Dead Man's Wharf

by Pauline Rowson

  He thrust it out of his mind and concentrated on the rain-drenched road until he reached the marina. After his run he still felt pent up. He made himself something to eat whilst worrying away at what Uckfield had said. Was his proposal genuine? Or was it some kind of test to see if he went blabbing to Dennings?

  He had no answers and was unlikely to get them. He knew he wouldn't sleep well. There was too much swirling around in his head: along with Collins, Farnsworth and Dennings there was Uckfield's ultimatum. He felt tense and irritable. It was like that sensation just before a storm. Some people experienced headaches and migraine, but with him it was a tightness across his chest and a heightened alertness, as if his whole body was being put in a state of readiness. For what, he had no idea, but sooner or later something was going to break. He only hoped it wasn't him.

  SEVENTEEN

  Friday, 7.35 a.m.

  'You're early,' Horton said, finding Cantelli already in the CID office the next morning.

  Horton had dropped into the major crime suite on his way through the station and had learnt from Trueman that Gary Manners had been brought in at six a.m., and he'd requested a solicitor before being interviewed. Manners was no fool. If he was their killer, then, like the man had said, they were going to have to prove it. There'd be no confession there. Trueman also said that the search warrants for Manners' apartment and the sub-aqua club would be through later that day.

  'Couldn't sleep,' Cantelli said.

  Snap, thought Horton. He didn't need to ask what had disturbed Cantelli's dreams. Activity would help. It always worked with him, though he knew that it merely postponed the problems and didn't solve them. But he didn't want to think about Emma and that job offer of Uckfield's now. He had a murderer to catch.

  Yesterday DC Marsden had returned from Haslemere with the news that Farnsworth had been a highly successful estate agent and had made a mint of money in the London commuter belt in a rising property market. Farnsworth was, Marsden had quoted from his sources, articulate, had lots of nervous energy and people took to him. He was able to fool most of the people most of the time. Horton guessed that fitted the profile of a narcissistic personality disorder. Dennings reported that no will had been found in Farnsworth's house and there was nothing to throw any light on who had killed him and why.

  The contents of his house were being searched and his personal papers had been bagged up and Trueman's team were going through them and looking into Farnsworth's finances, which on first glance looked very healthy indeed. DC Marsden had the task of tracking down and interviewing Farnsworth's previous girlfriends, which, Horton thought, might take some time.

  By the time he'd brought Cantelli up to date with the events of the previous day, Walters had arrived. He detailed him to find Chalky White, one of their more useful informers, and get him asking around the pubs and clubs to see if Marion or Ian Keynes had been trying to pass off stolen goods.

  Horton handed the case notes on the armed robbery to Cantelli. 'Read through that, Barney, and see if it tallies with your memory. Is there anything missing or does anything strike you as unusual?'

  Cantelli took the file. 'About Farnsworth's death – don't laugh at this, but it was something that Johnny, my nephew, said to me yesterday about treasure hunting.'

  'You mean as in chests with gold sovereigns?' Horton teased.

  'Not quite.' Cantelli smiled.

  That was better. Horton was glad to see a spark of life back in the sergeant's dark eyes.

  'Johnny says that diving is highly competitive,' continued Cantelli. 'And when it comes to wreck hunting there's big money to be made. Not only in discovering a long-lost wreck but also in the selling of antiquities.'

  Horton thought back to his conversation with Ryan Oldham who had claimed the Solent was littered with rubbish and wrecks. Cantelli's theory might not be so far-fetched at that. Discovering something like the Mary Rose, Henry the Eighth's Tudor warship, would make someone's name in marine archaeological circles, which Farnsworth would have loved.

  'Go on.'

  'Say Daniel Collins discovers a wreck whilst out diving with Nathan Lester and Gary Manners. They're sworn to secrecy until they can confirm its significance and rightfully claim it, but Lester blabs to Farnsworth. Farnsworth approaches Manners and wants to muscle in on the act. But Manners hates Farnsworth on account of the accident years ago. And Manners wants the glory and fame for himself so he starts killing off his rivals, first Daniel Collins and then Nick Farnsworth.'

  'Which means that Lester is his next victim, or would have been if we didn't have Manners here. Get Lester's home address. If Manners is our killer, then Lester will feel very relieved when he knows we've got him in for questioning, so relieved that he might tell us everything.'

  Horton rang through the information to Uckfield, explaining Cantelli's theory, which drew a snort of disbelief, but Horton knew he'd put it to Manners. As he rang off another thought occurred to Horton. To Cantelli he said, 'Lester could have told Perry Jackson about the wreck. Maybe he wanted to take the credit for it.'

  'Would he have killed Daniel Collins though?'

  Horton considered the fact. He couldn't see Jackson swimming in and out of car windows, but he might have got Lester to do his dirty work for him. 'Let's ask him.'

  'And this?' Cantelli indicated Ebury's file.

  'Read it later.'

  Cantelli pushed it in the drawer of his desk and hurried after Horton.

  Fifteen minutes later Jackson opened the door of his hotel bedroom with a pained look on his face. 'What is it now?' he snapped, grudgingly letting them in.

  'Packing, sir?' asked Cantelli, nodding at the holdall on the bed.

  'I think that's what it's called, Sergeant,' Jackson replied with heavy sarcasm. 'I refuse to be kept a prisoner here any longer.'

  'We asked to be notified when you left the hotel.'

  'I haven't left. I am in the process of leaving,' Jackson said pedantically, stepping around Cantelli as he carried his clothes from the hotel wardrobe to the holdall. 'I am not a criminal and neither will I be treated like one.'

  That remains to be seen, thought Horton. He said, 'When did you first meet Daniel Collins?'

  'Who?'

  Jackson didn't even pause in his packing. He was very good if he was lying.

  Sternly Horton said, 'Mr Jackson, will you stop that and answer our questions, otherwise we'll have no option but to take you to the station.'

  Jackson pulled up abruptly. 'You can't do that!'

  'We can. So put down those socks and let's see if we can get this cleared up.'

  Jackson glared at Horton before capitulating with a great deal of huffing and puffing.

  'Well?' he demanded belligerently, glancing at his watch with the air of a man who has two minutes to spare and has started counting.

  'Daniel Collins?' repeated Horton, folding himself into one of the armchairs opposite the bed whilst Cantelli sat in the other one. Horton looked pointedly at Jackson, who after

  a moment sat down heavily on the bed with a deep scowl.

  'I've never heard of him.'

  Horton decided to help him out. 'He used to dive with Nathan Lester. Didn't Lester

  mention him?'

  'No.' Maybe Jackson was a good liar. Horton said, 'How did you feel when Nick was asked to give the keynote address at the international conference this June?'

  Jackson looked surprised, was that at the change of subject or that Horton knew about the conference?

  'What's this got to do with Nick's death?'

  'I think we'd get through this interview much quicker if only one of us asks the questions.'

  'I didn't feel anything. If Nick wanted to give the talk, then fine.'

  'You weren't jealous?'

  'Why should I be? I don't like that sort of thing.'

  Oh, yeah, thought Horton, pull the other one.

  'What sort of thing do you like, sir?' asked Cantelli.

  Jackson swivelled his gaz
e. 'Diving, researching and writing. I don't spout humorous anecdotes or embellish fact with fiction. I am writing a book about my exploits on the wreck series based on facts, not the silly schoolboy pranks and adventures that Nick liked to conjure up. And if you don't mind –' he glanced pointedly at his watch – 'I'm having lunch with my editor in London, and I have a train to catch.'

  And if Collins had discovered an important wreck, wouldn't that make a nice bit of publicity for Jackson's book, not to mention perhaps a completely new commission?

  'What will happen to the series now?' asked Horton.

  'It will carry on as usual.'

  'It can hardly do that with Nicholas Farnsworth dead,' Horton said, trying to goad Jackson into displaying some kind of emotion for his partner's death. He might just have well not bothered.

  Jackson rolled his eyes and sighed. 'I meant the programme will continue.'

  'With another diver?' Horton recalled that Kirkwood had said the series had been the brainchild of Perry Jackson, who had sold it to the production company, so he must have a say over his diving companion.

  'Yes. I've already spoken to him. And he's a much better choice than Nick.'

  That was quick work, thought Horton. Too bloody quick for his liking. He guessed production companies had a schedule to keep, especially if they were tied to a strict filming timetable, but Nick Farnsworth hadn't even been buried yet. Perhaps TV companies had understudies like the theatre did. He really didn't know much about them. 'How is he a better choice?'

  'He'll give the series a more serious tone. Nick was always looking to sensationalize the programme, and his vanity was huge. He wanted to be a star. We're not the stars, I used to tell him, the wrecks we find and their history are the real stars, but Nick couldn't see that. I want to make the series more educational; something that is sadly lacking in our dire culture of dreadful reality television shows. The public need to be aware that we have a duty to protect our underwater heritage, and who better to dive with me and take over from Nick than Nathan Lester.'

  Horton just about hid his surprise. Cantelli's pencil hovered for a moment over his notebook. Horton just couldn't see the little squirrel-faced man with the nine o'clock shadow and oily skin being a substitute for the tall, good-looking, charismatic Farnsworth. And Horton didn't think the viewers would go for it either. He doubted Cantelli's daughter, Marie, would be quite so thrilled if her dad came home with Lester's signed photograph.

  Had Jackson chosen Lester because he would make Jackson look more attractive and dashing? Perhaps Jackson had got sick of being the boring one and wanted to have a go at being enigmatic. Had these two men been plotting this when Horton had visited them after Nick's death? Perhaps they had colluded in killing both Collins and Farnsworth. Lester now seemed to have a very good motive for wanting Farnsworth out of the way.

  Jackson rose. 'Now if you've finished...'

  I haven't even begun, thought Horton.

  'Where were you on Christmas Eve night?' Horton asked sharply.

  Jackson hovered above the bed and then sat down again with a heavy sigh. 'At home.'

  'Alone?'

  There was some hesitation before Jackson answered, 'No.'

  So truth won out. Horton noted a slight flush under Jackson's dusky skin.

  'Now, let me guess. You were with Nicholas Farnsworth's ex-wife, Annette Hill.'

  'So what if I was?' Jackson leapt up furious.

  Horton eyed him steadily. Jackson picked up a tie from the bed and began to run it through his hands.

  'Did Farnsworth know about your affair with his ex-wife?'

  'They divorced years ago,' Jackson snarled. 'And I don't see that it has anything to do with the investigation.'

  'Why didn't you choose her as your diving partner?' Cantelli asked.

  'Because she hates publicity. She prefers to lecture.'

  'When did you meet her?' Horton this time.

  'About a year ago. I was asked to give a lecture at Bournemouth University on the work I'd done on The Kravel Project. It's an early sixteenth-century wreck in the Baltic. I was working with a team from Southampton University, surveying and recording it. Annette and I hit it off immediately.'

  'I didn't think you liked giving talks.'

  'I don't, but I made an exception for Annette. She's very well respected in underwater archaeological circles. I've read her books on wrecks...'

  Something clicked in Horton's mind: A. Hill. 'Is that Dr A.W. Hill?'

  'Yes.' Jackson looked shocked. 'You've read Annette's books?'

  'I've seen them.' And he had, in Daniel Collins's lair, only he hadn't made the connection until now. 'Go on.'

  Jackson looked as though he wanted to ask more questions about his girlfriend's books, and then decided against it. Perhaps, Horton thought, it was his cold stare that put him off, either that or the fact that he was running out of time to catch his train because Jackson looked at his watch again before saying, 'Nick hated her being so well known. Jealous, of course. She's an expert, like me. We both have Masters in marine archaeology and Annette has a PhD. We've worked extensively on wrecks around the world, whereas Nick was just an estate agent with an interest in diving.'

  Blimey, this man's ego was as big as Farnsworth's, thought Horton. No wonder they clashed. 'If you despised Farnsworth that much, and you have a say in who co-presents with you, why didn't you sack him?'

  For the first time during the interview Jackson looked uncomfortable. 'He was good for the ratings.'

  Maybe, but there seemed more to it than that. Horton recalled what had happened to Ryan Oldham and Gary Manners. Jackson knew about Farnsworth's ways of getting even with those who thwarted him and Horton could see that Jackson's Achilles heel was his reputation. Farnsworth would have found a way to ruin Jackson and Jackson knew it. What a relief Farnsworth's death must have been to him. The case for Jackson being their killer, possibly in league with Lester, was beginning to build, especially if you put it with Cantelli's theory about a wreck.

  Cantelli said, 'How did Farnsworth take your affair with his wife?'

  'Ex-wife,' Jackson sniped. 'As I keep saying, he couldn't care less. By then he'd moved on. There were several affairs before Farnsworth took up with Corinna. I told Corinna she was a fool to give up Jason for Nick, but she wouldn't listen.'

  'Why didn't you go to the Caribbean with Ms Hill?' Cantelli again.

  'Dr Hill,' corrected Jackson. 'Because I was committed to the programme. Now, if you don't mind...'

  Horton rose. Taking his cue, Cantelli did the same, slowly putting away his notebook. 'We'll need to talk to you again, sir.'

  'Then you'll do so in the presence of my solicitor,' said Jackson.

  'Of course,' Cantelli continued cheerfully, as they headed towards the door.

  On the threshold, Horton turned. 'When will you be back from London, sir?'

  'Late this afternoon. Why?'

  'We'll let you know when we need you at the station.' He made it sound like a threat and a forgone conclusion, which was his intention.

  Jackson slammed the door on them. Horton hoped that he wouldn't do a disappearing act. Horton had already made one mistake by not taking those threatening telephone calls seriously, although that seemed to have little relevance now to their case. But he didn't want to give Uckfield or Superintendent Reine the slightest cause to ball him out.

  He said as much to Cantelli as they took the stairs to the ground floor.

  'Jackson's a stuffed shirt but my money's on Nathan Lester,' Cantelli answered. 'He gets Farnsworth's job and the wreck, and he dived with Daniel Collins.'

  Yes, thought Horton, and not only that but Lester was small and wiry – the ideal build to climb in and out of car windows.

  EIGHTEEN

  'Are you thinking what I'm thinking?' Cantelli said, peering through the grilled windows of Lester's antiques shop some minutes later.

  'Antiques and antiquities,' Horton answered, though antiques was a kind word for the jun
k he could see in the gloom beyond the grill. The room was crammed with heavy old furniture and bric-a-brac rather than valuable memorabilia from sunken wrecks.

  The door was locked and the closed sign displayed. Getting no response from Lester's house, a neighbour had directed them to the shop, which was situated in one of the less fashionable shopping areas of the city, on a busy road running from east to west and not far from the cemetery opposite Mr and Mrs Collins's house. Lester's Emporium was sandwiched between a cheap and grubby café and a Chinese takeaway, and shared the street with a charity shop, a newsagent, a pub and a betting shop. Starring in a television programme was a long way from this and Horton reckoned that Lester must have thought his ship had come in.