by David Blake
And so, taking his most experienced team member, Detective Sergeant Craig Cooper, along with him, he drove over to the Bittern Pub to begin interviewing staff, and to identify which one of them was the last to have seen Jane Richardson on Saturday night. He left his other Detective Sergeant, Vicky Gilbert, behind to begin going through the CCTV footage in a bid to find some shots of Jane leaving the pub, and if anyone could be seen following her.
The Bittern was about as traditional as a British pub could get. Thought to date back to 1568, its exterior walls were painted white, and framed with black interlinking wooden beams.
Outside was a large restaurant area that led all the way up to the river’s edge. There, a mooring was provided free for customers for a maximum of two hours.
Inside the pub were dark wooden panelled walls and rich red carpets, which together with a low beamed ceiling gave it a warm, cosy feel.
The pub was well known to Burgess, and most everyone else serving at Wroxham Police Station. It was their nearest local, and was naturally a frequent port of call. It was usually fairly quiet, as it attracted mainly the older generation and young families, so they hardly ever had to attend on a professional level. The only times there was ever even the slightest hint of trouble was during the peak summer months, when the place would heave with tourists. But even then, things would rarely reach the point where the police would have to be called. Visitors coming to the Broads with the intention of getting drunk every night tended to do so either on board a hire boat, or within whatever campsite they were staying at. Today, still before the Easter rush, there weren’t many customers.
Behind the bar stood a tall, good-looking man, probably in his late twenties. He had closely cropped black hair with a long fringe that half-covered his dark brown eyes. A tight fitting short-sleeved white shirt showed off unnaturally tanned muscular arms and a well-developed torso. His teeth were exceptionally white, and he had a very distinctive teardrop tattoo on the left side of his neck.
As regular customers, Burgess and Cooper had seen him there before, but knew neither his name, nor what his specific job was.
As they approached, the man set down the glass he’d been drying, gave them an immaculate smile, and said, ‘Afternoon, Gentlemen. What can I get you?’
As they took out their IDs, Burgess made the formal introductions.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Burgess and this is Detective Sergeant Cooper.’
The barman shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. ‘We’re not in any trouble, are we?’ he asked, in an anxious tone.
‘Not at all, no,’ replied Burgess. ‘We’re actually looking for some information about a lady called Jane Richardson.’
‘What about her?’
‘So, you know her then?’
‘Of course. She’s the manager.’
‘So we’ve been told. May I ask when you saw her last?’
‘Me? Not since Friday. She is supposed to be in this morning, but so far, no sign!’ As he said that, he gazed around the virtually empty bar with an amused smirk.
‘So, you weren’t working here on Saturday then?’
‘Normally I would have been, but I had the weekend off. Why?’
Ignoring his question, Burgess asked, ‘I don’t suppose you have any idea who would have been last to see her, before she left on Saturday?’
‘Not a clue, sorry.’
Burgess paused for a moment. ‘Is she particularly close to anyone?’
‘What, here? Hardly! Not with any of us at any rate.’
‘She doesn’t get on with the staff?’
‘She doesn’t socialise with us, if that’s what you mean.’ Leaning over the bar towards them, keeping his voice down, he added, ‘To be honest, she’s always been a bit up herself. Her dad owns the pub, you see. We reckon that’s the only reason she got the job.’
‘I see,’ said Burgess, and pretending to join in with the local gossip, looked around and asked, ‘Do you know of anyone in particular who she didn’t get on with?’
But the barman didn’t seem to fall for it, and with a suspicious look, pulled himself away from the bar and said, ‘No! Look, why’re you asking all this stuff, anyway?’
‘How about you?’
‘How about me, what?’
‘Did you get on with her?’
‘I’ve just told you that, didn’t I?’
Burgess studied his face for a moment. The fact that he’d taken a sudden defensive stance when being asked about his relationship with the woman who was his boss was worth noting.
After glancing at DS Cooper, Burgess continued, ‘May I ask your name?’
The man seemed to hesitate for a moment before he answered, long enough for Burgess to know that he’d probably thought about whether he’d be able to get away with not telling them.
‘Stephen.’
‘Stephen…?’
‘Perry.’
‘And what do you do here, Mr Perry?’
‘I’m the bar manager,’ he said, unable to prevent himself from glancing down at the notebook DS Cooper was writing in.
‘And you say you weren’t here on Saturday?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So, where were you then?’
‘Nowhere special. I had the weekend off, that’s all.’
‘I see. And whereabouts do you live, Mr Perry?’
‘Horstead. It’s just up…’
‘I know where Horstead is, thank you,’ stated Burgess, and held the bar manager’s gaze for a moment longer. He really wanted to speak to the person who’d last seen Jane Richardson, and although the barman standing before him was looking increasingly anxious, that in itself wasn’t unusual. Few people enjoyed talking to the police. Just about everyone had something to hide. Moving on, he asked, ‘Is there someone we can talk to who would have been working here on Saturday night?’
Looking relieved that the attention was finally being taken off himself, Perry gave that some thought. ‘I’m not sure. Probably someone in the kitchen, but I can check the staff roster if you like.’
‘That would be useful, thank you,’ replied Burgess. He watched Perry step over to a nearby computer terminal, and added, ‘Actually, if you could print out a full staff list, that would be appreciated.’
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
WHILST BURGESS WAS being kept busy at The Bittern, Tanner and Jenny arrived outside two black wrought iron gates which served as the elaborate entrance to the Lamberts’ residence in Horning. In the middle of the two gates were the initials J and L, painted in gold. Beyond, they could see an impressive two storey detached house with whitewashed walls and white shuttered windows. Between the ground floor windows was a carefully-spaced series of polished chrome flower pots, from each of which arose identically shaped fern trees.
Seeing an intercom attached to the top of a brushed chromed post to his immediate right, Tanner wound down his window and reached out to press the buzzer.
After a moment a thin metallic female voice came back. ‘Yes?’
Leaning his head out of the window towards the intercom, Tanner called, ‘Norfolk Police to see Mr and Mrs Lambert.’
‘What’s it about?’
‘It’s concerning their daughter.’
There was no response, but a moment later they heard a clunking sound followed by the low electric hum of the gates as they parted.
As soon as they’d opened wide enough, Tanner eased his XJS through the gap and followed the circular gravel drive around, eventually parking behind two gleaming cars, an Aston Martin Vanquish and a brand new Range Rover Vogue SE, both black, and both so clean they looked as if they’d just been wheeled out of a showroom.
By the time they eased themselves out of the XJS, which up against the Aston Martin and the Range Rover looked even more dated and dirty than usual, the front door had already been opened.
In the doorway stood an attractive but formidable looking woman with sculpted cheek bones, dark blue eyes, a regal nose, a h
ard angular chin and thick chestnut brown hair, which cascaded down over her shoulders. The length of her body was covered in an elegant grey cashmere jumper, which she clutched tightly around her waist with folded arms.
‘So?’ she called out, the moment Tanner closed his door. ‘Have you found her yet?’
Hearing her sharp, patronising tone, Tanner was already regretting having volunteered for the job. He’d forgotten how obnoxious the rich could be, especially when they came face to face with the police.
Before he said anything, he thought he’d better make the formal introductions. As they crunched their way over the gravel drive, up to the front door, he said, ‘Detective Inspector Tanner and Detective Constable Evans. Could we come inside?’
Ignoring both IDs and the policeman’s request, with her arms still folded, the woman said, ‘You haven’t answered my question.’
Stopping where he was, Tanner put his ID away to ask, ‘Are you Mrs Lambert, the mother of Jane Richardson?’
‘Of course! Who did you think I was?’
‘Is your husband in too, by any chance?’
‘He’s on his stupid boat.’
‘And when will he be back?’
‘He hasn’t gone anywhere! It’s moored up at the back of the house.’
Hoping that would mean Mr Lambert would be able to join them, Tanner asked again, ‘May we come inside?’ He’d no intention of breaking the news of their daughter’s death whilst standing on their porch steps, and if at all possible, it was always better to tell parents such tragic news when they were together.
‘Have you found her or not?’ she demanded.
‘We have news,’ Tanner conceded, ‘but we’d prefer to be able to come in to discuss it with both you and your husband.’
‘Very well!’ she said, with a heavy sigh, and disappeared inside, leaving Tanner and Jenny to make their own way in.
As they stepped into the hall, from somewhere towards the back of the house they heard Mrs Lambert bellow, ‘JOHN! WE’VE GOT VISITORS!’ and then, ‘You’d better come through. My husband won’t be long.’
Following the sound of her voice, they entered a luxurious kitchen which stretched over the entire width of the house. In the middle was a large island surrounded by dark brown wooden cabinets and a cream marble worktop. The far wall was nothing but glass, allowing for a clear, unobstructed view of a freshly mown lawn which stretched all the way down to the River Bure. There, moored up at the end was a white motor yacht which was so big, they could hardly see the river beyond.
Tanner and Jenny watched as a heavy-set man began to climb down from the boat onto the hard standing. He had a weathered tanned face and wiry grey hair, and was wearing blue jeans which looked a little on the tight side, along with a navy blue jumper and an open necked office shirt.
As they watched him lumbering his way up the lawn, staring down at the grass as he did so, Mrs Lambert asked, ‘Can I get you anything to drink? Tea? Coffee?’
‘Thank you, no,’ replied Tanner.
As the big man entered the kitchen through one of the glass doors, Mrs Lambert said, ‘It’s the police, darling. They’ve finally got some news about Jane!’
‘And about bloody time too,’ he mumbled. Stopping next to his wife, he glared at the two police officers. ‘Well, where is she then?’
Tanner hesitated.
This was the hard part.
‘Mr and Mrs Lambert, I’m afraid to tell you that at around one o’clock yesterday afternoon, the body of a young woman was found in the river, near Thurne Dyke.’
Neither parent said anything. Both just continued to stare at him.
‘Today she has been positively identified as your daughter, Jane Richardson.’
A cold hard silence followed.
With a faltering voice, Mrs Lambert eventually said, ‘You must be mistaken. Our Jane isn’t… She’s just run off with somebody, that’s all!’
‘I’m afraid her husband formally identified her body this afternoon.’
‘That idiot! Well, he’s wrong! Plain and simple!’
‘Supporting evidence has also been found.’
‘Evidence? What evidence?’
Tanner took a moment before continuing. The fact that they weren’t prepared to believe what he was telling them was very normal. Denial was the first of several stages of grief, something he was all too familiar with. But murder could never be described as normal, and as with Jane’s husband, he was careful to say only as much about her death as was necessary to convince them.
‘We found some of her blood along the towpath under the railway bridge, just outside Wroxham, which we believe was the route she took back from work on Saturday night.’
‘You’re honestly suggesting that our daughter was stupid enough to trip over, and fall into the river? She doesn’t even drink! Did you know that?’
‘It looks like someone may have been there with her. Someone who wished her harm.’
‘You mean she was…?’
‘I’m very sorry, but it looks like she was unlawfully killed, yes.’
Unable to take her tear-filled eyes off Tanner, Mrs Lambert slumped onto one of the high chairs that surrounded the island. The fact that her daughter was dead seemed to have finally penetrated the barrier of her conscious mind.
The oppressive silence that followed was broken by the breaking voice of the father.
‘Do you… do you know who did it?’
‘It’s too early to say, but I can assure you that we’re…’
Mrs Lambert spat out, ‘It was that husband of hers, wasn’t it?’
‘As I was saying,’ continued Tanner, in a calming voice, ‘it really is too early to say, but we are doing everything we can…’
Rising from her chair, Mrs Lambert continued her accusation. ‘It was him! I know it was! He never loved her, not like we did!’
‘Mrs Lambert…’
‘Have you talked to him yet?’
‘We have, but…’
‘Then you know how much he resented her. God knows why she married him. He wasn’t even man enough to get her pregnant. We had to pay for them to go to an IVF clinic, and half the time he didn’t even bother to go with her. They were supposed to have their final meeting there during Jane’s lunchbreak on Saturday, just to make sure the baby was…’
She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she remembered that her daughter had been pregnant. It was left for her husband to ask what they already knew, but didn’t want to believe.
‘The baby?’
Tanner looked first at the father, and then the mother, and shook his head.
Having this confirmed was simply too much for them to bear. Mrs Richardson sank back onto the seat, covering her face with her long bony fingers and broke down in noisy sobs.
Beside her, her husband gripped the edge of the marble worktop, staring down at his hands, tears falling from his eyes.
Tanner and Jenny stood quietly, waiting for the right time to speak.
Trying to regain some of his composure as he wiped the side of his face with the back of his hand, Mr Lambert said, ‘If there’s anything we can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.’
Seizing the opportunity, Tanner asked, ‘Did your daughter know of anyone who may have wished her harm?’
Sniffing loudly, Mrs Lambert looked up and said, ‘You mean, apart from her husband?’
‘Ruth, please!’
‘What? You know it was him, just as well as I do! He only married her for her money. Everyone knew it – everyone except you, of course! And now he’s killed her and her baby. And I suppose that means he’s going to inherit her entire estate? Well, not if I have anything to do with it, he isn’t!’
Pushing on, Tanner asked, ‘Have you ever had any threats yourself, ransom demands or anything.’
Mr Lambert turned back to him. ‘You think someone may have been trying to kidnap her?’
‘It’s certainly something we’re considering, yes. Has anyone
tried anything like that before?’
‘Nothing like that, no. I’ve always been mindful to keep Jane out of the public eye, for that very reason.’
‘What about boyfriends?’
‘You mean, before Simon?’
‘Either before or during.’
Ignoring the inference that she may have been having an affair, Mr Lambert said, ‘Well, she’s had some of course, but none who’ve caused any trouble, nothing serious at least.’
‘Would you be able to tell us how we’d be able to get in touch with them?’
‘With her old boyfriends?’ questioned Mr Lambert, looking at his wife for help. ‘I can hardly remember their names, let alone where they all live!’
Sliding off her chair, Mrs Lambert crossed the kitchen floor to stare unseeing out of the window, clutching her cashmere jumper around her.
Sensing the time had probably come for them to go, Tanner said, ‘We’d better leave it there. I am truly sorry for your loss, Mr and Mrs Lambert, but I can assure you that we’re doing everything in our power to find out who did this to your daughter.’
Mrs Lambert let out a huff of disgust. ‘Then I suggest you’d better hurry up and arrest that husband of hers, hadn’t you!’
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
IN THE HALLWAY, as Mr Lambert held the door open for them, he said, ‘You must forgive my wife. She’s never really got on with Simon.’
‘And how about you?’ Tanner asked, stepping outside.
‘Me and Simon? Well, I must admit that I wasn’t too keen at first, but Jane always seemed to like him.’
‘What was the relationship like between them?’
‘Generally good, I think. I know they had issues when she couldn’t get pregnant, but I don’t think that was necessarily Simon’s fault, and they seemed to get back to normal pretty quickly when we heard that the IVF treatment had worked.’
