Undercurrent (13 page)

‘Towards the seafront and the Canoe Lake.’

The opposite direction to Spalding’s house. But according to their evidence Spalding wasn’t there anyway but at the dockyard preparing for his talk.

Ted Crossley said, ‘He returned about ten o’clock.’

And that fitted with the time he’d checked out of the dockyard at nine twenty-five. Redsall had left ten minutes before Dr Spalding. And judging by the signature in the guest house registration book it looked as though it was the same as the one that appeared on the dockyard list and on the credit and debit cards.

‘And yesterday, Tuesday?’

Before Ted Crossley could answer his wife jumped in. ‘He went out early, before breakfast. I saw him leave. It must have been about seven o’clock. That was the last I saw of him. Did you see him yesterday?’ She addressed her husband.

‘No.’

Horton sipped his tea out of politeness and tried not to show he disliked the brew. ‘How did he seem on his return on Monday?’

Ted Crossley answered. ‘Fine. I asked if he’d had a good evening and he said “yes, thank you” and that was it.’

Uckfield slid off his seat, clearly believing there was nothing more to be gleaned here. Maybe he was right. And he’d finished the biscuits. Horton rose. He asked the Crossleys to leave Redsall’s room as it was adding, ‘We’d like to send someone round tomorrow to take fingerprints.’

‘Of our guests?’ Crossley said, alarmed.

Horton hesitated. There was nothing to say that any of the guests weren’t connected with Redsall’s death and he didn’t think they’d mind their prints being taken, probably add a bit of spice to their holiday, but bearing in mind that Uckfield didn’t believe there was a suspicious death to investigate and his glowering look, Horton said, ‘Just the prints in Mr Redsall’s room and yours and any other member of staff who went in there, so that we can eliminate them.’

‘There’s only us,’ Brenda Crossley said.

‘I’d also like a list of the guests who have been here during Redsall’s stay. We can collect it tomorrow.’

Crossley nodded agreement and showed them out.

Outside Uckfield said, ‘There’s not one shred of evidence to say this is a suspicious death. We do nothing more until we get the results of the autopsy.’

Uckfield might not do anything but that wasn’t going to stop Horton. He said, ‘We need to trace the next of kin. It would help if Sergeant Trueman could do that.’

After a moment Uckfield nodded agreement. ‘OK.’

At least Dr Clayton would be back to conduct the autopsy, thought Horton, as he watched Uckfield pull away, presumably heading home, although knowing Uckfield he could be returning to his lover, whoever she was.

Horton returned to his boat. He was tired but as he lay watching the minutes tick by into hours his whirling brain refused to be still. Uckfield was right – there was nothing to indicate that Spalding had been killed, and neither was there any evidence to indicate Daniel Redsall had been, but a whole swathe of questions kept spinning around his head like an endless merry-go-round. Why had Daniel Redsall attended Spalding’s lecture? Why had he ended up dead the next day? Why had he been on Ashton’s yacht? How did he get on to the pontoons at Oyster Quays? Would the security cameras reveal a sighting of him? Had Redsall signed in earlier at the marina office? And if he had signed in as a visitor then who had he been visiting? Someone on Ashton’s yacht or someone on Agent Eames’ yacht? Or someone else who had been in the marina?

It was pointless trying to answer these questions and useless considering them any further until they had more information, which he’d get despite Uckfield’s lack of cooperation. He willed himself to relax and steeled himself not to look at his watch again. Instead he focused on the sound of the sea lapping against the boat and the rhythm of its gentle movement, hoping that it would calm him. The rain had stopped and gradually he began to feel himself slipping into sleep. Infuriatingly though, just when he was on the edge one question sprang to mind and refused to budge. He knew it was critical. What had brought Redsall to Portsmouth from Northern Ireland?

A
n answer of sorts came to him the next morning. He looked up from his computer as Walters waddled into the CID office reading the
Daily Mirror
. Horton called out to him through his open door, adding, ‘You too, Cantelli.’

Cantelli, entering behind Walters, eyed Horton, concerned. ‘Andy, you look knackered.’

He felt it. He’d had about three hours’ sleep, and even that had been nothing more than a half waking kind of dose. Just before six he’d finally given up all attempts, taken a cold shower to shock himself into full wakefulness, was in the canteen by seven having breakfast and in his office by seven thirty in time to see from his window Bliss’s sports car pull into the car park. He’d forgotten she was back from her course today. He wished they’d found her a role at Bramshill. And that made him recall he hadn’t yet contacted Professor Thurstan Madeley. His telephone number wasn’t on his website, but Horton knew someone at Bramshill who would give it to him. They’d have it on file there. He’d rung and asked for John Harrison, a police officer he’d served with over the years who on his promotion to Inspector a year ago had taken up a post as training officer at the college. After a brief exchange of news Horton had told him he wanted to get in touch with Madeley.

‘Thinking of asking his advice on policing?’ Harrison had joked.

‘Why not? He might have the magic answer to solving crime without having to fill in all this mountain of paperwork.’

‘If he does he’s probably given it to DCI Bliss.’

‘He knows her?’ Horton had asked, amazed.

‘He does now. He gave a lecture on her course.’

‘About?’

‘Understanding the social influences affecting today’s criminals.’

Horton snorted. ‘She needs to understand her staff first.’

‘Well by all accounts Professor Madeley was most impressed with DCI Bliss, in fact we all were and her governor will be too. She came top of the class.’

‘I might have known.’ Horton had got Madeley’s mobile telephone number without having to explain why he needed it. He had sensed Harrison’s curiosity but Harrison knew that even if he’d asked Horton wouldn’t have told him. He hadn’t rung Madeley yet. It was too early and he wanted to do it away from the station. He didn’t want to risk anyone overhearing or crashing in on him as no doubt Bliss would soon, now that she must have seen Cantelli and Walters arrive.

‘I had rather a late night,’ Horton replied to Cantelli’s enquiry, waving them into seats across his desk. He briefed them about Redsall’s death. Cantelli looked shocked and then thoughtful. Walters simply looked bemused. Maybe this time he was right to be. ‘I’ve found some information on Redsall that might suggest why he was in Portsmouth.’ Horton indicated his computer. ‘According to the University of Ulster’s website he was a Marine Archaeologist, interested in seafaring watercraft.’

‘The M33?’ suggested Cantelli.

‘Possibly, and perhaps he consulted Spalding about it, him being a naval historian. And Redsall could have been on the pontoons at Oyster Quays because he was interested in the MGB 81, it’s a 1942 motor gun boat,’ he added for both their benefit. ‘He’s visiting lecturer at the Centre for Maritime Archaeology at Ulster, joined them last September and before that he worked just up the road here at Southampton at their Centre for Maritime Archaeology.’

That didn’t answer the question why he was dead though. Horton had also read on the university’s website that Redsall had been involved in a study of historic shipwrecks in Ireland. The Solent had enough shipwrecks to keep any marine archaeologist happy for decades but it was a long way from Ireland. Horton wondered if Redsall had been researching a ship wrecked off Ireland which had set sail from Portsmouth. Perhaps that was where Spalding came into it. But neither theory meant either man’s death was suspicious, as Uckfield would be quick to point out. But what did bother Horton was the fact that if Redsall had been engaged on research then where were his notes? Certainly not in his room or in his rucksack.

Addressing Cantelli he said, ‘Ask Dr Menchip if she knows or recognizes Redsall and see what Alvita Baarda can tell us about him and Spalding. Did the two of them talk? Did they seem to know one another? You know the drill.’ Horton handed Cantelli a photograph of Redsall which he’d printed off from the University of Ulster’s website. It wasn’t as grim as the ones Clarke had taken of the body.

‘I’ll re-interview Julie Preston. Walters, check if the control room at Oyster Quays has sent over the CCTV footage of the marina for last night, and if not chase them up. And call the marina office, ask them if Redsall signed in yesterday and get someone from the fingerprint bureau round to the Crossleys.’

The sound of footsteps in CID caught Horton’s attention and he looked up to see Bliss striding across the deserted room with a scowl of welcome on her narrow face, her ponytail swinging high behind her head like a horse swishing its tail at irritating flies. Cantelli and Walters hastily rose as she entered his office but Horton remained seated.

‘Good course, Ma’am?’ he asked, wondering how different she would look with a dash of lipstick and her hair down. Not that he really wanted to find out. She cast her cool green eyes over Cantelli and Walters. Walters shifted and looked as though he was going to belch but managed not to. With a nod of her head she gave them a curt dismissal. They didn’t need telling twice.

Plonking her narrow backside in the chair that Walters’ fat one had vacated she asked him for an update on outstanding cases. Swiftly he gave her one, hoping she didn’t ask too many questions because he’d hardly looked at the files. He ended with the news about Redsall’s death but without saying that his officers were investigating it, which was just as well because she said, ‘I understand that isn’t being treated as suspicious, so we don’t spend time on it.’ She was clearly singing from the same hymn sheet as Uckfield. Rising, she said, ‘I expect your performance targets for July, which are seriously overdue, and your team’s customer satisfaction survey results within the next couple of hours, Inspector.’

‘Anything in particular you’d like us to ask the victims of crime?’ Horton asked airily as she reached the door.

She spun round. Her eyes narrowed. ‘You have the questions on the survey.’

‘I wondered if you might have some new suggestions following your course. For example perhaps we should ask the victims how they
feel
towards the criminal. Perhaps if they understood the social influences that made the scumbags beat up and rob innocent people they might more readily forgive them, excuse them even.’

‘Just get on with it.’

‘Ma’am.’

With a brief smile, Horton rang Trueman and asked if the Northern Ireland police had any new information to report.

‘They’ve been to Redsall’s flat. It’s rented and there’s no personal correspondence in it or photographs. The other occupants in the building don’t know anything about him. But the university have given them the details of the next of kin. It’s a Beatrice Redsall and she lives at Three Laden Mansions, Craneswater, Southsea.’

‘But that’s local,’ Horton said, surprised, not only because he hadn’t expected that but the address was just a stone’s throw from Redsall’s guest house. So why hadn’t Redsall stayed with her? ‘What relation is she to him?’

‘Aunt. Daniel Redsall wasn’t married and there are no kids.’

Horton supposed the aunt could be elderly and that was the reason Redsall hadn’t stayed with her. Perhaps he didn’t want to inconvenience her. Did she know her nephew was in Portsmouth? Had he visited her?

‘Anyone told her yet?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘I’ll do it.’ And he’d better get going before the wicked witch in the wardrobe came out of it. ‘Arrange for a uniformed woman police officer to meet me there in twenty minutes.’

Horton rang off. On his way out he told Walters where he was heading and that he was to keep quiet about what he was doing regarding the case if Bliss asked. Walters nodded. Heading for Southsea, Horton wondered who had briefed Bliss about Redsall’s death. She didn’t normally have early-morning meetings with Uckfield, but he guessed she might have had one this morning with ACC Dean following the glowing reports of her performance on the course and Uckfield must have reported the death to Dean.

Instead of heading straight for Laden Mansions Horton decided to call in at Spalding’s house. He was reluctant to bother Mrs Spalding again but he needed to check if she recognized Redsall’s name or the man himself. There was a chance that Redsall had called on Spalding, he thought, pressing his finger on the bell. Or Spalding could have visited Redsall at the guest house although he felt sure if that were the case then the Crossleys would have mentioned it last night.

Mrs Spalding answered the door promptly, looking as elegant as she had the day before only this time she was wearing a patterned knee-length summer dress and sandals rather than the dark trousers and flat pumps. She’d again applied her make-up with precision but it couldn’t disguise the fatigue and pain etched on her oval face or the deep sorrow and shock in her dark brown eyes. If Spalding
had
been having an affair then Horton, like Cantelli, hoped it wasn’t the cause of his death, because he didn’t want Jacqueline Spalding to discover it. She would though. Murder brought out all the dirty linen and hung it right in front of your nose.
If
this was murder. And Horton knew in his gut it was.

The house was silent. As though reading his thoughts she explained that her son, Julian, and Louise, her daughter, were in their rooms, either on their computers or watching television. Horton didn’t ask how they were taking the news. How could they take it except with bewilderment, anger and sorrow once they realized the full impact of it? Ronald Spalding was in the kitchen. She invited him through and offered him a coffee but he declined both. Standing in the small tiled outer hall he said, ‘I won’t keep you long. I just need to check a couple of things with you, Mrs Spalding. Have you ever seen this man before?’ He showed her the photograph of Redsall and watched her reaction as she studied it carefully. After a moment she shook her head.