Death Surge (A DI Andy Horton Mystery) Read online

  The crew members confirmed what Masefield had told them and denied knowing Johnnie or ever having met him. Their attitude to him joining the crew was indifference. Apart from being curious about their backgrounds, Horton didn’t think there was any point in questioning them further, but as they left he wondered how Johnnie would have fitted in with such an experience-hardened crew, all of whom were at least twelve to fifteen years older than him. He thought Johnnie a strange choice for Andreadis to send to check out his investment – if indeed that had been the reason, and they only had Masefield’s slightly embittered view on that.

  They met up with Elkins at the entrance to the marina.

  Horton said, ‘We need to find out if Johnnie ever reached Portsmouth.’

  Cantelli quickly caught on. ‘You mean he could have gone missing in Sardinia?’

  ‘Masefield says he left there, but how does he know? How does this Nat Boulton know? Just because he didn’t show up at Oyster Quays doesn’t mean he ever got there. He could have gone missing in London or on the way to Portsmouth. He could have stopped off somewhere to visit someone.’

  ‘But he wouldn’t miss the sailing, and he wouldn’t risk losing his job by going AWOL,’ Cantelli insisted.

  It was out of character, but then Horton hadn’t been close to Johnnie for years. Gently, he said, ‘How do we know that, Barney? He might have been sick of sailing. He might have got tired of working for Andreadis, as Masefield suggested. Or they had a row. He might have been offered another job.’

  ‘But he would have told his mother,’ Cantelli again insisted.

  ‘Perhaps he was meaning to and wanted to tell her face to face and is plucking up the courage to do so. I’m just saying we have to explore every option.’

  ‘Yeah, and one of them could be he’s had an accident,’ Cantelli replied despondently.

  ‘If he went missing before he reached Portsmouth then we need to check out the hospitals in London, assuming he would have flown into Heathrow or Gatwick and caught the train from London to Portsmouth. Ring through to the station and get someone working on that.’

  Cantelli moved away, reaching for his mobile. When he was out of earshot, Elkins, with a worried frown, said, ‘He could have been mugged and his wallet and phone stolen.’

  And if he had been, then three days was a long time to be lying somewhere injured. Horton didn’t like to think it was a possible scenario but he knew it was. ‘I’ll get the details of his credit or debit cards and put a stop on them. If someone has used any of them, or tries to use them, then we might be able to pinpoint where an attack could have taken place.’

  Elkins’ radio crackled. It was Ripley. ‘Do you need me, Andy, only—’

  ‘No, you go.’

  ‘Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.’

  Horton heard Elkins ask Ripley to pick him up at Shepards Wharf.

  Cantelli came off the phone. ‘PC Allen’s working on it.’

  ‘Good.’ They headed out into the street. Horton broached the subject about Johnnie’s credit or debit cards.

  ‘I’ll need to ask Isabella.’

  ‘Before you call her, I’ll speak to Andreadis. Someone who works for him will be able to give us Johnnie’s bank account details and more information on his travel arrangements. That way we might not have to make Isabella any more worried than she is already. I’ll call him from the station.’ Horton knew that the Greek tycoon would need to call back to check he was who he claimed to be.

  Ten minutes later Horton, with Cantelli beside him, was seated at a desk in a small back room of the police station. He punched in the number Masefield had given him and was surprised when the line was answered almost immediately and by Andreadis himself, who announced himself promptly. Horton had envisaged having difficulty contacting him, and Andreadis couldn’t have recognized the telephone number although the UK code might have given him a hint of who was calling.

  Andreadis quickly explained, however. ‘Scott called me to say that you were investigating Johnnie’s disappearance, Inspector, and that he’d given you my number. I’ll help all I can.’ He spoke with only a slight trace of accent.

  Quickly, Horton flicked the phone on to speaker so that Cantelli could hear. Andreadis declined the invitation to call back to check he was who he claimed to be, so Horton began by asking him to confirm that Johnnie had been due to come to Cowes.

  ‘Yes. A crew member took him ashore from Calista in the tender, early on Wednesday morning. A taxi was waiting to take him to the airport.’

  ‘And have you or any of your staff heard from him since?’

  ‘No. My skipper, Nat, made inquiries.’

  ‘How did Johnnie seem?’

  ‘Fine, as far as I know.’

  But would Andreadis know? ‘He wasn’t worried or excited about coming to Cowes?’

  ‘He seemed pleased to be going home to see his family.’

  ‘Was it your idea for Johnnie to come to Cowes?’

  ‘I agreed it would be good for him to spend some time racing with a different crew.’

  ‘So he suggested it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You ordered him to come?’

  ‘I don’t order anyone,’ Andreadis replied with surprise. But Horton thought he caught a hint of hardness in the voice. And he couldn’t see Andreadis making and holding on to his millions without giving orders. He didn’t know much about him, but that could easily be remedied. Andreadis was saying, ‘It came up in conversation. I can’t remember how exactly, but as I wasn’t racing at Cowes this year, and as Scott was representing me, I thought Johnnie would not only be close to his family, but also that Scott would benefit by having an extra team member. Johnnie was very keen to go.’

  ‘So you didn’t trust Scott Masefield and his crew.’ Horton used the word ‘trust’ deliberately to provoke a reaction, and he got one.

  ‘Of course I trust them,’ Andreadis said curtly with a touch of acidity.

  ‘But why put a young man with such an experienced crew? Surely introducing a new crew member so late would unbalance the team.’

  There was a moment’s pause as Andreadis considered the best way to answer this. Horton guessed he was reassessing his original view of him. Andreadis must now know he was talking to someone who knew about sailing.

  ‘OK, so I admit I was curious to see how Scott and the others handled that. In yacht racing, Inspector, crew members can get injured and pulled out at short notice. The skipper and crew need to be flexible, and Johnnie needed experience of being pitched into a team at the last moment.’

  ‘He isn’t a very good team member then?’

  ‘On the contrary, he is excellent, but he’s been sailing with the same team and working with me and the same staff for the last five years. I thought it was time he started to broaden his skills, and as I said he wanted to spend some time with his family.’

  Horton picked up on this. ‘When was he due back?’

  ‘He had a week off after Cowes Week.’

  Horton threw Cantelli a glance. He shook his head to indicate it was the first he’d heard of it. Not that there was anything suspicious in that. Johnnie might have intended to surprise his mother, or perhaps he had arranged to stay with someone else. Who though? A friend? And was he now with that same friend?

  ‘Was there anything troubling him?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  ‘Has he ever disappeared like this before?’

  ‘Never. He’s very reliable and an excellent sailor. He has a lot of talent and a passion for it.’

  ‘There’s never been any illness?’

  ‘No. He’s a very fit young man.’

  ‘How did he travel to the UK?’

  ‘My secretary booked his flight.’

  ‘From where?’

  ‘Here, Sardinia.’

  ‘I’d like the details please.’

  ‘She’s away with her family until Monday.’

  Horton saw Cantelli open his mouth to protest but stilled him with an upraised hand. He knew that Cantelli was thinking someone else could look up the information, or Andreadis himself could obtain it, it could only be a matter of accessing a computer, but obviously that was beyond the scope of a millionaire.

  ‘It is very urgent, sir,’ pressed Horton. ‘Johnnie could have had an accident, and we need to trace his movements to find out where it could have occurred.’

  Again there was a moment’s silence before Andreadis answered. ‘I’ll call her now.’

  ‘We’d also like details of Johnnie’s bank account in case he’s been attacked and his debit and credit cards stolen.’

  ‘That information might take longer to obtain. My finance director is not contactable until Monday. I’ll get Sophia to call you, though. What number shall I give her?’

  Horton relayed his mobile number. ‘I was wondering if you have a recent photograph of him we could circulate.’ Cantelli’s was OK but rather out of date.

  ‘There are many taken during racing. I understand you are at Cowes, Inspector. Why don’t you ask Sarah Conway? She’s a professional photographer who’s taken many pictures of my team, Johnnie amongst them. I’m sure she’ll let you have copies. I’ll also call her and ask her to give you every cooperation.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Into Horton’s mind flashed the image of the woman he’d seen hanging off the edge of the RIB which had cut across his path earlier. Horton hung up.

  Cantelli threw himself back in his seat and said, ‘He’s lying.’

  ‘He’s not comfortable about something, that’s clear, but that might be annoyance because he’s been personally inconvenienced. This is a man who has everything done for him; he doesn’t normally have to bother himself with small matters like staff problems.’

  ‘The more I hear the less I like it.’

  Horton couldn’t help agreeing but he wasn’t going to tell Cantelli that.

  ‘And it doesn’t get us much further.’

  ‘It does,’ Horton contradicted. ‘I’ll get a photograph from Sarah Conway and get it circulated. There’s nothing more you can do here, Barney, so get back to Portsmouth and liaise with PC Allen. Also find out if Johnnie said anything to Isabella or anyone else in the family about staying on here that extra week. Ask Isabella if there was any change in his manner or if he’d ever mentioned being fed up with his job.’

  Mournfully, Cantelli said, ‘I’ve ruined your sailing.’

  ‘No, you haven’t,’ Horton firmly replied, thinking that by now he might have been well on his way to France but he was damn glad he wasn’t. And he was glad that Cantelli had summoned him back, though not for the reason he had. He watched a forlorn Cantelli leave and went in search of the photographer.

  THREE

  He found Sarah Conway in a corner of the marina office hunched over a laptop, drinking coffee and tearing hungrily into a Danish pastry. She looked up distractedly as he addressed her. Her expression quickly cleared as he explained who he was and showed his warrant card.

  ‘Xander said you’d find me.’ She waved him into the seat beside her, quickly removing from it her sailing jacket and camera paraphernalia.

  The Greek millionaire had been hot off the mark; not that Horton was complaining about that – speed was vital if they were going to find Johnnie, and there had been a decided lack of it so far. The seriousness of his tone must have made an impact on Andreadis; at least he hoped so.

  Horton eyed Sarah with interest. Despite the fact he’d glimpsed her hanging over the side of the high speed RIB, nothing had prepared him for her youth and natural beauty. She was much younger than he’d anticipated, about mid twenties, with the most unusual eyes he’d ever seen: pale blue with a darker blue surrounding the iris. She was wearing crumpled white shorts and a light blue T-shirt that had seen better days, no make up and her fair skin was only slightly tanned. Her boyish manner and very short hair reminded him of the pathologist Dr Gaye Clayton, only she was auburn whereas Sarah Conway was blonde.

  ‘Xander told me you’d like some photos of his crew.’ She pushed the rest of her pastry into her mouth as though she hadn’t eaten for hours, managing to make it a sensual gesture rather than a greedy one. Horton suspected she’d sacrificed food throughout the day in order to get some good shots and, judging by what he could see on the computer screen in front of him, they were superb.

  ‘Of Johnnie Oslow,’ he corrected.

  ‘He’s missing, is that right?’

  ‘Yes. Do you know him?’ She had a small piece of pastry left in the corner of her wide mouth but far from being off-putting he found it rather attractive and was suddenly filled with an impulse to reach out and brush it gently from her lips, but he quickly pulled himself up. His business here was serious.

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve spoken to him a few times but I wouldn’t say I know him.’

  ‘Impressions? Thoughts?’

  ‘Seems a nice boy.’

  He suppressed a smile. She could only be a couple of years older than Johnnie.

  ‘Always seemed very cheerful,’ she added.

  ‘And Xander Andreadis? How well do you know him?’

  ‘He’s a client, and a very good one,’ she replied earnestly with a broad grin.

  I bet, and one who pays handsomely. ‘And you must be a very good photographer for him to commission you, and I can see that you are.’ Horton jerked his head at the pictures on the laptop.

  ‘They’re not bad, are they?’ She ran the back of her hand over her mouth, brushing away the remains of the Danish pastry.

  ‘That looks like Scott Masefield and his crew.’ Horton pointed to one of several images on the screen.

  ‘It is. Xander wants a selection of shots from each of their races. They did well today but not well enough for Scott. He’s very competitive, but then show me someone in yacht racing who isn’t! Competitive and mad. Do you sail?’ she asked, eyeing him in a way that he found rather intoxicating. She was a tease and fully aware of her sexual charm. Even if he hadn’t witnessed her in action on that RIB her sense of adventure would have communicated itself to him. She’d be fun to be with, and he hadn’t had fun for a very long time. Neither did he have time now with Johnnie missing. But he found himself saying, ‘Yes. I sail.’

  ‘Thought so, you look the type.’

  ‘You mean laid back and relaxed?’ he suggested, tongue in cheek.

  ‘No.’ She laughed. It was full throated and infectious. Despite himself he found his body responding to it. ‘The complete opposite, I’d say.’

  ‘Mad and competitive.’

  ‘You bet.’

  Once, maybe. But who was he kidding? He still was competitive and maybe mad too, he had to be to pursue his mother’s disappearance. But Sarah Conway’s enthusiasm suddenly filled him with a desire to return to competitive sailing; with whom though? He could enter single-handed races, he supposed … and suddenly he recalled the identity of the man Harriet Eames had greeted so warmly. It was Roland Stevington, one of the most successful single-handed sailors of all time, having won the gruelling Around Alone, and then the Velux 5 Oceans round the world yacht race, and who, he’d read, was gearing up to try for a hat trick. Horton thought he’d prefer to have company though. Harriet Eames? But she was off limits. Dr Gaye Clayton sailed, perhaps he’d ask her. And Sarah Conway? Did she sail? He’d only seen her on the RIB, but he knew she must sail.

  ‘Can you find me a couple of shots of Johnnie Oslow?’ he asked, pushing the thoughts aside.

  ‘Yes, hang on.’ She scrolled through her pictures. He noted there were no rings on her fingers. In fact she wore no jewellery at all. He guessed it would only have got in the way of her job. ‘There he is,’ she cried triumphantly, calling up one picture from a gallery.

  Horton studied the photograph of a confident, bronzed Johnnie Oslow, a white visor shading his eyes. He was wearing navy shorts and a white polo shirt, the same as the rest of the crew, who were all hanging off the side of a white hulled yacht with white sails, racing through a choppy sea that was so blue it almost hurt his eyes. Behind them were about a dozen yachts. Johnnie’s team were in the lead. He was much more strongly featured than Horton recalled from the boy he had taken out sailing seven years ago and who he had placed in the sailing charity, Go About. Although he’d seen Johnnie in January when he’d returned to Portsmouth for his grandfather’s funeral, Horton had only caught a glimpse of him in one of the funeral cars. Horton hadn’t gone to the committal or the wake. But this was clearly Johnnie’s natural habitat, and it showed in his enraptured expression.

  ‘I took these at the St Maarten Heineken Regatta in the Caribbean in March,’ Sarah explained. ‘There were lots of different types of boats racing. I used a long telephoto lens to compress the fleet and slightly blur the background to make the lead boat stand out using a Nikon D200 three hundred millimetre lens … I’m losing you, aren’t I?’ She laughed, then seemed to remember why he wanted the picture. ‘Sorry, I get carried away.’

  ‘Please, don’t apologize. Could you email those to me?’ He could get the station to print them off. ‘And perhaps you could send one to my mobile phone.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He handed her his card.

  ‘I’ll crop into Johnnie on one of them and enhance it; that’ll give you a good close-up shot of him.’

  He watched as she did so, seeing Johnnie’s young suntanned face fill the screen and become more defined. He’d matured a lot in the last seven years. Horton could see, by the set of his jaw, that Johnnie had blossomed under Xander Andreadis’s patronage. He was far more confident, and determination was etched on his dark, good-looking features.

  Sarah emailed the picture to the address on his card and sent it to his mobile phone where it appeared a couple of seconds later. He studied it. It was a very clear image. He’d got what he’d come for and should leave but he found himself lingering.