Death Lies Beneath (12 page)

Wainstone was saying, ‘He came in, ordered a drink and sat drinking it. I didn’t see him talk to anyone and I didn’t see him leave. He was still there when I called time at eleven so he must have left just afterwards and before I threw out the regulars.’

‘Who were?’

‘I’ve already told you. You’ve got a list of their names.’

Eames said brightly, ‘Maybe there are a couple you forgot to mention, sir, easily done when you’re busy. For example, this man.’

She thrust across a photograph of Reggie Thomas.

‘No. He wasn’t here.’

‘Have you seen him before?’

‘No.’

‘Or any of these people?’ Eames showed him a photograph of Woodley’s mourners taken from Clarke’s video.

‘No.’

‘If you could just take a closer look, sir, to make absolutely certain, then we won’t ask the health and safety inspectorate to pay you a visit, or the vice or drugs squad, and neither will we alert the RSPCA or the endangered species crime team about the parrot you have in the back room.’

Wainstone looked alarmed. ‘I’ve had Percy for years.’

‘I’m sure you have, sir. And I’m sure that he is kept nowhere near food. Food and Hygiene Act, sir. It could affect the renewal of your licence.’

Horton was impressed.

Wainstone’s eyes were shifting between them. Then he studied the photograph. ‘I’ve never seen any of them before. OK?’ He stormed around to their side of the bar, making sure to close the door that led into the back room and his living quarters and swiftly crossed the pub where he threw open the door. ‘Now bugger off. I’ve got work to do before I open up.’

Horton stayed put for a while and watched Wainstone shift uncomfortably. Then crossing to the door he nodded at Eames, who retrieved the photographs of Salacia from the pocket of her jacket and put them in front of Wainstone’s bleary eyes.

‘Have you seen her before, sir?’

‘No I bloody well haven’t.’

‘Or you might recognize her in this picture with fair hair.’

Wainstone dashed a glance at it. Angrily he said, ‘I wouldn’t recognize her if she was stark bollock naked, because I’ve never seen her before.’

Horton said, ‘Her body was found at Tipner Quay yesterday morning.’

‘So? That’s nothing to do with me.’

‘I never said it was,’ Horton answered smoothly. He held Wainstone’s eye contact. Then said brightly, ‘Do you have a menu?’

Wainstone started with surprise. ‘Yeah, why? Want to book a table?’ he sneered.

‘If I wanted a colonic irrigation. Menu. I’d like a copy.’ He held out his hand.

Wainstone gave an exaggerated sigh and whipped one from the table nearest him.

Horton took the greasy piece of laminated card. ‘We might have to return to ask you further questions. This is a double murder investigation.’

‘I’ve told you. I’ve never seen him or her.’

Horton looked him steadily in the eye. ‘For once, Mr Wainstone, I’m inclined to believe you.’ He turned on the threshold, unable to resist an exit line. ‘After all, what would a nice woman like her be doing in a shit hole like this?’

‘B
urger and chips; sausage and chips; egg and chips; cod and chips. It’s not exactly gourmet food,’ said Eames, reading the menu Horton had handed her.

‘And you’d know all about that,’ he quipped.

‘It was one of the subjects taught on my Higher Certificate in Finishing in Switzerland.’

He threw her a surprised look. Was she joking? Maybe not. ‘Didn’t think there were any finishing schools left in these emancipated times.’

‘Oh, yes, and places are in great demand, more so than ever. But I am partial to cod and chips.’

Perhaps she expected him to buy her some. ‘I’ll send Walters next time. It’s his kind of food but it doesn’t sound like the type of last meal Salacia would have eaten.’ They were still waiting on the analysis of stomach contents from Dr Clayton. ‘What was all that about parrots and endangered species?’

‘The tattoo on his hand extending up his arm was of a parrot and I saw the cage through the open door. Last year I worked on a case on trafficking in endangered species. We managed to identify and apprehend a group of criminals illicitly trading exotic birds from South America. It might not sound much but there’s big money to be made and sadly it’s a growing area with the involvement of organized crime groups. Many of the routes used for smuggling illegal immigrants and drug trafficking are also used for smuggling rare animals, corals and valuable plants. Maybe Victor Wainstone does more than keep a parrot for himself, and it’s always good to throw in the line about endangered species, gets them nervous.’

‘I’ll remember that.’ It was a good piece of observation but he had no need to tell her that. ‘I think he’s telling the truth when he says he’s never seen Salacia or any of Woodley’s chums. I want a quick look around the area before we return to the car.’

They crossed the road and instead of turning right into a tree-lined road of council flats that would bring them back onto the main road where the car was parked they headed south in the direction of the Hard and the waterfront. After about twenty yards the road curved left, eastwards, the flats giving way to the rear gardens of those in an adjoining street and a small park on the opposite side of the road. Horton stopped at the bend and looked back at the Lord Horatio. Then he crossed the road, with Eames following. He wondered what she was thinking. Clearly this wasn’t what she had been raised to. But this area had been home for him for three years in a children’s home and then with a couple of foster parents he’d rather forget, until his last and loving foster parents, Bernard and Eileen Lichfield, had moved from here after he’d been with them a while, he couldn’t remember how long, to a better area on the eastern edge of the city, not far from where Cantelli lived. There he’d changed schools for the third and final time since the age of eleven. He’d still had his rebellious moments but Bernard and Eileen had been patient and loving and had understood. And he wished he could thank them for that.

He drew a breath, pushing aside the memories that seemed determined to haunt and torment him, and stopped under the shelter of the trees bordering a small space of green and a play area where two young women wearing hijabs were pushing toddlers on swings. There were shrubs to his right and two elderly men eyed them from their viewpoint of a park bench. He could see the entrance to the Lord Horatio. Woodley’s assailant could have waited here until Woodley left and then followed him. But he could also have waited outside the pub. If it was Reggie Thomas he couldn’t have been inside the pub because Woodley would have seen him, unless they had left together with Woodley completely unsuspecting that Reggie would try to kill him. But that would mean not only was the landlord lying, but so too were those they had managed to find and question who had been drinking in the pub that night. Still, that wouldn’t be surprising. Lying was a way of life for Wainstone and most of his regulars.

He gazed around; there were no security cameras. One of the occupants in the flats opposite might have seen someone lingering but if they had they’d not said during the house-to-house. But as he’d said to Eames, silence was the common currency in these parts. Most viewed the police as vermin.

He continued walking. Eames fell into step beside him. The road once again swung south past a derelict boarded-up building displaying graffiti. After another twenty yards they came out onto the busy main road. The pavement opposite was packed with young people in their twenties spilling out of coaches, and from the nearby railway station, many wearing brightly coloured Wellington boots even though the day was hot and sunny, and nearly all of them carrying heavy rucksacks or bags.

‘I know where they’re headed,’ Eames said.

It didn’t need great detective powers to work out it was the same place as they were going and where half the local police seemed to be, including DI Dennings: the Isle of Wight Festival.

Turning to Eames, he said, ‘Take the car to the ferry. I’ll meet you there.’

He caught a glimpse of curiosity before she turned and headed back to the car. Horton stood and surveyed the area. Across the road were the public toilets and then a cafe in front of which was a taxi rank. Then came the road which led to the railway and bus station, where Woodley could have alighted. Next was a coffee stall doing a brisk trade with tourists and festival-goers, and on the Hard was the Net Fishermen’s Association hut and the small tourism office in front of the iron-clad historic ship HMS
Warrior
and the entrance to the Historic Dockyard and visitor attractions, where hordes of foreign students and more tourists were congregated. Recalling what Sawyer had said last night about Zeus sending someone to suss him out, Horton scanned the crowds. There didn’t appear to be anyone following him and neither had he spotted anyone at the marina earlier that morning. No car had followed them from the station. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone.

He crossed the road and headed east towards the entrance to the waterfront shopping centre, sparing time to cast a glance at the church which had recently been robbed of its brass plaques. That investigation looked like going nowhere at the moment unless the Environment Agency had something to report on illegal scrap-metal merchants or uniform came up with some new intelligence. But he noted that all the thefts on land at least had taken place in this area, which to his mind meant someone living locally. Not that that got him much further forward. It was densely populated and close-mouthed, as he’d already indicated to Eames.

He dived into the crowded malls, registering who was behind, ahead and beside him. No one looked remotely interested in what he was doing. Last night he had vowed he wouldn’t live in fear, and now he told himself that neither would he live his life looking over his shoulder for pursuers. He’d deal with it
when
it happened because he knew it wasn’t a case of
if
it happened.

He thought about the robbery in north Hampshire in 1977 that Sawyer had told him about. He was curious to know more about it and decided to look up the case notes when he had time. Perhaps there would be a description of the jewellery stolen. He wasn’t sure where that would get him but it was worth a try.

He came out onto the bustling waterfront and paused at the railings to stare across the narrow stretch of water to the marina and the tower blocks of Gosport opposite. Several yachts and small craft were making their way into the harbour and out to the Solent. If he decided to pitch in with Sawyer, Bliss would probably put the flags out and declare a public holiday. He’d miss working with Cantelli, but that needn’t stop him seeing the sergeant and confiding in him. Cantelli knew more about his past than anyone else, including Catherine, and Steve Uckfield, who had once been a close friend until ambition had got in the way. But he was reluctant to burden the sergeant with his personal problems. Cantelli had a large family to look after, and Horton certainly didn’t want to put him at risk.

He watched the Wightlink ferry begin to ease its way into its restricted berth to his left. To say he didn’t care for Sawyer was a massive understatement, but should he shelve his personal feelings for the sake of discovering the truth? And he
would
be helping to flush out a notorious criminal. Should he accept Sawyer’s offer?

He turned and headed for the car-ferry terminal. There would be time to consider it later. For now he had a ferry to catch and a blonde waiting for him and even across the distance of the busy car park, and up against some stiff competition from many of the young and pretty festival-goers, Eames shone out like a beacon on a dark night, attracting lustful and wishful glances from the men and admiring and resentful ones from the women, though clearly she wasn’t aware of it. She smiled at him as he headed towards the car. Again he wondered what on earth had made her join the police when she looked as though she ought to be running some posh art gallery in Mayfair.

Twenty minutes later they were sailing out of port and he’d fetched a coffee for himself and a bottle of water for Eames, thinking how Cantelli would have hated this. He got sick just looking at the sea, a decided drawback to living in a seaside city. She didn’t ask him where he’d been or what he’d been doing. That notched up a point in her favour.

‘I’ll call in,’ he said heading for the deck.

‘I’ll come with you. It’s too nice a day to waste sitting inside.’

He was tempted to retort that he didn’t need minding before telling himself he was being too touchy. That was Sawyer’s doing. On deck though he walked away from her without giving an explanation and found a quiet spot. He turned back to see her leaning on the rail, looking out to sea, the breeze ruffling her blonde hair. She lifted a hand to brush a few stray strands off her face. He couldn’t see her eyes because of the sunglasses but there was no denying she made a striking figure. He turned away.

It took a while for Trueman to answer.

‘Anything new?’ asked Horton, hopefully.

‘I got a PC to take Cliff Wesley’s statement without Uckfield knowing that he’d come in. I didn’t fancy mopping up the blood. The Super gave another media appeal after the briefing. It was the ACC’s suggestion.’

More like a command, thought Horton.

‘That, and the national newspaper coverage, means the phones haven’t stopped ringing. Walters has been roped in to answer them. DCI Bliss is interviewing Reggie Thomas.’

Lucky old Reggie.
‘Anything useful from the appeals?’

‘Salacia’s been seen in Milton Keynes, Market Harborough and all points west of Plymouth but nowhere within a twenty-mile radius of Portsmouth.’

Horton wasn’t surprised. Public appeals always resulted in speculative sightings and a great deal of wasted time. But sometimes, just occasionally, they got a result.

‘And Mrs Harlow’s been on the telephone to make a formal complaint about the press hounding her because we gave her name to them.’

‘We?’ There was a slight pause that told Horton that was not what Patricia Harlow had said. She’d obviously named him.