Free Cherringham--A Fatal Fall by Matthew Costello Page A

You seen someone?”
    “No, I just suddenly got an itchy feeling and I learned to trust those feelings. I want us out …”
    “Okay,” she said. “If you really think so.”
    He got up and stood to one side of the window, and peered out at the main gate. No sign of movement — yet.
    He could hear Sarah behind him shutting down the computer.
    “Got what you need?” he said as she rose from the desk and joined him in the shadows.
    He watched as she held up a thumb drive: “No late night movies for me this evening.”
    “Okay. Let’s go.”
    He gently opened the trailer door, just wide enough to slip through into the freezing air.
    As soon as Sarah had joined him, he shut the door, then used the picks to lock it again.
    *
    He nodded at Sarah as she led the way, crouching, across the hard, rutted ground, a gentle snow falling all around.
    The two of them slid through the gap in the fence — just as Jack spotted a set of headlights slide off the main road towards the building lot.
    As the vehicle got closer, Jack saw the words ‘Eagle Guards’ on the side. Some kind of security truck .
    Regular drive-by — or special order?
    He gently pulled Sarah down against the side of the fence. There wasn’t much cover, but a couple of parked cars might just obscure them.
    He and Sarah watched as the truck went by at walking pace down the side of the car park. Jack could see the guard in the passenger seat playing a powerful torch along the fence, its light catching the snowflakes in the air.
    The truck stopped level with them. Jack saw the exhaust cloud lifting into the night air.
    The beam from the torch played on the fence, then flickered across their faces.
    Jack took a deep breath, ready to grab Sarah and run …
    Then he saw the light shift and heard the truck ease into gear. He watched it move off towards the end of the road, and continue around the perimeter of the car park.
    “That’s quite an itch you have there, partner,” said Sarah.
    He turned to look at her, despite the close call, a grin on her face.
    He smiled back.
    “Owe my life to it,” he said. “Let’s get outta here.”
    And staying low they made it to the Sprite, then got in fast and drove away into the night.
    *
    Jack adjusted his black tie in front of the wardrobe mirror then stepped back to look at his reflection.
    It’ll do, he thought, watching a shaft of sunlight from the bedroom window catch dust in the air.
    He was never comfortable in a suit and tie. And this — his only serviceable dark suit — had last been worn to Katherine’s funeral. Though it had seen plenty of service in the years before that.
    He ran his fingers through his hair, then turned and headed through the saloon, picking up his car keys on the way.
    “In your basket, Riley,” he said, and he watched his Springer shuffle reluctantly off into the corner. “Coming back soon.”
    Then he headed up on deck and locked the wheelhouse. He looked around. The snow must have fallen all night.
    The meadows on the far side of the Thames were shining white against the grey cloud which looked to threaten more snow.
    Upstream, he saw a pair of swans gliding gently in the current.Then, a glance downstream, towards Cherringham Bridge. Two boats down, he saw Ray emerge on his own deck, looking awkward in a brown pinstripe with unlikely flairs.
    “I’ll give you a lift,” Jack called, and he saw Ray wave to acknowledge him.
    He stepped carefully down the gangplank onto the fresh snow. Then, taking one look back at the Grey Goose, Jack turned and headed down the towpath.
    He hated funerals.
    *
    Jack sat in the second pew from the front thinking about the case while the parish priest said some well-intentioned but long-winded words about lost souls.
    Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ray, seated next to him, cleaning his nails with an old penknife.
    Beyond Ray, Kevin looked like he was about to nod off.
    Across the aisle there was an old couple that Jack had seen around the