‘They’re smudged but there was enough to get one clear print.’
Dennings had entered and grumpily said, ‘Thought you were no longer involved in our investigation.’
‘I’m not.’ Horton had replied. He’d met Cantelli in the corridor and, as they headed towards the CID operations room, he’d told him about his interview with Davidson, finding Langham’s van and his interview with Moira, ending with his summons to Uckfield’s office and DCS Adams’ theory.
Horton continued. ‘Discounting all that stuff about Langham being an informer and both him and Westerbrook being linked to Jacob Crowe, let’s go back to Borland’s death. Margaret Samson told me that Borland was a very cautious man. I can’t see him confronting Westerbrook or Nugent if he believed they were involved in smuggling. And neither can I see him letting either of them into his house, unless Trueman discovers that he knew one of them. And I don’t see Borland as a blackmailer.’
‘We could look into his bank accounts.’
‘Not our case, which means you’re relieved of talking to Westerbrook’s bank manager. You’d better let Trueman know though, in case he wants to send someone from his team.’ Horton sat back. ‘We know that Langham was inside that house because his fingerprints are in the hall and on the bannister but Borland wouldn’t have admitted him and I don’t think Borland would have been duped into allowing Langham inside. Knowing Langham’s form I think that when he was robbing that area on Saturday he discovered the back door of Borland’s house was unlocked. The house must have been in darkness, otherwise Langham would never have entered it. Langham thought the occupant was out. He crept in and up those stairs thinking he could help himself. He entered the front bedroom and startled Borland who was in the dark looking through his binoculars. Borland swung round, Langham picked up the nearest thing to hand, a heavy-duty torch, and struck him. You’re looking sceptical, Barney.’
‘Because the Langham I knew wouldn’t have lashed out, he’d have panicked and fled.’
‘I agree. And if anyone was going to do the striking it would have been Borland hitting Langham.’
‘And Langham would never have returned to that house. He’d simply get out and scarper back to Portsmouth with whatever he’d managed to steal in the back of his van.’
‘So even if he did strike Borland, just say he did,’ Horton added when Cantelli looked about to protest, ‘he wouldn’t have gone back on Tuesday evening and put his body over that electric fire.’
‘No.’
‘Not even if he’d returned home and, worried about what he’d done, felt he had to check. So he returned Tuesday and seeing Borland dead thought he’d cover up his crime?’ Horton knew he hadn’t but he was keen to test all this out on Cantelli.
‘No,’ Cantelli firmly replied. ‘He’d have stayed well away. Besides Moira didn’t say that Graham was worried or irritable, and even though she might have lied to us I don’t think she did. Langham was flogging the stuff he’d stolen in the pub on Sunday night according to Jago and he left home on Monday afternoon bright and breezy. He wasn’t seen again. He didn’t return to finish off Borland or to cover up a crime.’
‘He didn’t, no,’ Horton said with emphasis.
Cantelli looked puzzled for a moment then his expression cleared. His dark eyes lit up and a broad grin crossed his face. ‘Of course!’ he cried. ‘His hand returned. That’s why it was amputated. It was used to implicate him.’
Horton nodded. ‘It was why it was placed in a container, which probably contained grease in order to keep some of the prints waxy so that they would leave an impression. It would explain why those particular prints under the electric fire were smudged and more difficult to identify, whereas the others in the hall and on the bannister were crystal clear. Langham entered that house, which, as I said, was in darkness, with the intention of robbing it. He crept up the stairs and he heard voices. Borland had admitted someone who he was confiding in about what he had witnessed through his binoculars.’
‘Why wouldn’t Borland have turned on the light in the hall when he’d shown this visitor upstairs?’
‘Maybe he did and quickly turned it off again.’ Horton didn’t know. ‘Perhaps he needed the house in darkness in order to show this person what he could see through his binoculars. Instead of running away, Langham stayed put, glued to the spot, his ears flapping and he heard something very interesting.’
‘Probably the word “smuggling”.’
‘Yes. And he thinks, I’ll have a piece of this action. He steals out of the house but loiters outside and confronts Borland’s visitor when he leaves—’
‘But hang on, how does he know this visitor is in on the smuggling? Borland could just have been reporting what he’d seen to someone he knew and trusted, and he’s still alive when this person leaves. He’s also still alive and kicking on Monday when Mrs Samson saw him, so Langham couldn’t have witnessed the visitor assaulting Borland or admitting to being a smuggler.’
‘Maybe Mrs Samson is mistaken. We need to check if anyone else saw him on Monday.’
‘I thought you said it’s not our case,’ Cantelli said.
‘Just a few questions, an hour or two’s not going to hurt,’ Horton said quickly. It would be his neck on the line if Bliss found out or if DCS Adams discovered they were investigating despite his orders. Horton knew that Sergeant Trueman wouldn’t say anything to Adams or to Uckfield, unless either specifically asked him and he had no choice, but Dennings might tell Uckfield he’d been in the incident suite asking about the case. Horton wouldn’t put it past Dennings to tell Bliss, just to drop him in it. Uckfield though would say nothing, not unless it backfired on him in some way then he’d hastily deny all knowledge, or wriggle out of it somehow. He said, ‘I’ll take full responsibility.’
But Cantelli dismissed that with a smile. ‘Go on.’
Horton recalled what Mrs Samson told him. He’d research everything, go to the library, read books, write it down, weigh up all the pros and cons. ‘OK, so let’s assume Mrs Samson is correct and that Borland left on foot on Monday, looking smart. He often visited the library. He wasn’t carrying any library books but check with the library to see if he called in there, and ask around the bus drivers and at the train station to see if he travelled anywhere.’
Cantelli nodded and said, ‘Langham might have been seen by Borland’s visitor as he left the house and this person, our killer, confronted Langham. He told Langham he had to keep quiet about the smuggling, it was a big operation and they had to put the evidence before the police. Langham said he would keep shtum for a fee. The killer pays up until he can think of a way of getting rid of Langham and Borland, and implicating Langham in the murder.’
‘There is another possibility,’ and Horton didn’t much care for it. He said, ‘Borland is a cautious man. He weighs up everything before making a decision. He’s compiled a dossier of evidence and he waits until he has enough to show it to someone he respects and trusts.’
‘A police officer,’ Cantelli said, then added with a troubled expression, ‘Not DCS Adams surely?’
Horton didn’t like to think so but it had to be considered.
‘How would Borland know DCS Adams?’ asked Cantelli
‘That’s what we need to find out. Maybe he rang NCA and asked for the man in charge.’
‘The call would be on file.’
‘Not necessarily. It might not have been noted or it could have been deleted. Maybe Borland saw Adams’ picture in the newspaper and read an article that said Adams was responsible for investigating serious and organized crime, not realizing that he was actually involved in one. Borland admitted Adams because he’d already contacted him and had arranged a meeting. Adams tells us that Langham is an informer and spins this yarn about Jacob Crowe to throw everyone off the scent and make it look as though Graham Langham is our murderer working under orders from Crowe. It’s a flimsy story to say the least.’
‘But would Adams place Borland’s body over
an electric fire and leave him to burn to death?’ Cantelli said solemnly and with disbelief.
Horton found it hard to believe too. But then they were often called upon to believe the incredible; horrendous crimes carried out by seemingly ordinary and sane individuals.
‘And would Adams kill Graham Langham and hack off his hand and plant it on Westerbrook’s boat?’
‘Not personally, no. Whoever he is working with does that.’
‘I can’t see that being Nugent,’ declared Cantelli.
Neither could Horton. ‘I think it’s someone much higher up the criminal food chain. Not Crowe, or any of his confederates, that’s a blind, but someone who is behind human trafficking.’ Horton completely discounted the drugs theory Adams had spun him. ‘Someone who Adams has come into contact with or been groomed by during his time in NCA.’
‘I hope to God you’re wrong, Andy.’
‘So do I,’ Horton said solemnly, then after a moment added, ‘So if we discount him for now. Who does that leave us with?’
‘Someone Borland used to work with, or someone he knew through work.’
‘He retired some years ago.’
‘Perhaps he kept in touch with a few past colleagues. Or it could be someone he has got to know since his retirement. He might have joined a club or taken up a hobby, apart from covert surveillance that is.’
There had been nothing in his house to suggest hobbies although clearly Borland had liked to read judging by the charred remains of his bookshelves and his library visits.
‘Perhaps he went to church,’ continued Cantelli. ‘He might have trusted a priest or a vicar.’
Horton considered this with growing interest. ‘We talked about the amputation of a hand being mentioned in the Bible. Oh, I know not for the reasons of theft, as you explained, but it is in the Good Book.’
‘But could a priest have done such a thing?’ asked Cantelli, troubled.
There was one who sprang to Horton’s mind. The padre who had discovered Westerbrook’s body. A very fit, strong man, who although religious was also a soldier. A man used to seeing death and slaughter. And a man who would have the strength to kill and to carry a body if needed down that cliff to the bay. Not that he’d have had to because Langham would have descended into the bay willingly. But certainly a man strong enough to throw a body over the side of a boat, possibly his own boat, into the sea and drag another body and place it over a fire. But could he kill?
He recollected what Gaye had told him about the types of knives that could have been used to hack off Langham’s hand. One of them had been a Khukuri knife, a weapon used by The Royal Gurkha Rifles also known as the Gurkha knife. Better to die than live a coward. Was that how Jeremy Dowdswell, the army padre, would have seen Langham – as a coward? He was a soldier. He’d have witnessed his colleagues being maimed and killed. He’d have seen supreme acts of bravery and self-sacrifice so when a whining, skinny, lowlife thief like Graham Langham had sidled up to him, he’d have felt no compunction over killing and mutilating him – a man who, in his mind, was beneath contempt. Neither would he see anything wrong in framing the dead man for a murder. Did Dowdswell have connections with the Gurkhas? Had he been stationed at either of their bases at Shorncliffe in Kent or at the British Garrison in Brunei? Or perhaps he knew or had known someone in the Gurkhas.
But then being a yachtsman Dowdswell could have used a boat knife. He’d be bound to have one on board. Or perhaps he enjoyed fishing and had used a fishing knife to hack off Langham’s hand. Then there was the fact that Westerbrook had headed for the Thorney Channel – to tell Dowdswell he wanted out? It would have been easy for Dowdswell to launch a dinghy, kayak or row boat from the shore. Why wasn’t Westerbrook’s boat seen? Because someone had sanitized the CCTV or knew the way to avoid being seen on camera. But why would Dowdswell be smuggling illegal immigrants or girls for sex trafficking? For money?
Horton relayed his thoughts to Cantelli, adding, ‘Are you sure the army base showed you all the security footage?’
‘The dates and times tallied.’
‘And there was nothing on it?’
‘Nothing showing Westerbrook’s boat arriving or any other boat getting close to him.’
But someone could have done so by using a small tender which had come from a larger boat. And a boat moored close by. Dowdswell’s boat.
‘I’m going to talk to the padre.’ And Horton decided to take the scenic route, by sea, following the same one that Westerbrook had taken after leaving Portsmouth Harbour. Horton was also keen to get away before Bliss appeared. And the time was fast approaching when she’d show.
He rose, picked up his helmet and jacket and entered CID with Cantelli following. Walters ambled in, biting on a bacon roll, with his face buried deep in a tabloid newspaper. Horton quickly told Walters that he was reprieved from trawling the bookmakers, which cheered him up. He added, ‘But contact the probation service, find out everything you can about Westerbrook.’
‘Where shall I say you and the sarge are if DCI Bliss asks, which she will,’ Walters called out after them.
‘Dentist,’ answered Cantelli.
‘Opticians,’ replied Horton.
‘Didn’t know there was anything wrong with your eyesight, guv.’
‘There is every time I look at you, Walters.’
‘Ha, ha.’
Outside Horton called Elkins and asked him to meet him at the port on the police launch. When he arrived a short time later he noted that Westerbrook’s boat was still secured there. As the police launch headed out of Portsmouth Harbour in the clear cold morning Horton’s thoughts travelled to his first and only encounter with Jeremy Dowdswell. He tried to envisage the padre as the kind of man who could bludgeon a man in his mid-sixties and then place his body over a fire to burn, and the type of man who could kill Langham and then hack off his hand with a knife. It didn’t seem likely but then killers didn’t go around with it stamped on their foreheads.
Why use Westerbrook and his boat for smuggling? And why Fareham Marina when there were far more isolated spots around the Solent and Chichester Harbour to bring in illicit goods. But maybe the latter was too close to home for him. It was a point but it still didn’t explain how Dowdswell would know and be able to enlist the services of Clive Westerbrook, or Lesley Nugent come to that, or how he might know Borland. None of them had been in the armed forces or had relatives in the services, or at least not as far as he knew. But perhaps Westerbrook had advised members of the armed forces before his prison sentence. He might even have given Dowdswell financial advice. And Dowdswell knew that Westerbrook would have done anything for money to feed his gambling habit.
Horton’s thoughts had taken him into the long rolling waves of Southsea Bay. He glanced to his left as the launch sped past the apartment where Carolyn lived. Ripley handed him a mug of coffee. Taking it, Horton went below and rang her.
‘Sorry about Saturday night,’ he apologized. ‘I was tired. We’d had a pretty gruesome murder and I—’
‘Say no more. It’s fine. About that dinner? Any chance of rescheduling it for tonight?’
‘Not at the moment,’ he tried to sound apologetic. He didn’t have to try too hard.
‘I’d still like to see you, Andy. Could we meet for a drink or just a talk?’
He left a short pause before saying. ‘OK. Lunchtime today, at Oyster Quays, the Millennium Walk on the residential side, on the route round to the ferry terminal.’
‘What time?’
That depended on what he got out of Dowdswell. ‘I’ll text you when I’m heading there.’
‘OK.’ She rang off.
He climbed back up on deck. She hadn’t sounded upset or disappointed. Perhaps she was just happy they were still seeing one another. He gazed across the harbour. They were approaching the small U-shaped nature reserve of Pilsey Island and his thoughts turned to his daughter. He and Emma had come here often in the summer, just the two of them on his small yacht. They’
d always had the island to themselves not counting the seabirds. There was a landing area on the eastern side, and they’d picnicked in the sand dunes. He hoped to God there would be more days like that but after experiencing the sunshine of the continent on board a luxury motorboat he wondered if this would now hold any appeal for her. With a heavy heart he thought not.
As Ripley tied up on the pontoon at Thorney, Horton addressed Elkins, ‘Ask around in the sailing club, see if anyone recognizes or has heard of Clive Westerbrook.’
On shore Elkins turned left while Horton headed to his right and through some lichen-covered gravestones to the heavy wooden doors of St Nicholas Church, the patron saint of children, sailors and pawnbrokers, more widely known as Santa Claus, the original Father Christmas. Maybe he should ask Santa Claus for a Christmas present. Or perhaps he should pray. Not for discovering the truth behind Jennifer’s disappearance but for him to be with his daughter. And as he pushed open the door he wondered with a jolt if he’d made a big mistake this last year. Instead of looking back he should have been looking forward. Jennifer was the past. Emma was the present and the future, and maybe it was time he focused all his efforts and his attention on that. He’d consider that later because, ahead, staring at a plaque on the wall, was Jeremy Dowdswell.
NINETEEN
‘The Royal Arms,’ Dowdswell said, gesturing at the wall in front of him. ‘It was ordered to be displayed in each church of the realm on the accession of King George I in 1714. The strap or belt around the shield carries the motto Honi soit qui mal y pense – “Evil to him who evil thinks”, the symbol of the Order of the Garter.’
Horton glanced at it and then at Dowdswell’s strong-featured face. And evil to him who does evil, he thought. Was Dowdswell feeling guilt over what he’d done? Had he been praying for forgiveness? Maybe he was about to confess to murder. He showed no surprise or alarm at Horton’s arrival.
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