Dead Man's Wharf

by Pauline Rowson

  He swung into the crematorium and found Lee waiting for him in her car.

  'Marion Keynes swears blind she never stole Irene's belongings,' she said as Horton eased himself into the Ford.

  'You believe her?'

  Lee shrugged. 'She's definitely hiding something, and with a bit more pressure we could get to the truth.'

  Which is what? thought Horton.

  'Did you get anything from re-examining the statements?'

  'I haven't had the chance to go through them yet.'

  Was she lying? He thought so. He wouldn't mind betting that she had sat in her hotel bedroom late into the night analysing every word, but either she didn't want to be drawn to comment or had spotted something and wanted to check it out first.

  'I'm going to the Rest Haven after this to get the names and addresses of some relatives,' she added.

  Through the rain, Horton saw Gary Manners, the sub-aqua club secretary, climb out of his Jaguar and run towards the chapel. The hearse arrived and behind it a large black limousine carrying Mr and Mrs Collins. Horton pushed open the car door allowing a blast of wind and rain to hurl itself angrily at him.

  'Leave speaking to the relatives for now. Call on all the pawnbrokers, antique and junk shops near to where Marion Keynes lives to see if any of Irene's jewellery has shown up. Cantelli put out a circular but there's been no response. Put some pressure on.' That would keep her busy for a while, he thought wryly.

  'Couldn't DC Walters do that?'

  Horton paused and eyed her coldly. 'I'm asking you to do it, Lee.'

  Anger flashed for a moment in her dark eyes. Tough! If she wanted to be one of his team then she would act accordingly, he thought with satisfaction. Either that or tell him the truth. He pulled off his heavy leather jacket as they filed into the chapel.

  Daisy Pemberton gave him a sad smile which made his heart skip half a beat. She looked even more attractive in black, with her beret perched at an angle on her dark hair. Seeing her reminded him that he hadn't contacted the police psychologist, but then he'd hardly had time for that.

  He drew a scowl from Angela Northwood of the nursing home and a serious nod from Gary Manners, but there wasn't anyone else he knew or recognized, apart from the Collinses. He had wondered if Nathan Lester would show up, but there was no sign of him. Perhaps he couldn't leave his antiques shop, though Horton thought closing it for a couple of hours was hardly going to deprive the people of Portsmouth. And he had expected to see more people from the nursing home.

  'Perhaps they're short-staffed,' Lee said, scouring the crowd of grieving friends and relatives as they filed out of the chapel. The service had been brief. The vicar had done his best to chart Daniel's short life, but Horton didn't think it had caught his personality as described to him by Daisy. None of his family and friends had spoken.

  'Anyone here stir any thought processes, Lee?' he asked.

  'No.'

  But there was plenty to stir the emotions, he thought, glancing at Mr and Mrs Collins. The strain of their sorrow was etched on every pore of their haggard faces and the weight had fallen off them leaving them looking like a pair of walking skeletons. Whatever the outcome of their inquiries into Daniel's death, Horton hoped they'd reach a conclusion and one that wouldn't cause the Collinses any further sorrow, but he wouldn't bank on it.

  'I'll have a word with Gary Manners. You get working on those junk shops and pawnbrokers.'

  He watched Lee dash across the car park in the rain. Was she the only person here from the Intelligence Directorate or were her colleagues out there video-recording this crowd? He couldn't see anyone, but that didn't mean they weren't there.

  'Sad occasion,' Gary Manners said solemnly after Horton nodded him a greeting. He watched as Daisy passed on her respects to the Collinses. Then she gave him a brief nod before turning towards the car park.

  'Do you still believe Daniel's death was suspicious?' Manners continued. 'I guess you do otherwise you wouldn't be here. I can't think who would want to harm him. He was so quiet and . . . well, nondescript. I don't mean that disrespectfully, but he's not the sort that gets himself killed.'

  'Meaning Nick Farnsworth was.'

  Manners eyed him carefully. Horton felt a frisson of excitement, sensing that Manners was making a rapid mental calculation about whether or not to reveal some information about Farnsworth. After a moment he said, 'If I'm honest, yes. Nick liked to live dangerously, especially where women were concerned.'

  Horton had already gathered that. He wondered if Manners had suffered the same experience as Jason Kirkwood, but there was no bitterness in his tone or even a hint of jealousy.

  'You think an angry husband or boyfriend killed Mr Farnsworth?'

  'It's possible. He had a number of affairs.'

  'He told you about them?'

  Manners looked straight at Horton. 'Nick and I were in the navy together. We served on the same ship.'

  Did you now! Horton surveyed Manners with interest, recalling Dr Clayton's words about certain personnel in the armed forces being trained to use karate. Manners looked a pretty fit bloke too.

  'Nick couldn't help himself,' Manners continued. 'Sex was like a compulsion with him, or an illness depending on how you view it. He couldn't go without it. And he liked a conquest, the more difficult the better.'

  Horton moved aside to let some of the mourners file past him. Soon the Collinses would be heading back for the wake. Manners' words made him think of Mavis Oldham. He guessed that the fact that she was married to a hard man like Ryan Oldham was the challenge rather than anything to do with the woman's charms, though it could be both.

  'Are you married, sir?'

  Manners, following Horton's reasoning, gave a twisted smile. 'Widowed, five years ago. And no, my wife didn't have an affair with Nick.'

  Are you sure? thought Horton, holding his gaze.

  'And before you ask I haven't got any daughters either.' Manners' expression was solemn and reflective when he added, 'I wasn't surprised Nick was picked for that television series; he was very charismatic.'

  Could Manners have been jealous? He gave no sign of it. Horton was getting the impression though that Manners was edging towards telling him something important, only he wasn't quite sure how to say it. OK, let's help him out. 'Did you ever see him in a temper?'

  'Nick didn't need to lose his temper. He could charm and joke his way out of problems.'

  Evasive, but there was that slight hesitation and unease in Manner's demeanour. He needed more prompting. 'When he did lose his temper though, how did he behave?' Now let's see what little secrets fly out.

  'If the person had really upset Nick, or hadn't let him get his way, or even made him look foolish, then he'd get his own back.'

  Which tied in with what had happened to Ryan Oldham and what both Daisy and Jason Kirkwood had said about Farnsworth.

  'How?'

  'Whatever you valued Nick destroyed,' Manners said, now with an edge of bitterness in his voice.

  At last. 'So what did he destroy of yours?'

  Manners held his gaze. 'Let's walk to my car.'

  Horton fell into step beside him. It was still raining, but Horton hardly noticed it and neither, he thought, did Manners. After a moment Manners resumed. 'We were both naval divers.'

  Well, that answered one of Horton's questions. Only another hundred or so to go. 'What happened?'

  'Nick and I were wreck-diving off Cornwall in 1994, not on navy time, but our own. Visibility was low and it was dark. We became separated. Unknown to Nick, or so I thought at the time, I got wedged in the wreck. I was running out of air. I didn't think I'd get out, but somehow I managed it. Nick had already begun his ascent to the surface. He said later that he thought I'd already gone up. Because I was short of air I ascended too quickly missing decompression stops. I was taken by the coastguard to hospital and then to the decompression chamber suffering from decompression illness. I didn't think it would have any long-term effects, and for man
y people it doesn't, but I was one of the unlucky ones. The whole incident had an adverse effect on me: nightmares, palpitations. I was eventually diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, and along with that I ended up with ongoing pains in my joints and limbs. The navy said I had become a liability. I had to kiss goodbye to the Mine Warfare Clearance course that I was scheduled to undergo and Nick wasn't. I also had to kiss farewell to diving and the navy. The nearest I get to diving now is running the club and taking the boat out. Some people might say it's like rubbing salt into the wounds, but not for me. And if the navy taught me anything other than diving and discipline, it's good organizational skills. I'm second to none when it comes to health and safety. It's what I do for a living. I'm a health and safety inspector.'

  'You're saying that Farnsworth knew you were trapped in that wreck and deliberately left you there?' Manners had just given himself the perfect motive for killing his old buddy.

  'I didn't at the time, but years later, when he was drunk one night he let something slip. He said, "Pity your foot got wedged in that door." I never told him or anyone else that. So how did he know? He knew that being a diver and a naval one was the only thing I ever wanted to do. I was a better diver than him and destined for promotion. Nick couldn't stand that. He always had to be the best, and the person in the limelight.'

  'So where were you between ten p.m. on Tuesday night and two a.m. Wednesday?'

  'Oh, I realize I've just put myself in the frame for his death, but I didn't kill him. I was at home, alone. No alibi.'

  'Have you ever been trained in or use karate?'

  Manners' surprise at the question seemed genuine. 'I attended a course whilst in the navy, with Nick. Why do you want to know? Is that how he was killed?'

  Horton remained silent.

  Manners said, 'I see. Well, if you think I killed him, Inspector, then you are going to have to prove it.'

  And that might not be so easy, Horton thought, watching Manners drive away. Was he capable of killing? Probably. And he hadn't denied it. Manners had access to a boat at the sub-aqua club and could have motored it to Oldham's Wharf where he had met Farnsworth, after they'd released him from the station. But why wait fifteen years to get his revenge? Had Farnsworth said something recently that had finally tipped Manners over the edge? It was possible.

  He called Trueman, relayed his conversation with Manners and asked him to get a search warrant for Manners' apartment and the sub-aqua club. Then, glancing at his watch, he saw it was time to head back to Portsmouth and his second funeral of the day.

  SIXTEEN

  The cathedral car park was full, which didn't surprise him. Toni Cantelli had been a prominent and popular businessman in the city, owning two restaurants, which he'd handed over to his younger son, Tony, and his eldest daughter Isabella. Along with these there was a booming ice cream round, which Cantelli senior had started at the end of the war, and which had been the bedrock of his expansion.

  Horton pulled in beside Dr Clayton's Mini Cooper. There was no sign of her. Perhaps she was already inside the cathedral where a crowd of people were huddled in the doorway, sheltering from the rain. He thought of Irene Ebury's funeral and that of her son, Peter – how many would attend that? Not many.

  'I see you've come dressed for the part.'

  He spun round to find Gaye Clayton behind him, standing under a large black umbrella. He'd only ever seen her dressed in her white coat, mortuary garb, or jeans and a sailing jacket. Now she was wearing black trousers with a short black raincoat, but it was the emerald scarf tied around her neck that drew his eyes to her small-featured, pale-skinned face, her short auburn hair and her green eyes which danced at him. He'd always thought her attractive, but now she looked positively stunning. And yet he found his mind veering towards Daisy Pemberton and cursed silently as he pushed thoughts of her away.

  'It's black, isn't it?' he said, glancing down at his leather jacket, drawing a slight rise of her eyebrows.

  'The emblem on it isn't.' She pointed at the red Harley Davidson logo.

  'I don't think Mr Cantelli will care, Barney won't mind and God, if there is one, won't worry either, if that's the least of my sins.'

  'And is it?'

  She was teasing him but her face fell serious as the hearse pulled into the car park. 'I've got something to tell you, but later,' she hissed. He stared at her, frustrated at being kept waiting for news that might help him solve the case, but as the crowd around the entrance to the cathedral fell silent, all thoughts of Farnsworth, Daniel Collins and the Eburys evaporated.

  Following the hearse were three black limousines: in the first Horton could see Barney, looking pale and drawn. His heart went out to him. Horton had no idea what it felt like to lose a father, never having had one, but he recalled the emotions he'd experienced when Bernard, his foster father had died, and understood something of how Cantelli must be feeling. He looked smaller and older than his brother Tony, who was three years his senior. With them were Barney's sisters: the dark-haired, olive-skinned and practical Isabella and the youngest, Marie. Horton hadn't seen her since she'd finished her postgraduate course in teacher training three years ago, but she hadn't changed much. At twenty-six she had been a raven-haired beauty and she was still a beauty. Beside her was Barney's mother; white-haired with a keen face, looking dignified yet solemn.

  In the next car were Tony's wife, Emily, and his thirteen-year-old daughter, Michelle, and with them a young man of about twenty whom Horton recognized as Isabella's son, Johnny. Horton recalled the wild boy of sixteen who had got into trouble with the police after his father's death and how he had secured a place for him on the sailing trust. Now Johnny was skippering a rich man's yacht around the world. Horton was glad it had worked out for him.

  In the third car was Charlotte, Barney's wife, wearing a wide-brimmed grey hat with a black felt band over her long dark hair, swept up, he noted, for the occasion. The sight of her always sent a warm glow through him. She was so different from Catherine both in looks and personality and yet to him Charlotte Cantelli personified everything a woman and mother should be and look like: warm, comforting, ample-proportioned, expansive and kind-hearted. A woman who had put her husband and children before her career, which if recalled had been nursing. OK, so the bra-waving feminist brigade would have him hanged, drawn and quartered for such outdated and male chauvinist thoughts, but he didn't care. Deep inside him he knew that Charlotte Cantelli represented something he'd never had, and which still caused an ache in the pit of his heart: a mother's warm and unquestioning love. Beside her were her five children: Ellen, Sadie, Marie and the twins, Joe and Molly.

  As the cars drew to a halt in front of the church, Horton made to move forward when Gaye said, 'Here, take this.' She handed over the umbrella. 'You're taller than me and you're getting soaked.'

  He held the umbrella aloft, wondering what it was she had to tell him. As the service progressed, Horton's thoughts flirted with the deaths of his final set of foster parents before turning to his mother. Was she dead? He had, of course, checked with the registrar, but there was no record of it. That didn't mean she wasn't dead, just that her body had either never been found or she'd changed her name because there was also no employment or NHS record for her. Had Irene Ebury known more about Jennifer's disappearance than she'd told the police? If so there was no way of knowing now.

  He felt a sense of relief when the music finally played and they filed out. He nodded across to Barney, who gave a grim smile in return before climbing into the car. Horton had told Cantelli he wouldn't be attending the committal or the wake. Cantelli had understood.

  As soon as the hearse pulled out of the car park, Horton turned to Gaye. 'So?'

  'In my car.'

  He folded himself into the Mini watching the rain stream down the window as people ran to their cars, doors slamming. One by one they pulled out of the car park, leaving his Harley and Gaye Clayton's Mini the only vehicles there.

  'I took another
look at the post-mortem report on Daniel Collins,' Gaye said. 'You seemed so certain that his death was suspicious that it bugged me. There is something—'

  'What?' he asked eagerly with a quickening heartbeat.

  'Take a look at these photographs taken before the autopsy.'

  She reached over on to the back seat and retrieved a folder which she handed to him. He was staring at photographs of Daniel Collins on the mortuary slab. The final one was an enlarged picture of the back of Daniel's head.