Dead Man's Wharf dah-4 Read online

  'Mind if I take my jacket off, guv?' she said.

  Her accent wasn't local. There was a slight sing-song element to it and he guessed that she was originally from the north of England.

  'You sail?' he asked, as she shrugged out of the jacket, gathering up her sleek raven hair in one hand and pushing it behind her.

  'When I can.'

  Cantelli shuddered.

  'What's the matter, Sarge? Don't you like the sea?' she asked brightly.

  Despite his readiness to distrust and maybe even dislike her, Horton couldn't help approving of her directness and her cheerful manner.

  'Give me dry land any day.'

  'You've got no soul, Sarge,' she teased.

  'Oh, yes, I have, but mine's strictly earthbound.'

  She laughed and Cantelli beamed at her.

  She'd quickly got the measure of Cantelli, Horton concluded. Was that because she'd been briefed? If so, what had her boss told her about him? And who was her boss? He certainly didn't think it was him.

  'Where's DC Walters?' he asked, wondering what Lee would make of the lumbering detective. Walters hadn't returned from the Rest Haven by the time Horton had left the station late last night.

  'He's probably in the canteen,' Cantelli answered.

  'Find him, and ask what he found out from the night staff.' Once his office door was shut, Horton addressed Lee. 'Have you worked in Portsmouth before?'

  'Not worked, no, but I know the area. I often come down to race off Hayling Island.'

  'You're a member of the sailing club?'

  'Look, I'm sorry if I've been foisted on you, guv, but I needed to get back into investigations. I got sick of pushing paper around a desk at headquarters. I've had a bit of a personal problem too — relationship fall-out with a guy I worked with. Nothing I can't handle, but I wanted a change. I'm applying to come back operational as soon as there's a position. My governor knows Superintendent Reine and he said you were short-staffed, so here I am.'

  Horton nodded. 'And your governor is?'

  'Superintendent Warren.'

  She said it without hesitation and without any hint that it wasn't true. Horton hadn't heard of him, but he could check her story.

  'Glad to have your help,' he said, wondering if he was and noting that she had skipped answering a question. She'd told him nothing of what she had done at HQ. He could press her, but he didn't think it was worth it at this stage.

  His phone rang. She made to leave, but he forestalled her with a wave of his hand.

  Horton was surprised to hear Corinna Denton's voice and even more surprised when she told him that Perry Jackson had received another threatening telephone call, this time warning him that if he didn't resign from the programme by the end of the week he'd be dead meat. Why were they persisting in this charade? he thought angrily. Surely they had achieved their aim of getting publicity. The small voice in the back of his mind nagged at him that he could just possibly be wrong. But he'd been around too long and heard too many lies not to smell this one. For appearances' sake, though, he supposed that they had better go through the motions.

  He told Corinna Denton that an officer would be with her in fifteen minutes and rang off. Quickly explaining the situation to Lee, he ended with, 'Get over to the hotel and talk to Jackson. Pick up a guest and staff list while you're there. And ask Corinna Denton for that list of family and friends she was compiling for us. People who know they're staying at the Queen's Hotel.' As Lee reached his door, Horton added, 'Take Walters with you.' He would get the update on the nursing home from Cantelli.

  He watched her go. She walked purposefully, confidently. Then he picked up his telephone and dialled a number. It was answered on the fourth ring with an impatient, 'What?'

  Horton smiled. Ray Ferris had never been known for his courteous manner, but he'd been a whizz at research, much like Sergeant Trueman, who was now with the Major Crime Team and whom Horton would dearly have loved to get working with him alongside Cantelli. 'That's no way to greet a member of the public.'

  'Public? You? Andy, what the hell do you want? I'm up to my armpits in paperwork.'

  'Told you that you should have refused promotion.'

  'And have ended up shovelling shit in CID and having drunks spew up over my best suit? Not bloody likely.'

  'Then stop moaning and give me some information. DC Harriet Lee — what do you know about her?'

  'Never heard of her.'

  'She works in your building.

  'So do another hundred people. What does she do?'

  'At the moment she's seconded to my team, but before that she was pushing paper around like you.'

  'Which department?'

  'No idea. That's what I'd like you to find out.'

  'Why don't you just ask her?'

  'And spoil all the fun?'

  After a moment, Ray said, 'Leave it with me.' And he hung up.

  Horton wondered if Ray would discover the truth or find what he was expected to find. Now for stage two. Uckfield might have heard of, or even know, who this Superintendent Warren was. And he was back from his holiday. So were Catherine and Emma, Horton thought, pushing back his chair, and no phone call from his solicitor yet.

  He made his way to the major crime suite where he found the inscrutable and reassuringly dependable Sergeant Trueman.

  'How are things?' Horton greeted him, with half an eye on the office next to Uckfield's where he could see DI Dennings, with the phone pressed to his ear and a deep scowl on his squashed-up face.

  'It's pretty quiet for a change. Reckon all the criminals are still recovering from too much Christmas pudding. What about you, Andy? I hear you're looking into the death of an old lady at a nursing home. Anything funny about it?'

  Trueman didn't miss much. 'I don't know,' he answered truthfully. 'I just don't like the fact her son has also died — and in prison. Do you remember Peter Ebury, armed robbery, killed a security officer called Buckland?'

  Trueman threw himself back in the chair and nodded. 'I do. Buckland was ex-job.'

  'A copper?' Horton asked surprised. Cantelli hadn't mentioned that.

  'Not for long. He did his probation, but didn't last twelve months after that. He went into private investigations for a while, then turned up as a security officer in 2001, when Peter Ebury shot him.'

  'Did this come out at trial?'

  'I don't know. Crampton was the arresting officer. He retired not long after, in 2002. Buckland's death hit him pretty hard.'

  'Why?' Horton perched on the desk opposite Trueman. They had the room to themselves. DC Marsden must be on leave or on an investigation. Horton hadn't known Crampton, though he'd heard of the name.

  'He and Buckland were young coppers together.'

  'How the devil do you remember all this?' Horton asked, amazed.

  'I remember that case because by a strange quirk of fate I used to live next door to Buckland. I was only a boy, of course, when he was in the police force, but in those days you were shit scared of coppers and my dad used to say if I didn't behave he'd fetch Buckland in.' He gave a sigh. 'You'd think that was enough to put me off going into the police, wouldn't you? Guess I must have liked the uniform. Either that or the power.'

  'What power?' scoffed Horton.

  Trueman smiled. 'Want me to see what I can find out about Peter Ebury?'

  'Cantelli's already requested the case notes.' Horton hesitated, then added, 'But you might want to look into Irene Ebury for me?' If Trueman discovered the connection with Jennifer, then Horton knew he could trust him not to blab about it. He recognized that this decision marked a step forward for him. Until now he'd been almost paranoid about anyone at the station discovering even the remotest scrap of information about his mother.

  'But I wouldn't want to get you into trouble with your boss,' Horton said sarcastically, nodding towards Dennings' office and stifling his feelings of resentment, not without difficulty.

  'He doesn't bother me.'

  No, thoug
ht Horton. Trueman had the measure of DI Dennings — his bark was far worse than his bite and his intelligence way below that of the average retriever. Though Horton recognized that that was his prejudice speaking, tainted with the experience of having worked with Dennings when he was on Vice.

  Quickly he relayed to Trueman what little information he had about Irene and what Marion Keynes had said about her being Miss Southsea. 'See if there's any truth in that, and if you can get hold of any photographs of her.' He was curious to see what she had looked like when younger.

  'Leave it with me.'

  Horton rose, adding, 'Oh, and Dave, keep it between us. I don't want DC Lee, or anyone else, except Cantelli, knowing what you're doing.'

  'Who's DC Lee?'

  'Good question.'

  Horton rapped on Uckfield's door.

  'What?' came a roar.

  Horton interpreted that as the command to enter. 'Nice tan, Steve.' He eyed Uckfield's craggy brown face, wondering how he could ever have trusted this man. Of course, he'd known the extent of Uckfield's ambition from when they had first joined the force together. It had included marrying the chief constable's daughter. But when Uckfield had suspected Horton of murder, and had given Dennings the job on the Major Crime Team, which had been promised to Horton, he'd felt bitterly betrayed. It was a taste that stayed with him.

  'Good holiday?' Horton had difficulty seeing Uckfield's short bulky figure on a set of skis, and was reminded of that photograph of Marion Keynes in a swimming costume. Uckfield in swimming trunks, though, was even harder to picture.

  'What do you want?' Uckfield barked. 'I've got a backlog that makes me think every single bloody crime of the century's been dumped on my desk.'

  'You will go off and enjoy yourself.' Horton sat without being invited. He wondered what crimes Uckfield was slaving over as Trueman had said it was exceptionally quiet. 'Have you heard about DCI Bliss being moved to HQ?' He could see instantly that Uckfield hadn't, and that he was annoyed he hadn't been told. Although Bliss's temporary transfer didn't directly concern Uckfield, Horton knew the big man would see it as a personal slight that he hadn't been informed. 'You've probably got an e-mail about it,' Horton added.

  'Along with five hundred others and most of them junk. It'll take me from now until next Christmas to clear this lot.' He gestured at the paperwork on his desk, which looked even greater than that languishing on Horton's desk. 'What is she doing at HQ?'

  Horton told him. Uckfield had now got his emotions under control and listened impassively. He finished by saying, 'I've also got a secondment from HQ. DC Harriet Lee.'

  'So?'

  'I'd like to know what she did at HQ.'

  'Ask her.'

  'I have. She worked with Superintendent Warren. I thought you might know him.'

  'Never heard of him.'

  Horton thought that Uckfield was telling the truth. 'I'd like to know what department he runs.'

  'Didn't Lee tell you?'

  Evasive. 'Thought you might tell me.' Horton held Uckfield's stare. Before Christmas, Uckfield had been forced to confess that he was having an affair with the constabulary's press officer, Madeleine Dewbury. Horton didn't know if it was still going on and he didn't much care. He wasn't into blackmail, but he was owed a favour, several if he wanted to start counting the times he'd got Uckfield out of the shit.

  After a moment Uckfield said tersely, 'I haven't got time for this.' His phone rang. Horton didn't budge. Uckfield reached for it and hissed, 'I'll see what I can find out.'

  That was two senior officers Horton had enquiring on his behalf. And two people nosing around might just get him a reaction from Lee or even Superintendent Reine, his boss. When you want to ruffle a few feathers, put a couple of cats amongst the pigeons and wait to see what flies out.

  Horton told Cantelli what Trueman had said about Buckland, the shot security officer.

  Cantelli frowned, puzzled. 'I don't remember anyone saying he was ex job, but I might have missed or forgotten it.'

  That was possible but unlikely as far as Cantelli was concerned. 'You worked with Crampton. What was he like?'

  'Fair. A good detective and a good copper. He had a bit of bad luck while he was on the case. His boy got knocked down by a car. He wasn't too badly injured, but I remember Crampton handed the case over to Jempson. By then Peter Ebury was in custody and the case more or less sewn up. Crampton died five years ago. Heart attack. Didn't have much of a retirement, two years.' Cantelli looked troubled. 'And you say he knew Buckland?'

  'So Trueman claims.'

  'He's probably right then. My memory's not as good as it was.'

  Horton scoffed, but he guessed Cantelli had other more personal and pressing things on his mind. 'We'll see what the case notes say.'

  'Should be with us later today. There were a lot of resources thrown at that case, I do remember that. But Ebury and Mayfield weren't on the loose for long.'

  'There was no doubt they did it?'

  'None whatsoever. Caught red-handed.'

  So no claims of being framed there. Horton glanced at his watch. It was about time they left for their appointment with Dr Eastwood. As Cantelli headed towards the surgery, Horton said, 'What do you think of our new team member?'

  'Seems nice. Bright girl too, and energetic. Walters looked a bit shell-shocked when she marched him off to the Queen's Hotel. She'll keep him on his toes.'

  'Pity his poor bloody toes,' Horton muttered, and told him of his suspicions about her appointment.

  Cantelli looked surprised, then concerned. 'But why?'

  'Maybe someone doesn't want us nosing around Peter Ebury's death.'

  'Then why not simply warn us off. DCI Bliss or Superintendent Reine could have ordered us to drop it.' Cantelli dashed him a glance as the penny dropped. 'Bliss did tell you to leave it, and you carried on regardless.'

  'Yes. And Bliss must have gone to Reine, probably to complain about my insubordination, or to ask that I be transferred. But someone must already have been in touch with Reine, probably after we'd started asking questions at the prison, and told Reine to let me run with the investigation. It's not a matter of preventing us from nosing around, but wanting us to.'

  'If there's something funny about Peter Ebury's death, then why doesn't whoever it is — Special Branch or the Prison Directorate — investigate it themselves?'

  Horton stared at the windscreen wipers doing their valiant best to cope with the lashing rain. Cantelli was right. If there was a serious crime being committed in that prison, such as drug smuggling, then declaring Ebury's death as suspicious would mean exposing the prison to the most vigorous investigation, and perhaps someone didn't want that. But that didn't take into account what Dr Clayton might find. If she discovered that Ebury's death was suspicious, then whether the prison liked it or not they'd have to submit to a major investigation. And why let him loose on the case if they wanted it hushed up? No, it didn't make any kind of sense and until it did he'd carry on asking questions. Meanwhile he'd keep an eye on Lee.

  'What did Walters get from the nursing home?'

  'The staff started drinking at ten o'clock on New Year's Eve and not midnight as Marion Keynes claimed, and she was there drinking with them. None of them saw or heard anything unusual, and Walters couldn't find anyone who went to check on Mrs Ebury or Mrs Kingsway all night. Marion Keynes certainly didn't go up there before midnight but she might have done in the early hours of the morning. She returned to her office, after their little party, but no one can be sure what time this was. It was a fairly quiet night patient-wise, or so they claimed.'

  'The poor souls were probably drugged up to the eyeballs,' muttered Horton.

  'You think so?' Cantelli said sadly. 'I'd hate to see my mum in a place like that.'

  Horton had to admit it wasn't the best nursing home he'd come across, but it wasn't the worst either. They still had some questions to ask about it though, and he thought a call to social services wouldn't be out of place.
r />   'No one noticed that Mrs Ebury's drawer had been broken into either,' Cantelli added, expertly manoeuvring the car into a space about the size of a postage stamp, outside a modern building that proclaimed it was the Southsea Health Centre.

  So no help there. They were asked to wait in a brightly lit and well-designed reception that looked more like an architect's office than a doctors' surgery. Horton wasn't complaining about that, or the fact that it was devoid of patients. He hated these places even more than he hated hospitals, and that was saying something. He was just getting impatient when a receptionist showed them into Dr Eastwood's consulting room.

  'Can we hurry this up? I have a list of patients to visit.' Eastwood said brusquely, without looking up from his correspondence.

  Horton remained silent and gestured to Cantelli to do the same. After a moment Eastwood glanced up. He let out an exasperated sigh and threw down his pen. 'What is it?'

  Cantelli said, 'You certified Irene Ebury's death as heart failure. Is that normal with dementia patients?'

  'Not always.' Eastwood frowned at them. Horton held the emaciated doctor's hawkish stare impassively until Eastwood was forced to divert it back to Cantelli. He answered in a brisk tone. 'Usually with vascular dementia, the patient suffers a series of mini strokes, each one getting slightly worse and coming more frequently until the patient is very ill and bedridden. Pneumonia sets in and that is often is the cause of death. Mrs Ebury also had a weak heart.'

  'Did she ever mention her son or any other relatives to you?' Horton asked.

  Eastwood's head shot to Horton. 'No.'

  Horton wasn't convinced it was the truth. 'We'd like to see her records.'

  'They're confidential.' Eastwood's eyes narrowed in his pinched face.

  'It would help us with our inquiries.'

  'Which are?' Eastwood said archly.

  Horton was glad Eastwood wasn't his doctor. 'We are treating her death as suspicious.'

  'You can't honestly believe that! Who would want to kill her?'

  Horton had had enough. He felt anger boil up inside him at Eastwood's scornful tone. Now, let's see how you like this, you string of caustic humanity, he thought. 'For all I know, you, Dr Eastwood.'