Kill Them Cold

by J M Dalgliesh

  "Do you still have records from 2001 detailing who stayed here?"

  "I'm afraid not, Inspector. We keep six years of information but that's all," Paul said, shaking his head.

  "Okay. You said Tina was popular but did she ever fall out with anyone; staff members or patrons?"

  The couple exchanged glances and shook their heads in unison.

  "She was popular," Louisa said. "Often … I don't wish to speak ill of the dead … but often she was perhaps too friendly with some of the regulars."

  Paul looked uncomfortable, glancing away and pursing his lips once more.

  "Can you define too friendly for me please?"

  "Overly friendly might be a better description, to be fair," Louisa said. "It wasn't a massive issue but once or twice her attention was … misinterpreted … and that led to a misunderstanding regarding her actual intentions."

  "I see," Tom thought hard. "And this led to difficulties?"

  Paul dismissed the question with a flick of his hand but his wife seemed less inclined to do so.

  "I had to speak to her about it," Louisa said. Her husband eyelids fluttered and he turned his gaze away from her towards the window. Was it surprise or annoyance, Tom couldn't tell? Louisa caught her husband's eye. "Well, you were never going to say anything." She turned to Tom with a disparaging look. "Utterly useless when it comes to reading people, worse when confronting them." Paul bristled but said nothing further. "Anyway, I had to speak to her about her behaviour and point out that not everyone is capable of recognising when an attractive young woman is merely seeking a little pick me up, as opposed to making a play for them."

  "How did she take it?"

  Louisa seemed surprised by the question. Magdalena appeared at their side, placing a tray on the table with a teapot and three cups. Tom thanked her as she made to leave but neither of the Tennants acknowledged her. Louisa looked over her shoulder at the departing Magdalena and once she was out of earshot she spoke.

  "A young girl like that; feisty, opinionated, unused to being told what's what. She didn't like to hear it but it needed saying. If her parents couldn't set her straight then it had to come down to someone else."

  Paul eyed his wife warily. "And that had to be you."

  It was a statement and not a question. He shook his head and, internally, Tom smiled.

  "Why didn't you report all of this after Tina went missing?" Tom asked Louisa.

  She appeared confused by the question. "Why would I? How would I know it was even relevant? And, besides, I was away at my sister's for a further fortnight and Tina being casual staff, we didn't miss her." Tom focussed his eye on her after that comment and she back-pedalled. "I only meant that she wasn't scheduled to work for us, so her disappearance didn't inconvenience our business."

  Chapter Twelve

  Tom got into his car and immediately switched the engine on so he could get the air conditioning going as quickly as possible. There was little sun today, instead the clouds were heavy and the light breeze of the morning had disappeared leaving a stifling heat. If they didn't have a thunderstorm later that evening he would be surprised and they'd be in for a sticky, uncomfortable night. Picking up a bottle of water from where it lay on the passenger seat, he used the voice activation controls to call Eric. Sipping at the water, now disappointingly warm from resting inside the car, he waited for the call to be answered.

  "Hi Tom." Eric's upbeat voice was always welcome. "How did you get on with the former employers?"

  At that moment Paul Tennant emerged from the pub into the beer garden, roped off from the car park. Louisa followed and appeared to be remonstrating with her husband. Tom watched, unable to make out what was being said but Paul seemed more than a little irritated, his cheeks flushing. For her part, Louisa looked confused. He couldn't help but wonder if this was largely how their relationship played out on a routine daily basis or whether his visit had brought it out of one or both of them. He adjusted the volume on the steering wheel, conscious that these calls could often be louder outside the cabin than you may realise. He continued to watch them argue as Paul made a decent fist of clearing the tables of empty glasses, stacking them in a carrier ready for transporting back to the bar.

  "Interesting couple," he said quietly. They hadn't noticed he was still there, his car parked among several others. "How have you got on with tracing the other archaeologists?"

  "Pretty well. Tim Hendry is a lecturer at the University of East Anglia. I've spoken with him on the telephone and he's happy to meet up tomorrow. He lives in Lower Gresham, so it would probably be easier to catch him at home. I've not been as lucky with Dr Rose. You recall, she was Alex Hart's partner at the time of the Branodunum dig? Well, she is based at Cambridge but is currently on a dig site abroad and I haven't been able to get contact details for her as yet. I could fire across an email through her Linkedin profile in the meantime, until the university admin gets back to me. What do you reckon?"

  "Yes, do it. There's no harm." Tom saw Louisa Tennant turn her back on Paul and stalk back inside. Paul continued the clear-up, evidently muttering something to himself. "What about Alex Hart himself?"

  "I found him, although it wasn't easy. He lives over in West Runton. I tried his number but there was no answer. I'll keep trying and it's not far from here so I could always drive round to his place and knock on the door."

  "Hart might be out at work. Cassie and I can swing by his place tomorrow after we have a chat with Hendry. We'll need to speak to all of them at some point anyway, so it's not urgent." Tom heard a discernible sigh. "Eric, is something wrong?"

  "No, not really."

  Tom knew there was. "What is it?"

  "Well … it's just that after looking up Tim Hendry, I realised … you see, he did this series about Roman Britain. I watched all of them—"

  "You want to meet him, don't you?"

  Eric hesitated. "Um … yeah, I really do."

  "All right," Tom said, smiling to himself, "you and I will go and see Tim Hendry at his home tomorrow." He could picture the width of Eric's grin as he said the words, he'd no doubt be punching the air. "But one thing, Eric."

  "Yes?"

  "If you ask him for an autograph you'll be walking back to the station."

  "Understood!"

  "Can you do me a favour and look through Tina Farrow's file and find me her father's whereabouts, please? Angela said he lived in Snettisham." He heard the thud of the receiver being put down on the desk and Eric began riffling some papers. He was back soon enough.

  "One second," Eric said. "Right, here we are – Conrad Farrow. Do you want his home or work?"

  Tom glanced at his watch. It wasn't yet one o'clock. "Better give me his work."

  "He works for a construction firm, Amplefield Homes, as a site foreman."

  "Better give me their head office number if he's likely to be out on site somewhere."

  Passing through Hunstanton, he drove out of the town on the Heacham side and followed the road to the outer boundary. The site was easy to find. There had been extensive building works at both ends of the town, catering for the increased demand as the north Norfolk coast was seeing a resurgence in popularity as a place to live rather than just a holiday destination. He wasn't sure what was driving the demand, perhaps the modern broadband age made it possible for people to base themselves almost anywhere provided they had a decent wireless connection. Parking the car near to the site entrance, he got out and looked around for the office. The most visible was the sales cabin, situated alongside what appeared to be the show house.

  A number of houses were already complete and with cars on the driveways were already inhabited. In other places the site was in various stages of construction from those barely out of the ground to others wind and watertight. He was grateful for the period of hot and dry weather because without it, much of the site would have quickly become a quagmire judging by the heavy plant vehicles traversing the roads in front of him.

  Entering the s
ales office, a lady turned to greet him with a well-practised and seemingly genuine smile. Many years ago, Tom dated someone who worked on sites like this. Often estate agents placed their most experienced sales negotiators in these roles as they needed to close deals sooner rather than later; the pressure from developers to generate returns was high and it was his understanding that the negotiators were well recompensed for signing people up.

  "Hello. You're a new face. Welcome to Amplefield's New Redcar site. My name is Wendy."

  Tom smiled warmly, taking out his warrant card. "Hello Wendy. Unfortunately, I'm not looking to buy a new house."

  "Shame. We have some great deals available."

  Tom knew she was only half-joking. "I need to speak with your site foreman, Conrad Farrow. Do you know where I can find him?"

  Five minutes later, a short, stocky man huffed and puffed his way into the office, peeling off a hard hat and running his hand through a mass of black, sweaty hair shot through with grey. He nodded a greeting to Wendy, who offered yet another polished smile, and indicated to Tom waiting patiently in the clients' seating area, next to a pedestal fan. Conrad Farrow was much as Tom expected; middle-aged and with a face that was well worn. He ambled over to Tom, giving him a half-smile as Tom rose to meet him.

  "Conrad Farrow?"

  "Yeah. What's this about?" The question wasn't laced with hostility, but he did seem apprehensive. "You were lucky to catch me as I'm about to clock off and send the lads home." Tom showed him his warrant card and introduced himself before indicating towards the door.

  "Care to take a walk with me?"

  Conrad shrugged and set off for the outside. The sound of heavy plant was louder as vehicles criss-crossed the site as they walked, like a mechanised anthill with everyone knowing their roles. Tom was surprised that this was the first the man had heard about developments in his daughter's case. He stopped, turning to Tom, a pained look in his eyes.

  "So, you found her." There were no tears, no emotional outburst. If anything, Conrad Farrow appeared relieved at the news.

  "Yes. I'm sorry for your loss."

  Conrad bit his lower lip, shaking his head. "I knew," he whispered. Tom's eyes narrowed. "I guessed; I should say before you get any ideas. After a couple of months and we'd heard nothing from her, I just knew she wouldn't be coming back."

  "Why didn't you report her missing?" Tom asked, watching him closely as they resumed their walk. Here, they were closer to the coast with no barrier to the gentle breeze coming in off the sea. It was a relief. "Why leave it to Angela?"

  "Ah … should have done, you're right," he said, dabbing at his brow with a far from clean handkerchief he had stashed in his filthy trouser pocket. "What is it with this weather. I swear I've lost twenty pounds since I started on this site." He glanced sideways at Tom, who was still waiting for him to elaborate on his answer. "Hindsight's a wonderful thing, Inspector. But from what you're telling me, it wouldn't have made much of a difference."

  "May have given us a greater chance of catching her killer."

  Conrad inclined his head at the logic. "Yeah," he said softly, "you're probably right." He sniffed then, reaching up and covering his mouth with the palm of his hand. He turned away from Tom and a few moments passed before Tom realised he was crying. Allowing him a little time, Tom glanced around the site. It was quite a substantial building programme they were undertaking, possibly the largest the town had experienced for decades. A dumper approached, its driver bouncing around in the seat on the uneven ground. He slowed as he drew alongside.

  "Where do you want this, gaffer?"

  Conrad wiped the tears from his eyes and absently waved towards a general point off to their left. It seemed like a vague instruction to Tom but the driver didn't query it, engaging a gear and the roar of the engine picked up as he reversed, accompanied by the automated beeping before heading off as instructed.

  "You've got your work cut out here," Tom said.

  "Yeah, I do." He looked at Tom, smiling briefly. Tom figured it was out of gratitude for allowing him a personal moment. "But I'll never complain. Not again."

  There was something in those words, resentment maybe?

  "Why do you say that?"

  Conrad exhaled heavily. "You've no idea." Tom offered an open expression, encouraging him to explain further. "After Tina went missing … most people were very supportive, people at my work and Pat's. Everyone we knew was either dropping cards through the door or stopping us in the street to ask if there was any news." He met Tom's eye. "You know, that type of thing. But as the days became weeks and then weeks became months things began to change. The sympathy dries up … the finger pointing starts. From sympathy and compassion to blame, all in the space of a season. That's the thing with a small town; small minds. It doesn't need any evidence or facts to support the rumour." His tone shifted to bitter and resentful.

  "In the absence of answers some people will fill in the gaps with their imagination," Tom said.

  "Some people!" He turned on Tom and pointed a finger at him accusingly. "You know, six months after our Tina went missing my contract expired and despite years of decent service, rolling contracts, I was suddenly no longer required."

  "And you think—"

  "I don't think it, I know it! You know I couldn't get work for two years after that. Two years! You think about what that feels like when you've been employed since you were sixteen years of age. Nowhere. No one local would take me on. You explain that to me."

  Tom couldn't.

  "Do you know of any relationships Tina was in at the time of her disappearance or anyone who had a grudge against her?"

  He scoffed. "Other than my missus?" Tom tilted his head to one side. "No. None that I'm aware of. Tina was full of fun. She didn't seem to do relationships."

  "Strange, for a nineteen-year-old. Usually, they've had at least one love of their life by that point."

  "Not my Tina." He shook his head.

  "Why do you think your ex-wife or daughter haven't been in touch? We've seen both, taken DNA from Angela to help us with the case."

  He stared straight at Tom, his face a picture of controlled anger and frustration.

  "We don't talk any more. Haven't done for years. Not since the divorce."

  "Even Angela?"

  "Even her," he said aggressively. "She didn't just take her mother's side when our marriage broke down … I think she blamed me for Tina's disappearance. Same as her mother did."

  "Were you to blame?"

  He spun on Tom, the movement catching him off guard, stepping into him and snarling. "I had years of people laying it at my door!" he barked, furiously wagging a pointed finger in Tom's face. "What happened to my girl had nothing … nothing to do with me. Do you hear?"

  Tom maintained an impassive expression, allowing him to vent until his anger subsided.

  "Nothing at all," Conrad said quietly, removing his hat and slumping against a shrink-wrapped pallet of block pavers, positioned at the end of a partially laid driveway. He looked up at Tom, squinting as the sun momentarily broke through the clouds. "I made mistakes, Inspector Janssen, both as a husband and a father, but I didn't hurt my little girl. I loved her."

  "Her home life appears to have been fractious at best."

  "Between her and her mum, yes," he said, drawing breath and exhaling heavily. His shoulders sagged. "I should have been around more. I was always working; figured that was my role, you know? But maybe if I'd been around more …" He shook his head.

  "That's hindsight again for you," Tom said. "We all do what we think is for the best."

  "Ah yes, we do, that's true."

  "I can arrange for you to spend some time with her, if you'd like? We did it for her mother and sister."

  He looked at Tom with an unreadable expression as the words sunk in. Then he shook his head. "When we're allowed to bury her, I'll have a place to make my peace but not now." He looked out over the sea. "I'm not ready."

  Chapter Thirteen
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  The house was set back from the road, a brick-built house with impressive bay windows that somehow appeared lost within the size of the grounds despite being quite imposing up close. How far the boundary stretched to each side was unclear as there didn't appear to be any fencing or natural boundary in the form of a tree line or hedgerow. Presumably everyone knew the extent of their landholding and respected it. The lawn encircling the property was well tended with Yew trees strategically placed to break up the space. These were also well maintained having been trimmed into different shapes, their growth controlled.

  A dog barked as they approached the front of the building. By the time Tom switched off the engine, a golden retriever was waiting for them at the corner of the house, watching them, its tongue lolling to one side trying to keep cool in the heat. A figure appeared from behind the dog, smiling in greeting, as Eric came alongside Tom and they walked to meet him.

  "Mr Hendry?" Tom asked.

  "The very same. You must be Inspector Janssen."

  He offered his hand and they shook; his grip was strong and confident. He did likewise with Eric who returned a broad smile of his own. Tim Hendry was a slim man but not unhealthy with it. He had the build of a fell runner; very little excess body fat and toned muscle, and he moved with agility, stooping easily to pick up a ball and launching it some distance for his dog to chase.

  "You said on the phone this was regarding the dig over at Branodunum?" Hendry asked, indicating for them to join him and he led them around the house to the rear. The dog returned offering him the ball and he took it, throwing it once more only this time it bounced and disappeared from view with the dog in pursuit. Hendry gestured for them to take one of the chairs set out beneath a pergola to offer some shade, despite the thick cloud cover making that unnecessary. However, should the sun break through that would change. Running water could be heard and when the dog reappeared its bottom half was wet through. There must be a stream cutting through the back garden not quite visible from where they were sitting. "Would you like a drink?" Set out on the table between the chairs was a jug of either iced water or lemonade, it was unclear which. Not waiting for an answer, he poured two extra glasses and set them in front of each of them. Eric thanked him and eagerly sipped from his.