Sarah watched Jack, sweaty in his whites, take a sip of the cold beer.
“Thought you people didn’t believe in ice-cold beer?”
“A day like this, you bet we do.”
The Cherringham team had won the match, but that victory wasn’t what everyone was talking about.
“You certainly stirred things up out there,” she said to him.
“Really?” he grinned. “Hope so. And how about you, in here?”
“Well, I don’t think you’re going to get far asking Harry about Tim’s employment history.”
“Why that?”
“I pressed Amanda on it, and she went from charming hostess to Gorgon. I’m pretty sure Harry will follow the same line — if you can find him.”
“He’s not here?”
“Came in. Didn’t change. Piled in his car and drove off.”
“Interesting. Both lying then. And acting panicky. But why? You think she’s protecting him?”
“Could be. But from what? Why not just say ‘hmm, maybe Tim did work for us, I can’t remember’? When I went to talk to her, she was having a really intense conversation with her sister.”
“My new pal Bruno’s wife?”
Sarah nodded. “In fact — it was just like when I saw her arguing full on with him up at Todwell House. And speaking of that, Jack, what were you up to out there? Not sure I get why? I mean, if you meant to do it.”
“Oh, I did. Your son has a future as a coach, by the way. Great advice he gave me.”
“Okay. But what’s up with Bruno?”
Jack paused, looked around.
They stood on their own, off to the side of the pavilion where the teams and their friends and family relived the game over beers and the quickly vanishing sandwiches.
“A lot of things not making sense here. You know? All that money flying around. Threatening emails. Tim gone, but certainly not on vacation …”
“You fear the worst?”
A long pause. Then a nod.
“My instinct says … yeah. Something real wrong here. Then Harry lying, his wife backing him up? And the sister, her lout of a husband turning up out of nowhere all agitated — and definitely giving me a warning signal out there.”
“I think those two aren’t terribly good at acting ‘cool’.”
“Right, exactly. So I thought, we got a hornet’s nest, let’s start sticking some sticks in it.”
She grinned at that. “Doesn’t that produce a lot of agitated and angry hornets?”
“That would be the idea. By the way — I saw Alan Rivers earlier on the Cherringham team. You manage to catch him?”
“Hmm,” said Sarah, “think it was the other way round — he caught me. Wasn’t too happy about me dropping his name in Bourton the other day.”
“Ah.”
“He did say that he covered for us. And also that it was best he didn’t know what we were up to. At least — until we had something solid.”
“But you told him anyway?”
Sarah laughed. “A little. I said we were worried about Tim. Oh — and I asked him to check out Tim’s car on the Police National Computer. See if it had turned up anywhere odd. Run of the mill old Ford so he said it wasn’t exactly going to stand out.”
“Good thinking, anyway. And right, forgot to ask — your pal get anywhere with our friend Lionel and his plate?”
“Surname checked out. And no police record. Interestingly — a London address.”
“Hmm. So not local then?”
“Nope. Doesn’t stop him being a friend of Tim’s of course — but kind of unlikely.”
“Never know. Could be a work connection. College pal, maybe. That something you can follow up?”
“Yep, no problem.”
“Great. Meanwhile — think I need to find Alan myself — want to get an update on the forensics.”
“One step ahead of you, Jack. Dead end in the UK database, apparently. Alan said they passed on the DNA to Interpol but that’s a long shot. One thing he did say though — if you still want to talk to a cop who was here twenty years ago? Then there’s one right over there.”
Sarah pointed across the crowd to where Brian Larwood stood, pint in hand, in the middle of a laughing crowd, telling a story.
She saw Jack smile.
“Well, there you go. I knew he was a cop — but he didn’t say he was a local.”
“Apparently, back then he was Cherringham’s very own sergeant.”
“You don’t recognise him?”
“I was probably still at school when he was here, so I didn’t meet the police that much.”
“Goody-two-shoes, hmm?”
“Just never got caught,” she said, winking.
She watched Jack drain his beer.
“So listen,” he said, “while standing out in the field, had some ideas.”
“More prodding of hornets’ nests?”
“A bit. But actually in this case, some actual detective work.”
“Will wonders never cease?”
“Thinking that tomorrow morning, going to head over to that watch shop in Swindon. Regatta doesn’t start until two, so plenty of time. Way I see it — if Alan’s guys have hit a dead end — then that watch — could be damn important.”
She looked around the room. “Well, now that you’ve helpfully stirred up the hornets … and with it being the opening night of the fair,” she took a breath, “maybe I’ll go along this evening, see who I can bump into.”
“Perfect. Meanwhile, think I’ve got something else I’m going to do tonight.”
Jack and his secrets.
“But I’ll call you late. Hopefully not too late?”
She nodded. Then: “Good luck with the races tomorrow!”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. All set. Your son knows all the details as my ‘number two’. Even knows about something that I think will, um, amuse even the longterm regatta fans.”
“Oh, no worries on that score. Everyone’s looking forward to it.”
Another big laugh.
Such an American laugh, she thought. Big, loud — like the country itself.
But then — Billy Leeper appeared by Jack’s side. And no smiles there. Something was wrong.
***
“Jack. Er—”
Sarah saw Jack turn to Leeper. “It’s Bruno. Been hitting the beers, maybe a drop of the hard stuff he brought too. Think he’s getting ready to have a ‘go’ at you.”
Jack tilted his head. He looked at Sarah.
“Really? Here?”
But before Billy could answer, Sarah turned to see Bruno. Close up — although his body was lean, his arms bulged, biceps tight in his Cherringham Cricket shirt.
Not someone you wanted to be angry with you — at all.
And then, amazing moment, Bruno reached out and with a meaty hand grabbed Jack’s white shirt near the collar, balled it up.
Bruno’s other arm dangled by his side like a prehistoric club.
She looked at Jack.
No laughs now.
“You stupid American bastid! Think you’re funny, hmm? Having a go? Maybe you’d like to have a little,” Bruno looked around at the crowd, all eyes riveted, “private party, just you and me.”
Then Bruno leaned his weasel-like head close to Jack’s. Most could not hear his next words.
But Sarah could.
“I’ll kick your arse from here back to New York, I will.”
Only then did Jack raise his right hand. She thought he was going to push that drunken, sweaty head back.
But instead Jack — looking calm but definitely tense — placed his hand on Bruno’s with the shirt material balled tight inside the first.
“You know, Bruno, I’d be glad to have you try that. Might even serve as a public service.”
Sarah saw Jack’s hand tighten. His hand cupping Bruno’s knuckles. She saw the hand muscles tense. Veins visible.
And in Bruno’s eyes, perhaps that first wince of pain.
“But I do think this isn’t the time or the place to put an oaf like you in his proper place.”
And those words seemed to act like an electric current to Bruno’s dim-witted brain. His club-like arm flew up, and Sarah thought that there could be no way Jack would avoid getting smashed by it.
And as strong as Jack was, that wouldn’t be pretty.
Until — another hand reached up, flew up fast to Bruno’s wrist.
Snapped onto that wrist.
Then a voice.
Amanda.
“Bruno.”
And as if Amanda had some magic power over the man, Bruno froze.
Amanda gave a smile to the onlookers in the pavillon as if this was standard fare for a cricket tea, after an even more unusual cricket match.
Bruno released his hand from Jack’s shirt, Jack letting go as well.
Then, despite Amanda standing right there, Bruno had a last whispered word for Jack that Sarah could hear.
“Later …”
To which Jack smiled, nodded and replied. “Would be my pleasure …”
And with that Bruno turned, and stormed away, the people in the tent parting in his wake.
Sarah watched him head over to a scruffy white van, parked in the car park.
He fumbled for his keys, then seemed to realise he was way over the limit to drive, and staggered off, cursing and muttering to himself.
***
“That nerve you wanted to hit …” Sarah said to Jack.
“I know. Think I nailed it. Maybe that’s also my cue to leave this party. Get out of this uniform.”
“I agree. Time I took Daniel home too. Then tonight, at the carnival …”
But then Brian Larwood walked over and clapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“Think you made a new friend there, Jack.”
Jack grinned. “Yeah, me too.”
But then Sarah saw Brian let his smile fade a bit.
Larwood knew these people, this village.
Knew things — that Jack didn’t.
“All fun aside, best be careful. That one, well, I’m pretty sure he’s capable of just about anything.”
“You knew him — back in the day?” Jack said. “I hear you were our local cop once upon a time.”
A nod. “Just tread lightly. Not that I doubt what would happen if he actually tried to tussle with you.”
Jack laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
And then — she saw Jack shoot a look right at her. Something clicking for him.
Though Sarah didn’t have a clue what.
“Hey, Brian — I’m going to head home, shower. But thinking, later, feel like some steaks, martinis, on The Grey Goose? Share some stories?”
Brian laughed again. “I think you’ll have the edge on me there. Cherringham’s pretty sleepy compared to the streets of New York.”
Another look from Jack.
“Oh, I dunno. Sarah and I, we’ve been finding them … not so quiet. What do you say?”
“Love to.”
“Great. My boat’s a couple of hundred yards upriver from the bridge. Can’t miss it.”
Larwood nodded in the direction of the Cherringham team who — minus Bruno — were toasting their success.
“Better go and raise my glass to the noble victors, eh?”
Jack smiled.
And Brian walked away.
***
Sarah waited a moment. And then …
“So that. Just social?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Something he said actually. About his warning. Or maybe we’ll just trade stories from the trenches over a couple of rib-eyes.”
She took a breath.
“Okay then, if you’re going—”
“Yup. Gotta dash. Speak later.”
“Right.”
And she watched Jack slip away, the post-game refreshments having veered away from the near-fight, back to sandwiches and beer. She started to look for Daniel, trying to remember what might be in the fridge for his supper.
And wondering whether Chloe might get in touch.
Where was she now? Berlin? Prague? Every day a new country, it seemed!
She shook away the thought and returned to her mental audit of the fridge.
Maybe tonight it was going to have to be a frozen pizza.