Gaye echoed his thoughts. ‘It’s illegal to use a crossbow for hunting but people do. And it can be used for target practice or competitive sport. It’s also the choice of weapon in military units in some countries because it kills silently.’
Horton groaned. Had a former soldier returned with it as a keepsake? Was the beachcomber ex-services?
‘I know that doesn’t help much,’ she said cheerfully, misinterpreting his groan. ‘And just to make it more complex the benefits of pistol crossbows as opposed to other crossbows is that they’re small and light—’
‘Which a woman can handle.’
‘They can handle all types of crossbows, Andy.’
‘Sorry. Of course they can.’ He smiled. ‘I was just considering that alongside the fact that Kenton was shot at close range.’
‘But you’re right: it could easily have been a woman and it doesn’t necessarily have to be an experienced shot either,’ Gaye added. ‘Pistol crossbows take little practice or skill to shoot.’
‘Could he have been restrained before being shot and while being shot?’
‘There’s no evidence of that or that he was gagged. But his body has been moved. The pattern of lividity bears that out and there are abrasions on the ankles and back indicating he was naked when this occurred. But he was already dead when he was immersed in water and it is saline. Of course, as I said before, you need to check the waterproof capability of the sail cloth. His body could have lain on the shore already covered and the sea washed over it and seeped through the sail. Or he could have been dragged from the sea, then stripped and wrapped in the sail and my money’s on the latter.’
‘Time of death?’ Horton asked, pausing outside the hospital entrance.
‘That’s the tricky one. Actual time of death is probably as I said some time late Friday afternoon, early Saturday morning, but it could be earlier than that. The rate of internal haemorrhaging can depend on the age of the person and if there were any pre-existing medical problems. Very young and very old people would be at greater risk of dying quickly and as your victim was at neither end of the age spectrum and he was in very good health, it would have taken him longer to die. He could have been shot up to eighteen or twenty hours before he actually died.’
And that put it back to late Thursday night or the early hours of Friday morning, matching more closely with the last sighting of Kenton by Eunice Swallows at the office.
They postponed talking shop as the taxi driver made for the Hovercraft terminal at Ryde. Horton let his mind roam across the facts of the case that he’d gathered so far but his thoughts kept getting hijacked by the proximity of the woman beside him and the way his body had reacted when she had come so close to him. He’d always found her attractive but not in a sexual way, or so he’d thought. The strength and method of his reaction had surprised him though. Perhaps it was his need for female company and not specifically Gaye Clayton that had made him respond so strongly. Had she been teasing him or had there really been something that had passed between them? If so she showed no signs of it as she sat beside him on the Hovercraft. He wondered what she was thinking.
They didn’t speak during the ten-minute crossing. The noise of the Hovercraft made it difficult for them to converse anyway and impossible to talk about the case as they’d have to raise their voices and the other passengers would hear them. Through the windows of the Hovercraft he caught the glimpse of the security lights of Fort Monckton as they sped past. His suspicion that Lord Eames was connected with MI5 made him again wonder if Jennifer had been meeting him there. Had she got too close to the truth about something he was connected with; something that was too dangerous to be revealed? And perhaps that was why Jasper Kenton was dead – because he, like Jennifer, had got too close to the truth about something highly damaging to His Lordship. But what? And why leave evidence on your own doorstep? No, if it was connected with Eames he’d have got rid of the body. There would have been no trail.
They took a taxi to the station, where fifteen minutes later, in the incident suite, Gaye was repeating to Uckfield, Bliss, Dennings, Trueman and Marsden what she’d told him earlier. Horton hadn’t already broken the news to Uckfield because there had been no chance of doing so before their arrival. As he had predicted, Uckfield had looked shocked and then irritated. The others too had shown their surprise, except for Trueman who had quickly turned to his computer and had begun tapping away at the keyboard.
Before Gaye had finished Trueman was printing off pages and handing them to Horton, who pinned them on the crime board.
‘Is this the type of weapon used?’ Horton asked.
She glanced at them and nodded.
Horton studied them, as did the others. The first pistol crossbow was a basic model. It looked exactly like a pistol with a bow mounted on top of it. It was twelve and three quarter inches long and sixteen and a half inches wide. Too big to fit in your pocket, thought Horton, but small enough to carry in a large shoulder bag or rucksack, or perhaps to retrieve from behind a rock or mound of earth. The compact version was only slightly longer at seventeen inches and the same width. Even the more deluxe models weren’t much different in size, just over seventeen inches long and nineteen inches wide, but there was a difference in weight and the speed at which they could fire bolts.
Trueman informed them that there was no register of people who bought or owned crossbows, so tracing the murder weapon that way was impossible.
‘Great,’ cried Uckfield, frustrated.
Trueman added, ‘And even trekking around all the archery clubs might not reveal who it is. Anyone can buy one of those things on the Internet.’
Uckfield exhaled and plonked himself down on one of the chairs, which squeaked in protest. Horton thought the Super looked troubled but then Uckfield’s expression was often one of bad temper.
Gaye relayed the information about the time of death being a lot later than when the victim had actually been shot. She concluded by saying that she’d let Uckfield have her full report on Monday after she’d viewed the radiology images. Horton offered her a car to take her to the port to collect her Mini but she declined. ‘It’s only a five-minute walk under the subway.’
When she had left, Horton gave a succinct account of his interview with the Veermans, including the discrepancy in the time that Thelma Veerman claimed her husband had arrived home and when he said he had.
Uckfield said, ‘She could have mistaken the time – and besides, if Kenton was shot on Thursday night then it doesn’t matter what time Veerman arrived home in the early hours of Saturday morning.’
Uckfield had a point. It was Veerman’s movements for Thursday night that they needed to check. Horton addressed Trueman. ‘When did Kenton arrive at the car park?’
‘We’re still waiting for the information and for the CCTV images.’
‘They’re taking their time.’
‘It’s the weekend and the staff who can help won’t be in until Monday.’
Annoying, thought Horton. Uckfield made no comment though, which surprised Horton, as usually Uckfield would have been bellowing at Trueman that, weekend or not, he needed that information now!
Horton said, ‘Well at least we can conduct a search of the area where Kenton’s body was found and there’s his car to examine for forensic evidence. I’d like to follow up Veerman’s movements for Thursday evening.’ But even that might be difficult at the weekend. He doubted if the same staff would be on duty, and certainly not the administration or the out-patient clinic staff.
Uckfield rubbed his neck and shifted his bulky figure in the chair. Horton saw him throw Bliss a glance and quickly tried to interpret it. What was going on here? Uckfield sniffed and said, ‘Veerman’s not the only client Kenton was investigating.’
‘Are there any others with an apartment in Admiralty Towers?’
Bliss answered. ‘No.’
‘What about this Roger Watling? Does he feature on Kenton’s list? Have we checked out his alibi?’<
br />
Again Bliss replied, ‘Eunice Swallows claims he’s not connected with any of Kenton’s investigations.’
‘Can we trust her evidence?’
‘Of course we can,’ Bliss snapped.
Why? Because you say so? Horton was about to voice his opinions when Uckfield jumped in. ‘In case you don’t believe that, Inspector, DCI Bliss is to go into Swallows on Monday morning, undercover, and with Eunice Swallows’ full permission.’
That gave Eunice Swallows two nights and one day to sanitize her records. Horton said nothing. He’d only be wasting his breath. The decision had already been made and he could tell by Uckfield’s steely gaze that nothing was going to change it.
Uckfield hauled himself up. ‘DCI Bliss is to start employment there as a freelance private investigator engaged by Eunice Swallows to take over Jasper Kenton’s cases. This will give her access to all the agency’s files and reports and especially to those that Kenton was working on. She’ll have complete access to his office computer and will liaise with the Hi-Tech Unit as and when needed. This way we can preserve Swallows’ client confidentiality and keep the investigation low key. It’s a pity you interviewed the Veermans.’ Uckfield put his baleful eye on Horton, who had to choke back the reply that he’d been ordered to do so by Uckfield himself. Uckfield was backtracking with the speed of a landslide off the coast of Dorset.
‘You didn’t tell them how Kenton was found?’ Uckfield queried.
That wasn’t even worthy of answering so Horton said nothing, just pressed his lips together. What the hell was going on here? Trueman’s expression was inscrutable as usual. Marsden looked baffled but then he was too young and too junior to have been involved in any high-level discussion that had obviously taken place before Horton’s arrival. DI Dennings, the fifteen stone of muscles that Gaye Clayton called Neanderthal man, was looking smug and Bliss looked confident and cocky.
Uckfield said, ‘Did the Veermans strike you as the blabbing kind?’
‘No,’ Horton tersely replied. ‘I don’t think they’ve got a lot to blab about. Their marital breakdown is hardly front-page gossip but Brett Veerman said he’ll be complaining about the forcible entry.’
‘Shame you barged in like that before having all the facts.’
So that was the way it was going to be. He was being made scapegoat.
Uckfield continued. ‘DCI Bliss will report directly to me. The ACC and I will make the decision on who needs closer investigation. From the media point of view and for those outside this room the investigation is to be kept low key.’
‘How low?’ Horton asked tetchily. So bloody low that it was going to be buried in the basement? And if the orders came from on high then Uckfield or Bliss would follow them slavishly; both valued their promotion prospects too much to do otherwise.
Uckfield eyed him steadily. ‘As far as anyone outside this room is concerned, Kenton’s death looks to be accidental.’
‘Strange bloody accident,’ muttered Horton, earning a black look from Bliss. ‘How did he end up dead on the Isle of Wight in a sail cloth?’
Uckfield ignored him. ‘Sergeant Elkins and PC Ripley will also be told not to speak to the media about the incident.’
‘And the search for the murder weapon?’ Horton asked.
‘It’s unlikely to be in the woods or on the beach,’ Uckfield answered in a dismissive tone that said don’t contradict me. ‘But a search will be conducted if our enquiries establish it is necessary.’
Yes, and if the Chief Constable approves it with Lord Eames’ blessings thought Horton angrily.
Uckfield continued. ‘If the media or anyone else outside the inquiry discovers that Kenton was wrapped in a sail cloth then we’ll think again. But for now the official line is that Kenton’s body was found on the shore on the north of the island with all the hallmarks of it being a tragic accident.’
‘Is that what we tell his sister?’ Horton asked tersely.
Bliss answered. ‘It’s what she has been told and she didn’t question it.’
‘She wouldn’t if she hasn’t been given the full facts,’ snapped Horton.
Bliss said, ‘The Wiltshire police say she showed no emotion at the news of her brother’s death. She told them that she’d lost touch with him years ago. She doesn’t want to identify the body but she said she’ll make funeral arrangements once the body is released. Eunice Swallows will make the formal identification on Monday at the Portsmouth mortuary.’
Uckfield added, ‘The Coroner has been informed and more time has been granted before a formal inquest takes place to allow DCI Bliss to work undercover.’
‘It’s amazing what being a peer of the realm can do,’ Horton muttered.
Uckfield scowled at him and Bliss pursed her lips together. But it was Uckfield who answered. ‘It’s not the fact that the body was discovered on Lord Eames’ property—’
Horton scoffed, drawing another dark look and a deep frown of disapproval from Bliss.
‘But that he is currently undertaking some very delicate trade negotiations in Russia and this could jeopardize them. The media would have a field day. They’d imply he was involved and that would wreck his credibility or at least question it and delay the negotiations, maybe even halt them. It’s taken Lord Eames, the Department of Trade and Industry and the Foreign Office four years to get this far.’
So Eames was pulling the strings to get it hushed up. He must have been very annoyed when Mike Danby told him about the corpse. And Eames would know that Danby, an ex-copper, wouldn’t move the body just to please His Lordship. Horton wondered if Eames had asked him to. Eames would also know that Danby would tow the party line and keep quiet over the circumstances of Kenton’s death. He had too much to lose by not doing so. And what if Horton was to mention his beachcomber, Wyndham Lomas? What would Lord Eames do then? But Horton thought he knew the answer to that. He said nothing. He could tell that Bliss was delighted with her high-profile assignment. Had she been chosen because of her connection with Eunice Swallows? You bet, thought Horton. But it made sense.
He said, ‘So we sit around until Monday.’
Uckfield glared at him. ‘On Monday there will be a full forensic examination of Jasper Kenton’s car.’
‘And his apartment?’
‘It’s locked and we have the only key to it. It’s not going anywhere tomorrow and it will only raise curiosity if we seal it off with crime-scene tape and post an officer outside. Write up your reports and let Sergeant Trueman have them.’
‘And that’s it?’
Bliss said crisply, ‘I understand that Sergeant Cantelli has a meeting with DI Grimes on Monday morning to discuss the racist attacks on restaurants. I’m hoping that you and your team will get a quick result.’ So it was his team now, not hers? She really had wangled her way into the Major Crime Team and Uckfield didn’t appear to be protesting. Well he was welcome to the ice maiden. He was being squeezed out. Was that at Lord Eames’ request, he wondered, heading back to his office. At least he didn’t have to disturb Cantelli’s weekend.
At his desk he checked his messages. There was nothing of any great importance and there had been no further attacks on restaurants last night. He hoped it would stay that way tonight. His reports could wait until Monday. No one else seemed in a hurry to do much so why should he? But he settled himself at his desk and called up the databases. First he turned his attention to the beachcomber. As he’d expected there was no record of a Wyndham Lomas that fitted the profile of the beachcomber. The name was false. He was curious as to why Lomas, or whatever his real name was, had gone to the trouble of having cards printed. Was Lomas a con merchant who Kenton had been after, the cards part of his guise to fool people into thinking he was pukka?
He extracted it from his wallet and studied it carefully. There was only the name on it, hardly worth having it printed, but he could see that it had been run off on a computer printer rather than being produced by a professional printing company. Perhaps Lomas
added a phone number or email address depending on his scam. He placed the card in an evidence bag and sent it by internal post to Jane Astley in the fingerprint bureau, asking her to let him know if she could get any prints from it that weren’t his.
Next he looked up Brett Veerman, recalling the intelligent, self-assured, calm man with an air of arrogance about him. Veerman had threatened to make a complaint regarding the forcible entry of his apartment, but on reflection, Horton wondered if he would. His protest struck Horton as being an act, almost as though he had been going through the motions expected of him. Maybe he was being fanciful but the more he considered it the less he could dismiss it.
Brett Veerman had no convictions, not even for speeding. Horton wasn’t surprised. He typed Veerman’s name into an Internet search engine and was soon reading about his career. It was pretty impressive stuff. Not that Horton understood it all, but clearly Veerman was a well-respected expert in his field with a string of initials after his name. Horton had no idea what they stood for. He read that Veerman had trained at Southampton Hospital where he had qualified with a distinction in surgery. He was an expert in cataract surgery, the treatment of glaucoma as well as corneal grafts and laser eye surgery. He was a Fellow of the Royal College of Ophthalmologists, and saw private patients in clinics in London and Portsmouth and at both locations also treated NHS patients. He’d pioneered a number of innovative microsurgical instruments, which, Horton thought, must have brought him in a bob or two, and he was much in demand as a guest lecturer around the world. Veerman obviously had a very big reputation to protect and if Kenton had got something dirty on him then perhaps Veerman would go to extreme lengths to protect it.
He switched off his computer, picked up his helmet and jacket and, turning off the light, headed through CID. Then there was Thelma Veerman. An embittered woman. No, not embittered, but cold inside like the house he had seen. He flicked off the light in CID. As though all emotion had been frozen inside her. His mobile phone rang. It was Mike Danby. Horton smiled wryly to himself. He’d been expecting it.
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