"And what time was this?"
Her brow wrinkled in concentration as she thought about it. Tom felt the first few spots of rain on his face. He hoped for more. "It was a long time ago … maybe around nine to nine-thirty? I can't be certain but I know I should have left earlier when my shift finished at nine after evening service in the restaurant. Paul offered me twenty quid to stay on to help clear the glasses from the bar. Like I said, it was manic. Come to think of it, he was often one to have wandering hands himself."
"Paul Tennant?" Tom couldn't mask the surprise in his tone.
"Yeah, why do you think Louisa gave Tina such a hard time? She was well aware that her husband could get a bit gropey – those of us working at the Crown called him Paulie the Octopus. And Louisa was away that weekend, too, so he was worse than normal. That's one reason why I stopped working there! I wouldn't have been surprised, what with Louisa being away, if Tina thought she'd wind him right up."
"Dangerous game," Tom said. She agreed.
"Danger can be thrilling though, can't it? Tina could wind Paul up … then drop him like a hot rock. She said he deserved it but he always came back for more."
"Thinking he could be the one," Tom said quietly.
"Like I said, they all thought they were but—" She ran a hand through her hair, looking dejected. "None of them would ever be the one."
"Why do you think that?" He was curious. This woman was potentially one of the few who had any real insights into the personality that was apparently kept so well hidden from everyone around her.
She was reluctant to answer but he encouraged her. Eventually her expression softened, her demeanour lightening as she spoke, "I don't think Tina knew what she was looking for," she met his eye, "so how on earth could anyone else expect to?"
Chapter Sixteen
The team were gathering, Tamara waved a greeting to him through the window as she entered, Eric and Cassie were both going through their notes. Tom finished typing out the text message reply and tapped send. By the time he got home the previous night, Saffy was already sound asleep, Alice alongside her in the little girl's bed. Neither of them stirred when he'd slipped into the room, loosening the covers and pushing the window further open as both were sweating. Saffy had been struggling to get off to sleep for some time now, the after-effects of losing her father, and even when she did, she'd become prone to night terrors. More often than not Alice wound up sleeping in with her, or Saffy would pad into their room in the early hours and climb into their bed.
Arriving home late, and an early start today, saw him leave the house before either of them woke up. In his haste to get to the station he hadn't left a note or anything but he did set out the breakfast table for them just to make Alice's life a little easier. She'd appreciated it, sending him a lovely message. Rising from behind his desk, he slipped the mobile into his pocket and gathered his own notes, picked up his cup of coffee and joined the others in the ops room.
Following his conversation with Sarah Webber the previous evening, they'd agreed to carry out a detailed check on the three archaeologists and Paul Tennant. None of them appeared willing to offer an accurate account of that particular Friday night, the night of Tina's disappearance, with all having potentially self-incriminating reasons not to do so. Perhaps there were patterns in their lives prior to, or since, Tina's murder. Tom pulled up a chair and Tamara looked over at Eric.
"Eric, you kick us off with what you know about Professor Cannell, please."
Eric cleared his throat, glancing down at his notes. The detective constable looked tired to Tom as if he hadn't been sleeping well.
"Following on from what Sarah Webber told Tom last night, I checked and Cannell was the only one of the leadership team who was married at the time." He glanced down, double checking the dates once more. "He married his wife, Susan, in 1999. They were both students at Cambridge during their undergraduate years, marrying a year after graduating and both embarked on their post docs. Stands to reason as if he were the one Webber referred to as – how do I put it, harassing … Tina?"
"Sounds apt," Tamara said. "What else?"
"Achieved his doctorate in 2003 … highly regarded within academic circles. He specialised in the Romano-British and early medieval periods, taking up a position within Cambridge University’s Archaeology Faculty. While he was there he pioneered a broad outreach programme designed to raise the profile and aspirations of young people within the field, spearheading a resurgence in excavations." Eric took a breath, glancing around to ensure everyone was still attentive. They were. "He left his role after a decade to set up his own consultancy which is thriving. His resumé is impressive, noting his leading of successful dig locations in Southern and Eastern Europe along with former Roman colonies of North Africa. He is cited as the foremost knowledge as to how extensive the Romans were in their movement east beyond the Rhine, proving settlements went further than previously thought."
"That's an impressive professional list, Eric," Tom said. "How about in his personal life. Is he known to us?"
Eric shook his head. "Not so much as a speeding ticket, although," he raised his eyes from his notes, tilting his head to one side, "it is purely hearsay, but I spoke to someone still working at the faculty and there was a suggestion of impropriety with one of his students."
"Prior to him leaving?" Tamara asked.
"Yes, that's my understanding. Whether that hastened his departure I'm not sure but there was something fishy about the timings; there was no indication of his departure prior to doing so."
"Was there an official allegation made?"
"No. At least, there was nothing on record but what was said behind closed doors, I couldn't say." Tom was about to ask a question but Eric read his mind. "And I'm still trying to find out the name of the student in question, so I can ask her. When I showed interest my source clammed up, probably for the same reasons as the whole thing was kept quiet in the first place."
"Good work, Eric," Tamara said, looking at Cassie. "Who did you have, Cass?"
"Tim Hendry," she said, putting aside the notes she'd taken from Eric's briefing. "His career hasn't been as prolific as his friend's, although he's considered an expert on the Middle Ages and alongside his academic work – presently at the University of East Anglia – he has also carved out a career in front of the camera, capitalising on certain peoples'," she looked directly at Eric and smiled, "interest in studying archaeology from the comfort of their armchairs."
"Cheap shot," Eric muttered under his breath but his half-smile demonstrated that he clearly saw the funny side.
"And he seems to be in great demand with it, too," Cassie said, flicking through her notes. "He's featured on television programmes for National Geographic and Discovery, to name a couple as well as our domestic channels here including the Beeb. All of which have taken him on excavations across Europe, notably Central and Eastern Europe," she read from her notes "charting the movements and developments of peoples in those areas … blah, blah, blah." Looking up, she met Tamara's gaze. "Interestingly, on the personal front, he was arrested and interviewed following a domestic incident during what was an acrimonious divorce case from his first wife. He escaped prosecution after his estranged wife expressed discomfort at the prospect of speaking in court. As a result, Hendry accepted a caution. He married again two years later, and they are still together with no record of any similar occurrences."
"What was the nature of the dispute?" Tom asked. "How serious did the attending officers think it was?"
"A visit to Accident and Emergency for his wife, but no broken bones. Soft tissue injuries, primarily to the face and upper body. Hendry cited work stress alongside the breakdown of the marriage; an account accepted by the investigating officers by the look of it. It didn't seem to do his television career any harm."
"When was this?"
"Um …" She checked her notes. "2007. Maybe it would have been different these days with the explosion of social media," Cassie said wi
th a shrug. "He doesn't sound like the type of guy to get on the wrong side of to me."
"But we don't have any witnesses linking Hendry to Tina Farrow that night," Tom said, nodding his thanks to Cassie as he picked up his notes relating to Alexander Hart. "We already know the Branodunum dig was categorised as an abject failure by everyone present. From what Cannell and Hendry told us and we've no reason to doubt them, it was this dig that culminated in the end of Hart's academic career which to the lay man seems a little harsh. Thanks to Eric's perseverance," he nodded in Eric's direction, "we've been able to obtain Hart's medical file. He has been sectioned under the Mental Health Act for his own safety on two occasions, once in 2002 and again five years ago. On the first occasion he experienced an episode, alleging he was being followed by a woman and subsequently confronting her in a supermarket. On the second, he was found wandering along a rural street semi-naked with no recollection of how he came to be there. On both occasions he spent a short period of time under evaluation before being discharged and treated as an outpatient."
"Treated for what?" Tamara asked.
"His diagnoses have shifted but he is listed as having a suspicious personality disorder; in this case a Schizotypal Personality Disorder which can manifest in ways that see the sufferer experiencing distorted thoughts or perceptions. Unlike with schizophrenia it doesn't lead to psychosis but the person can think and express themselves in ways that others find odd or unusual, often making the formation of close relationships difficult. They can also experience extreme anxiety or paranoia in social situations and in some circumstances, they believe they have special abilities—"
Eric wrinkled his nose. "What sort of special abilities?"
"Belief in a sixth sense, that type of thing," Tom said.
"You said the diagnoses had shifted?" Tamara asked. "Was there a different conclusion reached before or after that one?"
"The first evaluation leaned towards an Antisocial Personality Disorder – probably due to the aggression and impulsive attack on the woman he thought was following him. A look into his teenage years at school saw him in frequent trouble for his behaviour. Academically he was considered highly intelligent but interpersonally he got bored easily, acted impulsively and was quick to anger." Tom reread his notes. "His Head of Year wrote in an end of term report that Alexander appears to have little or no empathy for his fellow classmates and acts for his own indulgence, irrespective of the effect on those around him."
Tamara raised her eyebrows at the statement. "Sounds like a guy who thinks about himself first and no one else after."
"This specific disorder can lead to someone getting into dangerous or risky situations without adequately assessing the consequences." Tom put his notes down on the desk beside him. "They'll often struggle to maintain concentration making it difficult to hold down a job."
"Hart fits that bill, doesn't he?" Tamara asked. Tom couldn't disagree. Alex Hart had flitted between jobs in and around the television industry for years but such work would be irregular, bearing in mind the nature of the industry. However, it didn't necessarily scan well with him.
"The initial diagnosis could point us towards what happened to Tina, impulsive, quick to anger but … he had been able to hold down close relationships with friends and notably with Julia Rose, so I think it's too early to reach for that in my opinion." Tom looked at Eric. "How did you get on with Paulie the Octopus?"
"Prior to their taking on the Crown Inn, Paul and Louisa Tennant ran a small boutique hotel down in Suffolk, close to Ipswich. They sold up three months after Paul successfully defended a sexual harassment case brought against him by an employee. The member of staff was an eighteen-year-old migrant worker, recently arrived to take up a place at a local college and looking to make some money before her course started. The Tennants claimed she'd attempted to blackmail them with malicious gossip prior to going to the police and subsequently suing. She alleged Paul Tennant assaulted her on three separate occasions but Louisa testified he was with her on at least one of those times, offering her husband an alibi. The Crown Prosecution Service didn't proceed with the case and the civil case ruled in Paul's favour."
"Sounds like quite a charmer nonetheless," Cassie said. She looked at Tom. "What did you make of him? Did he come across as a sex pest?"
"Can't say he did but then again, if they were easy to spot, they wouldn't get away with it. He struck me as a man dominated by his wife and it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to see him abuse his position of authority in that way in order to compensate. Sarah Webber stated it was public knowledge." He looked at Tamara. "How do you want to proceed?"
"What about the father, Conrad? You were thinking there was more going on behind closed doors?"
"I still do," Tom said, casting an eye over the white board with Conrad Farrow's picture on it. He pursed his lips. "But the friction within the house seems largely to be between Tina and her mother. No one has Tina returning home after her night out and no one puts Conrad anywhere near her that night, let alone on the Friday at all. It seems to me that local gossip and innuendo pushed him to the front of the queue rather than the evidence. I just don't see it at the moment – I think we have stronger suspects."
"Well, we've been polite so far but, seeing as our archaeologists' recollections have been rather economical with reality when it comes to both Tina and that particular Friday night, I think we should speak to them again. Only this time we'll squeeze them a little more."
Chapter Seventeen
Eric slowed the car down as they entered Roydon, a small village to the east of King's Lynn. William Cannell wasn't in his office when they called. The lady on the reception desk stated he'd called in sick that morning and would be working from home.
"Just past the Three Horseshoes on the right, didn't she say?" Tom asked, raising a pointed finger as the pub came into view. "Should be the next right."
There was a cut through lane to Chequers Road and Eric navigated past several parked vehicles and came to a stop at the junction. Tom looked left and right, trying to match the description they'd been given to what was in front of them. He indicated for Eric to turn right and he did so. The next house along was Cannell's. It was a period farmhouse, set back in substantial grounds. As the car wound its way up the drive Tom caught sight of an outdoor pool to the rear. The gravel crunched under the tyres, heralding their approach. A woman stepped out from inside a cart shed being used as a garage and eyed their approach.
She smiled in greeting as they got out but was clearly puzzled as to who they were. Tom guessed she was Cannell's wife. She was dressed in loose fitting riding gear and was loading equipment into the rear of her Discovery.
"Mrs Cannell?" Tom asked, taking out his warrant card. "DI Janssen. I'm looking to speak to your husband again."
"Again? What about?"
"He hasn't mentioned our visit to you?"
Her expression of surprise switched to fearful as she shook her head. "No. Why, what's going on?"
"We just have some follow-up questions to ask him. Is he around?" Tom turned to look at the house, seeing no movement.
"Yes, of course."
She closed the door to the car and gestured for them to join her and they walked together across to the main house and around to the rear.
"Will this take long?" she asked, opening the door to a boot room adjoining the kitchen.
"We'll be as quick as we can, Mrs Cannell." Tom had to duck as he entered.
"Charlotte, please," she said, smiling, although she was clearly perturbed by their presence.
"Is your husband very unwell?"
"Unwell? No. Why do you ask?"
Tom shook off the comment, making eye contact with Eric as Charlotte turned her back on them and led the way through to the kitchen. Eric evidently thought the same as he did; William Cannell was comfortable misleading almost anyone in his life. Passing from the kitchen and into an open hallway they found William in the living room, sipping a cup of freshly brewed
coffee, judging from the aroma in the air. He looked up as they entered, frowning at his wife.
"I thought you were off to the stables—" seeing detectives behind her, his frown dissipated to be replaced by open-mouthed shock as he put the cup down on a small table beside his seat. "Inspector Janssen … I–I wasn't expecting to see you so soon."
"And when were you going to mention this to me?" Charlotte said pointedly folding her arms across her chest. Her husband spread his hands wide in a placatory gesture.
"I didn't see any reason to, darling."
Any further conversation between the two of them was cut short by Tom.
"Professor Cannell. We've now positively identified the body as that of Tina Farrow and we have a few more questions regarding your relationship with—"
"What body? And what relationship for that matter?" Charlotte said, glaring at her husband but turning her attention to Tom. "What is all this about?"
"It's nothing, love, honestly," Cannell said, lurching up from the sofa and placing a reassuring hand on her forearm, strategically placing himself between his wife and them; a rather obvious attempt to gain control of the situation. "I'll tell you all about it later. It was all a long, long time ago. Why don't you get off to the stables—"
"Just who the hell is this Tina," she looked at Tom, "what did you say her last name was?"
"Farrow," Eric said, much to Cannell's irritation. He flashed a dark look at Eric who didn't register it with a response.
"Honestly, it's nothing to be concerned about." Cannell looked at his watch. "Seriously, you'd best get yourself off or you'll be late for Harriet's riding lesson."
Charlotte's gaze lingered on him for a few moments as he ushered her away from Tom and Eric. Reluctantly she allowed him to do so, walking through into the hall and placing a hand on the balustrade. She glanced at Tom before looking up the stairs. "Harriet, darling! It's time for us to go." The sound of heavy footfalls from upstairs as their daughter descended making far too much noise for one so slight. Tom figured she was twelve or thirteen.
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