"Oh yes, I know. It's just it used to be so—"
"Sorry to keep you!" They both turned to see a man leaning his back against a door in order to keep it open and beckoning them forward. Tom figured he was a similar age to himself, early to mid-forties, with the physique of a man who no longer laboured digging trenches in a field. He smiled warmly as they approached, offering Tom his hand. "William Cannell." He introduced himself. "Come on through."
They passed through the door which opened onto a small inner hallway with a line of windows overlooking a cobbled alleyway running the length of the building and into a courtyard to the rear. At the end of the short corridor, a staircase headed up but Cannell took them through a wide Georgian door, four panel, and judging by the strange shape of it had been adjusted to compensate for the movement of the building over the years, now sloping at an odd angle. Cannell held the door for them, ushering them through before closing it and offering them a seat.
The office was massive with panelled walls, heavily painted with what looked like multiple layers of gloss paint, the last now resembling an ageing, discoloured cream which had lost its sheen and was cracking and peeling in places. Their host noticed them looking around, Eric in particular.
"Please don't let the decor fool you."
Tom looked at him and raised his eyebrows.
"I know this place looks in quite a poor state but we haven't been here very long. We're looking forward to getting underway with a full set of restoration works. I've always wanted to be based out of this area and when this particular building came on the market it was too good an opportunity to pass up. It was previously owned by one of the foremost merchant families in King's Lynn, the Bells. Henry designed and oversaw the construction of the Custom House, among others. He was a contemporary of Sir Christopher Wren, you know?"
Eric's eyes lit up and he appeared ready to say something but he must have caught sight of Tom's expression because he thought better of it.
"Now, what brings you gentlemen to see me today? You said on the telephone it was something to do with a former dig site of mine; finding a body?"
"That's correct," Tom said.
"How odd. It's usually the archaeologists who dig up the bodies," Cannell said, chuckling at his own joke. Neither Tom nor Eric laughed and the smile faded rapidly. "So, what is it I can do for you?"
"You were in charge of a dig at the old Roman fort of Branodunum. Is that right?"
He sucked air through his teeth and nodded. "That's going back a bit. Early two thousands … 2001, I think. Yes." He sat down in the chair behind his desk, resting an elbow on the arm and putting his fist beneath his chin. "Not one of the most successful of digs, that one, I must say."
"Why not?" Tom asked, sitting down. Eric did likewise, brandishing his notebook as he did so.
Cannell took a deep breath, glancing out of the window which overlooked the courtyard. There was a church visible beyond a six-foot high stone wall.
"It was a jointly funded dig, between ourselves at Cambridge and our counterparts in the faculty of the University of East Anglia. We were looking to determine the significance of the Roman presence in and around Brancaster. There was a question as to how large the garrison was and whether its size increased prior to, or after, the Celtic Iceni uprising of Boudicca in AD 60-61." He frowned, looking dejected. "I always had my doubts about the theory we were exploring … but others pressed on, so I had to represent the university's interest."
Eric couldn't help himself, sitting forward eagerly. "Was it before or after?"
"I couldn't tell you. I'm afraid." He sat back, folding his arms together across his chest, his expression serious. "Not from our dig at any rate. Another group went back a decade later and found the answers we were hoping for—"
"I worked on that one," Eric said, beaming. The professor looked less than impressed. His gaze lingered on Eric for a few seconds before passing to Tom.
"What's all this about anyway?"
"We found human remains in the field where you were digging."
Cannell sat forward again, placing his hands flat on the desk in front of him. He was alert now. "I take it, because you're here, they aren't … Roman?"
Tom shook his head.
"And so, what has this to do with the dig? Or me, come to think of it?"
"We have a plan of the site indicating your trench locations," Tom said, indicating to Eric who produced an A3-sized, folded sheet of paper. He stood up and the professor made space on his desk for Eric to lay it out. Cannell reached for a pair of glasses and examined the map, nodding slowly as he analysed each of the marked areas denoting the positioning of the trenches.
"Yes … from memory they look about right." He looked up at Tom and then glanced past him towards a set of filing cabinets set against the far wall. "I dare say I probably have my old notes somewhere. I doubt they're here but … I'm a terrible hoarder, Inspector, I hate throwing things away. Archaeologists have a love affair with old things, whether they're deemed useful or not. Very much not if you ask my wife!"
"The location of this last trench," Tom said, leaning over and pointing to where they found the remains, "is the one we are very interested in."
"Hm … what would you like to know about it?"
"We understand that the dig concluded on the weekend of the 1st September."
Cannell's brow knitted in concentration. "Yes, I believe so. The first was the Saturday, I recall, and much of that day was spent closing off and backfilling those trenches. Those that hadn't already been seen to at any rate."
"You don't leave it all until you've completed the dig?"
He shook his head. "No, no, of course not. I mean, if it's quick and easy to do then you backfill it straight away but sometimes there are others you may leave until later. It all depends." He read Tom's passive expression as lack of comprehension but all Tom really wanted was to get him talking and recollecting details from almost two decades ago. "Excavation isn't much of a science, you know? At least not so much back then. Once you uncover your finds, that's when the really interesting work begins. Although, that being said, we were experimenting with the practicality of using LIDAR at the time, much more so now, but back then, although having been around for years, it was still in its infancy with us. It's hard to believe with the volume of work we do with it now."
"LIDAR?"
"Ground penetrating radar," Eric said, tipping his head in Tom's direction.
"Quite right," Cannell said flatly. He didn't appear to appreciate the contribution. "It can help map out the undulations of the ground and identify anomalies that could be worthy of investigation, invisible to the human eye and buried far under the ground: walls, foundations or even disturbances in the density of the soil. But, as useful as all of this is you still never really know until you open up a trench and get your hands dirty."
"So, you'll find some of the dig locations are not what you hoped for?"
"Exactly. And once you've realised it you don't want to waste any more time on those places, so you close them off and crack on elsewhere. Time is everything with these digs because resources are so tight, particularly on big sites such as that one."
"And that particular trench?"
Cannell returned to Eric's map, meticulously tracing the whole site with his fingertip. He lifted his glasses and rested them on top of his head. "I'm pretty certain that was the last one we closed off."
"Which would have been when?"
"Um … on the Friday, I should imagine." He cast his eyes to the ceiling momentarily. "Yes, we called time on it late afternoon. The whole dig had pretty much been a bust by then and there wasn't a lot to be gained from persevering with it. Best thing for everyone was to throw in the towel and head to the pub!" He snorted a short laugh but gathered himself together quickly. "Sorry. But the best thing I remember from that whole experience was the local pub. A few sorrows were drowned in the bar I can tell you!" He sat back, grinning at the memory.
"And whi
ch pub was that?" Tom kept his tone casual.
"The Crown Inn. I remember it well. They had accommodation rooms there and some of us, who were lucky enough to get in first," he raised a pointed finger, angling it back to jab his own chest, "got to stay there."
"Many of you?"
"A few, yes. It was summer as you know and quite a few guests were tourists but we took as many of the rooms as possible. Like I said, it was a large dig." He seemed perturbed when he noted both Tom and Eric eyeing him. "Why? Is there something wrong with that?"
"Can you tell us who else stayed with you at the Crown Inn?"
Cannell looked to the ceiling once again, his lips moving silently as his brain ran through his memories. "Well, myself obviously. Then there was Alex—"
"Alexander Hart?" Tom asked. Cannell nodded.
"Yes, he managed the dig with me," raising a hand to his mouth, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and spoke from behind the back of his hand, "it was really his site, you know? Because my university was putting up a lot of the funds they insisted on having a joint project coordinator and that privilege fell to me." Tom noted it and encouraged him to continue. "Then there was Julia." Tom looked up. "Julia Rose – Alex's partner at the time. Tim was also staying there, I believe. That's Tim Hendry. Together, we made up the senior team. Many of them were pretty green at the time, to be fair and that made them hard to manage. Alex was far too inexperienced for such a large dig, looking back. It was a shame."
"What was?"
"The failure of the project! That's the only way to sum it up really. I felt for him. It was his baby, as I said. It was the culmination of his doctoral thesis." Tom and Eric exchanged a look. Cannell spoke in a condescending tone. "He'd come up with this theory regarding Branodunum and lobbied for ages to obtain the funding and then … well, it all sort of unravelled around him." Cannell sighed, running a hand through his hair and stopping to rub absently at the back of his neck, he shook his head slowly. "Never really recovered from that. Poor chap."
"Was it that bad?"
"Oh you had better believe it! Right from the off everything seemed to go against us. To start with it was a dreadful period of summer when we set up, lashing down with rain for days straight, which is unhelpful with a high-water table like we had there on site. Then the weather changed and we had a week of scorching heat which drove a lot of the volunteers away! No one planned for that."
"Who did you have working on site?"
He thought hard. "The teams from the two universities, obviously. The four of us were old compadres from back in our undergraduate days, so were fairly close. We had students," he cast a withering look at Eric, "who can be useful, some of the time, with the donkey work and the like. Then there were the volunteers who were largely made up of interested locals, amateur enthusiasts and registered archaeological groups. It was a real mishmash of people. Dreadful decision. Not mine, I should add. The calendar went against us too. We started later than planned because funding didn't come through as arranged, then the weather, and because it was getting close to September, the term was due to begin and we had to rush to finish before all the labour upped and deserted us. It's no wonder it all went wrong."
"And how many are we talking about?"
"Dozens. Some were there for the duration whereas others came and went during the dig. The prospect of digging a Roman site brought a lot of people out, it's an emotive period is Roman Britannia. Also, because it was in Norfolk, and not some windswept Hebridean beach, it was also seemingly quite a draw."
"And where did they all stay?"
"In and around … wherever we could obtain beds really. Accommodation was thin on the ground due to the time of year. Some stayed in hotels or bed and breakfasts. A number of the students brought tents and we had permission from the owner of the neighbouring field to use that, so many stayed virtually on site. A damn sight easier to get them up with hangovers when they're only a few feet away." Again, he snorted with laughter.
"And did you keep records of who attended the dig?"
"Not me, no. Personnel wasn't my remit. You should have a word with Julia. She organised and kept track of all of that."
"We found a layer of tarpaulin at the expected depth of the trench."
"Yes, that will have been us. Although the trench was at the outer edge of our scope, spanning boundaries between National Trust land, who own the Branodunum site, and the neighbouring landowner, we were pleased to find a ground mosaic where a building wasn't expected to be. It was rather large, so we documented what we could and covered it over for protection. Standard procedure."
"I'm sorry, I'm confused," Tom said. "I thought you said there was nothing to be gained from continuing the dig on the Friday afternoon?"
"That's true. The mosaic was uncovered," he scratched at his chin, concentrating, "late on the Wednesday, I recall. We uncovered all of it that was left intact on the Thursday but by midday on the Friday it was clear that we'd uncovered all that was present. The remainder was severely damaged and there was nothing left to uncover. It'd probably been desecrated by locals after the Roman army withdrew from Britain in the latter stages of the empire. We covered what was there to aid preservation and shut it down."
"Covered it with what?"
"With the plastic sheeting. After we catalogue a find the trench is refilled and the mosaic is protected for future generations. You can't take everything out of the ground, can you?"
"I suppose not," Tom said. "Let's go back to your accommodation. In the time you were staying at the pub do you recall getting to know any of the staff?"
The professor's brow wrinkled. "I remember the landlord was quite a garrulous sort of chap. And the serving staff were friendly enough but I was so busy I largely kept to myself apart from at mealtimes. My wife was at home with our little girl, she'd been born a month before, so I'd often retire to my room to speak with her in the evening. Children grow up so fast you miss out when you're working away as much as I was."
"Do you remember this girl?" Tom produced a photograph of Tina Farrow, taken from her missing person file. It was a shot of her standing against a wall with her arms folded across her chest a year before she went missing, aged eighteen. She was smiling. It was a sunny day. Cannell took the picture from Tom, lowering his glasses and holding it up in front of him. His gaze lingered on it. Both Tom and Eric watched intently for any flicker of recognition. Tom didn't see one. The professor passed it back, shaking his head.
"Sorry. Doesn't ring a bell. Who is she?"
"A young lady who worked at the pub you stayed in. She went missing around the same time as your dig finished."
"Oh I see." Cannell looked lost in thought and then his head snapped up, looking shocked. "Was she … do you think she was the one you found buried in the trench?"
"That's still to be determined," Tom said.
"I don't see how." Cannell shook his head vigorously. "I mean … there was no one in the trench when it was backfilled."
"You're sure?"
"Of course, I'm damn well sure!" He was indignant. "One of us would have bloody noticed if … if … a young woman was lying in it for crying out loud."
"You would expect so," Tom said. "One last thing. Would you consent to us taking a DNA sample from you today?"
Cannell baulked.
"You are quite within your rights to say no but it would help expedite the investigation if we could. DC Collet has a test kit in his bag and it won't take a moment."
The professor sat open mouthed for a few seconds before whispering his response. Tom couldn't make it out and asked him to repeat it.
"Yes. Certainly. If you … erm … think it will help."
Chapter Ten
Tom and Eric stepped out onto King Street and made the short walk back to the car.
"Make sure he comes through with those old records for the dig," Tom said to Eric as they crossed the road and passed by the Custom House again. Gulls cawed overhead and a breeze was coming from
the Wash and gently buffeting them as they walked along the quayside. It was a pleasant feeling, even though the heat seemed to still be increasing.
"I will. He may have more useful information than he realises. Tell me, why did you want to take his DNA?" Tom met Eric's eye as they walked. "I mean, we don't have any trace evidence for a suspect that I am aware of—"
"No, quite right. I just wanted to see how he would react."
"And?"
"He reacted as one would expect him to."
The look on Eric's face told him he didn't understand the reply but he didn't press it. Whether the victim was Tina Farrow or not, she went into the ground around the time of that dig site shutting down. Those who knew the site, controlled it and had access to the victim couldn't number very many. Professor Cannell fitted the criteria but that didn't make him a killer. If there were dozens of people working there, any one of them could have killed Tina. Or the killer could be unconnected to the dig. But guilty men were often rattled by the suggestion of DNA and he wanted everyone they questioned to be rattled. One of them might just give something away.
Half an hour later Tom and Eric entered ops to find both Tamara and Cassie readying to leave. Tamara gave Cassie her car keys and told her they'd meet at the front of the station.
"DNA results came back," Tamara said to Tom. "Positively identified the remains as those of Tina Farrow. I've just spoken to Angela and we're heading out to meet her and her mother. How did you get on with Cannell?"
Tom loosened his tie and collar, feeling the warmth of being back indoors without the gentle breeze. "Swears blind the trench was empty when it was backfilled. I gather the dig wasn't a success and he pointed the finger largely at Alex Hart for that."
"Do you believe him?"
"About the trench? He seemed convincing enough, spoke openly but there's a lot left there still to unpick. I'm looking forward to speaking with the others on site. Hart was romantically involved with Julia Rose and she was responsible for coordinating the labour on site. If she was on top of it then it stands to reason she might know about the interactions between people."
Kill Them Cold Page 7
