Dead Man's Wharf Page 8

  Frances Greywell sounded surprised and sceptical. He didn't blame her for that.

  'Yes. But see if you can arrange for me to see Emma as quickly as possible.'

  'OK. I'll be in touch.'

  He sat back, wondering what would happen next, and was thankfully shaken out of his morbid thoughts of a life without his daughter by a brief knock on the door. Lee entered.

  'I've just had a Mrs Collins on the line.'

  Horton groaned silently. He knew the poor woman was distraught over losing her son in that car accident on Christmas Eve. He wasn't being harsh, but he thought he'd dealt with it. 'I told Walters to see her.'

  'He said he hasn't had time.'

  'Did he even call her?'

  Lee shrugged, which Horton interpreted as no. Bloody Walters. But then he had kept

  him rather occupied.

  'She's adamant her son's death was no accident. And there's something else. It might not mean anything, but it is interesting in light of what Walters has told me about your investigations at the Rest Haven Nursing Home.'

  Horton's attention heightened. 'And that is?'

  'Did you know that Daniel Collins worked there?'

  Did he indeed! Now that was interesting. But what was even more remarkable and

  puzzling was the fact that none of the staff had mentioned him.

  SIX

  A Horton headed for the Collins's house with DC Lee, he recalled Angela Northwood saying they were a care assistant down, but she had made no mention that it was Daniel Collins and that he'd been killed in a tragic accident. Of course she had been tired and Mr Kingsway bellowing at her probably hadn't helped. He didn't see how Daniel Collins's death could have any bearing on the deaths of Irene Ebury and her son, but it was another factor that disturbed him about that nursing home.

  He said as much to Lee, then swiftly filled in the gaps that Walters had left out during their twenty-minute journey across the city to Southsea. Pulling up outside a semi detached house facing a cemetery, she said, 'Not the best place to live when someone you love has just died.'

  Horton stifled the usual copper's black sense of humour, which would have drawn the retort, 'Handy for the funeral though,' and climbed out. The rain had eased to a fine drizzle, which a blustery wind seemed intent on tormenting. He let his gaze drift up the facade of the solid, well-kept Edwardian semi, a smaller version of the nursing home in Whitaker Road and about a half mile away, and saw the fresh white net curtains, a polished door handle and neatly tended garden. The gate squeaked as he pushed it back and he steeled himself to meet a mother's grief.

  Mrs Collins showed them into a high-ceilinged and comfortably furnished living room, where the air was heavy with the smell of bereavement. There were no signs that Christmas had been celebrated here, only photographs of Daniel Collins and condolence cards. His eyes fell on the curly-haired little boy holding a trumpet and the teenager on holiday, then recent photographs of a grown man of thirty with dark hair and square spectacles, who was clean shaven with a slightly awkward look about his oval face. Horton could see the resemblance to his mother: a slim lady in her early fifties, with light brown hair cut in a short bob. Her eyes behind her glasses were full of anger, which Horton knew hid her pain. Despite this she looked tired, but not as tired as the middle-aged, balding man sitting quietly in the opposite chair with a bewildered look on his unshaven, lined face. Daniel Collins had been their only child.

  After the introductions and the invitation for them to take a seat, Horton said gently, 'The post-mortem results confirm your son died of drowning, Mrs Collins.' He had quickly reread both the incident report and the post-mortem report before leaving the station.

  'But how did he drown?' Mrs Collins said irritably. 'That's what I want to know and what I want you to investigate. And don't tell me Daniel was drunk, because I don't believe it. Daniel didn't drink. None of us do.'

  But there had been alcohol in Daniel's bloodstream. Not an immense amount according to the autopsy report, which hadn't been conducted by Dr Clayton but enough to take Daniel Collins over the breathalyser limit. He might not have been paralytic, but Horton knew that drink affected different people in different ways.

  He caught Lee's expression and guessed what she was thinking.

  Lots of children lied to their parents, even when they were in their thirties. It was pointless to contradict her. Maybe Mr Collins had tried and given up, though judging by the state of him, Horton thought it was taking all his effort to continue breathing. His heart went out to them. How would he feel if it were Emma? He knew the answer to that by the sickening lurch in his stomach.

  Horton sat forward. Quietly he said, 'What do you think happened, Mrs Collins?'

  For a moment she seemed taken aback. Then there was a minute relaxation in her shoulders, barely detectable, before she was ramrod stiff again. All her grief was being held in and Horton guessed that if she gave into it for just one moment she would be completely overwhelmed.

  'Someone forced him off the road on to the Wharf and into the harbour.'

  'There was no evidence of any other car being involved. No tyre marks, no witnesses.'

  'Doesn't mean there wasn't anyone,' she said stubbornly, flashing him an angry look.

  'And how do you explain the alcohol found in Daniel's bloodstream?' He waited for her to say the pathologist had got it wrong.

  'Someone must have given it to Daniel against his will.'

  'Heather,' Mr Collins stirred himself to speak. His tone was one of weary resignation as though he'd heard this a thousand times already, which Horton guessed he had.

  'Are you saying that someone spiked Daniel's drinks?'

  'It happens.'

  It did. And because Daniel didn't normally drink he could have become drunk more quickly on what other men might have been able to handle. Horton wasn't going to say that though. He wondered if anyone had checked Daniel's movements before the accident. He doubted it. There would have been no cause to, until now. And the only reason he was interested was because of where Daniel Collins had worked and his suspicions concerning Irene Ebury's death.

  'Where did Daniel go on Christmas Eve?'

  Taking her cue that he was treating this seriously, Lee took her notebook and pen from her rucksack, which had been slung over her shoulder.

  Mrs Collins studied Horton for a moment, then took a breath.

  Horton saw the tears in her eyes and the relief on her face. He was glad of his decision to help even if it led to nothing more than confirming this had been a tragic accident.

  Clearly with an effort at holding herself together, she said, 'He went out just after eight thirty and said he would be back before midnight. When he didn't return we were upset, weren't we, Dad?'

  Ted Collins nodded but didn't speak.

  Mrs Collins continued. 'The next thing we know the police are at the door at two o'clock in the morning to tell us our son was dead.' She took a deep breath as her voice quavered.

  Horton left a pause before continuing. 'Did he say where he was going?'

  'No, and I didn't ask. It was his business.'

  'I wish we had,' Ted Collins said quietly.

  'Well, we didn't and that's the end to it,' his wife snapped.

  'Did he call you during the night?'

  'No. He always saw Christmas Day in with us. It was tradition. If he didn't come home, then something must have happened to him. Someone must have prevented him. Even if Daniel had been held up somewhere, he would have rung.'

  She was implying that Daniel must have been held against his will, but Horton thought Daniel could have been so drunk that he had lost all track of time and had forgotten to call home.

  'How did he seem when he left here?' asked Lee.

  Mrs Collins eyes flicked upwards to Lee's. 'Fine.' The word came out in a choke, but she cleared her throat. 'He said, "I won't be long," and that was it.'

  There was a short pause before Lee asked gently, 'Did he have a girlfriend, Mrs Co
llins?'

  Horton watched the couple's expressions. Mr Collins looked sad, and Mrs Collins surprised.

  'No.'

  Horton this time. 'Did he take anything with him when he went out?'

  'Only his jacket.' Mrs Collins frowned, puzzled, as though she was remembering something. Finally she said, 'Now you come to mention it, he did seem a little excited.'

  Horton wondered if that was the benefit of hindsight speaking. 'Did anyone call him?'

  'They might have done on his mobile.'

  Horton could check that with the phone company.

  Mrs Collins added, 'He could have been meeting someone who spiked his drinks and then forced him off the road. Perhaps he was chasing Daniel in another car.'

  'Do you realize what you're saying, Mrs Collins?' Horton asked solemnly.

  'Yes. Daniel was killed by someone. I'm not saying it was deliberate; maybe it was high spirits that got out of hand. But my son was killed and not accidentally, and I won't rest until someone takes notice of me and does something about it,' she finished defiantly, glaring at him.

  OK, thought Horton, holding her gaze. She could be right.

  'We'll need some details and to look at his room,' he replied firmly.

  Mrs Collins opened her mouth, maybe to continue protesting, then his words and the tone of his voice penetrated her anger. Her shoulders slumped. The tears began to well up in her eyes. 'You'll investigate?' she stammered, surprised.

  'Yes.'

  'Oh, thank the Lord. Thank you.' A sob caught in her throat and exploded into a heart wrenching cry. The sight of her grief tore at Horton's heart. He rose as Mr Collins put his arms around his wife. She buried her head on his shoulder, and he turned his face into her hair. They cried together. Probably, Horton thought, for the first time since hearing the dreadful news.

  Lee swiftly departed in the direction of the kitchen. Horton tried to shut out their sorrow and instead concentrate on the photographs of Daniel Collins. There was one taken on holiday – Cornwall judging by the rugged scenery and sweeping bay – and another on a small yacht with Daniel in his twenties. He wasn't smiling in either photograph. He looked a fairly studious, solemn kind of man.

  Lee returned with a glass of water.

  Ted Collins took the glass and, easing his wife away from him, said, 'Heather, drink this.'

  She stopped sobbing and took it in both hands. After a sip, she pulled herself up, took a handkerchief from the sleeve of her cardigan and said briskly, 'Tea, Inspector?'

  'Please.' He didn't want one, but he knew that it would give her something practical to do. 'Perhaps Mr Collins would like to show us Daniel's room while you're making it.'

  They both rose. She headed down the passageway to the kitchen and Ted Collins led the

  way upstairs.

  'Tell me about your son,' Horton said, knowing this was going to be difficult for the man, but that it might also be therapeutic.

  'He was a quiet lad, a bit shy, but very caring. He was a qualified nurse, used to work at the hospital until a year ago,' Ted said over his shoulder, as they came out on the landing. 'His mother worshipped the ground he walked on. It's very hard for her.'

  And hard for you too, Horton thought, stepping into a large bedroom at the front of the house with a stone bay window that overlooked the cemetery. It was very neat. The double bed was made and Daniel's clothes were presumably stacked away in the white laminate fitted cupboards either side of a fireplace that clearly wasn't used judging by the small cannonballs that were placed in the hearth. The room was painted cream and there were only a couple of pictures of bland seascapes on the wall, which could have been anywhere in Britain. Nothing remarkable or very personal here. There was a door opposite the cupboards, which Horton guessed led into a bathroom or shower room.

  Ted Collins headed for it and opening it said: 'This was Daniel's lair, as we called it. We had this door put in especially to connect the two rooms, some years ago.'

  Now this was more interesting. Horton stepped into another good-sized room with a single window, once again giving on to the front. His eyes took in and registered the laptop computer on the desk that faced the window. Opposite the door, one complete wall was covered with shelves containing storage boxes of varying sizes from those resembling a shoebox to others that clearly held magazines. They were all labelled. Amongst them was a row of books. On the back wall was a cabinet with a hi-fi on top of it and beside it an easy chair. Horton noted the room's almost clinical neatness, but it was the photographs on the wall that really took his interest. They were stunning underwater pictures.

  'Marine photography was Daniel's hobby,' Mr Collins said sadly but proudly, following Horton's gaze.

  And he had been very good at it. Horton crossed to look more closely at them. One was of a wreck with a shoal of fish in front of it, and the other two were of thick fleshy tube like masses of white and orange clinging to rocks. Some kind of coral, he guessed. His mind flicked to the television divers. Strange that Daniel should also be a diver, but it was not significant as far as Jackson and Farnsworth were concerned. Daniel definitely couldn't have made those threatening calls.

  He turned to see Ted Collins struggling with his emotions.

  'Can you give us a moment? We'd like to look round with your permission and then we'll be down for that tea.'

  'Of course.' Ted Collins halted at the door. 'Even if you don't find anything, I want to thank you. This means a lot to us.'

  'Sad,' Lee said with a sigh.

  Horton silently agreed. He crossed to the computer desk, noting that only the laptop was allowed to despoil its surface. The drawers contained pens, pencils, paper clips, stationery, all very neatly placed. No diary. 'What's your gut reaction?'

  'Daniel Collins could have met his end, just as the report says he did.' Lee opened the cabinet. 'He could have had a secret life away from here. One in which he boozed and whored. He could be a mummy's boy, and the type that grooms underaged girls for sex on the Internet.' Lee crossed to the computer. 'He could have been having an affair with a married woman, or been gay, but whatever we discover – even if it's just the fact he was a secret drinker and couldn't stand another Christmas Eve with his parents – it'll break their hearts again. Despite the connection with Rest Haven, I think we'll find a lover, and one he didn't want his parents to know about.'

  He looked up. 'You really believe that?'

  'It's a strong possibility. There's some expensive camera equipment in here.'

  He crossed to examine the shelves. The boxes were labelled with dates and place names: the Solent, Isle of Wight, Cornwall, Devon, Cyprus, Singapore. They contained CDs, also labelled. Horton guessed they held photographs Daniel had taken whilst diving. Apart from photography and diving magazines, Daniel's reading material consisted of books on underwater photography, photography in general, marine archaeology, and a couple of Clive Cussler novels.

  If there was something going on at the Rest Haven, and Daniel had discovered it, would that have been enough for someone to kill him? Horton wondered. He picked up a novel and flicked through it. It would depend on what it was, he considered. What could warrant taking a man's life, or two lives if you counted Irene? he thought, stashing the book back on the shelf. But then he knew people could kill for something as small as a paper clip.

  Could Daniel have discovered Marion Keynes stealing Irene Ebury's belongings and threatened to go to the police? Could Marion Keynes, and possibly her husband, have plied Daniel with drinks and forced him off the road in order to silence him? He felt cold at the thought. He knew he had to consider it as a possibility.

  Lee was poking around in the desk. 'There's no address book. I guess he kept that on his computer.'

  'We'll ask if we can take it with us, and get Daniel's mobile phone number before we leave. I'd like a record of his calls. Let's have that tea.'

  Heather Collins now looked weary beyond the point of tiredness. Her grieving had begun, leaving her a shell of t
he woman she had been when he had first seen her. He took his tea and sat down, resisting the temptation to look at his watch. Instead he subtly looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was almost two thirty. He wondered how Cantelli had got on with Dr Mason and whether he had also had time to discover what Marion Keynes' husband did for a living. Was it too early for Trueman to have got information on Irene Ebury? And had Ferris or Uckfield found out more about DC Lee? What had Dr Clayton discovered from the post-mortem on Peter Ebury and how was she getting on with Irene's? It was time to get back to the station, but he had a few more questions to ask first.

  'Did your son belong to a diving club?'

  Despite her grief, Mrs Collins looked surprised at his question. 'Yes, the Eastney Sub aqua Club.'