Although Tom couldn't claim to know the man particularly well, he had been made aware in the past that the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree when it came to Alan Junior, the son of a notoriously difficult man who bore the same name. Alan Senior had died unexpectedly in his early fifties and having become a family man quite late in life the working of the business fell to his son, himself barely out of his teens. Alan Junior had easily matched his father's irascible temperament according to those familiar with him. Add to this the power and influence that came from being one of the foremost powerful family names in the area and it was a toxic cocktail, one that the young Alan took to. He was well known for expecting to have his way and more often than not he managed to get it.
The entrance to the property took Tom past several agricultural barns, modern affairs clad in sheet steel and dwarfing the more traditional barns that one could find dotting the Norfolk countryside. Ashwood was a professional and clearly large-scale venture. The farmhouse itself was set apart from the working courtyard and ringed by mature trees, obviously planted many decades previously to offer the residence a natural windbreak from the coastal winds that swept up at it off the coast.
Passing between two ornate brick-built piers, Tom entered the property from the south and followed the driveway around to where it opened up before the main entrance. To his right was a stable block with a manege visible beyond it. He saw several figures moving in and out of the stables as he brought the car to a stop and got out. A woman with blonde hair, tied into a pony tail hanging almost to her waistline, turned to observe his approach. As he drew closer he guessed she was in her early forties, dressed in riding trousers and boots and sporting a green gilet over her navy-blue fleece. She stepped forward to meet him, hands on her hips.
"Good morning," Tom said, smiling. She returned it. He reached for his warrant card and another person emerged from the nearby stable block leading a magnificent-looking horse, a teenage girl alongside him. "I'm Detective Inspector Janssen."
The young girl broke off from the man and horse, coming to stand alongside the woman who slipped her arm across her shoulder.
"Good morning, Inspector. Ginette Finney," she said, smiling warmly and looking at the girl beside her. "And this is my daughter, Kim."
Tom should have realised because the younger woman was the spit of her mother from skin tone and eye colour to hairstyle.
"Whatever can we do for the police on such a dull Sunday morning?"
Tom smiled. "Yes, not quite ideal riding weather, is it?" he said.
"All weather is riding weather, Inspector. Do you ride yourself?"
Tom glanced sideways, taking in the horse being led away across the yard. "Not for a while, but it has been known in the past."
"You can't beat it, can you? Getting out in the countryside, fresh air, great views…" she cast a glance at the heavens "…when the mist and fog clear anyway."
Tom nodded. "True enough. I was hoping to speak with your husband, Alan, if he's around?"
Ginette gestured towards the house. "He's over in the main house. What's this about, if you don't mind my asking?"
Tom glanced at Kim. She must be fifteen or sixteen and although he figured she would be old enough to not be traumatised by the news of Billy Moy's death, he still didn't feel comfortable discussing it in front of her. He looked at Kim and away again. "I understand that Billy Moy has been doing some work for your husband recently."
"Billy?" Ginette said, her expression conveying surprise. She also glanced sideways at Kim, clearly noticing Tom's attention towards her daughter. "Kim, darling, why don't you go and rouse your father from his study and tell him we have a visitor." She smiled at Tom and Kim seemed happy to oblige, smiling awkwardly at Tom before averting her eyes and hurrying off towards the house. Her mother watched her go for a moment before turning back to Tom. "Yes, I think Billy was here in the early part of last week. Why? What's he been up to?"
"Does Mr Moy do a lot of work for you around here?"
Ginette looked around, shrugging. "Billy has his uses. He's quite adept at turning his hand to most things."
"I've heard that." Tom followed her gaze around the stable yard. "Forgive me—”
She met his eye inquisitively, nodding.
“—but it strikes me as a little surprising that an operation such as yours that you have here would be in need of a, how can I put this, a jack-of-all-trades type man as Billy Moy?"
Ginette laughed, looking away. "I suppose that's a fairly apt description for Billy, yes." Her eye was drawn to the main house as a man appeared from the back door. Tom recognised Alan Finney. He was alone. Ginette's laughter was replaced with a warm smile. She was an attractive woman. "By your accent I would say you are from these parts, but have spent some time away. Is that right?"
"Quite accurate, yes." Tom matched her smile with one of her own. "You've missed your calling. I thought I was supposed to be the detective."
She inclined her head slightly. "Then you'll know that those of us who are from here look after one another."
"After a fashion, I would agree."
"The Moys have been around these parts for as long as my family," she said, lowering her voice as her husband approached. "Even longer than the Finneys." Alan Finney came within earshot and Ginette stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. "Darling, this is Detective Inspector…" she looked at Tom apologetically.
"Tom Janssen."
"Detective Inspector Janssen, Alan. He's asking after Billy."
Alan Finney's brow furrowed as he looked between the two of them, his eyes settling on Tom. "Whatever do we have to speak to the police about regarding Billy? I thought you'd finally got around to doing something about those bloody pikies!"
"I beg your pardon?" Tom asked.
"Those buggers have been out here coursing again," Alan said, bristling. "Tearing up my land, illegal gambling… I've been on to your chief superintendent and still you lot haven't bothered to deal with it."
Tom took a breath, allowing him to get it off his chest.
"I'm sure that will be looked into in due course, but I'm here on another matter—"
"Yes, Billy Moy. What the devil has he brought to my door this time?"
Tom found that a curious response.
"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you both," Tom said, carefully watching the two of them for a reaction to the news he was lining up. "Billy was found dead at his home yesterday."
Ginette audibly drew breath, putting a hand up to cover her mouth. She looked at her husband who stared straight ahead at Tom. Other than a deepening of his frown, there was no apparent reaction from him.
"Well, that's quite a shock," Alan said after a moment. Tom had the impression he wasn't particularly shocked at all. At least, he didn't seem to be.
"How… I–I mean…" Ginette stuttered. She shot a look at her husband and then Tom. If Alan Finney didn't seem shocked, his wife was at the polar opposite end of the scale.
"I'm afraid Billy was murdered."
Alan's lips parted and Ginette reached for his hand, clasping his in her own. Tom saw him squeeze her hand as his expression softened from stern to sympathetic. "Who on earth would have it in for Billy?"
That was the question Tom planned to ask them.
"Can you tell me what Billy was doing for you here?" he asked, trying to inject some normality into the conversation to help ease the shock.
Alan looked at Tom, thinking hard. "Um… I had some servicing of the equipment that was overdue… getting things ready for the next planting."
"I would have thought you would have contracts for that," Tom said, "based on your size—"
"Yes, well," Alan said, waving the comment away and glancing sideways at his wife, "but Billy is – was – useful at short notice. Cost effective as well."
Tom still found it odd but he didn't press the point. "And how would you describe Billy Moy to someone who didn't know him?"
"How do you mean?" Al
an asked.
"As a person for starters. Anything you can think of."
Alan blew out his cheeks. "Nice enough bloke. A bit… out there sometimes."
"Out there?"
Alan shrugged. "Dreamy. That's probably a better word. Wouldn't you say, love?"
Ginette agreed. "He was in his own little world a lot of the time. He has always been that way."
"You've known him a long time?" Tom asked.
"Oh, yes. Billy and I go way back," she said, averting her eye from Tom's. He wondered if Billy's being around the place was some of that looking after one another she had spoken of. He was curious as to what she meant by that.
"And what about you, Mr Finney?"
He shrugged. "What about me?" There was an edge to his tone in the reply.
"Do you and Billy go back a long way as well?"
Alan sniffed hard, looking away. "The Moys have been around these parts for donkeys’ years, but Billy was a few years below me at school back in the day. I think he was starting as I was leaving. I barely knew him and I can't say I spent a great deal of time with him either back then or now for that matter."
If that was the case, Tom was even more curious as to why Billy found work at the Finneys. It wasn't as if you could see Billy and Alan rubbing shoulders socially or professionally. It was a curious mix, but it was possible he was reading too much into it. Billy Moy had a reputation for being good with most things and maybe it was just as the Bartletts described, Billy was a useful guy to have around.
"When did you last see Billy?"
"That's easy. Wednesday," Ginette said, looking at her husband. "He was here Monday to Wednesday, wasn't he?"
Alan nodded. "Yes, that's right. Billy was here until early afternoon on Wednesday… he left around two o'clock, if I remember right."
"And how did he seem?"
Alan shrugged. "I can't say I spent a lot of time with him. He seemed all right, to be fair. Normal. He was working on the sprayer, over there in the second barn," Alan said, pointing to a structure visible beyond the house.
"The sprayer?"
"Crop sprayer. The nozzles can get blocked and you flush them through. It's a simple enough job but pretty tedious."
"Right," Tom said, looking at Ginette. "And did you see more of him?"
"Why would she?" Alan asked. "I mean, you were about, weren't you, love? But you wouldn't have seen much of him."
"That's right," she said, nodding. "I was pottering around the stables here." She gestured in the air with a circular hand motion. "I didn't really see him."
"Is there anyone else around who may have spoken to him?"
Alan raised his eyebrows. "A number of people, yes." He looked around the yard. "I daresay they aren't here today though. You're more than welcome to come back tomorrow, if you like?"
Tom nodded. "I'll do that. Perhaps you can provide me with a list of employees who were at work last week, highlighting those likely to have had contact with Billy?"
Alan sighed. Tom noticed his irritation and Alan was aware. He didn't seem bothered.
"That's a lot of people, Inspector."
Tom eyed him impassively. Alan Finney held the eye contact but Tom was unfazed.
Alan sighed again. "And when would you like this list?"
"Before I leave," Tom said flatly, ensuring he remained polite. He would have been happy to receive the list when they returned tomorrow but something about Finney's attitude made him less eager to accommodate him.
"Fine. I'll get it together," Alan grumbled.
"Thank you. I would appreciate it." Tom smiled at him. "Any time you're ready."
"Right, okay." Alan looked between Tom and his wife. "Now?"
"If it's no trouble," Tom said, his smile broadening. "Unless you have anything else that you think might be useful for me to know?"
Alan looked momentarily uncomfortable, but nodded slowly. "I'll… um… crack on with that list then."
He turned and strode across the yard, glancing back over his shoulder once, frowning as he hesitated but then he continued on. Ginette let out her breath slowly, chewing on her lower lip as she saw Tom watching her.
"You'll have to forgive Alan, Inspector Janssen," she said, "he isn't really a people person… and Billy… wasn't really his type of character."
"Then why have him around?"
She shrugged but this time he didn't let her off the hook so easily.
"Mrs Finney? Why have Billy around at all? No matter how useful he was, your husband can't have need of him, not really."
"No, that's true," she said, pursing her lips. "To be honest, Alan throws work Billy's way because of me."
Now she had Tom's attention. "How so?"
Ginette coughed. It was a dry sound and when she ran her tongue along her lower lip. He figured her mouth and throat were dry.
"Mrs Finney?"
"Billy's mum, Maureen. Do you know of her?"
"Only on paper. She died some time ago I believe."
"That's right," she said, staring into the distance. "A few years back. Maureen was lovely. She worked with my mum," she waved a hand in the air to brush the comment away, "a long, long time ago. She did right by my mum. I had a lot of time for her… and after Maureen passed… I felt like I should look out for Billy. Can you understand that?"
Tom nodded. "I can."
"And for all of Billy's capability, he found the daily grind of life, running a business… functioning in society, quite a challenge. He's not the businessman his father was… and he was nothing without Maureen behind him picking up after him when he dropped the ball so to speak."
"I see. And Billy? What do you make of him?"
Her eyes glazed over and she found another spot on the horizon to focus on, drawing a deep breath.
"He was a lovely man, Billy. He had so much to give but…" she shook her head.
"But?"
"I don't know. He was awkward… and not everyone understood him. Not that there was anything wrong with him mentally, please don't think that, but the way he was around people… they struggled. He was someone you spent short spells with quite happily but anything beyond that… could be rather trying."
"It sounds like you speak from experience."
She broke her gaze away from the horizon, looking directly at him. She smiled weakly.
"Sort of, yes. I'm a little younger than my husband. I knew Billy from school." She laughed awkwardly. "That was all a long time ago now."
Tom waited to see if she would add to what she'd already said but nothing else was forthcoming and they stood in silence for a minute. A man stepped out from the stables leading another horse. He came to within a few metres of them, drawing Ginette's attention. She turned to him.
"Will you still be riding this morning, Mrs Finney?"
She looked at Tom as if to query if he had anything else to ask her and he shook his head.
"Please excuse me," she said, smiling weakly.
"Thank you for your time, Mrs Finney."
"Ginette, please," she replied, nodding in his direction as she walked away. Tom smiled. "Yes, Frank," she said addressing the waiting man who passed her a riding hat. "I'll take her if you can saddle up Bess for Kim." Ginette glanced back at Tom, still standing in the same place with his hands in his pockets, as she took the reins from her stable hand and the man disappeared back inside the stable block to do as requested.
Tom noted that Kim hadn't yet returned from the main house.
"I'm sure Alan won't keep you waiting long, Inspector," Ginette said as she mounted the horse, settling into the saddle and guiding the animal near to Tom.
"No problem," Tom said, reaching up and stroking its neck. "Magnificent horse."
"My favourite, Inspector" she said, smiling down at him.
"Do you know where I can find Billy's brother?" he asked, almost as an afterthought.
Ginette thought hard. "I haven't seen Simon for years." She shook her head. "I think he came back for Maureen's fun
eral but I don't recall seeing him afterwards. I'm sorry, Inspector, I'm afraid I don't know where he might be."
"Please call me Tom," he said. "No matter. I'm sure I'll track him down."
She smiled again, dipping her head to him. "Tom."
Encouraging the horse, she moved away, walking it towards the house. Kim appeared at the door with a stern expression on her face. She looked past the horse directly at Tom, and when she realised he was watching her she quickly moved out of his eyeline putting her mother and the horse between them. Soon after, the stable hand reappeared leading another horse, only this one was a chestnut mare and a fair bit smaller than the gelding Ginette was riding.
Kim came out from behind her mother, fastening a riding hat in place, but didn't look at Tom at all, climbing up into the saddle while the hand held the horse steady for her. Mother and daughter then set off trotting out of the yard and around to the other side of the house, presumably starting their route. The man whom Tom had overheard being called Frank was making his way back into the stables when Tom approached him, brandishing his warrant card. He stopped and eyed Tom warily, evidently surprised to find himself speaking to a policeman on a Sunday morning. Tom explained why he was there.
"I can't say I knew him very well," Frank said, speaking of Billy Moy. He looked past Tom in the direction of the house.
"But you've seen him around?"
Frank shrugged. "Yes, of course. It's a small place, you know?"
"And is Billy working here often?"
"From time to time." Frank's gaze narrowed. His guard was up and that intrigued Tom.
"What about last week. Did you see him then?"
"Yeah," Frank raised his eyebrows, "last week… come to think of it that was—"
Frank's eyes moved to the house and he stared at something. Tom looked round to see Alan Finney approaching with a sheet of note paper in his hand.
"That was what?" Tom asked.
Frank shook his head. "Nothing really. Something and nothing."
"Sounds like it might be something—"
"I'd best get on," Frank said, turning and striding into the stable block. Tom watched him go, wondering what the man was about to say but had obviously thought better of it.
To Die For: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 9) Page 7