Deadly Waters (21 page)

He took a deep breath and reached for the telephone direc-tory. One particular matrimonial lawyer had sprung to mind and as he punched in Frampton’s number he recalled Frances Greywell’s crisp efficiency during his last murder case, just after he had returned to duty from his suspension.

He made an appointment with her, via her secretary, for the following Monday; by that time he’d either have solved the case or be relieved of it. Perhaps then he would be able to focus on more personal matters. Last night he had steeled himself to open the three letters from Catherine’s solicitor.

Each had asked for the details of his own solicitor. The final one had given him a month in which to contact them before a Petition for divorce would be drawn up and issued. His guts churned at the thought of it and angrily he pushed it aside as he considered the case.

Dunsley had lied about his whereabouts on Thursday evening. What connection, if any, did he have with Jessica Langley? Dunsley had talked to them about Tom Edney when he and Cantelli had first called upon him, and had claimed it had been gossip he’d overheard across the bar. But was it?

Maybe Dunsley had known Edney.

Where had Dunsley been on Saturday between three and six when Edney was having his throat slit?

There was knock on his door. Cantelli walked in. ‘Mrs Ranson confirms her husband arrived home just before eight thirty on the night Langley was killed. She said he was fine, nothing untoward in his manner or appearance, and he didn’t go out again. She seemed to be telling the truth. She wanted to know why we were asking. I gave her the usual bollocks about routine but she wasn’t convinced. I don’t think Leo Ranson’s got a very pleasant evening in store when he gets home. I felt sorry for her. She was nice. You should see Ranson’s house though. It looked like something out of one of those posh magazines, all glass and angles with wood floors and sleek furniture. You could fit my three-bed semi into two rooms of it.’

Horton’s phone rang. It was the desk. He listened, then said to Cantelli, ‘Ranson’s arrived. Go take his statement, Barney, and let him know you’ve talked to his wife.’ That will teach him to play away from home, Horton thought, though he was thinking of Catherine and her boyfriend.

Horton briefed Uckfield while Cantelli saw to Ranson and, with Uckfield’s blessing, which Horton didn’t really need, an hour later, he and Cantelli made their way to the ex-forces club. There was however no sign of the steward. Was he ever here? Horton was beginning to wonder.

Cantelli crossed to have a word with the barmaid, the inimitable Doris, whilst Horton made for Mrs Watrow who was sitting with a drink in front of her and a white-haired man beside her. After she had introduced the small pot-bellied man beside her as her husband, Ernie, she said, ‘It’s bingo night and we like to get in early and grab a good seat.’

There were only about six elderly people in the dilapidated bar room. Maybe the rush came later.

‘Mrs Watrow, you told me earlier today that Mr Dunsley wasn’t here on the night of the break-in—’

‘That weren’t no break-in. He did it. Dunsley. He’s on the fiddle.’

Those were Horton’s sentiments exactly. ‘How do you know?’

‘Heard him talking to that friend of his lunchtime, just after you’d left.’

‘What friend?’ Horton’s ears pricked up.

‘Neil. Don’t know his last name.’

Horton felt a warm glow of satisfaction deep inside him.

There was one Neil in particular that sprang to mind: Cyrus, the assistant caretaker at the Sir Wilberforce Cutler School.

And Horton wouldn’t mind betting that he was the Neil in question. There had been something about the caretaker he hadn’t liked or trusted. He reckoned his intuition was right, just as it was with Dunsley.

He said, ‘What did Dunsley say? Can you remember?’

‘That the police have been here asking questions – I told him you’d been round again – and Neil was to keep his nerve.

You going to arrest him?’ she asked with a gleam in her eyes.

‘Serves him right if you do. Gives himself airs and graces, thinks he’s better than—’

‘Thank you. I think my sergeant wants me.’ He hastily extracted himself, and went over to join Cantelli.

‘Doris doesn’t think Dunsley will be long. His flat’s upstairs and she said help yourself when I asked if we could wait up there,’ Cantelli said.

The stairs were covered with what once might have been beige cord carpet, but now it was threadbare and dirty. Mrs Watrow’s duties obviously didn’t extend this far, Horton thought, coming up on to the narrow landing. At the top of the stairs he told Cantelli what Mrs Watrow had said. Then taking out his mobile phone he called in and gave instructions for Neil Cyrus to be brought in for questioning.

‘It’s my guess they were at the school stealing the building material,’ Horton said.

‘So Langley could have returned and discovered them.’

She could indeed, thought Horton. And if Dunsley had visited Neil at the school in the past, then that could be how Edney had recognized him, which meant he must also have seen Dunsley with Langley at some stage. Or perhaps Edney had a suspicion that Cyrus was involved in her death, and Cyrus had killed Edney, hence the post-mortem findings that Langley and Edney could have been killed by different people: Dunsley and Cyrus. This was looking good.

Horton gave a cursory search of the bathroom – not much there. Then he entered the living room at the end of the corridor, while Cantelli took the kitchen and bedroom. From the living room Horton could see Morville’s flat in Corton Court. He hadn’t forgotten
him.

He gazed around the room. It was comfortably furnished, though a little overcrowded, with a three-piece suite, a small computer desk in front of the window and a large TV and DVD.

On the desk was a computer and beside it some bills from the club and a box file containing invoices and receipts. Horton had a quick flick through but there was nothing of interest. He opened some drawers and found a bank statement; it was a couple of months old and Dunsley was overdrawn. Horton knew that what they were doing here was irregular, and Dunsley could complain, but he wasn’t concerned about that. Let the man bleat.

Horton joined Cantelli in Dunsley’s bedroom. ‘Anything?’

Cantelli shook his head. Horton heard footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later Dunsley appeared.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he exploded.

Horton unfazed, said, ‘We’d like to ask you some questions, Mr Dunsley. At the station.’

‘Why? I haven’t done anything.’ Suddenly Dunsley was on the defensive. Horton saw the faint telltale flush of nervousness on Dunsley’s neck.

‘For a start there’s wasting police time by reporting a phoney break-in, not to mention attempting to fraud the insurers.’

Dunsley licked his lips and gave a hesitant smile. ‘It was a joke.’

‘You have a peculiar sense of humour, Mr Dunsley. Shall we discuss it down at the station?’

Horton gave an ushering movement, as Cantelli eased himself behind Dunsley.

Dunsley said, ‘You can’t really be taking me in just for that!’

‘Shall we go?’ Horton didn’t leave Dunsley much choice.

The stairs were narrow but Cantelli still managed to squeeze himself beside Dunsley, and put a restraining arm on the steward. Horton brought up the rear.

‘It’s only a small matter of theft. The insurance company can afford it,’ Dunsley said tetchily, after climbing into Cantelli’s car. Horton got in beside him.

So Dunsley was going to bluff it out. Or rather he was going to admit to the lesser crime of theft in the hope they’d not discover he was a murderer.

At the station, Cantelli took Dunsley to an interview room, while Horton checked in with Sergeant Trueman.

‘Did you get Cyrus?’

‘He’s in interview room three. Claims he hasn’t done anything.’

‘Don’t they all? We’ll let him stew for a while. Let’s see what his mate comes up with first.’

Horton ran through the preliminaries with Dunsley. When he had finished Dunsley said, ‘OK, so you’ve charged me and I admit faking the break-in. I’ll make my statement and then can I go?’

Horton left a silence that was just beginning to get uncomfortable when he spoke. ‘Where were you between nine and midnight on Thursday night?’ He looked up from the file he had been studying to see Dunsley’s wary expression.

‘In the bar working and then in my flat.’

‘We have a witness who says you were out all evening.’

‘Who?’ Dunsley declared cockily but Horton could smell a worried man.

‘Do you want me to repeat the question?’ he asked in an icy tone.

Dunsley pursued his lips together.

After a moment Horton continued, ‘I think you were with Neil Cyrus at the Sir Wilberforce Cutler School, helping yourself to building material.’

Dunsley’s eyes flickered minutely from side to side. His lips twitched but remained firmly shut. Horton went on in the same even tone, ‘Did Jessica Langley discover you stealing and that’s why you killed her?’

‘What?’ Dunsley was suddenly alert. He shot out of his seat.

Cantelli said, ‘Sit down, Mr Dunsley.’

‘You must be mad.’ Dunsley eyed each of them in turn.

Silence greeted him. After a moment he sat. His body was twitching nervously and he’d begun to sweat.

Horton said, ‘What else can we think unless you start telling the truth?’

‘I didn’t kill her.’

‘I think you did, Barry. She returned to the school when you and Neil were stealing the building material. She threatened to call the police. You hit her. Or perhaps it wasn’t you, perhaps it was Neil.’

‘Neither of us killed her.’ Dunsley looked as if he was about to burst into tears.

Horton could see it wouldn’t take long now to crack him and get to the truth. He left a silence into which dropped the sounds of the station beyond the closed door: a ringing telephone, raised voices, running feet. As he hoped, Dunsley obviously couldn’t bear it.

‘I wasn’t anywhere near that school. I swear it.’

Horton laughed scornfully and was pleased to see Dunsley flush. ‘Oh, come on, you can do better than that. At this moment Neil is probably telling one of my officers how you engineered a break-in at the Sir Wilberforce, and how you struck Jessica Langley—’

‘Neil’s here?’ Dunsley looked horrified. ‘I didn’t kill her.

You have to believe me.’

‘Convince me,’ and Horton needed convincing. If Dunsley wasn’t their killer then it had to be Cyrus.

Dunsley licked his lips. Hs eyes darted about the room.

Horton waited. The ticking clock and the rain drumming against the darkened windows seemed abnormally loud to him. Cantelli sat casually back in his seat, yet Horton could sense his tension.

Finally Dunsley exhaled and said, ‘OK, so I was with Neil at the Sir Wilberforce Cutler School on Thursday night. He’s got this builder friend who doesn’t much care where he gets his materials from.’

‘And you supplied him. Is that when Langley returned to the school and saw you, so you had to kill her?’

‘She never came anywhere near us. I swear it,’ Dunsley cried in exasperation.

Horton contrived to look sceptical. Dunsley hurriedly continued. ‘I met Neil at the school just after ten o’clock. We loaded the gear into Neil’s van and delivered it to the builder.’

‘Name?’ barked Horton, making Dunsley start.

‘Sam. I don’t know his last name or his address. I’m telling the truth,’ he appealed to Horton. ‘He’s Neil’s contact. Ask him.’

‘We will. Go on.’

‘When we were unloading, I tripped and fell. I gashed my head on a bit of piping, there was blood everywhere so I had to leave Neil and drive to the hospital clutching my head with a bit of rag. I didn’t get out of there until just after three in the morning.’

‘Which was why you were in the accident and emergency unit between midnight and three fifteen a.m.’ Horton consulted the paperwork in front of him. An officer had checked with the hospital and Dunsley had been booked in at 12.15 a.m.

and had left at 3.20 a.m. And although the times could put Dunsley in the clear of dumping Langley’s body on the mulberry, he could still have killed her and left Neil Cyrus to take her body to Langstone Harbour. He put this to Dunsley, who vehemently denied it.

Horton said, ‘So, where were you between eight and ten p.m?’

‘Having a drink in the Three Crowns. You can ask the landlord, he served me.’

They would, and Horton guessed there would be enough witnesses to confirm it. He studied Dunsley a moment longer and didn’t much like what he saw: a weak, stupid and idle man who thought he was clever and above the law. Horton was sick of him and his type. He was also growing rather sick of this bloody case. This wasn’t his killer after all and he doubted Cyrus was either. They were just a pair of stupid, greedy crooks. Horton felt frustration well up inside him, but he restrained it. It was just a matter of tying up the loose ends of the club break-in and the theft at the school, and he wanted it over with as quickly as possible so that he could get back to the real case in hand: Langley and Edney’s murders.

‘When did the idea about the phoney break-in at the club come to you?’ he asked, wishing fervently that Dunsley had been their man. Dunsley couldn’t talk quickly enough, which only reinforced Horton’s opinion of him.

‘I should have got back to the club by eleven thirty in time to cash up and lock up. But I was stuck in the hospital. So I called Doris and told her to lock up and leave the money in the till but the silly cow forgot to lock the back door. It gave me an idea. I thought I could make some extra money if I said there had been a break-in, what with being in the hospital with a cut head. I loaded the car with some booze, cigarettes and crisps and drove it to Neil’s place.’

‘Time?’ Horton snapped. He wanted out of here.

‘About four a.m. Had to wake him up. Neil didn’t mind.

He can always find someone to sell stuff on to if only to the kids. I went back to the club, cut my finger so that there would be blood on the ground, and reported the break-in.’

‘At four thirty a.m.’ Horton’s eyes flicked down to the report.