Deadly Waters dah-2 Page 17

'We talk to Cyrus, and we check out your story.' That would take the rest of the evening and night, and they would still be no nearer to catching this blasted killer.

  Horton adopted the same tactics with Cyrus, who was ready to hold his hands up for the break-in at the school in order to be cleared of committing murder.

  Later that night to Uckfield, Horton wearily said, 'The landlord of the Three Crowns has confirmed that Dunsley was in there drinking, and watching football on the big television screen, from seven until just before ten p.m. They each give the other as their alibi for after ten p.m., and Dr Clayton says that Langley was killed some time between nine and eleven p.m. Langley could have returned to the school after receiving that second telephone call and after ditching Ranson at eight p.m.' But Horton didn't really think so.

  'Could Cyrus be her lover?'

  'Not her type.' Still, Horton thought, there was no accounting for taste. Horton would hardly have said that Edward Shawford was Catherine's type. But he was almost sure that Cyrus couldn't be Langley's lover. 'Cyrus was on duty, alone, as assistant caretaker until ten p.m. He could have killed her between nine and ten p.m., but there's no motive and he denies it vehemently. He also says Langley never returned to the school. And if he did kill her how did he and Dunsley get the body on to a boat, which neither of them has, and take her to the mulberry? It doesn't add up. And both Cyrus and Dunsley have an alibi for Edney's death. They were at Fratton Park watching Pompey play Manchester United.'

  'Which means we've still got a killer out there. Back to square bloody one. Are you sure this architect didn't do it?'

  'His alibi checks out.'

  'So who the fuck is it?' Uckfield stomped across to the crime board and picked up a felt pen. Horton didn't blame him for being frustrated. 'We can cross off Dunsley, Cyrus and Ranson.' He struck the names through with a large cross. 'Tom Edney gets himself killed, so he's already gone. What about his wife? Could she have returned and killed Langley?'

  'I doubt it, and she couldn't have killed her husband, because she was with us at the time.' Horton stared at the board. 'There's still Eric Morville,' he pointed out. 'And that betting slip.'

  'Yes, and there's still those callers. Are we any nearer to finding out who they were?'

  'Marsden is waiting for the mobile phone company to get back to us. The second caller must be the person that Langley went to meet. It could be a lover who hasn't yet come forward, but there's nothing in her life, belongings or background to suggest one, and Ranson swears there wasn't anyone else. I'd also like to know who the first caller is and why she was so short with him or her.' Maybe tomorrow, he thought, those questions would be answered. They still hadn't found Langley's laptop or her mobile phone. 'Have Jessica Langley's medical records come in?'

  'There's nothing of any interest in them. No dark secrets: abortions or illegitimate babies. She was very healthy, hardly ever saw a doctor, except to get her prescription for the Pill and her regular cervical smear and that's it.'

  Horton hadn't really expected anything else. He left Uckfield stomping around the incident room grumbling and growling like a bear with a hangover, and returned to his office. He pushed open the window and let the wind tear in. It caught him in his chest and he leaned into it and let its chill damp edge cleanse him after the disappointment of yet another of his theories about Langley's killer being proved false.

  Two cases cleared off the books, the club break-in and the school theft, but there was another case outstanding: that of double murder. Who could those callers have been? Did they have anything to do with Langley's death? Why the devil was she killed and dumped on the mulberry and what did the Lear poem have to do with it? What was he missing for Christ sake? A hell of a lot it seemed. His head was throbbing, and he was tired.

  He closed the window, and turned back to his desk. Perhaps it would come to him if he tried to clear his mind of it for a while. Somerfield had put her latest report on the antiques thefts on his desk and he began to read through it. Damn Mickey Johnson, he should have cracked under questioning but he hadn't. Maybe if Horton had another go at him he'd get something, like the name of his accomplice — the boy seemed to have vanished into thin air — or who was masterminding these robberies, because Horton was damned sure Mickey or the boy wouldn't have the brains for it.

  He pulled out the file containing all of Somerfield's reports and read them through again for what seemed like the hundredth time. Somerfield had been thorough. Horton took out a blank piece of paper and drew up four columns, each headed with the name of a victim and then reading through the reports he picked out the key factors that Somerfield had discovered, methodically listing them down the columns. His door opened and Horton looked up to see Cantelli enter.

  'We've got the bloke who was receiving the stolen goods from Cyrus and Dunsley,' Cantelli said, easing himself into the seat opposite Horton with a yawn. 'What are you doing?'

  Horton told him. 'So far I can't find a blessed thing that the robbery victims have in common, except they all live in Old Portsmouth, near or around the Town Camber…' His words trailed off and he glanced down at the list of addresses and then at Cantelli. He'd been trying to puzzle out the antique thefts but the connection with Langley, which had occurred to him on the day he'd seen her flat when he and Cantelli had stood on the quayside at the Town Camber, returned to him only this time stronger. Was it possible? Was this the missing piece of the jigsaw? He felt a thrill of excitement that told him it could be. He said, 'Langley's death could be connected with these robberies.'

  'You mean our missing athletic youth?'

  'No.' He didn't think it could be him. But maybe he'd been on the right lines about the location. Feeling his excitement increase, he said, 'The stolen antiques haven't shown up anywhere in the local area and neither have they been picked up elsewhere in the UK, so I reckon they are being taken out of the country pretty quickly, and that could be by boat, kept in or moved to the Town Camber for the purpose. Johnson took the stolen goods to a boat. I know that particular boat belonged to the victim but that wasn't usual because none of the other victims are boat owners. And I don't believe Johnson did those other robberies. The haul was different on this last one.'

  Cantelli was still looking bemused. Horton continued, warming to his theme. 'What if Langley, either looking out from her apartment or going on to a friend or lover's boat in the Town Camber, saw our mastermind on one of the previous robberies, and was killed because of it?'

  'But why take her to the mulberry? Why not kill her in the Town Camber and throw her into the harbour?'

  Horton frowned. They had been over this ground before. But this time he knew he was on to something. He had to talk it through. It had to slot into place. He sat back in his chair and tapped his pencil against his mouth whilst thinking. Finally he said, 'We know that she was a strong-minded woman, so let's say she decided to blackmail him because he had something she wanted, though God alone knows what that was. Or perhaps she simply craved excitement. It would be in keeping with her character as we've been told it.'

  Cantelli nodded. Horton could see he was becoming convinced.

  Horton went on. 'Her car was found at Sparkes Yacht Harbour on Hayling Island. Her killer could have lured her there. He could have been the second caller agreeing to her blackmail demands, hence the word "great" that Ranson overheard her say. I know her accounts don't show she was receiving blackmail money, but perhaps she hadn't got that far. That meeting at Sparkes could have been the first.' Horton mentally juggled the information flooding into his brain. 'Which means she felt pretty confident he wouldn't kill her. She was a tough lady but not stupid. Why drive to Sparkes Yacht Harbour and meet her killer-?'

  'Because she knew him.' They said together.

  Horton continued with enthusiasm. 'Tom Edney was out that night drinking, which according to his wife, was unusual for him. Let's say he had a few drinks to give him courage to finally confront Langley over her treatment of him, but when he went to
do so he saw her leaving her apartment and decided to follow her. He saw who she met at Sparkes and also recognized him, which meant he had to die. Our killer must be connected with the school which links in with the nursery rhyme about the mulberry.'

  'Why point us in that direction? Does he want to be caught?'

  Horton shrugged. 'I expect he's a clever Dick who believes that stupid old PC Plod can't possibly catch him. Think about our antiques mastermind, Barney,' Horton urged eagerly. 'He has keys to the victims' apartments, how does he get them?' Horton glanced down at the lists he had made and saw it staring out at him. 'They all have children. Which means…'

  Cantelli caught his drift and sat up excitedly. 'They could all have grandchildren. Ellen and Marie have a key to my mum's so they can pop in there after school. That's it, Andy! We've cracked it.'

  Almost. With his heart racing, Horton said, 'Our antiques mastermind gets the victims' keys from the grandchildren, copies them and lets himself into the properties after checking them out by posing as a bogus neighbour, priest, police officer or whatever.' Horton was convinced he'd struck gold. He glanced at his watch. Damn, it was too late to call the victims now to check out their theory. 'I wouldn't mind betting that all the victims' grandchildren attend the same school, but there's only one flaw.'

  'What?'

  Horton stared down puzzled and slightly despondently at his list, then looked up. 'Somehow I can't see any of the grandchildren of these fairly well-to-do pensioners attending the Sir Wilberforce Cutler.'

  Fifteen

  Tuesday: 9 A.M.

  They didn't. But as one victim after the other mentioned the school their grandchildren did attend, Horton's hopes rose and he felt his pulse racing. He rapidly assimilated the information and put it together with what the head teacher of Nettleside High, Simon Thornecombe, had told them, that Langley had visited that school on the day she had been killed. Perhaps it hadn't been until then that she had recognized the antiques thief and decided to blackmail him.

  This is the way we go to school… This is the way we come out of school… And, if Horton remembered correctly, Jessica Langley would have driven past Nettleside High on her way to her own school and on her way home. Oh, they had a joker killer on their hands all right. And that wasn't all Horton learned from his phone calls.

  In the car, as they headed towards Nettleside High, he said to Cantelli: 'Not only do all the grandchildren have keys to their grandparent's flats but they all attend after school drama classes, and who better to impersonate a police officer, fire safety officer, priest and a neighbour but a drama teacher?'

  Cantelli let out a low whistle. 'He's smart this one.'

  And wicked, thought Horton, as the image of Langley's body, abandoned on the mulberry with her flesh covered by the small crabs, assailed him, not to mention poor Tom Edney lying in that pool of blood with his throat slit. The poor man hadn't deserved that and Horton still felt some responsibility for his death even though he knew that he shouldn't do. He desperately wanted to catch this smart-alec killer and wipe the smirk from his face. He realized that this was now nothing to do with finding the killer before Tony Dennings took control of the case, or proving himself to Uckfield. It was simply a case of bringing an evil killer to justice.

  He said, 'A drama teacher or coach would know how to disguise himself and put on an act. He could chat to the kids about their grandparents, take an impression of the keys whilst the little darlings are on stage, and if he doesn't get it right first time, he can always try again, the following week or maybe when they're in another class. All we have to do now is find out who teaches drama at Nettleside High and we've got him.'

  'Sounds simple.'

  'I know, and that's what makes me nervous.' Horton had learnt a long time ago that nothing in this life was ever simple or straightforward.

  'And you reckon this drama teacher used Mickey Johnson and his mate to carry out the robberies.'

  'The last one anyway. Johnson had to take the stolen goods to the victim's boat because our man was killing Langley on his boat and taking her to the mulberry that night.'

  'It's bad luck for Johnson then that the drunk stumbled on to the boat and gave him away.'

  Horton stiffened. Cantelli's words uttered so casually were like a dousing in icy cold water. They stole the breath from him. It couldn't be. But he was instantly sure that he was right. At last he was getting inside the mind of this killer. 'My God, Barney, this gets more complicated by the minute. I think that was deliberate.'

  Cantelli threw him a puzzled glance before putting his eyes back on the road.

  Horton continued. 'We got an anonymous tip off that something was going down at the Town Camber that night. We were even told which row of boats to keep under surveillance. That drunk appeared out of nowhere and knew exactly whose boat to stumble on and we know it wasn't his own boat. I think Johnson and his mate were set up by this drunk and he has to be our antiques mastermind, and our killer.'

  'He took a hell of a risk.'

  'Did he though? What happened to him in the mad panic after Johnson was rumbled?'

  'I…er…I don't know. I grabbed Johnson, you went after the boy and Elkins jumped on the boat and got the holdall of stolen goods. The drunk sort of got shoved out of the way.'

  'And did you get a name and address?'

  'Shit!'

  Horton knew it. It confirmed his theory. 'Don't worry. It would probably have been false.'

  'We might have recognized him though.'

  'Not this man. He's a master at disguise.'

  'But why go to all that trouble?' Cantelli asked, swinging into the car park at Nettleside High School.

  'We'll ask him, but I wouldn't mind betting it was for the hell of it, the thrill of the thing or because he thought it would be a good joke to play on us.'

  'He's quite a card. Can't wait to meet him.'

  Neither could Horton and soon they would.

  They were ushered quickly into the head's office by Thornecombe's anxious secretary. Horton didn't waste any time with the preliminaries but came straight to the point. He was too eager to get this bloody killer.

  'I'm sorry, Inspector, but we don't have a drama teacher. It's not on our curriculum.'

  Horton's heart sank. This couldn't be another dead end, surely? This morning he had told Uckfield his theory and got a sceptical look for his troubles. Uckfield had grumbled something about letting his imagination run wild and that this wasn't Book at Bedtime, but he grudgingly admitted there might be something in it. Those telephone calls to the victims had surely proved he and Cantelli were right.

  Horton persisted. 'But you do hold after-school drama classes.'

  'Yes, on Tuesdays.'

  Thank heavens for that. 'Who takes them?' Horton asked eagerly.

  Thornecombe looked puzzled. 'Timothy Boston. He's an excellent teacher.'

  Horton hoped he hid his surprise. He flashed Cantelli a look. The sergeant raised his eyebrows slightly as Horton quickly mentally recalled Boston: stockily built, clean cut and handsome, wearing a good suit and placing a comforting hand on Susan Pentlow's arm. A pompous man who had been concerned about delaying the building of the new drama suite, and who had also omitted to mention that he taught performing arts. Of course! Boston had a foot in both camps.

  Cantelli said, 'But Mr Boston teaches at the Sir Wilberforce Cutler School.'

  'We share resources. I mentioned that before,' Thornecombe replied. 'It was one of Ms Langley's ideas.'

  It explained why she would willingly have gone to meet Boston.

  Horton heard Cantelli ask: 'How long has Mr Boston taught drama here?'

  Thornecombe addressed Horton. 'What is this about, Inspector?'

  'I can't tell you yet, sir.'

  'If it reflects on the reputation of my school then I have a right to know?' Thornecombe bristled.

  Horton said firmly, 'Can you just answer the question, sir? How long has Mr Boston taught drama here?'

 
Thornecombe looked as though he wanted to explode. Horton saw it was an effort for him to hold on to his temper. This clearly was a man who was used to being obeyed without question.

  Tight-lipped, Thornecombe relied, 'About six weeks, since the start of term, and he ran a summer school during the holidays.'

  So, plenty of time to get close to the kids and find out about their habits and their doting grandparents. What a brain. But why do it and risk a good career? Was it for the money? But teachers weren't badly paid these days. However, Boston had been wearing an expensive suit and perhaps his tastes were bigger than his wallet.

  Thornecombe said, 'Mr Boston has been cleared by the police and has impeccable references.'

  Horton asked, 'Is he here?' It was Tuesday after all, and half term at the Sir Wilberforce.

  'He will be later for the classes. They start at four p.m. Am I expected to cancel them? Only at short notice-'

  'Carry on as usual, Dr Thornecombe.' If they didn't find Boston by then, at least Horton knew where he'd be later that day. There would be no reason for him not to turn up. Boston couldn't know they were on to him. The head teacher wouldn't be pleased at the disruption an arrest would cause him, but that was too bad.

  After extracting a promise that Thornecombe wouldn't say anything to Boston about their visit, if he saw him before they did, Horton and Cantelli left him looking worried and very cross.

  Cantelli zapped open the car. 'Boston never said he taught here. At least I don't think it's in his statement.'

  'Why should it be? He wasn't asked that question, only where he was when Langley was killed.'

  'Which, if I remember correctly, was at home watching The Maltese Falcon. And I thought here's a man with taste.'

  Yes, the kind that needed robberies to fund them. And they were clever robberies at that. So was Boston the drunk on the pontoon? The build was right. Had Boston been the anonymous caller to CID on the morning of the last robbery and so had shopped Johnson and his mate? Horton guessed so. He had decided to silence Langley and put an end to his antiques jaunts by shifting the focus to Johnson and his accomplice.