Sarah watched as Jack held the phone up, dealing with the missed meeting.
Smile on his face:
“Oh yes, hello. Name’s Jack Brennan. Oh, and good afternoon to you, Miriam.”
He really has learned to move at the more measured pace of the English countryside, she thought.
Jack had said the fast-paced, gimme a cup of coffee and buuttahed bagel dialogue of TV cop shows pretty much nailed how it was back on the NYPD.
Here, one took one’s time …
“Ah. I’m calling since I had an appointment at noon, in Cherringham with—”
A pause. Jack’s smile fading.
Something unexpected here.
“Really? And when did Mr Simpson tell you that? Rather sudden, isn’t it? Of course, I know you would never pry. Of course not.”
Now Sarah was curious.
“Well, good. This other agent …?”
Jack hesitated.
“Tomorrow? I see. Maybe I’ll stop by and meet him — go over things there? Good? Good. No, thank you Miriam. And I guess … see you tomorrow. By-ee.”
Jack had perfected what he described as the “sung bye”. The voice rising slightly. Strictly a UK phenomenon, he had explained to Sarah.
She had laughed at that since that was — in fact — exactly how she did say the word.
Jack brought his phone down — eyes narrowed. Thinking.
“Sounds like you heard something interesting. Miriam — the secretary, I imagine?”
A nod. “Miriam. Very sweet. Look forward to talking with her cause … yeah … something interesting indeed.”
***
They walked along the towpath.
Sarah really needed to head back to work; so much work piling up and her assistant Grace, as amazing as she was, could easily getting swamped.
Summer ads, events, and people already planning their advertising for Christmas. The year was going so quickly, at least in her work. She was always rushing, looking ahead to the next season.
“Turns out that Mr Simpson sent an email at the weekend. Said he was really stressed, needed a break, and was off to Morocco for a few weeks. Asked her to get other people in the office to cover his meetings. Then, like that, he was gone.”
“Morocco?”
“What Miriam said — and I got the impression she was pretty baffled by the whole thing. Morocco — that a regular holiday destination round here?”
“Kind of place you go in the winter — not the height of summer. Could have sent you a text at least.”
Jack stopped and turned to her.
“Yeah, there’s that. Easy enough to do, hmm? But Miriam — didn’t have our meeting in her diary.”
Sarah looked away.
“She didn’t even know about it?”
“Right. But he did, for sure. I think, even stressed out, needing a break stat, you’d call … text … no?”
A nod.
“Maybe he forgot?”
A bit of a smile returned. “Maybe.”
Meaning …
He didn’t believe that.
She wondered why.
“Jack — this chap Simpson — is he on the Carnival Committee?”
Jack nodded at that. “Sort of. I mean, he was there, the agent of record indemnifying the whole week.”
“Sort of?”
“At the meeting, he sat through the whole thing, glued to his phone.”
“Pretty common these days.”
A small laugh. “I know. But not like this. The Bucklands with their full-on show of all the carnival events, and he didn’t look up once. Caught my attention.”
“Meaning?”
“You know when you’re with someone … and they get news, big news. It’s like the room, the people in it, all disappear. Just the screen, with the words.”
“Maybe it was bad news. A family bereavement, you know—”
“What kind of family crisis ends with a dash to Morocco? And what’s up with not letting me know?”
“Got me there, Jack. Good question.”
Jack’s smile broadened. “Exactly. Now, if we had an answer …”
She looked away from the towpath.
They stood far from the bridge now, the path on each side of the river with matching sloping meadows that led to winding roads, woods, all the beauty that was only minutes away from the heart of Cherringham village.
“Anyway, I’ve arranged to meet another insurance guy tomorrow at their office.”
“Sounds good.”
“Meanwhile, I need to get back to the Goose — damn plumbing is still acting up a bit.”
“More electric problems?”
“Something to do with the bilge pump this time. But I’ll root around before I call for help. And, oh yeah, still want to rope Ray into helping with this race. If he turns up.”
“Somebody else gone missing,” said Sarah. “It’s becoming a habit.”
She saw Jack take this in. Then: “Don’t forget Daniel.”
“Hmm?” said Jack.
“For the regatta. I talked to him last night and he’s absolutely up for a supporting role somewhere.”
Jack grinned at that as if he already had some secret activity that he would surprise her with once the Carnival Week began.
But for now …
“I’d better dash. Speak later?”
“Yup. And don’t forget our mystery corpse. Maybe worth looking at just what was going on in the village twenty years ago.”
“God — not much, I imagine. Place was dead. And I was already long gone up to London to find fame and fortune. And party.”
“Now that,” Jack said, laughing, “would have been something to see. Bet you were a handful for your parents.”
“Oh — was I ever.” Then, as if the past twenty years flashed before her, “Took a while for things to settle down. If this is settling down.”
“Works for me.”
And then Sarah turned back on the towpath.
“Later, Detective!”
“You bet,” Jack said.
And as she walked away she had the feeling that Jack simply stood there watching her.
Not a bad feeling at all.
***
Jack had got wedged into one of the tightest parts of The Grey Goose; the bilge pump had been cleverly installed in a nearly unreachable place in the aft part of the barge.
A smaller guy might have been okay. But Jack was beginning to feel like he could easily become trapped down here.
Riley seemed fascinated by the whole process. Keeping his distance, looking on.
Jack looked at the pump — just one bolt left to undo.
Less than a year ago it had had a new gasket fitted — but for some reason the damn thing wore out regularly — and he had a pretty good idea what to expect when the head finally came free.
Pushing his hand into the tiny gap between the pump and the boat’s timbers, he slid the monkey wrench into place and made the turns, each one just a few clicks.
Thinking all the time about Tim Simpson.
Why was this bugging him so much?
He didn’t know the guy from Adam. But one thing he did know: that neat, careful diary and the tiny gold pen, did not belong to a man who, on a whim, shot off to Africa for an unplanned vacation.
Morocco? That guy?
Finally the nut came free.
He grabbed a flashlight, lifted off the gasket cover and peered in. If the pump had any life left in it, all should be good.
The gasket seemed okay — but he took it out, greased it anyway and slotted it back in place.
Then he tightened all the nuts and sat back, trying to stretch his tortured back.
He looked at his dog.
“Well, Riley. What do you think? Head topside. Give her a test. And, if all is good, think we can celebrate with a martini and, you, one of those bacon chew things you like. Sound good?”
Riley seemed to nod.
Jack slid his way free, nearly having to squirm out of the cramped space, until he could just about sit up, back up some more, then — finally — stand up, sort of, head down, and go topside and see if the pump seemed to be working at full force.
***
But the martinis were going to have to wait.
The pump — when it did splutter into action — barely squirted out more than a cup full of oily water. As Jack and Riley peered over the side of the Goose together, Jack could see that the dog was not impressed with his master’s plumbing skills.
“Going to have to get a new gasket,” Jack said as much to himself as to Riley.
Then he thought: the chandlers he used for boat supplies was just the other side of Bourton. Why not kill two birds with one stone? Pick up the gasket — and drop by the agents.
Save a trip tomorrow.
And also …
Stop this constant niggle in the back of his mind that the disappearing insurance agent was actually something he should check up on.
He knew that Sarah hadn’t really understood his concern — hardly surprising.
But something was ringing Jack’s alarm bells.
And back in New York, even as a new cop on the beat, he’d learned to act on those deep, almost subliminal, warnings.
Learned the hard way — by once ignoring them and missing a kid getting hurt bad by the parents.
That lesson had always stayed with him. And the regrets.
Not that Jack thought that this guy Simpson was in danger. No reason to think that.
But maybe there was someone, somewhere, that might know about his sudden uncharacteristic trip abroad.
Someone who might know if he was on medication, or maybe had personal “issues” that his office was unaware of.
But first a good shower might be in order.
He turned off the pump and headed below decks to get changed, still thinking …
Morocco?
And also …
What’s happened to Ray?