Cherringham--Murder under the Sun Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

  About the Book

  Main Characters

  The Authors

  Title

  Copyright

  1. A Night on the Town

  2. A Knock on the Door

  3. A Tough Call

  4. Memories

  5. Name from the Past

  6. Into the Past

  7. The Hunt

  8. Breakthrough

  9. Hit the Road

  10. That Weekend

  11. A Secret Revealed

  12. An Unexpected Visitor

  13. Len Breaks

  14. 17 Sturbridge Way

  15. It Ends Here

  16. Get Me to the Church on Time

  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

  As the day of Grace’s wedding approaches, it seems nothing can get in the way of the happy Cherringham event. But just days before, her father Len is suddenly arrested on suspicion of murder — a murder committed 30 years ago, and a thousand miles away. Could Len actually have committed the crime? And can Jack and Sarah unearth the truth in time for him to walk his daughter down the aisle?

  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

  Murder under the Sun

  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: © GettyImages: Blackbeck | ChrisAt | AndyRoland

  Cover design: Guter Punkt, München

  E-Book production: Jilzov Digital Publishing, Düsseldorf

  ISBN 978-3-7325-5314-3

  Follow the authors: www.facebook.com/Cherringham

  1. A Night on the Town

  Jack pushed open the door of the Ploughman’s and looked around the crowded pub. Friday evening, seven o’clock; the place always busy with an after-work, bring-on-the-weekend buzz.

  But even so, it wasn’t hard to see the guys he came here to meet.

  There they were, gathered round the bar, pints in hand, identical bright red T-shirts proclaiming #LostWeekend.

  Nick Marston’s stag “team”.

  And there was Nick at the heart of the crowd of boisterous young men looking to Jack like he was already well into the ritual drinking.

  Something for the future groom to watch, especially with everyone offering to buy him one.

  Jack remembered getting a little wobbly at his own bachelor party at Randazzo’s in Sheepshead Bay.

  A lifetime ago.

  And there wasn’t going to be a lot of time for Nick to recover. In just a few days he’d be walking down the aisle of Cherringham’s St James’s Church to join Grace, Sarah’s long-time friend and work partner, in a wedding that had been so long in the planning.

  Jack took a deep breath and eased his way through the crowd towards them, smiling and nodding to locals who knew him as he passed.

  “Jack!” said Nick, stepping forward from the group and giving him a big hug like a long-lost relative. “Thought you weren’t going to make it, mate!”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Jack, sensing already that he was more than a couple of drinks behind this crowd.

  He saw Nick turn to his team.

  “Guys, guys — let me introduce our second very special guest for the night — Jack Brennan — top New York detective—”

  “Er, ex-New York detective,” said Jack, out of habit.

  “—and all-round great guy. Got me out of trouble big time a few years back. Let’s hear it for Jack!”

  Jack watched as the whole crew cheered loudly, raised their beer glasses in salute, taking big quaffs, then patted him on the back, bringing him in closer to the bar.

  “Second special guest?” said Jack, smiling. “You’d better introduce me to the first.”

  “Ha, you’re standing next to him,” came a voice at Jack’s side. “Hi, Jack.”

  He turned to see another familiar face — Grace’s father, Len, maybe fifty or so, looking a tad out of place here in his sensible collared shirt and cardigan, chinos and deck shoes.

  Jack knew Len from his own occasional ventures with the village choir, though he’d never really had a chance to get to know him better.

  “Len,” he said. “So, you got the star-billing?”

  “Think that might have something to do with the fact I’m paying for the bloody wedding, Jack,” said Len, laughing, shaking his hand. “Get you a drink?”

  “Already sorted,” said Nick, quickly stepping back from the bar to reveal a row of beer glasses lined up one after the other. “Jägertrain!”

  Recipe for disaster, Jack thought.

  Where shots led, mayhem followed!

  Jack could see Billy Leeper, the barman, patiently balancing the shot glasses on the rims where the glasses touched, and as the crowd did a countdown from five …

  Nick tipped the first shot glass — and one by one the others splashed into the beers to a raucous cheer from the group. Hands reached in and the drinks were passed round, to all but Len.

  “Pacing yourself?” said Jack.

  “Not a drinker, myself,” said Len, with a quick smile, “but it doesn’t stop me having a good time.”

  “Wise man,” said Jack, raising his loaded beer to Len.

  Jack knew he’d have to drink this out of politeness. During
his time in the Cotswolds he’d sampled various English beers, and his favourite beverage — short of an icy martini — was a good old pint of Hooky.

  Certainly not this weird and lethal concoction.

  He watched as some of the guys drained their glasses in one go.

  Oh boy.

  “So, what’s the routine?” said Jack, putting his beer down on the counter. “I do believe this is my first Brit stag event.”

  “Far as I can tell,” said Len, “you and me are only required to be on duty tonight.”

  “Hang on. You mean it goes on tomorrow too?”

  “Whole weekend,” said Len.

  “God help them,” said Jack, shaking his head. “That would never fly in the States.”

  “Oh — see the T-shirts, Jack?” said Nick, joining them. “‘Lost Weekend’.”

  “Saw the movie,” said Jack. “I’m hoping there’s no connection.”

  “Movie? Lost me there,” said Nick.

  The smart phone generation.

  Nick went on, “But here’s the idea. This bunch of reprobates have rented a farmhouse out of town.”

  “Stag-base One!” came a voice from the crowd.

  “Exactly! Stag-base One,” echoed Nick. “Which is where the hardcore partying is going to take place for the next two days.”

  “Um, so this, tonight, isn’t the real party then?” said Jack, now curious.

  “Hell no. This is just the pre-drinking drinking, you see? Couple of pints in each Cherringham bar, then back to Stag-base One for the fun and games.”

  “You got anything else lined up but drinking?” said Jack.

  Jack knew that — back in Brooklyn at least — even the basic one-night bachelor parties could take some embarrassing turns.

  “Tomorrow and Sunday — zip-lining, water-skiing up on the reservoir, Zorb-ball, paint-ball …”

  “Survival of the fittest,” said Len, shaking his head and smiling at Jack.

  “Zorb-ball? New to me! Sounds all like … a whole lot of fun,” said Jack. “And sounds even better that I’m only part of tonight’s little bar crawl.”

  “Ha, Jack, I bet you could drink us boys under the table,” said Nick.

  “Oh, those days are long gone,” said Jack. “Though, yes, maybe there was a time. Young cops, off-duty? Lots to talk about over bats and balls.”

  He noted their confused looks at the expression.

  “Ah. Bats and balls? Beer and a chaser.”

  For a few seconds, Jack was back in Brooklyn in his early twenties, beer in hand, barbecue smoking, hanging out with the other guys from his precinct, after a tough week of shifts.

  A cheer from the group made him look over. The guys were draining their glasses, then lining them up empty on the bar.

  “On to the Angel!” said one, then the others joined in until the chant echoed round the pub.

  “To the Angel! To the Angel!”

  Jack turned to Len.

  “Think it’s going to be up to you and me to keep this lot the right side of the law,” he said.

  “Special guests?” said Len, grinning. “Special constables, more like.”

  The #LostWeekend crew lined up then left the bar arm in arm, with Jack and Len following.

  This is gonna be one long night, thought Jack. One very long night.

  2. A Knock on the Door

  Jack stepped out of the Railway Arms, stood under the street lamp, and pulled his coat tight.

  Although it was April, the nights were still chilly and there was a heavy mist in the air, making the street shimmer wet.

  Behind him in the pub, he could hear the stag team — now at the group singing stage — their evening still a long way from being over.

  “Fancy a coffee or a tea, Jack?”

  Jack turned to see Len, coat on, pub door swinging behind him. “My place is just down on the bridge road. Wood-burner’ll be lit, so it’ll be nice and cosy.”

  Jack paused. It was late, and he was really just looking forward to getting back to his barge, The Grey Goose, down on the river.

  And Riley, his Springer, would probably be hoping for a quick few minutes ashore before turning in too.

  But he’d enjoyed Len’s company as the night had gotten wilder, and a cup of tea and a chat by an open fire sounded like a good way to end the evening.

  Especially as it was on his way home anyway.

  “Got something stronger if you still feel like drinking,” said Len. “Single malt perhaps?”

  Surprising that, for someone who didn’t drink.

  “Ha, man after my own heart,” said Jack. “What are we waiting for?”

  And together they walked in easy silence down Cherringham High Street, past the Ploughman’s, turning off down Mogdon Lane, until they reached a row of old cottages fronted by shrubs and picket fence.

  Len led the way to the front door of the first cottage, then turned and whispered, “Lizzie’ll be in bed by now, so we’ll have to be a bit quiet. Just slip through to the studio at the back.”

  He went inside and Jack followed him in, shutting the door gently behind him. He looked around. The place felt homely and lived in. Old furniture, but modern art on the walls. Lots of photos of family — Jack could see Grace prominent in most of them.

  He took off his coat and hung it up, then went through with Len into the kitchen.

  “I’ll get the tea going, you help yourself to a scotch from the cupboard there,” said Len, filling the kettle. “Pot luck what’s in there, I never know.”

  Jack went over to the cupboard and took out a bottle.

  “Twelve-year old Macallan?” he said. “For a man who doesn’t drink you have good taste, Len.”

  Len laughed and handed Jack a glass. “Oh, once upon a time I liked a dram or two. I know the good stuff — just don’t fancy it myself anymore.”

  Jack poured, sipped, savoured this — one of his favourite whiskies.

  “Right then — tea’s made,” said Len. “Let’s go through to the studio.”

  And Jack followed him as he opened a door that led off the kitchen.

  *

  “My man cave, Lizzie calls it,” said Len, throwing another log on the burner then shutting the glass door and adjusting the wheel. “To me it’s my office.”

  Jack sat back in the old leather armchair, enjoying the whisky and the late-night feel, with the lights soft and Coltrane playing through Len’s surprisingly serious speakers. Heavy-duty Yamahas, with what had to be 12-inch woofers.

  Very classy, thought Jack.

  He nodded to the small mixing desk in the corner, monitors and keyboard.

  “I guess these days you don’t need a lot of space to record,” he said. “What kind of stuff you compose?”

  “Commercials, documentaries, pretty much anything if it pays. Pretty low-key to be honest. Used to do a bit of radio drama, but these days, budgets aren’t up to much.”

  “I’m guessing the church and the choir gigs don’t pay?”

  Jack had first met Len a couple of years back when he joined the basses in the village choir and sang the “Messiah”. Len had recorded the whole show and somehow — to Jack’s ears anyhow — made them sound almost like a professional choir.

  “Ha, no, that’s all pro-bono. Lizzie’s always been a regular churchgoer. I got roped in years ago to help out with the audio for services. Gets more hi-tech every year!”

  “Guess you’ll be sorting the music for the big day?” said Jack.

  “Oh, you bet. Been going through the line-up with Grace for months. It’ll be special.”

  “I’m sure it will be,” said Jack. “Grace is a lovely kid — well, hey, not a kid anymore, but you know what I mean?”

  “Always a kid to me. Apple of my eye.”

  “Big deal, when one of your kids gets married.”

  “I’m loving every minute. Apart from the bills, of course.”

  “Ha, tell me about it,” said Jack, laughing. “Just a few days away, now, huh?”r />
  “Walking Grace down that aisle — be the proudest day of my life. Really.”

  “Know the feeling,” said Jack, remembering.

  “You got a daughter too?”

  “That’s right. She’s a doctor in LA. Even got a granddaughter too.”

  “You see them much?”

  “Not nearly enough,” said Jack, his heart dipping as it always did when he had that thought. “Kinda tough for her to get the time off, fly over, you know? I’m due to head over for a visit soon. Maybe, dunno, make it a long stay. Did that once when she needed some help.”

  “Bet you miss her. And your grandkid!”

  “I certainly do,” said Jack, taking another sip of the Macallan, listening to a few more bars of Coltrane’s sax. “You got any other kids, Len?”

  Len took a breath. Painful subject?

  “No. We had Grace a year after Lizzie and I met. We decided that was fine, we’d stop there; Lizzie doing long shifts at the hospital, not a ton of cash coming in and all. So — one kid was enough.”

  “Well, you’re lucky to have her,” said Jack. “She’s a star.”

  “Oh, I know,” said Len. “She is.”

  The doorbell rang, followed by a loud double knock.

  Jack looked at Len — his face surprised.

  “After midnight,” said Jack as both of them got up. “Strange.”

  “Maybe Nick? Some kind of trouble.”

  “State they were in, wouldn’t surprise me.”

  Len got up, and Jack followed him.

  Through the glass of the front door, Jack could see tall shapes silhouetted against the blue lights of an emergency vehicle of some kind.

  And he could hear the sound of a radio.

  Len looked alarmed as he opened the front door to reveal Cherringham’s local cop, Alan Rivers. Behind him, Jack saw two more police constables and a police van.

  Alan — clearly surprised to see Jack standing in the doorway next to Len.

  “Alan,” said Jack.

  But Alan didn’t answer. Instead he turned to Len.