"What next?"
"Cannell promised to send over the files he has from the time. Eric will track down the other leaders from the dig and, hopefully, get a lead on some more names who were around at the time and we can take it from there. Seeing as we have confirmation, I'll head over to where she was last seen and see if I can jog some memories with her old boss. You?"
"Appointment at the morgue, with the mother and sister," she said glumly. Tom nodded. It wouldn't be his first choice of duties either.
Tamara and Cassie stood near to the chapel entrance, not wishing to intrude on a family's grief. The chapel adjoining the mortuary was compact and minimal; a representation of Christ hung on the wall behind a small altar with two rows of plastic chairs and a handful of bibles sitting on a table off to one side, should a visitor be in need of one. Angela Farrow and her mother, Patricia, stood silently side by side staring straight ahead. Not that there was much to look at; a small temporary casket, not of the ceremonial type used for a funeral service, but rather a functional container bereft of any reverence. Inside the box was a collection of bones bearing no resemblance to their loved one, merely an index number labelled on the exterior. The casket was draped in a white sheet; an attempt to tone down the sterile, austere presentation of an evidence box. It hadn't worked. This wasn't a fitting tribute to anyone but on short notice it was the best they could do. Patricia Farrow wanted to spend time with her daughter. Having lived with twenty years of not knowing what had become of her, it was understandable.
Patricia slowly reached out to her side with her hand, her fingers seeking out her living daughter's reassuring touch. Angela withdrew her hand upon contact. The movement didn't go unnoticed and Tamara exchanged a look with Cassie, who raised an eyebrow to indicate she'd seen it too. No words were spoken and the only sound came from Patricia, stepping forward and resting a palm on top of the casket, weeping softly as the raw emotion of the moment threatened to overwhelm her. Angela remained where she stood, impassive and unflinching.
There was never a right moment to call time on an occasion like this but eventually Angela looked over her shoulder at Tamara and smiled weakly. Tears were present in her eyes but she maintained her composure. Her mother's head hung low, she continued to cry. As Tamara came forward, Angela put a hand on the small of her mother's back. Patricia looked round but didn't speak. Her eyes furtively glanced at Tamara and without a word she allowed herself to be led from the room by her daughter.
The adjoining family room was bland and nondescript with white painted walls and a thin blue carpet that matched the cushioned chairs one commonly found in waiting rooms around the country. A low table was set centrally, the seating wrapping around it in a U shape. There was a gentle hum of passing cars. Angela helped her mother sit down, who looked unsteady on her feet. Tamara wondered if Patricia was experiencing the onset of shock. After two decades of not knowing her daughter's fate it would be impossible for her not to conceive of this day happening, no matter how much faith and hope she harboured. Inevitably, this day would be traumatic.
"I know this is hard for you, Mrs Farrow, but now that we have a positive identification, we need to ask more questions about the time of Tina's disappearance."
Patricia briefly met Tamara's eye with an anxious look before turning her gaze to her lap, constantly wringing her hands. "Y–yes, of course," she whispered, lifting her head. "We exchanged words that afternoon. Harsh words." Tears fell but she appeared not to notice, her expression stoic. "To think that was the last memory she had of me … is heart-breaking."
Angela glanced at her mother but looked away, an unreadable expression on her face.
"What was the argument about?"
"Oh … the same sort of thing we always argued about." Patricia wiped her face with the back of her hand, her composure returning. "How she lived her life. The lack of respect she had for anyone else. The usual. She stomped off as she was always prone to do."
"But you expected her to come home that night?"
She shrugged. "No, not really. I'd all but given up expecting anything where she was concerned." She read the look on Tamara's face and must have interpreted disapproval within it because she adopted a defensive stance. "I loved my daughter but mark my words she could be difficult. Couldn't she?" Patricia looked at Angela who nodded almost imperceptibly. "It wasn't always that way."
"When did things change?"
Patricia breathed deeply, thinking. "Perhaps when she was nine or ten, maybe? Prior to that she was a lovely little girl; came at life with a broad smile and loved everyone. But … then things changed, almost overnight. She became quieter, withdrawn. When she got into her teens she came out of herself again but she became argumentative, attention seeking. Her father said she was feisty … and it ran in his side of the family I can assure you." Again, Angela looked away. Patricia shook her head. "I don't understand where we went wrong with her, I really don't."
"The impression we have from people who knew her," Tamara glanced at Angela, a look that passed unnoticed by her mother, "was of a popular, fun-loving young woman—"
"Oh she was certainly that all right," Patricia said dismissively. "Tina wanted the eyes of the world on her and made sure she got it, no matter the consequences."
"Mum!" Angela snapped.
"Well, it's true." Patricia was indignant.
"How do you mean?" Tamara asked. "When you say no matter the consequences?"
She shrugged, refusing to meet Tamara's gaze. "You couldn't trust her is all I mean. She'd say and do anything for attention. Even if she had to make stuff up. Is that all? I'd like to go home now." She stood up without waiting for an answer, looking down at her daughter. Angela remained where she was. "I'll call a cab and meet you outside … if you want to share a ride back to town?"
She didn't wait for an answer and Angela didn't offer one. She was picking absently at the thumbnail of her left hand with her right forefinger. Once the door closed and they were alone, Tamara angled her head so as to be in Angela's peripheral line of sight, drawing her attention.
"That was tough to hear?"
Angela nodded briefly, sucking her lips inward, but didn't speak.
"Was it true, what your mum said about Tina?"
She sniffed. "Some of it, yes. Tina did crave attention."
"Why do you think that was?"
Angela turned her eyes to the ceiling, drawing breath. "I … I … don't know."
"What happened when she was nine or ten, do you think, that could lead to such a profound change in her? It sounded stark." Angela welled up; her teeth clenched. "I mean, people don't suffer dramatic changes to their personality without good cause. Not in my experience anyway."
"Can I go?"
Tamara was momentarily thrown. "Yes, of course you can."
She watched as Angela left the room without looking back. For a moment it seemed as if Angela was preparing to offer an alternative recollection of events but then thought better of it. Cassie exhaled with deliberate dramatic effect.
"What do you make of that?"
"Telling that the father isn't here. You'd think they'd be able to set aside their differences in order to grieve for a lost child, wouldn't you? Has anyone spoken to him yet?"
Cassie shook her head. "Not yet. Lives in Snettisham, Eric said."
"Before we speak to him, I want you to have a good look at his history."
"Doesn't have a record as far as I know."
"Double check. Look at any other family members as well while you're at it; uncles, grandparents, cousins, known acquaintances, if possible. Anyone who had access to those girls. Angela knows … but I dare say she may well have experienced the same thing."
"A dark family secret?"
"I'd bet on it," Tamara said with a half-smile. "If I gambled, which I don't."
"I do."
Tamara raised her eyebrows, breaking her gaze from the form of Angela Farrow passing by the window outside and looking across at her. "Really? How d
o you get on?"
Cassie coughed. "Well, I can pay rent this month … but I'm not sure about next."
"And that's why I don't gamble."
Chapter Eleven
The Crown Inn was located on the main thoroughfare through the village. A traditional pub, it was a local landmark and drew people in from the surrounding villages even when the tourists were scarce in the off season. Tom pulled his car around to the rear, wheels crunching the gravel beneath them. The car park was half full and he cast an eye towards the building, seeing people moving about inside through the windows. The staff would no doubt be clearing away from the lunchtime covers and preparing for the evening meals as the guests returned and locals came out for a drink. The original entrance was off the road at the front but the main route in and out of the building could now be found at the rear. The reception desk was unattended and he waited patiently for someone to appear, hearing sounds of people in the bar and also through a nearby door with a sign indicating it should be accessed by staff only.
He didn't have long to wait before a man rounded the corner. He was in his early sixties, around five-foot six tall and carrying a little extra weight. His expression was fixed in concentration but upon seeing Tom, his face split into a broad, welcoming grin.
"Sorry to keep you."
"No problem," Tom said, brandishing his warrant card. "DI Janssen. Could I speak with the landlord please?"
"That's me. Paul Tennant." The grin faded, turning serious. "Is there a problem?"
"We're investigating the disappearance of Tina Farrow. Do you recall her? I understand she used to work for you here."
"Yes, yes I do. Tina did work here as it happens. Not always but certainly when it was busy, we threw the odd shift her way. Nice girl, Tina. Shame what happened."
"What did happen?"
Tennant started. "Well, going missing and so on, you know. We half expected her to walk into the bar one night and crack a smile, bow low and tell us it was all an elaborate wind up! She was that sort."
"I don't understand."
His demeanour changed as he anxiously looked around, seemingly uncomfortable at the scrutiny. "Just … she was up for a laugh, you know?"
"She was here on the night she went missing, wasn't she?"
Tennant pursed his lips. "That's what people said after the event but … I have to admit I didn't recall seeing her at the time. You have to understand it was summer and the place was packed out, the bar and the beer garden." He indicated behind them to the rear with a thumb over his shoulder. "All our rooms upstairs were let, as were the old stables."
Tom looked towards the door, trying to see beyond it. The landlord followed his gaze.
"We converted the old stables into extra letting rooms … and we had the bunkhouse as well at the time."
"Fully booked?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Pretty much peak season for us, or at least the tail end of it, and the people from the dig were here then, too. Boosted the coffers, I must say. Could do with a few more periods like that."
"Aside from Tina going missing."
Tennant rowed back swiftly. "Yes, of course. Goes without saying obviously."
"What did you make of Tina?"
A party of guests appeared from the bar and Tennant smiled politely as they passed, wishing them a good day. There were six of them; they appeared dressed for a walk.
"The bus stop is along to the right, ladies and gents." He glanced at his watch. "You'd best get a move on, it's due any minute. Several members of the party hustled the others out of the door and one tipped his hat towards both of them. Tom smiled and nodded. Once the door closed, Tennant's smile evaporated and he turned back to Tom. "Where was I? Tina. Yes, as I said, she was a nice girl, popular with both staff and regulars. Always on time, polite. Exactly what you want in a member of staff. She just got on with things."
"Why was she only casual if she was so good?"
He blew out his cheeks. "More her than us, to be fair. I don't think she liked responsibility much; happier to come and go. If we had shifts and she was around then she'd take them on but if not then she'd go elsewhere."
A woman came out from the nearest door, the kitchen seemed to be beyond it. She stopped, looking between them. Tennant half smiled and Tom sensed his reluctance to introduce them. She was a similar age to the landlord and had an air of authority associated with her apparent confidence. She waited for an introduction, her eyes darting between them but when it didn't come quickly enough, she took it upon herself.
"Louisa Tennant." She smiled warmly but it seemed well practised. She tilted her head to one side. "And you are?"
"This is Detective Inspector Janssen," Tennant said. "He's from the police."
His wife shot him an exasperated look as he stated the obvious, before turning to Tom. "I didn't think you were a guest somehow. What can we do for you?"
"He's asking after—"
"I think the delightful inspector is more than capable of answering for himself," she said.
"I'm investigating the murder of Tina Farrow—"
"Murder!" Tennant blurted out, drawing a sharp note of disapproval from his wife. He lowered his voice, looking around to make sure no one was within earshot. "You didn't say it was murder."
Tom was about to respond but Louisa got in first.
"Perhaps we shouldn't stand here talking." She looked around. "Come through to the bar. It's quiet at the moment, people find it too warm inside." She put a hand on Tom's upper arm and guided him through the opening and into the bar. Aside from an elderly couple sitting in the far corner, and a young woman attending to the bar, it was empty. Ushering Tom to a table away from anyone else, she pulled out a chair for him and looked over to the bar, drawing the woman's attention. "Magdalena, could you bring us a pot of tea?" Tom was about to decline but the order was taken. The three of them sat down and Paul Tennant looked tense, his wife less so.
"What's this about murder?" he asked, sitting forward and keeping his voice low.
"Tina's remains were found at the weekend—"
"Is that what's going on, on the edge of the village?" Louisa asked. Tom nodded and she sank back in her seat. "I didn't know what to think with all the police cars."
"Odd goings-on over that way, always have been—"
"Oh for heaven's sake, Paul. Your imagination does run away with you at times!"
"It's not just me. Other people see things too."
"Ridiculous!" Louisa dismissed him and her husband visibly shrank before her. "Poor Tina … and Angela. Is she okay? Have you spoken to her?"
"We have. Did Angela work for you too?"
"Sometimes," Louisa said. "But not front of house. She didn't have the same personality type as her sister. Much quieter, more suited to the housekeeping side of things."
"Unreliable too," Paul said. His wife agreed. "We had to let her go in the end." He spread his hands wide in a placatory gesture. "Some guests reported items going astray." He didn't elaborate further.
"Cast your mind back, if you can, I know it's a long time ago. What do you recall from the night Tina went missing?"
Louisa sat forward, splaying her hands wide. "That's easy, not a lot! I wasn't here. I travelled to the south coast to stay with my sister the week before. She lived in Newhaven at the time; moved on to Lyme Regis now—"
"I don't think he needs the family memoirs, darling—"
"I'm just saying I wasn't here."
"You never are when it's really busy!" She glared at him and he looked away, as if her irritation wouldn't be real if he failed to acknowledge it. Tennant focussed on Tom instead. "Like I said, it was really busy. You'd expect that archaeology lot to be studious and a bit geeky but believe me they went at it like a bunch of teenagers! Apparently, Tina was here that night but I don't recall seeing her."
Tom glanced around. "Is there anyone here now who was working for you at the time who might?"
Paul shook his head, turning the corners of his mo
uth down. "Sorry, but our staff turnover is quite high. It's not the most invigorating work and people come and go."
"Yes," Louisa said, "we used to have locals who worked with us for years but they moved on and youngsters tend to be drawn into London these days. Norfolk is too quiet for them. We find people coming to us from further afield these days."
"Was Tina close to anyone who worked here?"
"No, sorry. Couldn't say," Paul said.
"What about Sally?"
Paul looked at his wife, his face dropping momentarily. Then, when he caught Tom looking at him, he lightened his expression, smiling awkwardly and nodding. "Yes, Sally. I forgot." He looked at Tom. "You could try speaking to Sally, Sally Webber. She worked here at the same time as Tina. They were friendly but I've no idea where she is now."
"Nonsense!" Louisa said firmly. "She lives in Wells now. She's working for Terry and Anna. You remember?" She elbowed her husband in the ribs and he grimaced.
"Oh, yes. I forgot. Terry and Anna own the Ship in Wells. We saw Sally there the last time we had dinner with them. But you can forgive me, it was six months ago."
"Thick as thieves those two," Louisa said. "If anyone knows what Tina was up to then it would be Sally. I could give them a call and ask if she's there, if you'd like?"
"I'm quite sure the inspector is capable of doing his own job without your help," Paul Tennant said, placing a restraining hand on his wife's forearm as she made to stand. Tom thanked them, making a note. Sally Webber wasn't a name that had come up previously, to his knowledge, although she might have been mentioned in the original case file and he'd missed it. The investigating officer, John Drew, said he'd spoken to Tina's work colleagues at the time. If she was as close to Tina as Louisa Tennant believed then why hadn't she come forward and shed light on her disappearance before? It was quite possible she had kept her counsel two decades ago out of a sense of misguided loyalty to her friend. Perhaps the discovery of Tina's remains would change that. It was worth the drive over to Wells.
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