'He could be lying.'
'If he isn't, then why kill Collins unless it is over the discovery of a wreck? And that goes for Manners too. Why would he kill Daniel Collins?'
'Because he didn't like the colour of his eyes?' Uckfield said. Behind the flippancy Horton knew was frustration.
'Manners freely admits to practising martial arts several years ago but not recently,' Horton continued. 'And Sergeant Trueman can't find any record of Jackson belonging to a martial arts club. He did however spend some time in the Far East, and has written a book about diving in South East Asia so maybe he picked it up then.' Though Horton had difficulty imagining the rather pompous Jackson kung-fuing.
Uckfield gulped back his coffee. 'We'll bring him in tomorrow.'
Which meant that Horton would have to leave this case to Dennings, something he didn't much care for – that was always assuming Jackson would return from London. He didn't think he would run away though. A man with his superiority complex couldn't possibly contemplate the police being cleverer than him. And that was another reason why Horton was warming towards Jackson as their killer. These murders had been meticulously planned and inventive.
'Trueman's also checked to see if Lester was or is a member of a martial arts club. No joy. Then there's Farnsworth's missing fingers.' Horton hadn't lost sight of that, though he'd not got around to asking the university forensic psychologist about it. Now it was too late. It would have to wait until Monday and for someone else to do it, unless he asked Daisy Pemberton. He felt a small tremor of excitement at the prospect of seeing her again, which he quickly quashed. He didn't care for her knack of reading him or the thought that she might be able to penetrate the dark recesses of his soul.
He said, 'Collins's body wasn't mutilated and neither was he killed by a karate blow. The methods of death are completely different. And as far as we can ascertain Collins didn't know Farnsworth.'
'Jesus! It's like the magic bloody roundabout.'
Horton couldn't help agreeing. His head too was beginning to spin with it all. 'If their deaths are unrelated, we're looking for two killers.'
'And the Chief Constable is looking for a result,' Uckfield replied, scraping back his chair. 'So I suggest we get back to work and find one.'
Horton watched Uckfield march away. Why couldn't they locate Nathan Lester? Where the devil was the man? Dead? Had Manners killed him before they'd pulled him in? Or had Jackson dispensed with Lester after promising him a place on the television programme. A promise granted under duress and the threat of blackmail.
And what significance did those missing fingers have? Marsden had so far drawn a blank in Haslemere trying to find some of Farnsworth's ex-lovers, which Horton thought rather surprising. He was convinced there must be many littered about. Maybe they just didn't want to be involved and were keeping quiet. There was one person though who had got
closer to Farnsworth than anyone else and he didn't mean Corinna Denton.
He tossed back the remainder of his coffee which had gone cold and rose. Despite his personal misgivings he reckoned it was time to talk to Daisy Pemberton.
'How well do you know Nathan Lester?' he asked, taking a seat in the main cabin. The wind was rising and he could feel the boat gently rocking.
Sliding in beside him so that she was facing him diagonally across the tables, she eyed him, clearly curious at the question. 'Only through the sub-aqua club, why?'
He tried hard not to be influenced by the smell of her perfume or the allure of those eyes.
'We're trying to find him,' he said more tersely that he should have. 'Do you know where he might be? He's not at home, in his shop or at the marine archaeological offices...'
'And he's not at the sub-aqua club otherwise your officers would have found him. I saw them earlier and spoke to Gary. He says you think he killed Nick and Daniel. You're wrong, of course.'
He felt a stab of annoyance at her arrogance, but took great care not to show it.
Leaning forward and gazing steadily at him, she said, 'Gary Manners is the most honest and reliable person I know.'
'Those qualities don't preclude him from committing murder,' he said evenly, but he was irritated by her supreme confidence.
'He isn't your killer.'
'Farnsworth destroyed his career.' He saw the merest flicker of surprise on her face. So lover boy hadn't told her that then, but then he wouldn't have done. It would have shown him up in a bad light. 'Farnsworth left Manners trapped in a wreck. Manners could have died. As a result his navy and diving career were finished.'
She sat back and eyed him closely. After a moment she nodded. 'OK, you win on that one. I didn't know. But I still say Gary is not your killer. And I don't know where Nathan is. You surely can't suspect him? He worshipped the ground Nick walked on.'
'Maybe he got jealous.'
'Of me?' she scoffed, wide-eyed.
'Or Corinna Denton.'
But Daisy was shaking her head. 'Nathan didn't operate like that. He wasn't homosexual and neither was Nick, or even bisexual. You can take my word for that.'
Horton wished he didn't have to. He didn't care for the image of her with Farnsworth. And maybe she saw that because he had the feeling she was teasing, or was that tormenting him with it.
'That doesn't mean to say that he wasn't infatuated with Farnsworth.'
She thought for a moment, then nodded. 'I guess he was judging from the few times I saw them together, but I still don't have him profiled as a killer.'
Despite his irritation with her he found himself interested to hear her views. After all, that was what he was here for. 'Why not?' he asked.
'Because from the little I know about Nick's death, and from what you told me about Daniel's – if the two are linked – then they have been committed by someone of above average intelligence, and socially able. Someone who is creative and rational and that isn't Nathan Lester. From what I've seen of Nathan Lester and Nick separately and interacting, Nick made Lester feel more secure, powerful and influential. He wouldn't kill the man who gave him status. If he did, and it's a big if, then he would have done so in a moment of madness. It would have been completely unplanned, messy and he'd have left a trail to his front door. In fact I think he would have confessed to it and wanted to be punished. I see even less reason for Lester to want to kill Daniel Collins.'
Horton agreed up to a point. To his mind, though, they didn't know nearly enough about Lester's background – or Farnsworth's come to that. And if Lester had killed Farnsworth and Collins on someone's instructions and had then wanted to confess he would have been too much of a risk to let live.
He said, 'Are you saying that Nick Farnsworth used Nathan Lester the same way he used and manipulated women to get what he wanted?' Ah, she didn't much care for that, he thought, watching her shift and run her hand through her hair. And if that were true then what did Nathan Lester have that Farnsworth wanted? Was hero-worship enough? He guessed for Farnsworth it probably was.
'I think Nick had grown tired of Nathan,' she said, scotching that idea. 'The last couple of times I saw them together, in early December, Nick barely spoke to him and when he did he wasn't very nice. And if you think that's even more reason for Nathan to want Nick dead, then I can see your reasoning, but I just can't see him killing the man he lived for a kind word from.'
Horton wasn't as convinced as she was about that, but it did explain why Lester had been so upset on hearing about Farnsworth's death. But why would he take his hero's place on the television programme, and so rapidly? That smacked of an element of calculation to Horton, especially as he had found Lester in a meeting with Jackson the morning of Farnsworth's death. How many other times had they met to perhaps plan Farnsworth's death? Lester might be very clever at creating a profile of himself designed to fool people. If he was, then it extended to his chaotic house and junk shop. But then, as he'd already considered, Jackson could be the planner and Nathan his executioner.
'Daniel Collins went
diving with Nathan Lester over the summer months until September. Did he or Farnsworth ever mention discovering a wreck?'
She shook her head, looking baffled. 'No.'
That didn't mean to say they hadn't. He doubted if Farnsworth would have told her anyway.
'Do you have the details of Farnsworth's previous girlfriends?'
'A couple. Would you like their addresses?' She powered up her computer. 'Nick went out with Rosemary Taylor for three years. The poor woman. But she's happily married now to a garage mechanic and lives in Brighton. The one before me was Stephanie Wilson. Nick was with her for a year. She's living in Spain with her parents. They emigrated there four years ago. I can't see either of them killing Nick.'
Horton tossed up whether to tell her about Nick Farnsworth's missing fingers. Deciding he had nothing to lose by doing so, he asked, 'Do you know why someone would want to cut off three fingers of Mr Farnsworth's left hand?'
She eyed him sharply, then sat back with a thoughtful look on her urchin face. He could see her weighing up this new information, her mind trying to fit it into what she knew about the people surrounding Farnsworth and those who had known him.
'And Daniel Collins?'
'Fingers all accounted for.'
'You think it could be a husband or boyfriend seeking revenge?'
He shrugged. He didn't know what to think any more. As Uckfield had said, they
seemed to be going round in circles.
'I suppose it's possible,' she said after a moment, but reluctantly. 'Was Nick battered or disfigured in any other way?'
'No.'
'So why cut off his fingers?' she muttered to herself. 'Was it after death?'
'Yes.'
'So cutting off a dead man's fingers . . .' she mused. Then suddenly she was sitting bolt upright, her skin flushed, eyes shining. 'Of course!'
'What is it?' he asked, his own excitement rising as she tapped into her computer.
'Hang on.'
He did with little patience.
'There.' She swivelled the screen to face him. For a spilt second he was bemused by what he saw, thick fleshy tube-like masses of white and orange clinging to rocks, some kind of coral, and then into his mind flashed the photograph on the wall of Daniel's study.
Daisy said, 'Alcyonium digitatum, better known as Dead Man's Fingers. And you can find it just off Bembridge on the Isle of Wight. I've dived there many times both with Nick and with Daniel.'
And Farnsworth had wanted to change the location of the dive for the series to that area. He must have found a wreck there, or nearby, or one of the others had – Manners, Collins or Lester – and one of them had told Farnsworth about it. Cantelli had been right. This was about discovering an important wreck.
'Do you have the exact location?' he asked.
Once again she tapped into her computer. 'Give me your e-mail address and I'll send it across to you.'
He obliged. Perhaps now it was time to call out the police divers. And time to talk to Manners again and bring Jackson in.
After thanking Daisy, he returned to the station. Hurrying to CID he was surprised to see it deserted. Where the blazes was everyone? Then he saw that it was just after six thirty. Walters must have gone home and so too must have Cantelli; his jacket wasn't on the hook behind the door.
He made for his office to check that the e-mails Daisy had sent over had come through but paused to stop at Lee's desk. On it were Lester's bank statements. She'd got them into some kind of order with the most recent on top. He quickly flicked through them. There were large gaps but one two years ago showed Lester to have a considerable amount of money. Slowly it had dwindled until the latest statement he was looking at, dated last August, showed Lester to be in the red to the tune of a thousand pounds. So what had he spent it on?
Rummaging further on Lee's desk he found her notes. Lester had paid a six-year lease on the shop a year ago, which had taken a chunk out of his finances. He'd also put a deposit on his house, which he had purchased at the same time. Horton guessed that Lester's shop had been haemorrhaging money.
He sat back deep in thought. Where had Lester got his money from in the first place? Had a relative died and left him a legacy? Or perhaps it was his gratuity from leaving the navy or his savings.
Snatching up the phone, Horton called the major-incident suite and got Trueman.
'Walters and Lee are here helping to man the phones,' Trueman said. 'They haven't
stopped ringing since the superintendent's press call asking for witnesses who might have seen a man on the dual carriageway on Christmas Eve. You wouldn't have thought there would have been that many people out, but I think the whole of Portsmouth must have been wandering up and down that road.'
Horton wondered how DC Lee was liking her stint at manning the phones – not much, he guessed.
'We've not had a chance to get much on Nathan Lester,' Trueman added. 'Except that he's single and lived in Bordon before moving to Portsmouth two years ago. He left the navy in 2004 and started his antiques business here in 2007. There's no record of any employment between those years and Lester wasn't claiming benefit.'
Bordon was a growing town which had sprung up from the army based there. It was twenty-six miles from Portsmouth and thirteen miles from Haslemere, where Farnsworth had lived and worked. Horton wondered if Lester had made contact with Farnsworth when he had been working in Haslemere. Daisy had said that Farnsworth was sick of Nathan following him round like a pet dog, so Horton guessed that it was likely. He also wondered what Lester had done during those three years.
He'd like to find out, but as he crossed his office and viewed the pile of paper on his desk, he knew that he had run out of time to work on this case. He hated leaving unfinished business, a decided drawback in his job – half the cases they handled were unfinished. He'd have to leave the Collins and Farnsworth murders to others. And what about the deaths of the Eburys? What would DC Lee do about that in his absence? he wondered as he clicked open his e-mails, thinking that perhaps he could come in over the weekend. But Uckfield had made it clear last night that he couldn't expect to have regular and prolonged access to Emma if he was working all the hours God sent. If he wanted Emma, then he had to change his working habits, simple as that. And if he wanted that place on the major crime team, with the chance of promotion, he'd have to give up the idea of regular access to Emma. There was no contest.
His phone rang. He was surprised to hear Charlotte's voice.
'Is Barney there, Andy?'
'No. I thought he'd gone home.'
'He was here earlier. He left two hours ago. He promised he'd get back in time for Molly's dance concert, and he's not answering his mobile.'
Something evil crept into the office. Horton felt his stomach go into spasm. It was as if the air quivered with danger and that feeling of a thunderstorm approaching was back with a vengeance.
'Is anything wrong?'
He'd not spoken and yet Charlotte had sensed something in his silence.
'He's probably out on an interview,' he said, hoping the enforced lightness of his tone deceived her. He was eager to get her off the phone and start his enquiries about Cantelli, but she forestalled him.
'Barney seemed very excited about something. He was in the attic looking out his old notebooks; you know, the unofficial ones a lot of police officers keep.'
Horton's pulse began to race. Rapidly his mind made the connections. Cantelli had found some anomaly in the Peter Ebury case notes and had rushed home to check his notes. But why hadn't he returned here? Cantelli must have wanted to check something out.
After trying to reassure Charlotte, which he thought he failed miserably at doing, he rang off and hurried to Cantelli's desk. There was no message on it, but the Peter Ebury file had gone. He called Cantelli's mobile, but just as Charlotte had said all he got was the answer phone. He left a message and then rang through to the front desk.
'Did Sergeant Cantelli say where he was going when he logg
ed out?'
'Home. I asked if he had started working part-time.'
Horton rose and began to pace his office, his mind whirling. After a couple of minutes the space seemed too small to contain him and his anxieties. He'd worked with Cantelli on and off for most of his police career. He was more than a colleague – more than a friend; he was the older brother that Horton had never had. And Horton could feel something was wrong. It simply wasn't like Cantelli not to check in or at least tell him what he was following up.
He swept up his jacket and helmet and swiftly marched down the corridor towards the exit. Any faster and he'd have to break into a run. But valiantly he fought to control his fear and urged himself to think calmly and rationally. Panicking wouldn't find Cantelli and besides, he tried to reassure himself, the sergeant could still stroll into the station chewing his gum with that grin on his face. Then why didn't he believe that.
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