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

by J M Dalgliesh

  "I don't know." He must have sensed her frustration because he continued before she could respond, speaking at pace. "She was here every time he was, b–but I don't know if she always stayed. Sometimes I saw them meet outside and they left together, sort of."

  "Sort of?"

  "She was often nervous. I figured she was the anxious sort."

  "What might she be nervous of, do you think?"

  He shook his head. "I honestly don't know. I thought maybe she was… you know… one of those girls."

  "One of what girls?"

  Peters glanced over his shoulder again before answering. "You know, a lady of the night?" He tapped the end of his nose with his forefinger.

  "Oh, I see. You think he was seeing a prostitute in your hotel?"

  Peters was aghast, his lips parting in horror as he looked to the corridor, fearful someone may have heard. He gestured with both hands to Cassie, silently imploring her to lower her voice. She leaned in towards him fractionally, smiling and nodding. "So, what makes you think she was a sex worker?"

  Peters seemed encouraged that Cassie was following his lead. He also leaned in, whispering, "Looked the type, you know? Short skirts and make-up."

  Cassie nodded vigorously. "Yes, I know the sort. Was she attractive then?"

  "Yes, very," Peters said smiling.

  Cassie righted herself, speaking loudly, "Are you in the habit of allowing sex workers in your hotel?"

  A guest happened past at that very moment, glancing in at them. Peters put both his hands up in horror but said nothing.

  "I shouldn't worry, Mr Peters. You never know, it might make your hotel more appealing on the open market. Tell me, have you seen the woman here recently." He stood staring at her, open mouthed. "Mr Peters? Have you seen her recently?"

  "Um… yes. She was here last week, I think." He shook his head. "She didn't stay though. Not here, not in my hotel."

  Who he was talking to, Cassie couldn't say.

  "What about in the last few days?"

  "No, definitely not."

  Cassie looked around. "How long did Balodis book the room for?"

  "Two weeks. He paid in advance, which he always did."

  "Is that normal?"

  "No, not at all, but he insisted, every time. I think that was what he was used to. He was due to check out in a couple of days."

  "Good, you won't mind leaving his room as it is then."

  "But I thought you said he was dead."

  "He is, very much so, Mr Peters." She took out a contact card and handed it to him. "I want you to leave the room as it is and continue to act as if your guest is still here."

  "What is the point of that?"

  She pointed to the card in his hand. "And if you see this woman again, or if anyone asks after him in person or over the telephone, I want you to call me straight away on that number. Day or night. Do you understand?"

  "Now look, I'm not a spy or—"

  "We're just looking for a bit of cooperation, Mr Peters. The alternative is we brief the press about how our murder victim frequented quality establishments with prostitutes. It will be less helpful to us but I dare say they will—"

  "I'll be more than happy to help, Detective Sergeant. Absolutely, you can count on me."

  Cassie smiled warmly at him. "Excellent. Now, we just need a minute in private."

  Peters smiled nervously and backed out of the room, pulling the door to behind him.

  "You were a bit hard on him, don't you think?" Eric asked.

  She shrugged. "If you say so. Makes me wonder how he knows what a sex worker looks like?"

  "What does a sex worker look like anyway?"

  "Short skirt and make-up, apparently," Cassie said.

  Eric smiled, looking around. "Are we really going to leave everything as it is?"

  "I think so. At least for a couple of days. The hotel owners can't really complain as Peters already has his money and we haven't put the victim's name out in the press yet, so—"

  "You really think she might come back here?"

  "If she doesn't know he's dead, yeah, why not? He had her passport, so if she wants to leave the country she'll have to come back looking for it."

  "Good point. We've got no record of her registered in the UK, though," Eric said. "So, if Peters is right, and she isn't staying with him, and therefore unlikely to be travelling with him… what's he doing holding her passport?"

  Cassie tilted her head to one side, striking a thoughtful pose. "You've got me there, Eric. I'd love to ask her. Do you have an evidence bag?"

  "In the car, why?"

  "I'm happy to leave everything as it is but there's no way I'm leaving the cash here with nosey-parker downstairs."

  Eric grinned.

  He turned to leave and she called him back. "Eric, your honeymoon money—"

  "Oh, can you leave it alone please—"

  She held her hand up to silence him. "I'll lend it to you."

  "What?"

  "The money." She shrugged. "I've got it sitting in the bank doing nothing… so, I'll lend it to you."

  Eric's lips parted and she could see the relief in his expression before it faded. "But… the plan is gone. I missed the deadline for payment and they kept the deposit."

  "Blimey, Eric. Airbnb, last minute bookings… whatever. You'll find something suitable. It'll be okay."

  For a moment she thought he looked about ready to cry.

  "But I think you need to speak to your wife… get it all out there. Getting your marriage off and running on the back of a lie isn't a good start."

  He nodded. "Yeah, you're right."

  "I'll even look after little George for you if you want to take Becca out for the evening, do the surprise right?"

  "You? A baby?"

  She laughed, waving away his concern. "I am an aunt, you know? I do have some experience around children and I am considered to be their favourite aunt."

  "Yes, I forgot your sister had kids. How many aunts are you competing with?"

  Cassie frowned. "True, I am the only one, so I win by default, but it still counts, right?"

  "Yes, I guess it does." She turned away to pick up the bum bag. "Cass?"

  She looked up at him.

  "Thanks."

  "Aye, no problem," she said. He smiled. "But you owe me… and more than just a few grand," she said with a wink. He laughed, nodded, and left with a spring in his step. Now all she had to do was think of a way to explain to Lauren that their new bathroom would have to wait a few more months.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tom Janssen dialled Alice's mobile whilst sipping at a cup of tea and reading through the notes of the forensic report compiled from Billy Moy's home. As expected, it left him with more questions than answers. Alice picked up.

  "Hey, it's me," he said, putting the report down on his desk and focussing on her. "I just thought I'd see how your day was going."

  "Not quite as planned," she said. "Mum called first thing."

  He heard an element of frustration in her tone but there was something else as well. Was it concern?

  "Oh, yes, you said she'd spoken to you about something. We never got around to talking about it."

  "Yes, and there's more—" he heard a door open in the background and Russell, Saffy's dog, bark. It was an odd sound, as if he was distressed. Then Saffy herself called.

  "Mum! He's been sick again."

  Alice sighed.

  "What's up with the dog?" Tom asked.

  "He's been puking today. This will be the third time," she said, before angling the receiver away from her mouth. Her voice was muffled. "It's okay, darling. Just leave it and I'll take care of it in a minute." She came back to Tom. "I don't know what's wrong with him. He barely touched his food this morning. Do you think he might have a bug?"

  "More likely he's been eating random plants in the garden again," he said. "You remember that weird berry bush he kept stripping back. It's a wonder he didn't die back then."

&
nbsp; "Oh, don't say that."

  Tom felt bad. "I'm sure it'll turn out to be an upset stomach, like you said. Is he drinking?"

  "A little."

  "That's good. If he isn't better later then we can take him to the vet's tomorrow. If he gets any worse, maybe we'll have to give the out-of-hours vet a call." Hearing Saffy in the background reminded him of something. "I thought Saffy was going to your mum's today?"

  "That's why she called. She's not well, had to cry off."

  "Again?"

  "That's just it, Tom." Alice fell silent and he could tell she was on the move, closing the door to the kitchen. That worried him.

  "What's going on?"

  "Mum… Mum said she's not just feeling bad. She's really ill, Tom. They are sending her for tests."

  He could hear the fear in her voice.

  "What kind of tests?"

  "She's going in for an ERCP so they can take a look at her small intestine."

  "What's that for?" He didn't know but it didn't sound good. Alice stopped talking and Tom waited, the silence hanging thick on the line.

  "It's where they put a camera down your throat…" she took a deep breath and he could visualise her steadying herself, he knew she was close to tears, "… and look for narrowing or blockages. In Mum's case, they are trying to see signs of… they'll take a biopsy at the same time—"

  "What is it they think she has?"

  "Seemingly, she's been showing signs for a while but… she didn't want to worry us. Apparently, they've already found the markers and…" her voice momentarily cracked "the X-rays show a tumour, so they're… um…"

  "I'm so sorry," Tom said, Alice choking back tears. He wasn't sure whether to ask but felt he had to, "What's the prognosis, do we know?"

  "No, not yet."

  Tom exhaled deeply. "I guess that's why she's been rowing back on the childcare recently. Why didn't she say?"

  "That's Mum," Alice said with no hint of anger in her voice. Tom looked up to see Kerry Palmer standing at the entrance to his office, waiting expectantly. She silently mouthed, "Shall I come back?" Tom held up his hand, asking her to wait. He wanted to go home, to be with Alice but he knew he couldn't. Not yet at least.

  "Alice, I have to—"

  "I know, don't worry," she said. "I'll be all right. It's just a bit of a shock, you know. I haven't got any more details, Mum was pretty vague when she called earlier."

  "Do you want to go round to hers?"

  "No… well, yes, but she's asked me not to. She's having a bad day and I think she's worried about the procedure tomorrow."

  "Okay. Listen," he glanced at his watch, "I'll be home as soon as I can get away. All right?” She didn't say anything but he knew she was nodding and biting her lip. "I love you," he said, seeing Kerry avert her gaze from him in the corner of his eye, looking awkward.

  "I love you too," Alice said, hanging up.

  He put the mobile down on his desk, annoyed with himself for his inability to say something more useful. He looked up at Kerry, realising he had no idea how long she'd been standing there. If she heard anything, she acted as if she hadn't.

  "What have you got, Kerry?"

  "Sir, I've been looking into Simon Moy a bit further, you know, seeing as you noticed his arrears while we were there?" He nodded. She stepped into his office. "Well, I did the usual, financial checks, that sort of thing, and looked into any court documentation with Simon Moy attached. Two months ago, a judge issued a suspended possession order against his home."

  "What is that?"

  "It is where the mortgage lender initiates the repossession protocols but rather than issuing the sanction of repossession, the judge has given them time to sell the property. It usually only happens where the proceeds of the sale will wipe out the monies owing inclusive of any arrears or interest."

  Tom sat back in his chair. "Simon Moy is in more trouble than I thought. No ‘for sale’ board outside the house, though."

  Kerry shrugged. "Maybe they want to keep it away from the neighbours? Some people are funny about that sort of thing."

  "True. I sense you have more?"

  She smiled. "I do, yes. You remember looking at Simon's car in the garage?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "Well, he didn't tell us he had a second car in the household, did he? A Toyota Avensis estate car." Tom met her eye, intrigued. "Black… and conspicuously absent the day we called around." Tom went to speak but she held up her hand. "And who do you think accepted a caution for affray this time last year following an altercation in Dereham high street? None other than Simon Moy." She stepped forward and placed a printed sheet of paper in front of him.

  "Now that is interesting. Who was he scrapping with?" Tom asked, scanning the document.

  "A man called Charlie Barnes."

  The name meant nothing to Tom. He looked up at her quizzically.

  "A local man, he has a history with us. Petty things, a few arrests for possession, two convictions for assault and one acquittal in a case of fraud three years ago."

  "Do we know where he is now?"

  Kerry checked her notes, shaking her head. "No, nothing current."

  "Why would Simon Moy be fighting with someone like that?"

  "The arresting officers and nearby witnesses stated that Barnes was the initial aggressor but, following a stern exchange of words, it was Simon who threw the first punch. Barnes refused to offer comment when questioned and both men were cautioned and released later that day."

  "I think we need to speak to Simon Moy again, don't you?" Kerry nodded. "Give him a call and ask him if he wouldn't mind dropping in for a chat first thing tomorrow morning. I imagine an interview room might spook him enough to open up a bit."

  "What if he doesn't want to come?"

  "Then tell him we'll issue a warrant for his arrest, but that we'd rather he came in voluntarily. Otherwise the press will have a field day with it. Should do the trick."

  "Why tomorrow and not today?"

  "Can you get me the contact details of the lad at the supermarket?" Tom said, not answering the question. "The one who saw the altercation in the car park between Billy Moy and the couple."

  "Yes, of course." Kerry looked thoughtful. "May I ask why? Do you think it could have been Simon Moy and his wife after all?"

  "A couple, a man of similar size and build to Billy, driving a black car. A black, Japanese car at that. Yes, I think it's possible. The lad that was working at the time may not have paid as much attention as we'd have liked, but he's had a bit of time to think about it since we last spoke to him. Maybe he'll remember a few more details, something that could be useful to us."

  Tom noticed Tamara Greave enter the ops room and make a beeline for his office. He gestured for Kerry to crack on. As she reached the door he called to her and she turned. "Well done, Kerry. Very good work today."

  She smiled, flushing slightly. "I hope it all works out," she said. He cocked his head slightly. She suddenly looked concerned, as if she'd said something wrong. "Sorry. It's just I overheard. Your call, before. I hope your friend is okay."

  "Alice's mum," Tom said. Kerry smiled again, bobbing her head. "And thank you. I hope so too."

  Tamara and Kerry passed each other at the threshold, Kerry stepping aside and acknowledging the DCI as she passed. "Ma'am."

  Tamara smiled at her and closed the door, turning to Tom. "Right, where are we? The chief superintendent is on my back something chronic over these two cases. He knows we are a strong team, but we're not superhuman!"

  Tom laughed, the humour dissipating quickly. She looked at him with a look of consternation. "That's not a positive face," she said. "I want positives, Thomas… I need positives," she said, sinking into the chair opposite him.

  "Nothing to worry about," he said. "I just spoke to Alice. Her mum isn't well, that's all."

  "Ah, serious?"

  "Could be, yes."

  "Sorry to hear that. How's Alice doing?"

  He looked glum. "Prett
y well I think. Although, the dog puking isn't making her day any easier."

  "Well, Alice's mum aside, I'll happily swap your vomiting dog for my mum and dad."

  Tom's brow creased. "What have they done this time?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know… nothing, yet, but something's brewing and I fear I will be the last to know as usual."

  Tom shot a half-smile her way. "Never a dull moment with Francesca, is there?"

  "So, where are we?" she asked, sitting upright and changing the subject.

  "Kerry is going to bring Simon Moy in for a more formal chat," he said. "His financial arrears are worse than we originally thought. He also has another car, a black estate that he neglected to mention when we dropped by his place."

  Tamara thought about it for a moment. "You think he might be desperate enough to go to his brother for money? They haven't been in touch for years."

  Tom shrugged. "So he says, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He was in the process of losing his home. I don't know about you, but I'd willingly sacrifice a little pride and dignity if the alternative was losing everything I had."

  "Fair enough… but murder?"

  "Cautioned for affray last year, apparently."

  Tamara pursed her lips. "Okay, sounds good. Give him a squeeze and see what comes out. Anything else?"

  "I've had the forensics report back and I've been going through what they found burning in the yard."

  "And?"

  "Photographs. Within the remnants were pictures of people but nowhere near enough to be identifiable. All of which explains why we didn't find images in the dark room or anywhere else in the property, aside from some old family albums tucked away in a bookcase in one of the bedrooms. They were family shots though, the boys when they were little, both parents present. I wonder if it was also Arnold Moy's hobby – photography – as the forensics team reckon a lot of the liquids, pegs and so on were decades old."

  "So it might not have been Billy at all? Taking pictures, I mean?"

  "If that's the case, why burn them now?" Tom said. Tamara shrugged to signify she didn't have an answer. "However, all the kit that Danny Tice admits to lifting from Billy's house has been catalogued and examined. There were several cameras, both vintage – i.e. film – and a digital camera. The latter they say is reasonably new, perhaps three or four years old, which infers it is Billy’s, seeing as his father was dead long before that."