Undercurrent (22 page)

‘I’m glad to hear it but you don’t mind if I check.’

‘Yes, I bloody well do.’

‘Well tough,’ Horton said angrily as into his mind flashed the bloody and beaten body of Ivor Meadows and before that Redsall’s crumpled body on Ashton’s yacht and Spalding sprawled out in that dock. Tersely he said, ‘There’s no record of Daniel Redsall having signed into the marina and neither does he show up on the security cameras. So we’re left with the question of how he got there and one idea is that he could have come by boat.’

‘Not mine, he didn’t,’ Ashton declared angrily, immediately catching Horton’s drift.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Course I’m bloody sure! I would have noticed him.’

‘Would you?’ Horton eyed Carl Ashton closely, adding, ‘You checked it over when you met the crew and clients?’

‘No. But I think I would have seen a fully grown man who hadn’t paid for the ride blundering around on board,’ Ashton retorted with heavy sarcasm.

Horton didn’t think that Ashton was involved in murder and yet there was that story he’d told him about being threatened. Was it just that – a story, a pack of lies? But why lie? Had he invented it in case he needed something to cover for Redsall’s death? But no, that didn’t make sense. He said, ‘What did you do when you went on board?’

Ashton gave a heavy, irritable sigh. ‘I talked to the crew and clients, asked if they had a good day, that sort of thing.’

‘Where?’

‘In the cockpit.’

‘So you didn’t go below?’

Ashton shifted, looked bewildered and then annoyed. ‘There was no need. The yacht was already made up. We left not long after I arrived to go for a meal, as I’ve already told you.’

‘Did any of the others go below while you were there?’

‘Steve did, I seem to remember. Simon Watson and Nigel Denton had their bags on deck. Look, this has nothing to do with me or my clients. Now I’ve got work to do.’ As if on cue his phone rang. He picked it up. Horton grabbed it from his hand and slammed it down. ‘How dare you—’

Horton eyed him narrowly. ‘You always were a selfish bastard—’

‘I don’t have to—’

‘Yes you do. Now I want some straight answers to my questions. Clear?’

Ashton threw himself back in his chair and ran a hand over his head. Horton noticed the lines etched around his bloodshot eyes. Ashton was working hard and Horton suspected playing hard too. Ashton nodded.

‘Where were you Monday night?’

‘Monday? But that man died on Tuesday.’ Horton said nothing, just held Ashton’s bewildered stare, forcing him to add tersely, ‘I was here working until nine thirty, went for something to eat in the club, which you can check if you don’t believe me,’ he added sarcastically, ‘and then went back to the flat in East Cowes marina.’

Horton could easily check that. He didn’t think Ashton was lying. He stretched across the photograph of Redsall. ‘Are you sure you’ve never seen him before?’

‘I saw his body, remember,’ Ashton replied caustically.

‘Take a closer look,’ Horton repeated firmly. ‘People look different when they’re alive.’

Ashton winced at the phrase but he sat forward and took the photograph with an expression of distaste as if the dead man might return to haunt him. And maybe he would, thought Horton, if he found a connection between them. He watched Ashton’s reaction carefully but there was no flicker of recognition.

‘I’ve never seen him in my life.’ Ashton pushed the picture across his wide desk littered with paper.

‘And the name Daniel Redsall?’

‘Means nothing to me. Now if that’s—’

‘Tell me your movements for Tuesday.’

‘You can’t think—’

‘Tell me,’ Horton said sharply.

Stiffly Ashton replied, ‘I was with you at the Bridge Tavern telling you about the threats being made to me, which you’ve done nothing about except to run some names through a computer,’ he added contemptuously.

‘Have there been any more?’

‘No.’ Ashton shifted and glanced away.

‘So apart from being with me between one and two o’clock on Tuesday, what else did you do?’

‘I drove along the coast to Emsworth where I had a meeting with a marketing client who is also designing a new website for us. I left there about four thirty, made some calls in my car and then returned to Portsmouth.’

‘What time?’

‘I told you. I arrived at Oyster Quays at six thirty or thereabouts.’

‘So your calls and the drive to Portsmouth took you two hours!’ Horton said incredulously, knowing that the drive from Emsworth to Portsmouth would take twenty minutes, half an hour at the most.

‘No. I went to Gosport Marina first,’ Ashton replied somewhat defensively and hesitantly.

‘Out of your way, that.’ Ashton would have had to drive past the northern outskirts of Portsmouth and twelve miles further to the south into Gosport.

‘I went to look at a boat.’

‘For your fleet?’

‘No, for me personally. Look it’s no big deal. It’s just a motor boat. I thought it might make a change from sailing.’

‘And did you take it out?’

‘Yes.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes. Look, what’s this got to do with anything?’

‘Where did you go?’

‘Out in the Solent.’

‘So you went past Oyster Quays.’

‘You know I bloody did, coming out from Gosport. There’s no other way into the Solent.’

‘Did you stop there?’

‘No.’

If he did stop he didn’t sign in at the marina; perhaps the CCTV cameras had picked him out although Walters hadn’t mentioned it. He let it go for now. ‘Then you drove back to Oyster Quays?’

‘Yes. And you know the rest.’

Ashton’s phone rang and he snatched it up with a glare at Horton. This time Horton let him answer it. ‘Good to speak to you, Regan, yes everything’s fine, the yacht’s just being made ready now. Can you just hold on a moment?’ Putting his hand over the receiver he said, ‘Have we finished?’

‘Do you know a man called Ivor Meadows?’

‘No.’

‘Where were you last night?’

‘In the club having a drink and something to eat until ten o’clock, you can bloody well check that too. Then I went home.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes. Is that it?’

‘For now,’ Horton said portentously. ‘I’ll need a full itinerary for Tuesday and I want to talk to Melanie and Steve, where can I find them?’

‘They’ll tell you in the office and they’ll give you a copy of the itinerary. Sorry about that, Regan. Yes, everything’s fine. Frantic of course . . .’

Horton collected the itinerary from a flustered-looking young woman in a noisy and busy office, and got directions of where he could find the yacht with Melanie Jacobs and Steve Drummond on board. He headed there mulling over what Ashton had told him. He had been evasive and uneasy but that didn’t mean he was Redsall’s contact or responsible for his death. His alibis would check out for Monday and last night, so he couldn’t be involved in the deaths of Spalding and Ivor Meadows. He was a little uncomfortable about the fact that Ashton had been on board a boat, and not his own on the Tuesday afternoon. There was the possibility that he could have met Redsall at Gosport and dropped him off at Oyster Quays by boat, but the timing was wrong because it would have been early afternoon and that meant that Redsall would have wandered around the pontoons for at least an hour or more before Ashton’s arrival, without being seen, which clearly wasn’t possible. If he had gone on board someone else’s boat, then whose? And if he had left the marina and then returned to it later after dusk, he would certainly have signed out. Or would he? Horton recalled the mistakes made with Spalding not signing out at the dockyard on the night he met his death – was it possible the same thing had happened at Oyster Quays? Or perhaps whoever had been in the office had been on the phone and had either not seen Redsall or waved him through. Redsall then returned later that evening, slipped into the marina and had met his killer.

And if Redsall had gone on board Ashton’s motor boat and been taken back to Gosport Marina then how did he get back to Oyster Quays? Ashton could have given him a lift back in his car, but why should he, and why would Redsall return to Oyster Quays marina? Also where did this fit with his theory that Spalding and Redsall could be involved in terrorist activity? Or at least Redsall might have been and Spalding was working for the government. Ashton simply wasn’t interested in politics except to vote Conservative whenever there was an election. No, Horton thought he could rule him out. And he could probably do the same with Melanie Jacobs and Steve Drummond and the fact that Redsall could have been hiding on board the yacht. It had been a bit of a wild shot anyway. But now that he was here he would check it out.

Horton located the yacht on the crowded pontoon. A suntanned, shapely and very attractive woman in her late twenties who he took to be Melanie Jacobs was checking the lines. She was certainly Carl Ashton’s type. Her straight long blonde hair was carelessly pulled back with strands falling around her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were a remarkable sapphire blue and her teeth white enough to make him glad he was wearing sunglasses which he removed as he introduced himself. Her smile slipped when he told her he was following up the death of the man found on the yacht. She called out to Drummond at the bow, who nimbly made his way around the deck to join them. Drummond, tall, dark-haired and muscular was also late-twenties or possibly early-thirties and his smile stayed more or less in place as Melanie made the swift introductions and explanations. Both were wearing shorts, deck shoes and polo shirts bearing the name of Ashton’s company, Sail Away Events, and the corporate logo.

Melanie offered him a drink, which he accepted because it afforded him the opportunity to go below decks. As Melanie crossed to the galley and opened the fridge Horton surveyed the plush interior. Everything was neat and clean. He knew these boats well but decided to play dumb about the layout to see what he could illicit from them.

‘Nice yacht, plenty of room,’ he said, taking the can of Diet Coke from Melanie Jacobs. ‘How many cabins are there?’

‘Three, a double in the bow and two double cabins in the stern. And we can sleep another two here in the main cabin, which is usually where Steve and I sleep, when we’re really busy.’ She tossed Drummond a smile, before adding, ‘Making a total of eight on board.’

‘Impressive.’ Horton swallowed his Coke, watching Drummond’s reaction and seeing by his worshipping glance that he liked it best when they were really busy. But he also caught a flicker of pain in the dark brown eyes and a flash of anger in the slight tightening around his jaw. Horton wondered if he had just found Ashton’s stalker.

‘Did you want to look around?’ Melanie asked.

Horton did. He crossed to the bow and peered into the shower room and toilet to his right, spotlessly clean, before entering the double cabin, where the bed was made up and everything was pristine. Turning back he said, ‘Who were the clients you had on board on Tuesday?’ Ashton had told him but no harm in asking again.

‘Simon Watson from Longman Biomedical and Nigel Denton from an agricultural firm. Simon’s a chemist and a good sailor, he’s been out with us many times, but it was a first for Nigel.’

A chemist
.
Interesting
. Horton thought of Dr Clayton checking to see if Redsall had been drugged. ‘Were the cabins used?’ he asked, as he headed back through the galley to the aft where, as Melanie had said, he found two further separate cabins.

Drummond answered. ‘Only the one at the bow to put our things in; it’s closest to the heads.’

So, thought Horton, these two rear cabins had been left untouched. It was possible that Redsall could have been inside one, but not dead because the time of death was between seven thirty and nine thirty. And according to Ashton they’d already left the yacht by seven thirty. A fact that had been confirmed by Agent Eames. He wondered whether he’d bump into her while in Cowes before quickly reminding himself that the town was heaving with holiday makers and sailors and that it was highly unlikely.

‘Who locked up on Tuesday?’ he asked.

Melanie answered. ‘I did.’

‘Did you go below?’

‘No.’ She glanced at Drummond.

‘I did. I’d left my phone behind.’

‘Where?’

‘In the galley. Here.’ Drummond indicated the table.

That confirmed what Ashton had told him. Horton addressed Melanie. ‘When did Mr Ashton tell you about the body being found on the boat?’

‘He called me at home. It must have been about twelve thirty.’

Horton eyed her closely. Was that a lie? Horton wouldn’t mind betting Ashton had headed for Melanie’s flat in Southsea after leaving Rupert Crawford’s yacht.

‘I phoned Steve in the morning and we went to Oyster Quays to bring the boat back here and clean it up.’

Horton handed her a photograph of Redsall. ‘Have either of you seen this man before?’

Melanie glanced at it as Drummond took it.

‘Is he the man who was found on board this yacht?’ Melanie asked nervously looking up at Horton.

‘Yes.’

She peered over Drummond’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know him.’

‘Me neither,’ said Drummond.

Horton eyed them steadily. They didn’t appear to be lying. ‘Have either of you heard of Daniel Redsall?’

Drummond answered, ‘No.’ Melanie shook her head.

Horton drank some Coke. ‘Take me through what you did on Tuesday.’ He had the itinerary but he wanted to hear it from them. There was always the possibility they’d deviated from it. He put the photograph back in his trouser pocket.

Drummond said, ‘I met Simon Watson and Nigel Denton at the marina office at Oyster Quays at nine a.m.’

‘Did they arrive together?’

Melanie answered. ‘Yes. They’d come in Simon’s car. We had breakfast on board, bacon rolls, pastries, then Steve gave a safety briefing, which took us up to just after ten fifteen and we left the harbour. We went out into the Solent, and hoisted the sails. The weather could have been better but at least it wasn’t raining and there was enough wind to do a fair amount of sailing. We came into Cowes Yacht Haven for lunch, arriving here just after one o’clock.’