Shroud of Evil (13 page)

‘Richard feels bad about that.’

I bet.

‘I …’

‘No, let me go on,’ said Horton, but couldn’t because their meal had arrived. There was a hiatus while the waitress served it, checked everything was OK and then left them.

Horton sprinkled salt on his chips and continued. ‘Richard Eames denies knowing Jasper Kenton – maybe that’s the truth, maybe not. You ask him what he wants you to do, he says report it to the police of course, but he suggests you call me as we know one another.’

Horton stabbed a few chips and conveyed them to his mouth. ‘I bring Uckfield, as you suggested and knew I would have to anyway. When Uckfield sends you back inside to check over the house you take the opportunity to call Eames and report back to him. He tells you to keep him informed, which is why we’re here enjoying pie and chips together.’ And in between times Eames has made one or two top-level calls giving his instructions. Uckfield is summoned back to the mainland, told to pull out Dennings and tread softly. Who gave the order for Bliss to go undercover at Swallows? Was that simply a delaying tactic until Eames and his cronies could be sure nothing would backfire on them, or to spin out the investigation until after the trade delegation to Russia? Or was there another reason?

‘So how is it going?’ asked Danby.

‘Slowly,’ answered Horton, then smiled. ‘You don’t expect me to tell you, do you?’

‘No harm in asking.’ Danby pushed back his plate with half his meal untouched. Maybe he wasn’t hungry or maybe he was troubled by something.

Taking another mouthful, Horton said, ‘Tell me about Jasper Kenton.’

Danby drained his glass. ‘After I’ve got us a refill.’

He made for the bar while Horton finished his meal wondering if Danby had used the excuse of getting more drinks to buy himself time to consider his response. There were several people waiting to be served. Horton scanned the crowded bar. Amongst the couples and foursomes there were two solitary males, one in his mid-forties, the other about ten years younger. One was drinking a lager and reading a newspaper; the other, younger man, was doing something with his phone and had what looked like a large glass of Coke in front of him. Neither looked interested in them and neither looked as though they worked for the police or the intelligence services but Horton would reserve judgement on that.

He turned away to look at the harbour. Did Danby know that Lord Eames worked for the intelligence services? Or was he completely wrong on that score? God, he wished he had more facts but they were as hard to come by as a virgin in a brothel.

Danby returned with their refills. He set them down and Horton returned his attention to the man in front of him, noting that one of the two men drinking alone, the one with the phone, had left, his large glass of Coke half finished. Perhaps he was in the Gents. Or perhaps he wasn’t thirsty.

Danby said, ‘Kenton and I met at a security conference. He and Eunice had been running their agency for two years and mine had been going for six years. I was looking to expand. Jasper and Eunice agreed to sub-contract their close protection work to me. It’s worked very well.’ His expression clouded over. ‘It’s strange he’s dead. And strange how he died. It makes me think it must be someone he was investigating on behalf of a client because his private life was hardly controversial. In fact it was so quiet as to be boring. And, if truth be told, Kenton was a little boring himself. No, that’s probably not fair,’ Danby added as though he’d had a stab of conscience about speaking ill of the dead. ‘He had the perfect qualities for what he did and he did it well.’

‘Which were?’

‘He was very thorough. I used to give him reference checks, which some of my clients asked me to undertake – not Lord Eames’ staff though,’ he hastily added, repeating what he had told them earlier. ‘I gave Kenton the job of vetting all my staff. He’d leave no stone unturned. He made Sergeant Trueman look sloppy.’

Horton raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t believe anyone is capable of that.’

‘No, maybe not,’ Danby answered with a smile. ‘But Kenton had that same ability as Trueman to ferret away at something and collate the evidence in a logical and understandable manner, and to get it from places you thought inaccessible. His computer forensic skills were superb.’

‘So he wasn’t really a surveillance operative?’ Horton asked, thinking of the Veermans.

Danby considered his reply for a moment. ‘Not in the sense that you and I understand, staking out a house or business premises and trailing suspects. His expertise was in setting up a surveillance system, and no he didn’t do Richard Eames’ security. He’d do phone taps, place listening devices, record the information, trace and analyse social networking and Internet profiles, interrogate hard drives and retrieve emails and other information that people thought they’d erased – but as to sitting in a car and watching someone or following them, that wasn’t his forte.’

‘Why not?’ Horton asked, interested.

Danby ran his hand through his cropped, receding dark hair peppered with grey. ‘I can’t put my finger on it, Andy. Just gut feeling. Yes, he could fade into a crowd. He wasn’t too big or too tall. He didn’t have any distinguishing features that would make him stand out. He was neither good-looking nor ugly, perfect for the job, but there was something about him that would make me hesitate.’

‘You’d be worried he couldn’t handle himself if discovered?’ posed Horton.

Danby frowned as he considered this. ‘He wouldn’t bottle out. On the contrary, he’d face up to it. But he had a slightly superior manner that might get up some people’s noses, especially if he thought he was right.’

And had that resulted in his death? Had he been spotted and then he’d goaded his killer into firing that pistol crossbow? The weapon of choice didn’t fit with it being a spur of the moment killing though.

Danby said, ‘You know what it’s like, Andy, there’s that copper’s instinct that warns you not to go there or do or say something, and it was like that with Jasper. I just wouldn’t have felt comfortable with him as an operative. As a desk man yes, totally at ease with that.’

Horton knew all too well what Danby meant. He should have listened to his instinct twenty months ago when Lucy Richardson had set him a trap. He’d been working undercover trying to find out what was going on at an all-male health club in Oyster Quays, suspected of importing and distributing hardcore pornography. He’d got close to Lucy, who worked there, and, eager to get a result, he’d taken his eye off the ball. Before he knew it she was crying rape. The operation was jeopardized, his marriage destroyed and his career stalled. That was history. This was now.

‘Did Kenton have a girlfriend?’

‘Not that I know of, though I guess there must have been some relationships in the past. And before you ask he wasn’t homosexual either, or at least I don’t think he was.’

‘Anything between him and Eunice?’

Danby looked surprised. ‘No, they were just business partners.’

‘You’re sure?

‘Positive,’ Danby answered with a conviction that made Horton wonder. Danby hesitated for a moment before continuing. ‘You asked me earlier when I last saw Jasper and I said two weeks ago when he referred a potential client to me but I’ve remembered that I saw him last week, although he didn’t see me. I was just coming off the car ferry and he was waiting to board it.’

So Kenton had travelled to the Isle of Wight a week before his death. No reason why he shouldn’t, apart from the fact his body had been found on the island. So where had he gone and who had he seen? Thelma Veerman? But she’d said she hadn’t seen him since that first meeting in Portsmouth. She could be lying but he didn’t see why she should. Had Kenton been checking up on someone connected with Eames? Was it the beachcomber? Had Kenton’s killer been right there in front of him? God he hoped not. Maybe Kenton had just fancied a day on the island, but Horton knew that didn’t feel right.

‘What time was this?’

‘About one-forty.’

Kenton would have been on the two o’clock sailing then. Horton tossed back the remainder of his drink, noting that the man who had been reading the newspaper had left the bar and the man with the phone had never returned.

‘Did Richard Eames and Kenton know one another?’

‘No’.

‘Did they ever meet?’

‘No. I was the interface between them. How was he killed?’

‘I can’t say.’

Danby nodded knowingly. After a moment he said, ‘It must be chance he was left where he was.’

‘What else did Eames ask you to do apart from pumping me to see what I knew?’

Danby smiled. ‘Just to keep the family out of it if possible.’

‘Uckfield’s handling that, courtesy of the Chief Constable.’

Danby drained his glass and glanced at his watch signalling the meeting was over. As they made their way out Horton said, ‘Do you know or have you heard of Brett and Thelma Veerman?’

‘No.’

‘Have you heard any of the Eames family mention them?’

‘No.’

‘He’s an ophthalmic surgeon. Have any of them had any problems with their eyes?’

Danby looked surprised at the question, then puzzled. ‘They might have done. But it’s not something I’m aware of.’

Danby would surmise that the Veermans featured in the investigation somewhere, probably connected to Swallows, and no doubt that information would be fed back to His Lordship. They stood for a moment looking out across the harbour. Horton asked Danby about his boat.

‘I keep it at Hamble Marina.’

Expensive
, thought Horton, but then Danby could afford it.

‘I bought it six months ago for work. It’s quicker than hanging about waiting for the ferry and unlike you I don’t have the police launch at my disposal.’

‘But you didn’t take it the day you saw Kenton at the ferry terminal.’

‘No. I had to see another client in Yarmouth. I do have more than one client on the Isle of Wight,’ Danby said pleasantly.

They fell into step heading back along the old High Street to where Danby had parked his Range Rover and Horton his Harley. There were very few people about and those that were seemed keen to get to their destination. The rain was light now but the wind was restless and blustering around them as though it wasn’t quite sure which direction to settle itself in. Horton knew that feeling.

Danby climbed into his car and drove off with a toot and a wave. He hadn’t asked to be kept informed of Kenton’s murder investigation because he knew Horton couldn’t make promises like that. But as Horton headed for his marina he wondered what Danby would tell Eames or rather what Eames would make of what Horton had said. Had Eames been fishing for information about the beachcomber or had he wanted to discover why Horton had visited the house and beach? Perhaps both, because that was the only reason why he would have asked Danby to sound him out. Any other information Eames would be able to get via his intelligence contacts and from the Chief Constable, Paul Meredew. Not that Horton had given away much, he thought, if anything.

On his boat he lay on his bunk mulling over what Danby had told him about Jasper Kenton and what he’d heard at the briefing. Several things stuck in his mind, and niggled away at him. Had Kenton been working on surveillance despite Eunice Swallows denying it and Danby saying he was unsuited to it? Where had Kenton been going on the Friday before his death? Was it significant? Did Brett Veerman have anything to do with the murder? Could he own another boat, which he’d motored into the Camber or Oyster Quay, and Kenton had discovered this and hadn’t reported it to Thelma Veerman? Or perhaps he had and Thelma had deliberately not mentioned it to him when he’d interviewed her earlier. He could feed all his questions to the Major Crime Team, but as Uckfield seemed reluctant to move on the investigation, and certainly to do nothing until Monday, Horton thought that tomorrow he’d make some inquiries of his own. He’d start with checking if Veerman and Kenton had been seen at Oyster Quays or the Camber.

H
e drew a blank at both. And there was no record at either Oyster Quays Marina or the Camber of Brett Veerman keeping a boat there. Horton called the marine unit. Sergeant Elkins wasn’t on duty but Horton asked PC Debbie Hoskins to make inquiries at the various boatyards and marinas around the coast and on the Isle of Wight to find out if Brett Veerman kept a boat elsewhere, and to check if Jasper Kenton had been seen at any of them.

He then doubled back to the ferry terminal close by and within minutes was speaking to the ticket office supervisor. She confirmed that Brett Veerman had indeed caught the 23.59 sailing to Fishbourne on Friday night as he claimed. It had reached its Fishbourne terminal at 12.35 a.m. From there Horton calculated that it would take Veerman only ten or fifteen minutes to drive to his home, which fitted with his testimony, but if Thelma Veerman was correct then where had her husband gone and what had he been doing for seventy-five minutes? Did it matter? Yes, if he had Kenton’s body stashed somewhere.

He asked if Veerman had been on a sailing on Thursday evening. The answer was no. But the supervisor confirmed that Jasper Kenton had been on the two p.m. sailing on the previous Friday, as Danby had claimed. Horton wondered if the satellite navigation device in Kenton’s car would show his destination. He made a mental note to ask but he thought that if Kenton’s visit to the island had been connected with a clandestine meeting then he’d hardly record it on the satnav system – or if he did he’d make sure to erase it.

He bought a day-return ticket and half an hour later he was on the ferry heading across the Solent in search of someone he’d told no one about. Maybe tomorrow he would have to reveal the fact he’d been at the scene and that he’d had company. But as he ate his sandwich lunch, he knew he’d say nothing because he was keen to see if Lord Eames revealed that information, and if he didn’t he wondered what that signified.

It was another question to add to his growing list, which rumbled around in his mind, along with those connected with his mother. He again considered if it was worth trying to trace anyone who had known his foster parents in case they had spoken about Jennifer. The easiest place to begin would be checking out the neighbours. Something he would make time for soon. It was unlikely they would come up with any fresh information, or even still be living in the same house, but as he’d drawn a blank on trying to locate the remaining two men in the photograph – Antony Dormand and Rory Mortimer – or their relatives, the only avenue open to him was to try and track down anyone who had worked with Jennifer in London, or at the casino in Portsmouth and he wasn’t confident that would give him any answers. It would also take considerable time.