Shroud of Evil Page 10

  ‘Fancy a drink and something to eat?’ Danby asked.

  Danby was not one of Horton’s regular drinking partners – in fact no one was except occasionally Uckfield, and that was usually connected with work. Horton no longer drank alcohol anyway, but he was very hungry. There was a reason why Danby had invited him for a drink and Horton knew it wasn’t for the pleasure of his company.

  TEN

  ‘I guess you know why I rang you,’ Danby said, supping at a pint of beer. They had found a table that overlooked the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour. The pub wasn’t at the modern waterfront development of Oyster Quays but in nearby Old Portsmouth – which had sprung up after the Norman Conquest, flourished during the twelfth century, been granted a charter in 1194 by Richard I, had been heavily bombed in the Second World War and developed after the 1960s, and yet still retained many of its ancient buildings and fortifications and its unique view, Horton thought, staring across the harbour entrance at the lights of Gosport opposite. He could see a small motor boat ploughing its way into the harbour through the waves and the rain and behind it the lights on the decks of the Isle of Wight car ferry. He’d ordered home-made steak and ale pie, vegetables and chips. Danby had done the same. The bar in the room behind them was crowded.

  Horton said, ‘Maybe you want to offer me a job again, Mike?’

  ‘Maybe I do. I’d still like you on board.’

  ‘You don’t sound as certain as you used to,’ Horton answered, watching him carefully over his large Diet Coke. ‘Worried about this murder investigation and that I might have something to do with it?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I’m a cop, remember,’ Horton said lightly. ‘I can read people.’

  ‘Then you’re reading me wrong,’ Danby said with conviction.

  But was he? ‘You’re wondering if I killed and dumped Jasper Kenton’s body on Lord Eames’ property.’

  ‘I’m not, Andy.’

  But maybe someone was. Lord Eames. ‘But you are curious as to what I was doing there yesterday.’

  Danby looked surprised but Horton knew it was phoney. ‘Oh, come on, Mike, you know I was there. Did you see me on the CCTV footage which you told Uckfield wasn’t running because there was no one to view it?’ And did Uckfield know he had been at the scene? Horton wondered. But if so then Horton was sure he would have seen it in Uckfield’s expression. Perhaps Uckfield was getting cleverer at hiding his thoughts or perhaps, Horton thought, he was losing his touch.

  Danby took a sip of his beer and studied Horton steadily over the rim of his glass. He seemed to be making up his mind about something. After a moment he put down his beer. ‘Richard Eames uses a remote security system. For his estates in Wiltshire and Scotland, and his house in London, he employs a national UK company who have a full control room facility and are able to respond immediately to any intruder alert by not only summoning the police but also by sending security personnel to deal with it.’

  ‘Costly.’

  ‘He considers it worth it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Andy, you know he’s worth a fortune. He has some very valuable race horses in his stables in Wiltshire, not to mention art, antiques and jewellery in his properties. Then there is always the chance of kidnap and ransom demands.’

  ‘Agent Harriet Eames seems to have avoided them.’

  Suddenly Horton saw something that hadn’t occurred to him before. Harriet Eames at a desk in Europol was fine. On an investigation not so fine. She hadn’t exactly been keeping a low profile recently with her involvement in three investigations, all involving him, the last one in August. Perhaps that was why she had hinted at a discord between her and her father. Daddy didn’t like her being at the sharp end. Not that she’d said as much but he’d seen it in her eyes. Now she was firmly back in The Hague, analysing criminal activity, and maybe she’d been told to keep her head down, or her father had exerted his influence to make sure she did.

  From what Danby was saying the amount of security that Lord Eames commanded was serious high-level stuff. Perhaps it was more than property he was concerned about. Perhaps it was his role as an agent for British Intelligence that troubled him the most. And who was protecting him now, Horton wondered, as Danby was here? Who protected the rest of the family, Harriet Eames included? Was she at risk? He felt an uncomfortable stir in his gut. He shelved the thoughts and concentrated on what Danby was saying.

  ‘For the Isle of Wight property, which is only used for Cowes Week and other major sailing races in and around the Solent, Richard has a system that can be monitored remotely and viewed from his laptop or mobile phone.’

  ‘But he’s not glued to the screen waiting for an intruder.’

  ‘No. Sensors pick up anyone approaching the property from all its boundaries and of course entering it and send an alert to Richard’s mobile phone and computer.’

  ‘And he calls you out.’ Horton recalled what Danby had told them this morning. Horton thought it likely then that Eames had seen him outside his house and on the beach on Friday.

  ‘Yes, and I can send one or more of my operatives to check it out.’

  ‘And did you send someone on Friday?’ Horton asked. Was the beachcomber part of Danby’s security team? He seemed too old for that, and too dishevelled, but perhaps that was how he was supposed to appear.

  ‘No. I only learned you’d been there three hours ago.’

  Horton rapidly calculated. After Eames had spoken to the Chief Constable and slowed down the investigation. ‘Why?’

  ‘Isn’t that what I’m supposed to ask you? Hoping to catch a glimpse of Harriet, were you?’ Danby said, jokingly.

  But Horton didn’t respond to the smile. Solemnly he said, ‘Is that what Lord Eames told you to suggest?’

  Danby looked annoyed before a broad smile lit his face and touched the penetrating green eyes that had terrified many a suspect in the interview room. With real warmth he said, ‘I’d definitely like to have you working with me, Andy.’

  This time Horton returned the smile.

  ‘Why were you there?’

  Obviously Eames was keen to find out and Danby had been primed to ask. And that meant Eames had said nothing to the Chief Constable about Horton’s trip.

  ‘A valuable wrought-iron weather vane donated by Lord Eames to Northwood Abbey was stolen in June. The culprits were apprehended and appeared in court this week, initially pleading not guilty but yesterday they changed their minds and copped to it. I thought someone at the house might like to tell Lord Eames the good news.’

  Danby eyed him disbelievingly.

  ‘I was on my way to the abbey to inform them and thought I’d just drop by to see if anyone was at home. I wasn’t sure if Eames employed a housekeeper.’

  ‘He doesn’t, not there.’

  ‘I gathered that.’

  Did Danby know he hadn’t tried the intercom? If he did his expression didn’t betray it. But Eames would know it was a lie when Danby relayed this to him. That didn’t bother Horton one bit. He also wondered if Eames had told Danby that he had trekked through the wood and landed up on the beach by the pontoon.

  He said, ‘What made Eames ask you to check out the property this morning?’

  Danby took a draft of beer before answering. ‘He received another alert at one thirty-three a.m. from the rear of the property but when he viewed the area from his computer he couldn’t see anything and there was no other alert or anything suspicious. He let it go but on waking thought it best for me to take a look. That’s when I found Kenton.’

  Had Eames really received an alert at one thirty-three a.m.? If so then the timing could fit with Brett Veerman, except for the fact that it would be very difficult sailing a small dinghy in the dark and rain on to that shore and returning home for two a.m. … In fact Horton thought it highly improbable. But a boat with an engine might be a different matter. And perhaps Veerman had an outboard engine on that dinghy. Had Lord Eames seen and recogni
zed Brett Veerman? Horton made a mental note to check with the Castle Hill Yacht Club in Cowes tomorrow to see if the two men knew each other from there, and how well acquainted they were.

  He continued. ‘So this morning you arrived by boat, saw the bundle on the beach and went to investigate and found Jasper Kenton. So far everything tallies with what you told me and Steve Uckfield earlier. But after this it doesn’t. Instead of calling me, you called Richard Eames, understandably, as he is your client. You tell him who the victim is and how you found him. He says he received the alert but had dismissed it as irrelevant—’

  ‘Richard feels bad about that.’

  I bet.

  ‘I …’

  ‘No, let me go on,’ said Horton, but couldn’t because their meal had arrived. There was a hiatus while the waitress served it, checked everything was OK and then left them.

  Horton sprinkled salt on his chips and continued. ‘Richard Eames denies knowing Jasper Kenton – maybe that’s the truth, maybe not. You ask him what he wants you to do, he says report it to the police of course, but he suggests you call me as we know one another.’

  Horton stabbed a few chips and conveyed them to his mouth. ‘I bring Uckfield, as you suggested and knew I would have to anyway. When Uckfield sends you back inside to check over the house you take the opportunity to call Eames and report back to him. He tells you to keep him informed, which is why we’re here enjoying pie and chips together.’ And in between times Eames has made one or two top-level calls giving his instructions. Uckfield is summoned back to the mainland, told to pull out Dennings and tread softly. Who gave the order for Bliss to go undercover at Swallows? Was that simply a delaying tactic until Eames and his cronies could be sure nothing would backfire on them, or to spin out the investigation until after the trade delegation to Russia? Or was there another reason?

  ‘So how is it going?’ asked Danby.

  ‘Slowly,’ answered Horton, then smiled. ‘You don’t expect me to tell you, do you?’

  ‘No harm in asking.’ Danby pushed back his plate with half his meal untouched. Maybe he wasn’t hungry or maybe he was troubled by something.

  Taking another mouthful, Horton said, ‘Tell me about Jasper Kenton.’

  Danby drained his glass. ‘After I’ve got us a refill.’

  He made for the bar while Horton finished his meal wondering if Danby had used the excuse of getting more drinks to buy himself time to consider his response. There were several people waiting to be served. Horton scanned the crowded bar. Amongst the couples and foursomes there were two solitary males, one in his mid-forties, the other about ten years younger. One was drinking a lager and reading a newspaper; the other, younger man, was doing something with his phone and had what looked like a large glass of Coke in front of him. Neither looked interested in them and neither looked as though they worked for the police or the intelligence services but Horton would reserve judgement on that.

  He turned away to look at the harbour. Did Danby know that Lord Eames worked for the intelligence services? Or was he completely wrong on that score? God, he wished he had more facts but they were as hard to come by as a virgin in a brothel.

  Danby returned with their refills. He set them down and Horton returned his attention to the man in front of him, noting that one of the two men drinking alone, the one with the phone, had left, his large glass of Coke half finished. Perhaps he was in the Gents. Or perhaps he wasn’t thirsty.

  Danby said, ‘Kenton and I met at a security conference. He and Eunice had been running their agency for two years and mine had been going for six years. I was looking to expand. Jasper and Eunice agreed to sub-contract their close protection work to me. It’s worked very well.’ His expression clouded over. ‘It’s strange he’s dead. And strange how he died. It makes me think it must be someone he was investigating on behalf of a client because his private life was hardly controversial. In fact it was so quiet as to be boring. And, if truth be told, Kenton was a little boring himself. No, that’s probably not fair,’ Danby added as though he’d had a stab of conscience about speaking ill of the dead. ‘He had the perfect qualities for what he did and he did it well.’

  ‘Which were?’

  ‘He was very thorough. I used to give him reference checks, which some of my clients asked me to undertake – not Lord Eames’ staff though,’ he hastily added, repeating what he had told them earlier. ‘I gave Kenton the job of vetting all my staff. He’d leave no stone unturned. He made Sergeant Trueman look sloppy.’

  Horton raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t believe anyone is capable of that.’

  ‘No, maybe not,’ Danby answered with a smile. ‘But Kenton had that same ability as Trueman to ferret away at something and collate the evidence in a logical and understandable manner, and to get it from places you thought inaccessible. His computer forensic skills were superb.’

  ‘So he wasn’t really a surveillance operative?’ Horton asked, thinking of the Veermans.

  Danby considered his reply for a moment. ‘Not in the sense that you and I understand, staking out a house or business premises and trailing suspects. His expertise was in setting up a surveillance system, and no he didn’t do Richard Eames’ security. He’d do phone taps, place listening devices, record the information, trace and analyse social networking and Internet profiles, interrogate hard drives and retrieve emails and other information that people thought they’d erased – but as to sitting in a car and watching someone or following them, that wasn’t his forte.’

  ‘Why not?’ Horton asked, interested.

  Danby ran his hand through his cropped, receding dark hair peppered with grey. ‘I can’t put my finger on it, Andy. Just gut feeling. Yes, he could fade into a crowd. He wasn’t too big or too tall. He didn’t have any distinguishing features that would make him stand out. He was neither good-looking nor ugly, perfect for the job, but there was something about him that would make me hesitate.’

  ‘You’d be worried he couldn’t handle himself if discovered?’ posed Horton.

  Danby frowned as he considered this. ‘He wouldn’t bottle out. On the contrary, he’d face up to it. But he had a slightly superior manner that might get up some people’s noses, especially if he thought he was right.’

  And had that resulted in his death? Had he been spotted and then he’d goaded his killer into firing that pistol crossbow? The weapon of choice didn’t fit with it being a spur of the moment killing though.

  Danby said, ‘You know what it’s like, Andy, there’s that copper’s instinct that warns you not to go there or do or say something, and it was like that with Jasper. I just wouldn’t have felt comfortable with him as an operative. As a desk man yes, totally at ease with that.’

  Horton knew all too well what Danby meant. He should have listened to his instinct twenty months ago when Lucy Richardson had set him a trap. He’d been working undercover trying to find out what was going on at an all-male health club in Oyster Quays, suspected of importing and distributing hardcore pornography. He’d got close to Lucy, who worked there, and, eager to get a result, he’d taken his eye off the ball. Before he knew it she was crying rape. The operation was jeopardized, his marriage destroyed and his career stalled. That was history. This was now.

  ‘Did Kenton have a girlfriend?’

  ‘Not that I know of, though I guess there must have been some relationships in the past. And before you ask he wasn’t homosexual either, or at least I don’t think he was.’

  ‘Anything between him and Eunice?’

  Danby looked surprised. ‘No, they were just business partners.’

  ‘You’re sure?

  ‘Positive,’ Danby answered with a conviction that made Horton wonder. Danby hesitated for a moment before continuing. ‘You asked me earlier when I last saw Jasper and I said two weeks ago when he referred a potential client to me but I’ve remembered that I saw him last week, although he didn’t see me. I was just coming off the car ferry and he was waiting to board it.’


  So Kenton had travelled to the Isle of Wight a week before his death. No reason why he shouldn’t, apart from the fact his body had been found on the island. So where had he gone and who had he seen? Thelma Veerman? But she’d said she hadn’t seen him since that first meeting in Portsmouth. She could be lying but he didn’t see why she should. Had Kenton been checking up on someone connected with Eames? Was it the beachcomber? Had Kenton’s killer been right there in front of him? God he hoped not. Maybe Kenton had just fancied a day on the island, but Horton knew that didn’t feel right.

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘About one-forty.’

  Kenton would have been on the two o’clock sailing then. Horton tossed back the remainder of his drink, noting that the man who had been reading the newspaper had left the bar and the man with the phone had never returned.

  ‘Did Richard Eames and Kenton know one another?’

  ‘No’.

  ‘Did they ever meet?’

  ‘No. I was the interface between them. How was he killed?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  Danby nodded knowingly. After a moment he said, ‘It must be chance he was left where he was.’

  ‘What else did Eames ask you to do apart from pumping me to see what I knew?’

  Danby smiled. ‘Just to keep the family out of it if possible.’

  ‘Uckfield’s handling that, courtesy of the Chief Constable.’

  Danby drained his glass and glanced at his watch signalling the meeting was over. As they made their way out Horton said, ‘Do you know or have you heard of Brett and Thelma Veerman?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you heard any of the Eames family mention them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s an ophthalmic surgeon. Have any of them had any problems with their eyes?’

  Danby looked surprised at the question, then puzzled. ‘They might have done. But it’s not something I’m aware of.’

  Danby would surmise that the Veermans featured in the investigation somewhere, probably connected to Swallows, and no doubt that information would be fed back to His Lordship. They stood for a moment looking out across the harbour. Horton asked Danby about his boat.