SIXTEEN

‘I’m glad it’s you,’ Gaye said, ‘because I might not have been responsible for my actions if I’d come face to face with that oaf who’s supposed to be a detective. Surgery with a sharp knife on some vital parts might have been called for. Want to see the victim?’

‘Might as well, now we’re here,’ Horton answered, hoping the body would look better than when he’d last seen it. It didn’t. In fact, it looked marginally worse, with great ugly stitches across its forehead and up its chest where the mortuary attendant had sewn it back together again after Dr Clayton’s rummaging around inside. Horton tried to equate the body on the slab with the little man he’d seen in the observatory and couldn’t.

The skin was white and smelt just as awful as when the boot of the car had been opened and the gruesome sight exposed, but he again noted that the sea life hadn’t eaten much into the flesh, the result of being in the boot and not in the sea for long.

Dr Clayton said, ‘If you’ve seen enough I suggest we discuss it in more comfortable surroundings, for you that is.’

With relief, Horton and Cantelli followed her into a room off the main mortuary, where Gaye nodded them towards an antibacterial hand wash, while she headed for a sink. ‘Have you traced the next of kin?’ she asked, wiping her wet hands on a paper towel before tossing it in a bin.

‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone,’ Horton answered, eyeing her casually dressed slender figure and finding himself comparing it with Avril’s more shapely and more expensively dressed one. Annoyed with letting lustful thoughts intrude amid two horrific murders, he followed Gaye Clayton into the cubbyhole of an office, where she took the seat behind the desk and gestured them into the two opposite. Sitting back she eyed them keenly and crossed her jean-clad legs.

‘It’s difficult to give you an accurate time of death but in my opinion he was killed late Tuesday night or possibly in the early hours of Wednesday morning. I’d say between eight p.m. and one a.m.’

Which tallied with Hazleton’s call to him on Tuesday evening at twenty-one thirty-five. ‘Was he alive when he was put in the car?’ he asked.

‘The initial evidence suggests not.’

‘Thank God for that,’ Horton replied with feeling.

Gaye added, ‘There is evidence of silt and sea in his mouth, and I need to fully analyse the contents of the stomach to see if it contains large quantities of water and debris, but it’s my belief he died from a severe trauma to the cranium. There’s been heavy internal bleeding and he was struck more than once. In fact, three times, and violently, with something heavy and quite narrow, about two inches in diameter. I can’t say what though. That, along with the fact it’s doubtful he’d fall into the boot of the car, slam it shut and drive it into the sea makes it homicide.’

‘There would have been blood then?’

‘Yes, on the killer and in the location where he was struck.’

And no blood had been found in Hazleton’s house or on the driveway. He could have been killed in the garden but the officer-in-charge of the search hadn’t found any bloodstained weapon while Horton had been there, and if he had after Horton had left then Dennings would have known about it. It was possible that the killer had disposed of the weapon and the rain had washed away traces of blood. Either that or Hazleton could have been killed in one of the bays. Only it had to be a bay with access to a road for the body to have been placed in the car, and Horton hadn’t seen any road leading back from the shore on his exploratory expedition. He hadn’t seen any tyre tracks either. He supposed that Hazleton’s body could have been transported to the Morris Minor, which was some distance away, in something such as a wheelbarrow, but lifting and pushing a lifeless form would take some strength.

‘The forensic examination of the victim’s clothes might help you,’ Gaye said. ‘You might be able to identify seeds, soil or gravel on them which match with the locale. Was there any forensic on the dress found on Yately that could give you an idea of where he might have been killed?’

‘Some sand and gravel but it’ll take at least a couple of days before we get the full results of the analysis. And so far we’ve found no evidence to suggest the dress belonged to either the late Mrs Lisle or Yately’s former wife.’

‘It’s of excellent quality, and the stitching and design indicate it wasn’t bought from any chain store. I’ve had another look at the notes we made of it at the time Tom removed it. I’d say it belonged to a woman the equivalent of UK dress size fourteen, and judging by its length a woman who was about five feet six inches tall.’

And from what Horton remembered of the photographs he’d seen on the mantelpiece in the Lisle household, and the height given for Arthur Lisle, it didn’t sound as though the dress belonged to Abigail Lisle. She was a good deal shorter than her husband, who’d been described as being five-eleven, and Lisle’s GP had confirmed that. They’d check Abigail’s height of course.

Gaye added, ‘As you know there was a faded label on the dress and I managed to enhance a photograph of it. It’s difficult to make it out completely but I did get some letters.’

Horton sat forward keenly, as Gaye handed him a photograph of the dress and one of the label enhanced. Cantelli peered over Horton’s shoulder.

Gaye said, ‘As you can see. It looks like the name Thea.’

Horton’s eyes connected with Gaye’s for a moment as they both remembered the case that had brought Horton into contact with Thea Carlsson, the first woman he’d got close to since his marriage had ended. But it had finished before it had even begun. Thea had returned to her home country of Sweden and had given him no indication that she’d ever come back. With regret he’d been forced to put her out of his mind, but it was Thea who had urged him to continue with the search for his mother and it was largely down to her that he’d made the request to see his social services case files and made contact with Adrian Stanley. Horton wondered if Stanley had managed to say anything more about Jennifer.

‘What’s that?’ Cantelli asked, pointing to more lettering that had been enhanced. ‘It looks like an “O” and an “R”.’

‘I think it’s the name of the label or designer. I’m no fashion expert, you only have to look at me to see that,’ she smiled, indicating her jeans and T-shirt, ‘but the design reminded me of dresses I’ve seen in photographs of my mother. I’d say it dates from the 1970s and that whoever owned it had some money during that decade. They’ve also kept the dress somewhere relatively dry and dust free because it was in good condition.’

If the dress hadn’t belonged to Abigail Lisle then could it have belonged to someone who had gone missing years ago, or who had been killed; a woman the killer had a connection with and so too did all three men: Lisle, Yately and Hazleton. Horton thought he’d check reports of missing women for the 1970s when he returned to the station. It wasn’t something he wished to delegate for fear the background on his personal life would be exposed and he certainly didn’t want DI bloody Dennings trampling all over his past.

Cantelli’s voice broke through his thoughts. ‘I think my sister, Isabella, wore clothes like this. Could I have photographs of the dress and I’ll ask her expert opinion?’

‘Of course; I’ve also emailed it and that photograph of the label to Sergeant Trueman. Hopefully your fashion expert will be able to give you more information.’

Horton hoped so too. He said, ‘How does Hazleton’s death compare to Yately’s?’

‘The method is similar. If you remember Yately was also struck on the back of the head, but the weapon used in his case was much larger, about seven inches in diameter, and he regained consciousness. A single blow to the head is rarely enough to kill someone unless the victim is unfortunate enough to have a thin skull, but several blows can. And it doesn’t always render them unconscious either, but it can make them dazed and confused long enough to be tied up, submerged and finally left to drown, as in Yately’s case. This latest victim was much older, and his cranium considerably thinner, so the same strength of blow could have rendered him unconscious, then your killer finished him off with a few more blows. There’s not much more I can tell you except the victim was very fit and healthy for a man of his age. No signs of living a life of excesses, and no major surgery, scars or tattoos and the like.’

‘Fit enough to climb a steep track?’ Horton asked, thinking of the one that led up from the small bay below the house.

‘Definitely. Sound heart muscles, no clogged arteries or lungs. I doubt he ever smoked and his liver was in good condition.’

Horton rose. He was about to thank her when she said, ‘Are you heading back to Portsmouth? I could do with a lift. Sergeant Elkins has been called away to investigate a boat theft at the Hamble.’

Horton willingly agreed. ‘If Cantelli feels sick on the ferry he’ll have his own personal physician on board.’

‘I might need one,’ muttered Cantelli.

She asked them to wait for her outside while she gave instructions about the body. In the car Horton rang Trueman and asked about the dress.

‘It went to the fashion expert, Dr Louise Adams, this morning.’

‘Give me her number. I’ll call her and see if she’s got anything.’

‘With pleasure. It’ll be one thing off my desk.’

‘That bad, eh?’ Horton rarely heard Trueman complain.

‘Worse. The ACC keeps popping in to ask how the investigation is going, and if I’m not mistaken there might be another murder very soon and very close to home.’

Horton winced. ‘I expect Dean’s trying to impress his new boss. Probably giving him half hourly updates. Have you got anything more on Hazleton’s background?’

Horton nodded at Dr Clayton as she slipped into the back seat. Cantelli started up and headed for the ferry terminal.

‘His father was a fisherman and his mother a housewife,’ Trueman answered. ‘Victor Hazleton was their only child and he went to the local school in Ventnor.’

So no inherited wealth. Perhaps he’d won the pools. But Trueman said not. ‘His bank statements only go back a year but I’ve been given access to his account. He has the state pension but no private pension, and no pension from Wallingford and Chandler, but there have been several large sums of money going in over the years.’

‘How large?’

‘Ranging from a thousand pounds to forty thousand pounds.’

Horton gave a low whistle. ‘Sounds like blackmail.’

‘It would if the sums of money started off small and got larger but they don’t. From what I can see, and we’ve still got some way to go analysing the accounts, they start off large, then the amounts fluctuate. And there’s no corresponding payment going out of Lisle’s or Yately’s accounts. We’ve also got some interesting information on Hazleton’s house. He purchased it in 1990 for one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, which was a lot of money then, when the average price for a house was about sixty thousand. And he paid cash for it.’

‘That’s a fair sum for an office manager to cough up.’ So where did he get the money? The late Harold Jenkins’ estate? Or had he been correct when he wondered if Hazleton had been involved in a high-level smuggling operation all these years?

Horton said, ‘Who handled the conveyance on his house?’ He doubted Hazleton would have used his old firm because if the money had been come by illegally Hazleton wouldn’t have wanted them to know about it. Unless Lisle had done the conveyance and hadn’t asked questions at the time but had since grown curious. Or could Lisle and Hazleton have been into something illegal together? But if they had then Lisle certainly hadn’t lived the rich lifestyle.

Trueman said, ‘A legal firm in Ryde, no longer in practice, and neither is the estate agent he bought the house from. The previous owner is deceased.’

‘Not called Markham or Jenkins were they?’ Horton asked, thinking of that probate file Cantelli had perused.

‘No. Deacon. We’re checking through the telephone records for Hazleton, Yately and Lisle. There’s no record of either Yately or Lisle telephoning Hazleton or vice versa, but there are records of calls between Yately and Lisle, with the last call from Yately to Lisle made the Monday before he died. It was only a short call of two minutes’ duration. Lisle’s mobile phone is pay-as-you-go so we can’t find out who he’s called or who’s called him. The phone is still dead and it hasn’t got GPS so we can’t trace it.’

Horton swiftly told Trueman about the archive box file they’d retrieved with Wallingford and Chandler’s permission. ‘You’d better tell the Super in case Dennings conveniently forgets. The names in the files will need to be checked, especially the late Harold Jenkins’ estate. Was Hazleton ever married?’

‘No, and there’s no personal correspondence in the files we’ve got from his house.’

And there didn’t seem to be anyone around who had really known Hazleton, especially when he’d been a young man.

‘There are also no receipts or invoices for the antiques in his house.’

And Horton couldn’t see why he should throw those away when they would add value to the items, unless Hazleton had come by them illegally.

‘Is the Super there?’

‘Yes.’

On the ferry, Horton finally managed to get hold of Uckfield. ‘I’d like to bring in an expert to tell us something about the antiques and paintings in Hazleton’s house,’ he said as soon as Uckfield grunted a reply. ‘I know someone we can ask. I’ll arrange it for tomorrow and I’d like to come over to hear what he has to say.’

‘Don’t see how that can help,’ Uckfield said tetchily, but when Horton remained silent he grudgingly agreed, adding, ‘Dean’s given authorization for you and Cantelli to continue working on the team until Saturday morning. He hopes by then we’ll have found Lisle’s body or at least evidence to confirm he murdered Yately and Hazleton.’

Horton wasn’t convinced they’d be able to meet that deadline and by the sound of it Uckfield wasn’t either. He relayed what Dr Clayton had told them about the dress. Uckfield said he’d get Marsden to check it out with Rachel Salter.

Horton rang off, leaving either Trueman or Dennings to tell Uckfield about the archive file. He then called Walters, who had nothing new to report on Russell Glenn. ‘You’re lucky you got me, Guv. I’ve been answering the phone all morning.’

‘Anything I should know about?’

‘PC Seaton’s picked up a report of a white transit van seen close to the last house that was burgled which matches with one seen at another of the properties.’

‘Sounds hopeful. Follow it up.’ That also reminded Horton about the CCTV footage of the blue van. He gave instructions to Walters to retrieve the disc from his desk and send it across to the Scientific Services department, then asked for the telephone number of the superyacht. A couple of minutes later, Horton punched it in and asked to speak to Mrs Glenn, announcing himself with his rank.

‘Hello Andy, don’t tell me you can’t make it tomorrow night. I heard about the body found in the sea on the Isle of Wight,’ she said anxiously.

‘No, everything should be fine for tomorrow.’ Of course he wasn’t sure that it would be with regards to the murder investigation, but he was determined to make that charity reception come hell or high water. He had an unscheduled appointment with Russell Glenn.

‘I was hoping you could give me Oliver Vernon’s telephone number. I’d like his help.’

‘On the case?’ she asked, surprised.

‘I need an antiques expert.’

‘Ah. He’s staying on board. In fact he’s with me now. I’ll hand you over. It’s Inspector Horton,’ he heard her say.

Horton swiftly explained what he needed.

‘Delighted to help, Inspector.’

‘Would eleven fifteen at the Hover terminal on the Isle of Wight be all right with you, Mr Vernon?’

‘Fine.’

‘We’ll send a car to collect you. You should be back on the mainland in plenty of time for the charity reception and auction. Can I take your mobile number in case I need to get hold of you or change arrangements?’

Vernon relayed it before handing the phone back to Avril. She said, ‘Is Oliver allowed to tell me about it when he returns?’

‘I’ll let him know. It depends on what he finds.’

‘Of course. Perhaps you’ll be able to tell me all about it tomorrow night, if the case has been solved.’

Horton hoped so but he wasn’t overly optimistic. He toyed with the idea of calling Bliss and updating her on Hazleton but as his death didn’t have any connection with a suspected terrorist attack, and as he and Cantelli were now officially working on the case, he decided not to. He stood for several moments watching the Portsmouth horizon draw closer and the ships making their way in and out of the old historic harbour. The day had clouded over and the wind was picking up. It carried the threat of rain. He was glad they’d made it back before the sea had become too rough, for Cantelli’s sake. As the ferry swung alongside the ancient walls of Old Portsmouth, Horton called the number Trueman had given him for the fashion expert and was pleased when she answered.

‘I was just about to call Sergeant Trueman,’ a pleasant female voice declared.

‘You have some information on the dress?’ Horton asked eagerly.

‘Yes. I wondered if you could call in at the university, Inspector. It might be easier to discuss this in person.’

Horton glanced at his watch. ‘We’ll be there in about forty minutes.’