Julie Preston looked up as Horton entered her office. He caught a flicker of fear in her eyes behind the square-framed spectacles and thought she looked paler and more tired than on his first visit.
‘I heard about Ivor Meadows’ death on the news at lunchtime,’ she said tremulously. ‘I feel terrible talking about him the way I did.’
‘Did you also know that another man who attended Dr Spalding’s lecture is dead? Daniel Redsall.’
Her eyes widened and her face paled even further. ‘But that’s . . . that’s dreadful. Was it an accident?’
‘We’re treating all three as suspicious.’ Or at least he was.
‘Three? Of course, Dr Spalding.’ She glanced down at her desk and picked up a pencil which she began to fiddle with.
Taking out the photograph of Redsall, Horton asked her if she remembered him.
‘I saw him talking to Dr Spalding over the refreshments but it wasn’t for long before Mr Meadows butted in.’
‘Did you see Daniel Redsall during the lecture?’
‘I wasn’t really noticing.’ She shifted and again pushed a hand through her hair. ‘It was dark in the lecture room.’
Not that dark.
‘And I wasn’t always in there,’ she added hastily, her eyes flicking up to his and away again. ‘I had to pop out and make sure everything was all right with caterers.’
‘Of course.’ Horton left a short pause.
She shifted position and eyed him warily.
After a moment he said, ‘How did Dr Spalding seem during the lecture?’
‘Fine. He was fine.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. But as I said I wasn’t always there.’
Horton heard fear in her voice. And he knew why. It was simple. ‘Could you show me the Princess Royal Gallery again?’
She scrambled up and led him across the landing, through to the conference room. The chairs were stacked at the sides but the screen and lectern were still in place at the front of the room. She hovered nervously beside him. After a moment he turned to her and said quietly, almost conversationally, ‘You weren’t in here at any time during the lecture, were you?’ He wondered if she’d deny it. She seemed about to then under his steady scrutiny capitulate.
‘No.’ She stared down at the carpet.
‘How long have you and Neil Gideon been having an affair?’
Her head came up and her eyes widened with alarm before he caught a telltale flash of relief. ‘We’re not,’ she said confidently.
No. He knew that. There was only one person it could be.
‘But you are with Lewis Morden.’
Alarm crossed her face. She opened her mouth as though to refute it but could see by his expression that it was pointless. ‘Please don’t tell my boss. I’ll lose my job.’
‘And Lewis Morden will lose his.’
‘He only came up for ten minutes.’
‘A quick one then,’ Horton sneered to get a reaction.
Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘It’s not like that. We love one another.’
‘Yeah and his wife doesn’t understand him,’ Horton said cynically.
She looked away.
‘How long has it been going on?’
‘A few months,’ she answered miserably, then adding more defiantly, ‘the museum was shut, there wasn’t any security risk. No one could get in or out, the audience were in the lecture room, there was nothing to see on the security monitors.’
‘There were the caterers.’
‘They’ve all been security checked at the highest level, and besides they came straight in and were busy setting up the buffet.’
He let that go. ‘And this romantic assignation happens every time you and Lewis Morden are in the museum together at night during a function?’
She nodded, looking miserable.
‘What time did he return to the control room?’
She shifted.
‘Julie, it’s important that you tell me the truth.’
‘I took him some food and just before the caterers packed away he slipped down the back stairs and around by the side door into the museum and control room.’
‘And he came up to your office when?’
She hesitated.
‘Don’t lie to me, Julie.’
‘Ten minutes after the lecture started.’
‘So about seven forty-five. And he left the monitors running?’
‘I guess so.’
Without anyone watching them, which was a lucky break for Redsall – or did he know about Julie Preston and Lewis Morden’s assignations? If he did then someone had told him. Who? Neil Gideon? All Redsall had to do while Spalding was talking to the guests was slip back into the gallery, take the laptop computer from Spalding’s briefcase, replace it with something of an equal weight so Spalding wouldn’t check inside it, put the laptop in his rucksack and slip back in amongst the guests.
He said, ‘What did you and Lewis do after everyone had left?’
‘Lewis helped me do a sweep of the museum, as I told you, and then he left. I locked up and Neil Gideon walked me to my car. Will you have to talk to Lewis?’
‘What do you think?’
‘But you don’t have to tell David, my boss.’
‘I think that perhaps you had better do that.’
She looked mortified at the thought. Horton added, ‘I want a list of all the functions where you and Lewis Morden were together, and I want a copy of the guest list at each one.’ He’d cross-check them for anyone who might have been working with Redsall and against all the names he had so far amassed during the investigation. ‘I’ll be back for it in a moment. Where can I find Morden?’
‘In the museum.’
He left her looking very unhappy and worried and made his way downstairs where he found Morden checking over one of the exhibition rooms. After some bluffing and denials he finally capitulated and confirmed what Julie Preston had told him.
‘When I got back to the control room I looked at the monitors and everything was fine,’ Morden said with an air of bravado.
Horton said sharply, ‘It would be then. How many times have you and Julie done this before?’
Morden shrugged.
‘She means that little to you,’ Horton said contemptuously.
‘Four times.’
‘When exactly?’ He’d get the dates from Julie but no harm in asking now.
‘Twice in May, June and this last time.’
‘And was Dr Spalding lecturing on each of those evenings?’
‘Only in May and this last one, the other two talks were from a local historian and someone from the Dockyard Society.’
Horton would check that guest list to see if Redsall had attended any of those other lectures but he didn’t think so because he was betting that Redsall had only come over here after Spalding had visited him in Northern Ireland at the beginning of July. He showed Morden a picture of Daniel Redsall.
‘Do you remember seeing this man on the monitors at Dr Spalding’s lecture?’
Morden studied it. ‘No.’
‘Have you seen him before?’
‘No.’
‘How about Ivor Meadows?’
‘Yes, I know him. He comes into the museum. He’s a bit of pain, thinks he knows more than the curators, always banging on about the Navy and the importance of keeping naval artefacts and security measures. The way he carries on anyone would think he owns the place.’ Morden smiled.
Solemnly Horton said, ‘Mr Meadows was found brutally murdered this morning.’
Morden started. His eyes widened and then he rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Look, I didn’t know that. I only meant—’
‘Did Ivor Meadows know about your affair with Julie Preston?’
‘No!’
‘Are you sure?’
Morden shifted. ‘How could he? We were always very careful.’
But Horton wondered. Had Meadows seen Julie leave the room? Had he caught a glimpse of Morden in the corridor? Was that why he’d collared the curators and gone on about security measures? But if Meadows had known that Morden had left his post then why hadn’t he said?
‘Where were you last night, Mr Morden?’ Horton asked curtly.
‘At home. You can’t think that I—’
‘Can anyone verify that?’
‘My wife.’
‘All night?’
‘Yes. I got home about six thirty and didn’t go out again until I came to work this morning.’ Morden was looking alarmed. ‘My wife, Debbie, will tell you that.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. We’ll check.’
‘You won’t have to tell Debbie about me and Julie, will you? I mean that’s got nothing to do with anything.’
Horton didn’t answer. He collected the lists from Julie wondering what a pretty slim thing like her saw in the cocky overweight Morden, but then DC Walters too had his admirers and Horton could never understand that either. He scanned the list of names. Not surprisingly Ivor Meadows had attended all four public lectures, so too had Marcus Felspur. He also noted that Brenda Crossley, the guest house proprietor, had attended the previous lecture given by Douglas Spalding in May, which interestingly she hadn’t mentioned. Redsall’s name didn’t appear on any of the lists. Horton called in at the security office and asked who had been on duty on the dates Julie had given him. Neither Matt Newton nor Neil Gideon had been. So perhaps Gideon didn’t know about Morden and Julie Preston. Perhaps Redsall had just taken a chance. He’d also counted on Spalding not checking the inside of his briefcase, but perhaps he’d known that by the time Spalding would leave the museum he’d be suffering from the effects of a drug, one which the toxicology tests had failed to pick up, or rather the test had been rigged to show a negative results. There was someone on the inside. There had to be. Someone who knew exactly what went on and could time things to perfection and instruct Redsall.
Horton asked the woman on the security desk to check if Ivor Meadows had signed into the library the previous day. He had, shortly after Horton had spoken to him at five past eleven. Meadows had signed out of the security office at eleven thirty-five, so his research that morning hadn’t taken him very long. Horton was informed that the library was closed. He hadn’t realized the time. It was gone six. Bliss would be baying for his blood.
He tossed up whether to delay his bollocking by re-interviewing Brenda Crossley but he didn’t see that she’d be able to add much to the investigation just by having attended one of Spalding’s lectures.
Preparing to face the DCI’s wrath he returned to the station to be greeted with the news from Cantelli that Bliss was still in a meeting, or rather in another meeting. Horton recalled what Madeley had said about her being very ambitious and destined for dizzy heights, which no doubt she’d reach at super speed. He also wondered what Bliss had said about him and why his name had cropped up in their conversation. He should have thought about it before but he’d been preoccupied with other matters. Perhaps she had asked Madeley’s advice on how to rid herself of an insubordinate copper who wasn’t the world’s best team player and who treated paperwork as a contagious disease to be avoided at all costs.
Horton relayed to Cantelli the outcome of his interview with Julie Preston.
Cantelli said, ‘Gosport Marina has confirmed that Ashton was there on Tuesday just before four o’clock. He took a motor boat out for a trial; the broker selling it was tied up with another customer so Ashton went out alone.’
Walters looked up from his computer screen. ‘There’s no sign of Redsall on the pontoons on Monday night or on the boardwalk.’
‘And Ivor Meadows?’
‘Nothing so far.’
‘Keep looking and recheck the footage for Tuesday afternoon to see if Ashton moors up at Oyster Quays. And get hold of any CCTV footage you can along The Hard for Monday night, outside the dockyard and by the road that runs down to the railway station, and check it for sightings of Redsall and Meadows any time from nine fifteen to ten thirty.’
‘Hope you’re going to pay for my laser eye treatment when I go short sighted,’ Walters grumbled, reaching for another Jaffa Cake.
‘You already are. And you wear contact lenses, so stop moaning.’
In his office Horton rang through to Trueman. ‘Has the autopsy report on Meadows come in?’
‘Not yet. But Meadows’ next of kin, his sister, is on her way down from Liverpool. We’ve booked her into the Holiday Inn Express and Marsden’s meeting her there in half an hour. I’ve sent Meadows’ computer over to the high-tech unit as instructed.’
‘Thanks.’
‘There’s nothing from SOCO yet on the scene of crime and no murder weapon has been found at the Round Tower. There are also no other sightings of Meadows apart from the one at ten thirty. I’ve got teams asking around the pubs tonight so something might come in later.’
‘I take it Uckfield’s still insisting on towing the party line and that Meadows’ death has nothing to do with Spalding’s and Redsall’s?’
‘Yes. He’s in with Dean at the moment so he might return with a change of heart.’
‘I won’t hold my breath.’ Horton rang off and cleared a space on his desk by pushing all the paper to one side. He checked through his messages and emails to see if the police in Coleraine had come up with a sighting of Spalding but there was nothing. Feeling disappointed he pulled up the autopsy report on Spalding, which Dr Clayton had forwarded to him as she had promised, and read it through looking for something that might have been missed. There was nothing. And no report of traces of vomit being found on Spalding’s clothing.
His phone rang and he snatched it up, half-expecting it to be Bliss, but he was pleased to find it was Dr Clayton herself.
‘I’ve just emailed the autopsy report on Meadows to DI Dennings, and I’m sending it across to you now but I thought you might like to hear what I’ve found.’
‘Hang on, I’ll get Cantelli.’
He crossed to his door and called him in, leaving the door ajar so that he could see if Bliss hove onto the horizon. Returning to his phone and gesturing Cantelli into the seat across his desk, Horton said into the receiver, ‘I’ll put you on loud speaker. Go ahead.’
‘The victim, aged sixty-six, suffered from atherosclerosis, a potentially serious condition where the body’s medium and large arteries become clogged up by fatty substances, such as cholesterol, so I’d cut out those bacon butties, Sergeant,’ she said.
‘Got to have some vices.’
‘Yes but too many won’t make old bones.’ Swiftly she continued, ‘This in the victim led to coronary heart disease. He died of myocardial infarction, also no doubt precipitated by the shock of the attack. The blows to the head were severe but the victim was already dead by the time he received the second, third, fourth and fifth blows.’
Horton thought that was a blessing.
Gaye Clayton continued. ‘He was struck with a cylindrical heavy object, possibly about ten to twelve inches in length. I examined the skin and surface wounds for trace evidence, and found fragments of what looks like metal. I’ve sent them to the lab for analysis. Tom has also taken photographs and measurements of the wounds to help identify the weapon, and I placed a piece of plastic wrap over the heart of the wound and traced it with a pen and got a small round shape, which I’ve also emailed to you.’
Horton called up his emails as she was speaking and found it.
‘Any ideas what it is?’ he asked.
‘A piece of lead piping? A metal tube? Something that culminates in a round flat shape as you can see, not a jagged edge. Blood would have spattered over the killer and I saw traces of it on the wall which your scene-of-crime team would also have noted and photographed. The spatter pattern indicates it was a medium-force impact, streaky with drops of blood about two millimetres in size.’
Cantelli said, ‘So the killer would have blood on him.’
‘Yes.’
Horton said, ‘It was dark and so far no one claims to have seen the attack or anyone walking away covered in blood.’
Cantelli said, ‘If the killer is living with someone, his or her partner must have seen the bloodstained clothes.’
‘Not if he ditched them before returning home,’ suggested Horton. ‘He could have taken off protective clothing such as a raincoat or jacket, and underneath been wearing shorts and a T-shirt. As the location is not far from the sea our killer could have run down the steps, through the hole in the wall, and taken a dip in his shorts and T-shirt to get rid of the blood and either ditched the coat in the sea, although that’s risky because the high tide would have washed it up, or he ditched it on his way home. Or he could have taken it home and put it in the washing machine and if he lives alone no one would know. Maybe the killer had a rucksack like Redsall and stuffed the coat in there. Are we looking for a man or a woman?’
‘Could be either,’ Gaye Clayton answered. ‘Meadows was five feet eight and by the angle of the blow he was leaning forward when he was struck, as though he was bending over looking at something on the ground. He can’t have been doing up his shoe laces because he was wearing slip-ons. He was struck with force but that doesn’t rule out it being a woman.’
And the women who featured in this so far were Alvita Baarda, Melanie Jacobs, Jacqueline Spalding, Erica Leyton, Julie Preston, Brenda Crossley, Dr Sandra Menchip and Beatrice Redsall. Horton hadn’t met Baarda or Menchip so he couldn’t say whether they were capable of carrying out such a violent attack. Out of all of them he could see Beatrice Redsall doing such a thing but only Julie Preston and Alvita Baarda had been at Spalding’s lecture. But if Redsall had killed Spalding under someone’s instructions by injecting him with a drug then that changed everything.
‘Time of death?’
‘Between eleven and midnight. There was alcohol in his blood, but not an excessive amount.’
Horton said, ‘Anything further on the tests on Redsall?’
‘Sorry, didn’t get time today but unless you have any new bodies for me tomorrow I’ll be on to it first thing.’
He thanked her and rang off.
Cantelli said, ‘Interesting what she said about a woman. If Spalding and Redsall were drugged then poison is often a woman’s weapon, but bashing Meadows over the head? I’m not so sure.’
‘Perhaps she was desperate and had no other choice. Or perhaps she was clever, knowing we’d put it down to a mugging. I can’t see Julie Preston involved. Would you say Alvita Baarda was capable of this?’
‘No. She couldn’t be bothered, it would all be too much trouble for her and I don’t think she’d be bright enough to plan it. If she hated Spalding and wanted to destroy him she’s much more likely to disgrace him by going to the newspapers or putting it all over the Internet.’
‘And Dr Sandra Menchip?’
‘She comes across as a very principled woman and she’s clever but she was travelling home from her holidays in Greece on Monday and didn’t get in until one o’clock in the morning so she certainly had nothing to do with Spalding’s death. I believed her when she said she didn’t know Redsall. And I certainly don’t see Jacqueline Spalding killing anyone or plotting to kill her husband.’
Horton agreed. He also said they could rule out Melanie Jacobs because she had been with Ashton. ‘That leaves Erica Leyton who knew Spalding and could have known Redsall. We both think she’s a bit of a tease, so she could have cajoled Redsall into helping her get rid of Spalding, though I’ve no idea why. Redsall might have become infatuated with her. She’s also clever but I have trouble seeing her bashing Meadows over the head and I can’t see how Meadows could have known her or recognized her.’
‘Unless he’d previously seen Spalding with her in the museum library.’
Cantelli had a point. Horton said, ‘Then there’s Brenda Crossley, the guest house owner. She was in the Navy, as was her husband. She attended Spalding’s lecture in May, which Ivor Meadows also attended. Spalding could have contacted her about his research. When I mentioned the name Redsall to Meadows he might have made a connection between Brenda Crossley and Rear Admiral Jonathan Redsall. They might have served together on the same ship some years ago.’
Cantelli picked up the theme. ‘I guess Spalding could have discovered something that was damaging to Brenda Crossley and connected with Jonathan Redsall.’
‘Brenda tracks down Daniel Redsall and invites him over.’
‘Why?’
Horton continued, quickly pulling together the strands. ‘To get rid of Spalding’s research, because it would damage her and Daniel’s father, Jonathan. Marcus Felspur told me that Spalding had only presented the brief outline of his research into women in the Royal Navy at the lecture and that he would publish and present the full paper in the new academic year – perhaps that’s what Brenda was desperate to stop. And perhaps that’s what the intelligence services don’t want coming out. We know Spalding flew to Northern Ireland on the fourth of July and in all probability met up with Daniel to tell him what he’d discovered. Daniel doesn’t want it exposed, whatever it is; perhaps he made contact with Brenda Crossley. He arrives at the guest house and together they plan to get hold of the full research Spalding has conducted and destroy it. We only have the Crossleys’ word that Daniel left early that morning. He could have been in the Crossleys’ apartment going through the computer and deleting the files. Then he could have taken the laptop out and ditched it in the sea before meeting someone at Oyster Quays. Then there’s Beatrice Redsall.’
‘But could she have killed her nephew?’ Cantelli asked, shocked.
‘She didn’t like him very much and she certainly didn’t forgive him for not following in his father’s footsteps.’
‘That’s not a motive though.’
‘No. But if Spalding had discovered something that would denigrate her beloved brother, she might kill to hush it up. Perhaps Daniel Redsall choosing to stay in the Crossleys’ guest house has nothing to do with the case and Beatrice Redsall is responsible for all three murders. Or perhaps Brenda Crossley approached Beatrice after Spalding had been to see her, and together they conspired to silence Spalding and Meadows. Brenda might not have wanted Daniel Redsall dead but Beatrice thought otherwise.’ Horton recalled Brenda Crossley’s reaction when he and Uckfield had called at the guest house late the night Redsall’s body had been discovered. She hadn’t seemed upset but neither had she appeared worried or guilty. ‘Get hold of the Navy records of Ivor Meadows, Jonathan Redsall and Edward and Brenda Crossley. Look for anything that connects them. Also see what background you can get on Beatrice Redsall. We’ll re-interview her and Brenda Crossley after Dr Clayton has the toxicology results on Daniel Redsall.’
Cantelli returned to his desk. Horton decided to shelve his thoughts on Meadows’ murder for a while but instead of tackling his work he called up the Police National Computer. With a racing pulse he searched for Quentin Amos and sure enough there he was. Rapidly and eagerly he read the information. Amos had several convictions going back over the years for violent assault and criminal damage, all linked to protests. The first had been in 1968. He’d also been found guilty of importuning in a public place in 1988 and the address they had for him on record was just fifty miles up the A3 in Woking. Horton sat back, his mind trying to absorb this new information. How had Madeley known Amos’s record? OK, so he was a consultant to the police but that didn’t make him privy to all their information – or did it? Or had he contacted Amos about the archive project and discovered his criminal record? Possibly. But there was more than that nagging at the back of his mind.
He glanced at the clock. It was almost seven. No one had called him into the incident suite to assist in the investigation into Meadows’ murder, which was unlike Uckfield. And Bliss was suspiciously silent. He thought he might know the reason. This entire case was being subdued, whitewashed. Uckfield was going through the motions. They didn’t want him stirring things up. So as his presence wasn’t needed Horton grabbed his helmet and jacket, told Cantelli and Walters to call it a day and go home, and said that was where he was heading. Instead he made for Woking and Quentin Amos.