Kill Them Cold Read online

  "We found human remains at the dig site, in the same proximity as one your trenches; a young woman who disappeared the same weekend your dig concluded."

  Hendry was surprised.

  "That's … rather disconcerting. You say in proximity to or do you mean actually in—"

  "In the trench, yes. We believe she was murdered."

  "Good Lord!" He sat back in his chair, open mouthed and ran a hand through his brown hair. "How terrible. Do you know she was?"

  "A local girl, Tina Farrow. Do you know her?"

  Hendry concentrated hard. "Not by name, no. Do you have a photograph by any chance?" Eric produced a photo and passed it over to him. Hendry's brow furrowed as he concentrated on it, holding the photo in one hand, his thumb and forefinger of the other resting across his mouth and chin. "She does look familiar. It's the smile … but I can't place her." He looked at both of them in turn lowering his hand from his face. "Should I? Was she a helper at the dig?"

  "She worked at the Crown Inn, in Brancaster—"

  "Where we were staying? Right, that'll be it then," he said sitting back and nodding. "Can't recall her specifically but that must be it. What do you think happened to her?"

  "We believe she was attacked on the Friday, the 31st August, possibly murdered that night before being buried in the last trench to be backfilled on your site."

  Hendry's eyes widened and he blew out his cheeks slowly. "That's … truly awful. Are you certain about that, the timings I mean?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  Tom knew they had no idea as to exactly how and when Tina wound up where they found her as it was impossible to say for sure.

  "The poor girl couldn't have been in the trench when it was backfilled, I'm sure." Tom raised his eyebrows in query. "Someone would have seen her, obviously."

  Eric put his glass down on the table, it was now almost empty. "Unless the person backfilling the trench was also the killer?"

  Hendry shook his head. "Even so, he wouldn't have been alone. There's no way the driver of the digger would have been left to do it without supervision. We have a contractual agreement to leave the ground as close to the way we found it." He shrugged. "That isn't always possible but we try our best. There's no way that only one person would be there, I'm certain."

  "Who did close off the last trench?" Tom asked, indicating for Eric to produce the map of the site which he duly did, passing it over to Hendry who took it and examined it carefully.

  "This one here?" he pointed with his finger. Tom nodded. "That was definitely the last trench to be closed. It was also the only one to produce significant finds. I mean, we found some footings in one and a small waste pile in another which was truly exciting as we saw what was cast aside by the inhabitants. Sorry, I digress," he said, reading Tom's impassive expression. Eric, however, was hanging on his every word with a curious smile on his face.

  "The closure of the trench?" Tom repeated.

  "I'm sorry, I couldn't say." Hendry placed the map on the table and sat back. "I'm afraid I wasn't there on the last day. That was Saturday, I believe. The 1st of September. The dig overran and I had a weekend seminar scheduled for the Saturday morning that I was unable to move – not that I wanted to."

  "Why not?"

  He frowned. "The whole experience was utterly shambolic, to be honest. It started well enough but when we didn't find what we were expecting to it all went sideways on us. Poor Alex," he said, shaking his head.

  "Poor Alex?" Tom asked, pretending to be ignorant.

  "Yes, Alex Hart. The dig was his path to a doctorate, which never came to pass I'm afraid." He sighed. "Didn't take it well. It was a crying shame, not nice to see a friend go through that at all. Anyway, I was happy to get away. If it wasn't for personal loyalty to him, I think I would have left much earlier. As I said, I had a seminar in London that Saturday morning, so I left on the Friday but I'd already rescheduled a number of things in my calendar, in order to stay on and support him."

  "Do you know who would have been on site that Saturday to oversee the closure of the trench?"

  The dog came over to Hendry dropping the ball at his feet and resting its head in his lap, eyes looking up longingly at him. Hendry ruffled the dog's fur to begin with and then affectionately stroked its head. "Alex, obviously. His partner, Julie. Have you spoken with her yet?"

  Tom shook his head. "Not yet but we intend to."

  Hendry nodded. "And Billy of course." He saw Eric twitch at the name and then smiled. Drawing himself fully upright, he affected a mock upper-class accent. "Professor William J. Cannell," he said, the smile broadening into a grin before he returned to his usual voice, "as he prefers to be known these days. Back then, before carving out a wonderful career in academia he was plain old Billy Cannell." Hendry chuckled, shaking his head. "I'd bet he wouldn't answer if you called him Billy now."

  "Anyone else?"

  "We hired a driver to operate the digger, so he would have been present. We all had a go with the machinery. We were like children playing in a giant sand pit … but you need to know what you're doing, so we had the driver present as well. There were numerous others but I don't have any names for you, sorry."

  "You work in academia yourself, don't you?" Tom asked.

  "Yes, for the UEA here in Norfolk. I lecture at the university, have done for the last few years."

  "And do you still see the others? We understand the four of you were undergraduates together, as well as close friends."

  "Oh best of friends, yes, that's true," Hendry said, pouring Eric a top-up of the lemonade, which Tom figured had to be homemade. Eric was grateful. "Not that we see much of each other. Billy, sorry, William I don't see at all. He largely cut ties with the rest of us. That was soon after the Branodunum shambles come to think of it."

  "Why?"

  Hendry tutted, his face wrinkling. "On paper he was jointly in charge of the dig. He didn't take the lack of success well and it caused ructions in the camp. He blamed Alex … and for his part, Alex didn't really stand up for himself. That fell to me and Julie, his other half. He could have done. I mean, it wasn't all his fault. We were all there interpreting the data and forming a cohesive plan for the dig, so it fell on all of us really, but William doesn't accept failure very well; always worried about other people’s perception of him. I doubt much has changed in that regard."

  "The others, Alex and Julie?"

  Hendry raised his own glass and drained the contents. Swallowing hard and licking his lips, he placed the glass back on the table, the remaining ice cubes clinking against the sides. It looked to Tom as if he were hesitant. "I still speak with Julie from time to time and I see Alex a fair bit. He lives over at West Runton, not far from Sheringham." The dog lowered its head, retrieving the ball and dropping it into his lap, stepping back and waiting expectantly. Hendry did as he was bid and threw the ball. The dog set off to give chase. Hendry shook his head. "I love dogs but sometimes they are a bit daft. Why he wants to run around in weather like this, I'll never understand?" He indicated Tom's glass. "You should drink that before it gets warm."

  Tom smiled, lifting the glass out of politeness and sipping it. The lemonade was crisp and sweet. Putting the glass down he thanked him, then looked to Eric.

  "Tell me, do you have anything from that dig site; photographs, diaries, anything that might detail comings and goings or help identify people who were there?"

  "Oh yes. I'm sure I'll have something. Not diaries, I'm afraid I'm not much of a writer beyond lectures and essays but I like to document what I do. What I have will be easy to find and there are plenty of shots with the volunteers in and so on. Bear with me and I'll gather it together before you go if you like?"

  "Perfect, thank you. If we need anything further we'll get in touch."

  "Any time, Inspector," Hendry said, smiling warmly. "Nasty business. If I can help in any way, I'll be happy to do so."

  "Come to think of it," Tom said, turning to Eric, "it would be helpful if we could ta
ke a sample of your DNA to compare with evidence found at the grave site." He kept his tone light and casual. "Would you mind?"

  "Not at all. Happy to oblige if it helps," Hendry said confidently. "Should I come the station or—"

  "Not necessary. DC Collet has a sample kit in the car."

  Tom dispatched Eric to fetch the kit, the DC catching Tom's eye as he passed. Hendry was genuinely happy to assist. While they waited for him to return, Hendry looked at Tom, once again appearing hesitant. Tom held the man's gaze, silently encouraging him to reveal what was on his mind.

  "I take it you haven't spoken to Alex yet?" Tom didn't answer, merely inclined his head. "I figure you haven't because otherwise I'm sure you'd be asking more questions."

  "Really? What sort of questions would I be asking?" Tom was intrigued.

  "About Alex … and his past." Hendry chewed nervously on his lower lip. The dog returned but this time he shooed it away. Indignantly, the dog loped off and sank down under the overhanging branches of a large willow tree located next to the stream, the only reason it could have held onto its leaves in this dry spell. "Please go easy on him."

  Tom's curiosity was piqued. "Go easy?"

  "That's the wrong phrase, I'm sorry. It's just that Alex has a … fragile constitution. He struggles with the world sometimes, that's all."

  "He doesn't work in the field of archaeology anymore, does he?"

  Hendry shook his head, pursing his lips. "He didn't manage to complete his PhD. There isn't much of a future in the field without one, I'm afraid. It's not impossible but archaeology is one area where you need the credentials in order to thrive. The whole process left Alex a little sore to say the least and, well, his life spiralled out of control from there on in." Hendry was glum. "He found his way back, with a little help from his friends of course."

  "Are Alex and Julie still—"

  "No, no, no," he said, shaking his head emphatically. "I'm afraid it all got on top of him and their relationship … reached its conclusion shortly after the Branodunum fiasco; perhaps the following year but I can't say for sure. I understand they're still close, though."

  Eric returned, placing the test kit on the table and donning a pair of nitrile gloves. Tom took the time to evaluate Tim Hendry, walking a short distance away from them. He saw the dog lift its head, watching him on the off chance that Tom might be up for a game of fetch. Disheartened, it set its head back down on to its paws. Tom took out his mobile as Eric swabbed the inside of Hendry's mouth. Tom called Cassie.

  "Can you do me a favour? Look up Alexander Hart and find out everything you can about him, please."

  "What am I looking for?"

  "We have the obvious, home address and so forth." He looked back at Hendry. "I've just got a hunch there's something to find in his past that might prove useful. The dig was a total failure and largely ruined Hart's academic career, not to mention his relationship fell apart soon after. It's a curious coincidence."

  "I'll see what I can do."

  Chapter Fourteen

  The house was detached, traditional Norfolk brick and flint, and overlooked the Church of the Holy Trinity, an impressive twelfth century Anglo-Catholic church. There was no driveway to the house, it was positioned almost on the roadside and appeared to be one of the oldest properties around, probably constructed several hundred years previously.

  "Is this the place?" Tom asked. Eric craned his neck from left to right and nodded.

  "Yes, I think so."

  They approached the front door but there was no visible sign that anyone was home. Tom rapped the knocker repeatedly and they waited. With still no sign of movement, Tom stepped to one side and attempted to peer through the window to his right. The interior was shrouded from view by thick net curtains, ornate and patterned. He gestured for Eric to head around to the rear. The passage running down the side of the house was screened by a gate taller than Eric. It was secured by a sliding bolt.

  Tom joined him and, being comfortably over six feet tall, almost a foot taller than Eric, he was able to reach over and slide it away. The gate swung open and they passed through to the rear. The neighbouring property was built close to the boundary and Alex Hart's house had creepers climbing along the length of the wall and, what with it being summer, they were overgrown, flowering and hanging down to thwart progress. Tom was forced repeatedly to duck and move them aside with one arm, handing them off to Eric as he passed underneath.

  At the rear they found a small courtyard garden with a gated access big enough to bring a car through. An old Ford Focus was parked there. It looked neglected with green algae growing across the bonnet, wheel arches and along the rubber seals at the base of the windows, much as you find with a vehicle frequently left under dense foliage. Tom caught Eric's attention and indicated towards the car with his eyes.

  "Run the plates on this, would you?"

  Eric nodded and took out his mobile phone, walking around to the front of the car to read the registration plate. Tom walked over to the kitchen window and looked through. Here, there were also net curtains but they only ran up the first third of the window, the rest was unobstructed. The kitchen was untidy, dirty crockery stacked up alongside the sink which itself could have done with a thorough going over. However, the place looked tired above all else with kitchen cabinets dating to the seventies or eighties. The latch on the rear gate clicked and the hinges groaned as they took the weight.

  The newcomer was startled to see Eric move into view from the front of the car, then his eyes darted anxiously to Tom.

  "Alexander Hart?" Tom asked. The man fixed his gaze on Tom with an accompanying, almost imperceptible, nod. Tom took out his ID and held up his warrant card. "DI Janssen," he said, inclining his head towards Eric, "and DC Collet from Norfolk police. We would like a word."

  "What's this about?"

  Hart wasn't quite what Tom was expecting. He was barely a couple of years older than Tom but the man standing in front of him, clutching a newspaper in one hand and a small white carrier bag in the other, looked to be in his mid to late fifties. He was balding and what little sandy-brown hair he had was either thinning or speckled with flecks of grey or white. His eyes were sunken, suggesting he regularly didn't sleep well, and he stood with an exaggerated stoop which probably added to the impression of him being older than his years. Strangely, he was not only wearing a long-sleeved white shirt and trousers but also a sleeveless burgundy jumper. It appeared to be thin, possibly lambswool, but in this heat it was rather odd.

  "The car's registered to an Alan Hart," Eric said.

  "That's my father. What of it?"

  Tom glanced back towards the house. "Do you live here with your father?"

  "No, not anymore. He died last year."

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "What's this about?" Hart asked again, only this time without the nerves and instead seemed irritated.

  "We would like to speak to you about the archaeological dig you managed at Branodunum back in 2001."

  Hart snorted, his face breaking into a broad grin. "I know it didn't go well," he said, stepping forward and taking his house keys from his pocket. Moving past Tom, he glanced over his shoulder at him as he slid the key into the lock of the back door. "But I didn't think it was a crime. A crime against archaeology perhaps." He pushed the door open, looked at Tom and Eric in turn and tilted his head towards the interior. "You'd best come inside then."

  There was an odd smell in the kitchen. Tom couldn't put his finger on what was causing it. It was a curious mix of a waste bin that desperately needed emptying on a hot day crossed with the type of smell you found in care homes or outpatient clinics or dental surgeries. Maybe it was a mix of cleaning products and rotting food, either way it left a pungent aroma drifting through the house. Alex Hart put his carrier bag on the work surface and opened the fridge, transplanting the contents from one to the other. By the look of it he'd been to a local convenience shop, returning with a pound of sausages, some milk, ch
eese and a half loaf of bread. Hart noted Tom eyeing his shopping.

  "Is my lunch a matter of interest to Norfolk Constabulary these days or something?"

  Tom looked at Eric who was hovering at the rear door, thankfully keeping it open. He obviously didn’t like the smell either. Once Hart was done, he turned and headed into the adjoining sitting room. The detectives followed. It was evident that this was Hart's parents' house. The wall was decorated with wallpaper with a distinct floral pattern. There was a sideboard set underneath the window overlooking the front, a piece made in the sixties, dark wood, highly polished with spindly legs. Hart sat down on the sofa, large cushions with yet another floral print pattern which clashed with the walls. A clock hung on the wall, its ticking overly loud. Both Tom and Eric sat down.

  "You want to know about Branodunum? Why?"

  "Have you heard that the body of a young woman was found on the site over the weekend?"

  "No! I hadn't. That's awful."

  "She was murdered." Tom watched for a reaction. There wasn't one. Hart waited patiently, his eyes fixed on Tom's. He splayed his hands wide.

  "And? What does that have to do with me?"

  "We believe she was murdered around the time of your dig and was buried in one of your trenches. And that she may have been buried there the same weekend you closed down the site."

  Hart sat there with a vacant expression, open mouthed and unblinking.

  "Do you understand what I’m saying?" Tom asked. It was as if he'd zoned out. Tom waited patiently. Hart blinked.

  "She wasn't there when we left on the Saturday. We would have seen her."

  "We?"

  His brow wrinkled and he looked to the floor. "Me, Julia … Billy. Not to mention the other helpers we had floating around. There must have been eight to ten of us on site that day."