To Die For: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 9)

by J M Dalgliesh

  "I thought we were cutting the crap, Rory?"

  McInally turned, leaning on the railings and folding his arms across his chest.

  "Who are you looking for?"

  "Sasha Kalnina."

  He scrunched up his face, glancing first at Tamara and then towards the sky. "Can't say I know the name. What is she to me… or Charlie for that matter?"

  "She was abducted off the street this morning."

  He shrugged.

  "And she is the witness in a murder case," Tom said.

  "Murder? Now, why didn't you say so. That is serious."

  "Where is she?"

  He shrugged again. "Never heard the name before," he shook his head dismissively. "And murder really isn't my game, Inspector. You know that."

  "How about trafficking women?" Tamara asked. "Enticing naive young women to the country and forcing them into prostitution will be a new avenue for you as well."

  The casual demeanour shifted ever so slightly, McInally bringing himself upright. He slowly pointed an accusatory finger at her. "Now look, don't be trying to tie me to any of that. I'm a lot of things – have been a lot of things – but I don't deal in people, never have."

  "Maybe you should discuss that with Aleksandrs Balodis," Tom said.

  Rory McInally paused, eyeing Tom warily. Something appeared to pass unsaid between them for a brief moment, McInally fixing Tom with a shuttered expression.

  "Say who again?"

  "Aleksandrs Balodis," Tom repeated.

  "Can't say I know that name either. Doesn't sound like a local."

  "Well, his body washed up locally."

  McInally sniffed, breaking the eye contact. "That's very sad. Condolences to the family."

  "I'll be sure to pass that on. I'm sure his relatives will appreciate the sentiment. So, what business do you deal in these days, Rory?" Tom asked, looking around. "This is a nice place. Maybe HMRC should come over, take a look at your finances and see just what you can and cannot afford."

  He scoffed at the threat. "Do your worst, Inspector. I have nothing to hide."

  "Oh, I doubt that very much, Rory."

  The radio in Tamara's hand crackled into life and she stepped away from them. McInally kept half an eye on her. Tom noticed.

  "Worried about something, Rory?"

  McInally smiled. It was artificial and somewhat forced. "Not at all, Inspector. In fact, I'm quite amused. You must be amassing quite an overtime bill with all of this lot."

  "We're working on commission these days, Rory."

  He laughed. "In that case, I hope you can go without eating for a while. I knew cutbacks were harsh, good for business, but harsh on your lot. They say crime doesn't pay… and I don't think it pays for you, does it?"

  Tom smiled. "I'm paid well enough."

  "Oh, good. I have a lovely plot of land just over the other side of the lake there." He waved to their right and winked. "I'll do you a good deal."

  "Nah, I'm picky about my neighbours."

  McInally put a hand across his heart and feigned offence. "You do me damage, Inspector. It cuts deep."

  Tamara returned, accompanied by two uniformed constables, a serious expression on her face. "You'd better put some clothes on, Mr McInally."

  This time Rory did appear genuinely annoyed. "Whatever it is you think you've found, it's got nothing to do with me."

  "We can discuss it at the station."

  The two constables guided him inside to get dressed. Tom was curious.

  "Have we found her?"

  She shook her head. "No, nothing so far."

  "Then what?"

  "Dogs."

  He frowned. "I beg your pardon."

  "There's an outbuilding at the furthest point of the site. We found a number of dogs in there, sixty-odd, although it's hard to be sure as they're all in there together. A mixture of breeds. Cassie reckons they're all pedigree."

  "Stolen?"

  "Likely, yes. We'll need to get a vet down with a scanner. Some breeds retail at two to three thousand a pop. Most of them will be microchipped, for sure. Then we'll know. But there's no sign of Sasha or the van. What did you make of his reaction when you mentioned Balodis?"

  Tom thought about it. "He was uncertain, guarded."

  "I thought so too. But is that an indication of something more?"

  "Guilt, you mean?"

  Tamara nodded. "Or concern that we found the body."

  Tom sighed. "Or for once, he really didn't know who I was talking about and was contemplating whether one of his lieutenants has cocked up?"

  Tom's mobile rang. He answered as Rory McInally came out of his home, now fully dressed, escorted by the two officers and sporting a set of handcuffs. Tamara smiled at him as he passed. He glared at her.

  "My solicitor will have a field day with you lot. By this time tomorrow, the two of you will be issuing parking tickets!"

  Tamara didn't reply, merely broadening her smile as he descended the steps and was led away. Tom hung up, putting his hand on her upper arm, he encouraged her to come with him.

  "Come on, we've found the van."

  "Where is it?"

  "Dumped on the Sandringham Estate."

  They hurried back to the car, coming across Eric on the way. Tom called out to him as they passed.

  "Stay here with Cassie and make sure every inch of this place is turned over. We're looking for anything that we can use to apply pressure to Rory McInally."

  "Will do, but where are you off to?"

  "Uniform have found the van not far from here."

  "Any sign of Sasha?"

  Tom shook his head and got into the car.

  The drive to Sandringham took less than fifteen minutes with the blue lights and sirens on. Their location was close to the estate's visitor centre and popular children’s play area on one of the approach roads off the A149. The road took them through the woods and before reaching the designated car parks there were small areas amongst the trees often used by locals to park their cars while walking their dogs through the country park.

  A uniformed officer flagged them down as they approached, guiding them to park on the left between the trees. The van was off the road and had been driven into some brush. It was still clearly visible and looked abandoned rather than parked in an attempt to hide it from view.

  Tom dropped the window, the constable leaning in to them, acknowledging both in turn.

  "A passer-by called it in three quarters of an hour ago, thought it looked odd. Obviously it was flagged and flashed up immediately."

  "Have you been inside?" Tom asked.

  He shook his head. "It's all locked up. Had a walk around it but can't see or hear anyone."

  "Let's have a look."

  He went to the rear of his car, opening the boot and bringing a claw hammer from a box he had inside. Falling into step alongside Tamara, the three of them approached.

  "It's definitely the one they used to snatch Sasha," Tamara said.

  They found the van just as the officer described. The doors to the cabin were locked and there was nothing of note on view. Tamara tried the side door but it didn't give either. Returning to the back end, Tom forced the claws of the hammer into the gap between the rear doors and, using his immense strength, popped the lock with apparent ease. He exchanged a glance with Tamara. Both of them held their breath as he swung the door open.

  The constable angled a torch beam into the interior. It was empty, the side panels and floor just as battered as the exterior. In the corner at the front of the van, a figure was curled up in a ball. Her arms were bound with cable ties at the wrists, as were her ankles. The smell of the interior was an odd mix of oil, grime and human sweat.

  "Sasha," Tom said quietly.

  Tamara climbed into the back of the van, inching her way carefully towards the woman. Her face wasn't visible, hidden as it was between her bound hands.

  "Sasha?" she asked. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Tamara thought she saw a flicke
r of movement. "Sasha, it's me, Tamara from the police."

  Slowly and very purposefully, Sasha's hands moved slightly to reveal a fearful, wide-eyed expression. She stared through her bound hands, her breath coming in short ragged intakes.

  "You're safe now, Sasha."

  Tamara came closer to her, gently reaching out and touching her hands. Sasha blinked, flinching at Tamara's touch despite her taking great care. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks were streaked as tears passed through dirt and grime. Her left eye was swollen, her lower lip split in several places. It too was enlarged and looked sore. Her injuries present that morning had now multiplied. Tamara looked over her shoulder as she helped the woman to sit up and place her back against the side of the van.

  "Call for an ambulance!" She turned back to Sasha, trying to reassure her with a smile. "It's over, Sasha. You're safe now."

  Sasha's expression remained the same, her eyes watching Tamara warily.

  "No one is going to hurt you anymore."

  Tom got into the van, Sasha panicking and trying to move further into the corner. Tamara did her best to calm her. Tom checked his approach, passing a pocket knife to Tamara who used it to cut the ties binding Sasha's hands and feet. Tom retreated from the space, realising his mere presence was intimidating her. He could see that she had taken something of a beating, so much so that she'd dared not make a sound when the police first approached the van.

  The paramedic treating Sasha deemed her physical injuries to be largely superficial and once she was safely in the back of the ambulance, accompanied by a police officer, Tamara came to stand alongside Tom who was inspecting the van.

  "How is she?" he asked.

  "Messed up. Physically, she'll be sore for a while and they'll check her over at the hospital to make certain, but I think she'll be okay. Mentally? That's something altogether different."

  "Has she said anything about her abductors or what they wanted from her?"

  Tamara shook her head. "Not a word. She's scared to death, I'll give her that—"

  "But there's more?"

  "I get the feeling she's just as scared of us as she is of them."

  "I spoke to Cassie. There's no sign of Charlie Barnes at the site. I'm having a forensics team come down to pick this van clean for anything we can get, fingerprints, blood, sweat… anything that can tie it to whoever did this to Sasha."

  Tamara let out an exasperated sigh.

  "What is it?" Tom asked.

  "All… this!" she said, flicking her hand from the van to the ambulance as it moved away for the short trip to the hospital. The flickering blue lights of two patrol cars illuminated the space around them. The sun was dropping over the horizon and the surrounding trees saw them plunged into darkness ahead of time. "I don't feel we are any closer to figuring this out. Do you?"

  "We have Sasha now… once she's feeling more secure, maybe she will open up—"

  "You sound like me two days ago, Tom. Cassie suggested I press her, but I thought go easy, play it slowly."

  Tom shrugged. "Who's to say you were wrong?"

  "I got her to a safe place and as soon as I tried to speak to her, she ran… and ended up here. Think about it, even if she does talk and points a finger at McInally – which I doubt she will because he's not stupid enough to do this himself – he will deny it, and then it will be months before it gets to trial. Do you think she's going to stick around to testify?"

  Tom shook his head. "No, she'll be on the first available flight back to Latvia—"

  "And good luck getting her to return for the court date. That's why McInally will be so confident."

  They were alone and Tamara allowed herself an uncharacteristic stifled scream of frustration.

  "It wouldn't be half as irritating if I didn't feel that we had all the pieces but can't put them together."

  "I'm feeling that too," Tom said. "Why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Why let her go? I mean, if you're brazen enough to snatch her off the street right in front of the police then you must have good cause. Whether she knows something or has something they want, why let her go only a matter of hours later?"

  Tamara frowned. "Maybe they bottled it, realised the heat they were going to get and dumped her as soon as they thought about it?"

  "Yeah, maybe."

  "You don't sound convinced, Tom."

  He smiled. "No, sorry. To know where she was they must have been paying attention, looking for her… and watching us. They knew we'd be immediately in the hunt and yet they still took the risk."

  "Perhaps she gave up whatever it was they were after," she said, thinking aloud.

  "Or she never had what they thought she had in the first place."

  "You're not helping with my clarity of thought, Thomas."

  He placed a supportive hand on her shoulder and she leaned in to him, resting her forehead on his arm.

  "It's going to be a long night, isn't it?"

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tamara turned the key in the lock and entered. The muted sound of the television came to her through the closed door to the living room. She hung up her coat and wandered through to the kitchen, putting her bag down on the table. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was approaching half eleven. She felt shattered, but her brain was so wired there was no chance of sleep coming any time soon.

  Crossing to the fridge, she took out the open bottle of wine and, first picking up a glass, she returned to the table. Pouring out a glass, she set about removing the files from her bag and setting them out in a fan around her seat, determined to figure out what she was missing.

  The television noise grew louder, accompanied by footsteps on the wooden floor. Tamara's mother, Francesca, came into the kitchen, surprised to see her at the table.

  "I didn't hear you come in, Tammy darling."

  "Yes, I was purposefully quiet."

  If her mother was offended by Tamara's obvious intent to be alone, she either wasn't aware or didn't show it.

  "Long day?"

  "And getting longer," she said with a half-smile.

  "Your father's asleep on the sofa."

  "Some things never change," Tamara said, lifting her glass to her lips. The wine was a little dry for her tastes but her mother chose it and anything would do right now.

  "May I join you?"

  Tamara looked up at her mother. She was on edge about something. Perhaps that wasn't fair. Tamara was well aware that when she was buried in her work, she didn't take well to distraction and her mother was many things – distracting being one of them.

  "Yes, of course. Grab a glass," she said, sliding the bottle across the table ever so slightly.

  Francesca smiled, got her own glass and came over to the table. Tamara picked up the bottle and filled her mother's glass halfway when it was presented to her. Francesca pulled out her chair and sat down.

  "Rough day?"

  "You wouldn't believe the half of it," Tamara said, sitting back and raising her own glass once more.

  "You can tell me about it, if you like?"

  "Thanks, Mum, but to be honest it's already making my head spin as it is," she said, picking up a clutch of crime scene photographs taken at Billy Moy's house. She had already separated the ones depicting Billy's body, being more interested in the rest of the house. There was something about the scene that did not fit in her mind and it had troubled her since Eric's wedding day when she and Tom had first entered.

  Seeing as Sasha remained silent on her abduction, as had Rory McInally and his associates, they'd spent the entire evening applying pressure, cajoling, even threatening at times, only to end the day with as many questions as answers. Taking a break from the murder of Aleksandrs Balodis and reviewing Billy Moy's was as much respite as she was likely to get. She needed to see movement on both cases and thus far there was precious little. At ten thirty they'd released everyone currently detained in relation to either case. They had no choice.

  The team were annoyed about it,
Tom in particular. She was too, but without cause to hold anyone any longer, the decision was out of her hands. She flicked through the photos, as she had done many times previously but nothing leapt out at her.

  "Nice place."

  Tamara looked up at her mum quizzically. Francesca tipped her glass towards the photograph in her hand taken in Billy Moy's kitchen. The body was just out of shot.

  "I mean, it's a little basic for me… rustic even," Francesca said, angling her head to one side to get a better view, "but nice enough. The case you're working on?"

  Tamara nodded, staring at the image. She doubted the kitchen had been updated in decades. To her it looked old and tired, but tastes varied. "One of them, yes."

  "Is that where you were called to last week, leaving the reception?"

  "I'm afraid so. A man was killed in his home."

  "Oh, that's awful. The poor chap. Burglary, was it?"

  "We don't know. Drug deal gone bad… maybe," she said, adding the maybe as a precaution. Her mother was particularly vocal when it came to gossip, although being new to the area and only visiting – a visit now in its fifth month – she didn't imagine she'd made many friends yet with whom to discuss the news just yet.

  "Even so, his family must be devastated no matter what brought such evil to their door."

  Tamara shook her head, leafing through the next couple of photos. "Not that you'd know it. He only had a brother, and they were estranged for years."

  "Was he not married?"

  Tamara glanced at her mother, reading her surprised expression.

  "No, confirmed bachelor." She chose not to muddy the conversation by mentioning the voyeurism, allegations of touching an underage girl or the links to cannabis production and probable supply.

  "Odd. I would say that place had a woman's touch to it."

  Tamara frowned at the obvious gender bias in her mother's mind. Why do women always have to do the cleaning? Then again, more often than not, they usually still did.

  "Yes, well, no one's talking and we're struggling to make a breakthrough."

  "Do you have suspects that you're looking into at least?"

  Tamara tilted her head. "We have people of interest, and between them I dare say we could explain what happened. But, like I said, no one's talking."