Read Cherringham--Death on a Summer Night for Free Online

of the old-timers were here that summer.”
    “It’s possible,” said Jack. “Tell you what — grab your coffee, and let’s set up a whiteboard down in the office.”
    “Looks like we have a case,” said Sarah.
    “Yep,” said Jack. “And I don’t think it’s going to be an easy one. In a lot of ways …”
    And he picked up his coffee and headed towards the wheelhouse, out of the beating sun.

8. A Cold Heart
    Amazingly, many people connected to Dinah and her story still lived in Cherringham.
    Like small towns everywhere, Jack thought. Lot of people just never move on.
    And after he and Sarah had made up a list of people to talk to, Jack offered to tackle what could possibly be the most difficult one first — Dinah’s father.
    Though Dinah once lived in a small cottage near the primary school, not far from Sarah’s place … now her father lived in a flat just above the hardware shop.
    Jack decided to turn up unannounced since he doubted the man would welcome opening up old wounds.
    The street-level door to the upper flat was open, though it looked as though it was meant to be locked.
    Carelessness? Or maybe the latch in the rotted wooden frame didn’t hold anymore?
    Either way, easy entry …
    Jack walked up the dark stairs.
    The man was old enough to be a retiree … what they called “pensioners” here. And Jack guessed he’d be doing what a lot of “pensioners” did.
    Nothing .
    Reaching the top of the stairs, he knocked. An overhead light was dark —or maybe the bulb burned out, never replaced.
    “Mr Taylor?” Jack said with another sharp rap of his knuckles against the wood.
    Finally the door opened.
    Jack heard TV in the background, volume loud; raucous laughs from a daytime TV show.
    Same stupid stuff everywhere.
    “Yeah, what — oh you?”
    “Mr Taylor — Jack Brennan.”
    The man held the door open only about a foot, and from the looks of things, it didn’t seem as though it was going to be opened any more than that.
    “I know who you are.”
    The man — unshaven, grey bristle covering his chin like a winter’s frost — rubbed at his lips. He opened his mouth, gummy.
    Life didn’t seem to be going so well for Dinah’s dad.
    Then the man sniffed, as if weighing his next words.
    And Jack realized he recognized Taylor as well.
    One of the crowd … that mob that had gathered outside Bell’s house.
    Jack was a good foot taller than the man. Maybe that gave Taylor pause … just as it did a lot of the seedy characters Jack dealt with in Manhattan.
    “You stood up for that …” long pause, searching for the right word … “ bastid who killed my Dinah, that piece of …” his eyes were wide now, mouth working double time with the anger of his words, “Tim Bell!”
    Jack nodded.
    “Yes. That was me. Look, Mr Taylor, I was hoping I could—”
    Another giant burst of crazed laughter from the TV. Something painfully funny causing the studio audience to bust a gut.
    “—have a few words. Had some questions.”
    Then Jack decided he’d change tack.
    Trying to guess what would make Dinah’s father allow him in … and maybe answer a few questions about that night decades ago.
    “I, maybe, well,” Jack smiled in the gloomy hallway — “stepped in it a bit last night. I mean, not knowing the facts of the case.”
    “Damn right you did, from what I hear. Who could stand up for that—”
    Jack expected a repeat of a spit-out bastid. Instead :
    “— killer! That murderous piece of garbage who took … who took—”
    The man began breaking up.
    After all these years.
    And despite the man’s hatred for Tim Bell, Jack felt sorry for him. A loss like that, how do you ever recover?
    A sob.
    “—my beautiful Dinah from me.”
    Then Jack took another chance. Could go either way.
    Get the door slammed shut, or …
    He reached out and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I understand, Mr Taylor. I have a daughter. I’ve seen loss. It has to be—”
    The man’s eyes slowly