Cherringham--Follow the Money Page 7

  “The right life for each of us doesn’t just turn up by accident, Jack,” said Lavender, his voice suddenly animated. “You have to reach out and grab it. Make the choice. Make the change. Carpe diem!”

  Jack watched Lavender. The man was intense — persuasive.

  Then he saw him grin.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I can talk complete bollocks sometimes — but that stuff, I do believe it. Worked for me.”

  Jack smiled back at him.

  “No problem,” he said, climbing into the boat. “I happen to agree with you.”

  “You all set?” said Lavender, nodding to the outboard.

  Jack flicked the choke.

  “Fingers crossed,” he said.

  Then he pulled the cord. The engine kicked and spluttered. He pulled it again — and it fired.

  “Terrific,” said Jack. “Thanks to you.”

  “No problem,” said Lavender, untying the rope. “Safe trip back to civilisation.”

  “You got any spaces on your writing workshop? Maybe I can take your number?”

  “Um, haven’t got any cards with me,” said Lavender. “Never can remember my number. Check out the village hall notice board — got my ad there.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Jack, pushing off from the jetty. “Be seeing you.”

  He gave Lavender a wave and watched the man standing there, smiling and waving back.

  One very interesting guy, he thought as he pulled away from the jetty and headed back up river.

  Until Jack had asked for the water, he’d given nothing away. Lavender had been cool, affable — even charming. But now as Jack replayed the conversation line by line, he wondered if there was truth in anything that Lavender had said.

  Or was it all lies?

  Who was he? Was he a writer? What was he hiding?

  Who was that second glass for?

  And could he be involved in the robbery at the Goodmans’?

  Jack reached into his coat pocket for his mobile phone and tapped the screen.

  “Hey Jack. I was hoping you’d call. How did—”

  “Sarah. Can we meet?”

  “Sure. How about some lunch?”

  “How about coffee — like in a half an hour?”

  “Sounds urgent?”

  “Think it is.”

  “Okay. I’ll get a corner table at Huffington’s.”

  “See you then. Oh and Sarah — if you get a minute, do a couple of checks for me, would you?”

  And he explained about the cottage and the mysterious writer who lived in it.

  “I’ll see what I can find, Jack. You got the car number too?”

  Jack told her, then said goodbye and put his phone away.

  Pete Lavender — if that was his real name — was good, very good.

  Good enough and smart enough to probably know that Jack’s visit hadn’t been an accident.

  Maybe smart enough to know that his cover had just been blown.

  Which meant that — like as not — the guy wasn’t going to stay around for long.

  And that in turn meant that if Jack and Sarah wanted to know what he was up to — they were going to have to do some digging — and fast.

  11. Breaking and Entering

  Sarah had grabbed a corner table at Huffington’s, one that she and Jack often used when they wanted to talk about things out of earshot of anyone else in the café.

  But Jack hadn’t shown up yet.

  Not like him at all.

  If he said a half hour, he meant it.

  She took another sip of coffee and looked at her watch.

  Getting near 40 minutes. She looked at the door and then watched Jack hurry in.

  Each time the door opened, a gust of the now-wintry air blew in.

  Another reason it was good to be sitting back here; cosy, sheltered, and not too far from the ovens that produced Huffington’s fabulous cakes and pastries.

  Jack looked over and with a smile for Lucy at the till, and then to one of the waitresses, he hurried over.

  They all knew Jack here.

  And — Sarah suspected — most of them were more than a bit smitten.

  And that was funny thought. Did she feel a twinge of something else with that awareness?

  Something … green?

  She pushed away the idea as Jack took his seat.

  “Sorry. Was heading here and decided to check on something.”

  “Something interesting?”

  “Could be,” he said with a smile.

  “Well I may have something interesting for you too …”

  “Sounds good,” said Jack.

  A waitress — a young, relatively new girl named Jennie — came over.

  “Morning Jack!”

  He turned to her with a big warm smile. “Morning Jennie. How about a cup of English Breakfast? And … I think …you have any of those croissants left?”

  “I’m sure we do.”

  “Great.”

  And after the waitress sailed away.

  “But first, Sarah,” he said, “I want to hear about your visit with Olli.”

  So she did her best to describe the setting, and Olli, the collegiate stoner.

  “Sounds charming,” Jack said.

  “Creepy. And as I said, he owes money to this guy who didn’t seem too pleased.”

  “People rarely are when money is due.”

  “Drugs maybe? Was pretty early to be puffing away.”

  “Ah — life at university.”

  “I also did a little searching online. According to the Oxford news archives he’s already had more than a few run-ins with the police.”

  “Drugs stuff?”

  “Not so far. Drink — and public nuisance offences …”

  “Let me guess — pub fights?

  “Pubs — and very classy restaurants.”

  “What a kid.”

  “And — according to a pal of mine who works at the university — he only just scraped through his first year.”

  “Then there’s the lie.”

  “Yeah. Why would he not say he had been back home with his mates? Perfect time to scope out the pace if he was going to come back and rob it.”

  “Could be. Or could be he was so stoned he genuinely forgot.”

  “But still a suspect, yes? And Terry?”

  “Well, hoping you could help here. Says business is booming. Sure didn’t look that way.”

  “Certainly isn’t. Posted a loss two years running. And it looks like he’s running his stock down. Hell of a lot of money sitting in those cars in the showroom doing nothing …”

  “And that receptionist …”

  “Ah yes. The babe you mentioned?”

  Jack shook his head and laughed.

  “That would be one term that could be applied.”

  “You think — with money problems — she’s maybe his mistress on the side?”

  “Could add to his pressing money concerns. If Terry knew about Claire’s hidden money, then finding that 20K could be important.”

  “So that’s two suspects, by my count.”

  “Oh yes. But, like I said on the phone—”

  Now Jack leaned close. “I think something’s up with our Mr. Lavender. Scooting around on his boat the other day as if checking things out.”

  “Checking out the house, you think?”

  “Maybe. And then when he wouldn’t let me into the cottage — that was rather awkward. And I could see through the window there were two glasses of wine on the table.”

  “You think he had company?”

  “Could be. So did you find anything online?”

  “On Pete Lavender? No. Not a thing.”

  “Well, not a problem,” said Jack. “Guess I didn’t give you much time.”

  “Oh I had enough time, Jack,” said Sarah, enjoying the moment. “And I did say I had something interesting …”

  “Okay — now you’re really getting my attention!”

  Sarah watched Jack
lean forward, his eyes bright.

  Moments like this in an investigation are what it’s all about, she thought.

  “So first — the cottage. It’s a holiday rental. I rang the agent — said I was interested in the place. Right now it’s on a monthly renewable lease. And the current tenant — a Mr. Peter Scott—”

  “Scott? Not Lavender? You sure you got the right place?”

  “Oh yes. And the agent said that Mr. Scott’s tenancy runs out in just a couple of weeks — and he rang to say he’s not renewing.”

  “Interesting. He told me he had the place for the whole year.”

  “That’s not all. I checked on the car plate with that, er … friend … I have in the Metropolitan Police …”

  Back when she lived in London, and her life was being torn to shreds in her divorce, Sarah had acquired useful online skills and contacts to bring her husband to book.

  And both came in very handy these days working with Jack.

  “The car’s also leased. To another Peter — this one has the surname ‘Hamble’.”

  “Ah, right … I’m seeing the pattern here …”

  “And the utility bills are registered to—”

  “Let me guess — Peter somebody?”

  “Peter Scott.”

  “Full house,” said Jack with a grin. “And nice work, Sarah. Lot of ‘Peters’ in play …”

  She watched Jack sit back in his chair.

  “Whether or not he’s involved in the Goodman robbery,” Jack said, “this guy Peter — whoever he really is — is certainly sneaky. Why all the aliases?”

  “Unless you need them. But what can we do about it?”

  “Well, coming here I had an idea …”

  “Yes?”

  Jack smiled.

  “You may not like it …”

  “I like all your ideas.”

  Jennie showed up with the cup of tea, and a perfectly flaky croissant.

  “There you go, Jack.”

  “Perfect!”

  And when Jennie moved on.

  “You see, this idea will have you — technically, I mean — breaking the law.”

  Sarah shook her head. Rolled her eyes and grinned.

  “Won’t be the first time. And in the case of Mr. Lavender — I can’t say I’m troubled by the ethics, Jack.”

  *

  Sarah had to race back to her office — the approaching Christmas holidays always brought a ton of work, and even Grace was looking frazzled.

  But she and Jack had left Huffington’s with a plan to meet up at half five. Sarah had to stay on top of work — this time of year always brought a crazy number of pantomimes, all needing glossy posters and trifolds to promote the craziness.

  But she also had time to dig a little more into Lavender’s history.

  There certainly was a writer called Pete Lavender.

  But the last real credit she could find for any screenwriting was more than a decade ago.

  A TV soap.

  And sure — he could have been working behind the scenes — script doctoring, as he told Jack …

  Or being a writer. Or he could just be making stuff up, playing the part.

  In which case how could he afford the pretty little cottage with its river frontage?

  At 5:50 sharp, she left the office, telling Grace to go home as well, that they’d hit the rest of the work in the morning.

  And she raced down the steps to see Jack in his Sprite — top up, thank god.

  It was dark outside, which made what they were about to do even more scary.

  And yet — weirdly — also more exciting.

  *

  “Jack — does this car have heat?”

  He laughed.

  “Best I can do for now. Need to have a hose replaced so only getting heat on one side.”

  He turned and looked at her as he took the main road out of the village. “I do have it cranked.”

  “Next time. I’ll wear my ear muffs.”

  This, as Jack had explained in Huffington’s, might be their only opportunity to learn what they could about Pete Lavender.

  Jack had run into the Village Hall before meeting Sarah at Huffington’s, to look at Lavender’s flyer. No phone number there — despite what the writer had told him.

  But it had given the time of the next ‘Writer’s Circle’ weekly workshop.

  Tonight at 6.

  Who knew when they’d get another shot at looking into the small cottage.

  To see what they could see.

  “You still okay with doing this?”

  She had agreed with Jack that the safest thing would be for him to stay on watch outside in case Lavender suddenly came back. Jack would make up something about bringing over a bottle of wine to say thanks for the help with the fuel.

  Meanwhile Sarah could look around.

  Jack had said he’d seen a laptop.

  Might be useful to have a look at that too.

  “Um … good, Jack. But do get the hose fixed. This may not be New York, but we do get winters here.”

  “Part gets delivered this Friday.”

  They left the main road, and took a narrow hedge-lined lane that ran to the isolated spot on the river where Lavender lived.

  “Gloomy area, this, in winter,” Sarah said.

  “I’ll say.”

  “Nothing really out here.”

  “Guess that’s why rents are so pricey.”

  But before reaching Lavender’s cottage, Jack edged into an open area at the bottom of a small hill.

  “Should be a good place to wait,” he said.

  With the road curving ahead of them, and the hedges nearby, the small Sprite would be nearly invisible, easily missed.

  “Now to wait. What if … he’s cancelled the workshop?”

  “Nothing we can do about that.”

  She nodded, and looked down at her watch.

  5:45.

  If Lavender was leaving for Cherringham, he’d be coming this way soon.

  “Any more hints of what to look for … once I’m inside?”

  She had to admit — this was kind of thrilling.

  Not an average evening for a single mum.

  “Well … make sure if he has got guests that they’re not home! Take a look around before you break in. Then I guess — find out what’s on his computer. Anything else that he might be hiding. And of course — who the hell he is!”

  She nodded.

  “Hope there’s mobile service out here.”

  He looked at her.

  “Hadn’t thought about that. If not, we better scratch the whole thing.”

  “I think that I—”

  And at that moment, a car came up the lane, headlights aimed straight ahead, before the car — Lavender’s Audi — turned right and got on the main road.

  “There we go,” said Jack.

  Sarah took a deep breath.

  Jack waited until the car and its lights were lost in the distance, and then he started the chilly Sprite up, flicked on its headlights, and pulled out and onto the road.

  Then a sharp left down to the cottage.

  *

  Jack had parked the car well away from the cottage, but still where Lavender could see it if he suddenly returned.

  That way — Jack said — he could distract him while Sarah left through the back door and dashed into the nearby brush.

  If that happened, they’d meet up at the end of the lane.

  Sarah seriously hoped that didn’t happen.

  Jack looked down at his phone.

  “Got one bar. Oh wait. Now none. Oh, there it is again.”

  “Me too,” Sarah said.

  Jack looked at her. “You know … if you don’t want to do this, with an iffy phone.”

  “Jack. Think about all the things we’ve done. I can do this. Okay?”

  A big smile.

  “You got it, boss.”

  She took a breath.

  Then she turned and started walking to the sm
all cottage.

  12. Inside Lavender’s Lair

  Sarah walked carefully around the outside of the cottage. The lights were all off and she couldn’t hear a sound from inside.

  The place seemed empty. She was just going to have to risk it.

  Back to the front door.

  She took out the handy tool that Jack had showed her to use — a series of small picks and needle-thin metal pikes that, she had to admit, she’d become quite adept at manipulating to open locked doors.

  Always a second career there for me; she thought as the front door popped open and she entered the tiny cottage.

  She flicked on a light switch. Jack would warn her if Lavender was heading back this way.

  For now she needed all the light she could find.

  First thing: the place looked neat and tidy. The kitchen and small sitting area, with — she assumed — an equally small bedroom in the back — all looked like a carefully arranged ‘set’.

  Artfully hung posters on the wall. A vintage ‘Casablanca’ poster, in French no less, and then one of Olivier’s ‘Hamlet’ … a film she hadn’t seen but whose pedigree was obvious from its star and all the glowing quotes beside the black and white image of the moody Dane.

  And cut flowers sat in a crystal vase in the centre of a small table in the dining area; next to it, two shining wine glasses.

  Like this place was all set for Lavender to bring someone back for the full effect.

  Flowers, the nods to classic film, the flowers carefully arranged.

  To Sarah — who had in her day experienced similar things –it spoke of one thing.

  Assignation.

  But Lavender’s romantic ambitions weren’t why she was here.

  She was here to learn about Lavender’s secrets, and what — if anything — he had to do with the Goodmans’ break in.

  And then she turned to face the kitchen area, and near it, a small nook. Very narrow, with a tiny bookshelf above it.

  But sitting on the table area of the nook, a MacBook Air.

  The larger MacBook Air.

  Precisely the same type that had been stolen from Terry Goodman.

  Sarah walked over to it and flipped open the lid, and the laptop came to life.

  And the screen showed that this wasn’t just similar to Terry’s Mac.

  The screen showed the Manchester United logo as an icon, and below it … the name of ‘Terry Goodman’.

  O-kay … so Lavender had stolen Terry’s computer.