Cherringham - In Good Faith E-Book

Matthew Costello

• Herausgeber: Bastei Entertainment
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Cherringham: Mystery Shorts
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 190

Beschreibung

When the treasured 15th century Cherringham Chalice is stolen from St. James, it looks at first like the work of a professional gang, robbing local churches. But Jack and Sarah realise that there must have been someone on the inside, helping the thieves - and they start to investigate. Can it really be possible that a member of the church council is guilty? Soon Jack and Sarah discover that even in this world of trust and faith there can be secrets, lies ... and real danger.

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

Title

1. A Dark and Stormy Night

2. The Scene of the Crime

3. More Tea, Vicar?

4. A Round with the Major

5. About Wednesday Night

6. Not the Whole Truth?

7. A Pint at the Angel

8. Chilli on the Goose

9. Sunday Service

10. Revelations

11. Guilty Parties

12. Face to Face

13. Dead End

14. Revelations

15. The Miracle of the Chalice

The Authors

Next Episode

Copyright

Reading Sample TEA? COFFEE? MURDER!

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

When the treasured 15th century Cherringham Chalice is stolen from St. James, it looks at first like the work of a professional gang, robbing local churches. But Jack and Sarah realise that there must have been someone on the inside, helping the thieves — and they start to investigate. Can it really be possible that a member of the church council is guilty? Soon Jack and Sarah discover that even in this world of trust and faith there can be secrets, lies … and real danger.

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 …

Matthew CostelloNeil Richards

CHERRINGHAM

A COSY CRIME SERIES

In Good Faith

1. A Dark and Stormy Night

Ray Stroud stopped at the gate that led into the churchyard of St James, his hand gripping the cold, rusty metal.

Pulling his jacket tight against the howling wind, he leaned forward and stared into the darkness, swaying slightly.

Ahead — in the pitch black of the night, beneath the groaning, creaking trees — he could just make out the gravestones and memorials of Cherringham’s long departed. Not that Ray had known anyone who was laid to rest there.

He shivered. With the fallen leaves suddenly swirling, he could see weird shapes in the shadows — like they were almost alive.

Time to get out of here.

He looked up to get his bearings again and saw, like a grinning face, the moon just as it appeared from behind thick clouds.

Like a kid’s game. Peek-a-boo and I see you.

But, with all he had consumed tonight, looking up made him wobble. He clutched the gate tighter — those racing clouds turning his stomach like he was on a rocking boat.

And the wind! Tearing up a real hooley, as if it would blow him away any minute!

To his left, he could see the dark shape of the church, the old building looking like it, too, was watching him trying to make his way home.

The moon popped out again, turning the church’s stone tower bone white, until the clouds plunged it quickly back into darkness again.

To his right was the faint outline of the churchyard wall, and the roof of the church hall, so dark and empty at this time of night.

Now he had a decision to make.

A hundred yards away — on the far side of the graveyard and a bit farther down the curving path — stood the little double gates that led to Cherringham High Street, and the road down to the river where his lovely warm barge was moored.

So close.

But should he take this shortcut through the graves?

Not that he was superstitious. Not him!

But still …

Things can happen on a night like this! What if one of them trees comes toppling down? Or the slates on the roof go flying?

Or, even worse, such a stupid idea he knew …

But — with plenty to drink, and more than enough to smoke — he couldn’t help wondering …

What if the ghosts of all those Royalist soldiers, so brutally slaughtered in the Battle of Cherringham, and then laid out in this very churchyard, should rise up, seeking revenge?

And find me!

Such a stupid thought. But …

Yeah. Maybe I should just walk the long way round. Go down the back road.

He took a step, as if the decision was made.

But then, he knew he’d risk bumping into that crowd of bikers that hung around the kebab shop always looking for a fight.

On any normal night, Ray wouldn’t hesitate.

But tonight was no normal night. And Ray was not feeling all that well put together. Jumbled, shaken. That’s how some nights ended.

It had started off gently enough: a few civilised joints with Ian and Maggie on the deck of their barge, watching the sun set. Then a pleasant stroll up to the Ploughman’s for a quick game of pool before maybe grabbing a curry to stick in the old microwave.

Well, that had been the plan.

Somehow he’d ended up sinking six pints of Guinness, and not even a packet of crisps to soak it up. And then found himself knocking back tequila shots up at the Railway Tavern until closing time — followed by some very dubious smokes and a few tins of cider sitting on the swings with his mates in the kids’ playground.

Those smokes were right now kicking in strong. And what with this storm brewing and the wind shrieking …

He’d got the wobblies. No question.

Meaning that every shadow, every creak of a branch, every swooping cloud of leaves — made his heart jolt and his somewhat scrambled brain shout “run, Ray, run!”

So what’s it to be? Ray thought, taking a deep breath and hoping the wobblies would go away. Kebab shop or ghosts?

Then — as if to answer him — he saw the churchyard suddenly lit up! Turned a brilliant white by a giant flash of lightning, followed instantly by a boom of thunder.

And then — from bad to worse! — the rain started. A wall of water, no warning, no gentle shower this, but a drenching, cascading torrent falling from the sky.

Instantly soaked, Ray thought, Hang on. This is a churchyard, isn’t it?This is where God’s supposed to live!

So, yes, rain, thunder, storms — but nothing really bad can happen here, can it?

He slid his hand along the gate, lifted the latch and went through, running as fast as his discombobulated feet would allow.

*

Halfway down the path, another massive bolt of lightning lit up the entire churchyard, making him jump. In that moment, Ray thought he saw a face peering from one of the memorials, staring right at him!

In the dark again, momentarily blinded by the flash, he stopped dead; rubbed his eyes, and made himself look again.

But the face had vanished back into the darkness.

What an idiot I am, eh? he thought, his breathing slowly calming, his now sopping clothes glued to his skin. Seeing ghosts at my age!

He carried on, head bowed against the downpour, aiming for the gate and the street lights. And he was almost there when he heard — and felt too — a muffled …

Crump.

That sound was different — definitely not the crashing bang of thunder. Then he remembered. It was like the sound he used to hear years back, working the quarries and the big construction sites.

The sound of an explosive charge going off.

But it seemed to come from the direction of the church.

Now that didn’t make any sense.

Fireworks maybe? Kids playing around?

He turned on his heels, curiosity taking over from fear, while he stared into the roaring wind and the crazy, driving rain, trying to pick up any other noises underneath the howling of the storm.

Head cocked — as if that would make him hear better — sure enough, from inside the church he heard some kind of faint clatter. Yes. A bang — metal on metal! Something being dropped. A door slamming, maybe?

Midnight — the church should be shut tight, empty. A fact Ray knew well, because, when he was a lad, he’d spent many a night in there with his mates, wasted, hunting for the communion wine — and finding nothing.

He heard a voice! A man’s voice — a shout! Then a grunt, like the kind of noise you hear in a fight.

Now fearful not of ghosts or flying chunks of slate but of human violence, Ray half-crouched, half-ran towards the dark shelter of the church wall itself.

Then he nervously walked along the side of the church, every now and then his feet slipping on sodden leaves.

At the building’s corner he stopped, pressed his face against the cold, wet stone and peered around towards where he knew was the back entrance to the church.

The door was open!

Barely visible, he saw a shape on the ground and heard another moan — somebody was there and they were hurt!

Still being careful — his mind now sharper with all the adrenaline kicking in, he guessed — he stepped forward and crouched down to the figure lying on their side on the stone slabs.

It was a man in a dark, winter coat.

“Mate!” shouted Ray over the noise of the wind. “Mate — you okay?”

The man groaned, mumbled something and then slowly twisted round, just as another flash of lightning exploded, freezing the scene in a brilliant white glow.

Revealing a trail of blood running down the man’s face from a wound to his head.

Ray recognised him straight away.

The Major!

That was his nickname, anyway. Ray had no idea what his name really was. The bloke was a church warden, and he lived right next to the churchyard.

Ray wasn’t a fan. The Major had got the cops onto him and his mates once for drinking beers and lighting a barbecue on one of the memorial stones.

“G-got hit,” said the Major, struggling to speak, trying to get up. “Someone hit …”

“Easy now,” said Ray, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Don’t you move, you need an ambulance.”

“Ambulance, yes,” said the Major, eyes shut again. “Well, come on then, man. What are you waiting for? Get your phone out!”

“Ah,” said Ray. “Well, that might be a problem.”

“Problem?”

“Yeah. See — I don’t have a phone.”

“What?” said the Major, eyes open now, staring — as if Ray must surely be lying.

“Nah,” said Ray. “Don’t trust ’em. They listen to you, you know? All the time.”

The Major stared at him then Ray watched as he plunged a hand into his coat, pulled out a phone and handed it over.

“Use mine. Quickly!” he said, slumping back down, his head thudding on the stone slabs.

Ray took the phone, tapped the screen.

“Says here … need the code. To wake it up or something? See that’s why I—”

“What? The code? Oh right, right. It’s Waterloo. Waterloo.”

“What?” said Ray, thinking — what’s he on about?The old Abba hit? Maybe his head banged a bit too hard?

“Can’t be a song, mate,” he said. “Gotta be numbers.”

“No, you blithering idiot. The Battle of Waterloo! June 18,1815!”

Ray restrained himself from telling the Major where to go. He shook his head, tapped in the code, called 999, and asked for an ambulance.

“Call the police too,” said the Major. “Need the police!”

“You sure?” said Ray, always uncomfortable at the very mention of the word “police”.

“Just do it, man,” said the Major.

Ray gave the Major a look.

“You know — a please and a thank you wouldn’t go amiss,” he said. “Just saying. Doesn’t cost anything to be polite, as my old mum used to say.”

The Major didn’t answer but Ray figured he was probably in a bit of shock so he just complied, finished the call and gave the Major his phone back.

“Ten minutes, they said.”

He saw the Major tuck the phone away, then push up on one elbow, trying to get up. Ray reached out to stop him, but the Major resisted, so Ray gave in and helped him to his feet.

“Thank you, thank you,” said the Major, a bit of gratitude finally kicking in, standing unsteadily, brushing dirt from his coat. Then he put a hand to his head. “Damn that hurts.”

“What happened?” said Ray, holding the Major steady. “You fall over?”

“What? Don’t be a fool,” said the Major. “Somebody hit me. Was checking the door here, like I do every night. Heard footsteps. Saw something moving. Then wallop. Lights out. Didn’t stand a chance.”

“Yeah, makes sense. This storm … hard to hear anything, eh? Though I did hear a bang like fireworks going off. You hear that too?”

“I did,” said the Major, and Ray saw him turn to look at the church door. “Wait a second — did you see anybody come out?”

“Nah, I was going the other way, I—”

“Come on,” said the Major.

And before Ray could stop him, the Major walked unsteadily over and stepped through the church door into the darkness. Ray followed.

As he did, he could smell smoke — a familiar odour but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Power’s out,” whispered the Major, clicking the switch on and off, then taking out his phone and turning its light on. “Must be why the alarm hasn’t gone off. Anyway, stick with me. And watch out: who knows — they might still be in here.”

Ray wasn’t sure who “they” might be.

But, feeling like he had no choice, he followed the Major, the cone of light from the phone illuminating the rear lobby.

He looked around, the scant light making it difficult to see. He knew this part of the church was called the vestry, kind of a secret church place the public didn’t see.

Ray didn’t know much about what went on inside churches.

Ahead of him, he saw the Major open another door and he followed him into a much smaller room.

“Hey. Smell that?” said the Major.

Ray suddenly again realised why the smell was familiar. It was explosives. Definitely. And in the same second, he knew he was right about the blast that he’d heard before the Major got hurt.

“Blimey,” he said. “Hold on. I think that’s—”

But before he could finish the sentence, he saw the beam of light settle on an object sitting in a cupboard — a safe.

Its door wide open.

He watched as the Major rushed forward, crouched down, moving pretty well now as he grabbed the side of the safe and peered deep inside.

Then he stood up, stepped back, and turned.

“It’s gone,” said the Major and Ray saw his face now pale and shocked in the half light from the phone.

“What has?” said Ray.

“Everything.”

“Strewth,” said Ray, not having a clue about exactly what was missing, but feeling the Major deserved a proper reaction.

Then from the still, dark depths of his memory surfaced one of the few facts he knew about St James’s Church here — apart from the slaughter of the king’s soldiers.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “You don’t mean … that cup thing? That silver cup? The one that’s worth like a ton of money?”

“Yes!” said the Major, sinking to his knees in the corner and putting his head in his hands. “The Cherringham Chalice. It’s gone!”

And in that moment, Ray realised that there was no way he could slip home before the police arrived.

He was going to be here answering their questions all night.

Because from the look of that safe door, and the smell of explosive, one thing was pretty obvious.

That silver cup thing — the “Cherringham Chalice” — had obviously been stolen.

2. The Scene of the Crime

Coffee in hand, Jack Brennan stopped at the gates of St James’s Church and inspected the noticeboard — not something he could ever remember doing since he moved to Cherringham from New York all those many years ago.

Back then — the board had faded lists of services and notices for church events, typed staff and key volunteer names, phone numbers.

But now — it was hard to believe what he was seeing. These big, colourful posters offered a whole new side to Cherringham and St James’s he didn’t know existed.

Ignite! Our Fun Family Service Goes Electric!

Groove! Saturday Lunchtime Drop-in for Dads and Kids!

Mood Monday! Chill and Reflect with Soft Sounds for the Spirit.

He drained his “joe”, dropped the cup into the trash bin and walked up the path toward the church. The churchyard this morning still looked, reassuringly, like the perfect Cotswold tourist photo: blue sky above, leaves red and brown against crumbling gravestones and statues, and the ancient soft yellow stone and Gothic arches of the church itself.

He could see Sarah already waiting for him on the bench under the old oak tree — bang on time.

“Have to tell you, Jack … trying to think when I last saw you near a church,” she said, getting up and giving him her usual welcome hug.

“Hey, hang on. Are you suggesting I’m an unbeliever?” said Jack, grinning. “I’ll have you know I was an altar boy at St Vinny’s back in the day. Even assisted the padres at weddings — and funerals.”

“Back in Brooklyn? Certainly a long time ago.”

“True fact,” said Jack, grinning, as they turned together to stroll up the path to the church entrance. “But, let’s just say, me and the Almighty have an agreement not to bother each other unless things get real urgent.”

“Well, maybe now is one of those times.”

“The Cherringham Chalice, yes?” said Jack and he saw Sarah nod her head. “I thought the police would be all over this — can’t be anything we can do to help.”

“That’s what I thought too, but Tony was insistent.”

Tony Standish was a long-time friend to both Jack and Sarah — a country solicitor, and also, Jack knew, a stalwart in so many areas of Cherringham life.

“When he called me last night, he actually used the words ‘you two are our last hope’.”

“Really?” said Jack, grinning. “No pressure then? By the way — is this official, his request?”

“Not exactly — or at least, not yet. Tony’s a kind of acting church warden at the moment. I think he’s bringing us in off his own back.”

“Ah. Good to know,” said Jack. “We don’t want this ‘unbeliever’ causing any offence to the church elders now, do we?”

They reached the main doors to the church, but Sarah carried on walking.

“We not going in this way?” said Jack.

“We’re meeting him in the vestry. A little less public.”

“And the scene of the crime too, if what Ray told me is correct?”

Sarah laughed: “Let me guess — he’s already given you his detailed briefing, has he?”

Since Ray lived on the next barge from Jack’s Grey Goose, over the years Sarah had gotten to know him nearly as well as Jack.

A character, to be sure. But in his heart, a good soul.

“Has he ever! He hasn’t stopped rattling on about it since it happened,” said Jack. “Not that what he told me made a great deal of sense.”

“I gather he was a little worse for wear that night?”

“Well maybe no more than usual, but enough that the police will probably have discounted most of his testimony — if you can call it that.”

They rounded the side of the church and Jack saw Tony Standish by the vestry door, as if on guard duty.

“Morning, Tony,” said Jack, walking over to him.

“Jack, Sarah,” he said, shaking their hands. “So awfully grateful to you both for coming along this morning. I must say, I did put in a special prayer that you would answer my plea.”

“Well, I guess that prayer got answered,” said Jack. “Sarah tells me you want us to look into the burglary?”

“Yes. Um … really just seeking a second opinion.”

“Fair enough,” said Jack. “Though I seriously doubt we’ll pick up anything the police haven’t already spotted.”

“Of course,” said Tony. “But, as you can see from the absence of tape across the door, the police have been — and gone. Done and dusted.”

“Well, a crime team from Oxford, imagine they would be quick, get what they need,” said Jack, knowing how efficiently a crime scene could be analysed. “Robbery happened Wednesday — today’s Saturday, sounds par for the course.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” said Tony. “But you see, I’m not convinced that Oxford’s finest fully comprehend the importance of the stolen chalice to our church. Or indeed to the entire Cherringham community.”

“Totally understand,” said Jack, feeling that reassurance was required here. “More than just a silver chalice? Guess I’m probably in the same boat. You mind giving me a quick run-down of what this is all about?”

“Not at all,” said Tony. “First a history lesson. Then I’ll tell you about the crime. And then you can both give me your opinion.”

*

Sarah listened as Tony gave Jack the 101 on the Cherringham Chalice.

It was a story that she had first heard when she was a young girl at Cherringham High — and her class had put together a project on it for the School Open Day.

So she knew the basics: the silver chalice had been made in 1570 and given to the town of Cherringham with a matching paten — a plate for the communion wafer. But what made this chalice so special were the rare gems inset into the silver.

“You see, the actual worth of the silver is low, so it’s extremely unlikely it will be melted down,” said Tony. “I expect it has been stolen to order by a foreign collector — and will be on the way to a port by now. Or sadly, it may even have already left the country.”

“And it’s been kept in the church all this time?” said Jack. “Never left?”

“That’s right. Nearly five hundred years. Imagine! Of course, these days it’s only brought out to be used on special saints’ days.”

“And the value?” said Sarah.