‘Doesn’t mean to say he hasn’t any, though. Have you traced all his girlfriends?’
‘I doubt it. He was married once. She died in a car accident in 1996.’
‘Convenient.’
‘Yes.’
A car passed them heading for the boatyard. Horton recognized it instantly. ‘Quick, turn round. That’s Cliff Wesley.’
Eames expertly swung the vehicle around and they drew up alongside Wesley at the outer cordon where PC Allen had stopped him. Through the open passenger window Horton addressed the dishevelled dark-haired man.
‘We’ve been trying to get hold of you all day, Mr Wesley; is there something wrong with your phone?’
‘Not my phone, my editor.’ He looked hot and harassed. ‘He’s had me dashing about from job to job like a blue-arsed fly. If the newspaper put its hands deeper in its pockets and employed a couple more press photographers I might not have to re-do jobs that the so-called professional freelancers they engage cock up, which is why I’ve had to return here after all the fun is over,’ he grumbled.
‘I’d hardly call it that,’ Horton said acerbically.
‘Perhaps I could get a shot of the police divers.’ Wesley jerked his head in the direction of the quay.
‘Unlikely. A moment of your time, sir.’ It wasn’t a question. Horton climbed out and indicated he expected Wesley to do the same.
With a weary sigh he obliged. Eames followed suit.
‘What do you know about this woman?’ Horton nodded at Eames, who showed Wesley the photograph of Salacia.
‘Leanne told me about her. She was at Woodley’s funeral.’
‘Did you see her talk to any of Woodley’s mourners?’
‘Not while I was photographing them. And I didn’t take any pictures of her either. My life might be a lot easier if I had done,’ he complained, taking a packet of cigarettes from the top pocket of his short-sleeved white shirt. ‘If I’d have known she was going to get herself killed I’d have ignored Woodley’s sycophantic lot and concentrated on the poor cow.’ He removed a cigarette and offered the packet to Horton, who shook his head. Eames did likewise.
‘Did you see her arrive?’
‘Not exactly.’ He lit up and exhaled.
Horton wondered what the hell that meant. Before he could ask, Wesley continued. ‘Superintendent Uckfield and his boy arrived and walked to the rear of the crem. I was in the car having a fag and checking the images I’d just shot which, judging by the expressions of the mourners, would make you think that Woodley was not only a blessed saint but had been loved as much as Mother Teresa. I thought I might get some more interesting shots after the funeral when Woodley’s friends thought I’d gone.’
‘Did you?’ Horton recalled the photographs the picture editor had shown them.
‘Only the one of you with the fat detective looking baffled.’
Yeah, thanks, thought Horton, knowing that was the real reason why Wesley had stayed on. He’d seen Uckfield arrive, thought he might get an interesting shot, and Horton wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already sold the image to one of the tabloids. Tomorrow he, Uckfield and Marsden could be staring out of one of the national newspapers accompanied by indignant headlines that would make them look incompetent. It was par for the course but Dean was not going to be a happy man and Uckfield would go ballistic. Perhaps he’d better warn him.
Crisply he said, ‘So when did you first notice her?’
‘I’d checked the pictures, had a fag, and it was getting hot in the car so I got out and went to stand under the trees to watch for Woodley’s mob. I didn’t think they’d be long and they weren’t. I’d only just got there when I heard them. So I walked back to the front and she was there. I thought nice-looking woman, good figure, smart. The mourners for the next funeral were arriving. I turned, took some more shots of Woodley’s crowd and of you, then showed them to Leanne.’
Horton remembered seeing them in a huddle over the camera.
‘I went back to the car, lit a fag and left.’
‘And the woman?’
‘I didn’t see her again.’
Disappointing. Horton studied the careworn sharp-featured face and the slightly bloodshot eyes. There was no reason for Wesley to lie.
‘Were the mourners for the next funeral still outside when you left?’
Wesley exhaled, and scratched his chin. ‘I think they were going into the chapel. I don’t remember noticing the woman with them, or I should say I don’t recall seeing that hat. She could have taken it off I suppose but I think I would have noticed that dress and her figure in amongst a lot of older people. Any idea who she is?’
‘Not yet.’ Horton wasn’t going to be drawn into commenting any further. There didn’t seem anything more Wesley could tell him but as a final shot he asked, ‘Have you ever seen her before?’
Wesley again studied the photograph, Horton wondered if he should ask him to imagine her as a blonde rather than dark-haired but he’d hold back on that for now.
‘No, can’t say that I have.’
‘We’ll need a statement from you. Call into the station tomorrow,’ he insisted, knowing that tomorrow Wesley’s photograph of him, Uckfield and Marsden would be in the newspapers.
‘If I can.’
‘We’ll send a car for you.’
‘No need, I’ll drop by,’ Wesley said hastily and uneasily.
‘See that you do.’ And Horton thought the Super himself might want to personally take the photographer’s statement. Horton wouldn’t like to be in Wesley’s shoes. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard he thought his own might be rather uncomfortable when he showed up in the incident suite. But before he did he told Eames to return to Patricia Harlow’s house to collect that list of mourners who’d been at her aunt’s funeral.
FIVE
‘Bloody hell, it’s the missing detective! I thought you had eloped with the posh tart,’ exploded Uckfield, as Horton entered his office. Bliss was there and Horton could see that she was torn between disapproval of him for being so late and Uckfield for his politically incorrect comments.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ demanded Uckfield, nodding Horton into the seat beside Bliss.
‘Sailing.’
‘What?’
Horton hurried on before Uckfield burst a blood vessel and Bliss demanded his resignation for dereliction of duty, or for going against some regulation he’d never heard of. He explained his theory that the victim could have been taken to the boatyard by boat or that her killer could have arrived and left by sea after killing her. Uckfield looked far from convinced and Bliss was eyeing him as though he should be sectioned.
‘I can’t see any of Woodley’s associates owning a boat,’ she primly declared.
‘They could have stolen one. I’ve got Sergeant Elkins checking.’
She didn’t seem too pleased about the idea, probably because she hadn’t thought of it herself. He added, ‘And buying a small boat wouldn’t cost much anyway, especially as Sholby and Hobbs are flush at the moment, or they were before they bought new cars for cash.’
Bliss eyed him sharply. He relayed what Walters had discovered. ‘If it’s a pay-off from Marty Stapleton for getting rid of Woodley then not only is the timing wrong for our victim being the paymaster but Woodley came very expensive and I can’t see him being worth that amount of money when Reggie would probably have done it for a packet of fags. I think it’s either money from the Mason robbery and this garage proprietor, Mellings, is involved—’
‘Providing the van that was used,’ Bliss interjected.
‘Possibly, or Sholby, Hobbs and Mellings are involved in vehicle theft and fraud. Mellings could be fencing stolen cars and Sholby and Hobbs could be stealing them to order using Mellings as go-between to get rid of them. The cars Sholby and Hobbs are driving could be payment in kind, or stolen, re-sprayed and recycled, and I don’t mean in the environmental sense. They’re legitimately registered with new registration numbers but that
might not be the vehicle registrations they started life with.’
Bliss addressed Uckfield. ‘I’d like to pursue this with the Vehicle Fraud Unit. It might be something we can use to get more information out of Sholby and Hobbs on the Woodley investigation.’
For one awful moment Horton wondered if she was going to ask to have him pulled off the murder investigation to work on it but perhaps something in Uckfield’s expression prevented her. Uckfield said, ‘OK, but we bring Reggie Thomas in first thing tomorrow, before the bugger can wipe the sleepy dust from his bloodshot eyes, and you can interview him. The warrant’s come through to search his mangy bedsit.’
‘I’ll keep you informed, sir,’ Bliss said rising. No doubt, thought Horton, hurrying off to email the head of the Vehicle Fraud Unit, and to read through the case notes on the Mason’s robbery. A result on that would put a feather in her ponytail and if it gave them new information on Woodley’s murder it would put a ruddy great bow in it.
Once the door closed, Uckfield let out a breath. ‘That should keep her amused and off my back for a while. So what else have we got?’
Horton swiftly relayed Eames’s views on the victim’s clothes and the possibility of enquiring at the top fashion houses.
‘Got contacts there, has she?’ Uckfield sneered.
‘Probably.’ But Horton registered Uckfield’s note of sarcasm. He was curious to know why the big man had so taken against Eames. Perhaps he just didn’t like her posh voice.
He then told Uckfield about Dr Clayton’s findings ending with the fact the victim had disguised her appearance. Uckfield frowned as he considered this. Before he could speak though Horton continued, ‘The reasons for this could be she’s someone famous, such as an actress—’
‘Unlikely!’ scoffed Uckfield.
‘She was known to someone in Woodley’s crowd and didn’t want to be recognized—’
‘But she was and that someone killed her.’
‘She was wanted by us, and hoped to go unnoticed.’
‘In that dress! And wearing a ruddy great hat! Hardly a disguise if she was on the run.’
Horton agreed. She’d been wearing the right colour for a funeral but she could have dressed more conservatively.
‘Or—’
‘There’s more!’ Uckfield mocked.
‘She was ordered to attend Woodley’s funeral as the paymaster—’
‘Yeah, we got that far—’
‘Because Marty wanted her taken out.’
Uckfield frowned and opened his mouth to speak but Horton quickly resumed. He’d been chewing this idea over for a couple of hours and was keen to try it out. ‘Let’s say Marty wants shot of Salacia.’
‘Who the hell is that?’
‘It’s Eames’s name for the victim. Salacia was the Roman goddess of the sea.’
‘Just shows what a good education can do for you; come up with poncy names.’
Ignoring Uckfield’s jibe, Horton continued, ‘Let’s go back to the beginning. Marty arranges for Reggie Thomas to take Woodley out. Thomas tries to oblige but is disturbed attacking Woodley. Reggie gets one of his mates to pick Woodley up outside the hospital and take him to a remote place to die. Salacia shows up at the funeral as instructed by Marty. She gives Reggie the nod, which we all miss. Reggie agrees to meet her at Tipner Quay for the pay-off for dealing with Woodley. Salacia’s been told by Marty, or via one of Marty’s outside contacts, that Woodley has to die because of the attack on him in prison. Salacia believes it. Woodley is expendable, and perhaps Marty did want to get back at him. After giving Reggie the nod at the crematorium, Salacia returns to the car.’
‘You mean her car?’
‘No.’ Eagerly Horton resumed, ‘We’ve assumed from her sun tan that it’s possible she lived abroad and that she could have flown into the country. But perhaps she didn’t come in on any scheduled flight. Perhaps she flew in by private plane. It’s not so far-fetched, as you think, Steve,’ he quickly added to Uckfield’s incredulous stare. ‘Marty’s got millions stashed away. He could probably afford to hire a jet. A small light aeroplane could easily have flown into Southampton or any private airport around the region although I can’t see her flying into the Isle of Wight, unless . . .’
‘What? She swam across the Solent?’ Uckfield said sarcastically.
‘No, but she could have come from there by boat, and I mean a nice comfortable luxury motorboat, like yours. It would only have taken twenty minutes, half an hour at the most to get across the Solent. On her arrival she caught a taxi, or had a hire car waiting or travelled with this person who had been paid to bring her into the country. He drove her to the crematorium for her prearranged rendezvous with Reggie. Dr Clayton says Salacia ate a meal and had sex before she was killed and it’s unlikely she’d have done either with Reggie Thomas, or any of Woodley’s associates. It’s far more likely it was with whoever she came with.’
‘Wouldn’t this person have noticed she didn’t come back?’ Uckfield said dryly.
‘Yes, and he’s kept quiet because he’s her killer. Reggie could have been told to stay away from the quay and keep his mouth shut.’
‘Would Marty let Reggie Thomas live?’
‘Not for long.’
In the brief pause that followed, Horton heard the phones ringing in the incident suite. He continued. ‘We need to check out all the private airfields and the marinas.’
Uckfield picked up his pen and began to play with it. ‘Why would Marty want her killed?’
‘For any number of reasons: he’s discovered she’s been cheating on him while he’s been inside; she’s been spending too much of his money; she’s begun to blab; he’s got bored with her; he just wants to show he’s still boss, or could be for all of those reasons. And Stapleton’s not going to tell us. He’s kept quiet about her until now.’
Uckfield threw down his pen. ‘OK, I’ll buy it. Anything else?’
Horton reported the outcome of his brief interviews with Fiona Wright and Cliff Wesley, deciding to omit the bit about Wesley’s photograph of them possibly being in the newspaper tomorrow. That certainly wouldn’t improve the Super’s mood. He’d find out about it soon enough and hopefully when Horton was some miles away. ‘The funeral director called me while we were on our way to Patricia Harlow’s to collect the list of mourners at her aunt’s funeral. His drivers didn’t see the victim while the service was being conducted and neither of them noticed her beforehand. They don’t remember seeing her after the service either so unless she was with this unknown person in the crematorium gardens she must already have left, possibly with him. We’ve also got the list of the members who were drinking in the club last night. Aside from the Chief Constable and Councillor Levy there were only six people, two women and four men. Anything from SOCO?’
‘There are tyre tracks in the boatyard, but they’re too vague to be of any use. There’s no forensic evidence where the body lay on the wreck but Taylor’s sent the seaweed and fragments of wood from the boat for examination, for all the good it will do. Trueman’s got teams checking the statements supplied by Manley and his divers, the boatman and the crane operative.’
‘Any joy from your press briefing?’
‘Nothing so far,’ Uckfield answered gloomily. ‘I’ve asked for anyone at the crematorium at the critical time to come forward but we’ll probably get all the loonies and the usual nutters confessing to murder, including that mad woman from Gosport who claims to have killed everyone from the Duke of Buckingham in 1628 onwards.’
Horton gave a brief smile.
Uckfield rose and stretched his back.
Horton continued. ‘Gregory Harlow is currently on the Isle of Wight at the festival. Despite what his wife says we need to make sure he doesn’t recognize or know Salacia, so why don’t I kill two birds with one stone tomorrow, interview Harlow, show him photographs of the victim dark-haired and fair-haired, and visit the prison. I can talk to the Head of Operations and see what I can flush out on Woodl
ey, and the attack on Stapleton. I can also see what the Intelligence Directorate haven’t told us.’
‘Good idea,’ Uckfield replied with enthusiasm.
‘I’d also like to re-interview the landlord of the Lord Horatio and see if I can jog his memory. He might recall something new about Woodley’s visit there before he was attacked. And I can get his reaction when I show him the photographs of Salacia. I’d like Eames with me.’
‘I bet you would.’ There was a tap on the door and Eames entered. ‘Talk of the devil,’ Uckfield muttered.
‘I’ve checked the Marty Stapleton file and there’s no record of Stapleton owning a boat or any reference to his known associates having one.’
‘Doesn’t mean they haven’t got one now or hired one,’ Uckfield replied then bellowed, ‘What?’ as another knock came at his office door.
Marsden entered flushed and excited. ‘We’ve found her shoe, sir.’
‘All right, no need to wave it about like a bloody trophy.’
‘Sorry, sir. The divers are continuing the operation tomorrow morning.’
‘Are they on a work to rule?’ cried Uckfield with a pointed look at his watch.
‘It’ll be dark in less than an hour—’
‘So? It’s as dark as pitch down there anyway, what difference does the night make?’
‘They need to take a break, sir, and er it will cost more if they have to work overtime.’
‘They’ll be having their own union next. I thought they were police officers like us.’
Eames, taking the evidence bag containing the shoe from Marsden, said, ‘Where did they find it?’
‘Lodged under some wood on the wreck below the one the victim was discovered on. The divers are searching the second wreck more thoroughly tomorrow for her handbag, and the murder weapon.’
Horton said, ‘Ask them to look for a torch.’
‘Yeah, to light their bloody way.’
Ignoring Uckfield’s comment, Eames said, ‘This matches the victim’s. It’s a Jimmy Choo.’
With heavy sarcasm, Uckfield said, ‘Goody, now all we have to do is interview all of Jimmy Choo’s customers who bought this shoe in a size six, ask them to show us their shoes and the woman who can’t is our victim, just like bloody Cinderella, which about sums up this pantomime of a case.’
Death Lies Beneath Page 7
