‘Was there anyone he disagreed with or who threatened him?’
Martha shook her head. ‘Not that I have ever heard or seen.’
‘Me neither.’
Horton showed Ashmead a photograph of the coat, which had been touched up so as not to reveal the bullet hole and blood. ‘Peter Freedman was wearing this when he died. It’s of exceptional quality and from the Saville Row tailors, Gieves and Hawkes, but it was worn and the lining was torn. Had you seen him wearing it?’
Ashmead answered, ‘No. Peter was always casually but immaculately dressed when he came here.’
‘Do you know if such a coat was donated?’
‘I don’t recognize it but then I don’t handle clothing donations. Martha, have you seen it before?’
She scrutinized it carefully and shook her head. ‘No. Sheila Broadway might have done – she usually deals with the clothing donations. She works Mondays and Fridays and sorts through them. Those that need washing go into the machines and those that are beyond repair get bundled up for the recycling company. If it was clean then it would have been handed out but if grubby and needing dry-cleaning, which a coat like that looks as though it would, then we would have passed it on to another charity – Oxfam or the British Heart Foundation. We haven’t got the machines here or the money to dry-clean clothes.’ She looked puzzled. ‘But why would Peter want to wear a coat that was donated?’
Why indeed? But before Horton could continue with his questions, Ashmead, looking thoughtful, said, ‘There could be a reason. And it could have been Peter’s coat.’
‘Go on,’ Horton said keenly.
‘He could have kept it as a memento of when he was on the streets. A reminder to him not to go down that route again.’
Horton hadn’t considered that. ‘Would someone do that?’
‘Yes,’ Ashmead answered with conviction.
‘What did you keep?’
There was a moment’s pause before Ashmead answered. ‘A brown leather belt.’ A shadow crossed his hawk-like features. ‘It started off around my trousers as normal and ended up wrapped around my outer clothes, with each passing year going in a notch and getting more worn. I’d removed it a few times with the intention of using it to hang myself but never had the courage to go through with it. Instead I’d take another drink, then another. I can barely look at the thing now, but when things get tough, and when I think what harm would it do to have a small drink, it’s there reminding me of where that might lead. Maybe Peter needed the same reminder.’
And perhaps the belt had also been Freedman’s of old. Horton could check Freedman’s arrest record to see what he’d been wearing when he’d been booked and what he’d taken into prison and been discharged with.
There were more voices from outside. Martha rose. ‘I’d better get back, Glyn. We’re very busy and Sarah’s only been here a few days.’
‘Did Sarah speak to Peter on Tuesday?’ asked Horton.
‘No, she wasn’t here. She’s a volunteer covering Thursdays and Fridays. I was on my own on Tuesday. We used to have another volunteer, Angela Daneton, but sadly she died a couple of weeks ago and we haven’t found anyone to replace her yet.’
‘I’m working on it,’ Glyn said a little wearily.
‘I know you are,’ she replied, bestowing a kind and worried smile on him. Then she addressed Horton. ‘Can I tell the customers that Peter’s dead, if they ask?’
Horton nodded and added, ‘If anyone tells you anything that might be helpful, no matter how insignificant it seems, or if anyone reacts in an unusual way to the news, would you let me or Glyn know? It might help us find his killer.’
‘Of course.’ She seemed about to say something then smiled sadly and left.
Horton turned to Ashmead. ‘Did Peter ever talk to you about his experiences?’
‘We rarely spoke about our drink problems and our life on the road. We didn’t need to; we both knew what it was like. But I’ve never been convicted of a crime or been sent to prison, thank the Lord. I saw the light before it got that far.’
‘What changed things for you?’ Horton asked, genuinely interested. He wondered if Ashmead would tell him. Perhaps it was too painful for him to talk about but he answered.
‘I was sleeping rough in a hedge in a car park in Southampton. It was early morning in winter and this smart young woman parked her new car there. She was on her way to work in one of the modern offices close by. She saw me emerge from the hedge as she was putting her ticket on the windscreen. She looked at me candidly without any trace of horror, disgust or alarm. She headed towards me. She delved into her bag and gave me five pounds. She said, “It’s not much but I hope it helps,” then she smiled and left. It was as simple as that. I looked at that money and I watched her walk away, nice clothes, smart suit. She turned back, waved and smiled again before disappearing into the office block. One simple act of kindness and humanity from a young woman. She didn’t sneer or revile me; she treated me as a fellow human being. I felt ashamed and shocked. I stared at that five-pound note for some time. Then I shoved it in my pocket, headed for the nearest Salvation Army centre and asked for help.’
‘It couldn’t have been easy.’
‘It was easier than I expected, mainly because I had so many people to help me and all the time the picture of that young woman stayed in my mind. I can still see her now though I have no idea who she was or where she is. We all need help and compassion and I like to think I’ve given some of that back to those less fortunate than me. And let’s face it, Andy, it’s bloody tough out there and it isn’t getting any easier. To lose someone like Peter …’ He shook his head sadly.
‘Did he talk about his time in prison?’
‘He said it was hard especially as he was also drying out but he got a lot of medical assistance. He also got help from the prison officers. Studying gave him the strength and focus he needed in order to cope. He told me that neuro-linguistic programming gave him skills that not only helped him to understand his past failed relationships, both personal and professional, but also how he could forge ahead. He certainly made a success of it.’
‘Did he see clients at his apartment?’
‘He might have done. I don’t know.’
‘Did you visit him there?’
‘No. Our relationship was friendly but also professional.’
‘Did he talk about friends or were you aware of him having any relationships?’
‘No. It didn’t come up in the conversation and I wasn’t going to pry. Peter was very charismatic and had great empathy not only because he’d been down there but his studies helped him to get the best out of those he was trying to help. He didn’t preach to anyone – you and I both know that doesn’t work – but listening, trying to understand, just showing that you’re trying is often all it takes. Being non-judgemental.’
Just as that young woman had been when she’d seen Ashmead emerge from that hedge, thought Horton. And that had changed his life.
‘Was there anyone he used to see here regularly?’ he asked. ‘Anyone he was particularly friendly with?’
‘He never mentioned anyone but there might have been. I can ask around for you. They won’t talk to you but they might to me and to Martha.’
Horton heard raised voices in the corridor. It sounded like one man was accusing the other of pinching something. Glyn looked beseechingly at Horton.
He rose. ‘You’ve got a lot to do and a lot of customers.’ Sadly there would always be many.
‘I’d happily spend all day talking about Peter if it helped to find his killer,’ Ashmead answered, rising and moving to the door, where he halted. ‘Peter was pleased to be able to help others. He was clever and funny, yet there was a seriousness about him and I think there was a darkness inside him – or at least something dark inside – that he kept a hold on and was afraid of. I’m not sure but occasionally if I caught him alone and off his guard I’d see something in his eyes that looked not like sorrow but more l
ike anger.’
Horton asked if he’d be prepared to formerly ID the body. He knew that Ashmead was sadly no stranger to that particular task. Ashmead agreed. Horton said they’d let him know when and that they’d send a car to take him to the mortuary. As he headed back to the station, he mulled over what he’d been told. He had a clearer picture of Peter Freedman now but nothing that could pinpoint his killer or the reason for his murder. And that made him think again of Evelyn Lyster. He had no mental image of her except what he’d seen in that apartment which showed her to be a smart, fastidious woman, but what had she really been like? Secretive was the word that sprang to mind.
He reported into the incident suite, noting that there was still no sign of Uckfield or his car. He relayed to Bliss, Dennings and Trueman what Glyn Ashmead and Martha Wiley had told him and gave Trueman Sheila Broadway’s address which Ashmead had given him before he’d left.
Trueman said he’d tracked down Freedman’s GP. ‘He was registered with the surgery closest to his flat. The receptionist has confirmed that he hadn’t named anyone as next of kin and that he last saw the doctor eighteen months ago, and then only for some inoculations.’
‘What kind?’
‘For the nasty buggers you need when you travel to foreign parts – hepatitis B and A, tetanus and Japanese encephalitis.’
Dennings said, ‘Must have gone there on holiday.’
But Freedman wasn’t the only one to go there. Through Horton’s mind flashed Vivian Clements’ oriental collection and what he’d told Cantelli: I’ve cruised with Constance to Japan, China and Asia.
Trueman continued, ‘We’ve spoken to Rosie Pierce. She last saw Freedman two weeks ago. According to her Freedman either met his clients in hotels or coffee shops or if they wanted somewhere more private he’d hire a room in a business centre for a couple of hours. We’re checking that out but from the initial look at his computer and his accounts he did quite a lot of work with companies on their premises. He also ran training courses, probably in hotels or at conference and training centres. We’ve checked the vehicle licensing numbers registered with the occupants of his flats and they all match up. And none of the residents saw him on Tuesday, except Mrs Nugent in the morning. There’s nothing so far from the house-to-house or from the search of the public toilets for his clothes or personal belongings, so unless someone has stolen them he didn’t change in the toilets.’
Horton still thought Freedman had changed into those tramp’s clothes in his apartment.
Trueman was saying, ‘His prison record is exemplary and bears out what Ashmead told you, Andy. We’re still waiting for the ballistics report to see if we can get anything further on the type of gun that was used and if those stolen from Clements could be made to fire, but apart from those pistols there are no other reports of stolen guns that fit the description which Dr Clayton gave us, but one could have been purchased either online or from someone importing them. No motive as yet. And we still can’t find his ex-wife.’
Horton asked what Freedman had been wearing, what he’d had in his possession when he’d been arrested and when he’d been sent to prison. Trueman called up the file but said that neither the coat nor the belt was logged.
Once Bliss and Dennings were out of earshot, Horton asked if Uckfield had phoned in sick. He hadn’t.
‘He’ll probably show up soon.’
‘Bliss will be disappointed.’
‘Well, I won’t be,’ Trueman said with feeling. ‘Can’t you take her back to CID with you?’
‘Not if she doesn’t want to come. But it’s where I’m going.’
‘Lucky you.’
Cantelli greeted him with the news that he had the coroner’s report on the death of Dennis Lyster. ‘It wasn’t suicide – the coroner gave a verdict of undetermined death. DCI Birch oversaw the investigation, which was why the name, Lyster, didn’t ring any bells with me.’
Birch was head of CID on the Isle of Wight and not a fan of Horton’s, but then Horton didn’t much rate the dried-up stick insect of a man either. Birch disliked anyone who challenged his views and his method of policing, which was taking the line of least resistance by bullying the most vulnerable of suspects into a false confession and then somehow making the evidence fit. Birch had got away with it for years but the paper trail they were now required to fulfil was fast catching up with him and Birch had gone sick for more months than he’d worked over the last two years. He’d be retiring in April. And good riddance, thought Horton, wondering who would be lined up to take over on the Isle of Wight. Not Bliss – she wouldn’t want the job. The island’s crime rate was a lot lower than the mainland’s. She’d set her sights higher. He bet even now she was eyeing Uckfield’s large leather chair in his office. Maybe even sitting in it.
Cantelli continued, ‘An early morning commuter reported seeing Lyster’s body wedged between the pylons under Ryde Pier just before six forty-two a.m. Ryde Inshore Lifeboat and the fire service attended and retrieved it. There was no suicide note and Evelyn and Rowan Lyster claimed there had been no sign that Dennis Lyster had been suffering from depression, but Evelyn Lyster acknowledged her husband was finding it hard to cope after being made redundant. He was also a diabetic and there’s the possibility that he fell into a coma close to the sea and his body got washed out on the tide. There was no evidence to confirm that he travelled to the Isle of Wight but he could have fallen into the sea somewhere along the coast here. And neither Wightlink nor Hovertravel have a record of Evelyn Lyster having travelled with them over the last year. I’ve asked them to check back further. I could ask them if Dennis Lyster had travelled there before his death.’
‘Did Birch check that out?’
Cantelli shrugged. ‘The coroner’s report doesn’t say if he did. But there’s a bit more in the report. Evelyn Lyster said that she and her husband had once owned boats and that Dennis always loved the sea. It would be natural for him to end his life by choosing to drown. The pathologist said it was difficult to estimate how long he had been dead, but the fact that the body was bloated and had risen to the surface, and that it was greenish black and gloving of the hands and feet had occurred indicated he’d been in the water for days rather than hours. Evelyn Lyster didn’t report him missing for five days. I thought you might find that interesting,’ Cantelli added with a wry grin. ‘She only contacted the police when she heard about a body being found and after trying his mobile and getting no signal.’
‘She didn’t try it before then?’
‘She says not. She admitted that their relationship was strained. They’d spent a great deal of time apart over the last eighteen years and they were both finding it hard to adjust to being together. Her husband had told her he needed time to think through what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, so she didn’t think anything of him going off and not being in touch.’
Horton looked sceptical.
‘Yeah, I thought that. They probably had a row or she told him she wanted a divorce. He took off and she was glad he was gone, probably even happier when the poor man turned up dead.’
‘And she quickly sold up and moved into the penthouse apartment where everything is new so that she doesn’t have to think of him. No photographs of him either. Was Dennis Lyster insured?’
‘It doesn’t say here but DCI Birch might have asked the question.’
Horton was doubtful about that. ‘Did Lyster take his medication with him?’
Cantelli again scoured the report. ‘Evelyn Lyster says he did but that doesn’t mean he continued to take it. His body was clothed but he wasn’t wearing shoes or a coat. No personal belongings, keys, wallet or phone were found on him so they could have been left in his coat. I’ve checked with lost property both here and on the island but nothing was handed in. Evelyn Lyster couldn’t give a description of what her husband had been wearing on the day he left, only what she’d last seen him in: casual trousers, a shirt and jumper. ID was confirmed by fingerprints because the gloved skin ca
me off intact, and by dental records.’
Horton said, ‘Well, that seems to scotch the idea she was taking a sentimental trip to Guernsey because it was a special place for them and that she intended ending her life either there or on the ferry. But I’m curious to know what she was doing on the Isle of Wight before travelling to Guernsey.’
‘Nothing from the council rates department to say she had a property there.’
‘I’ll update Guilbert then we’ll head for the Clements’. We need the provenance of those pistols and I’d like to know if either of them knew Freedman. Trueman’s discovered that Freedman had inoculations for travelling to Japan and Clements told us he’d been on lecture cruises to there.’
Cantelli’s phone rang. As he answered it Horton entered his office, calling Guilbert on his mobile as he went. While he waited for him to answer he saw Uckfield’s car pull in and smiled as he imagined the look of disappointment on Bliss’s face.
Horton told Guilbert what he’d discovered, adding, ‘Ask Rowan if his mother and father had life insurance. See if you can get anything out of him about his parents’ relationship and what he thought of his father’s suicide. Cantelli will send over the coroner’s report on Dennis Lyster’s death.’
‘I’m driving Rowan to the airport later today after the inquest. I’ll get chatting to him in the car.’
As he rang off, Cantelli appeared in the doorway with a worried frown. ‘That was Constance Clements on the phone. Vivian Clements went out last night and hasn’t returned. She has no idea where he went but she says he was very agitated. I’ve told her we’re on our way.’
TWELVE
Constance Clements had the front door open before they could reach it. Horton noted that she was dressed as carefully and elegantly as before and wearing make-up but there were dark circles under her eyes showing a disturbed night and her mouth looked tighter and harder than before. As they stepped into the hall, she said, ‘I’ve tried his mobile phone several times but there’s no answer.’
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