Shroud of Evil (9 page)

Thelma Veerman looked relieved when the police car passed her in the driveway. It turned left as they turned right on to a footpath that led to the abbey and the car ferry terminal beyond it.

‘You know why I’m here?’ he began. How much had Eunice Swallows told her?

‘It’s because Mr Kenton is dead.’

‘Yes.’ He’d have preferred to break the news himself, to gauge her reaction, but he guessed that Ms Swallows was trying to do a damage limitation exercise by forewarning her client. Thelma Veerman seemed tense and anxious, understandably so thought Horton. He waited for her to ask the usual questions. How did he die? Where was he found? But she made no further comment. ‘Was Jasper Kenton your contact at the Swallows Agency?’ he asked when it seemed clear she wasn’t going to speak. The dogs raced ahead of them along the deserted gravel footpath, sniffing the ground in a zigzag pattern as they went.

‘Yes.’ She brushed her shoulder-length fine fair hair off her face, which he noted wore a perpetual frown. Her grey-blue eyes, though sharp, also held suspicion, which wasn’t unexpected given his arrival and the subject matter, but there was also an air of superiority about her that might have been to disguise her unease or possibly even shyness. She seemed reluctant to expand – was that out of embarrassment, he wondered, rather than a deliberate ploy to be uncooperative because she was ashamed of having called in a private investigator to spy on her husband?

‘How long had you known Mr Kenton?’

She flashed him a surprised look. ‘I didn’t know him.’

‘But he was helping you with regards to your enquiry. You must have had contact with him.’

‘Of course I did but that’s not the same as knowing someone.’

OK, so he’d rephrase the question. ‘What were your impressions of Mr Kenton?’

‘He seemed very professional. A quiet man. Thoughtful rather than forceful.’ She eyed him keenly. ‘Do you think his death was suspicious?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

She pushed a slender hand through her hair again and her frown deepened but she remained silent.

Horton said, ‘Why do you think your husband’s having an affair?’ He watched for her reaction and waited for her to demand what that had to do with him or Kenton’s death but she didn’t. She stared straight ahead but her brisk footsteps never faltered.

‘The usual thing,’ she said after a moment. ‘His mobile phone ringing and him going out of the room to answer it. And although Brett’s always worked irregular and long hours there seems to be an even greater reluctance to come home and when he does he often goes out very soon afterwards or up to his study. He avoids being with me as much as possible. It’s been like that for months and I’ve just got to the stage where I have to know.’

He was slightly surprised by her forthrightness. After her initial remarks he had expected reticence.

She continued. ‘We’ve been married for twenty-five years, Inspector. Our son, John, is a nursing officer in the Royal Navy. Brett would have liked him to be a doctor but John didn’t want that. He has a first-class honours degree in adult nursing.’

She said it proudly and a little defiantly as though she dared him to say it wasn’t enough. Was that what her husband said?

‘I thought that if Brett no longer wants me then I don’t see why I should hang around wasting my life waiting for someone who doesn’t care for me.’ She threw him a glance. He couldn’t read her expression. He heard no bitterness in her voice. She simply stated it as fact.

‘I engaged the Swallows Agency at the end of September following a meeting with Eunice Swallows at a café on the seafront in Portsmouth. There she introduced me to Mr Kenton who said he would be investigating my husband. I knew that if I confronted Brett without any evidence he’d just say I was being stupid. Brett is a very thorough man who likes to deal in facts.’

‘He sounds like a lawyer,’ Horton said, fishing.

‘He’s an ophthalmic consultant surgeon.’

No wonder he could afford such a prestigious property backing on to the Solent. And perhaps that explained her defensiveness when she’d spoken of her son’s career. No doubt Brett Veerman had expectations of his son becoming a doctor rather than a nurse.

The trees suddenly gave way to open fields either side of them and on their right Horton could see the ruins of the original abbey, which Brother Norman had told him had been established in the early 1100s until Henry VIII had dismantled it. Thelma Veerman showed no inclination to turn back as they headed towards the modern abbey, built at the turn of the last century.

‘Had Mr Kenton discovered anything?’ asked Horton.

‘Only that Brett had bought an apartment in Portsmouth three months ago without telling me and in his name alone. But Mr Kenton said he couldn’t find any evidence of there being another woman.’ She threw him a glance. ‘Have
you
found evidence of an affair?’

He thought of that bland minimalistic flat. ‘No. But then we’re not looking for it.’

‘Of course.’

She seemed worried, understandably so given that she not only suspected her husband of marital infidelity but that he was soon to discover he had been spied upon. He wondered what his reaction would be. Was she afraid of her husband? Was he abusive, either physically or mentally, or both? Would he walk out on her or give her the silent treatment? Maybe he’d be able to answer some of those questions after speaking with him.

‘When did you last see or speak to Mr Kenton?’

‘Thursday at midday.’

Four and a half hours before he had left the office.

‘The arrangement was that I call him at a pre-set time every Thursday from a payphone.’

‘What did he say?’

‘That he had nothing further to report except that my husband wasn’t in debt so he wasn’t lavishing money on this other woman and so far he couldn’t trace any other assets belonging to Brett or any other bank accounts here or abroad but he was still working on that. And he was also tracking Internet sites for conferences and seminars Brett attended to see if any particular woman cropped up frequently at the same places as him.’

‘An affair with a colleague?’

‘It’s the most logical explanation. I can’t see Brett risking his career and reputation by having an affair with a patient.’

Horton could see that there was something else bothering her, but whether that was about Kenton’s death and her husband’s alleged infidelity or something completely different he didn’t know and she didn’t seem inclined to tell him.

He said, ‘Were you and your husband at home last night?’

‘I was. Brett was working late, or so he said,’ she added now with a hint of nervousness.

‘What time did he get in?’

‘Two a.m.’

Horton didn’t bother hiding his surprise. ‘That’s very late to be working.’

‘Brett often has operations until very late. Last night could have been the case. He might have been called to undertake an emergency operation. Or that’s what he’d say if I questioned him. For all I know he could have been meeting this woman in this apartment of his.’

And had Jasper Kenton been on to that? Again he wondered if Brett Veerman had discovered Kenton keeping a surveillance on him and confronted him about it. Even if he had done it didn’t mean he’d killed him. And how would Veerman have got the body here? He couldn’t have sailed that small dinghy Horton had just seen in the garden from Portsmouth to the island in the dark and rain. Perhaps there was a bigger boat in the boathouse or down on the shore out of sight.

He said, ‘How do you know it was two a.m.?

‘I looked at the clock when I heard him come in.’

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘There was no point.’ She fell silent as they walked on. Horton let it stretch for a while in case she wanted to add something. She didn’t.

They had reached the abbey grounds and Thelma Veerman halted. Ahead the path led to the café and gift shop. It would be closed now, it was well after four-thirty and soon if they didn’t head back they’d be walking in the dark.

The chapel bell sounded. ‘That’s Vespers,’ Thelma Veerman said, looking up at the abbey clock. ‘Evening prayer. Saint Benedict said it should be done before the lamps are lit. “Be ye angry, and sin not: not let the sun go down upon your wrath.” Ephesians chapter four verse twenty six. It’s about forgiveness.’

She turned back towards the house leaving him to ponder what she meant. Forgiveness for her when her husband discovered she’d engaged a private detective, or forgiveness for her husband for killing Jasper Kenton? Or perhaps she should forgive her husband for having a lover. Maybe she’d already done that many times in their married life.

Horton fell into step beside her, feeling her sadness. She called the dogs to heel. They came instantly. After a while Horton broke the silence. ‘Has your husband been out this morning?’

‘Only on the dinghy at nine-thirty. And again this afternoon.’

‘Is it usual for him to go sailing twice in one day?’

‘Occasionally, yes. With the winter coming on he probably thinks he won’t get much more chance to do so. He says sailing helps him to relax. Maybe the operation last night wasn’t a success. He doesn’t talk about his work.’

Horton wondered what they did talk about, but as she’d already explained, they had stopped communicating it seemed a long time ago. He thought Veerman must be a very experienced sailor to have gone out in this afternoon’s weather. He’d know all about sails, bowline knots, the Solent, its coasts and marinas.

‘Do you have another boat as well as the dinghy?’

‘Not now. We used to own a Jeanneau Sun Odyssey thirty-two-foot yacht. We sold it when John left home seven years ago.’

Perhaps Kenton had found evidence of Brett Veerman owning another boat. And maybe he’d followed him to it.

‘What made you choose the Swallows Agency?’

‘I’d been thinking about engaging a private investigation agency for some time. I couldn’t research them on the Internet at home in case Brett checked my viewing history on the computer or on my phone so I used the library in Ryde to look some up. It had to be a Portsmouth agency because that is where Brett is primarily based although he has a clinic at the private hospital at Havant and treats patients at the Moorfields Eye Hospital in London, as well as giving lectures all over the world. I liked the idea of Swallows because it’s run by a woman and I thought she would understand.’

‘Were you disappointed when she allocated the work to Mr Kenton?’

‘Not after meeting him, no. Eunice Swallows convinced me that Mr Kenton was the best person for the job. I’m sorry he’s dead.’ She eyed him curiously and again with that frown of concern. ‘Do you think his death has anything to do with his job?’

Horton gave his stock answer of it being too early to say but added, ‘I need to speak to your husband, Mrs Veerman.’

‘I know.’

‘Have you told him about the private investigation agent?’

‘No.’ She tensed and pulled herself up. ‘I guess this will finally force things into the open.’

Horton rather thought it would.

S
he asked him to wait in the hall while she fetched her husband, who was still in the garden even though it was growing dark. He guessed it was to give her time to break the news to him.

Horton glanced around the spacious modern hallway with wide tall windows that stretched to the height of the house. It was gloomy, empty and cold. It was also spotlessly clean but there were no paintings on the plain cream-coloured walls, no furniture and all the doors giving off into the rooms both to his left and right and further down the hallway to the rear of the house were closed. The light grey tiled floor made it feel cold and bleak, reflecting the Veermans’ marriage, he thought.

He headed for the rear of the house where he pushed open a door and stepped into a white modern kitchen that echoed the cold, unwelcoming feeling of the hall. It and the house seemed at odds with Thelma Veerman and the dogs. She should have been in a country house traditionally furnished, he thought, gazing out of the wide patio windows that gave on to the lawns. Standing by the water’s edge, Horton could see in the lights attached to the boathouse Thelma Veerman talking to her husband. Brett Veerman was still beside the dinghy but no longer hosing it down. Horton wondered what he’d been doing while they’d been taking their walk. Maybe he had only just finished giving the boat a thorough cleaning. And why would he take so long doing that? Was it more than salt water he was trying to wash off?

Horton couldn’t see Thelma’s face but he could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was telling her husband about Swallows. Brett Veerman was eyeing her with a frown on his dark-featured face, which even from here Horton could see had strength and intelligence. Thelma gestured towards the house and Veerman glanced towards where Horton was standing. Could he see him in the gloom?

Veerman addressed his wife who glanced over her shoulder at Horton before turning back. Brett Veerman said something more then strode past his wife towards the house. Thelma Veerman turned and watched him, looking puzzled rather than upset before looking back to sea. Horton heard her calling to the dogs. Was she crying, he wondered. He wished Cantelli was with him because he had the feeling that Thelma would have opened up to the sergeant; women often did.

The kitchen glass door slid open. Veerman kicked off his shoes and stretched a hand out to Horton who took it and wasn’t surprised to find the grip firm and dry. Veerman seemed curious rather than concerned or angry. His blue eyes assessed Horton coolly. He looked younger than Horton had originally estimated and possibly younger than his wife by a few years. Or perhaps he’d just worn better. His short dark hair was peppered with grey but in a way that made him appear distinguished rather than older. His face was craggily good looking rather than lined and he was lightly tanned. Yes, Horton could see both patients and nurses falling for this man.

‘My wife’s just informed me that the private detective she engaged to discover if I was having an affair has been killed, so you’ll forgive me if I seem a little dazed.’ He pulled off his sailing jacket and placed it on the back of one of the tall chairs at the kitchen breakfast bar revealing a round-necked pale blue jumper bearing a designer label over a checked shirt. His clothes, like those Horton had seen in the apartment that morning, were all of excellent quality. And the height and build of Veerman confirmed to Horton that they had been his. He wondered how Veerman was going to take the additional news that they’d forcibly entered his apartment earlier.