Cherringham--The Last Puzzle (10 page)

And Marty, his voice low, trapped, said: “Ten minutes. That’s it.”

And he backed away, pulling Emma with him, so Jack could enter.

*

Jack didn’t expect any offers of tea, or even a beer from the fridge.

Emma directed him into what looked like a miniature sitting room, overfilled with cheap furniture.

And instead of sitting, Marty planted himself in the centre of the room, an arm around Emma as if she might wander away.

“Go on then. Your questions …
Mister Detective.
”

Oh, I’d like to take a shot at this one,
Jack thought.

Solid and low to the ground like a fireplug, Jack bet that Marty would go down shockingly easily.

The ones with their big, tough-guy mouths always did.

But he turned to Emma, took a breath.

“Emma, my friend and I … we went to the house. To look at things. And she had an idea that made perfect sense.”

The two people in the room stood there, almost — Jack thought — as if they knew what was coming.

“Quentin Andrews would never leave his pills where he couldn’t get them. Isn’t that right?”

Emma looked up at a glowering Marty … then a small nod.

“And you said you had left for the day at your usual time. With Michael Edwards already on his way over?”

Another sheepish nod. Marty’s meaty hands were balled into fists.

“But what if someone
else
came to the house, and was there … and maybe triggered Quentin’s attack, then stopped him reaching …”

Now Emma turned sharply to Marty who tried to remain as still as statue.

“But … hmm. The only way that would work would be if you had left early. For some reason.”

And now — taking a guess — Jack turned from Emma, to Marty.

“Like — if you were picked up early.”

“She didn’t lie to you,” Marty said.

“Really, Marty? But …” back to the woman, “I’m thinking she might have left something out?”

He waited. If he was right, they both knew what he was about to say.

Both tensed, waiting.

Jack thought: how many minutes do I have left before this interview is terminated?

And the thought …
it won’t matter. Not after what I say next.

“You left early the day he died.” A pause. “Didn’t you?”

Then such a tremendous silence.

Sarah had a half-dozen screens open on her laptop, furiously jumping from one to the other.

For the trap she and Jack planned, she had to make a breakthrough here … and somehow crack the last clue.

She looked at the nearly complete puzzle, and then the row of tauntingly empty boxes that ran vertically in the centre of the puzzle.

She looked at the clue again.

‘A dam which left this stone pointing not right at all.’

And the answer … nine letters.

“I’m no good at this,” Sarah said to herself, realising that she might have been optimistic in her suggestion to Jack that maybe she could find this final clue, this final location before the others.

If she was stumped, even with Grace’s help — she had to believe that so would be the scrambling heirs.

She also had Jack’s help.

The more minds on the problem … the better.

No guarantee, but that was their advantage …
and now to hope it worked.

And — to bait the trap.

At that point Daniel walked in.

“Still at it, Mum?”

She nodded.

She had told Daniel that she was doing all this digging on the net for something to do with a puzzle, and it was important. He didn’t ask why but –having had Jack over for dinner — Sarah assumed that her son guessed it was part of an investigation.

She looked up at him, smiled.

“Can’t get anywhere with this.”

“Can I take a look?” he said.

Daniel was a bright kid, great at school. A wiz at his video games. And he wasn’t averse to the occasional game of Scrabble where he easily beat his mother and sister.

She handed him the page with the crossword clues, and he read it aloud.

“
‘A dam which left this stone pointing not right at all?’
”

She looked at him as he shook his head and laughed. “That’s really confusing.”

“Isn’t it? I’ve been looking at dams made of stone, or stone buildings near dams, or places where dams broke.”

“And coming up empty handed?”

“Exactly. I must be missing something. But what?”

She watched as Daniel read the clue again. “I’m no crossword expert, Mum … but don’t the clues usually have some kind of trick in them, some word play?”

“That’s where it’s losing me, I’m afraid. I never would have got that one about Bramwell’s sword.”

Daniel looked at her. “I might have done. We did a field trip around the village once, looking at all the historical places. The clock tower was one spot. A lot happened here.”

Sarah turned back to the line of squares.

Such a field trip might have helped her.

Now, unless she could coax something useful out of this clue, the plan —
her —
plan — would fail.

And as Jack said, without evidence, all they had was theory.

“All these clues … the only thing I know is that they all do have to do with Cherringham and its history.”

Daniel read it again.

“
‘A dam which left this stone pointing not right at all.’
”

Then: “Hey. Wait a minute! This is about a place in Cherringham, right?”

“Right.”

“And we said that clues are tricky sometimes, playing with words and so on?”

“Right again. Come on, Daniel. You’ve got an idea. Let’s hear it — I’m desperate.”

He put the clue down.

“What if the first words … right here … sounded like … two other words …”

“You mean, like a pun?”

“That’s what they’re called? Yes.”

And now Sarah — thrilled to have such a bright and useful son — picked up the clue herself.

“A dam which …”

“Or,” Daniel said … “And excuse my language, Mum …
‘A damn witch’.
” And he quickly scribbled the words on the paper so she could see what he meant.

Sarah leaned back, took a breath — and then said … “Wow.”

*

Now Jack watched Emma turn, take steps to the overstuffed sofa and sit down.

Marty’s eyes were on her, but Jack didn’t feel anything threatening from him.

It looked like the bruiser accepted that the truth — whatever it was — would have to come out.

“Why did you leave early?”

“I … I didn’t think anything of it. I mean, Marty here, he always picked me up, and, and …”

She stopped. The fingers of her hands kept weaving in and out of each other as she talked.

“That’s enough, Em,” Marty said.

Marty took a step towards Jack.

“I picked her up early. So what? Not against the law is it?”

Jack said nothing.

“So it was still an accident,” Marty said, “’cept Em wasn’t there, and—”

Jack put up a hand.

“Not sure about that at all, I’m afraid. But I need to know …”

He took a step towards Emma, and crouched down so that even with her head lowered he could see her dark eyes, shadows under them, haunted.

“How much earlier, Emma?”

He watched those eyes flick up at Marty, then back to him.

“I don’t know. An hour? Perhaps?”

Jack held her gaze.

So if she had left at five … and Michael usually turned up at seven …

There was plenty of time for someone to slip into the house and
push
Quentin over the edge.

Jack stood up and turned back to Marty.

“You just came by early, hmm Marty? That so?”

Jack stared at Marty. Marty looked away — and Jack knew his suspicions were right.

“I need to ask you both one more thing.”

Emma looked up.

“Did someone … ask you to do that?”

Jack put a hand on her tangled nest of fingers.

Marty: “Emma, you don’t have to …”

Then Marty turned back to Jack.

And simply nodded.

Jack nodded back. “Right then. I need you both at Tony Standish’s office tomorrow morning,” — a quick look up to Marty — “just as agreed.”

“But she has no chance of solving the bloody—” Marty started.

“Just be there. If not for me, then for the truth; for the memory of Mr. Andrews.”

Jack waited. Then she nodded.

He stood up.

“I’ll be going now.”

Marty walked him to the door, and as he did he said: “I don’t want anything to happen to her, you know.”

Jack wasn’t sure about that.

No crime had been committed by Marty.

Unless maybe the promise of money if he did as asked.

But he wasn’t about to make any promises to this man.

And he walked out of the cramped cottage to the chilly air. If Sarah had made any progress, they could be in for a long night.

He hopped into his Sprite, and with a protesting cough from its temperamental engine, it started and he pulled away.

*

Sarah looked up at the clock.

Past midnight. And after Daniel’s brainstorm about the puzzle, it was as if she had only stepped deeper into a sticky bog.

Perhaps they had the whole thing wrong.

But if the clue did refer to a ‘damn witch’ … well even Sarah knew that it must refer to one of the cursed Mabb sisters, who had lived on the hill above the village that bore their name.

But then what?

What could the rest of the clue mean? More wordplay? Some special stone, a building?

Unfortunately Daniel had no further insights.

She heard steps in the hallway.

Chloe
.

Sarah wondered if it was time for a thaw.

“Hi,” Sarah said.

Chloe looked up as if she hadn’t expected her mother to still be at her laptop in the kitchen so late.

“Still working?” Chloe said.

“Not with much luck.”

Chloe took a few steps closer.

“I was about to go to bed.”

“Right, love.” She nodded towards her screen. “I may have to stick with this.”

A nod from Chloe. This conversation not about going to bed, or working into the night.

This conversation was about the simple act of repair.

Then — in a gesture that signalled all was well with the universe — Chloe put a hand on her shoulder.

“Well, Mum — don’t stay up too late.”

Sarah patted that hand, a simple gesture that ended such a painful freeze.

Parenting,
she thought.
Did it ever get easy?

Then Chloe slipped the hand away, and padded out of the kitchen to her bedroom, while Sarah went back to the screen.

*

She had dozed off.

Jack had called twice. Her phone was muted and it vibrated next to what had been her umpteenth cup of tea.

Each time she had to report that there had been no change — she wasn’t getting anywhere.

And she knew that Jack, in his own way, was standing by, keeping this vigil with her, as she read everything she could find about the Mabb witches, the hill, their ultimate death, searching for any connection to the clue that seemed as elusive as ever.

Now she rubbed her eyes.

They could — she knew — use what Emma had said and pass it onto the police. But what did it really show? Could they even be sure that Quentin had a visitor that evening?

Their theory would be just that.

They needed more. And she was convinced that this last clue could give it to them.

She stood up, stretched; her house quiet save for the creaking and cracking of her joints stiff from so much sitting.

She looked at the window above the kitchen sink …

At the rocks she had collected at various places, fragments of places that she and her family — back when they were a complete family — had enjoyed together. A bit of quartzite from the island of Jersey, a sliver of slate from Ben Nevis in Scotland which bore the small fossil imprint of a fern …

And a large piece of granite, glowing with silvery flecks of mica that always caught the morning light, and—

She stopped.

Looking at those rocks.

Those … stones …

And she raced back to the table and her computer.

Sarah finally
had
it.

She sat back in her kitchen chair and looked at her notes and the images she had printed out.

She now not only knew the place that the clue referred to, but she also knew what had to be found on that cursed hill.

And while every bone in her body seemed to cry out for sleep, she had one more thing to do before she could doze — even for a few minutes — in advance of the meeting at Tony’s office.

She picked up her phone and called Jack.

It took a few rings before she heard his voice, groggy. While he had been waiting for her call — hoping she’d call — he’d probably fallen asleep sitting inside the dark saloon of his boat, the Grey Goose.

“Jack,” she said, keeping her voice low, kids sleeping quietly, “I’ve
got
it.”

“You sure?”

“God, I hope so. But do you think our plan still makes sense?”

“Yes. But we don’t have much time. Nor do the heirs. Bet none of them got much sleep last night either. Unless they cracked that last clue on their own.”

Sarah took a breath. “Well, it took some serious help from Daniel to get it … the only clue that had really tricky word play. So I doubt they’ve managed to solve it. Time to send them all an email. I made up a weird account …
CherringhamXword
.”

“They won’t know it’s from you?”

“No. They’ll just think it’s old Quentin sending them a clue from beyond. But I’m going to split the hints up, four different pieces, different hints … put any
two
of them together, and it should bring you to Mabb’s Hill …”

“Alone, they wouldn’t have much of anything?”

“Yes! But if any of them are working together …
are
together … they’ll be able to go there right away.”