by David Blake
‘There you are, Tanner. Where the hell have you been?’
‘We’ve – er – just come back from the lighthouse, sir,’ Tanner replied, trying to remember the last time they’d spoken.
‘Lighthouse? What lighthouse?’
‘The one mentioned in the blackmail letter found at Toby Wallace’s house.’
‘News to me,’ Forrester grumbled, offering him a blank stare. ‘Sounds like I’m due for some sort of an update, don’t you think?’
The sucking sound of the entrance door had all three of them glancing around to see a bedraggled soaking wet young woman come stumbling into the reception, a red-faced toddler fighting at the end of one arm, a broken umbrella hanging limp from the other. As the child began tugging with vehement determination at his mother’s twisted hand, screaming at the top of his lungs as he did, Tanner turned back to Forrester. ‘Would you mind if I updated you somewhere else, sir?’ he began, raising his voice above the cacophony of noise. ‘Actually, sir, would you mind if I updated you anywhere else?’
‘Right, you two; my office, now!’
‘Me as well?’ bleated Cooper.
Forrester turned to glare over at him. ‘You do work here, don’t you?’
‘Well, yes…’
‘And am I to understand that you went with Tanner to this mysterious lighthouse, presumably because you’re still in charge of the blackmail side of this investigation?’
‘I did, but…’
‘Then yes, you as well, Cooper! Why the hell wouldn’t it be you as well?’
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
‘OK YOU TWO, take a seat,’ said Forrester, levering himself down into his own. ‘And close the door,’ he added, planting his elbows down on his desk to watch Tanner follow Cooper inside.
‘Right,’ the DCI continued, ‘where were we? Something about a lighthouse and another blackmail letter?’
Glancing around to find Forrester aiming the question squarely at him, Tanner took the seat next to where he could see Cooper was endeavouring to make himself comfortable. ‘The blackmail letter was found in a kitchen drawer at Toby Wallace’s house.’
‘Who, I’ve been told, had a heart attack whilst apparently doing a spot of gardening?’
‘Dr Johnstone did seem to be under the impression that he’d had a heart attack,’ Tanner confirmed, ‘but I doubt it was because he was overexerting himself whilst cutting the grass.’
‘You think he was somehow murdered?’
‘Not murdered, as such. He was spotted by his neighbour, sprawled out beside his pool in his dressing gown.’
‘OK, so he wasn’t gardening, but I still don’t see why you think there’s anything suspicious about it.’
‘Had it not been for the weather, sir, I doubt I would have.’
‘What’s the weather got to do with it?’
‘His death coincides with when it started raining, making it an odd sort of time for him to venture outside, especially given what he was wearing.’
‘Couldn’t he have run out to grab something that wasn’t supposed to be getting wet? Some washing, perhaps, or maybe a book he’d left by the pool?’
‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ Tanner replied, ‘but I didn’t see a washing line. I didn’t see a book lying beside the pool either, or anything else I could imagine forcing him out into such inclement weather.’
‘So what are you suggesting happened?’
‘I think he was trying to escape from someone inside his house.’
‘Was there sign of a forced entry?’
‘No, but…’
‘Had anything been stolen?’
‘Again, no.’
‘Did you find an unexploded World War II bomb in his downstairs toilet?’
‘Er…’
‘Was he married?’
Tanner exchanged a brief bemused look with Cooper. ‘Not that we’re aware of, sir, no.’
‘OK, so if a gang of armed criminals hadn’t broken into his house, if he hadn’t found an unexploded bomb in his downstairs toilet, and if he didn’t have a disgruntled wife he’d managed to upset about something, what could he have been so desperate to run away from?’
‘That’s where the pen comes in.’
‘The pen?’
‘Yes, sir. It was found under the kitchen table.’
‘My God! You mean to tell me that an actual real-life pen was found under a table, in his kitchen? Why didn’t you tell me this before? I mean, of course the man was murdered!’
Tanner forced an unamused smile over at his DCI. ‘I was more interested in what was written on it, than it being the specific reason behind Wallace’s death.’
‘Which was?’
‘The Riverside Gentlemen’s Club.’
‘So what?’
‘It’s the strip club Terrance McMillan owns.’
‘I’m fully aware of that, thank you, Tanner; but it doesn’t mean the owner was there, nor anyone else for that matter.’
‘But we do know that McMillan had been there before. His neighbour had seen him coming and going on a fairly regular basis.’
‘Did the neighbour see him there at the time of Wallace’s death?’
‘Well, no sir, but…’
‘But what?’
‘But the only prints we’ve identified on it so far belong to McMillan. It doesn’t even look like the victim had touched it.’
‘So you’re thinking that he went to Wallace’s house that morning armed with a pen, the sight of which was so terrifying, the homeowner ran out into his garden in the middle of a category three storm in order to have a heart attack?’
‘I was thinking more along the lines that McMillan had brought it with him with the intention of forcing Wallace to put his name to something he didn’t necessarily want to. When he refused, they threatened to start removing his fingers with a pair of pliers, or something similar, at which point he legged it out into the rain, only to find himself dying of a heart attack.’
‘It’s a great story, Tanner, really it is, but I’ve got no idea how you’re going to prove that in court.’
‘We’re not there yet, I admit, but we’ve at least managed to link McMillan to each of our three victims.’
‘Remind me how you’ve done that?’
‘Through Claire Metcalf, sir. She was the woman Sir Michael was with that night, the one who openly admitted to handcuffing him to his bed. We know she worked at the Riverside strip club, and that McMillan knew her. And now she’s been found dead down an alley with her head bashed in.’
‘And that’s something else nobody’s bothered to tell me about.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that there’s been quite a lot going on recently.’
‘Yes, well, fair enough. So, you think McMillan killed her because she was a witness to Sir Michael’s murder?’
Tanner nodded. ‘He told us she was their best performer. I think we all know what that means. So it makes sense for him to send her to Sir Michael’s house with the specific instruction to secure him to the bed with minimal fuss. Whether or not she was still there when he had his heart surgically removed is probably largely irrelevant. The fact that she’d been seen going inside by the housekeeper, who then unfortunately went and gave her name to the national press – albeit the wrong one – would have probably meant she was too dangerous to leave walking about.’
‘I don’t suppose we have any proof that either McMillan, or any of his known associates, did actually kill her?’
‘Nothing yet, I’m afraid. To be honest, I’m not sure we’re going to. It had just started pouring down with rain when we arrived at the scene, and the location of the body made it impossible for forensics to protect the surrounding evidence.’
‘Do we have anything?’
‘Just that it’s unlikely she was mugged, as her purse was found stuffed full of cash. And although Johnstone says she’d had sex with someone shortly before her body was found, she hadn’t been raped. Apart from a Riverside club
stamp found on the back of her hand, the only other thing we found to be of interest was a picture of her inside her handbag, cosying up to McMillan.’
‘Do we have any idea who she’d been having sex with?’
‘I must admit, I’d assumed it to have been one of the club’s patrons, but I’ll make a note to give Johnstone a call to find out.’
‘Before you do, you still haven’t told me why the two of you have been off visiting a lighthouse. Was it part of some informal team building exercise. Cooper?’
Hearing his name, Cooper sat up in his chair. ‘As, er, Tanner mentioned earlier, sir,’ he began, clearing his throat, ‘another blackmail letter was found at Mr Wallace’s house, which is thought to be from the same person as the one Sir Michael received, the difference being that it was intact. Its instructions were to leave fifty thousand pounds at the base of Happisburgh Lighthouse.’
‘So you thought you’d go over to see if the person who wrote the letter actually lived there?’ Forrester queried, both his tone and expression burgeoning with incredulity.
Tanner watched as Cooper’s head turned slowly around to stare over at him. Expecting him to say that the whole lighthouse trip was his idea, he drew in a fortifying breath in preparation for having to defend himself. But instead of doing so, Cooper returned his gaze to Forrester.
‘We thought it was a possibility, sir; certainly not something we should automatically rule out.’
‘Well…?’ Forrester demanded. ‘Did you find anyone there? Some troubled soul hunched over a dilapidated typewriter, frantically hammering out a few more letters?’
‘Er, no sir. The place was deserted.’
Forrester began to slowly rotate his head around until his eyes rested firmly on Tanner’s. ‘You don’t say.’
Feeling it necessary to offer some sort of response, Tanner shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘We did speak to the people living next door.’
Cooper jerked his head to stare over at him.
‘And…?’ Forrester questioned, leaning back in his chair.
‘They were able to confirm that the lighthouse was unmanned.’
‘Really?’
‘And that the only people who ever went there were the contractors who serviced it, them and the occasional tourist.’
‘You mean, they didn’t see anyone hanging about outside holding up a placard with, “Please leave your fifty-thousand pound blackmail demand here,” written all over it?’
Tanner gave Forrester another of his not so amused smiles. ‘Not that they saw, sir, no.’
‘Oh well, at least neither of you has anything better to do. I mean, we only have the deaths of three people to investigate, half the nation’s press parked outside, what they’re now saying could become the worst storm in over a hundred years, and Superintendent Whitaker phoning me up every five minutes demanding to know what’s going on.’
Tanner feigned a confused expression. ‘Excuse me, sir, but…are you being sarcastic?’
‘OF COURSE I’M BEING BLOODY SARCASTIC!’ Forrester yelled back, the vein running vertically down his forehead pumping ominously.
‘Sorry,’ Tanner responded, doing his best to suppress the smirk that seemed desperate to make what would have been a most inappropriate appearance. ‘I wasn’t sure.’
‘Please don’t tell me that you think this is funny, Tanner.’
‘Not at all, sir. But in our defence, Sir Michael’s body was only found on Friday, and the other two just this morning. Bearing that in mind, I think it’s a little presumptuous of Superintendent Whitaker to expect us to already have the person responsible under lock and key. As for the British press, if they wish to spend their sad little lives camped outside our station in the pouring rain, then good luck to them.’
‘That’s as maybe, Tanner, but we’re still going to need to see some tangible signs that you’re making progress, and what should have obviously been a pointless wild goose chase off to see some uninhabited lighthouse doesn’t count, I’m afraid.’
With neither Tanner nor Cooper offering any form of response, Forrester drew in an exasperated breath. ‘So anyway, do we have anyone in mind as being a suspect?’
‘For the murders or the blackmail?’
‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance they’re one and the same?’
‘At this stage, it’s difficult to see how. It would certainly be unusual for a blackmailer to start going around murdering the people they’re trying to extract money from. If they were to kill anyone, it would be a family member, and they’d only do that out of desperation.’
‘If the person didn’t have a family, I suppose they could consider targeting a close friend instead,’ mused Cooper, catching Tanner’s eye.
‘I must admit, I’d been considering the possibility of something similar myself.’
‘And what’s that?’ Forrester questioned.
‘I think Cooper is suggesting that Sir Michael may have been killed to convince Wallace that their blackmail threat was serious?’
‘It could also explain why they murdered him in such a theatrical manner,’ Cooper added, ‘and why Wallace was so scared when they showed up at his house that he tried to make a run for it, without making the effort to get dressed first.’
‘During the middle of a category three storm, as well,’ Tanner muttered, his eyes drifting away in thoughtful contemplation.
Forrester replaced his elbows on top of his desk. ‘What did the blackmail letter actually say?’
‘It sounded like some sort of a bible quote.’ Tanner replied, digging out his notebook to begin flicking through its pages. ‘“Leave fifty thousand in cash at the base of Happisburgh Lighthouse by midnight tonight, or else I’ll be doing unto you as you so kindly thought you’d done unto me.”’
Forrester raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s a bit cryptic, isn’t it?’
‘I think it was supposed to be. Quite clever when you think about it. Discreet enough not to give too much away, but clear enough for the target to know what was being referred to.’
The office fell into a thoughtful silence as the three men each took a moment to consider what was being proposed.
‘I don’t suppose we have any suspects?’ Forrester eventually asked, his gaze switching between the two DIs.
‘Well, sir,’ Tanner began, ‘if the blackmailer and the murderer are one and the same, at this stage I’d say the most likely suspect is the strip club owner, Terrance McMillan. He clearly fancies himself as a bit of a gangster, and I’d be very surprised if he doesn’t have form.’
Forrester laid his hands flat on the desk. ‘OK, that will have to do. I suggest you bring him in for questioning.’
Tanner’s mouth fell open in surprise. ‘You want us to arrest him?’
‘No, Tanner, I want you to ask him out for dinner.’
‘But…’ Tanner continued, exchanging a brief look of bemused uncertainty with Cooper, ‘…we don’t have any evidence to prove his involvement, for either the murders or the blackmail.’
