Curtly, he said, ‘Graham Langham.’
‘Yeah, what about him?’ Jago pulled on his cigarette.
‘He’s had an accident. A fatal one seeing as his hand has been separated from his body.’
‘Christ! Who would do that?’ Jago’s bloodshot eyes widened with surprise.
‘That’s what I’m asking you.’
‘It don’t sound like anyone I know.’
And Jago knew some very tough villains. He thought Jago was probably telling the truth. ‘Who did Langham associate with?’
‘No one. He was a loner, a one-man job. Unless you count the lads in The Crown but he didn’t do no jobs with them. He was in there last Sunday trying to flog some stuff.’
‘What stuff?’ asked Horton, keenly interested in this new lead.
‘A couple of kiddies bikes, a lawnmower.’
‘This time of year!’
‘Reduced price ready for the spring he said.’
‘Who bought them?’
‘No idea.’
But Horton could see that Jago knew very well who had purchased the stolen goods but wasn’t going to say. It certainly wasn’t the stuff that a big villain would have had nicked from his home, a theory that he’d discussed previously with Cantelli and Walters to explain DCS Adams’ claim.
‘Have you ever had word that Langham was a police informer?’
Jago looked so shocked that he almost swallowed his cigarette. Then his face creased up in thought. ‘Could be why he had his hand chopped off,’ he ventured hesitantly. ‘Hope whoever did it don’t know I help you out from time to time Mr Horton.’ Jago’s eyes darted nervously around him.
‘The kind of information you give me Billy is hardly enough to warrant mutilation.’
‘You never can tell what upsets folk. Some nasty bastards would cut your head off if you looks at them the wrong way.’
True. ‘Is Larry Egmont one of those?’
Jago thought for a moment before replying. ‘Maybe. If you get on the wrong side of him but Graham Langham wasn’t a gambler.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve never seen him in any betting shops. And he wasn’t the type to get into Egmont’s casino.’
‘He could have been betting online.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Have you ever been inside the casino?’
‘Nah. Egmont’s choosy about who he lets become a member.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought he’d worry just as long as he could take their money.’
‘They gotta have it in the first place.’
‘Point taken. Do you know a man called Clive Westerbrook?’
Jago shook his head.
‘Have you seen this man before?’
Horton showed Jago the photograph of Westerbrook he’d taken from his driving licence.
Again Jago shook his head. He removed his cigarette and pinched it out with his finger and thumb and stuck it back in the packet. Horton wasn’t sure if that was out of respect for where they were or because he wanted to save the last piece for later.
‘It’s bleeding freezing out here and I’ve got nothing more to tell you, Mr Horton.’
Horton eyed him steadily. It was probably the truth. He asked if he had heard of a man called Lesley Nugent but Jago said he hadn’t. Horton gave him twenty pounds and let him go. Horton made no attempt to follow, not in order to give Jago time to get away but because he was hesitating over whether to check out the bars along Guildhall Walk to see if Carolyn and her lover were in one of them. If he found her what would she do he wondered? Introduce him as a colleague? A friend?
He headed that way, scanning the road for any sign of them. There were only a few smokers outside the bars, shivering in the cold north-westerly wind. And no one lingering outside Larry Egmont’s casino. Horton stopped and eyed it. He recalled the statements that had been taken from George Warner and a member of staff, Irene Ebury, after Jennifer had failed to show for work. PC Stanley hadn’t bothered talking to anyone else at the Southsea casino or if he had, and had transcribed the statements, they had vanished from the case file. Warner had simply said that Jennifer had been a good worker, attractive and popular. Irene Ebury had suggested Jennifer had had a lover who had let her down because she’d been dejected for a while and then just before she vanished she had brightened up and had hinted that she was destined for a better life. According to Irene Ebury, Jennifer had kept singing the song made famous by Marilyn Monroe, ‘Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend’. In the course of a recent investigation, the one that had sparked Horton’s research, he’d discovered that Jennifer had known a diamond thief called Peter Croxton. Horton had assumed that Jennifer had been in love with him and planning to run off with him, except he’d learned from another villain and confederate of Croxton that she hadn’t. That villain and Croxton were both dead. But perhaps the diamonds weren’t part of that haul, or one allegedly stolen from the house in North Hampshire, perhaps they were a brooch given to Jennifer by a boyfriend.
Horton crossed the busy dual carriageway leaving the thought where it was, at the back of his mind, and eyed the bar ahead of him wondering if Carolyn and the man she’d embraced were inside it. It was a popular haunt with the students and Horton knew how Carolyn seemed to like them. As he reached it though, he hesitated and before he could make up his mind whether or not to enter it two men emerged, both of whom he recognized.
‘I didn’t know this was your kind of place, Tim,’ Horton greeted the Chief Crown Prosecutor affably. ‘Or yours, Ewan.’ Stringer smiled but he looked uneasy.
Shearer answered. ‘The demographic is a bit on the young side but on a Friday, after work, a few us from the courts head here to unwind. Not that I’d drink and drive,’ he added hastily.
‘Never thought you would.’
‘And I’m on foot,’ Stringer added. ‘Are you on duty, Inspector?’
‘No, just heading home.’ It was better than saying I was following a woman I fancied and made love to last night, who’s with another man.
Shearer asked if there was any further news on Alfie Wright.
‘Not that I’m aware of. He’s still missing. Have you heard anything from him?’ Horton addressed Stringer.
‘No.’
But Stringer looked increasingly ill at ease. There was something he was holding back. Horton had sensed it yesterday after he and Cantelli had spoken to him, now he knew it. He held Stringer’s troubled eyes. Would he confide what it was? Horton hoped so but Stringer pulled himself up and his gaze swivelled to Shearer. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday, Tim.’ He walked away in the direction of the civic centre a rather dejected figure thought Horton.
‘Ewan and I are going sailing,’ Shearer explained, looking after him with a worried frown.
‘You own a boat? Or is it Ewan’s?’
‘Mine. I’ve kept one here in Portsmouth for some time even when I was living in London. It’s at Horsea Marina, where I’m currently renting a house, so very convenient.’ He smiled but it quickly faded. ‘He feels he’s failed, Andy, not the police but Alfie Wright.’
‘I shouldn’t think Alfie’s conscience is troubling him for one second so Ewan’s shouldn’t.’
‘Probably not but I’m concerned that we’ve let a dangerous man walk away and if he reoffends and someone gets hurt or killed it’ll be on our conscience. And that’s what I’ve stressed to Ewan. Is it possible that Graham Langham’s death is connected with Alfie Wright?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not on either investigation. But personally I don’t think so. Ewan knows something about where Alfie’s gone, doesn’t he?’
Shearer nodded. ‘He wouldn’t tell me, but he is very worried that Alfie could be connected with Langham.’ Shearer shifted before adding, ‘I don’t like to betray a confidence but I don’t think I’d be doing my job if I didn’t tell you, although I have stressed to Ewan it’s important that he tells the police what he knows. He’s checked Alfie’s records and discovered that Al
fie and Graham Langham shared the same offender manager, Dennis Popham, but as it was at completely different times I told Ewan I thought it unlikely their paths would have crossed that way. I urged him to talk to Uckfield but the superintendent is not the most approachable of police officers. If Ewan doesn’t speak to Uckfield I’ll see what I can get out of him on Sunday while we’re at sea, it’s a good place for exchanging confidences,’ he added with a wry smile and Horton wondered if that was what Westerbrook and Nugent had done. Maybe after they had Nugent had wanted to distance himself from Westerbrook, which was why he had been in such a hurry to get away from him and the boat. It could also explain why Nugent was so scared. Perhaps Westerbrook had confessed what he was involved in with Egmont or some other villain, or perhaps he’d tried to enrol Nugent in his scheme.
Shearer continued. ‘Ewan’s a very conscientious man, Andy. He takes his work seriously but he gets a pittance for what he does. He could be making four times as much, probably even more, with his Master’s degree in criminology.’
Horton’s mind flicked to Carolyn Grantham, that was the subject of her degree.
‘Ewan trained for the Bar but he chose to divert into forensic mental health in order to help others, so try not to be too tough on him and tell Detective Superintendent Uckfield that.’
‘I’ll try but it’ll probably have about as much effect as me telling that lot in there that alcohol is bad for them.’
Shearer smiled and took his farewells. Horton looked up at the bar and thought what the hell. He made to head back to the station to collect his Harley then changed his mind. He’d walk home. He needed some air to clear his head.
At the D-Day museum and Southsea Castle on the seafront he broke into a gentle jog, his mind running in the background like a computer programme, his troubled thoughts keeping pace with his pounding feet. He was probably reading far too much into what he had witnessed between Carolyn and that man. He should forget it. He should forget her, but he couldn’t, not until he knew why she was really here. And what about Jago’s snippet of information? Tomorrow he’d follow it up. It probably had no connection with Langham’s death but it might help clear a few robberies off the books, no harm in that, he told himself as he reached the boat, because petty theft was not the remit of DCS Adams. And having justified that to himself, Horton took a hot shower, made himself something to eat and went to bed trying desperately to put both Langham and Carolyn Grantham from his mind.
TWELVE
Saturday
The moment he entered the station early the next morning Horton caught the buzz of excitement. Uckfield’s car, along with Dennings’ and Trueman’s, was already in the car park. He wondered if the rest of Langham’s body had been found but revised that opinion because there had been no sign of DCS Adams’ car or any other vehicle he didn’t recognize. He was about to head for the incident suite when the door to one of the interview rooms opened and a beaming Uckfield stepped out. Horton immediately guessed the reason for Uckfield’s good temper. ‘You’ve got Alfie Wright.’
‘The shifty bastard was picked up this morning just before six.’
‘Where?’
‘On a canal boat just outside Devizes.’
‘How did you locate him?’ As if Horton couldn’t guess. Stringer’s conscience had troubled him. After speaking to Tim Shearer he’d plucked up the courage to come in. Uckfield confirmed it.
‘Ewan Stringer came in yesterday evening to tell us that Alfie had mentioned a woman he’d got close to. Alfie had said he might go straight and kick the booze if he could be with her. He was spinning Stringer a line of course and the dozy git believed it.’
‘Some people see the good in everyone.’
‘They wouldn’t if they did our job.’
No, thought Horton.
Uckfield scratched his backside. ‘Stringer said he didn’t like to break a confidence but he’d thought it over, wrestled with his conscience and all that sort of twaddle and decided it would be better if Alfie could be found and get help for his illness. I said the best help he could get was being banged up. I don’t think Stringer went a bundle on that but tough shit. He said he was worried that Alfie might have had something to do with Graham Langham’s death and he didn’t want that on his conscience. The woman’s called Barbara Everton. Alfie shacked up with her for a few days the last time he came out. She’s some kind of new age hippy, into witchcraft, druids, worshipping at Stonehenge and all that cobblers. She was easy to trace, says she makes and sells jewellery but claims benefit and is probably on the game. The Wiltshire Police and Dennings staged a nice little dawn raid this morning and found Alfie all snuggled up nice and cosy in her arms.’
Dawn didn’t break in December until now thought Horton but why let that small fact get in the way of a good arrest.
‘Any news on Langham?’
‘If there is I haven’t been told it.’ Uckfield declared. Then he lowered his voice, ‘But I’ll tell you this, Andy, Adams has got it wrong and it won’t be the first time. He couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag even if someone ripped it open for him. He only made Chief Superintendent because no other bugger wanted him in their department. And if he finds Langham’s body parts before the fish have finished with them then I’ll hang up my handcuffs. Now I’m getting some breakfast,’ and he strutted off down the corridor towards the canteen. Horton decided against joining him. He had other matters to attend to.
CID was deserted, as he’d expected. Bliss had thankfully seen no need to have her weekend disturbed. Cantelli was going from home to the army base to view the CCTV tapes and Walters was going to Westerbrook’s flat to see if he could unearth a password to give them access to his emails. Horton wondered if they were both wasting their time but there were those bruises and the unexplained fact that Westerbrook had somehow managed to obtain lots of cash since coming out of prison, despite not having a job.
Horton rang Elkins who told him that Westerbrook’s boat was still secured at the ferry port. Horton thought he’d take another look over it and check the log, which might give him some idea of how far Westerbrook had travelled after he’d left Oyster Quays on Wednesday, before showing up dead at Thorney.
Glancing at the clock he rang Moira Langham. He waited impatiently for her to answer, hoping that Adams hadn’t put a trace on her phone. He had toyed with the idea of calling on her personally but Adams might be having her watched in case anyone showed up to check her husband hadn’t passed on to her any information that could point the finger at the criminals he and his team were allegedly after.
‘What do you want? Have you found him?’ she said grumpily as though half asleep, after he had announced himself and apologized for calling her so early.
He said they had no news and asked if Graham had gone out at night last weekend.
There was silence. For a moment he thought she’d cut him off, but then there came a sniff before she said, ‘Yeah, on Saturday and Sunday night, so what?’
‘What time did he return home on Saturday?’ Horton knew where he was on Sunday, Jago had told him, in The Crown trying to flog his stolen goods.
‘Late. Why?’
‘Do you know where he went?’
‘No.’
‘But he did go out on a job on Saturday night.’
‘How should I know?’ she said surlily.
But she did know. He could hear it in her voice. ‘Is that why you’re worried about us finding the van because there’ll be stolen goods inside.’
‘If there is it’s nothing to do with me,’ she said quickly and defensively.
‘I didn’t say it was, Moira.’
‘And you can’t nick the bugger now, can you? So sod off.’
The line went dead. What had he expected? What he’d more or less got. Maybe Moira had been hoping they’d find the van without them discovering the contents had been stolen so she could sell them. Or perhaps she was hoping to give her children the bicycles as Christmas presents. They didn’t need th
e lawnmower for their square of concrete back yard but Horton wondered if the rest of Graham Langham’s mutilated body was in that van. It would be a grisly find if that were so.
Moira didn’t know about any lock-up, or so she had said, but perhaps Langham had left home on Monday afternoon and met his killer there and his remains were inside the van in the lock-up. That would account for it not being found yet. If Langham did have a lock-up then it would be located close to where he lived. Had DCS Adams already considered this? Had he already asked uniformed officers to check it out or was he keeping it quiet so as not to alarm the crook he was after.
Horton rang through to Sergeant Warren and asked him if his officers had been briefed to check out garages in the centre of the city around the Paradise Estate.
‘No, should we?’
‘Yes, but keep it low key. Get them to ask around for sightings of a white van—’
‘Bloody hundreds I should think.’
‘This one belongs to Graham Langham.’
‘We’re already looking for that.’
‘I know but it’s possible Langham has a lock-up close to his flat. If he does and one of your officers locates it tell me, no one else, OK?’
‘Whatever you say, Inspector.’
Warren was a grumpy old git but he usually did as he was told. Next Horton called Walters on his mobile.
‘Are you at Westerbrook’s flat?’
‘Just arrived, guv.’
‘Well don’t spin it out.’ Horton knew Walters. He’d happily stay there all morning if he could get away with it. ‘When you’re done there get in touch with the city CCTV control office and get hold of any video footage around the Paradise Estate for the weekend prior to Langham’s hand showing up and for the following Monday, the day he disappeared.’
Fatal Catch Page 14
