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

by J M Dalgliesh

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Tom waited patiently in the sitting room of the Becketts’ house. Despite repeated assurances he didn't want for anything, Janet Beckett insisted on making a pot of tea. Like the other rooms in the house he'd been into, this one carried the grandeur of the building, albeit in a slightly distressed way. An interior designer would no doubt refer to it as shabby chic, but it was primarily shabby with not so much of the chic.

  Looking at his watch, Tom considered going to look for Janet in the kitchen. They could just as easily speak in there and he really didn't want a cup of tea, but he would accept one out of politeness. His mobile beeped and he glanced at the screen. It was a text from Alice. He hesitated before opening it, fearing the worst. A summons to collect his things, perhaps? Opening it, it was a short message, leaving a lot to ambiguity in one sense and clarity in another. I miss you. He noted she referred only to herself. Often that would have been we, and he knew Saffy would be missing him. The feeling was mutual. Towards both of them. What should he reply? What was she expecting him to do? The last they'd spoken, she'd told him to leave his house key.

  He knew she hadn't meant it to be so final. At least, he hoped not. She was hurting. He hadn't helped. When someone is emotional or facing a period of intense stress, or both, they can feel vulnerable. In such a scenario some people will fold, retreat into themselves and try to shut everyone else out. Others will come out swinging. And one thing Alice could do was give a good account of herself. He always knew she was resilient, passing the gift onto her daughter, but he'd never known her to be so brutal. Not to him, at least.

  His finger hovered over the reply symbol, his thoughts drifting back to the information boards on the ops room wall. The list of dates and times ran to the forefront of his mind. The calls, texts and GPS pinpointed occasions when Alice was at Adrian's home. Two of them stood out. The day of the murder and the five days before. On that day Alice was working late and he picked Saffy up from school. They'd eaten out, the two of them, something of a special trip to one of Saffy's favourite haunts, a soft-play activity centre, or soft-play hell as Tom likened it to. But Alice wasn't working late. She may not have been working at all according to the data. Maybe she'd finished early. Maybe Adrian wasn't spending the day convincing her to return to him. Maybe…

  The door opened, the hinges protesting, and Janet Beckett entered backwards with a tray held in front of her. Tom put his mobile away and crossed to assist, taking the tray from her and carrying it to the coffee table. It was heavy. How she'd managed it, he wasn't sure. Setting it down, he saw there were three cups and the same number of side plates, spoons and an assortment of shop-bought cakes alongside the teapot.

  "Are you expecting someone?" he asked.

  "Oh yes. Justin is on his way over now. I telephoned him and he was keen to join us," Janet said, smiling warmly. The smile faded. "That is okay, isn't it?"

  "Yes, of course."

  He sat back down and Janet leaned forward from her chair, adding milk from a small china jug into two of the cups. She spoke without making eye contact, almost as an afterthought.

  "I presumed you would like milk, Inspector Janssen."

  "Yes, thank you."

  "Good. I can't abide black tea myself, either. Even those flavoured teas are dreadful," she said, setting a cup and saucer down in front of him and pouring tea into the cup. "Mary was quite partial to the fruit-flavoured green teas, but not for me. Sugar?"

  He shook his head, smiling. "No, thank you. Just the milk will be fine."

  She passed him the cup and saucer, her hand wobbling as she did so. He wasn't sure if that was the strain of the weight being at an awkward angle or if she had motor function issues. She seemed in quite good health, so he guessed it was the former. He took the proffered cup, placing it down in front of him. He took out his notebook.

  "Mrs Beckett, I'd like to run a few—"

  "Cake?" she asked, smiling broadly and reaching for the dinner plate with a dozen or so mini cakes arranged neatly on it.

  He shook his head. "No, thank you."

  "Oh, you must. A big, strong man like yourself needs the calories."

  He was about to decline once more when they both heard a car pull up outside. Janet rose and looked out through the bay window overlooking the driveway.

  "Here's Justin."

  Tom thought that was swift. He hadn't even been that quick to get here on the night his aunt's body was recovered from the sea. Janet sat down. She seemed more relaxed now. Previously, he had the impression she was going through the motions by presenting the façade of hospitality. Not that her efforts were necessarily disingenuous, but she seemed on edge. Then again, her sister, the person she had a strangely symbiotic adult relationship with, had just been murdered. Moments later, Justin entered the room, a sheen of perspiration on his head and looking more red-faced than on the last time they'd met suggesting to Tom the man needed to have his blood pressure levels checked.

  "Inspector Janssen," Justin said, stepping forth and holding out his hand. Tom rose and took the offered hand. "You have news for us?" Tom shook his head and Justin appeared perplexed, speaking over Tom as he looked to his mother with a confused expression. "I thought perhaps you'd made an arrest." He sounded optimistic and hopeful. "Or maybe arrested a suspect?"

  "No, I'm afraid not. We're still investigating at this time," Tom said. Justin reached for his mother's hand as he sat down beside her. She patted the back of it and set about pouring him a cup of tea as well.

  "Mother?" Justin said, his eyes narrowing. "You said there were developments… and I should come straight over—"

  "Yes, dear. I know," Janet said, her lips tight, suppressing what Tom considered to be a contented smile. She looked at Tom. "But you do have news of a development, don't you, Inspector? That's why you're here, isn't it, to ask questions?"

  "I would like to run a couple of names past you, if I may," Tom said. They both gave him their approval. "I must stress this is merely for background regarding what events Mary was engaged with. These are not suspects. I need to be clear, so that you understand."

  Justin exchanged a quick glance with his mother and nodded. "Anything we can do to help, Inspector."

  "Cake?" Janet said to Tom once more, raising her eyebrows and then reaching for a small plate and a napkin.

  "No. Thank you," Tom said. Justin looked directly at Tom, subtly rolling his eyes. "Do either of you recall Mary mentioning a company by the name of Prometheus Energy?"

  Mother and son exchanged a knowing look. It was Justin who answered.

  "Yes, I'll say. Aunty hardly talked about anything else. Killing the reserve, she used to say. Repeatedly."

  "I see. And did she ever have dealings with them outside of the community planning meetings that you know of?"

  "Yes," Janet said. "One of their people came out here to see her once. He was polite enough, all smiles and a sharp suit." She shook her head. "Mary didn't like him. Nor did I if I'm honest. Smarmy. And a bit of a funny, if you ask me."

  "A funny?" Tom asked.

  "Yes, you know," she said, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial manner. "One of those. Funny."

  Tom still didn't understand. Justin cleared his throat, not due to phlegm but more a sign of his embarrassment. "Please forgive my mother her… more colourful views on a person's… orientation."

  Now Tom understood.

  "Well," Janet said, her eyes flitting between her son and Tom, "some of them do make it obvious, don't they?"

  Tom saw Justin cringe, internalising his horror.

  "How did they get on?"

  "He wasn't the type to impress Aunt Mary," Justin said. "She respects strength, valuing action, and this chap was all about persuasion and presentation. Aunty said he was a spiv. I think that was a little harsh on the chap."

  "Yes, you were quite impressed with him as I recall," Janet said, glancing at her son and rolling her eyes. "He was just the sort that you aspire to be."

&
nbsp; "Hardly, Mother," Justin said. "But he certainly rubbed Aunt Mary up the wrong way."

  "You were close to your aunt?" Tom asked.

  "Not really," he said. "We would talk… at least, I was talked at. Aunty was never particularly interested in other points of view." The last was said with apparent disdain. "Or not mine, at any rate."

  "Nor mine," Janet said, echoing her son.

  "Aunty had her views, her beliefs, and they were central to her personality. Her core being if you like. To argue a position counter to those beliefs would mean to criticise her very being."

  Tom fixed Justin with a stare. "I'm sorry, are we still talking about the representative from Prometheus Energy or you?"

  Justin looked away. Janet placed a supporting hand on her son's leg, patting his thigh gently.

  "Mary was difficult, Inspector Janssen. She centred her life around what she believed in and set out to fight tooth and nail for what she thought was right. There was nothing that she would allow to get in the way of that, be it a person, organisation or—"

  "Or… a logical counter argument to her position," Justin said, clasping his mother's hand. She glanced at him, smiling weakly.

  "When you say not allow," Tom said, thinking about the threatening notes left for Robert Rutland, "what lengths do you think she would go to?"

  Neither of them seemed willing to answer. He waited.

  "Aunt Mary was quite a pragmatic soul, Inspector," Justin said. "She didn't see the grey areas, those in which most of us live in much of the time. She saw right and wrong. She was strongly placed in the right camp and everyone opposing her was not. No matter who they were."

  "And the answer to my question is?"

  "She would certainly use whatever she could to get her way," Janet said, not meeting his eye. Justin nodded slowly. He did meet Tom's gaze.

  "She could be manipulative, Inspector. She would have given Machiavelli a run for his money. So, yes, she had issues with Prometheus Energy and I'm sure they knew of her."

  "Right, thanks," Tom said, looking down and making a note. "What of Daniel Crowe, do you recall her speaking of him?"

  "Another funny," Janet said, looking past Tom to a nondescript point on the wall and staring at it with a blank expression.

  "Mother!"

  She broke her gaze, looking sternly at her son, unapologetic. "Well, he is!" she said, shaking her head in dismay at his calling her out. "He may well be married to his poor wife." She looked at Tom, wagging a finger pointedly. "Who is long-suffering but fully understands the trade-off she's made."

  "Trade-off?"

  "Yes," she scoffed. "The house, money…" she said, waving her hands in a circular motion before her. "And all of the foreign holidays. She understands completely. She offers him an air of respectability and in return he gets to do as he pleases. Like I said – a funny."

  "Mother, you can be respectable… if… you are attracted to the same sex," Justin said, clearly frustrated. Tom gathered this was not an uncommon conversation between them. "I don't know how many times we have to speak about—"

  "Funny!" she repeated.

  Justin sighed, looking to the floor and wrapping his hands around the back of his head, interlocking his fingers. Janet was undeterred, dismissing Justin's admonishment, and appeared to be gathering pace. She turned to Tom.

  "Well, let me tell you," she said, sitting forward, a gleam in her eyes, "no one is going to convince me that Daniel Crowe wasn't up to no good when he was caught with that young man in the supermarket car park that night. Hitchhiker be damned. Why your people let him off with a warning, I'll never know."

  If Janet was right, and Daniel Crowe did lead a double life of sorts, then it could well have been used against him by someone seeking to manipulate him for their own ends. From what Robert Rutland had said, now seemingly backed up by members of her own family, but not as directly, it would appear Mary Beckett could be capable of doing just that. If true, it gave Daniel Crowe a deeper motive than just financial gain.

  "Do you have any suspects, Inspector?" Justin asked, sitting upright and moving on from his reaction to his mother's comments. Tom figured there was something more going on between them, more than merely opposing views. "I know you can't give out specifics, I've seen the shows on the television. But do you?"

  Tom tried to sound reassuring. There was nothing concrete to tell them, not that he would if there was at this stage. "Inquiries are ongoing," he said. "I understand why you're asking, and as soon as I have news for you, I promise you will hear it before anything is released to the media."

  "Right. Yes, of course," Justin said, despondent. "Inquiries ongoing. They say that too."

  Tom smiled. "Don't believe everything you see on the crime shows. They are made only to entertain."

  Justin frowned. "I’ve always loved watching the crime shows. It's not so entertaining when you're living one."

  Tom understood. He put his pocketbook away and made ready to leave.

  "But you haven't drunk your tea," Janet said, appearing overly distressed.

  Tom reached down and picked up his cup, sipping politely at the brew. Smiling, he put the cup down and thanked her for her hospitality. She peered over the rim of his cup on the table, assessing how much was left. It was still two thirds full. It had not tasted good.

  "I'll see you out," Justin said, releasing his mother's hand and standing up. The two men walked to the front door. Once they were along the corridor and into the entrance hall, Justin touched Tom's elbow to get his attention. He lowered his voice, clearly hoping to ensure his mother wouldn't overhear them. "I'm terribly sorry about my mother—"

  Tom waved away the apology. "There's no need, really."

  "Oh, I think there is. Please don't think ill of her. She was just born of a different generation."

  Tom considered that thought. His parents were of the same generation, and neither of them cared a jot about another's sexuality. The different generation argument was often cited, and could be argued, but for him it didn't hold up.

  "Don't worry, Mr Howell."

  "Justin, please."

  "Don't worry, I'm not here to investigate people's personal views, whether I agree with them or not is irrelevant. I'm looking for your aunt's killer. That's where I'll focus my energy."

  "It's not just that, Inspector," Justin said, looking back over his shoulder. "Mother has… is going the same way as her sister. The same way many of the family do when they get older." He all but whispered the last. "I wouldn't put too much stock in the things she says… her memory is not what it used to be."

  Tom understood the inference.

  "It's one of the reasons I've been here so much. To keep an eye on them. She has good days and bad. Now that it's just Mother I have to look out for it should feel easier, but I'm only worrying more. Is that normal?"

  Tom took a deep breath. He wasn't the best to advise. That would be better left to a medical practitioner. "You've all had quite a shock in the past few days, and there will no doubt be more to come, so it's probably inevitable that you'll be more… sensitive to your mother's needs."

  "I wish she was more sensitive to mine."

  "Excuse me?"

  Justin dismissed his own comment by waving both hands and shaking his head. "Ignore me, Inspector. I'm just grumbling away to myself."

  Tom reached for the handle, finding the door locked. Justin eased past him and turned the latch. The door wasn't locked but couldn't be opened from the outside without a key. Tom was certain he'd pulled it closed when he entered. Justin must have his own set of keys to the house. That was probably unsurprising based on what he'd just said. He pulled the door open and Tom stepped past him and out into the night. The sun had set, but the cloudless evening sky meant it was still light.

  "Thanks again," Tom said, glancing back over his shoulder. The front door closed on him. Walking to his car, he noted Justin's car was parked alongside his. It was a red Volkswagen Golf, very similar to Alice's. The starting di
gits of the number plate were identical, meaning they'd both been bought locally. Unlocking his car, he glanced back towards the house as he got in. Janet Beckett was at the bay window. She was watching him leave, an impassive look on her face.

  How different she had been today in comparison to the night of their first meeting. His mobile beeped and he took it out. There was another message from Alice, sent just after he'd received the last one earlier, but he hadn't noticed. He opened it up, the screen illuminating the car's interior in white light.

  Can I see you?

  He looked up Eric's number and called him. He answered quickly and Tom figured he was already home because the sounds of a kitchen were in the background. He heard a female voice, probably Becca's.

  "Eric, how are you getting on with Prometheus Energy?"

  "Erm… I'm only just getting started, really. I thought I'd carry on in the morning—"

  "Yes, of course, that's fine," Tom said. He could almost hear Eric's relief on the line. "I've just got through talking to Janet Beckett and her son."

  "Justin Howell?"

  "That's the one. There was a suggestion that Daniel Crowe has an arrest in the past for solicitation, possibly related to a male prostitute. At least that's the insinuation. Justin got a little stressed about it all. Can you look into him for me?"

  "Yes, sure. I'll do it first thing."

  Someone mumbled a question in the background and Eric placed the receiver against his shoulder so his reply was muffled.

  "Is there anything else you want me to do?" Eric asked, returning to the conversation.

  "No, that's okay, Eric. I'll see you in the morning. What are you up to anyway?"

  "Oh, Becca thinks I need to learn how to cook, so she's teaching me."

  "Good luck, young man."

  "Thanks," Eric said, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "I think I'll need it!"

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tamara Greave looked at the display of her phone, pressing the red button and diverting the call to voicemail. She could speak to Cassie later. There was nothing so urgent that couldn't wait a little while longer. Alice reappeared from the kitchen with two mugs held in one hand and a packet of biscuits in the other. Tamara sat forward as Alice bent her knees and carefully lowered the mugs to the coffee table, thanking her host with a grateful smile. Alice held the packet up to show her. It was a packet of milk chocolate digestives.