Horton found Uckfield in the canteen tucking into a very late lunch. He bought himself a coffee, lasagne and chips and took the seat opposite. ‘Guilbert called me.’
‘I’m thinking of getting some beta blockers to give to Dean. He’ll have a heart attack the way his blood pressure shot up after I told him we’ve got another murder. It’s not doing my blood pressure much good either,’ Uckfield added. ‘Guilbert’s sending over what he’s got on Evelyn Lyster’s death, including the pathologist’s report, but from what he told me it sounds like he’s got sod all anyway so he might just as well not bother.’ He shovelled another fork of cottage pie into his mouth. ‘How did you get on with the son?’
Between mouthfuls Horton relayed their interview with Rowan Lyster and that he’d drawn a blank with anyone from Gravity being able to identify Evelyn Lyster. ‘Freedman could have laced her flask before they left the apartment on Monday morning knowing she’d be on the Condor Commodore Clipper ferry to Guernsey when she drank it. He had ample opportunity.’
‘His motive?’
‘The money she has stashed away somewhere, probably in an account in Guernsey, which was why she was travelling there.’ And Guilbert was still looking for that.
‘So who killed him? Constance Clements?’
‘Or her husband, Vivian, and then she shot her husband.’
‘Why?’
‘To make us think he killed himself. Freedman could have killed Evelyn Lyster not only to get her money but because he was also having an affair with Constance Clements.’
‘So he hopes to sail off into the sunset with Constance Clements only her old man gets wind of it and shoots the lover. When she finds out she shoots her old man for revenge.’ Uckfield pushed away his empty plate. ‘Can’t taste a ruddy thing with this cold.’
‘You don’t seem to have done too badly.’
‘You know how the saying goes: feed a cold and starve a fever.’
‘According to Freedman’s and Clements’ medical records neither man was prescribed beta blockers. We’d need to check Constance Clements’ medical records to see if she was but even if she wasn’t we both know you can pick them up on the Internet. And both Clements and Freedman could have been buying them for themselves for some time.’ Horton had called Gaye as he’d walked back to the station to get more information on the drug.
‘Why the devil would they?’ Uckfield said and blew his nose loudly.
‘Stage fright.’
‘Eh?’
Horton began to relay what he’d learned from Gaye. ‘An article in The Lancet in 1965 explored the use of beta blockers for stage fright and since then they’ve been widely prescribed for musicians, public speakers, performers and even surgeons who have to steady their hands.’
‘Bloody hell. Hope I don’t get one of those if I ever need an operation.’
‘Freedman was a public speaker and a recovering alcoholic – maybe he got the shakes before he was due to give one of his talks. He needed something to steady his nerves and didn’t want to touch alcohol being a recovering alcoholic, but he didn’t want the beta blockers on prescription, or perhaps he thought he wouldn’t be prescribed them anyway so he went down the black market route. Vivian Clements was also a public speaker. Perhaps he got the jitters on those cruises. He certainly didn’t seem to enjoy them very much.’
‘But Clements couldn’t have put them in Evelyn Lyster’s flask,’ Uckfield declared with exasperation.
‘No, but Constance could have given them to Freedman to do so. Cantelli’s with her at the mortuary. There is an alternative theory.’
‘Go on.’
‘Vivian Clements agrees to meet Freedman on the shore because Freedman says he knows that Clements faked the robbery for the insurance money. Constance has told Freedman. Freedman threatens to expose him unless Vivian agrees to meet him. But Vivian takes an antique pistol with him that he hasn’t declared on his insurance. He knows it can still be fired. Perhaps he doesn’t intend using it but wants it so that he can threaten and frighten Freedman. Something goes wrong. He fires it and Freedman dies. Clements returns home in a state of shock and tells his wife what he’s done.’
‘And she kills him.’
Horton nodded and finished his hasty meal. ‘Two problems, though.’
‘Only two?’ said Uckfield sarcastically.
‘I can’t see why Freedman was dressed as a vagrant and why Vivian Clements would go to Milton Common to meet his wife.’
Uckfield rose. Horton followed suit. As they made their way out of the canteen, Uckfield said, ‘The council and the land registry confirm the Ryde penthouse is in the name of Evelyn Brookes. It’s her maiden name. We’re checking out the solicitor and estate agent she used for the purchase. She used her married name for her tax returns. She filed them herself so it looks as though she did her own accounts. My betting is we’ll find a complicated paper trail behind her, especially if she was crooked and canny enough to stash money away in Guernsey and possibly elsewhere.’
‘Zurich, maybe. Have we got any sightings of Peter Freedman for the Monday he travelled back from the Isle of Wight?’
‘We’ve had confirmation he boarded the hovercraft. Two of the staff at the Ryde terminal remember seeing him get on and one of them remembers seeing him alight at this end. He didn’t take a taxi so he must have walked across the common to his flat. It’s not far and at that time in the morning no one saw him enter it. There are no records of any appointments on his computer for Monday or Tuesday.’
‘There wouldn’t be for Tuesday. He spends it at Gravity and, according to Martha, he was there until four p.m.’
‘There’s nothing in his diary for the rest of the week either. So perhaps he deliberately kept it free so that he could travel to Guernsey on Wednesday and get access to Evelyn’s account there, if she has one. But he wasn’t booked on a flight or a ferry.’
‘He might have been intending to turn up on Wednesday morning at the port as a foot passenger and pay cash, just as Evelyn did.’ But Horton was still troubled by the fact that Evelyn Lyster had bought a single ticket. He thought back to his original idea that she intended returning on a private plane or boat with a lover. Would she have had more than one lover? Possibly. Or perhaps it was a business partner, a criminal one, which would explain why he hadn’t come forward. He wondered if Elkins was having any luck asking around the marinas for anyone who had seen her. He guessed not, otherwise he’d have been on the phone to him.
Uckfield’s name was called and Horton turned to see Joliffe, the forensic scientist, all teeth and legs, striding towards them. ‘Looks as though we’ve got the report on Freedman’s coat,’ he said.
They headed up to the incident suite where Bliss glanced up from Trueman’s desk. A frown puckered her high forehead, directed at him, Horton thought, for arriving at the same time as Uckfield and Joliffe. She probably thought they were plotting something behind her back or withholding vital information from her.
Joliffe handed Trueman some enlarged photographs of the coat, which he pinned on the crime board, and Joliffe took up a stance beside it. ‘It’s an excellent example of a British warm greatcoat,’ he said with unusual enthusiasm, which surprised Horton because he was renowned for his lack of emotion on any subject. ‘It’s made from heavy taupe Melton cloth, the name deriving from Melton Mowbray in Leicestershire. The cloth, which was first mentioned in 1823, is a tightly-woven woollen fabric and has a short, raised nap which gives it a fleece-like texture. The heavy Melton fabric is often referred to as Crombie Fleece.’
‘So how old is it?’ Uckfield demanded impatiently.
Joliffe eyed him coldly. ‘It’s double-breasted with six woven leather buttons, an extra button under the collar so that the collar can be worn up when it’s particularly cold, and has two buttons on each cuff. It has two flapped pockets and a breast pocket. The fluff from all the pockets is being analysed. Sadly the cuffs and collar show a little wear but nothing considerable and the brown satin silk lining is worn in places, mainly around the seat and under the arms and it’s torn. The coat has a rear vent and epaulettes and is usually worn just below the knee.’
‘I know what it looks like. I don’t need a bloody description of it,’ roared Uckfield. ‘Just tell us how old it is and who it belongs to?’
Joliffe ignored him. Unfazed, he continued, ‘The style of the British warm greatcoat dates back to the First World War but this one is considerably newer.’
Was that a joke? thought Horton. From Joliffe!
‘It’s difficult to date it precisely but our analysis and that of our textile expert puts it at approximately twenty years old.’
That didn’t mean it had been with the same man for twenty years.
‘It’s a forty-six regular chest. There are several hairs on it which are being analysed for DNA and are being matched with those of the victim.’
‘Victims,’ corrected Horton. ‘It might have belonged to Vivian Clements. Trueman will make sure you have the details.’
Joliffe nodded. ‘There are also some spores and grass seeds on it, which we will examine and try and determine from where they might originate. There are some car oil stains. It will take some time before we have the results of the analysis.’
And even then, thought Horton, it might not tell them much.
‘And that’s it?’ cried Uckfield, exasperated. ‘Hardly worth coming out for.’
Joliffe left without commenting on Uckfield’s remark. He was used to Uckfield’s short temper. Horton asked Trueman if he had managed to check what Freedman had been wearing when he was arrested the final time, when he was sent to prison and when he was discharged.
‘Not a British warm greatcoat,’ came the answer. ‘Or the belt. None of the clothes he was found wearing. And we haven’t found his keys or wallet in his apartment or in Evelyn Lyster’s Isle of Wight or Portsmouth apartments.’
‘They could be in Constance Clements’ house,’ said Uckfield after noisily blowing his nose. ‘Her husband could have taken them off the dead man after killing him.’
Horton’s phone rang. ‘It’s Cantelli.’ He listened for a couple of minutes, then said, ‘OK, bring her in.’ He rang off. ‘Constance Clements has given us permission to search the house but says we won’t find the guns there because they’re in a lock-up on the industrial estate by Portsmouth Football Club.’ It was only a short distance from Milton Common.
‘She’s confessed?’ Bliss said surprised.
‘To the phoney robbery yes but not to murdering her husband. She believes her husband killed Freedman.’
‘And who does she think killed her husband?’ Uckfield said sourly.
‘She says she doesn’t know.’
Uckfield snorted to show what he thought about that. ‘Then you’d better see if you can change her mind.’
Horton joined Cantelli in the interview room. The plastic cup of tea in front of Constance Clements lay untouched with a greasy film on top of the pale brown liquid. Her hands in her lap played with her bracelet. Cantelli had said that she’d been shocked when she’d viewed the body of her husband but not upset. Outside the mortuary she’d admitted that she hadn’t really believed he was dead until she’d seen him, then she’d said quite simply, ‘I can tell the truth now, can’t I?’ And that’s when she had told Cantelli about the guns.
DC Somerfield and two uniformed officers had been despatched to the lock-up while DC Marsden was overseeing a team searching Constance Clements’ house.
‘I’m not sorry he’s dead,’ she said with an edge of defiance, her eyes flicking between him and Cantelli. She’d been cautioned and offered legal representation, which she’d waived. ‘But I didn’t kill him. I’d like to have done, many times. I imagined doing it, especially when he showed me one of his prized pistols, but he said he didn’t have any ammunition for them.’
‘Did you look for some?’
She nodded and looked forlorn. ‘I never found any, though, but I did find that gun you showed me a picture of. The one you say killed him. It was never in his collection room. It was in his study in a drawer. There wasn’t any ammunition with it or in the safe.’
But there had been some somewhere. Maybe she was just saying she hadn’t seen any. ‘When was this?’ he asked.
‘August.’
That coincided with when she’d said she’d last seen Peter Freedman, but again he wondered if it was a lie. Had Freedman told her before she’d left on the cruise that their affair was over and she’d spent the time on the ship planning how to kill him and then to kill her husband? Perhaps the phoney robbery had been her idea and used as a cover to shoot her husband. But that didn’t explain why she’d give Freedman beta blockers to kill Evelyn Lyster. Or why he should be dressed as a tramp.
Horton said, ‘Did you ask your husband about the gun?’
She looked stunned at the question. ‘Of course not. Vivian would have been furious if he’d known I’d been looking in his desk.’
‘You were afraid of him?’
She looked up and said wearily, ‘I just didn’t want another row. I was sick of them. Vivian had the art of turning most of what I said into an argument so I stopped saying anything.’
‘Living with him became like walking on eggshells,’ Horton said, knowing that abuse came in many guises.
‘Yes,’ she answered, surprised that he understood.
Cantelli said, ‘When did it become like that?’
She swivelled her gaze to him. ‘At first it was fine. I thought him knowledgeable and fascinating. Yes, that just shows how stupid I was,’ she added with bitterness. ‘Oh, I thought him a little pedantic but I considered that to be one of his charming eccentricities.’ She shook her head sorrowfully. ‘And he seemed head-over-heels in love with me. I was a fool. I didn’t see until it was too late that the only thing that Vivian was in love with, aside from himself, was my money and I had money, Sergeant. In fact, quite a lot of it by the time I met Vivian at an auction. My business was very successful and my parents had left me a house and a considerable amount. I was their only child. I bought an apartment in Chelsea. That, and my savings, meant I was worth almost two million pounds. Yes, a very tidy sum,’ she added, reading their expressions.
‘I agreed to a joint bank account. I was in love for the first time in my life and thought I was loved back. I’d had affairs but not very successful ones. My lovers were usually married. This time, I thought, no secrets. This is it. Vivian got through all my money pretty quickly. Oh, we bought the house in Southsea for cash and it’s in our joint name, but the rest of our savings, my savings, have gone. He told you we’d both sold our apartments in London but what he didn’t tell you was that he was living in a poky one-roomed flat near Earls Court, which he was renting, and he didn’t tell me that either until after we were married. Even then I said it didn’t matter.’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘I was infatuated and I was sick of being on my own. Vivian didn’t look much but like Peter he could be very charismatic.’
‘Peter Freedman?’ asked Horton, just to be certain.
‘Yes.’
‘You had an affair with him?’
But she looked crestfallen. ‘No. I’d like to have done but I finally got the message that it wasn’t me he was interested in, it was Vivian. Oh, not in any physical or emotional sense,’ she hastily added, ‘but for Vivian’s knowledge of oriental antiquities and guns.’
Horton’s interest quickened. He wondered just why Freedman had been so interested.
She said, ‘We met in Japan. Peter said he was there to study Zen Buddhism. Peter was very easy to be with, a good listener. He made me feel that what I had to say was interesting.’
He would. After all, Freedman was an expert in those kind of techniques.
‘After we returned home I met him a few times. We’d meet in the lobby of a hotel or in a café. He seemed very keen but …’ She faltered.
‘You discovered he was using you?’
‘He asked me about my background, my knowledge of antiques, my previous clients. I told him how much I had enjoyed my business but that Vivian didn’t approve so I’d ceased trading. I’d hoped that Peter could give me the confidence to start it again. I’d come away from our meetings excited, thinking that maybe I could persuade Vivian to let me resume my career, but every time I suggested it we’d end up rowing. He was adamant that I shouldn’t.’
No, thought Horton, he wanted to keep his wife completely under his thumb.
‘I knew something about oriental art and antiques having sourced them for previous clients, but not as much as Vivian knew.’
‘You poured your heart out to Peter and by his clever questioning he got whatever information he wanted from you, including the fact that your husband was in financial difficulties and that he had bought items that were not in his collection or insured, in particular historic and antique guns with ammunition, which should have been declared to the police, like the gun that killed him.’
‘Yes.’ She looked down. Then, taking a deep breath, she put her gaze back on Horton. He could see the pain in her eyes. ‘Vivian took great pleasure in saying how could I possibly believe a man like Freedman would fancy me. He told me what an idiot I was for thinking it and for trusting him.’
And Horton could see that the scars ran deep. Vivian Clements had been a bully. Horton didn’t doubt she was telling the truth. It all fitted, except he wasn’t certain that he believed her when she said she hadn’t killed her husband, and she’d also just given herself a motive for killing Freedman.
She said, ‘You’re right about Vivian acquiring items dubiously. Not all of them were on the open market, hence the high prices he paid. It became an addiction. If there was something he coveted then he had to have it no matter what the price. Money began to get tight but he couldn’t bear to part with any of his collection. I didn’t know how tight. He took out a mortgage on the house and then he re-mortgaged it. Yes, I did sign the papers but I was stupid enough not to read them and he told me it was just a loan until he could sell something.’
Cantelli said, ‘Do you know how much debt he had accrued?’
‘No, but I believe it to be sizeable. Part of me didn’t want to know and that’s always been my problem. I’ve stuck my head in the sand, pretending everything was OK, but I can’t do that any more.’ She looked tired and was growing more drawn as the interview progressed. On Monday, when Cantelli spoke to the bank, he’d find out just how much debt the Clements were in.
She pulled herself up with an effort. ‘Peter knew what our financial position was, or rather he knew that things were getting difficult, hence Vivian having to undertake the cruise lectures. I also told Peter how obsessive Vivian was about acquiring his precious oriental porcelain and antique pistols and that he’d go to any length to do so.’
‘Was the fake robbery Peter Freedman’s idea?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. Vivian said we needed the money. We did but I said why not sell the collection? Vivian told me I was stupid. This way he could keep his precious pistols and still get the money from the insurance company.’
‘And you went along with it?’
‘I didn’t have much choice.’
No, thought Horton, and if it was Freedman’s idea then Freedman had something that he could use to blackmail Clements with. But why should he resort to blackmail when his business seemed to be doing very well? He considered again the thought that had occurred to him earlier: was blackmail Evelyn Lyster’s racket and she’d got Freedman involved?
‘Do you know a woman called Evelyn Lyster?’ Horton asked.
‘No.’
‘Or Dennis Lyster?’
She shook her head and looked confused.
Cantelli put a picture of Evelyn Lyster in front of her. ‘Do you recognize her?’
‘No. What has she got to do with this?’
Horton thought her bafflement genuine.
‘You said earlier that your husband went out on Tuesday night?’
‘Yes. At about six thirty and he came home round about nine o’clock.’
‘Did he say where he had been?’
‘No. I think it was to the lock-up to check that the stolen guns were there.’
‘Did he contact Peter Freedman?’
‘I don’t know. He might have done.’
‘Did he arrange to meet Freedman and have it out with him?’
‘He didn’t say. I don’t know. He was in a foul mood, like I told you, and then the next day, Wednesday, was worse. That’s when I went out for a walk at tea time and he never came home.’
Horton held her troubled, tired gaze for a moment then rose. He nodded at Cantelli, who switched off the tape.
‘What happens now?’ she asked.
‘We take a break.’
‘You think I killed them both, don’t you? Well, I didn’t.’
But still, Horton wondered.