Cherringham--Episode 28-30 by Matthew Costello

Author:Matthew Costello [ Costello 1, Matthew 1, Richards 2, Neil 2]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-3-7325-6965-6
Publisher: Bastei Entertainment
Published: 2019-06-05T00:00:00+00:00

9. Connections

Jack sat in the cramped back office of the Ploughman’s and waited while Billy Leeper cued up the CCTV recorder.

“How far back can you go?” said Jack.

“About a month,” said Billy. “Best thing I ever did, set this up.”

“Customers don’t mind the cameras?”

“Only the wrong kind of customer. Most of my regulars feel safer knowing it’s there.”

Jack watched as Billy pressed buttons on the recorder. Then: “All set to go. You got a date?”

“Twenty-first. Evening.”

“Ah. Night Charlie Clutterbuck died, hmm? This to do with him then? You investigating, Jack?”

Jack nodded. “Maybe. Maybe not. Just taking a look. Seems Charlie had a bit of a run-in with some guy in the john that night.”

“That a fact? Didn’t hear anything myself. And he looked okay to me later.”

“You saw him that night?”

“Bugger bought me a drink. First one in twenty years.”

“So, he was spending?”

“Oh, he had cash all right. Plenty.”

“Did you notice a stranger hanging round? Tall guy — suit?”

“Place was full of strangers, Jack. Country and western night, see. People come from all over. Don’t know half of them.”

Jack saw the screen on the shelf in front of them light up — the split of camera feeds showing views inside and outside the Ploughman’s.

“Right then,” said Billy, handing Jack a remote control. “This button to scroll through the feeds, the rest work just like your average DVD — pause, play, you know the score. Any questions — just give us a shout. I’ll be behind the bar.”

“Thanks, Billy — appreciate it.”

“Any time. Happy hunting.”

Jack watched Billy leave the office and shut the door behind him. Then he picked up the remote and ran the recording back to mid-afternoon on the day Charlie died.

Should have brought a coffee, he thought, making himself comfortable in the office chair.

From long experience back in the NYPD, he knew this might take some time.

*

Two hours later — and Jack’s eyes were beginning to hurt from the strain of peering at the grainy images.

At least there’s no audio, he thought. There’s only so many Tammy Wynette covers a man can endure.

It hadn’t taken long to spot Charlie, as he scurried back and forth to the bar, buying drinks.

Jack kept a tally of the pints and chasers in his notebook: enough to knock out any but the most hardened of drinkers.

It was hard not to feel bad for the guy — knowing that in just a few hours he would be drowned, floating down the Thames in the dark.

The digital display on the recordings hit 10:30pm. And still no sign of the mysterious stranger in the suit.

Then Jack saw … a lone figure in the shadows of the car park, standing on the very edge of frame, smoking a cigarette, looking round …

… flicking the cigarette away and entering the pub by the back door.

Jack hit pause and stared at the screen. He checked the camera plan that he’d drawn in his notebook and pulled up a different angle, to see …

The same guy stepping into the brightly lit rear corridor of the pub, into the crowded overspill from the Cotswold Belles.

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