‘What time do they kick them out in the morning?’ Uckfield asked.
‘Nine o’clock.’
‘Get over there and show the dead man’s photograph around. Take Somerfield with you. She’s been seconded to the Major Crime Team for this investigation.’
PC Kate Somerfield was trying hard not to show how pleased she was. Horton had noted earlier that she was out of uniform and in civvies. He wondered how Bliss viewed that. Although Somerfield was a much lower rank, Bliss tended to view every female as the competition, especially an ambitious one, which Kate Somerfield was. Horton tried not to let his suspicious mind go into overdrive as his gaze swivelled between Kate Somerfield and Uckfield. She was his type: fair, attractive, shapely, under forty and female. But Horton had thought Uckfield’s latest conquest was Alison from the canteen. Maybe he’d already tired of her or was getting greedy and had two on the go, not counting his wife, also called Alison, the former chief constable’s daughter. One day Uckfield would get his fingers burned and ACC Dean would be only too pleased to pin his balls to the wall and cut his libido – and his career – down to size.
Horton suggested they should also check with the Salvation Army. Uckfield added that to Marsden’s and Somerfield’s list. He sniffed loudly, sneezed and glanced at his watch. The press call was due in forty minutes.
‘It looks very much to me as though this poor bugger was shot but until we have confirmation of that from Dr Clayton we say nothing to no one about how he died. Right?’ he barked as loudly as his croaky throat would allow him. Everyone quickly agreed. He swivelled his gaze on to Horton. ‘I want you looking into this reported theft of antique firearms.’ His office phone was ringing. Quickly, he continued, ‘And get over to the mortuary, find out if Dr Clayton’s found the poor sod’s ID sewn in his underpants. DCI Bliss and DI Dennings will work the investigation from here.’ And that, thought Horton, would suit the two of them perfectly – no going out on the streets and getting their hands grubby and an ear bashing from the less salubrious members of the public. Uckfield disappeared into his office, where he snatched up his phone.
Bliss turned to Horton and Cantelli and flapped a scrawny hand at Walters to join them. Addressing Horton, she said sharply, ‘We need to know everything there is to know about those weapons and the likelihood of them becoming active. We’ve already lost a valuable day’s investigation, and a day in which a man has been murdered.’
She made it sound as though it was their fault the guns had been stolen and the victim killed. Her words also implied that he shouldn’t have taken a few days’ holiday and that Cantelli and Walters had done nothing but sit around and wait for his return. Walters didn’t appear upset at the insult because he rarely recognized one when it was given and Cantelli was too used to Bliss’s ways to take umbrage. Horton was tempted to remind her that she had been the officer-in-charge and whatever blame anyone wanted to lay was at her door. But it would have been a waste of his breath because Bliss, like Uckfield, was very good at ditching the dirt on someone else if necessary.
She continued, ‘I want those guns found.’
As if they didn’t. He turned, and with Cantelli and Walters, headed down the stairs and back to CID. He asked Walters to brief him.
Taking a packet of salt and vinegar crisps from the pocket of his jacket, Walters said, ‘The Clements returned from a cruise early on Monday morning and found the property had been entered through a sash window that gives on to a flat garage roof at the front of the house. No prints from the window or from anywhere else, except those of Mr and Mrs Clements.’
‘How did the Clements know the thieves had come in that way?’
‘They said it was the only window that wasn’t double-glazed and it was open when they returned – only a fraction, though.’
Horton considered this. ‘How did the thieves leave?’
‘Through the same window, I guess.’
‘Which they forgot to close after them?’ Horton said dubiously.
‘Maybe they panicked, thought they might be seen and wanted a quick getaway.’ Walters crammed some crisps into his mouth before continuing. ‘They live in Darrin Road, just behind the nine-hole golf course on the seafront. The pistols were kept in a basement room. Loads of old stuff in it, all arty-fartily displayed. Clements claims some of it is worth a fortune. Can’t see why the thieves left it behind unless they were disturbed or thought it a load of old junk, which is my opinion, because most of it looks like the stuff my nan had in her living room on the sideboard, or the crap you can pick up at a car boot sale or junk shop.’
‘What kind of stuff?’
‘Ornaments and the like,’ Walters dismissed vaguely.
‘So it was the pistols they were after?’
‘Guess so. Nothing else was stolen. Vivian Clements claims he set the alarm when he left the house on the nineteenth of December and it didn’t sound when they arrived home on Monday morning at eight fifteen.’ Walters belatedly offered some crisps to Horton and Cantelli, who both declined. With his mouth full, he continued, ‘There are sensors in every room but if anyone heard the alarm they didn’t report it. It’s not linked to the security company who supply and service it – Treadware’s.’
Horton knew them. They had an excellent reputation. ‘Did you contact them?’
Walters nodded. ‘They serviced the alarm in October.’
‘And the engineer is trustworthy?’
‘So Howard Treadware says. Chap called Trevor Lukein. Been at Treadwares for eight years.’
‘But he’d know the code.’
‘Howard Treadware says all his engineers are instructed to tell the owners to re-set the code after the alarm has been serviced. Whether they do or not …’ Walters shrugged. ‘Do you want me to interview Trevor Lukein?’
‘He’s probably out on a job.’ Which could be anywhere in Hampshire or along the coast in the neighbouring counties of Dorset or West Sussex. ‘Call Howard Treadware, find out when Lukein will be in the office or where he’s working today. If it’s local go and speak to him; if not wait until he gets back in the office.’
They turned into the CID operations room where a phone was ringing. Cantelli answered it while Walters, after tipping the dregs of the crisp packet into his mouth, said, ‘Mr Clements sent over the details of the pistols – the serial numbers, full descriptions and photographs. I’ll get them listed on the arts and antiques database and circulate them to all officers to ask around the antiques and junk shops to see if anyone has been trying to pass them off. I’ll also check online to see if anyone is trying to flog them on the Internet.’
And that sort of job was right up Walters’ street because it didn’t involve expending any energy. This sounded as though it was a specialist theft and not your average housebreakers. These thieves had known exactly what was there and were stealing to order, otherwise why leave the ornaments, unless, like Walters said, they were of little value. They probably already had a client or clients lined up for the guns. They might even have already shifted them. It certainly didn’t sound as though one of the guns could have been the weapon used on their victim.
‘What are the Clements like?’ he asked.
‘He’s a pompous little windbag and his wife is timid and nervy.’
Horton couldn’t always go by what Walters said. He would see for himself soon enough. He and Cantelli would interview the Clements after visiting the mortuary.
He entered his office and gave his desk a surprised glance. There wasn’t a single piece of paper or a note on it. Maybe Bliss had cleared it in readiness for a new inspector to arrive. He plucked his sailing jacket from the coat stand and gathered up Cantelli.
‘Why the change in wardrobe?’ he asked Cantelli as they made for the car park.
‘I didn’t think you’d noticed,’ Cantelli said camply, fluttering his dark eyes.
Horton smiled.
Cantelli continued, ‘She was wearing that yesterday, probably in honour of Her Majesty’s
Inspector of Constabulary’s visit.’
‘I’d forgotten about that.’
‘Wish I could have done.’
‘Is that why my desk is so tidy? I thought she might have found a way to get rid of me and cleared it. Or that you and Walters had solved all the crimes in the city in my absence and the scumbag criminals had seen the errors of their ways and turned over new leaves.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing. I just shoved your papers in the drawers.’
‘Thanks! Did it go all right?’
‘Must have done because she didn’t bollock us. She told Walters to stay hidden if HMIC deemed to enter CID while he was there.’
‘Given Walters’ appearance I can’t say I blame her. In that suit he’s enough to frighten anyone, unless he bought himself a new one especially for yesterday.’
‘You’re kidding. It’s not a solar eclipse year.’
Horton smiled and stretched the seat belt around him.
Cantelli started the car and pulled out of the station. ‘If the report of that robbery hadn’t come in I think she would have invented or committed a crime to get him out of the way. I was also out when HMIC did his rounds so she had a nice, empty CID room to show him. Not sure that pleased her or HMIC but we’ll no doubt find out in due course. If it hadn’t been for this homicide we’d have known by now. I was about to compliment her yesterday morning on how nice she looked but she gave me her beady-eyed stare so I kept my mouth shut, knowing I was on a hiding to nothing.’
‘She would probably have accused you of being sexist.’
‘Then I’ll tell you how nice you look, sir.’
Again, Horton smiled.
Cantelli indicated on to the motorway into the heavy rush-hour morning traffic making north for the mortuary. ‘How did you get on in Guernsey? And I don’t mean getting called in by John Guilbert to look at a body.’
‘You heard?’
‘Warren told me.’
Horton glanced across at the international port where Evelyn Lyster had caught the ferry to Guernsey. He could see the Condor Commodore Clipper in its dock but the Brittany ferry had already sailed to France. He wouldn’t tell Cantelli that the Ducales had known the Eames family, especially Lord Richard Eames, because he didn’t want to draw Barney too deeply into his personal investigations even though he trusted him not to tell anyone. If Eames was working for the intelligence services, and had been involved in Jennifer’s disappearance and the ongoing cover-up, then Horton wasn’t about to reveal anything that would put Barney at risk.
‘Dead end,’ he said.
‘So where do you go next?’
Where indeed? Maybe that would be down to Eames. He left a short pause before answering, ‘To the mortuary.’
FIVE
‘I’ve still no idea why he looks familiar to me,’ Cantelli said as they stared at the naked body on the mortuary slab. ‘Perhaps I’ve just seen too many like him,’ he added a little wearily.
There was that, thought Horton, trying to blot out the stench of the mortuary, which he always found difficult. He ran his practised eye over the corpse. He was lean and tall, about six foot one. He was also remarkably clean for a tramp and Horton knew that Tom, Gaye’s auburn-haired, burly mortuary attendant, hadn’t washed the body. Horton could see the wound on the right-hand side of the chest. It struck him, not for the first time, how something so remarkably small could have such devastating consequences.
Cantelli said, ‘It was just that first sight of him on the crime board … Something jarred with me for a second, then it was gone. Must be getting senile.’
‘Surely not,’ Gaye said brightly, marching in. Decked out in her green mortuary garb, Horton thought it made her look younger than her thirty-four years. ‘You’re only a few years older than Inspector Horton and he looks far from senile to me.’
‘Glad to see all that running and working out at the gym is paying off,’ Horton joked.
She held his stare and in her green eyes he wondered if there was an invitation to put his claims to the test.
Briskly, she continued, ‘I don’t think the victim’s clothes are going to help you much either. There was nothing in the pockets to provide an ID. They’re the usual chain-store ones, except for his coat, which is from Gieves and Hawkes, and of excellent quality, as one would expect from the Savile Row tailor patronized by royalty.’
‘Don’t tell me Prince Charles is a suspect,’ Horton teased.
‘Who knows? Maybe your victim moved in elevated circles.’ She nodded at Tom, who handed Horton the large evidence bag containing the grubby camel-coloured coat. ‘It’s a little on the large side but your victim could have purchased it before he lost weight, although, as it’s also too short for him it was probably given to him by the Salvation Army or another charitable organization. From my examination of his clothes I can tell you that he was shot while fully clothed rather than being shot naked and then dressed.’
‘It’s definite then that he was shot?’ asked Cantelli, chewing his gum.
‘One hundred per cent. Why? Do you have a suspect or someone in mind for it?’
‘No, but we have some stolen pistols,’ Cantelli answered. ‘Antique ones that we’ve been told can’t fire and for which there is no ammunition.’
Gaye raised her eyebrows as though to say a likely story. But she said, ‘I’ll know more about the type of weapon used once I’ve done the autopsy. For now, Tom’s recorded a detailed study of the bullet’s position in relation to the collar, seams and pockets of the coat and taken photographic evidence of all the clothes. They’ve also been examined radiographically for bullet fragments. There doesn’t appear to be any but I’ve sent the images over to the ballistics expert in case he can pick up anything from them. The forensic lab will obviously examine the clothes very carefully for evidence of soot or stippling which will help in determining the range at which he was shot but I should be able to give you more on that once I open him up and delve inside.’
Cantelli shuddered and chewed his gum a little faster.
Gaye continued, ‘But this is what we have so far.’
Horton listened eagerly.
‘The victim was dressed in heavy walking boots which have seen considerable wear. Size eleven. But the boots are not misshapen and his feet are in good condition, no bunions or callouses, his toenails clipped.’ She glanced at Horton to see if he was following her. He was, avidly. ‘His socks are grey wool, no holes and not darned, and fairly new. Trousers, cotton, waist forty-two inches, inside leg thirty inches, which again is too short for him and the waist too large. Dirty and worn around the seat and knees.’
‘Why the knees?’ Cantelli interjected.
‘Maybe he inherited them from someone who liked gardening. There was no belt in the waistband, possibly because it was being used to keep his overcoat fastened around his torso. The belt is leather, again well worn. His check shirt was frayed around the collar and cuffs, extra-large size, and the woollen jumper, also extra-large, was worn and faded.’ She paused. Horton could see there was more to come and his interest quickened. ‘But this is where it gets very interesting. Firstly, the outer garments were old, worn, patched and frayed but, with the exception of the coat and trousers, all clean.’
Horton exchanged a knowing look with Cantelli.
Gaye interpreted it. ‘Unusual, yes, if he was homeless and had been for some time. Of course, there is the possibility that he’d just been given the clothes.’
As Bliss had suggested.
‘His boxer shorts are from John Lewis. They are also clean, of good quality and are the correct fit. And if you take a close look at his hands,’ she lifted the left hand, ‘especially his nails, what do you see?’
Horton knew. He’d already pointed it out. ‘They’re clean.’
‘Yes, and what’s more, they’ve been manicured. Now, I don’t know about you but I’ve never met a vagrant who takes the trouble to keep his nails clean and manicured.’
Neither h
ad Horton.
‘In addition, his teeth, although containing a lot of fillings, have been cosmetically enhanced and fairly recently, certainly within the last few years. There’s also no hint of stubble on his face. He seems to have been a very fastidious vagrant.’
Cantelli voiced what Horton was thinking. ‘He was dressed as a tramp but he wasn’t one.’
Gaye answered, ‘That’s what it looks like.’
Horton said, ‘It would explain why there weren’t any carrier bags of belongings with him, but not what he was doing in that location, although the obvious answer was to meet someone.’
Gaye continued, ‘From my initial examination I’d put his age as being mid-fifties. He’s been dead for between twelve to fourteen hours, so he was killed sometime between seven and nine last night.’
‘That early?’
‘Yes, why? Don’t tell me the police doctor said it was later. Who was it – Dr Sharman?’
Horton nodded.
‘I wish you’d called me last night.’
He held her eyes. He wished he had too but not to view a body.
‘And he told you the poor soul was dead. Anything else? No,’ she said pointedly.
Horton wondered what had occurred between them to cause the icy temperature but now was not the time to ask. If Dr Clayton was right, and she usually was, then it was possible that the victim or his killer, or both, could have travelled on the last Hayling Ferry to Portsmouth or someone on the ferry might have seen them.
She said, ‘Lividity is now well established and from its pattern the victim hasn’t been moved. There are no marks or scratches on his hands or forearms, which indicates he didn’t defend himself.’
‘Would he have had time?’ asked Cantelli.
‘Probably not. But it’s always worth checking in case he’d been in a fight before being shot. He hadn’t been. Or rather, there is no external evidence of that but I’ll obviously examine him for internal bruising. There are no tattoos, birthmarks or any other distinguishing marks, and no scars indicating assault or surgery. That’s it for now. I hope to have more in about four hours, maybe less, unless you’re staying for the floor show?’
Lethal Waves Page 5