With sudden clarity Horton knew the answer to the latter question. Hastily he climbed on his Harley and raced to his yacht. There he hurried down into the main cabin and lifted up the seat cushion where Ballard had sat. He tensed. Staring at him was a black and white photograph. Holding his breath and with a thumping heart he picked it up. In the foreground was a group of six men; two were sporting beards and untidy long hair which touched the collar of patterned open-necked shirts while the other four were clean shaven with short hair that reminded Horton of the Beatles. All were sitting on the floor and had their arms around each other smiling into camera while behind them was a small crowd of mainly men with a few women. He turned it over. Written on the back in neat black ink was a date, 13 March 1967. Ballard had delivered his message, and although Horton had no idea what it meant yet, he’d find out. And whereas the photograph of the late Mrs Stanley wearing a brooch that might once have belonged to Jennifer had drawn a blank, he knew with absolute certainty that this one wouldn’t.
Death Lies Beneath Page 26
