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

by J M Dalgliesh

  "What can I do for you, Detective?"

  "We're investigating a murder, Mr Rowe, and thought you might be able to help."

  "I don't think I'm… in a condition to kill anyone," he said, smiling weakly and still struggling to breathe. "Should I be under caution?"

  "Not unless you think it's necessary, Mr Rowe. We're here looking at background."

  "I see. You can't blame me for checking."

  Tamara couldn't help but think he appeared older than his years. The notion that he had somehow overpowered or attacked Adrian Gage was fanciful.

  "How well do you know Adrian Gage?"

  "Well enough," he snorted. "Better than I wish to, let's say that. Why do you ask?"

  "Mr Gage has been murdered."

  Rowe stared straight into Tamara's eye, without blinking, he held her gaze.

  "Stuck his nose into the wrong person's affairs, did he?"

  "What makes you say that Mr Rowe?" Tamara asked, keeping her tone neutral.

  "That's what he does, isn't it? Sticks his nose in, roots around and flings as much dirt as possible to get maximum attention."

  "He was an investigative journalist."

  "And a damn good one," Rowe said, wagging a finger at her pointedly. It was a comment conveying a sense of admiration which she found odd. Judging by the look on Cassie's face, it hadn't gone unnoticed with her either. "What? I'm not allowed to show him respect for his work?"

  "You lost a lot because of Gage and his work," Tamara said.

  "And I deserved everything that came my way, young lady." Rowe placed his hands together in his lap, interlocking his fingers. "He caught me bang to rights. Fair’s fair."

  "You don't hold a grudge?"

  Rowe laughed, a sound that was interrupted by a gasp for breath only to then morph into a hacking cough. He reached for his oxygen mask again, drawing heavily on it and waving away Tamara's concerns as she tried to find out if he was all right. He gathered himself together after a few seconds, exhaling with a sigh.

  "Lots of grudges," he said quietly. "As a result of his work I lost everything. My business, my wife and ultimately my liberty! If he's dead… don't ask me to shed a tear for him. Because I won't. It doesn't mean I wanted to see him dead, mind you. I appreciate life more these days." He held his oxygen mask in the air in front of him, nodding to it. "Believe me."

  "The investigation into your business took place six or seven years ago. Can you think of any reason why Mr Gage would be looking into you or your affairs more recently?"

  "As a matter of fact, he came to see me."

  Tamara and Cassie exchanged a glance, Tamara thinking hard.

  "Why would he do that?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.

  Rowe shook his head. "He said it was for a follow-up story. To see where things ended up a few years down the line but, to be honest, I don't think there was any mileage in it."

  "Why not?"

  "Convicted fraudster serves his time and comes out to die alone in mediocre, albeit friendly, sheltered housing… not much interest… in that story, I should imagine."

  "When did he visit you?"

  Rowe thought about it. "It's hard. The days seem to merge into one another since I've been here. It was recent, though. Two or three weeks ago, perhaps."

  "And he wanted to interview you."

  Rowe frowned; an expression accompanied by an almost imperceptible shake of the head. "Just to talk, I think. Mull over old times, maybe."

  Tamara wasn't convinced and her expression must have shown it. Rowe smiled. There didn't appear to be deception in the look.

  "I know you will find it hard to understand, Detective Inspector, but I hold no malice towards Mr Gage. He wrote to me once, long after the trial was complete."

  "What for?"

  Rowe shrugged. "I'm not sure. He had no need to. I got the impression he took no pleasure in ruining my life or bringing down the company, which it inevitably did. A lot of people lost their jobs which, at the time, with the economy being what it was, meant it was a tough time for our former employees. He regretted that, I think. Not that it was his fault. It was mine." He took another deep inhale through his mask. "He just did his job. It was such a shame for me that he was so good at it. We would be very unlikely friends, there's no doubt about that but I really wouldn't wish harm on him or anyone else. I paid my debt, served my time. Now, I just want to live in peace for whatever time I have left."

  "Please feel free not to answer this question if you'd prefer, but what is the nature of your condition?"

  "Chronic obstructive…" He stopped to reach for the mask again, this time taking a half dozen inhalations before trying to speak again. His words, and his breaths, came in agonisingly short bursts. "…pulmonary disease…" His eyes glazed over. "And old age, of course. My doctor puts me in the severe category. I'd hate to be there when they add the word very before that."

  Tamara tried to remember the details in his file. She recalled he would be in his sixties now. Hardly an old man but to look at him you might be forgiven for thinking he was thirty years older.

  "Do you see much of your brother these days?"

  Rowe lifted his mask, closing his eyes as he breathed. The mask clouded over with each exhalation. On this occasion his breathing hadn't been as ragged and she wondered whether the action was to delay answering the question, to buy him thinking time.

  "What do you want from Les?" he asked eventually.

  "Well, he lost out too, didn't he?"

  The legs of a chair scraping across a wooden floor carried from the unit above. Rowe cast his eyes to the ceiling, grumbling.

  "To think I have to see out my days listening to him."

  Tamara looked up as well. "Friend of yours?"

  Rowe ignored the question. "I don't see much of my brother anymore. He and I… he sees me as the family albatross around his neck."

  "Blood is thicker than water. Isn't that what they say?"

  "Harrumph," Rowe said, shaking his head. Tamara wondered if Les had been telling the truth all along about being kept in the dark as to what his brother was up to with the company finances. Then again, there was still enough to convict him. "He's running boat trips out of Blakeney."

  "What type of trips?" Tamara asked, making a note.

  "Seal watching, I think. Apparently it's popular with the tourists. There are a number of people doing them now."

  "Which one is his?"

  Rowe chuckled before it turned into a deep, throaty laugh and ended in another hacking cough.

  "The boat with the hole in it, I should think."

  Tamara smiled politely at the joke, flicking her eyes to Cassie who rolled hers.

  Thanking him for his time, they let themselves out. Michael Rowe was pleased not to have to see them to the door, instead he asked Tamara to pass him the television remote so that he could catch his favourite daytime quiz show. Cassie pulled the front door closed and they set off back to the car. Passing the patio doors, Tamara glanced in but Rowe showed no interest in them as they left. The same couldn't be said for the other residents. Word of their presence must have spread because there seemed to be twice as many eyes on them as they walked out than when they arrived.

  "What do you think?" Cassie asked as they walked.

  "Not sure. I mean, he's plausible enough with what he says."

  "Most convicted fraudsters I've ever nicked usually are."

  Tamara smiled. "That's true. But do you see him stabbing Adrian Gage to death. Perhaps landing one blow but two or three without retaliation? I'm not so sure."

  "He'd be the last person you'd think capable, for sure. Maybe Gage didn't see him as a threat. I didn't read anything about his medical condition in his file."

  Tamara considered that. "Do you think he's laying it on? You could fake the need for oxygen to a degree but did you see the state of his fingers? And his skin colour? You can't fake that. Besides, he doesn't exactly move like a gazelle, does he? And how would he even get the
re? Someone will have seen him trying to leave Gage's place, and did you see how he reacted when speaking to us. Any increase in stress and his breathing became difficult. Imagine how stressful killing a man would be, even if you've spent four or five years thinking about how much you want to do it."

  "So, not our guy then."

  "I wouldn't rule him out yet."

  "Doubts?" Cassie asked just as they reached the car. Tamara looked across to her, placing her hands together on the roof of the car.

  "Do you see Adrian Gage dropping by for a cosy follow-up chat, having been the reason he got the man sent down for a stretch?" She drummed her fingers on the metal. Cassie inclined her head.

  "No. Not really."

  "Me neither," Tamara said, unlocking the doors. Her phone rang and she turned away from the car to answer the call as Cassie got in. "DCI Greave."

  "Tamara, it's Tim Paxton, I'm sending my report over to you on the Gage murder but thought you'd like the highlights."

  "Thank you, Dr Paxton. I would," Tamara said, bending down and signalling with her fingers to Cassie that she'd be two minutes. Cassie nodded, reaching for her own mobile. "Go ahead."

  "It was as you concluded at the scene. Death came as the result of three stab wounds to the chest, one of which pierced the heart. Death was pretty much guaranteed at that point bearing in mind how far the victim was from the nearest hospital. It would not have taken long for him to collapse from the wound. I've recorded the official time of death at approximately 5:30pm."

  "Is that why, in your opinion, there was no sign of a struggle on the victim's body?"

  "Most probable, yes. There were no signs of further trauma, aside from a bruise to the right side of the head. Judging by the nature of the bruising and the crime scene photographs, I think this would have been a result of the victim falling to the ground rather than being seen as evidence of an altercation. There wouldn't have been much time for him to have put up a defence, spirited or otherwise. The adrenalin surge will have kept him going for a time as the body recognised his position and tried to compensate, but the inevitable will have followed soon enough."

  "Right, okay," Tamara said, folding one hand across her stomach and turning her back to the breeze, wishing she'd fastened her coat. What was happening with this weather? Things were supposed to be warming, not the other way around. "What did you make of the fibres, the ones found under his fingernails?"

  "Oh yes, that's right. Bear with me." She heard rustling paper as the pathologist looked for the document. "Right… the blue fibres were a woollen, cashmere mix. My guess from a jumper or a summer coat, perhaps. Nothing particularly special about them. Nothing that makes them stand out, so I'm afraid the item of clothing could well be produced and sold anywhere. We found no skin cells or blood along with them, so I suspect they ended up there as a result of a fleeting grasp. Perhaps he was holding on or trying to force someone away."

  "As a result of an attack?"

  "Hmm… that's hard to say. I wouldn't like to speculate," he said. "But, needless to say, should you find a similar item of clothing I'm sure we'll be able to match it."

  "Great, we'll try to do that. Thank you—"

  "One more thing before you go."

  Tamara stopped, brushing the hair away from her eyes and listening intently.

  "The victim's blood alcohol level was point zero nine."

  "That's quite high for daytime," she said, picturing the empty bottle on the worktop.

  "Champagne too. Perhaps he had something to celebrate?"

  Tamara thought about it. She saw the bottle but missed the fact that it was champagne. What could he have been celebrating? That level of blood alcohol would put him above the legal driving limit. If he was celebrating with someone, did he or she drink as much as him? The chances of a domestic flare-up are greatly increased by alcohol consumption. Particularly if that person has a chequered emotional history with you. That thought wasn't warming her.

  "Thank you, Dr Paxton."

  "I'll email the full report to you now."

  She hung up and opened the car door to hear Cassie thanking someone and got in as she also hung up.

  "That was the pathologist," Tamara said. "Pretty much confirming what we'd already assumed. Time of death is around half past five. Some decent trace evidence under the fingernails too. If we can find a suspect, then we can match it. It would appear Gage was pretty hammered too."

  Cassie hadn't spoken. She was looking at her lap, nursing her mobile in her hands.

  "What is it?"

  Cassie looked up, taking a deep breath. "I just got off the phone with the manager of the holiday-let complex. You remember, he was—"

  "Away for a couple of days, yes," Tamara nodded. "What about it?"

  "That was him getting back to me. Left me a voicemail earlier, so I just called him."

  "And?"

  "He saw the woman coming out of Gage's place, the evening before last," Cassie said, biting her lower lip.

  "He got a good look at her?"

  She nodded. "He knows her well. They're on speaking terms. He said she looked like… like she'd been crying, didn't speak to him at the time and he didn't try to engage."

  "What time was this?"

  "Five to five-thirty. But, oddly, he says her car was still parked there later that night when he took his dog out for a pre-bedtime pee. That was around ten to ten-thirty."

  "Could he be wrong about that?"

  Cassie shrugged. "Maybe."

  "And? What else?"

  "You're not going to like it."

  Tamara's sixth sense tingled as Cassie averted her eyes from her gaze.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tom Janssen slid his key into the lock, wondering what he was about to walk in to. He'd stayed later in the office than planned, waiting on a call from the pathologist that never came. Eric did a sterling job of unearthing as much information about Daniel Crowe as he could find. For once, this was a local who Eric didn't know much about. A point Tom teased the young detective constable about until realising Eric was genuinely disappointed about his lack of knowledge.

  However, a few calls from Eric to friends and acquaintances soon bridged the gap. Crowe was a local landowner and an amateur property developer. If there was any land coming onto the market locally, he was often the first to make an offer to the extent that the parcels of land, more often than not, failed to reach the open market. There were even occasions where people flatly refused to sell to him, such was his reputation for being pushy and arrogant. The word locally was that he was willing to utilise third parties in order to get around such obstacles, much to the vendors' chagrin. Crowe was their first port of call for the following day. Right now, Tom felt dead on his feet. Sleep deprivation was catching up on him.

  Closing the front door, he stood in the hallway listening. A gentle thud sounded, coming from upstairs, and a little face appeared at the top of the stairs. It was Russell. He stood on the landing, peering down at Tom, cocking his head.

  "Hello boy," he said.

  The dog sneezed, shaking his head as he did so. Then he turned and disappeared from sight. Glancing at his watch, it was possible Saffy was asleep already. The emotional upheaval of the previous twenty-four hours must have thrown her entirely. He hung his coat on the nearest hook and went through into the kitchen. Alice was sitting at the dining table, holding a cup of tea with both hands. She looked across at him and smiled as he approached, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead.

  "Hey you," he said.

  "Hey."

  "How are you doing?"

  She screwed up her face in mock anguish. "I've had better days, but I'm all right."

  "I'm sure," he said, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder and pulling out a chair so that he could sit down beside her. "And Saffy?"

  Alice exhaled heavily, looking down at the table and running a hand through her hair. She looked exhausted, as if she was carrying a vast amount of mental weight. Unsurprising because
she was, her own shock as well as that of her daughter's.

  "At points today I thought she was doing okay, you know," she said, turning to face him, "and then she'd just… collapse in on herself emotionally."

  "It will be hard to process it, for sure."

  "Not only for her," Alice whispered, taking a mouthful of tea.

  She put the cup down on the table and Tom saw it was one of her herbal teas. By the smell and colour, he guessed it was turmeric and something.

  "The poor thing can't stop crying," she said. "Who can blame her. She knows what it's like to lose someone, her grandfather dying the year before last was her first, but…"

  "But this is different," Tom said. Alice nodded solemnly.

  "She was still too young really to understand when my dad died. Now, she knows what death is, but she's only seen it with her hamster and guinea pigs." Alice drew breath, sitting upright and closing her eyes, assembling her thoughts. "I wish I could shield her from all of this."

  Tom had forgotten about the guinea pigs. It's a good job they weren't here because in all likelihood Russell would have paid the creatures a great deal of attention and he couldn't guarantee their safety. Terriers, after all, were naturally tremendously skilled ratters.

  "It's good that she's crying, though." Alice looked at him, her eyes narrowing. "She can express herself, let out her emotions. That's much better than bottling it all up for a later date. The fall out would be much worse."

  "Ah… you're probably right. She's just so young."

  "But she is resilient," Tom said, taking Alice's right hand in his own. "And she has a great mum to look out for her."

  Alice smiled. Her eyes teared and she squeezed Tom's hand affectionately.