Cherringham--A Fatal Fall (11 page)

Viktor looked at Jack, a hint of trust.

And then Jack said: “We need to go see Sparks.”

Finally, a nod from the Romanian worker.

Now — in the car, the site only minutes away — Viktor stared at the winter landscape outside, the leafless trees, the roads still dotted with patches of ice and snow.

Viktor seemed like a doomed man.

But Jack was right.

He wasn’t the real murderer.

That person still didn’t have a clue that they were closing in on him, pulling all the strings of the story together, discarding the details meant to confuse, like McCabe’s pro-union activities, while tying together the real strands …

Like Nadine.

McCabe’s real love.

One that cost him his life.

Sarah pulled onto the gravel track that led to the building site, to the supervisor’s office.

An early finish today; people already leaving for the free Christmas drinks down at the pub.

But Sparks would still be here.

Unaware of what was about to happen.

“You okay?” Jack said, looking back at Viktor, who turned away from the window, the nearly finished building site outside.

Looking anything
but
okay.

A nod.

Viktor was key to what was about to happen.

And Sarah pulled her car up close to the wooden steps with its flimsy railing that led to Sparks’ office.

*

Sarah went first. After all, she had spoken to him first.

And heard Sparks’ lies.

She looked back at Jack standing shoulder to shoulder with Viktor as if he might bolt if given a chance.

She rapped on the door.

“Yeah, what?”

Sparks’ voice from inside.

And with a final look at Jack, Sarah turned the doorknob and went in, while Jack and the worker followed.

*

“What the hell? You again? And what’s this … Viktor, where the hell have you been?”

The site supervisor had risen from his chair the moment he saw Viktor.

Of course
, she thought.

The perfect intimidation tactic to keep the worker’s lips sealed.

“We’ve found out a few things, Mr. Sparks.”

Then Sparks looked from Sarah, to Jack, then to Viktor.

He must be feeling cornered,
she thought.

Jack had said to her … ‘
why don’t you see how far you get with Sparks? You might enjoy it …’

Though now she felt that this would be anything but enjoyable.

The man’s neck muscles tight, hands balled into fists, eyes glowing.

Not a happy camper.

“Mr. Sparks — Viktor here has told us everything.”

Sparks practically shaking, listening to her.

“He knows
nothing
. He can hardly speak a word of English … his word against—”

“Wait,” Jack said taking a step forward. “Don’t you mean, the truth against … what you told Sarah?”

Sparks looked away.

Again, in his eyes:
cornered …

Sarah took a breath. This kind of thing was really more Jack’s world. His business. But still it seemed — with each case they worked — more and more he wanted her to step beyond her comfort zone.

Away from the world of the web and hard drives.

To this: facing another human being and accusing them of lying.

To their face.

She did know one thing: she could never do this without Jack right next to her.

“We know everything, Mr. Sparks.”

The supervisor glared at Viktor. “What the hell did you tell them, you—”

Another step by Jack.

“So, now we’re at an interesting point, Mr. Sparks. You can do what we ask, willingly. Or, well, we just go to the police. Who knows, they may not be so interested in hearing you out, your reasons … how things really happened. I mean, it is murder.”

“You have no damn—”

“Sparks,”Jack said. “We know it all, why McCabe was killed, how it was set up, your role …”

Sparks stopped.

“We just need you to do one thing …” Sarah said.

Sparks shook his head.

“I’m not doing anything for you.”

“The police then?” Jack said. “With just your side of the story … versus Viktor’s? Might be a bit of dicey gamble, hmm?”

Sparks stood there.

And then — the fatal moment — Sparks realising …

He had no other options.

Just the one being offered to him now.

He nodded. “Okay.”

And Sarah couldn’t help but take a deep breath.

Doing this was like being a performer in a circus, a tightrope walker, a lion tamer, flying through the air to grab a trapeze bar and not knowing whether it would even be there.

She let the breath out.

It was time to really honour the memory of Dylan McCabe.

By revealing who killed him … and why.

*

But before they watched Sparks walk slowly to his car, defeated, and had Viktor once again in the back, rubbing his hands as if trying to scrape off his guilt at what he’d done …

Sarah had to make a call.

One final piece.

Jack had his eyes on her.

It was the one part of this plan that she wasn’t sure about. But Jack said they had no choice.

It hadn’t taken her long to track down the number. But making the call was a different matter entirely.

One ring, two, three … and then, the ring ended.

The call answered.

Jack held the door to the Ploughman’s open, letting Sarah and Viktor walk in first.

Viktor did as he was told … scurrying to an open spot at the bar, ordering his free pint.

The place — full with workers from Winters Construction, talking, nodding, laughing.

You’d never know,
Jack thought,
that one of their own had died days before.

Then Jack scanned the place for the host of the event. But Sarah had already noticed.

“No Winters,” she said.

Jack kept looking over the crowd. The main Christmas Party wasn’t due to start until later. He recognised just a handful of locals dotted among the site workers.

But though it seemed like everyone from Winters Construction was here, the man paying the bill clearly was
not
.

Had he miscalculated?

Would Winters pass on this event?

That could make what he and Sarah needed to do all the harder.

“Didn’t figure on that,” Jack said quietly to his partner. “Figured Winters would be here, for a smokescreen at the least.”

Was Winters cagier than that?

Had he figured out what they were planning? Because surely it was Winters who’d had them both followed these last few days, Winters who’d had Sarah’s office broken into …

Then the door to the pub opened again, and Gary Sparks walked in.

A few of the men looked over. A nod to their boss. And Sparks walked to the side of the pub, skipping a beer, standing there.

Just as they had instructed him.

“Jack — where’s Winters?” Sarah said quietly. “You think he’d set this up and then not show?”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The men kept talking, their voices loud. The fact that this was a private party had kept most of the regulars out until later.

Everyone here were all the workers, enjoying an early knocking-off time, free drinks, free food …

But where the hell was the host?

Then — again the door opened, and in walked Winters, dark overcoat buttoned tight, his black ski hat on his head in sharp contrast.

Immediately beaming at the men, nodding as if he was one of them.

Which back in the day he had been.

Then he looked over and spotted Jack, Sarah ….

His smile faded for a moment, then back again, as if not a care in the world as he shook worker’s hands, then leaned in to say some private words as if these were indeed his ‘lads’.

One big family.

Then Winters walked to the bar, scooping up a beer that Billy had already pulled for the man paying the freight for this whole event.

“He won’t be here long,” Jack said.

“You mean,” Sarah said, “it’s now or never?”

Jack looked at Viktor, his skeletal frame leaning into the wooden bar as if he wanted to melt right into it. Sparks standing way to the side as if not part of it at all.

The noise, the hubbub was immense.

Which is when Jack looked at Sarah one more time.

“Wish me luck …”

She smiled at him.

Thinking:
just how will this go down?

He took a few steps to the centre of the pub, placing himself only yards away from Charlie Winters who — quite pointedly — took no note of him.

Jack took a breath.

Then, doing his best to be heard above the din of the crowd, Jack addressed the owner of the Winters Construction company.

*

“Charlie Winters!”

Jack said.

His voice loud, a voice he’d used breaking into noisy apartments filled with wannabe drug lords armed with automatic weapons, just waiting for the cops to rush in.

The room quieted … but some people kept talking.

And then Jack said the name even louder … because Winters had not yet turned to face him.

“Charlie Winters … with everyone here, why don’t you tell us all how Dylan McCabe really died?”

Like a boxer, titling his head, Winters turned and now looked over to Jack. The smile — still not erased from his face.

And Winters roared back, giving a volume as good as he got.

“What … the
hell
… do you mean?”

Then, as if to ally himself with crowd and isolate Jack …

“…
Yank
.”

On cue, Jack looked at Sarah who walked over to Sparks and stood next to him, knowing that Winters would be clocking her move.

“Good time to come clean, Winters. Everyone here, enjoying their drinks. Apart from Dylan McCabe, a man you wanted dead. A man you had killed …”

Now — the crowd was completely silenced, awaiting the next words form the company owner.

“You bastard …” Winters said. “McCabe had an accident.” Winters looked around at the crowd as if that was an obvious truth. “The dumb mick fell, probably been drinking, another stupid Irish b—”

Jack closed the distance between himself and Winters.

And then simply shook his head.

Waited a beat … then:

“That’s what you wanted everyone to believe. Sure. But Winters, you see Viktor right there—?”

A nod to the worker at the bar, head down.

“Told us everything, that you and Sparks—”

Another nod to where the supervisor stood next to Sarah.

“—told him how to set it up. But one thing, even Sparks didn’t know … was that it would be no mere fall, no ‘accident’ that would just send McCabe to the hospital.”

Winters wheeled and looked at Sparks. He had his arms up, fists clenched.

“Sparks! You stupid bastard. What did you—?”

Sparks said nothing.

He just had to be here,
Jack knew.

“We know everything,” Jack said “…about the metal frames, how you planned the fall, his death … how you’d never ever let McCabe see your daughter again …”

And with that, Winters charged Jack, arms up.

Jack knew that Winters had worked and fought his way to wealth and success.

And now — accused with all his men around him — it was like he was back in the streets again, fighting for his life.

And Jack waited as Winters reared back and sent a meaty fist, all white knuckles — a real workingman’s hammy fist — flying at his head.

*

Jack swerved, then ducked as that fist cut through the air.

But Winters responded quickly to the miss, ready to ram into Jack again with another punch.

Jack raised his own hands.

Winters tried to drive into Jack with a right, then a left, head down, a bruising street fighter if there was ever one.

But Jack blocked the right … and the left — designed to come crashing up into Jack’s chin — instead went flying like a misfired rocket, sputtering into the air.

Winters recovered, ready for another attack.

“And you,” he barked, “just another dumb Irishman like McCabe … think you can come here, take from me … take from
me
… everything I’ve worked for … fought for?”

Jack thought:
dumb Irishman?

Okay,
he thought.

Probably shouldn’t do this.

Really shouldn’t
, he thought.

Should just—

Instead, he took a step, and threw a feint of a left hook to Winters’ side that had the company owner leaning left … where Jack quickly connected with a right that sent Winters to the ground.

A bit of blood on Winters’ lip.

“Give it up, Winters. We know it all, we know—”

Then the door opened.

Jack looked over to Sarah, to the door, then to Sarah again as she walked away from Sparks … over to the person at the doorway.

*

And Sarah went and stood by Nadine Winters.

Her father still on the floor, starting to get up.

Sarah knew they had no idea whether the girl would show up or not.

She had loved McCabe. But would that love help her reveal the last bit of truth that could seal her father’s fate?

Her voice … in the now quiet pub … a mere whisper.

“How could you?”

Instinctively Sarah reached down and took her hand.

Winters got to his feet slowly, red on his lip, a lumbering beast, his attention now off Jack.

He stood there … and addressed his daughter.

“I did it for you. You can see that, Nadine, can’t you? You would have thrown it all away for him. He would have taken you … taken you …”

Sarah watched Winters look around at his men as if he was in court, making his appeal.

Then back to Nadine.

Sarah gave the girl’s hand a light squeeze.

Nadine was there for Dylan McCabe.

Not
for this man, her father, standing in front of her.