He tossed back a mouthful of coffee and turned his thoughts to Kenton’s vanishing act. Just because Eunice Swallows was telling him that Kenton had disappeared didn’t mean it was true. There had to be a reason why Kenton’s car was parked at Admiralty Towers and so far Brett Veerman seemed the only link.
But maybe Kenton had absconded, and simply left his car there in the hope it wouldn’t be discovered for some days. Being a computer expert perhaps he’d been able to access the security code from the car parking company’s computers or had fitted a skimming device to capture the code when someone keyed it in. There was also the possibility that he owned an apartment there – but no, because if he did, he would have parked in his own allotted space and not Roger Watling’s. Was Kenton really missing?
His phone rang. He expected it to be DCI Bliss but with surprise he saw the call was from Mike Danby, a former DCI now running a private security company whose clients included Lord Eames. Horton answered it.
‘Andy, you’d better get over here quick and bring the fat man with you.’
That, in Danby’s code, meant Detective Superintendent Uckfield, head of the Major Crime Team, and there was only one reason why Danby wanted Uckfield.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Rather who is it,’ Danby answered. ‘It’s Jasper Kenton. He’s dead.’
Horton started with surprise. His heart skipped a beat. ‘Where?’ he asked, rising, tossing his paper coffee cup in the bin and hurrying towards his Harley.
‘The Isle of Wight. But for Christ’s sake, Andy, this has got to be handled carefully.’
‘Why?’ Horton asked, puzzled.
‘Because Jasper Kenton is on Lord Eames’ private beach.’
Horton froze with shock. The very beach he’d stood on only yesterday. His heart was pumping fast. His pulse was racing. This couldn’t be true. His head was teeming with questions and above them all was why there, why now, and for God’s sake why Jasper Kenton?
FIVE
Uckfield inserted a plump finger in his nose and began to pick it as he stared, frowning, across the shore from the police launch at a bundle covered by a cream cloth lying on the shingle beach some six yards to the west of the pontoon.
On the way across a choppy Solent, Horton had brought Uckfield up to speed about Kenton being reported missing, the finding of his vehicle and his forced entry into Veerman’s apartment. Before leaving The Hard, Horton had also returned to Admiralty Towers and found PC Allen with the locksmith. He’d instructed Allen to take a note of all the vehicles parked at the Admiralty Towers car park. He knew the car park company could probably give them this information but he wasn’t going to take any chances. They’d be checked against the list of residents, which he’d also told Allen to obtain, and that would be checked against a list of Swallows’ clients and those they were investigating, which they would now need to insist upon.
Danby had explained to Horton on the phone that Swallows farmed out its close protection work to him. Horton hadn’t called Eunice Swallows or DCI Bliss, and, surprisingly, Bliss hadn’t rung him after his previous conversation with Ms Swallows. He wanted to make absolutely certain it was the body of Jasper Kenton, although he knew that Danby couldn’t have made a mistake. And if truth be told he didn’t want Bliss on this trip. Uckfield hadn’t insisted she accompany them either. It was Uckfield’s remit anyway if Kenton had been murdered. And that was looking more than a strong possibility.
PC Ripley expertly brought the launch to a halt alongside Mike Danby’s new motor cruiser at the end of the pontoon, despite the rising wind. Horton tied up and alighted on to the pontoon, glancing at the solid wooden door and wall bordering Lord Eames’ property, thinking about his visit here yesterday. The questions that had sprung to mind at the shock of Danby’s announcement were still there. Why here? Why now? And why Kenton? He didn’t like the fact that a body had been discovered the day after he’d made a reconnaissance of the area. As a copper he didn’t trust coincidences and yet he knew they happened far more often than acknowledged. Yet this one seemed personal. If Maidment and Foreland hadn’t changed their plea to guilty, and if he hadn’t taken his unexpected diversion, would Jasper Kenton have still ended up here dead? That was ridiculous though because he’d never seen or heard of Kenton before yesterday. But that jagged feeling between his shoulder blades made him wonder if he was being set up, although why someone should kill Kenton in order to do so was not only puzzling but also incredible and ridiculous. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation for his body being here and the remoteness and privacy of the area were both pretty good reasons. The timing was just unfortunate.
He made to help Beth Tremaine, one of the Scene of Crime Officers, on to the pontoon but she waved aside his assistance with a friendly gesture. Phil Taylor, the other SOCO, clambered off the boat and behind him Jim Clarke, the lanky police photographer, followed suit. Uckfield eased his squat frame off with a grunt. At least they didn’t need to worry about nosy passers-by, Horton thought, as they walked down the pontoon to where Danby was waiting for them on the shore, or securing the crime scene because nobody came this way. But there had been that beachcomber, Wyndham Lomas. A fact Horton had kept to himself because disclosing it would mean revealing that he had been here. He wasn’t comfortable with that because he’d need to explain why. What could he say? I wanted to see the countryside? I was on my way to the ferry? Bloody funny way to get to the ferry, he could hear Uckfield saying cuttingly. But didn’t he have a perfectly plausible explanation, the news that the weather vane donated by His Lordship would be returned to the abbey? OK, so it was a bit feeble and it didn’t explain why he’d trekked through a small wood to reach the shore, but perhaps he could say he had wondered if he’d find someone at the rear of the property having drawn a blank at the front. He pushed the thought aside for now as they reached the broad-shouldered tall man in his late forties standing at the end of the pontoon. He’d deal with that later when he had more information.
Danby shook Uckfield’s hand and nodded a greeting at Horton. ‘Now do you see what I mean about unwrapping him?’ Danby said, gesturing to the body as they headed towards it, repeating a remark he’d made to Horton on the phone. The tide was still on the rise and would reach the body in about two and a half hours. It wasn’t far from where Horton had exchanged remarks with the beachcomber and he would certainly have seen a body if it had been here yesterday. Had the beachcomber put it here after Horton had left the area? Was that why he had been on the beach? And now Horton came to consider it, how had the beachcomber Lomas got here? Access to this area was extremely limited. Had he trudged through the woods after Horton? Even if he had, Horton couldn’t see how he could have transported a body through it unless it had been conveyed in something like a wheelbarrow, and even then it would have been extremely difficult.
Uckfield sniffed and retrieved a tooth pick from the pocket of his waterproof jacket. To Danby he said, ‘How come you’re here?’ It was a question that Horton had been about to ask although he had guessed the answer, which was confirmed when Danby replied.
‘I came over to check out the property and grounds while Richard’s away. It’s part of our security contract. I saw something lying on the shore as I approached by boat. At first I thought it was rubbish washed up but when I got closer I saw by its shape that it was a body. I went to investigate. I checked to see if the poor sod was alive, which was why I unwrapped part of it. I was gobsmacked when I saw who it was. I called you, Andy, and stayed here to make sure it wasn’t tampered with but nobody comes along this stretch; there are no public footpaths and the land around here is private.’
But two people had been here yesterday: him and Wyndham Lomas. Horton said, ‘When was the last time you saw Jasper Kenton?’
‘Two weeks ago. He had a new client who wanted some close protection work.’
‘Have you spoken to him since?’
But Danby shook his head. ‘No. I emailed him though, to say I�
�d spoken to the potential client and had given him a quote, which incidentally he accepted yesterday. I was going to tell Jasper on Monday.’ His words had taken them to the body.
Horton stared down at it. All he could see was a crop of black hair and a grey face and dark wide sightless eyes but even with this limited view he recognized it was the man in the photograph that Eunice Swallows had given him. Jasper Kenton. There was no decomposition and no sea life feeding off the soft flesh of the lips and eyes. There was very little smell attached to the body, which meant that Kenton hadn’t been dead for long.
The body was wrapped in what was clearly an old sail cloth, cream coloured and soiled, and was bound at the neck, chest, midriff and ankles by thin white dirty rope of the type used on boats called lines, usually used to secure a boat to a pontoon or attach to an anchor or fender.
Horton confirmed identity, thinking that this time it would be the duty of the Wiltshire police to inform the next of kin – the sister that Eunice Swallows had told him about who lived in Marlborough and who hadn’t been in contact with her brother for some years. Perhaps she wouldn’t be too upset.
Uckfield said, ‘Well it’s not suicide, because he couldn’t have wrapped himself up like a mummy. And it can’t be accidental death either, unless he was practising to be the next Houdini. Get some pictures, Clarke.’
They stepped away from the body as Clarke began to photograph and video it. There wasn’t much that Taylor and Tremaine could do here, thought Horton, except take samples of the shingle and sand around the body in the hope that what they collected might show up on the killer’s clothes or belongings.
Uckfield looked out to sea and then to his right. ‘Where does that go?’
‘To a creek,’ Danby answered. ‘There are woods either side of it. It thins out after about half a mile, giving on to a small field surrounded by trees. There’s no slipway or public access to it. Lord Eames owns the woods on both sides and the land at the top of the creek. I can’t see how anyone could have brought the body in that way. And at low tide it dries out to mud. You’d get well and truly stuck.’
‘And the other side of the pontoon?’ asked Horton, looking west.
‘A tree-lined shore with no public footpaths or access by sea. There are dense woods and the land and shore are owned by Lord Eames right around the coast until you come to the private beach and land belonging to Osborne House, the royal seaside palace where Queen Victoria often stayed with Prince Albert and their nine children.’
‘I don’t need the guided tour or a history lesson,’ grunted Uckfield.
But it was probably the reason why the Eames family had purchased adjoining land years ago. Horton said, ‘Then it seems likely the body was brought in from the Solent by boat.’
With a worried frown Danby said, ‘It could have been washed up on the high tide this morning just after or before two.’
Horton knew Danby didn’t like the thought that Eames’ pontoon had been used by the killer. He’d rather the body had been washed up accidentally because that meant keeping Eames out of the equation. Horton favoured that himself, given his appearance here yesterday, but he said, ‘The body would have sunk.’
‘There might have been an air bubble trapped inside the sail cloth that prevented it from sinking.’
That was possible. Horton said, ‘Is there a connection between Kenton and Lord Eames?’
Uckfield eyed Horton shrewdly. No doubt it was a question he had been about to ask.
‘No.’
‘You asked him?’
‘Yes, and I gave him a description of Kenton but he doesn’t recognize him.’
‘You called Lord Eames before you called me?’
‘Of course.’ Danby’s penetrating green eyes studied Horton evenly.
‘How did he take the news?’
‘He was surprised and shocked, of course. He’s given me full authority to assist all I can. None of the family are here, which is why I am. And the only connection between Jasper Kenton and Lord Eames is me. I know them both, but I didn’t kill Kenton and I didn’t bring his body here and call you.’
‘Never thought you had for a moment, Mike,’ Uckfield answered jovially, but judging by Danby’s dubious glance he clearly wasn’t convinced that Uckfield meant it.
Horton said, ‘Was Kenton involved in any investigation for His Lordship?’ Perhaps that was the reason why Eunice Swallows was guarding her client list so zealously. But what would Eames want Swallows to investigate when Horton believed he had the British Intelligence services at his disposal? He had no proof that Lord Eames was connected with MI5 though. Maybe he’d got that wrong. He added, ‘Could Kenton have been carrying out surveillance work on someone Eames employs, or checking an employee reference?’ But that didn’t explain why his car had been parked at the Admiralty Towers car park, unless that employee had an apartment there or had been visiting someone there and had killed Kenton and brought him over to the island. It seemed unlikely, because why place the body on Eames’ land and draw attention to himself? Unless it was a former employee who’d been sacked as a result of something Kenton had discovered and the employee saw it as a way of getting even.
But Danby scotched that idea. ‘I handle all the security checks on Lord Eames’ staff right across his estate and all of his businesses.’
‘It might have been something other than a security check,’ Horton suggested.
‘Like what?’ asked Uckfield.
‘Maybe he suspected two of his staff of stealing from him or thought his wife was running around with the gardener.’
‘This isn’t Lady Chatterley’s bleeding lover,’ quipped Uckfield.
‘No, but it happens,’ said Horton, and Uckfield would know more about illicit affairs than any of them. If it was female, attractive, preferably under the age of forty and up for it, so was Uckfield, despite being married with two daughters.
‘I think he would have asked me to help if it was a delicate matter,’ Danby replied a little stiffly.
Uckfield said, ‘Have you been inside the house to make sure no one’s stolen the family silver? Kenton could have been killed because he’d disturbed the burglars.’
‘I doubt that,’ Danby replied somewhat acidly. ‘He wouldn’t have got in. There are sophisticated security systems.’
‘Better to be safe than sorry,’ Uckfield added.
Danby eyed Uckfield suspiciously. As an ex-copper he knew what Uckfield was doing. It was a ploy to get rid of him. But he shrugged and headed back to the pontoon. Horton watched him jump up on to it with ease and make for the solid wooden door built into the wall. There Danby turned his back on them and tapped the security pad. Horton thought of the entrance barrier to the Admiralty Towers car park and again considered the possibility that Kenton might have watched someone key in the number and had then simply replicated it.
He turned back to the body. Clarke was checking the digital images he’d taken on his camera, Taylor was grubbing around in the shingle and Tremaine was trying to lift fingerprints from the sail cloth. Horton didn’t think she’d get anything even a quarter decent that the fingerprint bureau could work with.
He said, ‘I’ll ask Elkins to scout along the coast towards Osborne House in case there’s a way on to the beach from that side. Clarke can take some photographs of that and of the entrance to the creek.’
‘OK.’ Uckfield reached for his phone. Over his shoulder he said, ‘Call Dr Clayton, ask her to meet us at the mortuary on the island. No point in her coming here; there’s nothing she can do except certify the poor bugger’s dead and we can all see that. Tell Elkins after Clarke’s got his photos to go back to Portsmouth and collect her. He can also pick up DI Dennings. I’ll get him to set up an incident suite at Newport. You can come with me to the mortuary.’
Although the mortuary wasn’t Horton’s favourite place he was glad that Uckfield had asked him to accompany him there. He’d wondered if the Super would send him back to Portsmouth with Taylor, Trema
ine and Clarke, this not being a CID matter. But Uckfield would pull in others from various departments to assist in the investigation and clearly he was going to be one of them. He was glad of that. He heard Uckfield say, ‘DI Dennings, I hope you haven’t got any plans for this weekend …’ And then he moved away.
Horton rather hoped Uckfield had ruined Dennings’ weekend. His views of Dennings, the great hulking oaf, were well known by Uckfield. It wasn’t just sour grapes either, Horton told himself as he headed for Clarke. He’d worked with Dennings on vice and on covert operations with the Intelligence Directorate and Dennings simply didn’t have the mental capacity to be a good or an even mediocre detective. However, that hadn’t stopped Uckfield appointing him to the Major Crime Team when the position had been promised to Horton. Uckfield claimed he was under orders from the then Chief Constable, his father-in-law, who hadn’t wanted a cop who’d been on an eight-month suspension for rape allegations anywhere near it or the station, while Dennings who had been with Horton on that ill-fated operation had come out smelling of roses. Only because he’d sat on his fat arse and done nothing except stare through a telescopic camera. But he’d kept his nose clean and played it by the book. Since then Uckfield had admitted secretly to Horton that he was keen to get Dennings out but claimed his hands were tied. Even though they now had a new Chief Constable, Horton guessed he was still out of favour because of his unorthodox policing style. Horton wasn’t sure how hard Uckfield was trying to ditch Dennings either. Even if Dennings did go, Horton doubted he’d be appointed in his place and certainly not if DCI Bliss was appointed Uckfield’s second-in-command. CID looked much more attractive if that happened.
He wasn’t improving his chances either, he thought, by withholding information. He’d missed the opportunity to tell Uckfield about the beachcomber but he knew that even given the chance he would have remained silent. Every instinct was urging him to do so. But it disturbed him. Was he hindering a murder investigation? Wyndham Lomas had seemed pretty harmless. Yeah, and so had Dr Crippen, Jack the Ripper and Frederick West, he thought, relaying instructions to Clarke who nodded and went to join Elkins and Ripley on the police launch. Horton eased his conscience with the thought that he’d see what Dr Clayton had to report first. He could always return later and try to locate this Lomas. Surely he wouldn’t be that difficult to find.
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