Killing Coast, A (Detective Inspector Andy Horton)

by Rowson, Pauline

  The house creaked and groaned as the fog reached inside. It felt as though the place was giving itself up to the dead. Time to leave. He could reason all this out in the safety of Hazleton’s driveway or on the ferry back to Portsmouth, not here. He stepped forward. The floor creaked behind him. Spinning round, he could see nothing and no one. He turned and his foot caught on something. Experience and instinct told him what it was. Surely he couldn’t have been so disorientated as to have stumbled into the room and found Arthur Lisle. But no, there was the rotting staircase to his right. He’d gone further into the passageway instead of the kitchen. His breathing laboured as he played the thin beam of his torch on the floor. Steadily, with his heart pounding, he took in the bloody mess of the head, the sightless staring eyes. But there was no mistaking who it was. With a shock he saw that it was Russell Glenn. Shit! He’d killed himself.

  That was Horton’s first thought; his second was anger that the chance of interrogating Glenn to find out if he’d had a connection with Jennifer had been snatched from him. His third was disappointment, followed by the realization that Glenn hadn’t killed himself. For a start there was no gun and Glenn had been shot in the head. And from what he could see, Glenn hadn’t been dead for very long. Horton hadn’t heard a shot but the fog could have muffled the sound, and neither had he heard any vehicle approaching. He stiffened. He had seen a boat though before the fog had come in. A RIB. Russell Glenn’s RIB. He must have been coming here to meet his killer. And who the hell could that be? More to the point, was the killer still here?

  Horton spun round, sensing rather than hearing someone behind him, but he was too late. The blow struck him across the back of his head, and as his legs buckled beneath him and his face hit the dirt and dust of the rotten floorboards Dr Clayton’s words flashed before him: a single blow to the back of the head is rarely enough to kill someone unless the victim is unfortunate enough to have a thin skull, but several blows can. The last thing Horton wondered as the darkness swallowed him up was what type of skull he had.

  TWENTY-ONE

  The thick type was the answer, thankfully, because a short time later, maybe only minutes, Horton opened his eyes to find his head pounding and his mouth full of dust. Gingerly, he rose, trying to focus his vision in the dark, wondering why the killer hadn’t finished him off, but immensely grateful that he hadn’t.

  He staggered up, swaying a little. His head was hurting but he was alive, and that was the main thing, not like Glenn beside him. Horton couldn’t immediately see his torch and he wasn’t going to waste time searching for it. He only hoped he could find his way out of the house without it and not stumble over Lisle’s body deeper in the dark interior.

  His eyes were growing accustomed to the gloom and within a couple of minutes he found himself staggering through the kitchen and, with relief, outside into the damp clinging fog. Hastily, he followed the path to the front of the house. He recalled there was a turn and then it was straight ahead to the low cliff top. Clearly, Glenn had come on the RIB into the bay either alone or with his killer. If he’d come unknowingly with his killer, then the RIB would be the murderer’s means of escape. And if Glenn had come alone for his rendezvous, then either there was another boat down in the bay or the killer had already been on the Island. Horton knew that no one could have got close enough to the house by road, but it was always a possibility that the killer had a car parked further away.

  But no, Horton heard the spluttering of a boat engine and hurried in its direction towards the bay. The killer was a fool to try and get away in the fog. He could be dashed to pieces on the rocks, and Horton very much wanted this killer alive. His mind was racing with thoughts at Glenn’s unexpected death. Who could have wanted him dead and why? How was it connected with Sarah Walpen – because it had to be, why else would Russell Glenn have come to her house? Had Glenn killed Colin Yately, Arthur Lisle and Victor Hazleton to prevent a secret from being exposed?

  Horton recalled the expression on Glenn’s face when he’d come on deck and stared at him on Monday evening. He thought he’d witnessed recognition and thought it had been directed at him, but perhaps it hadn’t been. Perhaps there had been someone nearby or behind Horton who had caught Glenn’s attention. And Horton swiftly recalled what Cantelli had told him: Glenn had joined the Merchant Navy in 1968, working on cargo ships and tankers, joining Carnival Cruises in 1978 until 1981. Then he’d re-emerged in the UK in 1985 with enough money to buy up a chain of hotels. Where had that money come from? Not from a merchant seaman’s pay.

  Horton put the strands together as he rushed towards the shore. Was it possible that Glenn had met Sarah Walpen, killed her and stolen from her? And he’d come here because someone had threatened to expose his secret, a secret that Colin Yately and Arthur Lisle had discovered from their research and been killed because of it. Glenn could have killed them, and he could also have killed Victor Hazleton because Victor Hazleton could identify him, but who had killed Glenn? Clearly someone else who knew the secret, and that person could have been who Glenn had seen behind Horton on the boardwalk.

  The sound of the engine trying to start again ripped through the air, slicing into Horton’s thoughts. He had only minutes to reach the RIB before the murderer disappeared into the fog. Sprinting towards where he hoped the cliff was, his mind teemed with thoughts. Glenn would never have come here alone. Lloyd went everywhere with Glenn, so PC Johns had said, which meant that Lloyd must be the killer and Horton’s assailant. But if Glenn had come here alone then there was only one person it could be trying to start the boat’s engine.

  With relief he hit the cliff top and scrambled down to the shore. Glenn’s killer froze.

  ‘Give it up, Vernon,’ Horton said, stepping forward.

  Oliver Vernon brought the gun up and levelled it at Horton.

  Horton stiffened but made every attempt to keep his voice even as he said, ‘Perhaps you didn’t mean to kill Russell Glenn. Perhaps it was an accident. The gun went off in the darkness of the house. Perhaps it was self-defence.’ Horton eased another two steps forward, the fog muffling his voice and making it sound taut and strangled even to his ears. How convenient for Vernon to have been on the Island, brought here at Horton’s request. No patrol car had dropped him back to the Hover terminal; Oliver Vernon had seized the chance of the fog and being here, working for the police, to make his move. He must have called Glenn and asked him to meet him at the old Walpen house, bringing with him payment for his silence, and Horton was beginning to see what that payment might be.

  Vernon’s fair bearded face was deathly pale. The hand holding the gun trembled slightly.

  Horton continued, while slowly easing forward. The cold sea lapped at his shoes. ‘Glenn came here at your request but he intended to kill you. You didn’t expect that. You struggled, got the gun from him and it went off. Was that how it was?’

  There was a moment’s fragile silence. The sound of a distant foghorn seeped through the mist. Then Vernon spoke. ‘I didn’t know he’d have a gun. That wasn’t part of the plan.’

  No. Horton saw it all clearly. Incredulous, he said, ‘You didn’t think a man like Glenn would let you steal from him?’ But clearly Vernon had. Horton recollected from the few photographs of Glenn that Walters had printed off, and from what he’d seen of Glenn on the deck of the superyacht, his dishevelled appearance, gold-rimmed spectacles and distracted bewildered air, but there had been that one photograph capturing Glenn unaware which had shown a different man. The shambolic Glenn was an act, designed, Horton reckoned, to disguise a razor-sharp brain and a ruthless mind. Glenn must have fooled a great many people in his time. Had he fooled Avril? Somehow Horton doubted it.

  ‘What was it Glenn had that you wanted? A piece of jewellery?’ Horton stalled; again something tugged at the back of his mind, but now was not the time to examine it. He recalled what Ian Williams had told him, that William Walpen had emerged on the scene out of nowhere, and wealthy. ‘Was it a ring? A brooch? A n
ecklace? Ah, a necklace,’ Horton added at Vernon’s startled look. ‘And it belonged to Sarah Walpen.’

  ‘You know about it?’ Vernon answered, surprised.

  ‘Let me see if I’ve got this right.’ Horton stepped a little closer, while he considered how to get the gun away from Vernon without either of them getting injured or killed. ‘Glenn met wealthy Sarah Walpen on a Carnival cruise liner where he was working as a deckhand and discovered she had no living relatives and a great deal of money. He killed her and stole her money, forging her signature and taking her jewellery, including this valuable necklace, and other items, to kick start his business and his fortune. He discovered that the necklace was different from the rest of the jewellery he’d stolen from Sarah and he couldn’t sell it for fear of it being traced, but as you told me, Oliver, there are people who will buy things no questions asked, and who don’t care how they’ve been obtained.’

  Horton moved a half step nearer. His feet were frozen but that was the least of his concerns. He tried to see the make of the weapon pointed at him. How many rounds were left in the barrel? How could he get it off Vernon before getting a bullet in the head like Glenn?

  He continued. ‘Victor Hazleton worked for the legal firm who had handled Sarah Walpen’s affairs. When Hazleton realized she was not returning he began to plunder her estate, selling off her valuable items to fund his lifestyle. But he couldn’t do it all at once or through one auction house on the Island because it would look too suspicious, so he took trips to the mainland to dispose of the antiques and valuables through various auction houses, claiming he’d lost the original paperwork or found the item in his grandmother’s attic or some such story. Then he showed up at Landrams where you were working, and with a piece of jewellery that Glenn hadn’t stolen from Sarah Walpen, perhaps because she’d been wearing it at the time of her death.’ And if she had been then her body must be in that derelict house, thought Horton. He didn’t know yet how Glenn had killed Sarah, or disposed of her body, but that would hopefully come later if he could get the gun away from Vernon without it going off.

  Vernon said, ‘It was a ring. When I examined it I could hardly believe what I was seeing. It was part of a reputed missing collection of jewels, which had been brought to England by Charles X when he fled into exile from France in 1830.’

  And that fitted exactly with what Ian Williams had told Horton. He kept his eyes fixed on Vernon’s face. The gun was still pointing at him but it was as if Vernon was no longer aware it was in his hand.

  Excitedly, Vernon continued. ‘The Esmeraude Collection belonged to a former lover of Charles X given to her by him. Its diamonds were set in silver, and the emeralds set in gold, and it was designed and executed by the French Royal Jewellers Jacques-Evrard and Christophe-Frédéric Bapst in 1819, the same time as a tiara worn by the daughter-in-law of Charles X, Marie-Thérèse.’

  Vernon’s voice was growing more excited, and although the gun was still levelled at Horton he hoped in Vernon’s agitation it might waver for a moment and let him take his chance. The fog oozed around them. Horton listened intently to Vernon while edging his way minutely forward and looking for his chance.

  ‘Because the tiara was made with materials provided by the state, Marie-Thérèse returned it to the treasury when she came to England with her husband, and her uncle and father-in-law, Charles X. Charles though was rumoured to have brought with him the Esmeraude Collection, said to comprise a necklace, a comb, a pair of drop earrings, a ring, a pair of bracelets, a brooch and a belt clasp.’

  The cold sea lapped gently at Horton’s ankles. He kept his steady gaze fixed on Vernon standing in the rear of the RIB above him.

  ‘Charles claimed the jewellery had been stolen but many believed he had hidden it to prevent it being used to pay off his debtors in England. I had a private client who would jump at the chance to add the ring to his collection, so I bought it on the client’s behalf from Hazleton privately. He had no idea of its true worth and I got it for a song, although Hazleton was pleased with the amount he got. I wondered if he had the rest of the missing collection but I didn’t want to alert him of its value. I told him that I would help him sell any other items, no questions asked, and that it would save him having to travel to the mainland and all the hassle of having the things valued and authenticated. At first he didn’t like giving me a small commission, but I convinced him I could get him more money selling privately and he was soon on board. I used to visit him at night. I didn’t want anyone to see me and sometimes I’d come by boat into the bay. I’d hire a RIB. It wasn’t often, twice a year, three times maximum. I knew he lived alone. But although I tried to pump him he wouldn’t say how he had got hold of the ring or the other items. I did some research on the old man and discovered that he’d worked for a legal firm on the Island. He’d never been abroad so he must have come across the ring here and that fitted with the collection possibly having been lost at sea when Charles X was sailing past these waters, although nothing in the archive showed a shipwreck, which made me think someone had stolen the collection and swum ashore.’

  And Horton knew that must have been William Walpen, or whatever his real name had been, and they’d probably never know that. He said, ‘And then you discovered that Russell Glenn had the Esmeraude Necklace.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘At first I thought Hazleton must have sold the necklace to Glenn or to someone who had sold it on to him, but when I gently pumped Hazleton it was clear he didn’t know anything about a necklace. I told him that if he had a necklace or any other jewellery in the same style as the ring I could make his fortune. I knew he would have to look. He was a greedy little man and a thief, that much was clear from the items he gave me to sell, which had no provenance, so the night I told him about the jewellery being worth a fortune I followed him to the derelict house, up there.’ Vernon jerked his head but his eyes didn’t leave Horton.

  He continued. ‘Hazleton rummaged around inside the house for a while and after he’d left I stayed on. I found three steamer trunks with the name Sarah Walpen on them and the cruise ship label. Inside one of the trunks I found what was left of Sarah Walpen. The rest was easy. Sarah Walpen had been on SS Agora in 1981 and I discovered two rather odd things about that cruise ship and that year.’

  ‘Russell Glenn was a deckhand on board it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Vernon said, surprised that Horton knew this. ‘It was also due to dock in Southampton, but because of a dockers’ strike all the passengers and some of the crew were transferred on to a ferry in the Solent and taken into Portsmouth instead. The cruise ship couldn’t get into Portsmouth Harbour because it was too big.’

  And Horton saw how easy it must have been in the ensuing chaos for Glenn to tick off Sarah Walpen as having disembarked. Sarah’s belongings were sent on, as already arranged, to the empty house waiting for her, along with her body. Her furniture had probably been shipped there earlier. After a while Victor Hazleton had wondered why there was outstanding paperwork for her at the lawyer’s office and, on investigating, had found a ready fortune, easily accessible, with no questions asked.

  Horton said, ‘So you thought that as Glenn had the necklace, and had never said a word about it, he must have killed Sarah Walpen and stolen it from her.’

  ‘Yes. He must have forged her name on her accounts, and stolen other valuable items from her, which started him on the road to wealth.’

  ‘And you decided to blackmail Glenn into handing over the necklace.’

  Vernon sniffed but didn’t answer.

  Horton said, ‘And is that why you killed Colin Yately: because he was getting too close to the truth and would ruin your scheme? You tortured him into telling you about Arthur Lisle and the research they’d done on Sarah Walpen. So after tricking Lisle into collecting the evidence from Yately’s flat you then killed him. Did Victor Hazleton see you? Is that why he had to die? Or had you already decided his usefulness was at an end, and you saw an
opportunity to get rid of him and frame Arthur Lisle for it?’

  ‘No! I’ve no idea who killed them and I’ve never heard of Arthur Lisle or Colin Yately,’ Vernon said, surprised.

  Did Horton believe him? It sounded like the truth, but Horton wasn’t going to let that influence him. The gun was still pointing at him, but Vernon seemed almost to have forgotten it was in his hand. Horton eased a step forward, feeling the icy waters reach up his calves. He was within reach of the RIB now, looking up at Vernon at the rear of it, close to the engine. But Vernon, in his excitement and increasing agitation, didn’t seem to notice how close he was.

  Vernon insisted. ‘I found a man’s body in a small inlet in the cliff, just in the next bay, on Monday morning. I’d come here to collect more evidence from Sarah Walpen in case I needed it to persuade Glenn to part with the necklace. I thought Hazleton must have killed that man because he’d discovered his secret. It was a perfect opportunity. I dressed the body in one of Sarah’s dresses, which I fetched from one of the trunks in the house. I thought the media would pick up on it, you know, “mystery of man’s body found wearing old-fashioned dress in the Solent”, that kind of thing, and then I could send a message to Glenn telling him they might discover it was a dress belonging to Sarah Walpen, and that if he didn’t do what he was told, the police would get a hint of who the dress belonged to. Not that Glenn knew it was me.’