The Dead Call: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 6)

by J M Dalgliesh

  "And?"

  "And it stops Becca from sleeping," Eric said glumly, rubbing at his cheek with his free hand. He hadn't shaved this morning. "She likes her sleep, does Becca. She booted me out around four."

  "Out of her flat?" Tom asked, his eyebrows knitting together. Eric flapped at the suggestion.

  "No, no. Just the bedroom. I ended up on the sofa but it's only a two-seater and I know I'm not very tall but even I can't lie on it. So…" he said, putting his cup down and turning to his computer screen. He clicked on a tab and the display changed to a social media page. "I did some more research. Janet Beckett mentioned her sister's disapproval of the proposed Wash Bank wind farm."

  "Hasn't that already gone through?" Tom asked, sitting back in his chair, nursing what was left of his drink.

  Eric shook his head. "Not quite. It's been back and forth ever since they obtained the licence from the Crown Estate after the last tranche of sites were put out to tender."

  "Who did?"

  "Prometheus Energy," Eric confirmed. "Initially they were part of a consortium planning to share development costs across several sites off the Norfolk coast. Two of the projects haven't been submitted yet, but this one, the smallest, was one they progressed on their own after another company backed out. Consultations went on for a couple of years prior to the actual proposal going into the planners, who looked to rubber-stamp it pretty quickly by all accounts."

  "So, what's the delay?" Tom asked, finishing his drink whilst eyeing the screen.

  "Local pressure group."

  "Mary Beckett?"

  Eric nodded. "The very same. She set up an action group, FOWL." Tom raised his eyebrows in query. "Friends of Wildlife."

  "Catchy."

  "Yes quite, isn't it," Eric said. "Mary founded it. This is the social media page for the group," Eric said, gesturing towards the screen with his index finger, the others wrapped around his cup. "It's a mix of local interest types, environmental campaigners… probably your average NIMBY lot as well."

  Tom frowned. "Forgive me, but I thought environmentalists were pro wind energy."

  Eric shook his head. "It's not the concept of wind power they object to but the associated infrastructure. The energy has to come ashore at some point and it's that location where the issues arise. Wind farms of this size require a substantial footprint for the switching station and then the associated transmission infrastructure to integrate it to the national grid. Let's set aside for the moment the thousands of cubic tonnes of concrete that are poured on the ocean floor to lay the bases for the turbines themselves."

  "You have been busy," Tom said, impressed with the constable's research.

  "To be honest, I'm quite interested in it. Becca took the children from her class to visit the Sheringham Shoal Wind Farm centre last term," Eric said, his face splitting into a wide grin. "I went along as one of the helpers."

  "That's right, she's an NQT, isn't she?"

  Eric bobbed his head. "Yes, her days as a teaching assistant are over. They gave her Year One this time around."

  "And you volunteered to go along on the class trip?" Tom asked, picturing Eric being dragged in all directions by children younger than Saffy. "How did that go?"

  Eric blew out his cheeks, running a hand through his hair. "Becca's a natural with kids… I'm better off catching villains. How they corral fifty-odd five-year-olds in a learning environment on a daily basis is beyond my skill set."

  Tom laughed.

  "Anyway," Eric said, returning to his briefing, "Mary Beckett and her cohorts have been very organised. They submitted a detailed objection to the proposed site for the switching station, as well as the alternative location Prometheus Energy came up with. Despite the planning department warmly receiving the initial application – it was anticipated the approval was almost a mere formality – the group managed to find objections in the planner's own rubric that forced a review. It all caused a bit of a stink, from what I can see. The local councillors are on board with the proposal, as are many of the local residents."

  "So where are we with it now? Would the death of Mary Beckett impact on the development either way?"

  Eric scrunched up his face. "I'm not there yet. But I'm working on it."

  "Fair enough. You've made a good start," Tom said. He sank back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head and interlocking his fingers. "I'm surprised, though."

  Eric looked over inquisitively.

  "You implied there's a bit of push-back from the locals against the environmentalists regarding their campaign. In my experience, the locals around these parts are already quite environmentally conscious."

  "I agree. I reckon it's all part of the agricultural heritage, living off both the land and the sea for generations," Eric said. "It's easy to see the disagreement just from reading the comment threads underneath the group posts. Some people don't pull their punches when they're sitting comfortably behind a keyboard."

  "Keep plugging away. Come at it from all angles. Who has the most to gain from the proposal, besides Prometheus Energy themselves? Although I want you to find out as much as you can about them too. Furthermore, who's been leading the fightback against Mary and her group, and why? Did you find anything regarding this stalker Janet was referring to?"

  "Stalker?" Cassie asked, entering the ops room and hanging her coat up. "Who's got a stalker?"

  "Morning, Cassie," Tom said. Eric also smiled, offering her a brief wave.

  She came to join them, casting an eye over Eric's desk as he rummaged through some papers, eventually producing a document which he brandished triumphantly.

  "Here it is," he said, grinning. "It's an old crime report filed three years ago. Mary Beckett reported an incident down at the bird watcher's reserve at the back of Holm Dunes."

  "What have I missed? Who's Mary Beckett?" Cassie asked, eyeing their takeaway coffee cups and apparently hopeful there was one available for her. "Does she have a stalker?"

  "She's the victim Eric and I went to look at out at Blakeney yesterday," Tom said. "And no, sorry, I didn't get you a coffee. I'll do better next time."

  DS Cassie Knight inclined her head, clearly disappointed. "Victim? Seriously, what have I missed?"

  "Murdered," Eric stated.

  "Wow. I take an early finish, having spent months working on beauty-spot break-ins, and you guys land a murder inquiry," she said with a wry smile. "Next time I want to head off early to the shops, stop me, yeah." Eric grinned whereas Tom raised one eyebrow in reply. "Any suspects?"

  "Nothing concrete," Tom said. "Eric – the report?"

  "Oh, yes. Right you are," Eric said, eyeing the paper bag in front of him as Cassie sat down. Tom guessed he'd missed breakfast. "It's going back a bit. Three years, to be precise. Mary contacted us after she was harassed late one evening on her way back to her car. Probably having done her rounds."

  Cassie looked at Eric inquisitively and he waved away her question.

  "I'll fill you in later," Eric said, handing her a clutch of paper.

  Cassie accepted the reply, her eyes narrowing as she scanned Eric's notes made the previous day in a bid to catch up.

  "Mary claimed to have someone stalking her, leaving nasties for her along with general harassment – malicious phone calls, tyres on her car let down. That sort of thing."

  "Define nasties for me please?" Tom asked.

  "Eric reread the document to ensure he got the detail correct. "In this particular case she said a clutch of birds were mutilated and strung up for her to find. Heads removed, gutted… pleasant."

  Tom nodded sagely, his brow furrowing. "Standard practice for those twisted individuals looking to intimidate wildlife campaigners, to be honest. I've heard of them stringing them up on gates, porches or even nailing them to front doors, if they feel particularly brave on occasion." Tom sighed. "Anything come out of the investigation?"

  Eric shook his head. "Nope. Uniform went down to the reserve to take a look and couldn't find any sign of
the birds. There were calls made to Mary Beckett's mobile phone but it was an unknown number on a burner, so untraceable. With no one else to corroborate her story, she was advised to contact us again if something should happen, but there was no further action to take."

  Tom rubbed at his cheeks with both hands, drawing a deep breath as he lowered his hands. "Any further reports on the matter?"

  "No. If anything else happened, then Mary didn't report it to us."

  Cassie chimed in at this point. "If she felt we didn't respond adequately, then she had no reason to believe we'd actually do anything. Present company excepted, obviously."

  "Yes, well, we shouldn't judge our colleagues too harshly. It was three years ago. Maybe the harassment tailed off as they moved on to other things," Tom said.

  "Or people," Cassie countered.

  "True. Although, she did complain about it to her sister and nephew," Tom said. "At least that's what they conveyed to Eric and myself last night. It remains to be seen if it's at all related to her death, though. Too early to rule anything out." He looked at Eric. "It's a long shot but run that burner number through the system again. You never know, it might be active."

  "If not, the number will probably have been reassigned to someone else by now," Eric said, sounding doubtful.

  "Run it anyway. You never know."

  Eric made a note to do so.

  "And while you're at it, see if you can figure out who she was at odds with at the time," Tom said. "Hindsight's a wonderful thing but maybe this is the culmination of a long-held grudge."

  Cassie looked up from her reading, catching Tom's eye. "From what her sister was saying, it looks like she made falling out with people something of a habit. This list looks like a local bingo card she was chalking off. One of them is Daniel Crowe. Is he anything to do with Crowe Builders?"

  Tom nodded. "Yes, his firm does a lot of the site builds around these parts. He's been going for years, took the business on from his father. Why?"

  "Oh, I was looking around one of their show homes at the weekend," Cassie said. "I don't want to be renting forever."

  "In that case, you can look at that angle—"

  Cassie's desk phone cut Tom off. She answered. Her expression clouded as she listened, snapping her fingers to get Eric's attention and then silently asking for a pen. Eric handed her a pen and a note pad. Cassie scribbled something down. Tom cocked his head and saw it was an address, before he returned his focus to Eric.

  "Knock up a list of those names we are aware of who took issue with Mary, starting with the most recent. Then it's a case of tracking whereabouts and asking the questions. I'm leaning towards this being the work of a local or, at the very least, someone who knows the area. We could tell from the crime scene she was unlikely to have been killed out at the point. But someone put the body in the water, either dropping her from a boat or transporting her out there. We should consider whether it was in any way symbolic or just remote enough that no one was likely to see."

  Eric concurred. "It's a trek out there, though. I can think of a dozen places that are easier to get to in terms of accessibility than dragging a body out to Blakeney Point."

  "That's true," Tom said, cupping his chin with thumb and forefinger. "But Mary was a slight figure, not tall. She wouldn't have been too much of a weight for anyone physically capable, and I doubt she was carried out there. Someone will have used a boat to get across the wetlands. If she was dumped out there on the high tide, it wouldn't have been much trouble to do so unobserved and with speed. That's why I'm leaning towards a local."

  "I'd better add access to a boat on to the list as well, then," Eric said.

  Tom agreed. "Might be worth checking if anyone is missing one too. They could easily think a rowing boat has slipped its mooring rather than being the result of anything untoward."

  Cassie hung up, turning to Tom with a frown. He waited expectantly.

  "Looks like it's catching," she said. "Uniform have a suspicious death they want us to take a look at in Cley." Tom's eyes narrowed. The proximity to where Mary Beckett's body was found concerned him. "Officers on the ground think it's either a burglary gone wrong or a domestic."

  Tom exhaled. "Okay. Eric, you crack on here. Cassie, you go and see if you can confirm uniform's suspicions. I'll fill in the DCI and see if I can get some preliminary advice from the pathologist regarding Mary Beckett's autopsy. Looks like it's going to be a busy few days."

  Cassie rose from her chair, tearing the page with the address written from the pad before handing both it and the pen back to Eric. She was pulling on her coat when Tom caught her eye. He smiled.

  "What?" she asked.

  "I hope you got what you needed from the shops because it sounds like you'll not get a chance again for a while."

  "Afraid not," she replied. "Like I said, house hunting. I'm in a holiday let and the landlord wants me out so he can quadruple the rent during the summer. At this rate, I'll be sleeping on a park bench by the end of the month."

  This was a common occurrence many locals experienced. His only surprise was that Cassie hadn't been turfed out already, seeing as the season was already getting underway. It would ramp up over the next few weeks until peak prices were being charged.

  "That'll teach you to rent a place with a sea view," he said. Cassie growled in his direction, feigning anger. He laughed. "If the worst happens, you can always crash on my boat until you get yourself sorted. I'm never there these days anyway."

  Cassie scrunched up her face as she checked where her car keys were. "I'd have to be desperate."

  "Thanks very much."

  "No, not like that. It's just I get seasick."

  "It's not anchored off the coast, Cassie!"

  "Okay, I'll bear it in mind," she said, winking at him as she turned and headed out of ops, flicking her hair to one side as she went.

  "Better than a bench," he muttered under his breath.

  Chapter Six

  Cassie Knight pulled up alongside a liveried police car. The street was particularly narrow here, even by the usual measure of coastal towns and villages built prior to the advent of the motor car. There was precious little by way of parking. The road was the main one through the village, narrowing at several points. Cassie figured this would become a bit of a nightmare once the tourist season really got into gear. Waiting for a break in the traffic, she scanned her mirrors and got out when it was safe to do so just before a lorry rumbled past. She pressed herself against the car until it passed and then hurried around to the nearside, following a footpath enclosed on each side by high stone walls.

  Emerging at the other end a few moments later, Cassie found herself with a view across the reed beds towards the sea. Turning to her right, she crossed towards a small complex of buildings in and around a windmill towering above all of those present. It must have been five storeys tall and in immaculate condition with its impressive cap and sails. Great efforts must have gone into preserving it. Looking around, Cassie observed a number of gables on buildings indicative of the village's obvious trading past. Noting how far from the sea the village was, she struggled to see how this place could have been a successful seaport, but then again, much can change over a few centuries. Perhaps the sea used to be closer. She would have to ask Eric. He would know.

  A uniformed constable caught her eye. He was standing at the door to a small brick and flint cottage a short distance away, a building nestled in between several others. The walls looked thick and solid, the windows quite small. This was commonplace in old buildings, especially here, built with functionality in mind where protection from the elements was held in higher regard than aesthetics. Not that they weren't charming.

  She approached the officer, recognising him, but couldn't recall his name. He greeted her, stepping out of the property to make room for her. She stopped at the threshold, withdrawing plastic boot covers. If uniform felt the need to call on CID, then it was a fair assumption this was a crime scene.

  "W
hat have you found?" she asked, putting the covers on.

  "A male. In his late thirties or early forties. Looks like he's bled out from a wound to his torso, but he's lying on his front, so I can't say for sure."

  "All right," Cassie said, casting one last glance towards the beautiful scenery before entering the building, knowing she would soon be observing something at the opposite end of the scale. "You’d best show me. Where is he?"

  "Kitchen," the constable said, gesturing for her to head through the house to the rear. The interior of the cottage was much as Cassie figured it would be. The ceilings were low and the small windows allowed precious little light to penetrate. Outside, the day was proving fine. The sun was burning off what cloud cover was present, but once Cassie passed into the rear of the cottage, she realised you would be hard pressed to know what the weather was doing beyond the walls. The neighbouring properties were built up, sitting on different levels: their walls extensive and some had mature trees overhanging the boundary. This only added to the lack of daylight penetrating into the interior.

  The kitchen appeared to be an addition to the original building at some point in the past, but not recent by any means. However, the windows here were larger, which helped. The kitchen was narrow, a galley style with units on opposing walls, a small sink set beneath the window with a view over what looked like an enclosed courtyard to the side. The smell of blood was strong in the air. The body lay face down between the units, as previously described, with the left arm and shoulder pressed up against the door to the outside. A pool of blood had spread out from beneath the body, the epicentre of which appeared to be the midriff, although the pool now encompassed the man's arms, upper legs and his head and was seeping beneath the plinth of the cabinets. The blood at the edge of the pool was drying, indicative of the flow having ceased hours ago. Most likely this was when the heart stopped pumping. The blood was a deep burgundy colour. Cassie figured he must have succumbed relatively quickly because the darker shade of red indicated a major organ had been damaged in the assault.