The Dead Call: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 6)

by J M Dalgliesh

  Getting as close as she could to the body without disturbing the pool of drying blood, not easy due to the cramped conditions, Cassie dropped to her haunches. The man lay on his front, but his face was looking to his left. The eyes were open, vacant and lifeless. She'd seen death before, many times. Each face told its own story about the victim's passage from this life to the next. In this case, she considered, he died in a mixture of pain and disbelief.

  Scanning the body, she took his measure. He had dark hair, probably once black but was now showing a bit of grey. There was the possibility he dyed his hair because much of it looked too black when considering the greying nearer the scalp. Or maybe he was naturally lucky. His face was angular with a strong jaw. The eyes were dark, matching the complexion of his skin tone. He was wearing a white shirt, the collar unbuttoned to the chest and the cuffs turned up. His trousers were somewhere between formal and casual wear, good quality, as were his shoes. The same could be said for his wristwatch. She could easily recognise the cheaper imitation offerings and this wasn't one of those. It will have cost the wearer thousands of pounds.

  "Who called it in?" Cassie asked without breaking her gaze over the body.

  "Neighbours."

  "Did they stumble across him or did they hear something yesterday?"

  "They heard the cat at the door." Cassie glanced towards the door, seeing the cat flap and off to the left was a small metal bowl with water in it and another, a pink plastic one, set alongside with some dried scraps of cat food on the rim. "Apparently the neighbours take care of the cat while he's away, which is quite often. He never locks the cat flap so, when they heard the constant mewing, they poked their head over the wall to see what was going on. Realising the cat couldn't get in, they came to investigate and saw him through the window."

  Cassie noted the flap was blocked by the victim's shoulder.

  "Did they enter?"

  The constable shook his head. "They have a key to the back door, but the body is blocking it. Thought about breaking a window but called us instead."

  "And how did you get in?"

  "Upstairs window was open. We borrowed a neighbour's ladder."

  Cassie nodded, thinking the constable was pretty big to be clambering through these cottage casement windows, particularly with all the associated kit officers carry these days, but she didn't mention it. Instead, she imagined the unceremonious entrance he must have made upstairs.

  "Did you notice anything out of place up there?"

  Again, the officer shook his head. "Couldn't see any signs of a break-in or a struggle, upstairs or down."

  Cassie stood, turning her attention to the kitchen. She couldn't get to the other end of the room without stepping over the body and in the blood. From where she stood in the kitchen, she could see most of it anyway. Nothing seemed out of place. The window above the sink was closed. The door to the dishwasher was cracked open. It was a slimline model ideal for smaller properties or couples, and it appeared to be full. A couple of pans were on the hob and she inspected the contents. From the volume of residue on the sides they must have contained quite a bit of food. Pasta and sauce was her best guess.

  The fridge was to her right and pinching the handle with a pair of nitrile gloves between her fingers, she opened the door. The contents were meagre, stocked with basics like milk, bacon and cheese. The salad boxes had a few vegetables in them that were past their best but still edible. A bottle of white wine lay in a two-bottle rack above the third shelf. There were, however, no tubs with leftovers. Living alone, she was used to cooking for one and if she had to guess, this man had company for a meal yesterday. Whether that was lunch or dinner, she didn't know. The pathologist would need to determine the time of death and then they'd know. Either way, he'd cleaned up before he was killed.

  "Have you run a check to see who this place is registered to?"

  "Yes. The Electoral Roll only shows one resident, Adrian Gage. Judging by the description on the police national computer, this is likely to be him. He's not known to us, no prior arrests or convictions."

  "Okay, let's make sure. Can you scout around and see if there's any photo ID lying around, holiday snaps, that type of thing?" Cassie said. The constable nodded and turned to head back to the front of the house to begin a search. "But try not to touch anything!"

  The constable glanced at her over his shoulder. His straight face conveyed his irritation at the perception of his lack of competence, but he didn't comment, merely nodding and continuing on. Cassie felt bad, for a second, before remembering that even incompetent people could survive in the police and dismissed her guilt. Her thoughts turned to what could have resulted in this man's death. There was no sign of forced entry as far as she could tell. The front door was intact, the windows to the front of the property and this one in the kitchen were closed. Seemingly one of the bedroom windows was open but the officer needed a ladder to reach it. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that an assailant might access the cottage from there but it wasn't exactly stealthy. Perhaps the homeowner returned and disturbed a burglar. That was possible but, looking around, aside from the dead man at her feet, there was no sign of a struggle. He looked physically fit, in good shape at any rate, and was therefore likely to put up some resistance.

  Lowering herself down, she inspected his fingers and the visible skin of his forearms. She couldn't see any defensive wounds to the hands or arms. At this point she was assuming he was stabbed rather than shot. With neighbouring buildings so densely packed in the immediate area the sound of a gunshot would likely not pass by unnoticed and they were far from an inner-city industrial area where something could mask the noise. The sound here would carry. A stabbing was more realistic. The wound, or wounds, were to the front indicating the victim was facing or turning to face his assailant when he was attacked. It would be logical to presume in this scenario that he would either have fought back or at the very least instinctively raised his hands to protect himself. The absence of defensive wounds was surprising.

  All of this left her with the nagging sense that the victim most likely knew his attacker. Perhaps he was even so relaxed in their presence that he didn't see the attack coming and therefore didn't have a chance to react. Furthermore, this suggested there wasn't an altercation either. Had there been one, he would be on edge and therefore more predisposed to defend himself, even in the event of a surprise attack. Her eyes swept the kitchen again, falling on a knife block on the work surface next to the hob. There were five slots for a matching set, but one was missing. It could be in the dishwasher waiting to be cleaned or it could be the murder weapon in an unplanned homicide. Taking out her mobile, she called Tom Janssen. He answered immediately, but her reception was so poor, he was breaking up. She hurried into the front of the house, finding the call clearer.

  "Hi, Tom, sorry about that."

  "That's okay. What do you have there?"

  "I'd say uniform are right," she said as the constable attracted her attention from the front sitting room. "It does look like we have a murder on our hands." Still with the phone to her ear, she entered and took a closer look at the picture frame the officer was guiding her to. It was a shot of a man in a jumpsuit, still with a parachute attached to his back. Evidently it had been taken shortly after landing. It certainly wasn't local. He was standing on a beach with palm trees amid dense foliage in the background. It must have been a spectacular location to land in having jumped from an aeroplane. He looked much younger in the shot, more hair and quite dashing, but it was unmistakably the same man as the one lying dead in the kitchen.

  "Cassie?"

  "Yes, Tom. Sorry, I'm still here," she said, angling her head as she stared at the image. He must be dying his hair. "Yeah. I reckon he was killed sometime yesterday, probably from lunchtime onwards. No sign of a break-in as yet. The place is neat and tidy." She scanned the sitting room. It was well presented with modern furnishings but in a contemporary, minimalist style. To be fair, the cottage was so small
that it wouldn't be possible to fill it with much more furniture. There wasn't the space. She silently mouthed the words keep looking to the constable and he nodded as she turned and headed back into the hall, mounting the stairs to the upper floor.

  "You said uniform thought it might be a burglary gone wrong or a domestic," Tom said.

  Reaching the landing, Cassie looked around. There were three doors off it. One was to a bathroom and the other two must be bedrooms. Neither of which would be very large.

  "I don't see the former," she said, easing one door open to reveal a double bed. It was unmade, with the duvet cast back to the foot of the bed as if someone had thrown it open as they got out of bed. "The place is too tidy. Burglars are hardly ones to carefully pick through possessions – in and out in less than five minutes, turning everything upside down as they go. That's not what I'm seeing."

  "Interrupted?"

  "Nah. Not likely. All too calm. The victim is clean," she said, referring to his lack of injuries consistent with a struggle. "Aside from bleeding to death obviously,"

  "All right. I'll have CSI sent over to you. They'll be earning their money this week."

  Cassie stepped back from the bedroom, pushing open the door to the second bedroom. This one was much smaller, sharing its floor area with the adjacent bathroom. There was a single bed pushed against one wall. This one was fully made up. The duvet was pink with a colourful unicorn on the front standing beneath a rainbow with a cast of other horses in the background. Several cuddly toys were placed alongside one another at the foot of the bed, with more on the floor in the far corner of the room. Cassie wondered if there was a missing child they should be concerned about but, as she searched the room, it didn't look like somewhere that was occupied all of the time. It was too neat, too tidy, much like the rest of the house. They would need to check with the neighbours though, just in case.

  "There's something about this that doesn't add up, Tom," she said, shaking her head, having almost forgotten Tom was still on the phone.

  "How so?"

  "I think the victim had company yesterday," she said. "It could be a domestic argument gone bad, but…"

  "But what?"

  "I don't know," she said after a moment of reflection. "Just… something. Leave it with me," she said, retreating from the child's bedroom and entering the bathroom. A bath towel was on the floor and another was hanging on a hook alongside the shower. There was a floor mat beside the shower and it still looked damp. She could tell because it was a pastel colour and the damp patches showed. If the victim, or guest, showered yesterday prior to the murder then it leaned towards late afternoon. Maybe they both showered or the killer cleaned up before they left. She looked for telltale spots of blood on the floor, towels or basin, but there were none to be seen.

  "Do you have a name for the victim?" Tom asked.

  "Unconfirmed as yet, but we think it's the resident, Adrian Gage. He's not known to us, though."

  Cassie heard a sharp intake of breath. It was so stark that it grabbed her attention. She waited but Tom didn't speak, all she could hear was his breathing.

  "Tom?"

  "Yes… yes, I'm here."

  Something in his tone piqued her curiosity.

  "Do you know him?"

  "No. Not personally, but… well, I sort of know him."

  "Who is he then?"

  "He's Alice's ex-husband."

  Chapter Seven

  The lane leading down to the old quay opened out at a small car park positioned almost in the shadow of the windmill. Tom Janssen got out of the car, feeling the gentle breeze against his face coming at him across the wetlands of Blakeney Reserve. The breeze passing through the reeds sounded like a thousand voices asking you to be quiet in harmony. Tamara's hair swept across her face and she tried to tuck it behind her ears, but her efforts were largely a waste of time. Her eyes were drawn across to the harbour and the point beyond. She pointed in the direction of the harbour mouth.

  "Is that where you found Mary Beckett?"

  "Yes, just the other side of the dunes there," he said, narrowing his eyes due to the glare of the sun.

  "One heck of a coincidence. Two bodies in the space of twenty-four hours."

  Tom chewed on his lower lip. It certainly was. However, for the life of him he couldn't figure out how these cases might be linked. The two victims seemed the polar opposite of one another in every conceivable measure, from age demographic to professional and social circles. Although he wouldn't rule anything out. When it came to murder, sometimes the most implausible became probable once the investigation shaped up.

  "Beautiful place," Tamara said.

  "A hidden gem of the north coast."

  They walked the short distance to where uniform had set up a cordon, at the entrance to the windmill complex. For a number of years, the windmill, along with the ancillary buildings, had been run as holiday accommodation on a not-for-profit basis to aid the upkeep of the windmill itself, which was maintained in superb condition and a famous local landmark. Adrian Gage's house was not one of these but could be accessed via a narrow pathway, passing through the complex, leading to a managed route through the salt marshes beyond and on to the coast, popular both with locals and walkers alike.

  Word of their arrival spread and Cassie appeared from one of the buildings to meet them. The owners of the site had allowed the police to bring their CSI vehicles and equipment as close as possible, hence the cordon being established where it was. Some of the village residents were standing nearby, probably just as surprised as the investigation team were to have a second crime scene so close to the first. It wouldn't be long before the local grapevine passed the morbid news around the community. This worried Tom; his thoughts were of Alice and most notably, Saffy. He caught Tamara watching him intently. For how long he didn't know. Cassie arrived before he could inquire as to what she was thinking.

  "Hi," she said, looking between the two of them. "I'm sorry, Tom."

  He shrugged off the sentiment. "It's okay. I didn't know him at all. It's more… you know."

  "Yeah," Cassie said, smiling weakly.

  "Has it been confirmed as a murder?" Tamara asked, taking the lead.

  Cassie nodded. "Yes. The FME arrived a half hour ago and together with the crime scene techs examined the body properly. It's as I thought, stab wounds to the chest. Estimated time of death was yesterday afternoon."

  "Right," Tamara said. "Let's take a look."

  Cassie turned, but before Tom could move, Tamara placed a restraining hand on his forearm. Cassie glanced over her shoulder, apparently sensing they weren't following. Tamara inclined her head and Cassie nodded, continuing.

  "What is it?" Tom asked.

  "I guess Saffy is in school today?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "Alice?"

  "Day off today, why?"

  "Maybe you should go home, speak to her yourself before she hears it from someone else."

  Tom was a little irritated. He was anticipating doing exactly that, but he wanted to take a look at the crime scene first.

  "Yes, I plan to, but—"

  "No," Tamara said, shaking her head. "I know you'll want to be having a look around but you need to be thinking of Alice and Saffy ahead of anything else."

  "I am!"

  He realised he snapped at her, but if she took offence, then she didn't show it. Tamara's demeanour remained as it always did, calm and measured.

  "Tom… you can't be here."

  Something in her tone cut through and his irritation evaporated. He saw the hidden meaning behind what she was getting at.

  "I really didn’t know him. There's no conflict of interest—"

  "You're shacked up with the victim's ex-wife, Tom. It doesn't matter what the reality is, perception is key here. You can't be involved in this case. You can't be anywhere near it."

  She was right. As usual. And it was her decision; she was the DCI and it was her call. It wasn't just the crime scene he wouldn't
be stepping into. Tamara's expression told him that. The idea of being shut out of the case entirely bothered him though. He silently agreed, pursing his lips.

  "Will you be all right getting back to the station later?"

  "I'm sure Cassie will oblige," she said, her expression softening and appearing sympathetic. She glanced over towards the marshes. "I'm sorry, Tom. I know it stinks—"

  He waved away her apology. "No, it's fine. You're right. I shouldn't be involved."

  "It would also put you in an awkward position with Alice. She'll be asking questions—"

  "Questions that I shouldn't answer."

  "Right," Tamara said, offering him a supportive wink. He frowned and then smiled.

  "Where on earth did that come from?"

  Tamara flushed. "Yeah… never been one for winking… I don't know why. It seemed fitting. I won't do it again," she smiled sheepishly. "Seriously, though. Will you be okay with this?"

  Tom laughed. "Of course. Don't worry. I'm sure I'll be busy enough with the Beckett case anyway."

  "True enough. Any reason to think these cases might be linked?"

  "Not that I can see, no."

  "Good. Listen," she said, raising a hand accompanied by a thoughtful expression, "what do you know about Adrian Gage? Did Alice mention him much?"

  Tom shook his head. "Only in relation to Saffy. Not that he would win any competition in the best father categories from what I can gather."

  "And it's comments like that that justify my decision to keep you well away from the investigation." Tom waved away her comment. "What did he do for a living?"

  "He was a journalist. Freelance," Tom said. "I think he nailed a couple of big scoops for the nationals a few years back but as to what he was up to these days, I couldn't say."

  "What about next of kin? Any relatives living locally as far as you know?"