A Killing Coast (14 page)

‘It’s OK.’ Horton briefed Cantelli about the call from Hazleton. ‘Although I think he’s fabricating these lights there’s a small part of me that wonders if his first sighting could have something to do with Colin Yately’s death. I’ve been thinking about what you said, Barney, about the Greek goddess, Queen of the Sea.’

Cantelli raised his eyebrows. ‘Amphitrite.’

‘Yeah, and that’s what Uckfield would think of me if I told him, that I’d cracked up. But Yately’s notes mention the chines, caves and coves of the Island. Could he have uncovered a smuggling operation where Hazleton saw that first light at sea and been killed because if it?’ Horton sat forward. ‘You said that perhaps Yately liked dressing up, we know he didn’t indulge in his flat because there weren’t any women’s clothes kept there, so he could have kept a stash of them in a hiding place, which he visited on his walks where he could indulge his passion in secret. He went there Wednesday night and surprised the smugglers.’

‘Having been in this job for more years than I could shake a stick at nothing would surprise me.’

‘I’m going to pay Hazleton a visit and see if I can find out exactly where he saw this light on Wednesday night and last night. And I want to look around the area from the sea. It’s OK,’ Horton added hastily at Cantelli’s horrified look, ‘I’ll get the marine unit to take me over, you needn’t come. Don’t want both Molly and you throwing up.’

Cantelli looked relieved and smiled his gratitude.

‘Call Elkins and ask him to meet me at the ferry port in ten minutes and ask him if they’ve had any reports of this light Hazleton claims to have seen last night.’

Horton hesitated over telling Cantelli about his thoughts on Russell Glenn and the meeting between Mike Danby and Harriet Lee. He would, but when they had more time to discuss it, because Cantelli was the only person he could confide in.

Horton reached for his phone and rang Trueman.

‘There’s still no sign of Arthur Lisle,’ Trueman said in answer to Horton’s enquiry. ‘And he’s not been in touch with his son or daughter. There’s been no reported sighting of his car, but we’re still waiting to check if he travelled to the mainland either by car ferry or as a foot passenger. We’re treating him as a possible suspect, but we’re not telling the press or his family that. The search warrant for the house should be with us later today, and I’ve applied for access to Lisle’s landline and mobile phone calls. I’m still waiting for access to Yately’s calls.’

Horton briefly contemplated telling Trueman his theory about Yately disturbing smugglers before deciding not to for now. He wanted to talk to Hazleton first. He said, ‘Any sightings of Yately on Wednesday or Thursday?’

‘No. As soon as the search warrant comes through, Dennings is going over and Lisle’s boat will be removed for forensic examination and the team will also go into the garage. I’m hoping to get a report from the fashion expert on the dress later today. I’m also checking on Arthur Lisle’s background. Do you want to know what I find?’

‘I’m not on the case.’

‘I’ll let you know.’

Trueman rang off. Horton reached for his sailing jacket and crossed to Cantelli in the CID office.

‘Elkins says they’ve no reports of anything suspicious at sea last night.’

‘If Bliss asks where I am tell her I’m following up another enquiry of Hazleton’s, which could have something to do with Project Neptune. That should keep her quiet for two minutes. Meanwhile, Barney, see what you can get on Victor Hazleton’s background.’

The rain had stopped but the sky threatened more and the wind was stiffening. It wouldn’t be the most pleasant of crossings but he’d been at sea in worse, and he hoped it would stay clear long enough for him to view the area where Hazleton had seen the light.

As he walked the short ten minute journey to the port he again considered his theory about Yately stumbling on smugglers who had killed him. Clearly Lisle and Yately were acquainted, so what if Lisle also indulged in the same interests as Yately – cross-dressing, although there was no evidence to support that. Perhaps he too kept a stash of his late wife’s clothes, or any women’s clothes, at the same place as Yately. For all Horton knew both men could attend cross-dressing conventions, and perhaps that was where Lisle had been all weekend. Lisle, with his computer and access to the Internet, could have discovered where a convention was being held. Or perhaps that was where Yately had been intending going on to after his dinner engagement with his daughter, leaving Lisle the keys to his flat. But that didn’t explain why Lisle hadn’t visited it until Tuesday.

He called Cantelli. ‘See if you can find details of any cross-dressing conventions. Yeah, I know it sounds weird but indulge me.’

Horton turned into the subway that ran under the motorway, his mind racing with possibilities that didn’t quite add up. Hannah Yately had said her father seemed happier than he had for a long time. If he was doing more than cross-dressing with Lisle, then had Lisle killed him, taken his keys, gone on to the convention and returned on Tuesday to check that nothing incriminating had been left in Yately’s apartment? The notes might have given a reference to the location where both men indulged their shared passion, but he was back to where he’d started; there was nothing illegal about it. And why couldn’t both men have done whatever they wanted to at Lisle’s house where there was no one to disturb them?

Despite hitting a brick wall with his theories Horton wasn’t going to give up on them yet, or the idea that Hazleton had seen something suspicious and that Yately could have stumbled on a smuggling operation.

The police launch was waiting for him on the quayside and soon they were passing the superyacht on their way out of the harbour. There was no sign of anyone on the decks. On the way across a rolling and bucking Solent that would have had poor Cantelli green and spewing up over the side, Horton asked Elkins for a chart and a map of the Island and went below with the sergeant to study it.

‘This is where Victor Hazleton lives.’ Horton pointed to an area just below St Lawrence to the left of Sir Richard’s Cove, and beyond that Woody Bay. ‘A small craft could have entered one of the bays as Hazleton himself said.’ And was that where Yately had his hideaway? ‘How far are they from Ventnor?’

‘About three miles.’

Certainly not far then for a man who liked walking, but would Yately have walked there in the dark? And even if he had reached there before sunset, which was possible given that he’d telephoned his daughter at six o’clock on Wednesday evening, would he have planned to walk home in the dark? Perhaps he knew the route well and had a powerful torch so that it wasn’t a problem for him. And perhaps the only time he felt safe to cross-dress was at night. But again, thought Horton, why not do so in his apartment? Yately had lived alone; he rarely had visitors, as far as they knew. His daughter didn’t visit him, and even if she did, Yately could have hidden the women’s clothes. So why not indulge his passion in the comfort of his own home? Because it wasn’t enough to excite him. And the same could apply to Lisle. Perhaps they needed to be in the fresh air and risk being seen or discovered by someone.

Horton considered this but the more he thought about this theory the more absurd it sounded, even though he knew that performing sex in public places excited some people, just as flashers got their jollies by doing it in places where they would risk being caught or seen. He was glad though he’d said nothing to Uckfield. Another thought also worried him, one he’d already expressed, if Yately had been a cross-dresser then why not go the whole hog and wear the underwear?

He brought his concentration back to the map and addressed Elkins. ‘I’d like to know in which direction this light Hazleton claims to have seen was travelling. It might have been returning from an operation from further east along the coast of the Island.’

‘You mean from around St Catherine’s Point. That would take some skill in a canoe or small boat in the dark with only one little light to guide it. He’d have to be a very experienced sailor or a foolish one to have done it.’

‘Or desperate,’ ventured Horton.

‘He’d still have to navigate around St Catherine’s Point and many a ship has floundered on that. And it would be difficult to put in to a rocky cove even on high water at night, and without a full moon.’

‘Smugglers have managed it before; they could do it again, especially if the rewards are great.’

Elkins acquiesced. ‘Where did this small craft come from though?’

‘A motor boat or fishing boat out to sea that Hazleton didn’t spot,’ suggested Horton.

‘Nothing’s shown up for that night?’

‘What about last night any time from eight p.m. to midnight?’

‘I’ve already checked and told Cantelli, but I’ll check again to see if any new reports have come in.’

Elkins climbed back on deck as Horton peered at the map and then at the sea chart. All he could see marked on the latter was Puckaster Cove and Saint Catherine’s Deep, a disused explosives dumping ground. He wondered if the small craft had come from the opposite direction out of Ventnor Haven. If he believed Hazleton’s story about the light last night then checking the tide timetables he saw that high tide had been at fourteen fifty-five with low water at nineteen twenty-nine, and because the small yacht haven dried out at low tide no craft could have come out of there but it could have been launched from somewhere else on the nearby coast. But the word smuggler
had
featured in Yately’s notes, he was sure he’d seen it. Yately had only been in the sea for a maximum of eighteen hours though, which was completely wrong for Hazleton’s first sighting of the light at sea, but not if Yately had been kept somewhere bound and gagged, alive, as Dr Clayton had said, until his killer could dispose of him in the sea. And that somewhere could have been in a cave or chine or in one of the remote bays.

Horton heard the radio crackle into life as he considered this and Elkins hurried down looking flushed.

‘Ripley’s just picked up a message from a fishing boat. A car’s been found in the sea at Chale Bay.’

‘What kind?’ Horton asked, as his head reeled with the news.

‘An old Morris.’

Jesus! It was Lisle’s car. ‘Make for it.’

Horton called Uckfield.

‘Yeah, we’ve just heard,’ Uckfield said, sounding out of breath. ‘I’m just boarding the ferry with Dennings. The warrant’s come through for Lisle’s house and I’m dropping Dennings off there to oversee the search. How the hell do you know about it?’

‘I’m on the police launch for another investigation. We’re heading for the car now.’

‘Sergeant Norris is on his way. I’ve given instructions for it to be towed out and the area to be sealed off. No one’s to touch it or go near it until I and SOCO get there.’

‘I’ll see to it.’

Horton called Cantelli.

‘I haven’t got much on Hazleton except he has no previous and he’s not in debt. And he doesn’t own a car.’

‘I’m not sure I’ll get time to interview him about his report now.’ Horton quickly told Cantelli about the discovery of Lisle’s car in the sea. ‘Give Hazleton a call and see what information you can get out of him. He’ll probably insist on talking to me. He’s a snob, but I’m sure you’ll be able to persuade him to open up. And, Barney, there should be an email from Mike Danby with a list of crew members on Glenn’s superyacht. Walters is running a check on Russell Glenn, Dominic Keats and Oliver Vernon, give him a hand with that and the crew members, if you have time.’

‘Anything I should know about?’

‘I’ll explain later.’

Cantelli didn’t press him. Did the discovery of Lisle’s car change his theory about smugglers and Yately stumbling on them, or about both men cross-dressing? It was too early to tell. But perhaps Lisle
had
killed Yately and then, unable to live with the guilt, had driven his precious old car into the sea to kill himself. Horton quickly consulted the map spread out in front of him for Chale Bay.

Climbing on deck, Horton peered through the stinging rain at the colour-washed Victorian and Edwardian houses above the small seaside town of Ventnor as they swayed and rolled with the swell of an angry sea. He looked for Yately’s apartment perched under the downs but couldn’t see it because of the mist and rain. He thought about those notes on Yately’s desk. Ventnor had once been a small fishing village. It still had a fishing industry, mainly shellfish, and the fishermen who had spotted the car might have come from here, or from the mainland. And sensibly they were heading back there now.

As the countryside opened up to his right Horton surveyed it with impatience. He was anxious to get to Lisle’s car but this had been the stretch of coast he had wanted to view. Much of it was rocky but there were one or two small bays with open fields behind them. He turned to Elkins. ‘Where’s Hazleton’s house in relation to those bays?’

‘About there,’ Elkins pointed to Horton’s left.

He saw a densely wooded area before the trees thinned out and he caught a glimpse of Hazleton’s observatory as the launch whipped past, swinging further out to sea and around St Catherine’s Point with its white landmark lighthouse. He’d sailed around the point many times, but not usually in such a rough sea, and this time he fancied he could hear the cries of the five little girls who had perished along with eighteen other crew and passengers of the
Clarendon
in 1836. But maybe it was the large flock of white gulls he could hear. He looked up to see the black tip of their wings before they vanished in the heavy grey blanket of sky.

Soon he was staring at the wet sooty black cliffs of the crumbling Blackgang Chine. Cultivated fields stretched out beyond the sandy beaches and cliffs. A large gash in the cliff with sheer sides told him they’d reached Whale Chine.

‘There it is,’ Elkins pointed ahead at the same time as Horton saw it. The maroon and tan Morris was half submerged in an incoming tide. He wiped the rain and sea spray from the glass on his watch. It was ten eighteen. Low tide had been just before eight, but because the weather was bad no one had seen it from the shore. It was also a more remote part of the island, particularly out of the main holiday season, and the weather would have deterred the dog walkers. It was surprising the crew of the fishing boat had spotted it at all. Ripley headed as close as he dared without becoming stuck on the sand. Horton asked Elkins to find someone with a RIB to take him on to the shore, and then he waited impatiently for it to arrive, wondering if they would find Arthur Lisle dead inside his precious car.