A Killing Coast (6 page)

He cursed. It was bound to be either Bliss checking up on him or the front desk with a report of a crime he’d have to deal with. He should let it ring but with a weary sigh he lifted the receiver.

‘Is that Andy Horton?’ asked a female voice as far removed from Lorraine Bliss’s harsh one as the equator was from the Antarctic.

‘Speaking,’ he answered cautiously, trying to recognize the voice and failing.

‘It’s Avril Glenn. Russell Glenn’s wife, the owner of the yacht at Oyster Quays,’ she added when he didn’t answer.

Horton started, surprised. Why the hell was she phoning him? Then his heart sank, what had that lumbering detective Walters done now? This had to be a complaint. Then he registered her tone. It hadn’t been angry, rather the opposite, quite friendly.

‘You knew me better as Avril Bowyers,’ she said with a smile in her voice before quickly adding more hesitantly, ‘or perhaps you don’t remember me. It was fifteen years ago.’

Avril Bowyers! My God! Their four month affair flashed before his eyes and stirred his loins. It had been before he’d met Catherine. His head reeled with memories of her shapely figure, those seemingly endless legs, her stunning blonde looks and that wicked smile that had matched her sense of humour, not to mention her passion. And now she was Mrs Russell Glenn and living on that ruddy great floating gin palace. What did he say? Haven’t you done well? How are you? But he didn’t need to say anything because she continued, ‘Look, I know this is probably a shock and a cheek of me calling you out of the blue, but I wondered if you could meet me at Oyster Quays in the bar opposite the pontoon.’

‘When?’ he asked, his heart racing.

‘Now, unless you’re busy.’

He thought about that six thirty sailing to the Isle of Wight and Yately’s apartment. He was convinced that Colin Yately was lying stone-cold dead in the mortuary. So did it matter if he delayed visiting the man’s apartment for twelve hours?

He said, ‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’

FOUR

H
orton located her in the window seat overlooking the harbour. It had stopped raining and the wind had dropped, ushering in a calm, pleasant spring evening that had the strollers and shoppers out in force on the boardwalk. Looking at Avril Glenn, it wasn’t difficult for Horton to rekindle those old feelings of lust and longing, not that they had needed much rekindling; his timber was so dry it could have been lit with half a matchstick, he thought, as she locked eyes with him and smiled. Heading towards her he knew that every male in the bar was thinking the same lustful thoughts as him. But she was married and that was enough to make a grown man cry.

‘Hello, Andy.’

She smiled and it was all he could do not to grin back like some idiot schoolboy. The blood was pounding in his ears and his heart was racing as though he’d just run the London marathon, twice. The blue eyes were as beautiful and bright as he remembered and the mouth as enticing as ever. Her shoulder length blonde hair was more expertly styled and highlighted than he recalled, and her make-up more subtle. Her figure though was as shapely as he remembered, only now it was clad expensively in tight jeans and a long cashmere cardigan over a tight-fitting T-shirt, none of which had come from any department store. There were more lines around her eyes and mouth but who was counting?

‘I don’t remember the leathers,’ she said in the flirtatious voice he recalled from the past. It had sent a thrill through him then, and it was no different now.

‘I didn’t have the Harley then.’ Fifteen years ago he’d been a sergeant. That was no reason not to have a Harley, but he’d been in a rare car phase, which had lasted several years of his marriage to Catherine, until he’d seen the light and annoyed Catherine by selling his car and purchasing the Harley. Catherine had never liked motorbikes and had refused to go on it. She’d also forbidden him to take Emma on it. An order he hoped to disobey in the years ahead.

‘You’re looking good,’ he said.

‘Only good!’

‘Great then.’ He smiled and let his eyes travel to her left hand. The diamond of her engagement ring was big enough to attract a short-sighted thug from fifty yards. And her diamond and ruby encrusted watch would keep Portsmouth Council in funds for a year.

‘It’s OK, I’ve got protection,’ she said, reading his thoughts.

Horton followed her glance to the adjoining table where he saw the man with broad shoulders he’d seen on the deck of the superyacht earlier, and whom Walters had nicknamed Schwarzenegger. How could he have missed those massive shoulders, matching muscles and close-cropped blond hair? Easy: he’d been ogling Avril Glenn. Wearing a black leather bomber jacket over a dark T-shirt and sipping mineral water, Lloyd looked as out of place as a miner at a lighting convention.

‘Who’s protecting your husband?’

‘His security system.’

‘Then I hope all his alarms go off at once.’ She smiled as Horton added, ‘Will your chaperone let me buy you a drink?’

‘His name’s Lloyd, that’s his first name. Lloyd Durham, as in the city, but he’s from Reading.’

‘Not half so nice, though generally warmer.’ And Horton was wishing Lloyd was at either place right now, or on that small cruise liner on the pontoon.

‘Vodka and tonic, please. You don’t have to buy Lloyd a drink.’

Good, because he wasn’t offering. ‘Won’t Mr Glenn mind you being here?’ he asked. He was fishing and she knew he was.

‘Russell is working.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Trying to buy Portsmouth Football Club.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘Yes, though I have been doing my best to persuade him. It might work yet.’

And with Avril doing the persuading, Horton wondered how Glenn could possibly refuse.

Horton went to the bar, nodding at Lloyd on his way and getting a nod in return. While he waited to be served he staved off his disappointment at not seeing Avril alone by wondering about Lloyd’s background. Ex-job? Walters would have said if he were, though knowing Walters he probably hadn’t asked. Ex-services perhaps, he looked fit enough for the marines or commandos. At least Glenn took protecting his wife seriously. Too seriously, he wondered briefly? No. Not if she went around wearing that kind of jewellery. And that made him even more concerned about Friday evening’s reception. If Avril touted that stuff as everyday wear then what the devil would be on show on Friday night?

He returned with her vodka and tonic and a Diet Coke for himself. Taking the glass in her beautifully manicured hand, she managed to brush her fingers against his. His heart stalled and for a moment he wondered if it would restart.

‘I heard DC Walters mention you to Lloyd this afternoon and I was curious to see if you remembered me.’

‘How could I forget?’ But he had.

‘It was a long time ago. You haven’t changed much.’

‘Neither have you.’

‘God, don’t tell me I’ve wasted all this money on expensive beauty treatments.’

‘Didn’t need it and still don’t,’ Horton said gallantly, enjoying himself. He made sure to angle his body so that he couldn’t see Lloyd.

She said, ‘You know I’m married but how about you? Married, engaged, divorced?’

‘About to be divorced and living on a boat, like you, but mine’s a permanent home, and a row boat compared to your palace. It’s in Southsea Marina. My marriage broke up last August. One child, Emma, nearly nine years old and beautiful.’

‘Of course, with a dad like you. We don’t have kids, never seemed to happen and I wasn’t that fussed anyway.’

‘There’s still time.’

‘No fear. Well, that’s got that out of the way. What shall we talk about now?’

Horton wanted to know why she wanted to see him, but instead asked, ‘How did you meet Russell?’

‘He was staying in the hotel where I was working in the south of France. He asked me to work for him as his PA eight years ago and things progressed from there.’

Horton recalled that he’d met Avril when she’d been working as a receptionist in a local hotel, much like Hannah Yately he thought briefly, with a twinge of guilt that he’d postponed visiting her father’s apartment. But one night wasn’t going to make any difference when Yately was in the mortuary.
But what if he wasn’t?
He should have checked or at least got the local police to check. He shifted and brought his mind back to when he and Avril had met. There had been a spate of thefts in the hotel where Avril was working. After a four month relationship Avril had called it quits by telling him she was going abroad to work.

‘And you’re happy?’ he said.

‘Who wouldn’t be?’ Her eyes slipped towards the boat.

It was an answer but not the right one, he thought. But then maybe for Avril it was, and she had got everything she’d ever needed and wanted. He recalled that she’d had it tough as a child, like him. But with her it had been a case of a drunken father who had pissed away most of his dole money for most of his life and had lived off his wife’s earnings as a waitress. Avril had been left to her own devices as a child and hadn’t received much education, but she’d worked hard, been bright, and, he recalled, ambitious and anxious to escape Portsmouth. Well, she’d certainly achieved that and now she’d returned in style. And perhaps that was the real reason why she wanted to see him, to demonstrate to someone who remembered her how well she’d done for herself, and how far she’d travelled from the poor working-class girl she’d been. But perhaps more importantly to show herself how far she’d come.

She eyed him steadily, twirling the glass in her slender hands. ‘I suppose you think I’m showing off,’ she said, reading his thoughts with uncanny accuracy that made him wonder if he was beginning to let his guard down too much. Adrian Stanley had seen through him this morning but then Stanley was ex-job, Horton reasoned. Maybe it applied to an ex-lover too.

‘I guess I am in a way, but only to myself.’ She gave a brief smile before the serious expression returned. ‘I’m not here to rub anyone’s noses in it because there’s no one’s nose left to rub. Dad died a year after I left to work abroad and Mum three years after that. There’s no one I care to remember in Portsmouth, except you, and I don’t need to show off to you. No, I’m here for several reasons and one is because the yacht was built in Southampton and launched from there last Friday, and we had to pick up three new crew members from the Superyacht Training Academy here in Portsmouth at the weekend.’

Horton hoped they’d been thoroughly vetted, along with the rest of the crew. There was always a possibility of a job being organized or coordinated from the inside.

‘Do you know the academy?’ she asked.

‘Not much call for hiring superyacht crew on my little boat.’

She laughed. ‘Pity you’re a copper. You’d make a great skipper.’

‘Wrong kind of boat, Avril. I like ones that have a bit of cloth on a pole.’

‘Oh, the complicated, energetic kind,’ she teased.

He nodded. Even if Glenn’s boat was a sailing yacht, Horton knew that being so close to Avril and seeing her with Glenn would be enough to drive him nuts. He’d spoken the truth though when he’d said he didn’t know the Superyacht Training Academy. He made a mental note to find out more about them, not because there might be anything suspicious, but because they were on his patch.

‘And the other reason is this VIP charity reception,’ he prompted.

‘Yes. I can’t say Russell’s thrilled about it, he’s a very private man and hates these kinds of flashy functions but I wanted to host it because I feel guilty.’

Horton raised his eyebrows. ‘Because you’re rich?’

‘No, because I let my mum down.’ Her expression clouded over and she sipped her vodka before continuing. ‘Mum died of pancreatic cancer and I wasn’t here to look after her or to say goodbye. She’d had a tough life with Dad being the shitbag he was. I didn’t always see eye to eye with her, we rowed frequently, as you might remember. I thought her weak and pathetic for putting up with a drunk who treated her like a punchbag when he felt like it, and I couldn’t get away from her, dad and Portsmouth quick enough. But that was fifteen years ago, and I’d like to think I’ve grown up a bit since then. I know that mum took the punches in order to protect me, and I left her to handle her cancer alone because I was shit-scared that I’d end up looking after her and become trapped. And I hate traps,’ she added with feeling. ‘Can you understand that?’

Horton nodded. He could.

‘Mum never once asked me to come home, she never complained and I stayed away until it was too late. I returned for the funeral for one day and I was back on the plane as fast as my legs would carry me. The local hospice was marvellous to mum so this is my way of assuaging my guilt, by thanking them and saying sorry to my mum.’ She gave a sad smile before adding, ‘All the great, good and famous from all around are paying for their tickets to come on board for caviar and champagne, including your new Chief Constable, Mr Meredew.’

That didn’t surprise Horton. If Uckfield’s father-in-law had still been the Chief Constable then no doubt Uckfield would have wangled himself an invitation. Horton doubted if mere Detective Superintendents were included.

Avril was saying, ‘It’s in aid of the hospice and we’re holding an auction. I’ve got Oliver Vernon as auctioneer, he’s an art historian and used to handling auctions so he knows how these things work. I’ve got jewellery, artworks, designer clothes all donated by some very famous people—’

‘On board?’ Horton asked, alarmed, wondering why the hell Walters hadn’t told him this.

‘No.’ She smiled. ‘We’re showing the goods on screen in the on board cinema.’

‘Of course,’ Horton said airily, but he was relieved. Despite Lloyd’s muscles and the state of the art security system, and extra patrols, Horton didn’t think they’d be any match for an organized raid if it happened. His mind flitted to that blue van. Could it have been casing Glenn’s superyacht? Not if it was the same one that had been outside Stanley’s apartment some fifteen miles away.

‘Oliver should be here in a moment,’ Avril said, her eyes searching the busy boardwalk. ‘And Dominic Keats. He’s the Managing Director of the Superyacht Training Academy.’ A glance at her watch had Horton quickly scanning the interior of the bar for loitering thieves. Even Lloyd looked jumpy. ‘Ah, there’s Dominic.’