Maybe Rowan hadn’t minded but Horton wondered just how often Rowan Lyster had seen his mother and father. Why, if his parents relationship was strained and their son away at school, hadn’t they got divorced? Perhaps they couldn’t be bothered. They’d stayed married for convenience’s sake. It had suited them both, until Dennis Lyster had been made redundant.
Cantelli said, ‘How did you live? I mean money-wise after you’d left school?’
Horton knew Cantelli was wondering if Rowan’s parents had supported him.
‘I won competitions and I endorsed certain windsurfing equipment for which I got paid. I also worked for various water-sports organisations, teaching windsurfing and other water sports: kayaking, dinghy sailing, paddle boarding. I earned enough. I was single then.’
‘And now you’ve decided to settle down,’ Cantelli said, smiling at Gina, who looked undecided about returning it. ‘Won’t you miss travelling?’
‘Been there, done that,’ he said airily.
‘And now, of course, you’ll inherit your mother’s estate.’
Cantelli’s words took a moment to sink in.
Rowan’s eyes narrowed and his face flushed. ‘Hey, what are you inferring?’
‘Nothing,’ said Cantelli neutrally, tucking away his notebook with a bland expression.
Horton rose. ‘We know this must be a very difficult time for you and we’re sorry to trouble you but we will need your mother’s keys. We’ll also need to seal off her apartment here and on the island.’
‘But—’
‘We will keep you fully informed.’
Gina rose and left the room. She returned almost instantly with the keys.
As Horton took them from her, he addressed Rowan. ‘When was the last time you saw your father, Mr Lyster?’
He looked stunned by the question. Gina answered before he could. ‘It was at our wedding, a week before his body was found.’
Cantelli looked up. ‘So you were on your honeymoon when you received the news?’
‘No, we’d postponed it until the winter. It being March, we needed to get the business up and running. We had a few bookings. Evelyn gave us some capital to get the business off the ground and helped us to buy this house by giving us the deposit for it after Dennis died.’
So Evelyn Lyster had been generous. And when they’d asked for more she thought she’d already given them enough.
As Horton made to leave he asked one more question. ‘Do either of you know a man called Vivian Clements?’
‘No.’
‘Mrs Lyster?’
‘No.’
Neither of them asked why he wanted to know.
Outside, Horton said, ‘Why didn’t Evelyn and Dennis Lyster divorce? There doesn’t seem to have been much love between them.’
‘Perhaps one or both of them were Catholic. Saint Levan’s could be a Catholic school. Not that I know that particular saint – there are so many. The Catholic Church is big on saints.’
‘Convenient then that eight months after being made redundant Dennis Lyster decides to drown himself.’
‘And suicide would have been against his religion, if he was a Catholic. But if he was driven to it then the catechism offers hope in prayer. We didn’t ask if Rowan had been raised in the Catholic faith. Maybe we should have done.’
‘Check out his school. See if you can get more from them on Evelyn and Dennis Lyster.’
Cantelli’s phone rang as he reached his car. Horton waited by his Harley for Cantelli to finish his call, which he did within a couple of minutes. ‘That was the mortuary. Glyn Ashmead has identified Peter Freedman’s body and they’re ready for Constance Clements to identify her husband. Do you want to come?’
‘No. Call round to collect her now if she’s ready. Ask her if she knew why Freedman went to Japan. I’m going to have another word with Glyn Ashmead.’
Horton made his way back through the busy Portsmouth streets to the station, where he parked the Harley and once again set off on foot to Gravity. He remembered that Martha had told him that Sheila Broadway worked on Fridays. She was the lady who handled the clothing donations and Horton wondered if she’d recognize the coat Freedman had been wearing when he was killed. She didn’t. And neither did she know Freedman because she had never worked at the centre on a Tuesday. Horton wasn’t sure if Ashmead was back from the mortuary but Sheila said he was – a police car had dropped him off. He was in his office. Horton was about to make for it when Martha walked in.
‘We’re shorthanded and Glyn’s not too well,’ she explained with a worried frown. Martha didn’t look too bright herself. He could see that she was genuinely concerned for Ashmead. He wondered if she secretly had a thing for him or perhaps they were in a relationship. ‘Peter’s death has really shaken him up,’ she added.
Horton asked her if she’d ever heard Freedman mention a woman called Evelyn Lyster.
‘No. Like I said, he never talked about anybody.’
‘Has Glyn ever mentioned her?’
‘No.’ She offered him a coffee, which this time he refused.
He found Ashmead in his office looking tired and, as Martha had said, clearly unwell. Stress was etched on his lean face, making him look more haggard than before. Horton wondered if it was a result of identifying Freedman and said so but Ashmead, although admitting that had been distressing, said he’d also received news that a sponsor had pulled out of supporting the centre and the council were threatening to cut back their funding.
Freedman’s bequest would come in handy then, thought Horton, taking the seat across from Ashmead’s desk. Horton had no idea what the amount might be but if it was shown to have been gained illegally then the benefactors – Gravity and the Salvation Army – might never see it. Not that Horton had any evidence Freedman had been involved in whatever Evelyn Lyster’s game had been. He could purely have been her lover, except for the fact he had been murdered.
‘I won’t keep you long. I just want to know if you’ve ever seen this woman before.’ Horton handed over his phone containing the photograph of Evelyn Lyster. He watched Ashmead peer at it. After a moment he looked up and handed it back.
‘No. Attractive woman, though. Is there a connection between her and Peter?’
‘It seems they were close.’
‘He never said. But then why should he? His private life was none of my business, unless he cared to confide it to me and he didn’t. Does she know what happened to Peter?’
‘She’s dead.’
Ashmead’s tired dark eyes widened. ‘Killed?’
‘We’re not sure yet. Does the name Evelyn Lyster mean anything to you?
‘Sorry, no.’ Ashmead looked disturbed and dejected. ‘Do you want me to show the picture to the other staff and volunteers and ask them about her?’
Horton said he did but to do it discreetly. He told him he’d already asked Martha and Sheila. Horton emailed the photograph to Ashmead, wished him luck with his funding and left. He’d only just stepped outside when his phone rang. It was John Guilbert. ‘I’ve just broken the news to Detective Superintendent Uckfield and, having just recovered my hearing, thought I’d ring you. Evelyn Lyster wasn’t poisoned, at least not in the strictest sense, but an analysis of the lining of her flask shows the presence of a beta blocker.’
Horton quickly wracked his brain for his limited medical information. ‘Used by athletes and prohibited in some sports.’
‘Yes, and sometimes prescribed to those with high blood pressure. In themselves beta blockers aren’t harmful but if given to someone suffering from low blood pressure they could be. It’s taken a while for the toxicologist to narrow it down but from the analysis of what remains, it’s a beta blocker, or rather two, Atenolol and Nifedipine. They’re prescription medicines used in hypertension and angina. Atenolol and Nifedipine work together to block the effects of certain chemicals in the body and are used to lower blood pressure, reduce the frequency and severity of angina attacks and slow the heart rate.�
��
‘And for someone already suffering from a low heart rate reducing it further could stop it completely.’
‘Yes.’
‘So it is murder.’
‘Looks that way. Now all you have to do is find out who put it in her flask and when! Good luck.’
‘I think we’ll need it.’
EIGHTEEN
Horton found Uckfield in the canteen tucking into a very late lunch. He bought himself a coffee, lasagne and chips and took the seat opposite. ‘Guilbert called me.’
‘I’m thinking of getting some beta blockers to give to Dean. He’ll have a heart attack the way his blood pressure shot up after I told him we’ve got another murder. It’s not doing my blood pressure much good either,’ Uckfield added. ‘Guilbert’s sending over what he’s got on Evelyn Lyster’s death, including the pathologist’s report, but from what he told me it sounds like he’s got sod all anyway so he might just as well not bother.’ He shovelled another fork of cottage pie into his mouth. ‘How did you get on with the son?’
Between mouthfuls Horton relayed their interview with Rowan Lyster and that he’d drawn a blank with anyone from Gravity being able to identify Evelyn Lyster. ‘Freedman could have laced her flask before they left the apartment on Monday morning knowing she’d be on the Condor Commodore Clipper ferry to Guernsey when she drank it. He had ample opportunity.’
‘His motive?’
‘The money she has stashed away somewhere, probably in an account in Guernsey, which was why she was travelling there.’ And Guilbert was still looking for that.
‘So who killed him? Constance Clements?’
‘Or her husband, Vivian, and then she shot her husband.’
‘Why?’
‘To make us think he killed himself. Freedman could have killed Evelyn Lyster not only to get her money but because he was also having an affair with Constance Clements.’
‘So he hopes to sail off into the sunset with Constance Clements only her old man gets wind of it and shoots the lover. When she finds out she shoots her old man for revenge.’ Uckfield pushed away his empty plate. ‘Can’t taste a ruddy thing with this cold.’
‘You don’t seem to have done too badly.’
‘You know how the saying goes: feed a cold and starve a fever.’
‘According to Freedman’s and Clements’ medical records neither man was prescribed beta blockers. We’d need to check Constance Clements’ medical records to see if she was but even if she wasn’t we both know you can pick them up on the Internet. And both Clements and Freedman could have been buying them for themselves for some time.’ Horton had called Gaye as he’d walked back to the station to get more information on the drug.
‘Why the devil would they?’ Uckfield said and blew his nose loudly.
‘Stage fright.’
‘Eh?’
Horton began to relay what he’d learned from Gaye. ‘An article in The Lancet in 1965 explored the use of beta blockers for stage fright and since then they’ve been widely prescribed for musicians, public speakers, performers and even surgeons who have to steady their hands.’
‘Bloody hell. Hope I don’t get one of those if I ever need an operation.’
‘Freedman was a public speaker and a recovering alcoholic – maybe he got the shakes before he was due to give one of his talks. He needed something to steady his nerves and didn’t want to touch alcohol being a recovering alcoholic, but he didn’t want the beta blockers on prescription, or perhaps he thought he wouldn’t be prescribed them anyway so he went down the black market route. Vivian Clements was also a public speaker. Perhaps he got the jitters on those cruises. He certainly didn’t seem to enjoy them very much.’
‘But Clements couldn’t have put them in Evelyn Lyster’s flask,’ Uckfield declared with exasperation.
‘No, but Constance could have given them to Freedman to do so. Cantelli’s with her at the mortuary. There is an alternative theory.’
‘Go on.’
‘Vivian Clements agrees to meet Freedman on the shore because Freedman says he knows that Clements faked the robbery for the insurance money. Constance has told Freedman. Freedman threatens to expose him unless Vivian agrees to meet him. But Vivian takes an antique pistol with him that he hasn’t declared on his insurance. He knows it can still be fired. Perhaps he doesn’t intend using it but wants it so that he can threaten and frighten Freedman. Something goes wrong. He fires it and Freedman dies. Clements returns home in a state of shock and tells his wife what he’s done.’
‘And she kills him.’
Horton nodded and finished his hasty meal. ‘Two problems, though.’
‘Only two?’ said Uckfield sarcastically.
‘I can’t see why Freedman was dressed as a vagrant and why Vivian Clements would go to Milton Common to meet his wife.’
Uckfield rose. Horton followed suit. As they made their way out of the canteen, Uckfield said, ‘The council and the land registry confirm the Ryde penthouse is in the name of Evelyn Brookes. It’s her maiden name. We’re checking out the solicitor and estate agent she used for the purchase. She used her married name for her tax returns. She filed them herself so it looks as though she did her own accounts. My betting is we’ll find a complicated paper trail behind her, especially if she was crooked and canny enough to stash money away in Guernsey and possibly elsewhere.’
‘Zurich, maybe. Have we got any sightings of Peter Freedman for the Monday he travelled back from the Isle of Wight?’
‘We’ve had confirmation he boarded the hovercraft. Two of the staff at the Ryde terminal remember seeing him get on and one of them remembers seeing him alight at this end. He didn’t take a taxi so he must have walked across the common to his flat. It’s not far and at that time in the morning no one saw him enter it. There are no records of any appointments on his computer for Monday or Tuesday.’
‘There wouldn’t be for Tuesday. He spends it at Gravity and, according to Martha, he was there until four p.m.’
‘There’s nothing in his diary for the rest of the week either. So perhaps he deliberately kept it free so that he could travel to Guernsey on Wednesday and get access to Evelyn’s account there, if she has one. But he wasn’t booked on a flight or a ferry.’
‘He might have been intending to turn up on Wednesday morning at the port as a foot passenger and pay cash, just as Evelyn did.’ But Horton was still troubled by the fact that Evelyn Lyster had bought a single ticket. He thought back to his original idea that she intended returning on a private plane or boat with a lover. Would she have had more than one lover? Possibly. Or perhaps it was a business partner, a criminal one, which would explain why he hadn’t come forward. He wondered if Elkins was having any luck asking around the marinas for anyone who had seen her. He guessed not, otherwise he’d have been on the phone to him.
Uckfield’s name was called and Horton turned to see Joliffe, the forensic scientist, all teeth and legs, striding towards them. ‘Looks as though we’ve got the report on Freedman’s coat,’ he said.
They headed up to the incident suite where Bliss glanced up from Trueman’s desk. A frown puckered her high forehead, directed at him, Horton thought, for arriving at the same time as Uckfield and Joliffe. She probably thought they were plotting something behind her back or withholding vital information from her.
Joliffe handed Trueman some enlarged photographs of the coat, which he pinned on the crime board, and Joliffe took up a stance beside it. ‘It’s an excellent example of a British warm greatcoat,’ he said with unusual enthusiasm, which surprised Horton because he was renowned for his lack of emotion on any subject. ‘It’s made from heavy taupe Melton cloth, the name deriving from Melton Mowbray in Leicestershire. The cloth, which was first mentioned in 1823, is a tightly-woven woollen fabric and has a short, raised nap which gives it a fleece-like texture. The heavy Melton fabric is often referred to as Crombie Fleece.’
‘So how old is it?’ Uckfield demanded impatiently.
Joliffe eyed him coldly. ‘It’s double-breasted with six woven leather buttons, an extra button under the collar so that the collar can be worn up when it’s particularly cold, and has two buttons on each cuff. It has two flapped pockets and a breast pocket. The fluff from all the pockets is being analysed. Sadly the cuffs and collar show a little wear but nothing considerable and the brown satin silk lining is worn in places, mainly around the seat and under the arms and it’s torn. The coat has a rear vent and epaulettes and is usually worn just below the knee.’
‘I know what it looks like. I don’t need a bloody description of it,’ roared Uckfield. ‘Just tell us how old it is and who it belongs to?’
Joliffe ignored him. Unfazed, he continued, ‘The style of the British warm greatcoat dates back to the First World War but this one is considerably newer.’
Was that a joke? thought Horton. From Joliffe!
‘It’s difficult to date it precisely but our analysis and that of our textile expert puts it at approximately twenty years old.’
That didn’t mean it had been with the same man for twenty years.
‘It’s a forty-six regular chest. There are several hairs on it which are being analysed for DNA and are being matched with those of the victim.’
‘Victims,’ corrected Horton. ‘It might have belonged to Vivian Clements. Trueman will make sure you have the details.’
Joliffe nodded. ‘There are also some spores and grass seeds on it, which we will examine and try and determine from where they might originate. There are some car oil stains. It will take some time before we have the results of the analysis.’
And even then, thought Horton, it might not tell them much.
‘And that’s it?’ cried Uckfield, exasperated. ‘Hardly worth coming out for.’
Joliffe left without commenting on Uckfield’s remark. He was used to Uckfield’s short temper. Horton asked Trueman if he had managed to check what Freedman had been wearing when he was arrested the final time, when he was sent to prison and when he was discharged.
‘Not a British warm greatcoat,’ came the answer. ‘Or the belt. None of the clothes he was found wearing. And we haven’t found his keys or wallet in his apartment or in Evelyn Lyster’s Isle of Wight or Portsmouth apartments.’
Lethal Waves Page 20