Twelve

Cantelli duly expressed amazement in every room as Horton lifted some prints from around the house, but it was when they reached the cellar that his dark eyes nearly popped out of his head.

'Blimey! You weren't kidding. My old dad would have liked this. Any Italian wines here?' he asked, resuming chewing his gum and craning his neck to read the labels on some bottles as he walked around the cellar.

'I expect so,' Horton answered, while trying to get some prints from a shelf. 'Take a look at the catalogue.' He handed him the valuation report.

'Dad was partial to a nice Chianti. Must say I am too. Ah, here's one, a 1952 Riserva Ducale Chianti Serie Ora Stravecchio Ruffino, bit of a mouthful and not sure I got the pronunciation right. Isabella is better at Italian than me.'

Isabella was Cantelli's sister and Horton often heard her speaking Italian in the café she ran on the seafront.

'Toni, my elder brother, was born in 1952. How much? Oh, a snip at three hundred pounds,' Cantelli said brightly and sarcastically. 'I think Toni will have to do with a Chianti from the supermarket for his birthday.'

'They sell some good wines.'

'Under a tenner yes. I'd even stretch to twenty five, maybe thirty pounds but no more.'

'Where's your Italian spirit?'

'Evaporated. My mother's practical English side has asserted itself.'

Cantelli continued, 'Here's the name, telephone number and web address of Simply Cellars.' He indicated a small brass plaque on the centre piece shelf. Withdrawing his notebook and plucking his pencil from behind his ear, he jotted it down. 'It saves me the job of looking them up. I'm itching to know how much this must have set Halliwell back.'

'Have you finished ogling the place?'

Cantelli sighed with one last look around. 'Guess so.'

They headed for Bembridge, where they stopped for a late sandwich lunch in the café on the Duver overlooking the Solent before looking over Halliwell's boat. The wind was freshening even further, and dark clouds loomed in the west. Cantelli watched them warily.

Horton said he'd excuse Cantelli from going on board Halliwell's boat, but Cantelli declined. 'Don't want to be accused of not being able to do my job,' he said good-naturedly.

Horton unzipped the green canopy and climbed on board. Cantelli gingerly followed suit. There was a single forward-facing seat at the helm and Horton, sitting in it, inserted one of the keys into the instrumentation panel.

'For God's sake don't suggest taking it out,' Cantelli said alarmed.

'You'd be in safe hands, and there's enough petrol, the tank's a quarter full. But I'll spare you. There's no record of his last trip or any journey before that. But then he hadn't owned the boat long before he died.'

They descended to the main cabin. Horton said, 'This was where he was found, lying face down. He could have got up from the table, been gripped by a heart attack and collapsed. It was so sudden he could do nothing about it. Or perhaps he had been struggling to get to the helm to make a distress call. Have a rummage around, Barney, for any paperwork, while I lift some prints.' Horton found a few which could be those of Jason Arlett and his colleague from Ryde Inshore Rescue. He'd ask Elkins to take their fingerprints.

Cantelli reported there was no documentation. They alighted and Horton zipped up the canopy.

Cantelli studied the gathering clouds. 'Don't you think it's time to make for the ferry?'

The wind was certainly picking up speed. Horton was about to agree when his phone rang. It was Trueman with the news that the architect lived on the island and was at this moment engaged on a project at Seaview and would be happy to talk to them there.

'It's on the way to the ferry, and the storm won't get worse for hours yet,' Horton reassured.

Cantelli looked dubious.

'Trust me, I'm a sailor.'

'Yeah, and a policeman and we all know what they're like with the truth.'

'Speak for yourself,' Horton joked.

Ten minutes later Cantelli squeezed the car between a flatbed truck and a white van. There were two more vans parked in the gravel lane which was a dead end. The large detached house on their left was in the act of being completely re-modelled. The sound of hammering and loud music came from inside, and there were two men on the roof carefully removing tiles no doubt to be replaced once the house had been extended and refurbished. Cantelli asked one of the workmen where they could find Redcar.

'I'll get him for you.' A couple of minutes later a smallish round man in his late forties wearing a white hard hat over dark hair, and a high-vis jacket over casual clothes appeared. He greeted them pleasantly and curiously. Trueman had told the architect they wanted to talk to him about Cedric Halliwell and Beachwood House.

'Come through to the garden. It's quieter there, although this lot are knocking off any minute.'

And, as though on cue, the loud music suddenly stopped.

They followed him around the side of the house into a wide expanse of wild garden which gave on to a small sand and shingle bay where a woman and man were walking their dog. The wind was strengthening and the Portsmouth horizon had already disappeared in the gloom laden sky. Redcar invited them to sit on a wooden bench that afforded some shelter from the gusting wind from the west. Horton opened by asking when Redcar had met Cedric Halliwell.

'When he commissioned me to undertake the remodelling of the interior of Beachwood House, which was early March last year. He'd bought the property in February. I met him again during the refurbishment in mid-April and then finally on completion on the 28 June. A pleasant man, and a good client, not too demanding. Not like these.' He jerked his head at the house. 'Still, if they keep changing their minds, it's their money they're spending. He's a London banker and she's a top corporate lawyer in the City.'

'It's a big house,' Cantelli said, looking up at the three storey sprawling property. 'Do they have a large family?'

'No, it's just the two of them but they like to have house parties. This house, like the others along here, will only be used in August.'

A bit like Eames' mansion, thought Horton.

'Seems a waste,' Cantelli said sorrowfully. Horton guessed he was thinking of his five children and Charlotte in their semidetached house on the eastern edge of Portsmouth, but Horton knew Cantelli wouldn't swap it for this. As long as he had his lovely wife and children all well and happy, Barney would have lived in Ben's log cabin.

Redcar was saying, 'Mr Halliwell knew exactly what he wanted, which is quite unusual. He was so clear on it that he could have practically drawn up the plans himself. Some of the rooms were remodelled, for example the old kitchen, pantry, utility room and a small room at the back of the house were all opened up to form one large kitchen and breakfast room. An en suite was added upstairs, other than that it was working with the existing structure.'

'Including the cellar.'

'How can I forget that?' Redcar smiled and widened his dark eyes. 'But that was all Mr Halliwell's doing. Again, he knew exactly what he wanted and who he wanted to build it, Simply Cellars, based in London. They stored Mr Halliwell's wine.'

This was good news. It meant they could tell them a lot more about Halliwell.

'Did he speak to you about his wine?'

'Only in the sense that he invested in it and paintings. He told me where his paintings were to hang so that the interior could be designed to suit them. But that was it. He was reserved. You couldn't get close to him, but then I only met him three times. And it wasn't my business to gossip but to get on with managing the project. I'm sure Dudley Coppens at Simply Cellars will be able to tell you more about Mr Halliwell.'

Horton hoped so. 'How did Mr Halliwell contact you initially?'

Horton nodded and Cantelli scribed.

Redcar continued, 'He said he'd looked me up on the internet and on the Royal Institute of British Architects website. He'd seen my work on my website and, because I lived on the island where he had bought a house, he thought I'd be ideal to assist him. We arranged to meet at Beachwood House at the beginning of March, and we walked through the house while he explained exactly what he wanted. He said he lived alone and that there would be no visitors to cater for, so he didn't require a guest suite or a children's room, and the kitchen design was to his specification.'

'Did he say why he had bought such a big house just for himself and in that location? It seems an odd thing to do,' Cantelli ventured.

'All he said was that he liked privacy, and I didn't pry. I got the impression he didn't want to discuss anything of a personal nature. I made a few suggestions to Mr Halliwell, especially concerning the exterior but he was adamant he wanted that untouched, likewise the gatehouse. He wanted everything done quickly, no delay and said he'd pay a premium for that. If I said I couldn't start the job for six months or get the builders then he'd go elsewhere. I drew up the designs, and he approved them.'

'I sent pictures of the plans over to his mobile phone. I engaged the contractors, and we started working on the house in March, completing it in June.'

'But Mr Halliwell didn't move in until January.'

'I know. Bit odd that when he wanted it completed so quickly. Still, that was his business. He said I was to oversee the whole project without troubling him. He gave me free rein to appoint whoever I thought best for the job. He lived abroad, the Cayman Islands, but said he wasn't always there, he travelled a great deal. I was to call him if there were any issues which I couldn't resolve myself or any questions. He wasn't a man who went in for personal chit chat.'

And would Halliwell have been equally reticent with Simply Cellars? Possibly, but as they had stored his wine before the cellar at Beachwood House had been commissioned and built, Horton hoped not.

Redcar said, 'I also oversaw the purchase of the entire contents of the house except for the paintings, the wine, and the piano.'

Horton eyed him, puzzled. 'And the snooker table?'

'That too. Everything in the house was new, the furniture, bed linen, crockery, cutlery, appliances, towels, the lot.'

'Unusual wouldn't you say?'

'It does happen occasionally, especially if it is a holiday home or a property to let. I thought at first he intended to rent it out, but the cellar ruled that out. No one builds an expensive cellar for a tenant. I appointed an interior designer who worked closely with me on the internal decoration and the contents. Neither she nor the project manager met Mr Halliwell, everything was done via me. He paid handsomely, on time and no quibble. As I said earlier, I would like more clients like him. I was sorry to hear he'd died. I read about it in the local newspaper.'

Horton heard some vans starting up. The builders were leaving, and Cantelli looked anxiously at the sky as a few spots of rain fell. The strengthening wind was whipping up the green-blue sea, causing it to crash in an explosion of spray on the shore. Horton could taste the salt on his lips. As if reading his mind, Cantelli licked his and shifted uneasily.

Horton addressed Redcar. 'Did he mention the log cabin? The one in the bay beneath Beachwood House.'

'I saw it from the house and asked him about it, but he told me he didn't own it and that it was derelict because the land was given to landslips.'

'Did you see anyone living in it or anyone on the shore or cliffside while you were at Beachwood House?'

Horton wondered whether the builders had. Cantelli, obviously on the same wavelength, asked if they could have the contact details of all the builders and the interior designer. Redcar said he would email all the information over. Looking puzzled he said, 'Why all the questions? Is there something suspicious about Mr Halliwell's death?'

Horton told him that a body had been found on the cliff just below Beachwood House and they were trying to establish if there was any connection between it and Mr Halliwell.

'Really! Who is it?'

'That's what we're hoping to discover. Do you still have the telephone number Mr Halliwell gave you?'

'Yes, but it won't be any good to you. It's no longer active. I tried it in September, three months after handing over the house to him, hoping I could persuade him to let me use it as a testimonial and example of my work. The line was dead. I had a feeling he wouldn't let me anyway. Well more than a feeling. There was a sort of determination about him. He had a very candid gaze, not hard exactly, but the steely kind that said don't mess with me. Firm jaw, iron grip. When the project was signed off, he said he knew where I was if he wanted me again. And even though he was delighted with the work, he wouldn't allow me to take any photographs of it and said I wasn't to include it in my portfolio. I thought he must have changed his phone company, and there was no need for him to give me his new number. So that was that.'

Redcar relayed the phone number from his phone address book, and Cantelli jotted it down. It wasn't the same number that Elkins had given him, the one that the Wakelins had for Halliwell. So obviously Halliwell had changed his phone and phone company between liaising with the architect and buying the motor cruiser. No crime in that. Another number for Trueman to check out. But this too might have been a pay-as-you-go account, which meant no phone records to obtain and scrutinize.

'And he gave no indication of why he wanted to live on the Isle of Wight?'

Horton asked how Halliwell had settled his account.

'Through a bank in Guernsey. Morgans.'

'You have the details?'

'Yes, but they're in my office at home. I can email them to you.'

Cantelli gave Redcar a card with his mobile number and email address on it. The bank details would be the same as those on the documents Chilcott had given them, which Halliwell had used to purchase the boat and the wines from Wight Barn Wines, but it was always best to check.

Redcar ran a hand over his head and said with a little awkwardness, 'Do you think I'll be able to use the Beachwood House project now that he's dead? I know that sounds insensitive but the benefactor, or the new owner when the house is sold, might knock it about. They might even want an architect. Do you know who the benefactors are?'

'You can contact his executor, Peter Chilcott Solicitors.' Horton saw no harm in giving Redcar that information. 'Did you get any indication that Mr Halliwell was religious?'

'No,' Redcar answered.

'There was nothing in his belongings to indicate he was?'

'I didn't see his belongings. As I said, I handed the project over to him when it was complete and before he moved in.'

'Can you describe him to me?'

Redcar looked bemused by the question but said, 'He spoke quietly, without an accent but with a kind of force, the type that commands easily without having to shout, bully or flatter. I'd guess about early-sixties, silver-white hair, straight and thick, cut short, blue eyes, lean, expensively but casually dressed. Tag Heuer watch, gold signet ring. Confident. A bit taller than you, about six foot two.'

Horton's mind was racing. Cantelli had stopped chewing his gum, and his pencil had frozen over his notebook.

'Are you sure?' Horton said.

Horton thought of the description that Chilcott and Nansen had given him of Halliwell, and of the one Jason Arlett had relayed to Elkins. Save for the Tag Heuer watch nothing else tallied, and there was no mention of a signet ring on the body or in the list of belongings that Chilcott had given him. 'Any distinguishing marks?'

Redcar was an architect with an eye for detail. He would have noticed if there had been anything. 'Well, yes, actually there was. There was some scarring on the back of his right hand, which went as far as his wrist. It might have gone further up his arm but I never saw him without a long sleeve shirt, jumper or sailing jacket.'

'I can't be sure, but it looked as though it was a burn and a severe enough one to leave permanent scarring.'

Horton's mind leapt to a fire in 1968 in which twenty-four men had died, including Zachary Benham. But then the fire in the Goldsmith Psychiatric Hospital wasn't the only fire in the world. But something else nudged at him. He tried to retrieve it… scars… burns… hands… Hands are so important, don't you think? They don't lie. Those were practically Dormand's last words to him on the abbey shore. Rory Mortimer had been wearing a ring in the photograph from 1967. Dormand had been wearing that ring when Horton had confronted him. He'd thought Dormand had been referring to the ring but maybe he hadn't.

He pushed the thoughts aside for re-examination later, for now, Redcar's final description had clinched one thing, and he saw from Cantelli's expression that he had also realized it; the man who had made his will with Peter Chilcott, the one who had purchased wines from Wight Barn Wines, and the man found dead on his boat by the Ryde Inshore Rescue team was not the same man who Colin Redcar had dealt with over the refurbishment of Beachwood House.