“Excuse me,” Kate said. “I’m looking for William Clapp.”
Blue eyes assessed her warily. “What do you want him for?” The uncomfortable edge to his stance and the unconscious leaning away told her she’d found the person she wanted.
“Just a couple of questions about Connie Wells. You know she was killed yesterday, don’t you, William?”
If he was surprised at her using his first name, he didn’t show it. He just nodded his head, flicked ash from his cigarette, and tucked it back between his lips.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Kate Brannon. Did you know she was planning to close this place down?”
He snorted. “Whole village knows that. It weren’t no secret.”
“Someone told me that it would mean you ending up on the streets. Is that true?”
He pulled a deep drag on his smoke, took it from his lips, and fished a tiny fleck of tobacco off his tongue. “People say a lot of shit.”
Kate smiled and tried to sidestep the plume of smoke. “Does that mean you weren’t going to be out on your ear?”
He flicked the butt to the ground and crushed it beneath his heel. “Connie said I could stay in here once this place closed, but the heating would be off. She said if I helped Gina keep on top of the place I could stay until I found somewhere else to live. If Gina said I had to go, though, then I had to go or they’d call the cops in to get rid of me.”
“I’d be pissed if someone said that to me.”
He shrugged and fished a small packet of tobacco from his pocket. His fingers deftly rolled another smoke and he tucked it between his lips. “Nah. At least she was giving me time. She could’ve just told me to get lost.” He shrugged again. “That’s what usually happens to me.”
“Did you like Connie?”
He stared at her. She could see him carefully weighing his options on what he said next. “She gave me a chance. Only person around here who did. She said I would either prove myself or not. She was fair and she knew this place inside and out. There wasn’t a job here that she hadn’t done. And whether or not you liked her, you respected her for that.”
“Did you like her?”
He lit his cigarette and tucked the lighter back in his pocket. “Yeah. She done right by me. Well, as best she could given the circumstances.”
“You mean Leah?”
He spat on the ground. “Yeah.”
“Most people I’ve spoken to seem to hate her.”
“Who?”
“Connie.”
He laughed. “Most people here never got to know Connie. She wasn’t an easy person to know. You know?”
“How do you mean?”
“She didn’t talk about herself much. Didn’t put herself forward in a crowd. She was happy enough to let Leah do that.”
“She was shy?”
He frowned. “Not so much shy as private. She didn’t like people to know what went on in her head.”
“I see.”
“So people had to work to get to know her. They had to put in the effort.” He sucked on the skinny roll-up. “If you did, she was cool. If not, she could be pretty cold.”
“Who do you think would have done this to her?”
“Isn’t that your job to figure out?”
“Yeah. But you knew her, and you know the people around here. If you had to bet, who would you be putting your money on?”
“Well, I’d be asking myself who had the most to lose from this place being closed.”
“I have been.”
He grunted. “And that led you to me?”
“Yes.”
“Think higher up the food chain, lady. Connie owned the land here, the buildings, the business. Who owns other businesses in the village that would be in danger if this wasn’t here to help sustain them?”
“Who?”
“Try the Sands.”
Kate frowned. “Who?”
“Edward and Rupert Sands.” He pointed to the cluster of farm buildings and barns overlooking the campsite. “The local landowners. They own all the land around here, contract it out to the farmers. More than a thousand acres of it. Everything except this campsite. Rupert tried to get planning permission a few years back to do his own campsite.” He pointed across the road. “Over on the marshes. Wanted to diversify. Farming’s not what it used to be. At least that’s what the farmers all say. Anyway, he wanted his own slice of the tourists.” He snorted a laugh. “Not that he doesn’t have enough. He owns half the houses in the village, and most of them are holiday rentals. Planners knocked him back. Said there was no need for another one in this area. Prick.”
“I take it you’re a fan.”
“Love ’em to death,” he said, a sarcastic sneer curling his lip.
“Why?”
“They think they own the village. Lord of the manor. Think they’re better than everyone else, and expect us all to kiss their arses and shine their shoes. No, thank you. They treat everyone like they are only here at their whim and at any moment they could send them all away.” He sniggered. “They couldn’t do that with Connie. She was in charge and they knew it. After their plans were derailed, rumour has it they wanted to buy this place, but she refused to sell to them. Connie and Rupert had more arguments and fights than anyone else in the village. Lifelong enemies, those two.”
“Why?”
He stubbed out his second cigarette. “Ask Gina. She might know.”
“I will.”
“Do you need me anymore?”
She shook her head and held out a card to him. “But don’t go anywhere, I might need to talk to you again.”
He took the card, touched it to his temple, and saluted her as he walked away, fishing his tobacco from his pocket again.
“The Sands, hey.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Let’s go see what you’ve got to say about all this, then.”
CHAPTER 9
The farmhouse was large, but the Georgian architecture and smooth stone walls were out of step with every other building in the village, which were made of flint and chalk. The high windows offered the passerby a view into rooms with vaulted ceilings, enough paintings for a museum, and in one room Kate could clearly see that the love seat was more than a little thread bare. She wondered if it was one antique piece that was suffering the effects of time or if it was indicative of the state of the Sands’ affairs.
“Do you know these guys, Jimmy?” Kate asked.
“By reputation, and I know that they’re about as far up the arse of the local member of parliament as you can get and still breathe oxygen instead of methane. But that’s your lot I’m afraid.”
She chuckled. “Nice imagery. You been taking lessons from Tom?”
He buffed his nails on his shirt. “It takes work to be this good, Sarge. A lot of work.”
She laughed and rang the bell, then waited. She half expected a servant of some description to answer, but instead a wiry, elderly man yanked open the door. A scowl painted his features behind the oversized glasses perched on his nose. Very short, grey hair was stuck at odd angles, and his skin had a sallow and shrunken look. His cheeks were concave, hugging his cheekbones so closely that it made his teeth seem overly prominent beneath his thin lips. The stubble on his chin was patchy, like it only grew in certain places on his face, and added to the look of a man who didn’t seem well.
“What do you want?”
Kate held up her warrant card. “Mr. Sands?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Sergeant Kate Brannon. May I come in?”
“I suppose this is about that ghastly business on the Coastal Path yesterday.”
“Yes. I’m investigating the murder of Connie Wells.”
“Murder, you say?”
“Yes.”
A small smile flickered across his lips, then disappeared. “Well, you should be talking to that woman, then, not bothering decent folk.”
His appearance had made her worry for his health, but his attitude rankled. She
was pretty sure he was talking about Leah, but she wasn’t sure why he considered her not “decent folk.” Something told her it had nothing to do with the drugs, so she decided to call him on it. “What woman would that be, sir?”
“Her bloody girlfriend, Leah.” The distaste in his voice made his opinion of them and their “girlfriend” status perfectly clear.
“Well, sir, right now I need to talk to you and your son, Rupert. May I come in?”
He let out a clearly aggravated sigh and held the door open for her. “Fine. We’re in the parlour.” He led the way to the room with the love seat, hollering up the stairs for Rupert as he passed. The room had a rack of hunting rifles mounted on the wall. She counted six weapons. Two double-barrelled shotguns and four rifles. Above the fireplace was the stuffed head of a stag, his antlers twisting towards the ceiling. Her own dislike for the man in front of her grew. Even if he hadn’t killed the beast, the display of its carcass as a point of honour was more than enough to turn her stomach.
Rupert bustled into the room and couldn’t have been more opposite to his father. A thick ruff of beard covered his cheeks and neck, in a vain attempt at hiding some of the superfluous skin and flab that clung to his neck and jaw, like a child clings to its mother on the first day of school. His mousy coloured hair hung over his ears like the greasy strings of an overused mop head. His rotund physique made his father seem even smaller, even more frail, and Kate was convinced that the old man was sick.
“What do you want?” Rupert said.
“I take it you are also aware of yesterday’s events, Mr. Sands?”
Rupert nodded. “And?”
“I wanted to talk to you and your father about some information I’ve come across. I understand that you expressed an interest in buying the campsite and hostel from Ms. Wells. Is that correct?”
Edward cleared his throat. “We’re businessmen, Detective, we’re interested in buying a great many things.”
“I appreciate that, but were you specifically interested in this one?”
Edward paused before answering. “Yes.”
“Thank you. Is it also true that she refused to sell to you?”
“Bitch,” Rupert whispered under his breath, earning him a sharp look from his father.
“Yes, it was.”
Edward stared at her. She just waited, knowing that Rupert would speak if Edward didn’t fill the silence.
“Everyone in the village knew that. Leah screamed it in the pub, for God’s sake.”
“How would you describe your relationship with Connie, Mr. Sands?” She looked at Rupert.
He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like your tone.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, Mr. Sands, but I do require you to answer the question.”
“I’m not required to do anything for you.”
“I’m a detective investigating the murder of someone known to you. Are you refusing to help the police with their enquiries, sir?”
“Rupert.” Edward’s voice was low, warning his son to tread carefully.
He glared at her, his red, puffy jowls shaking as he struggled to contain his temper. “We didn’t get along very well,” he ground out.
“May I ask why not?”
“She was rude, arrogant, and argumentative.”
Is that you or her you’re describing? Kate nodded towards the guns. “Who’s the hunter?”
“We’re country folk, Detective. We shoot grouse, pheasant, quail, rabbits, and such like often. For food.”
“And the deer?” She nodded to the stuffed head. “Was that dinner too?”
Edward smiled. “Yes, he was. A magnificent venison stew we had that night.”
“Where were you both yesterday morning between six a.m. and eight a.m.?”
Edward smiled again. “On the farm. I had breakfast with my wife between six and six thirty, then I showered, and I had a meeting at seven with the farmhands to task work for the day. After that, I spoke with the foreman for about half an hour.”
“Who’s the foreman?”
“Matt Green.”
“And what were you talking to him about?”
“He was a little late for the morning meeting, so naturally I had to have a word.”
“How late?”
“I don’t remember exactly, but we were almost through and the meeting usually takes half an hour or so.”
“And you?” She turned to Rupert.
“I was here getting ready for a business meeting in Norwich.”
“What time was the meeting?”
“Eleven.”
“Was there anyone else here with you?”
“No.”
“He was here when I got back from talking to the lads,” Edward said. “I can vouch for him.”
“And what time did you see him?”
“Well, I got back here about eight fifteen. You’d just got out of the shower, hadn’t you?” He turned to Rupert.
“Yes, that’s right,” Rupert said.
Kate’s ears pricked up. Shower, eight fifteen, no alibi prior to that. She tried to gauge the distance between the farmhouse and the location on the marsh where Connie’s body was found. There was more than enough time for Rupert Sands to have made it from there and back without any one missing him. Was there enough reason to suspect him? There was opportunity, motive, and on the wall behind her, there was possibly a murder weapon. But there was still no evidence.
“Thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.” She followed behind the elder Sands as he led her out of the house and slammed the door closed behind her without a further word. “It was a pleasure to meet you too, and good luck to you both in the future.” She shook her head and made her way back to the car. She needed evidence. She needed something to make Mr. Rupert Sands either her prime suspect, or just another villager with a grudge.
Instead of getting back in her car, she crossed the main road and took the small cul-de-sac that led to the dirt path and the marshes. She walked under the tree canopy as she had done the previous morning and stepped out onto Brandale Staithe marsh. The SOCO team were on the path to her left. The ramshackle old houseboat in front of her bobbed gently on the receding tide, its paint chipped. The gangplank walkway up to the door was covered in chicken wire so that one’s boots could attain purchase when walking up or down it. But as unloved as it appeared when she looked closely, she noticed that the roof was in good condition. There were curtains up, and every window was well maintained. The boat looked water-tight and used. She wondered who owned it, as she made her way towards the scene’s crime officers.
“How’s it going?” Kate asked the tall overall-covered man standing on the embankment.
“Wetly.” He laughed. “Sergeant Wild, ma’am. We didn’t have the pleasure yesterday.”
“Detective Sergeant Brannon.” She smiled. “Sorry about this.” She pointed down at the two overall-clad figures standing in the black water of the creek, fishermen’s waders fastened up to their chests as they plunged their rubber-covered arms into the dark water and moved along slowly.
“No need to apologise. If we’d known we were looking for a camera, we’d have gone in yesterday.”
“What do you think the chances of finding it are?”
“Well, there’s no movement in the water. It’s only twenty-four hours, so sediment shift should be minimal. I’d say that if it’s in there, we’ll find it.”
She nodded. He didn’t need to say that if the killer was close enough to take it with him or her, then those guys were getting wet and cold for nothing. “How long have they been at it?”
Wild lifted the elasticated cuff of his overall and glanced at his watch. “About half an hour now.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Any leads?”
“Not much to go on so far. Hoping this camera will help.” She ran her fingers through her hair and gathered it at her nape, twisting it to try and keep it from blowing on to her face for, well, maybe ten seconds.
“Anything interesting at the house?”
“Depends on what you call interesting.”
She chuckled. “Okay, how about useful?”
“Not sure. I sent the inventory over to Stella and a couple of things that need chasing down. I do have a couple of things in the car to give you, though.”
“What?”
“A diary and a weird key.”
“Fabulous.” Kate hated digging through the treasure trove that was a victim’s diary. Like an autopsy, it was just one more intrusion into the victim’s personal life. As helpful as diaries could be sometimes, they could also be a distraction. “Does she tell us who killed her?”
He snorted. “I had a brief flick through, and there’s a lot of shit about the ex. You focusing on her?”
“I’m asking questions about everyone at the moment.”
“Hmphf. One thing caught my eye, though.”
She waited for him to continue while she watched the shivering men in the water inch their way through the mud.
“Entries were steady and regular, four to five times a week on average, until June. Then there was only one entry after that.”
Kate understood why this would catch his eye. “What changed?”
He shrugged. “It was a few weeks after they split up, and she writes about a cat hanging around the marshes fishing. Very different from the tone of the other entries I scanned. Read more like a kid’s story or something. Then the last entry was just a series of numbers.”
“What kind of numbers?”
“Haven’t the foggiest. But it’s a fair old list of them. I’ll grab it for you before you go.”
“Sarge, we found something,” one of the techs called from the creek as his colleague raised up a twisted chunk of metal and plastic. Weed clung to it as water poured and dripped out.
Collide-O-Scope (Norfolk Coast Investigation Stories Book 1) Page 9
