Justin took a deep breath, chewing on his lower lip. He closed his eyes, steadying himself. "I have nothing more to say."
"That's perfectly okay," Tom said. "You need not say another word as far as I'm concerned. We have enough."
"Those bloody birds!" Janet hissed.
"Mother, please be quiet!"
"No, I won't!" she snapped. "You think you know people, those closest to you and then you find out you don't know them at all."
Justin looked between Tom and his mother, his eyes glazing over as he realised the comment was directed at him. He reached for her hand, but she sharply withdrew it from his reach. "Mother," he said quietly. She ignored his plea.
"Mary with those damn birds… putting them before her own blood… and you," she sneered. "You disgust me."
Tom felt a pang of sympathy for the man opposite, seeing the depth to which the remark cut. It was no wonder he chose to keep his attractions secret from his mother and seeing how positively venomous she could be, it was not such a leap to imagine her lashing out at her sister. Perhaps the sisters were more alike than it at first appeared. Forensics officers would be revisiting the house soon. Whereas before they'd only searched the study, now they would be treating the entire house as a potential murder scene. Mother and son had done well to try to circumnavigate the investigation, almost succeeding, but he was confident that if Mary was killed here, then they would find evidence of it.
He spared a momentary thought about family. That these people could live in and around each other for decades, as close to each other as anyone could be, only to see those relationships undone by the basest of human emotions.
That of greed.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Summer finally arrived on the last day of June with a southerly wind drawing a humid weather front up from southern Europe. It seemed fitting that this day, the day Adrian Gage was laid to rest, was bathed in warm sunshine offering the promise of a brighter future than an overcast, dreary experience. Tom heard the service end, but by this point both he and his team had already stepped out of the church. The turnout was high, making the interior of the church standing room only with mourners crammed in and even spilling outside where a speaker system had been rigged up so those who couldn't get in could still be a part of the service. Adrian was a popular figure who'd amassed a lot of contacts over the years, contacts who obviously described themselves as friends. This was no mean feat when considering he spent most of his career freelancing, drifting from story to story with no fixed employer.
Evidently he was highly rated both personally and professionally. Tom found himself forced to see the man in a very different light in contrast to the opinion he'd held for so long. Although Alice had never sought to negatively influence his opinion, as exes often tended to do, he thought Adrian was a lazy parent and likely a terrible husband. After all, the number of times he let his daughter down was unforgivable, no matter what the justification. However, it wasn't as clear cut as that. A lesson learnt following the late-night visit of Carol, Adrian's sister, who explained the distance he put between himself and his family was largely down to keeping them out of harm's way following repeated threats to their safety.
Tom could relate. He would always try to keep both Alice and Saffy safe. But here too was how the two men differed in approach. No matter what the sacrifice, Tom was certain he would take the necessary steps to make it so, even if that meant sacrificing his career, his passion, to keep them out of harm's way. Adrian didn't, or at least he hadn't until this last investigation. Unable to turn back the clock, because Alice refused, he must have felt adrift as to where he was heading but only for a few minutes as fate saw to it that he need not have to reconsider his plans. Liam Hansell took care of that.
"I'm sorry."
Tom snapped from his reverie, glancing to Cassie standing alongside him. Tamara and Eric had drifted away a few steps and were having their own conversation in hushed tones.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
"I was apologising," she said. "I was so caught up in the theory of Alice as the primary suspect I couldn't see past it."
He shook his head. "Don't worry—"
"Ah… but I do. I figured you were so close to her that your objectivity was compromised by your emotional involvement and… and I dismissed what you were saying. I didn't pay it proper attention."
Tom cut a wry half-smile, his hands in his pockets as they made their way from those gathered outside. "No, you were right," he said, glancing sideways. "I was… am… emotionally attached to the case." He reached out and touched her forearm, bringing them both to a standstill. Tamara looked over at them from where she and Eric were talking. "And my objectivity was compromised."
Cassie smiled gratefully.
"But," he said, inclining his head to one side, "let's keep that between us, yeah?" She nodded. "It wouldn't do my reputation any good to be seen as emotional."
"Perish the thought."
They both smiled. People leaving the church saw them turn back to see the family walk out first, led by Carol, Adrian's sister. Her partner walked alongside her, the two of them hand in hand. She was the only direct family Adrian had; their parents having died in recent years. Behind her came Alice. Saffy was in her arms, her legs wrapped around her mother's waist, head buried in her shoulder. Alice managed the weight, which was not insignificant, carrying Saffy with apparent ease. Tom admired how she managed to do whatever she had to in order to meet her daughter's needs, no matter how much of a challenge it was.
Alice and Carol stepped to one side offering mourners the opportunity to speak with them if they chose to. Alice lowered Saffy to the ground and she looked around, trying to see through the press of people leaving the church. Tom lost sight of her but only for a moment. The mass of curls was visible slipping between the legs of those waiting to pass on their condolences, Saffy making a beeline straight for him. He dropped to his haunches as she ran up to him launching herself into his arms. He hoisted her up as he rose, her arms gripping him tightly. She stared straight into his face, hers barely a hand span from his. She'd been crying, her cheeks were tearstained. She leaned into him without a word and he hugged her tightly. Cassie smiled weakly as he rocked the little girl gently from side to side making soothing sounds.
Mourners made their way past them. Tom knew very few. There was a wake organised at a local golf club, Tom didn't plan to attend unless Alice specifically asked. There were few children present and given the choice he would take Saffy somewhere else. She'd already been through enough today and under normal circumstances he didn't see funerals as a place for children.
Carol Martins approached. He smiled a polite greeting and she returned it, reaching out a hand and softly stroking Saffy's back. Saffy didn't respond, keeping her head resting on Tom's shoulder. Carol met his eye.
"Ade was right about you."
He wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to that but figured he didn't need to, so instead he nodded and smiled again.
"Thank you," Carol said, placing a hand on his forearm by way of appreciation before moving on.
Alice came alongside, angling her head so she could see Saffy's face. Saffy reached out with one hand and her mother grasped it gently.
"How are you doing, Monkey?"
"Okay," Saffy said, lifting her head away from Tom. She looked into his eyes. "Are you coming home?"
Tom exchanged a quick look with Alice who watched him expectantly. He smiled at Saffy. "Yes, Sweetheart. I'm coming home."
The next book in the series;
Kill Them Cold
Hidden Norfolk - Book 7
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Hidden Norfolk - Book 7
For once, it was a relief to escape the chaos. The music, the laughter and the boisterous behaviour, the sound of which, although muted, still carried to her as she walked. The fresh air made her feel dizzy. Had she really drunk that much? The sound of waves in the distance crashing against the beach and insects chirping in the nearby brush was reminiscent of Mediterranean holidays, if not for the lack of dust underfoot she could easily imagine she was in southern France or on a sparsely populated Greek island.
The night was clear; the moon looming large in the sky illuminating the path. A gentle breeze passed over the sea of reeds, whispering to her politely, feeling cool on her skin. Brushing aside the hair clinging to her forehead, still clammy with sweat from the packed pub, she looked back. Movement from within showed the party was in full swing and didn’t look like ending anytime soon. Usually, she would be in the thick of it.
But not tonight. She’d had enough.
There were those who would be pleased she’d ducked out early. The jealous ones. Those who smiled sweetly but would actively savage her the moment she turned her back. It wasn’t her fault they were being ignored. They should look at themselves in the mirror before shooting daggers in her direction. Men were visual creatures. More so when they drink. Even the intellectual ones, not that they’d admit it if asked.
Men were curious beings, so easy to entertain and so quick to convince themselves of their unique qualities. Despite observing the experience of others, their rise and subsequent fall, when it came to themselves they were convinced that this time would be different. They were different. Therefore it followed, as their delusions manifested, that the outcome would also be different.
A quick smile, wide-eyed and welcoming. The occasional flirtatious touch. It didn’t need to be anywhere intimate, just a casual stroke of the back of a hand or forearm and a pulse of electricity would pass between them. This was usually enough. She felt it too. The promise of excitement. The anticipation of something new, intoxicating and rebellious. Their eyes would follow her around the room for the rest of the evening, pretending not to, watching as she interacted with people and silently hoping she would return and make good on her promise. And it would be different. Of course it would be. Other men didn’t possess the same appeal. When she flirted with the others it meant nothing, and when she came back to them it was because they had what she needed. Each man thought he was special. He was the one.
They were all wrong, of course.
The older men were an interesting challenge. Having done a few laps of the track already, they knew the rules of the game far better than the twenty-somethings. Not that they were immune, though. They were easy to draw in, but much harder to convert. They knew better. The risk was greater, for they usually had more to lose than merely a bruising encounter with their pride. But a man’s ego can take on its own mischievous character, whispering plausible narratives in otherwise deaf ears.
The attention was nice and all but, contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t attention that she craved. She wasn’t mistaking male company for the displaced love of her childhood or whatever pop-psychology was thrown at her this time. No, the high came from the feeling of power. The thrill of watching them react to her, male or female, and playing one off against another without making it too obvious. The physical thrill was fun too, most of the time. But she wasn’t looking for that tonight.
A stick cracked nearby. She half-turned, expecting to see someone approaching. She waited, watching the bushes intently, listening hard against the backdrop of the sea. A cloud passed in front of the moon, causing a shift in the light, offering new shadows to her overactive imagination. Conscious of holding her breath, she absently toyed with the braid tied around her wrist. Satisfied she was alone, she resumed her walk towards the beach.
Footsteps. She started and spun. This time a figure stepped from the brush alongside the path. Putting a hand on her chest, she smiled as she took a deep breath.
“Oh, it’s you.” She could hear the relief in her voice. “You startled me.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“That’s… what are you doing out here?”
“I saw you were alone. I thought you might want some company.”
She was on edge. The clandestine approach. The casual words. The easy smile. She felt her own smile fading as she looked back to the pub, a beacon of light amid the houses in darkness dotted around nearby.
“No… no, I don’t,” she said, hesitantly. This offer wasn’t on her terms. For once, she felt out of control. “I wanted to be alone for a bit.”
“Really? Who wants to be alone?”
She backed up, trying to put some space between them, registering a change in demeanour. It didn’t work. Her instincts asserted themselves, screaming at her internally, and she turned, thinking to run only to catch her footing and stumble. Putting out a hand to break her fall, she still hit the ground hard. She may feel like she’d sobered up, but clearly her body disagreed. A figure appeared over her as the clouds cleared and they were bathed in silver light.
“Here, let me help you.”
A hand was extended to her, and reluctantly she reached up and took it. Rising to her feet, she dusted herself down.
“Thanks. I… I don’t know what happened there.”
The smell of cigarette smoke was dominant, overpowering that of beer. They were close to one another, closer than she would like.
“So, do you want some company?”
She shook her head almost imperceptibly. “No, thank you. I’d rather be alone tonight.”
“No one wants to be alone.”
The next book in the series;
Kill Them Cold
Hidden Norfolk - Book 7
The Hidden Norfolk Series
One Lost Soul
Bury Your Past
Kill Our Sins
Tell No Tales
Hear No Evil
Life and Death*
*FREE eBook - A Hidden Norfolk novella
The Dark Yorkshire Series
Divided House
Blacklight
The Dogs in the Street
Blood Money
Fear the Past
The Sixth Precept
The Dark Yorkshire Box Sets
Dark Yorkshire Books 1-3
Dark Yorkshire Books 4-6
Audiobooks
The entire Dark Yorkshire series is available in audio format, read by the award-winning Greg Patmore.
Divided House
Blacklight
The Dogs in the street
Blood Money
Fear the Past
The Sixth Precept
Audiobook Box Sets
Dark Yorkshire Books 1-3
Dark Yorkshire Books 4-6
*Hidden Norfolk audiobooks arriving 2020
The Dead Call: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 6) Page 25
