Undercurrent (15 page)

‘I don’t see how that can have anything to do with Daniel’s death.’

Maybe, but Horton was convinced otherwise. ‘The lecture was about women serving in the Royal Navy.’ He watched her closely but there was no reaction. ‘From what you’ve said I wouldn’t have thought the subject would have been of interest to your nephew.’

‘Neither would I.’

‘You weren’t in the Navy, Miss Redsall?’

‘Certainly not,’ she declared vehemently with distaste.

He was curious about her background. Fishing further he said, ‘I wondered if Daniel’s interest was because his mother or some other female in his family had been or was in the Navy.’

‘No. My role was to assist my father in his career when my mother died and Rosemary’s was to further Jonathan’s career. When she died I took over and helped my brother, unfashionable views now, WPC Edmonds, maybe,’ she threw at the police officer by Horton’s side whose expression must have betrayed her thoughts on that subject. ‘But duty wasn’t a dirty word then and it isn’t now as far as I’m concerned, though I accept my views are in the minority. But if more women knew their duty we wouldn’t have so many broken marriages and delinquent children causing the police and society so many problems.’

PC Edmonds opened her mouth to reply but Horton hastily prevented her from saying something she might regret. ‘We will need you to formally identify the body, if you feel up to it, Miss Redsall.’ He knew his last statement would goad her and it did.

‘Of course I’m up to it, Inspector,’ she tartly replied. ‘When?’

‘Later this afternoon about four thirty, if that’s convenient?’ The autopsy would have been completed by then.

‘Quite convenient.’

‘We’ll send a car for you.’

‘I am perfectly capable of driving to the mortuary, Inspector.’

Horton thought the empire had been built on women like her.

‘Where are Daniel’s effects?’ she asked, rising, indicating that she considered their interview at an end.

‘We have the things he brought with him from Ulster—’

‘Ulster?’

‘Yes, why?’ he asked, studying her with new interest as he stood up. PC Edmonds followed suit.

‘Is that where he was living?’

‘Yes. He worked at the university as visiting lecturer. You didn’t know?’

She eyed him steadily. ‘As I said we’d lost touch. I’d assumed he’d be living on the south coast.’

Why? Horton wondered. Because of his interest in marine archaeology he guessed. But that could have taken him to the other side of the world. Redsall could have been living in Swaziland for all she knew of him.

‘Four thirty then,’ he said.

‘I’ll be there, Inspector,’ she replied crisply.

Outside he turned to Edmonds. ‘What did you make of her?’

‘Cool, emotionless, buttoned up and didn’t seem very fond of her nephew.’

‘No law against that.’

‘No, sir.’

He sent her on her way and checked his phone for messages. There was nothing from Madeley. He felt disappointed but perhaps it was too soon for him to return the call. He could be in a meeting or giving a lecture. He’d expected Bliss to have been onto him but all was silent on that front too, which was a blessing. He called Trueman and gave him the gist of what Beatrice Redsall had said, ending with the news that he’d arranged for her formally to identify the body of her nephew later that afternoon.

‘Is Uckfield still insisting on doing nothing until after the results of the autopsy?’ he asked.

‘Yep.’

Horton rang off. He checked his mirrors and indicated out into the traffic. A Honda motorbike pulled out several cars behind him and behind that, easing into the traffic, was a black Ranger with tinted windows. As he rode along the seafront he again considered Redsall’s body lying on Ashton’s yacht. There had been no signs of foul play. It didn’t
look
as though Redsall had been murdered. But then it hadn’t
looked
as though Spalding had been murdered, and maybe neither had been. But that feeling in his waters told him differently. Then there was Spalding’s missing briefcase and Redsall’s empty rucksack. Perhaps Spalding had tossed his briefcase into the sea and Redsall had carried food and water in his rucksack, which he’d consumed. He’d been taken ill and died. No foul play, no suspicious circumstances. Just a question over how he’d got onto the pontoons at Oyster Quays, and what he’d been doing there. Perhaps being a marine archaeologist he had obtained the security code in order to study the MGB 81.

Horton turned his mind to his interview with Beatrice Redsall. There was nothing in it to hint at why her nephew might have been unlawfully killed or why he might have killed himself. But again Horton wondered why Redsall had attended Spalding’s lecture.

He checked his mirrors. The Honda was still behind him and so was the Ranger. He dropped his speed. Any slower and he’d be pulled up for dangerous driving, but neither the Honda nor the Ranger seemed inclined to pass him. Perhaps they deemed it too unsafe to do so; the promenade was fairly crowded with holiday makers and sun seekers, who could step out into the road at any moment.

At Southsea Castle he pulled over into a parking space in front of the Castle Field but didn’t switch off the engine. The Honda purred by. He was unable to see the driver’s face because of the helmet and as the Ranger slid by Horton again couldn’t glimpse the driver because of the darkened windows. He watched it indicate right and turn into the tree-lined Avenue de Caen. The Honda continued on its journey along the seafront. It was too late to get either registration numbers but Horton knew he’d recognize both again. He was probably being unnecessarily edgy – that was bloody DCS Sawyer putting ideas in his head, he thought, pulling back out into the traffic and following in the direction of the Honda towards Clarence Pier.

His head felt heavy from lack of sleep and going round in circles with theories and questions. Facts were what he needed, not airy-fairy suppositions. And the sooner he got them the better. But instead of heading straight for the Historic Dockyard he diverted to Oyster Quays. He wanted to show the marina manager a photograph of Redsall. He wondered if Redsall might have signed in using a different name. He also wondered if Melanie Jacobs and Steve Drummond would recognize Daniel Redsall. But as he swung into the entrance to Oyster Quays he knew there was another reason he wanted to visit there and she was on a boat with a prat called Rupert.

T
here had been no sign of Agent Eames or Crawford’s yacht and the marina manager claimed he’d never seen Daniel Redsall in his life. Horton hadn’t been able to ask Melanie Jacobs and Steve Drummond if they knew him because they’d already sailed Ashton’s yacht back to Cowes. Horton had resumed his journey to the dockyard where he was informed that Julie Preston was on a day off. Irritatingly, so too was Lewis Morden. It was turning out to be a frustrating morning, Horton thought, making for the security office to enquire if the librarian, Marcus Felspur, was at work. He was surprised to find Neil Gideon there.

‘I was just about to have a cuppa, care to join me, Inspector?’ Gideon waved the kettle at Horton.

He accepted the offer of a coffee and followed Gideon through to the rear of the security office.‘I thought you were on nights?’ he said, pleased this would save him a visit to Gideon’s home.

‘I was but the boss decided to switch me to days. Yeah, I guess he thought I couldn’t be trusted to work in the dark any more,’ Gideon added sourly at Horton’s unvoiced comment. ‘His shuffle around hasn’t pleased everybody but I’m not complaining, never did like working nights much, and we’re a man short, will be for some time. Newton is on compassionate leave.’ Pouring hot water on the tea bag in one mug and on instant coffee in the other Gideon continued, ‘His wife’s been taken into the hospice. Milk?’

Horton shook his head. He didn’t like to disturb Newton when clearly he already had a great deal on his plate and that, he suspected, was the reason why the security had slipped. He put this to Gideon as he took his mug of coffee.

Gideon wrapped his fingers around his mug and eyed Horton uneasily. ‘I don’t want to get Matt into trouble.’

‘Just tell me what happened?’

Putting his mug down carefully on the table, Gideon gestured Horton into the seat across it. Taking up position opposite him, Gideon lowered his voice and said, ‘He shouldn’t have come into work at all on Monday night, with his wife being so ill, and he was in a state when he got here but he said he just had to get out of the house. He couldn’t bear looking at her so ill. He’d left his daughter with Joanna, his wife. Poor Matt was at his wits’ end. I didn’t know just how bad he was, otherwise I’d have insisted he go home,’ Gideon quickly added.

Horton sipped his coffee as Gideon continued.

‘Matt thought working might help him get some relief for a while but as soon as he arrived he knew it wouldn’t. He then felt guilty at having run away, or rather ducking out as he called it. He chastised himself for being a coward and selfish. All he could think of was how he had to get away from so much sickness and pain that he couldn’t stand it any longer and there was his poor wife . . . His mind obviously wasn’t on the job.’ Gideon looked worried. ‘Matt told me this morning on the phone that he rang his daughter a few times during the evening, to see how his wife was.’

‘And during that time anyone could have slipped in or out or returned after signing.’

‘No,’ Gideon said vehemently, ‘because Matt had to open and close the side door. No one could have walked in, and no one could have returned after signing out. He swears to me he physically opened the door as each of the guests left and he shut and locked it behind them until the next guest appeared. I don’t think he’s lying about that.’

Horton considered this. ‘But he was on his phone when some of them left.’

Gideon nodded and sipped his tea.

Several thoughts ran through Horton’s mind. Ivor Meadows had told Horton that Newton had been on the phone when he’d left, which was why he was able to sprawl his signature over two rows, one of which had Dr Spalding’s name in it. So had Daniel Redsall really signed out, or had someone done it for him? Could Redsall have remained hidden near the museum, killed Spalding by pushing him over the railing and taken the briefcase? But why the devil would he want to do that? And if he did then it meant Redsall was in league with someone, and that person had signed him out of the dockyard. From what he’d learnt of Redsall so far he just couldn’t see him as a killer. And there was no motive. And so far no connection between the two men.

He handed Gideon the photograph of Daniel Redsall, saying, ‘Do you remember seeing this man?’

Gideon studied it carefully. ‘Yes. But I didn’t talk to him.’

‘Did you notice him speaking to anyone?’

Gideon shook his head.

‘Not even to Dr Spalding?’

‘No. But I only escorted the group from the
Victory
to the museum.’

‘Did you see him carrying anything?’

Gideon eyed him warily as he considered this. ‘Yes, a rucksack. Why? Has that gone missing?’ he added half-jokingly.

‘No, but Daniel Redsall’s body was discovered last night at Oyster Quays.’

Gideon reeled back, then took a deep breath. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

That’s what Horton intended finding out. ‘We will need to interview Matt Newton but I’d prefer it if you’d say nothing to him about this for the moment.’

‘I doubt he’d take it in anyway with everything else on his plate.’

Horton swallowed a mouthful of coffee. ‘I’d like to see Marcus Felspur, is he in today?’

‘Yes. I’ll give you a pass. I’ll call him and he can meet you at the naval museum library entrance.’

A few moments later Horton was sitting in Felspur’s untidy office, which was sandwiched behind the library’s public area and what Felspur had explained was the archive storage behind them.

‘I take it you’re here about Dr Spalding’s death,’ Felspur said, eyeing him keenly across a desk covered with papers, ring binders and books. Although there were three desks in the room none of the others were occupied. Felspur had left his assistant in the library where Horton had seen two men sitting at desks poring over books.

Horton would tell Felspur about Redsall’s death shortly, but first he wanted to hear what he remembered about Spalding on the night of his death.

‘His passing will be a great loss,’ Felspur added sadly.

‘You liked him?’

‘I admired his work.’

Not quite the same thing, thought Horton, eyeing the pale-skinned, slight man with intelligent grey eyes, thinning brown hair and slender fidgeting hands.

‘He had the gift of bringing the past to life, taking serious and complex subjects and turning them into a language that even the lay person could understand, which was why his talks were so popular. Monday night was no different and particularly interesting because of my own research.’

Horton looked blank, which wasn’t difficult because he had no idea what Felspur’s background was or why it would be relevant.

He gave a small and modest smile. ‘I’m interested in how our interpretation of the past coincides with cultural, social and political interests. I know it sounds a bit weird,’ he added at Horton’s bemused expression. ‘But take any part of history – the abolition of slavery for example. Just over two hundred years ago a Royal Navy squadron was established to patrol the seas of West Africa, searching and detaining slave ships, liberating some hundreds of thousands of enslaved Africans, and now that part of history forms the basis of an exhibition in the museum. It’s become a cultural interest.’

‘Doesn’t most history in the end?’

‘No. Some of it gets buried, or distorted, either to suit cultural or social needs or political interests. The archives and volumes here in the library can tell that truth but the interpretation people put on them, or their choice of the facts, can be selective to suit their own purposes.’

‘And did Dr Spalding do that?’

Felspur again gave that smile but this time as if to say ‘that’s not for me to comment’. Horton got the impression of a clever man and a slightly resentful one. Why? Because he’d never achieved what he thought he was capable of? But Felspur could give him more details about Spalding’s lecture. So far he only had Ivor Meadows’ rather bigoted view and Julie Preston’s broad outline and it might be helpful to know more. It might throw more light on why Redsall had attended it.