Cherringham--A Fatal Fall (5 page)

He reached into his pocket, took out a card, and handed it to her.

“Call me on my mobile,” he said. “Any time, happy to chat, Miss …?”

“Edwards. Sarah Edwards.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Sarah. Now if I were you, I’d get in that car, put the blower on, and head home. It must be five below out here and we’ll both catch our deaths.”

She saw him smile and she smiled too.

He nodded, turned, and headed back towards his car and the office.

Then she got into her car and started it, throwing her lights on.

And as she put the car into drive and began rumbling her way on the dirt road away from the site, she kept thinking.

Funny — on first glance how you could misjudge someone.

And if Charlie Winters was going to help, then maybe she wouldn’t need to trouble Gary Sparks again.

And that’s a relief,
she thought.

She took a deep breath as she came close to the office. Winters gave her a gentle wave.

And right behind him, she saw Sparks glowering.

Then she turned down the dirt road, bumping, and jiggling slowly, the roadway feeling like an assault.

Until, after what seemed an eternity, she exited the site and hit smooth pavement.

A feel of civilisation.

And — she had to admit — a feeling of safety.

And now she drove away, faster than she normally would.

Dinner for Daniel and Chloe. That was up next, she thought. But then — a call to Jack. Maybe meet up.

Because nothing about this was feeling at all … accidental.

Jack walked into a packed Ploughman’s, the pub and customers sounding and looking ready to kick off the holidays
big time
.

Every table was taken, and people stood two deep at the bar. The pints couldn’t appear fast enough, and even the restaurant — good for the basics, Jack always thought — looked in high gear as well, the kitchen door opening and shutting fast, trays of bangers and mash and shepherd’s pies rolling out.

Happy Holidays indeed …

But Jack wasn’t here to begin celebrating.

He acknowledged a few people who waved his way, inviting him over. Pete Bull, the plumber, and his friends. And off to the side, Todd Robinson, the village electrician at a table, bowls of chips covering the surface.

But — with a smile and a nod to all who looked over — Jack stayed where he was, scanning the room.

He was looking for the crowd of workers from the building site.

And though he wouldn’t know them by face or name, he knew that the men — fresh off a day’s heavy labour — would stand out, even in this roughshod crowd.

Then he saw — at one end of the bar — four men, warm parkas open, standing on their own, drinking while they eyed the crowd. Jack could see on a couple of their jackets the words ‘Winters Construction’.

Planning in his mind what he’d say, Jack walked over to the men, squeezing past revellers, and even wondering whether he’d be able to talk to them, ask any question with so many people here.

So much noise.

Then thinking that the noise, and the men lubricated by so many pints, may be just what was needed.

*

“There you go, Jack. Two lagers, two pints of Best, and one Guinness,” said Billy Leeper the barman, sliding the last pints across to Jack and the group.

“One for yourself, Billy?” said Jack.

“Very kind of you Jack,” said Billy. “I’ll have one in the barrel if that’s all right with you?”

“Sure,” said Jack.

He was now used to the notion in English pubs that you could buy the barman a beer which — instead of drinking — he converted into cash at the end of the night.

But why not just call it a tip like they did everywhere else in the world,
thought Jack, before turning back to the guys from the building site.

“Cheers lads,” he said.

He’d surprised them by just walking up and offering them a drink.

Pushing the old American abroad act quite nicely,
he thought.

And now he watched them watching him back, eyes suspicious, shrewd. The tall one looked to be the oldest, with greying hair. The other three were in their twenties and thirties he guessed. They were shorter, squat, and with the pasty, lined faces of men who had drunk, smoked, and eaten the wrong kind of food for most of their lives.

Jack grinned: “Fella walks in, offers to buy you a drink, there’s gotta be a catch, huh?”

The tall guy nodded: “Only catch is … us not buying you one back, hmm?”

Nobody laughed.

“I can deal with that,” said Jack, taking a sip of his beer then putting the glass down on the bar.

“So what’re you after then?” said the tall one. “We’re not doing tarmac — if you’re wanting your drive done.”

“Can’t say I have much need of tarmac,” said Jack. “Seeing as how I live on a boat.”

He laughed — but they didn’t join in. Then one of the shorter guys got a little more animated.

“Hey — hang on … I know who you are — you’re that cop, aren’t you?” he said, tapping Jack on the arm.

“Ex-cop,” said Jack.

“Live down on that boat near Ray. That is you — isn’t it?”

“That’s me.”

The man turned to the others: “Ray talked to this Yank here about Dylan. He said he was going to find out what happened. Sort things.”

Jack watched the tall man turn now and look at him more carefully.

“That right?”

“Kind of. I said to Ray I’d look into it. I didn’t promise anything.”

“But you think something’s not right?”

“Not sure. Maybe,” said Jack.

“Well, it’s not, and that’s a fact. Bloody accident, no way …”

The others nodded.

Jack looked at them. They were edgy. Then the tall man nodded, and seemed to make a decision. He stuck his hand out for Jack to shake.

“I’m Kevin.”

“Jack. Jack Brennan.”

Kevin pointed to the younger man who’d spoken. “That’s Jimbo.”

Jack nodded at Jimbo.

“And that’s Paolo. He’s Spanish. Doesn’t say much.”

“Drinks just fine though,” Jimbo said, and they all laughed.

Jack smiled at Paolo. Kevin pointed at the fourth man.

“Viktor. He’s Romanian — I think. That right Viktor?”

“Yes. Romanian.”

Jack nodded to Viktor, who nodded back.

Kevin nodded towards the far corner of the public bar.

“All right. I’m thinking these drinks means you wanna talk about the accident?”

“Sure. Like to get your take on it.”

“Okay. There’s a table just come free at the back. Be a bit quieter there. Jimbo — grab us some crisps will you? I’m starvin’.”

Kevin picked up his glass from the bar and headed for the table, followed by Paolo and Viktor. Jack followed while Jimbo obeyed orders and stayed to buy crisps.

Kevin slid Jack’s fresh pint across the table to him then sat down.

“Cheers, Kevin,” said Jack, raising the glass and taking a gulp. “My round again after this one.”

“No, my round, please,” said Viktor.

Strong accent there,
Jack noted.

“No — my rounds,” said Paolo, nearly nailing the right word. “I’m earning better!”

“Yeah, Paolo’s a brickie, Jack,” explained Kevin. “No work in Spain — but here? He’s gold-dust. Reckon they pay him in gold-dust too, lucky bastard.”

Jack nodded at Paolo, who grinned back.

*

After a few beers they’d all loosened up and Jack had picked up the basic information he’d needed.

Dylan was well-liked, salt of the earth, one of the lads — all the usual stuff that Jack had expected to hear.

And it seemed that Kevin knew him best — going right back to working together on building sites in Dublin.

According to Kevin, Dylan was no beginner. He’d been a labourer for fifteen years or more — and had worked on some big jobs — motorways, cross-rail across London, even a tunnel in the Far East with Kevin.

A good worker, Kevin had said. Reliable — and a good mate.

Not that he didn’t have weaknesses. He gambled — and he wasn’t good at it, so he was always chasing the next paycheck. And always had people chasing the debts.

“Owed more than a bit to a ton of the lads …” Kevin said, and the others nodded as if it was common knowledge.

“He also liked the ladies — and didn’t take much account of whether they was married or not,” Jimbo added.

Kevin laughed. “And they seemed to like him back as well.”

More nods.

Then Jimbo added something that had him raising his finger, pointing at Jack as if this was key …

“And McCabe always stood up for the lads when he felt the bosses were ripping us off.”

Jack wondered if it was this last characteristic that explained the bogus ID card.

Kevin explained: “See, a few years back, work dried up for Dylan. He couldn’t figure out why. He even had to work abroad for a while.”

Jack could guess what had happened, but he sipped his beer and listened.

“Turns out, his name was on a blacklist of all the so-called troublemakers which the big construction firms had
identified
. All secret, hush hush, but shared around with the big construction outfits.”

“Quite a problem,” Jack said.

“Yeah. But finally the bloody list was outed in the papers — big scandal.”

“Damn thing is no more,” Jimbo added.

Kevin nodded. “But here’s the thing, Jack, what McCabe had to face. You see, you can’t get rid of people’s memories. The troublemakers’ names were still
known
, and McCabe’s was right at the top of it.”

Jack looked right at Kevin, then the others. What he was about to say wouldn’t be news, he guessed.

“So McCabe bought himself a bogus ID …?”

“Too right. Even gave himself an extra first name —
Sean
Dylan McCabe. The false ID card wasn’t perfect — but it was good enough to get him through most jobs and out the other side with a pocket full of cash. Not that he held onto that for long!”

A fuller picture of Dylan McCabe was now emerging …

Someone who owed people money, maybe beyond the guys he worked with … maybe owing some of the sharks who ran the big league bookie operations.

And who knows what trouble his taste in women — married or not — could get him into?

If what happened wasn’t an accident, all that could be part of something crucial …

A motive …

Suddenly there’s no shortage of people who might want McCabe to trip and fall from a tall building,
thought Jack.

*

So far he’d avoided talking about Dylan’s death — and about what exactly had happened that night.

But as he looked around the busy pub, he felt that now was the right time.

Billy’s playlist of Christmas hits was booming out from all the pub’s speakers mixing with the laughter and chatter of the holiday crowd.

No chance of being overheard, especially tucked away in this corner.

Jack took a sip of his beer and leaned forward.

“So do you … any of you … think there’s something suspicious about Dylan’s death?” he said, looking at the four builders across the table, now crowded with pint glasses.

They all looked at each other as if confirming that Jack was okay to talk to.

“Gotta be, Jack,” said Jimbo. “For starters, there’s no way Dylan would ever fall off a scaffold. That’s just a no brainer.”

“You’re dead right there,” Kevin added quickly. “He was friggin’ born on a scaffold, that boy.”

“And even if he had tripped or whatever — how come he landed on the mesh?” said Jimbo.

“Word is the site wasn’t the tidiest around,” said Jack. “So the mesh was just lying around — no?”

“Hell, no! Mesh is always stacked flat,” said Kevin. “This was on edge. Rods pointing up, you know? None of the lads would have left it like that.”

“He is right. I never seen one left standing like that, end of day,
never
,” said Paolo. “Always it is flat.”

“Maybe someone wanted to kick it early, then had to leave it behind? Maybe even Dylan? That does happen, right?”

Kevin leaned close, lowering his voice.

“Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. Still, for that to be there like that …”

Time for Jack to tell them something that he guessed they
didn’t
know.

“Ray was there,” Jack said. A smile, figuring they could guess what Ray might be doing at the site after closing time. “Says he saw someone else on the scaffold. Maybe one of your lads was working late?”

“No way, Jack,” said Kevin. “Friday night, payday? God, we was all off to the pub on the dot. Paolo here worked a bit later with a couple of the brickies — but then you all clocked off and came for a pint, didn’t you?”

Jack saw Paolo nodding.

“What about you Viktor — did you see anything?” said Jack.

The Romanian had been very quiet, but Jack put that down to his poor English.

With Kevin’s help he’d explained that he’d only been working in England for a couple of months, so he couldn’t really join in the chat.

“I left early,” he said. “Not well, so went home to sleep.”

“Perked up later, though right Vik?” Jimbo said. Then to Jack. “Joined us for a beer …” said Jimbo, putting an arm round his workmate. “Nothing like good English bitter for the common cold!”

Jack saw Viktor grinning sheepishly.

“All right,” Jack said. “Getting late. Thanks for talking.”

“And thanks for the beers, Jack. You can ask questions anytime you like if you keep ’em coming …”

“One last thing though … if someone did kill Dylan — who do you think it could it be?” said Jack.

“Well, here’s the thing, Jack,” said Kevin. “Sparks has had it in for Dylan since day one. He must have known since Dylan signed on that he was using a fake ID.”

“How?” said Jack.

“He’s worked with him before on other sites,” said Kevin. “More than once.”

“Why hire him if he’s trouble?”

“He may be trouble — but he knows what he’s doing,” said Jimbo. “Pressure was on from Winters. Get the damn job done! Safe pair of hands, see? I mean — no disrespect to you Viktor — but you can’t just make a team out of the United Nations! Gotta have people who really know the ropes, know what I mean?”