Twenty-one

The fog was thicker than ever and showed no sign of lifting as Horton returned to the station. On his journey back, he considered what Vernon had told him. He had no reason to doubt him, he was the best jewellery historian in Europe, possibly the world. Besides, it fitted with the mystery over the brooch's disappearance and what he had suspected about it and its theft from Stanley.

The Portsmouth Blue, as it had become known because of its remarkable blue diamond centrepiece, had been owned by Charles II. He had given it to one of his faithful Royalists as a reward for his loyalty to the Crown during the English Civil War when Charles returned to the throne in 1660 two years after the death of Oliver Cromwell. It had been mined in India and kept in that same family for centuries. It had never been sold, either legitimately or underground, and had rarely been seen. The last time being on 28 June 1838, at Queen Victoria's Coronation.

Horton had asked the name of the Royalist it had been given to, though he'd no need to. He had already guessed. Vernon confirmed it. Viscount Lord Eames.

Someone in the Eames family had given that brooch to Jennifer. And someone in that same family had taken it back when they had discovered it had ended up with PC Adrian Stanley. When had Jennifer been given the brooch? Diamonds are a girl's best friend. She'd been singing that song shortly before her disappearance, so it had to be around that time.

But why give such a priceless heirloom to Jennifer in the first place? Had it been a token of love? A pretty expensive one at that! Maybe someone had stolen it from the Eames family and given it to Jennifer. Horton considered only one man could have done that, the errant son, Gordon, who had died in 1973. Or had he? Not if he was Cedric Halliwell, as Horton had previously conjectured. Had Gordon been Jennifer's ghost and entered that casino in 1978, causing her to go pale and leave the gaming table, according to her colleague, Susan Nash?

He pushed aside his personal thoughts and made his way to the incident suite. Dennings was in with Bliss. Seeing him enter, Bliss sprang up and, with Dennings following her, met him as he reached Trueman's desk.

'What did you get from Oliver Vernon?' she asked.

Horton relayed what Vernon had told him about the princess's jewels. They listened in silence.

'How reliable is Vernon?' Bliss queried.

'So it wasn't an inside job after all,' Dennings declared cockily.

'It could be if divorce is on the cards, and one of them wanted to make sure they could keep hold of the princess's jewellery and sell it underground later without having to declare and share it.'

'Has there been any hint of marital discord?' Bliss shot at Dennings.

Horton continued, 'Or it could be a family member who thought the princess's jewellery shouldn't have gone to Victoria Treham. Perhaps someone else had been promised it and knew the true value of the items. Or maybe a friend of the Trehams saw and recognized the jewels for what they were. The person who approached the dogs was able to drug them, so it must have been someone familiar with the house and who the dogs trusted, and that could only be a relative or a friend.'

'Why not the vet?' quipped Dennings sarcastically.

'If he or she is having an affair with either Victoria or Maurice Treham then maybe it was.'

Bliss sucked in her breath and directed her beady eye at Dennings. 'We start again. I want every relative detailed and interviewed. I want a list of friends who regularly visited the Trehams, and I want to know how sound that marriage is. Are either of them having an affair? And talk to the vet.'

Dennings made to speak when PC Jennings entered. His eyes alighting on Horton, he hurried forward.

'It's about the body found at Luccombe Bay,' he said, his gaze flicking between Bliss and Horton. 'I'm something of an expert at woodcarving, Ma'am, and I was asked by Sergeant Warren if the shape and pattern of the head wound matched any wood carving tools. It does.'

'Go on,' Bliss commanded when Jennings paused. Not out of nervousness or even modesty, Horton thought with a suppressed smile, but for effect.

'In my opinion, the small round head wound was made by a chisel, and then the skull was smashed in with a solid and heavy brass-head mallet, which might also have been used to ram the chisel into the skull, particularly if the victim was unconscious.'

'Let's hope the poor blighter was,' muttered Trueman.

'Amen to that,' agreed Horton. 'Neither were found in Ben's cabin. Would he have used such tools? I take it you've seen pictures of some of his woodcarvings?'

'I have, and they're amazing. He was exceptionally talented, and yes, he most certainly would have had a chisel and a mallet.'

Bliss said, 'He must have buried them or tossed them in the sea. It sounds as though Ben is the killer and then died of natural causes.'

Horton said, 'Someone else could have taken and used his tools.'

'You mean Michael Paignton.' Bliss then addressed PC Jennings, 'Have you got pictures of these tools?'

'Yes.' Jennings reached for his phone.

'Send them to Inspector Horton. Get them over to Dr Clayton, Inspector, and ask her expert opinion. Trueman, Dennings, my office.' She jerked her head and strode off, leaving them to follow her swinging ponytail. Horton sent the images to Gaye's email, thanked PC Jennings and made for CID. There was no sign of Walters. Horton suspected he was in the canteen, and Cantelli was still out following up Carswell. He again put in a call to Carina Musgrove, and again got her automated voice mail. She was an elusive lady. And she hadn't returned his earlier call. He wondered why. Did she know more about Ben than she had divulged in her statement? Or perhaps she didn't want to get involved. She might have left the area. The mobile number was the only one she had given. He called Sergeant Norris on the island.

'I was about to call you, Inspector,' Norris said. 'We've just managed to trace the taxi company and the driver who took George Caws to Wight Barn Wines. He picked up the fare at the Red Jet ferry at West Cowes.'

'The foot passenger service then.'

'Yes. The driver took him straight to Wight Barn Wines where he went for a walk while Caws went inside. He then drove Caws to Shanklin and dropped him off outside St Blasius' Church. Nothing further after that.'

'Did Caws say anything to the driver other than give directions?'

'Only that he was over from the mainland on business. The driver said he quickly got the message that he didn't want to chat.'

'Did he catch the train or the bus from Shanklin to Ryde?'

'We're making enquiries.'

'Is there a bus from Shanklin to Cowes?'

'Checking that too.'

'How far is it from St Blasius Church to Beachwood House?'

'Just over a mile I'd say, maybe a mile and a half. It's uphill then along the coastal footpath.'

Horton asked him to get a local constable to call on Ms Musgrove tomorrow at her cottage. 'If she isn't there, see if her boat is and talk to any neighbours to discover when she might return.' Horton suspected that the neighbours might not be able to help as the other four cottages in that row were probably also holiday homes and unoccupied at this time of the year.

He headed for the canteen where he found Walters finishing off a pudding, which, according to the menu board, was jam roly-poly with custard. He was engrossed in a newspaper spread out before him. Horton bought a coffee and some sandwiches and took the seat opposite the corpulent detective constable.

'You want to read this, guv, it's all about Agent Eames' lot.'

'It's the sports pages,' Horton said looking down at the pictures of horses, a large racing yacht and Lord Richard Eames' lean fair smiling face holding up a massive cup.

'It's the only bit of the papers worth reading. Her father's horses seem to win everything. Must ask her for a few tips when I next see her.'

'I doubt you'll get any. I don't think she's interested in horse racing.' But he knew she was into yacht racing because he'd seen her racing at Cowes in August. He relayed what Norris had told him.

'Do you think Caws went straight to Beachwood House after paying a visit to Wight Barn Wines?' asked Walters.

'It's probable given that he was dropped off by the taxi nearby.'

'Wouldn't he have looked a bit odd walking on a country footpath dressed in a suit?'

'Not if he was wearing an overcoat, which he'd left in the taxi while in Wight Barn Wines. It was January and cold, and there probably weren't many walkers about to notice him. It's also a very secluded area. His first job would be to case the joint. On arrival he found a derelict gatehouse, neglected grounds and a large dilapidated manor house. Maybe he thought the owner was elderly and vulnerable and licked his lips with glee. Or perhaps he thought that Nansen had given him the wrong information, or he'd got the wrong Beachwood House.' Horton bit into his sandwich. 'He walked up the driveway. He'll check anyway. The door is opened by none other than his old fellow prisoner, Michael Paignton.'

'Do you think he ever left there and returned to collect his blackmail money?'

Horton saw Cantelli's car swing into the car park. 'Paignton could have invited Carswell in, knowing what his game would be. He might even have shown him the cellar and offered to cut him in. Perhaps Carswell decided he didn't want to return to Southampton, probably to a shabby bedsit, when he could live in comfort at Beachwood House. Paignton agreed. He got a message to Ben and they killed and buried him.' Horton finished his sandwich. 'Can I read that?' He indicated the article on the Eames family.

Horton quickly did so. It didn't tell him anything more than he already knew and had researched. Richard Eames had inherited the estates, title and family wealth on his father, Viscount William James Eames' death in 1979 when he'd been swept overboard from his yacht off the coast of France in a tragic accident. His body had been recovered. Lady Marsha, William Eames wife, had died the year before in November of a sudden and unexpected heart attack. The double tragedy had projected the only surviving son, Richard, into managing his father's estates, businesses and sporting enterprises, which he'd done with considerable success, building on William Eames' triumphs in yacht racing, horse racing and the business world. He was also an ambassador abroad for British businesses involved in many trade missions. The man could do no wrong, Horton thought with bitterness. There was a brief mention of his two sons running successful business enterprises, a wife who was a much sought after interior designer to the rich and famous, and a daughter who worked in Europe, but no mention of where or what she was doing, and certainly no mention of the black sheep of the family, Gordon.

Cantelli plonked himself down opposite Horton. 'I hope Bliss doesn't fancy a cup of tea, because she'll have a fit if she finds her CID team in the canteen. Talking of which I'm gagging for a cuppa.'

Horton rose and fetched it.

On his return, Cantelli said, 'Carswell was last seen in January by a neighbour as he was leaving his flat. The neighbour can't remember the exact day but the timing fits with when Carswell called on Nansen on 14 January. No one has seen him since.'

'So he could have been killed on that first and only visit,' Walters said.

Cantelli said, 'I also visited the letting agent, after getting the details from the neighbour. The agent says his rent is due on 1 May. I don't think his tenant is going to be around to pay it. The agent accompanied me back to the flat with the keys. I found literature lying around about wine and forthcoming auctions, the address of Wight Barn Wines and the times of the Red Jet ferry from Southampton to Cowes.'

'That's pretty conclusive then. Carswell was posing as George Caws, but it doesn't necessarily mean his is the body in the landslip.'

'Ah, but there's more,' Cantelli grinned and took a long draught of his tea before continuing. The canteen was practically empty now. 'There was no computer, or mobile phone in the flat. The latter of which was probably dumped in the sea, after he was killed. There were a few clothes and some stale food. I found some bank statements with little in the account. No regular work by the looks of it. I headed to the nearest medical surgery and asked if Carswell was registered with them. He is, or he was. The receptionist referred me to the Practice Manager who is married to a police officer. She couldn't divulge any medical details, but I told her about the body and who we suspected it was, and she confirmed that Carswell had knee replacement surgery fifteen years ago on his left knee.'

'That more or less clinches it.'

'She doesn't know who the next of kin is.'

'I'd better tell Bliss.' Horton rose and Walters followed suit. Cantelli swallowed the rest of his tea and scrambled up after them. On the way out, Walters said, 'Oh, I almost forgot, I've tracked down that piano in Beachwood House. It was bought new in September and shipped direct to Beachwood House.'

'Someone must have visited the showroom and tried it out.'

'No. It was purchased over the phone and paid for by bank transfer.'

'From a bank in Guernsey no doubt.'

'Yes, Morgans. And the account was in the name of Cedric Halliwell. But I also discovered something else. I got digging on the computer, checking out the local clubs and schools where Paignton was raised in the East End of London. I found a couple of press reports going back to when he was a child about him winning local music competitions. You know the kind of thing, local child from a working class background destined for the Albert Hall type of story. He was enormously talented apparently, something of a genius on the keyboard.'

'Yet he chose to study politics at the London School of Economics.'

'Maybe he suffered from burn out. Perhaps his mother and teachers pushed him too hard and he thought sod this for a game of soldiers, I'm not being a pianist.'

Possibly, thought Horton heading up the stairs to the incident suite. Instead Paignton had ended up being convicted for murder.

Horton reported back to Bliss, who said she'd request access to Carswell's medical records. She also said that the prison had confirmed he was incarcerated at the same time as Michael Paignton and in the same cell block, so their theory seemed to be panning out. And the prints Dr Clayton had managed to take from the corpse were currently being checked with those of Jerry Carswell. Bliss was confident they would match, so was Horton.

'It looks as though we have our motive and our killer, or killers,' she triumphantly declared. 'But as both are deceased, we can't prosecute. Once we have fingerprint verification, the investigation will be closed and you and Sergeant Cantelli can assist with the Trehams robbery. DC Walters can liaise with DC Leonard and assist in the arson investigation.'

It was to be expected, thought Horton. He said, 'Sergeant Elkins and PC Ripley are asking around the harbours, sailing and yacht clubs for sightings of anyone launching a canoe in the harbour on the day and night in question, or on the days before it. It's a process of elimination and will take time.'

'That's why Walters can assist,' Bliss smartly re-joined. 'It could speed things up.'

If anyone could get that kind of information, then Dai Elkins would. He knew the harbour, the area around it and the people who used and worked in it. Horton was confident he'd pick up some intelligence that could lead them to the arsonist and said as much before Bliss dismissed him and told him to write up his reports.

He did so, forcing his mind to focus on what Vernon had told him about the Trehams jewellery, and not the brooch and his personal quest. He hoped to spend some time later sifting through everything he had learned, not just over the last week but over the last eighteen months since embarking on his mission to discover what had really happened to Jennifer. But his mind kept wandering. Brother Norman at the abbey had been Antony Dormand. If Ben really was Zachary Benham, then which of the men in that photograph from 1967 had been Cedric Halliwell? Maybe none of them. Michael Paignton could have taken the photograph, because Horton was certain he wasn't the sixth man in it. Halliwell could have been Gordon Eames, as Horton had already considered, but if so, why would Paignton and Ben contrive to kill him and dispose of his body? Maybe they hadn't. Perhaps Halliwell had died a natural death, they'd covered it up and Paignton had seen it as an opportunity to take over his identity and wealth. Perhaps they had done so, not for fraudulent purposes, but because they didn't want any questions asked. Revealing Halliwell's death could mean revealing his true identity, and if that was Gordon Eames then Richard Eames wouldn't want that known. Perhaps Richard was in on this too and had helped to cover up Cedric Halliwell's death. Or perhaps none of these men – Halliwell, Paignton and Ben – had anything whatsoever to do with Jennifer.

He was interrupted several times by calls, and when he had finished his report and dealt with his urgent emails it was twenty past six and his phone rang yet again. This time it was Gaye to confirm that the pattern of the wounds fitted the wood carving tools PC Jennings had mentioned. Horton phoned Bliss who said it further confirmed that Ben had killed Carswell, aided and abetted by Paignton, and both had then died from natural causes. It was possible but convenient voiced Horton, adding, 'It doesn't answer how the real Cedric Halliwell accumulated his wealth.'

'Not our problem, Inspector,' she smartly replied. 'It's ACC Dean's decision if he wishes to pass that over to fraud. Paignton and Ben were obviously crooks, they latched on to Halliwell and, after extracting from him all his personal information, killed him, ditched his body in the sea, and Paignton took up residence in Beachwood House while Ben preferred to rough it in the log cabin. The fingerprint bureau has just confirmed they have a match on the landslip corpse with that of Jerry Carswell so from tomorrow you and your team are reassigned, as I instructed earlier.'

Horton relayed this to Cantelli and Walters and told them to knock off home before Bliss changed her mind and got them working that evening. They didn't need telling twice. Horton took his own advice but instead of heading for his boat he made for the hospital to visit Uckfield. The fog was thicker than ever. He pulled into the car park, silenced the Harley and removed his helmet. As he did, his mobile rang. He was in two minds whether to answer it, then seeing who the caller was did so eagerly. It was Harriet Eames.

'My father turned up at the house this afternoon. I asked him if George Caws had visited him. He hasn't.'

As Horton had expected because Caws' first and last visit, as it transpired, had been to Beachwood House. He told her about George Caws being Jerry Carswell and the theory of his death as espoused by Bliss. She listened in silence. Then in a doubtful tone, said, 'And you believe that?'

Horton didn't answer the question. Instead, he said, 'Wyndham Lomas. Does your father know him?'

There was a short pause. He heard a tannoy announcement in the background, although he couldn't make out what it said. She obviously wasn't at home so no chance of her father overhearing the conversation. 'He's never heard of him and he doesn't recognize the description,' she said. 'And neither does he know a Michael Paignton or Cedric Halliwell.'

But Horton caught a note of hesitation in her voice.

He said with some disbelief, 'He didn't recall Paignton being convicted of the murder of Roger Salcombe in 1970?'

'No, he was at Cambridge then.'

'But you asked your father if Paignton had been a close friend of his brother, Gordon?'

There followed another short silence. 'Yes.'

'He said he had no idea.'

'But you don't believe him.'

Again, a pause. Then, as though on impulse, she quickly said, 'Can you meet me? There's something I need to tell you.'

It was his turn to keep silent, not for effect, but because his mind was rapidly thinking. What was it she needed to tell him? Something her father had said? Or perhaps Eames had betrayed himself by his reaction when she had put Horton's questions to him, and she was curious? Or could this be a trap? Had Eames asked her to lure him somewhere? But he couldn't see Harriet being used by anyone. Not even her father? No.