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

by J M Dalgliesh

  "Ade was a pretty good investigative journalist. I'll bet he would have given you a run for your money in an investigation."

  Tom smiled at the sentiment. Judging by the scoops attached to his name, she was probably right. And he wouldn't have had the benefit of the judiciary and a warrant card to help him.

  "Besides," she said, "you don't think he would let his daughter be around any bloke without checking him out first. Wouldn't you?"

  Tom let out a small laugh. Carol matched it with one of her own.

  "Yes, I suppose I would," he said, nursing his own mug.

  A moment of silence passed between them. Tom was happy to give her space and time. Although it had been a trying day, culminating in a conclusion he would never have seen coming, he didn't feel it likely he would get a lot of sleep tonight. Besides, the bed would feel a lot larger and, he was certain, colder than usual.

  "The word is that you've arrested someone for Ade's murder," she said, flicking her eyes up over the rim of the mug as she went to drink from it.

  He shook his head. "That's premature."

  "Word is it's Alice."

  He felt her eyes on him, fixing him with a piercing stare and trying hard to gauge his reaction. Exactly what he would usually be doing. He remained stony-faced. She pressed him.

  "Have you? Arrested Alice, I mean."

  He shook his head. "Speaking to someone is not the same as arresting them."

  "But you've spoken to her? Alice is a suspect?"

  He drew breath, then took a mouthful of tea in order to give himself time to figure out the best way to manage the situation. Carol inferred her own analysis of his silence.

  "The fact you're here," she said, rubbing briefly at the base of her nose, "suggests to me that she is. Tell me I'm wrong."

  He wasn't going to confirm or deny anything. It wasn't proper and, besides that, he wouldn't want to risk pouring fuel on the fire of local gossip. He shook his head.

  "I wouldn't read too much into my being here. Alice was close to your brother and I am close to the investigation team. It makes sense for us to… have a bit of breathing space under the circumstances. Otherwise, people might get the wrong idea."

  "I think you'll find they won't need much to do that," she scoffed. "No matter what you do. It's the way of the world these days."

  He couldn't disagree with that.

  "Do you think she is capable of doing such a thing?" he asked, turning the focus back on her. "I mean, the two of you were good friends once."

  Carol looked beyond Tom, staring at a nondescript point on the wall.

  "I see Alice has been talking." She met Tom's eye, tapping her fingers against the side of her mug. "Yes, we were. Seems like a long time ago now."

  "So?"

  "Do I think it? No," she said, shaking her head. "But I've been wrong about people before." She looked directly at him. Focussed. "I seem to remember thinking the two of them were a perfect match. I was wrong there too."

  He sat forward, resting his elbows on the table and putting his hands together before him.

  "Why are you here? And I doubt it's because you're seeking confirmation of Alice's arrest. You could drive past her house and work that one out."

  "Something Ade said to me a while back."

  "If you have information related to the case, you should speak to the investigating officers and—"

  "No!" she said. He was surprised by her aggressive reaction. She softened it almost immediately. Holding both her hands up by way of an apology but keeping the heels of her palms flat on the table. "No. I'll speak to you. I trust you and only you."

  Tom was surprised. It must have shown.

  "Ade told me you were reliable, that he believed you were one of the good guys."

  Tom was even more surprised now. He could count on one hand the occasions where he'd met Adrian Gage, and most of those were seeing each other from a distance when Adrian was dropping off Saffy, Tom being in the house and him being in the car. They could barely have shared more than a dozen words.

  Carol smiled. "Don't get me wrong. He hated the fact you got to live with his daughter… let alone his wife." She grimaced, inclining her head off to one side and reaching out to touch the back of his hand by way of an apology. "Ex-wife. Habit. Sorry."

  He waved away the apology. There was no need. "But he respected you. What you do as well as the type of man you are."

  He raised his eyebrows. Carol's smile grew ever wider.

  "I didn't think we had a lot in common."

  "Aside from the two most important women in both your lives?"

  He had to concede that.

  "Ade knew how good you were with Sapphire. He used to beat himself up for his own failings, made worse by how natural you made it look."

  Tom was stunned. He always had Adrian down as akin to a deadbeat father, always letting his daughter down and appearing disinterested.

  "You see, my brother tried. It might not look like it from a distance," she saw Tom's micro expression. "Or from up close, perhaps. But he did care. He so wanted to be a good dad… and a great husband. I just think he went about it all the wrong way. The story of his life from infant to adult, if you like. He grew up with a strong sense of justice instilled in him by our father, who was a human rights lawyer by trade. A good one too. I remember when I was eleven or twelve, Ade must have been eighteen, nineteen, something like that, and he was obsessed with the inequality in the world. He seemed to want to take it on, like it was some kind of divine cause only he was destined for. Had he been born a century or two earlier, I dare say he would have ended up a missionary somewhere in Africa. Ultimately, he put that mission ahead of his family. Ahead of Alice and Sapphire."

  "How do you mean?"

  "Ade wasn't one to back down. He threw himself at anything he thought was a just cause, no matter what it took. He was out to save the world one investigation at a time. That brought… trouble his way," she said glumly, bobbing her head in agreement with herself it seemed. "He's taken a few beatings over the years. It's an occupational hazard when you're an investigative journalist wading knee-deep in human garbage. But when he married Alice, and particularly when Sapphire came along, things changed for him."

  "They do when you have kids—"

  "No, that's not what I mean," she said, shaking her head. "Going about his work as Ade used to, both Alice and Sapphire became targets in their own right."

  Tom exhaled. He was seeing Adrian in a different light, one he'd never imagined possible – caring and responsible. Secretly, he didn't like it having spent so long disliking the man. Carol continued.

  "Alice never really understood how he sought to keep his professional world separate from his family. He had to, to keep them safe. He's such… was such a poor communicator, I don't blame Alice for getting sick of him. From experience, I can tell you he's a bugger to live with at times. In the end I wasn't surprised when they split. Only that it was Ade who walked out."

  "Because of the arguing?" Tom asked. He hadn't heard any of this before. Alice and he had never really discussed their respective failed marriages. It was an unwritten rule they held to.

  "No. He felt he had to in order to keep them safe. The more distant he was from them, the less likely anyone would seek to hurt them to get to him. That was his logic anyway. Although, I believe he came to regret it in the end. That's why he was doing what he was doing."

  "Which was?" Tom asked, his head spinning at the amount of information currently shattering his perception of the man.

  "One last case. One final scoop that would make the nationals… and then he was done with it."

  "With the job?"

  "With all of it," she said. "He wanted out. He'd had enough, but with one last hurrah he could land a desk job somewhere, perhaps editing. Who knows? But he wanted to make changes, try to undo the damage he'd done. Make amends and put things right."

  Tom took a deep breath. "And Alice?"

  Carol met his eye, her lips pu
rsed. She seemed pained at having to say so. "He wanted Alice back. To be part of her’s and Sapphire's life again. To be a family like they should have been for the last eight years."

  Tom felt his stomach turn, but he held firm.

  "And what did Alice have to say about this?"

  Carol shook her head. "That I don't know. But knowing Ade… he is persistent… and could be manipulative when it came to getting what he wanted. He was a good guy, my brother, and I loved him very much, but at the same time he could be a shit. Your presence wouldn't have stopped him from trying to get them back. Not for a second."

  Tom found himself harbouring a weird sensation. On the one hand he was angry, fearful of what may have been going on without his knowledge, and, at the same time, feeling relieved that it had come to an end. Gage was no longer a threat to his relationship with Alice. A relationship? That thought risked spiralling out of control in his mind. He pushed it aside.

  "If he wanted her back," Tom said, "and would go to great lengths to achieve it. I see no reason for Alice to have… to have killed him. Do you?"

  "She shrugged. "No. I agree with you."

  "So why are you here?"

  She reached into her jacket pocket, producing a folded-up piece of paper. She handed it to him, indicating with her eyes for him to open it. It was folded into quarters. Opening it up, it was a handwritten note. He looked at Carol, asking a question with his eyes. She confirmed it with a nod.

  "It's Ade's handwriting."

  Tom looked at it. It simply said: If anything happens give this to Tom Janssen. Tom frowned, flipping the paper over and looking at the reverse. It was blank. The paper was A6 in size and appeared to have been torn from a pad where the sheets were glued at the top. A blue band ran the full width of the paper at the top, but it had been ripped awkwardly at an angle, probably as it was torn from the pad. He looked at Carol, holding the paper aloft.

  "Why bring this to me?" She shook her head, indicating she didn't know. "Have you any idea what it means?"

  "I'm sorry, I've no idea. I was hoping you might be able to tell me." She looked at him expectantly but he had to disappoint her. It had him stumped. "I found it at my place over the weekend. I was out with friends and I'd forgotten we were supposed to hang out. He must have waited for me, for a while. We have keys to each other's houses so we can come and go as we like."

  "You're close?"

  "Yes, very. I found the note when I got in the next day. I was going to ask him about it, but he didn't pick up when I called," she said, her eyes glazing over. "Now I know why."

  Tom put the piece of paper down, running a hand across the side of his face and following through to the back of his neck. His stress headache was getting worse.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tom entered the ops room to find it empty. He was surprised. Not that he was running late, although his morning routine had proved sluggish, what with being on the boat for the first time in months. Those jobs he'd been putting off, fixing the drain on the shower, servicing the generator, were coming back to haunt him. Not only that, but because the battery packs had drained completely, and not been used, they appeared to not be holding their charge anymore. These issues were easily fixable, but problems he could do without. The cold shower certainly woke him up.

  His night's sleep had been better than in recent days, though. Why that might be he had considered on the drive into the station. Logic would dictate he should have had yet another restless night, what with the previous day's events. Perhaps the certainty that came with having to leave Alice's offered him a break from the stress of thinking about it all. Or possibly, which was more likely, the visit from Adrian Gage's sister had distracted him enough for the fatigue to take over. Either way, his state of mind was broadly calm as long as he didn't think too much about it.

  Taking the piece of paper from his pocket, folded safely in a plastic evidence bag, he hung up his coat and walked over to the boards on the wall, casting an eye over the Gage case. He'd hoped to hand the note Adrian left for him over to either Cassie or Tamara first thing but there was no sign of them.

  "Morning Tom."

  He turned to see Eric entering and smiled. "Morning Eric." The constable's computer was the only one up and running, so he must have ducked out for a moment. "Does Becca turf you out early every day?"

  Eric smiled. To all intents and purposes, he had moved out of his mother's house and in with his girlfriend a few months ago. Eric was predominantly a happy soul, naturally prone to a smile rather than a frown. Since moving in with his partner, he'd only grown in confidence.

  "Something like that. Becca likes to get to the school early, especially this year since they gave her, her own class." Becca had been working as a teaching assistant at a local primary school whilst working towards her own qualifications as a teacher. She'd completed her studies. "All of which means if I want a decent shower and to get myself ready, and be on time for work, then I need to get up before her."

  Tom inwardly grinned. Eric was very much a twenty-something for the modern age. He was always well presented, more so than just seeking a professional appearance, looking like a catalogue model and not one from an average high-street department store either. Eric wore branded clothes, not in a way to show off, for that wasn't his motivation at all, but he took pride in his appearance and having met Becca a few times, they were well suited. Tom often wondered if it was a love of fashion for Eric, but he thought not. The young detective had a boyish outward appearance and was quick with a smile or a joke. He wasn't overly tall, but powerfully built, with a smooth unblemished complexion. This youthful look, and the enthusiastic approach to life, made him seem younger than he was and it was this that Tom thought might motivate him to dress as he did, in order to reinforce his maturity.

  Recently Eric had tried to grow a beard, and failed, which added weight to Tom's theory. Eric wanted to be taken seriously, not necessarily by his colleagues, because he was highly regarded, but by the public at large. In Tom's opinion, he needn't worry.

  "Have you seen either Cassie or Tamara this morning?"

  Eric shook his head. "No, not yet. I don't know where they are. Maybe they're running something down first thing," Eric said, glancing around. "Do you want me to call one of them and find out?"

  "No, don't worry," he said, slipping the folded bag into his trouser pocket. "It can wait until they come in."

  "Right you are," Eric said. "Listen, I had a thought after we spoke with Daniel Crowe yesterday." Tom perched himself on the edge of a desk, folding his arms and encouraging him to continue. "We're trying to figure out if Crowe, or anyone else for that matter, stood to gain from Mary Beckett's death, right? To that end, I looked into Beckett's action group to see how successful they've been in trying to block the development of the wind farm."

  "The switching station," Tom said, correcting him. As far as he understood, it wasn't the wind farm itself that had problems.

  "Yes, of course. I looked up the company which has acquired the licence to develop the project. They have set up an office in Wells. Presumably because the quay will be required for dealing with the offshore infrastructure, much as it is for Sheringham Shoal."

  "Good. What have you found out about them?"

  "That they have three proposed locations for the siting of the switching station. The preferred one, plus the second, is on Daniel Crowe's land. There is a third choice, but as I understand it, it isn't one they want to use if at all possible, but I don't know why. I thought it might be worth speaking to them directly, just to weigh up how much of a problem Beckett has been. If they don't see obtaining planning consent being an issue, then Crowe doesn't really have a motive."

  Tom ran his tongue along the edge of his lower lip. Eric had a good point. Alternatively, should the company be facing having to relocate construction to a different site, one not owned by Crowe, then more weight might be put behind Crowe as a suspect.

  "Call ahead. Make us an appointment to see
whoever is in charge."

  "We have one at nine-thirty," Eric said, smiling. "Liam Hansell, the company's liaison locally, is expecting us."

  An almost inaudible beep sounded and the receptionist picked up the phone in front of her, glancing across at Tom and Eric as she spoke. They were sitting in a waiting area adjacent to the front office. The place had the feel of a pop-up establishment. Hastily erected panelled walls, melamine coated judging by the sheen and reflection they offered, were softened by large planters, containing four-foot high bamboo or fern-like foliage, carefully positioned in the spaces. The sofas they were sitting on were fake leather, made to resemble the ever-fashionable range of seating designed by Mies van der Rohe, but Tom figured they came from a popular Scandinavian furniture store at a fraction of the cost.

  The receptionist rose from behind her desk, Tom and Eric doing likewise. Their appointment was scheduled for fifteen minutes earlier and they'd been ten minutes early for that.

  "Mr Hansell will see you now," she said, gesturing towards the stairs. The office was located in a converted warehouse a stone's throw from the old quay at the centre of Wells. It was a shared space, utilised by a number of firms, but none of them was particularly large. Tom found himself wondering when, and not if, this building would be converted into apartments like so many similar local ones from the era had been.

  They made their way upstairs to the next level, greeted upon reaching the top by a tall, slender man who shot them a welcoming smile. He was in his late forties, slightly taller than Tom himself, which was unusual. He lacked Tom's bulk though, being quite gangly in the arms and legs. He offered his hand, Tom took it. The shake wasn't firm and he didn't meet Tom's eye as they made contact. Instead, he looked at Eric, nodding a greeting as Tom introduced them.

  "Come through, please," Hansell said, turning and leading them into his office.

  The room had a similar feel to the downstairs. It was spartanly furnished with a single desk, chair and a couple of filing cabinets pushed against one wall.