"Have some downtime, PC Palmer," Tom said. "You've earned it."
"Right, s–Tom. I will. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Tom entered the living room, putting his mobile on the coffee table. Alice lifted the throw to allow him space to sit under it beside her and he slid onto the sofa. She lowered the throw and shifted herself to lean into him and he slipped his arm around her shoulder.
"Everything all right?" she asked absently, placing her head against his chest.
"Yes, two dead men, no suspects and a mystery I've yet to unravel."
"Sounds good. You'll get there."
"I know." Tom took in the scene on the television. He had seen this several times before, and every time with Alice. "Is this…"
"Yes."
"Ah, first or second?"
"First, of course. Now quieten down," she said, patting his stomach. "Elle's just about to blow the case wide open."
Tom smiled. "Yes, I wouldn't want you to miss the big reveal."
Alice nestled further into the crook of his arm, ignoring the gentle sarcasm.
"I spoke to Mum today."
"How did it go for her?"
"Hard to say. You know what Mum's like. She never wants to make a fuss and always plays things down. I think that's why she hasn't said anything up until now."
"She's tough, your mum."
"I know. I wish I took after her…"
Tom moved himself forward so that he could angle his head and look at her, raising one eyebrow quizzically.
She laughed. "I don't wish I was completely like her, don't worry."
"I'm pleased to hear it," he said, sinking back into the sofa and allowing her to settle into him again.
"I think she's dealing with it better than I am. From what Mum said, I reckon Dad is struggling with it. He's not someone who cares for feeling useless."
"No, he's always looking for a solution, needing to fix things."
"Yeah," she said, sighing, "and he can't do anything to fix this. I'm sorry I'm exposing you to this film again… I just wanted something… familiar to take my mind off it."
"I know."
Tom kissed the top of her head, using his free hand to stroke her hair as they watched the remainder of the film. He found himself wishing a ditzy blonde, romantic comedy character would pop up to make sense of the case he was working on. This was Alice's favourite film and Tom quite enjoyed it too, even for the umpteenth time of watching. Not that he would openly admit it. He was telling Kerry the truth on their call, everyone needed to disconnect at times. Working a murder case was akin to standing by a river and trying to save someone else from drowning. You always have to keep one foot rooted on the riverbank or risk being washed away by the same torrent threatening to drown them.
Billy Moy was a man who kept much of his life secret and Tom was certain that one aspect of that life got him killed. They would get there. He was sure of it.
Kerry Palmer hung up, squeezing the mobile in her hand. The sound of her neighbour's music, a mix of 90's techno classics – so he told her the last time she complained – offered up repetitive thuds of muffled bass through the wall. That would go on for another hour or so before peace and quiet would follow when he left for his night shift. It happened like that most evenings unless he wasn't working a shift. Then it would go on longer. One of these days she planned to knock on his door fully clothed in uniform. That would give him a fright, especially if she timed it for when his friends were over for a gaming night and the aromatic smell of cannabis filtered through the partition walls.
Hauling herself up and off the sofa, a clatter came from the kitchen.
"All right, all right, I'm coming already. Just wait for me, would you?"
Muttering about impatience under her breath, she walked into the kitchenette of the one-bedroomed flat she'd moved into last year having saved the deposit up for the previous three.
"Typical! You couldn't just wait for a minute, could you?"
The cat looked at her quizzically. It stepped forward and put another paw in the leftovers of her dinner on the plate set beside the sink, the knife and fork were on the floor along with a splattering of cauliflower dahl. Slipping her hand under the cat's midriff, she scooped him up in her arms. The cat started purring almost immediately and Kerry hugged him close, kissing his head and then putting him down on the floor. The cat stopped to sit down, momentarily licking one of its paws clean – of food no doubt – and then resumed its course weaving in between her, legs, tail erect, rubbing his cheeks against her.
She retrieved a packet of cat food from the cupboard, careful not to tread on the creature who was oblivious to his getting in the way, and tore off the top of the packet and emptied it into the bowl. He set about his meal, immediately disowning her.
"You're welcome."
Kerry flicked the kettle on and folded her arms across her chest, eyeing her reflection in the kitchen window. She looked tired. She was tired, but at the same time this had been the best week of her life. At least since she'd joined the police. The thought of going back to marshalling drunks on a Friday and Saturday night in the town didn't appeal. But then there was Eric. She pushed him from her mind. He barely spoke to her these days. It was too late to say anything now anyway.
Walking back into the living room, she almost tripped over the cat who ran past her, leaping up onto the window sill and turning to look at her. She undid the latch and opened the window allowing the cat to slip out. He wouldn't be back until six o'clock tomorrow morning where he would appear at her bedroom window, howling to be let in.
"Goodnight, Miaow. I'll see you at my bedroom window in the morning. Same time, same place."
She drew the curtains and sat down on the sofa, staring at the television. It was off. She glanced at the remote control but she wasn't interested in watching anything. Sitting forward, she lifted the lid on her laptop and tapped the touch pad, bringing it out of hibernation. She cracked her fingers as the fan spun into action and the machine fired up.
"Right, let's see what you were up to with your cameras, Mr Moy."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tom felt constricted. He wasn't comfortable, his body tense and his position seemed precarious. The wind struck the window near him, buffeting it with firm regular gusts, and despite the strength of the hinges the casement blew shut, startling him. He opened his eyes, hearing the gulls cawing overhead. They were inland. There must be quite a storm front over the North Sea.
He was lying on his side, perched on the side of the bed with a portable heater leaning against him under the duvet. Small, compact and immovable, Saffy was snuggled into him, sleeping soundly. When she’d come through, he didn't know. He must have been dead to the world. Reaching to the bedside table, he picked up his watch and squinted to read the time. It was approaching six in the morning.
He slipped out of bed, careful that his massive frame didn't bounce the little girl awake, stretching as he stood up. He gently reached past the curtain, closing the window properly so it wouldn't slam again. Saffy could sleep for another hour or so before she would need to be readying herself for school. For a time, after the death of her father, the little girl would come through to their room every night at some point, but this had lessened. Now, she didn't appear to need the reassurance but enjoyed the sense of closeness she got in doing so. Usually, whoever was the first to wake upon her arrival would end up sleeping in a spare bedroom, or Saffy's, depending on how they felt.
Tom didn't fit in Saffy's cabin bed.
As quietly as he could, he gathered fresh clothes from the chest of drawers and his wardrobe and walked out onto the landing pulling the door to, but not closed, behind him. Peeking into Saffy's room and then the guest room, which was always made up, he didn't see Alice. He got dressed on the landing and made his way downstairs. Russell appeared in the hall, greeting him with his usual deference before leading the way into the kitchen.
Alice was seated at the breakfast bar, s
till in her pyjamas, cloaked in a heavy dressing gown which swallowed her up. It was Tom's but he never wore it. She smiled as he entered and he crossed to her, bending down and giving her a warm kiss on the lips.
"Good morning, gorgeous," he said, smiling.
She smiled. "Thank you, but I look dreadful and you know it."
"Not to me," he said, checking the kettle had water before flicking the switch on. Alice didn't appear to have slept much; dark rings hung beneath her usually bright eyes. She looked sad. He plucked the cafetiere from the shelf above and scooped two healthy measures of freshly-ground coffee into it. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Is it that obvious?" She shook her head, lifting her tea. "Thinking about mum." She sighed. "And our little diva came through around three, so it was an interrupted night."
"Ah… yeah, I didn't hear her."
"That's because you were snoring. I'm surprised you didn't wake the dead last night."
He laughed. The kettle gently rocked as the water boiled.
"Plans for the day?"
She frowned. "After I've dropped Saffy at school, I'll drop into work for a couple of hours and then go over to see Mum, I think."
"I thought you were rostered off for the next couple of days?"
She nodded. "I am, but I've got paperwork to catch up on and I'd rather not face it when I have a shift to run."
"Admin day." Tom stirred the brewing coffee with two deft swirls of the dessert spoon, appreciating the aroma, and put the lid on. "If you want to call in at the station and tackle my pile as well—"
"Don't give me that, Inspector," she said with a sideways smile. "If there's anyone I know who is on top of his paperwork, let's face it, it's going to be you! You are so annoyingly good at all that stuff."
He cocked his head. "I'd say you're exaggerating, but I know it's true."
She laughed. A muffled call came from upstairs. Someone was awake. Alice made to get up but Tom put a hand on the back of hers.
"I'll go and get her ready. You stay there, finish your tea."
She smiled her thanks and he headed upstairs to help Saffy get dressed. Not that she needed the help, not really. She just enjoyed the positive interaction.
Entering ops, Tom was surprised to find the room bathed in light. Only one computer was on, the one at Kerry Palmer's temporary desk but the constable was nowhere to be seen. He hung up his coat and wandered over to her desk. He found himself admiring the background image on the monitor but then realised it was a picture file. The shot was taken from an elevated position facing down into a wooded valley. Mist swirled through the trees so the photographer must have been at quite a high elevation to have such a panoramic view.
"Morning!"
Tom turned to see Kerry enter, smiling at him, a takeaway cup of coffee in her hand.
"Good morning." He gestured to the screen. "Did you make an early start?"
"Yes, I was impatient." She hesitated as she approached. "That's okay, isn't it?"
"Yes, of course. What have you found? Anything interesting?"
"I think so," she said. Tom moved aside and she slid into her chair and turned to the screen. Minimising the picture, she pointed to the icons on the screen. "Tech services were able to recover some of the data but the majority was lost. Something about damage when it was transported and dumped, exposure to the elements, proximity to magnetic devices… blah, blah, blah… it's enough to say the hard drive was knackered. However, it seems Billy Moy not only liked to practise with photographic films, but he also appreciated digital cameras." She looked up at Tom. "It seems he wasn't afraid to embrace modernity, too. I think the appeal of digital cameras, aside from simple uploading, is they are so less cumbersome when it comes to carting them around great distances—"
"Like climbing mountainous regions?" Tom asked, referring to the image he had walked in to.
"Yes, absolutely. I looked up the model of digital camera Billy Moy was using. Would you believe that costs upwards of three grand new?"
"Expensive hobby," Tom said, perching himself on the edge of the nearest desk and folding his arms.
"Takes quality photographs though," Kerry replied, "and doesn't weigh even a third of the film equivalent."
"Right, Billy was keen. What else?"
"The computer geeks told us they couldn't salvage much from the hard drive, aside from these photographs. For instance, the browser history was completely unrecoverable, which is a shame because I'm a firm believer that someone's internet history is like a window to their soul."
"I thought that was the eyes?"
Kerry grinned. "Old school. Now we're in the twenty-first century and it's all iPads and Chrome."
"Let's not have a look at Cassie's then," he said, raising his eyebrows. "What did they find?"
"Photographs, some taken by Moy himself, we believe, along with others he downloaded. Here's a sample of the type of thing he had."
Kerry clicked on a folder and the icons changed to tiles, mini-images of the photographs themselves. Tom leaned in and she helped him by clicking on the first. It was a dark image, obviously taken at night. The focus of the shot was a window. The lights were on and the photographer must have been standing outside. From the angle it appeared to be an upstairs window and although the detail was very good, it must have been taken from distance. Kerry clicked through to the next and it was clear they were images taken in sequence. Something seemed to be across the lens but after studying several pictures, Tom realised it was a branch with some foliage protruding from it. The photographer was concealed within trees.
A woman stepped into view, the camera taking a burst of images, and had Kerry clicked through at speed they would have made a video. The woman looked familiar but Tom couldn't place her. She began undressing and the images continued until she stepped out of sight.
"Is this Billy Moy's camera or has this been downloaded?"
"This is Billy's own footage. Tech services are certain. He took these and uploaded them." She angled her head and looked up at him. "And there are a lot more."
"Same woman?" Tom asked.
"Funny you should ask," Kerry said, closing this sequence and opening another folder.
This burst of images looked very similar but at the same time different. Tom thought it might be the same room, perhaps another aspect of the property. The style of the window frame was certainly identical. Then he realised it was a ground-floor window, it was the angle the camera was at that was different. The woman stepped into view. This time she was dressed only in her underwear, moving around the room differently as well. She seemed less poised, more carefree. It dawned on him that something wasn't right. He looked down at Kerry, a knowing expression on her face.
"At first, I thought it was the same woman as well."
"It isn't?" he asked.
She shook her head. "They look the same, similar height, build, hair colour and length—"
"But?"
Kerry double clicked and brought the first set of images up. She found the picture she was looking for and enlarged it.
"There."
Tom was looking at a semi-naked woman in her underwear, in the process of undoing her bra strap. He didn't know what he was supposed to be seeing. "Help me out here, Constable?"
With a pen in her hand, she pointed to the waistline just above the top edge of her knickers. Tom stared hard, then glanced at Kerry.
"That's a telltale scar. Caesarean Section. Without doubt."
Kerry put an image from the second set alongside the first, tapping the screen with the end of the pen.
"No scar."
"That's right," Kerry said. "It's a good job Billy Moy took his pervy hobby so seriously, otherwise we'd never have this level of detail. You just wouldn't get the detail in this resolution from a hundred quid's worth of camera."
"Other women?" Tom asked.
She shook her head. "Nope. Just this one… or two. But I'm pretty sure they're taken at the same property. Look here," she said, opening up
another series. "These must have been taken in the summertime when the evenings are lighter. Look at the ambient light on the exterior. This wasn't a one-off or even a two-off – if there is such a thing – because he's been back here repeatedly. And there's more."
She opened another folder containing media files. Picking one at random, she opened it. These were video files recording two women on this occasion. One was lying on a sun lounger in a bathing suit alongside a swimming pool. The other came into view and the operator zoomed in on her as she dived into the water.
"Any other videos of anyone else other than these two?"
"A few, yes. But they are downloads from websites focussing on voyeuristic fetishes, not filmed by Billy himself. Although, I'm presuming it was Billy doing the filming but he doesn't appear in shot. It would be good to know if he was a heavy breather. He certainly gets excited while… well, you get what I mean?"
Tom frowned. "I thought tech services couldn't retrieve the browser history?"
"Didn't need to with these other ones," she said. "The sites usually overlay their website address across the footage. This type of thing is disseminated across public message boards, chatrooms and uploaded to multiple sites and then shared via social media. It goes on and on. It's all free advertising that will bring more users to the parent site. However, the downloads were time and date stamped. The time is useless because it will either be in the camera's default setting or simply the time zone of the person recording, but the ones starring his two favourites have been recorded on and off over the last couple of years. And when I say on and off, I mean he has literally dozens of photos and video of these two."
"A bit of an obsession."
"Downright creepy is what it is. If it was me, and I found out he was doing this, I'd bloody well kill him!"
She looked at Tom, suddenly fearful.
To Die For: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 9) Page 19
