To Die For: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 9)

by J M Dalgliesh

  "And you walked here this evening?"

  "No, but the car is out on the lane. I just washed it today and didn't want to get muck on it from Billy's yard."

  "Right. And you said Billy – that's Billy Moy – was supposed to do some work for you?"

  "Yes, but he never showed," Jenny said, conversing for the first time since the initial introductions. "Gary called him but didn't get an answer and so we thought we'd stop by just in case."

  "Just in case of what?" Tamara asked.

  Jenny looked at her, then Tom before her eyes finally settled on Gary.

  "To see if he was all right, you know?"

  "Any reason why he wouldn't be?" Tom asked. Gary stared at him blankly. "All right, I mean?"

  "Oh… um… no," he said, shaking his head and looking puzzled. "Not that I can think of… at first I thought his job at Finney's place must have overrun but then I figured he lives here on his own and he does stuff, you know?"

  Tom shook his head. "No, not really. What kind of stuff?"

  Gary held Tom's gaze for a moment and Tom thought he could almost see the cogs turning. After a moment of silence, Gary pointed to the tractor and waved a hand around the yard. "He's always up to all sorts is Billy. He works some of his land, although not as much as he used to back in the day. Other times he's felling trees, his own if not someone else's. He sells firewood by the tonne as well."

  "I see, so you thought he might have had an accident or something?"

  "Yeah, exactly," Gary said. He nodded towards the old tractor. "That old thing he has there is a bloody death trap. If he rolls that over he'd be pinned under it or drown in a ditch long before anyone happened upon him. I keep telling him – kept telling him – to update his kit, buy some safety equipment," his tone softened, "he was always hanging off branches with a chainsaw, not harnessed up… accident waiting to happen."

  Tom cast an eye back to the cabin momentarily. "And what do you think happened here?"

  Gary shook his head. "An accident?" He shared an exchange of vacant looks with his wife. "At least, I hope it was. A bizarre accident."

  Tom didn't comment on the theory. "You said he had another job on, at Finney's?"

  Gary nodded vigorously. "Alan Finney. He's a farmer over the way there," he said, gesticulating in the direction away from the cabin. "Billy said he had a week's worth of work over at his place but he'd do ours at the end of the week."

  "Okay, thanks," Tom said, making a note. "What was Billy like as a person, as a worker?"

  "A top bloke, Billy," Gary said, looking at Jenny again. This time she looked down at her feet. Tom pressed her.

  "What would you say, Jenny?"

  She looked up and met his eye, her lips pursed. She nodded curtly. "Yeah, as Gary says. He was a nice enough guy. A bit odd sometimes."

  "In what way?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know really. He was just a bit…" she looked at Gary for support.

  "Odd, yeah," Gary repeated. "Billy was a bit of a loner. Lived alone, unmarried. Jenny reminded me that a while back he used to go away on holiday from time to time, alone, so maybe he did like seeing people on his own terms. That all seemed to stop though."

  "Why was that, do you think?"

  Gary shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe he couldn't afford to travel."

  "It was abroad then? Where he used to go?"

  "Yes. At least he came back with a tan and it was always the off season if I remember right, so he must have gone abroad to get as tanned as he did. Never spoke about his trips. Not to me at least. I guess that's why I forgot about them until Jenny reminded me."

  "Would you consider yourself to be a good friend? Close?"

  Gary shrugged. "Not especially. As I said, Billy didn't really seem to do people, you know?"

  "So he spent most of his time out here alone?"

  "Yeah. I really think he could have done with getting out and about a little more, talking to people and stuff. Then, maybe, he wouldn't have been so… what's the word?"

  "Odd?" Tom ventured. Gary and Jenny both nodded.

  "I would've gone with weird myself, but odd is probably fairer. Don't get us wrong, Inspector," Gary said. "It's just that anyone who spends as much time on their own as Billy has done these past few years," he waved a hand around in the air in a circular motion, "especially all the way out here is going to be a little strange, aren't they?"

  "Right. You say he lives alone now? What about before?"

  "Used to be a family-run business going back," Gary said. "This place has been passed down several generations I think, working the land, doing whatever was needed. Billy's dad passed about ten years ago and his mother five, maybe six—"

  "Longer, I think," Jenny said, "on both counts."

  Gary turned the corners of his mouth down and bobbed his head. "A while back anyway. Since then it's just been Billy."

  Tom nodded, making a note. "And did he have any other family or many friends locally?"

  Gary's brow furrowed. "I think he's got a brother somewhere, local-ish but don't ask me where. He never visits as far as I know. And there was a sister—"

  "But she died," Jenny said.

  "Yeah, she died," Gary agreed, frowning. "Shame really. Billy's dad died out in the fields, on that very tractor I think. Heart attack or so Billy said."

  "Friends?"

  "None that I'm aware of, no. Don't misunderstand, I know I said we weren't especially close but thinking about it, I would consider us – would have considered – us friends. I mean, as friendly as Billy ever got with anyone. Billy really didn't socialise much. As Jenny said, kept to himself."

  "Preferred his own company?" Tom asked.

  "Yeah, right. That's what I'd say."

  "Okay, so you came here this evening… what, knocked on the door?" Gary nodded. Tom encouraged him to elaborate.

  "Oh right, yeah. Well, there was no answer, so Jenny wanted to leave," he glanced sideways at her, "didn't you, love? But the door was open… the place was in darkness, though, unlocked. It was strange, so… I went in to check it out. I found him there…" he paused, his eyes glazing over and taking on a faraway look. "He was dead." Gary shook his head.

  "Did you touch anything?"

  "No, I didn't. I don't think so anyway. I just ran outside and called you lot. I guess I should have checked if he was still breathing and that but, well, he looked too far gone."

  "Did you see anyone around or hear anything unusual while you were in the property? Did anything seem disturbed or out of place?"

  "No, I can't say I did. Hear anyone I mean."

  "What about you, Jenny?"

  She looked startled but answered quickly. "I didn't go inside."

  "And the state of the interior, is that how it is usually kept?"

  Gary blew out his cheeks. "I can't say I'd know, sorry." He looked deeply apologetic. "I've never been inside before. Whenever I've been round here, or given Billy a lift somewhere if his car is broken, he's always met me outside or kept me waiting on the doorstep."

  "Why would he do that do you think? It's a bit odd, seeing as you know one another."

  "That's Billy," Jenny said with a sideways smile.

  "Keeps a tidy home by all accounts," Tamara said.

  Jenny scoffed. "I was surprised about that."

  "But you didn't go in, did you?" Tom asked, his eyes narrowing.

  Jenny's lips parted slightly. "I–I was outside on the porch and looked through the door. Like you say, it's tidy. It's odd."

  "Why?"

  She shrugged. "Billy… was never one to take much pride in his appearance. He was likely as not to be dressed in oily overalls no matter whether he was working or doing his evening shopping." Tom raised a single eyebrow quizzically. "You'd always see Billy up at the local supermarket around closing time. Every night."

  "Regular as clockwork," Gary said. "He always went up for the discounted bargains. The end-of-life bakery things, fruit and veg that was on the turn, that sort of thing. I rec
kon he knew the exact time of the evening when they put the labels on the products. I never knew if he was short of cash or just a bit tight."

  "And when did you last see Billy alive?"

  The couple exchanged another glance. Gary answered. "Probably a couple of nights ago. Wednesday maybe? We saw him at the supermarket, funnily enough, and that was when I asked if he could come and hack back some of our trees. He said he would come round Friday."

  "Friday? Not today?" Tom asked.

  Gary looked shocked. "I meant Saturday, today. Sorry… it's all been a bit stressful." He shook his head. "I don't know where I am at the moment, sorry."

  "Quite understandable. Tell me, as far as you know, has Billy had an altercation with anyone recently?"

  "Altercation? How do you mean?"

  "An argument, fight… a falling out over anything at all?"

  Gary frowned. Both he and his wife shook their heads.

  "Billy was a bit strange, but no one had a bad word to say about him as far as I know," Gary said. "I mean, everyone knows him. The Moys have been a part of this area for as far back as I can remember and beyond that, generations. Billy probably did some work for almost everyone over the years, either fixing their tractors or cars, delivering them firewood in the winter… all sorts. He's that type of bloke, Billy, really good with his hands, machinery and the like. I don't think he even finished school and I never saw him write anything down, just had a memory for information, dates and so on. A curious character, not to everyone's liking I'm sure but I've never heard anyone badmouthing him. Quite the opposite in fact."

  "And what about you, Jenny?" Tom asked, fixing his gaze on her.

  She returned his look for a few seconds, appearing far less confident about her husband's statement but she said nothing, breaking eye contact and looking at the ground at her feet, and then shaking her head.

  "Okay, we can leave it there for now. I'm sure the constable here has all your details," the officer nodded, "and we will have to have someone call round to see you and take a more detailed statement a bit later, if that's all right with you?"

  "Yes, of course, Inspector. Anything we can do to help," Gary said, nodding vigorously.

  "You mentioned a brother. I know you said you didn't know where he lived but do you have any idea at all? It might speed up the process and even if they're not close it would be better for him to hear the news from us rather than the media. Do you have any idea at all where he might have moved to?"

  Gary thought hard. "Dereham way, I heard someone say once, I think. Not certain though."

  "Great, thank you. It gives us something to work with. In the meantime, if you think of anything else we need to know or if you recall something you think might be useful, no matter how trivial, you can give me a call anytime."

  Tom handed Gary one of his contact cards and the man eyed it before slipping it into his back pocket. He put his arm around his wife, awkwardly it seemed to Tom, and the two of them made to walk away.

  "Oh, and we'll need to take your fingerprints as well, if you don't mind?"

  They stopped, Gary looking at Tom fearfully. "W–Why do you need to do that? Have we done something wrong?"

  "No, not at all. But you were inside and we'll be dusting the house for fingerprints and will need to rule yours out so as not to confuse things. You didn't seem too sure if you'd touched anything or not."

  "Oh, right. Yes, of course." Gary's slightly surprised expression lifted and he smiled. "Should we do that now or…"

  "Don't worry about it now. We'll send someone round to yours, Mr Bartlett."

  Gary nodded, smiled again, and set off with his arm resting on his wife's shoulder and guiding her over the rough ground. He glanced back at them once more when they were halfway across the yard heading for the gate. Tamara stepped alongside Tom, nudging his elbow, as they both watched them leave.

  "There's something about those two," she said.

  "Yes, there is," Tom replied. They watched the Bartletts until they reached their car parked just beyond the gate, a battered old Ford Mondeo. They got in, Gary offering them a brief sideways glance before starting the car and driving away. Tom cast an eye up and down Tamara. "You should wear that look more often," he said, smiling. "Suits you."

  Tamara rolled her eyes. "Remind me to keep a change of clothes in the car in future."

  "But we came in my car."

  "In all cars, then," she said, setting off for the cabin without waiting for him. Tom glanced at the constable standing off to his left who was trying not to smile.

  "At ease, Constable," Tom said, heading after her. The constable grinned.

  Chapter Five

  Tom caught up with Tamara as she stopped by the steps up to the decking of the front porch dropping to her haunches to examine something. Whatever it was it had certainly caught her eye. He joined her.

  "Got something?"

  "Maybe," she said over her shoulder, indicating to her right. "What do you make of this?"

  He lowered himself to her level and realised she was inspecting a tree stump. It projected barely a foot above the ground with the bulk of the tree having been felled at least a year ago judging by the colouration of the wood, dry, greying and even blackened in places. New shoots were emerging from it. However, this wasn't what Tamara was interested in. A layer of bark at the edge where the trunk met the cut had been torn away along with a chunk of the fresh wood beneath.

  Tom took a pocket torch from his pocket and switched it on, angling the beam at the tear. The light reflected off fragments seemingly embedded in the wood.

  "What is that, paint?" he asked.

  Tamara nodded. "I'd say so. And this is fresh, you can see the paleness of the wood and the edges of the bark haven't been exposed to the air for long."

  "I'll make sure scenes of crime document it and take a sample," Tom said, turning the beam away and scanning the ground around them looking for anything that stood out. The ground was still hard. The front of the cabin faced north and therefore received the least amount of daytime sun and although on clear nights the ground still froze with an overnight layer of frost, usually the mud softened during the day. However, here it was still solid and there were no telltale impressions left by vehicles that he could make out. Tamara seemed to share his thinking.

  "Make sure they check the yard over as well, try to match any tyre impressions they find to the vehicles we know Billy Moy owned or had access to."

  "They'll love us for that," Tom said dryly as he casually widened his search pattern around them with his torchlight.

  "Come on," she said, "let's go inside and see what surprises Mr Moy has in his closet. First impression I have is that this isn't a burglary gone wrong and something tells me there's far more to this chap than his friends realise."

  "Or are prepared to share with us," Tom said, thinking about Jenny Bartlett's reticence. He saw PC Kerry Palmer moving between the outbuildings on the other side of the yard, choosing to leave her to it and pick her brains later.

  Back inside the cabin, preparations were well underway to remove the body from the kitchen. They separated and Tom left Tamara to look around the open-plan living area while he ventured along the corridor towards the rear of the cabin where he expected to find the bedrooms. The first room he entered appeared to be a guest bedroom. There was a ready-made-up double bed, an occasional table and a dresser, with nothing atop it, set beneath a window overlooking the side of the cabin. On the far side of the room was a wardrobe with louvre doors. Inside he found shelving to the left that was empty, and a clothes rail with a number of dresses and blouses hanging neatly that filled the hanging space. Some were inside plastic covers as if they'd returned from the dry cleaners.

  The clothes looked dated to Tom, albeit he would be the first to accept ladies' fashion was not a subject he excelled in. All of the hangers and the shoulders of the material had a film of dust on them. They couldn't have seen the light of day for quite some time. There was an odd smell
coming from the wardrobe as well, pungent and artificial. Above the rail was a storage shelf with a number of shoe boxes stacked one on top of the other. He lifted one down, it felt light and he opened it to find nothing inside. Choosing another at random, again, he found it empty. The next box did hold some contents, old photographs. These were not organised or catalogued in any way, just thrown in loosely. Most of them were family pictures, some were in colour whereas others showed their age in black and white. Judging from the clothes people wore or the furnishings depicted they were taken over a number of years, probably depicting multiple generations of the same family. There were no names, places or dates stamped on the reverse of the images to aid in identifying when they were taken. Tom carefully put them back in the box, putting it back on the shelf where he found it. Moving back into the corridor, he approached the next room.

  The door to the bathroom opened and he cast an eye around the interior. It was a nondescript room comprising a white three-piece suite with wood-panelled walls and ceiling, pine strips stained in a light oak colour. As he was finding everywhere he went in the cabin, the room was clean and well kept. Towels hung on the rail, folded neatly in place and the sanitary ware, although old and a little tired, was clean and bright. The sealant around the bath had patches of mould growth, to be expected with the passage of time, but the bath had a shine to it aside from the age-old lengths of limescale charting a path into the plug hole.

  A small mirrored cabinet was mounted on the wall above the inset basin and Tom opened it, inspecting the contents. There were basic over-the-counter medicines, an unopened box of toothpaste and some assorted toiletries but, curiously, on the other side of the cabinet were two empty shelves. It was as if only half of the cabinet had been used. However, there was some residue present, what one might find accumulating at the bottom of bottles over time, leaving rings beneath them.

  Turning his attention to the cupboards beneath the basin, he opened the doors but found nothing to pique his interest: cleaning products, cloths and a few spare toilet rolls. A shower head was mounted above the bath with a corner quadrant basket unit alongside. This had two shelves but all that he found there was a half-empty bottle of shampoo with the cap open and a bottle of shower gel hanging from a hook below.