by David Blake
‘What’s wrong with it?’ queried Tanner, glancing down.
‘I can’t seem to get the bloody thing open.’
‘Here. Let’s take a look.’
Shaking her head in frustration, she handed it to him before gazing out at the rain rattling down onto the roof of her car like the wayward bullets of a Gatling gun. ‘If there was a business deal, one that had perhaps gone sour, I suppose it could have given McMillan motive for feeling it necessary to open Sir Michael up with a hacksaw, being that he was a joint owner of the Phantom Exchange. Maybe that’s why McMillan was at Wallace’s house,’ she continued, ‘to show him pictures of the state they’d left him in?’
‘That’s if he went to Wallace’s house,’ said Tanner, sagaciously studying the umbrella’s opening mechanism.
‘Well, if he didn’t, then I’m not sure who we nearly drove into yesterday.’
‘If you remember, we never actually saw who was in the back. Only the driver, and the guy sitting next to him.’
‘Maybe McMillan has a business partner we don’t know about,’ suggested Vicky, ‘and it was him in the back of the Mercedes? Maybe he killed Sir Michael, going on to silence Metcalf, all without McMillan knowing, and that’s who he was arguing with when we came in?’
‘That’s a lot of maybes,’ muttered Tanner, who’d given up attempting to fix the umbrella and was now doing his best to open it using brute force instead.
‘Well, he was definitely shouting at someone about something, and it didn’t sound like it was simply because whoever it was had forgotten to mop the floor.’
Hearing his phone ring, Tanner stood up to hand the umbrella back. ‘I think its broken,’ he commented, delving a hand inside his sailing jacket.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Vicky replied, taking it from him to find the handle bent, as was the clasp.
‘Let me just answer this, and I’ll take another look at it.’
‘Er…you’re OK, thanks,’ she replied, glancing around for a bin.
‘Tanner speaking!’
‘Tanner, it’s Forrester. Are you done speaking to that strip club owner?’
‘Just finished, sir.’
‘OK, good, then you can head back to Toby Wallace’s place.’
‘Right,’ Tanner replied, pausing for a moment to catch Vicky’s eye. ‘Er…for any particular reason?’
‘The guy’s neighbour has just called to say that he can see him lying face-up in the middle of his garden, directly next to his swimming pool.’
‘Is he dead?’
‘Presuming it’s raining there as well, I’m fairly sure he’s not out there sunbathing.’
‘No, right, of course,’ Tanner replied, kicking himself for having asked such a stupid question. ‘We’ll head over there straight away.’
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
TANNER AND VICKY stood staring out through a pair of rain-splattered patio doors as they watched Dr Johnstone jogging through the rain towards them. Sliding them open to the sound of the wind howling outside, they stood back as the medical examiner burst in through the opening to stand dripping on a section of white plastic sheeting that had been laid out over the floor.
‘Nice day for it,’ Tanner commented, sliding the door back.
‘You know, Tanner,’ the doctor responded, removing his already steamed-up glasses, ‘we really must stop meeting like this.’
‘It’s hardly my fault people keep getting themselves killed around here.’
‘It isn’t?’ he questioned, throwing a glance up at him as he rotated a tissue around each of the lenses. ‘No, well, I suppose not, but in this particular case, I don’t think they have been.’
Tanner returned his attention to the expansive lawn outside, and the body of a man he could see dressed in a scarlet dressing gown thrown over what appeared to be a pair of black silk pyjamas, his short fat body lying face up on the grass beside a large rectangular swimming pool. ‘So, he’s just taking a nap?’
‘Er…not exactly. From what I can make out, it looks like he had a heart attack.’
‘What, out there?’
‘I’m not sure it matters where you happen to be at the time,’ Johnstone replied, replacing his glasses to follow Tanner’s gaze.
‘I meant, what would he have been doing hanging out by his swimming pool dressed in what looks to be his pyjamas on a day like this?’
‘My job is to establish a cause of death, Tanner, not to figure out what they were doing at the time.’
‘Fair enough,’ Tanner replied, turning to glance around at the shiny bright orange units of the expansive modern kitchen they were standing in. ‘How about a time of death?’
‘I’d say no more than two hours ago.’
‘Are there any signs that anything’s been taken?’
‘Again, not my job, but I haven’t heard of anything.’
‘What about a forced entry?’
‘The front door was locked when we arrived, as were all the windows. A neighbour told us how to get into the garden from a gate around the side.’
‘Is this the same neighbour who reported seeing the body?’
‘I’ve no idea, but I believe he’s in one of the rooms at the front; if you’d like to have a word.’
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
HAVING A POLICE constable show them into a generously proportioned living room at the front of the house, Tanner pulled out his ID to address the middle-aged man they found pacing up and down, his hands clasped behind a stuffy-looking tweed jacket.
‘Detective Inspectors Tanner and Gilbert, Norfolk Police,’ Tanner announced, closing the door behind them.
The man came to an abrupt halt in front of a stainless steel fireplace. ‘And about bloody time,’ he muttered, in a distinctly clipped British accent. ‘I’ve been waiting here for an absolute age.’
‘Sorry to have kept you. Your name?’
‘Marsh. Henry Marsh,’ the man replied, pulling his shoulders back.
‘You don’t mind if we ask you a few questions, do you, Mr Marsh?’
‘I don’t see what they could be about. All I did was call for an ambulance after seeing our moronic neighbour lying flat-out in the middle of his garden, again. I doubt I’d have even bothered had it not been for the fact that it was raining.’
‘Am I to assume that seeing him do so wasn’t an unusual occurrence?’
‘Well, it wasn’t exactly the first time I’d woken up to find he’d spent the night outside, together with numerous of his so-called friends.’
‘A bit of a partygoer, was he?’
‘A bit of a party-holder, more like. My wife and I don’t mind so much during the winter, but his constant summer pool parties drive us up the bloody wall. It’s not just us, I may add. The entire neighbourhood have been up in arms. Music to all hours, shouting, screaming, people constantly coming and going.’
‘Oh dear. That sounds dreadful. I’m surprised you didn’t call the police earlier.’
‘We did. Several times.’
‘And?’ Tanner queried, struggling to feel sorry for the man who both looked and sounded like he could afford to live on a quiet island somewhere in the Caribbean, or at least to go on holiday there.
‘And you’ve been of absolutely no use,’ Marsh continued. ‘Whenever we called to lodge a formal complaint, it was obvious you didn’t give a rat’s arse, telling us that there was nothing you could do, and that we needed to call the council, which was hilarious.’
‘Sorry, but why was that funny?’ asked Tanner; a somewhat contradictory question given the fact that he was personally finding the man’s story to be highly amusing.
‘Because, detective inspector, nobody works there at two o’clock in the bloody morning!’
Struggling to suppress the smirk he could feel tugging at the corners of his mouth, Tanner dropped his head to begin searching his coat pockets for his notebook. Eventually managing to claw it out, he was finally able to meet the man’s gaze with a more appropriately aligned
expression. ‘When you said there were people constantly coming and going, I don’t suppose you saw anyone doing so this morning?’
‘Not then, no, but at just about every other time.’
‘He didn’t have any visitors today?’
‘I didn’t see anyone, and I didn’t hear a car pull up, but then again, I don’t spend my life camped out by my bedroom window with a pair of binoculars.’
‘Only part of it,’ mumbled Tanner.
‘I’m sorry?’
Tanner cleared his throat. ‘When he did have visitors, I don’t suppose you noticed if one of them in particular was a well-dressed young man with olive skin and whiter than normal teeth, often accompanied by two men who’d have been about twice his size?’
‘Oh him! I actually saw that particular individual relieve himself up against my garden fence last week. He even had the gall to wave at me whilst doing so.’
Hearing Vicky snort through her nose beside him, Tanner glanced around to find her with a hand covering her mouth, her lightly-freckled face a little redder than usual. ‘Are you alright?’ he queried; a feigned expression of intense concern drawn out over his face.
‘Hay fever,’ she replied, fishing a tissue from out of her bag.
Tanner’s eyes swivelled over towards the nearest window, and the rain outside being pummelled against it.
‘Or maybe dust,’ she added, following his gaze with a sheepish expression, after which she drew in a breath to give her nose a loud and most unladylike blow.
‘I must apologise for my colleague,’ Tanner continued, returning his attention to the man now staring at them as if they were a couple of homeless drunks. ‘She’s always been prone to allergies. So anyway, where were we?’
Marsh folded his arms over his jacket to give them each an equally disapproving glare.
‘Oh yes, that’s right,’ Tanner continued. ‘We were talking about the man who you said shamelessly relieved himself against your fence. May I ask when you saw him last?’
‘The day before yesterday.’
‘Definitely not this morning?’
‘As I said,’ Marsh continued, still looking a little peeved, ‘I didn’t see him then, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.’
‘OK, I think that will do. Thank you for your time, Mr Marsh.’
‘I assume that means I can go?’
‘You may, but don’t worry, we know where you live.’
‘What?’
‘Sorry. That was just my little joke.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘But if you could give us a call before making any travel arrangements, at least for the next month or so, that would be appreciated.’
Marsh studied Tanner’s face for a moment. ‘Was that another joke?’
‘Not that time, I’m afraid. And we will need to arrange a convenient time to come over to take a sample of your DNA and fingerprints.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Purely to help us eliminate you from our enquiries.’
‘I wasn’t aware I was even a part of your enquiries.’
‘Well, you did find the body.’
‘I saw him from my bedroom window.’
‘And you were the one who called the police.’
‘I phoned for an ambulance, as anyone would.’
‘You’ve also been inside the victim’s house.’
‘This is the first time I’ve stepped foot in this sordid little hole, and I only did that because I was asked to wait here for you.’
‘I believe you also showed our forensics team around the back of the house?’
‘Well, yes, but –’
‘And to be honest, Mr Marsh, it is fairly obvious that you didn’t exactly like the victim. For all we know, you crept around here this morning to beat him over the head with a hockey stick.’
‘I can assure you…’
‘Actually, now that I think about it, we’d better take a sample of your prints and DNA before you leave, just in case they prove vital to uncovering the truth about Mr Wallace’s seemingly untimely death.’
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
‘THAT WAS A bit mean, wasn’t it?’ whispered Vicky, turning to leave the neighbour stranded in the middle of the living room with his mouth hanging open.
‘Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,’ Tanner replied, stopping to pull the door open for her as they made their way out into the hall. ‘Anyway, for all we know, he did do it.’
‘I wasn’t aware there was anything for him to have done, by him or anyone else. Johnstone seems adamant Wallace died of natural causes, there’s no sign of a break in, nothing appears to have been stolen, and the person we think most likely to have killed him wasn’t even here.’
‘According to the neighbour.’
‘Why would he lie about that?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Tanner shrugged. ‘Maybe he paid McMillan to kill him.’
‘How? By chasing him around his swimming pool in the pouring rain until he had a cardiac arrest?’
‘He could have.’
Vicky offered Tanner a deeply sceptical frown.
‘We have to keep an open mind, young Vicky.’
‘I’m not that young.’
‘And my mind isn’t that open,’ Tanner muttered, just as Johnstone’s head appeared around the corner.
‘Have you got a minute?’ the medical examiner asked.
‘Actually, I’ve got two,’ Tanner smirked, glancing down at his watch. ‘Why, what’ve you found?’
Johnstone emerged into the hall to hold up an evidence bag. ‘Looks like another blackmail letter. This one, however, would appear to be complete.’
Stopping beside him, Tanner and Vicky took a moment to peer through the see-through plastic.
‘Leave fifty thousand in cash at the base of Happisburgh Lighthouse by midnight tonight,’ read Tanner, ‘or else I’ll be doing unto you as you so kindly thought you’d done unto me.’
‘I’d have to compare it to the other one,’ Johnstone continued, ‘but the typeface looks the same, as is the amount being demanded, obviously.’
‘So, someone was trying to blackmail both Sir Michael and Mr Wallace.’
‘And now they’re both dead,’ Vicky mused. ‘Coincidence?’
Tanner thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know, but I still don’t think it can be the same person. Traditionally, blackmailers don’t go around killing the people they’re trying to extract money from, being that it would be somewhat counter-productive. Where was it found?’
‘In one of the kitchen drawers,’ Johnstone replied. ‘There’s an envelope as well,’ he added, turning to head back the way he’d come.
