Deadly Waters (15 page)

He sat down, feeling edgy and pent up. Pictures of Emma’s excited and delighted face as she’d greeted him kept flashing before his eyes. He could feel her arms around his neck.

Concentrate on the case, damn you, he silently urged himself, picking up a file and flinging it open. But the words merged in a blur of black print as he thought of Emma at ballet classes; was she upset or had she already dismissed him from her child’s mind? His door swung open and he was glad to see Cantelli, cold and all, ambling in, clutching a plastic cup of coffee.

‘Bloody hell, it’s like the North Pole in here. You’ll catch your death sitting there in a howling gale. And judging by the state of you I’d say you’ve been up all night.’

‘You don’t look so hot yourself.’

‘I’ll survive.’

Horton sat back as Cantelli plonked himself into the seat opposite. Suddenly Horton was filled with the urge to confide.

‘I saw Emma this morning,’ he announced abruptly.

Cantelli sat up with a concerned frown on his lean, dark face. ‘And?’

‘And what?’ Horton ran a hand over his head and stood up.

‘I had to leave her. Barney, why is Catherine doing this to me?’

‘Jealousy.’ Cantelli answered so promptly that Horton started.

‘Why?’

‘Maybe Emma is fonder of her daddy than her mummy, and, well, let’s face it, Catherine always did like to be the centre of attention. You should only have had eyes for her.

Perhaps your daughter stole your heart from Catherine and she didn’t like it.’

Horton considered his words. ‘You think I neglected Catherine?’

‘I didn’t say that. A woman like Catherine needs to be worshipped. Maybe you didn’t worship her enough, or stopped doing so when you started paying homage to your daughter.’

‘I didn’t know you were a psychiatrist,’ Horton said sarcastically.

‘There’s a lot of things people don’t know about me. I haven’t had five kids without learning a thing or two.’ Cantelli winked grotesquely.

Horton smiled despite his heavy heart. Did Emma love him more than her mother? He doubted it but Cantelli’s words gave him some comfort.

‘Maybe I should have come to you for marriage guidance,’

Horton said.

‘If I ever get kicked out of the force perhaps I’ll give it a whirl. What you need is something to take your mind off it.

How about us trying to solve this case?’

Somerfield was following up Elaine Tolley, and although Horton thought it unlikely that Eric Morville was their killer, they hadn’t yet checked out his alibi. And no one had investigated the break-in at the ex-forces club. Time to kill two birds with one stone.

Grabbing his jacket, he said, ‘Let’s go see a man about a break-in.’

Cantelli took a drag at his coffee, pulled a face and said,

‘Suits me.’

‘About time. I thought you lot had forgotten me,’ Barry Dunsley complained after Cantelli had flashed his warrant card. Dunsley lifted a hand to the sticking plaster on the right side of his forehead just above his eye as if to remind them he had been wounded in the course of battle.

Horton took Dunsley’s injury seriously but somehow couldn’t take the man in the same vein. There was a comic element to the steward’s performance, as though he was a good actor hamming it up. There was dandruff on Dunsley’s shoulders and his round nondescript flabby face blended into a double chin. He was also clearly a man who liked sampling his wares as much as he liked pulling them, judging by the size of his beer gut. How old was he? Late thirties or early forties? Horton couldn’t quite tell.

Before Horton or Cantelli could reply to Dunsley’s rather peeved accusation, a clatter of buckets announced the cleaning lady. Horton saw the steward’s pale blue eyes flicker with irritation.

‘Clean the toilets first, please, Mrs Watrow,’ he commanded.

‘Suit yourself,’ she muttered, collecting her bucket and mop and leaving with the maximum amount of noise possible. No love lost there, Horton guessed. Dunsley wasn’t the likeable type.

‘Tell us what happened, sir,’ Cantelli said.

‘After working in the bar all evening, I cleared away and went to bed just on midnight. I’m staying in the flat on the top floor while I’m looking after the club—’

‘You’re not the usual steward then?’ asked Cantelli.

‘No. He had to go into hospital for open-heart surgery. He won’t be back for about three months. Anyway, I was just falling asleep when I heard this noise. I came down to investigate and found the little bleeders in the storeroom behind the bar here. I said something like, “What are you doing?”

and they ran out. The next thing I know one of them is taking a swing at me. I pulled at his head, tugged off his balaclava, and then he struck me with something. I can’t say what it was, and then they were running away.’

‘How many were there?’ Horton knew already from the statement, but it was always best to ask again.

‘Two.’

‘And you think you can identify one of them.’

‘You just catch him.’

Cantelli said, ‘Perhaps we could arrange for you to come down to the station and look at some photographs.’

‘My pleasure.’

Horton said, ‘Can you show us where they broke in?’

Dunsley lifted the flap of the bar and they followed him into a small room that led off from it. There was a door leading to the yard where Cantelli had parked the car and where the intruders had entered the premises. The room was stacked with crates of beer, a few barrels, some bottles and boxes of crisps and other savouries. It smelt of damp and stale alcohol. Even Cantelli’s potent cough and cold lozenge seemed better than this to Horton.

‘Where’s the blood?’

‘What? Oh, they hit me outside; the rain will have washed it away by now.’

Horton left a second or two’s pause as Cantelli crossed to examine the rear door. Then he said: ‘Did you see in which direction they ran?’

‘No. I was a bit dizzy by then.’

‘You say this attack took place at one a.m., so why did you wait until four a.m. to report it?’

‘I wasn’t thinking straight; well, you don’t when you’ve been knocked on the head,’ Dunsley said belligerently. ‘I called a taxi to take me to the hospital and it was only when I got back that I realized I hadn’t reported it.’

There was a ring of truth to the statement, yet Horton didn’t believe it. It was too slick and Dunsley was too defensive.

‘Have you any idea who might have done this?’

‘Kids from the Wilberforce Cutler, I expect. I heard on the radio that their head teacher has been murdered. Is it true she was found in Langstone Harbour?’

‘Did you know her?’

‘I knew of her.’

Horton picked up an undertone of disapproval. ‘What did you know?’

‘Only what I read in the newspapers.’

He was lying. Horton pushed. ‘And the gossip that you’ve heard the other side of the bar.’

Dunsley smiled. ‘That they’d given the job to the wrong person.

It should have been Tom Edney’s, the deputy head. He’d been acting head for nearly a year before Ms Langley arrived. The existing head had been on long-term sick leave with stress.’

No one had told him that! So Edney had even more of a reason to feel bitter and resentful towards Langley. That didn’t necessarily make him a murderer, though, but it was beginning to stack up against him.

Dunsley said, ‘I felt sorry for Mr Edney. He took over the duties of head on the promise that he’d get it. Then they brought her in.’

‘How do you know so much about it? Do you know Mr Edney?’

‘A lot of our members have kids and grandchildren at the school. Maybe he
will
get the job now that she’s dead. ’

And was that motive enough for Edney to have killed her?

Again Horton wondered. Thwarted ambition can do strange things to a man. He considered his own attitude towards Dennings’ appointment. At least Dennings hadn’t leapfrogged over him to become a DCI, yet. And if he did . . .

Cantelli, who had finished his examination of the door, said,

‘Is that where the burglars entered, sir?’ He pointed to the plasterboard across the broken windowpane.

‘Yes. They must have reached in and flicked the catch on the door.’

‘Why wasn’t it bolted?’ At the top and bottom were sturdy black metal bolts.

‘I forgot.’ Dunsley blushed, shuffled his feet and looked uncomfortable. Horton didn’t think the insurance company would like that very much.

‘Too much to drink the night before, was it, sir?’ Cantelli joked with a sneer in his voice.

Dunsley’s head came up. His pale eyes flashed anger.

‘What about the alarm?’ Horton asked.

‘We’ve been having trouble with it. It’s a new system.

Bailey’s installed it about a week ago.’

‘You’re not from Portsmouth, are you, sir?’

Horton saw Dunsley blink at Cantelli’s sudden switch of question.

‘No. Plymouth. Why?’ The hostility and wariness was back in full force.

‘What did you do before you came here?’

‘I worked on the cross-channel ferry, though what’s that got to do with the break-in—’

‘Nothing whatsoever,’ Cantelli answered brightly. ‘I was just interested.’ Horton could tell Dunsley was thinking a policeman was never
just
interested. ‘How long have you worked here?’

‘A month.’

Horton thought that Dunsley had learnt a great deal about the Sir Wilberforce Cutler School and Tom Edney in that time.

‘Thank you, sir.’ Cantelli smiled and after a brief hesitation Dunsley returned it.

‘Can I get you both a drink?’ he asked, in a manner of we’re all pals together. They both refused. Horton knew that drinks on the house could lead to small favours returned, like tearing up a speeding ticket, or letting someone off a minor misdemeanour and he didn’t want to be in any kind of debt to this man. Horton didn’t trust Dunsley as far as he could spit.

In true police officer style Horton waited until he was just leaving before turning back and saying, ‘You were serving in the bar all Thursday evening, Mr Dunsley. Did you see Eric Morville in here?’

‘Yes, I think so.’ Dunsley couldn’t disguise his surprise at the question.

Horton raised his eyebrows. ‘Was it that crowded?’

‘Thursdays are always busy. Yes, Eric was here. When isn’t he?’ Dunsley laughed. Horton didn’t join in and Cantelli remained po-faced. ‘He left about closing time. Why do you want to know?’

‘Let us know when you’re able to come down to the station and look through some photographs.’

Dunsley mumbled a reply.

As Horton climbed in the car, he said, ‘What made you ask where he was from?’

‘His accent was slightly West Country, but not quite as strong as Dr Clayton’s. I haven’t come across him before, and I don’t believe a word he said.’

‘Neither do I.’ Horton recalled those pale, shifty eyes.

‘Inside job?’

‘Smells like it. There’s another thing—’

‘Yeah, I noticed. He’s left-handed.’

‘Nice to see your cold hasn’t affected your sharp eye. Run a check on him as well as Morville, and that caretaker, Neil Cyrus.’

‘We’re building quite a list, aren’t we?’ Cantelli said brightly.

‘Better safe than sorry.’

Horton’s phone rang. He listened before saying, ‘Get the report over to Superintendent Uckfield.’ He rang off. To Cantelli he said, ‘That was the lab. They’ve found two sets of fingerprints on that betting slip. One set belongs to Jessica Langley, which means that she either picked it up and stuffed it in her pocket, or that someone handed it to her.’

‘If she picked it up thinking it was rubbish, wouldn’t she have thrown it away?’

‘You would have thought so.’ Horton rang the station. ‘The other prints must be Morville’s.’ He asked Marsden to check them against those they held on the database and to call him with the results. Then he said, ‘Head for the school, Barney.

I’d like another word with Edney.’

Cantelli had to toot his horn several times to get through the throng of journalists camped outside the gates. Officers were still questioning staff and Cantelli, sniffing and blowing his nose, headed off to the hall, which had been set aside for the task, whilst Horton made his way to Edney’s office. He pushed open the door without knocking and was surprised to find Edney with his head in his hands.

Startled, Edney’s head shot up. ‘You could have knocked!’

he protested, struggling to compose himself.

There were dark circles under Edney’s bloodshot eyes and his face was haggard. His dark suit seemed to hang off him, as if he’d lost weight since yesterday. Horton knew that a man under stress could snap. Maybe Edney had cracked up the night before last and killed Jessica Langley.

‘How did your meeting go last night? Have they appointed you as head?’ Horton sat down.

Edney’s lips curled in a bitter smile. ‘It wasn’t thought appropriate. They’ve given the job to a local head teacher on a part-time, temporary basis to see the school through its troubles,’ he paraphrased with bitterness. ‘They consider me too involved. For goodness sake, Inspector, they practically accused me of killing the blessed woman!’

‘And did you?’ Horton asked quietly.

Edney looked appalled, angry, and then deflated in turn.

Horton remained silent. If he hoped for a confession he was disappointed. Finally, when it was clear that Edney wasn’t going to break the silence, Horton said, ‘Do you own a boat?’

Edney snapped out of his reverie. His eyes focused on Horton. Alarm was reflected in them. ‘No.’

‘Can you handle a boat?’

‘I’ve been on a couple of sailing courses,’ Edney admitted reluctantly. His hands clutching his spectacles were shaking.

‘Where were you Thursday between seven p.m. and seven a.m?’ pressed Horton.

Edney put his glasses on his desk, took a handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers and blew his nose.

‘At home,’ he said eventually.

‘All night?’

With an effort Edney pulled himself up. ‘For heaven’s sake, you can’t really suspect me of having anything to do with Ms Langley’s death! I don’t know why you’re hounding me, when her killer is out there somewhere.’

It was bluster. Edney was covering up something. Horton was becoming increasingly convinced that he was looking at someone who was involved in the death of Jessica Langley.