Fatal Catch Page 10

  Irritated with himself and weary beyond measure he’d finally climbed into his bunk and closed his eyes. But it wasn’t Carolyn Grantham who had occupied his thoughts but the woman before him now and that made his head ache even more.

  ‘I had a visit from DCS Adams late yesterday afternoon,’ Gaye said, cutting into her bacon. ‘He told me he’s taken over the case and that any information I had was to be given to him and only him.’

  Horton fought to clear his befuddled brain. ‘He’s from the National Crime Agency.’

  ‘So he said. He studied the hand and asked me about the kind of knife that could have severed it. I told him what I had already told you and Sergeant Cantelli.’

  Horton swallowed his coffee and thought about buying another. He looked up and as he did the manageress brushed past them delivering a cooked breakfast to the couple to their right.

  ‘Another coffee, Inspector?’ she asked pleasantly, turning towards Horton.

  Did he look so badly in need of it? He guessed he did. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’ll bring it over.’

  Gaye raised her eyebrows. ‘Special treatment. Are you a regular?’

  ‘I come in occasionally and our paths crossed professionally some years ago when her house was burgled.’ He bit into his toasted bacon sandwich, hoping that Carolyn didn’t come here for breakfast or a coffee to take out. He wished now he’d suggested somewhere else to meet Gaye. The manageress returned and placed his coffee in front of him. She gave him a warm smile before leaving. Horton saw Gaye’s eyes follow her.

  ‘Nice looking woman, good figure, about forty I’d say.’

  ‘Probably,’ Horton muttered taking the last bite of his sandwich, wondering if any of the national reporters were doorstepping Moira Langham, but only if they had got hold of the story and if Moira had told others, which she must have done by now. The press were bound to pick up on it sooner or later. But that was DCS Adams’ baby not his. So what was he doing here discussing how Graham Langham could have been separated from his hand when he should be at the station wading through his other cases including the petrol station robbery?

  Gaye sat back and eyed him closely. He felt a little uneasy under her curious and penetrating stare as though she might be able to read his thoughts and that she knew where he had been and what he had been doing last night. Why would it matter if she did? They weren’t dating. For all he knew she could have been out with a boyfriend last night enjoying herself, just as she might have been doing in London on Wednesday night. She soon disabused him of that idea.

  ‘As you didn’t take me for a drink last night I spent the time doing some further research into knives and examining the pattern of the wound. There are a number of readily available knives that could match the weapon used or it could have been specially crafted to order.’

  ‘Tailor-made?’ he asked, feeling guilty and swallowing his coffee.

  ‘Yes, but not necessarily for the purpose of mutilating or killing. It could have been made for hunting or horticultural work.’

  ‘Not much of that around here.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, there’s plenty of countryside on the Isle of Wight and over the hill beyond Portsmouth. But to get back to my research. I’ve whittled it down to a handful of types that are possible. And don’t worry, I’ll tell DCS Adams all this.’

  Then why was she telling him.

  ‘I know how curious you are,’ she said reading his thoughts, ‘and once you start something you like to see it through even if you’re no longer on the case. Besides, I wanted someone to bounce my ideas off and try them out before I tell DCS Adams.’

  He nodded, feeling flattered, and uncomfortable that she seemed to be able to read him so easily.

  ‘Go on.’

  She pushed away her empty plate and took out her phone. Lowering her voice she said, ‘As I said before, the wound was inflicted with a smooth-edged curved blade. A blade that would have been at least four inches in length. So the first possibility is a Karambit knife.’

  Horton looked puzzled.

  She explained. ‘The Karambit is of Indonesian origin and is a hand-held curved knife. It was originally used for agricultural purposes but has evolved over the years until now it is used as a weapon of self-defence.’

  ‘And attack.’

  ‘Yes. Today it’s made of more expensive material than the original knives, which were for the peasants. It can also sometimes have a folding blade. They vary in style but they’re still made in Indonesia. The Karambit knife can measure eleven inches in length and has a seven-inch curved blade.’ She swivelled round her phone to show him a picture of it.

  Horton thought it certainly possible.

  ‘Then there is a Khukuri knife,’ she continued, consulting her phone where she’d made notes. ‘That’s Nepalese and again has an inwardly curving edge. It’s used both as a tool and weapon. It’s also used by The Royal Gurkha Rifles and is often known as the Gurkha knife.’

  ‘Whose motto is Better to die than live a coward,’ Horton said, rapidly thinking. ‘Adams claims that Langham was an informer. Perhaps the Gurkha motto means that the killer thought Langham a coward for grassing on them and it was better for him to die.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean the killer is a Gurkha or former Gurkha,’ Gaye answered, swallowing her coffee.

  ‘But it could be someone with knowledge and an interest in the Gurkhas.’

  ‘Here’s a picture of it. As you can see it’s a large knife measuring seventeen and three quarter inches and has a twelve-inch blade. The other possibilities are a Hawkbill knife generally used for gardening and horticultural purposes because they hook thin items, such as plant stems much like a sickle, or they can be used for cutting vinyl or linoleum. They can also be used by the emergency services for getting someone out of a vehicle. It’s a slashing weapon not a stabbing one so seems perfect for the purpose of slashing off the victim’s hand. The Hawkbill knife varies in length but the longer ones of this type can be almost nine inches and with a four-inch blade, so again possible.’

  Horton was feeling more despondent as she continued and his headache wasn’t improving. The list of potential suspects was growing ever longer with each word she uttered. But he told himself it was Adams’ job to sift through this lot and if Langham was a grass then Adams might know from Gaye’s description certain individuals who owned such a knife.

  ‘Then there is a boat knife and fishing knife.’ But before she could show him pictures of these his mobile phone rang, drawing hostile glances from the couple in their sixties at the table to their right.

  ‘It’s Sergeant Elkins.’ He rose, answering it. Gaye followed him out of the café to the veranda.

  ‘Westerbrook’s boat’s been located,’ Elkins announced with excitement.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the Thorney Channel.’

  That puzzled Horton. It was in completely the opposite direction to Fareham Marina, and to reach it Westerbrook would need to have motored east along Southsea Bay stretching across the southern tip of Portsmouth, across the entrance to Langstone Harbour where his own boat was kept in the marina, along Hayling Bay, still heading east until he reached the entrance to Chichester Harbour. Here there were three routes he could have chosen. The first would have taken him north up the Emsworth Channel with Hayling Island on his left and Thorney Island on his right, eventually to reach the small coastal village of Emsworth. Another channel would have taken him east up to Chichester Marina, which also branched off to the small ancient coastal village of Bosham. But Westerbrook had chosen the middle, much quieter and relatively isolated, Thorney Channel, sandwiched between the coastal countryside of Chidham on its eastern flank and the rural expanse of Thorney Island on its western side. Once a Royal Air Force base Thorney Island was now home to the army and 12 Regiment Royal Artillery recruited from Lancashire and Cumbria, and known as The Lancashire and Cumbria Gunners.

  ‘Where in the Thorney Channel,’ he asked, recalling the channel
. He’d sailed up it and moored there many times.

  ‘On a buoy just past the Thorney Island Sailing Club. Someone going to their own boat moored just beyond it didn’t recognize it. He found Westerbrook on board. He’s dead, Andy.’

  Horton took a breath and glanced at Gaye who was clearly following the conversation even given she couldn’t hear Elkins’ end of it. Her petite figure was almost swamped by her sailing jacket.

  ‘Suspicious?’ Horton asked Elkins.

  ‘There’s no sign of a break in, the hatch was open, and no physical evidence of it being murder. It looks as though he had a heart attack, but I’m no expert and I haven’t moved the body or turned him over.’

  Horton checked the time. It was just after nine, and about two and a half hours away from high tide. But he knew the channel was accessible from the pontoon by the sailing club at all states of the tide. He asked Elkins to arrange for a small boat or RIB to meet him at the pontoon. Then turning to Gaye he said, ‘Are you doing anything special this morning?’

  ‘Apart from having breakfast with you, which we’ve finished, and informing DCS Adams about my research into knives, which can wait, no. You’ve got a body.’

  He swiftly relayed what Elkins had said.

  ‘I’ve got my medical case in the car, shall I meet you there?’

  ‘No, meet me at Southsea Marina. I’ll leave my bike there and come with you.’

  Horton returned to pay for the extra coffee but was told it was on the house. He never liked receiving freebies but he didn’t have time to protest. The marina was only a couple of miles away and within minutes he’d left his Harley there and was sitting in Gaye’s Mini as she negotiated the roads northwards out of the city through the tail end of the morning rush hour traffic. Horton’s mind was buzzing with questions, which didn’t do much for his headache, but fortunately he’d found a couple of Panadols in his jacket pocket and had swallowed them before climbing into Gaye’s car. They’d soon take effect.

  He called Cantelli and told him what had occurred. ‘Ask Walters to dig up what he can on Westerbrook, we’ll need next of kin details. And reinterview Lesley Nugent. Ask him if he has any idea why Westerbrook should be at Thorney. I’ll call Bliss as soon as I’ve taken a look at the body, but if she asks where I am then tell her.’ Horton explained that Dr Clayton was with him. He’d also have to call Uckfield if this looked like a suspicious death or rather Bliss would tell Uckfield, but maybe it was a natural death and there was nothing to investigate.

  Addressing Gaye as they headed eastwards along the motorway towards Thorney he said, ‘You didn’t finish telling me about your research into knives.’

  She passed over her phone. ‘Scroll through my pictures, it’s OK there’s nothing embarrassing or compromising on there, anything like that I transfer to my computer or I delete,’ she joked. ‘One of the latest photographs will show you a boat knife.’

  He flicked on it.

  She said, ‘You can see that a boat knife also has a curved blade but the knife is much smaller, usually about four and a half inches and the blade just over three inches. I think it’s still possible it could have been used, particularly if the victim was restrained and unable to defend himself or was dead or unconscious as I said before, and the same goes for a fishing knife, which can be just over ten inches with a blade length of five and a half inches, so even more likely.’

  A fishing knife fitted with Westerbrook and Nugent. And he remembered seeing one in that box on the boat when he’d first examined the hand in the container. So had Westerbrook killed Langham with or without Nugent’s help, and, disturbed and sickened by what he’d done, killed himself, choosing an isolated spot to do so? Or had he been so distressed by his brutal act it had brought on a heart attack? Horton thought he was probably wrong on both counts because why draw attention to it if they had killed Langham, and that certainly didn’t fit with DCS Adams’ revelation.

  Gaye was saying, ‘As you can see there are several knives that fit the bill including butcher’s knives.’

  Horton dashed her a keen glance. ‘What kind of butcher’s knife?’

  ‘A skinning knife for one. It’s curved, and has a six-inch blade. A Victorinox Skinning Knife is used by the majority of British butchers.’

  Is it indeed. So perhaps Westerbrook wasn’t involved in Langham’s death but Lesley Nugent was and he’d wangled a fishing trip with Westerbrook to dispose of the hand, only he cocked it up. Westerbrook saw Nugent’s line hooked around the seaweed strewn container and insisted it be brought up and opened.

  And if Westerbrook had been killed by Nugent then whether DCS Adams liked it or not Uckfield and his Major Crime Team would be involved, and that meant he would be too. He again called Cantelli and left a message on his mobile phone for him to ask Nugent his movements for Wednesday and Thursday nights.

  They were stopped at the main gate to the army base as a matter of normal security procedure. Horton showed his warrant card and explained the reason for their presence. They were admitted and given directions to the slipway and pontoon. Horton already knew the way, having been here a few times, by road, as well as by water for functions at the sailing club rather than for work because, strictly speaking, this wasn’t Hampshire police’s patch but the jurisdiction of the Sussex police. They had crossed the county border into West Sussex. The harbours though were patrolled by the Hampshire police marine unit and that meant his presence here was perfectly legitimate and there was no need to inform Sussex.

  Gaye pulled into the lane beside the church and parked in front of the slipway where a soldier met them and directed them to a waiting RIB on the end of the pontoon. The man on board, wearing casual clothes and a warm sailing jacket, introduced himself as Jeremy Dowdswell. In the channel Horton could see the police launch roped up beside Westerbrook’s blue-hulled motor boat.

  The wind was barrelling down the channel from the north making it bitterly cold and the sky was a deathly grey. Horton surveyed the area. He’d often picked up a buoy and stayed overnight here, enjoying the peace and tranquillity of the small natural harbour, particularly out of season. But even in the height of summer it was quieter than the crowded Solent and its adjacent harbours. And it was a desert in comparison to Portsmouth Harbour and Fareham Marina where Westerbrook should have returned after Elkins had interviewed him. There was only one small marina here and that was situated on the western side of the channel about half a mile north. Horton could see the masts of the yachts in the distance. Westerbrook probably hadn’t gone into that because it was only accessible at certain states of the tide whereas this channel didn’t dry out.

  He turned his gaze shoreward to the single-storey building that was affiliated to the Army Sailing Association. Mounted on a long gantry close to it was a security camera, which might prove helpful. There would be other cameras positioned along the perimeter of the island, because although it was accessible to the public by a footpath, which ran around the island’s boundary, it was an army establishment and members of the public not only had to press the intercom on the gate to access the footpath but had to stay strictly on it, veering off only to visit the church, next to the sailing club.

  Horton addressed the RIB’s pilot. He was about early forties, fit-looking, with short brown hair and wide hazel eyes in a tanned craggy face.

  ‘Did you find the body?’

  ‘Yes. I was on my way to my boat. That’s it over there.’ He pointed to a medium sized yacht a little further up the channel. ‘I like to use my boat all year round, weather and work permitting, so I don’t usually lay her up. This mooring,’ he said as they drew level with Westerbrook’s boat, ‘belongs to Hugh Maltby. He’s deployed in Cyprus. His boat’s laid up so I thought this guy must have decided to pick up the buoy and stay overnight. No problem with that but as I was heading towards my boat I saw part of the canvas cover flapping in the wind. I called out. There was no answer or movement on board. I was concerned. It’s bitterly cold and I wondered if he�
�d had an accident or had been taken ill so I tied up alongside, boarded it and saw he was dead. I called the police marine unit. I’ve met Sergeant Elkins a few times, he and his officers have been to the sailing club and given talks about crime prevention, so I had the number to hand.’

  Elkins, on board Westerbrook’s boat, caught the line Horton threw up to him as Dowdswell silenced the small outboard engine on the RIB.

  ‘Do you know when he arrived?’

  ‘No. The security cameras might show up something. I can ask the Station Commander if you can have access to them, if you need it.’

  ‘You’re in the army?’

  ‘Yes.’ He hesitated for a second then said, ‘I know it’s probably highly unusual as far as you’re concerned, and it’s too late now to save the poor man, but when you’ve finished I’d like to say a few words over the body before he’s removed, if that’s all right.’

  Horton looked surprised.

  Dowdswell continued. ‘I’m the padre.’ He smiled. ‘Not what you expected, Inspector. But I’m used to that. We’re not all cassocks, coffee and cake. We go on the front line and have to be fit.’

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry.’

  ‘No need to apologize.’

  Horton said it would be fine. Elkins reached out a hand to assist Gaye, who, being used to boats and a sailor herself, climbed nimbly through the gap in the awning into the cockpit. Horton followed suit, while Dowdswell remained in the RIB. The last time Horton had been on board, on Wednesday, the blue canvas awning had been folded back to reveal the cockpit, now it was stretched over it reaching the helm, making it darker inside but protecting them from the worse of the icy wind. The boat tackle box was where he had last seen it, in the cockpit, and the filleting knife was still inside it. Could it have been used to severe Langham’s hand?