Cherringham--A Fatal Fall Read Free

want to get into trouble. But I seen something, something I shouldn’t.”
    “And you feel like you want to tell someone about it?”
    “Got to, Jack, got to. It’s not sitting right on me.”
    “Well, you can tell me. I’ll listen.”
    “And you won’t tell the cops? Tell them anything and they think I did somethin’!”
    “I can’t promise you that.”
    “But you might not, right?”
    “Sure. I might not.”
    Jack watched Ray as he weighed the pros and cons.
    “I think I seen a murder , Jack,” said Ray, flicking his cigarette across into the dark, flowing river. “And I ain’t happy about it.”
    Jack stared at Ray. The ageing stoner was a rascal. But he was an honest one — and he’d knocked around the world a bit.
    If he thinks he’s seen a murder, thought Jack, maybe he has.
    “I’m about to make some coffee,” said Jack. “You want to join me?”
    “Might just do that, Jack,” said Ray. “Um, you had your breakfast?”
    “Was going to fix some bacon and eggs.”
    “Fried?”
    “Scrambled.”
    “Now doesn’t that sound great? Don’t mind if I do,” said Ray. “Very kind of you.”
    And Jack watched him head through the wheelhouse and down the steps into the boat. Riley scampered straight after him and the two of them disappeared inside.
    Pair of them’ll be on my bloody sofa already, I bet, thought Jack.
    Then he too went down into the Grey Goose to cook breakfast and talk murder.
    *
    Jack watched Ray wipe his empty plate with a piece of bread, then eat it.
    “My compliments to the chef,” said Ray, licking his fingers.
    “You’re welcome,” said Jack, still only halfway through his own breakfast.
    “Course that’s not really scrambled eggs.”
    “No?”
    “No. That’ll be your American version, very nice mind, very nice. But not proper scrambled.”
    Jack smiled and carried on eating.
    “So,” he said. “Go on then. You were saying — about the building site?”
    He watched Ray take a slurp of coffee and reach for his roll-ups — then decide against them.
    “That’s right. About three weeks I been working up there. Labouring, you know. Money’s not bad — not good either — but the foreman pays me cash in hand. Handy with Christmas coming, you know how it is.”
    Jack nodded patiently.
    “Anyhows, they don’t have the best security and sometimes I spot something going to waste I really could do with back on the boat here. Bit of timber. Nice shovel. Box of nails. You know how it is.”
    “I can imagine, Ray.”
    “So what I do is, I hang around come knocking off time, site empties pretty sharpish, wait till the boss is doing the paperwork, then I just … what’s the word … liberate … the aforementioned unwanted item and pop it in a mate’s van and home I goes.”
    “You steal it, Ray.”
    “No one the wiser. Victimless crime, Jack.”
    “No such thing, in my experience …”
    “Fella building them homes — Charlie Winters? — he’s got millions. Heard he doesn’t mind screwing his workers over for a few quid. Doubt he’ll lose any sleep over a box of nails.”
    “So it’s a blow for the workers?”
    Ray smiled. “For this worker it is.”
    Jack pushed his plate to one side and poured himself another coffee.
    “Okay — so what’s this about a murder?”
    He watched Ray lean forward, as if even here on the Grey Goose there might be listeners …
    “Here’s the thing, Jack. Friday night, come half four, everyone clocks off, and I’m sitting in one of them empty houses in the dark, freezing my balls off, just waiting to pick up a few bits of timber for my deck. And just as I’m about to help myself, blow me — the site office opens up and young Dylan heads out with his gear still on and goes over to one of the houses and starts hefting tiles.”
    “Dylan?”
    “Dylan McCabe. Irish guy. Nice kid. Sociable. Been around. Good laugh.”
    “So what was he up to? Stealing?”
    “No, not stealing. He was legit — working. Overtime on a