They headed back to the station. Horton knew he’d have to tell Bliss that Westerbrook hadn’t been in to make his statement and they couldn’t locate him, but he couldn’t see why or how he could be involved in Langham’s death.
Horton bought some sandwiches from the canteen while Cantelli collected his homemade ones from his desk in CID. Horton took his to the incident suite where he found Bliss installed in the spare office to the right of Uckfield’s. It had originally been intended for the new DCI of the Major Crime Team, but no one had yet been appointed to the position. Horton had no doubts that Bliss had the job in her sights, which would leave a vacancy in CID. But his chance of securing that position was about as likely as him meeting the real Santa Claus. The official version for the delay was that they were still waiting on a suitable candidate, the unofficial one was that Dean was holding back in order to save money.
Bliss waved him into a seat across the excessively tidy black ash desk devoid of paperwork and boasting only a wide computer screen, keyboard, mouse and telephone. He’d never seen her dressed in anything other than her black skirt, white blouse and black suit jacket, which was currently draped on the back of her large leather chair. Her fine light brown hair as usual was scraped back off her lean face into a high ponytail and her face was devoid of make-up. He relayed what Dr Clayton had told them before adding that they’d reinterviewed Lesley Nugent to see if he could tell them more about the discovery of the hand. He claimed not to know or recognize Langham, and then Horton dropped the bombshell that Clive Westerbrook seemed to have gone AWOL.
She listened in silence with her usual frowning countenance, but surprisingly didn’t accuse him of being lax in his duty by letting Westerbrook slip through his fingers. She said, ‘You think it suspicious that he’s taken off now after finding the hand?’
‘I think he could be suffering from shock, he didn’t seem too healthy when I met him,’ Horton answered cautiously, and with concern. He said that Elkins and his marine unit had put a call out for him or rather his boat and that they’d check to see if they could find any connection between Westerbrook and Langham. He asked her what she’d got from Beverley Attworth on Graham Langham.
‘Dennis Popham didn’t know that Langham had a van. Langham claimed not to have any vehicle.’
He would.
‘It’s not insured, taxed, and neither does it have a current MOT certificate.’
As Horton had suspected. It wasn’t surprising, Langham wouldn’t be bothered about complying with the law.
‘The van was last owned by a building company, who sold it for scrap to a car breakers in Havant.’
‘Who then sold it on to Langham.’
‘I know the company,’ she said briskly.
Havant was to the east of Portsmouth and had been her patch before her promotion and appointment to Portsmouth CID.
‘The owners are clean,’ she declared. ‘But they could have employed someone less scrupulous. I’ve sent PCs Seaton and Summerfield out to make enquiries.’
‘Langham must have reverted to his usual trade the moment he was released. He’d never have had the money to buy the van, even if it only cost fifty pounds, he and Moira wouldn’t have had that much to spare.’
Her eyes flicked to her computer screen. ‘According to Popham’s reports Langham attended his meetings regularly and punctually, was quiet, seemed genuinely keen to remain out of prison, did what he was told and did it without any fuss. He was practically illiterate and part of his probation plan was that he attend adult literacy classes. He’d been due to start after Christmas at the Highbury College annexe just up the road from where he lives. He was also due to continue with a voluntary community project which he began a month ago, assisting with maintaining the rose gardens and communal area around the Canoe Lake.’
Both were on the seafront.
Bliss said, ‘He seemed to be doing well.’
Probably casing the area for possible burglaries thought Horton, knowing the large and expensive properties nearby. ‘Anything from the prison?’
‘Not yet. DC Walters is working on it. And there’s nothing further on Alfie Wright.’ Her eyes darted beyond Horton and she frowned. He swivelled round in his seat to see a stocky man, mid-forties, wearing a well-cut suit striding confidently through the incident suite towards them, his expression set and stern. He disappeared into Uckfield’s office.
‘Who’s that?’ asked Bliss.
‘No idea.’
Bliss was obviously itching to find out. Horton knew she’d hate to miss out on anything, or anyone, who could be important to her in her career. She rose, clearly dismissing him, and entered the incident suite leaving Horton to follow. While Horton made for Walters and Cantelli, Bliss crossed to Trueman and exchanged a few words with him but as she was doing so, Uckfield’s door swung open and he called Bliss and Horton into his office. Horton threw a look at Cantelli who, eating his sandwiches, shrugged an answer. He didn’t know who the mysterious visitor was either but Horton was about to find out.
Uckfield curtly introduced them to the man standing to his right, then announced his guest. ‘DCS Adams. National Crime Agency.’
Horton’s curiosity intensified. Bliss’s expression gave nothing away but Horton suspected she was, like him, mentally wracking her brains to see how NCA featured in the investigation regarding either Alfie Wright, or rather Graham Langham, which had to be the reason why Uckfield had summoned them both because Dennings wasn’t here. But then Horton hadn’t seen him in his office so perhaps he was out following up a lead.
Uckfield nodded them into seats around his conference table. Adams took up position next to Uckfield who asked for a report on the Langham investigation. Bliss relayed what Horton had told her while Horton continued to speculate why such a high-ranking officer from NCA was interested in a former petty crook. NCA investigated serious organized crime on a national and international level, which had never been on Langham’s radar. Adams’ expression remained neutral but his light brown eyes never left Bliss’s face. When she’d finished he said, ‘The investigation is now our remit.’
Horton flashed a questioning glance at Uckfield who returned it stoically. Bliss looked puzzled.
‘May I ask why?’ she asked, concerned.
Probably scared she’d cocked up or missed something vital, thought Horton uncharitably, but they hadn’t because there was nothing to miss … except Westerbrook.
Curtly, Adams replied, ‘Graham Langham was killed because he was an informer.’
Horton couldn’t have been more surprised if Adams had told him that Langham had been a performing seal. He tossed Uckfield another glance. The Super was doing his best to look convinced but Horton could see he was just as dubious as him. Bliss though looked ready to believe anything Adams said even if he declared that the hand had been red and had boasted six fingers! But then she hadn’t known Langham.
Horton said, ‘That’s not Langham’s line of work, or his style.’ He caught a flicker in Uckfield’s eyes that told him Uckfield had expressed the same opinion.
‘Prison changes people,’ Adams replied sharply.
‘It’s never changed Langham before.’
‘Well it did this time,’ snapped Adams.
But Horton just couldn’t believe it. Langham wasn’t a grass. And why was Adams so hostile and defensive? Perhaps he suffered from dyspepsia, he certainly looked as though he did. Undaunted, Horton continued. ‘So Langham, a petty crook, sought out a senior police officer in the National Crime Agency and said, please sir I’d like to become a police informant, just show me where to sign and what to do.’
‘Inspector,’ Bliss sharply reprimanded and eyed him with daggers drawn.
‘How he became an informer is not your concern, Inspector Horton, and neither is it CID’s or the Major Crime Team’s. As I have already informed you, my team is taking over the Langham investigation.’
‘Then you’ll liaise with Moira Langham, who might go to the press
about her husband’s murder,’ said Horton. He simply didn’t believe what he was being told.
Uckfield shifted. ‘We can’t stop her shooting her mouth off and if the media get hold of the story I will handle it, the official line is we’re exploring several lines of enquiry.’
‘Without actually doing so,’ added Horton.
‘Not you, no,’ Adams sharply reiterated. ‘If any witnesses come forward, or new information comes to light during the course of your other duties, or from the Alfie Wright investigation, which is highly unlikely as they are not connected, then Detective Superintendent Uckfield will pass that on to me and my team will deal with it.’
‘And the men who fished up the hand?’
‘They are not involved.’ Adams turned to Bliss. ‘I expect everything to be handed over within the next hour. Liaise with DCI Natasha Neame.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Bliss rose and jerked her head at Horton to follow her.
Outside he said, ‘If Langham was an informer I’ll buy you a drink.’ She looked taken aback for a moment before pursing her lips. He knew that spending one minute longer in each other’s company than was strictly necessary was torture for them both.
Crisply, she said, ‘You heard what DCS Adams said, file your reports and ask your team to do the same, then attend to our other investigations of which, I needn’t remind you, there are plenty, including the petrol station robbery. I expect results.’
‘Whether you’ll get them though is another matter,’ Horton mumbled to her disappearing stiff back. He crossed to Cantelli and Walters and picked up his discarded packet of sandwiches. ‘We’re relieved of duty, at least as far as Graham Langham is concerned.’
‘What about …’ Walters pointed at his computer screen to indicate he was in the middle of his research.
‘I’ll explain in our office.’ He said nothing on the way but concentrated on eating and thinking over what he’d just heard. Only when they were in the CID operations room did he make the announcement. ‘NCA are taking over the case.’
Cantelli looked startled. ‘Why?’
‘Langham was an informer.’
‘You’re kidding! Langham!’ Cantelli looked as though he was about to laugh when Horton’s expression stalled him. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘DCS Adams is. But he’s not going to say who Langham was informing on, or why. And neither is he going to enlighten us about why the poor blighter’s hand was severed, put in that container and thrown in the sea.’
Walters said, ‘Probably because he doesn’t know.’
Cantelli sat back looking bemused. He ran a hand through his curly black hair. ‘I can’t see it. Langham is the last person in Portsmouth to become a grass. He’d rather run a double marathon than stitch someone up and he was so lazy it would hurt him to walk to the bathroom if he could pee in the kitchen sink, which, judging by what I saw earlier, he probably did. Adams must be bluffing.’
‘Why would he be?’ Horton asked, interested to hear what Cantelli thought.
‘Because he wants us to stop asking around about Langham.’
‘Which is what we’ve been ordered to do. Adams claims Langham converted to becoming an informer as a result of his last stretch in prison.’ Horton knew there were specialist teams focusing on prison intelligence but that had always been the remit of the Intelligence Directorate; perhaps they’d passed the information on to DCS Adams in the National Crime Agency.
Cantelli was looking baffled. ‘I suppose he could have been cajoled, bullied or bribed into getting involved in a big crime but when he was released he realized he was out of his depth and wanted out, only they threatened they’d harm Moira and the kids if he didn’t go along with it. He got scared and …’ Cantelli’s words trailed off as he ran up against a barrier to that theory.
‘Precisely,’ Horton said. ‘How would he know he’d need to run to Adams or anyone else in NCA? If he’d wanted to turn informer he’d be much more likely to approach me or you.’
Walters interjected. ‘Unless this big time crook has told Langham that Adams is after him.’
‘Possibly, but I still can’t see how Langham would know where to get hold of Adams or anyone on his team which means, if Langham was an informer then someone from Adams’ team approached him on his release from prison because they wanted information on whoever he knew inside, but even then I can’t see Langham going along with it.’
Walters said, ‘Maybe he thought the money would come in handy over Christmas.’
‘Very droll.’
‘Perhaps he decided to turn over a new leaf and go straight.’
Cantelli eyed Walters incredulously. ‘Langham wouldn’t know a leaf if he was standing in a forest.’
Horton said, ‘If Adams has fabricated Langham being an informer then the most likely explanation of how Langham got caught up in a serious organized crime was he burgled the wrong house, and stole the wrong stuff. Or rather the right stuff.’ He sat back and stretched his hands behind his head. ‘OK, possibility number one, Langham picked on a house to burgle which was being watched by NCA. Langham discovers in it some information that is dynamite, or rather that he thought worth a great deal of money, so he confronts the person he’s burgled and quotes a price for his silence. The property owner agrees. On Monday afternoon when Graham Langham waved farewell to Moira he thought he was going to collect.’
Cantelli said, ‘He did, but not in the way he expected.’
Horton nodded and sat forward. ‘And this robbery wouldn’t have been reported because whatever Langham discovered, the owner wouldn’t want it being brought out into the open and PC Plod traipsing all over his house. And Adams isn’t going to tell us who has been burgled because it means revealing they are watching the premises and it could provoke this big time villain into shutting up shop.’
‘Sounds feasible.’
Horton continued. ‘Theory number two, Langham broke into a property and stole items from it that at first he didn’t realize were valuable. Langham’s fence recognized their true worth and decided to pass the information on to Adams and his team, who then approached Langham.’
Cantelli said, ‘Or maybe Langham grew suspicious that he was being swindled by his fence and asked around about this potentially valuable item.’
‘I can’t think who he would have asked,’ Horton replied. ‘And he’s hardly the type to look it up in the library. I doubt he even knew what the inside of a library looked like, let alone a book. And as we know from his offender manager, he was practically illiterate.’
‘He could have asked someone to look it up for him and that person killed him, hoping to cash in on getting the item from the fence,’ suggested Walters.
Cantelli said, ‘Or the fence also told the owner of the property as well as NCA and the owner went after Langham. Maybe Moira knows what it is, which is why she’s so interested in the van, perhaps she thinks this valuable cargo might still be inside it.’
Horton continued. ‘Or perhaps Langham stole a large haul of drugs and had his hand chopped off to discourage anyone else from trying.’ He rose with a sigh. ‘Whatever it is, it’s not our case. And that means locating Clive Westerbrook isn’t either. We’ve got plenty of other work, as DCI Bliss so kindly pointed out, so we’d best get on with it.’
He entered his office, closing the door behind him. Before tackling his workload though he rang the Centre for the Study of Missing Persons and asked to speak to the senior lecturer. Several minutes later he rang off with the not so surprising news that Dr Carolyn Grantham was indeed involved in a research project and was using the centre’s facilities. She came with excellent references and was very highly respected. She was genuine but then Horton hadn’t doubted that, and the basis of her research was fact. But if this was a cover then everything would have checked out down to the finest detail.
He punched in her number and waited eagerly for her to answer.
‘I was hoping you’d call me,’ she said with obvious pleasur
e. ‘But is it to give me good news or bad?’
‘And the bad would be?’ As if he didn’t know.
‘That you don’t wish to cooperate.’
‘There’s nothing I can tell you.’
‘Maybe that’s something in itself. Look, I don’t expect you to take me on trust. And I’m sorry about choosing the noisiest place on the planet to discuss it last night but if you’d give me one more shot at it I’d be grateful. Let me buy you a pizza as an apology for allowing your eardrums to be assaulted last night.’
So that was the way it was. And it suited him fine. Horton’s landline was ringing. It was Gaye Clayton’s number. Hastily he agreed.
‘Great,’ Carolyn Grantham replied enthusiastically. ‘Pizza Express at Oyster Quays. Eight o’clock.’
‘Fine.’
He rang off and snatched up his phone.
‘I wondered if you fancied a drink tonight, Andy, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you,’ Gaye said brightly.
Horton stifled a silent groan and a curse. ‘I can’t tonight, I’m sorry. Is it concerning work?’
‘Does it have to be?’ she answered, then quickly added, ‘It is actually. It doesn’t matter, we can—’
‘I’ll buy you breakfast though,’ he quickly interjected. Why of all nights had she suggested tonight? He couldn’t get out of seeing Dr Grantham or rather he could if he really wanted to but he didn’t. As though to compensate for letting Gaye down he added, ‘And I haven’t forgotten that I still owe you a dinner.’
‘Where? Breakfast, that is?’
‘The Tenth Hole, it’s a café by the golf course, behind the seafront at Eastney.’
‘I know it. Good choice. Their breakfast is superb. It’s a date. But I’m warning you, Andy, I like the full English.’
‘What else,’ he said lightly and with warmth but he rang off disappointed that he wasn’t seeing Gaye tonight. He glanced at his clock. He had four hours before his meeting with Carolyn, which meant he had four hours to make some inroads into his workload. He could, of course, return to his boat, shower, shave and change, maybe he should, but that would make it feel more like a date and his meal with Carolyn Grantham was anything but that he sternly told himself. It was work, albeit of a personal nature, and the sooner he dealt with it the better. Determinedly he shut out thoughts of everything and concentrated on what was in front of him on his desk.
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