Dead Man's Wharf dah-4

by Pauline Rowson

  Horton said nothing.

  After a moment Oldham sat back with a sigh that was like a strong south-westerly but not so damp. He added, with all the force of an announcement on cup final day at Pompey football ground, 'Obviously he did pick on someone else only this time he got more than he bargained for.'

  'Any idea who?'

  'No.'

  Horton held Oldham's gaze and noted the intelligence in the piercing blue-grey eyes. He wouldn't like to cross Ryan Oldham either in business or personal life. He let the silence hang for a moment, hearing the telephone ringing in the adjoining Portakabin and someone saying, 'The police are with him now. He's not in a very good mood, best tell him later.' Tell him what? Horton wondered. Whatever it was he hoped he'd be several miles away by then.

  'Did Farnsworth ever come here, before his death, that is?'

  'No.'

  'Did you ever threaten him?'

  'No.'

  'Meet him?'

  'Once and that was more than I could stomach. I was at a Chamber of Commerce lunch at the Queen's Hotel. I don't usually go to them, but this one I did, more's the pity. It was part of a marketing drive by some whiz-kid I engaged for six months. Waste of fucking time.'

  'When was this?' Horton asked.

  'Last August.'

  He thought back to what Daisy had told him about Farnsworth's row with Oldham — that had been in August.

  'Do you practise the martial arts, Mr Oldham? Karate, that kind of thing?'

  Oldham stared at Horton as if he'd just announced he was going to take his clothes off and dance naked round the yard.

  'Do I what?'

  No, thought Horton, stupid question, but then it was his job to ask stupid questions as well as intelligent ones because sometimes the stupid ones got you the answers.

  Oldham said, 'Look at the size of me. Do I need some namby-pamby oriental crap to fight my way out of trouble?'

  Horton would hardly call it namby-pamby, but he took Oldham's point. This man would simply crush someone. And if he was going to kill, then he certainly wouldn't have done so in his own backyard and arranged the body so meticulously.

  Horton held Oldham's hostile glare and said evenly, 'I need to eliminate you and then concentrate on finding who did kill him.'

  'When you find him give him my regards.'

  Horton kept his expression impassive. After a short pause, he added, 'What was the row with Farnsworth about? And don't tell me there was no row or that it was over raping the seabed because I won't believe you.' It was like playing a game of poker, Horton thought. Oldham was eyeing him as though he was trying to judge whether he could bluff his way out of this.

  After a moment Oldham sniffed and then thrust his sixteen-stone bulk across the desk. His face was so close to Horton that he could see every blemish and every line on it.

  'If this goes any further than this room or reaches those pricks out there, you're dead meat, Horton, understand?'

  'I'll overlook the fact that you've threatened a senior police officer. Go on.'

  'The row was over that tosser's approaches towards my wife, Mavis. Yeah, the bastard made a play for her.'

  'When? How?' Horton asked surprised. He had no idea what Mavis looked like, but he imagined someone so completely different to Daisy and Corinna that it was difficult for him to think that Farnsworth would have wasted so much as a winning smile on her. Then he silently scolded himself. He'd once admonished PC Johns for stereotyping people and jumping to conclusions based on his own prejudices and here he was doing the same.

  'It was at that stupid Chamber of Commerce lunch that I told you about in August. Farnsworth showed up. Fuck knows why but he made a beeline for Mavis and started chatting her up.'

  Horton didn't think Mavis would be very flattered to hear her husband say that. His eyes quickly searched Oldham's desk and cabinet tops, but there was no photograph of her, or anyone, only pictures of trucks.

  'I thought, OK, it's only a lunch, let the bastard have his fun. Mavis could handle him. If it boosted her ego then no harm done, except I discovered he called her the next day and asked her to meet him. She told him to sod off, politely of course, but that didn't suit the scumbag. He kept on pestering her, Mavis told me. I phoned him and told him to piss off or I'd crush his balls. He got the message.'

  And that must have been the telephone conversation that Daisy had overheard. He said, 'As a result of which Farnsworth said he would get even.'

  'He started telling the press I was a profiteering capitalist bastard.'

  'And did you threaten him again because of that? Did you arrange to meet him here on Tuesday night? Did you kill him?'

  Oldham looked as if he was about to explode. His eyes were hot with rage. Horton remained still and silent. Then after a moment the fire went out of him. Steadily he said, 'I didn't kill him and I didn't meet him here. Someone's used those press stories to dump his body in my yard to implicate me.'

  'So who hates you enough to do that?'

  'Hates me?' Oldham looked surprised, then scowled. 'I guess I've got a few enemies, but I doubt they'd go to the trouble of killing that jumped-up idiot just to get even with me.'

  'Why not? It's losing you money, maybe that's what they wanted.'

  Oldham hauled himself up, shaking his head. He reminded Horton of a cross between a bull mastiff and a St Bernard dog. 'The type of men I know who'd like to see me ruined wouldn't have the brains to work that out. They'd come armed with baseball bats and smash the place up. I reckon your killer read that stuff in the paper and thought they'd sidetrack you lot into thinking I did it, just to waste your time, and I've already wasted enough of mine.' Oldham crossed to the door and flung it open.

  Horton didn't always oblige but on this occasion he thought Oldham was correct. He was wasting his time here.

  After fighting his way through the reporters, he climbed on the Harley, but instead of heading for the crematorium he turned left and followed the short road south towards the sailing centre.

  Kicking down the stand, he gazed up at the modern glass building with its tower like a truncated lighthouse giving high visibility across all aspects of Langstone Harbour. Pity it had been dark when Farnsworth had been killed and no one here to witness it. But then that was why the killer had chosen such an isolated location late at night.

  Stepping past the row of dinghies and canoes, he made for the shore, where he turned northwards and after fifty yards came to a steel-wired fence and a rusted sign that told him he was at Oldham's Wharf and he could go no further. The fence didn't go all the way down to the lowest tidemark and if he had been wearing waders maybe he could have squelched his way in the mud directly to the quayside. Though he wouldn't like to have tried it.

  He squinted through the slanting rain at Langstone Harbour. On a high tide and with a good engine no one would have seen or heard their killer come here by boat. Oldham's security lights would also have been on to show the killer the way. There were no uniformed patrol officers or guard dogs, though the sign said there were. Dennings had confirmed that. And the killer knew this because he had either studied the place, visited it or worked there. Ian Keynes would know everything about Oldham's Wharf.

  Horton returned to the sailing centre and after showing his warrant card retrieved a list of boat owners and members. Scanning it quickly he couldn't see Manners, Lester, Jackson, Kirkwood or Keynes on the list. He tucked it inside his jacket and headed for the crematorium.

  It was the right sort of weather for a funeral, he thought, wet, windy and thoroughly depressing. The kind of day where you never got to switch off the lights in your house and the chill and damp seeped right through to your bones.

  His mind returned to the case notes on Peter Ebury. Last night, over a hastily prepared meal, he had read them. Two things had jumped out at him. The first, why was the armoured vehicle with the store's takings in a country lane when Ebury and Mayfield had held it up? It was off the beaten track and not on the route they shou
ld have taken to their next collection. The driver had said that he wanted a pee, but there were plenty of other places to stop for that along the top of Portsdown Hill. And whoever had heard of a security guard stopping for a pee with a van load of money?

  The second point was why had it been so easy for Peter to get caught? If he had been as clever and manipulative as the deputy governor of Kingston Prison had said, then why hadn't he figured out a better escape route?

  Ebury had pleaded not guilty, a charge that could hardly stick when discovered with a car full of money. But Ebury's story had been that he and Mayfield had been in the process of stealing the car when the police arrived. They'd walked from a pub in the nearby village of Clanfield and, seeing the car abandoned in the lay-by on the A3 to London, intended to steal it to get back to Portsmouth. They claimed to have known nothing about the money until the police showed up. No one in any of the pubs could give them an alibi and Thomson, the other security guard, had recognized their voices. The gun was found near the lay-by with Ebury's prints on it and there was gun residue on his hands. Mayfield had confessed under questioning, and pleaded guilty. Only then had Ebury changed his plea to guilty. Case closed…except it left a bad taste in Horton's mouth.

  He swung into the crematorium and found Lee waiting for him in her car.

  'Marion Keynes swears blind she never stole Irene's belongings,' she said as Horton eased himself into the Ford.

  'You believe her?'

  Lee shrugged. 'She's definitely hiding something, and with a bit more pressure we could get to the truth.'

  Which is what? thought Horton.

  'Did you get anything from re-examining the statements?'

  'I haven't had the chance to go through them yet.'

  Was she lying? He thought so. He wouldn't mind betting that she had sat in her hotel bedroom late into the night analysing every word, but either she didn't want to be drawn to comment or had spotted something and wanted to check it out first.

  'I'm going to the Rest Haven after this to get the names and addresses of some relatives,' she added.

  Through the rain, Horton saw Gary Manners, the sub-aqua club secretary, climb out of his Jaguar and run towards the chapel. The hearse arrived and behind it a large black limousine carrying Mr and Mrs Collins. Horton pushed open the car door allowing a blast of wind and rain to hurl itself angrily at him.

  'Leave speaking to the relatives for now. Call on all the pawnbrokers, antique and junk shops near to where Marion Keynes lives to see if any of Irene's jewellery has shown up. Cantelli put out a circular but there's been no response. Put some pressure on.' That would keep her busy for a while, he thought wryly.

  'Couldn't DC Walters do that?'

  Horton paused and eyed her coldly. 'I'm asking you to do it, Lee.'

  Anger flashed for a moment in her dark eyes. Tough! If she wanted to be one of his team then she would act accordingly, he thought with satisfaction. Either that or tell him the truth. He pulled off his heavy leather jacket as they filed into the chapel.

  Daisy Pemberton gave him a sad smile which made his heart skip half a beat. She looked even more attractive in black, with her beret perched at an angle on her dark hair. Seeing her reminded him that he hadn't contacted the police psychologist, but then he'd hardly had time for that.

  He drew a scowl from Angela Northwood of the nursing home and a serious nod from Gary Manners, but there wasn't anyone else he knew or recognized, apart from the Collinses. He had wondered if Nathan Lester would show up, but there was no sign of him. Perhaps he couldn't leave his antiques shop, though Horton thought closing it for a couple of hours was hardly going to deprive the people of Portsmouth. And he had expected to see more people from the nursing home.

  'Perhaps they're short-staffed,' Lee said, scouring the crowd of grieving friends and relatives as they filed out of the chapel. The service had been brief. The vicar had done his best to chart Daniel's short life, but Horton didn't think it had caught his personality as described to him by Daisy. None of his family and friends had spoken.

  'Anyone here stir any thought processes, Lee?' he asked.

  'No.'

  But there was plenty to stir the emotions, he thought, glancing at Mr and Mrs Collins. The strain of their sorrow was etched on every pore of their haggard faces and the weight had fallen off them leaving them looking like a pair of walking skeletons. Whatever the outcome of their inquiries into Daniel's death, Horton hoped they'd reach a conclusion and one that wouldn't cause the Collinses any further sorrow, but he wouldn't bank on it.

  'I'll have a word with Gary Manners. You get working on those junk shops and pawnbrokers.'

  He watched Lee dash across the car park in the rain. Was she the only person here from the Intelligence Directorate or were her colleagues out there video-recording this crowd? He couldn't see anyone, but that didn't mean they weren't there.

  'Sad occasion,' Gary Manners said solemnly after Horton nodded him a greeting. He watched as Daisy passed on her respects to the Collinses. Then she gave him a brief nod before turning towards the car park.

  'Do you still believe Daniel's death was suspicious?' Manners continued. 'I guess you do otherwise you wouldn't be here. I can't think who would want to harm him. He was so quiet and… well, nondescript. I don't mean that disrespectfully, but he's not the sort that gets himself killed.'

  'Meaning Nick Farnsworth was.'

  Manners eyed him carefully. Horton felt a frisson of excitement, sensing that Manners was making a rapid mental calculation about whether or not to reveal some information about Farnsworth. After a moment he said, 'If I'm honest, yes. Nick liked to live dangerously, especially where women were concerned.'

  Horton had already gathered that. He wondered if Manners had suffered the same experience as Jason Kirkwood, but there was no bitterness in his tone or even a hint of jealousy.

  'You think an angry husband or boyfriend killed Mr Farnsworth?'

  'It's possible. He had a number of affairs.'

  'He told you about them?'

  Manners looked straight at Horton. 'Nick and I were in the navy together. We served on the same ship.'

  Did you now! Horton surveyed Manners with interest, recalling Dr Clayton's words about certain personnel in the armed forces being trained to use karate. Manners looked a pretty fit bloke too.

  'Nick couldn't help himself,' Manners continued. 'Sex was like a compulsion with him, or an illness depending on how you view it. He couldn't go without it. And he liked a conquest, the more difficult the better.'

  Horton moved aside to let some of the mourners file past him. Soon the Collinses would be heading back for the wake. Manners' words made him think of Mavis Oldham. He guessed that the fact that she was married to a hard man like Ryan Oldham was the challenge rather than anything to do with the woman's charms, though it could be both.

  'Are you married, sir?'

  Manners, following Horton's reasoning, gave a twisted smile. 'Widowed, five years ago. And no, my wife didn't have an affair with Nick.'

  Are you sure? thought Horton, holding his gaze.

  'And before you ask I haven't got any daughters either.' Manners' expression was solemn and reflective when he added, 'I wasn't surprised Nick was picked for that television series; he was very charismatic.'

  Could Manners have been jealous? He gave no sign of it. Horton was getting the impression though that Manners was edging towards telling him something important, only he wasn't quite sure how to say it. OK, let's help him out. 'Did you ever see him in a temper?'

  'Nick didn't need to lose his temper. He could charm and joke his way out of problems.'

  Evasive, but there was that slight hesitation and unease in Manner's demeanour. He needed more prompting. 'When he did lose his temper though, how did he behave?' Now let's see what little secrets fly out.

  'If the person had really upset Nick, or hadn't let him get his way, or even made him look foolish, then he'd get his own back.'

  Which tied
in with what had happened to Ryan Oldham and what both Daisy and Jason Kirkwood had said about Farnsworth.

  'How?'

  'Whatever you valued Nick destroyed,' Manners said, now with an edge of bitterness in his voice.

  At last. 'So what did he destroy of yours?'

  Manners held his gaze. 'Let's walk to my car.'

  Horton fell into step beside him. It was still raining, but Horton hardly noticed it and neither, he thought, did Manners. After a moment Manners resumed. 'We were both naval divers.'

  Well, that answered one of Horton's questions. Only another hundred or so to go. 'What happened?'

  'Nick and I were wreck-diving off Cornwall in 1994, not on navy time, but our own. Visibility was low and it was dark. We became separated. Unknown to Nick, or so I thought at the time, I got wedged in the wreck. I was running out of air. I didn't think I'd get out, but somehow I managed it. Nick had already begun his ascent to the surface. He said later that he thought I'd already gone up. Because I was short of air I ascended too quickly missing decompression stops. I was taken by the coastguard to hospital and then to the decompression chamber suffering from decompression illness. I didn't think it would have any long-term effects, and for many people it doesn't, but I was one of the unlucky ones. The whole incident had an adverse effect on me: nightmares, palpitations. I was eventually diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, and along with that I ended up with ongoing pains in my joints and limbs. The navy said I had become a liability. I had to kiss goodbye to the Mine Warfare Clearance course that I was scheduled to undergo and Nick wasn't. I also had to kiss farewell to diving and the navy. The nearest I get to diving now is running the club and taking the boat out. Some people might say it's like rubbing salt into the wounds, but not for me. And if the navy taught me anything other than diving and discipline, it's good organizational skills. I'm second to none when it comes to health and safety. It's what I do for a living. I'm a health and safety inspector.'

  'You're saying that Farnsworth knew you were trapped in that wreck and deliberately left you there?' Manners had just given himself the perfect motive for killing his old buddy.