Cherringham - Cold Case E-Book

Matthew Costello

• Herausgeber: Bastei Entertainment
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Cherringham: Mystery Shorts
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 176

Beschreibung

It’s winter in Cherringham, and petty thief Charlie Topper's life is in danger. Desperate, he reaches out to Jack and Sarah for help: last summer - during a robbery - he witnessed a cold-blooded murder, and now he fears the killer is after him. Can Jack and Sarah solve this very cold case - before the desperate murderer comes for them too?

Episode 41 will be available for pre-order soon and will be out February, 25th 2022.

Set in the sleepy English village of Cherringham, the detective series brings together an unlikely sleuthing duo: English web designer Sarah and American ex-cop Jack. Thrilling and deadly - but with a spot of tea - it's like Rosamunde Pilcher meets Inspector Barnaby. Each of the self-contained episodes is a quick read for the morning commute, while waiting for the doctor, or when curling up with a hot cuppa.

Co-authors Neil Richards (based in the UK) and Matthew Costello (based in the US), have been writing together since the mid-90s, creating innovative content and working on major projects for the BBC, Disney Channel, Sony, ABC, Eidos, and Nintendo to name but a few. Their transatlantic collaboration has underpinned scores of TV drama scripts, computer games, radio shows, and the best-selling mystery series Cherringham. Their latest series project is called Mydworth Mysteries.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

About the Book

Main Characters

The Authors

Title

Copyright

1. A Perfect June Evening

2. A Surprise for All

3. Eight Months Later

4. Dinner — and the Truth — at the Spotted Pig

5. Suspects

6. The Scene of the Crime

7. A New Lead

8. The Hunter

9. A Visit to Cherringham Crescent

10. A Bump in the Night

11. Karl Huntford’s Laptop

12. A Chat in the Falling Snow

13. A Trap in the Falling Snow

14. Alibis

15. The Lake

16. A Sunday Roast

Next Episode

Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

“Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series” is a series made up of self-contained stories. The series is published in English as well as in German; and is only available in e-book form.

About the Book

It's winter in Cherringham, and petty thief Charlie Topper's life is in danger. Desperate, he reaches out to Jack and Sarah for help: last summer — during a robbery — he witnessed a cold-blooded murder, and now he fears the killer is after him. Can Jack and Sarah solve this very cold case — before the desperate murderer comes for them too?

Main Characters

Jack Brennan is a former NYPD homicide detective who lost his wife a few years ago. Being retired, all he wants is peace and quiet. Which is what he hopes to find in the quiet town of Cherringham, UK. Living on a canal boat, he enjoys his solitude. But soon enough he discovers that something is missing — the challenge of solving crimes. Surprisingly, Cherringham can help him with that.

Sarah Edwards is a web designer who was living in London with her husband and two kids. Before the series starts, he ran off with his sexy American boss, and Sarah’s world fell apart. With her children she moved back to her home town, laid-back Cherringham. But the small-town atmosphere is killing her all over again — nothing ever happens. At least, that’s what she thinks until Jack enters her life and changes it for good or worse …

The Authors

Matthew Costello (US-based) is the author of a number of successful novels, including Vacation (2011), Home (2014) and Beneath Still Waters (1989), which was adapted by Lionsgate as a major motion picture. He has written for The Disney Channel, BBC, SyFy and has also designed dozens of bestselling games including the critically acclaimed The 7th Guest, Doom 3, Rage and Pirates of the Caribbean.

Neil Richards has worked as a producer and writer in TV and film, creating scripts for BBC, Disney, and Channel 4, and earning numerous Bafta nominations along the way. He's also written script and story for over 20 video games including The Da Vinci Code and Starship Titanic, co-written with Douglas Adams, and consults around the world on digital storytelling.

His writing partnership with NYC-based Matt Costello goes back to the late 90's and the two have written many hours of TV together. Cherringham is their first crime fiction as co-writers.

Matthew CostelloNeil Richards

CHERRINGHAM

A COSY CRIME SERIES

Cold Case

Digital original edition

Bastei Lübbe AG

Copyright © 2021 by Neil Richards & Matthew Costello

Copyright for this editon © 2021 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Schanzenstraße 6-20, 51063 Cologne, Germany

Written by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards

Edited by Eleanor Abraham

Project management: Kathrin Kummer

Cover illustration: © shutterstock: Standret | pathdoc | Ryzhkov Oleksandr | PJ photography | DreamHack | Andriy Solovyov

Cover design: Jeannine Schmelzer

eBook production: Jilzov Digital Publishing, Düsseldorf

ISBN 978-3-7325-9025-4

Follow the authors:

https://www.facebook.com/CherringhamMydworth

1. A Perfect June Evening

Karl Huntford walked carefully through the tall grass of the steeply sloping meadow, down towards the lake and the small wooden deck he’d built specially for evenings like this.

He held a perfectly chilled sauvignon blanc in one hand, and two wine glasses in the other.

Behind him, carrying a small wicker basket with a healthy wedge of brie and some of those ludicrously expensive biscuits from the farm shop, his wife Christine followed.

It was — as predicted, on this summer evening — absolutely perfect in temperature; warm with just the gentlest of breezes blowing from right over the lake.

He loved this routine of theirs, retreating down to the small deck he had built to overlook the lake and the nearby woods — observing every sign of wildlife as if it was a special show, just for the two of them.

Huntford relished all of it.

Especially having lost a whole year of such things.

After an experience like that — he knew — one learns to appreciate the really beautiful things even more.

This meadow for instance: the first part of the grand re-wilding project for the house, that he’d spent a whole year planning. The deliberately unmown grasses now dotted with oxeye daisies, red poppies, foxgloves.

And the butterflies! Red admirals, tortoiseshells — thrilling dabs of colour dancing from flower to flower.

One day, if I’m lucky, he thought, might even spot an adonis blue.

Karl stepped onto the wooden deck, perched overlooking the lake, with its pair of sturdy metal chairs and a matching table for drinks and snacks.

Just room enough for the two of them — which was exactly how Karl liked it.

Putting down the wine and glasses on the small table, he quickly dug out a simple corkscrew from his back pocket. He used the curled tip to loosen the foil seal.

He definitely did prefer an old-school cork, no matter what the pundits said about the equal efficacy of a simple twist-off cap.

A cap! With all the romance and drama of opening a bottle of ketchup!

He removed the cork with a smooth “pop”.

“Nicely done,” Christine said as she put down the cheese and biscuits.

Dressed in a sleeveless blue gingham blouse and white shorts, she looked fantastic.

“Couldn’t ask for better weather,” Karl said.

Karl knew there would be days ahead, when summer turned to autumn, autumn to winter, that rituals like this simply wouldn’t be possible.

But right now? Perfect.

He quickly poured two glasses and then raised his own to meet Christine’s — a gentle clink — and he saw her smile.

His wife, always beautiful — her cheeks naturally a soft pink, just a spot of lipstick.

No need for makeup. A natural beauty indeed.

I … am a lucky man, he thought.

Then he turned away. Gazing, out to the lake nestled in the valley below, and the thick woods on the hillside opposite.

All belonging to him and his wife. Twilight soon.

“Let’s see what kind of visitors we get this evening,” he said.

And it wasn’t long before they weren’t alone.

*

They had spotted a goshawk, drifting over the edge of the lake and then disappearing into the nearby woods, the trees dark and impenetrable.

Probably sitting up on a high branch in there somewhere, thought Karl. Watching, waiting, for its prey.

After what had seemed like an age — as Karl and Christine shared the cheese and pointed out other birds, and chatted quietly — the hawk suddenly darted out of the trees, diving, fierce and fast towards the edge of the lake.

“Ah — got himself something,” Karl said, as the bird swooped back up effortlessly, a grey shape clutched in its talons.

“Or herself? You told me the male and female are equals when it comes to hunting.”

He smiled. “I did, didn’t I? Oh, see there. Looks like a plump little mouse, or a shrew perhaps? Not much of a meal — perhaps a little takeaway for the chicks back home.”

They watched, sipped, dabbed the occasional biscuit with a smear of the tangy brie.

Then Karl heard Christine say, “Oh — there she is. Mum and the kids from last year.”

“Right on schedule.”

Walking so tentatively, emerging from the dense brush — the epitome of nervous — a quartet of deer: a female doe leading three spotted, and younger, fawns.

The young ones munching while the mother mostly looked left, right, this way, that — ever protective.

Eventually, they would likely be joined by others.

On one occasion, a week ago, the stag had showed up — always a thrilling sight, the beast’s growing antler points like an armoury being readied for battle.

And Karl, as he sat close to his wife, was about as happy and content as could be.

The fabulous French wine — no doubt — helping with that.

*

Charlie Topper had watched the couple make their way from their grand house on the hillside, down the slope, a good hundred yards away.

Just as they had done before on the many afternoons he’d come by, hiding in the bushes and dense cover of trees off to one side of the house.

Regular as clockwork, thought Charlie, which always makes life easier.

At first, Charlie had been simply curious about how he might rob them. Thinking — a house like that, old but all modernised — must have a solid security system.

But then on his little expeditions, where he parked his beat-up Nissan a good mile away, and tromped through the woods, well away from any trail, to watch the couple — to spy on them — he’d noticed one key thing.

They always came out of the house to head down to their cosy little deck by way of a sliding door.

Slid open, then — oh so casually — left open.

People so carefree in summertime. Moving in and out.

As if there was absolutely nothing to worry about.

And when Charlie was patient enough to stay — for an hour, maybe more — he’d see them return, laden with an empty wine bottle and glasses, and just walk back into the house.

No one pushed buttons on a keypad to gain entry.

The security system off.

I guess, he thought, they feel secure, being so close, that there’s no need to lock the whole place down.

And cameras? There had to be some, but they’d be placed discreetly — hard to spot. That was an easy issue to deal with. Charlie had a full-face skull cap, with holes for eyes and mouth.

It would make him just about as invisible as could be.

On such a stuffy and close afternoon, not easy to breathe through, to be sure. But in this case, he had no choice.

So now, he looked down the hill, past all that tall grass. Making sure that whatever they were doing down there, with their wine, looking out at their property, they were well settled — their backs to the house.

Which meant — yes — time for Charlie Topper to see what goodies he might finally find inside.

*

Charlie hurried from his cover in the trees, and slid into the house through the same door used by the couple.

He thought, Security off. Probably any door could be opened without an alarm, but best to be safe.

Charlie had heard rumours among some of his mates that the guy who lived here — despite having done time in jail for something bad to do with money — still must have some cash.

Maybe a lot.

From the looks of things, when he stepped inside and took in the place, that had to be true.

As he moved from room to room, Charlie thought that it looked more like a modern museum — sculptures, art, all lit up. Though Charlie would be the first to admit, being a man of simple tastes, he didn’t have a bloody clue what was valuable and what was decorative.

But there was speculation — again, amongst some of his colleagues in the breaking-and-entering business — that the wife had jewels.

Yes, and jewels were almost as good as cold, hard cash. Easy to slip to a fence. Items with real value that could be turned into quick money.

He edged close to a window and checked that the couple were still sitting down by that lake, then he headed for the stairs.

Because — of course — bedrooms were where people kept their jewels!

And, sure enough, in the biggest bedroom, on a massive pure-white dresser, he saw a chest. With a keyhole, so probably locked …

But amazingly — when he went with his gloved hand to open it — the lid flipped up!

Revealing a dazzling array of things that sparkled.

Some of the more colourful items would — Charlie guessed — have stones he wouldn’t know at all. But he also saw the more recognisable, and easily commercial, diamond earrings and a string of pearls.

A house like this … that kind of husband … a younger wife … he thought. No way those pearls would be fake.

Bloody hell, got myself a real payday here.

*

Karl emptied the last few drops of wine into his wife’s glass. It seemed to have gone fast, but then — he thought — wasn’t that always the case with really good wine?

“Pity. All done.”

Then Christine said something, well, unusual.

An empty bottle usually signalled the end of their time here, talking and observing the wildlife. Now — across the lake — they had a full herd of deer milling about the water’s edge, and the goshawk had been joined by swallows, darting and dashing across the surface of the water catching insects.

There’d even been the briefest glimpse of a kingfisher, its dash of colour absolutely exquisite against the marsh marigolds and purple loosestrife.

“Karl — shall I slip up to the house — grab another bottle? So beautiful. The sunset … this evening.”

Karl nodded. The sun had slipped below the hill behind them, and the cumulus clouds over the woods beyond the lake, were lit with threads of pink and orange.

“Why not. I’ll go—” he started.

But Christine was already up.

“You stay — might see that kingfisher again. Be right back. The same?” She was, of course, referring to the wine. “Why change horses, as they say?”

He watched her head back up the hill and took a deep breath, the evening slowly melting away, then turned again to observe his beautiful lake.

*

Bedrooms all done, Charlie Topper entered a small, dark room on the second floor, curtains drawn. Some kind of office, he reckoned.

The only glow came from a laptop computer, all silver, save for the black keys.

The computer open, and shuffling pictures that looked they came from both this property — the woods, deer, birds — and maybe the couple’s trips abroad.

A sunny beach, Huntford in trunks with a crisp white short-sleeved shirt.

His wife in a two-piece bathing suit.

Yes,Charlie thought, this guy is doing all right.

That is, until this evening.

But it was time he got out. He knew how long their little expeditions down by the lake usually lasted.

But then he hesitated, looking at the computer. Shiny, new. Worth good money too, he bet.

So, he shoved that into his rucksack, into the sea of jewels he had grabbed.

Then, not knowing much about such things, he scooped up all the cords that were attached to it, yanking them from wherever they connected, and stuffed them in the bag as well.

His bag full — like a reverse Santa — he turned, to a small window overlooking the meadow, the valley, the lake below, and teased a corner of curtain to one side, to see …

God!

Huntford’s wife making her way briskly up the hill towards the house!

Charlie Topper knew his careful plans could quickly blow up. It would only take one 999 call to the police, even as he dashed back to his car. Captured with loot in hand!

So, he moved as fast as he could, out of that small office to the broad stairs — down, running, racing.

At the same time thinking: How the hell do I get out now?

2. A Surprise for All

Karl glanced back up the wild meadow to his wife, nearly at the house.

For a moment, he let his thoughts drift away. This place always summoned a special calm mood deep within him: just his wife and nature. Bliss.

It was amazing to think how he’d managed to get here, to this moment, after — well — a financial and personal disaster of such proportions that it would have left most men shattered.

Destroyed.

But not him! And with new plans in the works — the nasty patch over — why, the future looked even better.

He nodded, as if reassuring himself that what he had just thought was indeed true.

In just a few moments, Christine would return with more wine, and perhaps he’d share some more about those plans with her.

Yes, that would be fun.

After all, what good is it to have amazing plans in the works and not tell a soul?

*

Charlie Topper — his rucksack bulging with prizes — ran to a side door he’d spotted, right off the giant, gleaming kitchen.

Putting his gloved hand on the doorknob, he had to wonder: The alarm was off on the patio door, but could it still be set here, on this one?

Maybe the couple weren’t as confident and secure as he’d imagined on a summery afternoon?

But he heard a sound behind him, the wife entering, and Charlie knew he had no choice.

He gave that knob a twist, a tug, then he flew out like he was being hunted.

And then, no looking back, he raced straight towards the dense woods to the side of the house, thinking that in a few moments he’d be nearly invisible in there.

So far — luckily — hearing nothing from the house behind him, no alarm sounds, no tell-tale flashing red lights.

All he had to do now was hurry back to where he had hidden his car, off the road, surrounded by thick bushes, the old Nissan hopefully looking like some wreck abandoned by its owner.

Under cover at last — breathing hard, but feeling the protective safety and shielding of the woods and thick bushes — he turned to look down the steep meadow.

Seeing Huntford waiting for his wife to return.

Would his pretty wife see something amiss … or rather missed, and scream for her husband to hurry back up?

But then …

Then …

Charlie saw a movement in the woods on the other side of the lake. All the time, telling himself that he should just keep running as fast as he could.

He saw someone across the lake, on a level with Huntford, and tucked so deep into the undergrowth that it made him stop — something about the whole situation not right, not right at all.

With a gulp — he saw that the figure was holding something, and he thought, Only one thing looks like that, but surely, it can’t be …

The figure moved a bit again — just the tiniest movement — and Charlie now knew for sure.

The figure was holding a rifle.

In that moment, he saw Karl Huntford lean forward as if he too had noticed something that didn’t belong with the deer and the birds and the peaceful lake.

Charlie was about to shrug the whole thing off — none of his business, some poacher maybe, intruding on Huntford’s property — when he heard a sharp crack, producing an echo in the bowl-like depression of the valley and the surrounding wooded hills.

That sound could be only one thing: the gun being fired.

He watched as Karl Huntford’s right hand jerked upwards for a second, and then the man tumbled backwards, hitting the small metal table as he did, sending the empty glasses smashing down to the deck.

Huntford lay still.

Charlie thought, even as he turned, to run, and even as he heard a scream from the house getting louder and louder …

I’ve just seen a man being murdered!

And then he was racing through the woods towards his car.

The car was just where he’d left it. Charlie flung open the driver’s door, quickly wedged the backpack behind the passenger seat, then — remembering at the last minute not to make a noise — shut the door as quietly as he could and rummaged in his pocket for his key.

Stay calm, Charlie, stay calm, he muttered to himself, trying to slow his breathing, steady his heart.

Nobody saw you, you’re just here for a walk, didn’t see a thing, didn’t hear anything.

He started the engine, gritting his teeth at how loud it sounded, then backed out of the rough undergrowth, and carefully swung the car onto the trail.

It was around a mile through the woods to the Cherringham road — and Charlie knew once he was there, especially with it getting darker by the minute — he’d be safe.

Just don’t panic, don’t go too fast, don’t draw attention, he thought.