Kill Them Cold Read online

  Kill Them Cold

  Hidden Norfolk - Book 7

  J M Dalgliesh

  Contents

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  Kill Them Cold

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

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  First published by Hamilton Press in 2021

  Copyright © J M Dalgliesh, 2021

  The right of J M Dalgliesh to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a purely fictitious manner. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  Kill Them Cold

  Prologue

  For once, it was a relief to escape the chaos. The music, the laughter and the boisterous behaviour. Though muted, the sound still carried to her as she walked. The fresh air made her dizzy. Had she really drunk that much? The sound of waves crashing against the beach, of insects chirping in the nearby brush, reminiscent of Mediterranean holidays. If not for the lack of dust underfoot she could easily imagine she was in southern France or on a sparsely populated Greek island.

  The night was clear, the moon looming large in the sky, illuminating the path. A gentle breeze passed over the sea of reeds, whispering to her politely, feeling cool on her skin. Brushing aside the hair clinging to her forehead, still clammy with sweat from the packed pub, she looked back. Movement from within showed the party was in full swing and didn't look like ending anytime soon. Usually, she would be in the thick of it.

  But not tonight. She'd had enough.

  There were those who would be pleased she'd ducked out early. The jealous ones. Those who smiled sweetly but would actively savage her the moment she turned her back. It wasn't her fault they were being ignored. They should look at themselves in the mirror before shooting daggers in her direction. Men were visual creatures. More so when they drink. Even the intellectual ones, not that they'd admit it if asked.

  Men were curious beings, so easy to entertain and so quick to convince themselves of their unique qualities. Despite observing the experience of others, their rise and subsequent fall, when it came to themselves, they were convinced that this time would be different. They were different. Therefore, it followed, as their delusions manifested, that the outcome would also be different.

  A quick smile, wide-eyed and welcoming. The occasional flirtatious touch. It didn't need to be anywhere intimate, just a casual stroke of the back of a hand or forearm and a pulse of electricity would pass between them. This was usually enough. She felt it too. The promise of excitement. The anticipation of something new, intoxicating, rebellious. Their eyes would follow her around the room for the rest of the evening, pretending not to, watching as she interacted with people and silently hoping she would return and make good on her promise. And it would be different. Of course, it would be. Other men didn't possess the same appeal. When she flirted with the others it meant nothing, and when she came back to them it was because they had what she needed. Each man thought he was special. He was the one.

  They were all wrong, of course.

  The older men were an interesting challenge. Having done a few laps of the track already, they knew the rules of the game far better than the twenty-somethings. Not that they were immune. They were easy to draw in, but much harder to convert. They knew better. The risk was greater, for they usually had more to lose than merely a bruising encounter with their pride. But a man's ego can take on its own mischievous character, whispering plausible narratives in otherwise deaf ears.

  The attention was nice and all but, contrary to popular belief, it wasn't attention she craved. She wasn't mistaking male company for the displaced love of her childhood or whatever pop-psychology was thrown at her this time. No, the high came from the feeling of power. The thrill of watching them react to her, male or female, and playing one off against another without making it too obvious. The physical thrill was fun too, most of the time. But she wasn't looking for that tonight.

  A stick cracked nearby. She half turned, expecting to see someone approaching. She waited, watching the bushes intently, listening hard against the backdrop of the sea. A cloud passed in front of the moon, causing a shift in the light, offering new shadows to her overactive imagination. Conscious of holding her breath, she absently toyed with the braid tied around her wrist. Satisfied she was alone; she resumed her walk towards the beach.

  Footsteps.

  She started and spun.

  This time a figure stepped from the brush alongside the path. Putting a hand on her chest, she smiled as she took a deep breath.

  "Oh, it's you." She could hear the relief in her voice. "You startled me."

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

  "That's… what are you doing out here?"

  "I saw you were alone. I thought you might want some company."

  She was on edge. The clandestine approach. The casual words. The easy smile. She felt her own smile fading as she looked back to the pub, a beacon of light amid the houses in darkness dotted around nearby.

  "No… no, I don't," she said, hesitantly. This offer wasn't on her terms. For once, she felt out of control. "I wanted to be alone for a bit."

  "Really? Who wants to be alone?"

  She backed up, trying to put some space between them, registering a change in demeanour. It didn't work. Her instincts asserted themselves, screaming at her internally, and she turned, thinking to run only to catch her footing and stumble. Putting out a hand to break her fall, she still hit the ground hard. She may feel like she'd sobered up, but clearly her body disagreed. A figure appeared over her as the clouds
cleared and they were bathed in silver light.

  "Here, let me help you."

  A hand was extended to her, and reluctantly she reached up and took it. Rising to her feet, she dusted herself down.

  "Thanks. I…I don't know what happened there."

  The smell of cigarette smoke was dominant, overpowering that of beer. They were close to one another, closer than she would like.

  "So, do you want some company?"

  She shook her head almost imperceptibly. "No, thank you. I'd rather be alone tonight."

  "No. No one wants to be alone."

  Chapter One

  "Excuse me, would you?"

  Becca rose from her seat and glanced across the bar before looking hopefully towards Eric, who smiled at her warmly as she lingered. Tom Janssen sat forward and gestured behind her to the right, rescuing his detective constable who was still oblivious to his partner's needs.

  "They're just the other side of the bar, in the far corner."

  Eric flinched. "Yes," he said, the smile vanishing, and he pointed to where Tom had directed her. Becca offered Tom her thanks and set off. "I should have guessed."

  Both Tamara and Alice smiled in Eric's direction, just as his face reddened. This was only the second occasion where Eric had brought Becca along on a social event, and Tom felt as if her acceptance within the group mattered very much to the young man. On his part, Becca had proven to be quite a hit. She was confident, outgoing, and very easy company.

  "She's lovely, Eric," Alice said, sitting next to him as she was and gently patted the back of his hand. Eric appeared relieved as both Tom and Tamara made approving sounds.

  Tom looked around at the number of empty glasses, finishing his orange juice.

  "Same again?" he asked. A general murmur of agreement followed and he rose. Eric followed suit.

  "I'll give you a hand."

  They headed for the bar and Tom glanced back over his shoulder at the DCI sitting opposite Alice. The two of them were engaged in conversation which was nice to see. They would never be close, he was sure of that, but as to why he couldn't say. It was easy to say their last case had put a strain on all of them, Alice being a suspect in the murder of her ex-husband, but Tamara hadn't pressed that angle of investigation and had seen through it quickly enough. To be honest the likelihood of the two of them being friends was low, even before those events, but tonight seemed to be going well.

  He attracted the attention of the barman and waited to be served. Eric was nervous, more so than merely the worry of his colleagues liking his partner.

  "Just make mine a half, please," Eric said. In response to Tom's raised eyebrow, he said, "I need to keep a clear head."

  "Penny for them?" Tom asked. Eric looked at him quizzically. "What's on your mind, Eric?"

  Eric's face split into an awkward smile. "Is it that obvious?"

  "I'm a detective."

  Eric laughed. Tom waited patiently, Eric organising his thoughts.

  "You've been married, haven't you?" Eric asked.

  Tom nodded, his eyes flicking over to Alice. It wasn't his favourite topic of conversation.

  "So… how did you go about… you know, asking?"

  "Proposing?"

  Eric fixed him with an expectant look, nodding. Tom took a deep breath.

  "I'm… probably not the best person to ask," he said grimacing, remembering his ill-fated proposal to Alice and reliving the trauma in an instant flashback. Eric was crestfallen. "Do you have something in mind?"

  "Well, yes…. several," Eric said, frowning. "But every time I think of something, I end up talking myself out of it."

  "The idea of marriage or just the proposal?"

  "Just the proposal," Eric said quickly. "Whenever I think about it, I think it's just not good enough… and I want it to be right, you know?"

  Tom empathised. It was a big step in anyone's life. After all you only plan to be married once – at least most people do – and the pressure to make it memorable could be intense.

  "I mean," Eric said, "a friend of mine proposed to his girlfriend on holiday. They both like hiking and they had booked this amazing trip to the Alps. He planned it all out perfectly, she hadn't a clue. They hiked to the summit of one peak, him carting his new drone all the way up there on the premise of filming from the summit. Then he proposed to her while the drone circled overhead filming the entire thing." Eric shook his head, dejected. "It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. The backdrop, the sun on the snow… incredible! They'll remember that day for the rest of their lives."

  Eric let the conversation drop as the barman took their order.

  "What was Becca drinking, vodka and tonic?" Tom asked.

  Eric shook his head. "Just a mineral water."

  "Driving?"

  "No, we walked here from her place," Eric said, glancing across the bar as Becca reappeared from the ladies' and moved through the throng towards them. "She has a lot of prep to do tomorrow ready for the new term starting on Monday. They've given her Year Two this time around which is great."

  Tom recalled Becca was given primary year one as a newly qualified teacher and now, entering her second full year, she had moved up a grade.

  "Is that significant?" he asked.

  "Absolutely! Becca says they put the NQTs in Years One or Three."

  "Why do that?"

  "Because the children sit their SATs at the end of Years Two and Four, and they count towards the school league tables," Eric said as if it was obvious. Tom had no idea what he was inferring. Eric noticed. "If the NQTs mess up, then the school has time to get the kids up to speed in the following year leading up to the exams."

  "Ah right, I see," Tom said, silently wondering how teachers not recently qualified would feel if they were allocated years one or three in the future if this was common knowledge. Presumably if Eric knew, then so did everyone else. Becca reached them, smiling broadly, and Tom responded to Eric's fearful look in such a way as to reassure the young man his secret was safe. Eric greeted her affectionately and she slipped her arm around his waist, placing the other gently on his chest.

  "How are you coping with all of Eric's workmates?" Tom asked. "It can be overwhelming."

  "Not at all. I've been on at Eric for ages to arrange something. It's nice. You are all …' she tilted her head to one side thoughtfully "…much more normal than I expected."

  Tom grinned. "Stick around. It won't last." His eyes drifted to the door spying Cassie's arrival with another in tow. He caught her eye, beckoning her over with a twenty-pound note in his hand, signalling that he was getting the drinks in. Cassie hurried over.

  "Sorry we're late," she said on the half turn, allowing space for the woman alongside her to come into the group. "This is Lauren," she said, introducing them. "DI Janssen—"

  "Tom," he said pointedly, offering Lauren a welcoming smile.

  "Tom," Cassie said, emphasising his name. "And this is Eric, and…" she raised her eyebrows as she turned to Becca.

  "Becca," Becca said, smiling.

  "Of course," Eric said, firmly clenching his eyes shut. Tom felt for him. Eric was at his absent-minded best tonight, surely a result of his preoccupation with something he couldn't share with anyone. Introductions complete, Tom added two gin and tonics to the order.

  "Tamara and Alice are at the table in the corner," Tom said, indicating the far side of the pub.

  Becca led the way. Cassie, taking Lauren's hand as they went, fell into step behind her. Eric seemed transfixed by something. Tom followed his eye. Eric met his gaze.

  "Are they?" Eric asked.

  "What?"

  "Cassie and…"Eric nodded in their direction.

  "Lauren."

  "Yeah, the two of them… are they…?"

  "Looks like it," Tom said. He didn't sense Eric disapproved, just that he was surprised. "Considering you're a detective for a living, perhaps we need to schedule you some observation training. What do you think?"

  Eric's brow
furrowed momentarily before he returned Tom's smile. "Anyway," Eric said, double checking they were alone again, aside from the barman lining up their order on a tray in front of them, "what do you think… about the proposal idea?"

  "I haven't heard it yet."

  "Oh, right. Well, as I was saying, I came up with these ideas – like chartering a small boat out of Wells and doing it out at sea. You know, the moonlight reflecting off the water as we bob about. I could take food and a nice bottle of… well, whatever."

  "Sounds special… romantic."

  "Yeah, right. That's what I thought," Eric said.

  "But?"

  "But what if it's cloudy that night or it rains? And you know what the swell can be like if the wind gets up. It wouldn't be great proposing whilst trying to keep my lunch down. Then there's the food, it'll be cold. You can't have a special proposal meal of sandwiches… that wouldn't be romantic at all!"

  In the corner of his eye, Tom caught sight of the barman suppressing a smile. Eric wouldn't be the first man to grapple with this predicament. To be fair, Eric's discomfort was quite comical.

  "You're overthinking it, Eric," he said, handing a couple of notes across to the waiting barman and glancing in the direction of their table where the five women were deep in conversation. Turning back to Eric, Tom grinned. "Look, whatever you do it will be memorable. Trust me, you don't forget where you propose, and Becca will remember it for the rest of her life. What you intend is far more important than what you say and where, or how you say it."