Undercurrent (16 page)

‘Tell me about his lecture?’

Felspur looked only too eager to do so. ‘Dr Spalding talked about the cultural and social impact of women in the Royal Navy from 1917 when the Women’s Royal Naval Service was first formed, although it was disbanded in 1919 and reformed in 1939 for the Second World War. We hold a comprehensive WRNS archive, which Dr Spalding drew upon as well as personal diaries and press reports. He also conducted research of his own outside the museum through the university and central library in Portsmouth and using local historical and naval organizations and personal accounts. His lecture examined the views of people across the generations from all classes and of both genders, their attitudes and their views of women in the Navy, focusing on whether the views expressed in 1917 were the same as they are today.’

‘And are they?’ Horton asked, interested.

‘Mostly, and mostly negative.’

‘Perhaps they were the only views he selected from his research.’ Felspur eyed him curiously and, Horton thought, with a touch of surprise. Perhaps he hadn’t expected him to be so astute. Or did he think he was being critical of Spalding?

‘Dr Spalding was an historian; he wouldn’t skew his findings or his presentation.’

Oh yeah? Horton thought, wondering if Felspur really believed that. ‘Did he offer any of his own opinions?’

‘He highlighted sections of the interviews and reports, social commentary and documentation and left the audience to draw their own conclusions. He posed questions.’

‘Controversial ones?’

‘Depends on your viewpoint, Inspector, but no one got annoyed or upset if that’s what you mean.’

Perhaps they didn’t display their true emotions, thought Horton, but he didn’t think anyone would have pushed Spalding into the dock because of his lecture on women serving in the Royal Navy, and besides none of the guests had; they’d all left by then. And still Horton couldn’t see why Daniel Redsall had been interested in this topic.

‘How did Dr Spalding seem during the lecture?’

‘Fine.’

Horton sensed a ‘but’. He left a silence which Felspur eventually filled.

‘He
was
a little on edge towards the end of it. Distracted, I’d say. He seemed to lose the thread of what he was saying once or twice, which was uncharacteristic. I’ve heard him speak a couple of times and he’s always been very fluent. And he brought the lecture to a more rapid close than normal.’

The obvious explanation for that was that Spalding had begun to feel unwell.

‘Did you speak to him afterwards?’ Horton knew Felspur had from Ivor Meadows, but no harm in not letting on.

‘Yes. I told him how much I enjoyed his talk and that I was particularly looking forward to hearing him present his paper to an academic audience at the university, and to reading his paper on the subject.’

‘Why?’

‘The paper would contain a great deal more detail and list his reference sources, which I was very keen to see. He was in here frequently conducting his research. And the academic lecture would have been more tightly argued. He’d also have voiced his real conclusions, or at least posed them, some of them might even have been controversial.’ Horton considered this as Felspur added regretfully, ‘And now that won’t happen unless someone presents his paper.’

‘Could they do that?’

‘If all the material is available, yes, and I don’t see why it shouldn’t be, do you?’

Horton thought of that missing briefcase containing Spalding’s laptop. Somewhere at the back of his mind something nudged at him but it was gone before he could grasp it.

‘Who would present it?’ he asked.

‘His Head of School or possibly a PhD student he worked closely with.’

‘Would you know who the latter is?’ Horton knew the first was Dr Sandra Menchip.

‘No, but the Head of School should be able to tell you that.’ A small frown puckered Felspur’s slim forehead. ‘I must say, looking back on it, Dr Spalding didn’t seem his usual self. When I was talking to him he seemed distracted, a little rude even; he kept looking away and he was rubbing his eyes and forehead. Clearly he must have been taken ill. I thought at the time that he wasn’t interested in talking to me. I moved off only to discover that Mr Meadows had taken my place.’

And judging by Felspur’s tone he thought the same of Meadows as did Julie Preston. The little man was a pain in the backside. With a tight smile, Felspur added, ‘Mr Meadows is a regular visitor to the library and can be a little overbearing. I’m amazed he’s not in here today. He is most days.’

‘Researching for his book on crime and punishment in the Navy.’

‘Yes.’

‘And Dr Spalding’s current research?’ Horton probed, recalling that Jacqueline Spalding had claimed not to know what that was. And there had been nothing in Spalding’s study to indicate its subject matter.

Felspur answered promptly. ‘The Navy’s impact on Portsmouth society and the common people, the different attitudes towards it between 1945 and 1978.’

‘He told you this?’

‘Indeed.’

That wasn’t what Ivor Meadows had said. He’d claimed that Spalding was working on something to do with the Navy and prostitution. Spalding had probably lied to Meadows to deflect him from his true research and to shut him up. He said, ‘Why those years?’

‘After 1978, or rather 1979, it was said that we entered the second Cold War with the Soviet War in Afghanistan. Perhaps he just thought it a suitable cut-off point.’

Perhaps. ‘How long had Dr Spalding been researching the subject?’

‘I don’t know, only that he used to come in at least twice a week and had done since January.’

‘Always on the same days?’

‘Yes, Mondays and Wednesdays. I assumed that was when he wasn’t engaged in lecturing.’

‘And the last time he was here?’

Felspur thought for a moment although Horton got the impression he didn’t really need to. ‘Last Wednesday. Mr Meadows was in here too.’

There didn’t seem anything more he could obtain from his questions about Spalding so Horton asked Felspur if he knew a Daniel Redsall.

‘Redsall? No, I don’t think so.’

‘He was at the lecture on Monday night.’

‘Was he?’

‘This might help.’ Horton showed Felspur the photograph of Redsall.

‘Yes, I remember him, casually dressed, earnest face, carrying a rucksack, but I didn’t know his name. We chatted very briefly for a few minutes about the lecture but we didn’t introduce ourselves to each other.’

‘What did he say?’

‘I can’t remember exactly, it was just general chit chat, interesting subject, how good Dr Spalding was, that sort of thing.’

‘Did he know Dr Spalding?’

Felspur looked puzzled by Horton’s line of questioning. ‘He didn’t claim to and he gave no indication of knowing him, but I did see him speaking to Dr Spalding after the lecture. When I headed towards them he broke off his conversation and moved away.’

‘What were they talking about?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How had they seemed?’

‘Seemed? Oh you mean the exchange between them. I didn’t pay much attention but I wasn’t aware of any animosity.’

‘Did they appear or give any sign that they knew one another?’

‘No.’

‘Did he say what had made him attend the lecture?’

‘No and I didn’t ask.’

Shame. ‘Did you see him talking to anyone else?’

‘No. Why all the questions, Inspector?’

‘Daniel Redsall was found dead last night at Oyster Quays.’

Felspur visibly started. ‘My God, how terrible. An accident?’

‘We don’t know yet.’ Horton rose. Felspur scrambled up.

‘I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, Inspector.’

‘No. Thanks. You’ve been a great help.’

He left the library mulling over what Felspur had told him. Had it been an innocent exchange between two scholars, he wondered, or had they known one another? Felspur’s evidence seemed to confirm Julie Preston’s though, in that Spalding did appear to be distracted and possibly feeling unwell.

Horton turned left instead of right and made his way to Number One Dock considering this and reviewing the theory he’d put to Uckfield, which the Super had dismissed, that Redsall could have witnessed Spalding being drugged and because of that he’d had to die. And it was possible that Redsall too had been drugged. He wished to God they’d hurry up with the results of that toxicology test on Spalding.

He drew up at the railings and peered down into the dock at the grey and white Monitor and then beyond it to the harbour. Drugged and disoriented, Spalding could have made for the sea, lost his grip on the briefcase and then staggered back here and fallen over. And Redsall could have met someone in Oyster Quays Marina, been drugged and staggered onto Ashton’s yacht and died.

‘Visiting the scene of the crime, Inspector?’

Horton spun round to find the stout little figure of Ivor Meadows eyeing him curiously. ‘Have you got any further with the investigation?’

‘Still making inquiries, sir.’

‘Of course.’ Meadows tapped the side of his bulbous nose and nodded knowingly.

Horton retrieved the photograph of Daniel Redsall from his pocket. At least this saved him a visit to Meadows’ flat.

‘Do you recognize this man, sir?’

Meadows took it, frowning. He studied it for some seconds before answering slowly. ‘Don’t think so.’

‘He was at the lecture on Monday night.’

‘Was he?’

‘You might have seen him talking to Dr Spalding,’ prompted Horton but Meadows was looking blankly at him.

‘No, can’t say I remember him.’

Horton took back the photograph. ‘His name’s Daniel Redsall.’

‘Redsall?’ Meadows said thoughtfully, his brow furrowing.

‘You recognize the name?’

‘No.’

But Horton thought it meant something to Meadows and judging by his expression he was trying to remember what.

‘Why are you interested in him?’ Meadows asked.

‘His body was found last night on a boat in Oyster Quays.’

‘My God! How did he die?’

‘We’re still conducting tests.’ Horton wasn’t going to reveal what they had, which was practically nothing anyway.

‘Two men dead and both here at the lecture. Any theories, Inspector?’

If I had I certainly wouldn’t tell you
. ‘It’s early days yet, sir. Thank you for your help.’

Horton put the photograph away and walked off leaving Meadows with a slightly irritated expression on his round little face. He returned to the station where he found Cantelli polishing off the remains of a sandwich. There was no sign of Walters. He was probably in the canteen.

‘Dr Sandra Menchip hated Spalding’s guts,’ Cantelli said. ‘OK, so I exaggerate, but she did not like him one tiny little bit though she went through the motions, initially anyway, of expressing shock and horror. But when we got down to the real nitty-gritty, she said he was a self-opinionated arrogant man who fancied himself and anything female under the age of thirty.’

‘Sounds a bit like Uckfield.’

‘Yeah, and he’s also married.’ Cantelli wiped his hands on his handkerchief and then ran it over his lips. ‘But her description of Spalding fits with the possibility of him having an affair. And Dr Menchip says that if Spalding hadn’t died she’d have been asking him to leave when the new term began.’

‘Why?’

‘Because if he didn’t she’d bring a case against him for sexual harassment. Not on herself but a woman called Erica Leyton. She’s a research fellow at the Institute of Marine Sciences.’

Horton knew it. It was situated just along the road eastwards from the marina where he lived, and close to the mouth of Langstone Harbour. Would such a charge and a smear on Spalding’s character and reputation be enough to make him kill himself?

‘Did this Erica Leyton want to press charges?’ he asked.

‘Dr Menchip says she’s managed to mollify her but Alvita Baarda disagrees about the sexual harassment. She says Spalding just fancied himself, and anyone who took him seriously needed their head examined. He was smarmy and old.’

‘Forty-three isn’t old,’ Horton cried, dismayed.

‘It is when you’re twenty,’ Cantelli replied. ‘She said that at the lecture on Monday night, Spalding told her how lovely she looked in her catering uniform. She was wearing a short black skirt, black tights and a white shirt, which from how she described them didn’t leave much to the imagination and she’s got a cracker of a figure. Not that I noticed, of course. She thinks Spalding had a thing about women in uniform.’

‘He wouldn’t be the only one.’

‘Didn’t know you went in for that kind of thing.’

‘Ha, ha. It’s you who married a nurse.’

Cantelli smiled. ‘Alvita says that Spalding kept winking at her. And I quote,’ Cantelli consulted his notebook, ‘“The sad old git.”’

‘Not much shock and sorrow there then.’

‘None. Probably thinks anyone over the age of forty-five ought to be put down,’ he added, referring to his own age.

‘Wait until she gets there.’

‘By the time she does I hope to be getting my free bus pass and collecting my pension, though judging by the way this government is acting I’ll probably have to wait until I’m eighty-five,
if
I live that long.’

‘They’re probably hoping we don’t.’

Cantelli gave a brief smile before resuming. ‘She said that Spalding asked if she was looking forward to returning to her studies; she’s a second-year student doing a BA in English with History, and that was about it. If he said anything else I don’t think she would have noticed or remembered. I got the impression that Spalding wasn’t really worth listening to as far as she was concerned. She’s the type that is bored with everyone and everything, unless it directly concerns her.’

Horton had met them many times.

‘I asked her how Dr Spalding seemed but she shrugged and said “OK. He drank a lot though”.’

‘There’s no report of alcohol being found in his system.’

‘Mineral water. But Alvita Baarda thinks it was an excuse to keep talking to her and eyeing her up.’

‘She would.’

‘Apart from that she claims not to have noticed anything and was glad to leave as soon as she could. Dr Menchip claims not to know Daniel Redsall and Alvita Baarda vaguely remembered him at the lecture but wasn’t sure. So not much help I’m afraid.’