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

by David Blake

  ‘I don’t think they’ve been processed yet. Sounds promising, though, don’t you think?’

  ‘Perhaps, but hardly conclusive. There can’t be many households in the world that don’t have a hammer and a hacksaw lurking inside them somewhere.’

  ‘But stashed inside a locked stationery cupboard?’ questioned Vicky, in a more optimistic tone.

  ‘Well, we’ll have to see. Can you give them a call for me? Ask them to make those two a priority? We need to know if there are any traces of blood on either; more specifically, Sir Michael’s on the hacksaw and at least one of the women’s on the hammer.’

  Seeing her reach for her phone reminded him of Christine’s earlier call. ‘Can I leave that with you?’ he asked, standing up to dig out his mobile. ‘I’ve just remembered that I need to make a call myself.’

  With Vicky nodding, he spun away to stare down at his phone. Seeing she’d left him a message, he was about to listen to it when he saw DCI Forrester burst in through the double doors at the end to begin stomping his way past all the desks, heading for his office, directly opposite to where Tanner was standing.

  For a fraction of a second, his mind wrestled with the idea of spinning back to Vicky in order to avoid having to say hello, but it was too late. Forrester had spotted him.

  Holding his ground, Tanner pretended to do something on his phone other than return Christine’s call. ‘Morning, sir,’ he smiled, glancing casually up only to see Forrester alter course to begin charging straight for him.

  For one disturbing moment, Tanner honestly thought he was going to walk straight into him, but at the last moment he veered away to whisper, ‘A word if you will,’ rather harshly into Tanner’s ear.

  ‘Shit,’ Tanner muttered, tucking his phone back inside his suit jacket’s pocket to follow what was clearly a rather disgruntled detective chief inspector.

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  ‘RIGHT,’ FORRESTER BEGAN, glancing down at his watch as Tanner eased the door closed behind him. ‘You’d better give me an update before Superintendent Whitaker phones me up for what would be the second time in about as many minutes.’

  ‘He’s already called you?’ Tanner enquired, with a concerned frown; hoping a rare show of empathy may help ease the man’s obvious ill temper.

  ‘Before I’d even left my bloody house!’ the DCI stated, slumping down into his chair. ‘Which is why I’m so late. So, anyway, where were we again?’

  As Tanner pulled out a chair for himself, he could feel his boss’s eyes endeavouring to bore down into his. ‘I was about to give you an update, sir.’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s right,’ Forrester replied, leaning back in his chair to lock his arms firmly over his chest, ‘so you were. To be honest, I was a little disappointed you didn’t phone me last night, after the call-out.’

  ‘I assume you’re referring to the woman found by the taxi driver?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, Tanner. Nobody seems to tell me much of anything these days.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but as I think I said before, it’s only because we’ve been so busy.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but it’s not much use when Whitaker phones me up demanding an update, when I don’t even know myself. And why? Because nobody’s thought to consider that I may want to know what’s been going on!’

  With Forrester’s vein on his forehead rhythmically pulsating, as if attempting to keep time to the words flying out from his mouth, Tanner sat up in his chair to clear his throat. ‘I arrived at the scene to find the body of another woman, lying in the gutter with the back of her head smashed in. As far as we know, she’d been dropped off there by a taxi driver who then saw her being attacked in his rear view mirror as he pulled away.’

  ‘Did he see the person’s face?’

  ‘Only enough to think that it was a man, although he wasn’t even sure of that. With what the weather was doing at the time, I’m surprised he was able to see anything at all. What he was able to do, somewhat surprisingly, was identify the body, something Johnstone has since confirmed.’

  ‘A Miss Nicola Bowell,’ Forrester commented, fishing out his mobile to begin scrolling down its screen. ‘I was glancing through his report when Whitaker called. That, and the one from forensics.’

  ‘The taxi driver told us that she works at the Riverside. Another one of their “exotic dancers”.’

  ‘I assume you asked him how he knew her?’

  ‘He admitted to being one of the club’s patrons, and that he’d picked her up before.’

  ‘You don’t think he could have been the one who killed her?’

  ‘If he did, then he’d have to had killed the other stripper as well.’

  ‘And why’s that?’

  ‘Because of what Johnstone said in his report; that both the method and the weapon were the same as the ones used to murder Claire Metcalf.’

  Forrester tossed his phone onto his desk to stare out the window where a long line of news vans could clearly be seen, cluttering up the road outside. ‘I assume that means our prime suspect couldn’t have done it either.’

  Tanner shook his head. ‘Not with him being locked up all night.’

  ‘One of his known associates, perhaps?’

  ‘Well, the two most obvious have been sitting out in reception ever since we brought him in yesterday evening.’

  ‘And they’ve been there the entire time?’

  ‘We can check our security footage, but it would seem so. Certainly at the time in question. According to DS Taylor they’ve been there all night.’

  ‘I suppose that means someone else is responsible for what happened to our two female victims?’

  ‘Either that, or it’s the same person. Just not the one we have locked inside a holding cell.’

  ‘I sincerely hope not!’ Forrester exclaimed, bristling uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I’ve already told Whitaker that we have our man, at least the person responsible for Sir Michael’s murder.’

  Tanner’s mouth fell open as he stared over at his DCI. ‘I’m, er, sorry sir, but…I’m really not sure that we have enough evidence to charge him. I don’t even think that we have enough to apply for a holding extension.’

  ‘What are you talking about? I thought you said you’d read the forensics report – about what they found at the Riverside?’

  ‘Well, yes, sir, but only briefly. Did I miss something?’

  Forrester let out an exasperated sigh. ‘They said they found a hacksaw, hidden inside a stationery cupboard.’

  ‘Well – yes – but – ’

  ‘One that had traces of blood on it.’

  Tanner closed his mouth. ‘OK, I must admit, I hadn’t read that part. Did they confirm it was Sir Michael’s?’

  ‘Not as such, no, but I can’t see who else it could belong to.’

  Tanner was about to say that he could think of at least a dozen people, anyone in fact who had access to the stationery cupboard, when he thought better of it, electing to remain silent instead.

  ‘When you combine that with the pen found underneath Toby Wallace’s kitchen table,’ Forrester continued, ‘that McMillan had been seen going in and out of his house on numerous occasions, and that he was endeavouring to force the sale of the Phantom Exchange nightclub for the sum of a single pound coin, it’s enough.’

  ‘But only if the blood found on the hacksaw matches Sir Michael’s, sir.’

  ‘Then it better bloody had, hadn’t it!’

  ‘And what if it doesn’t?’

  Forrester glowered over at him for a moment, the skin around his nose creasing into something akin to a snarl. ‘In that scenario, I suppose you’d be left looking for another key piece of evidence.’

  With Forrester throwing a problem that was entirely of his own creation straight back at him, Tanner could feel his blood beginning to boil. ‘And just how the hell would you propose I do that?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Tanner, for a minute there I thought it was your job.’

  �
�Manufacturing evidence out of thin air is hardly my job, sir, unless you’re stating on the record that you’re happy enough for me to start going around planting some?’

  Tanner watched as Forrester spread the palms of his hands out over the top of his desk. ‘Listen, this is only relevant if the blood on the hacksaw doesn’t match Sir Michael’s. So let’s find that out first, shall we?’

  Tanner took a moment to get his emotions under control. ‘I’ve already asked forensics to make both the hacksaw and the hammer a priority.’

  ‘They found a hammer as well?’

  ‘Well, yes, but there can’t be many households that don’t have at least one knocking about the place.’

  ‘But not hidden inside a stationery cupboard.’

  ‘I’m not sure the tools had been hidden, exactly. More just kept inside.’

  ‘But the door was locked.’

  ‘It was, but that could have been more to stop people from helping themselves to free staples than a method of hiding a material piece of evidence from a high-profile murder investigation.’

  ‘Is there any chance you could try to be a little more optimistic, Tanner?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have to be if someone hadn’t gone and told Superintendent Whitaker that we had our man, when it’s far from certain that we have, sir.’

  ‘And I wouldn’t have felt the need to if the senior investigating officer had made a bit more of an effort to keep me informed as to what’s been going on.’

  ‘You made an assumption based on what a forensics report said about some blood being found on a hacksaw, which had nothing to do with what I either had or hadn’t updated you about. And now I’m the one stuck with the task of finding enough evidence to charge him.’

  ‘As I said before, Tanner, that’s your job!’

  ‘My job is to find out who’s guilty, sir, not to try to figure out how someone is, just because of what you decided to tell your superior over the phone this morning. If it had been my choice, I wouldn’t have even arrested him. Not before we had the evidence first.’

  A sudden knock at the door saw the argument come juddering to a breathless halt.

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ called out Forrester, almost shouting.

  In the silence that followed, the door creaked open to reveal the timid face of young DC Townsend. ‘Sorry to – er – bother you,’ he began, glancing first at Forrester before focussing his eyes on Tanner, ‘there’s a man out in reception, asking to speak to you.’

  ‘Does he have a name?’ Tanner enquired, grateful for the interruption.

  ‘George Chapman. He said you spoke to him yesterday, him and his daughter.

  Recalling the name, Tanner turned to look at Forrester. ‘He’s the guy who lives next door to the lighthouse – the one mentioned as being a drop-off point in the letter found at Wallace’s house.’

  ‘Didn’t you go up there with Cooper, as part of his blackmail investigation?’

  ‘I did, yes, but…’

  ‘Then I suggest you let him deal with it.’

  Townsend cleared his throat. ‘Er, he did specifically ask for DI Tanner, sir.’

  Tanner turned to gaze out of Forrester’s window, and the rain rattling off all the cars parked out in front. ‘I’d better go, sir. It must be important for him to have come all the way over here in this.’

  Forrester let out an impatient sigh. ‘Very well. But the moment you’re done with him, I want your focus straight back on McMillan. If forensics comes back to say that the blood on that hacksaw belongs to Sir Michael, I want to see you charging him for the murders of both him and Wallace. If they come back to say it isn’t, then you’re going to have to ask the local magistrate for a holding extension, whether you think one will be granted or not.’

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  RELIEVED TO BE able to escape from underneath Forrester’s simmering glare, with McMillan’s goons still parked out in reception, Tanner asked Townsend to show Chapman into one of the interview rooms where they’d be able to talk in private.

  Stopping off at the kitchen to grab himself a much needed coffee, Tanner entered the room a few minutes later to find the walk-in slumped in a chair, water dripping down from a soaking-wet raincoat.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Chapman,’ Tanner began, placing his coffee onto the table to begin levering himself underneath. ‘You asked to see me?’

  ‘I have some rather belated news about the missing girl,’ Chapman began, staring down at his hands clenched together on top of the table.

  ‘Sorry…which one was that?’ Tanner replied, a sanguine smile tugging inappropriately at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘The one the newspapers said went missing last week. I think her name was Abigail Taylor?’

  Tanner took a moment to wade back through the many recent events in a bid to remind himself.

  ‘It was something my daughter told me,’ Chapman continued, ‘that she thought she’d seen something from her bedroom window, the night the girl was said to have gone missing.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘Her bedroom is at the back of the house, facing out over the cliffs towards the sea.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well…she said she thought she saw someone fall off the back of a boat, about half a mile off the coast.’

  ‘And she thinks it was this missing girl?’ Tanner queried; his voice edged with curious scepticism as his mind considered just how much anyone would be able to see staring out into the middle of an ocean from the top of a distant cliff.

  Chapman nodded back in response.

  ‘What makes her so sure? I mean, the view from up there can’t be great.’

  ‘She has a telescope in her room. It’s a bit of a hobby of hers, watching all the boats sailing past.’

  ‘OK, well, fair enough. I presume she called the coastguard to let them know?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. She didn’t even tell me; not until last night.’

  Tanner blinked in surprise. ‘And why was that do you think?’

  Chapman shrugged. ‘She said she’d been too scared.’

  ‘Scared of seeing someone fall off the back of a boat?’

  ‘That’s the thing. She said she didn’t fall, exactly, more that she was thrown.’

  ‘Thrown?’

  ‘She thinks the girl on the boat was dead, and that the men she was on the boat with had murdered her.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Tanner exclaimed, frantically clawing out his notebook. ‘And she’s only thought to mention this now, over a week after the event?’

  ‘I know. I told her how stupid she’d been, and that she should have told me the minute she saw it. But I think she found the whole thing genuinely frightening, which I can understand. I mean, it’s not every day you see someone being killed before watching their body thrown over the side of a boat, especially if you’re a fifteen year old schoolgirl.’