The Suffocating Sea

by Pauline Rowson

  His sandwich stayed half eaten on the table before him; the children's noisy squeals and car alarms faded as his mind raced through the facts. Jennifer had met Croxton a year before her disappearance. Warwick had been alive then. After the murder of Warwick Hassingham, Croxton had vanished from the scene because he didn't want the spotlight on him and his illegal business – diamond smuggling. He returned not because he was in love with Jennifer, no, Horton couldn't believe that of a ruthless man like Croxton, but because Jennifer had been bothering Sebastian Gilmore about where Croxton had gone, and why he had gone. Jennifer had become a liability. Horton tested his hypothesis. Croxton had returned to pick up with Jennifer, to lure her away and to kill her.

  His heart hammered. He was convinced he was on the right track. According to what Janice Hassingham had said, Horton guessed that Jennifer had once been Warwick's girl, but Croxton had come along and swept her off her feet. Had Croxton killed Warwick because he was in love with Jennifer? Horton doubted it. Rather it was a case of Warwick wanting out of the diamond smuggling being organized by Croxton. They were all in on it, which is how they had made so much money, and somehow David Lynmor, the journalist, had discovered this, confronted Rowland with it, and had also challenged Brundall about it when he was on Russell Newton's boat in Guernsey. As a result Lynmor had been lured to his death in Rowland's air-raid shelter and Jacobs had met with a car accident. Horton suspected Sebastian Gilmore had still been involved in smuggling until his death and if he was about to confess all to the police then perhaps Selina Gilmore, who knew about the smuggling, didn't want it coming out. That would have been motive enough for her to kill her father. And if the square-set man was Selina then she would have entered the warehouse carrying something containing the disguise. He reached for his phone.

  'Walters, did Selina go into the warehouse any time during the day carrying a case or carrier bag?'

  'No.'

  Could she have hidden it before yesterday?

  Walters said, 'You wanted to know where she is. She's not at work or home. No one seems to know where she's gone.'

  'Find her.' He was about to ring off when he said, 'Did Janice enter the warehouse carrying anything?'

  'Only a briefcase.'

  Hardly big enough then to carry an overcoat and hat. Then he reconsidered. There were all kinds of briefcases and accountants often used a special kind to carry large files. With a quickening pulse he said, 'Was it a large square one?'

  'Yes.'

  He rang off as the announcement came for the passengers to return to their cars. Now there was no question of his returning to Portsmouth. He had to stick with Janice Hassingham.

  Horton disembarked before her and rode to the top of the exit road where he waited until he saw her car and then slipped into the traffic behind it. It was dark and raining heavily. Only the brightness of the Christmas lights on the houses he rode past illuminated the gloom of the December evening.

  She turned right at the traffic lights and Horton, who knew the island well, having spent some time seconded here as a PC, thought she must be heading for Cowes, but she branched off and took the road to the capital of the island, Newport. There she made for Yarmouth.

  He kept his distance but didn't let her tail lights out of his sight. She didn't seem to notice she was being followed. Then she was through Yarmouth and heading for Freshwater Bay, where she turned off on to a country road. He hung further back, not wanting to alert her. The road twisted and turned. He eased the Harley round a bend in the country lane and found she'd disappeared.

  He drew up. There was nothing but darkness. She couldn't have vanished into thin air. She must have turned off. Then he saw it. It was a track, which led up Tennyson Down. There was nowhere else she could have gone.

  Slowly he set off after her. The road climbed towards the cliff top. Any further and he'd be over the edge. Then a tall hedgerow and gate came into view. Beyond it he could see a substantial modern house. Janice's car was on the driveway.

  Horton took his mobile phone from his jacket pocket and once again called Trueman.

  'Find out who owns Down House, just above Freshwater on Tennyson Down. Call me back as soon as you've got it. And hurry.'

  Horton climbed off the Harley and kicked down the stand. The wind was roaring around him, bringing with it the taste of salt and sea spray. There was a light in the downstairs window to his left and another light upstairs. Even through the darkness he could see that the gardens were landscaped and the house, he guessed, must be at least seven bedrooms. It wouldn't come cheap. There was a large triple garage on the right. The doors were closed.

  He waited impatiently for Trueman's call, wondering what was going on inside the house but not daring to get closer yet. His phone rang and he answered it almost instantly. But it wasn't Trueman. It was Dr Clayton.

  'I can't talk now,' Horton said irritably. 'I'll call you back.'

  'I thought you'd like to know what killed Rowland Gilmore,' Gaye responded crisply. Horton could tell he had offended her.

  'I do. It's just I'm on surveillance.'

  'Should have switched off your phone then. It was puffer-fish.' And she rang off.

  Before he could even digest what she had said his phone rang again and this time it was Trueman.

  'The house is owned by a James Rowthorpe.'

  The name meant nothing to Horton but then Croxton would hardly have continued using that name. Perhaps Rowthorpe was Croxton's real name. He told Trueman to get all the information he could on him.

  'Superintendent Uckfield wants to know what you're up to and DCI Bliss is asking where you are. What do you want me to tell them?'

  'Tell the superintendent the truth. He can inform DCI Bliss, but for heaven's sake don't let Uckfield come charging in yet. Janice Hassingham might be here to spend Christmas with her lover and I'd look a damn fool with the Isle of Wight police swooping on us,' he answered, knowing that wasn't what he believed. 'Let me talk to her, then I'll call Uckfield.'

  Horton switched off his mobile and stuffed it into his jacket pocket, wondering if he was also about to find Selina Gilmore inside. Leaving the Harley where it was, he pushed back the gate and went to meet his mother's killer: Peter Croxton.

  Twenty-Two

  The door opened before he got there, and a tallish man in his late fifties, with short cropped grey hair, was standing on the threshold. He was expensively dressed in fawn casual trousers and a navy blue jumper. His eyes were a vivid green in a sharp-featured face that the neatly trimmed grey beard did little to disguise but Horton recognized him instantly. Here was the man on the quayside.

  'Inspector Horton, come in.'

  Horton wasn't surprised that he knew him. After all he had tried to kill him twice. He stepped inside feeling his body tense; it took an effort to keep his expression neutral. He felt a deep loathing and searing hatred for this man who had confined him to years of emptiness.

  He followed Rowthorpe through an airy and spacious hall and into a cream and beige room on the left. It took a while for Horton to locate Janice Hassingham, because the room was immense, but he locked eyes on her as she sat on one of the three brown leather sofas that straddled a large fireplace. Behind her was a wall of glass that gave on to the grounds and, Horton guessed, would sport a spectacular view of the sea only it was too dark to make it out. The rain was lashing against the windows. There was no sign of Selina Gilmore.

  Rowthorpe crossed the beech wood floor to the sofa where Janice was sitting and picked up a tumbler of amber liquid. Horton thought that he'd need a loudhailer to make conversation in a room this size as he followed him, and a compass to find your way around the house. He'd thought Sebastian Gilmore's house was a palace, but it was a mere shed compared to this. These men had made a mint out of their smuggling, and lives had been sacrificed because of their greed. Horton was determined to see that Croxton paid for it. He knew he too would suffer, because the truth about his mother would emerge, but maybe it was time for i
t all to come out, though he didn't know how Catherine would react to that. Fear gripped his heart at the thought that she might use it to prevent him from ever seeing Emma.

  He stared down at Janice Hassingham and started violently. She was smiling and it transformed her face. She was no longer the dull, sad woman he and Cantelli had seen that morning in her office; years had sloughed off her and with it the heavy coarseness of her features. Her eyes were a vivid green and her usual pallid complexion was flushed with exhilaration. The breath suddenly caught in Horton's throat. From the first time he'd set eyes on her at Horsea Marina he had known there was something familiar about her, but it had taken this transformation for him to understand why he'd had that feeling. Now he knew what had triggered the memory of the man on the Town Camber quayside. He also knew the true identity of the man standing beside her.

  'You're Warwick Hassingham,' he said, staring at Croxton, whilst his brain raced to assimilate this latest revelation and put it in place with everything else he had learned.

  'I haven't used that name for years. Drink, Inspector, or should I say, Andy? After all we're old friends.'

  That last comment brought Horton up sharply. It made him sick with fury. Here was his mother's boyfriend and the man who had killed her. He wanted to hurl himself at Warwick Hassingham and smash his face to a pulp. It took every ounce of his willpower not to do so and only the fact that he could see that was exactly what Hassingham wanted restrained Horton. They weren't alone in this house. Hassingham had protection. He spun round to see a man built like a brick outhouse, with shoulders bigger than DCI Dennings, standing in the doorway.

  'My bodyguard, Trevor,' Warwick explained unnecessarily. Horton couldn't think of a more fitting job for eighteen stone of muscle. And he didn't fancy his chances against the shaven-headed muscle man. He turned his gaze back to Janice, who was looking smug; he'd get no help there.

  'How long have you known that your brother was alive?' he addressed her sharply.

  'Since I overheard Sebastian talking to Rowland on the telephone last Tuesday.'

  'And that was why you were at the marina on Wednesday night? You went to see Tom.'

  'Yes, I didn't know where he was until Rowley told me, but by then I was too late. He was already dead.'

  'And how do you feel about your brother killing the only man you ever loved?' Horton said, watching her closely. Her eyes flicked to Warwick's.

  'Sebastian killed Tom and that's why I had to kill him.'

  'You locked him in the freezer.' So it was Janice.

  'Yes.'

  Then he recalled Sebastian's alibi. 'But Sebastian was at Tri Fare the night Brundall was killed.'

  'The sales director lied. Seb asked him to. Selina went to Tri Fare alone. She lied to you too.'

  Could Horton believe her? Her face was expressionless. Warwick was looking so sure of himself. Horton knew then that Warwick had killed Brundall and had spun his sister some claptrap about it being Sebastian. He'd got Janice to kill Sebastian for him. The evil bastard.

  'Sit down,' Warwick commanded.

  An arm shot out and Horton felt as though his shoulder had been trapped in a vice. He couldn't prevent a cry of agony escaping, as Muscles pushed him on to the sofa. Releasing him after a sign from Warwick, Horton rubbed his shoulder. Fuming with anger and smarting with pain, he said, 'Did you kill my mother?'

  'Jennifer Horton's little boy a copper! It was a bit of a shock when Seb told me. It wasn't until Rowley returned to Portsmouth and made the connection that Seb realized who you were. I never thought you'd end up on the right side of the law. Just shows how wrong you can be about kids. It scared poor little Rowley almost shitless. Every day he lived in fear that you'd come knocking on his door to arrest him. He kept a very close eye on you.'

  'You mean the newspapers.'

  'You saw them?' Warwick glanced at his watch.

  He knows I might have called for help and he wonders how long he's got. Horton wished now that he had done so, instead of telling Trueman to wait. His heart was thumping against his ribcage.

  Warwick said, 'I managed to get rid of them after that woman vicar left for the church. I didn't expect the Church to put in a replacement so quickly and neither did Seb.'

  'You killed Anne Schofield just because she'd seen those newspaper articles!' Horton cried, anger welling up in him.

  'We couldn't take the risk. She said you'd already seen them.'

  'So you frightened the poor woman into calling me, knowing that if she mentioned my mother I'd come running, and you thought you'd kill us both at the same time.'

  'Pity you refused to die then, and on your boat. Although I thought I'd succeeded until Seb told me you'd been interviewing my sister. Still, third time lucky.'

  Horton tried to ignore the threat, but he shuddered inside at the thought of the kind of end Hassingham had in store for him. It would probably be a house fire, if Hassingham ran true to form. And would Janice also be a victim? Horton guessed so, though Janice looked oblivious to the fact. Had Uckfield got enough information on James Rowthorpe and this house to connect it with the murders and alert the island's police? Horton doubted it and he was probably still waiting for that phone call from Horton, which unless he did something to get out of this, would never come.

  He said, whilst trying to think of a diversion to distract Muscles' attention from him, 'Which one of you killed David Lynmor, the skeleton in Rowland's air-raid shelter?' He'd scored a point by the look of surprise on Warwick's face. Only it was a hollow victory; Horton doubted he'd be allowed to live long enough to celebrate.

  'Lynmor was a pest. He tracked Rowley to Wales and then to Portsmouth.'

  'And then he found Brundall in Guernsey and grabbed a local photographer to gatecrash Newton's party. We haven't been as slow or dim as you think,' Horton sneered, 'and even if you kill me, which I take it you intend to do, then there'll be others after you.'

  'I doubt that. I disappeared once, I can do it again.'

  'It might not be so easy next time,' Horton threatened, but could see his words held no terror for Warwick Hassingham. This man probably had various escape routes and identities already mapped out. 'Who killed Lynmor and Jacobs?'

  'I killed Jacobs and Sebastian dealt with Lynmor. He lured him to Rowley's house and stuffed his body in the air-raid shelter. He knew that Rowley would never go in there and find it. Rowley was cracking under the pressure. He was our weakest link. When he entered the church Seb wondered if he'd confess but he managed to persuade Rowley that the church would be more grateful for his money than his confession, and besides if he confessed that he was party to a million-pound diamond raid and a murder, then they wouldn't take him and Rowley couldn't cope with that, not after his wife and kid had died. It meant more to him than anything, and so he kept quiet. But Seb and I always kept an eye on him.'

  And Rowland, a man of the church, had lived with that past all those years. How could he have been such a hypocrite?

  'I see you disapprove,' Warwick continued. 'Rowley thought God had punished him by taking Teresa and Claire from him. Rowley tried to atone for his sins for the rest of his life, by living like a pauper and devoting himself to God and his parishioners.'

  'Until Brundall showed up on Tuesday wanting to confess,' Horton snapped, but his mind had picked up on something Warwick Hassingham had said. The four fishermen had killed Croxton, or whatever his real name was, and had claimed it was Warwick's body. Why? He'd been right about the diamonds but it wasn't smuggling. Warwick had said 'a diamond raid', which meant a robbery.

  He had to get Warwick to tell him about it, not that it would do him much good if he was dead, but he was still alive and he would fight with all the strength and guile he had to keep it that way.

  Warwick crossed the room and poured himself another drink. 'Unfortunately, Brundall had developed a conscience as well as cancer.'

  'And that was when Sebastian came scurrying across to Cowes to meet up with you so that you could pl
an his death.'

  'I told him to loosen the gas cooker pipe on his return and then later that evening throw a lighted match on to Brundall's boat.'

  Horton dashed a glance at Janice. Her hands were in her lap and her body erect as she sat on the edge of the sofa. Her eyes followed her brother. Yet, Horton was curious, her expression had changed; she was no longer smiling and there was something sharp and dangerous behind her eyes.

  Then Horton saw quite clearly what had happened. 'You've got that wrong,' he said with an edge of steel to his voice. 'You came back with Sebastian on his boat on Wednesday morning, only no one saw you. You stayed below whilst you went through the lock. Sebastian left for his office and then Tri Fare as he told us. You went to meet Tom Brundall. You loosened the gas cooker piper and then left, watching Nigel Sherbourne arrive. You guessed what Brundall was going to do, or maybe he told you. Here was a man who was dying; perhaps he didn't care if you killed him. Maybe he wanted you to kill him and by doing so we start an investigation and the truth comes out. That was Brundall's confession, only he couldn't have envisaged you'd kill Sherbourne.'