Undercurrent (23 page)

‘You all sat together for lunch?’

‘Of course.’ She eyed him as though he was daft.

‘Did anyone leave the group for any length of time?’

‘I had to go out to take a call from Carl and Simon had a message on his phone when we arrived and had to make a call.’

Drummond said, ‘I went for a pee and a cigarette. I don’t remember Nigel leaving the club.’

Melanie continued. ‘We left the marina shortly after two fifteen and went back into the Solent for more sailing. I set a triangular course. It was good. We had tea on board then returned to Oyster Quays at five thirty, cleaned up and Carl joined us at six thirty-five. We went for a meal and Simon and Nigel left the restaurant just before eleven o’clock.’

‘Did anyone leave during the evening?’

‘No,’ Drummond answered.

Horton thought that if Redsall had come on board during the day there were two places he could have done so, either here at Cowes during lunchtime, which meant either Melanie Jacobs or Simon Watson had met Redsall at the yacht and let him on board, or he’d gone on board at Oyster Quays on Tuesday morning after leaving the guest house early. But Horton couldn’t see how he could have been on board all day without any of the four, or three if one of them was involved, knowing that he was there. He asked what time they left Oyster Quays marina on Monday night. Their times checked out with what the marina manager had told him and both confirmed that Ashton hadn’t been at Oyster Quays on Monday night and that neither of them returned to the yacht. They had a drink together and then went home. Drummond said his flatmate could vouch for that and Melanie said she’d spoken to one of her neighbours at nine thirty. Horton thought he could rule them out of being involved. But he had one more thing to check.

He removed another photograph from his pocket, this time of Douglas Spalding, and asked if they knew or recognized him. He drew a blank and got the same result when he showed them a picture of Ivor Meadows.

Climbing back up on deck, Horton surveyed the colourful scene with the yachts decked out with flags flapping in the stiff breeze against the sound of the halyards slapping against the masts. Turning, he said to Melanie, ‘Can you tell me where you were last night?’

She flushed and looked away as she answered, ‘I was here working most of the evening.’

‘And after that? Did you return to Portsmouth?’

‘Why do you want to know?’ she asked warily.

‘We need to check everyone’s movements because there’s been another death.’

‘But it can’t have anything to do with us.’

‘Where were you last night, Ms Jacobs?’
As if I didn’t know.

‘I stayed at Carl’s flat in East Cowes Marina.’ Her head came up. ‘It makes more sense than travelling back to Portsmouth. I’m staying there for Cowes Week.’

So Ashton had lied about that; he said he’d been alone, but perhaps he’d done so to protect Melanie’s reputation. But Horton didn’t think Ashton was that chivalrous, he probably didn’t want anyone to know of their affair – better that way for when he ditched her and picked up with the next one.

‘And you’re staying there too?’ Horton addressed Drummond, knowing full well he wasn’t. He caught the unmistakable flash of fury in Drummond’s eyes as he looked at Melanie. It didn’t take much to see that he worshipped the ground she walked on and was furious at being rejected in favour of Ashton. Here was Ashton’s poisonous letter writer and tyre slasher.

‘Wrong gender,’ Drummond said cheerfully, but Horton heard the bitterness in his voice. ‘I’m staying with some of the other crew in a house Carl’s rented for the week.’

‘And you were there last night?’

‘After twelve thirty; before then we were in the pub and then bought some fish and chips and staggered home.’

And there would be witnesses. Horton climbed off the boat. He waited until Drummond had gone below before turning back and addressing Melanie. ‘Was Carl with you last night?’

She flushed, glanced behind her and said quickly, ‘Yes. We went for a meal in a pub near the marina and got back to the flat at ten thirty.’

Horton had no reason to doubt her. As he headed out of the marina he rang Cantelli and this time the sergeant answered. ‘Newton claims he didn’t see anyone meet Redsall outside the dockyard. He didn’t even look and I believe him; the man’s in a terrible state and I can’t say I blame him with his wife so ill. I had to interview him at the hospice. He remembers Daniel Redsall leaving and the fact that he was carrying a rucksack but other than that he couldn’t tell if Redsall’s rucksack contained a block of concrete or bugger all. Bliss has been on to me belly-aching about you not answering your phone. I said that I thought there was something wrong with it. Don’t think she believed me. She asked me what you were doing and I muttered something about trying to trace Ivor Meadows’ last movements after you spoke to him yesterday. I told Bliss I was helping to interview residents in and around the area where Meadows lived.’

‘Is there any news on the investigation?’

‘Not that I’ve been told.’

‘Contact Gosport Marina and ask them if they remember seeing Carl Ashton there on Tuesday afternoon. He says he was trying out a motor boat he was considering buying. Check the times and see if Walters has found any sign of Ashton mooring up at Oyster Quays on Tuesday afternoon, before his corporate yacht entered the marina. I don’t believe he’s our killer. I just want to be sure. Try and keep Bliss at bay as long as possible.’

‘Might not be too difficult, Walters tells me she’s in meetings most of the afternoon.’

Good. That would give them a bit of breathing space unless Uckfield summoned them to assist in the Meadows enquiry. But for now Uckfield would have to wait and so too would the investigation into the deaths of three men because it was just after three and Horton was already late for his meeting with Professor Thurstan Madeley in the exclusive and elitist Castle Hill Yacht Club. He only hoped he’d still be there.

H
orton was shown into the crowded pavilion room overlooking the Solent where he found Madeley at a table by the window. Horton recognized him from the photographs on the Bramshill police college website and Professor Madeley’s own website and it seemed Madeley recognized him because he rose as Horton approached. He apologized for being late as they shook hands. Horton knew his scrutiny of Madeley was reciprocated. He saw an intelligent man in his late-fifties with a long domed head culminating in thinning grey hair, bright, shrewd and curious hazel eyes, a wide mouth with lips a little too thin and a slightly superior manner behind the smile. He didn’t know what Madeley saw.

Horton took the seat opposite him. ‘I appreciate your time, Professor Madeley.’

‘I couldn’t refuse. I’m rather intrigued by your request and how it fits with an investigation.’

His voice had traces of a Midlands accent, Staffordshire possibly. ‘I’ll be brief as time is pressing,’ Horton answered crisply, removing from his pocket the photograph that Ballard had left on his boat. ‘I want to know if you recognize any of these men.’

Madeley took the picture with a quizzical glance before directing his full attention to the photograph. He studied it carefully in silence and then turned it over. Horton could feel his heart pounding and hoped that Madeley couldn’t hear it. The sound of laughter and talk in the room behind him seemed abnormally loud. After what seemed an age but could only have been a minute at the most Madeley looked up. Eyeing Horton steadily he said, ‘No. I’m sorry, they’re not known to me.’

Horton felt the disappointment keenly although he tried desperately not to show it.

Madeley continued, ‘The date on the reverse corresponds to the sit-ins at the London School of Economics. They are possibly students.’

Horton had got that far himself. ‘You don’t remember seeing this photograph before then, while collating the archive project?’

‘No. It’s obviously from a private collection that wasn’t donated to the archives.’

‘I’m trying to find out who they are.’

‘May I ask why?’

Truth or lie? If he fabricated a case would Madeley bother to check on it? Why should he? But if he did and discovered Horton had lied would he become even more curious and start to ask questions about him and his credentials as a police officer?

No, Horton saw that it had to be the truth. This man was no fool and he’d spot a lie a mile away. Besides Horton knew that the only way to provoke a reaction – or perhaps he should say another reaction if Zeus was responsible for the incident last night – was to tell the truth and keep asking questions.

He said, ‘I believe that either one or more of these men knew my mother, Jennifer Horton, and that by locating and talking to any of them it might help me find out what happened to her.’

‘What did happen to her?’

Horton had that prickling feeling between his shoulder blades. Madeley knew. How? He must have checked him out before the meeting. But he wouldn’t have access to his personal file and besides there was nothing on it about his mother’s disappearance. Madeley had talked to someone.

‘She disappeared on the thirtieth of November 1978.’

Madeley showed no surprise. It could simply be the man’s normal demeanour but Horton doubted it. Madeley sipped his drink. Horton had noted that he hadn’t been offered one. Madeley said, ‘That picture was taken eleven years before she disappeared. Why do you think it’s connected?’

‘It was given to me by someone who knew something about her and why she vanished, and before you say “why don’t I ask him?”, I can’t because he’s also disappeared.’

‘But if you know who this man is can’t you run him through the databases and find him?’

Madeley was guessing that he had already done so. It wasn’t much of a guess; Madeley would know the system very well. Horton said, ‘You compiled an archive project on the student protests and by doing so must have seen hundreds of documents and photographs and conducted considerable research. Is there anyone I can talk to who might be able to help me identify these men?’

‘I’m sure it must have occurred to you that the date could be false and have nothing to do with the sit-in.’

‘It has.’

Madeley nodded and looked thoughtful. ‘These men would be in their mid-sixties by now. Some of them could be dead.’

‘They could all be dead for all I know.’

‘Your mother’s disappearance is still on file; you could have the photograph of each man computer altered to show what they might now look like.’

Horton had already considered this. It would mean using police resources and therefore officially requesting the case be investigated. But all he had to do was show this picture to DCS Sawyer of the Intelligence Directorate and that would be enough for Sawyer to use whatever resources he had at his disposal to uncover the men’s identities in the hope it might lead him to Zeus. So far Sawyer had not requested that Jennifer’s disappearance be reopened officially; instead he’d tried to enlist Horton’s covert help in locating Zeus. Maybe it was time to go public.

Horton said, ‘It wouldn’t name them though.’

‘It might if one of them was recognized.’

Horton put the photograph back in his pocket. There was much that Madeley wasn’t saying but equally, Horton thought with growing interest, he was saying a great deal. ‘It was a long shot anyway.’ He rose.

‘What will you do now?’ Madeley asked, looking up at him.

Was he surprised Horton had capitulated so quickly and easily? He looked it. Horton felt like saying ‘that depends on you’ but he said, ‘Thank you for your time, sir.’ He stretched out his hand. Madeley took it and held onto it for a moment longer than was necessary.

After a brief pause he said, ‘DCI Lorraine Bliss attended my lecture last week at Bramshill.’

Horton was slightly taken aback at the change of topic.

Madeley smiled. ‘She’s a very ambitious woman. I talked to her for some time after the lecture. She mentioned you.’

And not in glowing terms
,
he guessed
.
Horton was relieved he hadn’t tried to fob Madeley off by telling him he wasn’t a police officer.

Madeley’s smile didn’t slip as he added, ‘I believe she’ll go far.’

Unlike me
. Horton caught the hint of a warning and he shivered despite the heat. ‘I’m sure she will.’ Horton turned to leave, wondering why Madeley had changed the subject. Was that to distract him from what he thought he’d picked up on in the subtext? But Horton hadn’t even taken a step before Madeley’s clear voice said, ‘Dr Quentin Amos.’

Horton spun back.

‘Amos was a lecturer in March 1967 and involved with the students. He was very supportive of them. He’s retired now of course, in his mid-seventies. He might be able to help.’

Horton looked at him in puzzlement. ‘I didn’t see his name in the archive project.’

‘No.’ The monosyllable was heavy with portent.

‘Do you know where I can find him?’

‘No, but it shouldn’t be difficult, not for you.’

Horton held Madeley’s cool stare for a moment. ‘Thank you, sir.’

He made his way across the crowded room, his mind so preoccupied with the conversation with Madeley that he almost collided with a blonde woman in the doorway. He stepped back, an apology forming on his lips, when he found himself facing Agent Eames. He should have known she’d be a member of a club that counted Royals and celebrities amongst its clientele. Although pleased to see her he was also dismayed because now he’d have to explain why he was there. She was bound to ask.

‘How’s the investigation going, sir? Did you want to talk to us?’

She’d naturally assumed that was the reason for his visit. ‘There’s been another death,’ he said, quickly trying to think how he could connect it with her and her sailing buddies, but before he could elaborate his name was called and he looked beyond Eames to see former DCI Mike Danby heading towards them.

‘What are you doing here?’ Danby shook his hand and smiled a greeting.

Horton didn’t see that he needed to explain his presence to Danby.

‘Thought I might become a member,’ he joked. ‘Just looking over the place to see if the clientele are respectable.’