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

by J M Dalgliesh

  "Dinner wasn't very nice."

  He turned so he could face her, frowning, then glanced back towards the kitchen. "Yours or mine?" he asked, also whispering, knowing Saffy almost always had a different evening meal. She hadn't developed a taste for the same food as them, although she was partial to her mum's Jamaican chicken recipe.

  "Yours."

  He nodded gravely. "Okay. Thanks for the heads up."

  Saffy gave him a knowing look and he winked his thanks as Alice appeared at the edge of the room, a tea towel in her hand, having just taken his plate from the oven and set it down on the table.

  "What are the two of you cooking up?"

  Tom and Saffy exchanged smiles, and he ruffled his hand through her hair before leaving. Saffy reached for the television remote and put on her cartoons.

  "Ten minutes, little one," Alice said. "Then it's teeth cleaning and up to bed."

  Saffy nodded but didn't turn her attention from the screen.

  Tom pulled out his chair. Alice folded the towel in half, laying it on the table as she sat down opposite him.

  "I swear one day I'll do something about how much screen time she gets every day.”

  Tom offered her a supportive squeeze of her hand. "We can deal with that later," he said, glancing back to the little girl, mouth open, head propped up by her right hand as she watched. "Right now, it's numbing her."

  "Is that a good thing?"

  Picking up his fork, he shook his head. "I don't know. She is able to express herself, though, and we see a lot of children who can't. Maybe deflecting some of it isn't such a bad thing."

  Alice agreed, rising from the table to continue the clearing up. He was grateful for the waiting meal, but Saffy was correct. It wasn't Alice's best effort.

  "How's dinner?" she asked.

  He was chewing at the time. Swallowing hard, he forced a smile. "It's lovely, thank you."

  Alice placed her hands on her hips, watching him eat and chewing on her lower lip. "It's bloody awful, isn't it?"

  He weighed up the correct response, only coming up with two wrong answers. "It's… different."

  At first she looked dejected, and then a smile began to creep from the corners of her mouth. "Awful," she repeated.

  "Yes, pretty much," he agreed, looking down at his plate with his fork hovering above it. "But all the constituent parts are lovely."

  Alice smiled and threw the tea towel at him, which he deftly caught with his left hand before it struck his face.

  "I'm taking Saffy up." She walked into the living room. "Come on, monkey. Time for bed."

  Unusually, Saffy didn't argue or announce her displeasure at the inequality of the decision. She came back through and gave him a hug goodnight, Tom kissing her forehead. Once he heard the creaking of the stairs as they went up, he was safe to dispose of his dinner. Scraping the contents into the bin, he saw Russell waiting expectantly at the back door. Letting the dog out, he finished the kitchen clear-up before dropping two slices of bread into the toaster. That turned into four rounds of toast before Alice reappeared. All the while, having returned from outdoors, Russell sat at Tom's feet staring up at him, somehow willing him to drop a morsel that he could pounce upon. Much to the dog's disappointment, it failed to materialise. The thought playing over in his mind, however, was how to address the elephant in the room.

  "Is she already asleep?" he asked.

  "Out like a light. Poor thing's shattered."

  He could see she noticed the smell of toast in the air, but she didn't comment. Her easy-going manner when he'd come home had hardened now. Previously, she must have been maintaining the pretence for Saffy's sake. Leaning against the worktop, she ran a hand through her hair and sighed. Suddenly she looked tired, worn out. The dark patches under her eyes showed she'd not slept well, unsurprising seeing as one of the nights had been spent being grilled by Tamara and Cassie.

  "I've been putting off calling Carol," she said, folding her arms across her chest and looking at the floor.

  "Carol?"

  "Ade's sister. I should, I know I should, but…"

  "Do you get on with her?"

  "Used to," Alice said, looking at him glumly. "The friendship got a little awkward after the breakup. Ade and I kept putting her in the middle… it wasn't fair behaviour from either of us, looking back. In the end Carol had to make a choice and let's face it—"

  "Blood is thicker than water."

  She agreed with a sad smile.

  "Do you know when the funeral will be?" she asked him. Something in her tone struck a chord in him, but he couldn't describe what it was that piqued his curiosity, or his fear. "Carol is the only family Ade had, aside from… me and Saffy."

  "No. Not for a while, though," he said. "That's the nature of these things. Until the case is further down the road, Ade won't be released for burial."

  "Right. Of course," she said, looking at the floor again.

  An awkward silence followed. Neither of them spoke, although he was certain they were both skirting the same subject. In the end, he had to raise it. Initially Alice seemed relieved.

  "You were with Adrian the day he died," Tom said, not wanting to look her in the eye as he said so. Usually that was exactly what he would do, analyse the response, assess the truthfulness. This time, he was worried for the answer.

  "Yes. I saw him. At his place."

  Tom considered the wording of his next comment carefully, avoiding a direct question. "You never said."

  Now he looked at her, making eye contact.

  "No. I didn't. I'm sorry."

  "Sorry for what exactly?"

  She shrugged. "I should have said… maybe I would have—"

  "You were supposed to be at work. Except you weren't, were you? You were at Adrian's all day."

  "I was," Alice said, fear evident in her eyes. "At work, I mean. I was there for the morning shift—"

  "And then you went to Adrian's?"

  Alice confirmed it with a curt nod, then averted her eyes from his gaze. Tom pursed his lips, contemplating whether he should ask the question on his mind. He did.

  "Why were you there?"

  He almost whispered the words, dreading the answer but at the same time knowing it couldn't be as bad as the thoughts rattling around in his head.

  "You think I might have… that I could—"

  "No! No, of course I don't." He shook his head, looking at her unblinkingly. "I don't think you have that in you, even when you're at your darkest."

  She stared at him intently, her expression a mixture of frustration and indignation, but it softened, presumably as a result of his sincerity.

  "But why were you there?"

  She broke away from his gaze then, rubbing her cheeks with her palms.

  "You wouldn't tell Tamara," he said, his eyes narrowing.

  "I thought you weren't on the case?" she snapped back. Her avoidance of the question hurt him. He shook his head.

  "I'm not." He took a deep breath, staring straight ahead. "But I need to know the answer to the question." Alice hardened, scowling at him. "If you won't tell Tamara, you should at least tell me."

  Alice pushed off from her resting place, crossing the kitchen and making to leave.

  "Don't walk away from me!" he said. She stopped, standing in the middle of the kitchen but refusing to look at him. His anger was rising, borne from frustration. He knew then that she wasn't going to answer the question. He forced his voice into a calm and neutral tone. "I've been advised to… step away for a while."

  "Step away?"

  "From us," he said, feeling a knot tighten in his chest as he spoke.

  Alice gasped. It was almost inaudible, but when he looked at her he saw the hard edge of her demeanour dissipate to be replaced by despair.

  "I… I…" she stammered, trying to regain her composure. She turned to face him, fists balled and at her side. The scowl returned. "Just like that, you're going to leave?"

  "I didn't say that—"

&n
bsp; "But you don't believe I killed him? That's what you said."

  "I don't!"

  "And what will it look like when you leave me? Have you thought about that?"

  He sighed, scratching absently at the side of his head. "It could look just as bad if I stay, too."

  He looked up at her, meeting her eye, seeing the emotion threatening to burst out. She made to speak, but the words didn't come. Instead, she folded her arms defensively across her chest and closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

  "Work called this morning," she said quietly. They've suggested I take some annual leave. Seemingly, the relatives of some of the patients are concerned about me caring for them."

  Tom took a deep breath, reading the pain in her voice.

  "Are you going to?"

  "I got the distinct impression it wasn't optional."

  He put his head in his hands, feeling the beginnings of a stress headache manifest. He didn't know what to say. There were so many questions in his head. So many fears. While his compassion for her only grew, so did the gnawing realisation that she was keeping something from him. He wouldn't like it, that was evident. Otherwise she would tell him. The internal conflict delayed his response, which was terminal for the conversation.

  "Leave your key on the table on your way out," she said, her voice cracking as she turned and strode purposefully from the kitchen.

  "Alice!" he said, but it was too late. She was gone.

  Placing the flats of his hands across mouth and nose, he closed his eyes, feeling the pressure of the enormity of the conversation. Should he leave? Right now, it felt like he had little choice. Rising slowly, he caught sight of the dog lying on the floor in the corner, head on his paws, watching Tom. He wasn't in his bed. He appeared to be cringing.

  Tom made his way upstairs. Alice was nowhere to be seen. He figured she was in with Saffy. Gathering a few items of clothing, he packed them into a gym bag. A lot of his stuff was still on the boat, so he didn't need to take much. It felt wrong, like he was betraying both Alice and Saffy by deserting them when they needed him most. But then there was Alice's intransigence. Was that fair? What was she keeping from him? Until he knew, he couldn't consider staying, even if she wanted him to.

  Stepping back out onto the landing, he stopped outside Saffy's bedroom door. It was ajar, the shifting colours of Saffy's fibre optic night-light punctuating the darkness beyond. He reached for the handle, hesitating and then withdrawing from it. Instead, he made his way back downstairs and into the kitchen. Finding Alice's notepad, he tore out a page and scribbled a brief note explaining that he was going to his boat and he would call her tomorrow. Removing the front door key from his ring, he placed it on the table next to the note. Picking up the pen once more, he added, I love you at the foot of the paper.

  Russell whined and he glanced over at the dog, forcing a smile before picking up his bag and heading for the front door. The terrier followed. At the foot of the stairs, the dog turned from him and placed one paw on the bottom tread. With the front door open, Tom looked back. The dog inclined his head, then looked up the stairs. Tom felt he was being judged.

  "You as well, huh?"

  The dog looked away and trotted upstairs, disappearing into Saffy's bedroom. Tom stepped out into the darkness and gently closed the door behind him. He walked to his car and just as he was about to unlock it, he heard someone call out.

  "Oi, Janssen!"

  Tom was startled, looking around for the source of the voice. A bulb flashed and a grinning man appeared from behind the camera.

  "Nice one!" he said cheerfully, offering a thumbs-up before turning and hurrying away.

  Tom cursed under his breath, slinging his bag onto the back seat and getting into the car.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Stepping from the bank onto his boat, something he had done thousands of times, felt profoundly odd this time. Tom unlocked the door and was met by a waft of stale air sucked out of the interior by the draught. Unable to remember the last time he was here, for it must have been months ago, he descended the stairs into the darkness below. Reaching for the nearest light switch, he flicked it on only to remain standing in the gloom. Power to the boat was provided by a small generator, with the excess being stored in battery packs. Having not been here, the packs had drained and he'd need to fire up the diesel generator.

  He placed the bag of shopping he'd picked up from the convenience store on the way over on the small table. Rooting around beneath the sink, he found the torch and headed deeper into the hull to where the generator was housed. Luckily, it still had fuel, otherwise he would have been stuffed for the night. Priming the genny, he pulled the cord and the motor chugged. It took four more attempts for him to rediscover the knack required to get it running. A shaft of light passed underneath the door to the compartment behind him. Returning to the galley, he was pleased to see he'd left the fridge open when he'd decamped to Alice's house. One time he'd gone on holiday, the power failed, and he returned to a scene reminiscent of something from a post-apocalyptic film.

  The fridge was whirring away as he loaded it with the basics he'd come back with: milk, butter, cheese and a couple of salad packs. Looking behind him towards the bedroom, he realised he'd have to make the bed up. None of this made him feel comfortable. He still had the nagging feeling that he was running out on them. Thinking of Saffy only made it worse. Stifling a yawn, he filled the kettle and set it to boil. He would make a cup of tea after making the bed.

  He heard something above. He waited, turning his ear towards where he thought the sound originated. The kettle rocked on its base, rumbling. He switched it off. The sound tailed away and still he waited. There it was again. Someone was nearby, but not passing. They were up on deck. No one knew he was here. How could they? He didn't know himself until an hour ago. Looking across the galley to the stairs, he eased himself in that direction as quietly as he could. Keeping an eye on the narrow windows above, he tried in vain to catch a hint of movement to indicate where the person was. There was no sign. It might be Cassie. That was a long shot. If she wanted to take him up on his offer of borrowing his boat, she would have spoken to him about it, not just turned up.

  Climbing the stairs, Tom considered the person might be lying in wait for him to appear. That was the paranoia whispering in his mind. It could just as easily be a neighbour checking to see who was on his boat, knowing he hadn't been around much recently. A fleeting hope that it was Alice came to mind, but he dismissed it immediately. She'd never leave Saffy at home, nor drag her across Norfolk to where his boat was moored.

  In the end, he dispensed with stealth and flung the doors open, stepping out and passing the beam of his torch around the deck.

  "Who's there? Step out!" he said.

  Movement to his left, in the corner of his eye, made him swivel and train the beam on an ashen-faced woman. She blinked furiously at the glare of the beam, holding up her palm to shield her eyes.

  "I'm… I'm sorry," she said, still blinking. "I didn't mean to startle you."

  He turned the light away to her left and she appeared somewhat relieved. He didn't know her, he was sure of that.

  "Who are you and what are you doing on my boat?"

  "You are Tom Janssen, aren't you?" she asked tentatively, leaning to one side as she assessed him. He nodded. "I'm sorry, I know you don't know me but my name is Carol Martins. Adrian Gage was my brother."

  Tom set the mug down in front of her. She acknowledged the offering with a flicker of a smile and cupped it with both hands. He could see how pale her hands were, as was her face. She must have been standing out there in the dark for quite some time. It was June and when the sun came out it was warm but, after sunset, with the cool breeze coming in off the sea, the nights were still chilly. That would change within the next few weeks, but for now early summer was proving changeable and disappointing.

  Tom sat down at the table opposite her, blowing the steam from his own mug of tea. The box ha
d been left open and he feared the bags would have dried out making the brew undrinkable, but it seemed okay. The water tasted a little odd but maybe he'd got used to what was pumped into Alice's.

  "What can I do for you, Mrs..?"

  She nodded. "Yes, it's Mrs… for now at least. But I'd rather you just called me Carol."

  He recognised the tone in that statement. It spoke volumes and he must have said similar when his marriage broke down.

  "What brings you here, Carol? I'm sure you'll understand that, even if I was on your brother's case, which I'm not, I wouldn't be able to discuss specifics with you—"

  She waved away his statement. "I know. That much is obvious. And, anyway, that's not why I'm here."

  "How did you find me?"

  She smiled then, warm and genuine. "Maybe I should be a detective."

  He wasn't pleased with the answer. He'd always been careful with his personal information since he'd been in the job. Most officers were, ensuring they weren't listed in telephone directories and that type of thing. She must have read his mind. She leaned in a little closer, still cupping her mug with her hands.

  "It's a small town, Inspector Janssen. Everyone knows everyone else's business. It's always been that way, and I'm damn sure it will never change. Besides, Ade told me." She sank back in her chair, lifting her mug to her lips and sipping at the brew. If she thought it tasted funny, he couldn't tell.

  "Your brother was checking up on me?"

  She smiled again, her expression taking on a faraway look. She was younger than her brother. He would put her in her late twenties, thirty at the most. There would be quite an age gap between the two of them. She was slightly built, much as he was, but where he was darker skinned with deep brown eyes, she was quite the opposite. She had piercing blue eyes that could have been fashioned from crystal and wore her blonde hair in a bob, longer at the front and rising to the rear. She didn't appear to have taken too much care in her appearance today, however. She wore no make-up and judging from the cut of her hair and the painted fingernails, he guessed she would usually. She held onto the mug as if it gave her strength. Perhaps it was a token to cling to. She glanced nervously across the table at him.