Read Online Cherringham--Thick as Thieves by Neil Richards - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Neil Richards
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circles — all the while planning for Jack’s little party in a week’s time. And though that was pretty organised, the investigation was going nowhere fast.
“Short of a surprise confession — nope,” said Jack.
But he could see she still wasn’t going to settle for that.
“I remember you told me once that when you get a breakthrough, it’s often something that you knew already, but you just hadn’t realised the importance.”
“True,” said Jack. “It’s usually some fact or piece of information you’ve kind of … misfiled. You know what I mean?”
“Exactly,” said Sarah. “So maybe you’ve got one of those now?”
Jack considered this.
“Well …”
“Go on.”
“One thing I do not get,” said Jack. “The break-in. They tried the front door, then they smashed the back door. Now from what you told me about this art gang from that crime report — they’re pros. And anyone who can open one of those Canon safes — well they can slip a door lock easy.”
“Plus — would they really smash the glass in and leave it there?”
“Exactly,” said Jack.
Jack watched as a group of swans flew past, just level with the deck of the Grey Goose and landed downstream.
“On the other hand,” he said. “The way Cartwright left the combination out, it might be an amateur who just got lucky.”
“Like Jerry?”
“Not impossible. My money’s on Lady Repton.”
Sarah laughed.
“Can’t be her. You’d have heard her cane tapping from here. What about young Baz?”
“Not on his own — he was too drunk. If local reports are to be believed.”
“Pete the Farmer?”
“Possible — though I’d hate it to be true.”
“Which leaves the professor,” said Sarah.
“And with him, like we said before — where’s the motive?”
“You’re right,” said Sarah. “Everybody says it would be impossible to sell the plate anyway. So whoever stole it might have just thrown it away.”
“Or melted it down.”
“But I wonder if that’s really true?” said Sarah. “What about those people you hear about who have incredible works of art all hidden away? They exist, don’t they? It’s possible to buy these things on the black market.”
“True,” said Jack. “In fact, I remember, a year or two back there was a guy in the States bought a T-Rex skull for a small fortune. Texan oil millionaire. Had it installed in his study. Just to look at all on his lonesome.”
“So the Cherringham Plate could still be out there.”
“It could. But you know what? Right now, I don’t think we’re going to find it.”
Across the river, Riley jumped up onto the bank and barked a greeting. Jack could see Daniel, stick in hand, heading back too.
“Not unless we get lucky,” he said with a shrug. But from the determined look on Sarah’s face, he could see she wasn’t going to let it go that easily.
Sarah had just finished editing a blood-curdling scream into the Victorian Hangman Feature on the Penton Prison website when there was a knock at the office door.
She looked over at Grace.
“Are you expecting anyone?”
Grace shook her head and walked over to the door. Pete Butterworth entered quickly. He nodded a hurried greeting to Sarah and went straight to the little window that looked down onto the village square.
Sarah looked at Grace.
“What the …?” she mouthed.
Grace shrugged again.
“Mr Butterworth — is there a problem?” she said, standing up from her chair.
“No, not a problem,” he said, not taking his eyes from the street two storeys below.
Sarah joined him at the window.
“You look worried.”
“Worried? No.”
For a second his eyes flicked away from the street to hers — then he pressed his face to the glass again.
“You see the BMW — by the entrance to the village hall?”
Sarah looked down.
“The blue one — yes?”
“That’s it,” he said. “By the way — you can call me Pete.”
“Nice to see you again, Pete.”
“Hmm. Now don’t take
“Short of a surprise confession — nope,” said Jack.
But he could see she still wasn’t going to settle for that.
“I remember you told me once that when you get a breakthrough, it’s often something that you knew already, but you just hadn’t realised the importance.”
“True,” said Jack. “It’s usually some fact or piece of information you’ve kind of … misfiled. You know what I mean?”
“Exactly,” said Sarah. “So maybe you’ve got one of those now?”
Jack considered this.
“Well …”
“Go on.”
“One thing I do not get,” said Jack. “The break-in. They tried the front door, then they smashed the back door. Now from what you told me about this art gang from that crime report — they’re pros. And anyone who can open one of those Canon safes — well they can slip a door lock easy.”
“Plus — would they really smash the glass in and leave it there?”
“Exactly,” said Jack.
Jack watched as a group of swans flew past, just level with the deck of the Grey Goose and landed downstream.
“On the other hand,” he said. “The way Cartwright left the combination out, it might be an amateur who just got lucky.”
“Like Jerry?”
“Not impossible. My money’s on Lady Repton.”
Sarah laughed.
“Can’t be her. You’d have heard her cane tapping from here. What about young Baz?”
“Not on his own — he was too drunk. If local reports are to be believed.”
“Pete the Farmer?”
“Possible — though I’d hate it to be true.”
“Which leaves the professor,” said Sarah.
“And with him, like we said before — where’s the motive?”
“You’re right,” said Sarah. “Everybody says it would be impossible to sell the plate anyway. So whoever stole it might have just thrown it away.”
“Or melted it down.”
“But I wonder if that’s really true?” said Sarah. “What about those people you hear about who have incredible works of art all hidden away? They exist, don’t they? It’s possible to buy these things on the black market.”
“True,” said Jack. “In fact, I remember, a year or two back there was a guy in the States bought a T-Rex skull for a small fortune. Texan oil millionaire. Had it installed in his study. Just to look at all on his lonesome.”
“So the Cherringham Plate could still be out there.”
“It could. But you know what? Right now, I don’t think we’re going to find it.”
Across the river, Riley jumped up onto the bank and barked a greeting. Jack could see Daniel, stick in hand, heading back too.
“Not unless we get lucky,” he said with a shrug. But from the determined look on Sarah’s face, he could see she wasn’t going to let it go that easily.
Sarah had just finished editing a blood-curdling scream into the Victorian Hangman Feature on the Penton Prison website when there was a knock at the office door.
She looked over at Grace.
“Are you expecting anyone?”
Grace shook her head and walked over to the door. Pete Butterworth entered quickly. He nodded a hurried greeting to Sarah and went straight to the little window that looked down onto the village square.
Sarah looked at Grace.
“What the …?” she mouthed.
Grace shrugged again.
“Mr Butterworth — is there a problem?” she said, standing up from her chair.
“No, not a problem,” he said, not taking his eyes from the street two storeys below.
Sarah joined him at the window.
“You look worried.”
“Worried? No.”
For a second his eyes flicked away from the street to hers — then he pressed his face to the glass again.
“You see the BMW — by the entrance to the village hall?”
Sarah looked down.
“The blue one — yes?”
“That’s it,” he said. “By the way — you can call me Pete.”
“Nice to see you again, Pete.”
“Hmm. Now don’t take
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