Nine

Horton answered it. Four minutes later he came off the phone with a sad shake of his head. 'Absence certainly doesn't make the heart grow fonder in her case. She wasn't pleased to learn that two members of her CID team are on a Major Crime Team investigation, but I told her to take that up with Superintendent Uckfield.'

'I bet she didn't much like that either.'

'No, and despite us being otherwise engaged, she wants regular updates and results on both the highway robberies and the arson. I told her DC Leonard was following up convicted arsonists recently released, and that Walters had drawn a blank interviewing staff and suppliers unless we check all their alibis which would take a huge amount of time. Thank God there were no highway robberies yesterday. Anything new occur to you on the landslip murder?'

'Haven't got through all the information yet.'

'Then I'll leave you in peace.' Horton stepped out on to the deck and found a fairly sheltered spot where he returned some calls from the previous day's messages and watched the promenade slip slowly past them. After he'd finished his calls, he bought himself some breakfast and a coffee, along with a tea for Cantelli, and returned to the sergeant. While he ate, they discussed the case. Cantelli couldn't throw any more light on it than Horton could, save that he thought the house of contrasts interesting and that Chilcott had been economical with the truth.

Horton's phone rang. He was pleased to see it was Sergeant Elkins.

'I've spoken to the volunteer, Jason Arlett, at Ryde Inshore Rescue, who boarded Halliwell's boat. Arlett works for Grinstead Marine Engineering in Ryde. He said the call came through at about two p.m. on 1 February. There was a sea mist all day. It was bitterly cold. When they saw the craft, they noted that there was no one at the helm and the engine wasn't running. He thought the owner might have fallen overboard or been taken ill. They hailed the vessel, but there was no answer. They fixed a line to the stern and Jason and a colleague boarded her. They found Halliwell lying face down in the main cabin as though he'd got up from the helm, felt ill and collapsed. They took the boat back to Bembridge. It was low tide so they couldn't get into Ryde marina. A uniformed officer was waiting for them, PC Wetherton, and a paramedic, who wasn't needed, but she confirmed death and the body was taken to the mortuary at St Mary's Hospital Newport.'

'Anything strike Arlett as unusual?' Horton knew Elkins would have asked that question.

'No. He said there was a mug on the table, but he can't remember if there were dregs in it. Everything was clean and tidy. No bedding in the for'ard cabin but a sailing jacket on the bunk.'

'Did Halliwell have a course plotted on the radar?'

'Any paperwork on board?'

'Arlett didn't see any, and neither was there a logbook or if there was then it had been put away in one of the lockers. Neither he nor any of his colleagues searched the boat.'

'What did Halliwell look like?' Horton asked, then quickly added, 'apart from being dead?' before Elkins could make some witty reply.

'Thinning grey hair, receding at the temples, medium build, mid-sixties, about six foot, lean face, heavily lined. He was wearing deck shoes, casual brown trousers and a navy-blue jumper. Oh, and a good wrist watch, a Tag Heuer. Arlett is observant and he knows his watches, as do I. Tag Heuers don't come cheap. Arlett couldn't see a computer and there wasn't a mobile phone. PC Wetherton went through the pockets but there was nothing remarkable in them, just a wallet. No credit or debit cards, no driver's licence, just two twenty pound notes and a ten pound note. No coins in his pockets either.'

'Only one on the key ring that was in the helm.'

A list of the contents would have been passed to Chilcott, along with the actual items, all of which would eventually belong to the abbey.

'I wonder where he was going on a bitterly cold, misty day.'

'If he was going anywhere, save up or down, depending on how good a boy he'd been in life,' Elkins elaborated.

'It's a possibility, but not sure how he did it unless he threw the empty bottle of tablets he'd taken over board before passing out? Maybe they brought on a coronary.'

'The post-mortem didn't find any evidence of drugs in his system.'

'Then I'm wrong. I usually am. The canopy over the cockpit had been unzipped at the aft but not pulled back. But then it was bitterly cold and misty. I've also spoken to Mr Wakelin who said that Halliwell paid for the boat by a transfer of funds from a bank in Guernsey. He gave me a contact number he had for Halliwell but it's a dead line, as you'd expect.'

Horton asked Elkins to relay it to Trueman and ask him to check out the number and provider, but Horton suspected it might have been a pay-as-you-go phone as Halliwell hadn't wanted Chilcott the solicitor to have the number. He wondered why.

He relayed the information to Cantelli.

'These Tag Heuer watches, how much are they worth?' Cantelli asked.

'About six thousand pounds.'

Horton shook his head. 'Halliwell was a millionaire.'

'Wonder what happened to it.'

'We'll ask Chilcott.'

The solicitor wasn't best pleased to see them some fifty minutes later.

'I can only spare you half an hour. I have a client appointment at ten,' he said tersely the moment his secretary closed the boardroom door behind them. Cantelli took the seat beside Horton, his pencil poised over his notebook, chewing his gum with a slight frown of concentration. He'd survived the sea crossing without the slightest hint of queasiness. Horton had told him his seasickness was all in the mind. Cantelli had said, 'I'll remind you of that when I'm throwing up on the way back.'

'Were you surprised at the contrast between the interior and exterior of Beachwood House?' Horton launched without any preliminary exchange.

Chilcott blinked hard, as though he didn't understand the question. After a moment he shifted and said, 'Well, yes, I was a little.'

'Would the interior have been like that when Mr Halliwell bought the house?'

'Definitely not. Jacob Sundridge was ninety-three when he died in 1997, and the property had been neglected for some years before that. In fact, Sundridge didn't live there but in London. It was bought as a holiday retreat, but he hardly ever used it. He had a successful publishing business which his nephew now runs. His estate was left to that nephew, Orion Sundridge, who immediately put Beachwood House up for sale. It took years to offload, not only because of its decaying state, but also because of its position in a landslip area. Insurance is almost impossible to get and extremely expensive if you can get it. I wasn't involved in the sale of the property. But being local, with contacts in the property business, I knew all about it. Orion Sundridge instructed a London agent and his own lawyer in the city.'

'And Mr Halliwell? Who did he instruct? You have the deeds I take it?'

'Not yet. They're with a legal firm in Guernsey, Selwyns. I've spoken to them on the phone. They handled the purchase for Mr Halliwell.'

Then they could be worth talking to, thought Horton. He'd call his old friend, Inspector John Guilbert of the States of Guernsey Police, and ask him to make enquiries about Halliwell. The fact that Halliwell had instructed a Guernsey lawyer could mean he had split his time living between there and the Cayman Islands.

Chilcott said, 'The current Beachwood House was built in 1937 on the site of the old manor house, which Jacob Sundridge had demolished.'

'So Halliwell had it completely remodelled inside to his own design. Who did the work for him?'

'I have no idea,' Chilcott archly replied. 'I mentioned to you before that I couldn't find any invoices or receipts for anything in the house.'

'Not even for the paintings and the wine?' Horton asked slightly sceptically.

'You've seen that cellar?'

'Of course.' Chilcott shifted, and his eyes darted to Cantelli and back to Horton.

'Then you must know that some of the wine must be very valuable.'

'Of course. I've had them valued.' Chilcott bristled.

'Wight Barn Wines. They're a reputable Island company with an international reputation,' he added, as though Horton was about to criticize his choice of valuer.

'I'd like a copy of their report.'

Chilcott made as if to protest, then changed his mind. After all, he had been instructed by the abbot to give them every assistance. With slightly ill grace he said, 'I'll get my secretary to copy it.' He reached for his phone, but Horton forestalled him.

'I'd also like an inventory of all the items you found in the house and on the boat. Was there a logbook?'

The previous owner would have kept hold of his, and Halliwell, not owning the boat for long, might not have got around to supplying his own. Maybe Elkins was correct about the suicide theory, because Halliwell wouldn't need a logbook if his intention was to kill himself on board the first time out.

'I'd also like copies of the provenance for the paintings,' Horton said.

'There weren't any.'

'Don't you think that strange?'

'Why should I? It's not my job to comment on my late client's peculiarities.'

No, thought Horton, all Chilcott wanted was to get his hands on a substantial fee for handling the estate. He left a short pause. The solicitor sniffed and looked down at the boardroom table. Outside, a car started up and a seagull screeched. Just when Chilcott looked set to break the uneasy silence, Horton said, 'What did you do with Mr Halliwell's clothes?'

'Gave them to a charity shop.'

'The abbot requested you do so?'

Horton thought if the solicitor had been the same size as Halliwell he might have kept them. But Chilcott was short and round whereas Halliwell, by all accounts, had been tall and slim. Besides, Chilcott was younger, in his mid-forties, Horton had estimated, and his taste in clothes was a little on the flamboyant side. Today, his suit was a loud black pinstriped one accompanied by a lemon coloured tie that contained small white motifs which looked like tiny smiling faces.

'What about Halliwell's personal belongings, jewellery for example?'

That was a lie. Horton sensed Cantelli's interest, but he didn't show it. 'I understand he was wearing a watch when his body was found.'

Chilcott flushed and pulled his ear – the larger of the two. 'I'd forgotten, yes, he was. It was only a cheap one.'

That wasn't what Arlett had said. Maybe he had been mistaken or the Tag Heuer had been a fake. Horton let it go for now.

'The watch also went to the charity shop,' Chilcott said.

'Which one?' asked Cantelli.

Chilcott looked startled, as though he hadn't expected Cantelli to be capable of speech. 'The Red Cross in Shanklin High Street.'

Cantelli took some time writing this down.

Irritably, Chilcott said, 'Is that it because I really am extremely busy?'

'We're sorry to keep you but appreciate your help,' Horton said smoothly. It didn't mollify the solicitor. 'There are a just a few more questions, Mr Chilcott. There were some binoculars in Mr Halliwell's study, did you see them?'

'Did you look through them?'

'Why should I want to do that? I see the view of the English Channel every day. My apartment overlooks it.'

Horton nodded as though to say, of course, but he doubted anyone could have resisted using them. Perhaps Chilcott was the exception.

'Then you didn't see the cabin in the bay.'

'I've already told you I know nothing about it.'

'It's quite clearly visible from Mr Halliwell's study, especially through the binoculars and in winter when the trees are bare. He must have known it was there.'

'Well I didn't see it, and Mr Halliwell made no mention of it or anyone living in it.'

Horton held Chilcott's gaze, but his eye contact remained steady. 'Did Mr Halliwell mention the piano? He must have been an accomplished pianist to own such a magnificent instrument.'

'If he was, he never said. I didn't find any sheet music in the house.'

Cantelli looked up. 'Perhaps he was too good to need music to read from.'

'Did you make enquiries about his background or if he was known in musical circles?' Cantelli asked.

'In case anyone wanted to attend his funeral.'

'I put an announcement in the Daily Telegraph, The Times and the local press, but no one showed up.'

'That's sad. Was he buried or cremated?'

'Just humour us, Mr Chilcott,' Horton interjected. 'We'll be out of your hair a lot quicker if you do.'

He pursed his lips and scowled. 'Cremated. Eventually,' he added.

So that blew an exhumation. Not that Horton had any reason to ask for one.

'Why do you say "eventually"?' Cantelli asked.

'He left his body to medical science and, as the Isle of Wight doesn't have a body donation process, it has to go to the nearest medical school which accepts them, and that's the University of Southampton. Mr Halliwell had made all the arrangements with the funeral director before his death.'

Then he knew he was going to die and sooner rather than later, thought Horton, which indicated he had been aware that his health problem could carry him off at any time. Or had he been afraid of someone tracking him down and killing him? The landslip corpse perhaps? Or had Halliwell died first? Gaye couldn't be certain. It was a close call, anyway. If Halliwell had killed the landslip corpse then perhaps, suffering from delayed shock or anguish at what he'd done, combined with the cold, he'd had a heart attack on board his boat and died. Horton put his concentration back on what Chilcott was relaying.

'Because of the manner of Mr Halliwell's death, alone, on his boat in the Solent, the coroner ordered an autopsy and that meant a delay in getting the body to Southampton. It has to be at the medical school within five days, but that wasn't the only stumbling block. I discovered that the medical school doesn't take bodies which have undergone an autopsy. I had no specific instructions as to what Mr Halliwell would have wanted, burial or cremation. He wasn't Catholic, even a lapsed one. At least, I don't think he was.'

Cantelli again spoke, 'Did you find a rosary, crucifix or bible in Beachwood House?'

'No, but as he had left his estate to the Benedictine Abbey, I asked Dom Daniel Briar what I should do. The abbot would have preferred a burial, which is traditional in the Catholic faith.'

'But there was no designated plot for a burial and the abbot wasn't certain Halliwell would have wanted that anyway, given that his original request was not to be either buried or cremated. I persuaded the abbot that it might be better for everyone if a simple cremation took place. The abbot capitulated on the grounds that a service be held for Halliwell first. Dom Daniel Briar spoke to the priest at the Catholic Church in Ryde, and it was arranged that Mr Halliwell's body be taken there for the Funeral Mass. The cremation took place straight afterwards with only myself, the priest from the church in Ryde and Dom Daniel Briar present.'

Not Ben then, Horton thought, unless he had remained out of sight or had taken up residence in the cabin after Halliwell's death, but the latter seemed unlikely given what the abbot had told him about Ben's work at the abbey. Horton was certain Ben had been living in that cabin at least from May, when he had first approached the abbey asking them to sell his woodcarvings.

Chilcott said, 'In accordance with the Catholic Church the remains were buried, not scattered, in the abbey grounds.'

The phone rang and Chilcott swiftly answered it. Replacing the receiver, he said, 'My ten o'clock appointment has arrived. Now, if there's nothing else?'

'Just copies of all the documentation you have,' answered Horton.

Chilcott picked up the telephone and gave instructions to his secretary.

'She'll be a while. If you wait in reception, she'll bring them to you.'

They obliged. An elderly man was shown into the boardroom by Chilcott himself, who was all smiles and oily pleasantries.

Five minutes later, Chilcott's secretary, a woman in her early fifties, handed them a buff coloured folder.

Outside, Cantelli said, 'He's a bit on the defensive side.'

'Perhaps that's just his manner.'

'Maybe,' Cantelli dubiously replied, zapping open the car and climbing in.

'You think he's bent?'

'Your nose could be right. His description of the watch doesn't match that of Jason Arlett from the inshore rescue team. Let's see what it's listed as in the documentation.' He flipped through the paperwork. 'A Timex valued at fifty pounds. Either Jason Arlett was wrong or Chilcott's manipulated the inventory.'

'I'd go for the latter.'

'The watch must have been removed from the body in the mortuary. I wonder what they listed it as. I don't think we'll find that watch in the charity shop, but I'll get Sergeant Norris to follow it up. I'd like to talk to the wine valuers.' Horton flicked through the documentation. 'Wight Barn Wines, Niton.' He relayed the post code and, Cantelli, after punching it into the Sat Nav., pulled away and headed south.

Horton scanned the valuation report. 'There are some very expensive wines in that cellar.'

'You mean worth more than a few pounds?'

'More than a few thousand pounds.'

'For one bottle of wine?' Cantelli cried incredulously.

'According to this. There are two bottles each valued at approximately ten thousand pounds.'

'To drink?' Cantelli exclaimed. 'Seems a waste to me, in one end and out the other with nothing to show for it except a headache.'

'Not with this wine, Barney. It's not plonk.'

'I don't believe any wine can be worth that amount of money.'

'Well, the expert, Mr Charles Nansen, thinks they are. The art expert, Felicity Ellwood, is also based here on the island. But there's no valuation report for those paintings.'

'Perhaps she hasn't finished valuing them. She could be trying to discover more about them.'

'Probably. We'll talk to her later. The snooker table is listed here. Value provided by a reputable company. Six thousand pounds,' Horton added, consulting the notes. 'And the piano. Now that is interesting. It's been valued at twenty five thousand pounds.'

'For a piano!' Cantelli almost veered off the narrow road in his surprise.

'It's a Yamaha C3X Grand Piano, Polished Ebony.'

'Oh, well that makes all the difference,' Cantelli said airily.

Horton smiled. 'No one buys a piano like that for decoration. Halliwell must have been an accomplished pianist. So why didn't Chilcott advertize his client's demise in the appropriate musical periodicals?'

'Too lazy or too incompetent,' Cantelli summarized.

'Or didn't want anyone to come forward in case they obtained permission from the abbot to enter the house and could see what was missing.'

'A piano and snooker table are on the large side to tuck under your jacket,' Cantelli said smiling.

Horton returned it. 'That watch might not be the only item Peter Chilcott has helped himself to. There might have been other more portable items he could have removed from the property.'

'Sounds more likely than smuggling out a painting, unless it was a small one, although I didn't note any tell-tale gaps. That piano might tell us more about Halliwell. The company who sold it to him must know more about him. It's not the sort of thing you buy online without trying it out. Likewise, the wine cellar. No one goes to that much expense and trouble without knowing his stuff, and that could mean Halliwell was well known in wine circles.'

'Doesn't get us much further with the landslip corpse.'

'He could have been a fellow musician or wine lover.'

'Wrong clothes,' Horton said, thinking of Lomas.

'Not all artists go around dressed in ripped jeans and tatty T-shirts,' Cantelli said. 'Our landslip corpse could have put on his best suit because he was calling on a wealthy patron.'

'And ended up dead.'

'Professional jealousy?'

'I doubt it, Barney, but you never know. Turn left here.'

Cantelli did as instructed and, after half a mile, pulled up in front of an impressive manor house constructed in Isle of Wight grey stone, a barn complex and some large signs that informed them they had reached the premises of Wight Barn Wines.