"I would say so. To be disinherited without your knowledge and not only that but to also find out on the same day you bury your mother must have been infuriating. To lose out financially is one thing but how must it feel at the time?"
"Like a betrayal."
"Yes, by your own family. Your mother, no less. That would foster a lot of resentment in some people."
"Enough to kill?"
He looked at her again, angling his head. "Maybe. I've known people kill for far less."
"He didn't seem too bothered or surprised about his brother's death, did he?"
"No, he was quite pragmatic about it all. But that doesn't necessarily make him a murderer. Come on, let's get back."
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. If he was going to make it home for dinner, he'd have to get a move on."
Chapter Eleven
Tamara Greave sipped at her morning coffee as the team assembled in the ops room. She'd spent much of the night going through the details they had already gathered regarding both bodies that had been reported to them over the weekend. If ever she needed a reminder of the unpredictability of the job, this weekend had been perfect. They'd all been working up to Eric and Becca's big day and after a period of relative calm in the preceding weeks to suddenly find themselves with two murder cases to solve had caught her off guard.
"Right," she said, getting everyone's attention. "Good morning. Welcome back, Eric," she said and he smiled at her. "I trust the new Mr and Mrs Collet enjoyed their first weekend of marriage?" She held up her hand. "And please do spare us the details."
Eric flushed.
"I expected to be able to offer you some light duties and a couple of extra days annual leave on the quiet but," she turned to the boards behind her where she had been sorting through the information of both cases, "I'm afraid we now find ourselves stretched with these two cases.”
"Any word about extra resources coming our way?" Tom asked.
"I'm speaking to the chief super this morning, so we'll have to wait on that. In the meantime, Kerry will be extending her loan spell." Cassie slapped Kerry gently on the shoulder and she grinned, looking sideways at Eric who also smiled. Kerry also blushed. "Let us hope you don't regret it, PC Palmer," Tamara said, smiling. "Okay, so we have two cases. We are further along with the Moy inquiry, so I think Tom will stay on that with Kerry to support." Tom nodded his agreement, perched on the edge of a nearby desk. "Cassie, I want you and Eric to take a look into our mystery man who came ashore yesterday morning. The flyer he had in his pocket suggests he has been in and around Hunstanton recently. I also want you to find the woman he knows or may have been travelling with, Sasha Kalnina. We've no reason to think she went into the water along with him but he had her passport, so it is reasonable to assume they are connected. Find her."
"Did we have any luck with his fingerprints?" Cassie asked, taking notes.
Tamara shook her head. "He isn't known to us. However, the passport he was carrying was Latvian, so if he is from abroad then there is every possibility he is known to police in his home country. Get onto Interpol and see if we can check his prints against known criminals."
Cassie sucked air through her teeth. "I'll start with Latvia then."
"Good," Tamara continued. "You'll need to be phoning around local hotels, bed and breakfasts, even the hospital in search of Kalnina. Other than that, it is getting out and about and knocking on doors."
"Interesting tattoo," Eric said, eyeing the set of photographs pinned to the board. Tamara looked around at them, nodding. "Distinctive. It might be worth asking about the artwork."
"How do you mean?" Tamara asked.
"I'm not an expert on ink, but I understand tattooists are just as identifiable as other artists. They recognise each other's work."
"Is there a local… what do they call it… a parlour?" she asked.
"I don't know what they call it, but there's a place in town, yes. It's close to the theatre, so I'll call in."
Tamara smiled. "Good idea." There was something about Eric this morning. He'd welcomed her greeting with a broad smile but he seemed flat. Perhaps it was having to come back into work a couple of days after the wedding instead of leaving for his honeymoon, an anti-climax of sorts, or perhaps he didn't want to go into such a negative case on the back of his happy event? She didn't know, but he wasn't himself. "Tom, what do you have lined up this morning with the Moy inquiry?"
"The brother, Simon, is coming in to do the formal identification. Afterwards, I hope to catch up with the pathologist before getting an update from the forensics team. Then it's the financials, associates… the usual."
"I have the footage to go through, taken from the supermarket on the night we believe he died," Kerry said.
Tom nodded. "Focus on the argument in the car park. Maybe we'll get a bit of luck with a numberplate on the car belonging to the couple."
"What's the thinking there?" Tamara asked.
"If there was an altercation, Billy is so well known they may have known where he lived or followed him home. Maybe it carried on away from the camera."
"Great," Tamara said. "Anything else?"
No one had anything to add and so Tamara broke up the meeting. Cassie leaned in to Eric.
"Give me a few minutes to file this request with Interpol and I'll come with you to the seaside."
"Yeah?" he said, looking glum.
"Cheer up, Eric. If you're good I might even buy you an ice cream."
Eric put the flyer, still in the evidence bag, back inside his coat and retreated from the lobby. He always knew it would be a long shot but the variety show in the flyer wasn't scheduled to begin for another month. The crew, performers and management weren't due in the area for weeks. Cassie was waiting for him outside, hands thrust into her pockets, hair billowing in the breeze, as she looked across the green and past the pier amusements arcade at the sea which was hammering the sea wall with a vengeance this morning. The occasional wave was cresting the wall and flooding the promenade. The storm barriers were fixed in place further along the promenade to stop the car parks from flooding.
She read his expression. "No luck?" He shook his head. "It's not the end of the world, Eric. What's up with you this morning? I know you've just got married but you can't have got into married life that quickly?"
He either missed the humorous edge to her tone or he was too distracted to comment, merely nodding and gesturing with his head to walk up the hill into town.
"The tattoo studio is up there. Are you coming?"
He turned and set off, Cassie falling into step alongside him.
"Are you all right, Eric?"
"Yeah, it's nothing really."
"Looks like something to me. Go on, out with it," she said as they walked. The cold weather was keeping people off the streets this morning. The odd passer-by was moving around them but most people in view were either making deliveries or heading to work. In a month Hunstanton would begin the progressive increase in visitor numbers as the season got underway.
"Oh… it's Becca. She's not happy."
"Why? I thought the wedding went well."
Eric stared at the ground as he walked. "It did. It was a great day, she loved it." He glanced up at her. "We both loved it."
Cassie was confused. "So what happened between then and now? Is it the honeymoon thing?"
Eric shot her a dark look. "What do you know about that?"
She was taken aback. "Only about the mix-up with the dates, otherwise you'd be away by now rather than trying to identify who washed up on the beach."
"Ah, right, of course. Yeah… the dates."
He didn't elaborate further and they arrived at the tattooist's shop. It was a small premises sandwiched between two others with an old wooden door and one display window showcasing various designs available to the purchaser. The sign said it was closed but Cassie could see movement at the rear. She knocked on the frame of the glass door.
A man appeared from a room at
the back of the shop. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans with a leather waistcoat. He was bald, or shaven headed, and sported a beard that grew out to a point where it almost met his chest. He was a barrel-chested man and, apart from his face which had multiple piercings, every other inch of skin was decorated with artwork. As he approached them, Cassie had to note the level of detail involved in his ink was impressive. The door was unlocked and he eyed them both. Despite being the senior officer, Cassie was aware this was Eric's assignment and she looked to him to take the lead but Eric was off in a world of his own and so she brandished her warrant card.
"Sorry to trouble you. Detective Sergeant Knight and DC Collet, Norfolk Police, can we pick your brains for a minute?"
He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised to be visited and nodded. "Callum Nichols. This is my place, come in."
He held the door open and they entered. There was a small counter to their left and Cassie could see the treatment room – if that was the right name for it – in the rear. The walls were adorned with prints and photographs of previous work or what was on offer for prospective buyers: elaborate fantasy designs, animals or Celtic art.
"What can I do to help?" Nichols asked.
Again, Cassie looked to Eric but he said nothing. She held out her hand and Eric realised he was holding the pictures. He passed the folder to her.
"I'm afraid it is quite a grim inquiry, Mr Nichols. Unfortunately a body was found on the beach yesterday—"
"Washed up," he said, frowning. "I heard about it. Some of the guys were talking about it last night."
"Right, yes. Well, we are trying to identify him and he has some distinctive ink. We were hoping you might help us with it?"
He shrugged. "Happy to, if I can."
She opened the folder and took out the enlarged photographs of the deceased man's body art. They'd been careful not to include the head or face so as not to cause upset, although these pictures were in reserve if needed. Cassie slowly passed them over and Nichols looked through them. His brow furrowed and he slowly shook his head.
"Definitely not ours," he said very quickly. He looked up at Cassie. "I would know if we had done these."
"We?"
"There are two of us working here but I'd recognise our stuff. Is he from around here, do you think?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I don't think it's local work," he said, moving the next image to the back of the pack and eyeing the next.
"You're sure?"
He shrugged. "I guess it could be a bespoke commission, but this is a small area, you know? We all know each other and you can spot the signs of each other's work. Much like you can with a painting, if you know what you're looking for. It's almost like a signature. We have guest spots every now and again, though, so I couldn't be one hundred percent sure."
"Guest spots?"
"Oh, travelling artists who are coming to the country or holidaying here might get in touch ahead of time and ask if they can do a day here. It mixes things up, offers something different to our customers, most of whom are repeat business."
"I see. Anything you can tell us about this work might be useful," Cassie said.
"It's not recent," he said, "you can tell from the discolouration. Some of the colours are fading. That could indicate the artist has mixed the ink with something to make it last, lower costs for them. It's not something I would do but maybe this guy wasn't as ethical. Your man here would probably want someone to go over that at some point to bring it back up. It's also not a style I recognise. We get a lot of requests for Celtic artwork, maybe not as much as we did perhaps a decade or so ago when it was all the rage, but there is still a demand. Similarly, oriental stuff, Buddhist life cycles and mythical dragons or the like have an almost perennial appeal."
"But this pattern is not related to those?"
He shook his head. "No. I've not seen its like before. That might help you," he bit his lower lip before passing the pictures back, "in a way. Similarly, the ink could be mixed with different materials to alter the colour or get a different look. You could analyse that maybe."
"Such as?"
"DIY stuff might use pen ink, soot or even blood, believe it or not. Different colours can be made using heavy metals, mercury can give you red or lead and cadmium can offer up a yellow. Cobalt gives you a blue, that sort of thing. That's done at the production stage of the ink manufacturers, though, not on site for obvious reasons. They might blend them with lead or titanium to lighten the colours and also to reduce costs. I don't know if that helps?"
"Yes, maybe. We can bear it in mind." Cassie thought the man seemed to demonstrate a strong constitution. She took out a photo of the deceased's face. "Forgive me, but would you mind looking at him to see if you do recognise him? Maybe he has been in here with someone else or you've seen him knocking around recently?"
He was willing and she gave him the photo. Nichols studied it hard, then shook his head and handed it back.
"Sorry. I've never seen him before and I think I'd recognise him if I had."
"Okay, thank you for your help."
They left the studio and began the short walk back to where the car was parked at the bottom of the hill across from the green. By the time they reached the car, Eric still hadn't said a word.
"Eric?"
He looked across the car at her, key in hand. "What?"
"You're not going to be much use to us this week unless you're able to focus."
He looked glum, pursing his lips and nodding purposefully. "I'm sorry. I am a bit preoccupied."
"That's to be expected. You just got married. But I sense there's more to it."
"Yeah," he said, sounding dejected and leaning on the roof of the car. "I know."
A seagull flew over them, coming to land on the waste bin across the road. It watched them, hoping for them to drop something for it to eat. The birds were well practised in the town.
"So, what's going on?"
Eric took a breath, casting his eyes skyward. "It's the honeymoon… or lack of one."
"Where is it you're going?"
"Originally, we were going to Sardinia. Becca likes hills, walking and exploring, but when George arrived we realised that wasn't going to happen, so we figured we'd stay in the UK and came up with a new plan."
"Yes, you're heading up to Hadrian's Wall country, aren't you?"
"Yep. Becca found this company through her fell-walkers' club. They help with shifting luggage around between locations, so you can walk but not have to carry everything."
"You just have to focus on getting from A to B then, right?" He smiled, nodding. "Sounds great. What's the problem?"
Eric sighed. "Weddings are expensive… more so than I realised. Becca's parents wanted to foot the bill for the whole thing but obviously Mum wasn't happy about that. She's always been keen to ensure she paid her way…"
"And?"
Eric rubbed the end of his nose. He was uncomfortable and she thought maybe she shouldn't have pushed him. Eventually, he took a breath and rallied himself.
"Mum doesn't have a lot of money, but she insisted on paying half. I'm not sure if she had any idea how much the whole thing was going to cost. I know I didn't. In the end it cost a lot more than she had, so…"
"So?"
"So… I made up the difference from savings. I didn't want Mum to feel bad, or to think she'd let me down."
"That's decent of you, Eric. There's nothing wrong with…" Cassie paused as it dawned on her what Eric was saying in his usual roundabout fashion. "You've spent the honeymoon money?"
Eric wouldn't meet her eye. He dipped his gaze to the floor before turning and looking out to sea. Slowly shaking his head, he looked back at Cassie.
"How short are you?" she asked, realising how upset he was.
"Three and a half thousand, if not more."
"Oh, Eric."
"I've no idea how I'm going to tell Becca."
Chapter Twelve
"That's him. That's Billy,"
Simon Moy said without a flicker of emotion. Tom nodded to the mortician who stepped forward and pulled the sheet up from Billy Moy's chest and recovered the face. Only the neck up had been visible to the dead man's brother, keeping the nature of the wound as well as the signs of the autopsy; the stitches across the abdomen where the pathologist put the body back together, hidden from view. Simon Moy was escorted out of the room and into the corridor where his wife was waiting for him. He turned to Tom. "So, what happens now?"
"We will continue the investigation into his death," Tom said. "Seeing as this is a murder inquiry, we will not be able to release your brother's body until such time as the pathologist deems any further investigation is not required."
"What does that mean?" Simon asked, glancing at his wife.
"In criminal cases there is the possibility that a further investigation may be required. In your brother's case, I understand the cause of death is certain. In that case, I am confident his body will be released to you as soon as possible. You shouldn't have to wait too long to bury him—"
"I'm not dealing with it."
Simon's tone surprised Tom and he was taken aback. Simon held a hand up by way of an apology. "I'm sorry if I sound callous, Inspector, but as far as I'm concerned my brother died years ago. I see no reason to bring him into my life again and certainly not in death."
"That is your choice, Mr Moy."
"Yes, it is."
Simon Moy turned to walk away, his wife hesitated momentarily looking awkwardly at Tom. Then, she inclined her head, smiled weakly and hurried after her husband.
"Mr Moy?" Tom called. Simon stopped at the end of the corridor and looked back. "Where were you on Thursday night last week?"
Simon took a deep breath and made his way back along the corridor coming to stand in front of Tom.
"Why do you ask? Surely, you can't believe I am a suspect here?"
"Do you think you should be?"
He let out an exasperated release of breath, shaking his head. "I was at home with my wife," he said, gesturing to Caitlyn who was now waiting for him by the exit. "Ask her yourself if you want to?"
To Die For: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 9) Page 10
