"That was my fault, Inspector. Norfolk is very close-knit, I'm sure you know… and if your business becomes public, then everybody, and I mean everybody gets to hear about it."
"You were concerned for your reputations?" Tom asked, trying hard not to show his incredulity at that thought.
Ginette shook her head. "No, of course not. Well, maybe a little, but it was Kimmy I was thinking of." She sat forward, imploring Tom with her eyes. "She's at that age, you know? Something like this, the comments, the finger pointing… it would follow her around for the rest of her life. We couldn't put her through that—"
"And what about the potential for Billy Moy to interfere with other children?" Kerry Palmer said, speaking for the first time, clearly annoyed. "Perhaps their parents would like to know if he was a danger to them—"
"I'm sorry," Ginette said, looking directly at Kerry. "But I will always put my family first, before all else. That's what parents do."
Alan held up his hand as if he was presenting in a business meeting. "You may not agree with how I – we – handled this situation, but we did what we thought was for the best."
"For whom, Mr Finney? Best for whom?" Tom asked.
Alan didn't reply, averting his eyes from Tom's gaze. Tom felt the response was genuine, Alan Finney showing his true colours belittling those less well off than himself, the very characteristic that seemed to make most people dislike the man intensely. His wife, Ginette, clearly felt comfortable hiding behind her image of a protective mother. There was every chance that this was the truth or, at least, their perception of it.
"Are you telling me, Mr Finney," Tom said, "that you didn't inflict any physical harm upon Billy Moy? Furthermore, he was alive and well when you left the house that night, and I want you to be crystal clear with me, that this was last Wednesday?”
He nodded. "Yes, Inspector. That's the truth. I went there, Wednesday evening, and confronted him. He admitted what he'd done and I oversaw his burning of the images he'd taken… at least, I thought I had. And then I left and returned to my family."
A few moments of silence followed until Alan spoke again, and Tom heard something he had never heard before in the man's tone, humility… and fear.
"W–What is going to happen now?"
Tom drew himself upright. He looked between the couple.
"I want you to call someone you know who can either come and sit with Kim or take her to theirs for a while." Ginette nodded. "Then I'm going to arrange transport for the two of you back to the station and all of this is going on record, formally."
"I would like our solicitor present," Alan said quietly.
"Which is your right. And then I'm going to have a doctor scrape every orifice of yours for DNA samples to compare with our crime scene." He stared hard at him. "I'm also impounding your Range Rover and I'll take it apart piece by piece looking for traces of Billy Moy inside it. Once all of that is processed and comes back, I'll look at it and if there is any suggestion that what you've told me isn't the complete truth, I fully intend to charge you with murder."
Ginette gasped whereas Alan held Tom's gaze. "And if not?"
"If not?" Tom said. "I hope for your sakes you are telling me the truth. Otherwise I'll do everything I can to ensure you spend the best part of the next twenty years as a resident guest at one of Her Majesty's finest hostelries."
Alan glanced at Ginette who appeared terrified. Her husband smiled at her weakly. Turning to Tom with a stern expression, he slowly nodded at him. "Then I put my faith in you to do your job properly, Inspector."
"Do you believe them?" Kerry asked as the second patrol car moved off. Alan Finney shot them a nervous look from the rear passenger seat.
"Does he strike you as the kind of man who would allow someone to effectively get away with touching up his teenage daughter?"
"No," Kerry said, shaking her head. "Quite the opposite. He strikes me as the entitled sort who thinks he's above everyone else because of everything that he has, his standing in the community, and the fact that when he speaks everyone listens. The notion that a – how did he describe him? – pathetic little bloke like Billy Moy could take pictures of his wife and daughter getting undressed, videos as well… and even putting his hands on Kim, and think he'd get away with doing so without punishment? I can't see it.” She looked at Tom, the two police cars transporting the Finneys away left the courtyard and disappeared from sight. “Even if he is telling the truth, and all of that happened as he described it, I wouldn’t put it past him to have stewed on it for another day before going back on the Thursday and killing Billy. What about you?”
Tom hadn't responded to her thought process. He couldn't necessarily argue with her logic, but it wasn't the only view to take. Kerry noticed.
"Do you believe him?"
"Curiously, your very argument could be used to give weight to his story being the truth."
Kerry's eyebrows met in concentration. "How do you mean?"
"Think about it. The Finneys are socially elevated. Any hint of a scandal, a sex abuse scandal no less, could be very damaging to them."
"But it wouldn't be their fault—"
"No, not at all," Tom said, "but people like the Finneys like to control how they are seen. The image they project is just as important as the material items they possess. Tongues wagging, fingers pointing. How did they not know? How could a man allow an abuser to have access to their daughter? Can we trust our children around them?" Tom splayed his hands wide. "These are common questions that are often raised in these scenarios. They are completely unfounded, obviously. But then again, I'm sure there will be those who would love to knock Alan Finney down a peg or two, even if they don't believe it themselves."
"So their reputations would be worth defending at any cost?"
"Not only theirs, but in their mind, their daughter's as well."
"But Billy Moy had a shiner… someone fought with him the day of or the day prior to his death," Kerry argued. "The pathologist said so. If not Alan Finney, then…"
Tom nodded, pursing his lips. "Indeed. And that's why we'll try and find a trace of Billy's DNA inside Finney's car or some sign of him having been in a fight, which will be hard more than a week after the event, but we'll try. And after he's been poked and prodded, we'll go back over all of this with him time and time again until he's so sick of telling his story that he's ready to crack, looking for inconsistencies. If he's telling the truth, then his story won't change. After all, you only have trouble remembering a lie, the truth should be plain sailing."
"What about Billy Moy being a potential abuser? That could open up a whole new line of suspects if he has access to anyone else's children."
"Yes, get onto social services and see if he's ever shown up with them. It's a pity his browser history was fried, otherwise it might have made for interesting, if not disturbing, watching. Of course, we only have the Finney's word on that, so let's ensure we keep it between the team. If it gets out that we're looking at this angle, all hell is going to break loose and I'd rather know ahead of time if that's likely to happen."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tamara slipped her mobile back into her pocket, intimating to Cassie she was ready to go inside with a tilt of the head towards the refuge. Cassie thanked the uniformed officer, standing beside his patrol car, and crossed the road to join her.
"Anything to report from overnight?" Tamara asked, looking past Cassie to the policeman.
"All was as quiet as can be. No one visited the refuge overnight, nothing to report."
"Good. Hopefully, Sasha is well rested and a bit more talkative today."
They walked up to the door and pressed the bell. The refuge was a secure facility, but only by way of restricting the access of individuals for obvious reasons. Their location wasn't a secret and it wasn't uncommon for the perpetrators of domestic violence to seek out their spouses here. Although, with a direct line to the local police no one had ever breached the security to make it inside. They didn't have to wait l
ong. Mary Bloom unlocked the door, opening it as wide as her welcoming smile.
"Good morning, Tamara," she said, nodding to Cassie as well. "Come in, come in."
"How's our girl?"
Mary closed the door behind them, the sound echoing on the tiled floor of the entrance hall. Her smile faded and she rocked her head from side to side. "Sasha's been… subdued. She hasn't said very much at all."
"What do you make of her?"
"Hard to say, really. You brought her in to me late last night and I offered her something to eat, the poor thing looked half-starved, and then got her settled in her bedroom. She went off almost straight away."
"Did she say anything to you at all?"
"Only that she's been practically living rough this past week, bless her, eating out of bins and sleeping wherever she found somewhere safe and dry. And let's face it, there hasn't been much of that lately. The street is no place for anyone, let alone a little thing like her."
Cassie shrugged. "She strikes me as quite a tough cookie."
Mary looked at her inquisitively. "Appearances can be deceptive, DS Knight."
"Yeah, maybe," Cassie said, casting an eye around the lobby. "In my experience, people usually turn out just as you see them."
"Well, it's a good job I'm here to temper your preconceptions then, isn't it?"
Cassie smiled. Tamara thought this was where she should step in.
"Can we see her?"
"Yes, of course. Come with me. Sasha is having tea with me in the kitchen."
Mary led the way along a narrow corridor towards the back of the building. Pushing open a fire door into the kitchen, Tamara saw Sasha sitting at a table in a conservatory accessed through the kitchen and overlooking the garden with the sea in the distance. The refuge was located on the edge of Hunstanton, a residential home that was added to and extended over the years, now offering temporary accommodation for up to six women should it be required. Mary Bloom had been awarded an OBE for her efforts in establishing the facility almost single-handed.
Sasha was lost in thought, staring out at the sea and didn't notice their arrival. She wasn't startled when Tamara stepped into view, instead offering her the inkling of a warm smile. Tamara returned it.
"How are you feeling today?" Tamara asked.
Sasha's smile broadened slightly and she raised her right arm, wrapped in a cast. "Sore. But I am better. Thank you."
Her eyes were far brighter than they'd been the previous day and her complexion was also vastly improved with colour returning to her cheeks.
"What a difference a good night's sleep can do for you," Tamara said, gesturing to the chair next to Sasha's. She nodded and Tamara sat down. Cassie lingered in the background. Mary Bloom came over to the table.
"Shall I make us all some more tea? Or coffee perhaps?"
"Coffee for me, please," Tamara said.
Cassie held up her hand, declining. Mary picked up Sasha's now empty cup and busied herself in the kitchen. Tamara took out her notebook and a pen, opening it to a fresh page.
"Sasha, do you remember us talking last night?"
She nodded.
"Good. You told us that you are working as a cleaner, but you couldn't tell us where."
Again, she nodded.
"Can you remember today?"
"I–I work where… tell me to work."
"Who by?" Tamara asked. She looked away. "Who tells you where to work, Sasha?"
She shrugged.
"How did you come to be here in Norfolk, Sasha?" Tamara hoped to put her at ease, get the conversation going and then maybe draw out more information.
"At home, I look after my grandmother." Sasha looked up at Tamara. "She is old, very old. She needs… how do you say… to be caring for?"
"To be cared for? She is in a nursing home?"
Sasha smiled, nodding. "Yes, she has people to look after her." She leaned in towards Tamara. "It is very expensive in Latvia."
"It is very expensive here, too," Tamara said, smiling.
"So, I came here to England to work. I can send money back to my home."
"And what about your parents. Do they look after your grandmother as well?"
"No. My father left when I was very young… and my mother was ill, very ill. She is not here anymore."
"I'm sorry."
Sasha smiled weakly. "I came here to help my family, my grandmother. Now, all I want is to go home to see her. I should not have left."
"Aleksandrs Balodis has your passport. You knew that?"
Her expression became wary, watching Tamara as she answered, accompanied by a curt nod. "He was to give it to me. That is why I went to hotel to try and find it. Then I can go home."
"Mary tells me you have been sleeping rough these past few days."
Sasha looked at her, uncomprehending.
"You have nowhere to sleep. To live."
She nodded. "Yes, that is true."
"How would you pay for your ticket home?"
Sasha exhaled, wringing her hands. "I do not know. I–I hoped Aleksandrs would help me… somehow."
"Aleksandrs," Tamara chose her words carefully, "was killed last week, Sasha. Do you know where this may have happened or why?"
She shook her head, averting her eyes from Tamara once again.
"You told us yesterday that the two of you were friends. Can you tell me of any other friends that he spent time with or places he went to?"
Mary arrived at the table with a tray holding three steaming cups. She set it down. Sasha glanced at her and then Tamara, moving a hand to her stomach.
"May I please go to the bathroom?"
"Yes, of course," Tamara said.
Sasha smiled gratefully, moving her chair out as Mary set a mug of tea in front of her before passing a cup of coffee to Tamara. As Sasha left the room, Cassie sighed.
"You're not wrong about her being subdued," she said to Mary. "I've met chattier corpses." Tamara shot her a dark look and Cassie apologised, holding up a hand. "I'm sorry. But she doesn't say a lot."
"That young woman has been through a great deal," Mary said, offering Cassie a disapproving glance. "You mark my words. I dread to think what she's been put through."
"You believe she may have been trafficked here?" Tamara asked.
"She shows all the hallmarks, yes. I'm surprised she's willing to talk at all."
"She is scared," Tamara said. "She bolted from us yesterday before we were able to identify ourselves as police officers—"
"I expect she would have run even if you had," Mary said. "The police aren't usually very compassionate when it comes to dealing with sex workers press-ganged into service." Tamara was about to object, but didn't get the chance. "Present company excepted, obviously. I just mean in general, sex workers are not regarded highly by the police the world over, as if their lives are worth less because of what they do. And the fact that so many of these poor souls have been forced into it doesn't seem to cut much ice either."
"That attitude will not be found in my office. Will it, DS Knight?"
Cassie shook her head. "Absolutely not, no."
Mary's gaze lingered on Cassie, judging the validity of the comment but she said nothing. Cassie folded her arms across her chest, then walked to the conservatory window to get a better look of the view. A figure ran past on the street outside.
"Bloody hell!" Cassie barked, turning back to the room. "Do you have a gate from the garden to the street, Mary?"
"Erm… no. For security, we closed—"
"She's only gone and bloody legged it," Cassie said, running for the front door as Tamara's chair scraped the floor tiles as she stood, before taking off after her detective sergeant.
The front door was swinging closed as Tamara reached it, forcing it back open. Cassie was already in the street, looking at the constable who was leaning against the front wing of his patrol car chatting to two women passing with their dogs on leads. He seemed momentarily oblivious to their presence until Cassie shouted at
him.
"Oi!"
The constable leapt away from the car, startling those talking to him, and spun to face them.
"Fat lot of use you are, PC Plod!"
Cassie shot him a withering look and ran off in the direction Sasha had taken. Tamara also glared at the constable who raised both his arms wide in protest, bewildered and oblivious to the cause of the verbal assault.
"What?"
The refuge was on a bend and rounding the corner the pavement narrowed. The roar of a diesel engine sounded from behind them and an orange Transit van approached, cutting the corner so much that the rear wheels mounted the kerb forcing both women to check their runs. Cassie hit out at the side panel with the flat of her hand, shouting at the driver. "Moron!"
The van didn't stop, accelerating away from them. Sasha was at least a hundred yards away from them now, running downhill. The two detectives resumed their run, pushing hard. Ahead of them they saw the brake lights of the van come on as it came alongside Sasha. She seemed to notice their presence, her run faltering as she looked to her right. The side door to the van slid open and two sets of arms reached out, grasping her and hauling her into the van. Her legs flailed as she struggled but the van accelerated away and Sasha disappeared from view.
"Hey!" Tamara yelled. It made no difference. Even if they could have heard her, the van drove away at speed. Both women pulled up. Cassie bent over, resting her hands on her knees as she drew breath in huge gulps, grimacing. Tamara already had her mobile in her hand, dialling the control room.
"Did you get the index?" Cassie asked between breaths.
Tamara shook her head. "Partial. L34 J something. You?"
"No, sorry. Too busy trying not to get run over."
"Damn it!"
The beleaguered constable arrived behind them. Cassie shook her head at him.
"What?" he asked for the second time.
Cassie pointed down the road. The van was nowhere to be seen. "Orange Transit. They just grabbed her."
He turned, breaking into a run back toward his patrol car. "I'll get after it."
"Just in the nick of time," Cassie muttered under her breath. She looked at Tamara, who thanked the call handler and hung up.
To Die For: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 9) Page 21
