Cherringham--Killing Time Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

  About the Book

  Main Characters

  The Authors

  Title

  Copyright

  1. Urbex

  2. Blackwood House

  3. A New Case

  4. Megan

  5. Ella

  6. Biscuits, a Spot of Tea … and Questions

  7. Digging Deeper

  8. Down the Rabbit Hole

  9. At Home with Luke

  10. Tea with Tom

  11. Too Many Clues

  12. The Meat Cutter’s Tale

  13. Time to Consider

  14. The Killer Amongst Them

  15. The Silos

  16. In Memoriam

  Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

  “Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series” is a series made up of self-contained stories. The series is published in English as well as in German; and is only available in e-book form.

  About the Book

  Urban Explorers love the excitement of ‘exploring’ long-abandoned buildings, searching for mysteries in the dark, empty places. But when one such explorer takes a solo tour of a decaying mansion near Cherringham, he discovers that some houses can turn fatal. Just a careless accident? His friends don’t believe so and call on Jack and Sarah to investigate. And before long it’s clear that the past can harbour deadly secrets that nobody is safe from …

  Main Characters

  Jack Brennan is a former NYPD homicide detective who lost his wife three years ago. Being retired, all he wants is peace and quiet. Which is what he hopes to find in the quiet town of Cherringham, UK. Living on a canal boat, he enjoys his solitude. But soon enough he discovers that something is missing — the challenge of solving crimes. Surprisingly, Cherringham can help him with that.

  Sarah Edwards is a web designer who was living in London with her husband and two kids. Three years before the series starts, he ran off with his sexy American boss, and Sarah’s world fell apart. With her children she moved back to her home town, laid-back Cherringham. But the small-town atmosphere is killing her all over again — nothing ever happens. At least, that’s what she thinks until Jack enters her life and changes it for good or worse …

  The Authors

  Matthew Costello (US-based) is the author of a number of successful novels, including Vacation (2011), Home (2014) and Beneath Still Waters (1989), which was adapted by Lionsgate as a major motion picture. He has written for The Disney Channel, BBC, SyFy and has also designed dozens of bestselling games including the critically acclaimed The 7th Guest, Doom 3, Rage and Pirates of the Caribbean.

  Neil Richards has worked as a producer and writer in TV and film, creating scripts for BBC, Disney, and Channel 4, and earning numerous Bafta nominations along the way. He’s also written script and story for over 20 video games including The Da Vinci Code and Starship Titanic, co-written with Douglas Adams, and consults around the world on digital storytelling.

  His writing partnership with NYC-based Matt Costello goes back to the late 90’s and the two have written many hours of TV together. Cherringham is their first crime fiction as co-writers.

  Matthew Costello

  Neil Richards

  CHERRINGHAM

  A COSY CRIME SERIES

  Killing Time

  Digital original edition

  Bastei Entertainment is an imprint of Bastei Lübbe AG

  Copyright © 2020 by Neil Richards & Matthew Costello

  Copyright for this editon © 2020 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Schanzenstraße 6-20, 51063 Cologne, Germany

  Written by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards

  Edited by Eleanor Abraham

  Project management: Kathrin Kummer

  Cover illustration: © shutterstock: Shoot 24 | Jonathan Meddings | INoel V. Baebler | ducu59us | nuwatphoto | ben bryant

  Cover design: Jeannine Schmelzer

  eBook production: Jilzov Digital Publishing, Düsseldorf

  ISBN 978-3-7325-5315-0

  Follow the authors: www.facebook.com/Cherringham

  1. Urbex

  Megan Dunn dropped down a gear in the little Citroen C1, hoping it wouldn’t get stuck on this muddy, potholed track.

  Bad enough the bushes on either side were scraping the paintwork.

  “You sure this is the way?” she said, glancing over to Luke, who sat in the passenger seat, holding the door handle tight as the vehicle bounced and lurched.

  “Think so,” he said. “I mean, the GPS map could be out of date. But — I dunno — sorta smells right.”

  Megan laughed. “Long as you chip in for the car repairs. Mum’ll kill me if I get scratches on it.”

  She peered through the windscreen. They’d been driving for minutes through dark woods.

  And here, the trees that lined the lane had been allowed to grow into each other, intertwined to make a dark, foreboding tunnel. She wanted to turn the lights on.

  But she knew that would be too risky. The urban explorers’ online forum had made it clear that Blackwood House was a real no-go, with 24/7 security, as well as razor wire and who knew what else to discourage visitors.

  Visitors, that is, who thought nothing of breaking into abandoned houses, filming what they found, and posting it all on blogs or YouTube.

  Even out here, miles from Cherringham, in a fold of hills and woods, a place like Blackwood was vulnerable to “urbexers” as they liked to call themselves.

  But though Megan and Luke thought of themselves as “urban explorers”, today wasn’t about page stats, views, or posting videos.

  No, this was more serious.

  This was about finding Zach.

  Brilliant, amazing, cool, wonderful Zach.

  Zach, who was the smartest explorer Megan had ever met. A legend, famous for his awesome posts around the world: from military bunkers in Estonia to abandoned hospitals in the Philippines; from Russian dachas to Scottish castles.

  Zach, who was a law unto himself — here one minute, then somehow posting from a forgotten Pacific island the next.

  Zach, who Megan loved with every single beat of her heart.

  Zach, who had disappeared from the village a week ago, without telling a soul.

  In itself, no big deal. Hey, that was the way Zach rolled. Over the year they’d been hanging together, Megan had just about learned to get used to it.

  But this was different. This time — for the first time ever — Zach had disappeared online too. No Instagram, no Facebook, no Twitter, no blog. Not even a mail.

  Totally offline.

  The police hadn’t been that interested when she’d tried to report him missing. Not with his track record.

  And she could understand that.

  But Luke and the other guys felt the same as she did. Something was wrong.

  Which was why she and Luke were both here now.

  Because Luke had remembered the stoned conversation, he’d had with Zach weeks back about Blackwood House, and how it sat right on their doorstep and, because the locals said it was haunted, wasn’t that the coolest reason ever to take a night-time tour?

  “What time is it?” she said, as she jolted the car round another tight bend, with still no sign that the lane was reaching anywhere soon.

  “Um, ten to five.”

  “And you’re sure security clocks off at five?” she said.

  “That’s what Zach said. I think.”

  Megan hunched a bit more over the wheel, concentrating hard.

  “Yeah. Kind of thing Zach gets right,” she said.

  “Usually,” said Luke.

  “Always,” said Megan, as they rounded another corner. “Look.
There it is.”

  Ahead she could see a five-bar gate — and beyond it, across an overgrown meadow, the dark shape of a large building, surrounded on the other three sides by woods.

  The place somehow … ominous. And so dark, like it was sucking the light out of the evening sky. Her heart seemed to skip a beat.

  “Blackwood House?” said Luke.

  “Gotta be,” said Megan.

  And she stopped the car and turned the engine off. Without saying a word, she climbed out and stood there, listening.

  Silence. Just the rustle of wind in the tall trees all around. In the distance, she heard a pheasant squawk.

  Up above, through gaps in the swaying branches, she saw scudding clouds, casting looming shadows in the late afternoon sun.

  Out there in the field it might be still warm, but here in the woods, with the sun barely penetrating, the air already felt dank and cold.

  Had Zach stood here too, a week ago, alone, ready to cross that meadow and enter Blackwood House?

  She shivered. “Come on,” she said.

  Crouching, with Luke behind her, she made her way down the muddy lane to the gate.

  From here, staying low, she could see the layout of the house more clearly.

  It looked much older than most of the manor houses around Cherringham; all gables and attic windows, stone parapets, ivy on red brickwork. At first sight, impressive, imposing.

  But as she looked closer, she noticed slates missing on the roof; windows cracked; ivy out of control, pulling gutters loose; the garden unkempt, flowers going to seed.

  The house empty. Abandoned.

  Beside her, she heard Luke give a low whistle.

  “Whoa. Must be twenty or more bedrooms,” he said. “And look — is that a pool?”

  Megan shifted position to see better through the various garages and outbuildings — glimpsed mildewed tiles, a broken chrome ladder, brown water and leaves.

  “Once upon a time …” She looked around. “Okay. No sign of security.”

  Then she heard the sound of a car starting up, from somewhere near the house — and after a few seconds saw a big four-by-four with a rack of lights over the cab, nose away from the buildings and edge onto the meadow.

  “Damn,” said Luke, ducking down. “Security. If he comes this way, we’ve had it.”

  Megan crouched low with Luke at the edge of the gate, hidden by the end of a drystone wall.

  She watched as the vehicle sped across the meadow towards them, then stopped just yards away, the engine still running.

  Through a gap in the wall she saw the driver step out. Mostly a silhouette. But still she could see a big guy, boots, jeans, T-shirt, army haircut.

  He walked towards the gate. Megan pressed herself tight against the stone, praying he wouldn’t peer over, or climb the wall.

  She flicked a look at Luke, pressed tight into the hedge the other side of the lane.

  What’s this guy waiting for? she thought. Maybe he can see the car?

  But then she heard him step back to the four-by-four, climb in and slam the door. With a big rev of the engine, the car spun round and shot off down the hill.

  “Wow,” said Luke. A small relieved laugh. “I thought we’d had it.”

  She watched Luke stand, and then she too stood up, seeing the four-by-four heading towards what must be the main road, half a mile away. But then it turned and disappeared through a gap in the hedge into the next field.

  She could just see a caravan parked in a copse of trees. Maybe that was where he was heading?

  “You think he lives in that caravan?” said Luke. “What if he comes back?”

  Megan turned to him.

  “What can he do to us?” she said, trying to sound confident. “Tell us to leave?”

  “Guys like him. Sometimes … they don’t have rules.”

  Megan shook her head. “We’ve come this far. If Zach is in there somewhere—”

  “If—”

  “If he is, then I’d never forgive myself for turning away now. And he wouldn’t forgive me either.”

  She looked at Luke — and she could see in his eyes how scared he was. Not that she wasn’t scared too.

  But all her feelings were focussed on finding Zach, and anyway, hadn’t he said to her once that there was no such thing as fear?

  Fear is just a state of mind, and your mind is the one thing you can control, he’d said. She’d never forgotten those words.

  She turned to Luke.

  “Let’s go get the gear.”

  “We going in?” he said.

  “Isn’t that why we came?” said Megan.

  And she smiled, to encourage him.

  But inside, in spite of remembering Zach’s words, and his big grin as he said them, Megan was scared.

  So scared of what they might find inside the abandoned manor house.

  2. Blackwood House

  Megan stepped through the shattered window frame, her gloved hands avoiding the shards of glass, flicked on her rotolight, and took in the room.

  It was some kind of kitchen storeroom — tall racks of metal shelves, many still loaded with dusty boxes and cans, crates of bottles.

  She turned on her headcam and gave the room a steady pan, finally picking up Luke who had climbed through the window behind her.

  “God. Stuff looks like it’s never been touched,” she said, nodding towards the shelves.

  “Guess people take the security signs seriously,” said Luke, switching on his helmet light and his torch too, then sweeping them round the room, the stark white beams throwing daggers of shadows onto the ceiling.

  “Keep Out, Attack Dogs on Guard, Danger of Death? How many times have we just ignored signs like that?”

  “Got a feeling … maybe here they mean it,” said Luke.

  Megan smiled at him again.

  Luke had been with them for a year doing this stuff, but he was still the worrier. The anxious one.

  Made her wonder why he did it?

  But she knew why: the team feeling, the shared danger, the laughs afterwards.

  It was a drug for all of them — Tom, Ella, Luke … and Zach.

  Their motto, the same as urbexers everywhere: take nothing but photos, leave nothing but footprints.

  “Come on,” she said, heading over to a door and opening it. They stepped into a massive kitchen: all dusty steel surfaces and similarly coated racks of pots and pans, lines of burners and ovens.

  This kitchen itself — creepy.

  “Wow,” said Luke, running his hands through a long line of hanging spoons and strainers. “This is a real chef’s kitchen. Or at least used to be. Now look at it. Who lived here?”

  “Whoever they were,” said Megan, “they were loaded.”

  “Looks like they left in a hurry too,” said Luke, aiming his lights at a table in one corner.

  Megan could see it had the remains of a meal — half a dozen plates, abandoned food in shrivelled, mouldy lumps scattered everywhere, knives and forks askew as if everyone had just upped and run.

  “This. The staff kitchen,” she said. “And looks almost as if … something scared them. They left and never came back.”

  “But what?” said Luke, his light spinning round and the reflection in the window blinding Megan for a second.

  “Not sure I want to know,” said Megan.

  And she noted whatever chill she felt before, it was now far chillier in here.

  And not just due to the temperature.

  She heard a sound in a corner and spun round, pointed her own light. She could see water running down one wall, and the ceiling bowed as if there’d been a flood.

  “Uh-oh,” she said. “Better watch out. Looks like pipes have burst upstairs — or gutters broken. Floors will be rotten.”

  She turned back and the two of them walked through the kitchen and into a corridor that led in both directions.

  “Which way?” said Luke.

  “Anyone’s guess,” said Megan. “Bu
t Zach, well, he was always logical. So, let’s be logical. First we check every room on this floor. Then we go up to the next and do the same.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “That way, if Zach was here …”

  “If Zach was here …” said Megan, trying so hard to be positive, hoping they’d just turn a corner, find Zach maybe injured, but grinning up at them, winking at her: “knew you’d come save me, Megs …”

  She saw Luke nod — and she nodded back at him. Glad he was here with her.

  Together they headed deeper into the house.

  *

  Megan had urbexed lots of places. Houses. Churches. Office blocks. Factories. Abandoned bunkers.

  But this house? Easily the weirdest so far. The inside was nothing like she’d expected.

  Massive white leather sofas. Thick carpets. Mega TVs on the walls. Amazing sound systems that — she guessed — all linked together.

  But everything now filthy, dusty, stained. And some of the sofas, split open, almost as if they’d been attacked.

  God knows what kind of vermin now inhabited the place.

  She and Luke glided through the downstairs rooms across marble floors, past sunken bathrooms, a cinema room, snooker room, even more TV rooms.

  “Who lived here?” she said.

  “Don’t think anyone knows,” said Luke. “Maybe a celeb?”

  “Reality TV star?” said Megan, opening an empty drawer then sliding it back. “Tell you what’s weird, though.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Look around. No photos, nothing personal anywhere. You spotted that?”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” said Luke. “Maybe the ghosts took it all.”

  His little joke fizzled out before he’d even finished making it.

  One thing this place wasn’t was funny.

  Megan moved on, in the lead, silently from room to room, opening doors, checking, moving on, the ground floor a maze of corridors.

  All the doors left open — apart from one at the very end of a corridor.

  Megan got to it. Tried it. Didn’t budge. She looked carefully around the frame, tapped the door itself.