"So, they could be Billy's snaps," Tamara said. Tom agreed. "The incineration could be coincidence."
"Can't rule it out." Tom picked up the report in front of him, refreshing the details in his mind. "The laptop that was recovered was too badly damaged to start up but technical services are confident they'll be able to retrieve much of the data stored on the hard drive. Hopefully, Billy spent a bit of time using it."
"I thought he was supposed to be a recluse? Doesn't that mean spending time online would be unusual for him?"
Tom shrugged. "Or the complete opposite. Maybe he preferred the digital world to the real world. After all, you can be whoever you like sitting behind a keyboard and one thing is for certain, what people thought Billy Moy was all about appears to be very different to what we've seen so far."
"What about the Balodis murder?" Tamara asked. "Are Cassie and Eric on top of it?"
Through the window of the door, Tom saw Cassie and Eric enter the ops room, Cassie with a face like thunder. "They've got a lead on where he was staying in Hunstanton." He nodded towards them. "Let's ask them."
They both left Tom's office just in time to hear Cassie greet Kerry's hello with a grunt. Tom caught Eric's eye, indicating Cassie. "What's up?"
Eric grinned. "Don't mind her, she's just grumpy because she got a parking ticket."
Cassie spun in her seat, glaring at Tom and Tamara. "Twenty minutes! That's how long we were there, twenty bloody minutes. You'd think they had nothing better to do."
"Oh dear," Tamara said with mock sincerity, trying hard not to smile.
"Seriously. Twenty, maybe thirty minutes. I swear traffic wardens are just irritated because they failed the entrance exam for the police." Cassie looked around, checking if she had an audience. She did. "They're like dentists, couldn't handle a full medical degree and just took the chapters of the book dealing with teeth and dropped out early!"
Eric placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "If you pay within thirty days they'll halve the fine—"
She snatched her shoulder away from him. "Yes, thank you very much, Eric. I am well aware that the extortion is limited if I roll over."
"You were bang to rights, though," Eric said, still smiling.
"Something that does not make it any easier for me," she said, raising her eyebrows.
Tamara cleared her throat. "Okay, aside from minor parking infringements, how did you get on?"
"Well, I think." Cassie looked at Eric and he nodded his agreement. "We found several thousand pounds in used notes and there were signs that a woman has been staying there with him." Eric made an unnatural sound, drawing her eyes to him. "Although, as Eric is right to point out, the hotel owner claims he was staying there alone. Under a bit of pressure, he did acknowledge that, perhaps, Mr Balodis was partaking of time with a sex worker. He strenuously denied she ever stayed at the hotel."
"Could that woman have been Sasha Kalnina?" Tamara asked.
Cassie raised her eyebrows, glancing sideways at Eric before answering. "Hair colour was different to the passport but she could have changed it since it was issued, but the hotelier couldn't confirm it."
"Start canvassing the known local sex workers, then," Tamara said.
"We've only the hotel owner's opinion to go on," Cassie said. "I'd put money on it being Sasha."
"Well, if she's not staying with him all the time, she is staying somewhere. Find her."
Cassie and Eric turned away and set about their task. Tom thought he saw Kerry slyly studying Eric as he went over to his desk but when she saw him looking at her, she quickly turned away. Tom noticed Cassie also picked up on it before he saw her open the plastic wallet containing her parking fine, screwing the sleeve into a ball and tossing it into the bin beside her desk in disgust.
Tamara leaned in to Tom. "So when are you speaking to Simon Moy again?"
"Tomorrow," he said. "I want to speak to someone else first and I also have a feeling it will go on a bit, the conversation with Simon Moy, and I need to be home tonight."
Tamara put a reassuring hand on his forearm, smiling. "Moy can wait until tomorrow."
Chapter Eighteen
Tom opened the door to the interview room. Simon Moy immediately lurched to his feet, striking an indignant pose. He glanced at his watch, shaking his head.
"Honestly, I agreed to come here at your request first thing this morning and I've been sitting here for over an hour—"
Tom held up his hand in supplication. He held a folder in his other hand. He smiled apologetically.
"And your patience is very much appreciated, Mr Moy," he said. Gesturing to the seat he'd leapt up from, Tom smiled again, warmly. "Please, do sit down."
Simon Moy exhaled in frustration, turned and straightened his chair before sitting down again with a deep sigh. "Whatever it is, please can we just get on with it? I have things to do today, Inspector."
The response was curt, bordering on aggressive. Tom pulled out his own chair, sitting down and placing the folder in front of himself. He looked over his shoulder at the uniformed constable who was standing with his back to the wall. Tom faced Simon Moy.
"Has someone offered you a cup of tea, Mr Moy?"
"I'd rather you just told me why I was here, asked whatever you wanted and let me get on."
"As you wish," Tom said, opening the folder. He took out a number of sheets of paper and began looking through them, careful to angle them away from the interviewee who appeared more interested as time passed without anything being said.
"So?" Simon Moy asked. "Why am I here?"
The door to the interview room opened and Kerry Palmer entered. The uniformed constable left and Kerry took a seat beside Tom. They exchanged a look and she nodded almost imperceptibly, but to Tom it was more than enough.
"Right, where were we?" Tom asked. "That's it, yes." He took the documents in his hand and he set them out side by side in front of Moy whose eyes darted from one to the next and back again.
"Now, hold on a minute! You've got no right—"
"Court order," Tom said, setting the relevant document down on the table in front of him. "We have every right."
Moy's expression changed from frustrated indignation to resignation within moments.
"There's your life laid out in front of you, Mr Moy," Tom said. "Financially speaking, at any rate. Do you need me to run through them for you, so you know what they are? That's confirmation of your mortgage arrears, the confirmation documents of the arrears loaded onto prepayment meters, both electric and gas, forcibly installed at your home address following court proceedings for non-payment—"
"Yes!" Moy snapped. "I bloody well know what I owe—"
"Non-payment of council tax for eleven months," Tom said, placing another document on top of the others.
"Do you think I wouldn't pay them if I had any bloody money!"
"And yet," Tom said, pulling out another piece of paper, a copy of a receipt from a local bodywork repair centre, "you have been able to find money for this." He set the receipt down on the desk. Moy looked down at it, his lips parting slightly. The anger subsided to be replaced by resignation. He slowly closed his eyes and took a slow intake of breath. "We found this in the glove box of your car, Mr Moy. The car that you picked up from the garage yesterday. Oh," he said, putting a warrant down on the table, "we served this warrant at your home this morning. Shortly after you left to come here. Your wife was kind enough to let my colleagues in."
Tom sat back and folded his arms across his chest.
"What?" Moy asked.
"Whenever you're ready," Tom said. Moy shook his head as if he didn't understand. "Tell me why the rear of your car needed a respray? Why was it so urgent when you have," he cast a hand slowly across the paperwork in between them, "so many more pressing bills to pay?"
Moy took a deep breath. "My wife had a… minor collision with a concrete post when parking the car. If you don't deal with these things once the outer seal is breached, then it can lead t
o further problems down the road."
Tom nodded. "Of course, that's true. However, your wife said it was you who was driving when someone scraped the car while it was parked up in a public car park. Were there two incidents?"
Moy's eyes narrowed, then his expression lightened and he smiled, holding up a hand he wagged his finger at Tom pointedly. "You know, I think my wife is right. My memory is a bit off these days, what with the stress of all this," he said, waving his fingers at the paperwork. "Yes, come to think of it, I recall it now. My wife is right."
"Which car park?"
"Sorry?"
"Which car park were you in?"
Moy shook his head. "I'm afraid that's not something I recall."
"Shame," Tom said. "Of course, your memory being what it is, you'll remember bigger events, those with emotional connotations… that sort of thing?"
"Yes, I'm sure. You have something in mind?"
"Well, for instance when you last spoke to your brother?"
Moy sighed. "Now, I know we've been over this and I hadn't seen Billy in years—"
"So you weren't arguing with him last Wednesday night in a supermarket car park?"
Moy met Tom's gaze and the two men stared at one another, Tom wondering if the man was calculating what they may or may not know. He decided to move things along.
"Because we have an eye witness who not only places you at the scene, but also saw the two of you going at it. Your wife had to call you away. Now, you left that out when accounting for your movements."
Moy tried to swallow, finding his mouth dry and struggled.
"Water?" Tom asked.
He declined, staring down at the paperwork in front of him. He was breathing heavily and Tom could see his neck flushing red. Was it embarrassment, anger, or just the end result of being caught in a lie?
"I saw my brother that night," he said quietly. Looking up, he met Tom's gaze and then glanced at Kerry. "And we argued, that's true."
"About what?"
Moy scoffed, shaking his head. "The same thing as always, money."
"You asked him to give you money?"
"Lend! I asked him to lend me money… lend us money, me and Caitlyn." He put his hands together, interlocking his fingers, as he looked to the ceiling. "We are about to lose our home… one way or another." He slammed his hands down on the table, palms flat and glared at Tom. "Do you think I would have gone to him if I had any other choice?"
"That's quite a temper you have, Simon. Does it run in the family?"
"I didn't kill my brother," Moy said, sitting back and folding his arms defiantly across his chest.
"So, what did happen, because when you got in the car that wasn't the end of it, was it?"
"We drove away… and I parked up down the road," Moy said, raising his eyebrows and concentrating hard. "Billy came past in that beat-up old car of his."
"What car?"
"That battered old thing he drives sometimes," Moy said, his brow furrowing. "A Mazda… or a Datsun or something. Really, really old car anyway. I'm amazed he still had it running, but Billy was always good with motors."
Tom thought about it. There was no such car at Billy's cabin or in the outbuildings. They'd found an old Land Rover Defender parked in one of the cart lodges but nothing matching that description.
"And what happened next?"
"Nothing."
"Come on."
"No, honestly," Moy said, splaying his hands wide. "I swear. Look, I'll level with you, Billy wouldn't help. He told me I was old enough to deal with my own mess. He flat out refused to help us. I was angry, okay?"
"Very angry?"
"Bloody furious! I begged him to help me… I gave up my last shred of pride and dignity… and he laughed at me."
"So, you followed him—"
"No! I didn't."
"Go on, you wanted to. You wanted to teach him a lesson, take out your frustration on someone," Tom said, "anyone. And it was your brother in the firing line. All that resentment, all that anger at being denied your share of your birth right, the injustice of it all finally boiled over and you lashed out—"
"No!" he shouted, jumping to his feet. Tom felt Kerry flinch beside him, but he didn't move himself, merely kept his eye on Simon Moy who glared at him, breathing hard. "I wanted to. I'm not going to lie, but Caitlyn talked me down, and…" Moy retook his seat, his shoulders sagging as he sat down "… we went home. The thing is, when I got up the next day, I knew Billy was right." He sucked air through his teeth. "My brother was right. I got myself into this mess and I had to face it, rather than running from it and trying to have others bail me out. It was time to face my demons."
"Meaning?"
"I called a couple of estate agents and put our house on the market, instructed them to get as good a deal as they could in the shortest possible time." Moy placed his hands on the table in front of him, trying to control his breathing. "And I enrolled in Gamblers Anonymous." He took a breath, shaking his head. "Maybe it's too little, too late to save our house, but… maybe it will save my marriage."
Tom thought on it. Everything he said was plausible.
"And the car, why have it fixed?"
Simon chuckled. "I don't know what else you want me to say, Inspector. I've told you already."
"Show me your hands."
"Excuse me."
"Your hands," Tom said. "Hold them out."
Simon Moy did as requested, holding them out palms up and then flipped them over. Tom examined the knuckles. They were clean, undamaged.
"What are you looking for?"
"Thank you," Tom said. Moy put his hands back in his lap. "How did you get into so much trouble financially?"
He blew out his cheeks. "I've never met a man without a weakness, Inspector Janssen. For some it's drink or drugs. For others it's women or a combination of all of them."
"And yours?"
"The thrill of a flutter," Moy said, running a hand across his bald head from forehead to crown where he scratched absently. "Do you know, it got so bad that I was banned from every betting shop from Dereham to Cromer, and I can't even open an online account anymore. They say the industry likes an addict, I mean what business doesn't want repeat custom, but even they turned their back on me."
"In my experience an addict always finds a way."
"You're right about that, Inspector. I used my wife's details, friends, colleagues, anyone I could to try and carry on, recoup my losses so to speak."
"How did that work out for you?"
Moy smiled but didn't answer.
"Thought so. What about the illegal bookies. They wouldn't shun you."
Moy shook his head. "Nah, I don't know anything about that." He averted his eyes from Tom's scrutiny and it was clear that although they'd found, for a brief moment at least, clarity and truth, the veil of deceit quickly came down once more.
"Tell me about your relationship with Charlie Barnes."
Moy's eyes narrowed, his expression shuttered. "Who?"
"Charlie Barnes. You were arrested last year after a public altercation with him. You remember?"
"Oh, that. Yeah," he said, turning the corners of his mouth down, "that was nothing."
"It was enough to have the two of you arrested and cautioned." Tom sat forward, placing his elbows on the table and bringing his fingers together to form a tent. "Now, I have the impression you are trying to be truthful with me, so let's not waste each other's time, right?"
Moy exhaled heavily, biting his lower lip. He looked away as he spoke, "I owed money. Charlie Barnes was encouraging me to pay it."
"He works for someone or you owed him money?"
"Someone else. A bookie. He was reminding me of my responsibilities."
"So, why did you go after him? That must have been risky."
Moy chuckled. "Yes, not very smart of me. It's a good job your lot turned up or I might have got a proper good hiding. Anyway, I got the message."
"And did you pay?"
Si
mon Moy sniffed hard, rubbing at the end of his nose with the back of his hand. He then offered his hands up in surrender. "You always end up paying, Inspector. Everybody does."
Tom concluded the interview and stepped out of the room. Tamara came to meet him from the adjoining room where she'd been watching a live feed from a camera mounted in the corner of the room.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"I think he's on the level, for the most part at least."
"Why did you ask him to show you his hands?"
"Because of the bruising to Billy's face. Both the FME and the pathologist are in agreement that the bruising happened at least a day before he died."
"Indicative of a fight?"
"Maybe so, yes. I wanted to see if he was showing any signs of having landed a punch. Faces are hard, bony. They leave damage on those wielding their hands just as much as on the recipient."
"And?"
"No sign. But it was days ago and it wasn't a full-on beating, I was just curious."
Tamara looked back at the interview room as the door opened and Simon Moy was led away to the custody suite. Tom intended to hold him as long as they could while they investigated his story.
"Do you think he could have killed his brother?"
Tom watched the back of the man as he walked away from them down the corridor.
"Well, he's lied to us, kept things from us and only told the truth when it became obvious we could catch him out in another lie… and he has a temper on him. Anyone capable of an explosive reaction like that at the flick of a switch…" he angled his head to one side. "All it takes is one second and everything changes."
"Have forensics take a sample of paint from his car and try to match it to the sample we found at Billy's. Until then, we don't have enough to take it further," Tamara said. "Did we find his prints inside the cabin?"
"No, we didn't, and you're right, we don't have enough. Not yet."
Chapter Nineteen
To Die For: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 9) Page 16
