Tide of Death dah-1 Read online

  'Doubt it, that would mean leaving her precious fuchsias. I know what Charlotte's like about watering her garden, if we go away for more than one day in the summer she starts fretting about her tomatoes.'

  Cantelli was right but it was early days yet and useless to hypothesize until they had an ID; the DNA and fingerprints on the comb might give them that. First though it was the mortuary. Hardly Horton's favourite place, but then whose was it save the pathologist?

  CHAPTER 3

  'Yes, a woman could have done it if she surprised him,' Dr Gaye Clayton said in answer to Horton's question as he stared down at the body on the mortuary slab. The victim had been cleaned up but the battered face didn't look any better than when he'd seen it on the beach. He couldn't identify him from the photograph that Mrs Thurlow had supplied either. He would have defied the victim's own mother to identify him.

  'How?'

  He stepped back and turned his gaze on the small, freckled woman in front him. To say Dr Clayton had been a surprise was putting it mildly. He wasn't sure what he had expected but it wasn't someone who looked as if she'd just finished college.

  She said, 'He could have been kneeling, she came up behind him and applied a Spanish windlass.'

  'A what?' asked Cantelli, chewing his gum and studying the body with interest. Horton was always amazed that the mortuary smell never seemed to get to Cantelli.

  'A piece of material is looped around the victim's neck and then tightened with a stick, like a tourniquet. If it's done quickly enough and the victim is a relatively weak person then it's possible.'

  Cantelli said, 'Then she undressed him? Difficult undressing a dead body.'

  'Yes, but not impossible.'

  'Time of death?' asked Horton, trying to place Dr Clayton's accent. West Country? He could hear Tom, the mortuary attendant, a big, brawny auburn haired man, clattering about in the background whistling a tune from The Sound of Music.

  'There was rigor in the body and taking this into account, the air temperature and the rectal temperature I took at the scene I would say he had been dead about nine hours before he was found.'

  'Which puts it at about nine o'clock last night.' Four days since Mrs Thurlow last saw her husband on Friday.

  'Nine, ten, thereabouts,' Dr Clayton confirmed. 'Not a very pleasant experience for whoever found him.'

  'I did,' Horton bluntly announced. 'I was out running.'

  'Oh.' She gave him a look that was both assessing and curious, which made him feel as if he was lying on the slab.

  'Do you know if he was killed where I found him?'

  'There is significant bruising and scratches on his back and legs. I think he was killed not far from where you found him, inspector, then dragged up the beach most probably to prevent him from being covered by the incoming tide. He wasn't restrained. He was killed quickly. The photographer has taken some images of the marks on the body and I'll blow them up on the computer later and see what I can make of them. The forensic scientist, Jolliffe — is that his name — quiet man all teeth and glasses?'

  'That's him.' Cantelli smiled.

  'He's scraped off a layer of skin for the fingerprints and taken samples of DNA.'

  'Good, we can check that out almost immediately.'

  Jolliffe would feed his information into the National Automated Fingerprint Identification System, which would come back with a result within minutes. DNA would take longer. The sooner they lifted Thurlow's prints from the comb the better.

  'When can we have your full report, doctor?' Horton moved away, pulling off the green gown.

  'If you leave me to get on with my work, some time later today, Inspector Horton,' she answered brightly. 'Tom!' He heard her call as he left. ' We can start now. The nice policemen are just leaving.'

  Outside the mortuary Horton said, 'You didn't tell me she was like that, Barney!'

  Cantelli shrugged. 'What were you expecting?'

  'I don't know, older, stouter, uglier with a moustache…'

  Cantelli laughed. 'She knows her stuff and she can hold her own. I've seen Uckfield try to brow beat her without the slightest effect and you know what he can be like when he gets into his stride. A double decker bus couldn't stop him; if it ran over him he'd still sit up and give it a speeding fine.'

  The corridor back into the main part of the hospital smelt of cabbage and disinfectant but even that was better than the formaldehyde of the mortuary.

  'I suppose she's got used to holding her own; it's still predominantly a man's world, or so Kate Somerfield keeps telling me. She should try living in my house,' Cantelli added, dodging a woman pushing a grumbling elderly man in a wheelchair.

  'I can see she's charmed you.'

  'You've got to admit she's a hell of a lot prettier than old Gorringe was. God rest his soul.'

  'Anyone's prettier than Gorringe, even you, Cantelli. What do you think now that you've seen the body?'

  Cantelli looked thoughtful for a moment. 'It looks like Thurlow, same build, but I can't see Mrs Thurlow bashing his face in like that. Why wait until last night when she could have killed him on Friday night or over the weekend?'

  Horton agreed but he didn't have any answers yet. 'Let's go and check how Brian is.'

  Brian Evans was still unconscious. Horton had a quiet word with the constable whilst Cantelli spoke to Evans' wife, Maureen. It seemed the prognosis was good though, which was a relief.

  Snatching a glance at his watch, Horton nodded at Cantelli, who said his farewells to Maureen and Horton did the same. Soon they were outside but they hadn't gone far when Horton saw, crossing the crowded hospital car park, a slight man, wearing a brightly patterned loose fitting shirt, over long navy shorts. He was limping. Horton could only see the back of him but there was no mistaking who he was. His heart skipped a beat. At first he thought it was an illusion conjured up by his anxieties but no, walking steadily towards a blue Mercedes, was the owner of Alpha One and the man who had ruined his life: Colin Jarrett.

  'Be back in a tick, Barney. Wait for me by the car.'

  'Andy…'

  But Horton was already half way across the car park.

  'Not ill, are you, Mr Jarrett?' he said coolly, stalling him before he could climb into the car. He could see a blonde woman of about thirty five sitting inside.

  Jarrett spun round; his arm in a sling and a plaster across his bruised forehead. A range of expressions crossed his pinched face starting with shock, progressing to puzzlement and ending with anger. He looked as if he was about to explode. His neck muscles bunched and his bloodshot green-grey eyes narrowed with hatred. 'What the bloody hell do you want?'

  You, trussed up like a turkey and served up for dinner, Horton thought, staring at the sharp featured man in his mid forties. He had all the trappings of wealth: the clothes, the car, the blonde well spoken wife, the boys at the Grammar School and a large house on Portsdown Hill, overlooking the city, but he couldn't disguise the fact that he'd come up the hard way, a boy from the streets of Portsmouth. His accent was too pronounced, his taste too ostentatious and his eyes too wary. 'Just enquiring after your health,' is what he actually said.

  'Bollocks.'

  'What happened to you? One of your customers get fed up with paying his exorbitant membership fee and gave you a going over? I almost envy him.'

  'What would you know about our fees?' Jarrett snarled. 'You wouldn't be able to afford a week's rate never mind a year. We're selective about who we let in to Alpha One.'

  'So I've heard.'

  'And what's that supposed to mean?'

  'Whatever you want it to mean.' Horton shrugged as if he didn't much care anyway.

  Jarrett fingered the large plaster. 'If you must know some little toe rag in a stolen Range Rover rammed me at the traffic lights at Horsea Marina, early hours of this morning.'

  'Tch, tch, how very distressing for you.'

  'Yes it was,' Jarrett snapped, his unshaven face flushing. 'And if you lot got your finger out and stoppe
d harassing innocent men and started chasing some real criminals you might actually catch him.'

  'Harassing? Who's harassing? Can't be me because, one, I'm not in the business of harassing and, two, you're not innocent.'

  Jarrett let out a heavy sigh and rolled his tired eyes. 'Here we go again. You won't let up, will you?'

  Horton stepped closer. 'No, I won't. Not until I find Lucy Richardson and get to the truth.' He could smell garlic on Jarrett's breath and the sweat from his unwashed body.

  'Then you'll end up being chucked out of CID, pounding the beat; or picking up your dole money. Take your pick,' Jarrett quipped.

  Horton wanted to ram his fist into his face and wipe the mocking smirk from it. It took a supreme effort not to react. It was exactly what Jarrett wanted and if he couldn't pass this first test then he could indeed kiss goodbye to the job and any chance of finding out exactly what was going on at Alpha One.

  'I run a perfectly legitimate business,' Jarrett continued. 'I've got nothing to hide and the sooner you get that into your thick skull the better. Lucy was just employed by me like any other girl. I have no idea why she decided to go squawking about you unless of course it was true and, like they say, there's no smoke without fire.' Jarrett opened the car door but before he could step inside Horton grabbed hold of it preventing him. Jarrett flinched. It was a small victory but it would do for starters. He wanted to scare this man so shitless that he would have no option other than to come after him. When he did he'd be waiting.

  'I'm a very patient man, Jarrett. I don't care how long it takes, but I will find out what is going on in Alpha One.'

  'Then you'll have a bloody long wait.' Jarrett's eyes flashed with anger.

  'For heaven's sake, Colin, get in,' the woman inside called out irritably.

  Jarrett hesitated fractionally, then climbed in and slammed the door with a clunk. Horton stepped back as the Mercedes sped past him, already Jarrett had his mobile phone pressed to his ear with his free hand.

  Horton grinned to himself as he made his way back to the car where Cantelli, jacketless and chewing gum, was waiting for him.

  'Well?'

  'Well what? I just enquired after his health.'

  Cantelli climbed in the car and Horton followed suit. Cantelli turned to Horton with a troubled expression on his face. 'He's got powerful friends, Andy.'

  He knew that. For a while he and Dennings, from the Vice Squad, had watched Alpha One from the vacant office opposite. They'd seen a prominent councillor enter it as well as one or two respected solicitors and well-known businessmen, and as far as he was aware there was nothing on any of them. He couldn't question them because they'd go squealing to Superintendent Reine, and they would warn Jarrett. It would also be the same with the staff. That left him with two courses of action: one to ride Jarrett as hard as he dared without getting kicked out of the police service, until he forced Jarrett's hand in some way, and the second was to find Lucy and get her to tell him the truth. But where was she?

  On his return to work yesterday, he had checked criminal records. Nothing. She hadn't been picked up on any charges in the last two months since her disappearance. Then he had checked to see if she was claiming social security anywhere; she wasn't. So she had either been paid well to lie about him and was living off the proceeds, or she was holding down a job. If she was, then it was a black economy job because the Inland Revenue had no record of her paying any tax. His guess was that Lucy could afford not to work for some time but when the money ran out what then? She'd be back and he'd be waiting, ready. She'd show up again if only to ask for more money from the man who had paid her to lie. And he knew who that was despite all his protestations of innocence: Colin bloody Jarrett. 'I can't leave it, Barney,' he said quietly. 'Revenge can be a cruel master.'

  Horton shrugged. 'Then I'll take my chances.' He felt the letter in his pocket. His phone rang. It was Walters.

  'The DCI is wondering if you're going to join him for the briefing, inspector,' he said sarcastically. 'That is, if you're not too busy.'

  'Course I'm bloody busy. I'm trying to find out who the dead man is,' Horton snapped.

  'Do you want me to tell the DCI that, guv?'

  'No.' Horton guessed that Walters' interpretation of his remark would be something like tell the DCI to go screw himself. 'We'll be there in ten minutes.' He rang off.

  As Cantelli threaded his way through the city streets Horton let his mind dwell on his chance encounter with Jarrett. There was something niggling him about it. He replayed it, hearing every nuance, seeing every glance and analysing every word. Maybe he was just clutching at straws, hoping he would read some hidden meaning into Jarrett's words or expression? For eight months he'd left the man alone despite wanting to beat the truth from him, knowing that if he did Jarrett would have won and he would have been kicked out of the police service quicker than you could say P45.

  Day after day he had relived every moment of that operation. Night after night he had dreamt of it. He'd even gone so far as to make some notes but he'd ripped them up one night in a drunken rage.

  His mind trawled back through the year. In March Catherine had thrown him out, she'd had enough of his drinking and his rage. In April, after he had continually pestered her, she had stopped him seeing Emma. In May and June he had got so drunk he could remember nothing, only in July had he come to his senses, when the case had been dropped. He'd been cleared on a technicality — Lucy had disappeared. That was about as much use to him as a hairpin in a hurricane. He had promised Steve Uckfield he wouldn't attempt to see Jarrett, or have anything to do with Alpha One. Steve had told him to move on with his life. He had intended to but now he knew how utterly impossible that was. He had always known despite his promises. Portsmouth was a big place, but not big enough for him to avoid Jarrett and vice versa. And his future was too irretrievably linked to his past to forget the man.

  'Drop me at the marina, will you, Barney. I want to collect my bike. You return to the station; get those fingerprints over to the Scientific Services for checking. If Uckfield asks for me tell him I'm on my way.'

  CHAPTER 4

  'What the devil did you think you were playing at?' Uckfield roared.

  I wasn't playing, thought Horton, standing ramrod stiff the other side of the DCI's desk. Who had told Uckfield about his encounter with Jarrett? Not Cantelli, surely?

  'Jarrett's complained to the Super. Says you've been harassing him. Is it true?'

  He might have guessed that Jarrett would go bellyaching right to the top. 'I spoke to him. I don't call that harassment.'

  'Why didn't you ignore him, walk away?'

  'Like you would have done?'

  'Yes, if it meant keeping my job,' Uckfield quipped

  Horton cocked a sceptical eyebrow. After a moment Uckfield let out a sigh and threw himself back in his seat. Running a hand through his hair he said, 'The Super's just waiting for the opportunity to boot you as far away from here as possible, Andy, so why go looking for trouble? I covered up for you, said Jarrett must have misconstrued your words, but I can't keep doing it.'

  Horton remained silent. He didn't like the way Uckfield had said that; he didn't need to be reminded that he owed Steve but it was as if he wanted to rub it in. Still he was right. The Super would probably declare a public holiday if he managed to rid the station of what he considered a rotten apple. Anyone who tarnished Reine's image, and subsequently the prospects of him climbing the greasy pole to the top, was about as welcome as a cold in the head. He'd have to tread a bit more carefully and slow down. All the same Jarrett had presented himself, he hadn't gone looking for him. That being so he wasn't about to look any gift horse in the mouth.

  Uckfield leaned forward. 'I need you firing on all cylinders, Andy, not with half your mind on that tart Richardson and Alpha One. You know I'm up before the promotion board next Friday and there'll be a place on the new Major Crime Team for you if I get it. So let's get this case of our body on the beach solved qui
ckly and find the little bastard that stabbed Evans. OK?'

  'Yes, sir.' At least he wasn't being chucked off the case.

  Uckfield waved him into the seat across his immaculately tidy desk. A large fan whirred gently in the corner behind the DCI but it did little to dispel the mid afternoon heat, which hung over the room like an invisible cloak, suffocating and oppressive.

  Uckfield said, 'So what did you get on Evans's stabbing from Westover?'

  The youth had been reticent to the point of muteness. He had been accompanied by his father and the family solicitor who, between them, had made the boy sound so mild mannered that it made Clark Kent sound like Rambo.

  'He says there were gate crashers.'

  'And you believe him?'

  'Does the Pope believe in contraception?'

  Uckfield gave the ghost of a smile. 'So where do we go now?'

  'We continue interviewing the other kids, the ones we can find, and try and track down the ones we can't. The drug squad are helping with that. I've seconded Kate Somerfield to work with them.'

  'Put Cantelli on it too.'

  'I need him working with me, Steve, on the murder. DC Marsden can handle the stabbing investigation. He's quite capable.'

  Horton saw Uckfield frown. Marsden was the fast track graduate and blue-eyed boy. 'It'll give him the chance to head up an investigation, under my guidance of course. See what he's made of.'

  'I'm not having Evans' stabbing sidelined.'

  'I'm not. I'm just utilising manpower,' Horton replied calmly.

  Uckfield pursued his lips. 'I'm not sure…'

  'Marsden's only waiting to go before the next promotion board. He'll be Chief Constable before any of us.' Horton said tauntingly. Uckfield flashed him a look, which said not before me sunshine.

  'OK.' He stretched back in the chair and clasped his hands behind his head. 'Where are we with our beach body?'

  Horton pulled at his tie. He'd be cooler in a Turkish bath. 'Did you ask Alison if she knows Mrs Thurlow?'

  'She's passed the time of day with her at various flower shows, says she's an expert on fuchsias; me I can't tell geraniums from gladioli. You spoken to anyone in Thurlow's office yet?'