Cherringham--A Fatal Fall Page 6

  All young.

  “Quite a family,” she said, with genuine admiration.

  Clearly here was a man who loved his children.

  “Oh, you noticed the photos,” he said laughing.

  And in that laugh she heard something.

  A bit of roughness — a reminder of what Charlie Winters must’ve done to get here, having to be so determined and hard-working, building his business.

  “Three girls, two boys,” he said proudly. “Though I can’t say I see much of them …”

  “Kids these days — lead pretty busy lives,” said Sarah.

  And then — as if on his cue, a woman who had to be Mrs. Winters entered. Dark hair, warm smile, and a tray with a teapot, cups and biscuits.

  “Thought you’d like some tea,” she said. “For your chat.”

  “My better half,” Charlie said going over to take the tray, and smiling warmly at his wife.

  Their relationship immediately seeming very strong and close, their family the most important thing in the room.

  “Tricia,” she said, introducing herself.

  “Sarah Edwards,” she answered, shaking the woman’s hand.

  Probably his school sweetheart.

  “And — well, I’ll leave you two to talk.”

  Sarah guessed that he had told her what they would be talking about.

  But after she left, Charlie gestured to one of the leather armchairs while he handed her a cup of tea and then sat facing her.

  It almost seemed wrong to open her notepad.

  But she had questions that only he could answer.

  So after a few sips — and bite of shortbread — she began …

  *

  “When did you find out that McCabe had a fake ID?”

  The question seemed to startle Charlie Winters.

  Both his hands went up, accompanied by a broad smile that didn’t seem to be one of amusement at all.

  “Hold on, Sarah. You must think I run these operations by myself …”

  “Well, I know you have a supervisor, like Gary Sparks …”

  “Damn r—”

  He caught himself.

  “Hmm, right, about that. Men I pay good money to. To get the job done, keep the workers at it. On time,” he said, slapping his right fist into his left hand. “I worked hard to get where I am. Screw up a big job or two, and that — and this …” he waved around the grand room of photos and trophies, “could all vanish.”

  Sarah felt she should pull back from questioning Winters too hard. Though affable, even warm — he clearly didn’t like this.

  Still, her pad was open and she had written nothing in it.

  Yet.

  “So Gary Sparks may have known, but not you?”

  A nod from Winters as if assessing the result of their last exchange.

  “Tea okay?” he asked.

  “Fine. Delicious.”

  Another smile.

  “Let me tell you a secret, Sarah. My job is to get these big jobs done, on budget, on time. That’s how I got to where I am. The people I hire, like Sparks, are all good men. But they know me. What I want out of my crew. What my values are, know what I mean? Full speed ahead …”

  Sarah could see where this was going.

  The suggestion that if there was anyone who had cut a corner or sidestepped the issue of a bogus ID, it would be Sparks.

  Charlie Winters would be sure to keep his hands clean.

  “Need overtime to do that? My bosses get the go-ahead to have crews work nights, weekends, whatever. And if some document or paperwork or ID doesn’t quite add up, and the supervisor … the on-site boss … thinks the worker is good, solid — like McCabe? Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of my men, a man like Sparks, would look the other way.”

  Then he laughed.

  “No crime in that now, is there?”

  “And the site’s safety records?”

  Another nod as Winters walked over to the tea tray …

  “Top up?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  Then he poured tea into his own cup.

  And Sarah had the distinct impression that he was using this bit of teatime gallantry to think about his answer.

  Clever move …

  After all McCabe had died on his site, accident or not. The final responsibility could well lie with Charlie Winters.

  He’d have to be very careful about what he said.

  No matter what the truth actually was, there could be legal ramifications for Winters Construction.

  He sat back down, took a sip, then …

  “Safety records on my sites are spotless.”

  He pointed a finger at Sarah.

  “You can check that. This accident mars what was a near-perfect record. I can only assume that it was fluke, that maybe McCabe … I dunno, his type …? Maybe had a drink near quitting time? Little wobbly on an icy night?”

  Sarah nodded. But she also thought: he’s actually laying some of the blame for this on McCabe himself.

  Cagey indeed.

  “Still — however it happened, it was a terrible tragedy, don’t you think?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “The man had no family.” A small laugh. “Certainly no savings. My company is paying for the small funeral. Least I could do …”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  He smiled at that.

  She was about to ask if Winters had heard of McCabe’s issues — with gambling, with women — when she heard voices coming from upstairs.

  One she recognised — Winters’ wife, now yelling.

  “You will not do that, you hear me, Nadine?”

  Then a young woman’s voice — loud, shrill, even here in the sitting room, one flight down.

  “You can … not … tell me what to do! Not you. Not …” the voice raised even more, “Dad!”

  Winters stood up.

  Sarah could sense his whole body tightening.

  Teenage girls.

  They could give you a run for your money, as Sarah well knew.

  “Sorry, seems like a bit of battle going on upstairs … I’d better see if I can calm things down.”

  Sarah didn’t think that Winters, with his up-by-his-own bootstraps history, would be the one to calm things.

  “Of course,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

  And Winters hurried out of the room, then up the stairs.

  While Sarah tried not to listen to the argument still playing in the house above …

  11. Secret Lives

  Sarah got up and walked to a window that faced the rear of the property.

  Standing there, listening, she felt that she was spying — but in truth it was hard not to hear the yelling.

  Now it was a three-way battle, Winters’ wife now pleading with the girl to “calm down, stop yelling …”

  Then, a bullish voice — Winters — declaring in a matter-of-fact tone, his voice rough, edgy … “you will do as we say, Nadine. You understand?”

  Then — that moment that most parents must dread.

  Your child completely dismissing you, like being hit by a two-by-four.

  “Screw you … both of you.”

  Out of the window, Sarah saw that Winters’ land rolled up to some hills, beautiful grounds, and, to the side, she saw a paddock, horses standing in the cold.

  Now she heard steps tumbling down the stairs, someone taking them two, three at a time.

  Winters voice from upstairs, barking her name again.

  But then — a blur — as Sarah turned and she saw from the back the teenager, wearing riding gear and hat, race to the front door, open it, a blast of cold air rushing in and to punctuate the whole scene — a slam.

  And then silence.

  I’d give anything to just disappear, she thought.

  She even toyed with the idea that she might just quietly back out of the room, hurry to her car …

  But even with that thought lingering, Sarah heard heavier steps on the stairs
.

  And she turned from the window as Winters entered the room, his face blank.

  A few steps into the room, and he finally looked to her — then shrugged and rolled his eyes.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, shaking his head. “Teenage girls — you know?”

  “I’ve got one myself,” Sarah said. “It can be hard.”

  “Those horses,” he said. “Life revolves around them.”

  Sarah turned back to the window. She could just see the girl in the distant paddock, mounting one of the horses.

  “I really don’t have any more questions, Mr. Winters …”

  Which wasn’t true — she wanted to know if he had heard of any enemies of McCabe — but she knew this wasn’t the right time.

  “Yes,” he said. “Well, you know what I know. Not much. And — if you have any other questions …”

  “I’ll give you a call.”

  “I’m really sorry about … that,” he said.

  “It’s not a problem. I quite understand.”

  “I can show you out …”

  She was about to say ‘no’.

  But then — that too would be embarrassing, as if she felt uncomfortable with him now.

  So she picked up her coat and notebook, and let Winters walk her to the doors, the mood very different from when she’d entered the home.

  *

  When she got to her car door, she realised she could just see a bit of the paddock, and what looked like a horse trail leading up to a distant hill.

  And Sarah also saw what had to be the girl on a horse, galloping full throttle, racing up to that hill.

  It brought Sarah back to when she was young, when she rebelled a bit against her parents … and how getting out, in the cool air, away … somehow made things better.

  For the moment, thoughts of McCabe and his death — accident or not — receded with that memory.

  She had stepped into a very different kind of story.

  And she knew — now — of only one way to shake it off.

  She got into her Rav-4, slid her finger to unlock her phone’s screen and access recent calls.

  She pressed one, then put the phone up to her ear.

  Jack answered on the first ring.

  “Hi Jack … I’m leaving Winter’s place now. Fancy meeting up at Huffington’s for an update?”

  She wanted, no, needed that normalcy of Jack after the storm inside the house.

  His answer … as expected.

  “You bet.”

  “Be there in fifteen,” she said.

  And then she started her car and slowly took the circle driveway back to the path that lead to the gate, now opening on approach … as she drove away from the world of Charlie Winters and his family.

  *

  “Tough stuff to be in the middle of. Other people’s problems, struggles.”

  Jack had insisted that they actually get some cake on this wintry afternoon. “And maybe a real coffee. Think we could both use some. Though I know I’m probably breaking some hard and fast Huffington’s rule. The tyranny of teatime,” he said, laughing.

  She smiled at that.

  And in fact their waitress — the always perfectly coiffed and made up Mandy, a grandma three times over! — did find their order of lattes a bit odd.

  Jack laughed when she left.

  “See … I did cause a stir.”

  Sarah laughed too. “It is teatime.”

  “I know, I know …”

  And finally the clouds from her visit seemed to fade. Huffington’s was done up for Christmas, fairy lights all over the place, a big tree — a real one — filled with lights and ornaments made out of biscuits.

  Genuine gingerbread men dangled from the tinsel-covered branches.

  And she also realised that Jack must have — in the line of duty –encountered so many scenes like the one she just witnessed.

  Maybe he had developed a thick skin about all that.

  But then — if she knew Jack — she could easily see him feeling those things deeply.

  And when the cakes — flaky milles-feuilles! — and the lattes arrived (with Mandy doing little to hide her eye roll) they tried to assess where they were with the tale of Dylan McCabe and his fatal fall.

  12. A Small Break-in

  Sarah took the last bite of her mille-feuille, a few stray flakes escaping which — being so incredibly tasty — she rescued from the plate.

  “These are … so good,” Jack said.

  “That’s my calorie count for the week. But yes. The pastries here are amazing.”

  “Not a bad cup of joe, either.”

  “Cup of joe,” she said, smiling.

  Sometimes talking with Jack was like travelling to New York. It was as if he carried the city and its phrases around like an ambassador.

  “Latte,” I mean, he said grinning.

  “You do have Starbucks over there, yes? That word is known to you?”

  “Sure but I always liked getting a hot cup from a street corner vendor, maybe with a bagel and — sorry, another expression — a schmear. Butter, that is. Many a cop’s breakfast …”

  “Sounds nutritious.”

  The more they talked, the more Sarah relaxed after the disturbing interview with Winters.

  Jack had that effect on her. He could be a source of calm, no matter what dark stuff they might be looking into.“So Jack — where do you think we are?”

  His eyes squinted. “Well, unfortunately outside of Ray’s eyewitness account, we don’t have much. And we do have to factor in … that it is Ray’s account we are taking about.”

  “I know. Seems like such — I don’t know — an unlikely accident. But what do we really have?”

  Jack shook his head.

  At that point Mandy came over. “Anything else you two? More cake?”

  At that, Sarah laughed.

  “Mandy — this place is positively dangerous.”

  “Maybe another … latte,” Jack said. Then to Sarah: “You?”

  She shook her head. “If I do, I’ll be up for hours tonight …”

  And as soon as she said that, she suddenly realised that, secretly, Jack had plans for them for that evening …

  But first he pulled something out of his coat pocket.

  A photograph.

  *

  Sarah took the photo.

  “Kind of thing you get from one of those machines in the post office,” she said.

  Dylan McCabe planting a kiss on a dark-haired young woman, big smile.

  Hard to make out details — but one thing was clear — she was beautiful.

  “Found this in McCabe’s trailer. Recognise her? Someone local?”

  She shook her head.

  “No. Could be a local. But,” she shrugged. “Hard to tell, but don’t think I’ve seen her in Cherringham.”

  Jack took the picture back.

  He held the picture up, examining it again as he spoke. “Maybe nothing, an old flame back in Dublin …”

  She could tell from Jack’s voice that he wasn’t at all sure about that.

  Mandy brought another coffee over.

  “Why, thank you, Mandy,” he said.

  Sarah guessed that he had charmed just about all the waitresses who worked here.“Let me guess,” Sarah said as he took a sip. “You have a plan. An idea about something we can do?”

  “How’d you guess? It is a little, well, risky. So thinking I best do it alone …”

  “I’m getting good at ‘risky’,” she said.

  “That you are. Okay then …”

  Another sip, and Jack also looked around to see if anyone still in the café this late in the afternoon might be listening.

  And then:

  “Where could we go to learn about McCabe, the phony ID, anything anyone knew about him … or didn’t know?”

  Sarah looked away, thinking.

  And then: “The construction office, their computer.”

  Jack smiled. “Like I said, you�
��re getting good at this …”

  And she had to smile back. “And you are suggesting that we break into—”

  “I break in …”

  But she shook her head. “We break into the office and look at the computer, records …”

  “You want to do this?”

  “Um, Mr. Brennan, do you know your way around a firewalled server, password protected files, encrypted documents?”

  He grinned. “Can’t say I do. Okay. You’re in. It’s the one place where we might find something that no one — yet — has told us about McCabe.”

  “That’s my thinking.”

  “And after the funeral, think everyone will just move on … from this accident.”

  The way Jack said it made it sound like the idea of McCabe having an accident was completely implausible.

  “Pick you up around nine? Site should be deserted by then.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Jack nodded. Then, looking at her — unexpectedly … “You know, I couldn’t be doing this … any of this, what we’ve been doing in the village … without you.”

  She beamed. She always knew Jack appreciated what she brought to their work. But still — hearing it was great.

  “We’re a team, Jack. Right? And that’s what teams do.”

  “That they do.”

  And with a plan in place for the wintry night, they finished their coffee.

  *

  Sarah looked out of the kitchen door window.

  No Jack yet.

  Had he changed his mind? But she knew he’d have called if he had.

  Music echoed out of Chloe’s room and, when she last looked, Daniel had headphones on, playing a videogame — one with dragons and giants as opposed to fast cars and machine guns.

  She had told them after tonight’s dinner of spag bol — always a favourite — that she’d be going out for an hour.

  And she’d be back in time to make sure they hit their appointed bedtimes for school … Daniel around ten-thirty …

  Chloe …

  Well, these days, she pretty much decided when to go to bed. Sarah had had one or two rows about the issue — then realised it was time to pull back

  Not just time to pull back — but important she pulled back.

  There came a time when the teenagers started making their own rules.

  At least in some things.

  Then she caught the glare of headlights outside, and a small flash as Jack flicked the main beams of his Sprite.