Tom's eyes narrowed and he looked at Alice, who smiled. "Like she said, girl stuff."
Tamara stepped past them both and onto the path beyond. She looked back at Alice. "Don't worry. Things will right themselves," she said, remembering their earlier words and added, "Everything is salvageable."
Alice appreciated the sentiment, smiling her gratitude. Tom looked even more confused.
Tamara reached out and gently tapped Tom's forearm. "I'll see you in the morning." She then set off for her car, parked in the street.
Tom turned to Alice. "Seriously, what did she want?"
Alice shrugged. "I'm not sure to be honest. But it was good to talk. I think it's time you and I did, too, don't you?"
"I got your message," he said. "I should have called but…"
"Come in," she said. The longer we stand out here, the more the neighbours will be gossiping."
She stepped back, beckoning him inside.
Tamara watched the end of the exchange from the car, feeling a heavy heart when they disappeared from view and the door closed. Her mobile rang and she answered it without looking at the screen.
"Tamara, where have you been? I've been trying to get a hold of you all evening!"
"Yeah, sorry. I see you've left a message—"
"Three messages," Cassie countered.
"Three. Yes, so I see. What's up?"
"We've had forensic analysis back on the fibres found underneath Adrian Gage's fingernails."
"And?" Tamara sensed the magnitude of the results due to the tone of Cassie's voice. "What is it, Cass?"
"They've matched the fibres to a jumper recovered from the search warrant… executed on Alice Gage's house." Cassie waited patiently for a response. Moments passed. "What do you want to do?"
Tamara looked back at the house, running her tongue across the outside of her lower lip.
"Tamara?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm still here."
"What do you want to do?"
Tom closed the door behind them. Russell appeared at the top of the stairs and barked excitedly before charging down them and almost losing his footing on the way. He leapt up at Tom repeatedly. Tom dropped to his haunches, patting him, and ran a hand over his head. The dog kept leaping up, growling playfully. Saffy's voice carried from her room, calling for her mum.
"For heaven's sake, take him into the kitchen," Alice said, hurrying to the stairs. "I don't want Saffy coming down to find you here."
He looked up at her, his joy at the dog's welcome dissipating at what she just said. Alice smiled, lowering her voice.
"I didn't mean it like that. It's just that she misses you and I don't want her to wake up in the morning and find you're not here again." Alice’s manner shifted from stern to nervous in the blink of an eye. "And you won't be here in the morning, will you?"
Tom exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "No."
Alice looked away from him and made her way upstairs. "I'll just check on her."
Tom thought he heard her voice crack, but he wasn't sure. He encouraged the dog, who was still nipping at the foot of his trouser legs, into the kitchen.
"Do you want to go out?" Tom asked, walking to the French doors, but Russell sat down where he was, his tongue out, lolling to one side. "Guess not," Tom said. He caught sight of the open letter from Adrian that Tamara had put down on the breakfast bar. He scanned it, not paying much attention to the words written on the page. It was the paper itself that had caught his eye. Momentarily confused, he then took out his mobile and snapped a couple of shots before hurriedly stepping away from the breakfast bar upon hearing Alice descending the stairs.
He couldn't quite believe what he'd just seen. And he didn't know what to do about it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alice entered the kitchen.
"She wasn't really awake. I got to her in time—" Her face dropped when she saw Tom's expression. "What is it?"
He looked at her, his brow furrowing as he glanced at the note on the breakfast bar. Her eyes followed his and her mouth fell open. She stepped forward, reaching for him. Tom shook his head and took a step back from her.
"It's really not what you think," she said.
"No, no," I'm sure it isn't."
"I can explain."
Tom held up both hands. "No, really. It's okay… I just have to go and check something out."
"But you've only just got here."
"I know," he said, moving past her. "It can't wait."
He brushed against her as he passed and she took a hold of his forearm, forcing him to meet her eye but he immediately looked away.
"It's not what you think, Tom. Adrian and me… we were over a long time ago." She angled her head so that she came into his eye line. "He still hadn't come to terms with it, that's all."
Tom turned to face her and she released her grip on his arm.
"And you? Had you come to terms with it?"
"Yes. For a moment I wasn't sure. Ade… has a way of pushing my buttons. He always did. But I never cheated on you, Tom. I wouldn't do that. Please don't leave. Not yet."
"I have to." She broke away from his gaze, looking to her hands clasped in front of her. "But not because of what's written in that note," he said, indicating the paper with a flick of his head. She looked at it, biting her bottom lip. "When did he leave that for you? Was it recently?"
Alice looked confused. "What difference does it make?"
"It matters, yes."
She thought about it. "Last week. Maybe Tuesday or Wednesday. Why?"
"Look after it. I might need it."
Now she was dumbfounded. "Whatever for?"
"Trust me," he said, tapping his index and forefinger against the breakfast bar. "I need to go. It's important and I can't leave it until the morning."
He leaned in to kiss her, Alice angling her head to meet his, and they kissed. It was brief but affectionate.
"We still need to talk this through," she said.
He nodded. "Yes, we do. And I intend to make sure we get the time."
With that said, he strode from the kitchen without another word. The dog followed, and when he reached the front door, he tried to step out with Tom which was a welcome change. Tom dropped to his haunches, ruffling the terrier's head but making sure he understood he was to stay here.
"I'll be back soon, little man."
Tom hurried to his car, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Not for Alice and his doubts about their relationship, but because of the note Adrian Gage had left for her. He'd found a link, one that everybody had missed and he was determined to flesh it out before he shared it with anyone else. Driving to the station, he found his confidence building. Maybe now he was going to be able to make some sense of all this. Somehow. He thought of Eric. How he could use the constable's ability to sift through information right now, but he decided against calling him in. Everyone deserved a bit of personal time, and this wasn't an emergency.
Much of the station was in darkness with few people around. Those on nights were either out and about or manning the custody suite, but it was quieter than usual. Flicking on the lights in the ops room, Tom pulled out a chair and switched a computer on. He typed Prometheus Energy into the search bar and hit return. The page filled with numerous articles detailing the proposed Norfolk Wash project. Liam Hansell's picture appeared in the image search, standing in an orange high-viz jacket and a hard hat, presumably out at sea on a maintenance vessel. There were pages of hits listed and Tom felt the weight of a night's work sorting through them was going to be likely. He sensed he was on the same path that Adrian Gage must have trodden, but he was still unsure as to why.
The note Gage left for Alice. Torn from a small pad with a blue bar across the top, only this one was complete, including the company logo. Prometheus Energy. He was annoyed with himself. Having left the offices of the company, he'd spied the name plate on the wall, blue background and white lettering, but still hadn't made the connection. Adrian Gage had left a clue
for him with his sister, a piece of paper that told him where Gage had been. And he'd missed it. Until now.
Reaching the third page of results, he was finding links to the same articles only printed in different newspapers and online magazines. Sitting back, he put his hands behind his head, interlocking his fingers. Why would Adrian Gage be at the offices of Prometheus Energy? If he could figure that out, then he would more than likely be able to narrow down the search criteria for what he was trying to find. Gage had a proven track record of exposing corruption, of forcing dodgy backroom deals out into the open. If this was the case here, then the company must have something to hide.
Returning to the search bar, he typed in the word 'controversy' after the company name and hit return. The screen shifted and the results changed. The first three entries were related to the activism. A shot of Mary Beckett was there alongside the second article. There didn't seem like much to the protesters that would be of interest to a journalist such as Gage. Objections to planning proposals of this nature were common and hardly likely to be the big 'final score' he'd described to his sister. It was the fourth result that stood out to him, though. Opening it up, he read through the article and the further he read down the more it ticked the boxes. He zeroed in on that story, searching for it as a search term of its own. There was no shortage of articles and he found several contradicting one another. This was it. It had to be.
Buoyed by the find, he took a note of the name and typed it into the police national computer. The results returned a local address in King's Lynn, on the western edge of the county. Glancing at the clock, he figured at this time of the night he could be there within half an hour. It would be late to drop by unannounced, but upsetting people came with the warrant card. He made a note of the address before switching off his monitor and pulling his jacket off the back of his chair. He left ops with such haste he didn't think to turn the lights off, quickening his pace along the corridor.
Lights were on, on the ground floor of the house when Tom pulled up outside. He wasn't familiar with the area he found himself in. The estate was probably built in the sixties, terraces of half a dozen houses, uniform in both size and appearance for the most part. They were most likely all once council owned, but many had been bought or sold off with the odd house in each run having been adapted. Whereas many had white boarding clad on the front elevation, some had been changed to more contemporary colours to match the new windows and doors. Each house had a small garden to the front, bounded by a fence or a low wall with varying degrees of attention paid to the upkeep. The residents' parking was all on the street however, with no driveways for any of the houses. Some had knocked down the fence and driven their vehicles over the grass from the road, thirty yards away, so they could park in front of their homes.
Tom locked the car and made his way to the end terrace house in front of him. Reaching the door, he could hear the television on inside. Checking the time, it was nearly ten o'clock. He pressed the doorbell, hearing it chime inside, and waited. A group of teenagers cycled by on the path, one of them pulling a wheelie, encouraged by his friends. The door opened and a woman peered out at him. She was blonde, her hair tied back and away from her face. She eyed him warily.
"Mrs Tilson?"
She nodded. Tom reached into his pocket for his ID.
"I'd like to have a word with you about your husband—"
"I've told you before, I've got nothing to say."
She made to close the door and Tom hurriedly tried to prevent her doing so, but she was too quick and he found it slammed in his face. The light was on in the hall and he could see her shadow. She hadn't gone anywhere. He pressed the bell again. After a few seconds, he saw the shadow move and the door was yanked open. This time she scowled at him.
"Look! I've told you people I have nothing to say—"
Tom raised his warrant card, cutting her off.
"I think we're at cross purposes, Mrs Tilson. Detective Inspector Janssen, Norfolk Police. I'd like a word."
Tom followed her into the house, walking straight into the living room. A teenage boy was lying on the sofa. Tom guessed he was sixteen, maybe a little older. The boy's mother picked up the remote and switched the television off, much to her son's irritation.
"Give us a minute, would you, Ollie?" she said. It wasn't a request. The boy hoisted his legs off the sofa and eyed Tom suspiciously. "He just wants to talk to me."
The boy edged past Tom, who turned side on to give the boy room. He left without another word.
"And close the door behind you please."
He did so and then she looked at Tom, her arms folded defensively across her chest.
"You said this was about my husband? What do you want to know?"
He took her measure. Despite the apparent attitude, she wasn't quite as self-assured as she was trying to make out.
"Your husband was William Tilson," Tom asked.
"Billy, yes."
"And he used to work for Prometheus Energy, is that right?"
"For a subcontractor, contracted by them, yes. I'm sure you didn't need to knock on my door at this time of the night to find that out."
Tom ignored her hostility. He wasn't sure where it was coming from.
"Your husband passed away in an accident, on site."
The stare she had fixed on him softened slightly, replaced by a nervous expression. He'd seen so many people do that in the past, usually during an interview. The confidence wavering as details were extracted but he hadn't asked her anything particularly searching, but now he wanted to.
"So? What of it? It was two years ago and we're trying to move on. Why are you people dragging it all up again?"
He found that a telling comment.
"I read a piece in the regional paper where you made numerous allegations about safety practices on the site, claiming your late husband deemed it unsafe to work at."
"I was angry, upset," she said, avoiding his gaze. "I'd just lost my husband. My son his father, and I was lashing out. Billy was the earner in our house. I've been on the sick for the past couple of years. Depression and anxiety. Billy's death knocked me for six. Understandable."
"True," Tom said, smiling politely and trying to put her at ease a little. "The thing is, you made that claim to several newspapers and the Health and Safety Executive only to offer alternative testimony when called to give evidence before the coroner. Why was that?"
She shook her head, still avoiding eye contact. "I remembered differently, that's all. Once I'd got over the grief and that."
Tom looked around the room. The television was massive, with a screen equal to or more than sixty-five inches. It was easily twice the size it should be for a room of this size and shape. The sofas looked new, as were the windows and doors. He looked beyond her into the kitchen, seeing a modern handle-less theme to the cabinets.
"And how's your health now? Any better?"
She shrugged. "Up and down, you know. It is what it is. What's this all about anyway?"
"I'm investigating another case," Tom said, crossing towards her and taking out his mobile. He began scrolling through the gallery feature, opening up a photograph he'd sent to his phone before he left the station. "You said someone else had been here asking questions."
She remained tight-lipped, but her expression changed again. She was scared. It was obvious. Tom held the screen up to her face so she could see the image.
"Was it this man by any chance?"
Her eyes flickered with recognition but she didn't reply, staring at the image of a smiling Adrian Gage that Tom had downloaded, taken at an awards dinner three years previously.
"Mrs Tilson, was this him?"
She looked over the screen, directly into his eyes, nodding almost imperceptibly.
"And what did he want from you?"
"I can't remember."
She was lying.
"You should know this man, Adrian Gage, has been murdered," Tom said flatly. She gasped. He took a step closer,
keeping the phone where it was. Her eyes drifted to it once more. "And I need to know what he wanted from you. And I'm not leaving here until I get it."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tamara Greave entered ops. Tom glanced up from his desk and then rose, hurriedly coming to meet her. Her eyes narrowed as he came before her.
"Are you okay?" she asked. He nodded, momentarily confused as to why she would ask. He was feeling the most positive he'd been in days. With that said, he hadn't slept much overnight. The excitement that came from having spoken to Billy Tilson's wife ensured sleep wasn't forthcoming. It was all he could do to restrain himself from pulling the team in early. The thought saw him glance at Eric. He'd called one of them in early, knowing that he would be up and about in any event, seeing as it was a school day.
"What's with the enthusiasm?" Tamara asked.
Tom took her by the elbow and guided her to a freshly cleared white board. Both he and Eric had come at both murders afresh and he was convinced they were making headway. Tamara cast her eye over what was already there but Tom would be the first to admit there were still plenty of gaps to fill.
"I really think both these murders are linked and up until now we've just not seen the connection," he said, hearing the anticipation in his own voice.
She looked at him, her eyebrows knitting. "And the connection is?"
"Prometheus Energy."
Tamara perched herself on the edge of a desk, slipping off her coat and tossing it across the nearest chair. Returning her gaze to the board, she nodded in Tom's direction. "All right. Go on, I'm listening."
"It's no secret that Mary Beckett was a thorn in the side of the company, after all, she's been very vocal about the company's plans regarding the Norfolk Wash project. Liam Hansell had been out to see Mary at her home trying to convince her about the environmental positives surrounding the project."
"Right," Tamara said, cupping her chin with thumb and forefinger. "But she wasn't opposed to the wind farm itself."
He shook his head. "No, just the proposed site where the connection made landfall."
The Dead Call: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 6) Page 21
