The next room was the principal bedroom. The bed here was made up as well and Tom found clothes either hanging in the built-in wardrobe or folded neatly on the shelving. It was all very ordered, very precise. The thought occurred that Billy Moy may have spent time in the military, such was his attention to detail. He would certainly pass a barracks inspection on this evidence. There was a laundry basket in the corner of the room and Tom lifted the lid to find it had a few items of clothing inside but, by the looks of it, barely a day or two's dirty laundry. Picturing the same basket on the landing of the house he shared with Alice and Saffy, he could see the contrast, for theirs was forever overflowing even though running the washing machine was pretty much a daily occurrence. Billy Moy clearly didn't have children.
It was a similar story when Tom inspected the contents of the chest of drawers. T-shirts, shorts and underwear were all folded neatly and everything seemed to have a place. It all seemed quite at odds with the description the Bartletts gave of the man. However, if, as they both said, Billy Moy didn't allow anyone particularly close, then they were only guessing and perhaps they didn't know him half as well as they thought they did.
Tamara poked her head into the room. "Tom, come and have a look at this."
She retreated from the room and he followed. She waited for him at the entrance to the next room, stepping aside as he came alongside her. He peered in and could barely see anything in the gloom. Tamara flicked the light switch on next to the door and they were bathed in a soft red light that illuminated the interior in a macabre fashion. In the centre of the room was a trestle table with three plastic trays set out side by side. Lengths of string were tied at one end of the room, crisscrossing from one wall to the other. Metal clips, resembling heavy-duty clothes pegs were hanging in places from the string. Tom glanced at Tamara and entered. Along the length of the far wall was a homemade bench with shelving beneath. On the shelves he found a mixture of unmarked bottles of clear liquid, ranging in size from two litres up to five or more. On top of the bench he found a plastic tub with more pegs of assorted sizes.
"I guess we found his hobby," Tom said quietly. Tamara nodded. "I didn't think anyone still bothered with processing film like this."
"If you enjoy doing it, and have always done it, then why would you stop?"
Tom inclined his head, then looked around. "So, where are all the films… and the developed pictures for that matter?"
Tamara shrugged. "They must be somewhere. Let's face it, with all the outbuildings dotted around this place it'll take days to pick through everything. I wonder what he liked to photograph? I thought in the digital age all of this—" she waved her hand in the air in a circular motion, "—would be in the past?"
"Maybe it's not Billy's hobby at all?"
"Mother or father?"
Tom nodded. "Could be. Is there anything in the living room or kitchen that's interesting?"
"Depends on what you mean by interesting,” Tamara said. "I think he'd recently returned from shopping, judging by what's on the work surfaces. Much of the shopping is still in bags and hasn't been put away, even those that needed refrigeration."
Tamara led Tom back through the cabin and into the kitchen. He saw what she meant. Two plastic carrier bags were off to one side, not far from the range cooker. He hadn't noticed them earlier, his attention drawn to the body.
"The bags have been photographed, so we can go through them," Tamara said.
Tom, still wearing his forensic gloves cast an eye over the bags. One of them held mainly fruit and vegetables whilst the other had bread products on the top and canned goods beneath. Kerry Palmer entered through the back door as Tom tentatively began removing items from the bag of vegetables. He found what he was looking for, confirming what the Bartletts had described: reduction labels on almost every item. Some of the produce had been through several price reductions, now costing as little as ten or fifteen pence.
"He certainly did like a bargain," Tom said. He looked at Kerry. "What did you find outside?"
"He was a bit of a hoarder," she said, glancing between him and Tamara. "Or maybe the whole family were, I don't know. The outbuildings are rammed with stuff: old tools and farming equipment I doubt has seen a use in years, all manner of other junk, odds and ends. I found some old storage crates that have years upon years of magazines, farming editions, photography… dating back to the seventies in some cases, as well as stacks of folders of photographs—"
"Home processed?" Tamara asked.
Kerry nodded. "Yes, I think so. A lot of landscape shots. Being a local girl, I'd say they are Norfolk locations as they look familiar to me. I take it you've seen the dark room?" Tom nodded. "Weirdly," she said, frowning and drawing both Tom and Tamara's attention to her, "I can't find any equipment… cameras and such."
Tom glanced around, meeting Tamara's eye. She shook her head as well.
"No electrical items either: mobile phone, television or laptop," Kerry said.
Tom leaned over and looked into the living area. She was right, there was no television. However, the seating in the room was arranged in such a way as to face something in the corner where, now, only a small corner unit stood. There were cables running along behind the unit, disappearing from view. Tom walked over and glanced down the back and found the ends of a power cable as well as a television aerial.
"Well, there used to be one here."
"I also found a mobile phone bill in the top drawer over there," Kerry said, gesturing towards a sideboard. "It's dated for last quarter, so I think there's a fair chance it is still an active account. I dialled the number but nothing rang and it cut to voicemail within a couple of rings."
"Good. Anything else?"
Kerry glanced out of the window. Tom's eye followed but it was dark now and nothing leapt out at him. "I think he had a fire going out there. It was recently, too," she said, gesturing to the yard with a nod, "in a makeshift brazier – a rusty old oil drum with multiple holes punched through the sides to increase the air flow."
"What was he burning?" Tom asked.
She shook her head. "Couldn't tell in this light, but I reckon it'd be worth picking through the ashes."
Tom noticed Tamara had drifted over to the other side of the kitchen and was hovering in front of the fridge. There were a number of sticky notes stuck to the door with handwriting on them. He moved to join her, skirting the pool of drying blood. She was lost in thought and didn't notice his arrival.
"Anything?"
She looked sideways at him, her brow furrowing. "This looks like a diary of sorts."
Tom eyed the notes, some were reminders of things to do, others with specific dates on them and the odd name but nothing further to say what they related to. Either Billy Moy had a remarkable memory for detail or he lived his life in a very haphazard manner. The latter was curiously at odds with how everything else in the cabin was presented where everything appeared well ordered and kept in its designated place.
He looked around the kitchen again trying to get an impression of what had happened in Billy Moy's final moments. Tamara was doing the same, he was sure. Kerry Palmer was the first to speak.
"My first thoughts were leaning towards a burglary gone wrong," she said.
"What makes you think so?" Tom asked openly, ensuring she didn't feel he might be dismissing her theory.
"Well, the shopping hasn't been put away and it looks like he'd just returned with it. Maybe he stumbled across someone in the act, took them on and the burglar grabbed what was closest to hand – the knife from the block – and stabbed him before fleeing."
Tom nodded. It was a theory that fitted some of the facts, but he wanted to test her thought process. "Any issues with that?"
"One or two…" she said, sounding uncertain and looking around.
"Such as?"
"No sign of a forced entry," she said. Tom nodded. "So, if he disturbed a burglar when he came home, how did the burglar get in?"
Tom agreed. "Anythin
g else?"
"Burglars tend to take off if they're disturbed… they don't usually get into a fight, let alone kill the occupant."
"Maybe he was backed into a corner and felt like he had no choice?" Tom said, deliberately playing devil's advocate. The young PC frowned.
"Perhaps. But then they still had the cold-blooded nerve to clear the house of electrical items before leaving and…" she hesitated.
"What is it?"
She smiled slightly, "If so, they're the tidiest burglar I've ever come across."
Kerry was right. Burglars weren't known for carefully going through possessions, prioritising speed above anything else. The less time spent in the property meant the less chance of being caught. An experienced burglar could go through a property of this size in less than five minutes, turning over every room, drawer and cupboard in the process and leave with whatever they could carry in that time. The debris and destruction left behind often looked like they'd deliberately torn a home to pieces which was usually far from the case in reality. She was also right on the violence. Burglars seldom sought confrontation, choosing to do their work on properties where the resident was not home, often when they were out at work. To turn a house over in the evening was unusual, unless they were certain of not being disturbed.
The thought did occur to him though that perhaps Billy Moy's routine was well known to locals and that could lead to someone believing him to be out when they came around. The same person might know how to get in, if Billy left a spare key somewhere or, which was also possible, whether he was prone to leaving his house unlocked. After all, in such an isolated spot, he was unlikely to be the victim of an opportunistic burglar who happened by.
"Lack of defensive wounds as well," Kerry said, almost as an afterthought. "If the homeowner disturbed them and they came to blows, how come he doesn't show any signs of having been in a scrap?"
"Indeed," Tom said, smiling proudly at her.
"Weird, isn't it?" she said.
"A good analysis," Tamara said, joining them. "I agree, this is very strange. I don't think it's a burglary at all."
"Made to look like one by an amateur, do you think?" Tom asked.
"Maybe," Tamara said, then shook her head and sighed. "Something isn't right." She then met Kerry's eye and smiled. "You've done well today, PC Palmer."
"Thank you, Ma'am."
Kerry clearly tried hard not to let her pride show but her chest swelled nonetheless. Tom and Tamara exchanged a glance and Tamara nodded. Tom addressed the constable.
"How would you feel about extending your stay?"
"Extending?" Her forehead creased.
"Yes. This is a murder investigation and Eric will be away from next week and we don't want to be left short."
Kerry's lips parted and she looked between the two senior officers.
"Unless you don't feel up to—"
"No! I do," she said forcefully, finding her voice. "Absolutely, I do. Very much," she said, grinning.
"Good," Tamara said. "I'll square it with your inspector. You'll be with us until Eric returns from his honeymoon."
Kerry Palmer's expression darkened slightly but when she caught Tom watching her the smile returned, although this time he thought it was a little forced.
Chapter Six
Tom looked over to Tamara. "Forensics will be picking over this place for the next day or so. Why don't you take the pool car and Kerry can come with me to the supermarket."
"Agreed. I could do with getting out of this dress."
Kerry met Tom's eye. "The supermarket?"
"He hadn't unpacked his shopping and judging from the sell-by dates, we know he purchased the fruit and veg the night before last."
"So, that was the last time he was seen alive?" she said.
Tom smiled. "Well probably, aside from the person who killed him but let's not get ahead of ourselves," he checked his watch. "They'll be closing up around now and if he's in there every night then maybe the staff are used to seeing him at this time and might have seen him with someone or can at least tell us how he seemed in relation to normal."
"Right, yes. Of course," she said, also glancing at her watch.
"Do you have somewhere you need to be, Constable?" Tom asked.
Her face flushed and she dropped her arm to her side, shaking her head.
"If you need to make a call, let someone know you'll be a bit late home, that's okay," Tom said.
She shook her head again. "Shall we go?"
Tom gestured towards the door with an open palm and they headed out.
"Let me know how you get on," Tamara said. "I'm just going to pick the good doctor's brains about a couple of things."
Tom looked out to where the FME, Dr Williams, was taking off her coveralls as she packed her things away. Kerry gave Tamara the keys to her car and fell into step alongside Tom as they walked to his vehicle.
"That was a strong analysis of the crime scene," Tom said, glancing sideways at her as they reached the car and he walked around the other side, unlocking it.
"Thanks," she said, smiling awkwardly and getting in.
Tom got the impression she found it hard to take praise, wondering if it was a confidence or self-esteem issue. Kerry Palmer excelled in her role as a constable, always the first to raise her hand when an opportunity arose for her to gain experience. She was riot trained, had taken a diplomatic protection course and recently travelled to the other side of the country to assist in the security operation surrounding the G7 summit, hosted in the south-west of England this year. Having hit every target set for her, earning glowing reviews from her supervising officers along the way, Kerry was earmarked as a future sergeant. Not that any of this seemed to cut any ice with her, always remaining humble. He had a decent team around him and Tom figured that PC Palmer would enhance the unit. Popular, intelligent and committed, he liked what he saw in her. She reminded him a little of himself when he was early in his career.
The supermarket, located on the A149, was the largest in the area of nearby Heacham without driving further along the coast to Hunstanton where two of the larger chains also had branches. As Tom expected, the branch was getting ready to close up as they pulled into the car park. Only a handful of cars were still present and most of those were probably staff owned. Pulling up near to the entrance, they got out and approached a man who was busy with a manual pallet truck, bringing stock inside that was on display outside during daylight hours: sacks of coal and logs. Another man disappeared through electric doors pushing a display unit holding spring flowers.
Tom approached the man, who eyed him warily as he jacked up another pallet, reading his name badge and seeing he was a store supervisor. Tom took out his identification, introducing himself and Kerry. His expression softened and he introduced himself as Terry Cole, releasing the handle of his pallet truck and wiping the palms of his hands on his trousers. Despite it being cold now, as it was approaching ten o'clock, he still had sweat on his brow as they gathered in the stock.
"By any chance, do you know a local man by the name of Billy Moy?" Tom asked.
"Billy? Yes, of course. Everyone knows Billy. He's a regular fixture around these parts," Cole said, sniffing hard and looking between the two officers. "Why, what's he done?"
Tom ignored the question for now.
"He comes in your store often?"
Cole nodded. "Most nights. I get the impression he's not a weekly shop kind of bloke."
"When was he last in, do you remember?"
His brow furrowed as he thought hard. "Um… he's not been in today as far as I know, nor last night because I'd have seen him but I was off for a couple of days prior to that. Dean will know, he was in."
The electric doors swooshed as the second staff member returned, Cole looking over his shoulder and beckoning him over to them. He approached, curious as to what he was walking into.
"Dean, you were in Wednesday and Thursday back shift, weren't you?" He nodded. "Did you see Billy Moy come in a
t all?"
"Billy Discount, yeah, he was in both nights." Dean grinned. "Same as normal, doing the reduction dance with Coupon Man."
Cole frowned at him and, reading his supervisor's face, Dean's grin faded.
"These are police officers," Cole said, "asking about Billy."
"Oh, right. Sorry," he said sheepishly.
"Billy Discount?" Kerry asked.
Dean flushed. He was a pale man and he was now beaming red.
"It's the nickname we have for him… because he comes in every night to pick up the reduced-price items, usually doing battle with another customer as to who gets first dibs."
"Coupon Man?" Tom queried.
Dean nodded. "He's a bloke who runs one of the stalls on the seafront promenade up in Hunstanton… always comes in and buys up leftover pastries and rolls and that at discount, sells them for a quid fifty the next morning at his place. The tight git." He caught his boss eyeing him again and screwed his face up. "Sorry. You just get used to people who come in and see them out and about, you know?"
Tom nodded. "And what about Billy Moy? What would you say about him?"
"Nice bloke, Billy," Dean said, inclining his head to one side. "A real character. Everyone likes him. I know we make fun of him buying cheap stuff but… I don't think he has a lot of money, so it's fair enough. He's always quick to say hello, have a bit of a laugh with you."
"And when did you last see him?"
"Thursday, I reckon. I'm sure he didn't come in last night."
Cole nodded his silent agreement, smiling as Dean confirmed his own recollection.
"And how was he?" Tom asked.
Dean shrugged.
Tom persisted. "Was he the same as usual? Quieter, louder… any change at all?"
"To be honest, he was just Billy, normal. We shared a joke about him being late… I mean he wasn't, which was the joke." He smiled, looking at Tom and Kerry in turn, then the smile faded and he seemed embarrassed. "I guess you had to be there."
To Die For: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 9) Page 5
