‘Yes, that’s Gregory,’ Patricia Harlow said stiffly, before snatching her head away from the body. Horton saw a flicker of bewilderment in her eyes but that was the only emotion she betrayed and her posture never altered. The lines around her mouth and eyes had deepened, though, gouging tunnels into her pale skin. Her face was etched with fatigue showing she’d had a troubled night, like him, and Eames, he thought, because even her blue eyes weren’t as clear as they usually were. And in the briefing room earlier Uckfield had looked as though he’d been pacing the floor all night. His skin was grey and his manner agitated and sharp. Dean had appeared briefly with a worried frown on his pixie face, while Bliss looked as crisp and cool as usual and the glint in her eye was steelier than ever. Horton read it as determination to grasp victory on one case at least, the vehicle fraud. He’d heard from Walters that they were building a case against the garage proprietor and there was evidence that the van used to rob Mason’s Electricals store could have come from Mellings’ garage.
Horton led Patricia Harlow out of the room. He had hoped that her son would have accompanied her not just for her sake but so that they might glean some information from him about his parents and in particular his father. But Patricia Harlow had said without apology or guilt that she hadn’t told Connor about his father’s death, adding that she would tell him when it became necessary. Horton thought it was necessary now. He could only surmise that she had wanted to make absolutely certain that her husband really was dead before informing him. He wondered what Connor Harlow would say and how he’d feel when he discovered it had been over twelve hours since his mother had first been given the news. Perhaps they weren’t a very close family. Perhaps her son wouldn’t be that upset? Perhaps Gregory Harlow had been a distant father and Patricia a cold-hearted mother, which had made her son uncaring and detached. It was none of his business but the deaths of Salacia and Ellie were.
Eames offered her a drink but she refused with a shake of her head. Footsteps in the corridor came closer and passed them by. It was hot and humid, the air stifling and oppressive, in total contrast from the air-conditioned room they had just left. When Patricia Harlow spoke it came as something of a surprise because they seemed to have been standing in silence for so long, although in reality Horton knew it could only have been a minute at the most.
‘You said Gregory drank himself to death. Is that true?’ She spoke crisply but Horton noted the edge of hardness had gone from her voice.
‘We won’t know for certain until after the post-mortem. At the moment the manner of his death suggests it and that he took his own life.’
‘But why?’ she insisted, eyeing him keenly.
‘We were hoping you might tell us that.’ He held her stare, seeing the anguish in her eyes; should she tell what she knew or not? He felt a shiver of anticipation. Neither he nor Eames spoke. They both knew the fragility of the moment.
After a moment she squared her shoulders and said tersely, ‘Can we get away from here? But not the station. I don’t want to go to the police station.’
‘OK.’
She slipped into the rear of Eames’s car. Horton climbed into the front passenger seat and gave instructions to Eames to pull into one of the viewing spots along the top of the hill, which bordered the northern edge of the city. It was unorthodox and he’d get bollocked because anything she said would be off the record but Horton was backing his instinct. She needed to talk and she couldn’t do that, initially anyway, in the confines of the interview room. It happened like that sometimes. This was a big decision on her part. He didn’t think she would retract what she told them.
A few minutes later, Eames silenced the engine. Portsmouth lay spread out beneath them shrouded in the heat and smog while beyond it lay the pale silver of the Solent. The hills of the Isle of Wight were barely visible.
Horton said, ‘Let’s sit outside.’ He gestured at the wooden table with a bench seat either side of it. He guessed that Patricia Harlow needed air even though there seemed little of it about. He could do with some himself to rid his nostrils of the smell of the mortuary and death. Eames made to remove her notebook and pen but at a sign from Horton left both in her jacket pocket. She slid onto the seat beside him and opposite Patricia Harlow. They waited. The drone of the cars on the road below them and the throbbing of a Chinook helicopter overhead filled the sultry air. Horton reckoned it must have been two minutes before she spoke.
‘She was evil. She deserved to die.’
Horton knew she meant Salacia. He sensed Eames’s excitement beside him and found his body responding to it in a way he’d rather not consider. Not now, not ever. She was strictly out of bounds with her rich and influential daddy. He shut out the smell of her light perfume and the knowledge that her thigh was only inches from his. One tiny movement would bring it into contact. He steeled himself to concentrate on the woman opposite.
‘She killed Rawly.’
‘He killed himself,’ Horton answered quietly, trying to follow her train of thought. Her head came up and he saw the anger in her eyes. ‘Only because the police hounded him. They thought he killed Ellie, but he didn’t, she did. My sister killed Ellie Loman.’
Horton quickly covered his surprise. He resisted throwing Eames a glance and studied Patricia Harlow’s face.
‘That’s who the woman in that photograph is,’ she hastily continued, scorn curling the edges of her lips. ‘She’s my sister.’
The truth at last! It came as something of a shock. The sisters were totally unalike.
‘Sharon Piper’s her real name, or it was. God knows what she calls herself now, called herself.’
‘How do you know she killed Ellie?’ he asked.
‘She hated her. She was jealous.’
Horton was rapidly trying to put this together. ‘Jealous that Rawly loved Ellie.’
‘No,’ Patricia Harlow said bitingly. ‘Although Ellie might have fallen for him eventually, but that was before he showed up.’
Who, for God’s sake? Gregory Harlow? No. Harry Foxbury? Possibly. He could see Eames was thinking the same. ‘He?’
‘Sharon introduced them. My God, if Sharon had known then that he’d fall for Ellie she’d have killed her on the spot.’ She paused then hurried on, the words coming quickly as though she was desperate to get them out before she lost them. ‘My aunt and uncle had a party in May 2001. It was their pearl wedding anniversary. Rawly invited Ellie, and Sharon came with Leo. Any fool could see that Leo and Ellie were instantly attracted and my sister was no fool. Although you already know that.’
Horton frowned. Leo, not Harry. Who the hell was Leo? No one by that name had featured in this case, and he was certain he hadn’t seen the name on the sailing-club list. And what did she mean about them knowing Salacia was no fool?
He said nothing. This had been a long time coming and he needed to hear it. Thank God Eames was experienced and attuned enough to keep quiet.
Patricia Harlow continued, ‘Gregory and I lied to you. We did see Sharon at my aunt’s funeral just as we were going into the chapel. I couldn’t believe it was her at first. I hadn’t seen or spoken to her for years. I didn’t even know where she went when she left Portsmouth but I wouldn’t have been told anyway and I didn’t care.’
Horton wondered what she meant. Why wouldn’t she have been told?
‘When we all left the chapel after auntie’s funeral Sharon had gone. I accused Greg of contacting her but he swore he had no idea where she had been living. It must have been in Portsmouth though because she must have seen the funeral announcement in the local newspaper. It was typical of Sharon to turn up when Aunt Amelia had died, and I knew why; she was after some of her money. There were only two things Sharon was ever interested in, money and Leo. But she wasn’t going to get a penny of Aunt Amelia’s money. Sharon had her share when Amelia was alive; she certainly wasn’t going to get any of it when she was dead,’ Patricia Harlow added with bitterness. ‘And Sharon had squeezed everything she could out of her husband. She married Marcus Piper for his money. He was a successful businessman until Sharon got her claws into him. She bled him dry. I always wondered about his death, although the coroner said it was suicide. He threw himself off his boat in the Solent, leaving Sharon with the house and boat and a nice fat insurance policy that paid up on suicide. After he died in 1996 she went to live in Spain in 1997, renting a villa, and invited Aunt Amelia and Uncle Edgar over for a holiday and that’s when they met Leo.’
Horton noted that her hands were white with tension and her face drawn and harrowed. He wanted to ask her about Leo but he didn’t want to stop the flow. There would be time later.
‘Then after auntie’s funeral Sharon showed up outside our house before anyone else arrived.’
‘How did she get there? Did she have a car?’ Horton couldn’t resist interjecting.
‘I don’t know. I didn’t see. She was standing by the gate. I told her she wasn’t welcome. She said she could see that but she thought it would be best for us to talk otherwise the police might learn something about Ellie Loman’s disappearance. I asked her what the devil she meant. She looked at Gregory and just smiled. Gregory agreed that he’d meet her at the old Tipner boatyard at ten thirty that evening.’
‘His suggestion or hers?’
‘Hers.’
‘Did she say why ten thirty?’
‘No, and I didn’t ask.’
‘Did you see her leave?’
‘No. I went into the house.’
‘Did Gregory follow you?’
‘After a moment,’ she said tightly. ‘I was anxious for the wake to end, it seemed to drag on for ever, and when it eventually did, I asked Gregory what Sharon meant by her threat. He said because he didn’t have an alibi for the day Ellie disappeared Sharon would fabricate something unless we agreed to her demands, which would be giving her Aunt Amelia’s money. She’d make her tale so convincing that the police would fall for it. After all you had before.’ She eyed Horton coldly.
He didn’t know what she meant and before he could ask she continued.
‘I said we shouldn’t go. That we should face it out, but Gregory said it would be him that Sharon would accuse not me and he wasn’t going to risk that. He thought he might be able to come to a compromise with her. I said, “Sharon doesn’t do compromise, she’s a greedy bitch.” He said that if we didn’t meet her then she’d be back. We rowed so by the time he left it was closer to eleven than ten thirty. When he returned home just after eleven fifteen he said she hadn’t been there.’
‘You believed him?’
‘Yes.’
‘How was he when he returned?’
‘Well, he wasn’t covered in blood, if that’s what you mean,’ she retorted derisively before adding, ‘And he wasn’t upset. He didn’t kill her. He would have told me if he had.’
Eames said, ‘Perhaps he wanted to protect you.’
Judging by Patricia Harlow’s expression that was clearly something Gregory Harlow had never done. ‘He was worried she hadn’t been there and so was I. Then you came the next morning and told me she was dead. And now he’s dead.’
Was it the truth? He didn’t know. And if neither of them had killed Salacia or rather Sharon, who did that leave? Were they back to Harry Foxbury again? But there was the photograph that had been found in Woodley’s cell. And there was this Leo.
Eames said, ‘How do you know Sharon killed Ellie?’
‘She must have done.’
Horton said, ‘But if Sharon didn’t kill Ellie Loman and neither you nor your husband killed Sharon, then someone else did. And it’s possible they did so because they also believed that Sharon had killed Ellie.’
Her head jerked up. ‘For revenge, you mean?’ she said, quickly catching his meaning, making him think she might already have reached this conclusion.
He watched her face as the thoughts raced. Clearly there was someone who could have killed Sharon for revenge, only he’d taken a while to do so, perhaps because he’d only recently discovered that Sharon had killed the woman he’d fallen in love with. Leaning forward and lowering his voice, Horton said, ‘Who is Leo, Patricia?’
She eyed him with surprise. ‘But you know who he is. You must,’ she added, with a bewildered expression, gazing at each of them in turn. ‘Leo Garvard was Sharon’s partner. He’s the man she gave up to the police.’