Deadly Waters (7 page)

‘These cost me nearly ten pounds, five years ago.’

‘About time you had a new pair then.’ Horton knew Cantelli’s sense of humour well. The sergeant was a generous man who cared little about money and even less about the clothes he wore, preferring to spend it on his wife and children.

As Cantelli rubbed his shoes on a straggly bit of grass, trying to get the worst of the mud off, he said, ‘The thieves took whatever they could lay their hands on: paint, cement bags, piping, you name it. The builders went off site at four p.m., so the manager has no idea what time the break-in took place. He’s not a very happy bunny. Blames his bosses for skimping on security. Says it’ll put the job back about a month, and it’s the second break-in they’ve had in the last six weeks.’

Horton made a mental note to check back through the incident reports. Not that he thought it would give him a lead on Langley’s murder, but it was a detail nevertheless, and in a murder case even the smallest of details could turn out to be relevant. Like that message on the betting slip.

‘Did he know Jessica Langley?’

‘No. Most of his dealings were with the building superintendent, who’s the caretaker to you and me. Otherwise he deals with the architect direct, or Mrs Pentlow, the business manager. What about you?’

‘Langley’s photo checks out – unless she has a double –also a description of the clothes she was wearing yesterday.

I’ve asked the deputy head to make a formal identification.’

‘How did he take it?’

‘Shocked. Horrified. Worried about the school. He didn’t seem overly upset.’ Then Horton told Cantelli where Jessica Langley had lived.

‘Well, I certainly didn’t see anyone being murdered last night, or being dumped on a boat!’

‘She might not have returned home after school.’

‘Let’s hope for our sake she didn’t,’ Cantelli replied with feeling, before sneezing. ‘I think my cold’s getting worse.’

‘Well, see if you can contain it until after we’ve caught our killer.’

Taking out his handkerchief, Cantelli said, ‘I hope that’s bloody soon or I could end up with pneumonia.’

And I could do with catching our clever Dick murderer, thought Horton, as well as Mickey Johnson’s partner in crime.

Horton could just imagine the stick he’d get if it proved to be the case that Langley had been murdered in her apartment.

Uckfield’s scorn would be unbearable and Horton guessed he could kiss goodbye to any chances of promotion.

He glanced across at the men labouring on the building site and wondered for a moment what his life might have been like if he’d made a different career choice. For a brief time he had almost become a professional footballer until a motor-bike accident had put paid to that. But the police service had always attracted him, or at least, he thought with a secret smile, Bernard, his foster father, had made him see that. ‘
It’s
like a family,
’ he had once said
.
‘
You’re on the inside and
everyone else is on the outside. You look out for one another.
’

And, oh, how those magic words had touched a nerve. Horton had needed a family badly. Still did now that Catherine had chosen to ditch him. Cantelli broke through his thoughts. He was glad.

‘Hey up, we’ve got company.’

Horton turned to see a short stout man with a goatee beard and a cross expression heading towards them on splayed feet.

‘Can’t you see this is a building site? You should be wearing hard hats,’ he complained, pointing at his own bright yellow one.

Cantelli pulled out his warrant card.

The man glanced at it, looked surprised and then sheepish.

‘Sorry, didn’t know. You should still be wearing hard hats though. Neil Cyrus, assistant caretaker. Is it about the breakin last night? I’ve already spoken to some of your lot this morning.’ He gulped as he finished speaking as if he couldn’t quite suck enough air into his lungs.

A nervous mannerism, Horton guessed, which had become a habit. Horton recognized the name from the information that DC Walters had given to him earlier. Scrutinizing Cyrus, he tried to put an age on him yet found it difficult, he could have been anywhere between thirty and late forties. His pale brown eyes were like beads and set too close together.

Horton said, ‘I understand you were on duty until ten o’clock last night.’

Cyrus looked slightly wary. ‘Yes.’

‘And you were here early this morning. That’s a long working day.’ But not as long as mine, thought Horton, wondering when he might be able to afford the luxury of sleep.

Cyrus’s expression cleared. ‘We do shifts, me and Bill Ashling. He’s my boss. Yesterday I was on the late shift. Today I’m on the early shift, and Bill will come on duty at two o’clock, when I go off.’

Tom Edney had said that no one else had been on the school premises except Jessica Langley when he had left. He was wrong. Perhaps, though, he hadn’t thought to include the assistant caretaker because, in Edney’s estimation, Cyrus didn’t count, it was his job to be on site. Had Edney discounted anyone else?

He said, ‘Who was the last person to leave the school last night?’

‘Ms Langley at seven fifteen p.m.’

‘Was she alone?’

‘Yes.’ Cyrus looked surprised at the question. He removed his hat. Horton noticed the small beads of perspiration on his brow. Why so nervous, or was Cyrus like this with everyone?

‘Can you tell me what she was wearing?’

‘What’s that got to do with the break-in?’ Cyrus exclaimed, taken aback.

Horton said nothing. Cyrus flushed, then said, ‘Her black trouser suit.’

‘Trousers and jacket?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Was she carrying anything?’

Cyrus frowned in thought. ‘Her briefcase. She turned and waved to me before getting into her car. Is there anything wrong?’

Horton wondered if the briefcase could have contained a laptop computer. ‘You saw her drive off?’

‘Yes.’ Cyrus shifted uneasily.

There was no reason why Cyrus shouldn’t be telling the truth. Horton gave what he considered to be a reassuring smile except that it seemed to make Cyrus even more nervous.

Interesting.

After a moment he said, waving a hand at the building site,

‘What’s this going to be then?’

‘A new hall, drama and media suite.’

‘Must be costing a packet?’

‘We got government money and raised some funds ourselves.’

Horton noted with interest the slight defensive tone. ‘We?’

‘The school, and Mr Edney. It’s his baby really.’

Why then hadn’t Edney been more upset over the break-in when Horton had first arrived in Edney’s office, before he’d dropped the bombshell of his head teacher’s death? He’d have thought Edney would have launched a tirade on why the police weren’t able to catch the criminals. And Edney had said nothing about it being the second break-in.

‘Do you have any idea who’s doing the stealing?’ Cantelli asked.

‘Could be anyone around here.’ Cyrus’s eyes swivelled round the area to take in the council maisonettes and tower blocks. ‘It’s probably one of the kids’ fathers. You know, the kid tips him the wink that there’s stuff lying around for the taking.’

Horton wouldn’t be surprised. He’d get the community police officers to sniff around. ‘Who’s the architect?’ he asked.

‘Leo Ranson. This is him now.’

Horton followed Cyrus’s gaze as a black Range Rover slid in through the gates and drew up beside Cantelli’s car. A tall, stockily built man with dark hair beginning to grey at the temples, wearing a well-cut suit and sporting a yellow bow tie, climbed out. Horton watched as he threw a Barbour, which clearly wasn’t as old as Dr Price’s, around his shoulders. He pulled on a pair of green Hunters, grabbed a white hard hat from the back of the car and headed towards them.

‘Hello, Mr Ranson,’ Cyrus greeted the architect cheerfully.

‘Come to visit the scene of the crime?’

Leo Ranson scowled. He had a strong face with a promi-nent nose and piercing blue eyes that were slightly hostile.

He was, Horton estimated, in his mid-forties.

‘I don’t think that’s very funny,’ Ranson replied sharply, and without any kind of accent.

Cyrus flushed.

Ranson turned his haughty gaze on Horton and Cantelli.

‘And who might you be?’

Cantelli did the honours and showed his warrant card.

Horton remained silent. Assessing Ranson, he got the impression of a vain, disgruntled man, who looked as though he’d had a row with his wife or fellow directors, or both, that morning.

Ranson’s mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. ‘Two plain-clothes detectives and one of inspector rank to investigate a break-in. My, we are honoured.’

Horton said evenly, ‘We take theft very seriously, Mr Ranson.’

‘You haven’t in the past, so why the change of heart?’

Horton ignored Ranson’s supercilious manner. But it was a question that maybe Edney and Cyrus should have asked.

‘How often do you visit the site, sir?’

‘I really don’t see what that has to do with the break-in, but, if you must know, once a week.’

‘And is this the first time this week?’

‘Yes.’

‘No, it isn’t, Mr Ranson,’ Cyrus volunteered with a gleam in his eyes that Horton interpreted as, I’ll get you back for embarrassing me. ‘You were here yesterday for a meeting with Ms Langley.’

Ranson glared at him. ‘I’d forgotten. Neil is quite correct.

We were discussing progress, and whether or not the hall would be ready for the official opening in March.’

‘And will it?’ asked Cantelli.

‘
If
we don’t have any more break-ins,
and
we are allowed to get on with our work,’ Ranson said curtly before storming off.

‘He’s temperamental,’ explained Cyrus with a sneer.

Horton watched the architect as he crossed to talk to a man who was clearly the boss – he was wearing a white hard hat like Ranson’s. The exchange didn’t look as though it was a particularly pleasant one, but Ranson appeared to gain the upper hand. He was obviously a man who didn’t like being thwarted.

Cantelli thanked the assistant caretaker but they had only gone a few paces before Horton turned back. ‘How long have you worked here, Mr Cyrus?’ he asked casually.

‘Three months,’ Cyrus answered, clearly surprised at the question. Horton also saw signs of the nervousness return.

Well, if that made him anxious this next question was going to really make him sweat.

‘And the name of your last school?’

‘St Matthews, Basingstoke. Why?’

‘No reason.’ Horton smiled to himself at Cyrus’s anxious expression. As they made their way back to the car Horton said to Cantelli, ‘Run a check on Neil Cyrus as well as Eric Morville when you get back to the station. And speak to Cyrus’s last school. Ask if they have any unsolved break-ins.’

‘You think it could be an inside job.’

‘One break-in could be outsiders, but two looks decidedly iffy to me. And if it is two,’ he added, peering into Ranson’s Range Rover, ‘does that make it more likely Langley was killed by Cyrus because she stumbled on a break-in or less likely?’

‘Search me.’

‘Is Ranson looking this way?’

‘Yes.’

‘Walk round the other side of the car, Barney, and peer inside.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t like Ranson, and I don’t like his manner.’

Cantelli smiled. ‘Sounds a good enough reason to me.’

‘What’s he doing now?’

‘Frowning. He looks very annoyed.’

‘Good.’ Horton noted the manila files on the passenger seat and some toys and children’s books on the back seat before looking up. ‘I think that will do.’

As he crossed to Cantelli’s car he glanced in Ranson’s direction. The architect was indeed frowning at him, though Horton thought fuming would be a more apt description. Climbing into the car, Horton said, ‘Head for Langley’s apartment, Barney. Walters should be there by now.’

Soon they were turning into a residential street that ran almost parallel to the quayside of Town Camber. On the right and backing on to the small harbour was a stylish low-rise block of apartments. Cantelli swung the car into the entrance as DC Walters hauled his bulk out of his car and waddled over to the gate to let them in.

Climbing out, Horton scanned the car park in front of the building. There was no sign of Langley’s car. ‘Do these apartments come with garages?’

‘No. Only residents’ parking,’ replied Walters.

Had there been a red TVR parked here last night, when he’d run past giving chase to Mickey Johnson’s accomplice, the athletic youth? Horton tried to remember, but he’d been too preoccupied to notice.

He studied the impressive red-brick building. The plaque in the wall told him it had been built in the early 1990s. The architect had done a good job here, he thought, wondering if Leo Ranson had had any part in its development. It blended well with the old buildings and ancient harbour fortifications not a stone’s throw away. This was a very select area of Portsmouth, and in complete contrast to where Eric Morville lived, both financially and architecturally. There surely couldn’t be a link between Morville and Langley? Morville claimed not to have any family, but maybe he was lying. Could he have a granddaughter or grandson, niece or nephew at the Sir Wilberforce? It was possible. Perhaps something had happened at the school for which Morville held Langley responsible, and he had sought revenge. But then, Horton told himself sternly, Langley had only been at the Sir Wilberforce six months, and Morville had an alibi, which they would need to check out.

Horton pointed to the camera just above the entrance. ‘That could be useful.’

But Walters was shaking his head as he pressed the key fob against the pad on the wall. ‘It doesn’t record anything, just lets the residents see who is ringing their bell, or who wants to come into the car park. The individual apartments aren’t alarmed, unless a resident has installed one.’

Damn. Horton might have known it wasn’t going to be that easy. He turned right along a narrow corridor and located Langley’s apartment about halfway down on his left. Donning a pair of latex gloves he nodded at Cantelli and Walters who did the same, and then taking the key from Walters opened the door.