While he’d waited for SOCO and Uckfield to arrive, Horton had returned to Hazleton’s house by way of the fields, leaving Vernon secured. There he’d picked up a mobile signal and called first the incident suite in Ventnor, then Uckfield, before ringing Cantelli.
‘I’ve been trying to get you for hours,’ Cantelli said, with relief in his voice. Then Cantelli had told him that he’d found Sarah Walpen listed as a passenger on the SS Agora, and had discovered Russell Glenn’s name on the list of crew.
Horton had quickly relayed what had happened and what Vernon had said. Horton asked Cantelli to get him the names of boat owners at Ventnor Haven. If neither Russell Glenn nor Oliver Vernon had killed Yately, Lisle and Hazleton, then only one person could have done. Horton had then ridden the Harley along the top road until he’d found the track off it that led down to Sarah’s house and he’d relayed instructions to the patrol cars on how to find it. Someone had brought him a pair of socks and shoes to replace his sodden ones.
Uckfield joined him at the water’s edge ‘Vernon’s still insisting he didn’t kill the others.’
‘He didn’t.’
‘Then who the hell did?’ Uckfield cried, surprised.
Horton checked his watch. It was almost six thirty but if they were lucky there was still time. He turned and headed back up the cliff top. Uckfield had no choice but to follow him. ‘Where are you going?’ he said breathlessly.
‘Newport.’
Uckfield frowned. Then he raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t mean Yately’s former wife killed her husband and the others?’
‘No, but Yately’s divorce was how Arthur Lisle and Colin Yately became friends. They discovered a mutual interest in local history, which unfortunately led to their deaths.’
Horton gave Uckfield the address and directions, and half an hour later he watched Uckfield pull up beside him outside the offices of Wallingford and Chandler. Horton pushed open the door and was once again staring up at the photographs on the wall behind reception.
‘I was just leaving,’ Chandler’s secretary Linda said nervously. Horton showed his ID in case she had forgotten who he was, though clearly she hadn’t. ‘We need a word with Mr Chandler. Would you tell him we’re here?’ But Chandler must have seen them pull up because he entered reception.
‘No need. You can close up, Linda.’
Before she could do so two uniformed officers stepped inside. Linda scuttled away wide-eyed. Chandler frowned, but said pleasantly enough, ‘Shall we go up to my office.’ It wasn’t a question.
As he led the way up the sweeping staircase to the first floor Uckfield threw Horton an irritated glance. Horton knew Uckfield would have liked the facts before they’d entered the premises but Horton didn’t know them all for certain yet, though he suspected that most of what he’d managed to put together would be close to the truth. No one spoke until they were seated in Chandler’s tastefully decorated and spacious office, when Horton introduced Uckfield.
Chandler’s eyebrow rose in surprise and a solemn expression crossed his face. ‘I take it this is about poor Victor’s death and Arthur being missing. You obviously have some news and by your demeanour I deduce that it isn’t good.’
‘We’ve found Arthur Lisle. He’s dead,’ Horton said bluntly.
The eyebrow went up and down. ‘This is rather a shock, Inspector.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I. . maybe not.’ Chandler frowned. ‘I wasn’t completely honest with you on your first visit, and I apologize for that, but I felt some loyalty towards Arthur. When you said that Victor was dead, I couldn’t believe that Arthur could have killed him, but Arthur must have discovered that Victor had an affair with Abigail. That, and being distraught over her death, must have unbalanced him.’
Good try, thought Horton, and it’s what they had once thought, but not now. Although only Dr Clayton, at her post-mortem, would be able to confirm exactly how Arthur Lisle had died, not even a suicide could rise up and drive his car into the sea with a body in the boot. Evenly, Horton said, ‘That’s not why Victor Hazleton died. He, Colin Yately and Arthur Lisle died because you couldn’t bear the thought that Hazleton’s greed and his systematic theft of a client’s estate, plus the fact he could have killed that client, would expose your firm and ruin your reputation.’
Both eyebrows shot up this time and Chandler’s face flushed. ‘Are you implying that I killed them? That is a ludicrous accusation. I resent it and your tone and-’
‘You can resent it all you like,’ Uckfield growled, leaning forward, quickly picking up on Horton’s meaning. ‘But it’s the truth and you know it.’
Horton would have preferred to play it more slowly and carefully but that was not Uckfield’s way.
‘I refuse to say any more, not without a lawyer present,’ Chandler bristled.
Horton picked up Chandler’s phone. ‘You’ll need one.’
Chandler glared at Horton. He snatched the phone from him but didn’t make the call. ‘First, tell me exactly how I am supposed to have killed them,’ he sneered.
Uckfield stood up. ‘That’s what you’re going to tell us.’
But Horton ignored Uckfield’s impatient tone, and said, ‘Prompted by their research into influential people on the Island, Yately and Lisle discovered the Walpens, and that their lineage ended with Sarah Walpen who had gone to live in the States in 1957. But Arthur Lisle remembered the name and was convinced he’d handled a property matter for her in the 1980s. He could find no record of her death or any record of her living on the Island since 1957, which he found rather puzzling. He couldn’t remember the exact date he’d acted for her so he went to see Hazleton to ask if he remembered, and was amazed he was living so well. Hazleton must have fobbed him off with some feeble answer but Lisle was suspicious. Gradually, as Yately uncovered more history of the Walpens and relayed it to Lisle, he began to see what must have happened. His memory jogged, he finally remembered when he had acted for her, in October 1980. But when he requested the archive files there was no record of the transaction and none on the computer. So why wasn’t it on the system? One person could easily have erased the computer file and never archived the documentation: Victor Hazleton. But Lisle said nothing to Hazleton about it then. He wanted proof.’
Uckfield sniffed and crossed to the window, where he turned and steadily eyed Chandler. Dashing a glance at Uckfield and then back at Horton, Chandler said coolly, ‘Go on, Inspector.’ He replaced the phone.
‘Hazleton retired in 1986 and bought that house in 1990. We know that Sarah Walpen took a cruise before deciding to settle on the Island but she never reached her new home.’ Or at least she didn’t alive. ‘The property transaction was conducted by post and fax and all the paperwork and the deeds to the house were held here at your offices. I’m not sure when Victor Hazleton became curious, a year, maybe two years later, perhaps when he was about to archive the files, but he realized the deeds had never been collected. He called at the house, found it empty and clearly neglected. Sarah Walpen’s belongings had been shipped over and were in the house but they’d never been unpacked, and the furniture had just been placed in the rooms without being arranged. He saw the trunks with the labels on them and discovered that the SS Agora had disembarked on to a ferry in the Solent because of a dockers’ strike at Southampton. Inside one of the trunks he found the body of Sarah Walpen.’
‘This really is an incredible story,’ Chandler said in a supercilious manner.
‘Extraordinary but true. Hazleton waited to see if her killer returned or her body was discovered, but no one came and the house slowly fell into disrepair. He kept the deeds, extracted all the paperwork pertaining to the property transaction, and wiped the files clean. He could never take over the house because that might have been too risky. Instead he began to unpack her belongings and found many valuable antiques and jewellery, which her family had amassed over the generations and which she’d built on. Much of the furniture was also valuable, and
while he was still fairly young, he could access the house before it became too overgrown. He transported a lot of the furniture, which he pretended was his, to his new house when he bought it in 1990. He began to sell the smaller items, slowly, piece by piece, in different auction houses in the south of England. No one cottoned on and he amassed enough money to live a life of luxury until he was killed on Tuesday night.’
‘This is a fascinating tale, Inspector.’
Horton ignored him. ‘Arthur Lisle couldn’t find any record of Sarah’s property transaction, and now that his memory had been stirred he remembered that she’d mentioned something about a cruise before settling down.’ Horton didn’t know that for certain but he thought it probably a good guess. ‘So Yately set off for Southampton on the Monday before his death to view the records of the passenger lists of the liners coming in to the port from 1980 to 1986, when Hazleton retired. Yately, a thorough, patient man, found Sarah Walpen. He took a photograph of the entry and returned excited. Arthur Lisle came to you and told you about the fraud, and said that you had to call in the police, which was the last thing you wanted.’
Chandler sucked in his breath. He held Horton’s eye contact and frowned. Horton could see his mind racing, looking for a way out.
Horton continued. ‘You told Lisle that you needed to speak to Colin Yately first and make absolutely sure. Lisle said he’d call Yately and ask him to meet you, at your suggestion, at Sarah Walpen’s house on Wednesday evening, but Lisle couldn’t make it. Lisle must have worked out or finally remembered where Sarah’s house was, or perhaps he checked with the Land Registry. He’d already visited Hazleton and seen his antiques paraded around the house, so knew it had to be nearby. But Lisle had arranged to go away until Monday, we’re not sure where yet, but we’ll find out. I suspect it was a walking break, visiting the places he and his wife had walked when they’d first met.’ Horton recalled the photographs of Abigail and Arthur Lisle in walking clothes at the Brecon Beacons, which he’d seen on the mantelpiece in Lisle’s house.
‘You met Colin Yately. Knocked him unconscious and tied him up. You left him in that house until you could decide how to dispose of him. You had a little time on your hands because Lisle wasn’t due back until Monday.’
‘This really is incredible.’
Uckfield snorted and made to interject, but Horton got there first. ‘On Saturday night you took your fishing boat, which I think we’ll find is moored at Ventnor Haven, around to the bay on the high tide.’ Cantelli had yet to confirm that but Horton could see he had guessed correctly, and the office manager had told them that the day Arthur Lisle had asked to view the archived files Chandler had been out fishing, with a client.
‘You returned to Sarah Walpen’s house and forced Yately down to the shore, where you tortured him into telling you that he’d written notes about Sarah Walpen and what had happened to her. You took his keys off his key fob, leaving him with the picture of his daughter, because you had to give the keys to Arthur Lisle and say that Colin had given them to you. Lisle would have been suspicious if you’d given him the key fob as well because he knew that Yately would never part with the picture of his daughter. You then left him to drown, callously waiting until he had, before hauling him out using the winch on your fishing boat. Then you untied him and left him in an inlet in the small bay while you decided how to dispose of him. You weren’t sure yet whether you needed the body to frame Lisle or Hazleton. Only the body showed up in the Solent, not far from Portsmouth Harbour, and you assumed it had been washed out to sea, but then you didn’t know about the dress.’
Chandler couldn’t hide his surprise quickly enough for Horton not to notice, but said nothing.
Despising the calculating killer in front of him, Horton pressed on. ‘On Monday evening you called on Arthur Lisle, or asked him to come here after hours. You gave him Yately’s keys and asked him to collect Yately’s notes, the camera and briefcase. If anyone saw him it would throw suspicion on him as the killer. You told Lisle to bring them to Sarah’s house, where you said you’d arranged to meet Yately, and the three of you would decide what action to take.’
Horton wished they could shove the gruesome pictures of Lisle’s decomposing body under the solicitor’s nose; maybe they would if Chandler decided to continue with his denials. It might shock him into telling the truth.
Grimly, Horton continued, ‘You killed Lisle, but Hazleton was on one of his little nocturnal jaunts and saw you. That suited you fine. You killed him, stuffed him in the boot of Lisle’s car and drove it to Chale Bay where you ditched it, hoping that we would believe Lisle had done so and then killed himself. You live not far from there.’ He recalled what Cantelli had said: Chandler lives in a large country manor house at Kingston, and that wasn’t far from Chale Bay. ‘You walked home that night. We’ll check with your family, of course.’
Uckfield stepped forward. Brusquely he said, ‘You’d better make that call.’
Chandler took a deep breath. ‘There’s been some mistake.’
Horton saw that he’d finally shaken him. Good. He hoped the smug bastard would be shaken a great deal more by the time they’d finished.
‘Tell that to your lawyer,’ Horton snapped, rising.
Uckfield went out into the corridor and called in the uniformed officers waiting there.
Slowly Chandler rose. ‘Victor Hazleton was a snob and a horrible little man. He’d take every chance to rub my nose in the fact he had more money than me. Him, a mere clerk!’
‘That was no reason to kill him,’ snarled Uckfield, as one of the officers took Chandler’s arm.
‘Wasn’t it?’ snapped Chandler. ‘I wasn’t going to have everything I’ve worked for, and my father worked for, brought down by him and his filthy dishonesty. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my practice and my son’s future, not to mention my family’s name.’
‘No, you’ve done that yourself,’ Horton said tightly, as Chandler was led away.
‘Pompous prat,’ Uckfield pronounced after him.
And a ruthless killer; a man who thought he could destroy lives and get away with it, thought Horton.
‘Good result,’ Uckfield rubbed his hands. ‘And we’ve beaten Wonder Boy’s deadline.’ He reached for his phone.
‘There’s Avril Glenn.’
‘Shit. No one’s told her about her husband.’
‘I’ll do that. I know her.’
‘You never said,’ Uckfield said, startled.
‘I’d like to do it before the charity reception tonight.’
‘Christ, I’d forgotten about that. I heard the Chief’s going to it. I’d better come with you.’
‘He won’t be there until later. Might be better though if you called him and briefed him.’
Uckfield brightened at that. A malicious gleam spread across his face. Horton knew what he was thinking. It would be one in the eye for Dean. ‘I’ll do it on the ferry.’
The cold evening air helped to clear Horton’s thumping head. It had been a long day and it wasn’t over yet. ‘What about interviewing Chandler?’ he asked.
‘Tomorrow will do when his brief shows up. Let him stew in a cell overnight. I’ll get him shipped back to the mainland for the questioning and a confession.’
If he’ll make one, thought Horton, heading for the ferry. And even if he didn’t Trueman and the team would dig up the evidence and check Chandler’s movements. And they would show him photographs of Lisle’s body. Horton spared a sorrowful thought for Rachel Salter and for Hannah Yately, before his mind switched to his forthcoming meeting with Avril and the unpleasant task that lay ahead.
TWENTY-THREE
Horton waved his ID at the security guards at the marina office at the top of the pontoon. There were three more than usual and two of them were coppers who tried to avoid his gaze. He headed down to Russell Glenn’s superyacht. Lights blazed from every porthole but there were no guests on board yet. The reception wasn’t due to start for another hour. He’d just ma
naged to catch a ferry, leaving a no doubt fuming Uckfield at the terminal, kicking his heels, or rather cursing vehemently, while waiting for the next sailing. He was glad. He wanted to be alone with Avril when he broke the news.
Climbing on board he didn’t need to show his ID to Walters. ‘Where’s Lloyd?’ he asked.
‘Not sure, haven’t seen him for hours. Mr Danby’s with the skipper, up there?’ Walters jerked his head towards the flybridge. Good. Horton hoped he’d stay there. ‘Not come to fetch me, Guv, have you?’ Walters asked warily.
‘Why would I want you?’
‘Dunno. Good bit of extra money this, wouldn’t want to lose it.’
‘I think you might have to.’ Walters’ face fell, but before he could comment Horton pushed open the glass doors and stepped into the gleaming luxurious lounge where the smell of new leather, mahogany furniture and deep-pile wool carpets greeted him. Beyond it he could catch the faint aroma of food that was no doubt being prepared for the reception. The steward was behind a bar in the far right-hand corner setting out bottles of champagne in ice buckets. He asked Horton to wait while he fetched Mrs Glenn. Horton crossed to the seaward windows and gazed across the harbour at Gosport beyond. It had grown dark. The lights of the harbour and the tower blocks behind it glinted down on them. It made him think about his own childhood gazing across a brightly lit city from the eighteenth floor of their council flat to the dark sea beyond, watching the lights of the boats slowly cross a black horizon with a panicky feeling that he’d be encased in the tower for ever. The memory startled him. The thought that he was alone, afraid and imprisoned caught at his breath and tightened his chest, but before he could explore his feelings the door behind him opened and he spun round to see Avril smiling. She was exquisitely dressed in an expensive, figure-hugging aquamarine-blue evening dress, and immaculately made-up. Her blonde hair shone and her pale-blue eyes greeted him with a friendly smile. It made his heart lurch but this time with disappointment, not excitement or lust.
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