A Dark Sin: Hidden Norfolk - Book 8

by Dalgliesh, J M

  "What can you tell me about the days or weeks leading up to what happened?" Tom asked, sitting down opposite him. Haverson looked to the ceiling, took a deep breath and then stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray already fit to overflow. The action caused ash to fall from the edge and onto the table. Haverson ignored it. He took another breath, putting his hands on his thighs and setting himself.

  "Not a lot, if I'm honest," he said quietly. "I was …" he scratched at the stubble of his chin, "not the most attentive of parents if I'm brutally honest. Not a great husband either. But, in my defence, things weren't great between me and Susanne. Rocky, you know?" He looked up at nothing in particular. Tom saw a haunted sadness in his eyes. "Anyway, things weren't great at home and both Ciaran and Jimmy spent as much time as possible away from the house." He rolled his eyes. "As did I."

  "Did you notice a change in his behaviour at all in the days leading up to … his death?"

  Haverson sat there with a blank expression, staring straight ahead. Tom wasn't sure if he'd registered the question. He was about to ask again when Haverson sniffed hard, sat upright and touched the heel of both hands to his eyes. He was barely holding it together.

  "I should have. Looking back, the signs were there. He'd become withdrawn … but it was hard to see because he was … different … to other children."

  "Different, how?"

  "When he was nine, Ciaran was diagnosed with Asperger's. That answered a lot of questions for us … why he seemed unable to form friendships with the kids at his school, why he struggled to socialise." He shook his head, drawing a hand across his face and rubbing at his eyes. "We kept pushing him when he was little; thinking he'd just fit in if we kept at it but … he didn't settle. It just led to more and more outbursts. We couldn't understand it at the time. I mean, he was an intelligent lad, far brighter than his brother. Even though there was only a year between them, Ciaran was streets ahead in their schoolwork. He was so quick to pick things up; not like a boy genius or anything, but smart. After the diagnosis we thought things would improve and they did …" he looked at Tom and then Cassie, "sort of."

  "Knowing the cause of something doesn't always lead to knowing how to deal with it, right?" Tom said. Haverson agreed, nodding slowly and turning the corners of his mouth down.

  "True. Susanne and I carried on fighting." He sighed. "It turns out Ciaran's condition wasn't the cause of our troubles, merely something else to add another layer of complexity to."

  "Is your wife still local?" Cassie asked. Haverson's eyes darted to her. Tom was taken aback by the way he looked at her. He looked ready to snarl at her but it dissipated and he shook his head.

  "After … what happened to Ciaran, the stress we were under became too much and things unravelled. Me first, then our marriage … and her." He took a deep breath. "Susanne took an overdose four years after Ciaran … four years after he died."

  "I'm sorry," Cassie said, sheepishly glancing at Tom. "We didn't know."

  "That's okay."

  "And Jimmy?" Tom asked. "How did he cope with it all?"

  "He lost his brother and then his mum, all before the age of seventeen. He may as well have lost his dad as well, for all the good I was for him. I hit the bottle … felt very, very sorry for myself," Haverson said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm surprised he turned out as well as he has. He has a steady job, stays off the sauce, unlike his old man."

  "Do you see him often?" Tom asked.

  He shook his head. "From time to time. But I think there's still a lot of anger there, which is fair enough. I wasn't there for him when he needed me, and I'll have to live with that. But that was me all over; at least I was consistent." He met Tom's enquiring look and sighed. "Ciaran wasn't like other kids, he was big for his age; not tall but overweight. The children at school – some of them, not all – used to tease him mercilessly. That's what kids do, isn't it? They isolate the weak, the vulnerable and pick them off to make themselves look bigger." He shook his head. "All he ever wanted was to fit in, have friends. He was rubbish at fitting in but he did try; he tried ever so hard." Haverson interlocked his fingers, Tom seeing the whites of his knuckles. "I should have helped him more … been there, done something. Anything. He was such a sweet kid, even in his teens. There was none of the attitude you'd expect, not like me when I was that age. Jimmy made up the shortfall, though. He had attitude in spades!"

  "Do you know who his friends were?" Tom asked.

  He shook his head. "If I'd been a better father, I might do … but no."

  "You blame yourself for your son's death?" Tom asked.

  Haverson met Tom's eye with a steely gaze. "Who else should we blame when a child takes their own life?"

  Tom accepted the comment, choosing not to respond. Whatever he said would be inadequate. Haverson looked at the clock.

  "I'm sorry, but is there anything else? I need to start getting myself ready for my shift, and …"

  Tom also looked at the time. He needed to get back as well and they'd covered what he'd wanted to know. Ciaran Haverson sounded much as Eric had described, a typical teenager who could conceivably have taken his own life.

  "I think that's all for now, Mr Haverson. I'm sorry to have brought this to you unannounced."

  Haverson smiled glumly.

  Tom closed the door behind them. Cassie, hands deep in her pockets, turned and walked down the drive backwards looking at the house as she spoke. "Poor guy. His life fell apart in quick fashion, didn't it?”

  Tom nodded. "Do I sense a moment of compassion bursting from that steel heart of yours?"

  "It does happen from time to time," she said, smiling. She turned away from the house, falling into step alongside him. "He's in no doubt his son killed himself, though."

  Tom glanced back over his shoulder, seeing a curtain twitch. He couldn't see Haverson at the window and it might have been the curtain catching a draught. "Yeah, seems so."

  Chapter Fifteen

  "The noose has really got me puzzled," Tamara said, folding her arms across her chest. The presence of the noose in the tree above where they found their victim could be there for a practical purpose – to hang someone – or could be merely symbolic, put there for another, as yet undetermined reason. The scenes of crime officers could only find evidence of one person present and that was Gavin Felgate.

  "I don't understand," Eric said. "Why would he tie a noose to the branch … was he looking to kill himself?"

  "Was who looking to kill themselves?" Tom asked entering ops with Cassie in tow.

  "Felgate."

  Tamara turned away from the information boards towards Tom. "We're trying to think why Felgate would hang the noose on that tree. A couple of hours earlier he's sharing a takeaway with someone. It doesn't point to a confused mindset."

  "Maybe the takeaway was just that bad," Cassie said. Tom shot her a disapproving look and she held up a hand by way of apology. "For what it's worth, I don't see Felgate as suicide material."

  "Neither do I," Tom said, hanging up his coat and coming to join Tamara and Eric.

  "Then what is the purpose of it?" Tamara repeated.

  Tom bit his lower lip. Tamara waited patiently. Tom was methodical, resistant to idle speculation but she could almost see a theory ticking over in his mind. He was staring at the pictures taken at the scene of where Felgate was found on the common. "The way I see it, either someone forced him to hang that rope from the tree, possibly under duress, or he did it himself but not for the obvious reason. But I am certain there was a reason. If we can figure that out then the rest will fall into place."

  "So … was he planning to hang someone else?" she asked.

  Tom shook his head. "Not the way it was tied. Fiona Williams was right, at the scene; it was amateurish. My guess would be to put the frighteners on someone."

  "On Felgate, or someone else?" Tamara asked.

  "That, I can't say." Tom looked away from the boards and down at Eric. "How did you get on with the background sur
rounding the Haverson suicide?"

  Eric sat up in his chair. "I looked up the other members of Ciaran Haverson's family. His mother—"

  "Had a breakdown and committed suicide a few years after her son," Tom said, glancing at Tamara. "We had that confirmed by Ian, the father, just now."

  "Right, Jimmy Haverson – Ciaran's brother – fared only slightly better. Following the suicide, social services got involved because Susanne – the mother – suffered bouts of mental health collapse. She was sectioned twice in the subsequent months after Ciaran's death, on one occasion for a weekend but later for several weeks. The father struggled – he has a record by the way – and to cut a long story short, Jimmy found himself a ward of the state on numerous occasions, bouncing between foster homes." Eric frowned. "It was always planned as temporary, until his mother died and then it ended up being permanent. When he was eighteen, he stepped out on his own, despite his age the local social services were still able to offer him residential care. By all accounts he turned it down."

  Tamara listened to Eric, thinking hard. "You said the father has a record?"

  "Yes. He was done for burglary in his twenties, served three months inside and also received a caution for assault five years ago."

  "Who did he assault?"

  Eric glanced at his notes. "An altercation in a pub car park; alcohol related by all accounts. The son – Jimmy – also has a record. In his teens he was arrested for shoplifting. The arresting officers figured he was selling the stuff to pay for his drug habit – nothing major – a bit of weed and some ketamine was found on him when he was picked up. It was deemed he had it for personal use, and was in care at the time, so prosecution wasn't considered in the public interest. He was referred to a community outreach programme. Later, aged sixteen, he was arrested again for burglary and, on that occasion, it did go to trial and Jimmy Haverson was convicted of several break-ins and was sent down for two years."

  "Where is he now?" she asked.

  "I can't find him registered locally but there’s no record of him re-offending," Eric said.

  Cassie cleared her throat. "The father said he was still living nearby and also that they didn't see much of one another. He cites rubbish parenting as a causal factor in his son's death and feels he didn't do right by Jimmy either. He said Jimmy sorted himself out."

  Eric nodded. "Perhaps he wanted to cut himself off from his past, make a fresh start."

  "I think we need to speak to the brother—"

  The door to the ops room opened and a uniformed constable stepped through, holding the door for those coming behind. Saffy was first to enter, seeing Tom her face split into a broad smile and she ran to him. He scooped her up in his arms and gave her a hug.

  "Hello, munchkin!" he said and she squealed. "How was school?" She leaned away from him, still in his arms and gave him a thumbs-up. Tamara smiled at Becca, who acknowledged her before waving to Eric. Tamara's smile faded as her mother came through the door, with a wide smile on her face and arms full holding a large plastic cake carrier. She hurried across the room as her mum thanked the constable for escorting them.

  "Mum, what are you doing here?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder and lowering her voice. Her mum offered her a withering look.

  "Tammy, darling," she said, looking past Tamara and at the others, "I just thought I'd stop by—"

  "With…?" Tamara said, eyeing the cake carrier. She could see cupcakes or something through the plastic cover.

  "I just did a little baking, dear," her mum said, brushing past her. "And it's a good job I made plenty!" she said, raising her voice and placing the cake carrier on the nearest desk, smiling at everyone. Cassie moved towards the desk to see what she'd brought with her. The lid came off. "Mince pies!" she said triumphantly.

  "Mum!" Tamara hissed but no one seemed to notice. Her mother looked round at her.

  "Well, it's nearly Christmas and I thought I'd get in early before everyone else. People are sick of mince pies by the second week of December—"

  "Mum—"

  "It's okay, Tammy," she said, holding up both hands, "I made a trip to the supermarket especially and they sell vegan mincemeat now, so you needn't worry."

  Tamara frowned, putting aside her irritation, and came to join the group.

  Saffy eyed the mince pies warily, looking at Tom. "Mince is meat, isn't it?"

  Tom smiled. "Not this type of mincemeat. It's made up of fruit and spices."

  "Urgh."

  "And sugar," Tom said. "Lots and lots of sugar. I expect you'll love them."

  "Can I try one?"

  Tom lowered her down and Saffy chose carefully, ensuring she picked the largest available. Cassie and Eric took one each as well. Tamara caught Tom's eye and she knew he could tell she was annoyed.

  "Nice of you," Tom said to her mum who beamed at him which only served to annoy Tamara more. Tom found the tray offered to him and he took one. Tamara thought he was just being polite.

  "Mum, can I have a word?"

  "Yes, Tammy, of course."

  There was that name again. She could feel the flutter of anger in her stomach, was it anger or just frustration? She caught Tom's eye, silently asking to use his office and he didn't object. She allowed her mum to go first.

  "Bring a mince pie with you."

  Tamara was about to object but her mother gave her that look, the same one she always managed when wanting to appear vulnerable and needy, rather than her usual overbearing self. Tamara took a deep breath, and swiftly picked up a mince pie. Her mum smiled gratefully and headed into Tom's office closing the door behind them.

  "Mum, you can't just turn up at my work with a bloody picnic."

  "Well, there's no need to take that tone, young lady."

  Immediately, Tamara felt bad. She took a breath, calming herself and ensuring she spoke kindly. "Mum, this is my work. We are in the middle of a—"

  "Yes, you are. And it's conveniently ensured you leave home early and come back late," her mum said, tilting her head to one side. "It's like you're avoiding me."

  "I'm not avoiding you." Her mum raised her eyebrows, shooting her a knowing look. "All right, maybe I am… a little. But you've turned up unannounced, and I have a life—"

  "If you called home every once in a while, or invited me to visit, then maybe it wouldn't be necessary for me to drop in on you like this… at home or work.”

  Tamara sighed. She was right; annoyingly. Her mum looked at her with a weak smile.

  "Is it so bad for a mother to want to spend time with her daughter?"

  The tone. The victimhood. It was so practised and so effective. "No, of course not, Mum—"

  "Good." Her mother smiled, gesturing to Tamara's hand. "Try the mince pie, let me know what you think. I've never made them vegan before."

  Tamara rolled her eyes and took a bite to avoid another potential cross word. She had to admit, it tasted divine. Raising her hand to cover her mouth as she spoke with food inside, Tamara frowned. "Which supermarket did you go to? There isn't one within walking distance of the house."

  "No need, darling. I borrowed your car."

  "What, you took the Healy?"

  "You weren't using it, dear." Her mum turned and headed back into the ops room, Tamara hurrying to catch up.

  "Mum…"

  "Mrs Greave," Cassie said.

  "Francesca, Cassie dear, please."

  "How did you make this pastry so light?" Cassie asked. "It's delicious."

  "Good quality lard."

  "Mum!" Tamara said, grabbing a tissue from a nearby box and trying to politely spit the contents of her mouth into it. "If the pastry is made with lard, then it's not vegan, is it?"

  Her mum looked at her, incredulous as Tamara theatrically dropped the mince pie into the nearest bin. "Well, of course it's made with lard, love. It makes the best pastry! How else am I supposed to make shortcrust pastry?"

  "Give me strength," Tamara muttered under her breath.

  Without skippin
g a beat, her mum turned to the others. "So, what is everyone doing for Christmas?" she asked smiling.

  "Mum, Christmas is over a month away."

  "We're going to my mum's," Eric said, smiling.

  Becca looked at him quizzically. "Since when?"

  Eric shrugged. "I always go to my mum's."

  "Not this year, you're not."

  The news came as a hammer blow to him and he appeared ready to argue only to see Becca's expression and drop it.

  Cassie smiled at Eric's discomfort. "Lauren is going to her folks, so I'll be flying solo. Her parents don't know about us yet, and I'm not pushing it."

  "That's a blow," Francesca said and then she smiled. "Why don't you come to ours?"

  "What?" Tamara said. Her mum waved her comment away.

  "There's an idea," Francesca said, "you're obviously such a close-knit group. Why don't we all do something together?" She grinned. Tamara wanted to object but didn't get the chance. "We have space. You could all come to ours, I'll cook." She looked at Tamara. "I'm sure I can do some sort of roasted nut-thingy for you."

  "Mum, it's Christmas – it will be Christmas – and I'm sure people have plans."

  "I want to have Christmas at Aunty T's house!" Saffy exclaimed, putting a hand in the air in an imaginary show of casting a vote.

  "Ah…" Tom said, meeting Tamara's desperate look and giving Saffy a gentle shake by the shoulder. "We'll have to speak to your mum about that."

  "Right!" Tamara said. "Eric, you're finished for the day, so you'd best get off home. I'm sure Becca wants to put her feet up." Eric smiled at his heavily pregnant fiancée, who was still shooting daggers at him. "And Mum, thank you for popping in with … the non-vegan, vegan treats but we have work to do."

  Francesca made ready to protest but Tamara's steely glare, for once, intimidated her into silence. Tamara assertively escorted her mum to the exit.

  "Christmas? Just how long are you planning on staying?" she asked quietly, leaning in so no one could overhear.

  "I–I don't know. I've not decided yet. Is it a problem, my being here?"