Horton wouldn't have described that as small. If Calthorpe wanted small he should come aboard Nutmeg! The directors must be taking a considerable amount out of the company for Thurlow to have a Mainship and Calthorpe a Bavaria.
'Where do you keep it, sir?'
Calthorpe looked surprised by the question and then a little annoyed. 'At Sparkes Yacht Harbour, Hayling Island. Why?'
'Did you go out over the weekend?'
'Yes, and before you ask I didn't see Roger. I came back Sunday night.' He picked up his spoon and began fiddling with it. Then seeing Horton's eyes on him he took a deep breath and put the spoon down. 'Look, inspector, I don't know where Roger is. It's most inconvenient of him to go off like this. It's stretched us to the limit…'
Calthorpe looked about to say more then seemed to think better of it. Instead he pressed his lips together, wriggled a little and looked away. Obviously he hadn't spoken to Melissa Thurlow, or had he and that was why he was nervous? Had Melissa Thurlow told him that they suspected her husband of murder?
Horton left a silence, and just when it looked as though Calthorpe could bear it no longer asked, 'Did Mr Thurlow have any worries: health, financial, marital…?'
'Not that I know of,' Calthorpe replied tersely.
'Has he been acting unusually, or was anything disturbing him?'
'Such as?'
'If I knew that I wouldn't need to ask, would I, sir?' Horton replied smiling. Calthorpe didn't seem to like it judging by his expression.
He answered crisply, 'He seemed fine to me. Now I am rather busy…'
'I understand that Michael Culven is the company's solicitor.'
Calthorpe had half risen. 'What's that got to do — '
'Mr Culven had an appointment with Roger Thurlow last Friday lunchtime, at the yacht club at Horsea Marina. Do you know what that meeting was about?'
Calthorpe sat down again. 'I've no idea.'
'Would Mrs Stephens know?' Horton pressed.
'I doubt it,' Calthorpe replied acerbically. ' I really don't see what Culven has to do with Roger-'.
'He is your company lawyer, isn't he?'
'Well, yes, but I leave that sort of thing to Roger and Graham, our accountant and office manager. I'm the creative director, so the running of the business doesn't really concern me apart from the fact that we do good work for our clients. I leave most of the practical elements of running the business to Roger and Graham.'
Horton rose abruptly, surprising Cantelli and relieving Calthorpe. 'Thank you for your time and help, Mr Calthorpe. We won't hold you up any longer. If we could just have a word with Mr Parnham and Mrs Stephens.'
Parnham was out, with the bank manager, so Mrs Stephens told them in her little office. She also told them that she had no idea why Roger had wanted to see Michael Culven.
'I think it was just a social call, they were fairly good friends,' she said stiffly. The door behind her, Horton guessed, led into Thurlow's office. 'Have you any idea where Mr Thurlow might be?'
'No I haven't, inspector,' she replied, eyeing him warily. 'This is simply not like him at all.'
Horton asked her the same question he'd asked Calthorpe, if there had been anything troubling Thurlow, anything on his mind, or if he had been acting out of character, but she was shaking her head before he'd even finished the question.
'No, Roger was fine. There was nothing upsetting him.'
Nevertheless Horton could see there was a great deal upsetting Mrs Stephens. He smiled at her encouragingly and asked: 'When did you last see him?'
'On Friday night. I left here just after five thirty.'
'And he didn't say where he was going over the weekend?'
'Only out on his boat. He said he'd be back.' She hesitated. She seemed to have something more to say but wasn't sure how to say it. She looked at each of them in turn.
'Something troubling you, Mrs Stephens?'
'No. Nothing.' She pressed her lips together as if to prevent them from contradicting her.
Clearly there was something, but it was obvious she wasn't going to tell them what it was. As they made their way back to the car, Cantelli said, 'Calthorpe's a funny little man. Very nervous I thought.'
'Highly strung, artistic type, I expect. I'm going to take a look at Thurlow's boat. You get over to the yacht club, Barney, see what you can find out about this meeting, and if anyone saw either man after last Friday lunchtime.'
His phone rang. It was Trueman.
'There's no evidence of Mrs Thurlow's fingerprints in Culven's house, guv. Only Culven's and Miss Filey's.'
So where had they conducted their affair? At Briarly House? Seemed a bit unlikely that she would risk it there when her husband could come home at any time, and when Culven's place was more appropriate, he being a bachelor. He could hardly see Mrs Thurlow having it away in the back of Culven's Mercedes. And where was the Mercedes? So far there had been no sighting of it.
Cantelli dropped him off at the Continental Ferry Port on his way out of the town. Horton located Sergeant Elkins of the Marine Unit and together they climbed on board the Free Spirit.
'This is exactly as you found it?' he asked Elkins, stepping into the central cabin.
'Yes, sir.'
It was beautifully furnished with soft blue upholstered cushions, which looked as though they had never been sat upon. In front of him was a mahogany table. There was nothing on it. Horton pushed open a door leading down into the galley. On the table there was an earthenware mug, a half drunk bottle of water, a Stanford's All Weather Chart revealing the blue of the Solent and the lighter blue and muddy orange of the Channel of Portsmouth Harbour and on top of the chart, a state of the art digital hand held navigation system, manufactured by Kiltons. There was also a transparent ruler and a slim line gold ballpoint pen.
He crossed to the mug. It contained the dregs of what looked, and smelt, like coffee. Forensic would probably be able to tell him the brand, where the coffee had been grown, ground and sold.
'There's no sign of any struggle. I suppose it could have been cleaned up,' Elkins suggested. 'Someone would have to be master cleaner of the year to get it looking like this.'
Horton moved forward into one of the two sleeping cabins. This was clearly Thurlow's. Elkins took the other one. Thurlow's navy blue sailing bag was on the bunk. Horton opened it and peered inside, a couple of pairs of shorts, T shirts, underpants and socks. His shaving gear was still in the toilet bag, which he unzipped. Inside was the usual: toothpaste, razor, aftershave and shaving cream but then his fingers clasped something that wasn't so usual.
He pulled out a small bottle of tablets. They were prescribed to Roger Thurlow. Hypovase. He wondered what they were for; both Mrs Thurlow and Charles Calthorpe had said that Thurlow didn't have any health problems and although Thurlow might not have told Calthorpe, surely his wife would know if there was something wrong with him? Perhaps they weren't for anything serious and she hadn't thought it worth mentioning? He popped the bottle into a plastic evidence bag. They'd have a word with his GP.
He continued his search, moving into the tiny bathroom. Only a man's shower gel from the Body Shop, half used, hung in the shower tidy. Above the sink basin was a perspex glass toothbrush holder. He could see no women's toiletries.
He bent down and pulled open the cupboard under the sink. Inside he found a bottle of household bleach from Waitrose, a tube of bathroom cleaner, and a couple of rags. As he made to straighten up something caught his eye. The bottom of the cupboard was laid with pale blue carpet tiles and he could see in the far right hand corner that one of them had curled slightly. Perhaps the damp had got to it he thought, or maybe the heat. Perhaps it hadn't been laid properly. In a boat costing over?200,000! Somehow he didn't think so.
He knelt and prised up the edge of the carpet tile. It came up remarkably easily; too easily Horton thought as he reached in and felt his fingers grip something. It was a pile of magazines. At first he thought they must have been used as lining,
but what kind of boat fitters would use magazines to line a luxury yacht like this? Stretching forward he gently lifted them out. The front cover of each of the three magazines sported naked couples; one of a man and woman, the other two of women locked in poses that left the reader in no doubt of their main activity. It didn't require any great leap of imagination to guess what was inside the covers.
He flicked quickly through the pages, though his experience in SID had already primed him for what he would see, hard core porn that would never see the light of day on the top shelves of even the less discerning newsagents. These magazines were distributed privately and were smuggled into the country either from Germany or from Holland. And why he knew that was because they were the same sort of stuff that had been found on Woodard and which had led them to Alpha One and Jarrett.
He sat back on his heels, his mind racing and his heart pumping a little faster. No, this couldn't be linked to Jarrett; that was too much to hope for, surely? But there was a connection: Culven was both Jarrett's and Thurlow's solicitor; Thurlow's office was a stone's throw from Alpha One. Culven liked being caned; Thurlow was carrying hard-core porn; Jarrett was distributing it. OK, so the last was speculation but there were too many connections to be coincidence. Or was that just wishful thinking on his part? Was he so obsessed that he wanted Culven's death to be connected to Jarrett? He knew what Uckfield would say.
He heard Elkins give a soft whistle.
'Get me a large evidence bag,' Horton commanded.
Elkins returned promptly by which time Horton was back on deck holding the offending articles.
'Any sign of Thurlow's tender yet?'
Elkins shook his head. 'No and if it's not marked with the boat's name we might never find it. There are hundreds of dinghies lying around and tons of places it could be.'
Horton agreed. He called for a forensic team to go aboard Thurlow's boat then walked the few hundred yards to the large modern import control building where he asked to see Tom Maddox, the senior import and marine liaison officer.
A couple of minutes later Horton was standing in his office watching the cars being driven on to a ferry bound for France. Beyond it he could see the masts of the ships in Horsea Marina. He wondered how Cantelli was getting on.
Horton said, 'I need you to check out a yacht for me, Tom. Porn's involved.' He saw Maddox eye the evidence bag in his hand but he wasn't going to show it yet.
'What's she called?' Maddox waved him into›a seat, folded his tall, lean frame into the chair opposite and pushed up his spectacles. 'The Free Spirit. She's in the secure compound.'
'I can't say I know the name.'
'Roger Thurlow's the owner. He's missing and we want to question him in connection with murder. You've probably heard about our body on the beach.'
Maddox swivelled his chair, his craggy features frowning as he thought. 'Thurlow. I don't know the name or the boat. Who's the dead man?'
'Michael Culven. He had a boat called Otter.'
'No. Doesn't ring any bells. I'll check them both out but I don't think we've ever stopped them.'
'Are you still keeping an eye on Jarrett?' Horton didn't really expect an honest answer. What he expected was the same reaction he'd got from Dennings, a warning to stay away.
Maddox raised his eyebrows but said, 'As far as we can tell he's clean.'
Horton sat forward. 'You and I both know he's not, Tom. He may not be bringing the porn in himself but he's involved in distributing it.'
Tom Maddox looked puzzled. 'There's no proof-'.
'And you know why, because of me.'
'Look, Andy, we've got enough problems with drugs and illegal immigrants coming in. Jarrett's boat was stopped before Operation Extra and nothing was found on it. We kept an eye on him all the time the operation was live but it was dropped eight months ago.'
Yeah like me, Horton thought.
Maddox said, 'We were told it was finished.' 'And you always do what you're told?' Horton quipped.
Maddox grinned. 'No.'
'Ok, so this might change your mind.' Horton thrust the bag across the desk. He watched Maddox turn it over and poke at the magazines through the plastic.
Horton said, 'Tell me where that comes from?' He knew the answer but he wanted to hear Maddox say it.
'Germany, Holland.' Maddox glanced up. 'What's the connection with Jarrett?' But Horton didn't have to tell him. Maddox answered his own question. 'You think Jarrett is using this guy Thurlow and was using Culven to bring the stuff in?'
'Looks like it to me.'
Maddox sat back. Horton watched the thoughts race across his face. Behind the steel framed glasses he saw Maddox's eyes glance back at the porn. Then he pursued his lips together and said. 'OK. What do you want me to do?'
'Just keep an eye on Jarrett for now. Don't stop him but log his movements. I want to know when he goes out on his boat, who he goes out with and where he goes. I think there's a connection between Culven's death, Thurlow's disappearance and Jarrett but I've got nothing definite at the moment.'
Maddox nodded.
Horton said, 'Let's keep this between ourselves, Tom. I was set up once, if Jarrett gets wind of this we'll never find anything.'
'You can count on me. I always thought that accusation against you was baloney.' Horton walked back to the station feeling that at last he was beginning to get somewhere and not just with Colin Jarrett but Culven's murder. He logged the porn magazines into the incident room and asked for them to be sent for fingerprinting. Then he summoned Marsden.
'I found these on Thurlow's boat.' He held out the tablets. 'Get along to the GP and find out why Thurlow was taking them.'
He headed for the canteen where he bought himself a packet of sandwiches and took them to his office. He stared at the telephone and then glanced at his watch. Where was Catherine now? Would she be at work? She often took time off in August to be with Emma during the summer holidays. They had often taken time off together to be with their daughter and to go sailing or camping. His fingers swivelled to the framed photograph on the corner of his desk. He picked it up. He was crouched down behind her, his arms encircling her slender body; they were on the deck of Nutmeg. The wind had caught her hair blowing it across her face and he was laughing. My God, once he had actually laughed. He replaced the photograph and picked up the telephone.
'Catherine Horton,' he asked.
'I'm afraid she's not in today. Can anyone else help you?'
'No thanks.'
His palms were wet with sweat and his heart was beating rapidly. Should he call her at home? Would it be better to take a chance and go out there? His phone rang. It was Malcolm with his Harley. He made for the car park and took delivery of the machine, back in perfect working order. As Malcolm drove away Cantelli pulled in and he told him about the porn and the tablets. Cantelli said, 'Perhaps that's how Thurlow can afford an expensive boat and that house by smuggling porn.'
'And Thurlow killed Culven because he got too greedy and asked for more to feed his sexual preferences. Thurlow didn't want to pay up. Culven had become a liability.'
'And the affair?'
'Coincidental. We've got access to Culven's finances now. We'll be able to analyse his transactions see how much he paid for his caning and who he paid it too.'
'Do you think Mrs Thurlow knows about the porn?'
'She could do. Culven could have told her. How did you get on at the yacht club?'
'The barman confirmed that Culven and Thurlow were there last Friday lunchtime. He says they used to have lunch together quite often. Culven was also a frequent evening visitor, often for dinner, usually alone, but occasionally with clients. He says Culven was a quiet chap, kept himself to himself, not like Thurlow who seems to be the life and soul of the party. A real Jolly Roger.' Horton saw a smile brighten Cantelli's troubled face for a moment and he knew there was more to come. 'And the barman recalls Culven coming in on Tuesday evening. He was alone. He had a meal and left just after eight thirty.'<
br />
And that was the last time anyone had seen their murdered man alive, except for the murderer, of course.
'Find out what food they served Tuesday evening and check it with Dr Clayton's findings on stomach contents.'
'Already done,' said Cantelli waving his notepad.
'Did Culven tell the barman where he was going?'
Cantelli raised his bushy eyebrows. 'Do you want jam on it?'
Horton smiled. Would be nice, he thought.
CHAPTER 9
He wasn't smiling an hour later when he was told there was a delay in getting the warrant to obtain Culven's client files and Frances Greywell was refusing to hand them over. She had to protect her firm's reputation and her client's interests, so Cantelli told him after speaking to her on the telephone. Damn, that meant they might not have access to them until Monday morning. Two whole days wasted. They may not have a warrant to extract the files but Horton had sent Walters and another DC into Framptons to question the staff.
The team questioning Culven's neighbours hadn't unearthed any regular visitors to Culven's house, man or woman, except for his cleaner. Culven's sister was in New Zealand, and apart from her Culven, it appeared, had no family and no friends.
The fingerprinting unit confirmed the prints on the pornographic magazines matched Roger Thurlow's. After briefing Uckfield Horton handed the magazines over to Dennings and the Vice Squad to trace their origin. Horton said nothing to Uckfield about his visit to Maddox or his ideas that Thurlow and Culven were involved with Jarrett. He doubted Uckfield would appreciate it.
He felt restless. He tried to settle down to clear some of the paperwork that had been building up but couldn't, and even checking in with Trueman in the incident room didn't ease his agitation. He wanted action, or at least activity, and one that didn't involve reading and shuffling paper. Everything that could be done on the Culven case was being done so he decided to pursue the Thurlow line.
It was late afternoon when he climbed the steps to the marina office at Horsea Marina. Someone might have seen Thurlow on his boat last Friday, and the lockmaster might have seen him go out. It was worth checking. He showed his warrant card to a young woman with fair hair and a worried expression, and asked to have a word with the lockmaster to check on procedures.
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