Lethal Waves

by Pauline Rowson

  ‘Not drugs!’ Cantelli cried, alarmed.

  ‘No, diamonds.’

  Cantelli’s eyebrows shot up. Horton rapidly relayed what he’d discovered while a popular tune ran around his head, one his mother had sung before she had vanished – ‘Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend’. ‘According to the coroner’s report on Dennis Lyster, he wasn’t a civil engineer but a mining engineer. He worked for the Paitak Corporation for twenty-three years and Paitak are involved in mineral operations worldwide. In one mine alone in Canada they’ve produced over six million carats of white, high-quality gem diamonds. Gina Lyster told us that Evelyn worked as a freelance translator for many different types of business people – consultants, brokers, accountants and dealers in jewellery and gems.’ He watched Cantelli’s eyes widen as he quickly caught on.

  Cantelli said, ‘Dennis was helping himself. What about security, though? Would Dennis have been able to get diamonds out?’

  ‘Apparently so. I’ve just spoken to Mike Danby. He says it’s not that difficult to steal diamonds if you’re working at the place where they’re being extracted. It happens all the time, apparently, although the advances in technology are making it more difficult – the introduction of intelligent security systems, thermal cameras, video analytics, fingerprint and facial recognition and the like – but theft still happens and he says will continue to happen. Jewels, gems and precious metals are a big temptation to the workers who are involved in mining them. As prices have risen, Danby said that gold, silver, platinum and diamonds have become more alluring. In a diamond mine it would be quite usual to have people stealing the diamonds from the process. The company can screen employees and put restrictions on them entering certain areas but they can’t legislate for everyone. And if an employee has worked for the same company for some time and has an exemplary record then there’s no reason not to trust him.’

  ‘Until he got caught,’ said Cantelli. ‘And Dennis did.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. I’d like to know if he was really made redundant or got the sack. As he was a UK citizen his employment details would have been kept at the company’s UK office but there’s no one we can speak to until Monday. I think it’s possible that Dennis Lyster was stealing diamonds from his employers – not huge amounts and probably not on a regular basis, he was very careful not to get noticed. And Evelyn Lyster, through her network of contacts, was selling them on. Not to the usual diamond merchants or to any dodgy dealers but to her clients and those she met at the jewellery and gem trade fairs. Perhaps just a small quantity each time. And I think they’d been doing so for a number of years. Dennis was delivering to a client when the tragedy at sea struck. He had to go. The deal was lined up. Whoever was buying the diamonds was waiting for them.’

  ‘But why did Cary Gamblin go? Why not just take Rowan?’

  Horton shrugged. ‘Perhaps the two boys were great mates and did everything together. After the tragedy, Dennis and Evelyn had to change the way they operated – they could no longer use Rowan as cover. They might have continued to use boats but not from Portsmouth. They didn’t want to be tied down with Rowan at school in Portsmouth so he was sent away, leaving them free to continue stealing and dealing to pay for their son’s expensive education and for Evelyn to buy expensive properties to clean the money and put some away in a Guernsey account. The Gamblins had no idea their son had been used to hide the Lysters’ criminal activities. And they probably never discovered that. When Dennis lost his job the gravy train came to an end and he was no longer useful.’

  ‘Evelyn killed him.’

  ‘Maybe, or perhaps she got Freedman to do it for her. We’re not sure how long they had known one another. She could have met him when he lived in Brighton or possibly she met him through a mutual client. Freedman was very skilled at eliciting confidences and perhaps Evelyn fell for him big time. When love comes in the door—’

  ‘Reason flies out of the window.’

  ‘Freedman killed Evelyn after making sure he could access the Guernsey account. And then someone killed him. Someone who has no idea what the Lysters have been up to but killed Freedman because she too, like Evelyn Lyster, was besotted with him.’

  ‘So we’re back to Constance Clements.’

  But even though he’d suggested it Horton still wasn’t sure. Certain questions gnawed away at the back of his mind. He rapidly sifted through all the information he’d heard and seen over the last six days. Somewhere among it all was something that would make sense of these deaths.

  Cantelli said, ‘Perhaps that nervy exterior of Constance Clements is just an act and underneath she’s clever and ruthless. She came up with the idea of an insurance fraud so that she could use the gun to kill Freedman and her husband. She could have used insurance scams before with some of her interior design clients. Or maybe she got the idea from Freedman. He probably knew all about car insurance scams having been a garage proprietor. He’d report a car had been stolen and then claim on the insurance when in reality he’d changed the registration numbers, arranged a re-spray and sold it off.’

  Insurance. The gun theft had been an insurance scam. Why had Freedman dressed as a tramp to meet his killer? Was it possible? His brain scrambled to pull the threads together. Eagerly, he voiced one key thought that Cantelli had sparked.

  ‘Didn’t you say that Robin Gamblin had been an insurance broker?’

  ‘Yes, but we have no idea where he is now.’

  ‘Don’t we?’

  After a moment, Cantelli’s expression registered astonishment as he quickly caught on. Excitedly, he said, ‘You mean he’s in the mortuary.’

  ‘If he is then it changes everything, or rather it makes certain elements of the case slot into place. Evelyn Lyster knew Freedman from before he went on the streets. From when he was Robin Gamblin.’

  ‘But his wife identified him.’

  ‘Only from a photograph. Glyn Ashmead did the formal identification at the mortuary and he said it was Peter Freedman because that’s who he knew him as. That’s who Ashmead had been told he was.’ Suddenly into Horton’s mind crashed and exploded his conversation with Violet Ducale. When he’d shown her the photograph from 1967 and told her the fair man, the second on the left between Timothy Wilson and James Royston, was Richard Eames her head had shot up. He’d asked her if she knew him and she’d said, Yes, and his brother, Gordon. Are you sure that’s Richard? He’d nodded. She’d accepted it but had she? Shortly after that she had been uneasy speaking to him. And when he’d confronted Richard Eames with the photograph in the exclusive Castle Hill Yacht Club in Cowes in August, Richard had neither confirmed nor denied it was him but had let him assume it. Gordon was dead. He died in 1973. But Jennifer had seen a ghost.

  ‘Andy, are you OK?’

  With half his mind still on the past, he said, ‘Perhaps Mrs Freedman really did think it was her husband because she was told it was him and a life on the streets changes you and your appearance. Or perhaps Mrs Freedman lied because she was only too glad to have her husband formerly declared dead.’ And Richard Eames, and those he worked for in British Intelligence, were more than keen to believe Gordon Eames was dead. Not without some difficulty, he forced his mind back on the case. ‘We’ve had no confirmation from dental records that Freedman was Freedman but the dental records could match those of Robin Gamblin. The real Peter Freedman could be dead. Maybe Robin Gamblin killed him and took his identity. Perhaps he died on the streets, Gamblin helped himself to Freedman’s belongings and when he was picked up by the police it was Freedman’s ID he had on him so he became Freedman. That article you read about Peter Freedman in the local paper – were there photographs of him in it?’

  ‘Yes. You think Evelyn Lyster could have read it and got in touch with him, knowing it was Robin Gamblin?’

  ‘And someone else did. His killer. What else did that article say?’

  Cantelli reached for his phone and quickly, calling up the Internet, found the article that had appeared in the lo
cal newspaper. ‘It’s dated the second of February last year. There’s a lot of stuff about living on the streets, how his last term in prison transformed his life and how he is putting something back into the community by volunteering at Gravity.’

  ‘Does it say when he volunteers there?’

  ‘Yes. Tuesdays.’

  ‘So Evelyn would have known where and when to find him. Why would she, though? To apologize for Cary’s death? To tell him Dennis was dead? Or did Gamblin aka Freedman know exactly where Dennis and Evelyn were? Perhaps that’s the real reason he returned to Portsmouth. He killed Dennis Lyster because he blamed Lyster for the death of his son and then he killed Evelyn Lyster after making certain she fell for him. Maybe she recognized him, maybe she didn’t. But he managed to elicit from her details of her and her husband’s illegal dealings and where her money was. And he believed that money should be his for sacrificing his son and for all the pain, torment and despair he’d suffered. Only he didn’t expect to be killed by a woman who had become infatuated with him and who wanted her husband dead.’ Horton paused. Then added, ‘But that’s not right because of the clothes.’ That was critical to this case. And he had an idea why, especially if he put it with the location. The lifeboat station. Now he saw what must have happened. With conviction, he said, ‘Freedman didn’t go to the lifeboat station to meet either Constance or Vivian Clements. He went there dressed as a vagrant to convince his killer that he was still on the streets, that he had nothing and that he was still in the depths of despair. It was someone he couldn’t refuse to see but who would ruin everything that he had planned. Someone who would become a millstone around his neck. Someone who had tracked him down or read that same article you did, Barney, and recognized him.’

  ‘And whoever it is got in touch with him to tell him where to meet.’

  ‘Yes, but how? Another tramp wouldn’t use a mobile phone and if the killer called Freedman’s mobile then Freedman had no need to go to the meeting dressed as a tramp because the killer would know he wasn’t a vagrant. Freedman’s phone number is public knowledge. It’s on his website. But Freedman’s killer knew where to get in touch with him – at Gravity. The killer got a message to Freedman when he was there and asked to meet him that night, Tuesday. Freedman assumed the killer thought he used Gravity because he was on the streets.’

  ‘Glyn Ashmead took the call and passed the message on.’

  ‘He says he was at a conference all day and didn’t get back until late. We haven’t checked if he really was at that conference. And he can’t account for his movements that night but I can’t see what connection he has with the Robin Gamblin of the past.’ Horton paused, contemplating this and frowning.

  ‘Gamblin might have been responsible for ruining him. Maybe Ashmead was a successful businessman and Gamblin advised him to invest his money in a fraudulent scheme. Ashmead lost everything and was declared bankrupt, and that led to him going on the streets.’

  ‘If that’s the case then it has nothing to do with Cary Gamblin’s death or the Lysters.’ Horton knew nothing of Ashmead’s background. ‘But that lifeboat station was chosen as the meeting point for a reason and not just for its privacy. It meant something to the killer.’

  ‘Ashmead could have owned a boat or a marine-related business that went tits up because of Gamblin.’

  Horton considered this. Then sprang up. ‘OK, so let’s go and ask him.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Gravity was closed but Horton was convinced that Ashmead was still on the premises, mainly because he’d seen a van bearing the name of a plumber parked in the adjoining road as he and Cantelli had walked to the centre. Horton rapped loudly on the door and eventually saw Ashmead heading towards them.

  ‘I take it this isn’t a social call,’ Ashmead said, letting them in, his tired eyes flicking between them.

  Horton could hear banging in the rear, the plumber at work. ‘Why did you end up on the road?’ he asked without pre-amble.

  Ashmead hesitated. His mouth hardened. Horton saw him draw himself up. Would he refuse to tell them? But after a moment, he began: ‘I was working in the City. Long hours, high stress, lots of money but no time for anything other than work. I drank and then started to take cocaine, then I drank more and took more drugs. I lost my job, my flat, my girlfriend, my so-called friends. At first I was too ashamed to return to my family but, desperate, I eventually did. They didn’t want anything to do with me, so I drank some more and took more drugs. I stole to pay for them. Thankfully I never got arrested. As I said to you before Andy, it doesn’t take much to fall but it takes a huge effort to climb back up, sometimes aided by one small act of kindness and humanity.’

  Horton could still see the pain in Ashmead’s eyes. He knew it was the truth. Ashmead hadn’t killed Freedman but he said, ‘Did you know Freedman before he volunteered to work here?’

  ‘No. I told you that earlier.’

  ‘How sure are you that Peter Freedman was who he claimed to be?’

  ‘As sure as I can be. That’s who he said he was. I took him on trust.’

  ‘Do you know or have you ever known a man called Robin Gamblin?’

  ‘No.’

  But there was something in Ashmead’s expression, a slight hesitation, a flicker of doubt.

  ‘What is it? You recognize the name,’ Horton asked, also sensing Cantelli’s interest.

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘Please. It’s important, Glyn.’

  ‘I don’t like to betray anyone’s trust.’

  Horton remained silent, as did Cantelli.

  After a moment, with a worried frown, Ashmead continued. ‘Martha called Peter Robin once.’

  ‘To his face?’ Horton said, rapidly thinking.

  ‘No. We were alone. She apologized and said Peter reminded her of someone she’d known called Robin.’

  ‘What do you know of her background?’

  Ashmead looked Horton in the eye and said, ‘Nothing.’

  Horton knew it was a lie but he also knew that Ashmead wouldn’t betray a confidence. Firmly, he said, ‘We need Martha’s address.’

  After a moment, Ashmead said, ‘I’ll give it to you but you won’t find her at home. She’s waitressing at a wedding this afternoon at Southsea Castle. She picks up casual work whenever she can.’

  Ashmead relayed the address to Cantelli who jotted it down, making no comment that it was a street almost adjacent to Milton Common.

  As they made to leave, Ashmead halted them. ‘Andy, don’t be too hard on her. She’s a very fragile woman and she’s had it tough.’

  But they didn’t get the chance to be hard or anything else because a harassed catering supervisor with one eye on her watch told them that Martha hadn’t shown up. The wedding party would be arriving at any moment and she didn’t want two policemen on the premises.

  Horton quickly thanked her and with Cantelli hurried back to the car parked on the seafront. He jerked his head at the catering van as they went. ‘Recognize the name?’

  ‘Bellman Catering. Their van was outside Evelyn Lyster’s apartment when we met Gina there.’

  ‘Yes. And Bellman might also have been the caterers at Rowan Lyster’s wedding.’

  ‘Martha Wiley is Margaret Gamblin.’ Cantelli started the engine and headed east along the seafront towards Milton.

  ‘Yes, and she recognized her husband. But I don’t think he recognized her, which was why he agreed to meet her dressed as a vagrant. He hoped she’d see he had nothing to offer her.’

  ‘She shot him. But how did she get the gun?’

  ‘We’ll ask her.’

  ‘If she’s there,’ Cantelli said pointedly.

  Horton was thinking the same. He rang Ashmead’s number, praying he’d answer it. He did. Horton relayed the fact that Martha hadn’t shown up for her waitress job and they were on their way to her flat.

  ‘When did you last speak to her, Glyn? Don’t try to fob me off and don’t try to protect her. She needs help.
’

  Horton heard him sigh heavily before saying, ‘It was two hours ago. I phoned her to see if she was OK.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t she be?’

  ‘I’ve seen enough despair to know when to recognize it.’

  ‘What did she say, Glyn?’

  ‘That it was nearly over. I asked her what she meant but she hung up. She’s got a pay-as-you-go mobile.’ He relayed the number. Ashmead urged him to go easy.

  Horton tried the number. There was no answer. He didn’t leave a message.

  Within ten minutes Cantelli was pulling up outside the modern block of flats. Horton felt Cantelli’s tension beside him as they entered. He knew that, like him, Cantelli was preparing to steel himself to expect the worse. The fact that the flat was about half a mile from where Clements’ body had been found reinforced Horton’s belief that Martha Wiley was connected with the murders and that she was in fact Margaret Gamblin. There was no hard evidence to prove that, which was what Uckfield and Bliss would have said if he had told them and he hadn’t, but he knew it was her and that, as Ashmead had confirmed, she was a fragile woman in the pits of despair. Horton wanted to go carefully. She’d never spoken of a personal tragedy or her past and yet he’d seen great sorrow in her lined faced and sensed a pain that went so deep that it was almost beyond bearing.

  There was no answer to Cantelli’s knock. ‘I’ll ask a neighbour if they’ve seen her,’ he said with a worried expression.

  Horton saw him talking to a woman who poked her head out and scrutinized Horton. After a moment, Cantelli beckoned him over. ‘This is Kathy Draycott. She wants proof that you’re Andy Horton?’

  Horton hid his surprise and showed his warrant card.

  ‘Martha went out a couple of hours ago and said if you called I was to give you this.’ Kathy Draycott handed over an envelope. Inside it was a key and nothing else.

  Horton thanked her and when her door was closed he inserted the key in the lock of Martha Wiley’s flat and, with a thudding heart, opened it. They entered a narrow hall and stepped into a sparsely furnished sitting room with a threadbare carpet where Horton pulled up with a start and Cantelli drew in a sharp breath. Shaking his head sorrowfully, he said gently, ‘The poor woman.’