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

by J M Dalgliesh

  "Definitely white… um… age…" She sighed "It was dark and so hard to say. He moved quickly after he saw me. He got in and exchanged words with his passenger—"

  "There was a passenger?"

  "Oh, yes. Did I not mention that? It was a woman, I'm certain." Her brow furrowed. "Or a man with very long hair. The interior light came on when he opened the door and I saw her. She was white, long hair tied back in a ponytail."

  "What happened then?"

  She shrugged. "He drove away. Aggressively. Stones were flung up all over the place. He turned left, heading towards Hunstanton."

  "And the car, what can you tell us about it?"

  She thought hard. "Dark. Old. Battered."

  "Anything else? Do you remember the make or model or any part of the numberplate?"

  She shook her head. "No. I should have, shouldn't I? The Neighbourhood Watch group always say to make a note of such things, but I have to say, I didn't really think about it."

  "And this was when?"

  "Friday night. Nine-fifteen on the dot."

  "You seem very sure," Tamara said.

  "Oh, I am, my dear. Every night, that's when we go out come rain, wind or shine."

  "And you're certain it was Friday evening?" Tom asked.

  She nodded.

  "Okay, thank you, Mrs Taylor."

  "Are you going to do something about this?" Mrs Taylor asked.

  Tom replied. "We'll make sure this is all removed today."

  Kerry smiled warmly at the woman. "You're a credit to the watch group, Mrs Taylor. You should be very proud."

  Judith Taylor's expression softened and she beamed back at Kerry before looking at Tamara and Tom in turn before backing away and heading towards her house. Tom frowned.

  "That doesn't fit our timeline at all, does it?"

  "It's a day late," Tamara said.

  "If this is the stuff taken from Billy Moy's house, why would they dump it here twenty-four hours after his murder?"

  "Maybe they'd sat on it in their car for a day and realised it would be too hot to hold onto or to sell on, ditching it after dark as soon as they were able to the following day?"

  Tom wasn't convinced. If they were looking to dispose of incriminating items having had a day to think about it, he could conceive of far better places than this within easy reach of the area. It didn't make a lot of sense. Unless none of this was Billy's. If not, why would you dump such valuable items in this way? He was fairly confident it would track back to Billy Moy, but how and why it came to be here was puzzling.

  "There haven't been any burglaries reported locally from Friday have there?" Kerry asked.

  "No." Tamara said. "The address intelligence gave us for Danny Tice, how far is it from here?"

  "Less than two miles from here," Tom said. "It's just this side of the town centre."

  The address given to them was a flat at the lower end of the town just off the high street. Tom parked the car a little way up the hill and they scanned the exterior. The building was a four-storey stone-built semi-detached house with a basement flat. The adjoining house was a twin sister to the first and both would once have been very grand, imposing townhouses, but now looked quite shabby and in a poor state of repair. The grounds surrounding both houses, now converted into flats, were unkempt and rarely tended to. Some of the windows had cracked or broken panes and there was no sign of life in either building.

  "Which one is it?" Tom asked.

  "Ground floor, I think," Tamara said and the three of them got out and crossed the road, making their way down the hill. "Kerry, you go around the back just in case whoever is inside bolts when we knock on the front door."

  Kerry hurried down the side of the property between the house and an old van parked off to the left, a vehicle that didn't appear to have moved in years. She rounded the corner and disappeared from view. Tom and Tamara mounted the steps to the front door. Tom pressed the bell but didn't hear it ring. He tried again and then gave up, hammering a fist on the door. They waited but there was no answer. Leaning to his left, Tom peered into the front bay window but the interior was shrouded by thick net curtains draped across the window. They were once white but now discoloured with a brown tinge to them. Tom returned to the door and raised his closed fist again but the latch clicked and the door cracked open, a security chain in place.

  "Yeah?"

  The tone was hostile, belonging to a narrow-faced man with greasy hair that clung to his forehead and scalp. He sported three earrings in his right lobe and his bloodshot eyes looked sunken with dark patches amplifying the bags beneath them.

  "Police," Tom said, showing his warrant card. "We're looking for Danny Tice."

  The man smiled to reveal yellow, tobacco-stained teeth and receding gums. "Nah, don't know him."

  He made to close the door but Tom braced it with his hand. The man looked up and met his eye. "And you are?"

  "None of your business, mate!"

  Tom smiled. "Give us a name and maybe we will leave you alone."

  He looked up, his eyes narrowing. It was almost as if Tom could see the cogs ticking over in his mind.

  "Open the door, Mr Tice," Tom said.

  The man sighed, nodding ever so slightly, and Tom released the pressure on the door. The door closed and the sound of the chain being removed began and then stopped. Tom and Tamara exchanged a glance and both of them said in unison, "He's running!"

  Tamara turned and hurried down the step to try and get to the rear to support Kerry, whereas Tom eyed the door. It was old, sturdy but the frame was wooden and rotten due to its exposure to the ferocity of the local weather and the corrosive sea air. He took a couple of steps back and launched himself forward raising a booted foot and landing it on where the latch met the frame. The door flexed on the first attempt but on the second the frame splintered and the door flew in snapping the security chain.

  Tom ran into a wide hallway. It was dark with only the daylight coming through the door behind to illuminate the way. Proceeding with caution, just in case anyone lay in wait for him, he looked into the front-facing room. Once a grand sitting room, it was now converted into a bedroom. The air in the room was stale with an odour of damp and sweat. It was empty. Moving further into the building, the hallway narrowed, presumably the staircase to the next floor had been boxed in during the conversion. He came to a second room. It was also shrouded in darkness, French doors to the rear were closed with heavy curtains slung across them. He could make out a figure lying on the sofa and he edged in just as a shout went up from the rear.

  Tom thought to run to the sound, knowing it was Tamara and Kerry, but he couldn't leave someone behind them. He moved closer but the person didn't acknowledge his presence and when he came to stand over them, he realised it was a woman, perhaps in her early twenties but in this light it was difficult to tell. There was a table lamp next to the sofa and he turned it on. She appeared to be sleeping but as she absently raised a hand in a vain attempt to block out the source of light accompanied by a mumbled complaint, he knew she wasn't sleeping. She was wasted. Passed out would be a more apt description.

  She was no danger and he turned, ran from the room and into the next. This was a narrow kitchen, filthy and stinking. The window above the sink was open and the items that had been on the drainer were now in the sink or had crashed to the floor. Broken glass lay at his feet. He peered out to see their charge lying face down on the floor with Kerry kneeling on the small of his back, bracing one arm up his spinal column. He struggled and she tightened her grip bringing forth a tirade of expletives. Tamara was on her haunches in front of him, an expression of bemused satisfaction on her face. It would appear that PC Palmer, despite her stature, had acquitted herself admirably.

  "Everything okay out here?" he called to them. Tamara gave him a thumbs-up. He returned to the rear sitting room where he checked over the woman. She was conscious but barely. He crossed the room and drew back the curtains. The sun was on the front of the house an
d so the change wasn't dramatic but he was able to look around the interior better. There was no protest from the occupant.

  As his eyes adjusted to the new light, he scanned the room. He was wrong about the woman, reassessing her as little more than a girl, eighteen or nineteen at most. Tom's opinion on why the girl hadn't been roused by his presence was reinforced by what he saw on the coffee table next to the sofa. A tea light candle had consumed the wick and burned out. Beside this was a plastic straw, a cigarette lighter and a square of tin foil roughly the size of Tom's open hand. This was the telltale paraphernalia of a habitual drug user.

  He picked up the foil by the corner and inspected it. Crudely shaped into a shallow bowl, the centre was caked in a dark brown residue, the remnants of the heroin that had been burned off. It was poor quality heroin. Tom had seen enough to know the difference. The process involved heating the powder until it liquified and then inhaling the steam as it subsequently evaporated. The less residue left on the foil after this process denoted the purity of the drug. This was poor, mixed with additives to lower the price or maximise the dealer's profit margin. Tom's money would be on the latter.

  He looked at the girl again. She was well and truly high. They wouldn't get anything out of her any time soon. Her brown hair was pulled back from her face and tied in a ponytail. She matched the description Judith Taylor gave of the passenger in the car on Manor Road, but admittedly it was a vague description at best. In the corner of his eye he saw two uniformed officers come into view through the French doors. Danny Tice was handed to them for transport back to the station.

  Tom opened the doors to the garden and met Tamara and Kerry coming to join him.

  "Good take down," he said.

  Kerry smiled. "No problem."

  She was being modest. Danny Tice wasn't the most imposing of figures but he still dwarfed the young constable and she'd dealt with him with comparative ease. Tom gestured to the girl on the sofa behind him.

  "We'd better call an ambulance for her. There's no way we can leave her here in that state."

  Tamara looked past him and shook her head. "How old is she?"

  Tom frowned. "Not quite young enough to be his daughter, but not far off it I'd guess."

  Tamara blew out her cheeks and entered. They carefully inspected the room but they only found a small amount of powdered heroin in a small zip-lock bag on the mantelpiece above the fire.

  "There's a black Ford Focus estate parked around the back," Kerry said.

  That piqued Tom's curiosity.

  "Any damage to it?" he asked, hearing the hopeful tone in his own voice.

  "The front bumper is scuffed and hanging on with gaffer tape," she said, cocking her head to one side and raising her eyebrows.

  "Is it now?" Tom said, smiling.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tom entered the room. Danny Tice looked up at him with a forlorn expression. He was no stranger to an interview room, no stranger to being quizzed by the police. Tom was pretty certain he'd already have his answers prepared. He just couldn't be sure which questions were going to come his way. It was likely that a man such as Danny Tice was well aware that he could be arrested for any number of different reasons. Once he'd been transported back to the station, he'd remained silent, further reinforcing Tom's opinion that the man would hold out as long as possible until he knew how firm his footing was.

  Kerry Palmer was already in the room. She had done a marvellous job whilst waiting for Tom to arrive, staring straight at their suspect and unsettling Tice. He was a career criminal, petty offences in the main, and experienced but anybody can be unnerved in the right conditions. Tice was on a comedown from his last hit and his paranoia was already manifesting in his mannerisms, twitching and scratching at different places of his body. He looked almost relieved when Tom entered the room with a cup of coffee in one hand and a folder in the other. He set the cup down on the table in front of Tice, gesturing to it with a nod.

  "That's for you if you want it?"

  Tice sat forward and inspected the liquid. He picked up the cup and sipped at it, grimacing and putting it back down with disgust.

  "I know," Tom said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "Nothing tastes right when you're on a comedown, does it? You'll completely lose your appetite when the withdrawal symptoms kick in."

  Tice sniffed hard, his red-rimmed eyes staring at Tom, but he still didn't speak. He rolled his tongue across his lower lip, which was dry and cracking. Tom sat back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest.

  "You were booked in for resisting arrest and attempted assault of a police officer," Tom said. Tice's eyes drifted from him to Kerry and Tom thought he saw a glimmer of a smile form on her face but she swiftly quashed it. "But I expect you're wondering why you're here, aren't you? I can see the thoughts turning over in your head, Danny. What do they know? How little can I get away with saying and still manage to walk out of here today? They're all good questions. However," Tom sat forward, resting his elbows on the table before him, "you won't be going anywhere."

  "Is that so?"

  Tom smiled. He spoke. That was good news. Opening the folder, he took out a photograph of the electrical items that were found on Manor Road. Turning it one hundred and eighty degrees, he slid it across the table in front of Tice.

  "You dumped these on Friday evening." Tom held up a hand before Tice announced a denial. "Your fingerprints are all over them. As are," he paused, glancing down at the paperwork in the folder, "Emily Slater's. Is she your girlfriend?"

  Tice drew breath but didn't speak.

  "No matter." Tom waved the question away. "Emily is rather unwell, suffering a nasty reaction to what the two of you took. It would appear your gear was cut with various other substances," he glanced down and made a point of tracing the following words with his index finger, "traces of cadmium, ethanol and, unsurprisingly, Mannitol. This led to pulmonary congestion and a dangerous reduction in her blood oxygen levels as well as the onset of acidosis. It would appear her kidneys and lungs couldn't compensate for the imbalance in her pH levels… Suffice it to say, she is in a serious condition."

  Tom closed the folder and stared at Tice. Silence ensued for nearly a minute which felt far longer. Tice sniffed, touching the end of his nose momentarily with the back of his hand. He met Tom's eye.

  "Is she going to be all right?"

  The question sounded genuine.

  Tom inclined his head. "She is comfortable, but I wouldn't like to be her dealer. Boy, are they in trouble. That gear could have killed her. It still might."

  "I ain't a dealer!"

  "It wouldn't be the first time, though would it, Danny?"

  Tice scoffed, shaking his head in disgust.

  "A man with your previous record coming before a judge on charges of dealing and manslaughter," Tom said. "He would be facing a lengthy spell in one of Her Majesty's hotels. Wouldn't you agree, PC Palmer?"

  Kerry nodded, glancing sideways. "Not to mention the murder charge."

  Tice's head snapped upright and he glared at her, raising a pointed finger. "I never murdered anyone!"

  "Touched a nerve, Danny?" Tom asked. Tice glared at him but didn't speak. Tom touched the photo again. "Billy Moy's property."

  "What of it?"

  "You took it from his house, Danny. I'm not asking, I'm telling you that's what happened. For someone as experienced as you are, you really are short on intelligence leaving your fingerprints in the house and on the property."

  Tice dropped his head into his hands, letting out a guttural snarl of frustration. Lifting his head, he sighed, holding his hands up in supplication.

  "All right. What is it you want to know?"

  "You admit to being in Billy's house?"

  Tice nodded slowly.

  "And to taking his property?"

  He drew a deep breath, turning his face to the ceiling before, once again, nodding.

  "Can you answer verbally for the benefit of the recording, please, M
r Tice?" Tom said, pointing to the machine recording every word of the interview.

  Tice replied in a resigned, staccato tone. "Yes. I was in the house. Yes, I took the stuff. But," he said emphatically, "I did not kill Billy Moy. Nor was I present when whoever did kill Billy Moy, stabbed him. He was already dead when I got there."

  "That's convenient."

  Tice lurched quickly forward in his seat wagging a pointed finger in Tom's face, startling Kerry, but Tom was unfazed. "Believe me, Inspector Janssen, I find nothing about this situation convenient!"

  "Okay. I'll give you a few minutes to tell me your version of events and I'll grant you a fair hearing. After that, it'll be down to the CPS to decide what we do with you," Tom said, shaking his head, "but it had better be convincing because as things stand, you're looking good for this—"

  "I bloody told you he was dead before we got there."

  "We? That would be you and Emily, right?" Tom said.

  Tice was angry with himself for the slip. And in that moment Tom knew he was going to hold back as much as he thought he could get away with, unless Tom could keep getting under his skin.

  "Yeah. Me and Emily. She was with me for the ride but she had nothing to do with it, the burglary and all that. I'll fess up to that but nothing more. I'm not a killer."

  "Go on."

  Tice brought his hands up, rubbing furiously at both sides of his face. It made no difference, the colour did not return to his pale complexion.

  "I met Billy a while back… when I was labouring on one of the local farms."

  "You?" Tom asked, surprised.

  "Yeah… well, not many people around available for work these days, is there? They were paying good money, or at least better money."

  "Hard work though."

  He nodded. "Yeah. Must admit the idea was better than the reality." He looked glum. "Emily and me… we thought we'd get clean, sort our lives out and that." He bobbed his head, pursing his lips as he spoke. "Didn't go to plan."

  "Okay, you met Billy on a job."

  "Yeah, that's right. Anyway, good guy is Billy, and we got chatting and all that. I told him how hard it was to get off the gear and that, you know. We were still smoking the weed to help take the edge off. I mean, there's not a lot wrong with a bit of weed is there? But your lot," he said, looking between the two of them, "had been pretty good at breaking up the supply around that time. Prices were up and availability down."