A Dark Sin: Hidden Norfolk - Book 8

by Dalgliesh, J M

  "I'm afraid he didn't say. I'm not expecting him back for a couple of days, though."

  "Odd timing."

  Anna looked at her quizzically.

  "To go away," Cassie said. "What with the opening of the new restaurant."

  "I guess. David doesn't talk to me about his work very much, though."

  Cassie was disheartened but she didn't show it. If Anna was truthful, she wouldn't be likely to offer up anything damning on her husband's business enterprise. The little boy dropped something, startling the dog, who barked. A baby cried out. Anna visibly deflated, looking up forlornly at the ceiling.

  "Sorry. I'll be right back."

  Cassie smiled sympathetically. "No problem." She should have realised that Anna couldn't be the au pair. Despite Anna's outstanding efforts in personal presentation, no amount of make-up could hide the dark shades beneath her eyes that only came from being the parent of a newborn. Cassie moved closer to the boy, dropping to her haunches beside him and looking at his assortment of figures he was playing with. They were set up in two rows, superheroes, cartoon characters and small soft toys – even a couple of racing cars – appearing ready to face off in some sort of duel.

  "What's going on here then?"

  He looked at her, smiling. "War." He turned back to his game. The conversation was over.

  Anna Fysh soon reappeared with a baby in her arms, bouncing it gently in her arms to calm it. Cassie rose and smiled as she looked at the child, unsure if it was a boy or a girl. "Cute," she said. Anna smiled. Cassie was lying, but it was what you said to parents with babies. They seldom were cute – perhaps the odd one or two – but most looked Churchillian or something akin to one of his descendants at least. "How old is…?" she stopped short of defining a gender.

  "She's five months."

  Definitely a girl then.

  "She's lovely." Anna fawned over the baby. Her son began smashing the figures he was playing with against one another. "How long have you and David been together?"

  "We knew each other for a long time before we were in a relationship," Anna said, putting her daughter down in a Moses basket on top of the dining table. The dog was fussing around her feet and she shooed it away.

  "How did you meet?" Cassie asked, roughly calculating the age difference between the two of them, Anna must be almost half his age.

  "We used to work together."

  "He employed you?"

  She nodded. "Yes, I used to wait tables at his Sheringham bistro."

  "Are you sure you've no idea where your husband went? It is important that I speak to him."

  "I can give you his mobile number if you like?" she said, reaching for her own. "Not that he's answered it the last couple of times I rang him."

  "Is that unusual?" Cassie's curiosity was piqued.

  Anna thought about it, nodding. "Yes. I mean, he often doesn't answer but he always calls back sooner or later as soon as he gets a minute."

  She brought up his number on her screen and Cassie took a quick photograph of the display with her own mobile.

  "How has he been recently?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Stressed, unhappy… preoccupied, maybe?"

  She shook her head. "No, I think things have been going well. David's been working a lot, but that's nothing new. He is a bit of a workaholic. It doesn't surprise me that he found his wife in a work environment." Cassie smiled politely. Anna's gaze lingered on her. "I know you will have noticed."

  "Noticed?"

  "That David is a lot older than me."

  Cassie shook her head. "Not at all." She was lying again.

  Anna smiled knowingly. "You'd be the first. Half of the staff at the bistro were pleased for me – for us – but the rest split their opinions between me being a gold digger and him being a dirty old man." Cassie inclined her head but said nothing. "We are neither, by the way."

  "People always have to talk about something, don't they?” Cassie smiled politely. "So, David's been quite normal, no change in his behaviour at all?"

  Anna started to shake her head but hesitated.

  "Anything at all? No matter how minor."

  "Well, he's been busy, as I said, and I put it down to that, but…"

  "But?"

  Anna looked at the baby and her son. "What with the new restaurant opening, as well as our new addition to the family, I figured he's just found himself spread a little thin recently. Thinking about it, I suppose he's been – what did you say? – a little preoccupied recently. A bit snappy."

  "I see." Cassie made a note. It was a bit vague for her liking, though.

  "Could that be related to what you want to talk to him about?"

  Cassie smiled. "Maybe, who knows? But he hasn't said anything to you, mentioned something he's been worrying about?"

  Anna scoffed. "You've met David, right?" Cassie nodded. "He's not exactly backward in coming forward."

  "I see that, yes."

  Anna watched her intently. "He's not quite as arrogant as you think. I know he comes across that way but underneath that exterior he really is quite vulnerable."

  "Right," Cassie said, bobbing her head. "What about when he told you he was going away? How was he then?"

  "I didn't speak to him. He texted me."

  "Texted you? To say he was going away on short notice?"

  "Yes. I wasn't pleased but… you have to know David to understand. When he's preoccupied, he can be a bit closed off. It's just the way he is."

  "Doesn't that bother you?"

  "Besides," she shrugged, "he wouldn't choose to be away if he didn't need to be, would he?"

  "I guess not, no. When did he send you the text?"

  Anna looked thoughtful. "The day before yesterday, I think." She sought out the text on her mobile, checking the date and holding it up for Cassie to see. "Yes, he sent it at four-thirty the day before last."

  "And you've not heard from him since?" She shook her head. "And he was driving his Discovery?" Cassie asked, making notes.

  "Yes. Why? What's all this about?"

  Cassie smiled broadly. "Just background, Mrs Fysh – Anna – nothing to worry about, I'm sure. Is there anyone local your husband is close to who might know where he has gone? I know his father is local."

  "You'll get nothing useful from him, I'm afraid."

  "They're not close?"

  "It's not that so much but they don't spend a lot of time together these days. David's father had to take early retirement from the business, and David was forced to step up. The way he talks about it, I don't think he was ready for the responsibility. I've always had the impression David was quite a… I want to say player a few years ago, but I wouldn't want to give you the wrong impression of him."

  "A flamboyant character?"

  "Yes, that's apt. A happy-go-lucky kind of guy, by all accounts. Not that I knew him back then."

  Probably still in primary school, Cassie thought.

  "His father wasn't able to carry on, his illness came on quite suddenly and he went downhill."

  "What is his condition?"

  "Early onset dementia." She read Cassie's expression. "You seem surprised. Why?"

  Cassie had to admit she was. David Fysh talked about his father, and his taking over the business, but implied he was still keen to be involved. "Your husband said his father was still seeking to be involved or at least questioned the expansion plans."

  "That's David, I'm afraid. Covering it up, downplaying it. He's struggled to get to grips with his father's illness. I think he is embarrassed about it. I'm not sure, but he certainly doesn't like to speak about it. Not even with me. Maybe he's fearful of what it might mean for his own future." She looked at the baby and her son playing nearby. "And for our family?"

  "Anyone else then, friends, other family members?"

  "There isn't any other family, I'm afraid. David is an only child. He's close-ish to a couple of old friends," she said, shrugging, "but I don't know them personally. I've met one once,
he stopped by the house. He lives abroad, though and David doesn't see him much." She looked thoughtful. "I think David has a postcard from him in his study."

  "Worth a check," Cassie said. "Please can I have the details?"

  Anna began scrolling through her mobile, quickly abandoning it and asking Cassie to keep an eye on the baby whilst heading to David's study to look for the postcard. Cassie couldn't help but find David's rapid disappearance concerning, but she couldn't figure out whether he was running from police scrutiny or something else entirely? She walked over to the dining table and peered into the basket. The baby was sleeping, blowing tiny spit-bubbles as she exhaled. She had to admit, the child looked cuter than she'd first thought.

  Anna returned with an orange sticky note in hand. She passed it to Cassie. The note had one name written on it along with a mobile phone number. It was an international code but not one she recognised, unlikely to be European. It wasn't a name she recognised but Eric was back in ops, so he could look him up. She resolved to call him as soon as she left.

  "You said there was another friend. Any idea who that was?"

  Anna shook her head. "Sorry. Like I said, David doesn't really keep in touch."

  Cassie assessed the woman. She was seemingly unperturbed by all of this.

  "Forgive me, but you don't seem very concerned," Cassie said.

  Anna met her eye. "Why should I be? It's all very David."

  "Really?"

  She laughed. "Yes, you'd have to know him to understand." Cassie encouraged her to explain. "My husband is the sort of man who loves to be married but still needs his freedom every once in a while." She read Cassie's expression, hastily clarifying what she meant. "Not in that way. It's just," she looked up, searching for the right words, "he is like a wild bird that needs to fly free. To be caged would stifle his creativity… make him less of the man he is. Do you know what I mean?"

  Cassie nodded slowly but, internally, she wondered if that was Anna's take or the one her husband instilled in her. Thanking Anna and leaving her with a contact card in case her husband returned, Cassie left the house. No sooner than the door closed on her, she took out her mobile and called Eric whilst walking to the car. She let it ring but he didn't answer, the call diverting to a message box.

  "Eric, it's Cass, can you give me a call as soon as you get this?" She glanced at her watch; he should still be in the office. "I need you to look into someone for me."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Eric Collet stared at the monitor, absently grazing on a packet of cheese and onion crisps, hoping for some inspiration. Surely it shouldn't be this difficult. He'd been trying to locate Ciaran Haverson's brother, Jimmy, for several days now. Speaking to him was a low-level objective in the hierarchy of tasks but Tom had tasked him with it and he was stumped. Jimmy Haverson had been in trouble as a child, not much worse than the average teenager until he edged towards adulthood. That was when things had developed for him. Having been cautioned for shoplifting and possession, referred to community outreach programmes, it was following Ciaran’s death that Jimmy stepped up a gear being arrested for burglary before his sixteenth birthday and was subsequently sent to a juvenile detention centre. He was released just prior to a potential transfer to an adult facility as he approached the age of eighteen.

  Then, shortly afterwards, Jimmy Haverson disappeared.

  Eric found him listed on the electoral role as residing with his father but the following year that was no longer the case. The last census, almost a decade ago, didn't have any mention of Jimmy Haverson at all in the local area. There was no Council Tax entry in his name, or PAYE account on HMRC's database. Jimmy Haverson was a ghost. On the off chance, Eric even looked up the register of deaths to see if Jimmy featured there, despite the father's information that he was working locally. Tom said the two weren't close. His death wasn't recorded. Maybe the father was very out of touch and Jimmy had moved on.

  A knock on the door.

  Eric looked over his shoulder, a uniformed constable leant on the door frame with one arm.

  "Hey, Eric." The constable looked around the empty ops room. "Just you today?"

  "Everyone's out and about. Is there something you need?"

  "Yeah. We've got a suicide that the duty sergeant wants one of you to take a look at."

  "Why? What's odd about it?"

  The constable's brow furrowed. "I don't know. Marcus is there and he has one of his feelings." Eric found that intriguing. PC Marcus Weaver was an experienced officer, coming close to his thirty, and if he wanted CID to take a look then it must be necessary. "Any chance you can get someone round there?"

  Eric experienced a flutter of excitement. He was supposed to be desk-bound for the foreseeable until Tom said otherwise, but no one else was around. Cassie was out tracking down David Fysh's whereabouts and Tom was heading out to Old Hunstanton to speak to Leigh Masters, and Eric had no idea if he'd be back into the station before clocking off. Where Tamara was, he didn't know. He glanced at the clock.

  "Where is it?"

  "Heacham. One of the holiday homes on the seafront."

  "Really? At this time of year? They're pretty much locked down until spring."

  "I know. A passer-by on the promenade called it in."

  Eric thought about it. The promenade, atop the mammoth concrete sea defences, ran from Hunstanton down the coast to Heacham's South Beach. Behind the sea wall were a line of holiday homes of varying size and style from old timber cabins – held together by a fresh lick of paint every now and again or by pure hope – to more impressive contemporary additions, raised on stilts with an expansive deck to capture the sea view. The homes gave the seafront an upbeat atmosphere during the summertime with parties and barbecues happening all along the promenade; beach-goers and thousands of tourists flocked to stay in the holiday parks set back from the beach beyond the houses and altogether gave Heacham a vibrant feel to it. At this time of the year, though, that stretch of the promenade was more like a ghost town. The facilities, small businesses serving coffees and ice cream, were shuttered until April and the only people who passed by were locals exercising themselves or their dogs. In winter, that stretch of the coast could be brutal with the wind channelling up The Wash from the North Sea. It was barely visited aside from the hardiest.

  "Give me the address. I'll take a pool car, head over and have a look," he said, standing up and lifting his jacket off the back of his chair. He flicked the switch on his monitor to turn it off and headed for the door. Falling into step alongside his colleague, Eric heard a telephone ring from ops. He stopped, hesitating and looking back.

  "Do you want to get that?"

  Eric bit his lower lip. He should but if it was Tamara or Tom, he'd have to explain where he was going and they'd stop him; at least Tom would. Feeling for his mobile in his pocket, he held down the power button knowing it would switch it off whilst nodding towards the end of the corridor.

  "Nah. If it's important they'll call me on the mobile."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tom Janssen found the house in Old Hunstanton, an Edwardian residence set within extensive gardens and shielded from the main road by a mixture of mature trees. His arrival was noted by the incumbent who was visible in the bay window of the living room. The man watched him with a curious expression as Tom left his car and walked to the porch and rang the doorbell. He was surprised a few moments later when a woman opened the door. It was Leigh Masters. He remembered her from their brief meeting at the Felgate family home but she had clearly forgotten.

  "Mrs Masters, I'm Detective Inspector Tom Janssen," he said, holding up his warrant card for her. Her surprise grew. "Do you remember we met recently, in passing, when you visited your friend, Jane Felgate?"

  She stood there, open mouthed for a second before realisation dawned and she nodded. "Yes, sorry." She shook her head. "I forgot."

  "That's okay. May I have a word?"

  "Who is it, love?"

  Tom looked past he
r to see the man who'd watched his arrival step out from a doorway further along the hall. Leigh looked over her shoulder.

  "I–It's the police, Rod."

  Tom presumed he was her husband. He was built in the manner Eric had described, comfortably over six feet tall and powerfully built. He approached them both, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder. She appeared to flinch. It was an almost imperceptible involuntary action but Tom saw it nevertheless. He looked Tom up and down.

  "What is it? What's happened?" he asked.

  Tom smiled. "Nothing to worry about, Mr Masters. I'm looking for a little help."

  "Rod," he said, offering his hand. Tom accepted. "Rhodri Masters. It'd be a pleasure to help. What can we do for the police?"

  His tone was measured and polite, keen to assist. It was exactly what one would hope for when faced with a police visit. However, in Tom's experience, it rarely happened. He was too accommodating.

  "I'd like to speak to you about Gavin Felgate."

  "Gavin?" Rod said, frowning. "Yes, terrible business all that."

  "All what?"

  "Well… his death."

  He glanced down at his wife, easily a foot shorter than him but she looked at her feet, wringing her hands slowly in front of her.

  "Yes," Tom said. "It's certainly a tragedy."

  "Murder, we heard. Didn't we, love?" Rod said. Leigh nodded solemnly. "Have you," he hesitated, rolling his lips together, "got anywhere with finding out who did it?"

  "Investigations are continuing, Mr Masters."

  "Please, do come in." Rod eased his wife back into the house, both hands now placed on her shoulders guiding her. Tom followed, closing the door behind him. "As I say, a nasty business," Rod said, pushing open a door to the front-facing living room. His wife entered but he held back, allowing Tom to pass through first. "We knew Gavin quite well, you know?" Tom met his eye with a backward glance, nodding. "We were friends since he and Jane were married. I wonder how she's coping with all of this?"