Storm Force: A chilling Norfolk Broads crime thriller (British Detective Tanner Murder Mystery Series Book 7)

by David Blake

  ‘She’s also fifteen,’ the father replied, his voice filled with threatening reproach. ‘A bit of a handful as well,’ he continued, in a more apologetic tone, as if becoming aware that he was being unnecessarily over-protective. ‘Always has been. Worse since her mother became ill and passed away.’

  Sensing the man’s wife must have died quite recently, Tanner pulled in a shallow breath. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

  ‘That’s kind of you. It’s been over a year now, but it still feels like it was only yesterday.’

  Tanner’s heart went out to him. ‘These things take time.’

  ‘Yes, well. Anyway, can I be of further help?’

  ‘Er, no. I think that’s it. Thank you for your time, and sorry to have disturbed you.’

  Turning his head, he was about to head back into the unrelenting rain when he glanced quickly back. ‘Actually, I’d probably better take your name and a contact number, just in case I think of anything.’

  ‘Chapman. George Chapman,’ the man replied. ‘You’ll find my number in the phone book.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  PLODDING BACK TO his car, with the door closed and the strangely comforting sound of the rain clattering against the roof, he put a quick call through to the office.

  ‘Vicky, hi, it’s me.’

  ‘Hello John. I don’t suppose you’re calling to say that you’ve bought me a new umbrella?’

  ‘Er…no; at least, not yet.’

  ‘OK, but you will be soon though, right?’

  ‘The second I pass a suitable shop,’ Tanner replied, unable to determine if she was being serious.

  ‘How’d it go with Cooper?’

  ‘About average. He left the second we found out that the lighthouse was deserted.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. And you?’

  ‘I stayed on to have a chat with the guy who lives next door, but he was only able to confirm what we already knew; that nobody lives there. The only people who ever turn up are the company who look after it, them and the occasional tourist.’

  ‘So, it was purely a drop-off point then?’

  ‘Looks like it. Good choice, though. It’s virtually in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘I bet Cooper was pleased to have been dragged all the way out there in the pouring rain, for no particular reason.’

  ‘I think delighted would be a better word. Anyway, how’ve you been getting on?’

  ‘As it turns out, there were a number of fingerprints on the pen found at Wallace’s place, one of which was a partial belonging to our friend the strip club owner, Mr Terrance McMillan.’

  ‘OK, well, it’s a start, I suppose,’ came Tanner’s somewhat despondent response.

  ‘It’s more than a start, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not by much. It doesn’t prove he was at Wallace’s house, only that he’d touched the pen at some point. I don’t suppose they’ve found his prints on anything else there, preferably something that isn’t quite so easily moved, like a built-in fridge freezer, or a seventy-two inch TV, preferably one mounted to a nearby wall?’

  ‘We’ve yet to hear back, but I’ve checked to see if there were any of his found in Sir Michael’s bedroom.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Not a single one, I’m afraid. Apart from the housekeeper’s, and Sir Michael’s of course, the only ones they’ve managed to unearth belong to the late Claire Metcalf.’

  Tanner took a moment to wipe at the rain still dripping down his face. ‘I don’t suppose there’s been any news about her, by any chance?’

  ‘We’ve had an interim report back, but it only confirms what Johnstone already suspected. She’d had sex between one and two hours before she was killed, but it would appear to have been consensual, and that the cause of death was from a single blow to the back of her head. Apart from the old man’s who we interviewed, they’ve found no other prints or DNA on either her or at the place she was found, something Johnstone has formally put down to their inability to protect the scene from the ensuing storm.’

  ‘OK, well, at least we found that photograph of her with McMillan,’ continued Tanner, endeavouring to sound a little more upbeat, ‘that and the fact that she was at his club that night.’

  ‘How do we know that?’

  ‘Because of the stamp on her hand.’

  ‘Does the stamp prove she was there?’ questioned Vicky. ‘Those things can last for days, can’t they?’

  ‘Speaking from experience, are you?’

  ‘Some of us are still young enough to remember going to the occasional night club.’

  ‘Yes, well, fair enough. I can’t say it was ever my thing. Right, I’d better start heading back. Any sign of Cooper?’

  ‘Not yet, no. Why?’

  ‘What with our somewhat frosty meeting earlier, I forgot to ask him how his blackmail investigation was coming along. I was also wondering if it was possible that Sir Michael’s other friend, Iain Sanders, may have received a letter as well.’

  ‘Shall I give him a call to ask him?’

  ‘Well, you can, but I doubt he’d tell you. If he has received a letter demanding fifty thousand pounds to be left outside a deserted lighthouse, it would have been to cover up something fairly serious. And as we now have two dead people, both of whom had received the same letter, I’m becoming increasingly convinced that we’re going to have to find out what that was.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  TANNER LAUGHED QUIETLY to himself as he drove up Stalham Road heading for Wroxham Police Station, outside which he could see the now familiar gaggle of reporters, all looking decidedly wet and even more decidedly miserable. One attractive blonde-headed woman in particular had him suppressing a smirk as he drove slowly past. She was endeavouring to do a news segment to camera, but her tangled mop of soaking wet hair was catching in her mouth each and every time she opened it, forcing her to keep tugging it out with the hand that was supposed to be holding onto a microphone. The other was clamped around the base of an umbrella, desperately trying to keep its ridged dome facing into the twisting turbulent wind.

  The moment of self-amusement passed the second he turned into the station’s carpark to see none other than Cooper, stepping out of his Audi to pelt his way inside. Assuming he must have stopped off somewhere for petrol on the way back, either that or he’d got lost, he left his car next to Forrester’s BMW to follow inside, only to find Cooper again. This time he was standing in the middle of reception, having what appeared to be a somewhat heated discussion with the only other person there, a taller, older man wearing a pristine white sailing jacket, rainwater dripping from its surface down to the reception’s floor. It took him a full moment to realise who that person was.

  ‘Mr Sanders!’ Tanner called out. ‘I was just talking to one of my colleagues about you.’

  ‘I’m here to find out what happened to Toby,’ Sanders demanded, glancing around.

  ‘Oh, right. You heard about that, did you?’

  ‘I’m not sure how I couldn’t have. It’s been all over the news.’

  ‘He wants to know how he died,’ Copper commented, watching as Tanner stepped up to join them.

  ‘Does he, now.’

  ‘Of course!’ Sanders proclaimed, his eyes darting between the two DIs. ‘He’s one of my very best friends.’

  Tanner took a moment to study the man’s face. There was a questioning curiosity there, there were also clear signs of frustration, no doubt brought on by the fact that nobody at the station would confide in him the details of what Tanner considered to be another murder investigation. But there was something else as well, something he’d not expected to find; an emotion he’d seen etched out on so many people’s faces during his career that he could recognise it in an instant. It was fear; cold, hard, undiluted fear.

  Tanner caught the man’s eyes. ‘Why are you really here, Mr Sanders?’

  ‘What d-do you mean?’ he stammered, glancing briefly away. ‘I just told you. I want to know what ha
ppened to Toby.’

  ‘Well…’ Tanner began, ‘what did the papers say?’

  ‘Just that his death was being investigated by the police.’

  ‘Which is exactly what we’re doing.’

  ‘So, someone killed him then?’

  Tanner raised an inquisitive eyebrow. ‘Did I say that?’

  ‘You just admitted that you’re actively investigating his death,’ Sanders continued.

  ‘As we do in all instances when someone’s died in what could be considered to be unusual circumstances. That doesn’t mean he was murdered, though.’

  ‘So, what happened to him?’

  ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’

  ‘Can you at least tell me how he died?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m struggling to see what difference it would make.’

  ‘I just told you. He was one of my very best friends.’

  ‘And…?’

  ‘And I think I have a right to know how he died.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Sanders, but I’m afraid that privilege is only extended to members of his immediate family.’

  ‘I’m probably the closest thing the man had to one.’

  ‘Maybe so, but that doesn’t make you a blood relative, does it.’

  Sanders hunched his shoulders over as he glowered back at Tanner, the fear he’d seen in his eyes being replaced by resent-fuelled anger. ‘As you’re apparently investigating his death, don’t you at least want to know where I was at the time?’

  ‘Why? Did you kill him?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t kill him!’

  ‘Then why would we want to know where you were?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m confused. Are you investigating his death or not?’

  Tanner let out a world weary sigh as he dug his notebook out from the depths of his coat. ‘Go on then. Mr Sanders, where were you at the time of your friend, Mr Wallace’s death?’

  ‘You’ll need to tell me when he died, first.’

  Tanner narrowed his eyes at him. ‘I must admit, at this stage I’m becoming more curious to know why you seem so keen to find out how and when your friend died than whether or not you had anything to do with it.’

  ‘As I said, I have a right to know.’

  ‘But to come all the way here to find out, during the middle of a storm as well? Couldn’t you have just picked up a phone?’

  ‘Fine!’ Sanders spat, spinning around to stomp his way towards the exit. ‘If you’re not prepared to tell me, and as you’ve clearly no interest in knowing where I was at the time, I’ll be heading back to my boat.’

  Knowing he was going to have to ask him at some stage anyway, Tanner waited for him to reach the door before calling out, ‘It was between nine and eleven this morning.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Sanders enquired, turning back to feign surprise. ‘Are you talking to me?’

  ‘Your friend, Toby Wallace. He died between nine and eleven this morning.’

  ‘Does that mean you would like to know where I was?’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘I see. Right, let me think. If he died this morning, between nine and eleven, then I suppose I would have been on board my boat.’

  ‘What a surprise,’ Tanner muttered, rolling his eyes over at Cooper.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he added, realising he must have said it louder than he thought.

  With Sanders still glaring at him, Tanner remembered something he’d wanted to ask him. ‘Actually, there was something my colleague, DI Cooper and I were curious about.’

  ‘What was that?’ Sanders questioned, as Cooper tilted his head to give Tanner a curious look.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve received any threatening letters recently?’

  ‘Threatening letters?’

  ‘You know, something written on a piece of paper demanding the payment of an unfeasibly large sum of money.’

  ‘You mean a blackmail letter?’

  ‘I believe they have been known to be called that.’

  ‘Why would anyone want to send me a blackmail letter?’

  ‘Other than the fact that we found one at both Sir Michael’s and Mr Wallace’s house? No reason.’

  ‘Then it must have had something to do with their sordid little night club business.’

  ‘That’s a no, then?’ Tanner sought to clarify, his eyes never leaving Sanders’.

  ‘I can assure you, detective inspector, that had I been in receipt of such a letter, you’d have been the first person I’d have called.’

  ‘Of course you would,’ Tanner muttered to himself again, that time making sure that only Cooper could have overheard.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  THE MINUTE SANDERS had thrown his pristine sailing jacket’s hood over his head to march back out into the rain, Tanner gave Cooper a look of bemused curiosity. ‘That was all a bit odd, don’t you think?’

  ‘The part when he was demanding to know if his friend had been murdered, or when he seemed strangely keen for you to ask if he’d done it?’

  ‘I think he was using that as an excuse to find out when Wallace had died,’ Tanner mused, staring at the door the man had just walked out of as it swung slowly back.

  ‘Did you notice that he never once asked if we knew who may have killed his friend?’ Cooper queried, following Tanner’s thoughtful gaze. ‘His only interest seemed to be if he had been.’

  ‘I must admit, I’ve never known anything quite like it. For someone to come all the way over here – in this weather – demanding to know the details of a person’s death; more particularly, if we thought the person had been murdered, without ever thinking to ask if we had any idea who would have done so. As I said – it was all very peculiar.’

  ‘There was something else I noticed as well,’ Cooper continued, catching Tanner’s eye. ‘When he was asking about his friend I thought he looked scared.’

  ‘I’ll go one better than that,’ Tanner added, finding himself in the unusual position of being in agreement with Cooper, ‘I’d say the man looked terrified. So, when you add together his interest in finding out if his friend had been murdered – without thinking to ask if we knew who may have been responsible, combined with the fact that we both agree he look petrified, plus the fact that I thought it was fairly obvious he was lying about not having received any threatening letters, what are we left with?’

  ‘Someone who not only knows who killed Wallace, but also why.’

  ‘Which naturally leads me to my next question.’

  ‘Which is?’

  Tanner turned to offer Cooper an affable smile. ‘How’s that little blackmail investigation of yours going?’

  With the corners of the young DI’s mouth tilting up into what could almost be considered a smile, he was about to answer when DCI Forrester came charging his way through the doors from the main office.