Seven

A mix of relief and disappointment crossed Dom Daniel Briar's narrow, lined face. Horton knew that he still clung to the hope that Dormand, aka Brother Norman, as he had known him, was alive. They turned towards the piggery.

'I'm here because I understand that the monastery has recently come into a substantial legacy.'

The abbot looked at Horton with surprise, and then a shadow crossed his clear blue eyes. 'You're referring to Mr Cedric Halliwell's bequest.'

'Yes. How well did you know him?'

'I didn't. I never met him. None of us did. You're wondering why he left everything to the abbey,' Dom Daniel Briar said, quickly interpreting Horton's puzzled expression. 'I have no idea, Inspector. I am grateful, although I understand that the property might take some time to sell. It is, I have been told, unique, large and in a landslip area. But time is of no consequence to us.'

'There will be money in his bank accounts which can be released to you before the estate is sold, and there is also his motorboat, which will be sold unless you decide to keep it.'

The abbot smiled. 'Our small dinghy is enough for us.'

A group of noisy school children came rushing up to the piggery. The abbot turned right on to the public footpath that led to Fishbourne and the car ferry which Horton had arrived on that morning.

'Could you, or one of the Brothers, have known Mr Halliwell under another name?'

'You mean he could have been a monk here at one time?'

'Or perhaps he stayed in your guest house.'

'I suppose it's possible. We haven't seen a picture of him or had him described to us.'

Horton showed him the copy he'd taken of the passport photograph and relayed the description Chilcott had given him, but the abbot looked blank and shook his head. 'He's not known to me, but I will ask my Brothers.'

'Could he have confessed to you or any of your Brothers?'

'Not to me, but again I will ask the others.'

'I'll email you the photograph.'

Horton didn't think he'd get a positive result. A rough-hewn wooden bench caught his eye, reminding him of the one outside Ben's cabin. He noted that this was dedicated to one of the monks who had died two years ago. He said, 'There was a man living in a cabin in the bay beneath Mr Halliwell's land. He died last week, and we're anxious to identify him. He was mid to late sixties, sturdily built, tanned, with grey cropped hair. From what I've seen in his cabin he was an incredibly talented wood carver.'

The abbot's head whipped round, and his blue eyes widened. 'You don't mean Ben?'

It was Horton's turn to look surprised. 'I do. You knew him?' he asked keenly.

'I'm sorry to hear he's died. Yes, I knew him. Well, Brother Norman did.'

Horton's mind grappled to pull together the implications of this while his rational side fought hard to say there was nothing unusual or suspicious about it. But there was, especially given that Brother Norman was a phoney.

'Ben carved that seat for us,' Dom Daniel Briar said, pausing before it.

Horton's pulse raced, but he disguised his keenness and asked when Ben had carved it.

'Last August and September. It was Brother Norman who recommended Ben.'

Was it indeed? This got even more interesting. 'Tell me about Ben?' Horton asked as they sat on the bench he had carved.

'He first came to us last May with some of his small wood carvings asking if we would care to sell them in the shop. Brother Norman showed them to us, and we all agreed it would be a good idea. They were very popular. He also carved the squirrel and the owl in front of the abbey, a great hit with young people.'

'Do you know why he came here specifically? Did Ben know Brother Norman previously?'

'If he did, neither man said. I only met Ben a few times and then not for long. Brother Norman dealt with him. I know nothing of Ben's background; he didn't volunteer it and I didn't ask. Brother Norman might have known more, but it's not our habit to pry.'

Pity. 'Could you ask your Brothers if they know more about Ben?'

'Of course, Inspector, if it will help.'

'Did Ben work on this seat here at the abbey?'

Which meant he'd have had plenty of time to have conversations with Dormand aka Brother Norman. Had the two men known one another before meeting up here? Had Ben been a monk at the Italian abbey where Dormand had been before coming here, as the abbot had previously told him? A fact that Horton had checked and had confirmed. But that didn't mean Dormand had genuinely been a monk there; that too could have been a cover. Was he being over suspicious? Was he seeing conspiracies everywhere? Possibly. Maybe he was losing his sense of reasoning and reality.

The image of those sandals found on Ben's feet flashed before Horton's mind. Jesus Sandals. They were similar to the ones he had seen on Dormand's and Lomas's feet. The abbot sported the same style. Had Ben and Lomas been real monks while Dormand a phoney one? And how did this fit with the landslip corpse and Cedric Halliwell and his bequest to the abbey? Maybe it didn't because in May, when Ben had first come here with his wood carvings, and in August and September when he had carved this seat, Halliwell, although the owner of Beachwood House, hadn't been living there. He'd only arrived in December, according to Chilcott. So perhaps Halliwell had been totally unaware that a cabin was in the bay beneath his house and that someone was living in it.

Horton pushed the myriad of questions buzzing around his head aside. 'What was Ben like?' he asked.

'Content, pleasant, amiable. He said he'd been practising woodcraft for about twenty years and had made a good living from it, enough for his needs he said, which were small.'

'Did he have an accent?'

'Not in the sense that he joined us in prayer or spoke of God. He might have been religious in his own way, of course.'

'Did he ever talk about or mention the name Cedric Halliwell?'

'Not to me and, judging by the surprise of my Brothers, not to them either. He might have done so to Brother Norman, but sadly we can't ask him.'

No, thought Horton. 'Have you ever heard the name Wyndham Lomas?'

'Maybe your Brothers have?'

'I'll ask them for you, Inspector. Is he a friend of Ben's?'

'Possibly. I'm keen to trace him. He claimed to be an artist.'

Horton thought it time to tell the abbot about the landslip corpse. Dom Daniel Briar expressed surprise and concern at the news.

'We're not yet sure how the man died,' Horton added, 'but his death is being treated as suspicious. And because his body was discovered just below Mr Halliwell's property, I would like your permission to enter Beachwood House. There might be something inside that can help us with our investigation and with discovering Ben's identity, if Mr Halliwell knew Ben. I'd also like to look over Mr Halliwell's boat.'

'Of course you have my permission. I will give instructions to Mr Chilcott to release the keys to you.'

'Thank you. Have you been inside the house?'

'No. I've left all that to Mr Chilcott. I will telephone him immediately and authorize it. You will keep me fully informed, Inspector?' The abbey bell sounded. 'I'm sorry, but I have to go. That's the bell for Sexts.'

'Of course. I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your time and without bringing you any good news.'

'You'll let me know if you hear anything about Brother Norman?'

'I will.' But Horton thought the abbot would wait a while for that. Forever, in fact.

Returning to his Harley, Horton called Uckfield, relayed what Gaye had said and the news he'd discovered from the abbot about Ben. 'If Ben knew Cedric Halliwell then perhaps that was why Halliwell decided to bequeath his estate to the abbey, knowing that Ben wouldn't want it, and Halliwell felt grateful to the abbey for selling Ben's work and commissioning him. Not that it gets us any further with the landslip victim. I'll stay on the island until Dr Clayton has finished the post-mortem, and while I'm waiting, I'll get the keys from Chilcott, and take a look round Beachwood House and Halliwell's boat.'

Uckfield grumpily agreed. Horton wanted to give the abbot time to call Chilcott, so he made for Bembridge Marina where Chilcott had said Halliwell had kept his boat. The Solent glimmered in a clear turquoise sky. There was barely a ripple on the water, and he could see several yachts making the most of the weather. The buildings of Portsmouth were so sharply in focus that he could almost make out every detail. Not a good sign weather-wise, so local folklore had it. Rising amongst them was the tower block where he had lived with his mother until he was ten. He'd sit and gaze out of the window, counting the boats in the Solent and wishing he could be on them having an adventure. Well, he got there in the end. Now he wished he could give Emma that adventure. Instead, she spent time on Catherine's rich boyfriend's luxury motor cruiser that was almost as big as the Isle of Wight ferry he could see streaming through the calm waters towards Portsmouth. Or she'd be on her grandfather's larger yacht.

He wound his way along the road that led to the National Trust land which had once been a golf course with public access through it, recalling how the January before last he had met Thea Carlsson, crouching over the body of her brother with a gun in her hand. During that full-scale murder investigation he had got close to Thea. He hadn't believed from the start that she had committed the murder. She had claimed to be psychic. He was sceptical about that, but she seemed to sense his difficult childhood and the presence of his mother.

There had been his own flash of memory of being here as a child, long before the marina had existed. His mother had been ahead of him, with a man. She'd turned and called his name. He'd run to her, laughing. He could remember nothing of the man. Why couldn't he? Perhaps because he had been too young, only five or six, or perhaps because the man hadn't made any impact on him, which meant he couldn't have seen him regularly, and he hadn't conjured up any strong feeling about him. He couldn't remember how they had got to the Isle of Wight. Had it been by private boat or the ferry? All Horton knew was that he had been happy. His mother had been too.

He parked just outside the marina office and was surprised to see the police RIB on the pontoon. He bumped into Elkins coming out of the office.

'What are you doing here?' Horton asked.

'Booking my summer holiday,' came Elkins' sarcastic but good-natured reply, before he added, 'There have been some thefts from the harbour, a couple of outboard engines and a motorboat. The latter probably used to transport the outboard engines away.'

'I'd have thought you'd be occupied following up the Chief Constable's sailing club arson.' Walters had told Horton earlier that morning on the phone that he was interviewing the staff and the club's suppliers. Meanwhile, DC Leonard was reviewing previously unsolved arson cases, looking for similarities and checking if any known arsonists had recently been released from prison and were knocking around the city.

Elkins said, 'We've already spoken to the lock master at Horsea Marina who says that no boats entered or left the lock at the critical time, save for our lone night sailor who reported the arson. But what are you doing here?'

'Looking at the late Cedric Halliwell's boat. Care to join me?'

They entered the marina office where Horton introduced himself and explained why he was there.

'Poor man,' said the woman behind the desk. 'He should never have gone out on the boat. Not that it was the cause of his death, but he might have been found sooner if it had been a clear day. There was a terrible mist in the Solent,' she explained to Horton's baffled look.

'Was it misty when he left here?'

'Yes, all day, it never lifted.'

And Horton knew that fog or sea mist was the sailor's worst nightmare, so why chance it? 'What was Mr Halliwell like?'

'I only saw him twice, once when he looked over the boat with a view to purchasing it, and the second time when it was his. He was a quiet man, nicely spoken, polite, in his sixties. We didn't know the boat had gone with him on board until Ryde Inshore Rescue brought it back and gave us the sad news.'

'When did he purchase it?'

'Mid-January. He bought the boat and the berth together. Mr and Mrs Wakelin were the previous owners. They had it for sale privately. They'd put a card in the chandlers on Embankment Road which said interested parties should enquire at the marina. I handed him the keys, as we were instructed to do if anyone asked about it. He looked over the boat alone, came back and said he'd have it. Four days later it was his. He didn't bother with a survey.'

A rush job then. Halliwell must have owned a telephone at some stage to have phoned the Wakelins and his bank to arrange payment.

'Do you have the Wakelins' address?' Horton asked.

'They're living in Portugal now. I don't know where. It was why they were selling the boat, to move abroad. I have their mobile number, would you like that?'

Horton said they would. She relayed it to Elkins.

Horton wondered if he would find a logbook on board, or had Chilcott taken that? In fact, Horton hadn't asked Chilcott if he had been on board Halliwell's boat and taken any paperwork from it, but he would when he collected the keys. He asked for the boat's name and where it was moored, then, with Elkins, set out the short distance along the single pontoon which stretched out from the shore. It branched left, leading into the small harbour. The wind was strengthening, causing ripples across the water like corrugated iron, and the cloud was building from the south. Opposite came the pulsating beat of machinery from the gravel pit on the northern shores of Bembridge. There were a couple of dog walkers on the sandy beach and a handful of people sitting on benches outside the café next to the sailing club. A number of small craft bobbed gently in the harbour and, to his right along the Embankment Road, were the row of houseboats which had been there as long as he could remember.

Halliwell's boat, Tradewinds, was sandwiched between a sailing yacht and another motorboat. It was a much more modest craft than Horton had anticipated, especially for a multimillionaire who could have bought such a vessel as a tender for a mega yacht. But then, judging by the state of Halliwell's house, he had been a man who hadn't liked to parade his wealth or spend his money. The four berth boat was clean and well cared for with a green rear canopy stretching over the cockpit.

'Talk to Ryde Inshore Rescue, Dai, see what you can find out about the rescue.'

'I'll also see if I can get hold of the Wakelins.'

They returned to the shore where Horton bought sandwiches from the café for them all and, after eating them on board the RIB, he returned to his Harley and made for the solicitor's office. Chilcott grumbled about releasing the keys to the boat and the house but did as had been requested by the abbot. He confirmed that he had been on board the boat, but had found no paperwork nor a logbook. Horton thought that slightly unusual but made no comment.