Horton was shown into the crowded pavilion room overlooking the Solent where he found Madeley at a table by the window. Horton recognized him from the photographs on the Bramshill police college website and Professor Madeley’s own website and it seemed Madeley recognized him because he rose as Horton approached. He apologized for being late as they shook hands. Horton knew his scrutiny of Madeley was reciprocated. He saw an intelligent man in his late-fifties with a long domed head culminating in thinning grey hair, bright, shrewd and curious hazel eyes, a wide mouth with lips a little too thin and a slightly superior manner behind the smile. He didn’t know what Madeley saw.
Horton took the seat opposite him. ‘I appreciate your time, Professor Madeley.’
‘I couldn’t refuse. I’m rather intrigued by your request and how it fits with an investigation.’
His voice had traces of a Midlands accent, Staffordshire possibly. ‘I’ll be brief as time is pressing,’ Horton answered crisply, removing from his pocket the photograph that Ballard had left on his boat. ‘I want to know if you recognize any of these men.’
Madeley took the picture with a quizzical glance before directing his full attention to the photograph. He studied it carefully in silence and then turned it over. Horton could feel his heart pounding and hoped that Madeley couldn’t hear it. The sound of laughter and talk in the room behind him seemed abnormally loud. After what seemed an age but could only have been a minute at the most Madeley looked up. Eyeing Horton steadily he said, ‘No. I’m sorry, they’re not known to me.’
Horton felt the disappointment keenly although he tried desperately not to show it.
Madeley continued, ‘The date on the reverse corresponds to the sit-ins at the London School of Economics. They are possibly students.’
Horton had got that far himself. ‘You don’t remember seeing this photograph before then, while collating the archive project?’
‘No. It’s obviously from a private collection that wasn’t donated to the archives.’
‘I’m trying to find out who they are.’
‘May I ask why?’
Truth or lie? If he fabricated a case would Madeley bother to check on it? Why should he? But if he did and discovered Horton had lied would he become even more curious and start to ask questions about him and his credentials as a police officer?
No, Horton saw that it had to be the truth. This man was no fool and he’d spot a lie a mile away. Besides Horton knew that the only way to provoke a reaction – or perhaps he should say another reaction if Zeus was responsible for the incident last night – was to tell the truth and keep asking questions.
He said, ‘I believe that either one or more of these men knew my mother, Jennifer Horton, and that by locating and talking to any of them it might help me find out what happened to her.’
‘What did happen to her?’
Horton had that prickling feeling between his shoulder blades. Madeley knew. How? He must have checked him out before the meeting. But he wouldn’t have access to his personal file and besides there was nothing on it about his mother’s disappearance. Madeley had talked to someone.
‘She disappeared on the thirtieth of November 1978.’
Madeley showed no surprise. It could simply be the man’s normal demeanour but Horton doubted it. Madeley sipped his drink. Horton had noted that he hadn’t been offered one. Madeley said, ‘That picture was taken eleven years before she disappeared. Why do you think it’s connected?’
‘It was given to me by someone who knew something about her and why she vanished, and before you say “why don’t I ask him?”, I can’t because he’s also disappeared.’
‘But if you know who this man is can’t you run him through the databases and find him?’
Madeley was guessing that he had already done so. It wasn’t much of a guess; Madeley would know the system very well. Horton said, ‘You compiled an archive project on the student protests and by doing so must have seen hundreds of documents and photographs and conducted considerable research. Is there anyone I can talk to who might be able to help me identify these men?’
‘I’m sure it must have occurred to you that the date could be false and have nothing to do with the sit-in.’
‘It has.’
Madeley nodded and looked thoughtful. ‘These men would be in their mid-sixties by now. Some of them could be dead.’
‘They could all be dead for all I know.’
‘Your mother’s disappearance is still on file; you could have the photograph of each man computer altered to show what they might now look like.’
Horton had already considered this. It would mean using police resources and therefore officially requesting the case be investigated. But all he had to do was show this picture to DCS Sawyer of the Intelligence Directorate and that would be enough for Sawyer to use whatever resources he had at his disposal to uncover the men’s identities in the hope it might lead him to Zeus. So far Sawyer had not requested that Jennifer’s disappearance be reopened officially; instead he’d tried to enlist Horton’s covert help in locating Zeus. Maybe it was time to go public.
Horton said, ‘It wouldn’t name them though.’
‘It might if one of them was recognized.’
Horton put the photograph back in his pocket. There was much that Madeley wasn’t saying but equally, Horton thought with growing interest, he was saying a great deal. ‘It was a long shot anyway.’ He rose.
‘What will you do now?’ Madeley asked, looking up at him.
Was he surprised Horton had capitulated so quickly and easily? He looked it. Horton felt like saying ‘that depends on you’ but he said, ‘Thank you for your time, sir.’ He stretched out his hand. Madeley took it and held onto it for a moment longer than was necessary.
After a brief pause he said, ‘DCI Lorraine Bliss attended my lecture last week at Bramshill.’
Horton was slightly taken aback at the change of topic.
Madeley smiled. ‘She’s a very ambitious woman. I talked to her for some time after the lecture. She mentioned you.’
And not in glowing terms, he guessed. Horton was relieved he hadn’t tried to fob Madeley off by telling him he wasn’t a police officer.
Madeley’s smile didn’t slip as he added, ‘I believe she’ll go far.’
Unlike me. Horton caught the hint of a warning and he shivered despite the heat. ‘I’m sure she will.’ Horton turned to leave, wondering why Madeley had changed the subject. Was that to distract him from what he thought he’d picked up on in the subtext? But Horton hadn’t even taken a step before Madeley’s clear voice said, ‘Dr Quentin Amos.’
Horton spun back.
‘Amos was a lecturer in March 1967 and involved with the students. He was very supportive of them. He’s retired now of course, in his mid-seventies. He might be able to help.’
Horton looked at him in puzzlement. ‘I didn’t see his name in the archive project.’
‘No.’ The monosyllable was heavy with portent.
‘Do you know where I can find him?’
‘No, but it shouldn’t be difficult, not for you.’
Horton held Madeley’s cool stare for a moment. ‘Thank you, sir.’
He made his way across the crowded room, his mind so preoccupied with the conversation with Madeley that he almost collided with a blonde woman in the doorway. He stepped back, an apology forming on his lips, when he found himself facing Agent Eames. He should have known she’d be a member of a club that counted Royals and celebrities amongst its clientele. Although pleased to see her he was also dismayed because now he’d have to explain why he was there. She was bound to ask.
‘How’s the investigation going, sir? Did you want to talk to us?’
She’d naturally assumed that was the reason for his visit. ‘There’s been another death,’ he said, quickly trying to think how he could connect it with her and her sailing buddies, but before he could elaborate his name was called and he looked beyond Eames to see former DCI Mike Danby heading towards them.
‘What are you doing here?’ Danby shook his hand and smiled a greeting.
Horton didn’t see that he needed to explain his presence to Danby.
‘Thought I might become a member,’ he joked. ‘Just looking over the place to see if the clientele are respectable.’
‘I doubt that but come and meet some of them.’ Danby headed into the Pavilion Room leaving him no option but to re-enter it. Eames flashed him a smile. Horton turned and saw Danby cross to a table where he addressed three men. As Horton made towards them he could see Madeley at his seat with his back to the room. The three men Danby was talking to must have seen him with Madeley and couldn’t have failed to see him leaving the room, and with a groan he saw that two of them were Rupert Crawford and Ben Otis. Eames would know he hadn’t been here to question them and she was bound to be curious as to why he’d been leaving the Pavilion Room.
Danby began to make the introductions but Horton interjected. ‘I’ve met Mr Crawford and Mr Otis.’
In daylight Ben Otis was younger than Horton had first thought, nearer to forty-five than fifty-five. He was dark-haired with very deep brown, almost black eyes, and he looked extremely fit. Otis gave him a friendly smile. Crawford ignored him.
Danby said, ‘And this is Lord Eames.’
Horton hid his surprise. Eames rose and proffered his hand. He was in his late-sixties, grey-haired, lean and fit, with a keen-featured face, which bore a resemblance to Agent Eames about the eyes. He was casually but smartly dressed and wearing an expression that seemed vaguely familiar to Horton, probably because he’d seen it on Harriet Eames’ perfect features. Lord Eames gestured him into the seat and offered him coffee. Horton declined the latter. ‘I’m working, sir. Haven’t got time.’
Crawford looked up. ‘Is it to do with that body on Ashton’s boat?’
What did he say now when they must have seen him sitting with Madeley? But then they wouldn’t know that Madeley wasn’t involved in the investigation, and neither would Harriet Eames.
‘Yes.’
Otis said, ‘Have you any idea how the body ended up there?’
Danby answered, ‘If DI Horton has then he’s not going to tell us.’
Otis smiled while Crawford, seemingly bored with the conversation, returned his attention to the message he was sending via his mobile phone.
Horton said, ‘His name was Daniel Redsall. He was a marine archaeologist and attended a lecture on Monday night given by Dr Douglas Spalding, who was found dead that night. Sadly we now have another fatality and a homicide of a man called Ivor Meadows who was also at Dr Spalding’s lecture.’
Otis looked shocked. ‘That’s dreadful. So you think the deaths are connected?’
‘It’s possible.’ He didn’t add and I’m the only one who believes that.
‘Redsall,’ repeated Lord Eames thoughtfully. ‘I seem to remember we had a Redsall as a member. A Navy man. Could he be a relation?’
‘Daniel Redsall’s father was Rear Admiral Jonathan Redsall.’
‘Of course, I remember him now. He died some years ago. Nice man, good sailor. He had a house here in Cowes and one on the mainland. His wife didn’t like the sea very much so he used to come here with his sister, Beatrice. She was a very good sailor.’
This was useful background information but it didn’t get Horton very much further forward, except for one thing. Beatrice Redsall. ‘Is she still a member?’
Lord Eames answered, ‘I don’t know.’
Harriet Eames said, ‘I could check.’
Her father looked at Horton and said, ‘Is it pertinent to the investigation?’
‘We don’t know what is at this stage,’ he answered vaguely. ‘It’s a case of gathering as much information as we can.’ He caught Danby’s knowing glance. OK, so it was the standard answer, but it was true nevertheless. He added, ‘I’d also like to know if Daniel Redsall was a member.’ Horton doubted it but no harm in asking and he’d like to know if either Daniel or Beatrice had been here on the Tuesday Daniel had died, but he’d ask Eames to check that out for him when away from the others.
Lord Eames said, ‘I’m sure the Club Secretary will be pleased to assist with your investigation.’
Horton removed the photograph of Redsall from his pocket. ‘Maybe you recognize him, sir.’ He showed it to Lord Eames, who shook his head and handed it across to Danby. With a shake of his head Danby handed it back to Horton.
Horton then showed Otis and Crawford the photograph of Ivor Meadows asking if they’d seen him before. As neither man had been at Oyster Quays on Monday night it seemed unlikely. They both denied knowing him and the same with Douglas Spalding when Horton repeated the routine. He rose, thanking them for their help.
Harriet Eames jumped up. ‘I’ll show you out.’
Danby said, ‘Good luck with the investigation.’
Horton caught his sly glance, Rupert’s patronizing one and Otis’s amused one but Lord Eames had already looked away and was pouring himself a coffee as though Horton didn’t warrant a farewell – he was nothing, just a mere speck on the carpet to his Lordship.
At the entrance to the club Horton halted. ‘What does Ben Otis do for a living?’
‘Nothing. He doesn’t have to. He made a fortune selling his computer software company years ago.’
She held his gaze. He had been mad even to think he could stand a chance with her. Apart from her job they had nothing in common. She came from and moved in totally different circles to him. An investment banker, a multimillionaire and Daddy a peer of the realm while he was just a kid from the back streets of Portsmouth, who’d had very little education, no money, no father, whose mother had walked out on him and a failed marriage behind him.
She said, ‘I’ll ask the secretary about Beatrice and Daniel Redsall and call you when I have the information.’
She turned and walked away. He got the sense that something in his expression had betrayed his thoughts. What had she seen though? Anger? Resentment? Distaste? He hurried away, glad to get out of the cloying atmosphere of privilege and wealth. He felt irritated that he’d let his thoughts show and that she’d seen them, but what bothered him more as he headed back for the ferry was the fact that the three men had seen him talking to Madeley. Horton doubted if Rupert Crawford would have taken any notice or bothered to question why he was interviewing Madeley but Ben Otis and Lord Eames must be curious and he could see by her expression that Agent Eames had wondered why he’d been leaving the Pavilion Room when clearly he hadn’t been questioning her father and his friends. She’d had more sense than to question him, however.
With annoyance he pushed the thoughts aside and returned his concentration to his conversation with Madeley. He’d asked Madeley if he recognized any of the men in the photograph and Madeley’s answer had been ‘They’re not known to me.’ That wasn’t quite the same thing. Horton felt sure that he had recognized them or at least one of them but he didn’t know whoever it was. Why not say though? Madeley had mentioned having the photograph computer-enhanced to show the men as they might now look, and when Horton had replied that he couldn’t see how that could help Madeley had said, ‘It might if one of them was recognized,’ and the only way that he would recognize one of the men was if he was a celebrity, a politician, sportsman or on their files as a criminal.
Horton just made the four o’clock ferry with seconds to spare and while the hills of the Isle of Wight slipped away behind him and the buildings of Portsmouth drew nearer he again studied the photograph. Could one of these men be Zeus, who had been caught and imprisoned once? Or perhaps one of the men was another criminal, who was inside, and that might give Horton the opportunity to talk to him.
Then there was Quentin Amos. Horton stared at the yachts and pleasure craft on the blue shimmering Solent. Why was Amos’s name missing from the archive project? And why wouldn’t he have any trouble locating him? The answer clearly was because Amos was on file. And Horton was very keen to know why.
As the grey granite structure of the Round Tower came into view Horton’s thoughts veered back to Ivor Meadows’ bloodied body lying on the ground of the popular viewpoint. It looked as though it was still sealed off because there was no one on it to wave at the ferry as it slid closer towards its berth. If Meadows had seen Redsall meet someone to tell them he had obtained the contents of Spalding’s briefcase then when during the evening of Monday had Redsall taken the contents? If Newton was telling the truth and Redsall had signed out at nine twenty-five and couldn’t have slipped back inside the dockyard, he couldn’t have hung around outside the museum waiting for Spalding. It couldn’t have been during the lecture either. The only time it could possibly have been was when the refreshments were being served and when Spalding had been talking to the guests. Several things began to shift into place. Meadows had seen Redsall slip back into the conference room and had only remembered it after Horton had jogged his memory yesterday by showing him Redsall’s photograph. Meadows had also recalled he’d seen Redsall outside talking to someone. And that had to be someone Meadows knew or recognized. Someone he wasn’t afraid to confront and someone he was confident enough to meet late at night in a remote location. Horton thought it was time he re-interviewed Julie Preston.