"Any identification?" Tom asked, turning to Eric.
The detective constable held up a transparent evidence bag containing a small fabric purse. It was brown, the exterior corduroy lined with a zip pocket to one side and the folding flap on the other was buttoned shut. It was clearly wet through. Donning a set of nitrile gloves, Tom stood up and stepped away from the body. Eric handed him the bag.
Removing the contents, Tom carefully unbuttoned the one side which fell open in his palm to reveal numerous card slots. The interior lining was lime green with a repeating flowery motif. Several credit cards were present, along with a couple of store loyalty cards. All of them bore the same name: M Beckett. Behind the card slots was a small pocket, barely large enough for anything beyond a book of stamps or another card. It was here that he found a driving licence. The laminated plastic was damaged by the passage of time, and more recently the water, but was still readable. Putting a light over it, he saw the licence was issued nine years previously and although the photograph showed someone with a fuller face and darker hair, it was clearly the same person lying nearby in the sand.
"Mary Beckett," Tom said for his own benefit, glancing sideways at Eric. He knew the constable would already have looked. "Lives in Letheringsett. What's that from here… fifteen minutes?"
"If that. More like ten, I would say."
Tom checked her birth date, doing a quick mental calculation. "She's eighty-three."
Eric looked around, the sound of the team working nearby was drowned out by the incoming tide breaking on the shingle beach.
"Has anyone notified the next of kin yet?"
Eric nodded. "Uniform have been round." By the expression on his face, he seemed concerned he'd erred. "That's okay, isn't it."
Tom was lost in thought for a moment, weighing up what they knew, and didn't quite hear the question. "Sorry, Eric," he said, raising his eyebrows. "What was that?"
"I had uniform call round at her address. That's okay, isn't it?"
"Yes, yes. Of course. Is anyone home?"
Eric nodded. "Sister. Janet Beckett. They live together. But I told uniform not to say anything beyond that we'd located a body."
"Good. Come on. Let's go and see if she can shed any light on what Mary was doing out this way last night."
Chapter Three
Mary Beckett's home was an imposing traditional brick and flint building situated on the Blakeney Road between the hamlet of Glandford and Letheringsett, a small village near to the Georgian market town of Holt. The house itself was sited only a stone's throw from the boundary of the Bayfield Hall estate. Driving through the entrance gates, flanked by stone pillars with ornately-carved caps, the wheels crunched the gravel beneath the car.
A police car was already in the driveway, a uniformed constable standing at the front door. He stepped forward as Tom and Eric got out of the car, offering them both a greeting.
"Hello, Tom," the constable said. Tom recognised him, Billy Chambers, one of the more senior of the local officers, conscientious and very experienced. "Kathy's inside with the next of kin now," he said, referring to PC Kathy Rix, indicating over his shoulder towards the house.
"Lives with her sister as I understand it, right?" Tom asked.
"Yes, just the two of them, although Janet – the sister – has asked for her son to be contacted. I spoke with him a little while ago and he's on his way over."
"Right you are," Tom said. "Where can we find them?"
"Drawing room. Down the hall, second door on the left."
Tom nodded his thanks and Eric smiled as they left the constable standing in the porch. The front door was ajar and Tom pushed it open, finding the weight incredible in comparison to modern equivalents. If the exterior was impressive, then the period decor inside the house was more so. The hall was lined with oak panelling, by the darkness of the colour it was obviously original. The flooring visible throughout was tiled in a geometric pattern leading up to a central staircase that split on a half landing before disappearing off to the landing on either side of the building above them. Several of the tiles at their feet were cracked or broken with missing pieces. For all the grandeur of the high ceilings and ornate plasterwork, the house was tired with discoloured wallpaper and an assortment of mismatching furniture haphazardly placed around the open spaces seemingly without much thought offered to the aesthetics.
Tom noticed how their shoes didn't squeak on the tiles as they walked, another clear indication that the surface wasn't maintained particularly well. Thinking on it, that wasn't a surprise. Presumably, Mary Beckett's sister was of a similar age, and this house would require the presence of a small team to keep on top of the upkeep in a residence like this. Tom noticed Eric scanning the interior as they walked, wondering if he was having the same thoughts. He caught Eric's eye as they approached the door to the drawing room.
"Imagine living in a house like this," Eric said, keeping his voice low so no one else could overhear. "I mean, Becca's flat would fit in this… what do you call it?"
"Atrium."
"Yeah, this atrium."
Eric was right. It was an impressive home. Judging by the length of the stone wall running the boundary of the road, Tom guessed the grounds stretching away on the other side of the house would be equally grand. Tom raised his hand and announced their presence by knocking on the door before entering, not wishing to give anyone a fright by barging in. PC Kathy Rix stood before an ornately-carved stone fireplace, her hands clasped behind her back. She smiled warmly at him and Eric as they entered. The room was large, matching the oversized dimensions of the building in general, but it was dark. The walls were painted a deep shade of crimson and heavy floor-to-ceiling curtains, together with sweeping pelmets, hung before the double-aspect sash and case windows blocking what little light the setting sun offered to the interior.
Tom focussed his attention on the woman sitting alone on a large sofa. She appeared to be dwarfed by the furniture. Like everything in the room, the sofa was grand, covered in red velvet and edged in ornately-carved mahogany arms and legs. It didn't look very comfortable, but it certainly befitted the interior. Her eyes flitted to him and away again. Tom smiled as he came over to her, joined alongside him by Kathy Rix. She introduced them.
"Jan, this is Tom Janssen," she said, dispensing with some of the formality. He didn't mind trusting Kathy's judgement, for it was she who had spent the most time with her. "Tom is the lead detective investigating what happened to your sister."
The woman glanced up at him again, forcing a weak smile that attempted to mask an anxious expression. She was perched on the edge of the sofa, sitting side on, her knees pressed together at the hem of her grey tweed skirt. She wore a matching jacket. Her hands were set firmly in her lap. He judged her to be in her late seventies, possibly older. Her hair was grey, pulled back from her forehead and tied at the nape of her neck, appearing to be dry and frizzy. It struck him that her appearance was similar to the surroundings of the home in which she lived. The angular features of her bone structure, her poise and the slightly grand clothing, clearly vintage, was indicative of a grace and style to match her surroundings but, as with the home itself, she seemed unable to present herself in the manner she may have wished to be seen in.
Perhaps the stress of the situation, along with the weariness in her expression, gave him this impression. It would be understandable.
"May I sit down?" he asked.
She replied with a brief nod, her expression softening as he sat down on the sofa adjacent to her own. He was right, it wasn't comfortable at all.
"Mrs Beckett, I'm very sorry for your loss."
She nodded again, appreciating the sentiment.
"Thank you," she said, trying to maintain her composure but it was clear she was finding this a challenge. She fiddled with her fingers, turning her hands over and over in her lap. "Please do call me Jan," she said. Her eyes swept the room. Tom followed and they both saw Eric gazing at the ceiling, lined with m
ore intricate coving. Eric noticed their lingering gaze and he mouthed a silent sorry to Tom and took out his notebook. Tom could see Kathy Rix stifling an amused smile.
"When did you last see your sister?" Tom asked.
"Yesterday. Late afternoon, shortly after three o'clock to be certain. She left as usual. I know it was then because the clock in the hall chimes, only it is always late. There's a fault in the mechanism somewhere, but Mary hasn't had a man out to take care of it yet. Anyway, that was when she left and I didn't expect to see her until today."
"She would stay out late?"
Jan nodded. "Usually, yes. Besides, I head off to bed by nine most nights. I know it's early but I tire easily these days, what with my arthritis and the sciatica being what it is. I often won't see her until breakfast."
"Where was she going?"
"To do her rounds."
"I'm sorry. Her rounds?"
"Mary is a Watcher… self-appointed, I should say."
Tom inclined his head, shooting a quick glance at Kathy and Eric but, judging by their expressions, neither of them was aware of the term either.
"A Watcher?"
"Protecting the wildlife," Janet explained. "The Watchers keep an eye on the reserves. The natural world has been my sister's life's work. She goes out every night, especially during the breeding seasons. Has done for years."
"Protecting them from whom?"
"Vandals… collectors, poachers… whomever really."
"I wasn't aware that this was a big problem in these parts," Tom said. He should be aware of it if it was. It was his job, after all.
"Oh, you would be surprised, I'm sure. There are a number of collectors around here. Perhaps not as active as they once were but, if an opportunity arose, they'd be sure to make the most of it. You mark my words."
"And what would Mary do exactly?"
Jan's brow furrowed as she thought her answer through. "Take notes of any cars parked that looked out of place, maybe take photographs of people loitering around. If kids were hanging around," she nodded towards Eric, who frowned at the assertion of his age, "making fires and having parties, she'd move them on. She'd call you on occasion as well."
That was news to Tom but he glanced at Kathy for confirmation as it would be uniform who would receive the call. Kathy nodded subtly.
"And last night was the same as any other?" Tom asked, turning back to Jan.
"Yes. She was expecting to be out late. She's been saying recently that there is talk of some rare species nesting locally. Apparently, everyone is all of a flutter about it."
Eric grinned, recognising the pun. Only when Janet looked at him, her mouth falling open at his reaction, did he realise she genuinely hadn't intended it. He turned his attention to his notebook, his cheeks flushing.
"What species is it?" Tom asked, seeking to provide a smooth exploration of her knowledge. Janet shook her head.
"I don't know. Wildlife is very much my sister's passion rather than mine."
"I see," Tom said glumly. "Yesterday? Mary left the house around three?"
"Yes, she did. If I remember right, she was starting at Holm yesterday, walking through the dunes and checking on the reserve there. Then she usually breaks up her trips by splitting her time between reserves further along the coast, such as Holkham and Scolt Head."
"And how often does she do this?"
Jan sat more upright. Tom didn't realise that was possible. "Every night," she said. "Without fail. Unless she's ill of course."
"Is she? Ill, I mean."
"None of us are getting any younger, Detective Janssen," she said, leaning slightly in his direction.
"That's true," he said, smiling warmly. "Tell me, has your sister had any run-ins with anyone recently? Or mentioned seeing anyone out there on her rounds that'd caused her some concern?"
Jan averted her eyes from his gaze.
"Jan," Tom pressed. "Anything at all? It might help."
She took a deep breath and steadied herself before fixing him with her eye.
"My sister… Mary… was quite a difficult person to be around. As much as it pains me to say so, she rubbed some people up the wrong way. Revelled in it, one might say."
The door to the drawing room opened and a man entered. He was flushed, eyes wide, and appeared short of breath.
"Mum!" he said, ignoring everyone else present and crossing to where Janet was sitting. "I came as quickly as I could."
She made to stand, but the man intercepted her and encouraged her to remain where she was. Only then did he look around the room and acknowledge the others present. Tom rose from his seat, and Janet Beckett's son addressed him first.
"Are you in charge?" he asked. Tom nodded. He extended his hand towards Tom. "Justin. Justin Howell."
Tom accepted the offer and they shook hands. "DI Tom Janssen."
"What happened to my aunt, Inspector?"
"That's what we're looking to find out," Tom said, taking a measure of the newcomer as they both sat down, Tom in his seat and Justin alongside his mother. She reached out to him and he took her hand in both of his own, holding them in a supportive embrace. Justin was easily older than Tom, well into his fifties. He was a chubby man, perhaps five-seven or eight tall, with a receding wisp of hair that he flicked up in a quiff at the front, more in hope than substance. Judging by his frame and stature, Tom figured he was often red-faced and not only when hurrying to be at his mother's side. He was dressed in a sky blue cashmere jumper over burgundy trousers. Despite his supportive embrace, he seemed a little uncomfortable holding his mother's hand and repeatedly adjusted the hold but ensured he never let go. She seemed to draw strength from his presence.
Tom returned his attention to Jan.
"You were telling us how Mary can be difficult to get along with," he said.
"I'll say," Justin said, before immediately apologising for the interruption.
Tom angled his head in Justin's direction, encouraging him to speak with a gesture of an open hand.
"I'm sorry," Justin continued, raising his own hand by way of a further apology. "It's just that Aunt Mary could be… a little spiky. She was pretty full on with her opinions. If she had a goal in mind, then nothing was going to stop her achieving it, no matter what. People's feelings were an unfortunate element of collateral damage."
Jan was nodding along with her son's description of her sister.
"Justin's quite correct," she said almost apologetically. "Mary was passionate about her beliefs – that, as a species, we are custodians of this planet and not its masters."
"Was there anyone in particular who she fell out with? Anyone who might bear her a grudge."
"Why are you asking?" Justin interrupted before his mother could reply. "I thought this was some kind of an accident."
Tom fixed him with a stare. "I'm afraid this was definitely no accident, Mr Howell."
Justin held Tom's gaze for a moment, his lips parting as he took in the gravity of the statement. Then he raised a hand to his face, covering his mouth, and averted his eyes from Tom's. Janet answered the question.
"I'm afraid that will be a very long list, Inspector," she said, shaking her head. "Mary has clashed with many people over the years. Property developers, power generation companies… even her fellow birders if they crossed some perceived line she'd set out."
"Really?" Tom asked, checking with Eric that he'd made a note. The constable was diligently scribbling away in his pad.
"Aunt Mary made a lot of enemies over the years, Inspector," Justin said. "And I choose enemies as opposed to adversaries on purpose. She ruffled a lot of feathers over the years."
Tom glanced towards Eric, but the young man either didn't hear or found this reference less amusing because he didn't look up.
"Did she speak about anything or anyone in particular recently?"
Jan thought hard, her face a picture of concentration. "Well…" she looked at her son, who inclined his head to one side as if he wasn't sure. Janet loo
ked back at Tom and he raised his eyebrows in encouragement. "Mary has been… worried recently. I say recently, but this has been a thing for a while now."
"What has?" Tom asked.
"She claimed that someone has been following her… appearing in places when she's on her own. Frightening her."
Tom sat back in his seat a little, pursing his lips, waiting for her to elaborate, but Janet seemed to hesitate.
"Frighten her how?" he asked.
"Following her at night… hanging around the house. That type of thing. She's been going on about it for years."
"You don't sound convinced."
Jan shook her head briefly. "I'm not, not really."
"Why not?"
"I've never seen any of it," she said. "I've been thinking for a while… well, it's all in her head."
Tom's eyes narrowed as he contemplated it.
"You think she was imagining it or making it up?"
"Perhaps both," Justin said. "I know it sounds bad, but there is a history of ill health on my mother's side of the family."
"By ill health, you mean mental health?" Tom asked.
Both Janet and her son confirmed it with emphatic nods, but it was Janet who spoke.
"Our mother suffered from dementia and our father was always considered a little odd throughout his life. None of us realised at the time but, looking back, I would think he suffered from a mild schizophrenia that passed by undiagnosed. It was the way of things back then, wasn't it. We just knuckled down and got on with it. I thought Mary was seeing things, her mind filling in the gaps where there was nothing to see. After all, no matter how many times we looked, and we did look, we never saw what she did. Isn't that right?" she said, looking at her son.
"Yes. Several nights I sat up with a metal poker in my hand because Aunt Mary was distraught, but I never saw anyone either. In the end I think she stopped mentioning it because… because we found it quite annoying. I guess we shouldn't have been so dismissive after all."
The Dead Call: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 6) Page 3
