Blood on the Sand (23 page)

   Horton felt frustration well up in him. His head was pounding with fatigue. Here was a woman who was highly trained and experienced in covert operations. And one who knew when to hold her tongue. If, as Laura Rosewood had suspected, Owen had been killed because of his project then there was no way this side of the century he was going to get Bella Westbury to admit to it, or admit to having a part in his death.

   She said, 'Do you still want me to come to the station?'

   'What do you think?'

   'Then there is something you should know. I will deny your allegations about me spying at Newbury. And I shall deny having anything to do with these murders. So unless you have some firm evidence that can prove I killed Arina, Owen and Jonathan I don't think you can charge me. And you certainly won't get a confession.'

   'Then I shall try fraud.'

   She laughed. 'I haven't committed any fraud, but if you insist then I also insist on calling a solicitor, who will
insist
that you formally charge me or let me go. Don't you think that's all rather a waste of time and you'd be better off catching a killer?'

   'I've already caught one,' he said, but he knew his words fell on stony ground.

S
he was as good as her word. Bella Westbury said nothing until her solicitor arrived from London mid morning. Horton had tried to get her to tell him who her client was, and to admit to killing Arina Sutton, Owen Carlsson and Jonathan Anmore, but he knew even before he started that he was wasting his breath. He couldn't even get her on a charge of intent to defraud Sir Christopher Sutton's estate, especially when Danesbrook claimed the charity idea was his and he hadn't done anything wrong anyway.

   Irritated and frustrated, Horton left her with Marsden to make her formal statement and found Uckfield, Cantelli, Trueman and Somerfield in the incident room.

   'We'll have to let them go.' He threw himself into a chair. He felt exhausted and clearly so did the others judging by their faces. There were dark shadows under Cantelli's eyes whilst Uckfield's were bloodshot and his craggy face drawn and grey. Trueman's five o'clock shadow looked as though it had been round the clock twice without actually producing a beard. Only Somerfield looked relatively fresh as she placed a coffee in front of Horton, and he suspected that was some clever trick with make-up.

   'Can't we even get Danesbrook for fraud and embezzlement?' Uckfield said in desperation.

   Cantelli answered. 'Danesbrook claims he was in the process of setting up the charity and there's no one to say he wasn't. All we can get him on is not declaring any money that Sir Christopher gave him to social security.'

   Uckfield snorted in disgust then winced. Horton wondered what was wrong with him. He looked ill.

   'There's worse,' Horton said. 'Although Bella Westbury and Danesbrook have no alibi for the time of Owen's death, they have one for Arina's death,
if
we believe them. They now claim they were together that evening.'

   'As in having a relationship?' Uckfield asked disbelievingly.

   'Apparently. Though they're probably lying to give each other an alibi. Danesbrook was in the pub at the time of Anmore's death and Bella says she was at home alone. We've got no proof to show that either she or Danesbrook were involved in Owen's and Jonathan's deaths, and we've got about as much chance of getting a confession as we have of walking on water. Bella Westbury is as tough as a cow's backside. Did you have a word with Charlie Anmore, Somerfield? Is he OK?'

   'Yes. He said that Bella Westbury just wanted to pass on her condolences. They talked about the old days and that was it. He says it was kind of her to call.'

   Horton remained sceptical about that. He doubted Bella Westbury did anything out of pure kindness. Horton had asked Trueman to email a copy of the photograph of Bella Westbury to Sweden to ask Bohman if he recognized Bella or had heard Lars, Helen or Owen mention her name. The answer had come back negative on all counts.

   'So where does this leave us?' asked Uckfield, glowering at them all.

   It was a good question. Horton swallowed a mouthful of coffee before answering. 'It leaves us trying to find enough evidence and a motive to convict her. Has Laura Rosewood had any joy finding out who Bella's paymasters might be?'

   'She's making enquiries, but I can't see anyone owning up to it, can you?'

   Horton couldn't.

   'You've told Bella not to leave the island?' Uckfield's demand turned into a groan.

   'For the second time,' Horton replied wearily. 'And I doubt she'll take any more notice of me this time than she did before.'

   'Then put a watch on her.'

   Trueman nodded.

   Uckfield added, 'Isn't there any evidence in that bloody barn to help us catch our killer?'

   'The forensic lab is still testing various items,' Trueman said. 'There's no sign of Anmore's mobile phone, and he wasn't on a contract, but his phone company are seeing if they can list his most recent calls. We might get something from them later.'

   'Might's no bloody use to us,' grumbled Uckfield, frowning.

   Horton said, 'What about the gun used to kill Owen, any more news on that?'

   Cantelli answered. 'The lab has confirmed that the fragments of the bullets found in Owen's body match the gun you found Thea with.'

   'Could it have been Anmore's?'

   Kate Somerfield said, 'Charlie told me that his son often sailed to France. Perhaps Jonathan picked up the gun there.'

   She had a point. Horton said, 'Anmore's boat is small enough not to draw too much attention from the Customs boys.'

   'Why not simply register and buy a gun here or use one at a gun club?' asked Cantelli, folding a fresh piece of chewing gum in his mouth.

   'Perhaps he didn't want to be bothered with the red tape?' suggested Trueman. 'Or he only wanted it for target practice in his barn.'

   'Should have bought himself an air rifle then,' Horton added sourly.

   Uckfield rose and immediately let out a howl of pain, clasping a hand to his back. They all stared at him, surprised.

   'You all right?' asked Horton, concerned.

   'Do I bloody look it?' Uckfield hissed through gritted teeth.

   'Perhaps you've pulled a muscle.'

   'Yeah, laughing at you clowns, who couldn't catch the clap in a brothel never mind a triple killer.' He flashed Horton a hostile look before trying to straighten up, decided it wasn't a wise move and made a vain attempt to hobble to the crime board.

   Horton threw Trueman a look.
What's wrong with the Super?
Trueman shrugged.
No idea
.

   Horton said, 'There could be another reason for Owen's death, which puts Bella and Danesbrook in the clear.'

   'Then for God's sake tell us,' Uckfield snapped. 'Or do we have to play twenty questions?'

   'Owen could have witnessed something when he was out gathering data for his survey.'

   'Like what?' asked Trueman.

   'He was on the coastline so it could be smuggling, boat stealing, or dumping waste in the sea or in a coastal stream.'

   Cantelli looked up. 'He could have found something which incriminated someone––'

   'Such as?' grunted Uckfield, screwing his face up with pain.

   'A body, a treasure trove, guns. Owen Carlsson could have seen Anmore bringing in guns. He confronted him and – bang.' Cantelli made a shooting movement with his two fingers.

   Horton addressed Trueman. 'When was the last time the boat was used?'

   'I'll check with the lab.' He lifted the phone.

   Horton continued. 'And check if Customs have ever stopped him.'

   Trueman nodded before speaking into the telephone.

   Uckfield, with his hand on his back and clearly in some discomfort, said, 'We need to find out where Owen Carlsson went in the days before he was killed––'

   'Before Arina was killed,' corrected Horton. 'Her death could still have been a warning for Owen to keep his mouth shut.'

   'Yeah, and as we haven't got his diary we're back to asking Joe Public to help, which is about as much good as a split condom. No one's come through with a single sighting of him since that woman saw him on the Cowes chain ferry. And there's still no sign of Thea Carlsson.'

   And that was worrying Horton. He hauled himself up with a glance at his watch. He wasn't going to find Thea by sitting around here discussing theories. Besides, he and Cantelli had an appointment. He nodded to Cantelli who unfurled himself from his chair.

   'Where are you going?' demanded Uckfield, surprised.

   'Ghost hunting.'

   'What?' Uckfield's bellow turned to a yelp of pain.

   'Gordon Elms is the author of a book that Helen Carlsson inscribed for her daughter and it's possible that Thea went to visit him.'

   'And where the devil will that get us?'

   Horton didn't know. Both Bella Westbury and Danesbrook had denied all knowledge of Thea's whereabouts but then they would if they'd killed her. 'You'd better see someone about your back,' he called out, not stopping to hear Uckfield's answer, which if true to his usual form would be a string of profanities.

   'The super's obviously been overdoing it,' Cantelli said, pointing the car in the direction of Gordon Elms' house. 'Looks like he's taken on more than he can handle with this Laura Rosewood. What's she like?'

   'Attractive, widowed and a friend of the Chief Constable's.'

   Cantelli flashed him a look. 'He's playing a bit close to home. I hope his wife never finds out.'

   Horton thought of Alison Uckfield and agreed. It wouldn't do Uckfield's career much good either.

   Cantelli said, 'Elms has got his own website and seems to be something of a celebrity in ghost hunting circles.' He handed Horton a piece of paper.

   Horton read aloud. '"The Isle of Wight is reputed to be the most haunted place in Britain. It is home to a medley of ghosts, spooks and spirits. Take a walk around Cowes with ghost hunter and popular author Gordon Elms, and discover the mysteries of the old town. Sign up for a tour of the many houses and hotels on this mystical magical island where ghosts still haunt the halls and corridors."' He looked up. 'Scanaford House?'

   'I can't see Sir Christopher Sutton opening his house to the weirdos of the world.'

   And neither could Horton. Nor could he see Arina Sutton doing the same – but Roy Danesbrook as the owner? That was another matter altogether. Cantelli was obviously following his train of thought.

   'Be a good money-spinner though. Especially for someone like Danesbrook. Spend a night in the haunted house and spot a spook.'

   'Does Danesbrook know Gordon Elms?'

   'He says not.' Cantelli yawned. 'I can't handle these late sessions like I used to. Must be getting old.'

   'If it's any consolation I'm feeling just as rough.'

   Cantelli dashed him a glance as if to check. 'Charlotte called this morning,' he added, pulling into the traffic.

   'Anything wrong?' Horton asked anxiously, sensing Cantelli's concerns.

   'She says Joe's missing the only male in the household, and with five women, three of them hormonal if you count Charlotte, I said who can blame him.' Cantelli smiled, but Horton could see he was worried.

   Joe and his six-year-old twin sister, Molly, were the youngest of Cantelli's brood. Ellen, the eldest at sixteen, had caused Cantelli some sleepless nights recently and he guessed her sisters, Sadie, who was fourteen, and Marie now twelve were probably fast catching up on the worry front. Horton wondered if he'd be around to see his own daughter through troubled times. He had to be, there was no question of that.

   'How are the girls?' he asked.

   'Ellen's more interested in boys than studying, so nothing new there. Sadie's dancing her feet off, loves all that ballroom and Latin American stuff, and Marie's blossoming now she's started at that new school.'

   Horton recalled that Marie had had the misfortune to be sent to one of the worst inner city schools in Portsmouth – the one he'd been condemned to spend some years at as a child – because all the places at the schools Cantelli and Charlotte had applied for had gone by the time the local education department had found their lost application papers.

   Cantelli said, 'She's only been there a fortnight and loves it. I can tell you, getting her into St Crispins, and her winning that scholarship, is the best thing that could have happened even if I did have to promise to return to the fold of Catholicism. I'd have converted to Buddhism if it took that to make her happy. And I would have sold my soul to the devil to pay for her school fees if she hadn't got a scholarship, clever girl. Just to see her face light up every time she talks about it is worth . . . Sorry.' Cantelli flicked Horton a glance. 'There's me wittering on when you must be worried sick about Emma. Any news on that front?'

   Horton found himself telling Cantelli about Emma's phone call and Catherine's plans to send Emma away to school.

   'Why don't you visit the school?' Cantelli urged. 'It wouldn't do any harm to see what it's like. You've every right to do that, even Catherine can't stop you. And if you find you don't like it, and there are reasonable grounds, then you've got something solid to fight against it.'

   Cantelli had a point. He should have thought of it himself but emotion and Emma's sobs had clouded his judgement. 'I'll call them.'

   'Yeah, and don't leave it too long. I know what you're like when on a case. That's not meant as a criticism,' he added hastily at Horton's dark look. 'Call that school as soon as we've finished with Gordon Elms – and talking of which, we're here.'