The day was predominantly overcast but every so often the clouds would break and the warmth of the spring sun would cut through reminding them of the promise of the forthcoming summer. Janssen loved Norfolk in the summertime. Sheltered on the east coast, the prevailing wind kept the edge off the North Sea and the Atlantic storms would usually dissipate over land leaving the region blessed with more sun and less rain than the rest of the country. The downside came when the prevailing winds were knocked off course from the east. On those days fog could hug the coastline for the daylight hours and whereas inland people were treated by blue skies and hot sun, those unfortunates on the coast could barely see a hundred paces in front of them. Today, spring seemed in touching distance.

  “Do you think Ken Francis could have been Holly’s benefactor?” Tamara asked him, following a long pause in conversation. She had seemed lost in thought since they left the station and Janssen hadn’t wanted to intrude. Perhaps she’d been puzzling over the case. She must have been thinking along the same lines as him.

  “The source of where she got the laptop?” he asked, just to clarify. She nodded. “Do you think it could be a present? Ken certainly has the money and if she didn’t buy it out of her allowance, how else could she have got it?”

  She retreated into herself once more, falling silent and so he didn’t comment further, allowing her space to think. “There’s another possibility. The laptop is neither Holly’s nor a gift.”

  “She borrowed it… or stole it?” He was thinking aloud now. They had no proof for any of their ideas, it was all merely supposition.

  Tamara laughed but it was a sound without genuine humour. “For all we know, we’re looking at Holly as a pure innocent here. How often does it turn out the victim was somehow culpable in their own murder?” He looked over at her, feeling himself frowning at what was rather an odd comment. Regardless of how Holly may or may not behave, her baby was certainly innocent. She must have read his reaction and sought to explain. “I’m just saying Holly comes across as something of a mixed-up kid, not that that would necessarily make her responsible for what happened to her. All I’m saying is she seems to have a lot of secrets. No one really knows her, least of all us. For all we know, she could have been blackmailing Ken Francis, extorting money from him. Who knows.”

  “He could just as easily be her sugar-daddy,” he bit back, possibly harsher than was necessary. “Hell, if he has a tendency towards young girls then, regardless of her being over age, we could have found a motive.”

  “The model in Canning Town was in her twenties.”

  “Still over half his age!”

  “If that’s a pre-requisite for suspicion we will have to investigate most of the divorcees who holiday in Thailand… for the diving, obviously.”

  He found himself smiling. His interpretation of what she meant may have been off target and he sensed she was prone to the darker end of the scale when it came to her sense of humour. “You know a fair bit yourself about keeping secrets, as a teenager, I mean?” She glanced across and smiled, remaining tight-lipped.

  Flashing lights appeared in the rear-view mirror and he pulled to the side of the road. A fire engine flew past at speed, blasting the sirens as it approached the next junction before disappearing from view. Janssen moved off and around the next bend they came upon the turn for the unmade track leading up to the Francis house. Moments later they came upon the house itself. Smoke billowed from the rear, dark grey clouds churning into the sky that were then carried away on the breeze. The firemen were already hard at work, unfurling hoses and the appliance blocked the approach. Unable to enter the rear yard it was parked alongside the gable end on the east side of the house.

  “Is that the house itself?” Tamara asked.

  “No, I reckon it’s the studio,” Janssen replied as he clambered out. The wind momentarily altered direction and a gust carried smoke and embers towards them. Even the slight exposure to the fumes left an acrid taste in his mouth. They moved closer only to find their path blocked by a fireman. He took out his warrant card, identifying himself but was still asked to remain well clear. “Is there anyone inside?”

  “Not as far as we know. The owners are in the main part of the house.”

  Turning, they made their way to the front door. The little used approach path was overgrown, foliage growing between the slabs and encroaching from either side. Reaching the front door, he rapped the knocker loudly several times. The noise from the appliance crew at work in the yard carried around the house to them and Janssen found he had to repeat the process before they got a response.

  Jane Francis opened the door. Her expression was one of intense shock, wide-eyed and fearful, and if she was surprised to see them, she didn’t show it. Stepping back, she beckoned them in. They followed her into the main living area. Ken stood with his back to them at the French doors, overlooking the yard, staring at the studio opposite. Upon hearing them enter, he turned. One hand was drawn across his mouth and nose, his skin was pale, colourless, and he was breathing heavily. Janssen wondered if he was having some kind of anxiety attack. Coming closer, he was surprised to see Ken was developing some swelling around the left eye. He wondered if he’d tried to attack the flames himself and fallen. His wife looked nervous now, unwilling to meet Janssen’s eye. She immediately offered to make coffee, an opportunity to busy herself and avoid attention, Janssen thought.

  Tamara cleared her throat, coming to stand alongside Ken. “You’re having a rough few days, aren’t you,” she said quietly.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ken Francis turned away from the sight of the firefighters marshalling powerful jets of water as they wrestled to bring the blaze under control. Tamara Greave paid close attention to his demeanour. On previous visits he came across as an amiable man, trying too hard to appear so but nevertheless, pleasant enough. He reminded her of an uncle, long since passed away, who was quite similar. On the surface, when required, he could portray a persona that was expected of him knowing what he should say and how to act. Most of the time, however, with no one else around, the façade would drop away and on those occasions, the real personality would appear. Usually that was in private or in front of immediate family or close friends. She witnessed it only a few times, or at least, she only noticed it then for she was very young.

  Now, Ken struck her in the same way. Even making allowances for the brutal destruction of his works of art, not least his livelihood, there was precious little of the man she’d first met. His face was drawn, settling in to what looked very much like his natural resting state. Whereas before he took care to acknowledge their presence, now he appeared disinterested. More so than merely preoccupied with the events unfolding before him.

  “How did the fire start?” she asked casually, floating the question. Either the couple were hitting an unfortunate patch of misfortune with the vandalism of the studio and now the fire, or something more sinister was at play. Ken shook his head, pulling out a chair at the breakfast table and sitting down.

  “We were out.” It was his wife, Jane, who replied. Tamara glanced in her direction. She was cleaning the coffee machine, preparing it for use but much too fastidiously, in her opinion. Perhaps it was her cynicism, drummed into her by experience, that led her to cast an eye over both of them for signs of anything out of the ordinary.

  Their relationship was somewhat strained, that was obvious, but neither were behaving as she might expect in this scenario. Jane was fussing in the kitchen making a show of being a courteous host while her husband’s studio, part of their fabulously renovated home, burned nearby. Ken, on the other hand, sat expressionless, a vacuous shell of a human being. Arguably numb from shock but even so, no emotion, no anger, it was bordering on acceptance.

  Jane seemed to notice her interest, appearing flustered and overfilling the filter head with freshly ground coffee. She cursed under her breath, cutting the utterance short almost as soon as she said it. Tamara moved closer to her, noting Janssen following with his eyes. “You were out when it started? Together?” Jane nodded, picking up a cloth from the nearby sink and wiping up the spillage. “Do you mind if I ask where?” Jane Francis glared at her. It seemed a particularly venomous look and she was reminded of Mark McCall’s statement about her being evil. With that one look, she understood why he might get that impression, especially seeing as Jane was clearly intimidated by the police presence.

  “Ken thought it might be nice for us to spend the day out, make the most of the weather and the time we have while the kids aren’t around.”

  She glanced at her watch; it was barely midday. Jane looked nervous, agitated. “Home early?” The question went unanswered or ignored. She couldn’t decide which. Ken’s head lowered and she saw Janssen incline his own. He was thinking something, she could tell.

  “What happened to your face, Mr Francis?” Janssen asked. So focussed was she on their behaviour patterns that she hadn’t noticed. Now she paid closer attention. The redness and minor swelling around the eye on the left side of his face looked sore. Ken didn’t look the type to have battled an inferno. Athletic in stature, perhaps, but he didn’t exude courage, not to her anyway.

  “I must have fallen,” Ken all but whispered without looking up. The challenge to his weak assertion came from an unlikely source, his wife.

  “Oh, Ken! When are you going to tell the truth? They aren’t fools!”

  Tamara was surprised. Jane, often so measured if not calculating, sounded exasperated. For his part, Janssen raised his eyebrows which was possibly the most animated she had ever seen him when speaking with suspect or witness. Ken remained resolute in his reticence and so it fell to Jane, her frustration evident as she abandoned the coffee making, leaning against the worktop and crossing her arms in front of her.

  “We came across Colin Bettany out on Holkham sands,” Jane explained. “He attacked Ken.”

  “Why would he do that?” she asked.

  “The man’s deranged,” Jane replied. “If I wasn’t there, I reckon he would have killed him.”

  “That’s quite an accusation,” Janssen said.

  “My wife is exaggerating… as usual.” Finally offering some kind of reaction, Ken was dismissive, drawing a deep sigh from the other side of the kitchen. He shook his head, resigned to her ire. “The man is in pain. He’s lost his daughter and is looking around for someone to blame. Somewhere for him to direct his sense of loss. He picked me. Let’s not get too carried away.”

  Tamara glanced between the two of them. Jane was still glaring at her husband but he appeared disinterested in her theories. “In my experience, grieving parents don’t generally assault members of the public for no reason.”

  “Victim blaming!” Jane replied. “What a surprise.”

  She ignored the comment, instead coming alongside Ken and sitting down. He looked across at her, quickly averting his eyes from her gaze. “Holly modelled for you. Your wife confirmed it. Is there anything else you need to tell us?” She chose her words carefully, reinforcing the point they were aware of his deceit and not mincing her words with the open question.

  “Holly and I… we had a relationship,” Ken said softly. “I thought I was in love with her… for a while, at least.” Lifting his head, he met her gaze. His eyes glazed over, tears welling. “I miss her. I did not kill her.” His tone was firm, unyielding.

  “What did Colin Bettany say when you allege he assaulted you?”

  Ken pursed his lips momentarily before answering. “He was ranting about all sorts of bizarre things. I didn’t really catch any of it. Everything happened so quickly. I stood up. We were sitting in the dunes, chatting. That’s when he hit me.”

  “How did you respond?” she asked him.

  “I didn’t, not really. Jane gave him a piece of her mind.”

  “Was Colin aware of your relationship or his daughter’s modelling for you?” Tamara flicked her eyes to Janssen, as straight-faced as ever. Ken shook his head. “How did it come about, your relationship?”

  “We met through Colin and Marie. We went to theirs for dinner. Holly was animated by what I do. She spoke to me regarding my work, saying she loved it. Whether she knew about me beforehand or looked me up once her parents announced we were coming over, I don’t know. She tickled my ego; I won’t deny it. I was low and her attentions excited me, made me feel… alive, maybe.”

  Jane turned her back on them. These must be hard words for her to hear, an admission of infidelity delivered with indifference. What reaction would such betrayal generate? How might an aggrieved partner respond? Obviously, Jane was aware of this before today but exactly when she knew could either place her as a suspect or as an unwitting victim in the wider scheme of things.

  “I know how it sounds… and how it looks for that matter,” Ken continued, “which is why I didn’t tell you before. I may well be a foolish, middle-aged man but I’m not a killer.”

  “And the baby? How did you feel about that?” She watched him intently. Ken’s mouth fell open but he held her eye. If he knew, then he was quite some poker player. “Holly was pregnant. You knew that?”

  “No! I… Holly was pregnant?” Ken stammered, looking to his wife.

  Tamara followed his gaze. Jane was unfazed, her expression unreadable. “From what you’ve told us, you could well have been the father. We’ve also been looking into the circumstances surrounding your move away from London.” Ken visibly tensed. “A number of allegations were made against you—”

  “None of which led to a prosecution,” Jane snapped.

  “And in light of your husband’s revelation along with Colin Bettany’s reaction, we need to examine every potential scenario. I should caution you that you do not have to say anything—”

  “I am well aware of my rights, detective,” Ken stated, waving away her attempt to follow procedure. “I have nothing to hide. Ask me whatever you need to and then you can both leave!”

  “Who else was aware of the nature of your relationship with Holly?”

  His eyes narrowed, appearing to her as if he was genuinely thinking about the question. Whether the delay was due to his search for accuracy or a wilful attempt at misdirection was a judgement call. “No one, as far as I know. I told Jane after… Holly’s passing. I haven’t told anyone else. Why would I?”

  She asked Jane to confirm the information.

  “I knew Holly came over and that she was sitting for Ken, yes.”

  “And you were comfortable with him being alone with a young girl?” she asked, unable to keep the air of judgement out of her tone. Jane bristled but didn’t respond. “You didn’t have any doubts about what was going on, particularly after recent events in London? I find that a little hard to believe.”

  “Are you married, Detective Chief Inspector?” Jane asked pointedly. She was disinclined to make the conversation personal to her, merely shaking her head. “Well, when you are, you’ll learn that all marriages are unique in one way or another. You start out on the same page but over time circumstances can change.” She stared at Ken, he remained impassive, seemingly impervious to his wife’s tangent. “Often you find out you’re not married to the same person you thought you were. One, or both of you takes it a different way and you either make do and compromise or…”

  “Or what?” she asked, genuinely interested from a personal perspective as well as regarding the case.

  “You… accept one another for who they are and… what they need or you go your separate ways.” Jane spoke the last with an air of resignation. “Perhaps, in a marriage you live with the hope that one day those paths will converge again.”

  “You accept your husband’s infidelity?” The level of candour on display was such that she felt comfortable to respond in kind. Jane fixed her with a stare. They were two very different women but she had to admit, Jane held a view that many could probably relate to. Several of her mother’s friends would be in wholehearted agreement. This was no framework that she could ever foresee herself agreeing to live by, though. Then again, she wasn’t married yet.

  “Marriages take a great deal of work,” Jane said in a way that came across as condescending. Her eyes lowered to Tamara’s hand, presently tapping index and forefinger on the table in front of her. “One day you might find that out.” Jane must have observed the engagement ring on her finger. There was an air of superiority in the woman’s manner as well as her tone. Despite what most would consider to be a humiliating conversation, what with her husband’s admission, Jane Francis held herself upright, shoulders back, commanding. Defiant.

  “If neither of you told anyone. How did Colin Bettany find out?” Janssen asked. It was such an obvious question, she was irritated she hadn’t thought of it herself. Both Ken and Jane looked to each other but neither had an answer. “What about this fire? Presumably you had the wiring signed off?” Ken nodded. “Buildings don’t tend to spontaneously combust. Old properties where the wiring is shot, perhaps, but fires like yours are rare. Any idea how it started?”

  Again, neither of them offered an explanation. She indicated for Janssen to join her and they headed outside. The sense of relief at their departure was palpable within the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rather like the day following a November celebration the smell of burnt wood and smoke hung in the air. The fire was out and as they crossed the yard, the destruction within the studio became apparent. The damage was immense but largely contained to the confines of the stone structure having not spread to the attached buildings. That will be cold comfort for Ken, Janssen thought as he drew the attention of the station officer, notable by his white helmet. He indicated for them to wait a moment and they held their ground.

  Janssen was perturbed by Ken’s admission to a relationship with Holly, professing his misguided love for her and describing it as something of a mid-life crisis. That was tantamount to a dismissal of the affair as a passing moment, normalising what was a far darker reality in his opinion. Holly was seventeen and therefore a consenting adult in the eyes of the law, so Ken Francis was right not to feel shame or guilt regarding their relationship. The moral question beyond that was, however, far more nuanced. A man twice her age and married, albeit within a rather odd open marriage with some agreed sexual boundaries or lack thereof, having a physical and emotional relationship with a girl left him questioning the man’s moral framework. Holly was a girl, not in the eyes of the law, but certainly in his own. Unsure of exactly when Ken would have met her, she could barely have been seventeen at the time and although in the sixth form of the school now, she was still too young. Had they become associated with one another a year before then they may well have been considering it a case of grooming and exploitation. These were how thin the margins were.

 

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