Fatal Catch

by Pauline Rowson

A newspaper article he’d read the day after Alfie Wright had absconded flashed through Horton’s mind. An article written by Leanne Payne, the local crime reporter, who had ridiculed the police for letting dangerous criminals escape sentencing. The courts was where Borland had spent a great deal of time both physically and mentally. Snatches of conversations came to Horton. Now he thought he knew why Westerbrook had headed for the Thorney Channel, not for the fishing, not to escape, but to moor up and take his own life, only he’d died of natural causes before doing so. He might have intended leaving a written suicide note, Horton would never know, but his choice of where he’d picked up a buoy, on Hugh Maltby’s mooring, was note enough. Westerbrook had left a message which pointed to the killer. Maybe the exercise book would reveal who that was. But Horton didn’t need that now because he knew who it was and he knew what had been plaguing him. He smiled. Borland had seen people arrive with Westerbrook but he’d never seen them return. That was why he had been hanging around Westerbrook’s car, he’d been waiting for Westerbrook to return to see if his fishing buddies were with him. They hadn’t been. They never would be. Westerbrook hadn’t been bringing people into the country – illegal immigrants or girls for sex trafficking – he’d been taking people out, people who could afford to pay generously for their escape.

  TWENTY-ONE

  ‘We’ve got nothing on him,’ Uckfield said, rubbing his neck. They were sitting in a quiet corner of the canteen. Horton had called Uckfield from the launch not long after Cantelli had rung through to tell him that Tim Shearer had often seen Leonard Borland in court and had spoken to him.

  ‘Nice man but a bit of an anorak, very keen on the law and always keen to tell me where I had gone wrong,’ Shearer had told Cantelli. Shearer had given Cantelli a note of the trials he’d seen Borland attend, including those when he’d worked in London, which was where Borland had first made himself known to Shearer. One of those trials had been that of Jesse Stanhope, convicted of fraud, who Leanne Payne had pointed out in her article had skipped the country before being sentenced. It was a name that after very careful handling of the exercise book, Horton had seen written there. The exercise book was now at the lab.

  Horton had asked to see Uckfield alone, not away from the station, just away from DCS Adams and DCI Neame. Uckfield had readily agreed, having already got the heads up from Trueman that Horton and his CID team had continued to work on the investigation, despite Adams’ command. Uckfield wasn’t going to bollock him about that if they’d got new information that could lead to an arrest. And Horton knew that Uckfield would be only too ready to claim any glory, especially if it gave him the one up on Adams. Uckfield said that Adams was with Dennings and Neame going over the interview with Nugent who was still being held in custody. He’d confessed to nothing and was sticking to the story he’d given Horton and Cantelli. Because it was true Horton had said. Bliss, thankfully, hadn’t returned to the station from her one day conference on domestic violence and Cantelli was in CID working alongside Walters researching into the convicted criminals who had escaped sentencing and those who had absconded while on bail. Horton had told them to concentrate on only those cases where the accused and convicted had wealth and to get details of who had represented them both for the defence and the prosecution.

  Horton now said to Uckfield, ‘And we’re not likely to get any evidence for some time even if you get a full team working on it, Steve.’ Which had been Uckfield’s first thoughts but Horton had stalled him. ‘He could skip the country by the time we amass enough to charge him. He’s done it for others without us even noticing, he can easily do it for himself. And he must have enough money stashed away to evade being caught. The people he’s been getting out of the country have coughed up big time if what Westerbrook spent on gambling is anything to go by, and he was given cash to buy his car and the boat with all its expensive equipment. But then our killer would only help those who could afford to pay generously for their passage to Europe courtesy of Westerbrook’s sturdy rather ordinary motorboat.’ Which was why it had been chosen. A flashier more expensive and larger model would have drawn more attention from the Border Agency, who weren’t necessarily looking for people being smuggled out on what by all appearances looked like a day’s fishing trip, but people and contraband goods being smuggled in.

  Uckfield looked gloomy.

  Horton continued, ‘But if we put it around that I’m convinced Nugent is not our killer and I think I know who is then he’ll have to find out how much I know. He can’t afford me shooting off my mouth.’

  ‘We set a trap.’

  Horton nodded.

  ‘So what have you got in mind?’

  ‘Call Tim Shearer, ask him to come over as soon as possible to discuss the case against Nugent. When he’s here get Trueman to ring through to me. I’ll then call you and say you’ve got the wrong man in custody. Argue with me, say that as far as you’re concerned you have the killer in a cell, Lesley Nugent. Say something along the lines of you can believe all you want but that you—’

  ‘No need to spell it out, I’m not fresh out of cadet training,’ Uckfield said acerbically. ‘I’ll tell Shearer you’re adamant you know who the killer is.’

  ‘Make sure DCS Adams is with you when this takes place.’

  Uckfield nodded solemnly.

  ‘Let me know when Shearer leaves. You leave shortly after. Then I’ll head home to my boat.’ Horton rose.

  Uckfield picked up his coffee cup and scooped up the keys lying beside it. Horton eyed him for a moment. Uckfield sniffed and nodded.

  Horton returned to CID where he updated Cantelli and Walters on what he’d arranged with Uckfield. Cantelli urged caution. Horton promised it. Cantelli reported that they had found a handful of cases that had made the national newspapers and a couple of high profile local ones that Borland had followed in the Portsmouth courts.

  ‘There are two men who have absconded before being sentenced, Nigel Tamar, in November last year, convicted of wine fraud, selling fake vintage wine when what was really decanted into the bottles was cheap plonk, two of the bottles he sold totalled forty-five thousand pounds, can you believe that!’ Cantelli said incredulously.

  ‘Enough to buy Westerbrook that boat,’ Horton said.

  Cantelli continued. ‘Tamar has never been seen since, neither has Stuart Broadman who also absconded before being sentenced in September this year, holiday fraud. He set up a fake website, had all the credentials listed, all phoney, and took thousands of pounds off punters who thought they were going to be basking in the sunshine topping up their tans when none of them got further than Heathrow Airport.’

  Walters chipped in. ‘Then there’s Gordon Penlee.’

  Horton recognized that name. ‘The phoney art dealer.’

  ‘That’s the one. Had an exclusive art gallery tucked away in his very expensive house in Old Portsmouth and was flogging off paintings that were supposedly by some big art geezers only they were fakes. The trading standards office caught him. He was granted unconditional bail on the 26 November and was due to appear before Portsmouth Magistrates on Wednesday 5 December only he’d vanished into thin air along with some of his paintings.’

  Horton said, ‘Taking with him a lot of the cash he had stashed away. That’s who Leonard Borland saw arrive with Westerbrook on Monday 3 December but not return. It’s the day Tierney saw Borland standing by Westerbrook’s car.’

  Cantelli said, ‘There are three others, one is Jason Gracewing, a millionaire property dealer in London, who was charged with murdering his wife, granted bail but failed to report in. It’s too late now to check with the Chambers that represented them, they’ll all have gone home, but we’ll access the full case files and that’ll give us more.’

  Horton’s mobile rang. It was Trueman. ‘Tim Shearer’s in with the Super.’

  That was quick, but given Cantelli’s enquiries around the court and in the CPS offices maybe Shearer had dropped everything when Uckfield had called him to hurr
y here. In his office Horton rang Uckfield’s number and went through their pre-arranged routine. He then called the marina where he kept his boat and gave instructions to Eddie in the office. Then from his window he watched Shearer leave twenty minutes later after Trueman had given him the nod. Next came Uckfield a few minutes later with DCS Adams.

  Walters stuck his head round the door to say that he was off for a kebab.

  Horton didn’t envy him that. He glanced again at the clock. It was seven twenty-five. How long would it take, he wondered?

  He called John Guilbert in Guernsey. When he came on the line Horton thanked him for the photographs.

  ‘Glad to be of help.’

  ‘Did Violet Ducale say when she last saw the twins?’

  ‘When their father died in 1967.’

  ‘Not since then?’ Horton said, disappointed. ‘Has she heard from either of them since then?’ Not Eileen she wouldn’t have done but Andrew, yes, he thought so.

  ‘I didn’t question her, Andy, I just listened to her talking about Guernsey of old and it wasn’t a chore. I can go back if—’

  ‘No, you’ve done more than enough. I’ll come over to Guernsey. I’d like to talk to her.’

  ‘Great. It’ll be good to catch up. When are you planning on coming?’

  ‘As soon as Christmas is over,’ he said, then quickly added. ‘Is she in good health?’ He didn’t want her to snuff it before he could make it.

  ‘Not bad but she is eighty-nine and has health issues. Her mind’s as sharp as a razor though.’

  Horton said he’d let Guilbert know when he was coming. He would probably fly from Southampton to Guernsey, it was less than an hour flight, and would be quicker than taking the ferry from Portsmouth, which took seven hours. In spring he might return there under sail.

  He glanced up at the clock, the hands seemed to be moving at dead slow speed. He had to check the time on his computer screen several times to make sure the clock was working. He rose, restless.

  ‘Nothing yet,’ he said, entering CID where Cantelli waited. ‘We can’t be wrong. It all adds up.’

  Then his mobile phone rang. It was Eddie from the marina office.

  ‘You’ve got a visitor,’ he told Horton, as instructed. ‘Just seen him head down the pontoon.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Cantelli nodded and slipped out.

  Horton returned to his office, switched off his computer and pulled on his leather jacket. Picking up his helmet he flicked off the light and went to meet the man who had killed Leonard Borland and Graham Langham.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The air was crisp. The wind was gusting violently. Horton swung into the marina and noted the figure on the pontoon. He gave a tight smile of satisfaction. The killer had taken the bait. Before he reached his boat the man turned, an anxious frown on his smooth fair face.

  ‘I’ve heard that Lesley Nugent’s been apprehended for Graham Langham’s murder. I understand you don’t believe he did it. I think you’re right.’

  ‘You’d better come on board.’

  Shearer had done his job well. Horton climbed on first and turned his back on Ewan Stringer in order to open the hatch. He knew Stringer wouldn’t attack him yet. Stringer had to find out how much they knew and if DCS Adams was satisfied that Langham’s death was connected with Nugent, and Borland’s death with Langham.

  ‘Why do you think I’m right about Nugent not being a killer?’ asked Horton conversationally while leaning back against the work surface of the galley, causing Stringer to take up position in front of him. There wasn’t much room. It had been dangerous to bring him down here. But it was the only way.

  ‘Because Langham knew about Jacob Crowe’s smuggling operation.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Horton asked.

  ‘I overheard Crowe telling his girlfriend. I was visiting the prison to see someone on remand.’

  If they checked Horton knew that they would find that Stringer had been at the Isle of Wight prison at some stage but he doubted if he had seen Crowe or heard him say anything like that or anything at all. Stringer could easily have found out about Crowe, and his girlfriend’s visits, from someone at the prison and he’d have had access to his criminal record, or at least the trial notes, from his work with the Crown Prosecution Office. But Horton thought that Stringer had seen someone else at the prison, someone he thought perfect for his purpose.

  ‘What did he say?’ Horton asked.

  ‘Something about it was business as usual despite Langham sticking his nose in. He’d have someone deal with Graham Langham.’

  ‘When was this?’ asked Horton.

  ‘Two weeks ago.’

  Another lie but then Stringer didn’t count on him being around to repeat it.

  ‘Sit down, I’ll make you a coffee,’ Horton said.

  ‘No. I’d rather stand.’

  Not good, thought Horton. Sitting, Stringer was far less of a threat. It was difficult to react fast when you had to wriggle your way out from behind a galley table.

  ‘I was concerned,’ Stringer continued. ‘I approached DCS Adams and told him what I’d heard. I don’t know what he did next, maybe he got hold of Langham who decided to inform on Crowe, or perhaps DCS Adams had his officers watching Langham. But even then, from what I’ve heard, Crowe has some very ruthless contacts on the outside. I’m guessing that Westerbrook must have been part of a smuggling operation and Langham was killed and his hand planted on Westerbrook’s boat to warn him to keep his mouth shut. I think Nugent just happened to be there.’

  ‘And Leonard Borland?’

  Stringer didn’t look surprised or baffled at mention of the name. Uckfield had told Shearer and Shearer had relayed the information to Stringer. ‘Clive Westerbrook must have killed him under orders from Crowe when Westerbrook told Crowe through his contact that Borland had seen them. It must have made him sick to his stomach and he suffered a heart attack as a result.’

  Horton seemed to consider this. ‘And one of Crowe’s operatives must have beaten up Westerbrook.’

  ‘Did they? I didn’t know that. They might come after me because of what I overheard. I hate to admit it but I’m rather scared.’

  ‘Not as scared as you were when Langham told you that he’d inform on you unless you cut him in.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Stringer looked dazed and shocked. That wasn’t an act thought Horton. He had hoped to get away with it.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised, Ewan. It’s why you’re here, you want to make sure that I don’t know what really happened. But I do know, so are you going to kill me too?’

  Stringer stiffened and eyed Horton keenly but not nervously. Horton tensed but forced his voice to sound casual. His ears were straining for any sounds but all he could hear was the wind howling through the rigging and the sea slapping manically against the yacht.

  ‘I’ll tell you what really happened,’ Horton continued. ‘You approached DCS Adams about Langham but not in the way you claim. And certainly not two weeks ago. It was after Cantelli and I interviewed you and asked you if Alfie Wright had ever mentioned Graham Langham. That gave you the idea that you could link Langham’s death with a criminal and therefore Westerbrook’s too, because he was getting to be too much of a risk and you might need to dispense with him. But Alfie Wright wasn’t a big enough crook to take the blame for Langham’s death, you wanted someone bigger. You trawled through the cases to find a suitable villain, someone who wouldn’t name his confederates or give information away about his drugs routes, who NCA would be very keen to get more from. The trial information gave you DCS Adams, the officer-in-charge of the arrest. Crowe was perfect for your purposes because when you checked the files you discovered that Crowe had been in Winchester Prison three years ago when Langham was serving time there and had then been transferred to the Isle of Wight prison where Westerbrook was serving time. It matched perfectly.

  ‘You contacted Adams and spun him that fairy tale about Langham possibly being involved
with, or having information on Crowe, which could be why he was killed. Adams took the bait. He didn’t want the Major Crime Team or CID muddying his waters, which was why we were pulled off and spun a yarn about Langham being an informer. The only informing Langham could have done was on you but he was too stupid and greedy to do that.’

  ‘This is fascinating, do go on,’ Stringer said with a bewildered air.

  ‘Oh I will, Ewan. After you’d spoken to Adams who said “thank you” and “we’ll look into it” you needed to be sure that line of inquiry was being pursued which was one of the reasons why you came into the station and gave Superintendent Uckfield that information about Alfie Wright being with Barbara. You thought it was best if he was caught and removed from the picture as far as Langham’s death was concerned. The second reason was that by admitting you had this information later rather than immediately he’d gone on the run, you looked foolish and weak, which is the opposite of what you really are.’

  Stringer continued to look puzzled but it didn’t fool Horton.

  ‘Uckfield had already dismissed you as a dozy-minded do-gooder, now you seemed inept, confused and muddle-headed. Whereas you’re clever, clear-headed and ruthless. And won’t hesitate to kill again. So how are you going to kill me, Ewan? There are no buildings to set fire to here so you can’t drag my body over an electric fire and leave me to burn to death. And it’s not a secluded cove on the Isle of Wight, or the Solent where you can throw my mutilated body overboard. Oh, I see it’s stabbing is it,’ Horton said calmly though his heart was racing as he looked down at the curved boat knife. And into his head flashed Gaye’s words, it has a curved blade … about four and half inches and the blade just over three inches … it could have been used if the victim was restrained and unable to defend himself or was dead or unconscious. He’d already recalled the conversation he’d had with Shearer and Stringer outside the bar when he’d learnt that Stringer was going out on Sunday on Shearer’s boat. Stringer knew how to handle a boat. But he didn’t own one or rather he did because he had bought Clive Westerbrook’s boat for him. And on Monday night he’d borrowed it, and Westerbrook’s knife, and motored to the Isle of Wight to rendezvous with Langham.