Blood on the Sand dah-5 Page 16

  'Did you know Helen Carlsson?' he asked, watching her carefully yet knowing that someone who had worked in Intelligence would be very good at disguising their real emotions and reactions.

  'No, although judging by the surname I take it she must be a relation of Owen's.'

  'His mother. She, and Owen's father, Lars, were killed in a car accident in March 1990.'

  She didn't look surprised and neither did she look worried. 'Very sad, but I can't see what that has to do with any of the recent deaths.' She rose and reached for the poker.

  'They died in almost the same the place as Arina was killed.'

  Holding the poker she turned to stare at him before her eyes wandered to Cantelli and back to Horton. 'And you think there's some connection between that and Arina's death and then Owen's. And Jonathan's, I suppose. Well I never heard Sir Christopher or Arina mention Helen and Lars Carlsson, and Owen never talked about them.' She opened the front of the stove and poked about inside it.

  'Where were you in March 1990?' Horton said coolly.

  She spun round with a wide-eyed look. 'I was in Wales, nursing my sick husband, who died in the August of that year.'

  Horton left a moment's silence, holding her angry gaze before saying, 'Were you surprised that neither Sir Christopher nor Arina left you anything in their wills?'

  'No. And before you ask I wasn't disappointed either because I didn't expect anything.'

  'Then you do know the contents of the will. You said before you didn't.'

  'Mr Newlands told me on Friday.'

  Horton could check that. 'And what about Roy Danesbrook: were you surprised when he was left what now amounts to a considerable sum?'

  'No, why should I be? It was Sir Christopher's wish. He was a very charitable man. Now, if you've finished…'

  Horton withdrew the photograph from his jacket. 'Is this you?'

  She replaced the poker and took the photograph. He watched her as she studied it. There was the merest flicker of anger before she said, 'How did you get hold of this?'

  She'd made no attempt to deny it was her because she knew they would check. He said, 'Helen Carlsson took it.'

  Bella Westbury's surprise seemed genuine. 'Well, I don't remember her, or the photograph being taken.'

  'I find that difficult to believe,' sneered Horton. 'A Prime Ministerial visit in troubled Northern Ireland and you on protective security duty, I hardly think you'd ignore a photographer. She could have been IRA.'

  'She was probably one of the official press corps. That bloody woman always wanted her face in the newspapers.'

  Horton knew she meant Margaret Thatcher.

  Bella added, 'Now I'd like to go to bed.'

  But Horton refused to budge. 'Why did you change sides?'

  'I don't know what you mean.'

  Oh, she did all right. 'Army Intelligence and then rebel. They hardly seem compatible,' he scoffed.

  She shrugged.

  'I wonder what your ex-mining colleagues and former Greenham Common buddies would think of you if they saw this picture. They might not be very happy about having a spy in their camp.'

  'You're nuts.'

  'Am I?' he said evenly, holding her steely gaze.

  She eyed him with a confidence that bordered on smugness. 'I came out of the army and I changed sides. I didn't like the way the establishment and big business were always telling people what to do, what they should think and what was good for them. I'd had it with politicians' bullshit whilst working on protective security.'

  It had the ring of truth about it, but he knew it was a lie. 'Where are your cats?'

  'What? I don't know,' she said with exasperation. 'Out.'

  'All five of them!' Horton said, surprised.

  'A couple of them are probably upstairs asleep. You don't want to question them too, do you? I hardly think they'll be able to help. Now, if you don't mind.. ' She waltzed to the door and wrenched it open. A gust of damp chilly wind rushed in and rattled the wind chimes.

  Horton rose, slowly. At the door he faced Bella and said evenly, 'How well do you know Roy Danesbrook?'

  'I met him at Scanaford House a couple of times. Why?'

  'Thank you for your co-operation, Mrs Westbury. We'll need to talk to you again, so please don't leave the island without telling us.'

  The door slammed within an inch of his nose.

  Cantelli exhaled. 'Funny sort of woman,' he said as they crossed to the car. 'Couldn't quite put my finger on what was wrong about her, but if pushed I'd say there was no warmth, or maybe I mean depth, to her. She said all the right things and showed anger in all the right places, even when she almost chopped your nose off, but it was like she was going through the motions.'

  Horton climbed into the car and stared across at the house. A light had come on in the front bedroom. He watched as she pulled the curtains, pausing to look down on them.

  'She's leaving.'

  'How do you make that out?'

  'No cats. She had five when I was here before and there wasn't a meow to be heard.'

  'Perhaps they're all out chasing mice.'

  'Have you ever known a cat to be out in this weather when it's got a nice warm comfortable bed or chair to sleep on?'

  'I don't know much about cats.'

  'Well, take it from me,' replied Horton, thinking of Bengal, 'given the choice at least one of them would have been in that lounge in front of the stove.'

  'You reckon she's taken them to the RSPCA?'

  'Either that or she's given them to a neighbour or killed them. Would you say she was capable of killing them, Barney?'

  Cantelli peered at the house through the rain-spattered window. After a moment he said, 'Yes. I would.'

  Horton shivered an agreement. 'I don't like the fact she had access to Scanaford House between Arina Sutton's death and the funeral. She could have removed anything incriminating, and helped herself to anything she liked. Newlands shouldn't have allowed it.'

  'She could be leaving on the proceeds. There's no hint she left the armed forces under a cloud but perhaps she resigned before she was pushed and the army thought it best to hush things up.'

  'Get a warrant tomorrow for Scanaford House, or better still see if you can get the keys from Newlands. That'll be quicker, though I expect we're too late anyway.' And that seemed to be the motto for this case. Everything they did or thought about was just that little bit too late.

  'Do you want a warrant for here too?' Cantelli jerked his head at Bella's house.

  'Might as well, though I doubt it'll yield much. But I want her watched. Call Marsden, he can relieve us. As soon as he arrives we'll pay a visit to Roy Danesbrook. I have a feeling he might be closer to Bella Westbury than she claims.'

  'It's late, Andy. He might be asleep.'

  'Then we'll just have to wake him up.'

  EIGHTEEN

  ' What do you want now?' Danesbrook demanded irritably.

  He wasn't dressed for bed and Horton could hear the television blaring out in the back room. He pushed Danesbrook aside and marched down the narrow hall.

  'Hey, you can't do that,' Danesbrook bleated, running after him.

  'He just has,' Cantelli said wearily, closing the front door behind him.

  Horton surveyed the untidy and shabby room with distaste. It stank of fish and chips, cigarette smoke and body odour. He picked up the remote control and killed the television.

  'Who the hell do you think you are marching in here and messing about…?'

  Horton swung round, bringing the full force of his glare on Danesbrook.

  'I'm tired, I'm angry and I'm sick of your lies. So sit down and answer my questions.'

  Danesbrook sat. Cantelli took out his notebook and reached for his pencil from behind his ear. Horton could see him fighting off fatigue. He felt dead on his feet too. But he didn't have time to piss about being nice and waiting for 'office' hours, especially when he knew he was on the right track. The solution was within his grasp, he couldn't let
go now. He would ride it until he got there; everything else was just wallpaper. And he knew that the thin man in front of him, in baggy jogging pants and an overlarge and grubby sweatshirt, was the key to the murders. How had an intelligent man like Sutton been taken in by this shyster? And why hadn't Arina Sutton seen through him? But then maybe she had. And it had cost her her life.

  He said, 'If you tell me one more lie, I will charge you for murder. Is that clear?' His head was pounding. He knew he was out of order, but the only way to get the information he wanted was to scare this little runt shitless.

  Danesbrook swallowed.

  Horton took that, and the pungent smell emanating from him, as acquiescence. 'How long have you known Bella Westbury?'

  'I-'

  'Think very carefully before you answer,' Horton said menacingly. 'And ignore any telephone calls she's made to you in the last twenty minutes telling you to keep your mouth shut. We know she's clearing out. She intends to leave you to carry the can. Oh, I see she didn't tell you that.'

  Danesbrook shuffled in his chair, considering it for a brief moment, then said with a resigned shrug, 'We met in 1996.'

  'At the Newbury by-pass protest.'

  Danesbrook nodded.

  Horton had been right. In order to trust Danesbrook, Sir Christopher must have had some kind of testimonial or reference and the only person who could have given that was Bella Westbury, the trusted housekeeper, herself a veteran protester.

  He said, 'She was a protester there too.'

  Again Danesbrook nodded. And that was one photograph that Bella Westbury hadn't hung on her kitchen wall for two reasons. One, because no wall would be big enough to take all of her protests, and two, because she'd rather keep that one quiet in case someone made the link between her and Danesbrook.

  Danesbrook reached for a packet of cigarettes but Horton's glare prevented him from taking one out and lighting it. He said, 'We hit it off immediately.'

  'You had an affair.'

  'Yes.' Danesbrook fiddled with his ponytail. 'I was married and my wife found out. She slung me out after that. Not that it was a big deal; Valerie was never going to be able to do what she wanted with a bully of a father breathing down her neck all the time. I thought the protest would give her a chance to get out of his clutches but she scuttled back to him in the end, more fool her.'

  Horton had difficulty seeing Bella Westbury fancying a weakling like Danesbrook, which meant she started the affair for a reason. She wanted something from Danesbrook and Horton didn't think it was sex. In fact, given her background he knew it wasn't. Sex had just been a tool to extract information.

  He said, 'How long did the affair last?'

  Danesbrook shrugged, 'A few months. We split up after the protest ended.'

  I bet you did, thought Horton, drawing satisfaction from the fact he'd been right. 'And let me guess,' he sneered, 'you didn't meet up again until a year ago, here on the island.'

  Danesbrook's eyes jumped to Cantelli and back to Horton. He swallowed hard but said nothing. Horton didn't need him to. A year ago Bella had become Sir Christopher Sutton's housekeeper.

  With a harder edge to his voice, Horton continued. 'Then you and Bella Westbury hatched a plan to screw the old boy out of a considerable amount of money. Whose idea was it, yours or Bella's?'

  'It wasn't like that.'

  Horton thrust his face close to Danesbrook's. 'No? I'll tell you what it was like. You met Bella, she told you about Sir Christopher's career and his interest in the environment, and then the two of you dreamt up the charity scam. Sir Christopher bought you that car and gave you money, but it wasn't enough, so you got him to include you in his will. Then Bella Westbury told you that Arina Sutton had also made a will after the death of her father and had bequeathed her inheritance to the same benefactors her father had given bequests to. The temptation was too great. You got scared that Arina might change her will later, so you and Bella Westbury decided to kill her.'

  'No!' Danesbrook protested, alarmed. 'I haven't killed anyone and neither has Bella.'

  'Are you sure about that?'

  Danesbrook licked his lips, his Adam's apple jumped up and down as his eyes skittered around the room. The sweat was running off his forehead. 'She wouldn't.'

  Horton ignored his pathetic denial. 'But Owen Carlsson guessed it was you, or perhaps he recognized that it was your car Bella was driving, as it slammed into Arina's body, so he too had to die.'

  'This is crazy.'

  'And then it was Jonathan Anmore's turn. Did he overhear you and Bella talking about it?' Suddenly, a worrying thought flashed into his mind: Bella had called on Charlie Anmore. Was it to check that his son hadn't said anything about her and Danesbrook's scam? Was Charlie in danger? He almost broke off from questioning Danesbrook to get Cantelli to check the old man was OK, but then he thought it unlikely Jonathan would have said anything to his father.

  'You have to believe me,' Danesbrook pleaded. 'We haven't killed anyone.'

  'Get your coat.'

  'But you said I could stay if I cooperated.'

  'Did I? Sergeant, call a car to take him in.'

  Danesbrook looked like a man who'd just seen his winning lottery ticket flushed down the toilet. 'You've got this all wrong, Inspector. We were going to get money from Sir Christopher, I admit that. He had plenty and his daughter didn't need it all, there was no real harm in that, but we wouldn't and didn't kill anyone.'

  Horton wasn't convinced. He reckoned they were both capable of murder and a million pounds was a powerful motive. Of course that didn't fit with the deaths of Helen and Lars Carlsson. But that didn't mean there wasn't a reason. Only one he hadn't yet discovered.

  As Cantelli stepped into the hall to call in, Horton said to Danesbrook, 'Where were you in March 1990?'

  'I can't remember. Why do you want to know?'

  Horton glared at him.

  'All right. Let me think.' After a moment his haggard features brightened. 'I was in London, at the Poll Tax riots.'

  'All month?'

  'Pretty much. The riot was planned for the end of the month, the thirty-first of March, so there was a lot of organizing to do beforehand. That was one of my more successful demonstrations,' he added boastfully. 'It killed the tax dead. We showed the government they couldn't ride roughshod over us.' He gave a tentative smile.

  'For someone who has spent most of his life on benefit and hardly paid a pound in taxes that's a bit rich,' Horton spat scornfully.

  Cantelli led Danesbrook outside to a waiting patrol car. As he was giving instructions to the uniformed officers inside it Horton's phone rang. It was Marsden.

  'Bella Westbury's leaving home with a suitcase, sir,' he said excitedly.

  'Follow her.' He rang off and to Cantelli said, 'Bella's on the move. She can't get far at this time of night. The only transport off the island is the car ferry. When she gets there we'll bring her in.'

  But they'd only just pulled into the station car park when his phone rang again.

  'I've lost her,' Marsden relayed, dejectedly.

  Horton cursed.

  'She must have known I was tailing her,' Marsden said, 'because she timed it to perfection, slipping through on a red at a set of traffic lights. I couldn't follow, a damn great lorry was charging through. She was heading in the direction of Cowes so I thought she might have been taking the Red Funnel ferry to Southampton. But her car's not here.'

  Horton quickly thought. 'Stay there, call me if she shows up and arrest her for the murder of Arina Sutton. I'll send a unit there to assist you.'

  He rang off and speedily told Cantelli what had happened. 'Turn round and head for Cowes,' he ordered. 'The terminal's not the only place she could have been heading. There's a marina and that means boats.'

  As Cantelli sped to the marina, Horton rang through to the station and told Uckfield what had happened.

  'I'll put an alert out for her,' Uckfield said. 'Leave Danesbrook to me. This time I'll get him to talk, s
marmy solicitor or not.'

  Horton didn't know how he was going to find the boat Bella Westbury might be leaving the island on. She'd given no indication that she could handle one, and neither had there been anything in her house to point him in this direction. But he had to be right. And he had a feeling that if they didn't catch up with Bella now then they never would. She would go underground again.

  'Her car's here,' Cantelli said, sweeping into the car park.

  'You take the pontoons to the right, I'll take these.' Horton set off at a fast pace to his left, knowing that Cantelli wasn't about to enjoy himself on the water but he wouldn't shirk doing a thorough job nevertheless.

  He wondered if they were already too late. She could be halfway down the River Medina by now, or out into the Solent.

  The rain bounced off the wooden pontoons and the wind whistled and clattered through the masts. He didn't even know where to start. He could be searching one pontoon only to see her boat slip past him having left another. But, straining his eyes, he saw a figure step off a small yacht halfway down a pontoon to his right. His heart quickened but no, the build was wrong for Bella Westbury. Then there was the throb of a powerful engine. It was coming from the pontoon to his left. He spun round. It had to be her.

  He sprinted back down the pontoon and up the other one with the rain bashing into him. A hooded figure was loosening the stern rope. It spun round at the movement of the pontoon and the sound of his footsteps. There was no mistaking who it was this time.

  Bella Westbury hesitated, dashed a glance at the boat, looked set to jump on board, and then changed her mind. He reckoned she didn't have much choice; he could easily leap on before the boat pulled away, or, easier still, radio up and get the marine unit to pull her in.

  'Tut, tut, you were meant to tell me if you were leaving the island,' Horton said with heavy sarcasm, drawing level with her.

  'I didn't want to ruin your beauty sleep, Inspector.' Her expression remained impassive except, Horton thought, for a hint of scorn in the way the corners of her mouth turned down. She glanced away and retied the rope on the cleat. 'I expect you've taken Danesbrook in for questioning.'