Tom found a ball of paper in his pocket, reminding him of the previous night. By the time they'd finished at the Becketts' house and he'd made it home to Alice and Saffy, the two of them were already sound asleep. He found a scribbled note pinned to the fridge door by a magnet, one of the ones Saffy collected the tokens for and they'd sent away. The note was signed by both of them, letting him know there was still food set aside for him in the fridge. Alice had made a pasta sauce after all. Unfurling the paper in his hand, the smiley face, a Saffy original motif, and the kisses ensured he didn't throw it in the bin. Smoothing the note out, he folded it and returned it to his pocket.
Hanging his coat by the door, he sipped at his own coffee as he pulled out a chair. He could see Eric deliberating over whether or not he could manage a bite now or should he wait to finish the briefing. He chose the latter, turning over the lip of the bag and instead making do with the coffee. Tom's own drink had sufficiently cooled since he'd picked them up from his favourite haunt, and Eric certainly looked like he needed the caffeine hit.
"What time did you come in this morning?" Tom asked, glancing at the clock. It was only half past seven.
"Oh… you know, I always struggle to sleep when we're in the early stages of a case."
"You should be careful of that, young man."
Eric swallowed another mouthful of coffee, waving away Tom's concern for his welfare.
"It's just my mind was buzzing with all the possibilities that Janet Beckett threw our way last night. I remembered some of the campaigns Mary was involved with locally. Not that I could recall her involvement, but it got me thinking. And whenever I've got a lot on my mind, churning things over in my head, I end up really restless and…"
"And?"
"And it stops Becca from sleeping," Eric said glumly, rubbing at his cheek with his free hand. He hadn't shaved this morning. "She likes her sleep, does Becca. She booted me out around four."
"Out of her flat?" Tom asked, his eyebrows knitting together. Eric flapped at the suggestion.
"No, no. Just the bedroom. I ended up on the sofa but it's only a two-seater and I know I'm not very tall but even I can't lie on it. So…" he said, putting his cup down and turning to his computer screen. He clicked on a tab and the display changed to a social media page. "I did some more research. Janet Beckett mentioned her sister's disapproval of the proposed Wash Bank wind farm."
"Hasn't that already gone through?" Tom asked, sitting back in his chair, nursing what was left of his drink.
Eric shook his head. "Not quite. It's been back and forth ever since they obtained the licence from the Crown Estate after the last tranche of sites were put out to tender."
"Who did?"
"Prometheus Energy," Eric confirmed. "Initially they were part of a consortium planning to share development costs across several sites off the Norfolk coast. Two of the projects haven't been submitted yet, but this one, the smallest, was one they progressed on their own after another company backed out. Consultations went on for a couple of years prior to the actual proposal going into the planners, who looked to rubber-stamp it pretty quickly by all accounts."
"So, what's the delay?" Tom asked, finishing his drink whilst eyeing the screen.
"Local pressure group."
"Mary Beckett?"
Eric nodded. "The very same. She set up an action group, FOWL." Tom raised his eyebrows in query. "Friends of Wildlife."
"Catchy."
"Yes quite, isn't it," Eric said. "Mary founded it. This is the social media page for the group," Eric said, gesturing towards the screen with his index finger, the others wrapped around his cup. "It's a mix of local interest types, environmental campaigners… probably your average NIMBY lot as well."
Tom frowned. "Forgive me, but I thought environmentalists were pro wind energy."
Eric shook his head. "It's not the concept of wind power they object to but the associated infrastructure. The energy has to come ashore at some point and it's that location where the issues arise. Wind farms of this size require a substantial footprint for the switching station and then the associated transmission infrastructure to integrate it to the national grid. Let's set aside for the moment the thousands of cubic tonnes of concrete that are poured on the ocean floor to lay the bases for the turbines themselves."
"You have been busy," Tom said, impressed with the constable's research.
"To be honest, I'm quite interested in it. Becca took the children from her class to visit the Sheringham Shoal Wind Farm centre last term," Eric said, his face splitting into a wide grin. "I went along as one of the helpers."
"That's right, she's an NQT, isn't she?"
Eric bobbed his head. "Yes, her days as a teaching assistant are over. They gave her Year One this time around."
"And you volunteered to go along on the class trip?" Tom asked, picturing Eric being dragged in all directions by children younger than Saffy. "How did that go?"
Eric blew out his cheeks, running a hand through his hair. "Becca's a natural with kids… I'm better off catching villains. How they corral fifty-odd five-year-olds in a learning environment on a daily basis is beyond my skill set."
Tom laughed.
"Anyway," Eric said, returning to his briefing, "Mary Beckett and her cohorts have been very organised. They submitted a detailed objection to the proposed site for the switching station, as well as the alternative location Prometheus Energy came up with. Despite the planning department warmly receiving the initial application – it was anticipated the approval was almost a mere formality – the group managed to find
