Tom nodded. "Yeah, business has been brisk at our end. When are we talking?"
Tice's eyes narrowed as he thought about it. "The end of last summer, going into autumn, maybe?"
Tom thought about it. They had made several high-profile seizures of cannabis shipments in the county the previous year, the end results of a year-long joint investigation with the Met's Drug Squad. They certainly had disrupted the supply of recreational drugs into the region for at least two months until the chains were re-established. Such was the nature of that particular commodity, there was never a shortage of people looking to fund the supply.
"And how does this relate to Billy Moy?"
"He said he knew someone. He said he could sort me out."
"With cannabis?" Tom asked. Billy Moy was a recognised figure in the town but no one had mentioned drugs.
"Well, he came through for us. Good stuff as well, fresh as you like. It kind of went from there."
"What did?"
"Billy…" Tice spoke as if it was an obvious statement he was making, "supplying us."
Tom exchanged a look with Kerry. She appeared to find this as fanciful as he did but, Tom had to admit, Danny Tice was definitely sincere.
"Do you mean to tell us that Billy Moy supplied you with recreational drugs?"
Tice nodded. "Yes… every now and then if I couldn't score elsewhere."
Tom took a moment to think through his next question. This was an unexpected turn of events.
"What was Billy Moy supplying?"
"Weed. Nothing more."
"We've found no evidence that Billy Moy partook of recreational drugs and no evidence that he was in the business of supply—"
"Look! You asked and I told you. Right?"
Tom took a breath. "Okay, take me back to the night you burgled Billy's house. Why did you rip off a friend of yours?"
Tice shook his head. "Me and Emily… needed a score. Everyone was dry, so I called Billy on the off chance. He's always come through."
"And when was this?" Tom asked, taking notes.
Tice looked to the ceiling, rolling his tongue across the inside of his cheek. "Early last week. Monday, I think. He was busy, said he had work on, but he'd be able to see me right as he had a collection coming later in the week. He said he'd be in touch."
"I need more than that, Danny."
"Oh… what do you want to know? I hadn't heard by Wednesday afternoon and by then I was getting a bit panicky. I didn't want to be without anything because, well you know, it gets harder to cope the longer you go without. So, I rang him up and," he looked skyward again, "must have been around five, five-thirty on Wednesday. He told me he had plans and I was to come over the next day after he finished work."
"That would be Thursday, but you said—"
"Yes, Friday was when we went round. As it happens, one of the lads came through with a little smack on Thursday and the day drifted past. On Friday, I figured we would swing by his place and be sorted for the weekend. Take the edge off, you know?"
"I want you to be very clear as to when you went to the property, Danny," Tom said, fixing a stern eye on him.
"Friday, definitely. Not before."
Danny Tice may well be a drug-dependent petty criminal but Tom knew he was also pretty savvy. He was emphatically putting distance between his arrival at the house and when Billy was most likely killed.
"What did you see when you got there?"
"The house was unlocked, the front door open. I called out but didn't get an answer. So, I went inside and Billy was lying on the kitchen floor. He was already a goner."
"How can you be so sure?"
Tice waved the question away, smiling without humour. "Believe me, I've seen enough overdoses in my time to know when someone ain't coming back. Besides, the kitchen knife in his chest and the pool of claret he lay in pretty much made the case, you know. I looked around for the weed—"
"You did what?" Kerry asked, regretting it immediately, glancing sideways apologetically at Tom.
"There was nothing I could do for him."
Tom sat forward, fixing a piercing stare on him. "So, instead of trying to help your friend, your immediate reaction was to look for the drugs you were expecting to buy?"
Tice cocked his head. "Yeah, sounds pretty cold when you put it like that."
"I'll say it does, yes," Tom said.
"Look! He was dead, and I had to—" he let the comment drop, chewing his bottom lip.
"You had to what?" Tom asked. "What did you have to do?"
"No comment."
"All right, let's see if I can fill in the blanks," Tom said, picturing the scene in his mind. "You arrive at Billy's looking to pick up, but you find him dead. Rather than offer assistance, you try to satisfy your own needs first, which is what an addict tends to do most of the time anyway seeing as selfishness goes hand in glove with cravings." Tice glared at Tom but didn't speak. "And when you couldn't find what you came for, you decided to help yourself to everything you could see of value."
Tice exhaled heavily. "Yeah. That's about right."
"I understand," Tom said, nodding slowly. "And who do you think would have been willing to do Billy harm?"
"No idea. Not my concern and definitely none of my business."
"Your concern and sentiment for your friend shines through, Danny."
He inclined his head. "Pleased you can see it, Mr Janssen. Whoever had it in for Billy, it wasn't me. He was dead long before I got there. Check his mobile phone. You'll see the calls, dates and times."
"We'd love to, Danny, but Billy's phone hasn't been recovered. It wasn't with the stuff you took."
"I'd have taken it if I'd seen it. That's me, Inspector. A druggie who nicks stuff to feed his habit. I'll hold my hands up to that and take what comes my way, but I'm not a killer."
"Okay, for now let's say we believe your tale of unfortunate coincidences and self-deprecating analysis. Tell me about Billy. You have cast him in a very different light to everyone else we've spoken to."
Tice shrugged. "Do we really know anyone? My parents thought they knew me, bailing me out financially time after time when what they needed to do was close the door on me for good before I bled them dry."
"What's your point?"
"That if parents don't even know their own children, how do outsiders expect to know a weirdo like Billy Moy?"
"That's a curious description for a friend of yours."
"It is what it is," Tice said, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest. "He was weird. The nutter in the woods, Emily always called him."
"She didn't like him?"
Tice laughed. "No. She didn't want to come in whenever we went out there. She did the first few times but he always gave her the creeps."
"How so?"
Again, he shrugged. "I don't know. Looking at her weirdly, I guess. It was strange though. I always thought he might prefer men… or boys."
"Why would you say that?" Kerry asked.
"Because…" he hesitated, his brow furrowing, "I never saw him with anyone. Living out there on his own, like that. It's not normal, is it?"
"Are you saying single people aren't normal?" Kerry asked.
"No, it's not like that. You'd have to know him, spend time with him to understand."
"Why clear out his house?" Tom asked.
"Why not?"
Something in the tone of the response piqued Tom's curiosity.
"Why not? Because you are standing in a murder scene. A man like you knows the storm of activity that will come through that house when the body is discovered and yet you strip it of valuables for a quick profit, and at the same time provide us with a cracker of a suspect… in you."
Tice sneered. "Why do you think I dumped the stuff? I made a spur of the moment decision and when we left, I came to my senses. I knew what it would look like, but I was hardly going to put it all back, was I? I did the next best thing and ditched it as soon as I could."
Tom looke
d at Kerry and then back at Tice.
"You have come up with an interesting story, Danny. I'll give you that. You've managed to put yourself at the scene after the event, despite agreeing to meet up on the night he died – fortunately for you, you were too stoned to attend – explain why your prints are inside and all over the items taken, but you have no idea how Billy came to be stabbed, by whom or any reason as to why it may have happened. I tip my hat to you."
"It is the truth, Inspector Janssen. That's why it's plausible. Ask Emily. She'll confirm everything I said."
"I intend to do just that, Danny. One more question though. You said Billy couldn't see you on the Wednesday night because he had plans?"
"Yeah. So what?"
"What plans did Billy have?"
Tice shrugged. "He didn't say. And no, I didn't ask. Probably staying up late polishing his collection of human heads for all I know."
"All right, that'll do for now, Danny," Tom said, concluding the interview.
Tom stood up, gathering the photographs and his notes together. Danny Tice watched him for a moment, increasingly looking agitated.
"So, what happens now? Are you charging me with the burglary or what?"
Tom looked down at him.
"We will see. First, I'm going to pick over your flat and see if I can find anything of interest. I have to thank you for your honesty today."
"Thanks," Tice said, surprised.
"Of course, aside from the nuggets of truth you offered up, the rest of your story is rubbish but I'll prove that along the way—"
"Hold on a minute—"
"Why?" Tom said turning back as he made to leave. "You're staying here for as long as I can keep you. If Emily's situation worsens I'll do my best to see the CPS charge you with everything I can think of. And that's if I can't have you charged with murder—"
"I didn't do it!" he said, lurching to his feet. For a moment Tom thought he was about to hurl himself across the table at him but it didn't happen. Tice stood there, facing off against him. The man's expression softened, his resolve waning. "I don't want to go back inside, Inspector Janssen. I'll cop a bit of time for the robbing, I know that, but murder… it's not me and you know it."
Tom held his gaze for a moment, then he exhaled. "You have to give me a bit more, Danny. So far, all you've given me is what we can already surmise and I know you're holding back. It's written all over your face."
Tice closed his eyes, his head sagging. "All right." He looked at the recording equipment. "But I can't put it on the tape."
"The machine is off," Tom said. "And my patience is thin, Danny."
"I wasn't just out there to score for myself," Tice said, clearly reticent. "I was scoring for some of the lads as well. You know how it works… when things are running dry, we all try to score and whoever gets a line first buys for everyone. This time, it was me."
"And?"
Tice shook his head. "I had their money, sat on it for a couple of days and when Wednesday came an opportunity came my way."
"So, the money you were going to use to buy from Billy was spent on heroin?"
He nodded. "I knew Billy would see me all right, put a lot of what he'd give me on tick, you know? But when we got out there…"
"No Billy and no weed."
"Yeah," Tice said glumly. "I panicked. I didn't know what to do. I needed to get some money to pay the guys back. If they thought I'd scored gear with their money and not paid it back, they'd do me in."
"That's not enough, Danny," Tom said, shaking his head. "Give me something useful."
"Billy wasn't a dealer… you're right about that, but he was in with some players. It didn't fit well with him and he wasn't suited to it, but he was into them for something and I reckon it was something big."
"Who are we talking about and how did he fall in with people like that?"
Tice rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing.
"Come on, Danny. Don't waste any more of my time."
"I don't know," he said. Then, reacting to Tom's dismissive expression and movement to leave, he reached across the table and grasped Tom's arm stopping him from leaving. "I'm telling you the truth, Inspector. I don't know. Take another look around Billy's place. You'll find your answers there, I swear."
Tom looked at his arm and Tice released his hold of him. Tom walked to the door, opening it, before looking back over his shoulder.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Danny," Tom said, "but you dumped what you stole, so you can't have raised the cash to pay back your friends."
Tice licked the exterior of his lower lip, looking around the room. "Yeah. To be fair, you're doing me a favour. I'm safer locked up in here right now."
Chapter Fifteen
The ride was uncomfortable as the car bounced along the dirt track. The verges to both the left and right were overgrown, the vegetation encroaching on either side of them, but Tom noted the growth was limited much as an overhanging tree is often shaped by the passage of traffic beneath it. This track had been used frequently by several vehicles. He pulled up to a rusting metal, five-bar gate. It was shut but he could see it wasn't locked.
"Is this it?" Kerry asked and Tom pulled the map from the door bin beside him and examined it. The structures were clearly marked and the track petered out just past the gate. He nodded and Kerry climbed out to open it. Tom pulled through and once clear of the tall hedgerow to either side, the barn came into view off to their right.
The track branched off to the old barn, a dilapidated brick building with Dutch gables. Where there would once have been a thatched roof, the building was now lined in corrugated metal sheeting. Several of the panels had slipped out of place or been torn away by storms exposing the rafters to the elements. Tom parked the car and they got out, looking around.
As he had seen from the Ordnance Survey map the largest barn was part of a small complex of outbuildings set out in a horseshoe arrangement, springing from both ends of the main structure. The surrounding pasture lands, too small to farm but good for grazing, were left fallow, looking as if they hadn't been occupied in some time. The boundaries of the Moy land were visible in the distance marked by damaged fencing, distinctive hedgerows or mature trees.
"Last one," Tom said, struggling to fold the map in the stiff breeze and tucking it into his coat pocket.
Following the conclusion of the interview with Danny Tice, they decided to look into Tice's comments and set about determining where the Moys' land began and ended. It quickly became clear that what was once a smallholding of significant note had dwindled over successive years as parts of the family business were packaged up and sold off. The Land Registry confirmed the change of titles and the new owners were often local farmers who purchased land adjoining their own and at the market rates. The reduction in land appeared to accelerate shortly after the death of Maureen Moy, but dramatically reduced four years later.
There hadn't been any sales in the previous three years. However, a quick scan of the business’s filed financial accounts in the previous two years showed a reduction in tenanted income from land leased to tenant farmers which had been a constant for the Moys since the death of Arnold, Maureen's husband and father to Billy and Simon. The profit generated however had increased in the same period. Associated costs had also increased whereas the land itself appeared far more profitable than it had done previously, and from a layman's eye it was without good reason.
Something didn't add up.
The cart access to the largest barn was open and they headed for it.
"What are we expecting to find?" Kerry asked.
"Answers," Tom said, entering.
The sky was visible through the roof but the interior was still largely dry. Tom stopped and looked around. The ground at his feet was littered with throwaway pieces of paper, some torn or screwed into a ball but all randomly discarded. At the centre of the barn rectangular hay bales had been stacked two high and arranged in a crude circle. Straw was strewn across the floor within it. Tom
dropped to his haunches and picked up the nearest slip of paper as the breeze carrying through the open barn doors threatened to blow it away from him.
Unfurling the paper in his hand, he found a handwritten scrawl that simply read T – £50 – R4. He stood up, passing the paper to Kerry. As she read it herself, he walked into the circle, scanning the floor. The straw was disturbed in places, the earth beneath disturbed as if it had been scuffed by dragging feet. At one point, Tom knelt to inspect a discolouration on the ground. The straw was darkening as it decomposed but at this point a darker shade, roughly a hand span in diameter, was clearly visible clinging to both straw and staining the concrete floor beneath.
"What is this?" Kerry asked, holding the paper up as she came alongside him.
Tom glanced up at her before standing, his eyes sweeping the barn. "Are you a betting person, Constable Palmer?"
She shook her head.
"Well, that is a betting slip," he said, indicating it in her hand. "Someone was banking on whoever T is putting someone down in the fourth."
Kerry followed his gaze around the barn. A barn this size could comfortably accommodate upwards of a hundred people, probably more if the organisers so desired.
"Boxing?"
Tom nodded. "Bare-knuckle maybe. I've not heard of dogfighting going on around these parts… and it's a little too open for it," he said, reassessing the bales. "More likely an evening of bouts."
Kerry was visibly disgusted. "Ugh… Blood sports really aren't my thing. Who would set this kind of thing up? Billy Moy doesn't seem capable."
"I doubt Billy would," Tom said, shaking his head. "But he'd have to know about it. It's the perfect location, remote, space for a lot of people to come and go without being seen in the dead of night. Ideal."
"So you think there's merit in what Danny Tice had to say?"
To Die For: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 9) Page 13
