Kill Them Cold Page 14

  Tom stepped back, running a hand casually across his chin. "Follows Tina from the Crown, kills her and stashes the body out of sight. The next day they close off the dig and everyone departs—"

  "But the killer stays back and retrieves the body, burying her in the field." Tamara rolled her lower lip beneath the upper.

  "What?" Tom asked, trying to read her expression.

  "How long do you think it takes to dig a grave?" She looked at him quizzically. "I mean, not a shallow one or even a proper one, not six feet, but one to the depth to which forensics reckon Tina was buried in?"

  "Three hours," Eric said, walking into ops in the background. Both of them looked round at him.

  "That was said with confidence, Eric," Tamara said, smiling.

  "A new hobby of yours?" Tom asked.

  Eric grinned. "I've been looking it up. If you were to dig a grave for an adult person to the depth of six feet, it would probably take the average person at least ten hours. A professional, used to that level of labour and physically fit could arguably halve that. Then factor in the reduced depth that we found the majority of Tina's remains at and you get three hours," he looked at them in turn, "give or take. The soil would be easier to turn over as well." Tom and Tamara exchanged a look. "The soil was freshly dug, broken up mechanically as well. It would be far easier to dig in one of the trenches than to scoop out virgin ground, so to speak."

  Tom was impressed. That was simple logic and added weight to the convenience theory. "So, it would be quicker to hide the body—"

  "And less likely to be discovered for years," Tamara said, finishing for him. "Eric, you're a genius!"

  The constable flushed red at the praise. Cassie entered the room, gawping at Eric's expression.

  "What have I missed?"

  "Eric's genius," Tamara repeated.

  "Really?" Cassie said, looking sideways at Eric. "Will there be another one along in a minute?"

  Eric side-swiped her across the upper arm, smiling.

  Tom returned to the coffee machine, loading it with another capsule. "I still think there's more to the choice of burial location, although I don't doubt Eric's genius at all." Eric seemed uncomfortable with the third reference in quick succession, taking his seat at his desk. "If it is someone tied to the dig then it's clever but hints at experience to me. It's what we talked about the other day, about killers getting lucky first time out. This guy killed someone without leaving a trace, disposed of the body in such a way that we didn't find it for decades—"

  "And did so only through good fortune, we should also add," Tamara said. "You think this isn't his first kill? That's a stretch, isn't it?"

  "Ask yourself, could a murder committed in a drunken rage as an act of revenge or one carried out by someone suffering a mental episode really be done so well as to remain uncovered for this long? Something doesn't add up."

  "Fair point. What do you want to do?"

  Tom thought about it for a moment, glancing across the room to where Cassie and Eric were busy at their desks. "Cassie, what have you got on at the moment?"

  She spun her chair round to face them. "I'm running through witness statements from 2001, trying to cross reference a timeline from then to what we know now."

  "Okay, brief Eric on what you have so far and then I want you to start looking through missing persons' reports."

  "I thought we'd already done that—"

  "When trying to identify Tina, yes, I know. But I want you to look at William Cannell and Alex Hart, log where they've been working during their careers and then cross reference that with missing persons' cases in those areas around the same time."

  "Right," Cassie said, making a note. She hesitated; her pen poised above her notebook. She looked up at him. "They've been working in and around dig sites for the better part of twenty-five years, not to mention they're not necessarily UK based."

  "I know. Have you got somewhere you need to be?"

  Cassie exhaled slowly. "No, of course not." She tapped her pen against the pad and turned around. Tom could picture the expression on her face. He saw Eric lean in towards her and almost thought he heard him whisper something about a genius. She flicked out with her right hand but Eric was too quick for her, recoiling, and all she found was fresh air.

  Tom picked up his coffee cup. Now he felt better.

  "Shall we pay Alex Hart another visit?" Tamara asked.

  He nodded. "Next on the list."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tom drove past Alex Hart's house, the curtains were closed much the same as before, pointing it out to Tamara and took the next right turn. A narrow lane led to the rear offering access to the back gardens of several properties. The gates were closed and Tom pictured the rotting car on the other side of them, imagining those gates hadn't been opened for quite some time. Two other cars were parked up, one in front of the other, and he recognised the nearest. Gesturing, he drew Tamara's attention to it.

  "It looks as if Hart has a visitor. I'm pretty sure that's Tim Hendry's car."

  Tamara glanced at it and followed Tom to the pedestrian side gate nearby. It wasn't locked and they entered the garden to find Alex Hart standing at the entrance to the kitchen speaking with Tim Hendry, who looked like he was readying himself to leave; he had his hand resting on Alex Hart's sagging shoulders in a supportive demonstration of camaraderie. They both looked round at the sound of the gate opening. Hart's eyes widened when he recognised Tom, looking anxiously to his friend who maintained the supportive grip for a second longer. Hendry nodded at Alex and said something Tom couldn't make out but he thought he saw Hendry smile. Was it encouragement, he couldn't tell? It was Hendry who addressed them, releasing his friendly grip on Hart and turning fully to face them, positioning himself, Tom thought deliberately, between them and Hart.

  "Back so soon, Inspector?" He looked at Tom and then to Tamara. "We haven't met."

  "DCI Greave," Tamara said. Hendry smiled and offered her his hand.

  "Tim Hendry. Bringing out the big guns, are you?"

  Tom eyed him quizzically.

  "The higher rank." Hendry glanced around at Hart whose anxiety was visibly growing, Tom wondered if he was on the verge of tears. "Must be important."

  "We're still building a case, Mr Hendry, speaking with people as and when more evidence comes to light."

  "What is it that brings you here then?"

  It was Tamara who spoke, her eyes trained on Hart behind him. He was shifting his weight between his feet. "I think that's for Mr Hart to hear first."

  "Yes, yes, of course. As it should be," Hendry said apologetically. He looked between the two of them and back at his friend once more. "Right, well, I was just off." He turned to Hart, offering him a quick pat on the upper arm. "Chin up, mate." Hart smiled but it was clearly forced. "And if you need me, just give me a call, okay?"

  "I'd like a quick word, if I may?" Tom asked Hendry as he made to walk past them towards the rear gate where his car was parked. Alex Hart's head snapped up towards them but he averted his eyes when Tom looked at him. "If you have a moment?"

  Hendry nodded and Tamara acknowledged Tom's silent request to leave them to it. She walked up to Alex Hart who backed away into his kitchen.

  "May I come in?" she asked him and Hart, appearing nervous, nodded curtly without a word and beckoned her in. Tom waited until she pushed the door closed and he saw the two of them move past the window and out of view.

  "What can I do for you, Inspector?"

  "What prompted your visit here today?" he asked.

  Hendry shrugged. "Isn't it obvious? You're investigating a murder and speaking to all of us." He looked back at the house. "I was worried about Alex." His expression was serious. "After what I learnt from your visit to see me, I called Alex to check on him, make sure he was okay. He … wasn't great on the telephone, so I thought I ought to pop across to see him."

  "Why the need?"

  Hendry hesitated. "I called him repeatedly last night. He wasn
't answering and I only got through to him very late on." His eyes came up to meet Tom's and away again. "I was worried. I'm sure, by now, you're aware of Alex's history." Tom inclined his head but said nothing. Hendry sucked air through his teeth. "I'm not surprised. You wouldn't be much of a detective if you didn't." He smiled but one without genuine humour. It dissipated as quickly as it had come. "Look," he sought to choose his words carefully, "Alex has made real progress in recent years. I mean, real progress. There were times I thought he wouldn't make it, you know?"

  He fell silent, frowning.

  "What is it you're concerned about?" Tom asked.

  "That this," he said, swirling his hand around in front of him, "will all set him back, and none of us want that."

  "We will treat him fairly, Mr Hendry," Tom said.

  Hendry nodded. "Good, good. I never doubted it … but please do try to understand …"

  "How much do you know about his condition?"

  "Oh … probably more than anyone else, aside from his late father." Hendry scratched at his chin, glancing towards the house. "Alex moved back here a few years ago, when living on his own was deemed …" He looked at Tom and swiftly away again. "It was best for all concerned. After his last stay in the unit, it was considered best for everyone if he didn't live alone. Now his father has passed …"

  "And the nature of his condition?"

  Hendry stared at Tom. "Manageable. As long as he sticks to his meds and continues attending his psychiatric appointments then I'm sure he will be fine. It doesn't hurt for his friends to help him along though."

  "And looking back, do you ever recall Alex having any outbursts; fits of pique, that kind of thing?"

  Hendry shook his head, almost too quickly for Tom's liking. "No, nothing like that." Then his brow wrinkled. "You don't mean around 2001?" Tom maintained an impassive gaze. "No. Absolutely not," Hendry said, shaking his head. "Alex is a gentle soul. No. No sign of that at all. Why on earth would you—"

  "A witness saw Alex on the night of Tina's disappearance; he was drunk and very aggressive, by all accounts."

  Hendry thought on it. "Now … the dig hadn't gone well and there were a number of people upset about it, me included," he said quietly. "As I recall a lot of people were either giving the dig a proper send off in the bar or drowning their sorrows. Alcohol can magnify emotions, as I'm sure you know, and maybe he was blowing off a little steam? Don't we all sometimes? But murder? I think you're barking up the wrong tree, Inspector, I really do."

  "What was described to us wasn't blowing off steam."

  Hendry pursed his lips, avoiding Tom's scrutiny by glancing back at the house. "I wasn't there. What can I say apart from it just doesn't ring true?"

  "And Tina Farrow – do you remember her ever flirting with Alex?"

  He scoffed. "Is that what your witness said?"

  "Did she?"

  Hendry shook his head, slightly bewildered. "Quite frankly, until you showed me the picture I didn't even remember the girl, so I've no idea about whether she flirted with Alex … or anyone else for that matter. But, if you're asking me my opinion, no, I doubt Alex would have been involved with her even if she had tried to initiate it."

  "Why not?"

  "A waitress in a pub!" He shook his head forcefully. "Not Alex. She wouldn't be his type, at all."

  "What about your type?"

  "This Farrow girl? No, not mine either."

  "What is your type?" Tom asked, curious.

  "I've never really thought about it." He hesitated. "I've never been one to focus on physicality or looks necessarily … shared interests maybe? Intelligent, articulate … educated …"

  "Someone like Julia Rose?"

  Hendry met Tom's gaze sucking on his lower lip, looking nonplussed. "Can I infer from your question that someone's been talking?" Tom didn't answer and waited for a response. Hendry inhaled deeply through his nose, his expression stern. "And I can hazard a guess as to who, but he's talking out of his backside, Inspector. I should imagine you are well trained in sifting through speculative gossip and rumour, in order to get to the truth?"

  "The truth is all I'm looking for," Tom said. "Are you saying there was never anything between you and Dr Julia Rose?" He cast a sideways glance at the house. "At the time of the Branodunum dig, before or since?"

  Hendry slowly closed his eyes, letting out a sigh and visibly deflating. He followed Tom's eye line to the house, running a hand through his hair and looking furtively around the garden at anything but Tom. "We were close – all of us – and it stands to reason when you love the same things, a love of archaeology I mean, and spend so much time in each other's company … that feelings develop. It's totally natural."

  He was avoiding answering the question, attempting to mitigate his actions first.

  "Was there anything between you and Julia?" Tom asked.

  "Once, yes." Hendry exhaled, shaking his head. "But it didn't go anywhere, not really. We realised very quickly our mistake … and set everything straight."

  "And when was this?"

  "Oh, I don't know exactly; years ago," he said, dismissively waving it away. "And not at the Branodunum dig, either, just for clarification. It was much later!"

  "Before or after her split with your friend Alex?"

  Hendry's expression darkened and he chose not to answer. That told Tom all he needed to know.

  "You'll not mention this," Hendry chewed on his lower lip, "to Alex? It would devastate him, even after all this time. What with his paranoia, he barely trusts anyone anymore. I dread to think what will become of him if he isolates himself further."

  "I'll not mention it as long as it doesn't become relevant—"

  "Why the hell would it become relevant?"

  "Then you have no need to worry," Tom said. "But you may have been in a position to take advantage of Julia's unhappiness if she were to find out Alex was involving himself with a waitress, wouldn't you say?"

  Hendry picked up on the intonation, immediately seeking to row back on his previous comment. "I didn't mean anything by that …" He looked up at the sky briefly before lowering his gaze back to Tom. "I would never intentionally look to hurt my friends, Inspector, and certainly not in order to … to gratify myself."

  "And you wouldn't turn an opportunity to your advantage?"

  The question irritated him; it was obvious. His expression clouded once again and his tone took on a degree of measured defiance. "I'm not a saint, Inspector, and I'd challenge you to find an honest man who claims to be one. But, in this instance, no, I most certainly did not. Is that all or would you like to assassinate my character any further?" Tom shook his head. Hendry made to walk off, hesitating at the last second and turning back to him. "Please bear in mind what I said about Alex." His eyes darted to the house. "I am genuinely concerned for his wellbeing."

  Chapter Twenty

  Tamara found Alex Hart an odd character. He was polite and well mannered but his anxiety, clearly visible upon their arrival, only seemed to increase when he was left alone with her as Tom stayed outside to speak with Hendry. At first she thought it was merely what many people experienced when the police called, more so on this occasion due to the case they were investigating, but it was more than that. She couldn't help the nagging feeling that he was uncomfortable with her for some reason.

  The sitting room was in almost complete darkness despite it being early afternoon; the heavy curtains offering almost blackout conditions. The air indoors was stale, unsurprising with the windows closed, and the humidity was brutally amplified indoors. Hart may well have been comfortable sitting in the dark with the only natural light spilling in from the adjoining kitchen but Tamara found it more than a little strange and crossed to draw back the curtains, without asking, as quickly as possible. Alex Hart, perched on the edge of the sofa with his hands clasped together in his lap, cut a weary figure. His skin was pale, which was quite some achievement following the recent spell of hot summer weather. His eyes were sunken with dar
k patches hanging beneath them and his cheekbones were pronounced, the result of his skeletally thin frame. He obviously hadn't shaved for several days and Tamara was sure a notable factor in the pungent, unpleasant smell permeating through the room originated from him.

  Hart offered only monosyllabic responses to any attempt at conversation she made, and all without making eye contact. Deciding to wait for Tom, she cast her eye around the interior. Eric had been right in his description; this house was like a mausoleum for Hart's deceased father. Very little of a younger man's personality had been embedded in the furnishings or the decor, as far as she could tell. The pictures above the fireplace were the only personal effects he seemed to have added unless he'd done so in other rooms in the house. Without wishing to be too obvious, she assessed Alex Hart as he sat there, gently rocking backwards and forwards almost imperceptibly as would a sapling in a stiff breeze. He was agitated, nervous, but more so than one might expect. Judging on his medical history, they would have to tread lightly.

  The kitchen door opened; Tom would be joining them. He entered the room and she smiled.

  "Sorry," he said, "I just needed to clarify a couple of things."

  "Anything interesting?"

  "A few things to talk about, yes."

  She was intrigued. He was playing it down, obviously due to Hart's presence, and she was keen to see what had transpired between the two of them. She was sure Tom was just as surprised to find Tim Hendry here, no one had the impression from talking to them that they were particularly close, so Hart's immediate visit was interesting. Hart looked up at Tom and then at her, wringing his hands.

  "Why have you come back? I told you everything you needed to know yesterday."

  "That suggests there were things you didn't tell my officers yesterday that you thought they didn't need to know."

  Hart's eyebrows knitted briefly, his mouth open. Then he shook his head. "No, no … that's not what I meant at all."