Blood on the Sand

by Pauline Rowson

  'No!' Danesbrook protested, alarmed. 'I haven't killed anyone and neither has Bella.'

  'Are you sure about that?'

  Danesbrook licked his lips, his Adam's apple jumped up and down as his eyes skittered around the room. The sweat was running off his forehead. 'She wouldn't.'

  Horton ignored his pathetic denial. 'But Owen Carlsson guessed it was you, or perhaps he recognized that it was your car Bella was driving, as it slammed into Arina's body, so he too had to die.'

  'This is crazy.'

  'And then it was Jonathan Anmore's turn. Did he overhear you and Bella talking about it?' Suddenly, a worrying thought flashed into his mind: Bella had called on Charlie Anmore. Was it to check that his son hadn't said anything about her and Danesbrook's scam? Was Charlie in danger? He almost broke off from questioning Danesbrook to get Cantelli to check the old man was OK, but then he thought it unlikely Jonathan would have said anything to his father.

  'You have to believe me,' Danesbrook pleaded. 'We haven't killed anyone.'

  'Get your coat.'

  'But you said I could stay if I cooperated.'

  'Did I? Sergeant, call a car to take him in.'

  Danesbrook looked like a man who'd just seen his winning lottery ticket flushed down the toilet. 'You've got this all wrong, Inspector. We were going to get money from Sir Christopher, I admit that. He had plenty and his daughter didn't need it all, there was no real harm in that, but we wouldn't and didn't kill anyone.'

  Horton wasn't convinced. He reckoned they were both capable of murder and a million pounds was a powerful motive. Of course that didn't fit with the deaths of Helen and Lars Carlsson. But that didn't mean there wasn't a reason. Only one he hadn't yet discovered.

  As Cantelli stepped into the hall to call in, Horton said to Danesbrook, 'Where were you in March 1990?'

  'I can't remember. Why do you want to know?'

  Horton glared at him.

  'All right. Let me think.' After a moment his haggard features brightened. 'I was in London, at the Poll Tax riots.'

  'All month?'

  'Pretty much. The riot was planned for the end of the month, the thirty-first of March, so there was a lot of organizing to do beforehand. That was one of my more successful demonstrations,' he added boastfully. 'It killed the tax dead. We showed the government they couldn't ride roughshod over us.' He gave a tentative smile.

  'For someone who has spent most of his life on benefit and hardly paid a pound in taxes that's a bit rich,' Horton spat scornfully.

  Cantelli led Danesbrook outside to a waiting patrol car. As he was giving instructions to the uniformed officers inside it Horton's phone rang. It was Marsden.

  'Bella Westbury's leaving home with a suitcase, sir,' he said excitedly.

  'Follow her.' He rang off and to Cantelli said, 'Bella's on the move. She can't get far at this time of night. The only transport off the island is the car ferry. When she gets there we'll bring her in.'

  But they'd only just pulled into the station car park when his phone rang again.

  'I've lost her,' Marsden relayed, dejectedly.

  Horton cursed.

  'She must have known I was tailing her,' Marsden said, 'because she timed it to perfection, slipping through on a red at a set of traffic lights. I couldn't follow, a damn great lorry was charging through. She was heading in the direction of Cowes so I thought she might have been taking the Red Funnel ferry to Southampton. But her car's not here.'

  Horton quickly thought. 'Stay there, call me if she shows up and arrest her for the murder of Arina Sutton. I'll send a unit there to assist you.'

  He rang off and speedily told Cantelli what had happened. 'Turn round and head for Cowes,' he ordered. 'The terminal's not the only place she could have been heading. There's a marina and that means boats.'

  As Cantelli sped to the marina, Horton rang through to the station and told Uckfield what had happened.

  'I'll put an alert out for her,' Uckfield said. 'Leave Danesbrook to me. This time I'll get him to talk, smarmy solicitor or not.'

  Horton didn't know how he was going to find the boat Bella Westbury might be leaving the island on. She'd given no indication that she could handle one, and neither had there been anything in her house to point him in this direction. But he had to be right. And he had a feeling that if they didn't catch up with Bella now then they never would. She would go underground again.

  'Her car's here,' Cantelli said, sweeping into the car park.

  'You take the pontoons to the right, I'll take these.' Horton set off at a fast pace to his left, knowing that Cantelli wasn't about to enjoy himself on the water but he wouldn't shirk doing a thorough job nevertheless.

  He wondered if they were already too late. She could be halfway down the River Medina by now, or out into the Solent.

  The rain bounced off the wooden pontoons and the wind whistled and clattered through the masts. He didn't even know where to start. He could be searching one pontoon only to see her boat slip past him having left another. But, straining his eyes, he saw a figure step off a small yacht halfway down a pontoon to his right. His heart quickened but no, the build was wrong for Bella Westbury. Then there was the throb of a powerful engine. It was coming from the pontoon to his left. He spun round. It had to be her.

  He sprinted back down the pontoon and up the other one with the rain bashing into him. A hooded figure was loosening the stern rope. It spun round at the movement of the pontoon and the sound of his footsteps. There was no mistaking who it was this time.

  Bella Westbury hesitated, dashed a glance at the boat, looked set to jump on board, and then changed her mind. He reckoned she didn't have much choice; he could easily leap on before the boat pulled away, or, easier still, radio up and get the marine unit to pull her in.

  'Tut, tut, you were meant to tell me if you were leaving the island,' Horton said with heavy

  sarcasm, drawing level with her.

  'I didn't want to ruin your beauty sleep, Inspector.' Her expression remained impassive except, Horton thought, for a hint of scorn in the way the corners of her mouth turned down. She glanced away and retied the rope on the cleat. 'I expect you've taken Danesbrook in for questioning.'

  'He said you were the brains behind defrauding Sir Christopher.'

  She said nothing, simply raised her eyebrows.

  'You'd better come with me to the station,' he said briskly, trying not to be irked by her arrogance.

  'Then I'll need to switch off the engine and collect my things.'

  Horton had no choice. Either he had to kill the engine or she did and either way if he let her out of his sight she could make a bolt for it. He wished Cantelli was here but there was no way of alerting him without phoning him and he didn't want to give Bella the slightest chance to slip away from him. He followed her on board and into the wheelhouse. The engine was silenced.

  'My things are in the cabin.'

  As he stepped down behind her he braced himself for a possible attack. He hadn't forgotten that pitchfork in Jonathan Anmore's back or the gunshot wound in Owen Carlsson's temple. He could be looking at a triple murderer who could be about to turn on him with a knife or gun.

  'I'm not your killer,' she said, reading his mind.

  'Why are you running away then?'

  'My job's finished.'

  Horton knew she didn't mean housekeeping. 'With Anmore's death?'

  'No. Like I said, I'm not your killer, and neither is Roy Danesbrook. I didn't think there was any point hanging around any longer.'

  Horton held her confident gaze. 'You didn't change sides, did you?' he said. 'In 1996 you were at the Newbury by-pass protest with Danesbrook. Your job was to infiltrate the protesters in order to tell the road contractor, or the police, or both, what the protesters were going to do. You also told Danesbrook's wife that you'd slept with her husband. Does Danesbrook know what you did to him, and that you were a spy?'

  'I don't know what you're talking about.'

  Oh,
she did all right. And she didn't seem at all worried. That infuriated him. She was too complacent, too cocky.

  Harshly he said, 'No doubt you also fed information to Intelligence on the Greenham Common peace protest and the miners' strike, and others I suspect. So who are you working for this time? And don't tell me you're not.'

  She eyed him for a moment then said, 'Seeing as you're not recording this, Inspector, I work for whoever pays and needs me, private enterprise or the government, I'm not fussy. We both know there are organizations that will give handsome rewards for leaked information about their competitors. You can't get everything from the Internet despite what people think. Sometimes it needs a real live person to get into an organization undercover.'

  'And that's your speciality,' he sneered. If she hadn't killed Arina Sutton for the money, and she was here undercover, then it couldn't have anything to do with the deaths of Helen and Lars Carlsson. So why else would she, or Danesbrook, kill Owen Carlsson? There was only one other motive – the original one: the environment. Laura Rosewood had said that there were powerful people who wanted to silence or delay Owen's findings and Bella Westbury had to be working for one of them.

  He tried again. 'Who are your paymasters this time?'

  She smiled her reply. 'You don't really expect me to go that far.'

  'Then let's try Integrated Coastal Zone Erosion, Owen Carlsson's project.'

  She looked surprised for a moment before recovering her composure. Obviously she hadn't been expecting that.

  He said, 'The results of Owen's project are to include a set of policy recommendations to deal with coastal erosion in a sustainable way, so who wanted it delayed or stopped? Is that why you killed Owen?'

  'I'm going to have trouble convincing you that I'm not Owen's killer or Jonathan's.'

  'You had to be seen to be on the side of the environment, hence your interest in it and the friendship you cultivated with Owen. You also knew that Sir Christopher Sutton was a friend of Laura Rosewood, an adviser on the environment to the European Commission, so if you were friendly with Sir Christopher you'd also be able to find out what Ms Rosewood was doing, regarding Owen's project. How did you wangle the job as Sir Christopher's housekeeper and cook?'

  'He had a vacancy. I applied.'

  He eyed her sceptically. 'When Arina arrived on the scene to look after her father you introduced her to Owen, and what a bonus that must have been for you when she and Owen fell for one another. Arina was another source of information on Owen's progress.'

  She remained silent. Well, perhaps she'd change her mind when he charged her with murder.

  'Did you set fire to Owen's house in the hope of destroying his findings?'

  'No.'

  'Did you search Thea's apartment?'

  'No.'

  'Did you kill Helen and Lars Carlsson in 1990?'

  'No.'

  She was staring at him with a slightly sardonic smile on her face that he would dearly love to wipe off. She said, 'As I've already told you, in 1990 I was with my husband, who was seriously ill.'

  Horton felt frustration well up in him. His head was pounding with fatigue. Here was a woman who was highly trained and experienced in covert operations. And one who knew when to hold her tongue. If, as Laura Rosewood had suspected, Owen had been killed because of his project then there was no way this side of the century he was going to get Bella Westbury to admit to it, or admit to having a part in his death.

  She said, 'Do you still want me to come to the station?'

  'What do you think?'

  'Then there is something you should know. I will deny your allegations about me spying at Newbury. And I shall deny having anything to do with these murders. So unless you have some firm evidence that can prove I killed Arina, Owen and Jonathan I don't think you can charge me. And you certainly won't get a confession.'

  'Then I shall try fraud.'

  She laughed. 'I haven't committed any fraud, but if you insist then I also insist on calling a solicitor, who will insist that you formally charge me or let me go. Don't you think that's all rather a waste of time and you'd be better off catching a killer?'

  'I've already caught one,' he said, but he knew his words fell on stony ground.

  NINETEEN

  Monday

  She was as good as her word. Bella Westbury said nothing until her solicitor arrived from London mid morning. Horton had tried to get her to tell him who her client was, and to admit to killing Arina Sutton, Owen Carlsson and Jonathan Anmore, but he knew even before he started that he was wasting his breath. He couldn't even get her on a charge of intent to defraud Sir Christopher Sutton's estate, especially when Danesbrook claimed the charity idea was his and he hadn't done anything wrong anyway.

  Irritated and frustrated, Horton left her with Marsden to make her formal statement and found Uckfield, Cantelli, Trueman and Somerfield in the incident room.

  'We'll have to let them go.' He threw himself into a chair. He felt exhausted and clearly so did the others judging by their faces. There were dark shadows under Cantelli's eyes whilst Uckfield's were bloodshot and his craggy face drawn and grey. Trueman's five o'clock shadow looked as though it had been round the clock twice without actually producing a beard. Only Somerfield looked relatively fresh as she placed a coffee in front of Horton, and he suspected that was some clever trick with make-up.

  'Can't we even get Danesbrook for fraud and embezzlement?' Uckfield said in desperation.

  Cantelli answered. 'Danesbrook claims he was in the process of setting up the charity and there's no one to say he wasn't. All we can get him on is not declaring any money that Sir Christopher gave him to social security.'

  Uckfield snorted in disgust then winced. Horton wondered what was wrong with him. He looked ill.

  'There's worse,' Horton said. 'Although Bella Westbury and Danesbrook have no alibi for the time of Owen's death, they have one for Arina's death, if we believe them. They now claim they were together that evening.'

  'As in having a relationship?' Uckfield asked disbelievingly.

  'Apparently. Though they're probably lying to give each other an alibi. Danesbrook was in the pub at the time of Anmore's death and Bella says she was at home alone. We've got no proof to show that either she or Danesbrook were involved in Owen's and Jonathan's deaths, and we've got about as much chance of getting a confession as we have of walking on water. Bella Westbury is as tough as a cow's backside. Did you have a word with Charlie Anmore, Somerfield? Is he OK?'

  'Yes. He said that Bella Westbury just wanted to pass on her condolences. They talked about the old days and that was it. He says it was kind of her to call.'

  Horton remained sceptical about that. He doubted Bella Westbury did anything out of pure kindness. Horton had asked Trueman to email a copy of the photograph of Bella Westbury to Sweden to ask Bohman if he recognized Bella or had heard Lars, Helen or Owen mention her name. The answer had come back negative on all counts.

  'So where does this leave us?' asked Uckfield, glowering at them all.

  It was a good question. Horton swallowed a mouthful of coffee before answering. 'It leaves us trying to find enough evidence and a motive to convict her. Has Laura Rosewood had any joy finding out who Bella's paymasters might be?'

  'She's making enquiries, but I can't see anyone owning up to it, can you?'

  Horton couldn't.

  'You've told Bella not to leave the island?' Uckfield's demand turned into a groan.

  'For the second time,' Horton replied wearily. 'And I doubt she'll take any more notice of me this time than she did before.'

  'Then put a watch on her.'

  Trueman nodded.

  Uckfield added, 'Isn't there any evidence in that bloody barn to help us catch our killer?'

  'The forensic lab is still testing various items,' Trueman said. 'There's no sign of Anmore's mobile phone, and he wasn't on a contract, but his phone company are seeing if they can list his most recent calls. We might get something from th
em later.'

  'Might's no bloody use to us,' grumbled Uckfield, frowning.

  Horton said, 'What about the gun used to kill Owen, any more news on that?'

  Cantelli answered. 'The lab has confirmed that the fragments of the bullets found in Owen's body match the gun you found Thea with.'

  'Could it have been Anmore's?'

  Kate Somerfield said, 'Charlie told me that his son often sailed to France. Perhaps Jonathan picked up the gun there.'

  She had a point. Horton said, 'Anmore's boat is small enough not to draw too much attention from the Customs boys.'