Lethal Waves

by Pauline Rowson

  He detailed Wilkinson and Palmer to take the sleeping quarters, instructing them to look for papers, photographs, computers or any mobile phones. He stepped into the north-facing living quarters that gave on to the Solent. It was one long, very wide open-plan room exquisitely decorated and furnished, with a balcony that spanned the entire width and at the far western end widened out on to a large patio area with a black wicker table and chairs.

  The sea looked a grey green in the morning light and he could see the ferries crossing. A fishing boat was heading out towards the English Channel but there were no leisure yachts yet in the dull and windy January morning. He wasn’t here to admire the view, though. He turned back to survey the apartment. It was spotlessly clean and contemporarily furnished, just as her Portsmouth penthouse had been. There was some good quality light oak furniture, large leather sofas, an expensive plasma television and music system, and some very tasteful and if he wasn’t mistaken expensive paintings on the walls. Again, just like her apartment in Portsmouth, there were no photographs, not even of her son.

  He turned to the only low-level cupboard in the lounge area but there was little in it except some magazines and the remote control for the lighting and the television. The kitchen cupboards contained what he expected – crockery, kitchen implements, food but nothing perishable. There were four cup flasks and a wine fridge under a central kitchen unit which was well stocked. Both the dishwasher and washing machine were empty.

  He crossed the hall and entered one of the two bedrooms, where a king-sized bed was made up. The room gave on to a shower room and a dressing room. Inside was a mixture of smart- and casual-wear hanging on rails, drawers on one side of the rails which revealed T-shirts, jumpers, cardigans and another set of drawers the other side of the hanging rails which contained underwear, stockings, socks and tights. Several pairs of shoes were also stacked to the right of the rails. Cantelli would have been impressed.

  Wilkinson entered from the bathroom. ‘Nothing but a couple of towels, soap and hand cream.’ He jerked his head at the clothes. ‘Do you want me to go through the pockets?’

  Horton said he did. ‘And her handbags.’

  He entered the second smaller bedroom where Palmer had the wardrobe doors open to reveal some men’s clothing. No suits, just two pairs of trousers, a waterproof jacket, five shirts and some ties. Palmer was going through the pockets. The drawers were open, exposing some underwear, socks, two jumpers and a handful of T-shirts. They probably belonged to Freedman. He asked Palmer to note down the sizes. In the shower room were men’s toiletries.

  Horton returned to the living area and gazed around. There was no phone and he hadn’t seen one in the bedrooms. He suspected then that she didn’t use a landline and there hadn’t been one in her Portsmouth flat. The taxi driver said she had called the office to book the taxi but Guilbert had gone through Evelyn Lyster’s call log and so had he on the Guernsey ferry and hadn’t found the taxi company’s number. She had obviously deleted it and any calls made to Freedman. Her phone records would show it up unless the phone was a pay-as-you-go one, which he was now beginning to suspect it was. Perhaps she had another mobile phone on a contract but for someone as cautious as Evelyn Lyster he was beginning to think not.

  His mobile phone rang. He expected it to be Trueman or Uckfield but was surprised to see it was Gaye Clayton.

  ‘The autopsy on Dennis Lyster,’ she said.

  ‘That was quick.’

  ‘It didn’t take me long to spot the flaws. It’s complete as far as it goes.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘It doesn’t go far enough. The pathologist assumed death was caused by drowning and didn’t look for anything else. But then, maybe he didn’t need to. I don’t have the police files.’

  And Horton was very keen to see those. Birch wouldn’t relish him requesting them and he certainly wouldn’t be happy if Horton found holes in the investigation. But tough. He wasn’t in the job to make officers like Birch happy. Horton crossed to the window as Gaye continued.

  ‘Remnants of clothing were found on the victim but I can’t find any note to say they were X-rayed before being removed or sent to the forensic lab. The body was photographed both with and without clothes. There was substantial damage to the head, which is not unusual because as the body lies face down in the water with the head hanging it can produce post-mortem head injuries which are difficult to distinguish between those inflicted when alive. And as the body was found washed up against the pier it was concluded that the damages to the head were caused by it being bashed against the underwater structures, but I’ve studied the X-rays and it’s also possible that the deceased was bludgeoned. I’m not saying he was, just that it should have been considered.’

  Perhaps Birch did consider it, thought Horton, and ignored it.

  Gaye went on: ‘The pathologist looked for fine white foam or froth in the airways and exuding from the mouth and nostrils which can determine if the victim was alive on submersion in water. It’s not always evident if the body has been in the water for some time. He notes that the deceased had been in the water for approximately five days. So again, I am assuming that the deceased was last reported being seen five days before his body was found. There is nothing in the report to say this and there should have been. Evidence of foam was found which shows he was alive when he went into the water, thereby adding to the verdict that he intended committing suicide by drowning but foam can also be caused by head injury, a drug overdose or a heart attack. There was an absence of water in the stomach which the pathologist claims was due to rapid death by drowning, thereby strengthening his probable cause of death, but it could also mean the subject was dead before submersion. Then we come to diatoms.’

  Horton watched a motorboat crossing the Solent from Portsmouth and saw the hovercraft riding the waves to the mainland.

  ‘Diatoms were found in the deceased. They’re a class of microscopic algae of which about fifteen thousand species are known. Half live in fresh water, the other half in sea or brackish water. The hypothesis is that diatoms will not enter circulation and be deposited in organs such as bone marrow unless the decedent was alive in the water. Therefore the pathologist concluded that Dennis Lyster was alive when he entered the water. However, there is the issue of contamination. Diatoms can be found in the environment, for example in the building industry.’

  Horton broke in: ‘Dennis Lyster was a civil engineer.’ Then he added, ‘But he’d been made redundant some time before his death.’

  ‘Diatoms can also enter circulation as contaminants of foods such as salads, watercress and shellfish so it’s not conclusive proof that finding them in the deceased is evidence that he was alive when submerged. And I can’t find any record of a sea sample being taken from where the body was found to match it against those diatoms found in the decedent’s system, unless that is on your files.’

  Horton would check but he had a feeling he wouldn’t find it either.

  Gaye said, ‘To my mind the evidence is insufficient to claim death was caused by drowning or that it was suicide and clearly the coroner thought the same, which is why he gave the verdict as undetermined death. But I’d happily review it again alongside the case file and discuss it further with you or Uckfield. Only you’ll have to be quick. I leave this afternoon at three.’

  ‘I’ll call you back later.’

  He was about to ring Uckfield when PC Wilkinson appeared.

  ‘Nothing in any of the pockets, sir, or the handbags,’ he reported.

  Horton asked him to call a locksmith and seal off the apartment, then headed down the stairs. He walked around to the rear of the building. The gardens were staggered with the upper part giving views across the Solent to Portsmouth five miles beyond. There were three steps which led down to the next tier and two more leading to a high brick wall bordering the shore. In it was a wooden gate. It was locked and no doubt the flats’ occupants had keys to it. One of those keys was on Evelyn Lyster’s key ring, pe
rhaps. The gate gave on to the beach, which he knew from experience was inaccessible from both directions and therefore very private. Private enough for a man to be bludgeoned and then pushed into the water to end up wedged under one of the piles under the pier.

  He rang Uckfield, who answered his mobile immediately. Horton quickly relayed what he’d found, ending with what Dr Clayton had said.

  ‘Do you have to go looking for more suspicious deaths?’ Uckfield cried with exasperation.

  Horton told him about the garden leading on to the shore.

  ‘As if we haven’t got enough on our plates,’ grumbled Uckfield, nasally, still full of cold. ‘I’ll ring DCI Birch and get the files.’

  Horton said he’d sealed off the flat. Fingerprints and DNA would be taken from it and matched with those taken from the bodies of Evelyn Lyster and Peter Freedman. And Uckfield said he would need to get a team into Evelyn Lyster’s Portsmouth flat to see if Freedman and possibly Vivian Clements’ prints were there. Horton said he’d get the keys from Rowan Lyster. He was curious to meet him. Trueman’s team would start to trace the property transaction on the Ryde house, Freedman’s flat and Evelyn’s Portsmouth apartment. They’d also interview the solicitors and estate agents who had handled the sales. This was turning into a massive investigation requiring a great deal of resources, a fact that would have ACC Dean on the verge of a nervous breakdown. His budget would be blown to pieces.

  Horton made his way back inside and asked Wilkinson to drop him off at the Fast Cat ferry terminal. On the way over to Portsmouth he called Cantelli and asked him to meet him outside Rowan Lyster’s house, the address of which he got from Trueman on the crossing.

  An hour later, Horton pulled up behind Cantelli’s car just a short distance away from Rowan Lyster’s small, modern semi-detached house. It wasn’t far from the seafront at the eastern end of Portsmouth, close to where Rowan Lyster’s business was situated and where Freedman had met his death.

  Climbing out and heading towards it, Cantelli said, ‘There’s no record of Peter Freedman buying a ticket on the Fast Cat or hovercraft last weekend so I guess he paid cash. Same for Evelyn Lyster or Brookes, but they’ll get back to us as soon as they can check their records for the last year.’

  ‘I’m not sure they’ll find anything.’

  ‘Sounds like they both wanted to keep it low profile. Perhaps they didn’t want Dennis Lyster to find out about their affair and when he did he killed himself.’

  ‘If he killed himself.’ Horton gave him a quick summary of what Gaye had told him and his views that Dennis Lyster could have been killed on the shore on the island. ‘Evelyn Lyster and Freedman have had time since Dennis’s death to declare their relationship without drawing suspicion on themselves, which they haven’t done. That and the fact that Evelyn Lyster was using another name means there is more than an affair going on here and whatever it is, Barney, it looks pretty dodgy to me.’ He pressed his finger on the bell, adding, ‘And I don’t think her son knew a thing about it.’

  SEVENTEEN

  ‘Are you sure this apartment on the Isle of Wight belongs to my mother?’ Rowan Lyster said, puzzled.

  Gina Lyster had shown them into the small lounge where her husband sat sprawled on the sofa. He made no attempt to rise or even shift position. He was dressed in jogging pants and a black T-shirt bearing his company name and logo. His square-set face showed the trace of a suntan, his short, dark hair was held in place with gel, he was clean-shaven but his deep brown eyes were red-rimmed either from fatigue or weeping or perhaps both. Gina was also dressed in sportswear but the tight-fitting kind that accentuated her rounded figure and a close-fitting pink Lycra top that didn’t boast the corporate logo. She took the seat beside her husband and waved them into the two chairs opposite.

  On the wall were two very large framed and rather spectacular pictures of Rowan Lyster windsurfing. Horton thought he’d put on a bit of weight since they’d been taken but Lyster was still fairly muscular with strong, slightly tanned arms. There was also a wedding picture of him and Gina on a shelf on a modern corner unit but no pictures of his parents or Gina’s.

  ‘Could there have been someone new in her life? Another man?’ Horton asked, watching their reactions as he knew Cantelli was.

  ‘She didn’t say,’ Rowan replied. Gina threw them a baffled look and then her husband a concerned one.

  ‘Would she have told you if there was?’

  Rowan shrugged. Horton didn’t know if that was because he wasn’t sure whether his mother would have confided in him or because he wasn’t really bothered if she’d had another man.

  He said, ‘Did she ever mention a Peter Freedman?’

  Neither of them showed any reaction to the name but both denied having heard her mention him. And neither of them asked who he was.

  ‘Did she travel to the Isle of Wight much?’ asked Cantelli.

  Rowan threw Cantelli a slightly irritated look. ‘I’ve no idea. Does it matter? She’s dead and that’s the end of it.’

  Gina shifted slightly, as though disturbed by her husband’s harsh tone and words.

  Horton said, ‘I know this must be distressing for you but your mother’s death is unexplained, Mr Lyster, and therefore questions have to be asked.’

  ‘But she died of natural causes,’ he cried, exasperated.

  ‘That is not the verdict of the coroner and until it is we need to continue investigating the circumstances surrounding her death. Your mother bought and refurbished the property on the Isle of Wight eight years ago and then sold off all the apartments except for the top floor which she kept for herself. She was there on Sunday night and returned from there on Monday morning before heading for the Guernsey ferry. Did she mention to either of you that she was going to the Isle of Wight either late Saturday night or Sunday morning?’

  Gina answered first. ‘No.’

  Rowan shook his head.

  Cantelli retrieved his mobile phone from his jacket pocket and stretched it across to Rowan, saying, ‘This is the man your mother was with. Do either of you recognize him?’

  Horton watched them closely as they peered at the photograph. Their only reaction was continued bafflement.

  Putting the phone back in his pocket, Cantelli addressed Rowan Lyster. ‘How did your mother seem when you saw her on Saturday evening?’

  ‘Fine.’

  But Horton noted Rowan shift perceptibly. ‘Did you usually go round to her apartment on Saturdays?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was the dinner invitation at her request?’

  Gina interjected: ‘We asked if she could help us to buy some more windsurfing equipment for the centre. We’d been offered a good deal. She refused. She said that we had enough for our second season, which is this year, and that if bookings looked good then she’d reconsider. We said that the deal wouldn’t be on the table later but she said that deals were always on the table when someone had the cash or they wanted to offload something quickly.’

  I bet she did. Horton was beginning to get a clearer picture of Evelyn Lyster, a clever woman used to doing deals, but in what? If her activities had been criminal then what had she been involved in? What had she been selling? Information? What kind, though? Had she been a blackmailer and Freedman one of her victims? No. His clothes wouldn’t have been in her apartment if he had been. Horton had no confirmation that they were Freedman’s clothes but he was certain they were. Perhaps he was party to the blackmail. Freedman had access to many people and, using his neuro-linguistic programming skills and the other techniques he practised, he could have elicited confidences which he then passed on to Evelyn Lyster to blackmail those individuals. But that still didn’t stack up because she’d purchased that Isle of Wight property eight years ago and Freedman had been a vagrant then.

  ‘You rowed,’ he said.

  Gina answered, ‘No. We were disappointed but we knew that we wouldn’t be able to change her mind. Evelyn is – was – very determined. W
hen she said “no” you knew she meant it.’

  Cantelli looked up from his notebook. ‘Did she talk about any of her clients or her friends?’

  ‘Not to me. Rowan?’

  He shook his head and his brow furrowed.

  ‘Do you have details of any of your mother’s friends?’ Horton asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘None?’ Horton probed, raising his eyebrows and injecting enough incredulity in his voice to make Rowan give him a surly glare.

  ‘I spent most of my childhood away at school and after that travelling the world in competitions so I don’t know who her friends and clients were. And I’ve no idea where she kept that kind of information. It wasn’t something we discussed.’

  Horton wondered what they had talked about.

  ‘I only returned here last August with Gina so we could start the business and get married.’

  ‘Did you see much of your father?’

  ‘No. He’d been made redundant by then but Gina and I were living together in a flat in Southsea, not with my parents.’

  In a conversational tone, Cantelli said, ‘What school did you go to?’

  ‘Saint Levan’s in Cornwall.’

  ‘That’s a fair distance from here,’ Cantelli replied, surprised.

  Horton thought that you couldn’t get any further away from Portsmouth except for Scotland.

  ‘It’s where I learned to surf. I already sailed. I used to go out with Dad before I went to Saint Levan’s. We had a boat then. The school was very keen on water sports, which was why my parents chose it. They knew I was very good at it.’

  ‘But you came home during the school holidays?’ Cantelli continued.

  ‘My parents were rarely in the UK. Dad worked overseas and my mother travelled a lot with her business.’