The Suffocating Sea dah-3

by Pauline Rowson

  Horton winced inwardly. Vice squad tactics maybe, but not exactly appropriate for CID or the major crime team. He rapidly revised his opinion of Dennings' ailments; his flushed and perspiring face was due to increased blood pressure not fever. From his days spent with Dennings on surveillance, Horton knew he had a short fuse, as well as a coarse manner, and he didn't exactly excel in communications skills. Dennings had a lot to learn about modern and efficient policing, as DCI Bliss would have called it, and Horton wasn't convinced he was going to be a willing pupil. Still, Uckfield was Dennings' boss and maybe he didn't mind how his new DI behaved. Horton caught Trueman's glance. The sergeant's face was impassive, but Horton detected a flicker of desperation in his eyes.

  He peeled back the plastic wrapper on the sandwiches and examined them. Why did they have to smother everything in mayonnaise? It was if it had just been discovered as a cure for all ills. He guessed it was used to hide the taste. Through a mouthful he said, 'Does she know why Sherbourne came to Portsmouth?'

  'No. He just said he'd be out for the day. She didn't even know he'd flown here. Can you believe that? The snotty-nosed cow is covering for her boss. He's probably giving her one.'

  'You've spoken to her then.'

  'Too right I have. Inspector Guilbert didn't seem bothered so I thought sod it. I don't know what they feed them on in Guernsey, but they're too bloody laid back for my liking. For Christ's sake, don't they understand we're dealing with a murder investigation?'

  Oh, I bet you've gone down a treat, Horton thought, wondering how John Guilbert, an officer he respected, would take that. Dennings' attitude was enough to make anyone instantly clam up. There was a time to get tough and individuals to get tough with and this was neither. 'It's a small island, with a very low crime rate. Things are done differently there.'

  Dennings snorted his scepticism. 'Yeah, and Brundall was killed here, so they'd better get their arses in gear and do things my way.'

  Horton now understood Trueman's glint of exasperation. He silenced the retort that bully-boy tactics wouldn't work. This kind of crime required using a brain, and although he'd always doubted Dennings had one, now he knew for certain that he didn't.

  'What's Sherbourne's line of speciality — in law, that is?'

  'Everything and anything according to Miss Snotty-Draws.'

  Horton interpreted that as the secretary.

  'You'd think the sun shone out of his backside,' Dennings continued. 'Mr Nigel Sherbourne can do anything except walk on water with a carrot stuck up his arse.'

  Horton ignored Dennings' crudity. 'And "anything" is?' This was getting to be like extracting evidence from a reluctant witness.

  'Business, property, divorce, wills, you name it, Mr bloody Sherbourne can do it. He's been Brundall's lawyer for as long as the secretary can remember. At least for the thirteen years she's been there. She clammed up then tight as a nun's knees — wouldn't say any more except that Brundall was a very wealthy man. Guernsey police haven't found a will but they're hoping that Sherbourne's office has a copy. I mean, hoping! Can you credit it! By the time they get round to checking, our killer will have spent the bloody money.'

  'You think someone killed him because he changed his will?'

  'Why not? He was dying of cancer.'

  'If Brundall made a new will at the marina then someone would have needed to witness it, so why didn't Brundall ask the taxi driver to do it?'

  'Perhaps the cab driver forgot to mention it to you.'

  'I don't think so.' Not Peter Kingston. He'd have been bursting with the news. 'Did Sherbourne give his secretary anything to type up this morning?'

  'Not from his visit to Brundall, so she says,' Dennings said disbelievingly. 'He was in a meeting when she arrived at the office this morning and then he went straight out to this client. There was no tape left on her desk or in her in-tray.'

  So Sherbourne must still have whatever it was on him, or perhaps there weren't any papers, or tape, and the meeting had been simply a discussion between the two men. It was useless to speculate without the facts.

  'Have we got anything more on Brundall?' Horton asked, finishing his sandwiches and tossing the packet in the bin.

  'We know that he moved to Guernsey in 1980.'

  'From?'

  Dennings beckoned to DC Jake Marsden, who scrambled up from his desk and hurried across to them. Horton wondered how Marsden was taking to working under his new boss DI Dennings.

  'Portsmouth, sir.' Marsden said.

  Horton hadn't expected that, though maybe he should have done. 'He was coming back to his roots then,' he murmured thoughtfully.

  Marsden nodded. 'Born 1942, the only child of Rose Almay and Eric Brundall.'

  So no brothers or sisters, nieces or nephews which ruled out a whole line of possible heirs if Brundall had intended writing or changing his will and been killed because of it.

  'Eric was a fisherman and Rose a machinist in Vollers,' Marsden told him, 'A lingerie factory, which has now closed down. They married in 1941. Rose died in 1956 and Eric in 1975. They lived in Cranleigh Road after the war until 1975.'

  Horton knew that to be a street of narrowed terraced houses, two-up, two-down and, when first built, with a toilet in the backyard. Brundall had come far since his childhood then: living in Guernsey, being photographed with bankers and owning an expensive motorboat.

  Marsden went on. 'There aren't any Brundalls or Almays listed in the telephone directory, so it doesn't look like there are any cousins either. I'm still waiting for information on Brundall's employment record.'

  'And his medical records?' Horton asked.

  Dennings answered. 'Inspector Guilbert's applied for a warrant to gain access to them, but of course Brundall's GP has already confirmed that he had cancer. But that's all he would say.'

  Trueman said, 'DNA is being matched and the police are searching the house now for a list of his contacts.'

  Horton interpreted what Trueman had left unsaid: we can't go any faster no matter how much Dennings wants to steamroller events.

  Trueman added, 'The forensic team are still working on the boat but they confirm Maidment's report that the gas cooker pipe was loosened. It could have happened during the fire, but they don't think so. They can't be one hundred per cent certain though because of the damage to the boat.'

  Horton said, 'And that won't look very good as evidence when we take it to court, which is exactly what our killer wanted.'

  Trueman nodded his agreement. 'It's as we thought: the build up of gas was ignited by a match or lighter. No evidence of any accelerant.'

  Dennings chipped in, 'So Brundall could have lit the gas himself and caused the explosion.'

  'Which is what any defence would claim. Our only evidence that it was murder comes from Dr Clayton, and that bang on Brundall's head,' Horton declared.

  'And some smart-arse barrister could make that look like an accident,' Dennings rejoined.

  Horton agreed. 'Gas can slowly seep out without being detected for some days. It's possible the pipe could have been loosened in Guernsey.'

  Horton watched the thoughts chase themselves across Dennings' face until finally he caught the drift.

  'You're saying the killer could have followed Brundall to Portsmouth?'

  'Maybe our killer didn't want Brundall's death on his own doorstep.'

  Dennings frowned with thought. 'Brundall might have been involved in some shady financial deal. He could have been financing drugs or arms, or even pornography.'

  Horton thought it was possible, though they had no evidence to point that way. 'Maybe our killer didn't know that Brundall was already dying of cancer. Brundall could have started a business deal in Guernsey but it hadn't been concluded until after he'd left so he had to summon his solicitor.'

  'Wouldn't he have stayed to see it through?' ventured Marsden.

  'This is a man who didn't have time on his side. Or perhaps he wanted to see his home town one more time before he died.'

/>   'Huh!' Dennings scoffed.

  Horton said, 'On the other hand the gas cooker pipe could have been loosened soon after Brundall arrived in Horsea Marina any time from Monday night onwards.'

  Dennings glanced at his watch. 'Superintendent Uckfield is giving a statement to the press in half an hour's time. I'll brief him.'

  That would bring hundreds of calls, thought Horton, the majority of which would be a waste of their time, but one might just hold some information they needed.

  Would Dennings pass off Horton's comments as his own? He guessed so. Dennings needed to impress his new boss and giving credit where it was due was hardly something he remembered Dennings being famous for in the past.

  'He's driving me nuts,' Trueman said with feeling after Dennings disappeared into Uckfield's office.

  Horton gave a wry smile. 'It's a cross we all have to bear.' Then his expression turned serious. 'Have you heard Cantelli's news?'

  'About his dad, yes.' Trueman gave a concerned frown. 'Doesn't look too good for the old boy.'

  Horton returned to his office wondering how things were going for Cantelli at the hospital. There was nothing he could do to help though, so he turned his mind to the case, considering the possibility that a professional hit man could have killed Brundall because he had been involved in something illegal. As yet they had no evidence to show that, but if it seemed likely, the investigation would be handed over to the Serious Organized Crime Agency and Horton didn't think Uckfield would like that very much.

  Until more information came in there seemed little Horton could do about the case: everything that could be done was being carried out by Trueman and his efficient team of officers, despite rather than because of Dennings' annoying presence. If only they knew why Brundall had come to Portsmouth, and more importantly why Sherbourne had flown over to see him. Had Dennings asked the question of Inspector Guilbert? Horton couldn't trust him to have done so. He pulled out his mobile phone, found John Guilbert's telephone number and called him.

  'Andy, good to hear from you.'

  Horton smiled at the softly spoken voice, thinking how it must have wound Dennings up. But behind the slow, casual manner there was a quick, incisive brain.

  'I'm working on the Brundall case with DI Dennings.'

  'Rather you than me.'

  'He's not renowned for his tact.'

  'Or his patience. He seems to think I'm Superman and can give him answers faster than a speeding bullet.'

  'Talking of which, what have you got on Brundall? And don't tell me you've already relayed it to Dennings, because I doubt he asked the right questions, or if he did then he didn't listen to the answers.'

  'You know him well.'

  'Unfortunately. What have you found in Brundall's house?'

  'Nothing and I mean nothing. No letters, no photographs, no diary, no computer.'

  'Stolen or never existed?'

  'Never existed. There are no signs of a break-in and his housekeeper, Patricia Lihou, confirms he didn't have a computer. Nice lady — quiet, comfortable, well past middle age and very upset at Mr Brundall's death.'

  'Mr?'

  'She's worked for him for the last eighteen years and says it's always been and still is Mr.'

  'Did he ever speak about his family or his past?'

  'She's says not, and I believe her. He was a very quiet man, and clever. He liked to do crossword puzzles, loved walking and his boat. She knew he had cancer and when he told her he was going out on the boat for a few days, she guessed it would be for the last time, but she never expected him to meet with an accident.'

  'Did you tell her it wasn't accidental?' Horton asked, surprised.

  'Of course, but she refuses to believe that someone could have killed such a nice man as Mr Brundall.'

  Horton sniffed. 'She should have our job. What about Brundall's investments?'

  'He's rolling in it, and we haven't even scratched the surface yet. When he moved here he already had millions. Mrs Lihou says Brundall never spoke about money. He was generous to her, lived well and maintained the house, but never spent much on himself except for his boat. He was a recluse, didn't mix with anyone on the island and never went on expensive holidays or business trips. I didn't know him and we've never come across him before.'

  'What about Russell Newton? Brundall was photographed with him.'

  'Mrs Lihou says that neither Mr Newton nor anyone else has ever visited the house. Newton's a very wealthy man and an influential one on the island. I've got to get the chief officer's authority to question him, but I will get it, Andy. It just takes time.'

  'I know. Any idea who Brundall's next of kin is?'

  'No. Sherbourne's tell me that Brundall has made a will but until they speak to Nigel Sherbourne they can't let us have access to a copy, and none of the staff or Nigel's partner know what's in it anyway. Whoever Brundall has named is sitting on a small fortune, lucky sod.'

  'What would you do with all that money, John?' teased Horton.

  'Buy myself a bigger boat.'

  'There speaks a man after my own heart. Any idea when you'll get to speak to Sherbourne?'

  'He should have returned to his office an hour ago, but there's been no sign of him and no contact from him.'

  Horton frowned. That was news to him, and it didn't sound too good either. Had Sherbourne absconded?

  Guilbert said, 'I'm worried, Andy. His wife says he hasn't been home and there's no answer to his mobile phone. We've issued an alert for him, but he's not your killer. I know him well and you couldn't meet a more reputable lawyer or man.'

  John Guilbert's word had always been good enough for Horton in the past, so why not now? They should rule out the solicitor, which meant that something must have happened to him. Horton didn't think it boded well.

  'Have you any idea of why Brundall would summon Sherbourne to England?' he asked.

  'For the same reason you thought of, either to change his will or sign some business papers, and if Sherbourne's missing then it doesn't look too good, because whatever Brundall did sign, Sherbourne brought back with him, and someone doesn't want us to find it.'

  'Does Dennings know this?'

  'No. I've only just found out myself. His partner in the law firm also claims he had no idea what Sherbourne's business was with Brundall. All he knows is that Brundall telephoned late Tuesday afternoon, about four fifteen. He doesn't know what the conversation was about and he didn't have any idea that Sherbourne was going to England on Wednesday. He just said he'd be out for the day. Sherbourne booked his own flight and paid with the firm's credit card. He's reliable, Andy.'

  Horton thought for a moment. If Guilbert were right then either someone had followed Sherbourne from Guernsey to England and back again, or someone from here had seen Sherbourne go onboard Brundall's boat and followed him back to Guernsey. If that was so, whoever it was must have known the solicitor to have recognized him. But he was getting ahead of himself.

  'Perhaps he's broken down somewhere and can't get a reception on his mobile phone,' he suggested. Or perhaps he had a lover and had switched off his mobile.

  Guilbert wasn't convinced.

  Horton said, 'Did Brundall have a mobile phone?'

  'We can't find any record of one or any bills so I guess not.'

  Which meant Brundall must have used a call box in the marina.

  They spent a couple more minutes exchanging news about the family. Guilbert was sorry to hear about Horton's impending divorce and glad that the ridiculous rape charges against him had been cleared up. Then Guilbert was called away and promised to ring Horton if any fresh evidence came to light or when they found Sherbourne.

  Horton sat back deep in thought. Something in their conversation had sparked an idea. Guilbert had said there had been no computer in Brundall's house, so how had he kept track of his investments, and how had he moved his money around?

  Horton supposed he could have done it through his bank. Was that Russell Newton's bank? That wouldn't
surprise Horton. Or maybe he had used a broker. And if so then Horton was sure that Guilbert would find out, but like he said it took time. However, Horton had another idea. He rang Joliffe in the forensic department and a few minutes later had the answer to his question.

  There had been the burnt-out remains of a laptop computer on Brundall's boat, but any data from it was irretrievable, Joliffe said. He also confirmed there had been no sign of a mobile phone.

  Horton relayed by phone a digest of the conversation he'd just had with Guilbert to Sergeant Trueman, asking him to pass it on to Uckfield. He felt anxious and impatient for answers, but it couldn't be hurried. Instead he delegated as many CID tasks as he could to uniformed officers and then made a Herculean effort to concentrate on DCI Bliss's new reporting method which seemed to be more akin to writing a revised edition of War and Peace only longer. He sincerely hoped that Walters would be back tomorrow. If not then he needed Bliss to give him some manpower, as this was getting beyond a joke. Not that it was ever funny in the first place. How the hell was he supposed to deal with a serious incident if one occurred with a non-existent team? This was modern policing. Invisible.

  His phone rang. He expected it to be Bliss. It was the front desk.

  'There's a Reverend Anne Schofield asking for you, Inspector.'

  'In reception?' he answered tetchily.

  'No, on the line, sir.'

  Not another attack of vandalism or theft in the church! The name wasn't familiar. He didn't have time for this but there didn't seem to be anyone left to delegate to.

  'Can't you put her through to Inspector Warren?' He was head of Territorial Operations and although Horton had already pinched some of his officers, he felt sure Warren would have a few more to spare somewhere.

  'She insisted on speaking to you personally.'

  'OK,' Horton said grudgingly.