Cherringham--Death on a Summer Night (7 page)

“—she didn’t want any of it. All those bloody awards at school. ‘Little Miss Perfect’, who thought she was too good for me.”

“You ended it?”

Another look from Ollie.

“Didn’t say that, now did I?
We
ended it. Both of us heading in two different directions. The whole thing turned pointless. It was over. That was it.”

Jack waited a bit before the next question. Rubbing his cheek as if a thought had just come to him … while in truth he knew exactly what he was going to say … and the reaction he’d be looking for.

“You wouldn’t have wanted any harm to come to Dinah Taylor, now would you?”

“Bloody hell!”

Ollie threw down his cigarette butt, and crushed it into the sand as if squashing a giant insect.

“We
know
who did something to Dinah, Mr Brennan, now don’t we? That drugged-up bastard Tim Bell.”

Ollie raised a finger.

“Don’t you even suggest that I would have done anything to hurt Dinah.”

Jack nodded. And despite the raised finger, the bite to Ollie’s words, he also felt something else.

After all these years, Ollie still had feelings for his girlfriend from long ago. And now Jack also doubted that Ollie had ended that relationship willingly.

Could he have been so in love with Dinah that … somehow something bad could have happened?

Didn’t seem likely — but it had to remain a possibility.

Jack had only one more question for the assistant plumber.

“One more thing that seems — well — strange to me,”

Ollie … a bit calmed down now … nodded.

“Dinah had big plans, as you say. Didn’t see herself maybe in this small village, someone’s wife.”

Another nod.

“So — why would she go out with Tim Bell? I mean, he didn’t seem like university material. It … it doesn’t make sense, does it?”

A sad smile from Ollie.

“You see, I’m with you there, Mr Brennan. But as much as Dinah wanted to get out of Cherringham, she also had someone trying to control her, someone who maybe wanted her to settle here more than even I did.”

Jack nodded.

Then: “Let me guess … her father?”

“Her mother, too. Both of them trying to control their ‘star pupil.’ So you ask me why she would go out with a Tim Bell? What’s that you Americans say, Mr Brennan? ‘Do the math’?”

“To get back at them?”

“Yeah. Absolutely. Dinah had that in her, too. Feeling them trying to control her and her wanting to let them know that was never …
ever
… going to happen. Not to her.”

And what Ollie said made Jack think differently about Vincent Taylor. Could all his anger, his hatred towards Tim Bell, also reflect the fact that he was — in some tragic way — responsible?

He wouldn’t be the first parent to make his daughter do something foolish. Something dangerous.

Jack stood up.

“Thanks for talking, Ollie.”

“He’s the bastard that did it, Mr Brennan.”

“Maybe,” Jack said. “Could very well be. But—”

And then Jack heard the squeal of a siren. Then another. Coming from a different direction. Police? Fire? Ambulance? All three?

A rare event in Cherringham, and Jack’s gut told him that he’d better see where all those sirens were converging.

“I’m going to run, Ollie …”

And Jack meant that literally, as he raced out of the lot, into the shop, and past Pete Bull — standing at the door — just as a fire engine raced by, a blur of red and yellow, siren screaming.

*

Jack got to his Sprite and hopped in just in time to see the fire engine turn … where he most feared it would turn.

Down Gibraltar Terrace.

A quick check of the rear-view mirror, and he pulled out, telling himself that he knew something would happen, and now it had.

And when he took the sharp turn on the road that led to Tim Bell’s house — he saw the fire engine stopped.

Firemen racing around, the hose already uncoiled.

Alan Rivers’ police car was parked on the other side of the road, lights flashing as Alan stood out on the street ready to keep any crowds away.

But that was the strange thing.

Fire on the street — but there was no crowd out watching.

No one.

Not, Jack guessed, when anyone standing by could be accused of having set the roaring fire that now blazed on the front of Bell’s house.

Jack stopped well away, got out, and walked quickly over to the house.

It looked as if someone had covered the mailbox and post with kerosene, gasoline … some accelerant that made the fire give off dark smudgy smoke that alternated with the steady, long licks of bright orange flame shooting up to the sky.

Not a fire to destroy the place.

But a warning.

And the people on this street? Probably looking at the blaze from inside their homes, pulling aside the curtains.

Peeking.

Just as Jack reached the scene, he saw Bell standing outside his house watching the team of firemen shoot water on the fire. Even the chief — Jim Barnes — was working the hose, helping guide the stream of water that, though massive, still had to struggle with the fire feeding off whatever had caused it to erupt so explosively.

Jack saw Alan walk over to Tim Bell who stood there, face impassive, almost as if he too expected something like this.

Then Jack turned, seeing another car racing down the road.

Sarah.

*

She had parked behind the Sprite, not at all surprised to see Jack here.

Then she ran up to him, the only witness to the fire besides the firemen, Alan, and Bell himself.

Jack turned to her as she ran and the torch-like fire finally sputtered to a stop.

“Sarah. Thought something like this would happen,” Jack said.

“Soon as I heard the siren, I knew …
felt
like it was about Bell.”

“Yeah. Find out anything from Dinah’s friends?”

And Sarah told him about her meeting with Jen and Michelle, the night at the carnival when they last saw their good friend, and the dashed hopes of Dinah’s music teacher, Rik Chase.

Jack nodded.

As usual, taking it all in.

“And you? Who do you think has done this?”

“Her father? And her ex-boyfriend? Both of them could have easily done this — or arranged for it to be done …”

Jack gestured to the dark, sodden site of the fire, the mailbox and post reduced to a black skeleton.

“And I’m afraid this might not be the end of it,” Jack said.

Chief Barnes had his crew coiling the hose while Alan stood with Bell.

“Let’s see if Alan will let us chat with him a bit.”

Sarah nodded. And she walked beside Jack, stepping around the black crater of the fire, to the front door.

Bell’s lips were pursed, and as she got close she heard Alan …

“You’ll have to come down to the station to fill out a report, Tim.”

She watched Bell shake his head.

“No, I don’t. Don’t have to file any damn report. Not if I don’t want to.”

Alan looked up as she and Jack got to the door. He gave her a look … as if saying …
please help. Make this guy see sense.

But Bell didn’t seem to be looking for any advice.

“Alan, Tim …” Jack said. “Nasty business.”

“I was telling him, Jack, that he really should fill out a report. We can have a proper investigation then, maybe get a forensics team down here.”

Sarah watched Bell. His eyes locked on the site of the fire. If it was meant to scare Bell off … it didn’t seem to working.

“Tim,” she said, “any idea who did this?”

Bell’s eyes slowly moved from their position locked on the smouldering mailbox to Sarah.

“I’d say … anybody in this town, wouldn’t you? ’Cept maybe you two. Guess—” he forced a grin, “you’re off the hook.”

Jack took a step closer. “Might help us if you let Alan do his job.”

Tim looked to Jack now. Then the smallest of nods.

“And maybe,” Alan added, “…maybe think about leaving the village for a while. Let things settle down. While we look into things.”

With that Bell shook his head.

“Leave? Oh I left, didn’t I? A good long twenty-five years ago. Not now. You see—”

And now he took in all three of them …

“—whoever did this, why maybe that’s just what he wants. Because there’s someone here, in lovely Cherringham, who
knows
what happened to Dinah. And I mean to find out who the hell that is …”

Sarah looked to Jack. She didn’t like Bell. But his anger at what happened, today — and so long ago — now had her judging him less harshly.

Not a nice guy at all.

But a murderer?

She didn’t think so.

“Look Tim,” Jack said, “how about this. You let us know if there are any threats, anything else that happens. Okay? And we’ll keep digging. But in the meantime — you file the report with Alan here. Who knows what they might find in that mess on your front lawn?”

For a second Tim kept his arms folded, locked against any suggestion of “what he should do.”

But then Sarah watched as, in that near magical way Jack had of getting people to move, just a bit, Tim unfolded his arms.

“All right. I’ll do it. And you promise me you’ll keep talking to people, asking questions. If not for my bloody sake — then Dinah’s.”

Jack looked at Sarah. This was a decision for the two of them. She gave Jack a small nod.

“You got it.”

And with that, Bell followed Alan to his patrol car just as the fire engine did a tricky three-point turn and then headed slowly back down the street, siren off, fire ended.

Then Jack said …

“Guess you’d best get back for Chloe — didn’t you say she was home from London today?”

“God, yes — nearly forgot.”

“We’ll talk … plan later. Meanwhile, I need to take Riley for a long walk and do some thinking.”

“Great. Later then.”

And Sarah turned and walked down the still quiet street, the hot afternoon air relentless, so close and humid …

Not unlike the fire that exploded in front of Bell’s house.

A warning. A threat.

With — Sarah thought for sure — more to come.

It was lunchtime the next day before Sarah finally had time to meet Rik Chase.

She’d stayed up late with Chloe who had all kind of tales of her week staying with her father in London. Trips to the theatre, cinema, ballet, a “totally amazing” launch party at the Royal Opera House, lunch at The Ivy “Mum, you’ll never believe who was on the next table!”

Sarah had to work hard to hide her frustration that her ex-husband lived a life of conspicuous expense while she, Chloe, and Daniel survived by careful budgeting and foregoing holidays abroad.

Chloe had clearly been dazzled by that London life — just as Sarah had been when she’d left Cherringham to find her fortune years ago. And with a pang, Sarah realized that Chloe herself would be gone in just a few years’ time — to university, to work, to her own life as an adult …

So — late to bed, and a late start at the office: then a morning crammed with deadlines, phone calls, rushed meetings, and finally a little genuine design work at her screen.

And now, after a hurried sandwich, here she was in Cherringham’s only real “posh” street — Bradwell Crescent — looking for Rik Chase’s house.

Only a dozen houses sat tucked away in the crescent, which curved around a shared garden. Sarah walked slowly along the imposing line of tall Georgian houses, looking for number eight. She could only dream of living here.

If Cherringham had a pyramid, this was the top of it.

The imposing houses were identical and, through the windows, Sarah could see that though each interior might be decorated in a different style, the common denominator was wealth.

She climbed the steps to number eight and tapped the black lion’s-head knocker against the door.

It swung open immediately, surprising her. A man stood there, tall, dark hair, tanned. He grinned at her:

“Hi — Sarah?”

“Mr Chase?” said Sarah, taken aback.

“Rik — please,” he said, gesturing to her to enter. A big smile. “Come on in.”

She went through and stood in the hall while he shut the door. Then as he passed close by her she caught a note of expensive aftershave she recognized.

No shortage of money here,
she thought.
Or style …

“This way,” he said, pacing away from her down a corridor towards the back of the house. “Fancy a coffee? Just made one.”

“Thanks,” she said, and followed him.

Rik wasn’t what she’d imagined at all.

What she’d expected was a dusty old music teacher.

What she’d got was Italian film star in tailored white shirt, black skinny jeans, and loafers …

The corridor opened into a bright modern kitchen, the width of the house, with a big glass extension giving out onto a raised terrace and walled garden.

While Rik set off an espresso machine in the kitchen area, Sarah looked around the room.

Big bright canvases filled the walls, while three brown leather sofas surrounded a glass coffee table. And near the room’s back windows … a grand piano and a dozen pricey-looking acoustic guitars — in their stands — looking like musical soldiers ready for battle.

“Beautiful room,” she said.

“Ought to be — for what it cost,” he laughed. “Had to get guys from London — the Cherringham builders fell at the first hurdle.”

She pointed at a series of black-and-white photos on the wall: Rik at the piano with a variety of young musicians, mostly female — and many holding trophies or awards.

“So you teach in here?” she asked.

“Not much these days,” he said, handing her a coffee. “Unless they’re really special.”

“Looks like you were pretty good,” she said, nodding towards the photos.

He gestured to her to sit on one of the sofas, and she watched as he put his own coffee down then leaned back with his hands behind his head watching her.

“If a kid’s got talent and knows how to work hard, they’ll make it,” he said.