Death Lies Beneath (20 page)

He rang off and made his way to the Isle of Wight ferry, keen to see what Gregory Harlow’s reaction would be to the news they’d found Ellie Loman.

‘H
e’s not here. I haven’t seen him since last night,’ Ross Skelton, Harlow’s boss, bellowed above the music. The festival was in full swing. The noise was giving Horton a headache, which made him feel old. Maybe he was getting old, or perhaps it was lack of sleep and too much thinking and he’d done a considerable amount of the latter on the ferry crossing without getting any further forward with the case. Now he was annoyed to discover that Harlow was missing, something he hadn’t expected, and Skelton was clearly livid. ‘He’s left me short-handed which is why I’m here, sorting out his mess, and not where I should be, which is running my business. It’s a bloody nightmare. I’ve got contracts to fulfil. If he shows up now he’s fired.’

They were in the small tented area at the back of the main Coastline Cool tent, which was packed. In addition to the music coming from a stage in one of the fields soul music was booming in Horton’s ears from the tent.

‘Is his van here?’ bellowed Horton.

‘No, and he’s not answering his phone either,’ roared Skelton.

‘When did you last see him?’

‘When he was talking to you and that good-looking copper. But my staff say he was here last night until about ten thirty and then he disappeared just when it started getting busy. No one’s seen him since, including my staff at my three coffee stalls here.’

Did Patricia Harlow know that her husband wasn’t where he was supposed to be?

Skelton continued, ‘I’ve been to Harlow’s caravan, he sleeps, eats and shits on site at a big gig like this, but the bastard isn’t there and he doesn’t look as though he slept there last night either, which Haseen confirms.’

‘Haseen?’

‘His caravan-mate, assistant event-catering manager.’

Several thoughts were running through Horton’s mind. Had Harlow killed Salacia? Had he taken fright after their questioning and gone on the run? Did he know that Ellie Loman’s remains were at the boatyard and think it only a matter of time before they discovered them? But how did that fit with Woodley having a photograph of Salacia in his cell? Then an idea occurred to him. There was a way.

He shouted, ‘Does your company have any dealings with the prison here?’

‘What’s that got to do with Greg?’ Skelton yelled back, surprised. Horton said nothing, forcing Skelton to add, ‘Yeah, we deal with the prison. We deliver catering supplies to them. I’ve got three divisions: Coastline Coffee Stalls, Coastline Outside Catering and Coastline Catering Supplies.’

‘And has Gregory Harlow delivered to the prison?’

‘He was working on the supplies side of the business until I promoted him to event-catering manager nine months ago, wish I bloody hadn’t now.’

This was sounding more promising by the minute. ‘How long has he worked for you?’

‘Ten years. And he’s been a damn good employee, until now.’

Until they were getting close to the truth about what happened on the first of July 2001. ‘I’d like to talk to Haseen.’

‘He’s working.’

‘It’s important.’

Skelton rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. ‘Might as well lose more money. I’ll fetch him.’

Horton followed Skelton into the crowded, overheated and noisy main tent and surveyed the scantily clad women in flimsy summer dresses or shorts that barely covered their arses and tops that certainly didn’t cover all of their tits. The men of all ages were just as meagrely clothed, most wearing shorts and without shirts. The tent was dimly lit and stank of sweat, perfume and beer. Skelton’s staff were behind a long counter serving drinks, mainly alcoholic judging by the mood in the tent, although Horton did see some of the occupants, squatting on the floor, which had been covered with imported sand, with soft drinks. He saw Skelton shouting something in the ear of a dusky-skinned good-looking man in his mid-twenties before his eyes fell on a muscular bulky man on the far side; DI Dennings, looking every inch the cop rather than a security officer, he thought. He didn’t acknowledge Dennings and vice versa, but Dennings had seen him all right.

His phone rang. Seeing it was Trueman, Horton stepped back into the small tent and through it to the outside but it made little difference to the noise level. Answering it he put a finger in his other ear. ‘You’ll have to speak up,’ he bawled above the music.

‘Ellie Loman’s medical file has been archived but we should have access to it tomorrow. Her GP can’t remember if Ellie was on the Pill and I can’t find the question having been asked during the original investigation or the fact noted that she didn’t take a towel with her. We should also have access to Rawly Willard’s health records tomorrow and Loman sold his business a year after his daughter disappeared.’

Horton quickly told Trueman that Harlow was missing and that he was following it up along with a possible connection with the prison. Seeing Haseen approaching, Horton hollered down his phone, ‘I’ll call you back.’

‘You wanted to see me?’ Haseen shouted. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked as though he hadn’t slept for a couple of days but there was nothing fatigued about his restless manner. Horton guessed that was caused by something entirely different to overwork.

Horton asked him when he last saw Gregory Harlow. Any more conversations at this level he’d end up losing his voice as well as his patience.

‘About ten o’clock last night. It was manic. I don’t remember the exact time. He didn’t sleep in the caravan.’

Something about the way Haseen said this alerted Horton. ‘Did you?’

Haseen smiled and then shrugged. ‘I thought Greg had probably got off with some tart, there’s plenty to choose from.’

And that was obviously what Haseen had done. ‘He was known to do that?’

‘
Everyone
does that here, even the hired help like me.’ He looked smug, and at the same time contemptuous. Horton didn’t care for his arrogance but there was no law against that.

‘What time did you get to the caravan last night or should I say this morning?’

Haseen grinned. Horton wanted to wipe it from his face.

‘About eight o’clock. Would have been sooner but I couldn’t get away from her. Nice little goer, off her head on something.’

And Horton wondered if it was ‘something’ that Haseen had given her.

‘Did any of your work colleagues see Gregory Harlow after ten thirty last night?’

‘You’ll have to ask them but none of us left the tent; except for a pee. We were rushed off our feet.’

Horton told him he could go, located Ross Skelton and got the registration number of the van Harlow was driving. He said he’d notify Skelton when they found Harlow and took his mobile number.

Weaving his way through the crowds he tried not to look like a cop but he felt conspicuous in his short-sleeved pale blue cotton shirt and chinos. He looked too neat, too clean and he felt too old even though there were many men older than him. He’d almost reached the backstage entrance when a black Range Rover pulled in. A voice hailed him with a hint of amusement. ‘Are you here for the festival or have you changed your mind about that job I offered you?’

Mike Danby. Horton might have known he’d be here, given his clientele. He crossed to the car and shouted, ‘If they chuck me out you’ll be the first person I’ll call.’

‘Why would they do that?’ Danby said surprised.

‘I’ve got a DCI who thinks I’m the lousiest copper on the planet and she’s itching to get shot of me.’

‘I’m sure you can handle her.’

Horton sometimes wondered, especially if her new-found friend was ACC Dean as he was rumoured to be, although Horton wouldn’t go so far as Uckfield’s claim that they were having an affair. ‘Are you handling the festival security?’ Horton shouted.

‘Only for the acts. I’m on my way to pick up Tammy Freiding. She’s singing now,’ he added to Horton’s baffled look.

‘Have you got a minute to talk?’ asked Horton, though ‘talk’ was hardly the right word for a conversation conducted at this level. ‘It won’t take long.’

‘Hop in, it’s quieter and cooler.’

Gratefully, Horton climbed into the car. The air was decidedly chillier but the noise followed him.

Danby said, ‘I’ll drop you back to the entrance. It’ll be a bit quieter there.’

Horton thought he’d have to take him midway to the Solent to escape this din, but the row lessened as one of the acts finished, and Horton swiftly told him they’d found human remains at the old Tipner boatyard which they believed were Ellie Loman’s. Danby looked surprised and then sorrowful.

‘After all this time, when was it? Hold on, July 2001. It was bloody hot like this. She went missing. Are her parents still alive?’

‘Yes.’ Horton didn’t explain about Marie Loman, it would take too long and wasn’t necessary. ‘What do you remember about the case?’

‘We initially believed that she’d run off with a man but her father insisted she hadn’t. He called in the big guns and when we started asking questions we discovered that she had arranged to meet this guy.’

‘Rawly Willard.’

‘Yes, that’s him, quiet sort of chap, fair, slight, intelligent, bit of a loner. Only he claimed he wasn’t her boyfriend although he’d like to have been. He denied that he was meeting her that day, but she’d told her work colleagues he was. We couldn’t break him and there was no forensic on him, in his house, or his car. But Dean will tell you all this. He was in charge of the case.’

‘Did you check out Kenneth Loman?’ Horton saw by Danby’s surprised look that they hadn’t.

‘We had no reason to.’

‘Or his boat?’

‘Didn’t know he had one.’

‘A small one, he kept it on the moorings near the sailing club at Tipner.’

‘Ah.’ After a moment Danby added, ‘We had no reason to suspect that she’d gone sailing with anyone, let alone her father. We didn’t even know he went sailing.’

‘Fishing.’

‘So he could have been lying about her leaving the house alone. Took her out, killed and dumped her body.’

‘It’s one theory.’ Danby hadn’t mentioned the significance of the bikinis and no towel. Horton said, ‘Anything unusual or different about the case stick out in your mind?’

‘No. Except that there seemed no motive for her disappearance and we couldn’t match it with the disappearance of any women about her age in the area or in the country. Her parents claimed they hadn’t argued with her, and that she was a model daughter and her boss and work colleagues agreed that Ellie Loman was sweetness and light, not an evil thought or bone in her body. She was well liked by everyone.’

‘Not everyone, it seems.’

‘No.’

‘Did you check her medical records?’

‘Probably. I don’t remember anything about her being on drugs or pregnant.’

He pulled up by the security office and silenced the engine. The music was still playing but it wasn’t so ear-splitting. Horton said, ‘We’ve got another death in the same location. A woman, about mid-forties. She was last seen alive at the crematorium at the time of Daryl Woodley’s funeral. Do you remember him?’

‘Vaguely. I read about his funeral in the local newspaper. Nice picture of you and Uckfield. Bet he loved that.’

‘Not a lot. Woodley had a photograph of the victim in his cell. This is her. Do you recognize her?’ Horton showed him the photograph of Salacia with fair hair.

Danby shook his head.

‘This is what she looked like when last seen.’ Horton handed across the picture taken at the funeral.

‘No. Who is she?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to establish. The funeral after Woodley’s was of Amelia Willard, last surviving member of the Willard family. It was organized by her niece, Patricia Harlow, and her husband, Gregory.’

Danby’s eyebrows went up. ‘I see. But Woodley didn’t come into the frame for Ellie Loman’s disappearance, probably inside at the time.’

‘He was.’

‘So how does he figure in it now?’

‘No idea, but I’m working on it. Do you remember interviewing Gregory and Patricia Harlow about their cousin’s disappearance?’

‘No. Should we have done?’ Danby said surprised.

‘Maybe. Gregory Harlow, who works for Coastline Catering, in their tent here, seems to have gone walkabout.’

‘I didn’t think you’d come all this way just to talk to me. So he could be involved in both deaths.’

‘It’s beginning to look that way. What do you remember about Harry Foxbury?’

‘The boatyard owner. Fox by name and fox by nature. We suspected him of using the yard for smuggling at one time but couldn’t catch him or prove it.’

That was interesting.
‘When would this have been?’

Danby thought for a moment. ‘It wasn’t long before Ellie disappeared, 1999, no 2000. Let me know how it pans out and if you need any more help. I’m here all weekend.’

‘In a tent?’

‘Ha bloody ha. No, I’m staying at a place along the coast not far from Osborne Bay, it belongs to Richard Eames, or rather Lord Eames.’

‘
Lord!
As in the House of Lords?’ Horton cried, surprised. Could he possibly have any connection with Agent Eames from Europol? No, that was too fantastic, she must come from another branch of the Eames family, but she had been to a Swiss finishing school and she had mentioned that the family owned a place along the coast.

‘That’s the one. Why, do you know him?’ Danby answered amused and surprised.

‘Never heard of him.’

Danby eyed him disbelievingly and then smiled, amused. ‘But you’ve heard he’s got a daughter in the police. She works for Europol and she’s a looker.’

That clinched it. No wonder she talked posh. She’d not said that she knew Danby when his name had come up in connection with the Ellie Loman case. Did Uckfield know of her background? Was that why he hadn’t made a pass at her?

Curious, Horton said, ‘What do you do for his lordship?’

‘Carry out security checks; act as personal bodyguard and supply security officers as and when he needs them.’

‘For what?’

‘Receptions, business trips abroad, his horses. He’s got land dotted all over the world, and a nice little property in London.’