Read Online Cherringham--The Last Puzzle by Neil Richards - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Neil Richards
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Lies and More Lies
Sarah spent five minutes filling Jack in on her meeting with Patrick Andrews.
“Interesting — the delightful Tricia was a full-blown spook?” he said.
“So it seems.”
She saw Jack shake his head.
“She had me totally fooled.”
“I wouldn’t feel bad about that, Jack — I imagine she was pretty well trained …” Sarah grinned, “… at fooling men.”
Jack smiled back. “Gotcha. Even so, I should have known she was lying,” he said. “You think she knew Carlisle?”
“Hmm, good question,” said Sarah. “Carlisle told me he hardly knew her.”
“Well that can’t be true — if Carlisle worked alongside Quentin then he must have known her, right?”
She saw Jack get up and go over to the whiteboard.
“You know what?” he said, turning back to her. “I don’t trust any of these people. They’re walking rings round us.”
He sat down again.
“And this case — if it is a case even — is like playing Telephone.”
“Hmm?”
“Kids’ game. You tell someone something, in a whisper. They pass it on, and the message changes each time.”
“Oh — we call it ‘Chinese Whispers’ over here!”
“Really?”
“And it’s also a bit like those Russian dolls.”
“ Matryoshkas ? Lift one top, and another is there, and another …”
“Exactly. Hey — have a sandwich, egg mayonnaise and cress,” said Sarah.
She slid the plate of sandwiches across the desk to him and watched him take one.
“My favorite. Boy did I need this,” he said. “Turned down the chocolate cake at Huffington’s so I’m feeling virtuous — but also starving.”
“Did you get anywhere with the carer?” she said, picking up a sandwich herself.
“Emma? Yes and no,” said Jack. “She’s covering for her orangutan boyfriend for sure — jury’s still out on whether she’s been up to something herself …”
“Hmm — the charming Mr. Marty Kane,” said Sarah. “I pulled this from the Cherringham Gazette database.”
She angled her laptop so Jack could see. She watched him lean forward to read.
“Six-month suspended sentence for handling stolen goods,” he said.
“And that’s not his first offence,” said Sarah. “Did a year inside a while back for a serious assault.”
“Nasty piece of work,” said Jack. “But a killer too? Guy like that is more likely to kill by accident. Let’s go back to the brother. What else he say?”
Sarah put down her sandwich, and nodded to the whiteboard, which now listed the last three clues alongside the nearly completed puzzle.
“After his second Jameson’s he wasn’t making a great deal of sense. I don’t think he’s going to be doing much puzzle solving this afternoon.”
“Less than twenty four hours to go …” said Jack, looking at his watch. “Given up?”
“Either that or he knows all the answers,” said Sarah. “He said that he and Quentin used to do Cherringham treasure hunts when they were kids, and he didn’t seem troubled by any of the clues.”
“Hmmm … they were once close, huh?”
“Oh no! Quite the opposite,” said Sarah. “Quentin may have been a pillar of the establishment — but Patrick was quite the rebel. Spent twenty years on the barricades — Grosvenor Square Vietnam demo, miners’ strike, poll-tax riots — you name it, if there was a cause, Patrick signed up to it.”
“But he’ll take the money if it comes his way …”
“Absolutely,” said Sarah. “And use it to tear down the walls that his brother built.”
Jack paused.
Then: “You think he could have killed Quentin?”
“Big question there, Jack. Seems to me like he genuinely hated him. But murder? His own brother?
“When did he last see Quentin?”
“Not for years, apparently.”
“Really? Even though they both lived in the village?”
“Worked hard to avoid each other.”
“And what about our spy?” said Jack. “How was he getting on?”
“Mr. Carlisle is on the ball I think. As smooth as they come
Sarah spent five minutes filling Jack in on her meeting with Patrick Andrews.
“Interesting — the delightful Tricia was a full-blown spook?” he said.
“So it seems.”
She saw Jack shake his head.
“She had me totally fooled.”
“I wouldn’t feel bad about that, Jack — I imagine she was pretty well trained …” Sarah grinned, “… at fooling men.”
Jack smiled back. “Gotcha. Even so, I should have known she was lying,” he said. “You think she knew Carlisle?”
“Hmm, good question,” said Sarah. “Carlisle told me he hardly knew her.”
“Well that can’t be true — if Carlisle worked alongside Quentin then he must have known her, right?”
She saw Jack get up and go over to the whiteboard.
“You know what?” he said, turning back to her. “I don’t trust any of these people. They’re walking rings round us.”
He sat down again.
“And this case — if it is a case even — is like playing Telephone.”
“Hmm?”
“Kids’ game. You tell someone something, in a whisper. They pass it on, and the message changes each time.”
“Oh — we call it ‘Chinese Whispers’ over here!”
“Really?”
“And it’s also a bit like those Russian dolls.”
“ Matryoshkas ? Lift one top, and another is there, and another …”
“Exactly. Hey — have a sandwich, egg mayonnaise and cress,” said Sarah.
She slid the plate of sandwiches across the desk to him and watched him take one.
“My favorite. Boy did I need this,” he said. “Turned down the chocolate cake at Huffington’s so I’m feeling virtuous — but also starving.”
“Did you get anywhere with the carer?” she said, picking up a sandwich herself.
“Emma? Yes and no,” said Jack. “She’s covering for her orangutan boyfriend for sure — jury’s still out on whether she’s been up to something herself …”
“Hmm — the charming Mr. Marty Kane,” said Sarah. “I pulled this from the Cherringham Gazette database.”
She angled her laptop so Jack could see. She watched him lean forward to read.
“Six-month suspended sentence for handling stolen goods,” he said.
“And that’s not his first offence,” said Sarah. “Did a year inside a while back for a serious assault.”
“Nasty piece of work,” said Jack. “But a killer too? Guy like that is more likely to kill by accident. Let’s go back to the brother. What else he say?”
Sarah put down her sandwich, and nodded to the whiteboard, which now listed the last three clues alongside the nearly completed puzzle.
“After his second Jameson’s he wasn’t making a great deal of sense. I don’t think he’s going to be doing much puzzle solving this afternoon.”
“Less than twenty four hours to go …” said Jack, looking at his watch. “Given up?”
“Either that or he knows all the answers,” said Sarah. “He said that he and Quentin used to do Cherringham treasure hunts when they were kids, and he didn’t seem troubled by any of the clues.”
“Hmmm … they were once close, huh?”
“Oh no! Quite the opposite,” said Sarah. “Quentin may have been a pillar of the establishment — but Patrick was quite the rebel. Spent twenty years on the barricades — Grosvenor Square Vietnam demo, miners’ strike, poll-tax riots — you name it, if there was a cause, Patrick signed up to it.”
“But he’ll take the money if it comes his way …”
“Absolutely,” said Sarah. “And use it to tear down the walls that his brother built.”
Jack paused.
Then: “You think he could have killed Quentin?”
“Big question there, Jack. Seems to me like he genuinely hated him. But murder? His own brother?
“When did he last see Quentin?”
“Not for years, apparently.”
“Really? Even though they both lived in the village?”
“Worked hard to avoid each other.”
“And what about our spy?” said Jack. “How was he getting on?”
“Mr. Carlisle is on the ball I think. As smooth as they come
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