now you’re scaring me.”

“One other thing, Sarah. When I spoke to Trask, asked about his car, what he drove. ‘A Vauxhall’, he said, just as he does now … he said. But he got rid of it just about the time Dinah disappeared.”

Sarah listened, always amazed when things started to fit together for Jack. And of all the mysteries they had dealt with, this — besides being the oldest — also had become the creepiest.

For that reason alone, Sarah was more than motivated to find out whether Tim Bell was guilty … or not.

Daniel did another run; body tightly tucked again, Jack watching him.

“If something happened that night, with Trask, Dinah, in his car. How would you make it all go away?”

Daniel’s plunge sent a geyser shooting across the bow of the Goose.

And Sarah could follow where Jack’s thoughts were leading.

“In the car itself. In the water.”

Jack added the other piece. “Yeah. In the lake that belonged to Trask.”

“God. Wait a minute! There’s something here that maybe you don’t know, Jack.”

“Hmm?”

“I covered it a few months back for the Cherringham Newsletter. There were outline plans for developing that lake. And Trask was one of the people opposing it. No boating, windsurfing, swimming facilities.”

“And no scuba diving, I bet?”

“Exactly.”

“See, back in the day, I always had NYPD dive teams at the ready to fish whomever and whatever out of the Hudson and East Rivers. Never learned scuba myself … but if I did dive, I know where I’d like to take a look now.”

“You don’t dive?”

“No.”

Sarah looked away. She enjoyed it when she could surprise Jack.

“Well — there’s a thing. I
do
.”

And Jack’s grin said that he enjoyed a good surprise as much as his partner.

“My ex insisted on it. We did the basic PADI work in London, and—”

“PADI?”

“Professional Association of Dive Instructors. Then we did our open water certification dives in the Caymans — gorgeous, clear water. Visibility over a hundred feet, watching hammerheads circling near the Cayman ‘Wall.’ A sheer drop to thousands of feet below.”

“Now that sounds scary to me. But how long has it been?”

“A while. But I did a lot of dives, even some just after we had the kids. The Red Sea, the Maldives.”

She took a breath.

“Jack. I could do this.”

He shook his head. “Dunno, Sarah. Sounds—”

“I’ve still got all the gear. Well, except for air tanks. But I know a sports shop in Oxford that carries them. Everything else I have.”

She noticed that his eyes were locked on Daniel’s jumping in, climbing out, over and over.

Thinking:

He doesn’t want me in danger.

But she knew with the number of dives she’d done, diving that still lake would be safe.

And if Trask had hidden something in it … in his car, maybe with—

Well, that thought did scare her.

The idea of finding … Dinah.

She pushed it away.

“We can do this Jack.”

“
You
can.”

“And you said Trask was going to the concert. We can wait until he leaves. Then I go into the lake.”

“Be twilight. Too dark.”

“Dark down there anyway; that’s why divers wear headlamps. I’ve got a killer one of those as well.”

Jack nodded.

He didn’t like the idea.

Not at all.

But she felt that she had convinced him. And the idea of doing it, despite the fear of what she might find, made her heart race.

“I think …” Jack said.

She waited for his answer, his thoughts on the plan.

“…I better put the steaks on. I’m hungry.”

And his avoidance — using the steaks — made her laugh.

Sarah parked her car well away from a rocky ledge that overlooked the lake and Trask’s cottage. Then she and Jack walked to the ledge, hidden by bushes.

He crouched down and trained his binoculars on the cottage, on Trask’s latest Vauxhall.

“See anything at all? Movement?”

“No. Maybe he changed his mind. Concert starts in thirty. Think he’d have to be leaving soon.”

Sarah nodded. Now that she was here, all her old diving gear in the trunk of her RAV4, and two air tanks — the spare if needed — she felt that she wouldn’t be too disappointed if the dive didn’t happen.

“Hold on,” Jack said.

‘What?”

“Okay. He’s coming out. Looking around.”

“Not going to his car?”

“Not right away. Okay, there. Went to the car. Getting in.”

“I have to tell you Jack, my heart’s racing.”

“Right. Here. Take a look … watch him leave yourself.”

Sarah took the powerful binoculars and looked as the car beside the cottage backed up, turned, then disappeared down a track.

She put down the binoculars.

“Well, I suppose he’s off to the concert.”

“It appears that way.”

“Doesn’t look like there’re any fishermen out there.”

“We have our ‘window.’ You all set?”

She smiled, putting a brave face on. The closer the moment got, the less “set” she felt.

“Shall we head down?”

“Let’s give him a few minutes. Then yes, we can head over to where he had me fishing … there’s a big drop off about twenty feet into the lake, he said.”

Sarah took a breath. “Good.”

She waited a few more excruciating minutes, Jack’s eyes still locked on the cottage and the track.

And when all remained quiet, they got up and walked back to the hidden RAV4.

*

Jack looked at Sarah, now transformed in a near-comical way.

Like some kind of adventure hero,
he thought.

Wet suit, weight belt, her buoyancy vest with a single tank strapped to the back. Mask on top of her head ready to be pulled down. Snorkel to the side.

All that remained was to slip on the fins sitting in the open boot of the car, and put a headlamp on.

“My — you do look like a different, Sarah.”

She smiled … maybe a bit nervously, he thought.

“Based on how tight this wetsuit feels, I
am
a different Sarah.”

Jack laughed. “You checked that all is in good working condition? Been a while, right?”

She nodded, and held up her combination depth and air pressure gauge.

“Working fine. Good air pressure. Always had it serviced after a dive trip.”

Jack picked up the headlamp from the boot and turned it on.

“New batteries?”

“Bought today.”

He looked up at the sky. Clouds had rolled in so, even though sunset was still over an hour away, down here, in the shadow of the cliff it was already gloomy, dark.

“Then,” he said slowly, “guess we’re ready.”

She nodded. “Let’s do it. I still want to catch some of the concert!”

“Look, Sarah, you may find nothing down there.”

Another nod.

“Or you may indeed … find something. If you do, shoot straight back up and we’ll let the police do their work.”

She laughed at that. “Won’t exactly
shoot
up, Jack, That’s how you get decompression illness. You come up no faster than your air bubbles.”

“Shows what I know about diving, hmm?”

“Yes. Anyway — I’m ready.”

She sat down on the back of the car, and slipped on the fins. Then he watched as she pulled down her mask and popped the regulator into her mouth.

Jack handed her the headlamp.

She slid it onto her forehead, the elastic band tight.

“Be careful Sarah …”

A last nod and she turned and walked into the lake one floppy step at a time, like something out of a science fiction film as she waded deeper into the murky water.

And when deep enough, she gracefully lowered herself into the water and began swimming out a bit, to a spot where she turned … and faced the shore.

Then — unexpectedly — she gave him an “okay” sign with her right hand.

Jack shook his head, grinned — and gave her an “okay” back.

And with that, he watched his friend, his mystery-solving partner, vanish under the water.

*

For a moment, Sarah felt uncomfortable bobbing on the surface, now breathing air from the tank, her buoyancy vest still keeping her afloat.

It had been so long since she had dived.

And despite all the training … was this solo dive really a good idea?

Jack didn’t mention it — that is, if he knew it — that divers were supposed to dive in pairs.

The so-called “buddy-system.”

If anything went wrong, you had another diver to help you out, sharing air, pulling you to the surface if you blacked out.

Now, here, she was alone.

But this was not the time to hesitate. So she reached up to the release valve near her left shoulder, and let the air inside the vest
whoosh
out.

And then the weights on her belt did their work, as if in an unseen lift, she began sinking.

Within moments, the light from above began to fade, and the visibility went from ten feet to just a few feet.

She gave a kick with her fins to slow her descent.

Then she brought her hand up to her nose, and pressing her nostrils tight, she blew to equalize the pressure on her eardrums.

Her kicks were just able to keep her suspended.

Then — fully equalized — with small kicks, she let the now more gradual drop continue.

Another few feet, more loss of visibility, and she turned on her headlamp.

The headlamp’s light — so brilliant on the surface, like a Mercedes’ headlights roaring through the night — now seemed outmatched here, the water so murky.