A Killing Coast (26 page)

Cantelli nodded solemnly. He didn’t ask if what he was doing was wise because it wouldn’t make any difference, he’d still do it. Instead, the sergeant said, ‘Why wouldn’t Stanley tell you this?’

‘Perhaps he thought it would reflect badly on her or badly on him because he hadn’t done his job properly.’ Horton ran a hand over his head. ‘I’ve got no idea, Barney, and it’s probably a waste of time, but that photograph means something and it has to be linked with that armed robbery.’

‘I’ll see what I can get. PC Johns has brought in the guest list for the charity reception on Glenn’s yacht tonight. It sounds a posh do. There are a lot of nobs on the list and one or two actors and footballers.’ Cantelli handed across the sheet of paper. Horton quickly scanned it finding his name at the bottom. There were no villains he knew. He asked Cantelli if he recognized any.

‘No, but I’ll get Walters to run a check on them. And you should know that Walters is moonlighting for Danby tonight. He’s just told me that he’s on security duty on Glenn’s yacht.’

‘Then God help us. Knowing Walters’ luck something’s bound to go wrong.’ And that reminded Horton about the blue van. He asked Cantelli to check with the Scientific Services department to see if the video unit had managed to enhance the registration number or anything else on the van to help give them some clue as to its owner. ‘Did Johns have any luck finding out if the RIB from Glenn’s yacht has been launched?’

‘It has. It was launched on Monday morning when Russell Glenn and Lloyd took it out for a trial. One of the engines wasn’t working properly so the mechanic was called in and it was given another test run on Tuesday.’

‘It wasn’t taken out at night?’

‘Not according to Johns, but he said he couldn’t push his luck by asking too many questions because Lloyd is as sharp as they come. As well as having muscles he’s also got brains, and he carries a lot of clout with the crew. Johns reckons it’s Lloyd and not Glenn who gives the orders to the skipper and second mate who then dole it out to the crew. Glenn spends a lot of time in his study.’

‘And Avril Glenn? What does Johns say about her?’

‘A real looker and lovely figure but then you know that already. She seems pleasant enough and friendly but not overly friendly. Johns says she seems to spend more of her time with “the bearded Vernon and that smooth bastard Keats than her husband”, I quote. And Danby deals direct with Lloyd.’ Cantelli hauled himself up. ‘I’ll see if Elkins has managed to pick up anything from Customs and the Border Agency.’

Horton headed for the major incident suite, making an effort to focus his thoughts on the investigation instead of mentally running through all the possible connections between Stanley’s armed robbery and his mother. Uckfield was in his office. First, Horton got an update from Trueman.

‘There’s not much, Andy. The fingerprints found on the telescope in Yately’s flat are too smeared and vague to match anyone’s, including Arthur Lisle’s. We’ve got a couple of smudged prints from Yately’s apartment, which don’t match his daughter or any of the residents. And there are some prints from Lisle’s house that don’t match with the personal items taken from there or his family and they don’t match with Hazleton’s or Yately’s. There have been a few reported sightings of Arthur Lisle on the Island, which Sergeant Norris and his team are checking out.’

Horton glanced across at Uckfield who was scowling at his computer. With a backward glance at a tired-looking Trueman, Horton swiftly crossed to the big man’s office, knocked briefly and entered.

‘I hope you’ve got something worthwhile to say, otherwise you can bugger off.’

The bags under Uckfield’s bloodshot eyes looked as though they should have been put out weeks ago and his craggy face was grey with fatigue. He waved Horton into the chair opposite.

‘That bastard Dean’s just waiting for me to cock up so that he can go running to head teacher to tell him what a useless prat I am. For Christ’s sake, why didn’t you seal off that flat and take the old man seriously?’

And I bet you’ve told Dean that it’s all down to me, thought Horton angrily. Well, Dean hadn’t come bellyaching around his door yet, and so far Bliss had failed to rub salt into his wounds; she was too preoccupied with her pet project and, Horton guessed, too wary to come down on him too hard in case DCS Sawyer was his new-found friend.

Ignoring Uckfield’s remark, Horton said, ‘I want to interview the author of a book on the history of the Isle of Wight coast that was in Lisle’s dining room.’

Uckfield rolled his eyes. ‘Can’t see where that’s going to get us.’

‘Neither can I at the moment,’ Horton retorted, ‘but Yately visited this author in October, February and three weeks ago, and as those notes have gone missing, along with Lisle and his laptop computer, and as Lisle apparently took the notes, it’s worth talking to the author . . .’ Horton stalled. There was something on the edge of his mind, something he’d just said that was significant, but try as he might he couldn’t grasp what it was. Irritatingly it refused to come.

Uckfield exhaled noisily and threw himself back in his seat. ‘Might as well waste more time,’ he said airily. ‘Like checking out that archive file.’

‘Cheer up. Oliver Vernon, the antiques expert, might have something significant to say about Hazleton’s valuables which could give us a lead.’

Uckfield snorted. Horton beat a hasty retreat before the Super could voice his opinions about that, and before he could ask what Cantelli was working on.

An hour and a half later Horton was pulling up outside Hazleton’s house, where a patrol car was sitting on the driveway. He nodded at the officer outside and found the other officer with Oliver Vernon in the lounge.

‘I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ Vernon said brightly, shaking Horton’s hand.

‘That good, eh?’

‘I’d say,’ he enthused, crossing to the mantelpiece. ‘Take this.’ He pointed to a black wooden glass-fronted box on the mantelpiece that contained a thermometer and had a gold clock with roman numerals mounted above it. ‘It’s an antique French Empire clock, and is absolutely beautiful, not to mention in pristine condition.’ He touched it almost sensuously. ‘It was made around 1820 and its seconds dial and thermometer make it unique. For a collector it could fetch up to five thousand pounds, maybe more. And look at this pair of Famille Rose vases either side of it. Exquisite. May I?’

Horton nodded. Vernon lifted one of the small vases and handled it delicately while inspecting it. It was just over a foot high. Horton saw that it was decorated with Chinese characters in a fenced garden amidst rocks, blossoming trees and floral sprays.

‘This is amazing,’ Vernon breathed. ‘I can hardly believe it. Early twentieth century, Chinese. Could fetch anything up to forty thousand pounds at auction.’

Horton was surprised, though he shouldn’t have been, recalling what Trueman had said about Hazleton’s accounts.

With a flushed face, Vernon continued, ‘Can these antiques be traced back to previous owners?’

‘We haven’t found any paperwork for them.’

Vernon raised his eyebrows. ‘Unusual, but not unknown. Do you suspect them to be stolen?’

‘Do you?’

Vernon gave a knowing smile. ‘I can’t remember seeing any of them listed as stolen, or hearing about it. In my business it pays to keep a track of these things.’

‘And what precisely is your business?’ asked Horton lightly, before quickly adding, ‘Oh, I know you’re an auctioneer but . . .’

‘I’m not actually. I’m an art historian.’

Horton contrived to look baffled, and as if this was new information to him, when Avril had already told him this and Walters had discovered that Vernon worked as a freelance valuer, researcher, lecturer and consultant. He wanted it to lead to them discussing Russell Glenn.

Vernon smiled and gently replaced the Chinese vase. ‘I research rare and valuable antiques, art treasures like this vase, jewellery and paintings for clients. When I find something, often after years of research, I offer to buy it on behalf of the client, if it’s available for sale, and even if it’s not I will try and persuade the owner to part with it, or rather my client gives me authorization to bid to a certain level, depending on how desperate he is to acquire it. Other times I will trace a lost antiquity without necessarily having a client and then I will match it with a client who will appreciate it.’

‘And is that what you do for Russell Glenn?’

‘Yes.’ Vernon’s eyes scanned the room. They fell on the painting of a sailing scene that looked like it had been executed at Cowes Week, which Horton had noted on his earlier visit. ‘I know what Russell wants and if I’m not mistaken . . .’ Vernon swiftly crossed the room and peered closely at the painting. Horton exchanged a glance with the uniformed officer, who knew better than to interject. Vernon gave a low whistle and spun back, his face flushed with excitement. ‘Russell would love to own this,
if
it’s genuine,’ he quickly added. ‘And I think it might be. He loves beautiful things, paintings in particular, but he also buys rare pieces of jewellery for Avril. This painting appears to be a Raoul Dufy, which is remarkable because it looks like “Regatta at Cowes”, and it can’t be because “Regatta at Cowes” is hanging in the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC.’ Vernon ran a hand through his hair.

‘Who’s Raoul Dufy?’ asked Horton as a thought struck him. Could tonight’s reception on board the superyacht have been designed for the purpose of Oliver Vernon buying, or rather overseeing the purchase, of an item of jewellery for Glenn? It couldn’t be a painting because that would be too conspicuous to bring on board; all the items were being viewed on screen in the on board cinema so whatever it was had to be small enough to be brought on to the yacht by one of the guests without being noticed, especially if that item had been obtained illegally to begin with. With growing excitement Horton thought that at last he might be getting to grips with the real purpose of Glenn’s stay in Portsmouth. The charity auction was just a smokescreen. Did that mean Avril was party to this exchange? Before he could reason that one out, Vernon was speaking.

‘Dufy was a French Fauvist painter. They were renowned for emphasizing bright colours and bold contours in their work, as you can see in this painting. Dufy died in 1953. He is very noted for scenes of open-air social events, like this one. It’s either a very good forgery or Dufy painted more than one picture of the “Regatta at Cowes” in 1934. And if it’s genuine it will fetch a fortune at auction. You are looking at a very fine collection here, and the glassware and porcelain I’ve already seen in the dining room is in incredibly good condition and valuable. This man clearly had an eye for beautiful things.’

Too fine an eye
. How could an office manager have afforded to buy these kinds of things, wondered Horton? The simple answer was he couldn’t. These either had to have been stolen or they were Hazleton’s pay-off for smuggling. ‘Did you know Mr Hazleton?’

‘No. I only wish I had. Is there a next of kin?’ Vernon asked keenly.

Horton knew the way Vernon’s mind was running, get in early and offer to handle the sale.

‘We’re still trying to establish that. For the time being I’d appreciate it if you would handle this matter confidentially.’

‘Of course.’

‘Could you make an inventory of what’s in the house, giving an estimated value of each item?’

‘It will be my pleasure. I’ll begin right away.’

‘An officer will accompany you.’

‘To make sure I don’t steal anything?’ Vernon grinned. ‘It’s all right, I understand and I’d welcome an extra pair of hands and eyes.’ He consulted his watch. ‘Depending on what else I find in the house I might have to return tomorrow.’

‘That’s fine and I appreciate your help, Mr Vernon.’

‘Oliver, please. I hear you’re attending our little shindig tonight.’

‘Yes, but I don’t think I’ll be bidding for any of the items on a police inspector’s pay.’

‘You might get carried away in the excitement of the moment.’

‘If I do then I’ll have to ask you to re-auction it. Does that happen?’

‘Not in the circles I operate in.’

‘The rich and famous. And they have deep pockets, like Russell Glenn.’

‘Very deep. And, as I said, they like special pieces and they’re not too fussy about their provenance.’

‘How long have you acted for Glenn?’ Horton asked casually.

‘Five years.’

‘How did you get to build up this select band of clients? I’m curious that’s all,’ Horton quickly added, smiling; he didn’t want to make it sound like an interrogation.

‘Recommendation. And a reputation for being discreet. I do a good job for one client and the word soon gets around. I started off by discovering a very beautiful lost piece of . . . well, let’s just say something very valuable and treasured.’ Vernon fingered his short fair beard with his slender fingers. ‘I successfully negotiated its sale, no questions asked, nothing made public and just built my reputation from there. There’s nothing illegal about what I do, Inspector. I don’t steal anything and I don’t sell on stolen goods, not unless they were stolen three or more centuries ago and no one knows or can trace their rightful owner.’

‘And it’s all tax free.’

Vernon pulled a face. ‘That’s not my business.’

No, thought Horton. Tax evasion wasn’t Detective Chief Superintendent Sawyer’s usual remit either, but he could be working alongside other agencies to crack Russell Glenn for it. But Horton suspected that either Glenn was about to purchase some art or antique treasure and Sawyer was keen to get hold of it and those involved in the transaction, or Glenn had something to sell. And perhaps
he’d
been invited on board to verify that everything, as far as he could see, was above board. He thought of the guest list that Cantelli had shown him earlier and wondered what Walters would discover from checking the names on it. Who was the secret buyer or seller?

Vernon’s voice broke through his thoughts. ‘I recommend that you either move these valuables or make this house rock-solid secure. I won’t say anything but word has a habit of getting out.’