Fatal Catch

by Pauline Rowson

  ‘You’ll tell me if you find the van,’ she said.

  Horton said he would.

  As they returned to the car, Cantelli said, ‘She seems more worried about the van than Graham.’

  ‘Probably thinks she can sell it.’

  Cantelli headed for the CPS offices a short distance away and parked in the small car park behind the casino. Ewan Stringer was waiting for them with an anxious and slightly hostile expression on his fair, slender face. Horton knew he was mid-thirties but he appeared younger with a remarkably smooth skin that looked as though it rarely required a razor.

  ‘If you’ve come to ask me where Alfie Wright is I’ve already told Detective Superintendent Uckfield and that thug who was with him that I have no idea,’ Stringer said defensively. They were alone in one of the small private rooms off the main area where witnesses waited and tried to remain calm before being called to court. Taking a seat across the low coffee table, Horton interpreted Stringer’s ‘thug’ as being DI Dennings, who Dr Clayton had nicknamed Neanderthal Man not because of his fifteen-stone build, mainly muscle, but because he was crude, blunt and not too bright as far as detective work went. But Horton was biased and his opinion, and that of Gaye Clayton, wasn’t shared by the powers that be who had seen fit to promote Dennings and appoint him to the Major Crime Team. But then Dennings hadn’t blotted his copybook by being falsely accused of rape as he had been.

  Tetchily Stringer continued. ‘We need open discussion to analyse and learn from incidences like these, not accusations and hurling blame at the professionals. That’s not going to help anyone, and neither will it find Alfie Wright. It hasn’t even occurred to Detective Superintendent Uckfield that Alfie, angry with himself and despairing of his life and future, could have resorted to drink and drugs and might even have attempted and successfully committed suicide.’

  ‘Is that likely?’ Horton asked, thinking it was highly improbable, Alfie loved himself too much. Cantelli also thought it incredulous judging by the way his dark eyebrows shot up. But then Stringer hadn’t known Alfie Wright as long as they had. Stringer, like Tim Shearer, had only recently moved to Portsmouth. Stringer had been here ten months, while Shearer only since October, both had transferred from London.

  ‘We need to know if Alfie Wright knew a man called Graham Langham,’ Horton said.

  Stringer frowned and pushed a hand through his unkempt wavy hair. ‘I don’t recognize the name, why do you ask?’

  Cantelli told him. Stringer’s hazel eyes widened with surprise. ‘You can’t think Alfie did that?’

  Horton answered, ‘Why not? He’s got a history of violence.’

  Stringer stiffened. ‘And he’ll continue to have one unless he’s offered proper psychiatric help.’

  ‘He’s been given it before, more than once,’ Horton said tersely and with an edge of weariness, ‘both in and out of prison and it’s not made a blind bit of difference. And neither will it. Alfie enjoys being violent and that’s not because of an abusive childhood, despite what he might have told you, quite the contrary. His poor but very hardworking, honest parents gave their only son everything he asked for that was within their powers to give, but it was never enough, not for Alfie who thought he deserved more.’ And maybe that was partly the trouble, thought Horton. They spoiled a child who had a quick temper, a short attention span and an inherently cruel nature. ‘But we’re not here to debate that, we need to find him, Ewan, and we need to know if he and Langham knew one another.’

  ‘Then I can’t help you, Inspector.’ Stringer rose.

  But Horton refused to be hurried. ‘When did you last see him?’

  Stringer gave a resigned sigh and sat down. ‘Friday morning. We had a meeting to discuss the case. He agreed to plead guilty to assault occasioning actual bodily harm but not to unlawful wounding or inflicting grievous bodily harm.’

  ‘He broke David Jewson’s jaw!’ Horton stressed.

  ‘I know, but that wasn’t his intention.’

  ‘Oh, that’s OK then,’ Horton replied flippantly.

  Stringer’s face flushed.

  The difference in plea meant how much time Alfie Wright would serve in prison and he knew that full well. Cantelli was right when he’d said Alfie’s associates were dim but Alfie was far from it.

  ‘As part of his bail condition he had to stay off alcohol and he assured me he had.’

  ‘And you believed him?’ Horton scoffed. He recalled that Dennings said Alfie had been in The Trafalgar Arms on Saturday afternoon, perhaps he’d been drinking mineral water. He thought not.

  ‘He didn’t smell of drink and he didn’t appear bleary-eyed or hung over. I had to trust what he said.’

  Cantelli coughed, earning himself a scowl from Stringer.

  Horton quickly interjected. ‘What did Alfie do after your meeting?’

  ‘He said he was going back to his bedsit. I telephoned him on Tuesday afternoon to make sure he was OK for his court appearance. He has a pay-as-you-go phone, but there was no answer. I left a message. I didn’t expect him to return the call and he didn’t. I’ve tried him several times since he didn’t show up at court but the phone’s dead. I guess he must have ditched it.’

  And obviously Uckfield’s team had drawn the same result. The severed hand wasn’t Alfie’s but perhaps he was dead, killed by one of his victims or by a violent and disgruntled associate. At a nod from Horton, Cantelli reached for his phone and showed Stringer Langham’s photograph and asked if he’d seen him.

  Stringer studied it for a few moments but shook his head. ‘No. He doesn’t look familiar.’

  Horton asked him to keep the news about finding Langham’s hand to himself, adding that they wanted to keep it from the media for a while.

  ‘After what I’ve seen in today’s local newspaper I agree. Why do you think that man and Alfie might be connected?’

  Cantelli answered. ‘They both have criminal records and they could have served time together.’

  Stringer looked concerned. He seemed to have calmed down now. ‘It’s dreadful what you say about that man having his hand … but I can’t help you. I have no idea where Alfie is and I don’t think he’d have done that.’

  Horton rose. Cantelli followed suit, tucking his phone back in his jacket. Outside, he said, ‘His heart’s in the right place.’

  ‘Pity his head isn’t. Alfie’s taken him in completely. I thought Ewan Stringer was brighter than that.’

  ‘Sometimes our hearts rule our heads, despite all our best efforts.’

  Horton flashed him a look. Should he tell Barney about his meeting with Carolyn Grantham and how far he’d got with his research into his mother’s disappearance? Cantelli was the only one who knew about Jennifer or rather how he felt about her desertion and his childhood. He’d barely said anything to Catherine about his mother and never about how he felt, even from the start of their relationship he’d sensed she would quickly dismiss it. But Carolyn Grantham was a different matter, she’d be very keen to know his inner most thoughts, but for the wrong reasons. Even if she wasn’t connected with Sawyer or Eames, he didn’t much care for having his emotions put under the microscope, analysed and then paraded in a paper for everyone to read. But he knew that he wanted to see her again and not solely because he was curious about her.

  In the car, on the way to the mortuary, he rang Bliss and relayed what Moira Langham and Ewan Stringer had said. ‘I asked Moira not to talk to the press but I can’t guarantee that she won’t or that one of her friends might not let it slip.’

  ‘I’ll let DCS Uckfield know. I’ve spoken to Beverley Attworth at the probation service. Langham’s offender manager was Dennis Popham. The rules of Langham’s probation were that he met with Popham once a fortnight during the first three months of his release after which it was to be reviewed. Their last meeting was on Friday. Beverley’s going to talk to Popham, review the file on Langham, and let me have all the details shortly.’

  ‘Ask her if Popham knew tha
t Langham had a van.’

  Horton was betting he didn’t.

  Abruptly Bliss rang off and as soon as she did Horton’s phone rang. It was Elkins and he sounded worried.

  ‘Westerbrook’s boat’s not in Fareham Marina, Andy. The manager said he hasn’t seen or heard from him since he left to go fishing yesterday morning. He assumed Westerbrook had gone away overnight. His car is still in the car park. He certainly set off in the direction of the marina from Oyster Quays yesterday because I saw him head up through Portsmouth Harbour. There are no reports of a boat adrift so he’s either moored up somewhere else in this area or he turned round after we had left Oyster Quays and headed out into the Solent. I’m putting out a call to all the harbour masters and marina managers to check for sightings of his boat.’

  With concern, Horton relayed the news to Cantelli.

  ‘Perhaps he was too upset over finding the hand and needed some time to himself.’

  Maybe, thought Horton, only he wished he’d made his statement before taking off. Hopefully, Elkins’ unit would locate him.

  He rang Langham’s vehicle registration number through to Walters and asked him to put out a call for it. His thoughts flicked back to Dr Carolyn Grantham and Cantelli’s remark about the heart ruling the head. Despite his reservations about the genuineness of her research Horton knew he was attracted to her. He wasn’t sure how she felt about him and even if she showed an interest could he trust that to be real? Did it matter if it wasn’t? Some men would take what was on offer, perhaps he should. No one was forcing him to reveal his darkest fears and secrets, he didn’t have to tell her anything. He was well able to resist sexual pressure if it came to it and maybe it would. Maybe he should play along to see just how far she was prepared to go to discover what he knew of Jennifer’s disappearance. And perhaps she’d reveal more about her real purpose and interest in a post coital glow. That thought made his mind veer to the woman he was about to see. He’d never considered Gaye Clayton in a sexual sense before, at least not until October when he’d found himself inordinately pleased she’d accepted his dinner date. But that hadn’t come off because they’d both been involved in a murder investigation. He hadn’t repeated the invitation – why not? And she hadn’t chased him up about it. Why hadn’t she? Perhaps she’d thought twice about it just as he had done, reluctant to move their relationship on to a more personal level. Perhaps like him she was reticent about becoming involved with someone. She too was divorced, though beyond that he knew nothing of her personal circumstances. But having been hurt once perhaps she was afraid of being hurt again. Or was that his fear, not hers? Sod it. Angrily he thrust the thoughts aside. He had a job to do and that was to find out everything he could about Graham Langham’s death and how he’d become separated from his hand.

  FIVE

  ‘I’ve been told we have an ID,’ Gaye said, sitting forward at her desk in her small office behind the mortuary and turning her clear green eyes on them. The fingerprint bureau had informed her.

  Cantelli relayed what they knew of Langham while Horton steeled himself to concentrate on the task in hand, not the best of phrases in the circumstances, and trying not to speculate what had delayed her in London last night. The thought that she might have been with a lover disturbed him before he chastized himself for being two-faced. Hadn’t he considered Carolyn Grantham in that sense? But Carolyn Grantham was totally unlike Gaye in looks, build and dress. Horton studied her petite boyish figure in a T-shirt and jeans, her short spiky auburn hair and felt a lustful stirring in his loins that annoyed him. How could he be attracted by two complete opposites? Was he that frustrated and sex-starved?

  Irritated with himself he gazed around her office bedecked with Christmas cards, wondering who sent a pathologist a Christmas card. Not grateful patients or relatives. Must be colleagues, which meant she was clearly very popular, and why not. Maybe he should give her a Christmas card. Cantelli and his family were the only recipients of his seasonal greetings except for Emma and he’d give her a Christmas card and her presents on the day before Christmas Eve. But the memory of what had happened last Christmas flashed into his mind, causing his gut to tighten. He’d been due to see Emma on Christmas Eve only he’d had a call from his solicitor to say that Catherine had decided against it and had flown with Emma to Cyprus to stay with her parents. He could do nothing about it. Would she repeat the exercise this year, deciding that she and Emma needed to be with this Peter Jarvis earlier than she’d told him? He hoped to God not.

  He turned his attention back to the investigation. Cantelli had finished bringing Gaye Clayton up to speed.

  Springing up, she said brightly, ‘I can’t help you find the rest of him but I can tell you what I’ve got. Follow me.’

  They did. Horton felt a mixture of reluctance and eagerness at the prospect of viewing the hand. He sensed the same in Cantelli. In an area just off the mortuary Gaye opened a refrigerated drawer and Horton stared at the remains of Graham Langham. It seemed hard to associate the hand with the thin, anaemic, shifty-eyed bugger he remembered. In fact it was hard to think of it coming from a living breathing human being, the father of three young boys. Horton felt sorry for the kids. Despite the fact Langham had been a criminal and useless he was still their dad.

  Staring at the hand he wondered if the remains of Jennifer had been discovered or washed up somewhere and were lying like this in a cold mortuary, or perhaps had even been buried in an unnamed grave. He shuddered at the thought. There was no national database of unclaimed bodies or body parts, so he couldn’t trace her that way. Her prints weren’t on file, he’d checked, and she’d disappeared long before DNA had come into use.

  Cantelli’s voice broke through his thoughts, echoing Horton’s sentiments. ‘It still doesn’t seem real.’ And Horton knew that until they found Langham, or rather the rest of him, it wouldn’t, certainly not for Moira and her kids.

  Gaye said, ‘I can assure you it is flesh and blood or rather it was once. As Tom has already told you it is a right hand, Caucasian, male. It measures eight inches from the tip of the middle finger to the point of separation and weighs just under two pounds. It is in the very early stages of putrefaction and hasn’t been embalmed. The fingernails, which are bitten, are intact. There are no residual scars or tattoos. It’s difficult to give a timescale of when it was amputated because it could have been refrigerated and then thawed out before being placed in the container. The hand is covered by a light layer of salt, probably from immersion in the sea. I’ve sent skin samples for analysis as there could be other substances on it which you might be able to match with a location. It was severed just above the wrist.’

  ‘Any idea how?’ asked Horton.

  She studied him with that candid, slightly teasing gaze that always sent his pulse racing. ‘The shape of the amputation is interesting, it’s slightly curved which suggests you need to be looking for a curved knife with a sharp non-serrated blade. It’s also a clean cut with no evidence that the hand was pulled away after a first or second blow, so it could have been done after the victim was dead, or executed in one very quick and expert blow by someone fit and strong taking the victim by surprise. It’s a traumatic amputation, although not typically fatal, however the condition of the hand and the decomposition suggests that it most probably was fatal.’

  Cantelli chipped in, ‘Someone without conscience then if he could look the guy in the eye and chop his hand off while doing so.’

  Horton added, ‘Or someone very angry who struck out instinctively.’

  Gaye shrugged. ‘Possibly. I think it more likely the victim was unconscious when the hand was severed.’

  Horton hoped so. ‘Which means it was executed as a gesture, a message.’

  ‘Meaning what?’ posed Cantelli thoughtfully, chewing his gum. ‘It wasn’t sent to anyone but dumped in the sea and would have stayed there if Nugent and Westerbrook hadn’t fished it up.’

  ‘And one of them seems to have gone missing.’
r />   Cantelli nodded, thinking along the same lines as Horton. ‘So did they really fish it up?’

  Gaye answered. ‘It might not be the only body part to have been placed in a container, perhaps some of the other parts have been sent to others as a warning.’

  ‘For what though?’ asked Horton

  ‘To keep silent about something,’ Gaye suggested.

  ‘But why Langham?’ asked Cantelli.

  Exactly, thought Horton. ‘We need to talk to Lesley Nugent to see if there is a connection between him and Langham, or between Westerbrook and Langham. And we need to find Westerbrook. Is there anything else you can tell us, Dr Clayton?’

  She raised her eyebrows slightly, perhaps at his formal mode of address or his slightly tense tone, but said pleasantly, ‘You’re looking for a knife with a blade of at least four inches. I’ll let you have my full report.’

  As they headed for the car, Horton called in and asked Walters for Lesley Nugent’s contact details.

  ‘According to his statement he lives at Lee-on-the-Solent but he works for Jamesons the wholesale meat suppliers at the Hilsea Industrial Estate.’

  ‘And Westerbrook?’

  ‘Elkins doesn’t know where he works, all he had was his address and mobile phone number. I’ve checked out the fights in the city before Moira’s last contact with her old man. Langham wasn’t involved in any fights or if he was then he wasn’t caught.’

  ‘Has Bliss asked for Westerbrook’s statement yet?’

  ‘No.’

  Good. ‘Stall her if she does and don’t tell her he’s missing. We’ll see what we can get from Nugent.’

  Horton told Cantelli to make for Jamesons, which was situated on the northern outskirts of the city and only a short distance heading south from the mortuary.