'Irene Ebury was Miss Southsea in 1957,' Trueman said, following Horton into his office. He handed over a newspaper cutting. Horton gave a soft whistle.
Peering over his shoulder, Cantelli said, 'They made real women in those days.'
'Better not let Charlotte hear you say that.'
But Irene had indeed been good-looking, thought Horton, staring at the curvaceous eighteen-year-old. Her long blonde wavy hair curled on to her shoulders, she was wearing a one piece light-coloured swimsuit, which could have been white, but Horton couldn't tell because it was a black and white photograph, and high-heeled court shoes. She was being crowned by a dark-haired man in his late forties wearing a sharp suit. Reading the caption under the newspaper article, Horton saw he was the actor, Dale
Bourton.
'Ever heard of him, Barney?' Horton asked.
'He was a heart-throb in the fifties and early sixties, labelled the English Gregory Peck. Starred in a couple of British movies, then seemed to disappear from the scene. I'll look him up on the Internet.'
Horton could see that Trueman had more. He gestured for him to continue.
'She left Portsmouth in 1958 and worked in London at a couple of nightclubs until 1963, then there's no record of employment, or address for her, until she showed up back here in 1973, pregnant with Peter. She never married and she lived in Mile End for a while before being given a council flat in Jensen House.'
Horton started. It was where he had lived with his mother. Here was another connection between the two women, not only had they worked together but they'd lived in the same tower block. And that disturbed him. 'What number?' he asked warily.
'Fifteenth floor. Number one hundred and twenty.'
My God! The same floor even and a couple of flats down from his childhood home! He looked again at the picture. He couldn't recall Irene Ebury, but then he'd only been a child and more interested in other things, like football. He'd returned to Jensen House before Christmas, trying to retrieve some memory of the day his mother had disappeared. He hadn't been successful in that, but he had found his neighbour of 1978 still living there. Would Mrs Cobden recognize Irene? It was worth asking. He also wouldn't mind pushing the newspaper cutting underneath Marion Keynes' nose just to show her that Irene hadn't been making it up. And if she hadn't invented that, then maybe Mrs Kingsway hadn't been imagining this intruder either. After what Dr Clayton had told him though, there didn't seem any case to answer. But his copper's sixth sense was twitching worse than a rabbit's nose.
He briefed Trueman on the results of the post-mortems.
'Do you still want me to poke around?' he asked when Horton had finished.
'Only if you haven't got anything better to do.'
Trueman rose. 'Superintendent Uckfield's been out most of the day. I'll squeeze it in when I have time. And it beats wading around in mud.' He jerked his head at the door, smiling. Horton looked up to see a very wet and filthy Walters waddling in carrying a large plastic bag full of what looked like scrap metal, drink cans and food cartons. Walters wasn't waving a mobile phone and neither did he look very happy, so Horton guessed he hadn't found it and turned to Cantelli.
'For God's sake, Barney, stop him from coming any further. The cleaners will have a fit if he trails all that dirt through here.'
'I think they've already probably gone on strike if he's walked through the station like that.'
'Take that bag over to scientific services. Then shoot off home, Barney, and tell Walters to do the same, and quickly.'
Horton called the scientific services department and told them about the bag, but not that every item inside it would be caked in the mud of Langstone Harbour. He wasn't that brave or foolish. They'd soon find out. He checked his desk but there was still no message from Uckfield or Ray Ferris about DC Lee. And there was no case file on the Peter Ebury robbery. That should have been with him by now. He'd get Cantelli to chase it up tomorrow.
He sat back, and as the rain drummed against the window, he let his mind roam through the events of Lee's first day on the team looking for one small thing – a word, a glance, a gesture – anything that told him who she really was and what she was doing here. He could find none.
He sighed. Maybe there was nothing to find, just like Dr Clayton's results showed. But his mind refused to admit that. If the deaths were suspicious, then all the victims had been killed so expertly that it couldn't be detected.
He posed himself some theories. What if Irene's stolen jewellery was a distraction and the real purpose of the theft had been to take her photograph album? Could there have been an incriminating picture in it? He didn't mean pornographic, just something that would expose a secret. Could the missing photographs and letters have any connection with when Irene had lived in London or where she had been between 1963 and 1973?
The outer door swung open and Lee marched in. He beckoned her into his office.
'Well?'
'Daniel Collins was a quiet man. The staff and residents liked him. He didn't socialize with the staff outside work and didn't talk very much about his personal life, except for his marine photography. He only worked days so I didn't think there was any point hanging around to talk to the night staff.'
'Had anyone ever seen Daniel Collins drink alcohol?'
'No. And as far as any of them know Daniel didn't know the owners. They very rarely see them. Everything is left to the manager, Mrs Northwood, to deal with.'
'How did she react when you asked her why she hadn't mentioned Daniel's death to us?'
'She said that she'd been too tired and worried about Mrs Kingsway to think about it. And then there was the shock of finding Irene's belongings missing and dealing with that obstinate inspector of mine and she asked doesn't he ever give up. I told her I hadn't known you for long, but from what I'd seen, I didn't think you were the giving-up type, not as long as there was a sun in the sky, even if it was obscured by rain, fog and cloud.'
Her words brought Horton up sharply. Lee was right. And though he couldn't see exactly
what was wrong because it was shrouded by too much happening, he could feel it, sense it and smell it. He couldn't let the matter of Dr Clayton's autopsy reports put him off. And he couldn't let the fact that Lee might not be all she was making out to be stop him. There was something wrong at that nursing home and he was going to find out what it was.
'What about the residents' belongings?' he asked.
'They're all there. Only Irene's are missing.'
It was as Horton had thought. Tomorrow Trueman might get some more information on Irene, and he'd take that press cutting and show it to the old lady in the tower block. There was also the interview with social services.
'You'd better get off home, Lee.'
She rose but hesitated. 'I asked the staff where Daniel could have gone Christmas Eve; almost without fail they said there was only one place, the sub-aqua club at Eastney. I thought I could go there now and have a word with the members. It beats staring at the walls of a hotel bedroom.'
Lee was right. He should have thought of it himself. There was, however, one flaw. If Daniel had been at Eastney, then there would have been no need for him to have been on the dual carriageway and certainly not travelling south into Portsmouth.
Still, if Lee wanted to visit the sub-aqua club whilst off duty, then who was he to stop her? But she wasn't going alone. He rose.
'I'll join you.'
He'd heard the saying that the Chinese were inscrutable, but he wondered if he had just detected a flicker of disappointment in Lee's brown eyes.
EIGHT
Horton stared up at the two-storey brick building in front of him. There were lights shining from the upper floor and a handful of cars parked in the spaces in front of it, but there was one car in particular that drew his attention and made him groan. It belonged to Nicholas Farnsworth, the TV diver. He hoped that the man wasn't going to bend his ear about those bloody anonymous telephone calls. And if Farnsworth was here, then pe
rhaps Jackson and Corinna Denton were too. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all.
After Lee's brief introduction to a bodiless voice on the intercom, they stepped inside a rather gloomy and deserted entrance lobby which reeked of sea, salt and sweat. Horton peered down a long dark corridor directly ahead of him, but could see nothing except the sign on the wall that told him it led to the equipment room. From above he could hear the rumble of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.
Despatching Lee to the equipment room, he followed the sound of laughter to the top of a staircase and pushed open a door. A blast of warmth, light and conversation hit him like a slap in the face and along with it the smell of alcohol and aftershave. There were about twenty people, mainly men, in the spacious room. Some were talking at the bar but the majority were around Farnsworth. Thankfully, Horton could see no sign of Jackson or Corinna Denton.
'Inspector Horton, to what do we owe this pleasure?' Farnsworth chimed brightly, spotting him and switching on his television smile. His insincerity set Horton's teeth on edge.
The others fell silent and looked curiously at Horton. Amongst them was a petite woman in her thirties with the most remarkable smudgy blue eyes he had ever seen. 'I didn't expect to find you here,' Horton said, contriving to make it sound as though Farnsworth was slumming it.
'It's a diving club, and I am a diver,' Farnsworth rejoined unruffled, though Horton detected a hint of annoyance.
'Which is why I am here to ask questions about the death of Daniel Collins.'
Farnsworth showed no reaction, but the woman with the smudgy eyes looked startled. On the others, Horton witnessed a mixture of sadness, bewilderment and wariness. One of the men stepped forward.
'Can I help you, Inspector? I'm Gary Manners, the club secretary.'
Horton took in the broad shoulders, powerful head and sharp grey eyes. Manners seemed to be in his mid-forties and had an air of authority about him that Horton guessed came from more than just his position here.
'When was the last time you saw Daniel, sir?' he asked.
'The evening before Christmas Eve,' Manners replied crisply.
Horton could see that he had everyone's attention now, and Farnsworth didn't much like it. Well, tough. 'He was in here drinking?'
'Daniel didn't drink,' the small woman chimed, her voice like a whip cracking.
'Never?'
'Never.'
The others murmured agreement. So that seemed pretty much confirmed. Then why
drink Christmas Eve? Could it have been a reaction to his mother telling him she had breast cancer? After all, that was enough to turn anyone turn to drink.
'How did Daniel seem?' he asked.
It was Farnsworth who voiced what Horton knew they were all thinking. 'Why the questions, Inspector? Is there something suspicious about this man's death?'
Horton swivelled his gaze to Farnsworth. 'Did you know him?'
'No.'
Horton thought that rather strange given that it was a small club. But maybe Farnsworth didn't come here that often. Or perhaps Farnsworth thought himself above acknowledging someone like Daniel Collins. At that moment Lee chose to enter.
Her bright smile swept the room and Horton saw a few of the men follow her with appreciative eyes as she made straight for Farnsworth.
'Nice to see you again, Detective Constable,' Farnsworth said smoothly. 'Can I buy you a drink, if Inspector Horton will allow it?'
'Orange juice would be great,' she answered, without looking at Horton. The crowd dispersed and Horton was left facing Gary Manners.
'How often did Daniel come here?'
'Nearly every weekend when he wasn't working, and a couple of evenings a week. He was a care assistant in a nursing home, but then you probably know that.'
'Did you ever go out diving with him?'
'Once or twice. He dived with Nathan Lester quite regularly.' Manners scanned the crowd. 'He's not here, otherwise you could have had a word with him.'
'Do you know where I can find him?'
'He has an antiques shop in Highland Road. If he's not there, you might be able to get him in the marine archaeological offices in Fort Cumberland. I don't know where he lives.'
Horton could easily find that out. Lester might be able to tell them more about Daniel. 'How did Daniel seem when you last saw him?'
'Fine. His usual self.'
'And that was?'
'Quiet, watchful, thoughtful.'
'More so than usual?'
'Not really. Daniel wasn't the type to get drunk and kill himself. It must have been an accident.'
'So how do you account for the alcohol found in his body?'
'Maybe he drank something which contained alcohol without realizing it.'
Maybe, thought Horton. 'Have you any idea where he might have gone on Christmas Eve?'
'Sorry, no.' Manners' eyes flicked beyond Horton. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to talk to Nick.'
'He's their most popular member. The bastard!' came a voice from behind Horton.
He spun round to find the petite woman with the smudgy-blue eyes glowering across the room. At first he thought she was referring to Manners. Then following her hostile stare, he saw it was directed at Farnsworth.
'I'm Daisy Pemberton,' she said, stretching out a hand. Horton found her grip almost knuckle crushing. 'I was Nick's girlfriend until about ten minutes ago. He dumped me in the car park, but I refused to scuttle away with a broken heart. He didn't like me coming in,
but it's my club as well as his.'
He wouldn't have put her down as Farnsworth's type, but then how did he know what the man's preferences were, though he imagined them to be tall with long blonde hair.
She said, 'You'd better tell your buddy that she's flirting with a serial two-timing bastard.'
Horton glanced in Lee's direction and saw her laugh at something Farnsworth said. Then Farnsworth drew Lee away from Manners with a light touch on her back. For a moment Manners' guard came down and Horton caught a glimpse of anger in his expression. Then he quickly recovered his composure and turned towards another member with a smile.
'DC Lee can handle it,' Horton said. 'So who is the other woman in Farnsworth's life?'
'You're a copper, work it out for yourself.'
His mind flashed back to the Queen's Hotel and that interview with Jackson and Farnsworth. Of course, he should have seen the signs then. 'Corinna Denton.'
'No wonder you're a detective! Well, no point in my hanging around now.'
She turned to leave, but Horton forestalled her. 'Can I buy you a drink?' She could tell him more about Daniel Collins and hopefully Lee would get some information from the other club members, if she could bear to tear herself away from Farnsworth.
Daisy eyed him keenly. After a moment she shrugged. 'OK. Dry white wine.'
He ordered a Coke for himself and steered Daisy to a vacant table by the large window. Out on the black sea beyond he could see the pinpricks of the red and green of the buoys in the channel and in the distance the faint lights of a container ship.
'How often does Farnsworth come here?' he asked, putting his full attention on Daisy. It wasn't a chore.
'A few times a year, when he's not diving around Britain on that bloody stupid programme, or giving after-dinner speeches and acting the big TV personality.'
So, perhaps Farnsworth hadn't been lying when he said he didn't know Daniel Collins. Their paths might never have crossed.
She added, 'And to think I fell for Nick. I must have been mad. I mean just look at him.'
Horton did. Farnsworth was smiling at Lee as he spoke, but every now and then his eyes would flicker up and beyond her as though seeking a wider audience. Lee seemed not to notice, but Horton knew she had. He was beginning to think she was a very good cop. Why only a DC? As her temporary boss he ought to see her file. Maybe he'd request it tomorrow. He wondered if he'd be allowed to see it though.
'He's not even a good diver,' D
aisy said scathingly. 'Not like Daniel, who was also a very talented photographer.'
'I've seen some of his pictures. What was Daniel like?'
Now, down to the real business of his visit here.
'You don't think his death was an accident, do you?' she declared bluntly, holding his gaze. He knew that lying to her, or fobbing her off, wasn't going to get him what he wanted.
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