One

'If she had wanted to inflict torture on me for disobeying her every command, she couldn't have found a better way of doing it. Interrogating computers is not my forte, Barney, and never will be. It's about as thrilling as counting the cars on the motorway. No, correction, counting cars is far more exhilarating.'

'Walters might disagree.'

'What might I disagree about?' Walters ambled in with a bar of chocolate in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

'Computer work is boring,' Cantelli answered.

'It beats physically chasing after villains. You can get a lot of intelligence from computers.'

'So I've been told, several times over the last two days,' Horton said wearily. 'And it may be true but it's not my cup of tea.'

'Fetch it yourself, Walters. Oh, and while you're at it, mine's coffee, black, no sugar, and a tea for Cantelli.'

Walters waddled out to the machine in the corridor.

'Where is Bliss? I didn't see her car in the car park,' Horton asked.

'Lecturing on a new recruit course for two days.'

'God help them. On what?'

'No idea. Probably on form filling. You know it's her speciality.'

There were probably several on Horton's desk waiting to be completed. Though, to be fair, the increasing amount of paperwork wasn't solely down to her. It was just the way the job was done now. It was all about keeping exact and intricate records of every scrap of conversation, and tip-toeing around suspects and villains. The instinctive coppers like him – those that had a nose and feel for crooks, and a handful of unregistered informants from the shady criminal classes to tap into – were out of favour. Too many coppers gazing at computer screens and not enough out on the streets. He asked what had come in during his absence. Aside from the usual house burglaries and drunken assaults, Cantelli told him there had been a nasty spate of highway robberies.

'Not of your Robin Hood variety,' he said. 'And I sincerely hope not the Dick Turpin kind. It's not been violent yet, but there have been threats. Motorists are being conned out of cash by a gang of three, two men and one woman, in their late twenties or early thirties, clean shaven, casually dressed, Caucasian. The woman stands by a supposedly broken-down car, looking upset, and flags down the motorist. She claims she has run out of fuel and has no cash or has lost or left her purse elsewhere. She offers gold jewellery or, in two cases, her watch in exchange for money. The gold is fake, the watch a cheap imitation. Unfortunately, some of the motorists have fallen for the scam. They've usually been conned out of cash of about ten to twenty pounds but yesterday, a woman was made to hand over cash and jewellery to the value of two hundred pounds. So the gang have really hyped up the ante.'

Horton didn't much care for the sound of this.

'They've been operating primarily along the seafront, at The Hard and Old Portsmouth. Traffic are increasing their patrols of those areas and uniform are asking around on the street, but they can't be everywhere.'

Walters, returning with the teas and coffee, caught the end of the conversation. 'There's nothing on the CCTV cameras so far.'

'And none of the motorists have dash cams,' Cantelli added. 'But we did lift some fingerprints from the vehicle targeted last night. So we might get lucky.'

'How many robberies have there been?' Horton asked, concerned.

'Three at the weekend, four on Monday and two yesterday. Most in daylight with two at dusk, Monday and yesterday. They took a gold watch, diamond ring and silver charm bracelet from the last woman targeted, so those items might show up in a pawnbrokers or jewellers, and Walters is keeping an eye on what crops up on the internet and on social media. One of the gang might be stupid enough to brag about it, or offer the items for sale. Stealing items which can be identified could be their downfall.'

'Let's hope so. Talking of jewellery thefts, any development on the Trehams robbery?' That was Detective Superintendent Uckfield's case. The Major Crime Team were investigating an aggravated burglary which had taken place two weeks ago at a substantial house to the north of Portsmouth. Victoria Treham, the owner, had been alone. Her husband at work. She'd been threatened, tied up, and the safe opened and stripped of extremely valuable and precious jewellery.

'If there is, we've not heard of it,' Cantelli answered.

Horton's office phone was ringing. He rose.

'Someone knows you're back,' Cantelli said.

'At least it won't be the wicked witch in the wardrobe,' Walters called after him.

Horton placed his motorbike helmet on the floor behind his desk and lifted the receiver. It was DC Mark Leonard of the Arson Task Force with the news that there had been a fire at the sailing club at Tipner.

'Not the building, but three boats have been destroyed in the yard,' Leonard announced.

Horton knew the club well. They'd had a murder investigation close by it last June, when a woman's body had been found on a sunken barge off the old quayside. The club and its quay were on the western shores of Portsmouth, just north of the international port and naval base. Gaye Clayton, the forensic pathologist, kept her sailing dinghy there. Horton hoped hers wasn't one of the three boats that had been torched. He asked if Leonard knew whose boats had been destroyed.

'That's the reason I'm calling you. The club secretary, Richard Bolton's here, and has just broken the bad news to me,' Leonard replied. 'One of the boats belongs to a retired dentist by the name of Venda Atkinson, the second to Councillor Dominic Levy.'

'Head of the police committee.'

'Not good. Levy's opinion of us isn't high at the best of times. He's bound to start jumping up and down, bellowing for results.'

'Then he'll have company because the third dinghy belongs to the Chief Constable.'

Horton emitted a groan.

'Yes, a double whammy.'

'Does Meredew know?'

'He will any moment now. The club secretary is on the phone to him. The fire could have been worse but for the fact that shortly after it was started, it was reported by a passing yachtsman heading into Horsea Marina.'

'What time was this?'

'One thirty-four, a.m.'

Late to be sailing, but not completely unusual. Horton had done a lot of night sailing himself and last night had been clear and still, which had probably helped prevent the fire from spreading too rapidly. That and the early call from the passing sailor.

'Watch Manager, Greg Hammond, is with me, and Elkins and Ripley of the marine unit are assisting. There's no sign of any forced entry into the boatyard from either the road or seaward side. Hammond's found fragments of glass and burnt rags, so it looks like a Molotov cocktail job and, judging by how the glass has shattered over a wide area, I'd say it was thrown into the yard. It could have been thrown from the road, but whoever did it would have needed to stand on a car bonnet or roof, or be an ace javelin thrower or shot putter.'

'Or a cricketer with a good overarm delivery.'

'A ball with a high trajectory before bouncing, only this one didn't bounce and wasn't made of leather. Not that we've tested the theory of it being lobbed from the road, but we have from the seaward side. Elkins has done a mock up with a partially filled plastic bottle not glass, you'll be pleased to hear, Inspector, and even though you don't quite get the same impact or trajectory, both he and I think that was how it was done; the fence is lower on the harbour side.'

'Could this passing yachtsman be the arsonist?'

'He doesn't fit the usual profile. He's sixty six and a retired civil servant.'

'There's always the exception.'

'We'll keep an open mind.'

'Were those dinghies targeted specifically or the club in general?' Horton mused.

'Don't know yet. Might be someone with a grudge against the club, I'll follow that through.'

'Or a grudge against Levy or Meredew.' Horton could think of a few in the city who had been vociferous about the pompous, egotistic Councillor Levy and his lack of ability. But would they stoop to arson? Slagging him off in the press and at meetings, and plotting behind his back to find something with which to disgrace him, yes, but setting fire to his dinghy and risking the fire spreading? Horton doubted it but when roused, even sane, decent and generally law-abiding people could commit all kinds of crimes.

He wasn't sure about those who might have a grudge against the Chief Constable. Paul Meredew had taken up the post just over a year ago, following Superintendent Uckfield's father-in-law's retirement. Horton had only met Meredew once, when he was on his newly appointed Calvinistic tour of the station, trying to appear fair, full of bonhomie, tough on crime and criminals and supportive of the troops. No one believed him. They'd heard it all before, several times. Horton had sensed a restless impatient man, driven and ambitious.

Leonard said, 'It could be that the arsonist has a thing against the retired dentist, Ms Atkinson. Maybe she pulled the wrong tooth.'

Horton smiled. 'Could the arsonist be someone who was turned down for membership and thought he'd get even?'

'Bolton, the secretary, insists that no one has been rejected membership, but he said that new members have to be proposed by an existing member. Councillor Levy proposed our chief.'

'Who proposed Levy?'

'A fellow councillor on the leisure committee. Levy became a member two years ago, and the chief last May. I don't know who proposed Venda Atkinson and neither does Bolton, she's been a member for years.'

'Maybe someone got blackballed, despite being proposed, and didn't take too kindly to it.'

'Bolton was at pains to tell me that, at the last committee meeting, they had agreed to do away with the proposal system from 1 July and let anyone apply. I gather they're desperate to get new members.'

'Financial problems?'

'There's a lot of competition in their field nowadays and not as many young people taking up dinghy sailing. But if the arson was an insurance job, or a rival club trying to cut out the competition, then the clubhouse would have been targeted.'

'Perhaps the arsonist was unlucky in that there just happened to be an eagle-eyed night sailor heading into the marina further up the harbour. Or maybe this arson has more intimate implications.'

'You mean an affair. A jealous lover and love triangle?'

Perhaps the chief was putting it about as much as Uckfield. Although that would take some doing. Sometimes Horton thought Uckfield was trying for the Guinness Book of Records. He seemed to change his lovers almost as often as he changed his socks, despite being married with two daughters. So far Uckfield hadn't been found out but give it time.

Leonard continued, 'As we both know, the usual arsonist gets his jollies from seeing the fire take hold and watching the big red fire engines arrive. He also likes an excited audience to witness his destruction. He didn't get that here, not at that time of night. Even if it had been daytime there are no houses here and only a handful of businesses, so it's not your usual location for an arsonist. The club has its own CCTV cameras. We might get something from them.'

'You'd better keep me updated when you can. The chief is bound to start breathing down my neck.'

His prediction was fulfilled. Two minutes after he had replaced his phone, it rang again. Meredew curtly announced himself and angrily demanded to know if Horton had been informed of the crime.

'And what do you intend to do about it, Inspector?'

'DC Leonard and Watch Manager Hammond are highly experienced in these matters, sir. They have considerable expertise in detection and arson.'

'I want more than a detective constable and fire officer overseeing this. Send Sergeant… whatshisname?'

'Yes. Tell Sergeant Cantelli to get down there immediately. I'd go myself if I wasn't on my way to London for a meeting.'

Thank God for that. 'I'm sorry, sir, but Sergeant Cantelli is due in court this morning. I can send DC Walters and while he is there, he can examine the CCTV footage. He's expert at that.'

'Then I suppose that will have to do,' Meredew grudgingly accepted. 'I expect to be kept fully informed, Inspector.'

'Of course, sir.' Horton rang through to Leonard and relayed the news. Then to Walters in CID, he said, 'You're off to the sailing club to assist Leonard. Chief's orders, so watch your manners.' Addressing Cantelli, Horton said, 'I told the chief you were due in court.'

'I'm sure I must be at some stage. There's your phone again. Hope it's not the chief with new instructions already.'

'Why do I get the feeling it's going to be one of those days?'

'Isn't every day one of those days?' Cantelli called out as Horton headed back into his office.

Horton was pleased to see it wasn't the chief but Jane Ashley from the fingerprint bureau.

'I've got a match on fingerprints from that card you gave me last October,' she announced.

Horton scrambled to recall what she was referring to before he realized it was the grubby business card the beachcomber, Lomas, had given him on Lord Eames' private beach.

'They match with a man in the mortuary on the Isle of Wight,' she said.

'That's just it, no one knows. It's why the prints were sent over to us. There was no ID on the body.'

'Do you have a description?' Horton remembered the easygoing man in his early sixties, sturdy, about six feet, with a close-cropped greying beard and short grey hair.

'No, just the prints.'

'But you're sure they're his.'

'Positive. Do you wish me to inform Sergeant Norris on the island?'

'No. Leave it with me.'

Eagerly, Horton rang through to the mortuary. It was a pity that, having found Lomas, it was too late to ask him why he'd been trespassing on Lord Eames' private beach. Perhaps his belongings might tell Horton more.

After a slight delay, the mortician confirmed that the unidentified male was in his early to mid-sixties, and had been brought in five days ago, on Friday. The post-mortem had taken place on Monday, and the death was due to natural causes.

'Cardiomyopathy,' the mortician proclaimed. 'Dilated cardiomyopathy to be precise. The heart's ability to pump blood was weakened because of an enlarged left ventricle.'

'So no suspicious circumstances surrounding his death?'

'Not according to the pathologist's report, unless you tell us otherwise.'

Horton had no reason to. He replaced the receiver and called Sergeant Norris of the island's CID. He'd worked with Norris a few times, a rotund, solid, plodding man who had always viewed him with suspicion. That was because Norris's former boss, Detective Inspector Birch, a dry insect of a man, had despised Horton. The feeling was entirely mutual. But Birch had retired, and his replacement had yet to be appointed.

'The man found dead on Friday, without an ID,' Horton said peremptorily, when Norris came on the line, 'what can you tell me about him?'

'You mean the man in a log cabin in Luccombe Bay? Died of heart failure. No suspicious circumstances,' Norris cautiously replied, echoing the mortician's remarks.

Horton knew the bay. It was on the east coast of the island, secluded and small with no properties. Just rocks, shingle, sand and a cliff prone to landslips. He'd sailed past it but never into it. He didn't recall seeing a log cabin, but then he hadn't really been looking for one and, out at sea, he probably wouldn't have seen it anyway.

'Who discovered him?'

'A woman. She'd motored into the bay on a small boat. It's inaccessible by any other means.'

'What took her there?'

'She's a geologist. She was fossil hunting.'

That coastline was renowned for fossils.

'She'd met the man once before and spoken to him,' Norris continued. 'He told her his name was Ben and that he lived alone.'

Not Wyndham then. 'Go on.'

'The cabin door was open when she arrived, and there was no sign of Ben. She called out to him, entered and found him dead on the floor. There was nothing on the body or in the cabin to give us an identification. If she hadn't arrived when she did the poor man would still be lying there now. The officers who attended said there was no evidence of foul play,' Norris reiterated, slightly defensively.

'How did they get to the bay, it being inaccessible?'

'I called up the marine unit.'

Good, that meant Sergeant Elkins would have been on the scene. Horton could get the full picture from him.

'Why the interest, Inspector? Do you have new information?'

'Fingerprints have come up with a match, to a man called Wyndham Lomas.'

'A wanted criminal?'

'Not as far as I'm aware, just someone we were eager to trace,' Horton hedged, thinking he should cross his fingers when he lied, but it wasn't a lie. He had been keen to find Lomas because anyone on Lord Eames' land, and anyone connected with Eames, was of interest to him. 'I met him once, in October, on the island during an investigation. He told me he was a beachcomber artist.'

'Well there are wood sculptures at his cabin.'

That seemed to confirm it. 'I'll be over shortly to ID the body. I'll update you after that.'

Horton rang through to the marine unit. 'Are you still at the sailing club, Dai?'

'Yes, but there's not much more we can do here. We were just on our way to Horsea Marina to ask if anyone came through or went out of the lock in the early hours of the morning, save for the man who reported the fire.'

'Postpone that for now.' The chief wouldn't be pleased, but Horton would get round that if he ever found out. 'I need you to take me across to the island on the RIB.' The RIB would be much quicker than the ferry and could moor up on the River Medina at Newport, the island's capital where the hospital was based. It was also flat bottomed, which meant it would be able to get into Luccombe Bay. He told Elkins about the match of fingerprints with the body found in the cabin, and how he had met the man in October. He requested that Elkins pick him up from the secure berth at the international port in fifteen minutes.

Horton grabbed his sailing jacket and stopped long enough to brief Cantelli, giving him the same information he had Elkins. Then he made his way through the subway that ran under the motorway and across the busy port car parks to the secure berth where the RIB was waiting for him.