Dead Man's Wharf (7 page)

  'Yes, why?' She looked both surprised and suspicious.

  'And do you always lock it when you leave it?'

  'Of course.'

  Horton didn't know whether to believe her. She held his stare defiantly, but there was that wariness in the back of her eyes.

  'When was the last time you entered the basement?'

  She looked startled. 'I'm in and out of there all the time.'

  Cantelli looked up from his notebook. 'And when did you last check on Mrs Ebury's belongings?'

  She looked at each of them in turn. Her face flushed. 'So that's it! They've been stolen and you think I did it. Who pointed the finger at me? I bet it was that cow Angela Northwood. She's never liked me. Well, they can poke their job.' She stubbed out her cigarette with such violence that Horton thought she'd go through the brick mantelpiece.

  'The drawer was forced open. You didn't notice it when you went down there?'

  'No, I bloody didn't.'

  'Did you show Dr Eastwood up to Mrs Ebury's room?'

  She glared at him and folded her arms against her flabby bosoms. 'Yes,' she snapped. 'He arrived about half an hour after I called him.'

  'And was Mrs Kingsway awake?'

  'I woke her not long after I found Irene dead. I got one of the care assistants, Cheryl, to take her downstairs and make her a cup of tea. That's it. I'm not answering any more questions.' She picked her way through the debris and flung open the door. The wind and rain rushed inside, but she held her ground.

  So, it couldn't have been the doctor that Mrs Kingsway had seen bending over Irene Ebury. Perhaps she had dreamt it. Either that or there really had been an intruder.

  Turning on the threshold, Horton took a lingering look around the dishevelled room not bothering to hide his disgust. His eyes swivelled to Marion Keynes and she shifted uneasily under his hostile gaze.

  'Where does your husband work, Mrs Keynes?'

  'None of your fucking business,' she blazed, slamming the door on him.

  Cantelli zapped open the car. 'Nice woman.'

  'Yeah, pity we don't meet more like her.'

  Cantelli smiled. 'What bloody awful kids. She's got no control over them. If they were mine.'

  'They certainly wouldn't be spoilt brats like that.'

  'Makes you tremble to think what they'll turn out like.'

  'We'll probably be picking up the results of it in years to come.'

  'Some of those toys were pretty expensive,' Cantelli added, pulling away. 'I know because Joe wanted one of those computer games that were lying around the floor. I couldn't afford one on a sergeant's pay, let alone three that I saw there. Makes you wonder where the Keynes got the money from.'

  'Could be bought on credit.'

  'Or perhaps she stole Irene's jewellery and flogged it.'

  That was a possibility which Horton had already considered. 'I wouldn't put it past her. She's sloppy, uncaring, and unfeeling. The Rest Haven is well shot of her.'

  'Why become a nurse?'

  'To make herself feel superior, I expect.' Horton caught Cantelli's worried glance. 'It happens, Barney, you know that as well as I do. It's how some people get their kicks by bullying the elderly, frail and vulnerable.'

  'But nurses are meant to care,' Cantelli protested.

  'Most of them do, but you know as well I do that now and again you come across the odd callous bastard or bitch, who either believes they're put on this earth to rid it of those they consider inferior and weak, or they're evil and greedy.'

  'Then I think we should investigate Marion Keynes more thoroughly,' declared Cantelli vehemently.

  'Walters will tell us what time the staff really started drinking and if it was just before midnight like she says then I'll resign.' Then Horton had another thought and one he didn't much care for. He recalled the uniform that Mrs Northwood had been wearing: dark trousers and a white tunic type top. If Marion Keynes had pinned up her lank blonde hair, and had had her back to Mrs Kingsway could the old lady have mistaken her for a man?

  Cantelli seemed to have been following the same train of thought.

  'Do you think Marion Keynes could have killed Irene Ebury?' he said, easing the car into a queue of rush-hour traffic.

  Horton considered it for a moment and found the answer disturbing. 'I think she could be capable of it. Perhaps she stole Irene's belongings before Christmas, and sold the jewellery to buy those presents. Then Irene asks to see her belongings, so while everyone was getting merry on New Year's Eve, Marion slips up to Irene's room and finishes her off. Mrs Kingsway wakes and sees the back of Marion Keynes leaning over Irene's bed and mistakes her for a man because of the uniform.'

  He was glad he hadn't mentioned anything about an alleged intruder to Marion Keynes. If she decided to return to work, and she thought that Mrs Kingsway could identify her, then he could have put the elderly lady's life at risk. That was always supposing Marion Keynes was a killer.

  'We'll see what Dr Clayton gets from the autopsy. In the meantime it won't do any harm to dig a bit deeper into Marion Keynes' financial background. Find out what her husband does, Barney, and how many other care homes she's worked in. Also get out a full description of the jewellery to all the usual fences and shops.'

  'You going to tell Bliss?'

  'What do you think?'

  Cantelli dropped him off at the station and headed for home. Horton pushed back the door to the custody cell block and the heat hit him like a bomb blast. Along with it came the smell of sweat, dirt, shit and something indefinable to anyone but a police officer.

  'Has someone died in here and no one's bothered to check?'

  'Sorry, sir. Two junkies brought in this morning. Haven't had a chance to put them through the sheep dip yet.'

  If only, Horton thought.

  'Oh, and DCI Bliss was asking for you, sir. Wants to see you as soon as you come in.'

  Now what? Who complained? Jackson or Farnsworth? Marion Keynes perhaps? No, he didn't think so. Probably more like Colin Anston or Geoffrey Welton from the prison.

  Knocking first, then entering her office, he drew up startled. She was clearing her desk. Her usually pale skin was flushed, but it wasn't with anger because Horton could see that under her crisp exterior she was secretly very pleased with herself.

  'I've been seconded to the Performance and Review Team,' she said without preamble. 'I shall be working out of headquarters for the next three months helping to review best investigative practices.'

  God help us all, thought Horton, but took care not to let his feelings show. They say that every cloud has a silver lining and at least she'd be out of his hair.

  'As from tomorrow you will resume command in my absence. Superintendent Reine's instructions.'

  Ah, so not hers and clearly against her wishes. Well, good on Reine. Perhaps he wasn't such a stuffed prick after all. 'I'm being made up to acting DCI?'

  She eyed him incredulously.

  'So it's the job without the pay or the rank,' he added bitterly. He might have guessed.

  Cramming the last of her files into her overcrowded briefcase, and straightening up, she said, 'Detective Constable Harriet Lee has been assigned to help you. She starts tomorrow and will be here on secondment for a while.'

  He hadn't heard the name before. She wasn't from this station. 'How long is a while?'

  'Until the permanent appointments are announced.'

  Which would be at the end of January.

  'Where's she from?'

'Headquarters. I'm told she's a highly respected officer.'

  Yeah, but not operational, Horton thought, and did she have any experience in criminal investigations? He had been hoping for Seaton or Somerfield on secondment. It was just his luck to get a paper pusher.

  He followed Bliss into the corridor where she paused. He couldn't mistake the triumphant gleam in her eyes. He guessed this was her dream come true. But why had she been plucked from here to be set down in HQ? She'd only been a DCI one month, and here for about the same length of time, so hardly long enough to make a name for herself. Perhaps it was that e-mail that had impressed the powers that be: C.A.S.E. = R. Well, Bliss had got a result all right.

  He sat in his office and listened to the rain hurling itself with manic fury against the window. There was a great deal puzzling him and it didn't include those threatening phone calls received by the TV divers because that was one case that had got a result, for the divers anyway. They had had their publicity in the local press and no doubt the nationals would pick up on the story tomorrow. No, what he was puzzled by was far more serious. There was the death of Irene Ebury and her link with his mother, Jennifer. What could Irene have told him about Jennifer's disappearance? Probably little was the answer, but it still irked him that he might have missed out on learning some valuable information about her.

  Then there was the death of Irene's son, Peter; the mysterious intruder at the Rest Haven Nursing Home as seen by Mrs Kingsway; Irene's missing belongings and Marion Keynes' attitude and extravagant Christmas. But, after reviewing all these in a long and tiresome day, he was left with three key questions. Why had Bliss been unexpectedly sent away? Why was someone from outside the division being seconded to his team? And what did either of those things have to do with the deaths of Irene and Peter Ebury?

T
he questions followed him into work the next morning. He still didn't have any answers, even after considering them at length on his run last night, and while he'd tossed and turned in his bunk listening to an avenging wind screech and howl through the masts. He'd reread the missing person's file on his mother, thanking God it hadn't been lost in the fire that had consumed
Nutmeg
, his previous boat. But there was nothing in Irene Ebury's statement that hinted why his mother had disappeared and no mention of her son, Peter. Horton hadn't really expected it, but it had been worth checking.

  Carefully he had stowed it away under one of the bunks, thinking that he really ought to remove it to his office where it might be safer. And he should also think about getting another boat of his own, instead of living on this borrowed one. Maybe during his holiday he'd start looking for one. But that thought brought him back to his questions because he didn't much fancy sailing away without some answers to them.

  He had just finished telling Cantelli about Bliss's sudden departure when there was a knock on his office door and he found himself looking into the deep brown eyes and oval face of an attractive, slender Chinese woman in her early thirties.

  'DC Harriet Lee, sir,' she said crisply, dashing a smile at Cantelli.

  Horton approved of her black tailored trousers and flat shoes. This was no job for stilettos and a skirt. But had she chosen to wear a red sailing jacket because she knew his passion for the pursuit or was that just him being a cynical, suspicious cop with an overactive imagination?

  He waved her into the seat next to Cantelli, making the introduction, unable to shake off this uncomfortable feeling that she was here for a reason, which wasn't to help them out. She returned Cantelli's smile with, Horton thought, genuine warmth.

  'Mind if I take my jacket off, guv?' she said.

  Her accent wasn't local. There was a slight sing-song element to it and he guessed that she was originally from the north of England.

  'You sail?' he asked, as she shrugged out of the jacket, gathering up her sleek raven hair in one hand and pushing it behind her.

  'When I can.'

  Cantelli shuddered.

  'What's the matter, Sarge? Don't you like the sea?' she asked brightly.

  Despite his readiness to distrust and maybe even dislike her, Horton couldn't help approving of her directness and her cheerful manner.

  'Give me dry land any day.'

  'You've got no soul, Sarge,' she teased.

  'Oh, yes, I have, but mine's strictly earthbound.'

  She laughed and Cantelli beamed at her.

  She'd quickly got the measure of Cantelli, Horton concluded. Was that because she'd been briefed? If so, what had her boss told her about him? And who was her boss? He certainly didn't think it was him.

  'Where's DC Walters?' he asked, wondering what Lee would make of the lumbering detective. Walters hadn't returned from the Rest Haven by the time Horton had left the station late last night.

  'He's probably in the canteen,' Cantelli answered.

  'Find him, and ask what he found out from the night staff.' Once his office door was shut, Horton addressed Lee. 'Have you worked in Portsmouth before?'

  'Not worked, no, but I know the area. I often come down to race off Hayling Island.'

  'You're a member of the sailing club?'

  'Look, I'm sorry if I've been foisted on you, guv, but I needed to get back into investigations. I got sick of pushing paper around a desk at headquarters. I've had a bit of a personal problem too – relationship fall-out with a guy I worked with. Nothing I can't handle, but I wanted a change. I'm applying to come back operational as soon as there's a position. My governor knows Superintendent Reine and he said you were short-staffed, so here I am.'

  Horton nodded. 'And your governor is?'

  'Superintendent Warren.'

  She said it without hesitation and without any hint that it wasn't true. Horton hadn't heard of him, but he could check her story.

  'Glad to have your help,' he said, wondering if he was and noting that she had skipped answering a question. She'd told him nothing of what she had done at HQ. He could press her, but he didn't think it was worth it at this stage.