by David Blake
‘If Sir Michael was as skint as is being suggested, then it would make sense if they did.’
‘It would certainly make them easier to find,’ Tanner continued, suppressing an exhausted yawn whilst glancing down at his watch. ‘I suggest we give the Broads Authority a call, to ask if they have any boats registered to either Sanders, Wallace, Sir Michael Blackwell; or maybe all three. But for now I think we should call it a day, at least what’s left of it. What with who the victim is, the manner by which he’s been killed, and the complications surrounding it, I think we’re going to need some sleep before all the news media vans start piling up outside the station again.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
SAYING GOODBYE TO Vicky, Tanner climbed into his car to start digging his fingers into the corners of his eyes. He was both mentally and physically exhausted. There’d normally be months, sometimes years between murder investigations. By that time he’d be praying for something more substantial to work on, other than the normal run-of-the-mill burglary and domestic violence cases that seemed to permanently litter his desk. This time around, not only had it been only two weeks since he’d had to watch Thomas Longshore murder his brother, moments before having his throat torn open by his estranged father’s sole remaining Rottweiler, but to suddenly find himself the SIO for the murder of none other than Lord Blackwell’s son already had him feeling the pressure.
With the sudden image of Christine entering his mind, and the perturbed look on her face when he’d told her that he was going to have to abandon their plans for the evening, he dug out his phone to give her a call before catching the clock on his Jag’s varnished wooden dashboard. It had already gone ten. Was it too late to call? he asked himself. If it wasn’t, and he did, what would he say? Apologise again for having to bail on what was to have been their first official date together?
He also knew what she’d end up asking. When would he be free to have another go? It would have been a natural question, one which she’d no doubt expect some sort of definitive answer to, like Sunday afternoon, or Tuesday evening. It didn’t matter. He knew he wouldn’t be able to say, at least not with any certainty. His availability for the foreseeable future would rest solely upon the roads this new investigation would take him. Would she understand that, and what would she start thinking when he’d be forced to say that he didn’t know? It was hardly going to be a response to leave her thinking that he was desperate to see her again.
‘Shit,’ he cursed quietly to himself, his finger hovering indecisively over the call button.
Finally deciding that it had to be better to call than to not, he was about to press down on the screen when the phone rang in his hand.
Jumping with a start, his surprised frown melted instantly away when he saw who the caller was.
‘Hi Christine,’ he replied, a natural smile gently lifting the corners of his mouth. ‘I was just about to give you a call myself.’
‘I didn’t know if I should.’
‘Oh, there’s no harm. If I couldn’t answer, it would have just gone through to voicemail. Anyway, I’m pleased you did. I wanted to say sorry again for earlier.’
‘There’s nothing to apologise for. It’s your job. Besides, if you didn’t have it, I can’t see how you’d have been able to pay for the meal.’
‘I knew there was a reason why you agreed to go out with me.’
‘Er…of course. Why else would I?’
‘Anyway, at this rate, it looks like you won’t be able to, whether you wanted to or not. At least, not for a while.’
An almost imperceptible pause followed before Christine’s voice came back over the line. ‘How come?’
‘It’s another murder, I’m afraid, and a high-profile one at that.’
‘Anyone I know?’
Tanner hesitated. ‘It’s probably best if I don’t say who, for the time being at least. Suffice to say, I’d be surprised if you hadn’t heard of him. Anyway, Forrester decided to make me the SIO, without even bothering to ask.’
‘You wouldn’t have wanted to work under Cooper again, would you?’
‘Well, no, but it would have been nice to have been given the choice.’
‘Couldn’t you have refused?’
‘Not really. He told me in front of Superintendent Whitaker.’
‘Superintendent who?’
‘He’s Norfolk’s most senior police officer. The fact that he was anywhere near the crime scene should give you an idea as to just how high-profile this investigation’s going to be.’
‘OK, well, no problem. Just give me a call when you know you’re going to be free, and we’ll re-schedule for another time. But don’t leave it too long. I might have to log myself back into my Tinder account.’
Tanner grinned with relief. She was being neither unnecessarily pushy, nor belligerently distant.
He was about to thank her again when her voice came back over the line.
‘I did actually call for a reason, other than to remind you that you owe me a night out.’
‘That’s good to know.’
‘I just had a call from my own boss. He told me there’s a storm heading our way from Eastern Europe. It’s currently only classed as a category two; but it’s forecast to increase up to level three by the time it hits.’
Tanner’s thoughts immediately turned to his boat. ‘When is it expected?’
‘The wind will start building from tomorrow night, but the centre isn’t expected to reach us for another couple of days. Anyway, I thought I’d better warn you, ahead of time.’
‘OK, thank you. I don’t suppose you have any recommendations for my boat?’
‘The Broads Water Authority will be advising all liveaboards to seek alternative accommodation for the storm’s duration. If it was mine, I’d probably have it craned out. The last time we had a storm like this, there were at least half a dozen swept off their moorings.’
‘I’ll have to look into it,’ Tanner replied, his mind already worried about the cost of having it lifted out.
‘If you’d prefer to keep it in the water,’ Christine continued, as if reading his mind, ‘then I’d suggest finding a floating pontoon to moor it up against. At least then you won’t have to worry about the water level. Preferably somewhere that can offer you some shelter from the wind as well.’
‘I don’t suppose you have any suggestions?’
‘I’d have to clear it with my boss,’ Christine continued, ‘but I think your safest bet would be to moor it up alongside our patrol boats at Potter Heigham. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. The pontoons there are designed to cope with the highest tides.’
‘Would you mind asking him for me?’
‘Of course. No problem. Assuming he agrees, I still wouldn’t risk staying on board.’
‘That’s not a problem. I’ll just have to check myself into a hotel.’
‘OK, but just so you know, you can always crash at my place if you like. After all, you did put me up when my house was being overrun by men in white overalls.’
‘Thanks for the offer,’ he eventually replied, his mind racing to find a suitably diplomatic response, ‘but I wouldn’t want to impose.’
‘Listen, John, I know what you’re thinking. I’m keen to take this just as slowly as I’m sure you are. I have a spare bedroom, which is rarely used. You’d be most welcome – no strings attached.’
Tanner smiled. ‘Thanks again, Christine. Let me have a think. Meanwhile, I’d better get back to my boat. With an approaching storm and another murder investigation that I’m apparently in charge of, it sounds like I’m going to need my beauty sleep.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Saturday, 28th August
EARLY THE FOLLOWING morning, Wroxham Police Station bustled with activity as its staff gathered inside the main office.
‘If I can have everyone’s attention, please?’ came DCI Forrester’s commanding voice, reverberating around the room.
After patiently waiting for numerous conversations t
o come spluttering to an eventual conclusion, he sucked in a breath before continuing. ‘Firstly, I’d like to thank you all for giving up your weekend. Your families as well. I know it’s never easy when you have to cancel plans at such short notice, but unfortunately, with what – or should I say who was discovered last night – frankly, I didn’t feel I had any choice but to drag you all in. I’d also like to apologise for being unable to say why it was necessary, but Headquarters is keen for us to keep what has happened as quiet as possible; for as long as possible as well.’
He paused for breath, leaving the office staff waiting in a state of silent anticipation.
‘At around eight o’clock last night, the body of Lord Blackwell’s son, Sir Michael Blackwell, was found in an upstairs bedroom at Thorndike Manor.’
As expected, a flurry of whispered remarks hurtled their way around the room, leaving Forrester raising his hands in an effort to refocus everyone’s attention.
‘We’re still awaiting confirmation from our medical examiner,’ he was eventually able to continue, ‘but for reasons that will be made clear shortly, there doesn’t appear any need for us to question the manner of his death. Subsequently, unless we hear otherwise, we’re treating this as first degree murder.
‘It only remains for me to hand you over to DI Tanner,’ Forrester continued, glancing over to his senior detective inspector, beside whom stood the handsome DC Townsend, a slim file clutched awkwardly in his youthful hands. ‘Despite having only been back with us for a few weeks; and having barely had a chance to catch his breath after bringing our last major investigation to a successful conclusion, Tanner has been kind enough to put his name forward to head this one up as well.’
The idea that he’d somehow volunteered had him offering the cheap wiry carpet tiles he was standing on a petulant smirk.
‘Whilst on the subject of who heads up what,’ Forrester continued, casting his eyes around the room, ‘I’d like to add that the decision for Tanner to take the lead once again bears no reflection on DI Cooper’s abilities in any way, shape or form.’
Tanner followed Forrester’s gaze to find him staring at his younger male counterpart, who in turn was forcing a smile directly back at their DCI.
‘Cooper did an outstanding job during Tanner’s somewhat lengthy absence,’ Forrester continued, ‘especially in light of his overall lack of experience.’
Tanner watched with pitying amusement as Cooper’s face darkened with humiliated rage, his eyes ricocheting off Forrester’s to bury themselves into the farthest wall.
‘But as our most senior DI, both myself and Superintendent Whitaker believe that with such a high profile murder investigation, it’s only right that the role of SIO went to our most experienced officer.
‘Right then!’ Forrester stated, briefly lifting himself up onto the balls of his feet. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to mention anything about the extreme sensitivity that this investigation presents. I subsequently expect you to treat what you’re about to hear with the strictest confidence. In other words, I don’t want any of you discussing this with your family, or down the pub with your friends. And if I hear of a single instance of someone breaking ranks to talk to the press, you’ll be facing disciplinary charges. Assuming that’s understood, here’s DI Tanner to fill you in on what we know so far.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Tanner began, glancing over his shoulder to see Townsend begin attaching a series of photographs onto the whiteboard behind him. ‘As DCI Forrester has already mentioned, Sir Michael Blackwell’s body was found yesterday evening. He was discovered lying face-up on a four poster bed by the estate’s one and only full-time employee, a housekeeper by the name of Mrs Wilson. As you can see from the photographs, he’d had both his wrists and ankles handcuffed to each of the bedposts after which someone cut open his rib cage to remove his heart, leaving it placed somewhat indiscreetly inside his open mouth.’
Tanner let his eyes meander about the room where he found a number of those in the audience glancing away, as the increasingly graphic images continued to be posted up.
‘What you won’t be able to see is that he’s thought to have had sexual intercourse with a woman, shortly before meeting his untimely end. We’ve also been told that the victim’s chest was cut open whilst he was still alive. How long he would have lasted isn’t clear,’ he continued, ‘but it’s worth noting that, according to the ME’s preliminary report, a heavy dose of adrenaline was administered before the process began. We can only assume that this was to help keep the victim conscious for as long as possible without dulling his ability to feel the surgical procedure being carried out.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ came a horrified muttering from someone out in the audience.
‘Yes, quite!’ Tanner agreed, taking a moment to glance around at the whiteboard behind him. ‘Bearing all that in mind, I think it goes without saying that we’re dealing with a particularly dangerous individual, one who either had an extremely strong motive for wanting Sir Michael killed, and in the most horrific way imaginable, or worse still, a deranged psychopath medically incapable of feeling a single shred of empathy towards the manner of their victim’s death.
‘The perpetrator’s motive aside – for now at least – I believe our first priority is to identify the woman he was with. It seems far too much of a coincidence for her not to have been involved somehow, either directly, or as a means to ensure the victim had been secured to the bed with minimal fuss. The housekeeper seemed to be of the opinion that the woman he’d been with was a working girl. If that is the case, and she’s spent time with us before, then it should be a straightforward enough process to work out who she is. We just need to await the relevant DNA sampling. There is, however, one more complication which has yet to be mentioned.’
Tanner nodded again at Townsend, leaving him to post up what was to be the final photograph.
‘What was left of the following typed letter was found in the bin beside the bed. The demand for fifty thousand pounds leads us to assume that it was some sort of blackmail attempt. For reasons which should hopefully be obvious, we’re assuming that it’s unlikely the blackmailer is the same person who took Sir Michael’s life, unless of course that person came to the conclusion that he was never going to pay, which leads neatly on to the subject of his financial situation. Judging by the lack of staff, the dilapidated state of Thorndike Manor and the fact that Sir Michael didn’t seem to have any obvious means of income, we need to take a look into his current financial situation. We also need to find out if he owed large amounts of money to anyone other than a reputable bank, and if there was someone in his life who had a particular reason to hold a grudge against him. With that in mind, I suggest we start by talking to his friends. Fortunately, the housekeeper was able to provide us with the surnames of two people she thought he’d been spending the bulk of his time with recently. Thanks to an early start by DI Gilbert, we’ve managed to identify them as being a Mr Iain Sanders and a Mr Toby Wallace, also Norfolk residents. According to the Broads Authority, a fifty-foot Fairline Squadron is registered in their names; Sir Michael’s included.
‘The only other item we need to consider is Sir Michael’s will. As an only child without children of his own – at least none that we know of – and with his wife having died about ten years ago, we need to know who he’s left the estate to, and the whereabouts of that person at the time of his death.
‘So, whilst waiting for forensics and our medical examiner to come back to us with their final reports, DI Gilbert and myself are going to see if we can have a chat with his two named friends. Meanwhile, DC Townsend is going to find out all he can about Sir Michael’s life, in particular his movements over the last few days. DC Beech, I’d like you to first start by requesting a copy of his will from his solicitors; then start looking into his finances. Where did he get his money from, and did he owe it to anyone in sufficient quantities to justify him being killed over it?
