A Killing Coast (12 page)

‘Any women’s clothing?’ asked Horton.

‘None, but there’s a photograph of a dark-haired woman beside his bed.’

Not divorced then, thought Horton, because if Lisle had been, that, along with some of the photographs on the mantelpiece, would have been consigned to the bin. Widowed? Possibly.

Peering into the garden Uckfield said, ‘Check the shed, Sergeant.’

Norris made no protest but Horton could tell by his expression he wasn’t best pleased at being sent out in the rain. Uckfield made to reach for his phone when a woman’s voice, raised in anger, reached them from the front of the house. Uckfield threw Horton a questioning glance as they stepped into the passageway.

‘What the devil is going on?’ she demanded, glaring at both of them in turn, her round face flushed, her dark eyes smouldering with fury. ‘What gives you the right to barge in here like this? Where’s my father?’

‘That’s what we’d like to know,’ muttered Uckfield, before stepping forward, flashing his warrant card and introducing himself and Horton. ‘And you are?’

‘Rachel Salter,’ she snapped.

Horton had already recognized her from the photographs on the mantelpiece.

‘What’s happened?’ she again demanded, but this time more warily. Then her face paled. ‘Dad’s had an accident.’

‘Shall we go inside, Mrs Salter.’ Uckfield stood solidly in front of her, stretching an arm towards the lounge so that she had no option but to enter it.

She went under protest and Horton could see she was torn between anger and fear.

‘I think you’d better sit down,’ Uckfield began, but that only made her stand more squarely in the middle of the room.

‘Tell me, what’s happened? He’s not—’

‘We believe your father can help us with our inquiry into the death of Colin Yately,’ Uckfield quickly interjected.

Horton could see that the name meant nothing to her. She stared at Uckfield with a mixture of bewilderment and subdued anger.

Uckfield continued. ‘Colin Yately’s body was found in the Solent yesterday morning and your father was seen entering his apartment this morning. Do you know if he and your father were acquainted?’

‘Obviously they must have been,’ she said tartly. ‘What’s this man’s death got to do with my father? Where is he?’ Her eyes scanned the room as though he might be hiding somewhere. It was an instinctive gesture, Horton knew.

He said, ‘When did you last see your father?’

She swivelled hot angry eyes on him, but the fury was there to mask her concern.

‘Last Tuesday, why?’

‘Have you spoken to him since?’

‘No.’

‘He didn’t call you to say he wouldn’t be in?’ It was a silly question but he had a reason for asking it

‘Of course not. If he had I wouldn’t be here, would I?’

She eyed him as though he was thick and with a slightly superior manner, but Horton thought it was the truth.

She added, ‘I come here every Tuesday before my evening class and have a cup of tea and a chat with Dad. My husband, Paul, takes our two girls to Brownies, then picks them up again and puts them to bed. Look, this is ridiculous; Dad’s probably just popped out somewhere.’

Uckfield said, ‘On the only day of the week you visit him? Surely he’d wait in for his daughter.’

‘Maybe he’s run out of tea bags,’ she snapped, eyeing Uckfield malevolently.

‘He hasn’t,’ answered Uckfield.

‘You’ve searched the house!’ she cried indignantly. ‘I hope you’ve got a warrant because you shouldn’t be in here without one.’

Smoothly Horton said, ‘We were concerned for your father and had to take the decision to enter.’

‘Concerned? Why should you be concerned?’ she said mystified.

Uckfield gave it to her bluntly. ‘Colin Yately’s death is suspicious. Your father could be in danger.’

She almost laughed. A smile played at the corners of a generous and petulant mouth, before her forehead creased in a worried frown. ‘My father’s a retired solicitor and a widower. He can’t possibly be in danger. And I’ve never heard him speak about this man, Yately.’

Evenly, Horton said, ‘How long has your father been widowed?’

‘Eighteen months, why?’

He’d been right about that then. But if Yately had been involved with Mrs Lisle then it was some time ago, making it more unlikely that Lisle had sought revenge, unless of course he’d only just discovered the affair. He asked her if she knew what her father’s hobbies were and got much the same reaction as when he’d asked the question of Hannah and Margaret Yately, a blank stare. Again he had to prompt. ‘What does your father do in his spare time?’

‘He does the
Telegraph
crossword, the housework, shopping, gardening, reads.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘He
is
retired,’ she emphasized as though Horton was an idiot.

He felt like saying that doesn’t mean he’s practically dead, or living such a dreary life he might just as well be. Instead he said, ‘That usually means time to take up new interests.’

She looked surprised, as though her father couldn’t possibly want anything more than to wait in every Tuesday evening for his daughter to condescend to have a cup of tea with him. It probably wasn’t really like that, but he felt as though it was. Lisle’s daughter was older than Hannah Yately, by about ten years, but her attitude towards her father was similar to Hannah’s.

‘Dad nursed Mum for three years,’ she said defensively. ‘Since she died he’s found it hard to adjust.’

Yeah, and I bet you haven’t asked him about that
. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said gently, sensing Uckfield’s impatience beside him and willing him not to charge in. ‘What was your mother’s illness?’

‘MS,’ she replied tautly and with a finality that said the subject was not open to discussion. And that put any possible affair Yately might have had with Lisle’s wife even further back in time. It was looking more unlikely as a possible motive for Yately’s death with Lisle as the killer.

‘Was your father away over the weekend?’

‘Not that I know of,’ she answered, surprised.

So if Lisle had been given Yately’s keys then why had he waited until this morning to visit the flat and pick up the notes? But perhaps Lisle
had
been away and hadn’t bothered telling his daughter.

Norris slipped back into the room with a slight shake of his head.
Nothing in the shed then.
Horton thought of how Yately’s body had been found, in the sea, and said, ‘Does your father have a boat?’

She looked startled by the question. ‘Yes. But he hasn’t been out on it for ages.’

Uckfield looked as if he was about to say, ‘That’s what you think,’ when Horton quickly interjected. ‘What kind of boat?’

‘A Cornish Crabber.’

And Horton knew that was a small day sailing boat, and one that could easily have been used to dump Yately’s body. ‘Where does he keep it?’

‘Down in the bay by the slipway. It’s on a trailer . . .’ Then her dark eyes widened and Horton thought she’d made the leap between his question and Yately being found in the sea. He expected outrage but instead he saw genuine fear for the first time since she’d entered the house. ‘You don’t think Dad’s gone out on it? Not in this weather?’

Uckfield said, ‘We’ll check. What’s the boat called?’

‘
Abigail.
It was my mother’s name.’

Horton saw her eyes flick to the photographs on the mantelpiece, as Uckfield nodded at Norris, who then slipped out of the lounge. He’d despatch someone to check, but Victor Hazleton’s tales of a light at sea again flashed into Horton’s mind. Could Arthur Lisle have been out on his small sailing boat on Wednesday night killing Colin Yately? But even if he had been he hadn’t dumped the body in the Solent then. For now he pushed the thought to one side and said, ‘Your father owns a computer; do you know what kind?’

‘Isn’t it in the dining room?’ she answered distractedly. ‘It’s a laptop; Dad must have taken it with him.’ She crossed to the fireplace and seemed to be studying the photographs before she spun round and with a defiant stare, exclaimed, ‘This is silly. There must be a perfectly logical explanation for all this.’

And maybe there was, thought Horton. ‘Would your father have sent you an email perhaps to say he’d gone away for a few days?’ he asked.

‘He didn’t.’

Uckfield this time. ‘Does he have a mobile phone?’

‘Yes. Oh, I haven’t called him.’ Alarmed, she reached for her mobile but Uckfield forestalled her.

‘Could you give us his number? We’ll try.’

She looked as though she was about to refuse then stiffly relayed it. Uckfield stepped outside to call it.

Looking anxious, she addressed Horton, ‘Dad doesn’t text. He says he can’t be bothered and he hardly ever uses his mobile. Paul, my husband, insisted on him having one just in case he broke down in that old car of his. Perhaps that’s what’s happened,’ she added hopefully, eyeing Horton as though willing him to say it must be so.

It was possible but he wasn’t going to commit himself. He wondered if Norris had put out a call for it. The sergeant hadn’t mentioned it but that didn’t mean to say he hadn’t.

‘What does your husband do for a living?’ he asked, partly to distract her and partly because he was curious.

‘He’s a builder.’ She glanced impatiently towards the door awaiting Uckfield’s return.

‘Have you any idea what your father uses the computer for?’

She looked bewildered. Clearly Arthur Lisle’s life was as much a mystery to Rachel Salter as Colin Yately’s was to Hannah. Perhaps the son-in-law, Paul, knew more about his father-in-law’s life and interests, thought Horton.

Uckfield returned looking glum. ‘There’s no answer, Mrs Salter. We’ll keep trying. Perhaps you’d call your husband and ask if he’s heard from your father.’

Glad to be doing something she quickly rang him. Horton listened to her side of the conversation, which was terse. The answer was obviously no, but before she could ring off, Horton interjected, ‘Ask him when he last spoke to your father either by telephone or face to face.’

She obliged. Then she said, ‘I’ll call you back later. No, I can’t explain now.’ And she rang off.

‘Paul hasn’t spoken to Dad for about two weeks, but last week he saw him walking into Ventnor and waved and called “hello” from the van. He could have had an accident in that old wreck of a car. He might be in the hospital or lying injured somewhere.’

‘We’ll check the hospital,’ Horton answered. There was only one on the Island so that wouldn’t take long, but perhaps Arthur Lisle wasn’t lying injured; he could be visiting someone and have simply forgotten all about his daughter’s usual visit. He could have got his days muddled up.

‘Is your father in good health?’

‘Yes, excellent, why?’ she asked antagonistically. Then quickly following his drift, added, ‘You think he might be confused, well I can tell you Dad’s mind is as sharp as a razor, and he wasn’t depressed either.’

Horton didn’t pursue it. He didn’t think Lisle had committed suicide; why should he?
Unless, he’d killed Colin Yately
. He said, ‘Does your father keep his car in a garage?’

‘Yes. He rents one. It’s the middle one in a block of three along the road just before the footpath that leads down to the bay.’

She made no further comment, obviously assuming her father had gone out in his car. Horton interpreted Uckfield’s look to keep silent.

‘If he gets in touch, please let us know immediately.’ Uckfield handed her his card. ‘Or call the local police. We’ll make sure the front door is secured and then repaired, and we’ll put an officer outside the house and call you the moment we have any news. Meanwhile, if you, or your husband, remember anything about where he might have gone, please let us know.’

She protested that they were making an unnecessary fuss. Horton toyed with the idea that she might be right but he said nothing and neither did Uckfield. At the door Horton asked if her father liked hiking.

‘He used to with Mum, but he hasn’t been for years.’

Horton had the feeling she wouldn’t have known if he had taken it up again and perhaps with Colin Yately. He took down her address which, after she’d left, Norris confirmed was only a few streets away. Horton thought it a little unusual that although she lived close by she seemed to visit her father rarely and know so little about him. But perhaps Arthur Lisle liked it that way. Perhaps it was all Rachel Salter could do to bring herself to visit him once a week because she disliked her father or was afraid of him. Horton hadn’t got that impression but then Rachel Salter could be putting on a good front. They hadn’t asked her about Lisle’s personality, because there was no need to at this stage, and they hadn’t asked her about the dress found on Yately’s body.

They watched her climb into a new Land Rover and drive away. He was glad she hadn’t insisted on accompanying them to the garage.

Raising his collar against the rain, Uckfield said, ‘Lisle’s mobile’s completely dead. It didn’t ring as I told the daughter, she’ll discover that soon enough, which means he’s ditched it.’

‘Or it’s been damaged in an accident,’ suggested Horton.

Norris was hurrying towards them. ‘The boat’s still in the bay. Do you want it taken away for forensic examination?’

Uckfield said, ‘Put a tarpaulin over it for now.’

Norris nodded and added, ‘The old lady opposite says Lisle has been at a loss since his wife died eighteen months ago, but that he seemed a lot brighter of late. She saw him leave the house this morning at about nine fifteen. She hasn’t seen him return but then she has been out. An officer showed her Yately’s photograph but she claims she hasn’t seen him. She says that she doesn’t think Lisle has had any visitors since his wife died, except his daughter who comes every Tuesday evening. There’s a son who lives in Singapore.’

And Lisle hadn’t left for Singapore because he would have needed his passport. Horton wondered why the Salters didn’t bring their children to visit of a weekend or in the holidays. And why Rachel hadn’t mentioned her brother. Perhaps they simply weren’t a close-knit family.

To Uckfield, Horton said, ‘There’s no evidence to suggest Lisle has anything to do with Yately’s death. His phone could be broken and he could have forgotten his daughter comes on Tuesday, or perhaps he emailed her and she simply hasn’t read her messages.’