It was a thought that still held weight in the light of a humid and heavy morning. And he’d been correct; neither of the two names Amos had given him checked out on the police database. He’d arrived at the station early and conducted a search. But he needed a lot more time to research them further and he didn’t have that now. He might not have it in the future, he thought grimly, if there were more attempts on his life. He wondered when they might strike again. A thought that made him edgy but which he was more determined than ever wouldn’t prevent him from continuing his research and doing his job, which was to find a clever and callous killer.
From his office window he’d watched Uckfield arrive. The Super had looked tired and cross, more so than usual. He must know this was a cover-up and it looked as though it was preying on his mind. Horton was tempted to try and reason with him again, but it would probably be a waste of breath.
He put the finishing touches to CID’s performance figures for July and emailed them to Bliss. He didn’t think they’d bring a smile to that frozen face. The customer satisfaction survey would have to wait unless Cantelli and Walters felt particularly inventive. His mind drifted back to his interview with Quentin Amos as he shuffled his paperwork round his desk. There were so many questions that he hadn’t asked, which had swarmed around his head all night like angry wasps. Amos must have known Jennifer well. So what had she really been like? What had made her laugh, cry, get angry? Who had she liked and hated? What had she done when not protesting? He could remember so little about her; he’d spent years trying to eradicate all memory of her. What views he’d held had been tainted by what others had told him and by his own bitterness. He should return to see Amos and soon. He didn’t care for being bait for British intelligence. Who was it they were trying to flush out? Who wanted the truth stifled at all costs? The similarities of his own situation with those of the case weren’t lost on him. He wondered if the key to the first lay in the deaths of those three men in that photograph: Zachary Benham, Timothy Wilson and James Royston. And the key to latter? He wasn’t sure and yet a tantalizing idea danced and swayed on the edge of his mind like an out-of-focus image but before he could adjust the lens the sound of voices in CID caught his attention. Bliss was talking to Cantelli and Walters, who were researching the Navy careers of Meadows, Redsall and the Crossleys. Not that they’d tell Bliss that – after all they weren’t supposed to be investigating Spalding’s or Redsall’s deaths. If she found out she’d go all frozen Queen of the North on them. But Cantelli would do a nice little whitewash job, of that Horton was certain. He’d had years of practice.
A few seconds later Bliss breezed into Horton’s office looking as bright as a laser beam and as fresh as newly laundered money. He eyed her thoughtfully and suspiciously, wondering if she knew he’d seen Madeley yesterday. But why would Madeley tell her about their meeting? And as far as he was aware Bliss knew nothing about his childhood. The thought that she might discover it sent a flutter of panic and fear through him. He had no idea what her reaction might be – perhaps she wouldn’t even care, perhaps her own childhood had been as bleak as his, he didn’t know and he wasn’t interested, but his emotions made him feel vulnerable and that in turn filled him with anger. Then reason asserted itself. Madeley’s masters moved in much more exalted and clandestine circles than that of a mere DCI in CID. And perhaps Dr Douglas Spalding had also moved in the same higher echelons.
She didn’t sit but paced his office filling it with simmering energy, her actions he felt designed to make him feel tense, apprehensive and insecure. But perhaps that was just him overreacting. His nerves were on edge because of his lack of sleep. He had to get a grip on himself. He sat back, picked up a pencil and twirled it casually while eyeing her. She stopped pacing and scowled at him. Yes, she’d have to do better than that to intimidate him.
‘The mugging by the railway station on the Hard last Thursday night, what have you done about that?’ she demanded. Before he could say he’d been on holiday at the time, she continued. ‘Any similarities with the attack on Meadows?’
So that was the way her mind was working. She thought she might have a lead and clear up both cases, which would look good on her file. ‘None,’ he said firmly.
‘How do you know that?’ she barked.
‘Because Meadows’ death is linked to Spalding’s and Redsall’s.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Spalding committed suicide and Redsall died of Sudden Death Syndrome.’
‘If you say so.’ Horton threw down his pencil.
‘I do. This mugger could have attacked and killed Meadows, it’s not a million miles away from where Meadows’ body was found, which couldn’t have escaped even your attention. The fact that we didn’t catch him after the first attack means a man has now lost his life. I want him caught before he does it again, understood?’
‘Perfectly, Ma’am.’ And before Uckfield’s team finds him, which was what Bliss was really saying. How convenient for the intelligence services to have a scumbag mugger put his hands up to it in return for getting off with a short sentence – or worse, a suspended sentence. He wondered if Bliss had been primed to point him in the wrong direction, perhaps that’s what one or more of those meetings had been about yesterday. Or perhaps that was just his suspicious mind in overdrive. But it would backfire because she’d just given him permission to continue looking into Meadows’ death. Not that he needed it; he would have done so anyway.
‘I’ll get on to it right away.’
‘Keep me fully informed.’
After she marched out, Horton called in Cantelli and waved him into the seat opposite, saying, ‘What have we got on a mugging on the Hard last Thursday week?’
‘Young man, in his mid-twenties, attacked after leaving the pub opposite the Historic Dockyard on his way to the railway station, phone and wallet taken. Uniform interviewed the publican and the customers on Friday night and we checked the CCTV footage. Caught sight of a slim youth with a hoodie, about twenty, seen running off towards Oyster Quays but we couldn’t get a good look at his face unfortunately. The video is being enhanced and uniform are asking around. I’ve got our informers sniffing around too, but nothing so far.’
‘Bliss thinks he’s responsible for killing Meadows.’
‘He could be, I suppose,’ Cantelli reluctantly agreed. ‘But there was no weapon used. The victim, who was rather inebriated, was jumped from behind, knocked to the ground, and kicked. It happened within seconds. From the CCTV footage the suspect is seen earlier outside the pub then moves out of view. I think he was just hanging around waiting to pick out the most likely looking victim.’
‘We’ll release the CCTV footage to the Major Crime Team and send the file over.’
Cantelli eyed him quizzically and with a worried frown. ‘Andy, you look tired. Is anything worrying you, and I don’t mean the case?’
Horton found it almost impossible to confide because of the scars of a childhood which had taught him the hard way not to trust, but he was a heartbeat away from doing so now to the one and only person he counted as a friend. He was tempted to tell Cantelli everything. He badly wanted someone to offload the ideas that were crowding his mind concerning his mother’s disappearance, but how could he put Cantelli’s life at risk? It was unthinkable. Instead he told him his divorce had come through. Cantelli looked sad. Horton knew the sergeant could tell that wasn’t everything troubling him but Cantelli wouldn’t probe any further and neither would he offer up any platitudes about how Horton could make a fresh start and move on with his life, to forget what had happened, because they both knew he couldn’t.
Briskly Horton said, ‘Anything on Meadows or the Crossleys?’
‘Walters is still working on it. But I looked up Rear Admiral Jonathan Redsall in Debrett’s. The son of Vice Admiral Thomas Redsall he was educated at Eton, Trinity College, Cambridge and the Royal Naval College Dartmouth. He served on HMS Hardy when it was deployed to counter and carry out surveillance of Russian activities in 1967 during the Cold War and on HMS Neirne in the Far East, Singapore in 1969, after which he rose rapidly in the promotion stakes until he ended up as a top adviser to NATO. Promoted to Rear Admiral in 2000.’
And died eight years ago, according to Beatrice Redsall, which Cantelli confirmed, adding that Beatrice Redsall had never taken up paid employment which again bore out what she’d said about assisting her father and then her brother in their careers.
Horton’s phone rang. He gestured at Cantelli to remain when he heard Dr Clayton’s voice.
‘I’ve got the results of the toxicology tests on Redsall and I think you’d better get over here.’
Horton heard the excitement in her voice and his pulse quickened. She’d found something and that could change this case completely. It might even mean Uckfield would have to launch a full-blown investigation. Horton quickly instructed Cantelli to accompany him to the mortuary and Walters to continue with his research. With eager anticipation he speculated silently what she’d discovered – drugs obviously in Redsall’s system, but what kind? As Cantelli pulled into a space outside the mortuary Horton’s mobile phone rang. It was Agent Eames.
‘Beatrice Redsall is a member of the yacht club,’ she announced. ‘But Daniel Redsall isn’t.’
Horton hadn’t thought he would be. But Beatrice Redsall, yes.
Eames added, ‘She last visited here on the twentieth of June.’
So neither she nor her nephew had been there on the day he’d died. Her visit to the yacht club wasn’t relevant to the inquiry and neither was the fact she was still a member.
Eames said, ‘Do you need me to do anything else?’
‘No. Thanks. Enjoy Cowes Week.’ He rang off, wondering what she was thinking and how she felt about him, before telling himself that she’d probably already dismissed him from her mind and gone to meet Rupert Crawford.
They found Dr Clayton in her small office behind the mortuary.
‘Redsall was drugged,’ she announced without ceremony. ‘The dose was enough to kill him and it is most certainly the cause of death.’
Horton drew some considerable satisfaction that his suspicions had been justified. Now Uckfield would have to listen to him. But would he? He recalled what Trueman had discovered about Redsall’s nervous breakdown. With a sinking feeling he knew what the outcome would be. They’d claim that Redsall had taken the drug himself. Suicide.
With a grim expression he took the seat opposite Gaye. Cantelli withdrew his notebook and took the vacant chair beside him.
Gaye continued. ‘It isn’t one of the poisons we discussed though, Inspector, a fast-acting one such as nicotine, cyanide or aconite, which reassures me that I didn’t miss anything so obvious and neither did the pathologist who examined Spalding. On the contrary, this poison is one that can take some hours to take effect.’
Would Redsall have used such a poison to kill himself? Horton sat forward eager to know more.
‘It’s hyoscine.’
That meant nothing to Horton but Cantelli looked up from his notebook, ‘Isn’t that what Dr Crippen used to kill his wife?’
‘Spot on, Sergeant, he did. Hyoscine can be detected in the body some considerable time after death even if the body has been buried.’
‘But not if it’s been cremated,’ added Cantelli.
‘No, that would be rather difficult,’ Gaye answered dryly. ‘It’s an alkaloid found in several plants including henbane and thorn apple, both of which grow wild in this part of the country and can also be found in gardens.’
Horton said, ‘So anyone can have easy access to it.’
‘Yes. But for someone to have used it as a poison means they’d need to know what they were doing.’
‘A chemist?’ posed Horton, thinking instantly of Simon Watson, the client that had been on board Ashton’s yacht on Tuesday.
Gaye said, ‘Or someone with medical knowledge: a doctor, nurse, or pharmacist. It could also be someone who has an interest in natural medicine or poisons.’
And that opened up the field. There was Spalding’s GP, Dr Deacon, but Horton couldn’t see him bashing Ivor Meadows over the head, although Meadows’ death had been hastily improvised and not meticulously planned like the others and that meant they were also looking for a planner, someone who was clever and careful. Deacon matched that profile.
He turned his full attention back to Gaye Clayton, who continued. ‘It’s also sometimes known as scopolamine and is used medicinally in very small doses to relieve depression and anxiety.’
Horton’s heart plummeted. That fitted perfectly with Redsall’s profile. He could see by Cantelli’s expression that he was also following the same line of thinking. ‘If Redsall had been suffering from depression could he have been prescribed a drug containing hyoscine and taken an overdose?’
‘There’s nothing on his medical records to show that he’s recently been prescribed anything that contains hyoscine.’
That was something at least, but Redsall could have got hold of the drug by some other means, the Internet for example, where it was easy to buy drugs, or he could have got it from a friend.
Gaye said, ‘It’s also prescribed, again in very small doses, to alleviate stomach pains and to overcome travel sickness.’
Now Gaye Clayton was throwing into doubt his theory about Spalding’s death. Could he have been wrong all the time? It was beginning to look that way. Despondently he said, ‘Spalding went to his GP for a prescription for anti-depressants and travel sickness pills.’
‘It wouldn’t have been a high enough dose to kill him.’
‘Unless he’d saved up previous prescriptions.’
‘Possibly, or he might have obtained the drug elsewhere and taken an overdose except that his tests came back clear and as his body was released to the undertakers before I could take further organ samples there’s no way of conducting further tests – except,’ she held up her hand to silence Horton, ‘I managed to track down and purloin the original organ samples. And guess what? Yes, hyoscine shows up. In my opinion it contributed to his cause of death, the fall into the dock. But it doesn’t mean that someone drugged him, just as in Redsall’s case it could have been self-administered.’
She was voicing Horton’s fears. But he wasn’t giving up yet. ‘Except that two deaths shortly after each other and by the same method must be construed as suspicious.’
Gaye sat back in her chair and eyed him thoughtfully. After a moment she said, ‘It’s a strange poison for a killer to choose because it’s not terribly reliable, its reaction on the body is not fully understood and can vary between individuals. As I said before it can take several hours to take effect.’
Horton swiftly considered this, ideas forming in the back of his mind. Eagerly he said, ‘What are the symptoms?’
‘Headache and vertigo.’
He recalled what Julie Preston and Ivor Meadows had said about Spalding at the lecture. Spalding had been frowning and rubbing his head as though he’d had a headache.
‘It also causes extreme thirst, dry sensation of the skin and possible blurred vision,’ added Gaye Clayton.
Cantelli interjected. ‘Alvita Baarda said Spalding kept asking for drinks.’
‘And Meadows confirmed that. He told me Spalding was drinking copious amounts of water. He thought it was because he fancied Alvita Baarda but he must have been reacting against the poison.’
Gaye said, ‘Hyoscine also causes hallucinations.’
Horton threw Cantelli a glance. ‘That fits with Spalding’s death. Spalding, drugged, leaves the naval museum; he’s been gradually feeling the effects of the drug after his lecture. Outside he becomes disorientated, suffering from vertigo he sees everything revolving around him. Because of this he could have believed he was anywhere – he might even have believed he could fly, hence the climb onto that fence and the leap into the dock. And before that he could have staggered towards the sea, lost hold of his briefcase, which ended up in the sea.’
Gaye said, ‘That sounds possible.’
Horton continued. ‘And in Redsall’s case he stumbled onto the yacht, fell into a coma and died. So when were they drugged?’ he asked Gaye eagerly.
‘That’s the difficult bit because with hyoscine there is no exact time of knowing when it was administered. In Spalding’s case it could have been several hours before he died.’
Horton rapidly thought. But before he could speak Gaye added, ‘He was probably given the hyoscine in a drink. The leaves and seeds of henbane could have been put in tea.’
‘Which, given his time of death at about nine thirty p.m., he could have been given anytime between one thirty and three thirty.’
‘Best to say from midday until about four to be on the safe side.’
Cantelli said, ‘We know that Spalding was at the university until just after twelve, but we’ve no idea where he went from there until he showed up at the Historic Dockyard at six that evening.’
And they had no idea who he met, thought Horton, and the same applied to Daniel Redsall. ‘Redsall’s time of death was between seven thirty and nine thirty so he could have drunk this poison between midday and, say, two o’clock on Tuesday afternoon.’
But Gaye was shaking her head. ‘No, Redsall’s dosage was considerably higher. He was almost certainly given it much later with his symptoms manifesting themselves over a shorter space of time.’
‘How short?’ asked Horton.
‘An hour, possibly slightly longer.’
Horton quickly thought. ‘So the earliest would be six thirty and the latest eight thirty if his time of death was nearer to nine thirty.’
‘Yes, give or take thirty minutes or so. As I said it’s difficult to be absolutely correct.’
To Cantelli, Horton said, ‘Simon Watson could have slipped out of the restaurant on Tuesday night to meet Redsall. He’s a chemist. He could have poisoned Redsall and returned to the restaurant.’
‘But there’s no sign of him or anyone else on the CCTV footage.’
‘Could Walters have missed it?’
Cantelli shrugged. ‘We can check again.’
‘Do that and see what you can find on Watson. See if there’s any connection between him, Redsall and Spalding.’
Cantelli nodded. Horton continued. ‘If Redsall wasn’t poisoned in the marina though, where was he given the drug and why did he go to the marina?’
‘To meet someone?’ suggested Gaye.
‘Yes, but who?’
Cantelli said, ‘Perhaps he was told to go there but whoever he thought was going to show didn’t because they’d already been told he would be dead by then.’
‘But why was he told to go there?’
‘To throw you off the scent,’ suggested Gaye. ‘I said this is a clever poison and therefore a clever poisoner. Your killer administers the drug knowing that by the time his victim is dead, he’ll be a long way from where it was administered, therefore making it far more difficult to determine who he or she is.’
Horton rapidly assimilated this. ‘That means Spalding’s killer wasn’t at the lecture at all. And Redsall’s killer is unlikely to be Simon Watson because he wouldn’t have wanted Redsall ending up dead on Ashton’s boat. But still run a check on him, Barney, just to be certain.’
‘Do we tell Uckfield this?’ asked Cantelli.
‘No.’ Horton saw Gaye raise her eyebrows. To her he said, ‘Send your report across as usual, then it’s up to Uckfield what he does about it. I have a feeling though that he might be pushed into drawing the conclusion that the poison was self-administered.’
Gaye said she would do so and let Horton know if she came up with anything else relevant to the inquiry. On the way back to the car Horton ran through what Gaye had given them.
‘Excluding the possibility of the killer being this Simon Watson, we’ve got three possible suspects: Brenda Crossley, Beatrice Redsall and Erica Leyton, four if we throw in Dr Deacon.’
‘And five if Ted Crossley was in it with his wife.’
‘And the motive for each of them?’ Horton posed, then proceeded to answer his own question. ‘Ted and Brenda Crossley killed because of something Spalding had uncovered during his research into women in the Royal Navy which would harm Brenda Crossley. The same motive applies to Beatrice Redsall except that Spalding’s research would harm the memory of her dead brother.’
Cantelli zapped open the car looking confused. ‘But why would Erica Leyton kill Spalding? If she did it because he refused her attentions, it’s a bit weak and where does Redsall fit into it?’
‘You’re right. I can’t see why she would kill them or Meadows.’
‘And what would be Dr Deacon’s motive?’ asked Cantelli, climbing in. ‘Unless he was a doctor in the Navy before becoming a GP and Spalding’s research revealed something dodgy about him. Yeah I know, we’ll add him to the list to check.’
Horton stretched the seat belt around him. ‘It has to be connected with Spalding’s research because why else would Redsall need the contents of Spalding’s briefcase?’
‘We don’t know that he took it for certain.’
No, thought Horton dejectedly. But if he did then why was it so important? Why? It worried away at his brain as Cantelli reversed out of the space and headed down into Portsmouth. He stared at the big fat raindrops splattering on the windscreen. The research was the key, he was now certain of it, but there was something else gnawing at the back of his mind. Something he was missing. What the devil was it? Think. Why had Spalding lied about his current research, or rather why had he told three people he was researching into three different areas? Maybe it was the truth. Maybe he said it to disguise what he was really researching, which had thrown the intelligence services into panic. Which had made it essential to steal Spalding’s laptop. His mind flashed through what he’d seen in Spalding’s office in his home. Then it struck him. My God, it was so astonishingly and devastatingly simple. It had been staring him in the face and he hadn’t seen it. And he knew exactly why Redsall hadn’t been killed immediately after Spalding.
Eagerly he said, ‘Redsall took that computer all right, and I know why, because on it was access not only to Spalding’s research but also to his backup files.’
‘Eh?’
Excitedly Horton explained, ‘Spalding was a naval historian. His research was important, it was how he made his living, so he wouldn’t risk having all his research on a computer that might crash or be stolen. There was no sign of an external back-up hard drive in his study at his home and no report of a break-in to indicate anyone had taken it. So if he did have one and if it was taken then it was by an expert intruder, which smacks of the intelligence service. Alternatively Jacqueline Spalding or her father-in-law, Ronald, allowed someone in, someone they knew and trusted.’
‘Dr Deacon. He called on them and he has the medical knowledge to know about poisons.’
‘Yes, but I don’t think anyone broke in or stole any external back-up hard drive because Spalding didn’t use one. I’m betting he used an online back-up service and the killer, with Spalding’s computer in his possession, would be able to discover who that provider was. All he had to do was interrogate the computer, locate the provider, claim he’d forgotten his password, get a new one and gain access to all Spalding’s research material.’
‘So we’re looking for someone who knew his way around computers?’
‘Yes, but not necessarily a geek or an expert. Just someone fairly competent and comfortable around them.’
‘Probably rules out Beatrice Redsall.’
Horton thought it likely, except he knew they shouldn’t make prejudgements. She could be extremely familiar with modern technology and he said as much, adding, ‘And she could be in league with someone who knows a great deal about computers.’ He recalled Ted Crossley proudly boasting they had wi-fi in all rooms and remembered silently admiring the Crossleys’ rear garden with its trees and shrubs. Perhaps Ted Crossley had worked with computers in the Navy, or Brenda Crossley might have done and they’d kept at the forefront of technological developments. Dr Deacon would also be up on technology. Then another thought occurred to Horton. ‘Redsall might have been the computer expert and once he’d obtained the information he was killed. We need to follow Spalding’s research trail.’
‘That could take months.’
‘There might be a short cut.’ Horton rang Marcus Felspur.