Cherringham--A Fatal Fall Read Free Page A

nasty Friday night. Looked like he was setting things up for the tilers. Taking tiles up and stacking them round the roof on the scaffold.”
    “Just one guy, working late?”
    “Happens. Though it’s dodgy in the dark. ’Specially when it’s icy. And on your own. But it’s no big deal.”
    “And what happens then?”
    “Well, I’m waiting and waiting for him to finish. Half hour goes by. Then an hour. Then I see someone else. Keeping low, like. Out of sight. Creeping around. First thing I think, obviously, is — that bugger better not be after my timber or I’ll have him.”
    “But he wasn’t?”
    “No. He crouches down and he goes across to the house where Dylan’s working, and I sees him going up one of the ladders at the back into the scaffolding.”
    “Did you recognise him?”
    “Too dark. I mean, there’s still a couple of the lights on, so you can see shadows moving — but not so’s you’d see a face properly, you know. Anyways, I see him up on the scaffold — and he’s moving timber around. And I’m thinking — what’s he up to? Didn’t make sense.”
    Though Ray could be pretty loopy … Jack had to admit … this was suddenly interesting.
    “Then what?”“Anyway, I sits back on an old bit of sack waiting for both the lads to go. Brass monkeys it was, I can tell you.”
    Ray paused, and Jack could see his cup was empty. He poured him another coffee and watched Ray drink.
    “Then I heard it. Not a scream — a shout really. And a thud. I knew that sound. I’ve heard it before. God, it’s a bad sound. Someone falling. Wallop!”
    Ray banged his right fist into his left palm.
    “So I gets up — then I’m thinking, shit, what do I do, I’m not supposed to be here, they’ll have me, won’t they? I looks over at the site office — nothing. No movement. Not a dicky. Then I looks back at the house and I see a shadow, someone running. But not to the house. Away from the house. Know what I mean?”
    “Bad situation.”
    “Tell me about it. So I goes over, bent low, like. And there’s Dylan, lying under the scaffold. Stone-cold dead.”
    “You sure?”
    “Oh yes. Eyes open. Poor kid’s a goner. He’d landed on all the rubbish, see. Reinforcement mesh for the concrete. Gone right through him. No way back from that.”
    “So what did you do?”
    “What do you think I did Jack? I scarpered.”
    “You didn’t phone the ambulance?”
    “No point.”
    “What happened then?”
    “I went home. Opened a bottle.”
    “You didn’t tell anyone?”
    “Not a soul. Till now …”
    “And what about Dylan?”
    “Last night, I went up the Ploughman’s. Bumped into some of the lads from the site. They said Dylan was found in the morning. They reckon he was trying to rush — slipped on the ladder. Police say it’s an accident. Case closed, Jack, case closed …”
    “But not for you. Because of what you saw …”
    “Yeah that, but … I tell you, that kid knew what he was doing, Jack!”
    “Might have just slipped; it was an icy night. Accidents do happen …”
    “Okay. Sure. But then who was up there with him? Hiding?”
    “Someone like you maybe? After a few tiles?”
    “No. No way you need to go up the bloody ladder. They was stacked below.”
    “Maybe a pal of Dylan’s helping him out?”
    “What kind of pal leaves you to die in the dirt?”
    Jack sipped his coffee, declining to remind Ray that was exactly what he’d done.
    But Jack began to think there was something here.
    Something about this didn’t play right.
    And he knew Ray wouldn’t be here now if he wasn’t convinced there’d been dirty work going on up at that site.
    “Okay … what do you want me to do about it Ray?” he said.
    “Investigate of course! Find the killer. Bring him to justice. Isn’t that what you do?”
    “Easier said than done,” said Jack.
    “Seen you operate, Jack. If anyone can do it … it’s you. NYPD, eh? And I guess you’ll bring that nice Sarah in? Smart one there