Tide of Death dah-1 Page 11

  CHAPTER 11

  Monday

  The discovery on Monday afternoon that the water found on Thurlow's boat definitely contained traces of Hypovase clinched it for Uckfield. Melissa Thurlow was to be brought in for questioning. Her fingerprints had also been found on both the water and tablet bottles but as Horton told Uckfield, you would expect them to be on both if she had packed her husband's sailing bag. It certainly wasn't enough to arrest her, but Horton agreed that the letters, and the fact that a car like hers had been seen in the car park on the night Culven was killed, and that she had no alibi, was sufficient to question her.

  Horton knew that Uckfield was keen to get the case cleared up before Friday, the day of his promotion board. He wanted it solved himself. He felt a growing sense of urgency. Catherine's call had made him even more acutely aware of the fact that time was running out. He couldn't afford to fail.

  He'd spent yesterday working through Culven's case files, in particular the ones that concerned Jarrett and Thurlow. It made interesting reading. The work that Culven had done for Thurlow was pretty routine stuff, employment contracts with, surprisingly, a couple of recent redundancy settlements. Calthorpe hadn't been telling the truth when he said that Thurlow had no financial worries. Time to call the bank and the accountants. For Jarrett, Culven's work was more complex. There were several acquisitions and property transactions, both UK based and overseas. Sifting through legal jargon had never been his speciality but someone on the economic crime group, which was part of SID, could help him. Or they might have done but for the fact he'd alert them of his intentions towards Jarrett. He couldn't afford to do that because he didn't know who was protecting Jarrett. He would just have to continue to wade his way through them and make some telephone calls.

  Taylor confirmed that Thurlow had been dragged to the tower in a tender. Horton guessed it was the missing one from the Free Spirit. He called the marinas and yacht basins in Chichester and Langstone harbours, and spoken to the harbour masters, but neither had any record of the Free Spirit mooring up over Friday night, anywhere. That didn't mean she hadn't. As Horton knew it was easy to pick up a buoy in one of the harbours and go unnoticed.

  Earlier that morning he'd designated a team to the painstaking business of tracing and contacting all boat owners in the Emsworth Channel and Northney Marina, both of which were within easy reach of Warlingham Tower. Someone might have seen the Free Spirit over the weekend. If that didn't yield any results then he'd widen the area to include Sparkes Yacht Harbour where Charles Calthorpe kept his boat. The discovery of another body had fuelled the excitement in the station, and when Melissa Thurlow was brought in Horton could feel it shift up another gear. He took the seat opposite her in the stifling hot interview room. She looked a little nervous but then, he thought, who wouldn't. His eyes flickered across to the solicitor beside her. He was perspiring freely, dressed as if for winter in a dark blue suit. Just looking at him made Horton break out in a sweat. Uckfield slowly removed his jacket and hung it carefully on the back of the chair as if it was made of such delicate material that it would disintegrate if treated harshly. He lowered himself carefully on to the hard seat opposite the lawyer.

  Kate Somerfield stood, her feet firmly planted a little apart, hands clasped behind her back with her back to the closed door. Horton caught her glance but she stared steadily ahead not acknowledging him. He knew it was more than just professionalism that made her react like that. He was aware that she was from the no smoke without fire brigade as far as Lucy Richardson and her claims were concerned.

  The poky room was airless and smelt of body odour and disinfectant. It was like sitting inside a tin can, Horton thought. There were no windows but he could hear the hum of the traffic outside and occasionally the sirens of the police cars as they sped out of the station.

  His thoughts had taken him through Uckfield's usual routine with the tape. The lawyer introduced himself as Robert Otton. Horton wasn't that impressed with him. He could smell garlic on his breath. Dandruff was scattered on his collar from his rather flat, dark greasy hair and cigarette ash lay on the lapels of his jacket.

  Uckfield began quietly. 'Mrs Thurlow, you understand why you are here, don't you?' Otton interrupted him, 'Chief Inspector, you can't possibly believe that Mrs Thurlow had anything to do with either her husband's death or with Mr Culven's.'

  Horton watched as the solicitor mopped his brow. Melissa Thurlow looked cool. She was sitting back in her chair, her posture stiff and upright. Her head was slightly bowed staring at her hands in her lap as though she was going to paint them from memory later. She had abandoned her shorts in favour of pale cream, lightweight linen trousers worn with a light green silk blouse. She would have been better off with the duty solicitor, Horton thought. Uckfield would run rings round this one.

  'Why did you kill your husband, Mrs Thurlow?' Uckfield said sharply, ignoring Otton's outburst. 'Is it because you didn't like his sexual preferences?'

  She started and her eyes flickered up. Horton saw alarm in them.

  'You don't have to answer that, Melissa,' Otton declared.

  Uckfield again, sharply, 'Did you kill your husband, because you wanted to be free of him to be with your lover?'

  Otton opened his mouth but this time Melissa got there first.

  'I didn't kill Roger, chief inspector.' Her voice held a numb bewilderment. Her eyes met Horton's. She was no longer the aloof slightly contemptuous woman he'd first met but looked vulnerable and confused. If it was an act then it was a damned good one.

  She went on, 'I know nothing about those letters. I never wrote them and I wasn't having an affair with Michael Culven, or any other man. I hardly know, knew Mr Culven.'

  'We've had the handwriting analysed, Mrs Thurlow. It is your handwriting.' Uckfield opened a folder in front of him.

  'It can't be,' she declared.

  Horton watched her as Uckfield spread out the four letters on the table in front of her. They were encased in plastic evidence bags. Her eyes slowly ran over them. When she looked up he saw confusion.

  'I didn't write these.' Horton saw the first signs of doubt creep into Otton's eyes as he too studied the letters. Uckfield said, 'How long had you and Culven been planning to murder Roger? Three months, six months, a month? The fog must have been a blessing. Did it hasten your plans?'

  'I don't know what you're talking about.' She appealed directly to Horton, who kept his face devoid of any expression.

  If he were a betting man he'd say she was telling the truth. There was no other evidence to connect her to Culven. Their questioning of Culven's neighbours had produced no sightings of a woman and there was not a single fingerprint of Melissa Thurlow's in Culven's house, or on these letters.

  Uckfield was pressing on. 'You and Culven plotted to kill your husband and when Culven had carried out your wishes, you killed him. You had no further use for him. All you wanted was to be free of your husband.'

  Melissa shook her head frowning. 'I can't believe this. It's all utter nonsense, I keep telling you.'

  'No. I'll tell you.' Uckfield leaned forward across the desk and Melissa instinctively recoiled. 'You met Culven at Horsea Marina on Friday night. Either you, or Culven, then suffocated Roger, whilst he was under the influence of the drug, Hypovase, which you put into his bottled water.'

  She paled, but with shock or fear? Horton wondered.

  Uckfield continued, 'Culven then took the Free Spirit through the lock whilst it was on free flow so that no one would see him. It was foggy so there was hardly anyone about anyway, and he motored down the Emsworth Channel to Warlingham where he put your husband's body in the tender kept on board and then took him ashore in it. He dragged Roger up to the tower and dumped him. He then took the Free Spirit back to a nearby mooring and came ashore where you met him, by car, and you spent the night together.'

  She was shaking her head looking wretched. Horton thought Otton looked as though he was about to have a heart attack. Every now and the
n, as Uckfield had ran through his story in a matter of fact voice, Otton had opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but no sound had come from it.

  Uckfield leaned back in his seat; he clasped his hands behind his head and went on in a conversational tone. 'On the following Tuesday you called Culven using your husband's mobile phone. We've checked the records. You arranged to meet him on the beach at Eastney. Once there you walked along it together and when Culven's back was turned you strangled him. What did you use? Couldn't have been easy, although Culven didn't look a strong man. Then to slow things down for us you cold-bloodedly bashed his face in.'

  'No!' she shouted explosively.

  Uckfield ignored her. He leaned back across the table and said softly, 'You have no alibi for Tuesday night, a car, your car was seen parked.'

  'This is preposterous!' exploded Otton, 'What evidence do you have?'

  Not enough, Horton knew. He kept his eyes on Melissa.

  Uckfield ignored the lawyer. 'We know why you killed your husband, Melissa. Can't say I blame you in a way, a man with perversions like that.'

  Her body stiffened and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

  'I know it takes all sorts,' Uckfield continued, 'but not only was your husband a transvestite but he was also into pornography, the kind that would make your eyes water.' Uckfield sneered and almost laughed. 'What did he ask you to do, eh? Had you got fed up with his sexual demands? A jury wouldn't blame you. We'll show them the magazines, the filth that he liked looking at.'

  Her eyes flickered to Otton and back to Horton. It was Horton she finally appealed to. 'What's he talking about, inspector?'

  'We found magazines on your husband's boat,' he replied. 'They depicted sex scenes including bondage, and those involving both children and animals.'

  'I don't believe you!' The colour drained from her face, her body swayed first forwards and then against Otton who put out his hands to hold her.

  'A glass of water for my client,' Otton barked and Kate, at a nod, from Uckfield slid out of the room. 'My client needs a break, chief inspector. She's in no fit state to answer any further questions.'

  Again Uckfield ignored him. 'Is that why you killed him, Melissa, because you found out about him?'

  'No, Roger wasn't like that.' Her voice was barely above a whisper. Her face so pale that it was almost transparent.

  Uckfield laughed. 'You expect us to believe that!'

  She lifted her eyes and her face looked pinched with pain. 'Roger wasn't interested in sex…' She faltered and Horton was left filling in the blanks. He was beginning to see.

  She swallowed hard. The door opened and Kate put the water in front of her. She was trembling so much that she had to lift the plastic cup with both hands.

  Otton said, 'I think that's enough for now.' Uckfield slammed the table with his hand. 'It is not enough. Enough is when I get to the truth.'

  With an effort she said, appealing to Horton, 'I am telling the truth.'

  'I think not.' Uckfield sat back again. 'Why did you drug him?'

  Horton didn't think she could go any paler but she did.

  Slowly she said, 'I didn't know what the tablets would do.'

  Horton thought Otton was going to have a seizure.

  'Melissa, please,' Otton begged. She ignored him. 'I don't know how he got to the tower or why he was dressed the way he was.'

  Horton spoke for the first time. 'Why didn't you simply divorce him?'

  'You wouldn't understand,' she replied wearily.

  Uckfield rose and said dangerously quietly. 'We understand that you, along with your lover, plotted and murdered your husband and then you murdered your lover.'

  A flash of anger from her now, perhaps one final effort to convince them.

  'That's not true. I have to make you understand. After the death of my father I was lonely and upset and Roger was kind. I thought he loved me but he didn't, he just loved my money and the status it brought him.' Her eyes looked back down the years. In them Horton saw an empty life.

  'Roger wanted a wife with class and breeding,' she continued. 'He wanted to climb the social ladder; marriage to me gave him that. Sir Randall Simpson, my father, was very wealthy. But my friends soon got tired of Roger. I used to watch them cringe at his crude jokes and his constant bragging. I saw pity in their eyes. Poor Melissa, she's really got taken in and landed herself with a right one. So I stopped asking my friends round. Soon I didn't have any. I wasn't going to divorce Roger because that way he'd get his hands on my money, or rather my father's money. And if I had got divorced everyone would pity me and if there's one thing I can't stand it's being pitied. So Roger and I came to an arrangement. I would see he had enough money for all the things he wanted, like his boat, if he left me alone.'

  Uckfield was staring at her in disbelief. He towered over the interview table. 'So you started an affair with Culven.'

  She swivelled her eyes up to him. 'How many times do I have to tell you? There was no affair?' It was as if she had used up her last reserves of energy. She fell back in the chair, a dejected figure.

  Otton, tight-lipped, said, 'Chief Inspector, my client is exhausted, as you can see. I insist on a break.'

  Uckfield ignored him. 'I've applied for a warrant to search your house. We can wait for that or you can help speed things up by giving us permission now.'

  'I've got to stay here? What will happen to Bellman? I've left him in the house.'

  Horton said, 'We can take care of that. Is there anywhere you would like him to go? A friend or neighbour?' She was shaking her head before he had finished speaking.

  'Bellman's never been away from me before.'

  'Then we'll take him to kennels.'

  'Poor Bellman.'

  'Interview terminated, 16.05.' Uckfield switched off the tape and plucked his jacket from the back of the chair. Then leaning towards her again he said, 'We know you killed them both.' Outside Uckfield grinned at Horton. 'Good result, I think.'

  'I'm not sure.'

  'She did it all right. She admitted it in there. You heard her.'

  'You're going to hold her?'

  'You bet I am. I could charge on her on that confession alone.'

  'Thurlow was suffocated.'

  'She could have slipped on that boat and put a plastic bag over his head, while he was drugged.' 'But she couldn't have taken the boat out. She knows nothing about sailing.'

  'Lover-boy Culven did.'

  Yes, Horton thought, he did.

  Uckfield said, 'You just get cracking and get me some evidence. A couple of witnesses would be nice.'

  And where do you think I'm going to get them from? A hat? Horton fumed as he watched Uckfield stride away a happy man. Everything he had said made sense, so why did it feel so wrong?

  'What happened?' asked Cantelli, when Horton returned to the CID office.

  'Uckfield's holding her; he thinks she did it.'

  'And you don't?'

  'She drugged him, but as to the rest… There are too many unanswered questions for me.' He saw Cantelli glance towards the door. They had the office to themselves. By the look in Cantelli's eyes he could see that he had some bad news.

  'Think you ought to see this, Andy.' He pushed the local newspaper across the desk.

  The headline ran, 'Popular PR man killed in Devil's Tower' and alongside the photograph of the tower was a picture of Briarly House. It was the sub heading that horrified him most; 'Sex cop leads double murder investigation.'

  Horton felt sick. Soon the national media would pick up on the story. This journalist had dredged up everything he could on his past. There was a small paragraph that said he was unavailable for comment, which made it look as though he had something to hide. Of course he was unavailable, he was bloody working! He closed the newspaper. How could he fight this? Is this what lay ahead of him every time he handled a prominent case? What chance did he have of any judge giving him access to his daughter?

  'They'll get tired of it, eventuall
y,' Cantelli said, but Horton knew what the media were like: once they got hold of a good story they wouldn't let it go easily.

  'I don't have eventually. I might as well be dead if I can't see Emma again. You of all people should know what my daughter means to me.'

  Cantelli smiled sadly. 'Yeah, I do know.'

  Horton could see that Cantelli was thinking about his own problems with Ellen. Activity is what they needed. This case needed solving and he had a point to make not only to Uckfield and Superintendent Reine, but now to the newspaper. And that point was that he was a good detective.

  'Come on, we've got work to do. Uckfield's applied for a warrant to search Briarly House but Melissa Thurlow's given her permission.' Then seeing Cantelli's wary look added, 'It's OK, Barney, we'll collect a dog handler on our way out.'

  There was an accident in Redvins village square and Cantelli was diverted around the back of it past the church. Just coming through the lychgate were three women carrying floral arrangements. One of them was the oh-so perfect Alison Uckfield. She looked poised, cool and elegant, a definite asset for a detective superintendent, or a chief constable, Horton thought, with some bitterness. He watched her unlock her car and place the floral arrangement on the back seat before Cantelli turned the corner and she disappeared from sight.

  As Horton opened the front door of Briarly House he called to Bellman. The dog gave a soft growl and a bark and then recognising Horton's scent came trotting good-naturedly towards him.

  'Your mistress has been delayed and you've got to go on a little holiday.' Horton ruffled the dog's head. Bellman thumped his tail. Horton stepped aside and let Dave the Dog, as he was known around the station, take over.

  'See what you can find upstairs, Barney. I'll take downstairs.'

  Stepping into the lounge he saw, through the window, Bellman jump into the back of the dog handler's van. His mind wandered back to Alison Uckfield. How much had Catherine confided in her? Should he have a word with Alison to see what he could find out about this Ed? Concentrate damn you, concentrate on the case.