A Killing Coast (13 page)

‘Well
I’m
not taking any chances. He’s slipped through our fingers once, he’s not going to do so again.’

Horton took Uckfield’s barbed comment in silence.

Uckfield addressed Norris. ‘We need Lisle’s movements from last Wednesday evening through to this morning. Check specifically if anyone saw him over the weekend. I’d like to know why he didn’t collect Yately’s notes before today.’ Norris made to leave when Uckfield forestalled him. ‘Before you do, let’s take a look in this garage. Bring the bolt cutters.’

The garage was a short distance down the road. As they headed for it Horton silently speculated on what they might discover. He saw no reason to suggest that Lisle could have taken his own life, unless he
had
killed Colin Yately and, filled with remorse, he’d decided he couldn’t live with the guilt. If that were so then would Lisle be slumped in his car with a hose pipe running from the exhaust, clutching his laptop computer?

The padlock was secure and there was no sign or smell of exhaust fumes. So it was unlikely they would find Lisle inside, but Horton’s heart quickened a little as the padlock snapped and he lifted the handle and pulled up the garage door. There was no car, and no sign of Lisle, just some old tools, ladders, a bicycle and nothing more.

Addressing Norris, Uckfield said, ‘Check the hospital in case Lisle’s had an accident. Seal off the house and keep a patrol car here tonight, Sergeant. If Lisle doesn’t show up we’ll put out an all-ports alert for him tomorrow morning. Circulate details of his car. Also check with the ferry companies that he hasn’t left the Island. And you’d better check if he caught any of the ferries over the weekend. Call me the moment you get anything. If he hasn’t shown by tomorrow morning, widen the area asking for any sightings of him and we’ll get a team into Yately’s neighbourhood, though God knows where I’m going to get the officers from,’ Uckfield added under his breath, before moving off and turning to Horton. ‘Sergeant Trueman will get a search warrant for the house and I’ll send DI Dennings over with DC Marsden to supervise it and handle things this end. Meanwhile, Trueman continues digging on Yately’s background and I’ll see if Wonder Boy will condescend to give me more officers.’

On the ferry Horton called Taylor for an update while Uckfield went up on deck to make his calls. Taylor reported that nothing surprising had been discovered in Yately’s flat: no blood, no bits of skin or bone. And his findings confirmed that Yately hadn’t been killed there. Horton hoped the analysis of Yately’s skin taken from the body by Dr Clayton might reveal something about where he had been killed, though he wasn’t overly optimistic.

Uckfield threw himself in the seat opposite Horton. He didn’t need to be a mind reader to know the results of the Super’s call. He could see by Uckfield’s dark countenance that his plea for more staff had again fallen on deaf ears.

‘I work with what I’ve got, which doesn’t include you and CID,’ Uckfield growled. ‘Dean says you’re needed to make sure Russell Glenn’s visit here on his superyacht goes without a hitch. Who the bloody hell
is
he?’

‘A billionaire.’

‘Oh, well that’s all right then, knocks poor old postie Colin Yately into a cocked hat,’ Uckfield replied with bitter sarcasm.

Horton agreed with the big man’s sentiments. Protecting property and the wealthy always got top priority, and when they were combined there was no contest.

Gruffly, Uckfield added that Trueman had confirmed that the man they’d seen visiting Margaret Yately was Phillip Gunville. No form.

‘What’s his occupation?’ asked Horton.

‘No idea. Does it matter?’

‘Probably not.’

Horton stayed long enough at the station to check the messages on his desk for any that were urgent. None were, although others might disagree. He didn’t bother to check his emails to see what Bliss might have sent him. Collecting his jacket and helmet he headed for Oyster Quays for something to eat, telling himself that he could have gone somewhere else for food or back to his boat, knowing he was half hoping to bump into or see Avril Glenn on the deck of her floating palace.

He parked in a side street near the Isle of Wight ferry terminal and walked through to Oyster Quays, heading in the direction of an Indian restaurant he knew well, while turning over in his mind the facts of Colin Yately’s death, including the manner and timing of it, the dress he’d been wearing, and the significance of Lisle’s visit to Yately’s flat and his subsequent vanishing act. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a still, chilly evening. Would Lisle show up bewildered about the fuss over his dead friend or was he their brutal killer? Horton wondered, pausing to glance at the superyacht. It showed no signs of life. His eyes travelled beyond it across the water to the lights of Gosport before walking on towards the restaurant. Perhaps Neanderthal man would have a breakthrough tomorrow and claim a result. Horton didn’t much care for Dennings crowing over him, but if it meant a callous killer was caught then he’d live with it.

He made to push open the door of the restaurant when he caught sight of a couple in the far right-hand corner. Quickly he stepped back into the shadows where he could study them without being seen. Their heads were bent low across the table but Horton recognized them instantly. There was no reason why Mike Danby shouldn’t be enjoying an Indian meal but it was who he was with that surprised Horton. He wondered if the raven-haired Chinese detective, DCI Harriet Lee of the Intelligence Directorate, was there of her own accord, and simply enjoying a meal with a friend or lover, or was she on duty? If the latter, did it mean that the Intelligence Directorate suspected something was going to go down on Glenn’s superyacht, such as an armed robbery, hence Dean’s reluctance to give Uckfield more staff? God, he hoped not. And if Sawyer believed that then why hadn’t CID and the Major Crime Team been informed? Dean had said nothing about that to Uckfield.

Horton turned away, mulling this over. There was another possibility, one that fitted more neatly in with the need for the Intelligence Directorate to keep their cards close to their chests, and that was Detective Chief Superintendent Sawyer was interested in Russell Glenn. If so, it had to mean that Glenn was mixed up in something illegal with international implications. But if he was then why risk coming here? Had it been just to please Avril?

Glenn travelled the world and probably had some shady business dealings behind him, but that didn’t mean he was a criminal. But perhaps Glenn himself was the target for an international criminal. Or perhaps Glenn was Zeus.

Horton drew up sharply, causing the person behind him to almost collide with him, earning a ‘Watch where you’re going mate!’

Was it possible? No, Horton scolded himself, walking on. He was becoming obsessed with the bloody man! Zeus wasn’t the only master criminal in the world. But as he entered the pizza restaurant, he couldn’t help recalling that expression he’d witnessed on Glenn’s face. Why had Glenn studied him so intently, and why had he looked so uneasy? Glenn might not be Zeus but he was certain that Glenn had
recognized him. And from where, when and why, Horton intended to discover on Friday night.

NINE

Wednesday

H
orton pressed his finger on Adrian Stanley’s buzzer for the second time and waited in the heavy morning rain but there was still no answer. Where was the man, he thought with irritation? Stanley hadn’t mentioned he’d be on holiday or away. But why should he? It was none of Horton’s business what Stanley did with his life, and Stanley thought he’d told Horton everything about his mother’s disappearance or rather everything he wanted to tell him, and that was a different matter altogether.

He climbed on his Harley, gazing around. There was no one in sight, not even the dog walkers had braved the weather on the wet April morning. The Isle of Wight had vanished in the grey mist of sea and sky. There was also no sign of a muddy blue van and no one had been following him. His sighting of it twice on Monday must have been a coincidence, or perhaps the van that had pulled into Gosport Marina some minutes after him had been a different one to that parked along this promenade earlier that same morning. He hadn’t sent the tape over to the Scientific Services department and yesterday he had wondered if it was worth it, but with the memory of Danby and Lee’s heads locked across that restaurant table, and thoughts of a possible raid on Glenn’s superyacht, he reckoned he should do so and soon. One balls-up was enough for one week, he thought wryly, wondering how DI Dennings was relishing his mistake.

He found Walters in the CID operations room munching his way through a packet of Jaffa Cakes, but there was no sign of Cantelli.

‘No idea where he is,’ Walters said, with his mouth full, in answer to Horton’s enquiry. Walters reported that there had again been no further house burglaries, which was a relief, but a two day respite didn’t mean they’d ceased permanently or that the burglars had moved off their patch. He entered his office and flicked on his computer. Soon he was trawling the Internet to find out all he could on Russell Glenn, which was precious little for a man who had amassed such wealth, but what there was bore out what Mike Danby had told him on Monday. Glenn clearly had a flair for building up businesses and selling them at the right time. According to one of the articles Horton found on him Glenn had several properties around the world, namely in Monaco, Switzerland, Hong Kong and America. He no longer lived or owned property in England; probably, Horton thought, to avoid paying taxes. There was little about his childhood or his youth, except that his father had been killed in a dockside accident in Portsmouth, where his mother had been a seamstress, when Glenn was six and they’d left shortly after to live in London. Glenn had left school at seventeen and joined the Merchant Navy. He was reputed to be something of an art collector, hence his contact with Oliver Vernon, thought Horton. He called Walters in.

‘Did you talk to Russell Glenn when you were reviewing the security arrangements for his yacht?’

‘No, just Lloyd and the second mate, Martin Lawrence. I saw Glenn though in his study. The door was open but I didn’t go in.’

‘I want you to find out all you can about him, but we keep it between ourselves. I’ll tell Cantelli but you’re to say nothing to Bliss. Also run a check on Lloyd Durham, Dominic Keats and his Superyacht Training Academy, and Oliver Vernon, he’s acting as auctioneer at the charity reception.’

Walters didn’t ask why. Horton hadn’t really expected him to and this time he found Walter’s lack of curiosity a blessing rather than a curse. He plucked Mike Danby’s business card from his wallet and dialled his mobile number.

‘Having second thoughts about joining me, Andy?’ Danby said after Horton had introduced himself.

‘Just checking everything’s OK with Glenn’s yacht and for Friday night.’

‘Fine.’

‘No intelligence that something might be coming off?’ Now was the time for Danby to tell him about his liaison with Lee the previous night.

‘Not as far as I know, unless you know different. You’re a bit of a dark horse. I didn’t know you and Avril Glenn were old chums.’

Avril must have mentioned it. And no doubt Danby had told DCI Lee. He wondered if Sawyer already knew. Well he did now.

‘How much do you know about Lloyd?’ Horton asked, ignoring the fact that Danby was fishing.

‘Why? Nothing wrong with him is there?’ Danby replied warily.

‘Shouldn’t think so but I’d like to check him out and the crew members, thought you might help by giving me a list of them. Can’t rule out an inside job.’

There was a moment’s pause while Danby considered this and Horton got the impression he didn’t much care for the idea. ‘I’ve already checked them,’ he replied a little stiffly.

‘But not as thoroughly as we can, Mike.’ He heard Danby sniff.

‘OK, I’ll email you the details.’ It was said slightly grudgingly, before Danby added more brightly, ‘Always willing to help an overworked CID department.’

‘Thanks.’

Now let’s see what happens
. Would Danby report back to Lee, who no doubt had already carried out a thorough check on the crew, which had probably been passed to Danby? But Danby couldn’t tell him that. Time to put that aside and get on with some work. He wondered if Uckfield had any more news on the whereabouts of Arthur Lisle or whether they had a lead on the Yately killing. He’d ask Trueman in a moment, he thought, punching the key on his phone to listen to his voicemail, and was surprised to hear Victor Hazleton’s haughty tone.

‘I’ve seen it again, Inspector Horton, the light at sea and it’s exactly the same as before. Call me back and I will give you my precise report.’

Horton stifled a groan wishing he hadn’t given the old man his phone number. He could see this being a regular occurrence. But then, he reprimanded himself, the call could be genuine, just as that first call might have been. Perhaps Hazleton had seen Yately’s killer last Wednesday night and that might have been Arthur Lisle in his boat. If so, that meant Yately had been killed somewhere along that coastline. He thought of Yately’s notes on the chines, caves and coves.

Hazleton had telephoned at twenty-one thirty-five. There had been no further call from him and he hadn’t left a message on Horton’s mobile phone, despite the number being on the card he’d given him, which was surprising. Horton dialled Hazleton’s number but there was no answer. He left a message asking Hazleton to ring him on his mobile number, which he relayed again. Hanging up he wondered why Hazleton hadn’t been on the line several times since his original call, unless he’d gone higher up, which from his knowledge of Hazleton was possible. He’d probably complained to Bliss, and if he had then she’d be bursting into his office any moment. He swivelled to look out of his window. Her car wasn’t there though, which meant she might be attending a Project Neptune meeting. Hopefully that would keep her occupied for the morning. Uckfield and Dennings’ cars were both in the car park.

There was a brief knock on his door and a flustered-looking Cantelli entered. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Cantelli quickly apologized. ‘Molly’s been sick all night and Charlotte’s dead on her feet having been up with the poor little mite. I had to get the kids off to school. You’d have thought Ellen would have helped but she’s going through a “it’s not cool to be seen with your siblings” phase. Marie and Sophie got themselves off but Joe was playing me up.’