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  "Okay," Tamara said, indicating to an armchair next to the window adjacent to the sofa. "May I?" He nodded and she sat down, sitting forward and focussing on him until he slowly met her gaze. "We understand that on the Friday night, the night we believe Tina Farrow went missing, you were in the Crown Inn. That's right, isn't it?" He bobbed his head, holding her gaze. "How were you and your partner, Julia, getting on that night?"

  He shook his head, turning the corners of his mouth down. "Okay, I guess. Why do you ask?"

  "We have a witness who says you and Julia were having an argument. Do you remember that?"

  His right leg began to twitch, apparently an involuntary movement because he made no attempt to stop it. He looked away, staring at the wall above the fireplace.

  "Mr Hart, do you remember?" Tamara repeated. No answer. "Mr Hart!"

  "Yes … no, I mean … maybe," he said, shaking his head emphatically. She exchanged a glance with Tom, Hart noticed. He glanced furtively between them. "Yes. We had words but I don't see what that has to do with anything."

  "That rather depends on what the argument was about, doesn't it?"

  "I don't recall—"

  "Really?"

  "Yes, really," he said, shooting her a fierce look. His expression softened but only a little. "I'd had a few. We both had to be honest. It was a tough time."

  "Why?"

  He blew out his cheeks, his lips rattling as he exhaled, his eyes scanning the room. "Lots of things going on." His brow wrinkled and he clamped his eyes shut. "You wouldn't understand."

  "Could it have been something to do with Tina?" Tom asked. Hart shot daggers at him.

  "I told you, I didn't know her."

  "Forgive us, Alex," Tamara leaned forward and drew his eye to her, looking almost apologetic, "but you were staying at the Crown for a number of weeks and she worked there, socialised there and two witnesses," she said, holding up two fingers for emphasis, "two witnesses have put you together and one stated that she was flirting with you on a consistent basis—"

  "No." He shook his head, clasping his palms together in front of his face and touching his fingers to the tip of his nose.

  "So, Tina wasn't flirting with you?"

  "No!" he said, pushing his hands over his cheeks and up the side of his head where they met at the crown, interlocking his fingers. "I don't remember. Not my fault," he whispered, the rocking movements were more pronounced and Tamara looked at Tom, unsure if it was deliberate. Tom met her gaze but watched on with an unreadable expression.

  "Alex," Tamara said, softening her tone and trying to get his attention but he remained focussed, staring straight ahead, his lips moving but no words emanating. "Alex, do you remember Tina?"

  He shook his head, hands still locked in place and pressing his elbows in to shield his face from her stern gaze.

  "I don't remember," he said again.

  "We're not saying you did anything, Alex. We just want to know—"

  He spun on her, eyes wide, with such speed that it startled her. He threw his arms down to either side of him, palms flat, slamming them hard against the sofa in frustration. Tom instinctively took a step forward but checked himself as Tamara raised a hand to stop him.

  "I don't remember!" Hart barked at her. The flash of anger subsided. "It's not my fault," he said quietly, turning away from her. He didn't seem to be speaking to either of them directly, merely talking to the room.

  "What's not your fault?" she asked.

  "Any of it!" He glared at her. "I don't remember her … that night … any of it! And what happened to her isn't my fault, okay? I just want to be left alone. Why can't anyone understand that. It's not my fault."

  "Maybe we should have a cup of tea or something?" Tamara suggested, the intensity of the moment needed calming. Hart slowly turned to her with a blank expression and nodded. She looked over at Tom and he appeared ready to object but she pointedly met his eye and he glanced towards the kitchen.

  "I'll make it," Hart said, following her gaze to Tom and standing up slowly. He moved like a man many years his senior, carrying the weight of the world. "You don't know where everything is anyway."

  "May I use your bathroom?" Tamara asked and Hart looked over his shoulder, smiling weakly and pointing to a door in the corner of the room.

  She thanked him and casually left the sitting room. The door opened into an inner lobby, barely a metre square. Besides the front door, there was another leading into a reception room and stairs to the first floor. She poked her head into the second reception room which housed a grand dining table and six chairs. The table was covered in a patterned lace tablecloth and the room didn't appear to have been used recently. It was decorated with a similar floral print wallpaper to the sitting room. She closed the door quietly and made her way upstairs. There were three bedrooms and a bathroom off a tight landing, two of the bedrooms were neat and tidy, beds made with pastel throws and surrounded by aged furniture. The floorboards squeaked underfoot and she tried to tread lightly so as not to give away her movements.

  The third bedroom she concluded must be Hart's. The curtains were still drawn, much as every other room in the house, and the bed was unmade with the smell of stale body odour hanging in the air. Clothes lay strewn around the room and it was impossible to tell what was clean and what was dirty. Retreating, she went into the bathroom pulling the door closed behind her. She wasn't shocked to find the bathroom was in need of a thorough clean. Putting that aside, there was a build-up of calcium on the ends of all the taps, several of which were also dripping indicating the washers needed replacing. Thick lime scale deposits lined the water's path to the drain. It was reminiscent of what she'd found when she'd bought her own house, although she was well into the process of fixing hers.

  Opening the small mirror-faced cabinet above the basin, she casually inspected the contents of the two shelves. Much of it was what everyone kept in their bathrooms: basic medicines, plasters and, curiously, a small glass containing a dental plate housing two teeth. She wondered if this also belonged to Hart's late father. She spotted some flecks of mould growing on the plate, it must have been there for some time. In amongst two half-empty bottles of mouthwash were three brown plastic bottles, prescription issue judging by the printed labels from a local pharmacy. She turned them all to face her; all three were in Alex's name. Tamara took out her mobile phone and photographed them in situ. She thought she'd heard of one of the drugs, used to treat depression if she remembered correctly, but the other two were new names to her and she resolved to look them up later. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she hurriedly put her mobile away and closed the cabinet, the click as the catch locked into place sounding ominously loud in the tiled room. She reached over and depressed the flush on the toilet and turned one of the taps on in the basin.

  Someone was on the landing and turning off the tap she opened the door to find both Alex Hart and Tom on the landing. Tom was at the top of the stairs and Hart was barely three feet from the bathroom. He cast a suspicious eye over her, then looked to his right and the bedrooms.

  "I told you she was okay," Tom said, smiling. She recognised the telephone voice edge to his voice.

  "All okay?" she asked lightly.

  "I thought you'd got lost or something," Hart said. His tone was neither menacing nor accusatory, but deadpan. She looked past him to Tom who offered her a raised eyebrow.

  "No, not at all."

  "We've made coffee," Tom said.

  "I haven't got any milk, though," Hart said, not taking his eye from her. "Is that okay?"

  "That's fine with me. I don't take milk anyway."

  Hart nodded, turning away and walking slowly back to the stairs. Tom made way and allowed him to pass and descend first. Unbeknown to Hart, Tom looked at Tamara and silently made an O shape with his mouth. She knew she had pushed it and had almost been rumbled. She couldn't help thinking it was worth it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  "What was that you just said?" Tamara a
sked. Eric stopped. He'd been in full flow running through his findings. He looked at her quizzically. "Something about impulsive behaviours?"

  Eric scanned back through his notes, focussing on the previous paragraph. "Aripirazole, a powerful anti-psychotic that can lead to side effects including impulsive behaviours which may lead the subject to unusual actions out of the ordinary; notably an increased sex drive, a preponderance to sexual thoughts or feelings, excessive eating or spending habits—"

  "And the last one?"

  "Addictive behaviours," Eric said, looking up. She nodded. "Gambling for instance. What was his dosage?"

  "Thirty milligrams, according to the label."

  "Highest dose available," Eric said. "Is it safe to infer from that that Alex Hart has an acute condition?"

  "It would be good to get a medical opinion on that," Tamara said. "Maybe you could give Fiona Williams a call and ask. She will be discreet. I don't want anything slipping out from this investigation to the media. The interest in this case is gathering pace and I don't want us to be the ones to destroy someone's career or reputation unnecessarily." She leaned around and picked up her cup of coffee. It had gone cold but she would drink it anyway. Turning her attention to the information board, her gaze drifted over their list of suspects and the lines drawn between them and the victim, noting their interactions and possible motives. She was an instinctive detective and every time she scanned the list a different name leapt out at her. "Any word on Julia Rose?"

  Cassie shook her head. "Mobile cuts to voicemail every time I call. The hotel she's lodging at in Svelgen say she hasn't returned there since she left yesterday morning."

  "Did you make it clear we are investigating a murder here?"

  Cassie spread her hands wide. "Absolutely. The line was bad but she knew what we were talking about, seemed shocked. I sent her an in-call chat and followed it up with an email. There's no way she doesn't know."

  "Okay," Tamara said, putting her cup down on the desk and folding her arms across her chest. "Keep trying. She's the last of the senior team we need to speak to and, incidentally, the one person who can clarify what was going on that night between her and Alex Hart." She caught sight of Tom in the corner of her eye, his expression fixed and apparently deep in thought. "What are you thinking, Tom?"

  Without taking his eyes from the boards, he frowned. "I think we're still missing something."

  "One more reason to speak with Julia."

  "I don't disagree, but we're putting a lot of energy into Alex Hart and it's not sitting well with me."

  She angled her head to one side. "You think we are prejudiced against him because of his state of mind?"

  He waved away the comment. "No, that's not what I mean. I agree that Hart seems unstable, perhaps he could be dangerous under the right set of conditions that might trigger him. We have the assault on the woman in the supermarket but that happened a long time after Tina Farrow's death. If we're looking at her murder as a result of a mental condition then it's unlikely to have been premeditated. An impulsive assault doesn't fit well with the clear-up; the hiding of the body until it could be disposed of on the Saturday, if we're right in thinking that Tina died that night, not to mention the burial itself. To go about it like that …" He slowly shook his head. "That's a calmness that doesn't fit with someone acting on impulse. Those murders are quick, brutal and then the body is cast aside and the killer puts as much distance between themselves and it as possible because when the body is found, and it almost always is, then every person between them and the victim becomes a suspect before they do." He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, coming to stand in front of the board. "Does that really sound like Alex Hart? I'm not so sure."

  "But you said his diagnosis changed. Perhaps in 2001 it was different again?"

  Tom exhaled, raising his eyebrows at the plausibility of her suggestion. But he was also correct. There wasn't any evidence to put him top of their list of suspects aside from the future incidents already noted.

  "You're right," she said, casting an eye over the boards and then looking at Eric. "I want you to find Tim Hendry's first wife and speak to her about the incident that saw him cautioned. She withdrew her complaint against him but that was years ago. Maybe a bit of time and distance between them will make her more agreeable to talk about it now." Eric made a note.

  Tom's brow creased. "Hendry was on his way to London for the Saturday morning seminar, remember?"

  She nodded. "Yes, I remember but did anyone see him leave and besides, you can do Brancaster to London in … what would you say, two to three hours by train or road?"

  "Longer I expect, but eminently doable."

  "We think the body was possibly buried after the excavation officially closed. Hendry could have come back on the following day. He knew the site and there would be fewer eyes on him then. I don't see any reason to dismiss him as a possibility, not when he has form for violence against women."

  "A woman," Tom said. "And one rooted in a marital dispute, which obviously doesn't get him a pass but it is different. Worth checking all the same."

  "Cassie," Tamara continued, "how have you got on with Tom's theory about other missing women in locations to our archaeologist's movements?"

  She grimaced. "Nothing yet, but we're talking about three very active archaeologists. Not so much with Alex Hart but I've been searching the locations where he was filming as well and nothing yet."

  "Good, keep going. I also want you to recheck the movements of Tina's father, Conrad Farrow, as well as Paul Tennant as far as we know them, see if there are any opportunities for us to investigate further. We have what CID didn't twenty years ago and that's a timeline to follow, even if there are some pretty big gaps in it. Let's not get bogged down in focussing just on the archaeology leadership team; there are any number of helpers on site and I'm well aware it could just as easily be one of those as well, but let's work with what we have for now. Also, no more messing around, let's get hold of Dr Rose, enlist the help of our Norwegian colleagues if necessary. This is a murder investigation and I don't care how important this discovery of a longboat is—"

  "Excuse me, ma'am." They all turned towards the entrance where a uniformed constable waited. "I'm sorry to butt in."

  "What is it?" Tamara asked, irritated by the interruption. The constable looked at Cassie apologetically.

  "There's someone in the lobby asking to speak with DS Knight and she's quite insistent."

  Cassie glanced between him and Tamara, shooting him an enquiring look. "Who is it?"

  "A lady by the name of Dr Julia Rose, but she won't say what it's regarding."

  Tamara exchanged a look with Tom. "Well, well, well," she said quietly.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dr Julia Rose sat in the canteen with her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. She looked like she hadn't slept a wink in days. Not only did she appear fatigued, she was agitated, struggling to get comfortable. As she sat there, her shoulders would flinch and she would absently adjust her clothing, but no amount of loosening of clothing or repositioning of how she was sitting appeared to resolve the issue. Her eyes came up to see Tamara observing her. She smiled and Dr Rose returned it, although hers seemed artificial.

  "When was the last time you slept?" Tamara asked.

  She shook her head, moving aside the long dark hair from her eyes with her right hand. She glanced over at Tom who was sitting to her right on the next table, allowing her some personal space.

  "I don't know, thirty-six hours, maybe?" She shuddered and lifted the material of her blouse off her shoulder. "I can't get the travel off me … Do you know what I mean?"

  Tamara smiled warmly. "It sort of sticks to you, doesn't it? Where are you staying?"

  Dr Rose lifted her head from staring at the cup in front of her with a blank expression. "I don't know. I didn't think."

  "I'm sure we can help find you somewhere," Tamara said, reassuring her with a friendly touch to the back of her hand. She
smiled gratefully. "How long was the trip?"

  "Svelgen is an hour by plane to Oslo," she said, lifting her coffee and sipping from it. "I was lucky to get a seat and then I was on standby in Oslo for the first available flight back to England. I landed in Manchester early this morning and drove down."

  Tamara glanced at Tom and he raised his eyebrows. That was quite a journey. Dr Rose noticed the shared look and nodded.

  "I could never sleep in airports or on planes." She chuckled humourlessly. "You'd think I'd manage it better what with all the travelling I do with my work."

  "Where does it take you?"

  "I'm predominantly based in Europe these days, Scandinavia in particular." She scratched an itch on the side of her neck, pausing to apply pressure as she inclined her head towards that side and stretched, grimacing momentarily. "The post-Roman kingdoms of Northern Europe are my specialist field. That's why I'm in Svelgen—"

  "The longboat?"

  Her expression briefly split into a broad grin. "One of only four complete boats that have been uncovered in the last three decades. To find it with the bodies of two noblemen and one woman inside is really quite something." She looked at Tamara, pride in her eyes.

  "And yet you are here?" Tamara said softly. Rose's eyes drifted to hers and she pursed her lips, nodding slightly. "We were happy to speak with you on the phone. Why did you come all this way?"

  She took a deep breath, lifting her gaze to the ceiling. Two uniformed constables entered at the other end of the room, sharing a joke. Upon seeing the three of them, they lowered their voices and hovered around the vending machines selecting their snacks for their refreshments.

  "Why did you come?" Tamara asked again.

  "I had to. When your sergeant called – DS Knight – she said you'd found the body of a young woman on the Branodunum site …" She shook her head. "I–I knew you'd be speaking to all of us, to Alex and … I just knew I had to come." She sighed, sitting forward and cupping her drink again. "That bloody dig was cursed from the outset! But I must admit, when we shut the dig down I always expected there to be some fallout from it – it will always happen if you allocate that level of resource and get almost sod all in return."