Undercurrent (29 page)

To Cantelli, Horton said, ‘Simon Watson could have slipped out of the restaurant on Tuesday night to meet Redsall. He’s a chemist. He could have poisoned Redsall and returned to the restaurant.’

‘But there’s no sign of him or anyone else on the CCTV footage.’

‘Could Walters have missed it?’

Cantelli shrugged. ‘We can check again.’

‘Do that and see what you can find on Watson. See if there’s any connection between him, Redsall and Spalding.’

Cantelli nodded. Horton continued. ‘If Redsall wasn’t poisoned in the marina though, where was he given the drug and why did he go to the marina?’

‘To meet someone?’ suggested Gaye.

‘Yes, but who?’

Cantelli said, ‘Perhaps he was told to go there but whoever he thought was going to show didn’t because they’d already been told he would be dead by then.’

‘But why was he told to go there?’

‘To throw you off the scent,’ suggested Gaye. ‘I said this is a clever poison and therefore a clever poisoner. Your killer administers the drug knowing that by the time his victim is dead, he’ll be a long way from where it was administered, therefore making it far more difficult to determine who he or she is.’

Horton rapidly assimilated this. ‘That means Spalding’s killer wasn’t at the lecture at all. And Redsall’s killer is unlikely to be Simon Watson because he wouldn’t have wanted Redsall ending up dead on Ashton’s boat. But still run a check on him, Barney, just to be certain.’

‘Do we tell Uckfield this?’ asked Cantelli.

‘No.’ Horton saw Gaye raise her eyebrows. To her he said, ‘Send your report across as usual, then it’s up to Uckfield what he does about it. I have a feeling though that he might be pushed into drawing the conclusion that the poison was self-administered.’

Gaye said she would do so and let Horton know if she came up with anything else relevant to the inquiry. On the way back to the car Horton ran through what Gaye had given them.

‘Excluding the possibility of the killer being this Simon Watson, we’ve got three possible suspects: Brenda Crossley, Beatrice Redsall and Erica Leyton, four if we throw in Dr Deacon.’

‘And five if Ted Crossley was in it with his wife.’

‘And the motive for each of them?’ Horton posed, then proceeded to answer his own question. ‘Ted and Brenda Crossley killed because of something Spalding had uncovered during his research into women in the Royal Navy which would harm Brenda Crossley. The same motive applies to Beatrice Redsall except that Spalding’s research would harm the memory of her dead brother.’

Cantelli zapped open the car looking confused. ‘But why would Erica Leyton kill Spalding? If she did it because he refused her attentions, it’s a bit weak and where does Redsall fit into it?’

‘You’re right. I can’t see why she would kill them or Meadows.’

‘And what would be Dr Deacon’s motive?’ asked Cantelli, climbing in. ‘Unless he was a doctor in the Navy before becoming a GP and Spalding’s research revealed something dodgy about him. Yeah I know, we’ll add him to the list to check.’

Horton stretched the seat belt around him. ‘It has to be connected with Spalding’s research because why else would Redsall need the contents of Spalding’s briefcase?’

‘We don’t know that he took it for certain.’

No, thought Horton dejectedly. But
if
he did then why was it so important?
Why?
It worried away at his brain as Cantelli reversed out of the space and headed down into Portsmouth. He stared at the big fat raindrops splattering on the windscreen. The research was the key, he was now certain of it, but there was something else gnawing at the back of his mind. Something he was missing. What the devil was it?
Think.
Why had Spalding lied about his current research, or rather why had he told three people he was researching into three different areas? Maybe it was the truth. Maybe he said it to disguise what he was really researching, which had thrown the intelligence services into panic. Which had made it essential to steal Spalding’s laptop. His mind flashed through what he’d seen in Spalding’s office in his home. Then it struck him. My God, it was so astonishingly and devastatingly simple. It had been staring him in the face and he hadn’t seen it. And he knew exactly why Redsall hadn’t been killed immediately after Spalding.

Eagerly he said, ‘Redsall took that computer all right, and I know why, because on it was access not only to Spalding’s research but also to his backup files.’

‘Eh?’

Excitedly Horton explained, ‘Spalding was a naval historian. His research was important, it was how he made his living, so he wouldn’t risk having all his research on a computer that might crash or be stolen. There was no sign of an external back-up hard drive in his study at his home and no report of a break-in to indicate anyone had taken it. So if he did have one and if it was taken then it was by an expert intruder, which smacks of the intelligence service. Alternatively Jacqueline Spalding or her father-in-law, Ronald, allowed someone in, someone they knew and trusted.’

‘Dr Deacon. He called on them and he has the medical knowledge to know about poisons.’

‘Yes, but I don’t think anyone broke in or stole any external back-up hard drive because Spalding didn’t use one. I’m betting he used an online back-up service and the killer, with Spalding’s computer in his possession, would be able to discover who that provider was. All he had to do was interrogate the computer, locate the provider, claim he’d forgotten his password, get a new one and gain access to all Spalding’s research material.’

‘So we’re looking for someone who knew his way around computers?’

‘Yes, but not necessarily a geek or an expert. Just someone fairly competent and comfortable around them.’

‘Probably rules out Beatrice Redsall.’

Horton thought it likely, except he knew they shouldn’t make prejudgements. She could be extremely familiar with modern technology and he said as much, adding, ‘And she could be in league with someone who knows a great deal about computers.’ He recalled Ted Crossley proudly boasting they had wi-fi in all rooms and remembered silently admiring the Crossleys’ rear garden with its trees and shrubs. Perhaps Ted Crossley had worked with computers in the Navy, or Brenda Crossley might have done and they’d kept at the forefront of technological developments. Dr Deacon would also be up on technology. Then another thought occurred to Horton. ‘Redsall might have been the computer expert and once he’d obtained the information he was killed. We need to follow Spalding’s research trail.’

‘That could take months.’

‘There might be a short cut.’ Horton rang Marcus Felspur.

‘H
e’s off sick.’

Horton silently cursed. ‘Nothing serious, I hope.’

‘No, just a stomach bug. Something he ate, he thinks.’

But Horton didn’t need Felspur in particular; maybe the library assistant could help. He asked if she was able to pull together the list of research material Douglas Spalding had consulted over the last year.

‘I’ll do my best, but I’m on my own today so it depends on how busy we are. I’ll email it over as soon as I have it.’

Horton knew from his previous conversation with Felspur that it would only present a snapshot of what Spalding might have been researching, but at least it was a start. Back at the station Cantelli began the laborious process of approaching local naval associations and historical societies to find out if Spalding had contacted them. He’d also contact the university library. But as he’d said in the car that would all take time and Horton was growing increasingly frustrated by the delay and by the fact that he didn’t have the resources. In addition, Walters was making heavy weather of cross-checking the naval careers of the Crossleys, Meadows, Jonathan Redsall and Spalding because the Admiralty were dragging their heels over giving them access to the records. Horton thought he knew why, though there was a niggling doubt that he might be getting a little paranoid and obsessed. The deaths could have nothing to do with an intelligence service cover-up. The motive could be far simpler: greed, love, lust, revenge, fear. Or the deaths, excluding Meadows, could be suicide in both Spalding’s case and Redsall’s, said the small voice at the back of his mind. They had enough crime that wasn’t in any doubt to keep them going for a century, so why waste time on this? Because it was murder. He couldn’t let it drop, not yet.

He told Walters to add Dr Deacon to his list for checking. The fat detective went into shock and sought comfort in another packet of sandwiches and an extra bar of chocolate. At the rate he was going, Horton thought they’d have to lift him out of his seat with a crane. He wished he had Trueman working on it because he was a genius when it came to research, but that meant Uckfield knowing what Horton was doing and Trueman had told him that on receipt of Dr Clayton’s findings, Uckfield had indeed declared the drugs to have been self-administered and he was sticking to that until, and if, the Coroner found any differently. Horton knew he wouldn’t. Trueman had said there was no fresh evidence on Meadows’ murder. No one had come forward to say they’d seen him or his killer.

Horton paced his office; it was raining heavily and his brain felt sluggish. He was finding it hard to concentrate. At the back of his mind Quentin Amos’s words nagged away at him and he itched to get on with his enquiries into Jennifer’s disappearance, but that would distract him from the murders of Meadows, Redsall and Spalding. If they didn’t find some evidence soon, evidence that Uckfield and ACC Dean couldn’t sweep under the carpet, then the deaths would be neatly filed away and forgotten in the case of Redsall and Spalding. He doubted if Beatrice Redsall cared very much about the outcome of her nephew’s death. She was certainly near the top of the list as far as suspects were concerned. But Jacqueline Spalding, her children and Douglas Spalding’s father deserved better than that. Those children shouldn’t have to go through life feeling guilty, hurt and angry, believing their father had killed himself.

And Meadows’ murder? Horton knew they’d find someone to pin that on. Into his mind came the image of that battered and bloody body. He stopped pacing and stared out of the window without seeing the rain bouncing off the roofs of the cars in the car park, or the police officers escorting villains from patrol vehicles into the rear of the station. Instead he saw the ancient fortifications in Old Portsmouth guarding the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour where Meadows’ body had been discovered. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t think. He picked up his jacket and helmet and made his way through CID, telling Cantelli on the way that he needed some air. He felt Cantelli’s worried eyes follow him out.

Fifteen minutes later he was parking the Harley in front of the ancient stone walls. The area was no longer sealed off but the heavy rain was deterring the usual walkers and tourists. He had the place to himself which suited him fine. Alone on the top of the Round Tower he stared at the choppy, swirling dark grey sea. The tide was racing in and he could see a couple of optimistic and bedraggled fishermen at the end of the short pier down to his left and further along the beach. He watched the Wightlink ferry sail out on its way to the Isle of Wight, thinking of Agent Eames and her father Lord Eames in the yacht club where he’d met Professor Madeley. Madeley had to be a member otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested meeting there. Or was he? Perhaps he had been the guest of someone who was a member.

His thoughts returned to Ivor Meadows. Why had Meadows chosen this as a meeting place for his rendezvous with the killer? And even if he hadn’t chosen it, why had he agreed to come here at the killer’s request? OK, so Meadows had been pompous and cockily confident that he could handle himself, but it was a risk meeting someone in such a dark and deserted place at that time of night. But what if he didn’t know this person was a killer. Perhaps this person had told Meadows they had some highly sensitive information they wanted to give him which could expose a major crime. No one must know his identity, it was a lie to lure Meadows here and kill him because this person was afraid Meadows knew something damaging. Yes, Meadows would have fallen for that. And recalling his first conversation with Meadows, when he’d made known his very strong views about women, Horton knew that Meadows would firmly believe he could handle anything a woman could throw at him. So, he thought, gazing across the harbour, if this woman had approached Meadows afraid he knew too much and had to be silenced then she had known how and where to get hold of him.

He considered this fact. Think, he urged his weary brain; put this into some kind of order. Brenda Crossley had attended Spalding’s previous lecture in May and Meadows had been there. He might have recognized her but had thought nothing of it until Horton had mentioned the name Redsall. Then Meadows had made the connection between her and Jonathan Redsall. Maybe they’d had an affair. Meadows had approached her. Brenda, afraid that he might expose her affair or some more serious misdemeanour that Jonathan Redsall and others had covered up, had agreed to meet Meadows here and had killed him.

Then there was Beatrice Redsall. Equally Meadows could have agreed to meet her here. Beatrice Redsall had told Horton she’d assisted her brother in his career after his wife had died; perhaps she knew something about her brother that she was desperate to hush up. Desperate enough to kill three men for?

Horton wiped a hand across his wet face as he considered this and continued with his theories. He’d earlier dismissed Erica Leyton but perhaps he shouldn’t have done. Cantelli had suggested she might have used the naval museum library for her research into HMS
Challenger
; perhaps she’d met Ivor Meadows there. He could check if she’d signed in there and when. He consulted his watch; the museum library would still be open. He hurried down to his Harley. His phone rang on the way. It was Walters.

‘Dr Deacon didn’t serve in the Navy. He came from a practice in Devon to Portsmouth four years ago.’

So that ruled him out, but Horton knew it hadn’t been Deacon.

‘And Simon Watson has never been in the Navy and he didn’t go to the same university or school as Spalding or Redsall or live in the same area.’