Blood on the Sand (15 page)

   She made as if to leave when Uckfield halted her. 'We can't get through on his mobile. Do you have another contact number for him?'

   'I'll try his office; someone must know where he's staying.'

   Horton said, 'We've already tried them. He only left them his mobile number because he was going to be moving about the islands.'

   But Knowles had arrived there, Trueman had reported. He'd been on the eight forty-five flight to Glasgow from Southampton Airport on Wednesday morning and had checked in for the thirteen thirty flight from Glasgow to Sumburgh on the Shetland Islands. After that he had gone walkabout. Knowles' office had told Trueman that Knowles wasn't due to meet up with the people who had developed a new system to harness the wind for energy until Tuesday.

   Horton said, 'Would Mr Knowles' secretary know if Owen had emailed his report to him before he went missing?'

   'I'll get her to check his e-mails.'

   'Before you do,' Horton quickly added, 'there are just a few more questions. We won't take up too much more of your time.'

   She gave a brief tight smile but didn't resume her seat.

   Horton said, 'Would Owen have sent his findings to the European Translation Centre?'

   She looked hopeful. 'He might have done.'

   And if Thea had been given Owen's findings to translate into Danish, Swedish or German, and her brother had been killed because of it, then so might she have been, he considered gloomily.

   With a note of finality to her voice, Laura said, 'I'll check and let you know.'

   But Uckfield was not to be hurried. He reached for the last chocolate biscuit. 'Do you know Jonathan Anmore?'

   Laura Rosewood looked surprised at the question. 'I've seen him once or twice at Scanaford House. He's the gardener. Why?'

   'He's dead.'

   Her eyes widened. 'You mean he's been killed?' She looked at each of them in turn with a bewildered expression. 'But this is dreadful. How?'

   'He was stabbed.'

   Horton studied her as she assimilated this new information. Clearly she was shocked and puzzled by it. Her expression serious, she said, 'And you believe there is a connection between his death and Owen's. But if that's so then Owen's death can't have anything to do with the project.' Relief suddenly flooded her face. 'I'm sorry I can't be more helpful but I need to call Brussels.' This time she headed for the door with a purpose that not even Uckfield could ignore. He swallowed the remains of his coffee, rose and reached out a card to her.

   'Call me personally as soon as you have any further information.'

   
And even if you don't
, Horton interpreted Uckfield's gaze. She promised she would and judging by her expression Horton didn't think it would be a chore. But he hadn't quite finished yet. 'Do you know Bella Westbury?' he asked on the doorstep.

   'Yes. She's very active on the environmental front, and she was Sir Christopher's housekeeper.'

   'And Roy Danesbrook?' Horton thought he might as well ask. He expected Laura Rosewood to look blankly at him but she didn't. Instead a flicker of distaste crossed her face before she answered with a tight smile.

   'He runs a charity called Wight Earth and Mind. Sir Christopher was its patron.'

   'It's an environmental charity?' asked Horton, surprised. From his brief encounter with Danesbrook he wouldn't have marked him down as a friend of the earth type.

   'I believe so, though you'll have to ask Mr Danesbrook about it.'

   'You don't like him?' probed Horton, noting her curt tone.

   'I don't know him, but let's say that what I have seen of the man, which isn't much, doesn't exactly endear me to him. Over the last year he seemed to worm his way into Sir Christopher's life. I couldn't really understand what Christopher saw in him and although that was his business I couldn't help thinking that Mr Danesbrook was taking advantage of an elderly, sick man.'

   And that, thought Horton with an inner nod of satisfaction, was his sentiment exactly.

'
A
ll we need to do now is prove that this Danesbrook has gone off his trolley again, and is running around killing anyone connected with the Suttons,' Uckfield said in the car.

   
We'll need more than that
, thought Horton,
and so will the CPS
. He said, 'Owen's death could still have something to do with this project.'

   'Yeah, and I'm Bugs Bunny. What she said was a load of old bollocks and the chief's got hold of the wrong end of the stick,' Uckfield continued. 'If you ask me the motive for Owen Carlsson's murder and Anmore's is much simpler, and closer to home, than some piffling European environmental project.'

   Horton didn't think Laura Rosewood would go a bundle on the word 'piffling' but he agreed with Uckfield.

   Picking a piece of biscuit from his teeth, while managing to change gear at the same time, Uckfield continued, 'I reckon Danesbrook had a thing for the old boy, Sir Christopher, and when he heard Arina Sutton plotting with her boyfriend, Owen, to kill off her old man – you know, easing his passing by putting a pillow over his head – Danesbrook flipped and killed them both.'

   Horton didn't see Danesbrook as the caring kind, more the sucking-up type to gain some personal advantage. 'And what about killing Anmore?'

   Uckfield shrugged. 'Maybe Danesbrook thought he was in on it too.'

   Horton flashed Uckfield an incredulous look. 'Bit weak that, and it doesn't explain where Thea is or who set fire to her house.'

   'You want sugar on it?'

   
No, just answers
, thought Horton, falling silent as Uckfield drove more sedately back to the station. He didn't believe Uckfield's theory for one minute. OK, so he didn't know what Sir Christopher's sexual and personal tastes had been but he just couldn't see him falling for a weasel like Danesbrook. He wouldn't mind betting though that Danesbrook was involved somehow. And it was time to question him. It was also time to call his solicitor about Catherine proposing to send Emma away to school, but both would have to wait because Somerfield and Marsden were back from interviewing Charlie Anmore and Horton was keen to hear what they had to report.

   Kate Somerfield said, 'The old man is pretty cut up as you'd imagine. Jonathan Anmore was his only child. He'd been divorced for ten years. He's got two boys who his wife won't let him see, out of spite, Charlie Anmore claims. He says she took Jonathan for every penny he had. Jonathan returned to the Isle of Wight from the mainland ten years ago and took over his father's gardening business. Yesterday Jonathan came home at one o'clock for his dinner.'

   That fitted with Horton seeing him at Scanaford House just after midday. He asked Trueman if he'd managed to trace the call Anmore had taken on his mobile phone as he'd left him.

   'Still working on it,' came the reply.

   Marsden took up the reporting. 'Jonathan then went out again just after two. Charlie hadn't heard Jonathan mention Owen Carlsson but he did know Arina Sutton was a customer of his son's.'

   Uckfield said, 'Any special friends or girlfriends, rumours about his love life, grudges against him?'

   'No.'

   Horton asked, 'Did Anmore have any connection with environmental groups?'

   'No. He liked sailing––'

   'Yes, we saw the boat,' Uckfield said sarcastically.

   'And he liked shooting,' Marsden added with a note of triumph. 'According to his father, Jonathan was a crack shot when he was in the RAF. He served six years as a mechanic before leaving to study landscape gardening at college on the mainland where he met his wife. Charlie didn't know where Jonathan kept his gun or what type it was. He said he'd never seen it. We searched the house and there was no sign of a gun or a licence.'

   Uckfield turned on Trueman. 'Any gun found in the barn?'

   'No.'

   Horton could see what Uckfield was thinking, that it could have been used on Owen Carlsson and then discarded.

   Uckfield sprang up. 'Right. Marsden, go back to the gun clubs and see if Anmore was ever a member or guest. While you're at it ask if Roy Danesbrook is too. Somerfield, get on to the Child Support Agency, find out if Anmore's behind with his payments. Talk to his wife on the phone and get the true story on the divorce. And then start going through the things you bagged up from Anmore's room. I'm going to report to the chief.'

   Horton stepped out of the station and, sheltering from the rain in the doorway, punched in Framptons' telephone number.

   'Andy, are you back from holiday?' Frances Greywell said moments later.

   'No. I've got caught up in this case on the Isle of Wight. Catherine wants to send Emma away to school. Emma doesn't want to go. She rang me. I don't want her to go.'

   There was a short pause. 'I'll speak to her solicitor.'

   He rang off with the impression that whatever Frances Greywell said to Catherine's solicitors he'd somehow still fail his daughter. Staring at the rain he understood how and why some men were forced to kidnap their children, hang off tall buildings, climb bridges and throw eggs at politicians in Parliament for the right to have a say in their children's lives. Divorce was shit. He felt like shit. Would it matter if he walked away from this case now and went to try and reason with Catherine? He'd get a bollocking, but that was nothing. He could cope with that. And yet he didn't move. Part of him said that Catherine was beyond reasoning with, and that he'd achieve nothing by confronting her, while the other part said he should at least try. Then there was Thea.

   A car drew up. Cantelli climbed out. The decision had been made for him.

   'How did it go with Carlsson's solicitor?' Horton asked, noting but not wanting to acknowledge his relief.

   'I'll tell you over a cup of tea, a bacon sandwich and chips. I'm starving.'

   Cheered by Cantelli's breezy manner, and with the sudden real ization that he was hungry too, Horton pushed aside his anxiety and melancholia and was soon tucking into a ham roll, chips and salad. Impatient to hear what Cantelli had learnt, he knew though that he'd have to wait until the sergeant's first bite into his bacon sandwich.

   'Owen Carlsson left everything to Thea,' Cantelli said with his mouth full. 'At a rough estimate he's worth about eight hundred thousand pounds which includes the house. It didn't have a mortgage. Carlsson and his sister inherited a substantial sum on their parents' death. Thea's was in trust until she became twenty-one. Now she'll get her brother's share.'

   'If she's still alive.' Horton didn't like to think that was a motive for murder although he could see that Cantelli had considered it, and so too would Uckfield when he heard Cantelli's news. He told Cantelli what Laura Rosewood had said about Thea possibly being suicidal.

   Cantelli said, 'With her parents dead, her brother murdered, and the house and belongings gone up in smoke, I'd say she had good reason to be depressed. Did she strike you as being the type?'

   'Is there a type?'

   'I guess not.' Cantelli took a gulp of coffee. Horton knew Cantelli was recalling the dark days of Horton's suspension. After Catherine had chucked him out he'd come within minutes of throwing himself off his yacht. It had been Cantelli's friendship that had been partly responsible for helping him through it. When he'd stopped drinking, anger had taken the place of self-pity. It had driven him to clear his name, but by then it was too late to save his marriage.

   Stabbing a chip, he said, 'So what else did you get?'

   'Arina Sutton made her last will at the same time as her father, which was in September. The solicitor, Newlands, says they had no relatives so Arina was happy to bequeath her estate to the same charities as Sir Christopher had made bequests to. He left most of his estate to Arina with four major bequests and there was quite a tidy sum to leave. The estate is worth over four million.'

   Horton gave a soft whistle. 'So who now gets their hands on that lot?'

   Cantelli consulted his note book. 'The Institute of Neurology, The National Hospital Development Foundation, The Hammersmith Hospital, and a charity called Wight Earth and Mind.'

   Horton froze with what remained of his ham roll in mid air. A slow smile spread across his face. Triumphantly he said, 'That's why the bastard was visiting Scanaford House. He'd come to eye up his inheritance.'

   'Eh?'

   Horton replaced the roll uneaten. 'Laura Rosewood's just told us that Roy Danesbrook runs a charity called Wight Earth and Mind with Sir Christopher as its patron, and now the shifty bugger inherits. He's got a damn good motive for killing Arina Sutton – money. Owen Carlsson must have recognized him, or worked it out, confronted him with it and Danesbrook had to kill him. No wonder he shot off so quickly when I mentioned Owen's death; the little bastard was guilty as hell.' But that didn't explain why Danesbrook hadn't reacted when Horton had first mentioned Owen's name. Then it clicked – of course! Danesbrook had an accomplice who must have killed Owen Carlsson without Danesbrook's knowledge. And that accomplice could have been Anmore who was in the churchyard waiting to rendezvous with Danesbrook, only Horton had scared him off. Then Danesbrook had gone to Anmore's barn and shoved a pitchfork into him, scared his part in Arina's death would come out. He said as much to Cantelli.

   'Could Danesbrook be your arsonist?' asked Cantelli.

   Horton thought for a moment. 'I'm not sure. I couldn't see who knocked me out.' And he didn't like to think that a weakling like Danesbrook could have got the better of him, though he'd had the element of surprise. Scraping back his chair, Horton said, 'But Danesbrook could have kidnapped and possibly killed Thea. Come on, Barney; time we had a word with him.'