Storm Force: A chilling Norfolk Broads crime thriller (British Detective Tanner Murder Mystery Series Book 7)

by David Blake

  ‘Quite a contrast from where we’ve come from,’ Tanner observed, keeping one eye on the road ahead, the other peeled for the house number they were looking for.

  ‘Chalk and cheese,’ Vicky muttered in agreement, before sitting up in her seat. ‘Hold on. This looks like it.’

  Just up ahead was a curved wall leading into an impressively wide driveway, the number 42 standing proud against its neatly laid corn-yellow bricks.

  Checking his rear view mirror, Tanner indicated to turn in, only to slam on his brakes as an enormous black Mercedes SUV came surging out the other way, skidding to a halt just inches away from Tanner’s polished chrome bumper.

  As he glared up at the driver, and the guy sitting opposite, both seemingly mouthing abuse at him, Tanner opened his door only to be greeted by the disgruntled sound of the SUV’s horn.

  ‘This should be fun,’ he muttered to Vicky, levering himself out as the horn blasted out again.

  Leaving his door open, Tanner pulled out his ID to step up to the obstructing vehicle, just as the driver’s side window wound slowly down to reveal a large anvil-shaped head.

  ‘You gonna get out of my fucking way, or is me and my mate gonna ‘ave to get out and beat the living shit out of you?’

  A curious frown rippled its way over Tanner’s sun-bronzed forehead. ‘Do you normally speak to your fellow road users in such an aggressive manner?’

  ‘What the fuck’s it got to do with you?’

  Tanner held aloft his ID. ‘DI Tanner, Norfolk Police.’

  The man glared out at it with a look of abject contempt. ‘I should’ve guessed,’ he growled, looking Tanner up and down. ‘Cheap suit, stupid car.’

  Tanner glanced over the driver’s shoulder, first at the gorilla-like man stuffed into the seat beside him, then at a shadowy figure sitting immediately behind.

  ‘I don’t suppose any of you would happen to be the property’s owner; a Mr Toby Wallace, by any chance?’

  ‘Never ‘eard of ‘im,’ the driver replied.

  ‘Even though it would appear that you’re driving out of his registered address?’

  The man gave Tanner an indifferent shrug. ‘We took a wrong turn.’

  ‘Right, yes, I see. May I ask your name?’

  ‘I wasn’t aware I’d done anything wrong.’

  ‘Driving with undue care and attention, for a start.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh. You’re the one who nearly drove straight into us. If I was you, I’d get them brakes of yours checked.’

  Tanner watched as the driver tilted his head back to listen to something being whispered to him from the person behind.

  ‘Anyways,’ he eventually continued, bringing his attention back to Tanner. ‘we’ve got some place to be. Now, are you gonna move that gay-looking car of yours, or am I gonna ‘ave to drive over the top of it?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m going to need to see your driver’s licence first.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ the man huffed, glancing back over his shoulder to reverse a few feet before revving the engine to wheelspin away, leaving Tanner and Vicky standing in a swirling cloud of burnt rubber and noxious diesel fumes.

  After taking a peaceful moment to watch the vehicle career off down the otherwise quiet tree-lined avenue, Tanner glanced around to find Vicky standing beside him. ‘What delightful characters. Please tell me you got that guy’s numberplate?’

  ‘That, together with the make and model,’ she confirmed, offering Tanner a satisfied grin.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WITH VICKY CALLING the SUV’s numberplate through to the office, they climbed back into Tanner’s car to continue the short journey through the property’s curved bricked entrance. Once inside, they found themselves driving through a spacious Mediterranean-styled courtyard; a large over-hanging pergola leaving dappled sunlight over smooth terracotta flagstones.

  ‘This is all rather nice,’ commented Vicky, casting an admiring eye over a line of matching miniature fir trees, each one rising gracefully out of a giant metallic oval-shaped flowerpot.

  ‘A tad gaudy for my tastes,’ Tanner replied, with perhaps a touch of jealousy to his tone.

  ‘Nice car as well,’ she added, nodding over at a curvaceous Bentley Continental, languishing next to a modern rectangular front door, it’s dark gunmetal colour perfectly matching the car’s glistening paintwork.

  ‘Perhaps, but you’d have to be a certain type to feel comfortable driving around in one.’

  ‘What, you mean…rich?’

  ‘I actually meant someone with all the characteristics of being pompous, overbearing and arrogant, but lying in the depths of their core is a shallow pool of insecure vulnerability.’

  Vicky raised an intrigued eyebrow at him. ‘You’re not doing an online course in psychiatry, by any chance?’

  ‘Er, not exactly. That’s Christine’s professional assessment of why I choose to drive around in a fuel-guzzling twelve-litre Jaguar XJS.’

  Vicky smiled before glancing away. ‘How’re you two getting along, anyway?’

  ‘Oh, um…not sure, really,’ he replied, his mind taking him back to the time when Vicky had asked him out, a few weeks before, or at least when he thought she had. Deciding that it was probably best to play their relationship down, which wasn’t exactly difficult, he caught the corner of her eye. ‘We haven’t been on an actual date yet. To be honest, at this rate, we probably never will.’

  Pulling up beside the Bentley, he turned the engine off to begin clambering out. ‘Shall we see if anyone’s home?’

  With Vicky following behind, Tanner briefly cast his eyes up at the house before stepping up to the front door, his gaze taking in the elegant brushed-steel handle that ran all the way from the top down to the bottom.

  Ringing the bell, they stood listening to its hollow chime dissipate through the house beyond to be replaced by nothing but the sound of a cold sterile silence.

  Vicky leaned forward to peer through a narrow strip of frosted glass running parallel with the elongated doorhandle. ‘It doesn’t look like anyone’s home.’

  Tanner turned his head to cast a questioning eye over at the Bentley. ‘Either that, or they’d prefer not to be disturbed. Let’s try again, shall we?’

  Depressing the doorbell once more, this time he was rewarded by the sound of a curt metallic voice, barking at them from a speaker hidden somewhere to the side of the door.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘It’s, er, Detective Inspectors Tanner and Gilbert, Norfolk Police,’ Tanner replied, his eyes roaming about, trying to work out where the voice was coming from. ‘We’re looking to speak to a Mr Toby Wallace?’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘Would it be possible for you to come to the door, to talk to us in person?’

  A brief pause followed.

  ‘OK, but you’ll need to show some identification first. There’s a camera above you, to the left.’

  Glancing up to see a blacked-out glass ball, tucked into the corner of the door frame, they each dug out their IDs to hold them awkwardly aloft.

  ‘That’s fine. Hold on.’

  Approaching footsteps could soon be heard, followed by the door being nudged open to reveal a round red face of a short fat middle-aged man.

  ‘Mr Toby Wallace?’

  The man nodded. ‘I assume this is about what happened to Mike?’

  ‘Sir Michael Blackwell,’ Tanner confirmed, noting the man was wearing what appeared to be a pair of silk black pyjamas.

  ‘May I also assume that that you want to know where I was at the time of his death, whilst requesting samples of my fingerprints and DNA?’

  ‘That is correct, Mr Wallace! You know, it sounds like you’ve done this before.’

  ‘Not at all. A friend of mine phoned earlier, telling me to expect a visit.’

  ‘I take it you mean Mr Iain Sanders?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘I see. It sounds like he was keen to make
sure your alibis were going to be the same.’

  ‘There was no need,’ Wallace smiled. ‘It was as he said. We were both on board our boat at the time. If our riverside neighbours aren’t able to verify that, then you’ll be able to ask Jim.’

  ‘Jim?’

  ‘He’s the guy who owns the moorings. I don’t know his surname. He said hello to me when I arrived, and he was still there when I reached the boat.’

  Tanner glanced over at Vicky. ‘Could you make a note for us to have a chat with a man called Jim?’

  ‘Already have.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Tanner exclaimed, returning his attention back to Wallace. ‘Would I be correct in assuming that Mr Sanders was also kind enough to tell you how Sir Michael died?’

  ‘He didn’t need to. I’d already seen it on the news. What I fail to understand is why you’re standing here talking to me? Wasn’t it a woman who killed him? A psychotic floosy by the name of Amber Vale, flying off the handle in some sort of demonic jealous rage?’

  ‘Er…’ Tanner began, ‘I’m not sure where you heard that one from.’

  ‘The Norfolk Herald. It’s on the front page of their website.’

  ‘Ah, right! Of course it is! Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t believe everything you read in the newspapers, that one in particular.’

  ‘It was on TV as well. At least the part about you looking to speak to an attractive young woman, supposedly the last person to have seen him alive.’

  ‘It sounds like they know more about the investigation than we do. Perhaps we should give them a call when we’re done here?’ Tanner added, glancing around at Vicky. ‘Maybe they’ve got the whole thing on video?’

  With her smiling back, Tanner returned his attention to the man standing in the doorway. ‘But as we’re here, maybe you could tell us a little about what your good friend, Mr Sanders mentioned to us. Something about you and Sir Michael owning a nightclub together?’

  Wallace shrugged. ‘What about it?’

  ‘I was just thinking that now he’s no longer with us, you must have become the sole owner.’

  ‘And that’s why I killed him,’ Wallace stated. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘Perhaps you had, Mr Wallace, which was why you went to the trouble of making sure you were seen on board your boat at the time of his death.’

  ‘That’s it, yes, of course! Oh, but hang on. If I was on board my boat, which at least one person will be able to verify, how could I have been inside Mike’s bedroom, bashing him over the head with a candlestick?’

  ‘There’s more than one way to skin a cat.’

  ‘I see, yes. Actually, sorry. No, I don’t.’

  Tanner turned his head to gaze over the elegant courtyard, over to the curved wall where they drove in. ‘May I ask who your visitors were?’

  ‘Which visitors were those?’

  ‘The ones who nearly drove straight into us on their way out.’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Are you really trying to tell me that you don’t know?

  ‘Nobody’s been round here for days. They must have turned in by mistake.’

  Tanner offered Wallace an accommodating smile. ‘OK, well, fair enough. I do hope you’re not planning on going anywhere over the next few days. A backpacking trip around Europe, for example?’

  ‘There’s nothing like that in my diary.’

  ‘And am I to assume that you won’t mind if we send a forensics team around to collect your fingerprints and DNA?’

  ‘Anytime. My door is always open; apart from the times when it’s closed, of course.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ‘FUNNY MAN,’ MUTTERED Tanner, the moment Wallace’s head disappeared back inside his grandiose mansion.

  ‘Hilarious,’ Vicky agreed, in a similar sarcastic tone. ‘What did you mean about there being two ways to skin a cat?’

  Tanner turned to begin leading the way back to his car. ‘I thought of another reason why our friends in the SUV may have been here, other than to turn their car around, of course.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘To collect payment for services rendered. Probably in cash.’

  ‘You think he might have hired them to kill Sir Michael?’

  ‘Well, they weren’t here on behalf of the RSPCA, I know that much. And both parties seemed equally keen to deny having ever met. As it currently stands, our Mr Wallace is the only person with even the vaguest sort of a motive for wanting him dead.’

  ‘Apart from Claire Metcalf, of course.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ Tanner snorted. ‘I’m still not convinced about her, but we’ll have to see.’

  ‘I assume you’re thinking that Wallace and Sir Michael had some sort of falling out?’

  ‘Either that, or Wallace simply wanted the business all to himself. Maybe Sir Michael was refusing to sell it to him?’

  ‘OK, but doesn’t it seem just a little extreme, to have someone killed over a business deal?’

  ‘To you and I, maybe.’

  ‘What about the manner of his death? Removing someone’s heart to leave it hanging out of their mouth sounds far more like the result of psychotic jealous rage than the work of a hired assassin.’

  ‘That probably depends on who the hired assassin was,’ Tanner replied, as the muffled sound of Vicky’s phone could be heard ringing from somewhere inside her coat. ‘Any chance that’s news on the numberplate?’ he asked, catching her eye as she fished it out.

  ‘It’s the office,’ she confirmed, lifting it to her ear, ‘so it could be.’

  Leaving her to take the call, Tanner took a quick tour around the Bentley, occasionally stopping to peer inside, all the while doing his best to overhear his colleague’s conversation.

  ‘OK, thanks Sally,’ he eventually heard her say, ending the call to exchange the phone for her notebook.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘McMillan International Investments and Entertainment Ltd,’ she replied, busily making notes.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The business that owns the Mercedes.’

  ‘And who owns the business?’

  ‘A man by the name of Terrance McMillan. He’s a London-based property developer and businessman. He also just happens to own the Riverside Gentleman’s Club, of which there would appear to be quite a few dotted up and down the country.’

  ‘Wasn’t that where Claire Metcalf said she worked?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘Do we know where it is?’

  ‘Back towards Norwich; near the university.’

  ‘Then I suggest we head straight over there, to see if we can find its owner.’