Tom nodded and dialled Alice's number. Saffy answered the call.
"Tom, where are you?" she asked, dispensing with a proper greeting.
"I'm at the beach in Hunstanton."
"Without me? That's so unfair," Saffy replied indignantly. "Your job is really cool. Can I come down?"
"No, sorry, munchkin," he said, looking over as the body was lifted into a bag. "It's not that kind of trip to the beach."
"Not fair," she repeated and then he heard a scraping sound as the mobile changed hands.
"Tom?" Alice asked.
"Hi, darling," Tom said. "I'm sorry I missed you this morning, but I had to make an early start and didn't want to wake either of you. I'm amazed the dog didn't wake you up when I fed him."
"No, he didn't. I was dead to the world – sorry, unfortunate phrasing – I didn't even hear you come in last night. For a big bloke, you aren't half quiet on the move."
"I glide like a bird," he said, smiling. "How did the rest of the reception go?"
"It was great. Eric and Becca make a lovely couple. I have to speak to you about my mum, though. She collared me when I got home."
"Oh no, sounds ominous. She's not moving in, is she?"
"No, of course not. As if that would ever happen. You know you were so quiet last night, if it hadn't been for the towel on the floor of the bathroom I'd never have known you'd been home."
"Ah, yes. I keep forgetting. Sorry."
Alice laughed. "Will you be home for lunch?"
He looked at his watch and then back at the team. "Unlikely. Hopefully I'll be back to have dinner with you though, I promise. What is it with your mum?"
"Don't worry, it will keep until you're back. It would be nice to see you before we go to bed though," Alice said. He didn't sense any irritation or sarcasm in her tone at all.
"I'll do my best."
"I know. You always do. I love you."
"I know."
"I hate it when you say that," Alice said and he could tell she was smiling as she spoke.
"I know."
"One of these days, DI Janssen—"
"I love you too," he replied, smiling. "Bye."
He hung up and set off for the car. With a second potential murder case to run alongside the first, he knew this day was going to be a long one.
Chapter Ten
"I think it should be coming up on the left at the edge of the village," PC Kerry Palmer said to Tom just as he caught sight of the sign advising them they were entering Yaxham, a small village some twenty miles west of Norwich deep in the heart of Norfolk. Tom slowed the car and they both scanned the houses on the village boundary looking for their destination. "There!" Kerry pointed and Tom pulled off the main road, turning into the driveway.
The property was single storey, most likely built in the 1960s, and occupied a large plot bordering extensive fields to one side and the rear by the look of it. It was a nondescript building, grey brick and white plastic windows that seemed out of place in such an old village. The other buildings in sight were more traditional, plain brick or flint-faced, and more in keeping with the area. There were no cars parked on the drive in front of the house but a double garage sat to the edge of the boundary backing onto the fields. It was closed up.
"Do you think anyone's home?" Kerry asked.
"Let's see."
Tom got out of the car and looked at the house. It was late on a Sunday afternoon and he couldn't hear any traffic noise or sounds carrying on the breeze. He wondered if Yaxham ever appeared busy. He had never been here before and they'd looked up the area on the computer before heading out here, hence why they knew roughly where the house could be found. It was a small village that formed a parish with the neighbouring village of Clint Green. There was no significant draw to the location aside from the potential respite of living amongst people.
Their stones crunched underfoot as they went to the front door, ringing the bell. A shadow soon appeared on the other side of the obscured glass of the door and it opened. A woman warily peered out at them, her eyes narrowing.
"Mrs Moy?" Tom asked. She nodded. "Detective Inspector Tom Janssen, Norfolk Police. This is PC Palmer." Kerry smiled at the introduction. The woman's expression softened but she seemed surprised at their presence.
"Police?" She sounded surprised. "I thought you were religious folks."
Tom looked at her quizzically.
"Sorry," she said, waving a hand absently in front of herself. "We've had Mormons knocking on doors in the village recently. They come out from Norwich I believe."
"Well, we are certainly not looking for conversions, Mrs Moy. We would like to speak to your husband if he is in?"
"Yes, he's inside." She glanced over her shoulder. "I'm Caitlyn, Simon is my husband. Please, come in," she said, opening the door wider and stepping back to allow them to enter.
She closed the door once they were both inside. The hall was lined with a patterned carpet, similar to the ones Tom remembered his grandparents having in their homes back in the seventies. This one looked like it may well have been down just as long. Caitlyn walked past him and led them to the rear of the house and into a large reception room easily six metres long with patio doors overlooking the garden to the rear. Tall conifers lined the boundary, presumably offering the house some protection from the winds that rattled across the open fields beyond.
A man was sitting in a leather armchair, his face buried in a newspaper. At first, he didn't appear to notice them entering. When he did, he took a double-take before lowering the paper and getting to his feet. Before they could be introduced, Tom knew this was Billy Moy's brother, Simon. Apart from having a little more hair on top of his head, Tom felt he could be looking at Billy Moy himself. They were the spit of one another.
"Simon Moy?" Tom asked for clarification. He nodded and Tom introduced themselves again. Simon offered them a seat and they duly sat down on the sofa. Simon sat down again and his wife came to stand alongside him, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder.
"What can we do for the police?"
"I am afraid I have to tell you that your brother, Billy, has passed away."
Simon's lips parted slightly. Caitlyn raised a hand to her mouth and Tom noticed the one on her husband's shoulder tensed slightly.
"Oh… I see," Simon said before drawing a deep breath. He glanced up at his wife who pursed her lips but said nothing. He looked back at Tom. "I–I… how did it happen?"
"I'm sorry to have to tell you that we believe your brother was murdered at his home."
Caitlyn gasped and Simon looked away from them, sinking back into his chair, open mouthed.
"I appreciate this is a bit of a shock," Tom said after allowing them a moment to take in the news, "but we need to ask you a few questions about your brother. Do you feel up to that?" Simon didn't respond. He was staring straight ahead. "Mr Moy?"
"Y–Yes of course," he said, snapping out of it and sitting upright. His wife sat down on the arm of the chair and Simon reached across with his left hand, gently patting her thigh affectionately. "Whatever I can do to help. Murdered, you say? Whoever would do such a thing?"
"Do you know of anyone who may have had a grievance with your brother Billy?"
Simon frowned, meeting Tom's eye. He shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm not the one who would know, Inspector. Billy and I lost touch many years ago."
"When did you last see your brother?" Tom asked, unwilling to let on that he knew the brothers were estranged.
Simon exhaled, his eyes flitting to his wife and away again. "I don't know. It's been years, to be honest."
"That's unusual."
Simon looked at Tom with a quizzical expression.
"To not see a sibling for that long?"
"Well…" Simon said, looking away and slowly shaking his head. Then he shrugged. "How does the old saying go, you can't choose your family?"
"You didn't get on?"
Simon swiped a hand through the air. "It's all a long t
ime ago." He sighed. "Seems daft now, I suppose."
"I understand it may have been around the time of your late mother's funeral. Is that correct?"
Simon sniffed hard before chewing on his lower lip and shaking his head dismissively. "I see the local grapevine is still working well."
Caitlyn placed a hand on his shoulder and he smiled up at her, appreciating the gesture. Tom waited. In the end, Simon relented.
"Hell, it's no secret. Everyone was talking about it at the time. I'm surprised the local gossips haven't already filled you in." He cleared his throat, looking up at his wife. "Maybe you could put the kettle on, love?"
She stared at him for a moment before looking at Tom and Kerry, who was diligently taking notes, and nodded. Slipping her arm away from her husband, she walked into the adjoining kitchen through an arched doorway. Simon watched her go and when the sound of a running tap could be heard, he sat forward in his seat, rubbing his hands together slowly.
"Where was I?" he asked quietly.
"The family falling out," Tom said.
He nodded. "Right, yes. As I said, it was all a long time ago. Back when Dad died."
"When was this?"
Simon thought hard. "Must be… twelve or thirteen years ago at least. Probably more." He laughed momentarily but it was a sound without genuine humour. "It was before Caitlyn and I got together. Anyway, our father passed away and he was a… traditional man."
"In what way?"
"In how he liked to do things. The farm passed to our mother but obviously she looked to Billy and me to keep the place going and… Billy held more sway with her. With both of them in fact. You see, our parents truly valued the old 'heir and a spare' approach to family. Billy was the eldest and so… well, they sort of looked to him as Dad was getting on and his health was failing."
"You didn't like that?"
Simon waved the question away. "It's not that I didn't like it. Billy and I were competitive. Me more so than him, if I'm honest and I thought I knew better. That's not true," he said, smiling at a memory, Tom thought. "I did know better than him. Billy was good with his hands, great on the tools so to speak but a businessman? No, not for me," he said, shaking his head.
"Let me guess, he didn't agree?"
Simon laughed, running a hand across his chin. "No. He thought he knew best. As did Mum and Dad. I knew he'd run the farm into the ground one day… and that was what started to happen pretty soon after Dad died." He shook his head. "Boy, did we have some ding-dongs about it." He splayed his hands wide. "I couldn't stick around and watch it happen, so I moved out and left them to it, Mum, Dad and Billy."
"So, you left prior to your father's passing?"
"I did, yes. But we were still in touch. I mean, I still lived in the area, went round and ran Dad back and forth from the hospital. It was just the farm that I didn't work on any more."
"And what changed?"
"Mum's passing changed it all, I think." Simon's head dropped and he ran both hands down the side of his face and head, meeting at the rear of his neck where his fingers interlocked for a second. He sat up drawing a deep breath. "There's no easy way to say it. Mum left the farm to Billy. It was all his. After that… I couldn't be involved any more."
"That must have been hard for you to take, to be disinherited in that way?"
Caitlyn returned with a teapot on a tray with four cups. She set it down on the coffee table between them all. Simon looked past her at Tom.
"Yes, it was hard. Like I said, our parents were traditional. The eldest was to inherit and," he tilted his head to one side, "although Mum said she wasn't going to follow that path… in the end that's what she did."
"You were hurt?"
Simon nodded. "Gutted, yes."
Caitlyn poured out the tea, passing a cup to her husband and then looking at Kerry.
"Milk and sugar please," Kerry said.
"How much involvement did you have with your brother after that?" Tom asked, accepting a cup and saucer from Caitlyn. Simon stirred his tea before putting the cup down on the table.
"I didn't. I left that day, the day of Mum's funeral and never went back. I've not seen him since."
Caitlyn's eyes flitted to her husband and away again. Tom thought he saw her hesitate before reaching for a plate of biscuits she'd set out and offering them around. Everyone declined.
"Has Billy ever been in touch?"
Simon shook his head. "No. He's not the type."
"Can you tell me about your brother?"
Simon shrugged. "Sure, what would you like to know."
"We understand he was a bit of a loner."
He laughed at that. "Yes, that's an understatement. It wasn't always that way."
"Go on."
"Billy was always a fish out of water around people, Mum and Dad aside, and women in particular. When we were teenagers he fell head over heels in love with one of the girls at school." He looked at Tom with a smile. "I mean full on, you know? It was bordering on obsessive for a while."
"Did she feel the same?"
"Strangely enough, yeah. I mean, probably not quite as intensive as Billy did, but I think she was attracted to his vulnerability. He was a good-looking lad – it runs in the family – and if you could see past his quirks, then Billy was all right. It didn't work out for him though."
"What happened?"
"Ah… parents wouldn't have it. Back then the Moys were doing okay, but some local people have an idea of where they sit in the social hierarchy and Billy didn't tick the right boxes. They put the brakes on it. I remember Billy took it hard, really hard." He bobbed his head. "I suppose we all do when we're that age… but this was different. I think that was when he changed."
"Changed how?" Tom was intrigued.
"Got into all sorts, drinking, gambling… taking drugs and hanging out with the wrong sort of people. Getting into trouble basically." Simon shrugged. "That's why I knew he'd run the farm into the ground. Too much money to play with. The farm was hard work but back in the day it delivered a decent living. With Billy at the helm, though… I could only see it going one way."
"Tell me, I'm curious, what would you have done with the farm if you had inherited?"
Simon raised his eyebrows. "I'd have encouraged Billy to sell. There's no way we would have made a go of it between us. We'd already proved we couldn't work together. It would have been for the best."
"He disagreed?"
"Yes, I suppose he did. Fair play to him for keeping it going as long as he has," Simon said, reaching for his tea again.
"But you have no idea as to who may have held a grudge against your brother?"
Simon shook his head. "I'm sorry, no. If Billy's behaviour continued on in the same way as it was when I left, then I dare say it will be a long list. He squandered our father's legacy turning a name to be proud of into something darker… and nastier. It sounds like his actions have eventually caught up with him."
Tom found his curiosity piqued, but he didn't show it. "As the next living relative, I need to ask if you would be prepared to carry out an identification of your brother's body. I'm sorry, but it is procedure."
"I can do that. When?" Simon asked, sipping at his tea.
"As soon as we can arrange it. Tomorrow morning?"
Simon agreed and they stood up to leave. Walking back into the hall, Tom noticed a small table against the wall. There was a telephone, a notepad and some envelopes lying on it. He casually cast an eye over them but didn't stop on his way to the door. Once outside, Tom thanked them for their time and agreed to meet Simon Moy at the mortuary the following morning. Simon was closing the door when Tom stopped him.
"Do you drive, Mr Moy?"
He nodded. "Yes, of course."
"Car in the garage?" Tom asked, gesturing with his head to the closed garage across the drive. Simon Moy nodded. "What car is it?"
Simon looked at him, puzzled. "A Mazda. Why?"
"Can I see it?"
"Um… yes, if you like.
"
Simon ducked out of sight before reappearing moments later with a set of keys in hand. He seemed a little perplexed as to why he needed to do so, but he crossed the drive to the garage, unlocked it and lifted the door up. Tom came to stand alongside him, peering into the gloomy interior. Inside the double garage was a Mazda hatchback, seven years old judging from the number plate. Crucially, the car was white.
"Happy?" Simon asked.
Tom smiled. "Yes, thank you very much. We'll see you tomorrow."
He turned and walked to his own car leaving Simon to drop the garage door again without another word. Once sitting inside, Tom started the car and watched as the man re-entered the house, closing the door on them. He glanced across at Kerry. She was watching him intently.
"You wanted to know if his car could have left the paint at the crime scene, right?" she asked.
He nodded.
"What made you think of that?"
Tom put the car in reverse and checked behind them, speaking as he moved off.
"Did you see the letters lying next to the phone in the hall?"
"No, I didn't." She sounded concerned, possibly worried that she had missed something significant and would be admonished for it. Undeterred, she still asked the question. "Why? What did I miss?"
"Several of them were stamped as 'final notice' on the envelopes. Looked like utility bills to me."
"Simon has money problems?"
"So it would seem, yes. How deep those problems are could be interesting."
"And if Billy dies without a wife or dependents…" she said softly.
"Exactly."
"Then why didn't you ask him where he was the night of the murder?"
Tom smiled. "Plenty of time for all of that. At this stage he's just the next of kin and we only have the fact they were estranged to suggest anything. It could just be a policeman's overactive suspicious nature. He pulled out onto the main road and headed back the way they had come. "And did you notice the moment Simon claimed not to have seen his brother since the day of their mother's funeral—"
"That threw Caitlyn, didn't it?” she said. Tom was pleased Kerry had seen it too. "There's more to it, isn't there?"
To Die For: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 9) Page 9
