The Dead Call: A chilling British detective crime thriller (The Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series Book 6) Read online

  "You?" she asked, without breaking the gaze on her own reflection, still struggling with the entangled knots in her hair.

  "Drowning in paperwork."

  He didn't really want to speak about it. Glancing at his watch, he saw her glance in his direction.

  "I'll get dressed and then I'll have to go and pick up Saffy."

  "She's not stopping there for dinner?"

  "No. Mum's going out." Alice shook her head. "And I'm running late."

  "What do you want to do about dinner?"

  She sighed, shooting him a dark look which took him aback.

  "Just a question. I didn't know if you had plans already. I'll make a start on it while you're out, if you like."

  Alice set aside the comb, frowning at herself in the mirror before turning to him. She stepped across and took both lapels of his blazer in hand, pulling him towards her. She kissed him again, on her tiptoes, only this time with more determination. Pivoting back onto her heels, she smiled.

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. You're right. It's been a rough day and… I don't know," she said, frowning. "It feels like I've been treading water and I'm tired, you know."

  "Not a problem. What do you fancy for dinner or should I surprise you?"

  "Not after last time, no," she said, patting his chest with the palms of her hands before moving to the wardrobe and selecting her clothes.

  "Hey, that was a perfectly good execution of the recipe."

  "A perfectly good execution of a terrible recipe," Alice corrected him.

  Tom held his hands up in supplication.

  "I'll accept that. This time I'll stick to tried and tested. How's that?"

  "In that case, you should crack on," Alice said, producing a flowery dress on a hanger from the wardrobe. Holding it up in front of her, she looked in the full-length mirror. "Do you think I can pull this off?"

  Tom came to stand behind her, looping his arms around her waist. She smiled.

  "I think it will look great."

  "It didn't fit me very well last summer."

  "Dry cleaners must have shrunk it," Tom said, leaning in and kissing her neck.

  The stubble on his cheek must have tickled her because she put her head down towards her shoulder to force him away.

  "You know very well, Detective Inspector Janssen," she said, turning to face him and putting the dress between them, "that I don't use the dry cleaners."

  He pulled her closer to him and she didn't resist.

  "This weird weather we've been having must have shrunk it then."

  "In the wardrobe?"

  "Strange things happen here in Norfolk, you know?" he said playfully. "I'm a detective. I investigate such things. How late are you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "Too late for that," she said pushing him back. He released his grip.

  "You can't blame a guy for trying."

  "Seriously, do you think this is okay? You know what my mother's like."

  "You're slimmer than she is."

  "That doesn't stop her pointing out my flaws."

  Tom understood Alice's dilemma. The woman wasn't mean spirited, at least not intentionally. Alice's mother was a decent person, very supportive and helpful when it came to Saffy. However, she suffered from a distinct lack of self-awareness. The odd remark that might be judged nonchalant or made in passing could, in reality, cut deep. If she intended to be hurtful, then she would be a nasty piece of work. Remarks made unintentionally, however, could be dismissed as unfortunate or misguided, although, in Tom's mind, it was sometimes difficult to distinguish between the two when it came to Alice's mother. It was an occurrence that seemed to happen with alarming regularity. He decided that discretion was the better part of valour in this conversation.

  "I'll get dinner started," he said.

  "So, I'm on my own with this one?"

  Russell appeared in the doorway, his head cocked to one side. He must have heard the discussion around dinner. Tom glanced at him and he barked, indicating urgency.

  "I think someone might need to go out," Tom said, stepping away from Alice. "I'll see you downstairs."

  He took a step towards the door and the dog perked up, excitedly shifting his weight between his paws and tentatively bouncing towards the stairs, but reluctant to head off unless sure Tom was following. Once out on the landing, Russell charged down the stairs, almost losing his footing, the barking growing in intensity. He definitely needed to go outside.

  Tom hurried to the back door, turning the key and letting the dog out. He was pawing at the door as Tom opened it, almost hitting the animal in the head as he pulled the door open. Tom shook his head as Russell disappeared into the undergrowth of the garden. The thought occurred that he might return with a baby rabbit in his mouth, or worse, like the last time, a dead rat.

  Tom's mobile vibrated on the table and he pushed the door to, leaving it ajar for when Russell returned, thereby avoiding the scratching at the door and any further damage to the wood. It was a bit late, though. Picking up the phone, he saw it was DC Eric Collet.

  "Eric, what's up?" he said, glancing at the time. He'd only clocked off less than an hour ago.

  "Hi, Tom. That suspicious death over at Blakeney uniform wanted us to take a look at?"

  The wind was battering Eric, who was raising his voice to compensate. Gulls called out to one another in the background.

  "Yes, what about it?"

  "I think you're going to want to have a look yourself."

  Tom sighed, turning just as Alice entered the kitchen, a pair of strappy shoes in her hands. The disappointed look on her face must be mirroring his own.

  "Okay. Where are you?"

  "Blakeney Point."

  Tom glanced at the clock again. "I'll be with you as soon as I can."

  He hung up, taking a deep breath and turning to Alice, who stood with her lips pursed.

  "Duty calls?"

  He nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry."

  She raised her eyebrows and sighed.

  "I'll knock up a quick pasta sauce before I go, if you like?"

  "No, there's no need. I'll heat up some leftovers from the fridge. It'll be fine," she said.

  He couldn't help thinking the reality was somewhat different.

  "I'll call you later. Let you know what's going on."

  "Okay," she said, folding her arms across her midriff.

  He scooped up his keys and wallet. The dog re-entered the kitchen behind him, thankfully without a carcass in his mouth. He stopped, eyeing the two of them inquisitively. Alice stepped to one side to allow him to pass, and he leaned in to kiss her goodbye. She angled her face so he could kiss her cheek. He pretended not to notice the slight.

  "I'll see you later," he said and she nodded.

  Closing the front door behind him, he realised he should have complimented Alice on her dress. She looked great. He considered ducking his head back inside and saying so, but thought better of it. The moment had passed and it would look like he was manipulating the exchange as an afterthought. He'd have to do better next time. Unlocking the car, his thoughts turned to what he was going to find out at Blakeney Point.

  Chapter Two

  Tom Janssen followed the coast road skirting Blakeney and heading onto Cley next the Sea. The iconic local landmark of the windmill stood proudly visible, and Tom knew the turning would be on his left as he approached the town's outer limits. The wetlands of the nature reserve were off to one side, a carefully-managed location both in terms of protecting the wildlife living in the salt marsh and also diverting tidal waters away from residential properties. Taking the turn, he headed along the road linking the sea front to the coast road, winding its way through the reed beds. A handful of people were visible above, walking through the salt marsh by way of one of the many raised pathways used by walkers to explore the reserve.

  Arriving at the car park, behind the shingle beach acting as a natural barrier from the incoming tide, Tom saw a notable police presence. He parked the
car and headed for the cordon, manned by three uniformed constables. A small group of curious onlookers had gathered. The shingle beach ran from Blakeney Point all the way around the coast to Cromer in the distance. The cordon blocked passage for anyone seeking to head out to the point where the tide entered Blakeney Harbour, some four miles distant.

  The beach was frequently used by local dog walkers, birders and anglers. Once past Cley, the beach stretched out to the Point but no further, becoming a natural dead end unless you had a boat in the harbour. One of the officers recognised him, lifting the tape to allow him to pass easily. A liveried Range Rover was parked at the top of the shingle bank and one of the officers gestured towards it. From what Eric had told him on the phone, the body was to be found at the harbour's mouth. The car ride would be far more preferable than the hour and a half hike across the shingle to reach it.

  From the vantage point at the top of the bank, Tom had a great view over the wetlands. The River Glaven fed into Blakeney Harbour, as did Cabbage Creek from the other side. At low tide, the retreating sea would leave tidal pools both at the harbour's edge and on the sea-facing beach itself before returning to flood the area extensively. The towns between Cley and Stiffkey could all be troubled by a tidal surge, even located as they were a good half mile from the sea, due to the low-lying level of the land. Multiple boats lay at anchor, dotted around the harbour, and the lights of Blakeney and Morton were visible in the distance as dusk rapidly approached. High tide would be upon them in a few hours and his hope was that the body's location was far enough towards the dunes to enable time for the technicians to process the scene. Eric was confident that their presence was necessary.

  A small group congregating around the harbour mouth came into view. Several heads turned in their direction upon hearing the sound of the Range Rover. One of them detached himself from the group and came to meet them. It was Eric. Tom got out of the car and looked beyond Eric, seeing several forensic investigation officers setting up portable lights attached to a nearby generator. They were settling in for the evening, if not the night.

  "Hi, Eric," he said, still trying to see exactly where the victim lay amongst the group. "What is it we are dealing with?"

  "Hi, Tom. A dead woman." He turned and pointed to the lateral mark, a tall metal pole indicating the safe route into the entrance channel to the harbour beyond the dunes. Green buoys marked the opposing side, offering the boats their route of safe passage. "It looks like she was snagged on the marker there, probably as the tide went out."

  Tom looked to where he pointed. Besides the lateral mark itself, there were also the remnants of a more substantial harbour edge, now rotting and barely visible above the incoming water. At low tide the area looked altogether very different. You could almost walk to the lateral mark itself, an open space of flat sand revealing itself each day between the sea and the dunes of around two hundred metres, more in some places. The receding tide left extensive tidal pools amongst the wet sand, often frequented by members of the seal colony that attracted visitors to those providing boat tours. As if reading his thoughts, Eric spoke.

  "Those passing earlier figured it was a seal carcass. They get washed up here all the time," he said.

  Tom nodded, scanning the area. "Who called it in?"

  "Someone out looking at the wildlife," Eric said. "He spotted the birds picking at it. Wondered what was going on."

  "What… at the body?"

  Eric grimaced, confirming the answer without saying so.

  "Much damage?" Tom asked.

  "Yeah… mainly to the eyes."

  "And who brought the body ashore?"

  "Coastguard," Eric said. "They found her clothing caught on the wood at the harbour mouth. Whether it would have stayed there much longer is hard to say. I think it's a pure fluke the body wasn't washed out into the North Sea. We might never have found her."

  Tom gestured towards the team processing the scene and Eric fell into step alongside him as they approached the others. Tom was keen to see what he could under natural light, what was left of it, before they'd have to rely on portable lamps.

  "They brought her clear of the expected high-water line," Eric said, "figuring we'd need to investigate."

  It couldn't be helped, but the body being where it now lay was nothing to do with the investigation. If anything, placing it where they had could well contaminate the evidence with sand or stone now present where it hadn't been and confusing things. However, it probably didn't matter much in the grand scheme of things. A body left in the water for any length of time would destroy any remaining trace evidence in no time at all.

  The assembled group parted to allow them to come closer. Tom dropped to his haunches to examine the body. As Eric had said, it was a woman. Elderly by the look of her. Time spent in the water, leading to discolouration of the skin, could make determining the age troublesome, but he guessed she was easily in her early eighties. Despite being wrapped in either a thick woven shawl, or a blanket of some description, she appeared frail. Her skin was white and drawn tightly across her face and hands. The latter were bony and skeletal. One of the eyes was unrecognisable, the birds attacking it just as Eric described. There was also a wound to the left side of the head, just beyond the hairline behind the temple. Her hair was a variety of competing shades of grey, much of it bordering on white if you looked past the detritus of sand and grit caught amongst the strands. Several lengths of seaweed clung to her face and neck, giving off a distinctive odour. Tom spoke without averting his eyes from the body, continuing his examination.

  "How long has she been in the water?"

  "Not long."

  Tom glanced up as Dr Williams came alongside him, lowering herself to his level with some difficulty. He reached out and offered his hand to help her steady herself, and she accepted gratefully.

  "I should imagine she went into the water at some point last night or thereabouts," she said. "The water has affected the liver temperature by rapidly cooling the body, as you can imagine it would, making a precise estimation at this point difficult but I would say—" She ran her eye the length of the body, scrunching up her nose as she thought hard. "No more than twenty-four hours, perhaps less."

  Tom's brow furrowed. "That's a nasty head wound. Likely pre-mortem?"

  "I would say so, yes. And before you ask, no, I don't know if it's the most likely cause of death."

  Tom's face split a half-smile. "Looks pretty extensive though."

  Dr Williams agreed. "I dare say it would have caused her some problems when she went into the water. A blow like that would disorientate if not leave her unconscious and liable to drowning."

  "Any possibility it was accidental? From a fall, perhaps?" Tom asked, assessing the shawl was indeed what she was wrapped in rather than a blanket, opening up the possibility of an accidental explanation rather than anything more sinister.

  "Anything is possible, but without knowing where she was prior to being found it would be pure conjecture. It's one hell of a thump on the head though."

  Eric piped up from behind them. "Coastguard reckon there's no way she would have been drawn out of the harbour had she fallen from the path, or gone in from the beach for that matter," he said, looking along the stretch Tom had approached from. "Falling from any of the walking routes through the marshes she wouldn't have been sucked out beyond the harbour mouth and if she'd fallen in the shingle and been drawn out by the receding tide, then she'd be well on her way to Scandinavia or continental Europe by now."

  Tom thought on that for a moment. "So, if we're to consider this an accident then we're looking at her pitching overboard as an explanation?"

  Eric nodded.

  "Any boats adrift in the harbour or spotted out there?" Tom said, looking at the inky darkness of the horizon.

  "Nothing reported, no, but I'll check again."

  "What about abandoned cars, either in Blakeney or Cley?"

  "Anything currently in the beach car parks has been accounted for. I
n the towns or villages themselves, it's a little harder. I've arranged a door to door to see if anyone has seen anything abandoned."

  Tom turned his attention to her clothing. It was substantial. She wore hiking boots and he could see thick socks protruding from above the ankle-line. Her trousers were also suitable for spending time exposed to the elements. He recognised the brand. Dr Williams followed his gaze.

  "Rambler not a sailor, if you ask me."

  Tom nodded. "My thoughts as well."

  "The shawl is intriguing, though."

  Tom was inclined to agree. The shawl was woollen, knitted. It was possible he was confusing man-made fibres with natural materials, but that wasn't the issue. It was a garment that might be thrown on over a top, perhaps on a late-summer's evening, when a full coat would be too much, or perhaps for knocking around the house in just to take the chill off. However, it wasn't something you'd expect to offer a great deal of protection from the elements, a far cry from the choice of trousers and footwear. It wouldn't be what you'd expect to wear aboard a vessel of any size at sea. Beneath the shawl was a simple shirt, buttoning up the front to a collar fastened to the top. It was cotton, thick, but nonetheless not suitable for wear at sea. Every instinct suggested this was not a boating accident.

  "Any sign of other injuries or evidence of a struggle?"

  Dr Williams frowned. "No injuries to speak of that I can see with the naked eye. Obviously, once she's back in pathology and stripped, there might be something."

  "But?"

  "But two of her fingernails on her left hand are broken. The index and the forefinger," she said, leaning over and pointing them out to him.

  Tom narrowed his gaze, angling his head to see better. It was getting dark and the portable lights weren't up and running yet. He took out his mobile and illuminated the hand with the torch function. The nails were indeed snapped, the one on the forefinger had split almost the full length of the nail plate, revealing the tender tissue beneath. The damage looked recent, as if it had caught on something and been torn away. Perhaps someone had done it intentionally, which was a sobering thought.