All Quiet on Arrival (25 page)

‘I'm sorry to have to tell you that your son has been found dead, Mr Horton.' There was no easy way to break news of this kind, and I'd found over the years that a straight, bald statement was the best way of doing it.

‘Oh God, no!' Horton's jaw dropped and, swaying slightly, he reached out to the desk for support before sitting down in the chair behind it. ‘How did he die?' he asked. All his initial hostility had vanished.

‘I'm afraid he was murdered, Mr Horton.'

‘Murdered!' Horton suddenly realized that we were still standing. ‘Please sit down.' He glanced at Kate. ‘I'm sorry, my dear,' he said, ‘I'm forgetting my manners, but this has come as a terrible shock.' Slowly lifting a whisky decanter from his desk, he poured a substantial measure into his glass with a shaking hand. ‘Are you in a position to give me any of the details, Chief Inspector?' He paused, confused. ‘Oh, er, would you like a drink?'

‘No thanks.' I emphasized my refusal by making a staying motion with my hand. ‘Your son's body was discovered on the fifteenth of this month, but we've only just been advised of it by the Australian authorities,' I said, bending the truth only a little. ‘He was found in the outback near a place called Tamorah in the Northern Territory. It's not far from the City of Darwin.'

‘Do you know who was responsible for his death?'

This was the part that I knew would distress Horton even more. ‘The Northern Territory Police have obtained a warrant for the arrest of your daughter-in-law Elizabeth Horton. We'll be receiving papers seeking her return to Australia under the provisions of the Fugitive Offenders Act.'

‘His wife murdered him? But why? This is the most terrible news.' Horton shook his head like a boxer who'd just received a debilitating blow to the solar plexus.

‘And I have certain evidence that causes me to believe she might also have been responsible for the murder of Bruce Metcalfe. He, of course, was the man who, scientific evidence seems to indicate, was guilty of the murders of Diana Barton and her husband James.'

‘Have you any idea where Elizabeth is?' Horton spoke haltingly, as though all this information was too much for him to take in at one time.

‘Not at the moment, Mr Horton, although we have reason to think that she's still in this country. Enquiries have been put in hand to trace her. However, we believe that your wife might be able to assist us in that regard.'

‘Oh really? How can you possibly think that Faye might have anything to do with it?' Some of Horton's hostility returned with that question.

I explained about the credit card, and that we had a statement from the credit manager at the Visa company that issued it, testifying that Faye Horton had stood as guarantor for Beth Horton.

‘I don't believe it,' said Horton, although his expression indicated that he was merely making a token denial.

‘When your wife was telephoned by the credit manager, it was explained to her that a woman named Samantha Crisp was applying for a credit card, and claimed to be living at this address. Your wife confirmed that that was the case, and offered to guarantee her repayments. We believe Samantha Crisp and Elizabeth Horton to be one and the same.'

It was opportune that, at that moment, Faye Horton entered the study. ‘Are you going to be much longer?' she demanded haughtily. Although she looked at her husband, the question was meant for me. ‘We're waiting to sit down to dinner.' Paradoxically, her very hauteur made her more attractive. Her emerald-green silk gown was strapless, and displayed her elegant shoulders to advantage, their tan suggesting hours spent on a sun bed. A single string of pearls and matching stud earrings completed the picture of a stylish, rich and pampered woman.

‘Sit down,' said Horton curtly.

‘I
beg
your pardon, Maurice!' Faye's very pose emanated fury, but at once revealed an animal magnetism that had not been apparent before.

‘I said sit down. The chief inspector has some questions to ask you.' Horton's brusque tone of voice brooked no refusal.

Without another word, Faye Horton took a seat in the only vacant club chair. She crossed her legs, linked her hands in her lap, and gazed imperiously at me. ‘Well?'

But I let Kate kick off.

‘You undertook to stand as guarantor for a woman called Samantha Crisp when she applied for a credit card, Mrs Horton.' said Kate. ‘You were told that that woman claimed to reside at this address, and you confirmed it. We have a statement to this effect from the credit manager.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about,' said Faye, but her sudden breaking of eye contact with Kate belied her denial.

‘How long have you known Samantha Crisp?'

Faye looked at her husband. ‘D'you think I need Geoffrey up here, Maurice.'

‘Why should you need a solicitor?' asked Horton coldly. ‘Have you done something wrong?'

‘These people are trying to confuse me.'

‘Really? Then you must be easily confused. It all seems perfectly straightforward to me. Did you get such a telephone call, Faye?'

I decided to intervene. ‘Perhaps you'd let Inspector Ebdon establish what happened, Mr Horton.' If Horton carried on with his questioning it could well have an adverse effect on the outcome of any charges we might bring against Faye Horton. And right now that was becoming more of a likelihood.

‘Yes, I did,' said Faye quietly. Her confidence had completely vanished in the face of Kate Ebdon's relentless accusations.

‘And you knew that Samantha Crisp was, in fact, Elizabeth Horton,' continued Kate. ‘Gregory Horton's wife.'

‘Yes.'

Kate glanced at me. I knew what that look was asking, and I nodded.

‘Faye Horton,' said Kate, turning back to Horton's wife, ‘you are not obliged to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when further questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say will be given in evidence.' And to emphasize what she had just said, Kate took her pocketbook from her handbag, opened it on her knee and made a note.

‘You've known all along where that damned woman is, haven't you, Faye?' said Horton. ‘Well, you might be interested to know what Mr Brock has just told me. Gregory's dead, and the police in Australia have a warrant for Elizabeth's arrest for his murder.'

‘They have?' Faye's two-word response managed to convey shock at what her husband had just told her.

‘Where is Elizabeth?' asked Kate.

‘I don't know,' said Faye. ‘But I have a phone number for her.' She opened her silk ruched clutch bag and took out a small diary. Finding the relevant page, she handed the book to Kate. ‘That's it there, Inspector.' She pointed to a scribbled entry.

‘I'm seizing this diary as evidence,' said Kate, placing the book in her own handbag. ‘I'll give you a receipt for it later.'

‘I take it you knew that the police wanted Elizabeth Horton,' said Kate.

‘Yes, but I didn't know exactly why. She said that you suspected her of a murder in London, but that she hadn't murdered anyone. The way she said it convinced me that you had got it all wrong, and that there'd been some terrible mistake.' Even then, as we later discovered, Faye Horton was not telling the whole truth.

But that was good enough for me. ‘Faye Horton, I'm arresting you for assisting an offender, namely Elizabeth Horton. I would remind you that you're still under caution. I'm also obliged to tell you that other charges may follow.'

Faye looked at her husband, a pathetic, sympathy-seeking expression on her face. ‘Can they do this, Maurice?' she implored.

‘Yes, they can. That woman murdered my son.' Horton seemed to have no doubt that the Northern Territory Police had got it right, and had promptly abandoned his wife to her fate. It was only later we learned the reason. ‘Why, for God's sake? You had everything. What possible excuse could you have had for helping that fucking woman? You've betrayed me.'

Faye Horton looked a little stunned at her husband's outburst, but otherwise took no exception to his obscene language. Perhaps she'd heard it too often, and it made me think, yet again, that the Hortons' marriage was more than a bit rocky.

‘That'll do, Mr Horton,' I cautioned. I turned to Faye. ‘You might wish to change into something more suitable, Mrs Horton. Inspector Ebdon will come with you.'

Kate escorted Faye from the room, watched by Maurice Horton, a look of utter contempt on his face.

‘What will happen now, Chief Inspector?' Horton asked.

‘Mrs Horton will be taken to Charing Cross police station for further enquiries to be made,' I said. ‘Depending upon what we learn, she may well be charged.'

‘Does she need a solicitor?'

‘That's a matter for her,' I said. ‘But if your friend decides to act, you can tell him where she's being taken.'

‘I doubt that he'd be of any help,' said Horton dismissively. ‘Geoffrey's speciality is property deals and drawing up wills for the rich and famous.'

Fifteen minutes later, Faye and Kate returned to the study. Maurice Horton's wife was now attired in a sober grey trouser suit and high-heeled shoes, and she'd applied fresh make-up. An expensive shoulder bag hung from her left shoulder.

‘I'm ready,' she said.

What I didn't know at the time, however, was that the Hortons' entire performance that evening had been a charade. And I could only admire their dramatic skills when eventually I learned the truth.

Before we escorted Faye Horton from the house, I stepped outside, called Dave on my mobile, and gave him the telephone number from Faye Horton's little book.

Ten minutes later Dave rang back with the answer. ‘The number goes out to a flat in Clarges Street, guv,' he reported.

‘I want you to get round there with a couple of female officers and arrest Beth Horton, Dave,' I said, ‘but I don't want you to arrive there only to find that she's out.'

‘I'd thought of that, guv. I've already sent Nicola Chance and Sheila Armitage round there to see what they could find out. Discreetly, of course.'

I was happy with that. The two DCs Dave had picked for the job were extremely good detectives.

We took Faye Horton out to our car, and set off for London.

Just before we reached Charing Cross police station, Dave rang again.

‘Sheila spoke to the resident janitor, guv. It's an expensive apartment, previously occupied by an up-market call girl who catered for very rich men. The janitor said that Beth Horton does live there, but she's out at the moment. Or at least, the woman who occupies the flat is out. However, the janitor reckons she is an Australian, but he doesn't know her name, so he said.' Dave had no high opinion of janitors, and gauged their worth as informants against the value of the Christmas gifts they received from grateful residents.

‘I just hope it is the Horton woman,' I said. ‘Where are Sheila and Nicola now?'

‘In the vicinity in case Beth Horton returns,' said Dave.

‘I'll leave you to it, then, Dave. DI Ebdon and I will take Faye Horton to Charing Cross nick and start questioning her. I'll see you later when, and if, you've got Beth Horton in custody.'

‘I will have, guv,' said Dave confidently. ‘Sooner or later.'

But Beth Horton did not return that night. And that caused two other officers a great deal of annoyance and loss of sleep.

O
nce the custody sergeant had logged Faye Horton's arrival, Kate and I took her into the interview room at Charing Cross police station. Kate set up the recorder, and announced who was present.

‘I would remind you, Mrs Horton, that you're still under caution.' I glanced at Kate and she repeated it, just so that Faye Horton, or more to the point her counsel, would have no cause for complaint. I'd worked out that, given the lifestyle Faye Horton and her husband appeared to enjoy, some of the best brains at the bar would be marshalled in her defence. ‘You are entitled to have a solicitor present. If you do not nominate one, you may have the services of a duty solicitor who we will call for you.'

‘What on earth do I need a solicitor for?' demanded Faye Horton, her hauteur having now returned. I imagine that she was sufficiently convinced of her innocence not to require legal advice.

‘We have evidence that satisfies me that you actively assisted Elizabeth Horton to evade arrest,' I began. ‘I am also satisfied that, at the time, you were aware that she was wanted by the Australian police for the crime of murder.'

‘I didn't know any such thing,' protested Faye. But the colour rose in her cheeks.

‘I have no further questions to put to you, Mrs Horton. Is there anything you wish to say before you are charged?'

There was a long pause during which time Faye Horton stared pensively at the table. Eventually she looked up.

‘I'm not in this alone, you know,' she said.

‘Would you care to elaborate on that?' I asked.

‘Maurice knew all about it,' said Faye. ‘You might think we've got a lot of money, but we're damned near bankrupt. Oh, yes, it's a fine house, but it's mortgaged up to the hilt. We've got two expensive cars that we can hardly afford to run. In fact, Mr Brock, the whole edifice is on the point of collapsing like a house of cards. Being a venture capitalist is somewhat akin to being a professional gambler. You speculate and sometimes you win, but just as often you lose. And I'm afraid that Maurice has had a run of bad luck over the past couple of years.'

‘You say that your husband knew all about it, Mrs Horton,' said Kate. ‘Do you want to tell us what you mean by that?'

Faye Horton gave a scornful laugh. ‘The shares that his ex-wife held are as worthless as the rest of his business. They're completely valueless, and of no use to Maurice. But when we learned what Diana was worth, and realized that it would all go to his son Gregory, and then to that little bitch that he'd married, it made our blood boil. I don't know about Maurice, but I guessed that Elizabeth had murdered Gregory. And when she suddenly arrived at Heathrow by herself it seemed to confirm it. Anyway, Maurice and I decided that we'd speak to her, and persuade her that some of that money was rightfully Maurice's. Oh yes, Mr Brock, Maurice knew all right. Elizabeth had telephoned us asking for help because the police were after her, but that it was all a terrible mistake. And so I arranged to meet her in London. The rest you know.'