Killing Coast, A (Detective Inspector Andy Horton) Page 10
‘Dad nursed Mum for three years,’ she said defensively. ‘Since she died he’s found it hard to adjust.’
Yeah, and I bet you haven’t asked him about that. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said gently, sensing Uckfield’s impatience beside him and willing him not to charge in. ‘What was your mother’s illness?’
‘MS,’ she replied tautly and with a finality that said the subject was not open to discussion. And that put any possible affair Yately might have had with Lisle’s wife even further back in time. It was looking more unlikely as a possible motive for Yately’s death with Lisle as the killer.
‘Was your father away over the weekend?’
‘Not that I know of,’ she answered, surprised.
So if Lisle had been given Yately’s keys then why had he waited until this morning to visit the flat and pick up the notes? But perhaps Lisle had been away and hadn’t bothered telling his daughter.
Norris slipped back into the room with a slight shake of his head. Nothing in the shed then. Horton thought of how Yately’s body had been found, in the sea, and said, ‘Does your father have a boat?’
She looked startled by the question. ‘Yes. But he hasn’t been out on it for ages.’
Uckfield looked as if he was about to say, ‘That’s what you think,’ when Horton quickly interjected. ‘What kind of boat?’
‘A Cornish Crabber.’
And Horton knew that was a small day sailing boat, and one that could easily have been used to dump Yately’s body. ‘Where does he keep it?’
‘Down in the bay by the slipway. It’s on a trailer . . .’ Then her dark eyes widened and Horton thought she’d made the leap between his question and Yately being found in the sea. He expected outrage but instead he saw genuine fear for the first time since she’d entered the house. ‘You don’t think Dad’s gone out on it? Not in this weather?’
Uckfield said, ‘We’ll check. What’s the boat called?’
‘Abigail. It was my mother’s name.’
Horton saw her eyes flick to the photographs on the mantelpiece, as Uckfield nodded at Norris, who then slipped out of the lounge. He’d despatch someone to check, but Victor Hazleton’s tales of a light at sea again flashed into Horton’s mind. Could Arthur Lisle have been out on his small sailing boat on Wednesday night killing Colin Yately? But even if he had been he hadn’t dumped the body in the Solent then. For now he pushed the thought to one side and said, ‘Your father owns a computer; do you know what kind?’
‘Isn’t it in the dining room?’ she answered distractedly. ‘It’s a laptop; Dad must have taken it with him.’ She crossed to the fireplace and seemed to be studying the photographs before she spun round and with a defiant stare, exclaimed, ‘This is silly. There must be a perfectly logical explanation for all this.’
And maybe there was, thought Horton. ‘Would your father have sent you an email perhaps to say he’d gone away for a few days?’ he asked.
‘He didn’t.’
Uckfield this time. ‘Does he have a mobile phone?’
‘Yes. Oh, I haven’t called him.’ Alarmed, she reached for her mobile but Uckfield forestalled her.
‘Could you give us his number? We’ll try.’
She looked as though she was about to refuse then stiffly relayed it. Uckfield stepped outside to call it.
Looking anxious, she addressed Horton, ‘Dad doesn’t text. He says he can’t be bothered and he hardly ever uses his mobile. Paul, my husband, insisted on him having one just in case he broke down in that old car of his. Perhaps that’s what’s happened,’ she added hopefully, eyeing Horton as though willing him to say it must be so.
It was possible but he wasn’t going to commit himself. He wondered if Norris had put out a call for it. The sergeant hadn’t mentioned it but that didn’t mean to say he hadn’t.
‘What does your husband do for a living?’ he asked, partly to distract her and partly because he was curious.
‘He’s a builder.’ She glanced impatiently towards the door awaiting Uckfield’s return.
‘Have you any idea what your father uses the computer for?’
She looked bewildered. Clearly Arthur Lisle’s life was as much a mystery to Rachel Salter as Colin Yately’s was to Hannah. Perhaps the son-in-law, Paul, knew more about his father-in-law’s life and interests, thought Horton.
Uckfield returned looking glum. ‘There’s no answer, Mrs Salter. We’ll keep trying. Perhaps you’d call your husband and ask if he’s heard from your father.’
Glad to be doing something she quickly rang him. Horton listened to her side of the conversation, which was terse. The answer was obviously no, but before she could ring off, Horton interjected, ‘Ask him when he last spoke to your father either by telephone or face to face.’
She obliged. Then she said, ‘I’ll call you back later. No, I can’t explain now.’ And she rang off.
‘Paul hasn’t spoken to Dad for about two weeks, but last week he saw him walking into Ventnor and waved and called “hello” from the van. He could have had an accident in that old wreck of a car. He might be in the hospital or lying injured somewhere.’
‘We’ll check the hospital,’ Horton answered. There was only one on the Island so that wouldn’t take long, but perhaps Arthur Lisle wasn’t lying injured; he could be visiting someone and have simply forgotten all about his daughter’s usual visit. He could have got his days muddled up.
‘Is your father in good health?’
‘Yes, excellent, why?’ she asked antagonistically. Then quickly following his drift, added, ‘You think he might be confused, well I can tell you Dad’s mind is as sharp as a razor, and he wasn’t depressed either.’
Horton didn’t pursue it. He didn’t think Lisle had committed suicide; why should he? Unless, he’d killed Colin Yately. He said, ‘Does your father keep his car in a garage?’
‘Yes. He rents one. It’s the middle one in a block of three along the road just before the footpath that leads down to the bay.’
She made no further comment, obviously assuming her father had gone out in his car. Horton interpreted Uckfield’s look to keep silent.
‘If he gets in touch, please let us know immediately.’ Uckfield handed her his card. ‘Or call the local police. We’ll make sure the front door is secured and then repaired, and we’ll put an officer outside the house and call you the moment we have any news. Meanwhile, if you, or your husband, remember anything about where he might have gone, please let us know.’
She protested that they were making an unnecessary fuss. Horton toyed with the idea that she might be right but he said nothing and neither did Uckfield. At the door Horton asked if her father liked hiking.
‘He used to with Mum, but he hasn’t been for years.’
Horton had the feeling she wouldn’t have known if he had taken it up again and perhaps with Colin Yately. He took down her address which, after she’d left, Norris confirmed was only a few streets away. Horton thought it a little unusual that although she lived close by she seemed to visit her father rarely and know so little about him. But perhaps Arthur Lisle liked it that way. Perhaps it was all Rachel Salter could do to bring herself to visit him once a week because she disliked her father or was afraid of him. Horton hadn’t got that impression but then Rachel Salter could be putting on a good front. They hadn’t asked her about Lisle’s personality, because there was no need to at this stage, and they hadn’t asked her about the dress found on Yately’s body.
They watched her climb into a new Land Rover and drive away. He was glad she hadn’t insisted on accompanying them to the garage.
Raising his collar against the rain, Uckfield said, ‘Lisle’s mobile’s completely dead. It didn’t ring as I told the daughter, she’ll discover that soon enough, which means he’s ditched it.’
‘Or it’s been damaged in an accident,’ suggested Horton.
Norris was hurrying towards them. ‘The boat’s still in the bay. Do you want it taken away for forensic examination?’
Uckfield said, ‘Put a tarpaulin over it for now.’
Norris nodded and added, ‘The old lady opposite says Lisle has been at a loss since his wife died eighteen months ago, but that he seemed a lot brighter of late. She saw him leave the house this morning at about nine fifteen. She hasn’t seen him return but then she has been out. An officer showed her Yately’s photograph but she claims she hasn’t seen him. She says that she doesn’t think Lisle has had any visitors since his wife died, except his daughter who comes every Tuesday evening. There’s a son who lives in Singapore.’
And Lisle hadn’t left for Singapore because he would have needed his passport. Horton wondered why the Salters didn’t bring their children to visit of a weekend or in the holidays. And why Rachel hadn’t mentioned her brother. Perhaps they simply weren’t a close-knit family.
To Uckfield, Horton said, ‘There’s no evidence to suggest Lisle has anything to do with Yately’s death. His phone could be broken and he could have forgotten his daughter comes on Tuesday, or perhaps he emailed her and she simply hasn’t read her messages.’
‘Well I’m not taking any chances. He’s slipped through our fingers once, he’s not going to do so again.’
Horton took Uckfield’s barbed comment in silence.
Uckfield addressed Norris. ‘We need Lisle’s movements from last Wednesday evening through to this morning. Check specifically if anyone saw him over the weekend. I’d like to know why he didn’t collect Yately’s notes before today.’ Norris made to leave when Uckfield forestalled him. ‘Before you do, let’s take a look in this garage. Bring the bolt cutters.’
The garage was a short distance down the road. As they headed for it Horton silently speculated on what they might discover. He saw no reason to suggest that Lisle could have taken his own life, unless he had killed Colin Yately and, filled with remorse, he’d decided he couldn’t live with the guilt. If that were so then would Lisle be slumped in his car with a hose pipe running from the exhaust, clutching his laptop computer?
The padlock was secure and there was no sign or smell of exhaust fumes. So it was unlikely they would find Lisle inside, but Horton’s heart quickened a little as the padlock snapped and he lifted the handle and pulled up the garage door. There was no car, and no sign of Lisle, just some old tools, ladders, a bicycle and nothing more.
Addressing Norris, Uckfield said, ‘Check the hospital in case Lisle’s had an accident. Seal off the house and keep a patrol car here tonight, Sergeant. If Lisle doesn’t show up we’ll put out an all-ports alert for him tomorrow morning. Circulate details of his car. Also check with the ferry companies that he hasn’t left the Island. And you’d better check if he caught any of the ferries over the weekend. Call me the moment you get anything. If he hasn’t shown by tomorrow morning, widen the area asking for any sightings of him and we’ll get a team into Yately’s neighbourhood, though God knows where I’m going to get the officers from,’ Uckfield added under his breath, before moving off and turning to Horton. ‘Sergeant Trueman will get a search warrant for the house and I’ll send DI Dennings over with DC Marsden to supervise it and handle things this end. Meanwhile, Trueman continues digging on Yately’s background and I’ll see if Wonder Boy will condescend to give me more officers.’
On the ferry Horton called Taylor for an update while Uckfield went up on deck to make his calls. Taylor reported that nothing surprising had been discovered in Yately’s flat: no blood, no bits of skin or bone. And his findings confirmed that Yately hadn’t been killed there. Horton hoped the analysis of Yately’s skin taken from the body by Dr Clayton might reveal something about where he had been killed, though he wasn’t overly optimistic.
Uckfield threw himself in the seat opposite Horton. He didn’t need to be a mind reader to know the results of the Super’s call. He could see by Uckfield’s dark countenance that his plea for more staff had again fallen on deaf ears.
‘I work with what I’ve got, which doesn’t include you and CID,’ Uckfield growled. ‘Dean says you’re needed to make sure Russell Glenn’s visit here on his superyacht goes without a hitch. Who the bloody hell is he?’
‘A billionaire.’
‘Oh, well that’s all right then, knocks poor old postie Colin Yately into a cocked hat,’ Uckfield replied with bitter sarcasm.
Horton agreed with the big man’s sentiments. Protecting property and the wealthy always got top priority, and when they were combined there was no contest.
Gruffly, Uckfield added that Trueman had confirmed that the man they’d seen visiting Margaret Yately was Phillip Gunville. No form.
‘What’s his occupation?’ asked Horton.
‘No idea. Does it matter?’
‘Probably not.’
Horton stayed long enough at the station to check the messages on his desk for any that were urgent. None were, although others might disagree. He didn’t bother to check his emails to see what Bliss might have sent him. Collecting his jacket and helmet he headed for Oyster Quays for something to eat, telling himself that he could have gone somewhere else for food or back to his boat, knowing he was half hoping to bump into or see Avril Glenn on the deck of her floating palace.
He parked in a side street near the Isle of Wight ferry terminal and walked through to Oyster Quays, heading in the direction of an Indian restaurant he knew well, while turning over in his mind the facts of Colin Yately’s death, including the manner and timing of it, the dress he’d been wearing, and the significance of Lisle’s visit to Yately’s flat and his subsequent vanishing act. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a still, chilly evening. Would Lisle show up bewildered about the fuss over his dead friend or was he their brutal killer? Horton wondered, pausing to glance at the superyacht. It showed no signs of life. His eyes travelled beyond it across the water to the lights of Gosport before walking on towards the restaurant. Perhaps Neanderthal man would have a breakthrough tomorrow and claim a result. Horton didn’t much care for Dennings crowing over him, but if it meant a callous killer was caught then he’d live with it.
He made to push open the door of the restaurant when he caught sight of a couple in the far right-hand corner. Quickly he stepped back into the shadows where he could study them without being seen. Their heads were bent low across the table but Horton recognized them instantly. There was no reason why Mike Danby shouldn’t be enjoying an Indian meal but it was who he was with that surprised Horton. He wondered if the raven-haired Chinese detective, DCI Harriet Lee of the Intelligence Directorate, was there of her own accord, and simply enjoying a meal with a friend or lover, or was she on duty? If the latter, did it mean that the Intelligence Directorate suspected something was going to go down on Glenn’s superyacht, such as an armed robbery, hence Dean’s reluctance to give Uckfield more staff? God, he hoped not. And if Sawyer believed that then why hadn’t CID and the Major Crime Team been informed? Dean had said nothing about that to Uckfield.
Horton turned away, mulling this over. There was another possibility, one that fitted more neatly in with the need for the Intelligence Directorate to keep their cards close to their chests, and that was Detective Chief Superintendent Sawyer was interested in Russell Glenn. If so, it had to mean that Glenn was mixed up in something illegal with international implications. But if he was then why risk coming here? Had it been just to please Avril?
Glenn travelled the world and probably had some shady business dealings behind him, but that didn’t mean he was a criminal. But perhaps Glenn himself was the target for an international criminal. Or perhaps Glenn was Zeus.
Horton drew up sharply, causing the person behind him to almost collide with him, earning a ‘Watch where you’re going mate!’
Was it possible? No, Horton scolded himself, walking on. He was becoming obsessed with the bloody man! Zeus wasn’t the only master criminal in the world. But as he entered the pizza restaurant, he couldn’t help recalling that expression he’d witnessed on Glenn’s face. Why had Glenn studied him so intently, and why
had he looked so uneasy? Glenn might not be Zeus but he was certain that Glenn had recognized him. And from where, when and why, Horton intended to discover on Friday night.
NINE
Wednesday
Horton pressed his finger on Adrian Stanley’s buzzer for the second time and waited in the heavy morning rain but there was still no answer. Where was the man, he thought with irritation? Stanley hadn’t mentioned he’d be on holiday or away. But why should he? It was none of Horton’s business what Stanley did with his life, and Stanley thought he’d told Horton everything about his mother’s disappearance or rather everything he wanted to tell him, and that was a different matter altogether.
He climbed on his Harley, gazing around. There was no one in sight, not even the dog walkers had braved the weather on the wet April morning. The Isle of Wight had vanished in the grey mist of sea and sky. There was also no sign of a muddy blue van and no one had been following him. His sighting of it twice on Monday must have been a coincidence, or perhaps the van that had pulled into Gosport Marina some minutes after him had been a different one to that parked along this promenade earlier that same morning. He hadn’t sent the tape over to the Scientific Services department and yesterday he had wondered if it was worth it, but with the memory of Danby and Lee’s heads locked across that restaurant table, and thoughts of a possible raid on Glenn’s superyacht, he reckoned he should do so and soon. One balls-up was enough for one week, he thought wryly, wondering how DI Dennings was relishing his mistake.
He found Walters in the CID operations room munching his way through a packet of Jaffa Cakes, but there was no sign of Cantelli.
‘No idea where he is,’ Walters said, with his mouth full, in answer to Horton’s enquiry. Walters reported that there had again been no further house burglaries, which was a relief, but a two day respite didn’t mean they’d ceased permanently or that the burglars had moved off their patch. He entered his office and flicked on his computer. Soon he was trawling the Internet to find out all he could on Russell Glenn, which was precious little for a man who had amassed such wealth, but what there was bore out what Mike Danby had told him on Monday. Glenn clearly had a flair for building up businesses and selling them at the right time. According to one of the articles Horton found on him Glenn had several properties around the world, namely in Monaco, Switzerland, Hong Kong and America. He no longer lived or owned property in England; probably, Horton thought, to avoid paying taxes. There was little about his childhood or his youth, except that his father had been killed in a dockside accident in Portsmouth, where his mother had been a seamstress, when Glenn was six and they’d left shortly after to live in London. Glenn had left school at seventeen and joined the Merchant Navy. He was reputed to be something of an art collector, hence his contact with Oliver Vernon, thought Horton. He called Walters in.