Thursday
Horton reached his office early after a restless night. He’d drunk countless cups of coffee throughout a troubled night, which had only served to keep him awake, maybe deliberately so, because while awake he could control his thoughts; once asleep the nightmares would return. At one time he’d taken his drink on deck and felt the crisp night air chill his bones, hoping it would cleanse his mind of those terrible years. He’d turned to recollections of when his mother had been there and tried to recall the men he’d seen her with. Russell Glenn unwittingly came to mind. Now in his sixties, he would have been twenty-seven then. But Horton couldn’t recall him. Perhaps one of the photographs Walters had printed off the Internet might jog his memory.
The sound of a car driving past in the early hours of the morning had caught his attention, causing him to wonder where the driver was heading at that hour. The road went nowhere except to Langstone Harbour and the Hayling ferry, which didn’t run through the night. He’d waited for the car to return but it didn’t. It was high water and he had strained his ears for the sound of a boat going out, but had heard nothing. Growing cold he’d gone below and had lain on his bunk, letting the slapping of the water soothe his troubled mind. Eventually he’d slept but only for a couple of hours.
Sipping his coffee and pushing his weariness aside he logged on to his computer and searched the police files for events in 1978. What had so preoccupied the police in November 1978 that they had only sent PC Adrian Stanley to investigate the disappearance of his mother, and he hadn’t done that very thoroughly. But the reports from that period hadn’t been scanned, which meant he would need to check them manually. He cursed softly. That would have to wait. He tried the local newspaper archives but they didn’t go that far back either. All he could find was that Portsmouth football team had been relegated to the fourth division; so a visit to the newspaper office or the library to check the archives was needed.
Horton then called up the national news events of that year just for background. The Home Secretary announced a pay increase for police officers of an average of forty per cent. Those were the days. They were lucky now if they got four per cent and only then if they promised to make cuts. Yearly inflation was at just over eight per cent and interest rates at twelve and a half per cent. Naomi James broke the solo round-the-world sailing record by two days, the first test-tube baby was born, and Labour faced a vote of confidence.
He sat back feeling restless and agitated. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, something he’d seen or heard, but it refused to come to light. He rummaged around on his desk and found three photographs of Glenn that Walters had printed off. Two of them had been taken in the last seven years and were clearly publicity shots taken on the sale of two of Glenn’s businesses. He wore the same gold-rimmed spectacles and was casually dressed; his hair wasn’t as grey or as untidy as when Horton had seen him on Monday evening, but there was the same slightly shambolic, uneasy air about the man who was clearly uncomfortable in front of a camera. The other picture was of a younger Russell Glenn at a black-tie function, unaware that the camera was on him. Horton studied it. Glenn must then have been in his early to mid forties. He was still wearing glasses but Horton thought he caught sight of a different Glenn, one more relaxed, more confident, sharper.
He folded all three photographs and thrust them in his pocket before swinging round to stare out of his window at the clear bright morning. Had Glenn changed over the years? Had he lost his confidence, or rather his edge? Hardly, if he could afford to buy a superyacht. So who was the real Russell Glenn, the dishevelled man who looked ill at ease or the other sharper one?
The door to the CID room opened. That must be Cantelli or Walters. He pushed thoughts of Stanley and his mother from his mind and turned round, starting in surprise as he stared up at the lean silver-haired figure in the immaculate grey suit on the other side of his desk. Detective Chief Superintendent Sawyer of the Intelligence Directorate closed Horton’s door behind him.
‘Sir.’ Horton made to stand, but Sawyer waved him back into his seat and took the one the other side of Horton’s desk, where he crossed his legs and eyed Horton with a serious and assessing air.
‘DCI Bliss tells me that Victor Hazleton’s death is not connected with Project Neptune.’
‘We believe it’s connected with the death of Colin Yately.’
‘Whose body was pulled out of the Solent on Monday.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And neither of these deaths has any connection with a possible terrorist attack on the USS Boise?’
Horton studied the lean-featured man with eyes as cold as marble. ‘Not unless you know something we don’t.’ Which was always possible. He thought of DCI Harriet Lee with Mike Danby in that restaurant.
‘By “we” you mean Detective Superintendent Uckfield.’
‘Yes, sir. It’s his case.’
Sawyer nodded. After a moment he said, ‘But Hazleton did report two incidents of lights at sea.’
‘Yes, although there is no corroborating evidence. He could have seen Yately’s killer the first time but we’re not sure that applies to the second sighting.’
Sawyer seemed to consider this.
Horton said, ‘Have you evidence to show that Hazleton could have witnessed something connected with a potential terrorist attack, sir?’
‘No. But that doesn’t mean to say that he didn’t. What theories do you have for his death?’
Horton wanted to say, why ask me? Why not Uckfield? But that could be construed as being insubordinate. That aside, he didn’t think he’d get a straight answer anyway. Instead, with his mind whirling with thoughts of why Sawyer was here, he swiftly brought him up to date with what they knew and the most likely theory: Lisle had killed Yately for having an affair with his wife, and had then killed Hazleton because he witnessed the murder, or because he’d also had an affair with his wife.
Sawyer listened without showing the slightest sign of emotion or interest. Finally, he said almost casually, ‘But you’ve no evidence to support this.’
‘Not yet, sir.’
‘And you agree with this theory.’ There was a slight question mark in Sawyer’s tone and behind it a hint of surprise.
Horton should have answered immediately that he did, but a moment’s brief hesitation gave Sawyer his answer. Horton silently cursed himself for betraying his thoughts. But why was a Chief Superintendent interested in a mere Detective Inspector’s theories? And why was this Chief Superintendent particularly interested? There were two answers to that question and Horton wasn’t quite sure yet which was the correct one.
He said, ‘It’s possible.’
‘What other theories do you have, Inspector?’
‘None at the moment, sir,’ Horton replied. He could see that Sawyer didn’t believe him, but if he explained his theory about Yately and Lisle cross-dressing in secret in one of the bays on the coast and being discovered by smugglers it would sound incredible, probably because it was.
He heard the outer door open and the voices of Cantelli and Walters. Sawyer rose. But Horton knew he hadn’t finished yet. He hardened himself for what was coming, while taking great pains not to betray any outward tension.
Sawyer had reached the door before he turned. ‘How is the search for your mother going?’
‘It isn’t, sir.’ Horton held Sawyer’s unblinking gaze. The lean man’s lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. Horton’s stomach twisted. The bastard knew he’d been to see Stanley in the hospital and that he’d visited him in his apartment. The blue van sprang to mind. Had Sawyer’s officers been in that? Had they been following him or watching Stanley’s apartment? Both, apparently.
Sawyer said, ‘You can still reconsider your decision to help us find Zeus.’
Horton had refused to be used as a sacrificial lamb to lure this master criminal from his lair as Sawyer wanted.
‘It might help you to find out what happened to Jennifer.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
Sawyer didn’t reply. He opened Horton’s office door a fraction, before turning back again. ‘How do you know Russell Glenn?’
This time Horton didn’t bother to hide his surprise. He couldn’t if he had tried. ‘I don’t.’
Sawyer nodded slowly and then swept out, leaving Horton confused as to the real purpose of the man’s visit. What the hell had that been about?
Before he could formulate any kind of answer his door swung open and Bliss swept in with a worried frown on her high forehead.
‘Why was Detective Chief Superintendent Sawyer here? What did he want? Did he ask for me?’ she demanded.
‘He wanted an update on Hazleton’s death,’ Horton answered calmly, and watched her face pale. He could see the thoughts chasing around her mind, and among them were fears that Sawyer didn’t trust her and had gone to her DI to get the real story.
‘What did you tell him?’ she asked, eyeing him warily.
‘The same as I told you. We don’t believe it has any connection with a potential terrorist attack.’ Horton rose. ‘Superintendent Uckfield wants us for the briefing.’
He swept past her, catching her off guard. She seemed too preoccupied with her thoughts to order him back. She wasn’t the only one. As he made his way to the second floor and the major incident suite, with Walters and Cantelli in tow, his head spun with the implications of Sawyer’s question about Russell Glenn. It could only mean one thing. Russell Glenn must have been involved with his mother.
The incident room fell silent as Uckfield perched his large backside on the edge of one of the desks, which seemed to give a protesting creak, and asked for an update from Sergeant Trueman. Dennings and Marsden had already left for the Island. Horton fetched a drink from the water cooler. His eyes fell on the photographs on the crime board of Lisle’s sodden car and the furled up body of Hazleton in the boot. It seemed inconceivable that four days ago he’d been interviewing him about a report he’d considered a figment of the old man’s imagination. He brought his attention back to Trueman.
‘Wrayton Lettings claim that no one has had a fourth set of keys cut to Yately’s flat. There is the master, and a spare set, which the landlord’s already told us hasn’t left the office, and one set was given to Yately. We know that Yately had two keys cut from the set to give to his daughter, so he could have had more cut and given a set to someone else.’
Uckfield said, ‘Can’t see why he should. He doesn’t seem to have had any close friends and no other relatives. Unless he gave a set to his wife.’
Unlikely, thought Horton, based on what they’d seen of her and Uckfield said the same, only putting it more coarsely. ‘If he did he must be a real glutton for punishment.’
Trueman continued. ‘An officer has spoken to Margaret Yately’s employer, who you might be interested to know is Phillip Gunville, the owner of the car you saw outside her house on Tuesday evening.’
‘Consoling her in her hour of sorrow,’ muttered Horton.
‘He’s married with two school-age children. Claimed he was visiting her because he was concerned after hearing the news about her ex.’
‘Yeah, and we know how concerned,’ said Uckfield, working a toothpick round his mouth.
‘Gunville says he was working in the bar last Wednesday evening and after clearing up went to bed at just after midnight. His wife confirms it and that Margaret Yately was working there until half past eleven when she got her taxi home. Neither of them claims to know Arthur Lisle. We haven’t asked them about Victor Hazleton.’
Uckfield broke in. ‘Marsden will deal with that. And show them photographs of Hazleton and the dress. Dennings will also get officers showing Lisle’s photograph at the three Island ferry terminals. The main thrust of our investigation is to assume that Lisle is our killer and that revenge could be the motive, and that’s what Inspector Horton and Sergeant Cantelli will be probing when they talk to the partners and staff at Wallingford and Chandler.’ Uckfield turned to address Horton. ‘Find out all you can about Arthur Lisle and Victor Hazleton, and see if there is any link between that firm of solicitors and Colin Yately.’
‘There is,’ piped up Trueman. ‘Wallingford and Chandler handled the Yately divorce.’
Uckfield beamed. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’
It was a connection, thought Horton, but it was a long way from Lisle being a killer. For a start, as far as they knew, Lisle didn’t handle divorce but property conveyancing, and the timing was wrong for Yately meeting Abigail Lisle through her husband’s firm, because Yately spilt from his wife three years ago, the same time as Lisle gave up his job to nurse his sick wife, according to Rachel Salter. He refrained from saying so and denting Uckfield’s enthusiasm.
Uckfield said, ‘So what else have we got on these three men?’
Trueman answered. ‘Lisle’s GP has confirmed that Lisle wasn’t suffering from depression, in fact the last time he saw his doctor was when his wife died. He’s never mentioned anything related to having problems with his wife or family. The fingerprints Dr Clayton managed to get from Yately’s body check with the comb and pen Inspector Horton brought back from Yately’s apartment. There are other prints in the apartment which could match Lisle’s; the fingerprint bureau are checking them. They’re also checking if they match any prints found in Hazleton’s house. We won’t get anything from the forensic examination on Lisle’s garage, his boat and car for a few days. Apart from that all we know is that none of the men has been convicted of anything criminal, and they’ve all paid their taxes like good boys. We’ll start on bank and telephone records when we have them, which should be later today. I’ll also chase up the fashion expert to see if she can tell us more about the dress found on Colin Yately, but it was only sent over to her late yesterday afternoon. There’s very little forensic on it, except for evidence of sand and gravel, which is still being analysed; we might get more on that in the next couple of days.’
‘Might’s no bloody good,’ Uckfield grumbled, ‘and I want it today, not next Easter. Tell them it’s urgent.’
Horton caught Trueman’s eyes; there was nothing in his expression to betray his thoughts but Horton knew that the sergeant had already told them that, probably three times.
Swivelling to glare at Horton, Uckfield said, ‘Trueman will call Wallingford and Chandler to tell them you’re on your way.’ He hauled himself up and glanced at his watch. ‘Time for my press conference. Let’s hope the great British public can help us. DCI Bliss, if you can spare DC Walters we might need his help to man the phones here, although I expect most of the calls will be to the incident room at Ventnor.’
Bliss still looked too preoccupied with trying to fathom out why Sawyer would pay a special visit to one of her subordinates to protest. She left the incident room before them, no doubt on a mission to find some pretext to contact Sawyer and try to get the truth out of him. Horton knew she didn’t have a hope in hell. Dismissed, Horton, Cantelli and Walters headed back to CID where Horton asked Walters to press on with his investigation into Russell Glenn’s background, with particular emphasis on finding out where he had been between 1972 and 1978 while in the Merchant Navy, and where he had lived.
‘When I’m not answering the phone in the major incident suite,’ grumbled Walters.
‘And in CID,’ added Horton. ‘Cantelli and I are off to the Isle of Wight.’
‘Some people have all the luck.’
Cantelli disagreed.
On the ferry, Horton told Cantelli about his visit to Adrian Stanley’s apartment and his subsequent visit to the hospital, drawing a worried frown from the sergeant. He hoped it might take Cantelli’s mind off the fact he was at sea. And he knew he could trust Cantelli.
‘I can’t think what Stanley was trying to tell you,’ Cantelli said, puzzled, ‘but it sounds as though you’re right and he knows more about your mother’s disappearance than he let on.’
Horton then mentioned that he had an appointment to see his social services case files tomorrow morning.
Cantelli said, ‘I won’t ask you if you’re doing the right thing, because you’ve obviously asked yourself the same question a thousand times. What do you think the records will tell you?’
‘How difficult and disruptive I was.’
‘Which wouldn’t be surprising given the circumstances. Will you be able to handle raking up the past, Andy? It’s going to be painful.’
It already was but that was no reason to abandon it. He shrugged an answer, adding, ‘You know that it’s only recently I’ve even been able to think about it, and the more I do the more questions I have about Jennifer’s disappearance. What happened to her belongings — her jewellery and clothes? What became of the furniture in the flat, and my toys? Some came with me, but there must have been more than a handful of cars and a football.’
A jag of painful memory fighting to cling on to what little he did have stabbed at him. Eventually everything had been stolen or destroyed. He’d quickly learnt that possessions didn’t mean much in life. And perhaps that was why he had travelled light for years, before he’d found a family and a home of his own, which in turn had been snatched away. Now he was back to travelling, or rather living, light and that was how he vowed it would stay; the yacht and what he could get on it was enough for him.
He added, ‘Then there are all the photographs of her and of us together, those of me as a baby, surely she must have taken some pictures.’
‘Perhaps the furniture was sold to pay bills and the photographs destroyed.’
‘They shouldn’t have been though, Barney. They belonged to me.’
‘You think the photographs might be in the files?’
Horton shrugged. ‘I doubt it, but there might be a record of what happened to them.’
Concerned, Cantelli said, ‘Don’t build your hopes up too high, Andy. There wasn’t as much information recorded in those days as there is now.’
Cantelli was right. Horton knew that, and he also knew that when he did get to speak to Adrian Stanley again, he might not be able to say any more than he had last night.
Horton then told Cantelli about Sawyer’s visit, leaving out the bit to do with Sawyer knowing about Horton’s visit to Stanley and without mentioning Zeus. The less Cantelli knew about that the better, he reckoned. ‘I think the Intelligence Directorate is interested in Russell Glenn.’
‘They’re not the only ones.’ Cantelli eyed him curiously.
‘What do you mean?’ Horton asked, surprised.
‘Apart from getting Walters to dig up what he can on Glenn I hear you’re on the guest list for this posh do tomorrow night.’
Danby must have told Cantelli, but when and why? wondered Horton, before Cantelli added, ‘PC Johns told me. He’s moonlighting for Danby.’ Horton groaned. That meant it would be all over the station. Bliss hadn’t picked up on it yet and neither had Uckfield and Dennings, but it would only be a matter of time before they did.
‘I told Johns to keep his mouth shut,’ Cantelli said, reading Horton’s thoughts. ‘Otherwise I warned him that he might find his lucrative little sideline suddenly drying up.’
Horton breathed a silent sigh of relief, but he knew that it wouldn’t be long before the information leaked out. Johns wouldn’t be the only moonlighting police officer. He owed Cantelli an explanation. ‘I knew Avril Glenn years ago, before I met Catherine.’
‘Ah. Walters said she’s something of a looker and much younger than her husband.’
‘It’s OK, I’m not getting involved. She asked to meet me and then invited me to this charity reception and auction. I’m still not sure why, though I suspect it’s to show me how well she’s done for herself, but I am curious about Russell Glenn. I saw him on the deck and although it was at a distance he seemed to recognize me. I’m not imagining it, Barney,’ Horton quickly added to counter Cantelli’s dubious look. ‘And Sawyer’s visit makes me think I was right.’
Cantelli frowned. ‘If Glenn is under surveillance by the Intelligence Directorate it might be wise to leave him alone.’
‘I can’t.’
‘I know,’ Cantelli sighed. ‘But for heaven’s sake be careful.’
Horton gazed out of the ferry window at a calm, pale-blue sea, then back at his closest friend. ‘I will.’
Cantelli nodded solemnly before his dark-featured face broke into a grin. ‘Good. I don’t want to end up being left with Bliss bellowing in my ear every five seconds.’
‘Perish the thought,’ Horton said lightly, picking up on Cantelli’s mood. ‘Now let’s see if we can find out why two men are dead and one is missing, and, despite what Uckfield believes, I think there might be something in my theory about smuggling, especially after what Sawyer said, or rather didn’t say. Did Elkins get back to you with any news from the Customs and the Border Agency?’
‘He said there’s nothing major on, just the usual checks at sea: randomly stopping yachts and motor boats and boarding the occasional container and cargo ship. There’s no organized smuggling operation and certainly nothing to link with Victor Hazleton’s claims of smuggling.’
Horton considered this for a moment. ‘Have they been on board Glenn’s superyacht?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Why not? Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he’s not crooked; on the contrary, he probably is.’
‘You’re just prejudiced,’ Cantelli said, smiling.
‘You bet I am, and bloody suspicious.’
‘I’ll ask Elkins to find out.’
‘But tell him not to make a big deal of it,’ Horton quickly cautioned. ‘I don’t want them charging in like he’s a Cuban drug baron.’
Cantelli frowned. ‘Do you really believe Glenn could be involved in bringing in drugs?’
‘It would be risky, but perhaps that’s what turns him on. The charity reception and auction could just be an excuse for putting in to port.’ He thought of the photographs in his pocket; perhaps Glenn’s mild manner had fooled Customs and many others down the years. ‘When’s PC Johns on duty?’
‘Now. He’s working on Glenn’s yacht tonight.’
‘Call him and ask him to do a bit of undercover work tonight; see if he can find out if the RIB’s been launched, and, if so, when and who went on it, but he’s to do it surreptitiously. Do you think he can handle that?’
Cantelli nodded.
‘And ask him to get a guest list for tomorrow night; that should be easy enough if he’s going to be working. Walters can check them out.’ Horton was very curious to see who the guests were.
Cantelli nodded and reached for his mobile phone. Horton was pleased to see that the activity and concern over his safety was helping to keep Cantelli’s seasickness at bay.
He stared out to sea, watching the Isle of Wight coastline draw closer. He now knew why Danby had met Lee; something was going down on Glenn’s yacht tomorrow night. It could be an armed robbery, but that would simply be a cover for what was really happening, and Horton guessed it was drugs. Perhaps Glenn had been involved in smuggling drugs while in the Merchant Navy and while working on the cruise liners. By 1985, when he emerged as the buyer of a chain of hotels, he’d made enough money to start his legitimate business empire, which could have been used, and still might be used, for money laundering. And if Glenn was dealing in drugs and if Glenn had known Jennifer, then had she too been involved? Horton didn’t want to think so, and he had no recollection of his mother being an addict, but if she had been mixed up in Glenn’s operation then she was most certainly dead. Could Glenn have killed her because she had threatened to expose him or posed a risk?
Again he considered whether Glenn was Zeus. But he was jumping ahead. The question was, did Avril know about her husband’s illegal activity? He wanted to think not, otherwise why invite him? But his cynical copper’s brain said that that was precisely why he had been invited: to provide a very good witness to say that nothing illegal could possibly have happened. Well, if Avril and Russell Glenn thought they could use him then they could bloody well think again. He turned his mind to the forthcoming interview with Wallingford and Chandler.