Suffocating Sea (28 page)

Who said revenge was a dish best served cold? Too right it bloody was and he would serve it right in Gilmore’s face.

Twenty

Tuesday: 8 a.m.

Horton rose early and managed to clear a mountain of paperwork before Cantelli knocked and entered. Swiftly, Horton brought the sergeant up to date with events.

‘So when are you going to tell me about almost being fried alive?’ Cantelli declared.

Horton cursed silently. The station grapevine was working well. He could see that Cantelli was concerned and the last thing he wanted was him worrying. Light-heartedly he said,

‘I was saving the best bit until last.’

‘You should have called me.’ Cantelli looked peeved.

‘Barney, you’ve got enough to cope with at the moment—’

‘That’s no reason to neglect my friends.’

Horton was warmed by Cantelli’s words. It was typical of him to consider others even in the depths of his own sorrow.

And Horton knew how deep that was. He could see by the haunted look in his dark eyes, sunk like caverns in his lean face, that Cantelli had had little sleep and was grieving inside.

He should be with his family; this wasn’t the place for him but Horton could hardly order him home.

Cantelli said, ‘I hear the boat’s a write-off. So, where are you staying?’

Horton had to tell him. He trusted Cantelli more than anyone else. He glanced at his door; it was open but there was no one immediately outside. Nevertheless, he lowered his voice as he said, ‘Elkins got me a billet on this boat in Gosport Marina. It’s like living in Buckingham Palace after slumming it on poor little
Nutmeg
. No one knows except Elkins, PC

Ripley, Uckfield and you. I’d rather it stay that way until I know who’s after me.’

‘But why, Andy? Why you? And don’t give me all that stuff about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I know it’s tosh.’

Horton sat back and frowned. He should have guessed that Cantelli would see through him, and that he would get to the nub of the matter before either Uckfield or Dennings. Yet, it was difficult for Horton to speak of his mother. He felt this was a defining moment. Should he tell Barney, or whitewash it? But Cantelli deserved more than waffle. This was the man who had stood by him no matter what had been said about his morals, behaviour and professional conduct. Cantelli deserved the truth. After a moment he said, ‘Close the door, Barney.’

Cantelli did as he was told. When he was seated, Horton told him about the newspapers in Gilmore’s study, the conversation that Gutner had overheard and his fears about his mother’s involvement. He didn’t find it easy. He tried to speak dispassionately, as though he was giving a report, and yet he couldn’t ignore the tension inside him. Maybe it showed in his voice? If it did then Cantelli gave no sign he saw it. Cantelli was the first and only person inside the force he had ever spoken to about Jennifer.

The sergeant listened in silence, looking at first puzzled and then deeply concerned, but not pitying. Horton was glad; he couldn’t have stomached that, but then he wouldn’t have expected pity from Cantelli. Even though Cantelli had never known the kind of rejection that Horton had experienced, having been raised in a loving family, Horton knew from working with him over the years that he felt it and understood. He could see it in his expression, too. Cantelli was one of only a handful of people who already knew that he’d been raised in children’s homes and with foster parents, though they rarely spoke of it. Why should they? Horton had consigned it to history until now . . .

Cantelli said, ‘So we need to tackle Sebastian Gilmore and find out what the bastard knows. No more pussy-footing round gymnasiums and swimming pools.’

Horton was heartened by Cantelli’s fervour and yet reigned in by it. Maybe that was what Cantelli had wanted to achieve.

A kind of reverse psychology. Now he was beginning to think like a bloody shrink.

‘Dennings is bringing him in this morning. If he’ll come,’ Horton added.

Knowing Sebastian, Horton reckoned it would only be in the company of his solicitor. Sebastian Gilmore was smart; they’d get nothing out of him. But before Horton could comment further his phone rang and he was surprised to hear Selina Gilmore’s voice.

‘My father’s not come home. I’m worried.’

She should be telephoning Dennings, but she had asked for him, probably because he was the only detective she had met on the case.

‘I didn’t realize he hadn’t come home until our housekeeper told me. She said that Dad had not been down for breakfast and he always is by six thirty sharp. I called his office and I’ve tried his mobile, but there’s no answer.’

Horton didn’t like the sound of this. Could Sebastian Gilmore have done a runner, believing the police to be on his tail? Had Dennings or someone else in the station warned him he was about to be brought in for questioning? But would a man like Gilmore run away? Horton doubted it. Would he leave his house, business and daughter? Perhaps he had wealth stashed away in some offshore account and Selina was in on this too? Should he tell Dennings? Like hell he would.

‘We’ll meet you at the office in ten minutes.’ Replacing his phone he addressed Cantelli. ‘That was Selina Gilmore. Her father’s gone missing.’

On the way to Gilmore’s offices Horton was tempted to tell Cantelli about Catherine taking Emma away but decided against it. He knew Cantelli would be upset and angry on his account and Horton didn’t want to burden him with more of his problems. Instead, Horton wondered aloud if his interview with Janice Hassingham had spooked Gilmore.

Cantelli said, ‘Maybe he’s with a woman his daughter knows nothing about.’

It was possible, Horton thought, as Cantelli drew up outside the office. It was raining heavily, but the yard was humming with activity.

‘Gilmore’s car is here,’ Horton said. It was parked next to Selina’s Mercedes. ‘Perhaps he’s shown up.’

But Selina greeted them in her office, along the corridor from her father’s, with a worried frown. ‘Dad returned from his conference in London late yesterday afternoon. I left him here at seven o’clock,’ she said, looking understandably concerned. ‘He said he had some things to attend to. I went home, had a shower, changed and then went out with some friends for a meal. I didn’t get back until midnight; I thought Dad had gone to bed. When I got up he wasn’t in the house and his car had gone from the garage so I assumed he’d come to work. But he’s not here. I’ve checked everywhere and asked around. No one’s seen him.’

Horton saw the fear in her eyes and heard the concern in her voice. If her father had run out, and she was party to it, then she was a damn good actress.

‘Was your father’s car in the garage at home last night?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t look. I caught a taxi home. I’d been drinking.’

‘Is there anywhere he could have gone?’

‘I’ve tried all his friends and contacts. The manager at Cowes Marina said Dad’s not there and his boat is still at Horsea Marina. Our housekeeper at our place in Portugal hasn’t seen or heard from him. Do you think something could have happened to him? If it has then I blame you; you should have given him protection.’

Her voice was getting louder and angrier.

Horton said evenly, ‘How did he seem yesterday?’

‘His usual self.’

‘He didn’t seem worried or preoccupied about anything?’

‘Only business matters, but that was normal.’ Her phone rang. She snatched it up.

Horton crossed to the window and looked down into the yard. Across the car park he could see one of Gilmore’s two warehouses. There was a forklift truck whizzing in and out with a flashing light and a bleeping sound. The rain swept in off the sea in a blanket of grey. He heard Selina say, ‘Can’t Bill deal with it?’ Then Horton’s attention was caught by a man rushing out of the warehouse. He was calling something out to a colleague who immediately dropped what he was holding and the two men ran back inside the warehouse.

Horton spun round.

‘Stay here,’ he commanded. ‘Sergeant.’

‘What is it? What’s happening?’ Selina cried out after them, slamming down the phone.

Horton was aware that she was hurrying behind them as they raced down the stairs into reception. Whatever had caused the commotion Horton caught the tension of it here before sprinting across the yard.

He pushed back the heavy plastic curtain and stepped into the chilly warehouse with its huge tanks and its smell of fish.

The radio was belting out rubbishy Christmas songs. There was no one to stop him. Even the forklift truck had been abandoned. He heard Selina’s heavy breathing as she caught up with them. There were voices coming from a room further down and on their right.

‘Cantelli, stay with Selina.’

But Selina pushed Cantelli away and Horton nodded at Cantelli to let her go.

He strode forward purposefully, in front of them, his heart hammering against his chest, praying that what he thought might be happening actually wasn’t.

‘Police,’ he said forcefully. The crowd parted before him to reveal a door opening into a freezer. Horton stared down at the frozen giant on the floor, huddled in the foetal position, with icicles hanging off his hair and his eyelashes, his fists clenched around his chest, his eyes wide open, covered in frost.

‘Dad!’

Selina screamed and tried to push past him but Cantelli now took hold of her firmly. It was only a few seconds before the fight went out of her. Cantelli rapidly scanned the crowd, found a sympathetic and homely face on a woman and handed Selina into her care.

Horton said, ‘Stop that music someone.’ It didn’t escape him that it was belting out the strains of ‘Frosty the Snowman’.

He doubted anyone else, except Cantelli, would notice the irony of the song though. That was policemen for you.

Cantelli began to clear the warehouse and Horton tenta-tively stepped into the freezer, not wanting to destroy any evidence. He didn’t think there would be much to see, apart from signs of the desperate struggle of a man not wanting to freeze to death.

The music stopped. Thank God for that! Now all Horton could hear was the humming of the freezer and the water bubbling and running in the giant fish tanks. He pulled out a pair of latex gloves and stretched his fingers inside them. Then he crouched down on his haunches and gently closed Gilmore’s eyes. That was better. He studied the body closely without touching it, shivering from the cold, despite the warmth of his sailing jacket. He could see no physical signs of attack.

It would take a lot to assault a man the size and strength of Sebastian Gilmore and if he had put up a fight his assailant would have known it.

It didn’t look as though there was anything in Gilmore’s clenched fists, but he’d leave that for Dr Clayton to examine either here in situ or on the mortuary slab.

He felt annoyed with himself for not preventing this killing, but he was angrier still with Sebastian Gilmore. If the bloody fool had only told him the truth then he might be alive today, and Horton might also have got closer to the truth about his mother. Now, he wondered if the facts behind her disappearance would go to the grave with Sebastian Gilmore.

He tried to push such thoughts away and concentrate on the frozen corpse before him. It looked to him as though Gilmore had stepped inside the freezer and then someone had slammed the door on him. There would have been no way out, and no one would have heard his cries. Horton shuddered at the thought of such a slow and terrifying death.

Carefully, he patted the frozen pockets of Gilmore’s trousers and loose-fitting casual jacket, and extracted a set of keys.

There was no mobile phone. Not that it would have done the poor man much good if he’d had one; he probably wouldn’t have been able to pick up a signal in here. Had his killer taken it? But no, he wouldn’t have had time before slamming the door on Sebastian Gilmore. Maybe it was in Gilmore’s car or office.

Horton stood up, took a further swift look around and then stepped outside. Cantelli had the crowd huddled under the awning of a second warehouse watching the scene. As a police car swept into the yard, Horton was pleased to see it contained PC Seaton and WPC Somerfield. He gave instructions for Seaton to seal off the warehouse and stand guard over it, and Somerfield to go and relieve Cantelli.

Horton crossed to Sebastian’s car, and tried the doors. They were locked. Taking the keys that he’d removed from Gilmore’s pocket he pressed the zapper and the doors opened with a clunk. He poked inside the glove compartment. Just the usual paperwork: insurance, service documents. No mobile phone.

Zapping the car locked he looked up to see Dennings arrive and, in the car beside him, Uckfield.

‘What the devil’s going on?’ Uckfield demanded, climbing out and surveying the activity with an irritated frown.

Horton told him. Uckfield looked surprised, then incredulous, and finally very angry. After cursing vehemently, he said,

‘I hope you’ve got a bloody lead on this.’

Horton was very tempted to remark, ‘It’s not my case,’ but instead said, ‘No more than you or DI Dennings have.’

Uckfield glared at him, but Horton was immune to Uckfield’s hostile stares, especially now he realized why Dennings had been appointed over him.

He dropped Gilmore’s keys into a plastic evidence bag and pushed them into Dennings’ hand. ‘It’s all yours, Tony. I’ve got enough outstanding cases in CID, which my boss wants solving . . . but there is one thing.’ He turned to Uckfield and added, ‘We need to know who that skeleton in the air-raid shelter is. This could be the result of someone seeking revenge for a relative or friend’s death.’

Uckfield had thought the skeleton a distraction and now, holding Uckfield’s glare, Horton saw his point had gone home.

‘But why kill Anne Schofield?’ Uckfield frowned, puzzled.

Yes, why? It was a flaw in his theory. Anne couldn’t have had anything to do with the skeleton’s death, and it didn’t explain why the killer had also tried to roast him. The man in the air-raid shelter had died long after his mother had disappeared. Had the killer seen his name on the newspaper articles in Rowland Gilmore’s study and assumed that his mother had been in on the murder? And, because he couldn’t find Jennifer Horton, thought he’d take revenge on her son? It was a bit weak, but in a deranged mind it was possible.