A Dark Sin: Hidden Norfolk - Book 8

by Dalgliesh, J M

  "I had to come to you, Tammy," she said quietly. Tamara really hated that nickname.. "You're the only one who I thought would understand."

  Tamara frowned, exhaling hard. "Why on earth do you think I would understand what this is all about?"

  Francesca reached across the table taking one of Tamara's hands in both of her own, squeezing it. "Because of Richard."

  "Richard? What are you talking about?" Tamara couldn't understand what her ex-fiancé had to do with any of this.

  "You left Richard before you got married… it was all arranged and—"

  "Yes, I did. I couldn't see myself spending the rest of my life with a man whom I wasn't committed to. We were on different paths," she shook her head, "and we could have wasted years before we worked out we should never have been together in the first place!" She met her mother's eye and saw the pain in her expression. Then she realised. "Oh, Mum…"

  Francesca nodded, smiling weakly and clearly emotional. "You see, Tamara… I married my Richard."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Hunstanton High Street still had a few parking spaces along the one-way system and Tom pulled in outside the restaurant. He peered through the window and could see the place was already filling up. It wasn't large, perhaps a dozen tables at most but at this time of the day he was surprised.

  "Word must be spreading," Cassie said, following his eye line. The restaurant had only just opened and the locals certainly seemed to be taking a keen interest. "What do you want to do?"

  Tom glanced sideways at her, then outside at the line of shops opposite. "Take a walk around the neighbouring businesses, see if anything out of the ordinary caught their eye in the last week. Especially if it comes to David Fysh and Gavin Felgate. Felgate's picture has been all over the press this past week, so it may have jogged a few memories but they might not realise the significance."

  Cassie nodded, cracking her door open.

  "How did you get on with tracing Harry Empson's movements with his employer?"

  She shook her head, still holding onto the door handle. "I couldn't get hold of anyone of any note last night, even at their registered offices here in the UK, just an automated answering service. I had a call back first thing and my request has been forwarded to HR."

  "Sounds about right. Any organisation goes through their corporate procedure when the police call."

  "Right. I'll chase them up as soon as we're done here."

  "And Eric?" Tom asked. He hadn't seen the detective constable before they left.

  "He put in a request to the Home Office pathologist to expedite Empson's autopsy. Luckily, Dr Death is keen, so he's headed straight over there this morning."

  They both got out, Cassie crossing the road in between passing cars while Tom walked into the restaurant. The manager, Sally, spied his arrival before the door closed behind him and he saw her roll her eyes. He made his way through the tables to the bar where she was standing, seeing only four tables unoccupied.

  "Good morning," he said, smiling.

  "Morning, Inspector. What can I do for you today?"

  A patron waved at her, attempting to get her attention and she smiled to indicate she was aware before turning back to Tom.

  "As you can see; we're rather busy, so I hope you're not here to turn everything upside down like last time? I don't think an environmental health inspector could have cleared this place faster than your lot managed to do the other day."

  Tom smiled, looking around. "It doesn't seem to have done trade any harm."

  Sally couldn't stop herself from grinning. "True. It seems we are popular." She lowered her voice so only the two of them could hear. "I think we're the most exciting thing to happen to the town in ages. The brunch menu seems to have gone down well. We're booked up until the weekend! I just wish…"

  "Wish what?"

  The joyous expression on her face faded. "That the staff could be as reliable as the clientele."

  Tom offered her a puzzled look but then he heard a shout from the kitchens and the sound of something crashing, an accident of sorts. Sally sent a withering look in the direction of the kitchen as if she could see through the closed service doors. Another shout, only this time it was someone else. Several patrons looked towards the kitchen and Sally nervously smiled, a vain attempt to portray everything as normal.

  "Miss, we've been waiting—"

  "Yes, yes," Sally said, inclining her head towards the gentleman who had spoken, "I'm terribly sorry. Teething problems in the kitchen. I'll have your order out to you soon."

  The man didn't appreciate her reply, grumbling something to the woman sitting opposite him. Sally looked at Tom, exasperated.

  "I can see you're having problems today," Tom said.

  "We're two down today," she said, "if you include David."

  "He's still not reappeared then?" She shook her head. "Are you worried?"

  Another shout came from the kitchen and Sally headed towards it, Tom falling into step. She pushed open the swing door to the kitchen and passed through. Tom followed. The kitchen was in chaos. Two male members of staff appeared to be on the verge of coming to blows, the heated situation calming only when they caught sight of Sally's entrance. Another woman, in her early twenties, was standing off to the right dressed in a white blouse and black skirt. Tom guessed she was front-of-house serving staff. The two men, in chef's garb of white tunics and checked trousers separated. One of them returned to his station at the grill while the other knelt to gather up a tray and whatever ingredients were once upon it. Tom guessed that was the source of the crash. Sally glanced sideways at Tom.

  "Whatever it is you need, Inspector, please can you make it fast before this place grinds to a complete halt!"

  The waitress picked up three plates and eased herself past them and out into the restaurant, smiling at Tom as she passed.

  "It's just a revisit really, although there's nothing new," Tom said. "I'm hoping someone will remember something about Gavin Felgate's interview that they'd previously not mentioned.” He looked around for James Cook, the chef he'd spoken to before but couldn't see him. "James not in?"

  Sally shook her head. "No! And he damn well better have a decent excuse too." Tom looked at her quizzically. "He called in sick yesterday but hasn't turned up today. He said he felt rough but would be back in today." He could hear the stress in her voice. "Most of the team are new hires – inexperienced – and without David around I'm relying on James to get me through."

  "Right," Tom said, feeling for her. "That's a shame. I was hoping to speak to him as he was the only one Felgate interviewed."

  "What about Mikey?"

  "Mikey?"

  Sally pointed to the man who'd just finished clearing up the mess and was now washing his hands, offering the other chef the evil eye. "Felgate interviewed him as well. By the look on his face, he could use a break." She pointed to a door on the other side of the kitchen. "That goes into the yard at the rear. If you take him out there for five minutes," she saw the other chef glare back at Mikey as he returned to his station, "you'll probably be doing me a favour. I don't need these two kicking ten bells out of each other before half past ten."

  * * *

  Cassie stepped out of the coffee shop. The third business she'd been into in the last twenty minutes and no one had anything insightful to say. The restaurant was a talking point, a welcome addition to the town by all accounts and everyone had been watching with keen interest as the place took shape. David Fysh was recognised by his description but he hadn't made much of an impact in terms of being noticed. The tradesmen working in the set-up phase had been in for snacks and drinks but there was nothing of note to report. Walking a little further, she passed a fabric shop which she thought unusual for a high-street enterprise these days. The signage above the window had seen better days, looking tatty, the colour having faded long ago. The lights were off and the sign on the door said it was closed. Cassie was about to walk by to a small bakery that had a queue almost to
the door when she saw movement within.

  The front door was recessed from the pavement and Cassie knocked on the glass. A head appeared from behind a rack of material samples, peering out to see who was knocking on the door. Cassie held up her warrant card and pressed it against the glass. The woman walked over, gave her ID a cursory inspection and unlocked the door. She was in her sixties, closer to seventy when bathed in the natural light streaming through the glass of the door as she opened it, smiling.

  Cassie indicated the restaurant across the road. "Have you met the new neighbours yet?"

  The woman snorted. "I'll be steering clear of them. So should everyone else if you ask me?"

  Cassie was intrigued by the strength of the venom in her tone, especially coming from such a sweet-looking lady. "Oh, really? Why's that then?"

  "I don't care for the attitude."

  Cassie raised her eyebrows. "Whose?"

  "Well, the owner for a start. The spiv who wears the fancy suits."

  "David Fysh?"

  "Yes, that's his name, I think. Never trust a man who treats his friends the way he does. Whatever would he do to his enemies?"

  "Sorry, you've lost me," Cassie said. "What have you seen."

  "The spiv, David, having a stand-up argument with another man right outside the restaurant," she said, pointing across the road. "Right there."

  Cassie looked over and back again. "Between who, do you know?"

  "One of his friends, I think."

  Cassie took out a picture of Gavin Felgate, passing it to her. "This man?"

  She held it up before her, lifting her glasses away from her eyes so she could see better and shook her head. "No, not him… another man."

  "Can you describe him to me, this other man?"

  "Similar age… but a bit taller. I've seen them together before leaving the restaurant at the end of the day. Like I said, friends."

  "And they had a falling out?"

  "Oh, yes. I thought it was all going to turn nasty for a minute. There was a bit of pushing and shoving."

  "Okay, did you hear what was said?"

  "No, I'd closed up. I was just here doing a bit of cleaning up after a busy weekend, but it was definitely a heated exchange."

  "When was this, please?" Cassie asked, taking out her notebook.

  "Let me see… after the weekend just gone. I had a rush order come in on the Saturday and I worked Sunday – I never work Sunday – and the customer collected it late on Monday, so it would have been then."

  "Monday evening?"

  The woman nodded. "Absolutely."

  "And how did it end?"

  "They parted and both stormed off in separate directions."

  "Okay," Cassie said. "And you'd recognise the other man, not David, if you were to see him again?"

  "Yes, I see him every day coming into work. He's one of the chefs."

  * * *

  Mikey took a deep draw on his cigarette, leaning against the brick wall at the rear of the restaurant, then exhaled deeply, blowing the smoke upwards and away from them.

  "So, what did you make of the interview with Gavin Felgate?" Tom asked.

  Mikey shrugged. "Not very exciting for either of us, to be fair. Felgate was asking the questions but his heart wasn't in it."

  "How so?"

  "Well, he was as bored as I was. Fysh was lurking in the background trying to make sure I didn't say anything that'd make him or his precious empire look bad."

  "And could you?" Tom asked. "Make it look bad?"

  Mikey chuckled. "It's a decent job I've got here, Inspector."

  "And I'm not looking to make trouble for you."

  Mikey tilted his head to one side, his eye fixed on Tom as he took another drag. Exhaling, he sniffed and broke eye contact. "Dare say I could have dropped a couple of grenades if I'd chosen to. Not that I did, mind you."

  "For example?"

  Mikey pursed his lips, reticent. Tom stared at him hard, letting him know he wasn't going away.

  "You know how Fysh hires most of his staff, don't you?"

  "People who need a second chance, yes."

  "That's the corporate line, yeah," Mikey said, laughing. He shook his head. "Fysh likes having us around for the good PR but," he smiled, "he likes our expertise as well."

  "Expertise?"

  "We have skills that most don't, Inspector." He looked away, tossing his cigarette butt to the floor and pressing it into the stones with the ball of his foot to extinguish it. "Ex-offenders and addicts know how to get things done. The need… the desire, the ability to go against what we're supposed to do is useful to a man like Fysh."

  "It doesn't sound like he's someone you're particularly enamoured with."

  Mikey shook his head. "Gave me a job when I needed one… and I bought into his rehabilitation crap but that's all it is, crap."

  "You know what he was up to with dodgy ingredients?"

  Mikey looked away, shaking his head. "I don't know anything, Inspector."

  They both knew he was lying but Tom understood. Mikey didn't want to incriminate himself as a participant or by association.

  "And how does everyone get along with David Fysh?"

  He scoffed. "He's proper Marmite to most people. If you're young enough, and pretty enough, for him to want to get into your pants, then you'll probably find him a courteous and generous guy but…"

  "But?"

  "Once you see him for what he is… then you don't turn your back."

  "Everyone feel that way?"

  "Except Sally and James, yeah, I'd say so."

  "Why do you single out those two?"

  Mikey checked the door to the rear, currently wedged open so as not to lock them out. He didn't want them to be overheard.

  "Sally's father lent David some of the money to set this place up. That's why she's so stressed about it going well. What with Fysh doing a Houdini act this week, any other manager would've walked by now but she's hanging in there."

  "And James?"

  Mikey shook his head. "They go way back. They've been friends for years as far as I can tell. James was always defending Fysh, so you had to be careful what you said in front of him or it'd get back, you know?"

  "You said was."

  "Sorry?"

  "James was always defending him. Why the past tense?"

  Mikey waved away the comment. "Fell out, big time. Come to think about it, it was around the time that Felgate guy was asking all the questions. He was just as interested in James as he was with Fysh. It was a bit weird, thinking about it."

  "Asking what type of questions?"

  "Like… how they got on with each other. I figured he thought they might be in a relationship or something."

  "Why would you think that?"

  "Well, I didn't… I mean, I always knew they were great friends and all that. They used to hang out all the time after work and stuff, go out drinking but not as often once Fysh married and even less once they had the children.” Mikey raised his eyebrows in a knowing expression.

  "They were that close, James and David?"

  "Oh yeah, you'd better believe it," Mikey said, lighting another cigarette. "And when Felgate was asking about the two of them – after Fysh had got bored and cleared off – I guessed there might have been some angle like that he was exploring, otherwise why ask?"

  "Why indeed?" Tom thought about it, Mikey enjoying his break from the stressful work environment in the morning sunshine. "And this falling out, what was it about?"

  He shook his head. "No idea… but the two of them stopped talking and they were frosty with each other after that."

  "When was this?"

  Mikey thought about it. "Early last week sometime. Maybe on Monday. Yeah," he said, his brow creasing as he nodded, "Monday, as we were locking up. They were sniping at each other. I just left them to it."

  "And you've no idea why?"

  He shook his head. "Nope… and I didn't ask!"

  Sally appeared at the doorway, glaring at M
ikey who looked at Tom.

  "Yes, we're done," Tom said. "Thanks."

  "Any time."

  Mikey exhaled his last draw of the cigarette, tossing it aside and re-entering the kitchen. Tom smiled his thanks at Sally who nodded and retreated from view. Moments later, Cassie appeared from within. Looking over her shoulder to check they were alone, she grinned.

  "You'll never guess what I just heard from a lady running a business over the road," she said, leaning against the wall. "Last Monday."

  "David Fysh had a stand-up argument with his head chef, James Cook?"

  Cassie's smile faded. "Damn, is there anything that you don't get to hear first?"

  Tom laughed.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  "Detective Constable Collet," Dr Paxton said, peering over his spectacles as Eric entered the pathology lab. Eric smiled. "Have I been demoted in status?"

  Eric frowned, unsure if that was an attempt at humour or the pathologist was actually annoyed. He decided to err on the side of caution. "Tom said it was about time I got back out into the field."

  Paxton looked him up and down with an expert eye.

  "Well, I can't see any adverse reaction to your recent experience. How are you finding manoeuvrability?"

  Eric stretched out his right arm. "Feels better every day."

  "Good, good. You'll need all of your strength when the baby makes an appearance. When is that by the way?"

  Eric was surprised. Dr Paxton always seemed so aloof and disinterested in the team, and Eric couldn't remember interacting with the man on a personal level.

  "Due in six weeks, give or take."

  "Excellent." Paxton led them over to his autopsy table where the clear form of a body lay under a sheet. "I spend so much time around the dead, DC Collet, that it's nice to pay attention to the living every once in a while."

  Eric nodded, eyeing the covered body and finding the conversation a little odd bearing in mind where they were. He could see why Cassie found the man quite odd. Dr Paxton didn't appear ready to talk business and Eric found himself mentally scrabbling around for suitable small talk, tricky considering he barely knew the man.