‘He looks familiar but I can’t think why,’ Cantelli said, frowning at the photographs of the victim which Trueman was pinning up on the crime board. The incident suite was packed with people and humming with activity as computers and phones were being set up. In Uckfield’s office beyond the crime board, Horton could see the bulky, squat, shaven-headed DI Dennings and beside him the lean figure of DCI Bliss with her scraped back high ponytail. They were seated at Uckfield’s conference table.
‘Perhaps you arrested him,’ Trueman answered.
‘Maybe.’ But Cantelli sounded dubious and his dark eyebrows furrowed in thought.
Horton studied the pictures. Did he know the victim? Had he seen him somewhere before? Was it that which was troubling him? Maybe, but there was more. He asked Trueman if he’d come across him. Trueman, like Cantelli, had an excellent memory for faces, especially criminal ones.
‘He’s a new one on me,’ Trueman answered, which meant neither man could have arrested him and Horton didn’t think he had either. Clarke’s pictures of the area were also on the board. There were those taken last night under the arc lights and some from this morning which he’d emailed over and Trueman had printed out. Again, Horton wondered why the victim had been there when there was little, if not anything, to attract him to that area. He guessed he could have been looking for somewhere to shelter from the storm but it was a long way off the beaten track. He said as much to Cantelli.
‘Perhaps the place held special memories for him.’
Horton had said almost the same to Guilbert about Evelyn Lyster heading for Guernsey but that had been when he thought she might have committed suicide.
Cantelli added, ‘Maybe he played at the houseboats as a kid or knew the owner.’
‘He didn’t pick a very nice night for a trip down memory lane.’ Horton saw Uckfield rise. ‘Looks as though we’re about to be briefed. Where’s Walters?’ His car had been in the car park but there had been no sign of him in CID when Horton had walked through it to dump his leathers in his office.
‘Where do you think? He said he had better fill up in case it got so hectic that he didn’t get the chance to eat again for the rest of the day.’
‘And knowing how lithe he is we wouldn’t want him to fade away. Talking of which, he’s made it by the skin of his teeth.’ Horton nodded to where Walters’ sixteen stone, flabby frame squeezed into the incident suite just as Uckfield’s door flew open and he strutted in like a senior medic with his entourage behind him.
Bliss caught Horton’s eyes but he made sure to keep his expression neutral and hide his surprise because, for the first time in the thirteen months since she’d taken up her promotion and become the Head of CID, she was wearing something other than her customary knee-length black skirt and black suit jacket. The white shirt was still there but the black suit skirt had been replaced with a grey trouser suit. He wondered what momentous event had occurred to make her discard her habitual wardrobe.
The room fell instantly silent. A red-eyed, cold-filled Uckfield scowled at everyone and asked Dennings to brief them, which he did, giving the bare bones of the case, most of which Trueman had inscribed on the board. Horton hadn’t yet written up his report, a fact that Bliss would probably reprimand him for despite the fact he hadn’t officially been on duty and it had been very late when he’d left the crime scene.
‘Does anyone recognize him?’ Uckfield demanded nasally when Dennings had finished. ‘If he’s been a vagrant in this city then one of us must have moved him on or arrested him for being drunk and disorderly at some stage.’
Everyone looked blank.
Horton now expressed the thoughts that had disturbed him last night at the scene and again a moment ago. ‘He’s not what you’d expect a vagrant to look like. OK, there’s the clothes and his face is heavily lined, especially around the eyes and mouth, as though he’s had it tough, but his skin isn’t dirty, he’s clean-shaven and there was no smell of alcohol on his breath or on his clothes. And I couldn’t see any dirt under his fingernails, either.’
Bliss piped up. ‘Perhaps he hasn’t been on the road long enough to get the grime in his pores.’
‘Then his clothes would be in a better condition.’
‘Maybe they’re not his clothes,’ she rejoined. ‘He could have pawned them and got those he’s wearing in exchange. Or his original clothes could have been stolen by another tramp and he was left those to wear in their place.’
That was possible. But it didn’t explain why they hadn’t found anything belonging to the dead man beside his body, no matter how meagre, except that he supposed the killer could have stolen them. But what would the vagrant have had that would have been worth stealing?
Uckfield blew his nose. Several officers shifted a little further away from him. He addressed Trueman. ‘Do we know who owns the boathouse?’
‘Not yet. We’ve got to wait until the council offices open at nine.’
‘OK, so what have we got?’
Trueman rose and addressed the room. ‘The last bus leaves there at eight forty-nine p.m., which puts it close to the possible time of death. The driver, or one of the passengers, could have seen the victim walking to the rendezvous. The bus company has given me the driver’s name and contact details. She’s not on shift until one o’clock.’
‘Get someone over to her home,’ Uckfield ordered, pushing his handkerchief back in his pocket.
Trueman continued, ‘The last ferry in winter is at seven p.m. from Portsmouth to Hayling and seven ten from Hayling to Portsmouth, so that probably rules out anyone seeing the victim or the killer, unless they met earlier or had met up there on a previous occasion. We’re checking with the ferry company and I’ll get officers down there tonight at the time of the last two crossings. They’ll show passengers pictures of the victim in case anyone saw him loitering. I’ll also get an officer to ask the owner of the mobile café by the lifeboat station if he’s seen the victim around.’
Horton said that he’d detailed Sergeant Elkins to check with the sailing and diving club, the lifeboat crew and the harbour master. He added, ‘We should also check with the staff and students at the marine institute – they often work late and they’ve got CCTV, although the camera only points over the entrance to the building and not the road.’
Trueman nodded. ‘We’ll have a team doing a house-to-house along the upper part of Ferry Road today in case anyone saw the victim walking towards the ferry.’
Uckfield addressed DC Marsden. ‘Is the hostel missing one of its residents?’
‘No, all present and accounted for, sir. I could only give them a vague description of the dead man over the phone but the manager of Millane House doesn’t recognize him.’
Millane House was a forty-five minute walk from where the victim had been found. Horton couldn’t see him having the money to take a bus, and even if he had he wouldn’t have squandered it on public transport. What little he’d had would have been needed to pay for food and drink and maybe alcohol. Equally, if the vagrant had been given a bed for the night at the hostel, Horton wouldn’t have thought he’d sacrifice it, not unless he’d been contacted after being allocated the bed, and even then it would have needed a very powerful motive to make him abandon it.
‘What time do they kick them out in the morning?’ Uckfield asked.
‘Nine o’clock.’
‘Get over there and show the dead man’s photograph around. Take Somerfield with you. She’s been seconded to the Major Crime Team for this investigation.’
PC Kate Somerfield was trying hard not to show how pleased she was. Horton had noted earlier that she was out of uniform and in civvies. He wondered how Bliss viewed that. Although Somerfield was a much lower rank, Bliss tended to view every female as the competition, especially an ambitious one, which Kate Somerfield was. Horton tried not to let his suspicious mind go into overdrive as his gaze swivelled between Kate Somerfield and Uckfield. She was his type: fair, attractive, shapely, under forty and female. But Horton had thought Uckfield’s latest conquest was Alison from the canteen. Maybe he’d already tired of her or was getting greedy and had two on the go, not counting his wife, also called Alison, the former chief constable’s daughter. One day Uckfield would get his fingers burned and ACC Dean would be only too pleased to pin his balls to the wall and cut his libido – and his career – down to size.
Horton suggested they should also check with the Salvation Army. Uckfield added that to Marsden’s and Somerfield’s list. He sniffed loudly, sneezed and glanced at his watch. The press call was due in forty minutes.
‘It looks very much to me as though this poor bugger was shot but until we have confirmation of that from Dr Clayton we say nothing to no one about how he died. Right?’ he barked as loudly as his croaky throat would allow him. Everyone quickly agreed. He swivelled his gaze on to Horton. ‘I want you looking into this reported theft of antique firearms.’ His office phone was ringing. Quickly, he continued, ‘And get over to the mortuary, find out if Dr Clayton’s found the poor sod’s ID sewn in his underpants. DCI Bliss and DI Dennings will work the investigation from here.’ And that, thought Horton, would suit the two of them perfectly – no going out on the streets and getting their hands grubby and an ear bashing from the less salubrious members of the public. Uckfield disappeared into his office, where he snatched up his phone.
Bliss turned to Horton and Cantelli and flapped a scrawny hand at Walters to join them. Addressing Horton, she said sharply, ‘We need to know everything there is to know about those weapons and the likelihood of them becoming active. We’ve already lost a valuable day’s investigation, and a day in which a man has been murdered.’
She made it sound as though it was their fault the guns had been stolen and the victim killed. Her words also implied that he shouldn’t have taken a few days’ holiday and that Cantelli and Walters had done nothing but sit around and wait for his return. Walters didn’t appear upset at the insult because he rarely recognized one when it was given and Cantelli was too used to Bliss’s ways to take umbrage. Horton was tempted to remind her that she had been the officer-in-charge and whatever blame anyone wanted to lay was at her door. But it would have been a waste of his breath because Bliss, like Uckfield, was very good at ditching the dirt on someone else if necessary.
She continued, ‘I want those guns found.’
As if they didn’t. He turned, and with Cantelli and Walters, headed down the stairs and back to CID. He asked Walters to brief him.
Taking a packet of salt and vinegar crisps from the pocket of his jacket, Walters said, ‘The Clements returned from a cruise early on Monday morning and found the property had been entered through a sash window that gives on to a flat garage roof at the front of the house. No prints from the window or from anywhere else, except those of Mr and Mrs Clements.’
‘How did the Clements know the thieves had come in that way?’
‘They said it was the only window that wasn’t double-glazed and it was open when they returned – only a fraction, though.’
Horton considered this. ‘How did the thieves leave?’
‘Through the same window, I guess.’
‘Which they forgot to close after them?’ Horton said dubiously.
‘Maybe they panicked, thought they might be seen and wanted a quick getaway.’ Walters crammed some crisps into his mouth before continuing. ‘They live in Darrin Road, just behind the nine-hole golf course on the seafront. The pistols were kept in a basement room. Loads of old stuff in it, all arty-fartily displayed. Clements claims some of it is worth a fortune. Can’t see why the thieves left it behind unless they were disturbed or thought it a load of old junk, which is my opinion, because most of it looks like the stuff my nan had in her living room on the sideboard, or the crap you can pick up at a car boot sale or junk shop.’
‘What kind of stuff?’
‘Ornaments and the like,’ Walters dismissed vaguely.
‘So it was the pistols they were after?’
‘Guess so. Nothing else was stolen. Vivian Clements claims he set the alarm when he left the house on the nineteenth of December and it didn’t sound when they arrived home on Monday morning at eight fifteen.’ Walters belatedly offered some crisps to Horton and Cantelli, who both declined. With his mouth full, he continued, ‘There are sensors in every room but if anyone heard the alarm they didn’t report it. It’s not linked to the security company who supply and service it – Treadware’s.’
Horton knew them. They had an excellent reputation. ‘Did you contact them?’
Walters nodded. ‘They serviced the alarm in October.’
‘And the engineer is trustworthy?’
‘So Howard Treadware says. Chap called Trevor Lukein. Been at Treadwares for eight years.’
‘But he’d know the code.’
‘Howard Treadware says all his engineers are instructed to tell the owners to re-set the code after the alarm has been serviced. Whether they do or not …’ Walters shrugged. ‘Do you want me to interview Trevor Lukein?’
‘He’s probably out on a job.’ Which could be anywhere in Hampshire or along the coast in the neighbouring counties of Dorset or West Sussex. ‘Call Howard Treadware, find out when Lukein will be in the office or where he’s working today. If it’s local go and speak to him; if not wait until he gets back in the office.’
They turned into the CID operations room where a phone was ringing. Cantelli answered it while Walters, after tipping the dregs of the crisp packet into his mouth, said, ‘Mr Clements sent over the details of the pistols – the serial numbers, full descriptions and photographs. I’ll get them listed on the arts and antiques database and circulate them to all officers to ask around the antiques and junk shops to see if anyone has been trying to pass them off. I’ll also check online to see if anyone is trying to flog them on the Internet.’
And that sort of job was right up Walters’ street because it didn’t involve expending any energy. This sounded as though it was a specialist theft and not your average housebreakers. These thieves had known exactly what was there and were stealing to order, otherwise why leave the ornaments, unless, like Walters said, they were of little value. They probably already had a client or clients lined up for the guns. They might even have already shifted them. It certainly didn’t sound as though one of the guns could have been the weapon used on their victim.
‘What are the Clements like?’ he asked.
‘He’s a pompous little windbag and his wife is timid and nervy.’
Horton couldn’t always go by what Walters said. He would see for himself soon enough. He and Cantelli would interview the Clements after visiting the mortuary.
He entered his office and gave his desk a surprised glance. There wasn’t a single piece of paper or a note on it. Maybe Bliss had cleared it in readiness for a new inspector to arrive. He plucked his sailing jacket from the coat stand and gathered up Cantelli.
‘Why the change in wardrobe?’ he asked Cantelli as they made for the car park.
‘I didn’t think you’d noticed,’ Cantelli said camply, fluttering his dark eyes.
Horton smiled.
Cantelli continued, ‘She was wearing that yesterday, probably in honour of Her Majesty’s Inspector of Constabulary’s visit.’
‘I’d forgotten about that.’
‘Wish I could have done.’
‘Is that why my desk is so tidy? I thought she might have found a way to get rid of me and cleared it. Or that you and Walters had solved all the crimes in the city in my absence and the scumbag criminals had seen the errors of their ways and turned over new leaves.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing. I just shoved your papers in the drawers.’
‘Thanks! Did it go all right?’
‘Must have done because she didn’t bollock us. She told Walters to stay hidden if HMIC deemed to enter CID while he was there.’
‘Given Walters’ appearance I can’t say I blame her. In that suit he’s enough to frighten anyone, unless he bought himself a new one especially for yesterday.’
‘You’re kidding. It’s not a solar eclipse year.’
Horton smiled and stretched the seat belt around him.
Cantelli started the car and pulled out of the station. ‘If the report of that robbery hadn’t come in I think she would have invented or committed a crime to get him out of the way. I was also out when HMIC did his rounds so she had a nice, empty CID room to show him. Not sure that pleased her or HMIC but we’ll no doubt find out in due course. If it hadn’t been for this homicide we’d have known by now. I was about to compliment her yesterday morning on how nice she looked but she gave me her beady-eyed stare so I kept my mouth shut, knowing I was on a hiding to nothing.’
‘She would probably have accused you of being sexist.’
‘Then I’ll tell you how nice you look, sir.’
Again, Horton smiled.
Cantelli indicated on to the motorway into the heavy rush-hour morning traffic making north for the mortuary. ‘How did you get on in Guernsey? And I don’t mean getting called in by John Guilbert to look at a body.’
‘You heard?’
‘Warren told me.’
Horton glanced across at the international port where Evelyn Lyster had caught the ferry to Guernsey. He could see the Condor Commodore Clipper in its dock but the Brittany ferry had already sailed to France. He wouldn’t tell Cantelli that the Ducales had known the Eames family, especially Lord Richard Eames, because he didn’t want to draw Barney too deeply into his personal investigations even though he trusted him not to tell anyone. If Eames was working for the intelligence services, and had been involved in Jennifer’s disappearance and the ongoing cover-up, then Horton wasn’t about to reveal anything that would put Barney at risk.
‘Dead end,’ he said.
‘So where do you go next?’
Where indeed? Maybe that would be down to Eames. He left a short pause before answering, ‘To the mortuary.’