"Nothing unusual at all?"
"Oh, come to think of it he did have quite a shiner on him."
"A black eye?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, I asked him who he'd been scrapping with. He laughed."
"Did he say how he got it?"
"No, I don't think he did, not exactly. He just shrugged it off saying he'd had a few too many beers earlier. Reckoned he'd tripped." Dean frowned, shaking his head. "Not that I bought it."
"Why not?"
Dean met Tom's eye. "Well, I didn't smell booze on him and when someone's been drinking a fair bit you can, can't you? Besides, he didn't walk or look like he'd been drinking… and he was driving. His old banger was in the car park when I was closing up. And besides that, I've had shiners before and he must have been sporting that one for more than an afternoon. The swelling wasn't there and the bruising was coming out. Still," he shook his head "none of my business, is it?”
"Anything else you can think of? Anything at all, no matter how small?"
Dean thought hard, his eye drifting across the car park almost as if he was picturing the scene of two nights previously.
"I did see him chatting to someone in the car park as I was bringing the stock in."
"Who was it, do you know them?"
Dean shook his head. "No, not really. He looked a little familiar but I can't say where I'd know him from."
"And what were they talking about?"
"Couldn't hear them to be honest," Dean said apologetically. "I was getting the stuff in and it was midweek, so I was doing it alone. We don't," he hesitated, glancing at his supervisor "we don't have as many staff on during the week."
Cole felt he needed to intervene. "True, we get busier at the weekend and once the season really gets going we'll be looking to take on more staff but as it is now—"
"That's okay, Mr Cole," Tom said, turning his attention to Dean again. "Please go on."
"Um… not much more to say really. They were chatting… it didn't look like they were friends or anything. For a second I thought maybe they'd had a bump in the car or something."
"What makes you think so?"
"I don't know, really. It's more a feeling, body language and all that. Billy didn't look comfortable. He's quite a laid-back kind of guy from what I know of him, but he was kind of rigid when talking to this bloke… and his missus called him away."
"There was someone else there?"
"Yeah," Dean said, nodding. "A woman. She was in the car. I assumed she was the bloke's wife or something."
"Why the wife?" Kerry asked. Dean looked at her confused. "I mean, you said wife. Why not his girlfriend?"
Dean shrugged. "I dunno. Age, I guess. The guy looked to be a similar age to Billy. Same height and stuff as well… and I guess I'm just assuming. I'd say she was a similar age too."
"What happened next?"
"Nothing." Dean held his hands up. "I was getting the stock back inside and when I came back out both cars were gone."
"But the woman called him away?" Tom said. "Do you remember if she used his name?"
"Nah… sorry, I don't remember. I guess she must have, though."
"And you've no idea what they were arguing about?"
Once again, Dean shook his head. "No, sorry. But they weren't friendly, that's for sure."
Tom glanced up at the entrance spying a camera above the door. "Any chance you'll have them on camera?"
Terry Cole was about to answer but Dean cut him off. "Won't do you any good. They didn't come in the shop… the couple I mean. They were parked up outside next to the recycling bins, so they may have been there for that but they definitely didn't come in the store. I would have seen them. It was quiet."
"Right," Tom said, failing to keep the disappointment from his tone. "How about the car they were in? Can you remember that?"
"An estate of some sort… dark blue or black, maybe. It's hard to say in that light."
"Make or model?"
Dean shook his head. "Couldn't say for sure. Probably Japanese… I'd know if it was one of the German ones from the grilles, but I can't say for this one. Yeah, if I had to put money on it I'd say an older Japanese one. Sorry, but I was up against it time-wise and wasn't really watching them."
"Okay, no problem. That's all very helpful," Tom said. "Tell me, you said Billy came in most nights?"
"Yeah, he did. Even if it was lashing down, he'd still be in for his bargains."
"Was he always on his own?"
Dean chewed on his lower lip, thinking hard. He exhaled, blowing out his cheeks and nodding. "Yeah, now that you mention it I don't think I ever saw him with anyone else. Unsurprising really."
"Why would you say so?"
"I don't know… it's just Billy was… a bit odd. I mean, he was a nice enough bloke, always polite and up for a chat. Everyone knew him around here, he's been a fixture in the town since… well, forever. It's just that he was a little strange." Tom watched him intently, encouraging him to elaborate. "Well, he'd think nothing about shopping in a boiler suit covered in oil, smelling of horseshi—"
"Dean!" Terry Cole interrupted him.
"Well, personal hygiene wasn't his thing," Dean said with a shrug, trying to be more diplomatic. He glanced at Kerry. "And some of the women," he looked back at the store behind him, "not that I ever saw any of it myself, mind you, but some of our colleagues felt a bit uncomfortable around him."
"What did he do that made them feel that way, do you think?"
Dean frowned. "I don't think he ever… you know… touched them or anything," he said, his eyes flitting to Cole and then back to Tom. "They said he used to look at them funny, smiling… that sort of thing. A bit creepy, I guess."
"Any unwanted advances that you're aware of?" Tom asked, thinking about a jealous boyfriend or husband.
"Oh no, nothing like that," Dean said. "Billy wouldn't say boo to a goose. He was at ease with me and the guys, but women," he shook his head, "no, like a fish out of water. I expect it was more that he was keen but didn't know what to say or how to approach them. How else could a guy get to his age and not be married or involved with anyone?" Dean shook his head again, this time more forcibly. "Nah, Billy was all right, just a bit of an oddball. You would be, though wouldn't you, living all the way out there on your own."
"So you knew where he lived?" Tom asked.
"Yeah, of course. It's Billy! Everyone knows where the Moys' place is. What's all this about anyway?"
"Thank you both for your time, gentlemen," Tom said. Turning to Terry Cole, he said, "I'd like to send an officer around to see you tomorrow in order to take a look at the CCTV you have in the store, if you have no objections? We would like to confirm timings from Thursday night, to see when he arrived here and what time he left, whether he had interactions with anyone in particular?"
"Yes, of course. I'll speak to the branch manager straight away and I'm sure he won't mind. Is Billy in some kind of trouble?"
"I'm afraid I can't comment on that at this time, Mr Cole. I'll have someone come by first thing tomorrow."
They exchanged goodbyes and Tom walked back to the car with Kerry alongside.
"What do you make of this couple in the car park?" she asked him.
Tom glanced up at the lights illuminating the car park, catching sight of the cameras and following their lines of sight. One of them was overlooking the recycling zone where the bins could be seen.
"Dean could be wrong and they might have been acquaintances just saying a brief hello in passing," Tom said. Nodding towards the cameras, he added, "But it will be interesting to see what was going on."
"I'm curious to know who gave him the shiner, though," she said.
"I think we'd all like to know who would have had cause to put one on him, if that's what happened," Tom said, agreeing as he got into the car and closed the door. For a man who, by all accounts, liked to spend almost all of his time alone and was agreeable to those he did come across, someone took exception to him and
it was enough to come to blows over. Would the same person still be carrying enough angst over the confrontation to return two days later and settle the argument permanently?
Billy Moy was a curious character in life, and even more so in death.
Chapter Seven
Tamara Greave entered the operations room to see Tom already preparing the morning briefing. It was seven o'clock in the morning, a damp and overcast morning which matched her mood. DS Cassie Knight was perched on the edge of a desk deep in conversation with Kerry Palmer who appeared bright and fresh-faced. She must be still riding the burst of enthusiasm that came with the opportunity to step up into CID. It was only supposed to be a brief stint, a couple of days to garner some experience but now she was in the thick of a murder investigation. It would be invaluable experience for her.
Tom smiled as she approached him and reaching to his left he passed her a cup of takeaway coffee, presumably from his usual haunt. She accepted it gratefully, finding the cup warm and the liquid the perfect temperature to drink. Unclipping the lid she sipped at the coffee, casting an eye over the white board which Tom was busy using to detail what they knew about their victim. It wasn't much.
"Forensics?" she asked him.
"Preliminary report will be with us at lunchtime with the full works following tomorrow," Tom said. "Labs are on minimal staffing today, being a Sunday, but have promised they'll throw everyone at it first thing tomorrow. Bit more luck with the pathologist though. He's agreed to complete the autopsy today."
"Can we do that as well, take the weekend off?" she asked. Tom smiled but didn't respond. He must know it was rhetorical. Tamara cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention. Cassie broke off her conversation with Kerry and the two looked at her. "Right, thanks for coming in so early on what is a dreadful day, even without a dead body to investigate I think I'd be on a downer."
"That's okay," Cassie said, smiling. "I'm feeling good. It's a Sunday and I don't have a hangover despite going to a wedding yesterday. Must be a first."
"The hangover-free Sunday?" Tom asked. Cassie grinned. "How did the newlyweds enjoy the reception?"
"Yes, it went well. Becca had to tell Eric off for holding too tightly when they were cutting the cake. He was so nervous, bless him. It all went off well, though. Both of them looked so happy together."
Tamara noticed Kerry's eyes dip away to the floor as Cassie was talking.
"Thanks for taking Mum home last night, Cass."
"No problem. I love your mum, she's fascinating."
Tamara pursed her lips, Cassie smiling at her. It was well known that the team found her mother interesting and far more enlightening than she cared for. She could only hope her mother hadn't let slip any more information that she'd find embarrassing. She dismissed the thought, thinking Cassie was probably just trying to wind her up as usual.
"Right, any joy with tracing the next of kin?"
"Not yet, Ma'am," Kerry said regretfully. "What the deceased's friends told us panned out and Billy Moy's only living relative is his brother, Simon. However, I haven't been able to find a current address for him. The last known address on file was in Dereham but it was a private rental and he left there nearly five years ago. He's no longer recorded on the Electoral Roll in that area but he might not have re-registered at the new address. I'll keep looking."
"Good, okay." Tamara looked at the white board, Billy Moy's face staring back at her. "Known associations?"
Tom said, "Moy doesn't have a record, not even a speeding ticket. He hasn't come onto our radar at all, so that's a complete blank. I ran down the records of his address and confirmed what we were told out at the cabin yesterday. Haydock Farm, as it used to be known, was owned by Arnold Moy, Billy and Simon's father. Arnold died and Maureen, his widow, took ownership until she, too, passed away. The farm then passed into Billy's hands and he has run things ever since.
The Land Registry shows a change in title, I'm thinking some of the land was parcelled up and tenanted or sold off periodically. Haydock Farm then largely ceased to exist in the form it always had, but Billy still holds title to significant acreage. How much of it he still actually works is up for debate. I had a quick look at the business filings over the past few years with HMRC and the company has been making nominal sums to the point of posting losses for the last two years."
Tamara nodded, frowning. "Do we have any idea who the business passes to now he's dead?"
Tom shook his head. "Not yet."
"Billy never married or had children?"
"No, Ma'am," Kerry said. "Not as far as we know anyway."
Tamara would need to speak to PC Palmer regarding her formality. It was how it worked in most stations but within this team it wasn't how she chose to lead things.
"Okay, Kerry, please keep on trying to track down the brother." She looked at Tom. "Until we have the full forensics and pathology report I think we should focus on building a timeline for Moy's last hours. As it stands right now we have almost a two-day window between when he was last seen in the supermarket car park and when the neighbours found his body."
"Agreed," Tom said. "We're working on Fiona Williams' time frame of his death likely occurring late on the Thursday evening shortly after his return from the trip to the supermarket. He never got around to unpacking the shopping and some of it was perishable and would have needed refrigerating, so I think it's a likely scenario."
"There was no sign of forced entry, so unless he was prone to leaving his place unlocked when he went out – something to ask the friends about in the coming days – it would be reasonable to assume he either had a visitor that he knew or—"
"Someone was already at home waiting for him," Tom finished for her.
She nodded. "Exactly. It would be interesting to know what he had planned this week, who he mixed with in the days leading up to his death as well. The couple who discovered him, didn't they say he was doing work for someone else this past week?"
"Yes, up at Alan Finney's place."
"Do you know him?"
Tom gently rocked his head from side to side. "Sort of. More by local reputation than in person, although I think I have met him a couple of times in passing. Interesting chap."
"Interesting?"
"A bit full of his own importance," Tom said. "In my opinion anyway."
"I think we need to have a word with him to see if Billy Moy has been at his place, what he was up to, how he was behaving, that type of thing. Maybe Cassie could—"
"I'll go out there after the briefing and have a word," Tom said. He glanced at Cassie. "Alan Finney is the sort to expect to be treated a cut above, if you know what I mean?"
"A lowly detective sergeant wouldn't cut it?" Cassie asked without any hint of irritation.
Tom inclined his head. "Yes, he's a bit like that."
Tamara's mobile beeped and she scooped it up off the desk, opening a text message. She read it and sighed.
"What is it?" Tom asked.
"The local jungle drums are already beating," she said, turning the screen towards him. Tom read the message and rolled his eyes.
"That's all we need."
"Yeah, right," she said, turning to the others. "It looks like local media are already reporting Billy Moy's death—"
"But we haven't officially ID'd him yet," Cassie said, frowning.
"Local sources are naming him," Tamara said. "But they're not describing it as a murder yet, so there's something."
"Our killer will now be aware of our interest, though and they already have a two-day head start on us," Tom said.
"If it's a local then that might play into our hands a little," Tamara said. "They'll have been playing it cool these past couple of days, perhaps growing in confidence that the news hadn't broken of the discovery of a body. They might have become emboldened and this may make them a little twitchy, tip off those around them that they are behaving differently."
"And if it's someone who's already fled the area?" Kerry asked.
"Then it won't make a whole heap of difference," she said. "No reason to alter our approach. Let's start mapping out Billy's life, who he hung out with, where he spent his time. Even loners have to go places other than the supermarkets. If he's as well known as everyone says then he must have interacted with people otherwise he wouldn't be on anyone's radar. Cassie, can you go out to the supermarket and get the CCTV from Thursday?"
"Yep, will do," Cassie said.
"And then make a start on his digital footprint: financial records, bank accounts, credit cards, mobile phone, and put the word out to pawn shops that there might be some cheap electrical items passing their way in the near future if they haven't seen it already. The television was missing but he may have had a mobile or a laptop as well. It could have been a job lot being traded for quick cash. Go as far as you can in every direction. There can't be many businesses converting goods into cash in our coastal towns."
Cassie nodded. Tamara looked at Tom and raised her eyebrows. "Anything we've missed?"
"Not that I can think of," he said. "It might be worth speaking to the Bartletts again, advising them not to speak to the press."
"You think it was them?"
"Perhaps, or at least someone they subsequently spoke to after they left us."
"Good idea. We'll need someone to take a formal statement from them anyway. Kerry, that's a job for you."
She accepted the task with a broad smile. Tom exchanged a look with Tamara and she nodded to say she was done.
"I'll go and speak with Finney and catch up with you later."
Chapter Eight
Tom's Volvo estate car sat low to the ground, a fact he was reminded of as he heard the underside of the vehicle scrape along the ground as he made his way up the uneven track. Ashwood Farm sat at the head of a prominent point above Thornham on the coast overlooking the village from roughly a quarter of a mile up a gentle slope. Alan Finney was one of the largest agricultural landholders in the area, his family farming the north-west Norfolk region for several generations.
To Die For: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 9) Page 6
