Hear No Evil: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 5) Read online

  Hear No Evil

  Hidden Norfolk - Book 5

  J M Dalgliesh

  Contents

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  Hear No Evil

  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

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  A note from the author

  First published by Hamilton Press in 2020

  Copyright © J M Dalgliesh, 2020

  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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  Hear No Evil

  Prologue

  The sun broke through the hazy cloud cover stinging his eyes. He scanned the area as he walked, cursing the decision to leave his sunglasses back in the vehicle. A woman passed by him, tugging at her chador with one hand and pulling her daughter alongside her with the other. It seemed as if she deliberately avoided eye contact with him as she passed. That was common; at least it seemed so since his arrival. He glanced in her direction, watching her departing form as she increased her pace. The little girl looked over her shoulder, watching him with a curious expression he found hard to read. Her green eyes seemed at odds with the dark hair and olive skin.

  Returning his attention to focussing on the task in hand, he surveyed the ground at his feet. It was dry and littered with loose stones. No matter where he went in this country everywhere appeared much the same; arid, dusty… a landscape far removed from that of his home in the central belt of Scotland. He couldn't have found a starker contrast if he'd tried.

  Glancing back towards the Viking, he saw his troop doing the same as he was - searching for a needle in a haystack. Next time they should tell the artillery to find their own stupid drone. Here they were, picking over the ground on the outskirts of a village at the centre of a six-point grid reference which was the best the operators had been able to provide them with. What a waste of time.

  This wasn't supposed to be happening.

  They should be back at the Forward Operating Base getting something to eat. They'd only been back in camp for an hour before receiving the shout to head out on this little goose chase. Taking a deep breath he scanned for the debris. If the drone came down around here then they should be able to find it unless one of the locals had already scooped up whatever was left. That was their worst nightmare, the drone finding its way into the hands of the enemy. Half the troop were presently on the far side of the village while they worked their way around to meet them.

  A shout went up and he looked over his shoulder. His sergeant was bellowing at him and frantically gesturing in the direction beyond, trying to draw his attention to something. Realising he'd drifted too far from the rest of the troop, he touched one hand to his ear piece and tapped it a couple of times. There was a crackle, followed by shouts from troopers signalling multiple contacts as small arms fire erupted all around him. The roar of mechanised armour starting their engines sounded and he looked back in the direction indicated, seeing a puff of blue smoke and a black dot racing towards him. Something whistled past and only when it struck the rocks behind did the reality hit home. The detonation of the rocket-propelled grenade sent shards of rock and shrapnel in every direction. It wasn't like in the movies but it was awesome nonetheless. The Taliban often liked to tamper with the warheads, setting them to airburst at four-hundred metres to ensure they took out at least one man, usually a commander, with the resulting shrapnel. How did they miss him? Debris rained down all around as he sprinted back to the Viking. Both his lungs and thighs burned, rounds fizzing past him in opposing directions as both sides engaged and exchanged fire.

  This wasn't supposed to be happening.

  Reaching the vehicle his sergeant screamed at him.

  "Take your bloody time Trooper!"

  He clambered into the driver's seat as an almighty clang sounded, audible above the roar of both engine and gunfire. His ears rang. That was another RPG harmlessly striking the Viking's armour. They'd failed to get him with their second attempt. His ears rang as they moved off in the direction of the enemy positions on the edge of the village.

  They entered the village and a car appeared in front of them at the next intersection, turning in their direction. It had sheet metal cobbled together across the front with a single slit in front of the driver to enable him to see where he was going. It must be a suicide mission. The car accelerated, bouncing its way along the uneven road surface towards them. The Viking's Browning M2 rotated and opened fire, tearing through the car's makeshift armour as if it was made of paper. The vehicle swerved to the right, out of control, slamming into the mud-brick perimeter wall of the village. The car exploded, a wall of flames engulfing the entire street.

  He woke with sweat pouring from him and his heart beating like a hammer in his chest. For a second he was bewildered. The darkness all but encompassed him apart from a narrow shaft of moonlight passing through the rear window. The gentle breeze drifting through the cracked window wafted the net curtain gently back and forth. He shivered. The perspiration on his bare skin and the cold night air combining to remind him he wasn't in Afghanistan anymore. His right shoulder ached. It was a familiar sensation, particularly on colder days.

  Sliding out of the bed, he pulled the duvet with him and made his way outsid
e. The hinges of the door creaked as he threw it open. The lightweight door caught on the wind and slammed against the exterior but there was no one around to disturb.

  Once outside he crossed to the fire, the embers still visible, glowing red and orange. He stoked them and added several small off-cuts of timber. The wood was already beginning to smoulder as the makings of a flame began to lick at the edges of the fuel and, drawing the duvet around his shoulders, he sank into an antiquated camping chair. Staring into the growing fire he watched as the flames danced before him, listening to the sound of the sea crashing upon the shoreline in the distance.

  It wasn't supposed to be like this.

  Chapter One

  Tom Janssen felt Alice slip her arm through his and draw herself closer to him. He glanced sideways at her and she looked up, smiling as the repetitive beat of the drums grew louder. She craned her neck to see as the excitement built among the crowds of people lining both sides of the street. Tom didn't have that problem; he towered above those standing around him. The breeze coming in off the North Sea was bitterly cold but it hadn't deterred people from attending the final day of the annual Scira Viking Festival.

  The first line of figures came into view holding their torches aloft. The flames danced in the breeze, casting shadows on their faces, some of which were painted. Others wore assorted metal helms with a variety of nasal or face guards depicting an early period of Norse history. Janssen felt small hands tugging on his leg and he looked down, Saffy stared up at him with pleading eyes.

  "I can't see," she said.

  He smiled at her before scooping the seven-year-old up with both of his massive hands and hoisting her onto his shoulders. She rested both hands on his head and kicked gently with the heels of her feet into his chest with glee. Alice looked up at her daughter, smiling warmly. The wind blew her loose hair across her face and she swept it away from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.

  The drums were getting louder as the re-enactment party drew nearer. The torchlight procession was the culmination of the week-long event at Sheringham on north Norfolk's coast. Already they'd visited the living history village recreated above the promenade. Here they'd seen displays of jewellery making, cooking and, of course, the fighting drills. Saffy had been utterly absorbed in all of the day's events but she found the hand-to-hand combat fascinating. By midday, Tom had realised his feet and hands were already going numb as the February wind chill made its presence known. Not Saffy. She'd been most upset when the fighting demonstration ended and they ventured back into town to find somewhere for lunch, and for some respite from the cold. Only repeated assurances that they wouldn't miss the battle on the beach had held any sway with the little girl. The constant reminders of the time threatened to wear thin with the adults as she picked over her pasta bolognese, polishing off several pieces of garlic bread while she was at it. Tom couldn't see where such a small, waif-like individual could bury so many carbs with such apparent ease but she did.

  The mid-afternoon battle didn't disappoint. Two groups, one of Vikings and the other depicting the remnants of the Saxon locals, faced off across a wet and stony beach. To the sound of horns and drums, the battle was joined under the watchful eye of a pagan sorceress with the Vikings ultimately proving victorious. Saffy had squealed repeatedly with delight and Tom joked he'd need to keep a professional eye on such a blood-thirsty individual as she apparently was. The remainder of the afternoon saw them killing time before the grand finale. A visit to the lifeboat museum passed some time, as did an ice cream on the promenade; an interesting experience on a cold, dark and overcast February afternoon, but as Saffy reminded them, they were on the beach and that meant ice cream. It was the rule.

  Now, as the sun set and the day passed into evening, they watched the ceremonial approach of the Vikings marching down the high street. They were one hundred strong and pulling a longboat towards the beach. The torches were a magical sight to behold, transporting the watching crowd back over a thousand years. Strategically placed speakers along the route piped out atmospheric music that only enhanced the sense of wonder at seeing such a spectacle. The flickering torches bounced orange and red shadows from polished helms and the occasional battle cry, shouted in old Norse, punctuated the silence of the solemn marchers.

  "Mummy, why do they call it Scira?" Saffy asked, leaning down and almost shouting in order to be heard above the noise of the drums as the procession passed. She must have read the name painted on the side of the longboat.

  "I don't know, darling," Alice said, looking to him for support.

  He angled his head up, so that she could hear him.

  "It's the Old Norse name of the Lord Scira," he explained. Saffy looked down at him suspiciously. "It's where we get the town's name from. Scira was the name of the local Viking lord, and it was pronounced Shira. Heim is Old Norse for home and if you put the two together and give it a few hundred years, you end up with Sheringham."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, really."

  "That's just stupid."

  "Why?" Alice asked.

  "Because they can't even spell it right!"

  Both Tom and Alice laughed. Saffy was nonplussed, seeing their laughter as a slight on her but she shrugged it off as they set off with the crowd, moving in unison towards the seafront for the climax of the day, the ceremonial burning of the longboat. People were crammed in on the beach by the time they reached it. Tom scanned the surrounding promenade and streets overlooking them to see people packed in in every direction. There must be thousands of people in attendance. Every year the number of people visiting the town for the festival was growing. The week-long Viking experience was proving to be something of a draw on the town's events calendar. It could only be good for the area, pulling in tourists and locals alike during the off season and boosting the local economy no end.

  From their vantage point, they were able to see the longboat being manhandled down onto the shoreline. Saffy had taken to her new perch and was keen to remain where she was, so he felt no need to try and get any closer, choosing to remain on the promenade overlooking the goings-on below. Keeping the spectators entertained in the meantime was a fire juggler. Turning his attention to the lone man, Tom was impressed. Twirling a baton, easily five-feet long and lit with flames at either end, he formed glowing rings of red and yellow in and around himself, marking the baton's path. He launched it into the air before deftly catching it with one hand as it fell to earth drawing a gasp from many of the children standing nearby. Saffy applauded enthusiastically.

  The juggler concluded as the longboat was placed in position. The torchbearers lined up facing one another and raised their flaming torches to form a tunnel of fire as the leader of the group marched between them. Another line of Vikings appeared, walking past the others in single file. These men and women carried bows. They formed up in one long line facing the sea. In unison, they drew arrows from their quivers and nocked them onto their bowstrings. Another person walked along the line with a flaming torch. Each of the archers touched the head of their arrow to the flame as it passed and they ignited. Before long, the entire line of archers had their flaming arrows ready. The assembled Vikings formed circles and on a given signal raised their swords in the air, reaching forward to touch the points together as one. A horn sounded and the archers loosed their charges.

  An arc of flaming arrows passed through the darkening sky to be followed by the bearers stepping forward and hurling their burning torches into the longboat. The boat erupted in flame, fanned by the wind whipping in from the sea behind it. The fire spread rapidly, the boat having been filled with sacks of dry timber and old wooden pallets, and the hissing and crackling of the timber carried to them on the breeze.

  Tom looked at Alice who met his eye. He could tell by her expression the day had been worth it. This was the first quality day they'd managed all together in weeks due to their conflicting shift patterns. Alice found that with her job at the hospital, some periods in her schedule woul
d be quite agreeable but when the crossover came it required some readjustment. If that coincided with an unfavourable pattern in Tom's schedule, then they didn't see much of one another.

  The boat was well ablaze now, casting dancing shadows on the surrounding sand with the approaching tide lapping at the base of the hull. The boat would most likely burn down in its entirety before the sea reclaimed what was left. Saffy patted the top of his head and he smiled. She must be enjoying the spectacle. He didn't comment and she continued, hitting him harder. At the same time, he felt her body tense, her legs clamping more firmly around his head and neck. Only then did he notice other people around him looking away from what should have been their obvious focal point; the burning longboat.

  It was a handful at first but then these people began nudging those next to them and a few pointed. He turned, along with Alice, and the two of them looked in the direction of the pointed fingers. A scream went up, followed by a few shouts as he caught sight of what they were all seeing.