Cherringham--A Fatal Fall Read online

  He started to turn away from the window …

  But then — he noticed a van parked across the street from the flats.

  He couldn’t see if anyone was sat in the front seat. But the exhaust pipe was churning smoke into the cold air.

  He stepped away from the window but didn’t take his eyes off the van. Nobody got in or out.

  Was somebody watching the flats? Or maybe just a Christmas delivery driver, checking paperwork …

  He gave it another minute, then turned, and headed down the corridor to flat 8.

  He rang the bell and waited.

  After a long wait, the door opened a little and Viktor peered out at him.

  “Yes?”

  “Viktor, hi,” said Jack smiling. “You remember? We met in the pub with Jimbo and Kevin?”

  From behind Viktor Jack heard a woman’s voice, questioning — in a language Jack didn’t recognise.

  He saw Viktor turn and say something back. The conversation ricocheted back and forth for half a minute, then the woman stopped talking and Viktor turned back to Jack.

  “Right. Sure. What do you want?” he said.

  “Viktor, I need to talk to you about the building site. About Dylan.”

  Viktor shook his head. “I had nothing to do with him. Why … why you coming here, talk to me about what happened!”

  Again the woman’s voice. Viktor’s answer was a bark.

  Guy’s wires are pulled pretty tight, Jack thought.

  Jack tried not to show his surprise. He was just here to talk about Sparks and illegal ID’s. Why was Viktor suddenly denying any connection to McCabe and his death?

  “Hang on. I’m not accusing you of anything Viktor. And I’m not police. Understand?”

  He saw Viktor nod, but his eyes didn’t leave Jack’s for one second.

  “Just checking on things. Dylan had a false ID. You have a false ID. I just want to find out more — okay?”

  “You not police?”

  “No.”

  Jack watched him absorbing this, seeming to make a decision.

  “Okay, all right … you go to pub, railway pub, I come in ten minutes.”

  And then he shut the door.

  Jack stepped back, shrugged and headed back to the lift.

  While he waited he looked down onto the street again.

  The van had gone.

  15. One Step Forward

  Jack watched Viktor sip his Coke, then put it back on the little table.

  The pub echoed to eighties Christmas hits, but Jack could see there was very little Christmas cheer here among the handful of regulars who sat singly at tables nursing drinks.

  Must be cheaper to drink a half pint here than have the heating on at home, thought Jack, casting his eye round the public bar.

  He spotted Ray in the far corner now playing darts with a local. Viktor had insisted this conversation be a private one.

  And Ray — now that he wasn’t needed as back-up — was content to drink pints at Jack’s expense while the interview took place.

  While Viktor drank his Coke in silence, Jack waited patiently. Now the Romanian leaned forward.

  “If I tell you … what I know. I won’t be in trouble?”

  Jack kept his eye son the man.

  Funny, Jack always observed … this need to confess.

  “I can’t be sure Viktor until you tell me. Everything. But I can promise you this …”

  Now Jack moved in closer to the man. “You tell me what you know, you help me understand, and I will do what I can to help you.”

  Viktor nodded.

  “I want to stay here … I need to take care of my family, to earn money …”

  Jack waited, his eyes locked on Viktor’s.

  Then …

  “This is what happened, Jack. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Jack’s every sense was alert.

  Was this the moment they were finally going to find out what happened to Dylan McCabe?

  *

  Viktor looked around the pub as if checking whether anyone was listening, then back to Jack.

  “Two months I try to get work here. But I have no numbers, no card.”

  “Why not?”

  Viktor shrugged. “Because of things I have done back home in Romania. Long time ago. Bad things happened in my country. The police there … they had my name. Difficult to get papers. But now — now, I am married, I work properly.”

  He made a fist to emphasise his words. “I have a life — here, now. A future …”

  Jack watched him carefully, interpreting what the builder was saying.

  So he had a criminal record back home — but was going straight …

  “Then — one day I meet Mr. Sparks. He is good to me. He lets me work with no papers. He pays me good.”

  “Yep, I hear he’s all heart.”

  “And I am a good worker — I work hard! Then Mr. Sparks comes to me and says that Dylan McCabe … he is a troublemaker, bad for all of us. He says ‘Viktor — you move wood on scaffold, make little accident for him’.”

  “So you were there that night,” said Jack. “You sabotaged the walkway so Dylan would fall …”

  A small nod.

  “Yes. I stay late when others go to pub. Mr. Sparks tell me where to make accident.”

  “Why did you do it, Viktor?”

  “Mr. Sparks — he said he give me bonus for Christmas. I have family, I need money. And there was something else … a threat, if I not do it.”

  “But you’re not working now Viktor. Why not? You’re not sick.”

  “I am scared to go back to work.”

  “Scared of Sparks?”

  Jack watched Viktor again look around — not that there was any risk of being overheard in this morgue of a pub.

  “Yes. Scared of Mr. Sparks.”

  Jack held his eye. Something, some instinct, made him think that Viktor wasn’t being completely honest.

  Why’s he owning up so easily? he thought.“Viktor — will you say this to the police? What you just said to me?”

  “No,” said Viktor immediately. “No, I cannot. You will not make me.”

  Jack knew if Viktor spoke up he would be arrested — probably on suspicion of murder, or manslaughter at the very least.

  And indeed — from the sound of it, he would be guilty. But he wouldn’t be the only one.

  It seemed there was no doubt now that Sparks was behind the death of Dylan McCabe.

  But Jack knew he didn’t have anything provable on him — yet. Viktor could deny it all.

  Maybe Sarah would be able to piece something together from the emails.

  But for now — there was nothing else he could get here now from Viktor. He got up to go.

  “You will tell the police?” said Viktor.

  “No,” said Jack. “But I have to go after Sparks. And if he confesses and names you — there is nothing I can do.”

  He watched Viktor take this in. As Jack stepped away from the table he could see that Viktor’s world had just collapsed around him.

  Jack turned and walked over to the dartboard where Ray was waiting.

  “Come on, Ray,” he said. “Time to go home.”

  “He tell you anything?” said Ray.

  Jack decided now wasn’t the time to reveal Viktor’s involvement in Dylan’s death to Ray.

  But also he wasn’t convinced he’d heard the whole truth yet himself.

  “Not sure, Ray. Not sure at all …”

  With Ray following in his footsteps, he pulled his coat tight and left the pub.

  16. The Mystery Girl

  Sarah heard Jack’s knock at her back door. She had made a couple of egg sandwiches, and brewed some coffee.

  Jack had said he had been up half the night trying to figure out what they were missing.

  As for Sarah — up late as well — she had combed through all the files, but still found nothing more that could help them.

  At least now they would be togeth
er, and maybe something would ‘click’.

  Jack smiled as she opened the door.

  “Is that coffee?”

  “A whole pot. I reckon we need all the caffeine we can get.”

  She shut the door as he went to the kitchen table, pulling a chair beside where her laptop lay open, a yellow pad next to it.

  Jack took off his coat and sat down.

  “Long night for you as well?”

  “Kept ploughing through all the files. But nothing popped up that seemed useful.”

  He nodded. “That’s why I figured we should sit down together, go over everything. And maybe, together — plan what we do. Ray told me that Winters is springing for holiday drinks for his guys before the Ploughman’s party tonight …”

  “God, I’d forgotten all about that party. You still going?”

  “Thought I might drop by.”

  “We’d better get to work then,” Sarah said, and she walked over to the cafetiere and poured two cups of coffee and brought them to the table.

  “Where do we start?” she asked.

  “I think … a review of what we know, what we think we know … and the big question: what we don’t have a clue about.”

  She realised once again that Jack thought of her as an equal partner in all this.

  That felt good. His respect — and friendship — meant a lot.

  “Kids out?” he asked.

  A nod. “Both at friends’ houses. Back around dinner.”

  “Good. Then let’s begin. Starting with what Viktor said … and what he maybe didn’t say …”

  *

  Sarah had filled pages of her yellow pad with notes. While Viktor had confessed to arranging an accident at Sparks’ request without his willingness to say the same to the police, legally, it was all hearsay.

  And — Sarah saw — even that confession bothered Jack.

  “Doesn’t add up, Sarah.”

  “In what way?”

  “Sparks may not have wanted any trouble with the authorities that overlook construction projects … but to set up an accident that ends up killing someone?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “Doesn’t make sense …”

  “Then there are the metal poles,” Sarah said. “Just in the right place.”

  A nod from Jack. “Which is why it isn’t ‘just’ an accident. It’s murder. Which makes the idea of Sparks setting it up — over a union matter, or McCabe’s rabble rousing—”

  He took a breath.

  “—all unbelievable. I just don’t buy it.”

  But then Sarah turned to something they had only touched on.

  “What about the girl, in church? And the photo?”

  Jack looked at her, then got up to refill his cup.

  “Right. If ever there was a big sign that we’re missing something — or in this case — someone, that girl is it.”

  Sarah flipped to the back of her pad, where she had wedged the photo that Jack had found.

  The dark hair, a profile shot, a kiss to McCabe’s cheek. His big winning smile.

  Then — a thought.

  And she had no idea where it came from, about something that didn’t seem important at the time.

  “Jack — when I went to Winters, there was a big row with his daughter.”

  He looked at her.

  “He tried to play it down, but—”

  “I remember you told me about Winter’s sitting room, all the photos … all of his daughter when she was young …”

  “I think people stop documenting their offspring when they turn into strong-willed teenagers. Suddenly — they’re not so cute anymore …”

  She slid the photo to him.

  “I didn’t really get a proper look at her. But now I’m thinking … I wonder if this girl …?”

  Jack looked at the photo.

  “… could be her? Nadine Winters?”

  “What? Wow. Winters’ kid going out with McCabe?”

  “What if I looked online? Facebook. Or maybe some horse show … school event?”

  “If you can do that …”

  “Do you need to ask? Let me look.”

  And now Jack got out of his chair and went to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder as she entered the name ‘Nadine Winters’ searching for a recent picture.

  Both of them quiet as she opened multiple windows on her screen, her fingers flying …

  *

  Then—

  There she was.

  “It’s her,” Sarah said. “Look. The eyes, hair …”

  “Amazing,” Jack said. “The mystery girl at the funeral … Winters’ daughter.”

  She stopped suddenly. Sarah knew that — with this link in place — Jack was now piecing things together.

  Jack went back to his seat.

  “Nadine was the girl that he kept hidden,” Jack said. “The girl that he wouldn’t bring round to the Ploughman’s.”

  “And for good reason.”

  He turned and looked at her.

  “Yes. And I think we now know what Viktor wasn’t saying.”

  “You think Winters was involved?”

  “Proud man like that — isn’t going to stand by while his daughter hangs out with a guy like McCabe …”

  “So what do we do? The evidence … we don’t have any, I mean we are still guessing, right?”

  Jack let out a breath of air. “Right. And my guess is Viktor could disappear any moment.”

  “Really?”

  “Someone’s been tailing us, right? I think they were watching Viktor too.”

  She watched Jack sit back in his chair. She guessed he was forming a plan.

  “But if we move fast, we might still get to the truth. Got some time before Winters’ little party at the Ploughman’s. I think — with luck — that’s where we can make it all come together.”

  He smiled, asking a question which she was sure he already knew the answer to.

  “You up for that? We have to speak to a lot of people before then. And I think … it’s best we do it together.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  And Sarah stood up and grabbed her coat, her keys — the roads still icy so better they use her Rav-4 — and together they headed out to put the pieces of McCabe’s murder … for that’s what they knew it had to be …

  17. Truth and Lies

  Sarah looked up at the rear-view mirror, back at Viktor Lupei.

  He sat in the rear seat, his face grim, set.

  When they had showed up at his flat, it was as if Viktor knew that it was all over, that the truth had to come out.

  Sarah had even gone to his wife, sobbing by the sink, shouting words in Romanian that she couldn’t understand … … but those words clearly had to be accusations against her husband, her tears about their life that — in this new country — he had ruined.

  Viktor shook his head about Winters’ daughter, about McCabe, trying to stick to his original story.

  Until his wife walked over and literally pounded on his chest, and then –they cried together, holding each other as if on a sinking ship.

  And when Viktor finally turned back to them, he told them everything he knew.

  All of it, pretty much as they suspected.

  Still, for the moment, just the words of an illegal worker. They had to be proven.

  Jack had turned to Sarah and said, “We have a lot to do …”

  Then to Viktor: “You will need to come to us. Then to the Ploughman’s.”

  Viktor shook his head. “I, I can’t. I can’t go there …”

  But Jack put a hand on the broken man’s shoulder. “You have told us the truth, Viktor. There will be problems for you to deal with, legal problems. But you are not the real killer here.”

  Viktor looked at Jack, a hint of trust.

  And then Jack said: “We need to go see Sparks.”

  Finally, a nod from the Romanian worker.

  Now — in the car, the site only minutes away — Viktor stared
at the winter landscape outside, the leafless trees, the roads still dotted with patches of ice and snow.

  Viktor seemed like a doomed man.

  But Jack was right.

  He wasn’t the real murderer.

  That person still didn’t have a clue that they were closing in on him, pulling all the strings of the story together, discarding the details meant to confuse, like McCabe’s pro-union activities, while tying together the real strands …

  Like Nadine.

  McCabe’s real love.

  One that cost him his life.

  Sarah pulled onto the gravel track that led to the building site, to the supervisor’s office.

  An early finish today; people already leaving for the free Christmas drinks down at the pub.

  But Sparks would still be here.

  Unaware of what was about to happen.

  “You okay?” Jack said, looking back at Viktor, who turned away from the window, the nearly finished building site outside.

  Looking anything but okay.

  A nod.

  Viktor was key to what was about to happen.

  And Sarah pulled her car up close to the wooden steps with its flimsy railing that led to Sparks’ office.

  *

  Sarah went first. After all, she had spoken to him first.

  And heard Sparks’ lies.

  She looked back at Jack standing shoulder to shoulder with Viktor as if he might bolt if given a chance.

  She rapped on the door.

  “Yeah, what?”

  Sparks’ voice from inside.

  And with a final look at Jack, Sarah turned the doorknob and went in, while Jack and the worker followed.

  *

  “What the hell? You again? And what’s this … Viktor, where the hell have you been?”

  The site supervisor had risen from his chair the moment he saw Viktor.

  Of course, she thought.

  The perfect intimidation tactic to keep the worker’s lips sealed.

  “We’ve found out a few things, Mr. Sparks.”

  Then Sparks looked from Sarah, to Jack, then to Viktor.

  He must be feeling cornered, she thought.

  Jack had said to her … ‘why don’t you see how far you get with Sparks? You might enjoy it …’

  Though now she felt that this would be anything but enjoyable.