Cherringham--Thick as Thieves (6 page)

“Exactly,” said Jack. “Drill down.”

“Who do you fancy on your dance card?”

“Farmer Butterworth, I think. Take a look at his field of silver …”

“Okay,” said Sarah. “How about you invite young Jerry out for a drink?”

Jack laughed.

“Maybe his pal Baz as well?”

“Which leaves Lady Repton for me.”

“Shame. There was I thinking I’d have myself a one-to-one with nobility and maybe invite her over to my little drinks party too.”

“Who knows. All options open. She might be the thief, Jack.”

“From what I’ve read about the English upper classes Sarah … that’s quite likely these days. But even if she’s guilty, you know what? I’d still invite her. Felons can be quite interesting.”

“You Americans, still suckers for the English upper classes.”

“Sure,” said Jack. “Just so long as they can’t tell us what to do.”

“Talking of invites,” said Sarah, taking out her phone. “Shall we see if we can put a list together for Saturday?”

Jack leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, lazily.

“I guess so. But you know, sitting here with the river just waking up and the sun in the sky, I’m kinda wishing I didn’t have to throw a party. Maybe I should put it off till next month?”

With two kids at home, Sarah had heard these thoughts many times before and she knew just how to deal with them.

“Nonsense, Jack. Soon as people turn up you’ll have the time of your life. Now let’s get started, shall we?”

And just like a school-kid, Jack shrugged, sat forward, put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jack pulled up in the yard of Low Copse Farm and turned the engine off.

He looked around. Although he was a city boy, his grandparents had had a farm — and he knew enough from those childhood memories to recognise a well-run outfit.

This place looked tidy enough. Bales of straw still left over from the winter neatly stacked. Tractors lined up. No piles of scrap in forgotten corners, jumbles of metal or old sleepers.

The door to the farm opened and a tall man in his forties came out, crossed the yard to greet him.

“Mr Brennan? Pete Butterworth.”

Jack shook his outstretched hand. He liked the guy already — some instinct at work there.

“It’s Jack. Good of you to see me.”

“Couldn’t resist, to be honest. My wife and I have heard about some of your exploits — and we felt if anyone could find the plate — you could.”

Jack rarely felt awkward — but he did now. The whole private detective thing conflicted with his natural desire to keep a low profile.

“Well, I wouldn’t count on anything, Pete,” he said quickly. “So far, it looks to me like the police are on the right track.”

Behind Pete Butterworth, a woman appeared from the front of the house, wiping her hands on a tea towel. Pete turned to introduce her.

“Jack — my wife, Becky.”

Jack shook her hand.

“Have you found out anything, Jack?”

“Not yet. In fact, I was just saying — I think you’re going to be dependent on the police for that.”

His words clearly had a depressing effect on both of them — had they been expecting him to be bringing good news? And was this tidy little farm perhaps not as serene as might first appear?

He decided to jump straight in.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking — but does this find mean a lot to you?”

Becky Butterworth was quick to answer.

“Life or death — is that a lot?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, love–” interrupted her husband.

“Well, isn’t it? Life at least — our lives here at the farm.”

Pete put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“We don’t own this farm, Jack. We’re just tenants. Third generation, mind you, but that doesn’t protect us. If we can’t pay the rent each year, we lose the place.”

“Then your share of the treasure trove would have helped you stay on?”

“More than that. You see in June we hit our three-year rent review and the owners of the land–”

“Lady Repton?” said Jack.

“The Repton family, yes,” said Becky.

“They’ve already made it clear they’re going to have to raise the rent to cover repairs they need to make to Repton House,” continued Pete. “Raise it more than we could possibly afford.”

Becky looked away, out to the fields … perhaps — Jack thought — imagining it all vanishing.

“So the share of the value of the plate would have kept us safe on this land not just for us — but for our kids too when they grow up and want to farm it.”

I do like this guy,
Jack thought.

Not that it rules him out.

“That’s tough,” said Jack. “And for a day and a night you must have felt you were saved?”

“Too right,” said Pete.

“I guess you must have celebrated there and then?” suggested Jack carefully.

But just when he was expecting both of them to start on a story of champagne bottles and going out for dinner, he saw straight away a nervous look between them. A look that he had seen so many times in interviews.

Something wrong here.

Could be a look that indicated a lie.

“Well, we, er …” started Becky.

“I had to get up early for milking next day, so we just had an early dinner. Extra beer. Just the one,” said Pete, looking to Becky for confirmation.

“Went to bed early,” she said, still nervously avoiding Jack’s eye.

“Best to be cautious, huh?” said Jack.

“Exactly,” said Pete.

He waited for them to say more, but he could see that they just clammed up.

“Tell you what,” Jack said. “Why don’t you show me where your two treasure hunters found this famous plate? The police are good, Pete, Becky. They may well get it back.”

Nothing in their eyes showed that either of the couple had any hope in that.

”Love to see the spot. That way — when we get it back I can say I was part of the story.”

“Sure,” said Pete. “I’ll bring the Land Rover round.”

The farmer headed over to one of the barns where the vehicle was kept. Jack turned to Becky Butterworth.

“Guess Pete would do anything to get his hands on that plate, huh?”

Just the slightest nod from Becky, then she thanked him for visiting and made her goodbyes, turning back into the farmhouse.

He’d take a quick look at the spot where the plate had been found. Then, onto the next in line of the lucky quartet, now probably all feeling anything
but
lucky.

Jack couldn’t quite remember when he’d last held a baby in his arms, but he could remember how nervous the experience always made him.

And wow, this one was a wriggler.

Luckily it only took a moment for Baz and Abby — the little girl’s parents — to clear a space in the tiny flat for Jack to sit and soon, with some relief, he was handing the little creature back to her mother.

“Sorry about that, mate,” said Baz. “Chaos this place.”

“First child — always hits like a hurricane,” said Jack, thinking back to his own daughter who wasn’t so little any more.

“Too bleeding right,” said Abby. “No way I’m having another. Not unless we win the lottery. Or,” she paused, her tone suddenly bitter, “find some hidden treasure, eh?”

This last remark was clearly aimed at Baz.

The baby suddenly quieted, and turned to look at Jack, eyes wide and — like all babies — irresistible.

“You should be proud,” Jack said, meaning it.

And at the same time not sure these two were heading towards ’Parents of the Year’ awards.

“Cup of tea?” Abby said.

“Or something stronger?” Baz added.

Jack gave the beleaguered couple a smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

If ever two people looked like they needed a windfall, it was this couple.

“Baz, I wonder — I know how much that treasure might have meant to the both of you — Could I ask you some questions?”

In response, Baz’s wife took a chair and sat down, eyes locked on Jack.

She — for one — was ready.

Baz looked around the room as if cornered.

He put his hand on the back of the wooden kitchen chair and slowly pulled it back from the table with a fraction of the speed of his wife.

Tad more reluctant,
Jack saw.

Baz sat down, cleared his throat.

“Sure. Anything that can get it back for us. I mean, we know who you are, what you’ve done.”

“That night at The Ploughman’s. You told a lot of people about what you found and who had it.”

“Stupid, bloody–” Abby muttered.

Baz seemed to wilt in the wooden chair.

“Well, yeah, me and Jerry were celebrating. Guess we got a little carried away.”

Abby tilted her head in Baz’s direction as if about shoot a laser from her eyes right into her husband’s thick skull.

“You and your big mouth. Letting everyone know we were going to be rich. La-de-da! And even where the prize was.”

“Yeah, that might have been a mistake,” Jack said.

Baz pleaded his case. “But they’re our mates! We’ve known those guys for ever. Who’d want to steal from us? Besides with it safe and sound in the professor’s safe we thought–”

“Safe? Sound?” Abby interrupted, snorting.

“In that group of ’mates’, Baz,” Jack carried on, ignoring Abby. “Is there anyone at all you know that might have thought about stealing the plate?”

Baz shook his head quickly, showing that he had allotted no time to think of his answer.

“No. All mates. Most of them.” He hesitated, thoughts catching up with tongue. “I mean, I dunno … I guess anybody could –”

“Too right,” Abby agreed. “Anybody could have heard you two idiots, and planned the theft. Isn’t that right, Jack?”

Jack now wondered if he had been better off having these two still address him as ’Mr Brennan’.

Not sure I want to be chummy with them.

The baby burped, making Jack smile.

The moment was lost on the two parents.

“Okay,” Jack said, “We know that a lot of people knew about the treasure and where it was being kept.” He took a breath. “Can I ask you about the rest of that night?”

Because though Jack thought it unlikely, he couldn’t rule out Baz wanting the treasure all to himself.

“You were — as we say — under the weather?” Jack continued.

“We was celebrating, that’s all–”

“I get that. Who wouldn’t?”

Jack looked at Abby hoping she didn’t fire off another volley since that wouldn’t help this process at all.

“What about the rest of the evening?”

Baz shifted in his seat.

“As you say, I was a bit wobbly. So Jerry said I could take his couch. Sleep it off. Didn’t want to disturb the missus, and little Daisy here.”

“More like you couldn’t get your two damn feet to move in a straight line. That Jerry … he’s an
enabler
, that’s what he is.”

“Best mate,” Baz added for clarification.

The baby started squirming again, obviously in need of feeding or a change. Abby excused herself with the little girl and Jack spotted an opportunity to get in a few questions to Baz without Abby’s commentary.

He pulled his chair closer to where Baz sat. A window of opportunity here, and he’d best jump on it …

“That night, you remember …?”

“Hitting Jezzer’s couch. I was flat out, mate. Next morning, woke with a massive head. I mean, you saw me in the pub. Too much damn celebrating.”

“Yeah, I could see that. Your friend though — he seemed better.”

“Jezzer? Yeah, I mean I guess so …”

“And do you know what he did? After he brought you to his place?”

Baz seemed surprised by the question.

“Whadya mean? He went to sleep, same as me. Didn’t see him until the morning. That’s what we did. Just crashed at his place until the morning, when the museum bloke was to come.”

Jack nodded.

Then he felt he should point out the obvious to Baz.

That is, if Baz didn’t already know it.

“But since you were flat out, on the couch, then there is no way you would know what Jerry did, right?”

“He said he went to sleep, same as me.”

“But no way you would know for sure?”

Baz stopped as if some distant chamber in his brain, long unused, maybe even unknown, suddenly lit up with dusty light bulbs flickering to life.

Baz looked away. “I mean, no, but I guess … he could have–”

Jack finished the thought: “–done anything?”

The treasure hunter turned to him and his eyes looked sick, sunken and now more than a bit confused, and he nodded. Jack guessed that the interview was over, though he wasn’t sure that he’d learned anything of any use.

But he also thought that speaking to Jerry next might be quite interesting.

Always fun to compare stories.

The sun had reached a point where it squarely hit the front window of Sarah’s office, making her office desks and worktables — piled high with paper and layouts from a half dozen projects — look positively golden.

A good spring day in Cherringham was something amazing,
Sarah thought.

As if the icy grip of winter, the leafless trees, the days of freezing rain had suddenly been banished, blown away by the glorious sun, making everything come back to life.

And business was good!

Maybe the economic doldrums were indeed over. Local shops wanted websites designed, and lots of posters were needed for spring sales, events — and she even had a major website build on the go for the grisly tourist attraction, Penton Prison.

That one was going to be fun!

“Grace, how’s the image search coming?”

Her PA came over with her laptop.

“Not sure. I found a few stock photos of the Thames. But I’m still looking for something that says ’perfect village’. Don’t know … what do you think of these?”

Sarah took a look. “That one,” she said, pointing to a scene where the river curved by a mill and then wandered past a riverside restaurant. “It’s not too bad.”

“Still not spot on though, right?”

Grace had the same high standards she did, Sarah knew. Both of them wanted everything — image, layout, copy — to be as perfect as possible.