Shroud of Evil Page 8

  Veerman addressed his wife who glanced over her shoulder at Horton before turning back. Brett Veerman said something more then strode past his wife towards the house. Thelma Veerman turned and watched him, looking puzzled rather than upset before looking back to sea. Horton heard her calling to the dogs. Was she crying, he wondered. He wished Cantelli was with him because he had the feeling that Thelma would have opened up to the sergeant; women often did.

  The kitchen glass door slid open. Veerman kicked off his shoes and stretched a hand out to Horton who took it and wasn’t surprised to find the grip firm and dry. Veerman seemed curious rather than concerned or angry. His blue eyes assessed Horton coolly. He looked younger than Horton had originally estimated and possibly younger than his wife by a few years. Or perhaps he’d just worn better. His short dark hair was peppered with grey but in a way that made him appear distinguished rather than older. His face was craggily good looking rather than lined and he was lightly tanned. Yes, Horton could see both patients and nurses falling for this man.

  ‘My wife’s just informed me that the private detective she engaged to discover if I was having an affair has been killed, so you’ll forgive me if I seem a little dazed.’ He pulled off his sailing jacket and placed it on the back of one of the tall chairs at the kitchen breakfast bar revealing a round-necked pale blue jumper bearing a designer label over a checked shirt. His clothes, like those Horton had seen in the apartment that morning, were all of excellent quality. And the height and build of Veerman confirmed to Horton that they had been his. He wondered how Veerman was going to take the additional news that they’d forcibly entered his apartment earlier.

  ‘We’ll go up to my study,’ Veerman said, leading the way into the hall and up the stairs to the second floor, pushing on the lights as they went, which to Horton made the hall look even more stark rather than welcoming. The doors on this floor, like those below, were closed. Horton’s phone vibrated in his jacket pocket but he didn’t look to see who the caller was. Veerman gestured him into a room, which like the kitchen below ran along the breadth of the rear of the house. And just like the kitchen it had glass doors on one side which gave on to a balcony with views across the Solent to Gosport and Portsmouth beyond. The darkening day was punctuated with the lights of passing boats and ferries and the glimmer of those on the mainland. Horton couldn’t see Thelma Veerman in the garden and he hadn’t heard her enter the house – but then from here he probably wouldn’t have done.

  His eyes swept the room, taking in the telescope and a pair of binoculars on top of the cupboard sandwiched between the built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves before noting that the room, much like Veerman’s Portsmouth apartment, was contemporarily furnished, clean and extremely neat. The books gave it some character but even so it still lacked warmth, just like the hall and kitchen.

  Veerman invited him to sit, not at the modern table in front of the windows, but at the easy chairs and coffee table set some distance behind it. As he did, Horton noted a neat pile of papers, the top one showing diagrams and photographs of eyes.

  Veerman sat opposite. ‘My wife might have told you that I’m an ophthalmic consultant surgeon,’ he said, noting Horton’s gaze. ‘I’m not sure how I can help you with your enquiries, considering I was unaware I was being investigated.’ His voice was deep and carried a quiet air of authority about it.

  Horton handed across his mobile phone showing Kenton’s photograph. ‘His name is Jasper Kenton.’

  ‘No. I’ve never seen him before.’

  ‘His car was found parked at the Admiralty Towers car park.’ He hadn’t given that information to Thelma.

  Veerman eyed Horton closely and took a moment before answering. ‘I see.’

  Horton thought he did. If Veerman had shot Kenton in that apartment then he must have scrubbed it from ceiling to floor to get rid of the blood and Horton couldn’t see the man in front of him doing that.

  ‘Do you have your fob to enter the car park, sir?’

  ‘I do. It hasn’t been stolen.’ Veerman reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a set of keys. Amongst them was the black key fob similar to the one that Roger Watling had shown him.

  ‘Where were you last night, Mr Veerman?’

  Veerman crossed his legs but his eye contact never wavered. Horton saw a cool, intelligent, self-assured man.

  ‘At my apartment at Admiralty Towers.’

  ‘All night?’ pressed Horton, knowing from Thelma Veerman that he hadn’t been.

  ‘From nine thirty until I left to catch the last sailing of the night, the twenty-three fifty-nine Wightlink car ferry.’

  ‘You went to Admiralty Towers direct from work?’

  ‘From Queen Alexandra Hospital, Portsmouth, yes.’

  Veerman would know better than to lie about something they could so easily check. But Horton was curious as to why Brett Veerman found it necessary to have a flat so close to where he lived. He asked.

  ‘As you are aware, Inspector, living on an island can be inconvenient at times. I can be on call, operating late at night, or all night if it is an emergency, and I have late-night private clinics. Sometimes there are no sailings to the island when I finish work or I am too tired so I stay in the apartment.’

  It was good but it didn’t fool Horton. ‘I understand that you’ve only had the apartment for three months; what did you do before then?’

  Was that a flicker of annoyance in Veerman’s eyes?

  ‘I stayed at the hospital, or rather in the nurses’ quarters close by. There are some rooms assigned for the doctors’ use. Occasionally I’d stay with a colleague,’ Veerman answered smoothly.

  ‘So why the change of heart now?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Your wife was unaware that you’d bought the apartment.’

  ‘Do you tell your wife everything?’

  ‘I don’t have one.’

  Veerman merely inclined his head. Horton had wondered if Veerman’s instinctive response would have been lucky you.

  ‘Were you alone at your apartment?’

  ‘Of course. Despite what my wife thinks I am not having an affair.’

  Veerman didn’t look as though he was lying, but then he was probably an expert at hiding the truth, having had years of practice cushioning bad news for his patients and avoiding answering direct questions.

  Horton said, ‘Did you see a blue Vauxhall parked in the residents’ car parking area when you left Admiralty Towers last night?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know a Roger Watling, who also lives at Admiralty Towers?’

  ‘I don’t know anyone there. I’m not interested in chatting with the neighbours. The apartment is just somewhere to rest or stay over when I need to.’

  And it had certainly looked that way to Horton. ‘What time did you arrive home?’

  ‘About twelve forty-five a.m.’

  Horton hid his surprise. That wasn’t what Thelma Veerman had told him. She’d claimed that her husband had got home at two a.m. So who was telling the truth? If Thelma Veerman was correct then that gave her husband seventy-five minutes – to do what? Put Kenton’s body in the dinghy? And if that was the case then had Veerman shot Kenton in the car park in Portsmouth, bundled his body into the boot of his car and brought it over? Or had he enticed Kenton on to a boat he kept close by, killed him and brought him to the island to dump there? But there would be time for theorizing later.

  ‘Is that your Volvo on the drive, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  And Volvo estates meant no boot, but the body could easily have been covered by a rug. Horton hadn’t seen any blood in the car park but then he hadn’t been looking for it and Kenton could have been shot some distance away from where his car was parked.

  ‘Did your wife ask why you were so late?’

  ‘No.’ Veerman rose and in a firmer tone said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you, but this man’s death has nothing to do with me.’

  Horton also rose.
He thought it time to tell Veerman about entering his flat. ‘In the course of our inquiries this morning, sir, it was necessary for us to make a forced entry into your apartment.’

  ‘You did what?’ Veerman cried with genuine surprise. Then he added stiffly, ‘You had no right.’

  ‘I think you’ll find we had every right, sir,’ Horton answered evenly, ‘if we believe it might help save an individual’s life or is connected with a crime.’

  ‘You actually thought that I’d attacked this man!’ Veerman cried incredulously. He appeared angry but Horton was getting a gut feeling that this was simply an act. Maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see. He tried to think impartially as Veerman said crisply, ‘I shall make an official complaint.’ He swept past Horton and wrenched open the door. Horton remained where he was for a moment, keeping his steady gaze on Veerman who held it without flinching.

  Horton reached the door before saying conversationally, ‘Do much sailing, Mr Veerman?’ If he was hoping to wrong-foot Veerman then he was disappointed.

  ‘As much as I can,’ Veerman answered stiffly, shutting the door to his study firmly behind Horton and heading down the stairs.

  ‘Been out in your dinghy today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Just out in the Solent, not far. Not that I can see it is any of your business,’ Veerman tossed over his shoulder as they reached the hall.

  Oh, isn’t it, thought Horton. Veerman had the front door open but again Horton paused on the threshold. ‘Do you own another boat apart from the dinghy?’

  ‘No. Now I have—’

  ‘Do you know Lord Richard Eames?’

  Veerman looked taken aback by the question, then puzzled. ‘Yes. Why do you want to know?’

  But Horton wasn’t going to answer that yet. ‘Thank you for your assistance, sir.’ He would like to have asked how Veerman knew Eames but he’d save that for another time. Although perhaps he could hazard a guess. They could belong to the same yacht club and that would be easy enough to check.

  The door closed behind Horton with a solid clunk. There was no sign of Thelma Veerman or the dogs but she could have been anywhere inside the house or in the grounds to the rear of the property. Maybe she’d gone for another walk before plucking up the courage to face her husband, although it was dark now.

  Horton considered what he’d learned and what he’d seen. There certainly didn’t appear to be any love between the Veermans. And if there wasn’t, would Brett Veerman have been angry enough to strike out at a private investigator spying on him? Horton doubted it, unless that PI had discovered something Veerman didn’t want revealed. Was he capable of killing though? Maybe. If the stakes were very high.

  He peered inside the Volvo. There was a rug in the back but nothing visible to the eye that could confirm it had been used to hide Jasper Kenton’s body. He noted the vehicle registration number and when he was in the lane outside, out of sight of the house, he retrieved his mobile phone. The call he’d missed had been from Uckfield. Horton played the message.

  ‘I’ve been called back to Portsmouth for a meeting with the ACC. When you’ve finished with the Veermans get over to the mortuary. Dr Clayton must have something more for us even if she hasn’t finished dissecting the poor sod.’

  Horton turned left and headed eastwards towards civilization, calling Newport station as he went. He requested a car to meet him and take him to the mortuary. Uckfield had sounded terse; that was normal. But the ACC working on a Saturday was not.

  Horton rang Trueman. ‘What’s this about Uckfield being summoned back?’

  ‘Dennings is also on his way back. The Super and DCI Bliss are in with the ACC. And the Chief Constable’s just arrived.’

  So the big guns had been called in and Horton thought he knew why. Lord Eames. It had to be. And he was betting that Eames was keen to keep the news that a body had been found on his property out of the press, but was there more? Had Jasper Kenton been working for Eames, as Horton had posited earlier, a suggestion that Danby had denied and Uckfield had poured scorn on? Had Kenton discovered something that Eames didn’t want coming out?

  He rang off, suspicious and curious. He was, he also realized, hungry. He’d been planning on grabbing something to eat before getting the ferry or Hovercraft across to Portsmouth but both food and the ferry would have to wait. Eating before a trip to the mortuary was never a very good idea. He didn’t know what kind of information Dr Clayton was about to throw at him. He only hoped she’d finished the autopsy by the time he arrived.

  NINE

  ‘Kenton was shot, but not with a gun, with a crossbow,’ Gaye Clayton announced while disrobing to reveal her trim figure clad in faded jeans and a T-shirt.

  Horton couldn’t have hidden his surprise at this news if he tried. He didn’t think he’d ever had a homicide by a crossbow. It was even rare in suicides and accidental deaths. He didn’t insult her expertise by asking if she was sure. He knew she was. His brain raced to assimilate this new information. He thought of Brett Veerman, but the idea of him killing Kenton with a crossbow seemed ludicrous. But it didn’t seem so peculiar when he thought of the beachcomber. God, Uckfield was going to love this!

  ‘Or rather, to be accurate,’ Gaye added, ‘he died of his injuries from a pistol crossbow wound. To put it bluntly he bled to death.’

  She threw her gown in the bin and began to wash her hands, glancing at him over her shoulder. ‘The penetration measurements are similar to those inflicted by a knife or other sharp instruments, but because the wound shape was round I first thought it might be caused by a bullet. But there was no exit wound and no bullet or fragments of bullets internally. So I looked a little closer.’ She wiped her hands on the paper towel, tossed it in the bin and turned to face him. ‘To be precise he was shot with a conical-shaped bolt from a pistol crossbow. It penetrated three inches into the body, severing the main artery and causing massive internal bleeding. The depth of the penetration means he was shot at close range.’

  ‘How close?’

  She stepped towards him until she was standing about eighteen inches away. He gazed down at her, his heart suddenly racing. ‘Sorry about the perfume,’ she said softly and smiled.

  ‘What perfume?’ he answered quietly. The clatter of a mortuary instrument in the room outside sliced through the air and startled them both.

  ‘That’s very close,’ Horton said, drawing himself up and postponing any analysis of his reactions to her.

  ‘I’d say intimate.’

  ‘A woman?’ he asked evenly.

  Gaye moved away. Horton took a breath.

  ‘Whoever it was, it doesn’t appear that the victim lashed out in retaliation. There’s no evidence of skin under his fingernails and no marks or scratches on his body to indicate he tried to defend himself.’

  ‘Would he have been capable of doing so?’

  ‘There’s clinical data that confirms a victim might have the ability to act and survive for a period of time after being shot. He can even remove the bolt from his body – not a good idea, because he won’t know what internal damage has been caused and he could make matters worse. Your victim might have done this after the killer fled, or the killer himself might have retrieved the bolt after the victim fell.’ She headed into the small office behind the mortuary. Horton followed her, finding his pulse unwilling to settle back to normal.

  ‘But someone removed the bolt because as you and Superintendent Uckfield saw, it wasn’t in the body. A removed bolt alters the wound patterns, so too does rapid decomposition, which thankfully in this victim doesn’t apply, but if he hadn’t been found when he had then it would have been impossible to determine what had killed him.’

  ‘Unlucky for the killer that the body was washed up on the shore.’ Or was it?

  She began to gather together her laptop computer and belongings. ‘Maybe, but if the killer’s gone to so much trouble, i.e. stripping the body and then wrapping it up, you’d
have thought he or she would have made sure to dump it far out to sea, or on a rising tide so that it would sink.’

  ‘So he either wanted the body to be found or got careless.’

  ‘Or was disturbed and had to act in a hurry’

  But why on Lord Eames’ property? Because it was remote? Because the killer knew that a rendezvous there would be totally private? Had the killer, possibly the beachcomber, Lomas, drawn Kenton there and killed him with a pistol crossbow? My God he hoped not, because that meant he’d withheld critical information. Or had Brett Veerman moored up on the pontoon in a boat other than his dinghy and left the body there? It was also possible that he could have taken the body there that morning in the dinghy, having transported it from the rear of his car. But where could he have shot him?

  Gaye broke into his thoughts. ‘Are you going back to Portsmouth?’

  Horton said he was. There didn’t seem much point in staying on here. He couldn’t revisit where Kenton’s body had been found in the dark. Besides, Uckfield needed this new information as soon as possible. And the whole team were already in Portsmouth.

  ‘Good, I’ll head back with you.’

  They turned out of the mortuary and into the corridor. Horton offered to carry her computer bag and she gave it over willingly with a smile.

  She continued. ‘I’ve taken photographs of the wound and of the internal injuries. The radiology images might show the path of the wound. I’ll examine those more closely on Monday.’

  Horton didn’t know much about pistol crossbows but he soon would. ‘Could it have been fired accidentally and whoever did it decided to try and confuse the picture when they saw that Kenton was going to die, by stripping him, wrapping him up and depositing the body some distance from where the accident occurred?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Who would own a pistol crossbow?’ he said as though to himself.

  ‘Legally anyone over the age of eighteen,’ Gaye answered.

  But Horton knew that wouldn’t stop anyone of any age acquiring one.