"What can I do for Norfolk's finest?" Hansell said, a broad smile on his face as he sat forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the desk in front of him. Tom found it difficult to place his accent. It had a London or Thames Valley twang to it, but at the same time the intonation of some sounds seemed to be more continental European inflections. Hansell was a pale man with red cheeks and fine, wispy blonde hair brushed back from his forehead. His eyes flitted between Tom and Eric from behind thick glasses.
"We're investigating a murder, Mr Hansell."
The smile dissipated and his lips parted as he looked directly at Tom, holding his gaze for the first time since they met.
"And there is the suggestion that the murder might be related to the proposed construction of the planned Norfolk Wash Wind Farm."
Hansell shook his head ever so slightly. "I… a murder you say? I really don't see…" He stopped, took a breath and steadied himself. "How is it related?"
"We understand there has been some push-back from certain members of the community opposed to the siting of a switching station."
Hansell visibly relaxed, biting his lower lip and sucking air through his teeth. He nodded. "Yes, there has been a degree of opposition, that's true. They are a minority, though. A very vocal minority, it has to be said." He frowned, looking directly at Tom. "I'm sorry, who did you say died?"
"I didn't," Tom said. "A lady named Mary Beckett."
Hansell sat back in his chair, his mouth falling open as he briefly looked to the ceiling before his eyes came back to rest on Tom. "Mary. Good Lord."
"And she was murdered."
"Yes," Hansell said, raising his eyebrows and making an O with his lips as he breathed out. "When was this? Recent, I presume."
Tom exchanged a glance with Eric, who also seemed to find it surprising he hadn't heard. There had been nothing else reported in the news locally for days besides the Gage and Beckett murders. There were precious few cases like this in Norfolk for much of the time and two murders, particularly ones so close together, were highly unusual. Hansell must have understood the unsaid communication passing between them.
"I went home at the tail end of last week, Inspector. I only got back Monday lunchtime. I did catch something on the news, but it was on in the background. Mary Beckett, you say? That's a surprise."
"Why would you say that?"
"Oh… well, why would anyone want to hurt Mary?"
"Perhaps someone who had something to lose from her campaigning?"
Hansell smiled nervously. "Well, maybe. Yes, I can see why you might think so. Mary Beckett might well be a thorn in the side of people like me… but it's not worth killing someone over."
"We understand she was actively opposed to your plans. Also, that she'd galvanised numerous people to oppose you."
"Hmm... yes. Also true," Hansell said, screwing up his face. "But we are confident the inspectorate will uphold our approval."
"So, she had success then, delaying your construction?" Eric asked, glancing at Tom, looking fearful for stepping in. Tom didn't mind. He watched Hansell for his reaction.
"Her pressure group hasn't delayed construction, not really," Hansell said, frowning. "Contracts are ready to be signed with manufacturers as soon as the permission is sealed. The wind farm itself is not in dispute, merely where we bring the power to land." He shook his head emphatically. "No, no. There's not an issue. As soon as the approval is rubber stamped, we are off and running."
"And what of Mary Beckett herself. How did you get on with her personally?" Tom asked.
Hansell put his hands together before him, making a tent with his fingers. "She was a… prickly character, but passionate. I think that's fair to say. She really was the driving force behind the campaign. She was very dedicated to the natural world. We have that in common."
Tom raised an eyebrow. Hansell waved away his scepticism. "That's why I work in renewables! We need to shift away from carbon-based energy to something more sustainable. We might have disagreed on site locations, but Mary and I were on the same page with almost everything else."
"Fair point," Tom said. "And regarding the proposed site for the switching station. Where are you with that?"
"Good to go. The lawyers have done their bit, we are just waiting on that final confirmation."
"And Daniel Crowe, has he been applying pressure as far as you're aware? We know he had quite a public falling out with Mary Beckett at a planning meeting."
"The consultation?" Hansell asked. Tom nodded and Hansell mirrored the action. "Yes, I was there that night. The whole idea was for me to reassure the locals and to promote the positives to the area for the proposal. To get everyone on side, so to speak. It… didn't really go to plan. Mary didn’t seem like the type to change her mind."
"Excuse me," Eric said, "but what exactly is it that the group are upset about?"
Hansell exhaled heavily. "There is a stretch of land the cables will need to pass through to reach the switching station. They'll be buried, so they won't be seen but in order to lay them we will need to excavate the area. These are habitats for nesting wild birds."
"That doesn't sound too bad," Eric said, looking from Hansell to Tom.
Hansell angled his head to one side, spreading his palms wide as he spoke. "Sadly, the heavy plant will create a trench thirty metres wide, shifting thousands of tonnes of soil and ripping out all the surface vegetation. To be fair, there won't be much left afterwards, even though we would work to reinstate what we… destroy."
Eric frowned. "Okay, that sounds worse."
"I'm afraid it is collateral damage… but what's needed in the name of progress."
"We heard similar from someone else recently," Tom said. Hansell looked at him, trying to read more into the comment, but Tom remained impassive. "So, aside from Daniel Crowe obviously, who else stands to gain from Mary Beckett's death? Presuming of course that the effectiveness of the pressure group recedes after her death."
Hansell looked visibly shocked. "No one, Inspector." Tom fixed him with a stare. "Honestly. Even if, and I see this as very unlikely, the site for the switching station is relocated, the wind farm itself is still viable. We will just relocate. We have nothing to gain from Mary's death. There might be an administration headache, but we're used to that. This is what we do. NIMBY-ism has been around forever and we have plans to deal with it. It's built into the model."
"Okay, thank you," Tom said, indicating to Eric they should leave. Standing up, Tom walked to the door. Hansell got there first and opened it for them. Tom paused as he went through, looking back at him. "By the way, where is home?"
"Excuse me?"
"You said you went home last week. Where is that?"
"Copenhagen. My partner and I live there."
"That explains the accent," Tom said. "I couldn't place it."
Hansell smiled, keeping one hand on the edge of the door. "Fourteen years I've lived out there now. So, yes, that's how I've developed this slightly odd twist to my accent. I'm one of those who adopts things wherever I go."
Tom thanked him again, and he and Eric headed downstairs. He acknowledged the receptionist with a brief wave as they passed out into the street. Once clear of the building, Tom nudged Eric with his elbow.
"Take a deeper look into the company would you."
Eric bobbed his head. "You think he's keeping something from us? It all sounded plausible."
"Yes it did, and he might be on the level, but there's something about him that bothers me."
"What's that?"
Tom stopped, looking back at the building. A panel was fixed to the wall listing the names and logos of each of the businesses located in the premises. The newest name written in white on a blue background was at the bottom, Prometheus Energy Limited. "He was… amiable, but at the same time nervous and, to my mind, evasive. I don't know, he just unsettled me. For someone so confident, supposed to be the man for liaising with people… I don't know. Just take a look. Put my mind at rest.
"
"Will do," Eric said.
"I also think we should go back to Janet Beckett, and perhaps her son Justin, and run a few things past them. See if any of the names we're looking at came up in conversation with Mary recently. Come on, let's head back to the station. I need to speak with Tamara about something."
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cassie Knight muttered a curse as she rounded the corner and her coffee spilled over the lip of the cup, scolding her fingers.
"Sorry, DS Knight. I didn't catch that."
"Oh, sorry. Doesn't matter," she said, looking at the tips of her fingers and seeing no obvious sign of damage, but it stung like hell. Why were these cups made so flimsy anyway? At least the old polystyrene ones came with a lid to seal them. These vending cups were ridiculous. "I was talking to myself anyway. What were you saying?"
The technician continued with the explanation of his findings. She listened, but at the same time she couldn't help but think he must be single. No one, man or woman, would be able to feign interest in someone with such a monotone voice and an inability to convey a clear message. She was no stranger to forensics; with a degree in biology herself she figured she had a better understanding of science than most, but even she was losing this particular thread.
"Sorry, what was that last bit?"
"Er… which part? The Raman measurement analysis or the studying of the fibres under polarised light—"
"Yes, that part," Cassie said. "Can you clarify what I think you just said?"
"The analysis provided a positive."
"You've been able to match it? The strands of fibre are a match, you're sure?"
"Well, yes. As sure as we can be to within a margin—"
"Great. Can you email me a copy of the report as soon as you can?"
"I'll do it right now."
Cassie thanked him and hung up, slipping the mobile into her pocket. She switched hands with the coffee cup, wiping her left on the side of her jacket and re-examining the fingers. Raising the cup to her mouth, she blew the steam off the top whilst thinking through what she'd learnt from the call. It was what she expected, but not what she'd hoped for. This would cause ructions. The coffee was rank with a blotchy scum sitting on the surface, similar to what you get if you leave tea brewing too long. But this was coffee.
Resuming her walk up the stairs, she considered how to frame the news to Tamara. They would have to act, and soon. She considered calling her immediately but dismissed the thought. It was a conversation they should have in person. It could probably wait until Tamara got back from the errand she had to run anyway. Pushing open the double doors in the corridor, she turned immediately left and entered the CID ops room to find Tom standing in front of the information boards. The ones relating to the Gage murder and not Mary Beckett's.
He hadn't heard her walk in and her first reaction was shock. He wasn't casually eyeing the boards, he was reading through them like the SIO would. And he shouldn't be anywhere near them, not this time. He was concentrating so hard, his brow furrowed, that she was almost upon him when he noticed her. She startled him. It wasn't often that Tom ever appeared flustered, but this was one of those times. She nervously looked at where he was standing, trying to see what it was that he appeared so fixated on.
"Tom. Are you okay?" she asked, giving up on any pretence of subtlety. "You look like you've seen a ghost." She wanted him to know, to feel uncomfortable. However, he seemed unperturbed.
"Hi Cass. Where's Tamara?"
He sounded flat, distracted. He couldn't know what she did, so what had he seen? She glanced at the boards again.
"On an errand. She'll be back."
Tom nodded, his eyes drifting back to the board.
"Is there…" she said, leaning to one side so she would appear in his eye line. He looked at her blankly. "… anything I can help you with?"
"I had a visitor last night," Tom said, and it was as if a light switch went on and he snapped back to the present. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he produced an evidence bag and passed it to her. She examined it. "It was Adrian Gage's sister."
"What's this mean?" she asked, reading the note. It was incredibly cryptic and seemed to be written in haste. Tom shrugged. "Did she confirm it was her brother's handwriting?"
"Yes, she says so. She found it when she got in after a night out. I don't think she thought much of it until later. She has a key to his place and he hers. Have you met her?"
She nodded. "Yes, we had her carry out the identification. What did you make of her?"
Tom frowned. "Seemed on the level to me. Just as stumped by the note as I am."
Cassie re-examined it once more. It was an odd thing to write, particularly as this was his ex-wife's new partner.
"And you've had no contact with him?"
Tom shook his head. "No. Only in passing. I've no idea why he left it for me."
The thought came to her that it might be a warning of sorts, but she chose not to voice it. It was strange, though, that Carol Martins, the victim's brother, would take the note to Tom rather than mention it to either her or Tamara when they met. She hadn't offered them anything insightful at all to work with.
"Thanks," she said, smiling. "I'll look into it."
"Maybe you should have a word with Carol again, see if she's remembered anything since she spoke to me—"
"Yeah, thanks," Cassie said. "Like I say, I'll check it out."
Tom's eyes narrowed and she turned away from him and headed over to her desk, putting the bag down and shaking her mouse to bring her computer out of hibernation.
"I figured the paper was torn from a notepad, perhaps one of those made by companies with a logo across the top. It might be beyond the tear—"
"Tom!" she said, as sternly as she dared, looking at him and pursing her lips. "I said I'll look into it, and I will. Okay?"
He didn't seem pleased. Had she overstepped the mark? Not in her mind. That was entirely on him.
"Is there a problem?"
She was busily fumbling with paperwork on her desk, well aware she was trying to avoid a confrontation. He took a half-step towards her.
"Cassie, is there something on your mind?"
She thrust the paperwork down onto her tray at the side of her desk. "Well, seeing as you mention it, yes."
"Then I suggest you get it out of your system while no one else is here," he said, gesturing around the room."
"Tom, you're not supposed to be involved in this case—"
"Carol Martins came to me!"
"And the information boards…" she said, pointing at them, "did they come to you as well?"
He looked away, biting his bottom lip, all but confirming her suspicion he'd had more than a passing interest in what they were looking into.
"Are you trying to compromise this investigation?"
"No of course I'm not!"
"Well you're doing a good job of it."
She registered a flicker of a reaction in his expression. Was it anger, frustration? She couldn't tell. He was certainly irritated with her.
"Look," she said, adopting a more conciliatory tone, laying her hands on the desk and looking down, "I get it, okay. I really do. You're close to this and… and that's exactly why you shouldn't be getting involved." He looked about to protest, but she continued before he was able. "And it's not just paying too much attention to the case notes." She pointed at the board. Tom followed with his eyes, shaking his head. "You're putting me in a position, not just me but the DCI as well. Even Eric, I expect."
He frowned. "What position?"
"Of having to cover for you, that's what!"
"You don't need to cover for me—"
"Well, that's just it. We will, won't we. Because you're one of us and we care about what happens to you."
He sighed, looking up to the ceiling and running a hand through his hair. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and then looked at her.
"Could you keep out of it, if you were in my place?"<
br />
The obvious answer was yes. However, he was right. She wouldn't, not if it was her partner and she believed in her. But, by the same token, she'd fully expect Tom and the others to put her in her place, however uncomfortable the experience might be. She thought about it. Whatever she said, she had the sense he wouldn't back away. She lowered her voice to barely above a whisper, looking around to check she wouldn't be overheard despite them being the only two present.
"Just be a bit more bloody subtle, would you? For all our sakes. Can you do that?"
"I can."
"Good. Where is Eric anyway?"
Tom scratched behind one ear, glancing sideways at the boards and then appearing to disengage from them entirely. "I have him running down some information on the company trying to build the Norfolk Wash Wind Farm as well as those tied financially to the success of the project. If anyone needs me, I'm heading out to speak to Mary Beckett's relatives again. See if I can jog their memories regarding Mary's activism."
Tom left and Cassie watched him go. Once he was out of ops, she walked over to the information boards, coming to stand where Tom had been. He could have been reading any of it, or all of it, but what jumped out at her was the mobile phone records pinned to the side of the board. The corresponding points on the map denoting where the phone had been connected to certain towers on the mobile network was alongside, listing times and dates. They were Alice's. The manager at Cley Windmill was correct. She had been visiting Adrian Gage's house frequently in recent weeks. She figured that'd come as news to Tom. No wonder he was so thrown.
Taking out her mobile, she called Tamara. It couldn't wait after all. She listened to three rings before the call cut to voicemail.
"Tamara, it's me. Forensics have come back on the Gage case and I need to talk to you about next steps. Call me back as soon as you get this, yeah."
She put her mobile down on the desk in front of her, turning her eye to the information boards. She sat back and sighed.
They were getting closer.
The Dead Call: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 6) Page 18
