They were met on the decking by PC Kerry Palmer, usually a uniformed constable who was undertaking a temporary sidestep into CID as part of a personal development plan. She was covering this particular day because the team's caseload wasn't too demanding at present and everyone was in attendance at Eric's wedding to Becca.
If Kerry was at all fazed by the two senior ranks’ arrival then she didn't let on, greeting them with confidence.
"Sir, Ma'am," she said. "I'm sorry to call you away from the celebration."
Everyone at the station knew Eric was finally walking down the aisle, delayed somewhat by his recuperation from a stabbing the previous year and his fiancée's subsequent pregnancy. Becca made it clear she didn't wish to look like a whale in a wedding dress in their photo album. And so it was an early spring wedding and the collection gathered for the newlyweds totalled just over a thousand pounds, not including the gifts from those attending the ceremony. This was a reflection on just how popular DC Eric Collet was.
"No problem," Tamara said. She looked across the yard at the man and woman talking to the police officer and nodded in their direction. "Who are they?"
"They found the body, Ma'am."
Tamara nodded, turning back to Kerry. "One ma'am is enough per day, Kerry."
The young PC flushed with embarrassment but she didn't have time to dwell on it as Tom looked past her and into the interior.
"Have we been shut out?" he asked. Kerry nodded.
"Yes, sir. The crime scene photographer is just squaring everything away and then we'll be clear to go in."
A flash lit up the interior as if to emphasise the point and Tom could see individuals clad in white coveralls moving around.
"What can you tell us, Kerry?"
Tom had been the one who selected Kerry Palmer as the officer he wanted to gain experience. She was intelligent, committed and took an incredibly diligent approach to her work. A number of eyebrows were raised when he put her name forward, not that she wasn't believed competent or capable, merely that there were other officers with far more experience who felt they should get the nod ahead of her. That wasn't how Tom saw it at all. His own experience when he left Norfolk for the Met taught him that age and years in were not the greatest measure of ability and competence. As much as experience in the service was essential, in his mind it was often the knowledge, character and intelligence that made the officer.
The members of his investigative team needed to complement one another, the blend of the team members being greater than the sum of its individual parts and the selection of Kerry Palmer would provide balance to Eric's commitment, Cassie's tenacity and his own methodical approach. So far, he'd been impressed with her in the brief stints on operations where she'd been involved, but those occasions were few and far between and she'd never been first on call in a situation such as this one. That was the thing about a regional post such as this; Metropolitan Police officers might deal with a number of cases in one month that a coastal Norfolk officer would only come across in an entire career. He was keen to see what she made of it.
"We had a call from a member of the public," Kerry pointed to the couple across the yard, "earlier this evening and uniform attended. They then called me." She opened her notebook and scanned her notes. "Inside is a deceased male, aged approximately forty to forty-five years of age. The couple who found him are friends and they have identified him as Billy Moy, a local man who has lived here since he was born." She waved the pen in her hand around in a small arc in front of her. "This place is registered to him. It has been the family home as far back as his friends can remember. I only spoke to them briefly, but they were expecting him at their place – Heacham Way – to take down a tree in their garden and he never showed."
"Is he a tree surgeon?" Tom asked, looking around and seeing a large pile of split logs, probably three or four tonnes' worth at the far end of the yard. A thick layer of sawdust lay on the ground nearby.
Kerry shrugged. "Not primarily, no. I think he's a jack of all trades as far as I can tell."
"What happened to him?" Tamara asked.
"The FME is inside but I think the cause of death is quite apparent," Kerry said, glancing over her shoulder as another flash lit up the kitchen. "He was found lying on the kitchen floor with a knife sticking out of his chest."
Tom sucked air through his teeth, raising his eyebrows. "Evidence of a struggle?"
She shook her head. "Not that I could see. The place is neat and tidy, no furniture overturned, broken crockery or anything like that. Likewise, no sign of forced entry. I had a brief look over the victim and couldn't see any defensive wounds or grazing to the knuckles to suggest he'd been in a fight for his life." She frowned.
"What is it?" Tom asked.
She looked uncertain for a moment and then shook it off. "I'm not convinced he saw it coming, even though his attacker must have been standing right in front of him. Single blow, straight to his chest and I wouldn't be surprised if it went straight through his heart. The amount of blood that came out, and the deep colouration of it, implies a major organ was struck… it's almost as if…"
"As if?"
She smiled. "As if it was a lucky strike…" she shook her head again. "Sorry, just speculating."
Tom smiled approvingly.
"Then there's the weapon itself," she said, reading through her notes to make certain she'd not missed anything, "I don't think the killer brought it with them. There's a carving knife missing from the chef's block on the worktop and the handle of the blade in his chest matches."
The front door opened and Dr Williams appeared. She took her mask away from her face and dropped the hood of her coveralls, smiling at Tom and Tamara in turn.
"You two can come in now, if you like," she said, then eyed Tamara up and down. "Somehow, I don't think you're quite dressed for the occasion."
Tom looked at Tamara, Fiona Williams had a point. Tamara was wearing a free-flowing green dress, the cut of which hung almost to the top of her high heels. Tom was also still in his best suit but the plastic boot covers would protect his finest leather footwear.
Tamara smiled sheepishly.
"Come on," Fiona said to Tamara whilst handing Tom pairs of gloves and boot covers, "I have a set of wellies in the car and I'm pretty sure we can hitch that dress up so it doesn't drag into anything it shouldn't. How was the wedding anyway?"
Tamara gratefully accepted and the two of them descended the steps to make their way across the yard to Fiona's car deep in conversation about the day’s events. Kerry Palmer watched them go and then turned back to face Tom who was busy donning the covers and tying them off at the ankle.
"How did Eric get on today?" she asked, seemingly somewhat bashful in Tom's opinion.
"He coped really well, I thought he was going to stumble on a couple of his lines but he carried it off."
"I'll bet he looked handsome in top hat and tails."
"He did, yes. They made quite the couple. Becca wore a shoulderless dress, or at least I think that was what Alice called it—"
"Strapless?" Kerry said.
Tom righted himself, checking his covers were on tightly enough. He nodded. "Yes, no straps over the shoulder, and a thin, fancy head-thing through the hair holding her veil in place."
"Fancy head-thing?" Kerry asked, struggling not to laugh. "I think you mean a tiara."
"Yes, I reckon that's probably it," Tom said, with a sideways smile. "Me and clothes, fashion… don't mix."
Kerry pushed the door open and held it with the flat of her left hand. "After you," she said. Tom entered, stopping one step inside and looking around the room. The decor was simple and unfussy. The furniture was old and mismatched without any particular style or trend, checked blankets were thrown over two sofas and a slightly tatty rug was set out before the wood-burning stove set into the hearth against the far wall.
Each wall had pictures or framed photographs hanging on it but again, there didn't appear to be a theme; each frame
was a different size, style or colour and those that weren't personal photographs looked like reprints you could pick up in high street shops at minimal cost. Overall, the room appeared tidy and well kept if in need of a little general cleaning. He looked at Kerry standing alongside him.
"Is he married?"
She shook her head. "According to the friends he's a confirmed bachelor, lives here alone."
"Doesn't look like any bachelor pad that I've ever known."
Kerry smiled. "Maybe he was connected to his inner female."
"I'll have you know some of us men are fastidiously clean and tidy, too, you know."
"Sorry, sir."
Tom laughed. "The victim?"
"Through there," she said pointing to the kitchen area where a forensic officer rose from where he was kneeling. They made their way over, watching their footing as they stepped into the kitchen. Tom had the same first impression that Kerry Palmer had described. The blood loss was severe, the pool of blood growing around the fallen man. It was drying now, thick and congealed, soaking into the tongue-and-groove floorboards. The crime scene officers had placed transparent stepping plates around the room in order to aid them in traversing the space without treading in the blood and contaminating the crime scene. Tom and Kerry would need to do the same.
"Are we clear?" Tom asked and the officer nodded.
"Yes, we're done here for now. Once you're happy then the body will be removed and we'll sweep the entire place for fingerprints and start bagging everything up."
Tom thanked him and tentatively stepped up onto the first crate. He'd done this before, many times, but he often thought they'd give way under his weight. Being comfortably six foot three and a powerfully-built man, he thought the plastic wouldn't hold, but it did. Two crates next to the body were placed in close proximity to one another to make it easier to assess the victim closely, Tom dropping to his haunches, Kerry standing off to his right.
Billy Moy looked older than his years. He was a similar age to Tom but could easily pass as ten years older. His hair was thinning and receding, shot through with large streaks of grey. His skin, even taking into account that he was dead, appeared dry and deeply lined. A quick glance at the man's hands told him that he spent a lot of time outdoors, working tough jobs. One hand was upturned and the skin of the palm, as well as the fingers, was coarse and ingrained with dirt. He was an outdoor man. Despite his physical stature being quite slight, Tom figured he was in decent shape. His upper body didn't carry an ounce of fat and the muscle tissue of his arms, visible from the edge of his T-shirt, was well toned. He was probably quite capable of wielding an axe to cut that wood outside with great proficiency. Kerry seemed to notice and must have thought similarly.
"You see what I mean about how it went down?"
Tom glanced at her and nodded, returning his gaze to the body and then around the kitchen. There were items on the worktops, appliances, boxes of food and crockery. None of it appeared to have been disturbed. There was nothing on the floor either, which one might expect if there was even the briefest of struggles before the fatal blow was delivered.
"It does look like it was a single strike," Tom said, his brow furrowing, "and I dare say he—"
"Knew his killer," Kerry finished for him. Tom looked up at her. She smiled apologetically. He waved it away.
"Exactly right. Whoever was with him wasn't threatening, and they were able to get close enough to dispatch him with one blow… unless there are other injuries we can't see."
"Not that I've found, Tom," Fiona Williams said, entering the kitchen with Tamara beside her. It wouldn't be appropriate to comment in front of the assembled junior ranks but Tom found Tamara's get-up to be incredibly comical. She was still wearing her wedding outfit, which she wore beautifully, her hair tied up in a stylish design with make-up and jewellery to complement it. In fact, Tom had never seen her look so beguiling as she did that day. However, the ensemble took on a very different style when the dress was gathered together and crudely tucked into the top of a pair of wellington boots.
Tamara caught his eye and one look convinced him he was right not to draw attention to her look. Dr Williams offered her thoughts.
"I'm sure you've already noted the likely cause of death. I should imagine the knife was driven into his chest at close quarters, the killer standing directly in front of the victim. The blow has most probably penetrated the heart due to the amount of blood loss we can see here, which also confirms the stabbing was pre-mortem rather than post. The pathologist will confirm but I can say with a degree of confidence that this will be the cause of death. If he didn't die immediately from the blow itself, then it was more than likely that he bled out in a matter of minutes."
"Any other injuries, or just that stab wound?" Tamara asked.
"His T-shirt is white and although it has soaked up a great deal of blood, I haven't been able to find any other penetration to the material, so I think it is just the one wound. Usually, at this point I would ask for you to help me lever him up so we can have a look at his back, but I think on this occasion we will have to wait. Otherwise we'll be standing in this poor chap's blood and traipsing it throughout the crime scene. We'll just have to wait for the pathologist to confirm if there are any other wounds, of the stabbing variety or any other I'm afraid. I'm sure you've spotted that he is sporting a shiner?"
Tom frowned, scanning the body. Due to the poor lighting in the kitchen, part of the dead man's face was cast in shadow. Tom reappraised him and saw the bruising around the left eye. He nodded.
"That doesn't look fresh to me, too much colouration," he said.
Fiona Williams agreed. "I'd say that's been there for a day or two prior to death but no longer."
Tom looked the deceased up and down once more. He had his shoes on and was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. It seemed a little cold at the moment to not have thicker clothing on his upper body. He looked around the cabin but couldn't see any radiators. At the centre of the kitchen against the outer wall was an old Aga. He guessed this was not only used for food preparation but also supplied heating and possibly hot water. He pointed to it.
"Is that warm?"
The forensic officer looked over at it and shook his head. Tom realised there was a chill in the cabin and he figured it was so old that the property had little by way of insulation or, if there was, it was grossly inadequate.
"Estimated time of death?"
Fiona Williams looked at the clock. "I haven't been able to do the liver test yet. Rigor has set in and relaxed." She thought about it. "Where are we now, approaching six o'clock? I think he's been dead for a couple of days, but it's been cold inside and out, so I'd expect the analysis to come back with the night before last. Unlikely to be more than forty-eight hours, I'd say."
"Right, thanks. That puts likely death to be Thursday evening or night," Tom said. He looked over at Tamara. "Shall we have a word with the couple who found him?" Tamara nodded. Tom turned to Kerry. "Have you been through the rest of the cabin yet?" She shook her head. "Okay, while we're talking to them can you have a look around the other rooms and see what stands out to you? Anything at all that looks odd or out of place. I'll run through it with you once we're done."
"Will do, sir."
Chapter Four
Tom and Tamara left the house and made their way across the yard to where the witnesses were waiting with a uniformed constable. The yard was uneven, predominantly mud, and this had been churned up by various vehicles over time judging from the ridges and mounds in places. There was also a fair amount of loose straw scattered around and Tom heard animal sounds coming from one of the nearby sheds. They were too small to house a significant number of cattle but goats and chickens were feasible. As if on cue, several hens appeared in view making their way across the yard absently pecking at the ground and paying them no attention at all.
The officer stepped away from the others to greet them and Tom saw the man's eyes drift over Tamara's get-up and momentarily
appear distracted, but if he was thinking about commenting he soon dismissed the idea and remained professional.
"Ma'am, sir," he said, gesturing to the waiting couple. "This is Gary and Jenny Bartlett. They found the body a couple of hours ago."
Tom took the lead. He cast an eye over them as he introduced himself, customarily displaying his warrant card as he did so. They were in their fifties, he guessed. The man, Gary, was casually dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting woollen jumper that had seen better days and had some mud visible on it. It still looked damp as if it was recent. For her part, Jenny, was quite the contrast wearing a hoodie and a pair of tracksuit bottoms and wellies. The ensemble was completed by a waxed jacket over the top. The latter was far too large for her, the collars at her wrists covered most of her hands. Presumably, she was wearing Gary's coat to keep her warm. The end of her nose was red, as were her ears, and she was shuffling on the spot trying to keep warm. The day had been chilly anyway but now the sun had set and any notion of early spring forgotten as the feel of winter was very much upon them.
"I'm sure you've already covered this with my colleague," Tom said, "but if you wouldn't mind going back over what you found as well as how you came to be here today?"
"Y–Yes, of course," Gary said, nodding. He glanced at Jenny but she seemed quite happy to let him speak, she was standing alongside him quite awkwardly but Tom couldn't see why that would be so. "Billy," he pointed to the cabin, "was supposed to come over to ours today and do some cutting ahead of spring when everything shoots up again."
"Cutting?"
"Trees… near to the house. They're good for acting as a barrier to the coastal wind but they're blocking too much light coming into the house now. We should have done it last year but," he looked at his partner again, "we never got around to it, did we, love?"
She shook her head.
"You live nearby?" Tom asked, glancing around.
Gary nodded. "Yes, next place over." He pointed in the direction beyond the sheds as if they could see through the outbuildings. "It's a five-minute walk along the track."
To Die For: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 9) Page 3