A Killing Coast (22 page)

‘Lucky them,’ muttered Horton, thinking of his own marital split and divorce proceedings that seemed to be stretching on for ever. Then he recalled the filthy, sodden, half-chewed body in the woman’s dress and suppressed a shudder; poor Colin Yately hadn’t been so lucky after all.

‘She said that she usually handles divorce at the top end of the market, and the staff I spoke to confirmed that Wallingford and Chandler are expensive and exclusive but get excellent results for their clients. She liked Colin and she knew him very well because he was the firm’s postman. So she agreed to take it on.’

That explained that and confirmed Horton’s views about the legal practice. ‘Did you get to talk to Chandler junior?’

Cantelli shook his head. ‘No, he was still with his client but he handles wealth management.’ Cantelli quickly consulted his notebook and read, ‘Which entails estate and tax planning, business succession, charitable giving, trusts and asset protection. Would be nice to have some wealth to manage,’ he added snapping his notebook shut. ‘The talk is that Wallingford and Chandler are doing very well, thank you. Chandler runs a Range Rover and lives in a large manor house near Kingston, and Chandler junior is single but has a girlfriend who works in London. Junior lives in an apartment at Cowes Marina. The staff I spoke to all liked Arthur Lisle; there wasn’t a bad word said against him; quiet, kind, calm and brilliant at his job. None of them remembered Victor Hazleton.’

Which wasn’t surprising given that he had retired so long ago. Horton turned into a track. The sign said ‘Lane’s Farm and Storage Company’.

‘Let’s hope we can find out what Arthur Lisle was so interested in two weeks ago.’ But even if they did, Horton wondered if it had any connection with his disappearance and the murder of two men.

FIFTEEN

T
hey were shown into a tiny office at the back of a large building by a dour-faced farmer, who told them he’d diversified into archive retrieval and storage and converted two of his large modern barns because the farming industry was buggered. He now employed four drivers and two office staff and made more in one month from storage and shredding than he did in six from farming. Horton wasn’t sure whether he believed him but that didn’t matter. What did was the contents of the large storage box dated October 1980 that had been placed in front of them.

When they were alone, Cantelli lifted the lid and pulled out a contents list which was also inscribed on the front of the box.

Horton peered at it and ran through the names. He didn’t recognize any of them as being connected with the case. ‘Shouldn’t take you long to look through that lot.’

‘What’s this “you”?’

‘Don’t want me crowding your style. While you’re checking through the contents I’m going to take a look around the area at Hazleton’s house.’

‘Dennings won’t thank you for trampling on his ground.’

‘I
know
Dennings. He’s in charge, which means he’ll be in the incident suite trying to look and sound impressive, and barking out directions to any of the poor plods who are unfortunate enough to enter it.’

‘It would help if I knew what I was looking for.’

‘I’m sure you’ll spot it,
if
it’s there.’

‘Don’t forget to come back for me. I don’t fancy being roped in to milk the cows.’

‘There aren’t any on this farm.’

‘Then make sure
I
don’t get filed away.’

As Horton headed across the Island to the east coast and Hazleton’s house, he wondered why Lisle had been interested in the file from October 1980. He could have been looking up the address of a former client who’d become a friend and who he’d lost contact with. Or perhaps he was trying to trace someone related to a former client. It probably had nothing to do with the deaths, or Lisle’s disappearance, but there was a slim chance it could have and therefore it had to be followed up.

A patrol car and police van were parked on Hazleton’s driveway and there was no sign of Marsden’s car, so the coast was DI Dennings clear, unless the goon had come in the patrol car, which Horton doubted; it would be beneath him. He showed his ID to the officer on the door, who told him the Walkers and DC Marsden had been and gone. From what he had heard they hadn’t said anything was missing.

Horton was logged in and he found a handful of officers bagging up anything that could be relevant to the inquiry. From the landing window, as he climbed the stairs to the observatory, he could see others combing the grounds in search of a possible murder weapon or any evidence that the murder had taken place there. He speculated on what Dr Clayton’s post-mortem might discover before pushing open the door of the observatory. It was stifling hot and he was alone. The light-blue sea was rippling under a clear sky that seemed to stretch for ever. All he could see on the horizon was a lone yacht with white sails steadily making its way around the island.
Lucky thing
. He focused the telescope on it and on board saw a man and woman wrapped up against the crisp April air. Catherine had never liked sailing. She’d been more at home on Uckfield’s motor boat, despite the fact her father sailed a large yacht. But he knew that Dr Clayton liked sailing. Maybe he should ask her if she’d like to go out with him on his yacht. Perhaps she already had a boyfriend she went sailing with. He knew little about her except she was divorced.

He swivelled the telescope round thinking that perhaps Dennings was with her in the mortuary. That wouldn’t please her. But as he’d said to Cantelli, Dennings wouldn’t want to leave the incident suite and miss out on anything. No, he’d probably wait for Gaye Clayton to report back to him, and if Horton wasn’t very much mistaken Neanderthal man would soon be hassling her for the results, unless he had something else to occupy his small brain.

Horton turned his concentration closer to the shore but he couldn’t see into any of the bays in either direction because of the lie of the land. The small bays and coves were tucked in under the cliff, which meant that Hazleton wouldn’t have seen anything actually entering any of them, but he could have seen a boat heading for one of them as he’d mentioned.

He returned to the ground floor and crossed the garden where he again showed his ID to the officer-in-charge of the search, who reported that nothing resembling a murder weapon had been found, but as they didn’t yet know what that was they were bagging up anything that looked suspicious. It wasn’t a great deal, just the occasional branch, but nothing with bloodstains on it.

Horton found a path at the edge of the garden and soon he was striking out down a steep narrow track bordered by hedgerows that was leading him down to the sea. Would Hazleton have been physically able to climb back up this path at his age, he wondered? The man had been wiry and had looked fit so it was possible, especially if he had used the path frequently and by doing so had enhanced his fitness.

After about half a mile Horton emerged from the trees and shrubs to find he was crossing a small field which came out at the edge of a low cliff. He looked over it on to a small shingle bay. It was about two hours away from high tide so impossible to walk in either direction around to the next small cove, but he noted there was another track, which led down the cliff on to the shore. At high water it would be possible to get a small boat in here but there were clearly no caves and no chines, and nowhere for Yately to stash his store of women’s clothes.

He reached for his phone to call Cantelli but there was no signal. He headed north, skirting the shore as he picked his way along the field until he could see down into the next very small bay. Again there didn’t seem to be any hiding place. He turned and surveyed the lie of the land. To the west, directly behind where he was standing, the field led up to a dense thicket. To the north, the field continued for a distance until it gave on to a hedge and then more trees bordering the low cliff top. To the south, and the way he’d come, there was the pathway up to Hazleton’s house. Horton frowned as a thought occurred to him. Had Hazleton been involved in smuggling?

Making his way back up to the house he tried calling Cantelli again and only managed to get a signal when he was in Hazleton’s garden.

‘You’re still alive then?’ he said when Cantelli answered.

‘Just, but I’m beginning to get claustrophobic and bleary-eyed. Not to mention faint from lack of food.’

‘Found anything?’

‘I’ll tell you when you pick me up and bring me some food.’

Horton smiled. ‘OK.’

Cantelli was waiting for him outside, and beside him was the large box file. ‘I called Chandler and asked his permission to take it away. Bramley had told him about Lisle requesting the file. Chandler wasn’t very pleased about it and said that none of the clients in the file was to be contacted without consulting him first. I gave him the list of names and he said he already had them on the computer file in the office. He said he’d let me know which of them were still clients. There’s too much to go through here and it needs Trueman’s expertise, not mine,’ Cantelli added after putting the box in the boot of the car and grabbing the sandwiches Horton had bought.

Between mouthfuls he explained what he’d found. ‘The box contains a probate for Harold Jenkins who lived in Ventnor—’

‘Well he’s no longer one of Chandler’s clients.’

‘And we won’t be able to speak to him unless we engage a clairvoyant. A divorce for the Barrington-Clarkes of Newport and three property transactions: one at Fishbourne, one in Newport and the other at Brighstone, which were all handled by Arthur Lisle.’

‘Any of the cases involve Victor Hazleton?’

‘His initials are on some correspondence but they’re more plentiful on the probate matter. I’ve cross-checked the files with the index, there’s nothing missing, as far as I can tell, but, as I said, we’ll need to do a more thorough trawl through the documents and get some legal advice to see if anything could have been extracted from one of the files.’

‘How many people are mentioned, apart from those working for Wallingford and Chandler and those involved in the legal process?’

‘Nine,’ Cantelli answered, biting into his sandwich. ‘Six connected with the buying and selling of the properties; the two divorcees and Harold Jenkins, of Ventnor, the deceased probate.’

‘Who inherited?’

‘From my quick read, and it was only brief, it was a nephew called Trevor Markham.’

And where was he now?
‘Should there have been more money?’ wondered Horton aloud, heading for Ventnor.

‘Perhaps this Markham found out he should have inherited more and killed both Hazleton and Lisle for revenge.’

‘Why bother when he could simply have exposed the fraud?’

‘Revenge? Or perhaps he’s a psycho case. Hazleton could have been swindling the account for years and stashing the money away for his retirement. Perhaps something triggered Arthur Lisle’s curiosity, he checked the file, and discovered the fraud. And tells Yately.’

‘Why?’

‘Perhaps Yately is related to this Trevor Markham or knew him. Angry that his friend or relative got duped, he confronts Hazleton and gets killed. Then Lisle does the same.’

‘But that means Lisle should be dead and not Hazleton.’

‘Something could have gone wrong. They struggled. Lisle accidentally kills Hazleton, tries to cover it up and then, filled with remorse, kills himself by driving his beloved old car into the sea and drowning. His body is swept away on the high tide.’

‘Why wouldn’t Yately or Lisle have reported the fraud to us, the police, instead of confronting Hazleton?’

‘Not everyone does.’

‘It doesn’t account for Yately wearing a woman’s dress though.’

Cantelli polished off the last of his sandwich and frowned. ‘No.’

‘And that’s our sticking point on everything, Barney, except for Uckfield’s favoured theory of Abigail Lisle having an affair with Colin Yately, for which we have no evidence, not even a hint of it.’ Horton then told Cantelli about his walk to the shore and the thought that Hazleton could have been helping smugglers. ‘There’s a direct route up to his house and he could have been reporting all this suspicious lights stuff to the local police to make them consider him an idiot and stop investigating.’

‘Like that poem about Matilda telling such dreadful lies that when she did tell the truth about the house being on fire no one believed her and she perished in the flames.’

‘Something like that. But again we’re back to that dress. What are we missing, Barney?’ Horton said earnestly.

‘A lot,’ was Cantelli’s swift reply as Horton pulled up outside the temporary incident room at Ventnor.

Dennings, jacketless and perspiring, glowered at them as they entered. He had a phone stuck to his ear, as did the other two officers in the room, and no sooner had one replaced the receiver than it rang again. Horton knew why – people were phoning in with reports of sightings of Yately and Lisle thanks to the Super’s earlier press briefing.

Slamming down the receiver, Dennings said, ‘So far Arthur Lisle’s been seen climbing Tennyson Down, flying a helicopter at Bembridge Airport, sailing a boat out of Yarmouth, dossing in a doorway in Ryde and jet skiing across the Solent to Portsmouth; next he’ll be swimming the bloody English Channel.’

Horton plonked the archive filing box on Dennings’ desk, causing him to start backwards. ‘Present for you, Tony.’

‘What is it?’

Horton quickly brought him up to speed with the interview at the solicitor’s office and what Cantelli had found in the files. He said nothing about his jaunt to Hazleton’s house, and his reconnaissance of the coastline there.

‘You don’t mean we have to waste time sifting through that!’ cried Dennings incredulously. ‘Just because Lisle wanted to check up on some old paperwork.’

Horton shrugged. ‘Please yourself. It’s your investigation.’ Horton turned to leave, prompting Dennings to say, ‘Where are you going?’

‘Back to Portsmouth.’

‘There’s work to be done here.’

‘Not by me and Sergeant Cantelli, there isn’t. We were asked to interview Wallingford and Chandler and we did, with that result.’ Horton jerked his head at the box.