‘The hospital says that Veerman left there two hours ago. Trueman’s checked; he’s on the car ferry. He’ll be here soon.’
And would this be a shock to him or had he timed it so that he could find his wife’s body?
‘And the investigation?’ asked Horton.
Uckfield pointedly eyed Cantelli, who moved away.
‘We wait until after we interview Veerman. Then I’m to report back to Dean.’
‘Steve, we’ve got to do more.’
‘Like what?’ cried Uckfield. ‘Seal off the bloody island?’
‘We can find out if Brett Veerman came here yesterday.’
‘Not by car ferry he didn’t. Trueman’s already checked.’
‘By private boat.’
‘That piddling dinghy in this weather?’ Uckfield cried incredulously, pointing to where it lay beside the boathouse on the grass.
‘No, on someone else’s boat. Elkins’ unit is checking to see if they can find a boat owned by Veerman, or any sightings of him around the marinas, on Thursday night. I’ll get them to extend that to yesterday.’
‘OK.’
‘And we need a search warrant for here.’
‘I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job,’ Uckfield snapped, turning away as his phone rang. ‘Yes, sir,’ Horton heard him say before he moved out of earshot.
Horton returned to Cantelli and relayed the gist of his conversation with Uckfield and asked him to contact Elkins. Horton looked up at the sound of a car approaching and saw Veerman’s Volvo sweep to a sharp halt in a flurry of gravel in front of the house. Uckfield hastily terminated his call and jerked his head at Horton in a sign to accompany him as he headed towards the car. To Cantelli, Horton said, ‘Here we go. Should be interesting.’
‘What the devil is going on here?’ Veerman demanded. The police officer at the gate wouldn’t have told him. ‘Are you in charge?’ He addressed Uckfield.
‘Can we go inside, sir?’
‘No, we damn well can’t, not unless you’ve got a search warrant. Where’s my wife?’
Was he too angry, thought Horton? Was this role playing?
‘What’s going on down there?’ He pointed to the activity on the shore and then seemed to take in the surroundings: the other cars parked on the driveway, the canvas tent. His skin paled. It didn’t look like an act. He seemed to sway. ‘Thelma. Is she …? Is she …?’ His keen eyes widened as he scrutinized them.
Evenly and quietly Horton said, ‘I’m sorry to say your wife is dead, Mr Veerman. We’re treating her death as suspicious.’
‘There must be some mistake. Are you sure?’ He peered closely at Horton and must have seen confirmation in his eyes because he drew in a deep breath. ‘I’d like to see her.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, that’s not possible.’
‘I am a doctor, for God’s sake!’
‘It’s a crime scene,’ Horton said firmly.
‘She’s been killed! But who? How?’
‘Shall we go inside?’ Uckfield repeated firmly and held out his hand towards the front door, clearly indicating that the matter was not up for debate.
Veerman threw a look at the tent and seemed to be deciding whether to disobey Uckfield’s instructions. This was a man clearly used to having his own way and his instructions followed without question. But then so was Uckfield. Veerman inhaled, ran a hand over his dark hair and threw Horton a slightly hostile look before marching swiftly to the front door. Withdrawing his keys from his overcoat pocket he opened it. No alarm sounded. But Horton could see the house was fitted with one.
‘Did Mrs Veerman usually set the alarm before leaving the house?’
‘Sometimes. Not always. Half the time she left the door open.’ He looked around. ‘Where are the dogs?’
‘The Dog Support Unit has them, sir. They can be returned to you as soon as you wish.’
‘Keep them. They’re not my dogs.’ He marched through the hall to the rear of the house and the kitchen. Uckfield raised his eyebrows at Horton as they followed. Nothing seemed to have changed since Horton had first stepped inside there on Saturday. The doors leading off the hall were closed. Nothing looked to have been disturbed and there had been no forced entry from the front, or from the kitchen. The patio doors were intact and the kitchen as before. But then Horton didn’t think this was a robbery gone wrong and neither did Uckfield.
Veerman crossed to the sink and drew a glass of water. He drank it down in one go, his figure erect, his back to them. Horton wondered what he was thinking and if the gesture had been designed to hide his expression and give him time to think. He turned and removed his overcoat to reveal an expensive grey suit exquisitely cut and hanging perfectly on his lean, fit body. His appearance was as immaculate as the kitchen and the flat at Admiralty Towers. He wore a white cotton shirt underneath the suit and a plain lemon-coloured tie; not an item of clothing or hair was out of place. He waved them into seats at the breakfast bar in the centre of the modern kitchen but they both remained standing. Veerman decided to stand too.
‘Can’t you tell me anything about her death?’ he asked, scouring their faces as though searching for answers.
‘When were you last here, sir?’ Horton asked. He thought he saw a flicker of irritation in Veerman’s eyes at not having his question answered.
‘Monday morning. I caught the eight o’clock sailing from Fishbourne.’
‘And yesterday?’
‘At the hospital of course.
‘Until?’
‘Four-thirty, then I went to the private hospital where I had clinics until ten p.m.’
That could be easily checked and if it was true – and Horton couldn’t see the man lying about something like that – then it meant that Brett Veerman couldn’t have killed his wife.
‘What time did you come home?’
‘I didn’t. I stayed in my apartment at Admiralty Towers both Monday and Tuesday night.’
‘Why come home now?’ In fact Veerman had come home early. It was just on three p.m.
‘Why not? There’s no law against it,’ he said sharply and then seemed to relent. ‘I’ve come home early because my diary was clear for this afternoon and tomorrow, and I thought it time Thelma and I talked things over. Now it’s too late,’ he added in an abstracted tone rather than a sorrowful one, thought Horton. It had been too late a long time ago, he thought, recalling his only conversation with Thelma Veerman. It was clear that she and the man in front of him had stopped communicating years ago. They had been two people living together but separately. And beneath the marriage there was hostility, even hatred for each other – or was that too strong a word? Neither of them had expressed hatred in words, looks or gestures, but he felt it. It wasn’t open aggression but a simmering seething hostility that went so deep they hardly recognized it themselves. And it was dangerous. He’d witnessed it before. So dangerous that Veerman and his lover could have killed for it?
Horton said, ‘When did you last speak to your wife?’
‘Monday morning before I left for the ferry.’
‘You rowed.’
‘We never rowed.’
Horton thought that was the truth. He envisaged a cold silence between them, worse than a row, which had stretched on for years. ‘Do you know what your wife’s movements were yesterday and last night?’
‘She would have taken the dogs for a walk. She did so at least twice a day, usually four times. I take it this is not a random attack and that it has something to do with that private detective who was killed.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Uckfield spoke for the first time during the questioning.
Veerman gave him a withering look. Uckfield didn’t flinch for even a second. ‘I may not be a detective but it doesn’t take much imagination or intelligence to link the two.’
Neither Horton nor Uckfield replied. Horton mentally held his breath and knew Uckfield was doing the same. Was Veerman going to confess to having a lover and being involved in Kent
on’s killing? Or would he concoct a highly plausible story – he’d had enough time to do so. But Veerman said nothing. What was he thinking, wondered Horton. Was he behaving how he thought he should or was he looking back down the years at the time he’d spent with his wife and was now envisaging a life without her? Uckfield let the silence stretch on but clearly Veerman wasn’t going to break it. Uckfield made to speak but Horton got in first.
‘Why did you lie about the time you arrived home on Saturday morning?’
‘Saturday? What’s Saturday got to do with Thelma’s death? Oh, I see, of course, the private detective she hired. I didn’t lie. Thelma did.’
And now she couldn’t contradict that.
‘Why would she do that?’ asked Uckfield.
‘Why do you think? To make you query my movements, as you have done.’
‘She believed you had killed Jasper Kenton?’
‘I don’t know what she believed, Superintendent.’
‘Except that you were having an affair. Are you?’
‘No.’
Horton said, ‘Do you have separate bedrooms?’
‘I don’t see that’s any business of yours.’
Horton said nothing, neither did Uckfield.
After a while Veerman said stiffly, ‘Yes.’
‘So you don’t know if she was asleep or awake.’
‘I don’t even know if she was in the house. I didn’t look in to say goodnight but I do know what time I got in and it was just before one a.m.’
Horton watched Veerman carefully. Had he deliberately said that to plant the idea that Thelma might have been out in order to shift the blame away from him? There was bewilderment in his expression but also something else, a kind of arrogance or was it mockery?
‘Where would she have been at that time of night?’
‘No idea, probably walking the bloody dogs.’
‘Why don’t you like them?’
‘Why should I? And I don’t see that that has any bearing on your investigation.’
It didn’t and Horton thought he knew the reason why Veerman didn’t care for the animals. Veerman liked a clean, clinical, neat environment and dogs meant smell, dirt, hairs and mess.
Uckfield said, ‘Could your wife have had a lover?’
Veerman eyed Uckfield with incredulity and in his expression Horton saw exactly what kind of life Thelma must have had with him. Veerman thought his wife incapable of having a lover, or of any man wanting her.
‘I don’t think so, Superintendent,’ he answered with a superior tone.
‘But how can you be sure?’ Horton insisted.
‘I knew my wife.’ It was said matter-of-factly, without bitterness or sorrow.
‘Friends then, perhaps you could let us have names and contact details.’
‘I don’t know them.’
Uckfield cocked a sceptical eyebrow.
‘My wife didn’t socialize.’
‘But you must have done as a couple.’
‘Once, yes. But my wife has become … became more reclusive in recent years.’
‘She didn’t go to the Castle Hill Yacht club with you?’
Veerman looked surprised and then confused at the question. He answered it warily. ‘Not for some years. I hardly go there myself now. Why are you interested in that?’
‘Have you and your wife ever been to Lord Eames’ house?’ Horton asked before Uckfield could prevent him.
‘Yes. Why? Look, what has—’
‘We’ll need to check your movements, sir.’
‘Then check away,’ Veerman snapped.
‘And we need to see your wife’s room and go through her belongings. It could help us to find her killer.’
‘By all means, when you have a warrant to do so,’ Veerman replied icily.
Uckfield eyed him, surprised. ‘It would assist us greatly if we could do so now, sir,’ he said smoothly.
‘My wife has just died. I have a son to inform. Get your warrant and return. Now I’d like you to leave my house.’ He made for the door. ‘I have calls to make.’
And who would he call first, wondered Horton. His lover? His lawyer? His son?
Uckfield nodded at Horton. To Veerman he said, ‘We need a photograph of your wife. We’ll need it for our inquiries,’ he added when Veerman looked set to protest. ‘It will help us to establish her movements before she died.’
‘I don’t want this in the media,’ Veerman said curtly. ‘You’re not to say anything to the press.’
‘We won’t, sir, but the press still have a way of finding out about these things.’
‘Not from me they won’t. And if I believe that anyone in the police has spoken to them I will make a complaint at the highest level.’ Veerman opened the front door.
‘We’ll let you know when we’ve finished here, sir.’
‘I’ll be able to see that for myself. And then those gates will be closed.’ Coolly he added, ‘Where will the autopsy be held?’
He was a doctor after all, thought Horton. ‘At Newport.’
‘Then you’ll need me to make a formal identification.’
‘Tomorrow morning, if that suits you, Mr Veerman,’ Uckfield said pointedly, with a hint of sarcasm.
‘Perfectly. I’ll email you a photograph when I can find one.’ Uckfield handed him his card. Veerman took it and the door closed firmly on them.
‘He did it,’ Uckfield announced, heading for his car.
Changed your tune now, Horton thought but didn’t say.
Uckfield added, ‘You could have told me what he was like!’
Horton opened his mouth to retort that he’d been telling him that since Saturday but then realized there was no point. Uckfield would be deaf to such claims.
Uckfield continued, ‘He killed Kenton and then he killed his wife, or got someone to do it. He wanted shot of her and he’s so bloody confident that he’ll get away with it. Smooth-talking bastard. He’ll make sure there’s nothing incriminating in the house. I’ll post a local officer here in case he’s thinking of having a bonfire. Tomorrow we start talking to everyone who knows him.’
Horton refrained from saying that’s what they should have done to begin with.
Uckfield went on, ‘We’ll find this lover. And maybe we’d better find her quick before he polishes her off because I can’t see Veerman wanting someone with that knowledge hanging round his neck for the rest of his life, threatening to incriminate him in murder. I’ll pull Bliss out of Swallows Agency. No need for her to be there now. This isn’t connected with any of Kenton’s cases except that one back there.’ Uckfield jerked his head at the house.
It had taken him a long time to see it, thought Horton. But he could see another reason why Uckfield had suddenly become so keen on action and Brett Veerman as their main suspect. Thelma Veerman’s body had been found on her own land and not Lord Eames’ property and that, as far as Uckfield was concerned, meant the motive had nothing to do with His Lordship. Furthermore, Uckfield didn’t have to tip toe around the investigation now or kowtow to the Chief Constable.
Uckfield said, ‘I’ll get a warrant tomorrow and we’ll take that place apart. We’ll also go over both of their cars, his and Thelma’s, and that boathouse. Dennings can oversee the search this end and Bliss the search of his apartment in Portsmouth and his consulting rooms and start the questioning of his colleagues. We’ll find this ruddy lover of his.’
Horton said, ‘Thelma Veerman told me Kenton was trawling the Internet looking for reports on the conferences and seminars her husband attended to see if there was any one particular woman who appeared regularly at the same places as Brett Veerman. Kenton was also examining Veerman’s social and professional network website profiles. We should do the same.’
‘I’ll get the Hi-Tech Unit working on it.’ Uckfield made to climb into his car but Horton forestalled him.
‘I don’t believe Thelma Veerman lived such a reclusive life as her husband claims. She must have had friends and we mi
ght be able to get details of them from her mobile phone records. Eunice Swallows must have the number. Thelma also visited the abbey frequently. I’d like to question the monks to see if anyone saw her there.’
‘Get on to it now. I’ll get a house-to-house organized here, which shouldn’t take long as there aren’t that many properties.’ Uckfield called out to Sergeant Norris, leaving Horton to head for Cantelli’s car. Horton gave Cantelli instructions to head for Northwood Abbey. On the way Horton brought him up to speed with the interview with Veerman, describing his attitude to his wife’s brutal murder. Cantelli agreed it was defensive and unhelpful but ventured that it might be the result of shock.
‘Doctors see death all the time but don’t always believe it can happen to them or someone close to them,’ he ventured. ‘But I feel sorry for Thelma Veerman if what he says is true. Must have been a hell of a lonely life.’
Horton agreed. The only comfort she had found seemed to have been with her dogs and the monks.
TWENTY
‘She used to come here to pray quite regularly and sometimes she’d join us for the services,’ Brother Norman told them half an hour later after expressing shock and sorrow at the news of Thelma’s death. They were sitting in a quiet private garden enjoyed by the monks behind the dormitory and orchard. There was a gap in the trees and Horton could see out to the Solent in the late afternoon. It was so peaceful and tranquil that he could almost believe the outside world didn’t exist or that time had been suspended. It seemed at odds with the brutal scenes he and Cantelli had just witnessed and it made Brett Veerman’s words and attitude to his wife’s death seem even harsher.
Horton had said nothing about how Thelma Veerman had died and Brother Norman didn’t ask. He knew they wouldn’t be able to tell him that. Horton had asked for him at the tea room because he was the only monk he really knew. He had been hoping to have a word with Cliff Yately about Thelma Veerman – she had treated his sprained wrist and he might be able to tell them more about her – but Brother Norman had told them Yately had finally capitulated to his injury and had taken the day off, probably after overdoing it the day before.
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