Horton wondered who the ugly sisters were.
To Marsden, Uckfield said, ‘Tell Trueman I want a briefing tomorrow morning eight thirty sharp and I want everybody there. That includes you, Agent Eames.’ He flicked her a glance. Horton couldn’t interpret what was behind it but he thought he saw suspicion and resentment.
Dismissed, Eames and Marsden left. Uckfield’s phone rang and Horton slipped away leaving him talking to his wife. He told Eames they were off to the Isle of Wight tomorrow after interviewing the landlord of the Lord Horatio pub, but he didn’t relay his theory about Marty possibly having arranged Salacia’s death. Time for that tomorrow.
In his office, he viewed his desk despairingly. At the rate his paperwork was piling up there’d soon be no rainforests left. He proceeded to push a few bits of the stuff around and replied to a couple of emails but his mind was elsewhere. He’d achieve nothing more by staying and twenty minutes later he was pulling into the marina. He caught sight of a large sleek motor cruiser on the waiting pontoon and the glimpse of a man in his early sixties on board before heading down the pontoon to his yacht. His eyes were scratching with the heat, dirt and fatigue. He felt in need of a long cool shower and an equally long cold drink but when he reached his yacht he drew up with a start; his body stiffened. Sitting in the cockpit was a tall, slim silver-haired man in an immaculate light grey suit: Detective Chief Superintendent Sawyer.
‘Inspector, I wondered if I might have a word.’
It wasn’t a question. ‘If you’ve come to discuss the case, I’m off duty,’ Horton answered tersely, climbing on board and unlocking the hatch, annoyed with himself for not spotting Sawyer’s car in the marina car park. But perhaps Sawyer, or his driver, had parked further away so that he wouldn’t see the car, wanting the element of surprise, and he’d certainly achieved that. How long had Sawyer been waiting? Not long, Horton guessed, but how had Sawyer known when he’d be arriving? Even if the man had been at the station and not headquarters some twenty miles away he couldn’t see how Sawyer could have arrived before him.
‘It’s not about the case,’ Sawyer answered.
No. Horton already knew that. There was only one reason why Sawyer was here and that was Jennifer Horton.
SIX
‘I have no idea what happened to my mother and I’m not interested,’ Horton said, descending into the cabin.
‘I don’t think you mean that.’
Horton turned and held Sawyer’s cool, penetrating stare. His dislike of the man was augmented by the fact that Sawyer knew more about his past than he cared for, but even without that Horton would have been suspicious of him. He considered Sawyer to be a man without conscience, practised in deception, emotionless and cold-hearted. And as if to prove his suppositions the bloody man wasn’t even perspiring despite the heat. Sawyer should team up with the ice-maiden, Bliss, thought Horton feeling soiled and sweaty. He didn’t offer him a seat.
Sawyer said, ‘Have you found a copy of the missing photograph belonging to former PC Adrian Stanley?’
So that was it. He might have known. His stomach knotted with tension but he took pains not to show it or let it come through in his voice as he said, ‘You mean the one of him receiving the Queen’s Medal for Gallantry with his wife wearing a brooch. No, have you?’
‘No.’
Horton believed him otherwise why else would Sawyer be here? And if Sawyer, with all his resources, couldn’t locate a copy of that photograph then he certainly wouldn’t be able to. But did Sawyer know where the brooch had come from? Had he or his team identified its origins? If so would he tell him? Only if he wanted something in exchange. The Sawyers of the world did nothing for nothing.
Making an effort to keep his tone conversational, Horton said, ‘Adrian Stanley’s son, Robin, doesn’t remember his mother wearing the brooch, but then you know that.’ Sawyer must have questioned him, as Horton had done.
‘Do you remember it?’ asked Sawyer
‘No.’ He wasn’t sure if Sawyer believed him. That was his problem. Unable though to resist following this up, and unable this time to keep the bitterness from his voice, Horton added, ‘And as all the photographs of me and my mother have been destroyed we won’t be able to check.’ And perhaps that was why their council flat had been emptied so quickly and so thoroughly after Jennifer’s disappearance leaving Horton with only a few toy cars and clothes to take with him to the children’s homes.
‘Why is the brooch so significant?’ he asked, curious despite his misgivings, wondering if Sawyer would tell him.
‘Do you mind if I sit down?’
Horton did, very much, but it seemed it was the only way he was going to get more information out of the man. He nodded.
Sawyer slid onto the seat behind the table. Horton remained standing with his back to the galley. He heard the sound of a car pulling away and the engine of a small boat somewhere in the harbour.
Sawyer began. ‘We believe it to be part of a private collection of historically significant and extremely valuable jewellery stolen from a house in north Hampshire in 1977, along with a collection of artefacts including Saxon jewellery. None of it has ever re-surfaced and the criminals have never been apprehended. Intelligence leads us to believe that the criminal gang behind that raid and many others over the years, including one of the biggest heists in London, netting jewellery worth forty million pounds two years ago, and across Europe, is transnational, responsible for more than a hundred and thirty robberies, with the value of stolen jewellery estimated at well over four hundred million pounds. We believe Zeus could head it up.’
The mastermind criminal that Sawyer and the Intelligence Directorate believed his mother had known and had possibly run off with. Horton recalled the conversation he’d had with Eames after they’d interviewed Patricia Harlow. Eames had said she’d been working on analysing major jewellery robberies across Europe, trying to establish if the proceeds of the robberies were being used to fund criminal activity.
‘Are Marty Stapleton’s robberies between 1997 and 1999 connected with Zeus?’ he asked.
‘Possibly.’
And was that the real reason why Sawyer had been so keen to pursue Woodley’s murder? Sawyer thought it might lead him, via Stapleton, to a connection with Zeus. Did that mean Eames knew about his mother? If so, how much did she know? He turned away in case his anxiety registered on his expression. Opening the fridge he took out a Coke. He didn’t offer Sawyer a drink.
Sawyer continued, ‘We thought we might have caught one of the gang members in Stockholm four months ago but sadly he died before he could tell us more.’
‘How?’ Horton turned back.
‘He was allergic to aspirin, something that wasn’t discovered until after his death.’
‘Suicide or murder?’
Sawyer lifted one elegant shoulder in answer.
‘And that’s the closest you’ve got to Zeus, one possible member of his gang apprehended in Stockholm?’ Horton scoffed.
‘He’s a very clever man. And a ruthless one. His crimes don’t start or stop at robberies.’
Horton didn’t need Sawyer to spell it out for him; the robberies funded more criminal activity, such as trafficking drugs, people and art, blackmail, extortion, murder, you name it Zeus and his operatives probably did it. The timing of Eames’s being put to work on the robberies obviously coincided with the death of this possible gang member in Stockholm, so Interpol and hence Europol must have got some new evidence as a result of it.
Abruptly he said, ‘If Jennifer was Zeus’s lover she must be dead.’
‘You could agree to have your DNA run through the database.’
‘And discover if she ended up in the morgue.’ He’d already considered this many times.
‘It would rule out one possibility.’
Horton felt a coldness strike him. He knew what the smooth-speaking bastard meant and it didn’t have anything to do with his mother’s death. Sawyer believed he was Zeus’s son. And
with his DNA on record they could match it against anyone they even remotely suspected of being Zeus. Horton said nothing.
‘Do you remember Jennifer talking about any one man more than the others; or someone who called on her or she met or who took you out?’
I wouldn’t tell you if I did. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.
‘And you can’t recall the brooch.’
‘No.’ He wanted Sawyer out of here and Sawyer could see it. ‘Very well.’ He rose but didn’t make any attempt to leave. ‘We believe that someone connected with Zeus will try to make contact with you.’
Horton’s heart stalled. ‘Who?’
‘We don’t know, but it must be obvious to you that your actions over the last few months have been noticed.’
Horton took a breath. He knew that. He also suspected that Sawyer had more intelligence than he was prepared to reveal. But whether that was to protect him or to expose him to Zeus, or one of his operatives, to see where it led he didn’t know. Or perhaps he did. In Sawyer’s terms he would be expendable if it got him Zeus. And Horton wondered if the real reason Eames was working with him was to see who made contact? But she couldn’t be with him twenty-four hours a day, unless Sawyer had hoped he’d fancy her and ask her to stay with him. It was a good plan and it might have worked. He felt anger and regret.
Sawyer said, ‘We don’t believe you’re in imminent danger because Zeus needs to know who you are and how much you know first.’
Horton heard the unspoken words: in case you are his son. And if you’re not then he will kill you.
‘I’m asking you once again to cooperate, Inspector. I can’t order you to but it’s vital that Zeus is traced and caught and as a police officer you will know that. The offer of acting DCI on secondment to the Intelligence Directorate is still open.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Don’t take too long.’ He didn’t need to add, or it might be too late.
Horton watched him leave; his body was so taut it hurt. Sawyer turned into the car park above the marina where he halted and looked down at him, his expression inscrutable. Then he disappeared from sight, confirming to Horton that his car had been parked outside the marina.
He went below where he sank a glass of water in one go trying to release the knot of tension gripping his gut. The boat felt soiled as though his mother’s presence and all the pain of his childhood had infected it. Sawyer had done that. It would never be the same again. He glared around the cabin that just over twelve hours ago he had been pleased with and now he hated it. He could smell the betrayal, the corruption. It seeped into his pores. It filled his mouth with bile. For years he had hated his mother for what she had done to him, now he hated her even more and along with her he hated that smug bastard Sawyer.
He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t eat or rest.
Pulling on his running gear, he was soon pounding the promenade in the dark, running faster and harder than he usually did, yet he knew he could never eradicate the pain of her desertion. Finally he returned to the boat, physically and mentally exhausted. After a shower he lay on the bunk. He knew that Sawyer spoke the truth. He’d been left alone for years because he hadn’t looked for his mother for years. But searching out former PC Adrian Stanley had changed all that. He tried to tell himself that that there was no threat to him from Zeus; he was probably not even of interest to Zeus. His mother was dead and that was it. But despite how many times he said it he knew it wasn’t true.
He didn’t expect to sleep but must have drifted off because the next thing he knew he felt the boat rock. Someone was onboard. He leapt up, his eyes desperately searching for a weapon. His fingers curled around a heavy torch. It wouldn’t be enough to save him, not if his assailant came at him with a gun, but if he had a knife he might just be able to defend himself. He moved silently into the main cabin, his mind racing, his breath coming fast. There was a thump on the hatch. He frowned, why would his attacker warn him? Then someone was calling his name. Was it a trick?
‘Andy, it’s Ian, night security,’ came the urgent softly spoken voice.
Horton let out a long slow breath. Swiftly he opened the hatch.
‘Sorry to disturb you but there’s been an attack.’
A cold sweat pricked him. Had Zeus’s operative got the wrong boat? Or could this be a trick to get him out in the open or on board another boat where he’d be killed and Ian too? So what did he do, stay here and ask Ian to send for the police or go and investigate and take his chance?
‘I’ll put some clothes on.’
He threw on a pair of chinos and a T-shirt, feeling the rage course through him. Sawyer had made him feel fear. He could never forgive him for that or himself for allowing to be momentarily overwhelmed by it. And he was damned if he was going to let Zeus win. He’d lived with fear as a kid and he’d vowed then he would not let it get to him again and destroy him. The only way to deal with fear was to face it. He almost hoped it was bloody Zeus.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked, stepping on deck and eyeing the anxious bulky man hovering on the pontoon.
‘Mr Ballard, who came in late yesterday afternoon, has been attacked.’
‘Badly?’ Horton asked concerned, locking up.
‘His head’s bleeding but he insists it’s just a surface wound and that he’s OK. He won’t let me call the ambulance or the police. I mentioned you but he didn’t even want that until I said it was you or I call the police.’
While Ian had been speaking they’d made their way up Horton’s pontoon, past the marina office towards the waiting pontoon. Lights were showing below decks on the substantial and expensive motor cruiser, which Horton had seen earlier, before his encounter with Sawyer.
Ian called out softly, ‘Mr Ballard, we’re just coming on board.’
Horton climbed on deck, noting the luxurious and spotlessly clean cream leather interior, before making his way below where he found a man in shorts and a T-shirt in the main cabin bathing his forehead with a large piece of blood-soaked cloth and the first-aid box open in front of him on the table. He was slightly older than Horton had thought when he’d caught sight of him earlier, mid-sixties nudging late sixties probably, but with a body that told of a lifetime of fitness, and muscles that showed he had worked out for much of his adult life and still did. He looked up with an expression of wariness and frustration as Ian made the introductions.
‘I’m OK,’ he said hastily. ‘I don’t want a fuss.’
But Horton heard the slight tremor in the rich, well-educated voice.
To Ian, Horton said, ‘Tea, strong and sweet.’
Ballard made to protest then changed his mind.
As Ian busied himself in the galley, Horton said, ‘Let’s take a look at that wound.’ He eased away the cloth and saw a cut just above the right eyebrow, but it didn’t look too serious.
‘One of them struck me on the back of the head and I fell forward. I must have cut myself on the edge of the table,’ Ballard explained.
Horton could see traces of blood on the corner of the table. He turned his attention back to Ballard’s forehead. ‘It should have a couple of stitches in it.’
‘I’m not going to hospital,’ Ballard said determinedly.
Horton knew that tone. He wouldn’t be shifted. This man was clearly used to giving commands and having them obeyed; ex-military, he conjectured.
‘It’s nothing. Just a cut. I’ll be fine.’ Ballard seemed to be recovering himself. He pressed the cloth back on the cut.
‘I’ll see if I can patch it up.’ Horton entered a shower room, glimpsing the main cabin as he went, noting the ruffled double bed. Washing his hands he called out, ‘What happened?’
‘I was drifting in and out of sleep when I felt the boat rock a little. I knew it wasn’t the tide or wind, different movement. Someone had come on board.’
Horton knew exactly what he meant. He returned and removed the bloody cloth from Ballard’s forehead. Reaching for som
e antiseptic in the first-aid box he warned that it might sting.
‘I got up quietly and grabbed the torch. I heard a voice. By the time I reached here there was a man over there by the galley.’ Where Ian was standing, watching them while waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘I shouted something, then got the blow on the head, must have spun round and fell, striking the corner of the table.’
‘Can you give me a description of the one you saw?’
‘He was wearing black trousers and a hoodie, but that’s all I caught a glimpse of, slim, young, I think, but I didn’t see his face clearly. It all happened so quickly. I hadn’t locked the hatch, bloody stupid of me I know but I simply thought it would be OK. I went down, the torch went out and that’s all I remember until I came round and staggered up on deck and saw the secur-ity officer.’
Ian placed the mug in front of Ballard. Addressing him, Horton said, ‘Did you see or hear anything?’
‘Nothing. They’d gone by the time I got here and I didn’t hear a motor. They must have rowed here or come by canoe. They could easily have come around by sea from the car park at the end of the road, or from a boat out in the harbour.’
‘Have a word with the harbour master tomorrow, ask him if he heard or saw anything suspicious.’ Horton fixed a large plaster to Ballard’s cut saying, ‘Has anything been stolen?’
‘About two hundred pounds in my wallet, but my credit cards are still there. I’ve come away without a computer and mobile phone. I don’t want to be contacted for a few days.’
Horton didn’t ask why. It was none of his business and a man was entitled to his privacy. He finished dressing the wound. ‘That should do for now, but you should see a doctor tomorrow morning.’
‘I don’t want a fuss.’
‘Fuss or not, you could suffer concussion from that blow to the back of your head,’ Horton said sternly.
Death Lies Beneath Page 8
