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  Horton said nothing.

  After a moment Uckfield added, 'Any more news from Catherine about Emma?'

  'No.'

  Uckfield hesitated and Horton thought here it comes — maybe this was the real reason we're here drinking like old buddies.

  'Look, Andy, what's the sticking point between you and Catherine?'

  So that was it? Horton curbed his anger at the thought that Catherine had gone blabbing to her friend Alison Uckfield and Alison had got her husband to do Catherine's dirty work. Once, and not so long ago, Uckfield had thought him capable of hitting Catherine because she had intimated to Alison Uckfield that's where her bruises came from, when it was overactive sex with that oaf she was dating.

  Evenly he said, 'The sticking point, as you call it, Steve, is me wanting to spend time with my daughter. I don't think that's much to ask, and I don't mean for an hour every other Wednesday. I want something more permanent than that.'

  'But how? In our job that's not always possible. Take this case, for example, or any serious crime. We don't keep office hours and neither do we work to any sodding European Time Directive. If we did the public would get less of us than they already do and the criminals would be laughing behind their murders, mugging and thefts. If you said that you could have Emma every weekend, or even every other weekend, how do you know you won't be called in to help in an investigation or be already deep into one?'

  Horton felt panic and fury in equal measures. He knew Uckfield was right and it was what any courtroom judge would say. He was also angry that Uckfield was backing Catherine's point. He could just hear her saying: talk some sense into him, Steve. He'll listen to you.

  Like hell he would! But he remained silent and stayed put because there was more to come, and Horton wanted to know what Uckfield was really driving at.

  'I'll be honest with you,' Uckfield said, which rang alarm bells with Horton loud enough to make him deaf because in his experience that always heralded a lie. 'I want you on my team and Dennings off it. He's got the intelligence of a woodlouse and that's insulting the insects.'

  Horton tried not to look shocked. Maybe this time Uckfield was being honest. He hadn't expected this. OK, so it was what he had long been hoping to hear. But why? And especially now? Was Dennings threatening to tell about Uckfield's peccadilloes? No, it had to be more than that.

  'How are you going to do that, Steve?' Horton asked quietly, the deaths of Collins and Farnsworth sidelined for a moment.

  Uckfield leaned across the low table. 'The Port Special Branch team has a vacancy. It's right up Dennings' street. National security, anti-terrorist role. I've told him that I'll back his application for a transfer, but the bugger's sticking. He won't be for long.'

  Horton was beginning to get an uncomfortable feeling about this. 'I can hardly see

  Dennings shining in an intelligence-gathering role.'

  'So he hasn't got your brains, but basic surveillance, undercover work and pitching in with a bit of muscle when needed is what he does very well, and that's what they want. When I get him out I want you on my team, but I can't recommend you for it, and with a possible promotion, if I can't rely on you pulling your weight at all hours and at the drop of a hat. I have to justify it upwards.'

  So that was it? Horton's stomach clenched. He felt his body go rigid with anger and he fought to control it. Steadily he said, 'Let me get this clear. I get to be on the major crime team, working with you as a DI-'

  'Acting DCI,' corrected Uckfield.

  'Acting DCI,' Horton stressed, 'If I give up my right to see Emma.'

  'No, nothing like that,' Uckfield reassured hastily, sitting back, but Horton saw his eyes narrow perceptibly. 'You can still see your daughter. Of course you bloody can.'

  'When?' Horton kept his voice even. He wanted to know the full facts of this deal and he wanted Uckfield to believe he was considering it.

  'When it's convenient to both you and Catherine.'

  Horton held Uckfield's stare. 'You mean give up my right of access to Emma and the hope that she can stay with me?'

  'Andy, you know what our job's like. We don't work nine to five. You're a good officer. You've got a career ahead of you now all that rubbish about rape is over. Once Dennings is gone, you can step into his shoes. It would be great to have you back working with me. We make a good team, always did.' Uckfield smiled.

  Horton thought it was like a poisonous snake telling him its bite wouldn't hurt a bit. He tossed back his Coke, and scraped back his chair. 'I'll think about it.'

  'Great.' Uckfield beamed, then frowned. 'But not too long, eh? If I get shot of Dennings, I can't keep postponing his replacement for ever. We need to move swiftly.'

  'Right.'

  Outside Horton paused to put on his helmet and wait for his racing heart to settle down. Who had put Uckfield up to this? Was it really Catherine? DC Lee's face swam before his eyes and he stared at the dockside cranes beyond the pub. Did they really think they could silence him with threats? But silence him over what, for heaven's sake? He knew nothing. No, this had to be Catherine.

  Horton swung the Harley round and slowly made his way on to the motorway slip road where he waited on the hard shoulder. Uckfield was a long time coming out. Perhaps he'd gone for a slash. It was a good five minutes before he appeared. Had he stayed for another drink? Perhaps he'd called Catherine.

  Horton moved off before Uckfield reached him. If he sacrificed his right for regular access to Emma would Uckfield really make him acting DCI on his team? He did work late. He would like to have said it was because he had nothing to go home for, but even during his marriage he had worked long hours. And when undercover in Specialist Investigations he'd be gone for days. Catherine was using it as one of the examples of his unreasonable behaviour and grounds for divorce. She was right. He had often wondered if marriage and a police career were compatible, and thought probably not given the high number of divorces. Maybe with the Alison Uckfields of this world, not ambitious, content to wrap her life around her children, church and friends, it didn't matter. But Catherine had been and still was, as ambitious as him. He hadn't been there to share the childcare. That had been left to his mother-in-law and the nursery. With Emma now at school it must be easier for Catherine, but not that easy.

  He didn't like to admit it but Uckfield had a point. What would happen when a big case came along and he wanted to be a part of it — correction — he felt compelled to be part of it. It was what he loved. But he loved Emma too.

  He thrust it out of his mind and concentrated on the rain-drenched road until he reached the marina. After his run he still felt pent up. He made himself something to eat whilst worrying away at what Uckfield had said. Was his proposal genuine? Or was it some kind of test to see if he went blabbing to Dennings?

  He had no answers and was unlikely to get them. He knew he wouldn't sleep well. There was too much swirling around in his head: along with Collins, Farnsworth and Dennings there was Uckfield's ultimatum. He felt tense and irritable. It was like that sensation just before a storm. Some people experienced headaches and migraine, but with him it was a tightness across his chest and a heightened alertness, as if his whole body was being put in a state of readiness. For what, he had no idea, but sooner or later something was going to break. He only hoped it wasn't him.

  SEVENTEEN

  Friday, 7.35 a.m.

  'You're early,' Horton said, finding Cantelli already in the CID office the next morning.

  Horton had dropped into the major crime suite on his way through the station and had learnt from Trueman that Gary Manners had been brought in at six a.m., and he'd requested a solicitor before being interviewed. Manners was no fool. If he was their killer, then, like the man had said, they were going to have to prove it. There'd be no confession there. Trueman also said that the search warrants for Manners' apartment and the sub-aqua club would be through later that day.

  'Couldn't sleep,' Cantelli said.

  Snap, thought Horton.
He didn't need to ask what had disturbed Cantelli's dreams. Activity would help. It always worked with him, though he knew that it merely postponed the problems and didn't solve them. But he didn't want to think about Emma and that job offer of Uckfield's now. He had a murderer to catch.

  Yesterday DC Marsden had returned from Haslemere with the news that Farnsworth had been a highly successful estate agent and had made a mint of money in the London commuter belt in a rising property market. Farnsworth was, Marsden had quoted from his sources, articulate, had lots of nervous energy and people took to him. He was able to fool most of the people most of the time. Horton guessed that fitted the profile of a narcissistic personality disorder. Dennings reported that no will had been found in Farnsworth's house and there was nothing to throw any light on who had killed him and why.

  The contents of his house were being searched and his personal papers had been bagged up and Trueman's team were going through them and looking into Farnsworth's finances, which on first glance looked very healthy indeed. DC Marsden had the task of tracking down and interviewing Farnsworth's previous girlfriends, which, Horton thought, might take some time.

  By the time he'd brought Cantelli up to date with the events of the previous day, Walters had arrived. He detailed him to find Chalky White, one of their more useful informers, and get him asking around the pubs and clubs to see if Marion or Ian Keynes had been trying to pass off stolen goods.

  Horton handed the case notes on the armed robbery to Cantelli. 'Read through that, Barney, and see if it tallies with your memory. Is there anything missing or does anything strike you as unusual?'

  Cantelli took the file. 'About Farnsworth's death — don't laugh at this, but it was something that Johnny, my nephew, said to me yesterday about treasure hunting.'

  'You mean as in chests with gold sovereigns?' Horton teased.

  'Not quite.' Cantelli smiled.

  That was better. Horton was glad to see a spark of life back in the sergeant's dark eyes.

  'Johnny says that diving is highly competitive,' continued Cantelli. 'And when it comes to wreck hunting there's big money to be made. Not only in discovering a long-lost wreck but also in the selling of antiquities.'

  Horton thought back to his conversation with Ryan Oldham who had claimed the Solent was littered with rubbish and wrecks. Cantelli's theory might not be so far-fetched at that. Discovering something like the Mary Rose, Henry the Eighth's Tudor warship, would make someone's name in marine archaeological circles, which Farnsworth would have loved.

  'Go on.'

  'Say Daniel Collins discovers a wreck whilst out diving with Nathan Lester and Gary Manners. They're sworn to secrecy until they can confirm its significance and rightfully claim it, but Lester blabs to Farnsworth. Farnsworth approaches Manners and wants to muscle in on the act. But Manners hates Farnsworth on account of the accident years ago. And Manners wants the glory and fame for himself so he starts killing off his rivals, first Daniel Collins and then Nick Farnsworth.'

  'Which means that Lester is his next victim, or would have been if we didn't have Manners here. Get Lester's home address. If Manners is our killer, then Lester will feel very relieved when he knows we've got him in for questioning, so relieved that he might tell us everything.'

  Horton rang through the information to Uckfield, explaining Cantelli's theory, which drew a snort of disbelief, but Horton knew he'd put it to Manners. As he rang off another thought occurred to Horton. To Cantelli he said, 'Lester could have told Perry Jackson about the wreck. Maybe he wanted to take the credit for it.'

  'Would he have killed Daniel Collins though?'

  Horton considered the fact. He couldn't see Jackson swimming in and out of car windows, but he might have got Lester to do his dirty work for him. 'Let's ask him.'

  'And this?' Cantelli indicated Ebury's file.

  'Read it later.'

  Cantelli pushed it in the drawer of his desk and hurried after Horton.

  Fifteen minutes later Jackson opened the door of his hotel bedroom with a pained look on his face. 'What is it now?' he snapped, grudgingly letting them in.

  'Packing, sir?' asked Cantelli, nodding at the holdall on the bed.

  'I think that's what it's called, Sergeant,' Jackson replied with heavy sarcasm. 'I refuse to be kept a prisoner here any longer.'

  'We asked to be notified when you left the hotel.'

  'I haven't left. I am in the process of leaving,' Jackson said pedantically, stepping around Cantelli as he carried his clothes from the hotel wardrobe to the holdall. 'I am not a criminal and neither will I be treated like one.'

  That remains to be seen, thought Horton. He said, 'When did you first meet Daniel Collins?'

  'Who?'

  Jackson didn't even pause in his packing. He was very good if he was lying.

  Sternly Horton said, 'Mr Jackson, will you stop that and answer our questions, otherwise we'll have no option but to take you to the station.'

  Jackson pulled up abruptly. 'You can't do that!'

  'We can. So put down those socks and let's see if we can get this cleared up.'

  Jackson glared at Horton before capitulating with a great deal of huffing and puffing.

  'Well?' he demanded belligerently, glancing at his watch with the air of a man who has two minutes to spare and has started counting.

  'Daniel Collins?' repeated Horton, folding himself into one of the armchairs opposite the bed whilst Cantelli sat in the other one. Horton looked pointedly at Jackson, who after a moment sat down heavily on the bed with a deep scowl.

  'I've never heard of him.'

  Horton decided to help him out. 'He used to dive with Nathan Lester. Didn't Lester mention him?'

  'No.' Maybe Jackson was a good liar. Horton said, 'How did you feel when Nick was asked to give the keynote address at the international conference this June?'

  Jackson looked surprised, was that at the change of subject or that Horton knew about the conference?

  'What's this got to do with Nick's death?'

  'I think we'd get through this interview much quicker if only one of us asks the questions.'

  'I didn't feel anything. If Nick wanted to give the talk, then fine.'

  'You weren't jealous?'

  'Why should I be? I don't like that sort of thing.'

  Oh, yeah, thought Horton, pull the other one.

  'What sort of thing do you like, sir?' asked Cantelli.

  Jackson swivelled his gaze. 'Diving, researching and writing. I don't spout humorous anecdotes or embellish fact with fiction. I am writing a book about my exploits on the wreck series based on facts, not the silly schoolboy pranks and adventures that Nick liked to conjure up. And if you don't mind — ' he glanced pointedly at his watch — 'I'm having lunch with my editor in London, and I have a train to catch.'

  And if Collins had discovered an important wreck, wouldn't that make a nice bit of publicity for Jackson's book, not to mention perhaps a completely new commission?

  'What will happen to the series now?' asked Horton.

  'It will carry on as usual.'

  'It can hardly do that with Nicholas Farnsworth dead,' Horton said, trying to goad Jackson into displaying some kind of emotion for his partner's death. He might just have well not bothered.

  Jackson rolled his eyes and sighed. 'I meant the programme will continue.'

  'With another diver?' Horton recalled that Kirkwood had said the series had been the brainchild of Perry Jackson, who had sold it to the production company, so he must have a say over his diving companion.

  'Yes. I've already spoken to him. And he's a much better choice than Nick.'

  That was quick work, thought Horton. Too bloody quick for his liking. He guessed production companies had a schedule to keep, especially if they were tied to a strict filming timetable, but Nick Farnsworth hadn't even been buried yet. Perhaps TV companies had understudies like the theatre did. He really didn't know much about them. 'How is he a better choice?'

  'He'
ll give the series a more serious tone. Nick was always looking to sensationalize the programme, and his vanity was huge. He wanted to be a star. We're not the stars, I used to tell him, the wrecks we find and their history are the real stars, but Nick couldn't see that. I want to make the series more educational; something that is sadly lacking in our dire culture of dreadful reality television shows. The public need to be aware that we have a duty to protect our underwater heritage, and who better to dive with me and take over from Nick than Nathan Lester.'

  Horton just about hid his surprise. Cantelli's pencil hovered for a moment over his notebook. Horton just couldn't see the little squirrel-faced man with the nine o'clock shadow and oily skin being a substitute for the tall, good-looking, charismatic Farnsworth. And Horton didn't think the viewers would go for it either. He doubted Cantelli's daughter, Marie, would be quite so thrilled if her dad came home with Lester's signed photograph.

  Had Jackson chosen Lester because he would make Jackson look more attractive and dashing? Perhaps Jackson had got sick of being the boring one and wanted to have a go at being enigmatic. Had these two men been plotting this when Horton had visited them after Nick's death? Perhaps they had colluded in killing both Collins and Farnsworth. Lester now seemed to have a very good motive for wanting Farnsworth out of the way.

  Jackson rose. 'Now if you've finished…'

  I haven't even begun, thought Horton.

  'Where were you on Christmas Eve night?' Horton asked sharply.

  Jackson hovered above the bed and then sat down again with a heavy sigh. 'At home.'

  'Alone?'

  There was some hesitation before Jackson answered, 'No.'

  So truth won out. Horton noted a slight flush under Jackson's dusky skin.

  'Now, let me guess. You were with Nicholas Farnsworth's ex-wife, Annette Hill.'

  'So what if I was?' Jackson leapt up furious.

  Horton eyed him steadily. Jackson picked up a tie from the bed and began to run it through his hands.

  'Did Farnsworth know about your affair with his ex-wife?'