'I have no idea,' Chilcott archly replied. 'I mentioned to you before that I couldn't find any invoices or receipts for anything in the house.'

  'Not even for the paintings and the wine?' Horton asked slightly sceptically.

  'No.'

  'You've seen that cellar?'

  'Of course.' Chilcott shifted, and his eyes darted to Cantelli and back to Horton.

  'Then you must know that some of the wine must be very valuable.'

  'Of course. I've had them valued.' Chilcott bristled.

  'By whom?'

  'Wight Barn Wines. They're a reputable Island company with an international reputation,' he added, as though Horton was about to criticize his choice of valuer.

  'I'd like a copy of their report.'

  Chilcott made as if to protest, then changed his mind. After all, he had been instructed by the abbot to give them every assistance. With slightly ill grace he said, 'I'll get my secretary to copy it.' He reached for his phone, but Horton forestalled him.

  'I'd also like an inventory of all the items you found in the house and on the boat. Was there a logbook?'

  'No.'

  The previous owner would have kept hold of his, and Halliwell, not owning the boat for long, might not have got around to supplying his own. Maybe Elkins was correct about the suicide theory, because Halliwell wouldn't need a logbook if his intention was to kill himself on board the first time out.

  'I'd also like copies of the provenance for the paintings,' Horton said.

  'There weren't any.'

  'Don't you think that strange?'

  'Why should I? It's not my job to comment on my late client's peculiarities.'

  No, thought Horton, all Chilcott wanted was to get his hands on a substantial fee for handling the estate. He left a short pause. The solicitor sniffed and looked down at the boardroom table. Outside, a car started up and a seagull screeched. Just when Chilcott looked set to break the uneasy silence, Horton said, 'What did you do with Mr Halliwell's clothes?'

  'Gave them to a charity shop.'

  'The abbot requested you do so?'

  'Yes.'

  'All of them?'

  'Yes.'

  Horton thought if the solicitor had been the same size as Halliwell he might have kept them. But Chilcott was short and round whereas Halliwell, by all accounts, had been tall and slim. Besides, Chilcott was younger, in his mid-forties, Horton had estimated, and his taste in clothes was a little on the flamboyant side. Today, his suit was a loud black pinstriped one accompanied by a lemon coloured tie that contained small white motifs which looked like tiny smiling faces.

  'What about Halliwell's personal belongings, jewellery for example?'

  'There wasn't any.'

  That was a lie. Horton sensed Cantelli's interest, but he didn't show it. 'I understand he was wearing a watch when his body was found.'

  Chilcott flushed and pulled his ear – the larger of the two. 'I'd forgotten, yes, he was. It was only a cheap one.'

  That wasn't what Arlett had said. Maybe he had been mistaken or the Tag Heuer had been a fake. Horton let it go for now.

  'The watch also went to the charity shop,' Chilcott said.

  'Which one?' asked Cantelli.

  Chilcott looked startled, as though he hadn't expected Cantelli to be capable of speech. 'The Red Cross in Shanklin High Street.'

  Cantelli took some time writing this down.

  Irritably, Chilcott said, 'Is that it because I really am extremely busy?'

  'We're sorry to keep you but appreciate your help,' Horton said smoothly. It didn't mollify the solicitor. 'There are a just a few more questions, Mr Chilcott. There were some binoculars in Mr Halliwell's study, did you see them?'

  'Of course.'

  'Did you look through them?'

  'Why should I want to do that? I see the view of the English Channel every day. My apartment overlooks it.'

  Horton nodded as though to say, of course, but he doubted anyone could have resisted using them. Perhaps Chilcott was the exception.

  'Then you didn't see the cabin in the bay.'

  'I've already told you I know nothing about it.'

  'It's quite clearly visible from Mr Halliwell's study, especially through the binoculars and in winter when the trees are bare. He must have known it was there.'

  'Well I didn't see it, and Mr Halliwell made no mention of it or anyone living in it.'

  Horton held Chilcott's gaze, but his eye contact remained steady. 'Did Mr Halliwell mention the piano? He must have been an accomplished pianist to own such a magnificent instrument.'

  'If he was, he never said. I didn't find any sheet music in the house.'

  Cantelli looked up. 'Perhaps he was too good to need music to read from.'

  Chilcott shrugged.

  'Did you make enquiries about his background or if he was known in musical circles?' Cantelli asked.

  'No, why should I?'

  'In case anyone wanted to attend his funeral.'

  'I put an announcement in the Daily Telegraph, The Times and the local press, but no one showed up.'

  'That's sad. Was he buried or cremated?'

  'I can't see –'

  'Just humour us, Mr Chilcott,' Horton interjected. 'We'll be out of your hair a lot quicker if you do.'

  He pursed his lips and scowled. 'Cremated. Eventually,' he added.

  So that blew an exhumation. Not that Horton had any reason to ask for one.

  'Why do you say "eventually"?' Cantelli asked.

  'He left his body to medical science and, as the Isle of Wight doesn't have a body donation process, it has to go to the nearest medical school which accepts them, and that's the University of Southampton. Mr Halliwell had made all the arrangements with the funeral director before his death.'

  Then he knew he was going to die and sooner rather than later, thought Horton, which indicated he had been aware that his health problem could carry him off at any time. Or had he been afraid of someone tracking him down and killing him? The landslip corpse perhaps? Or had Halliwell died first? Gaye couldn't be certain. It was a close call, anyway. If Halliwell had killed the landslip corpse then perhaps, suffering from delayed shock or anguish at what he'd done, combined with the cold, he'd had a heart attack on board his boat and died. Horton put his concentration back on what Chilcott was relaying.

  'Because of the manner of Mr Halliwell's death, alone, on his boat in the Solent, the coroner ordered an autopsy and that meant a delay in getting the body to Southampton. It has to be at the medical school within five days, but that wasn't the only stumbling block. I discovered that the medical school doesn't take bodies which have undergone an autopsy. I had no specific instructions as to what Mr Halliwell would have wanted, burial or cremation. He wasn't Catholic, even a lapsed one. At least, I don't think he was.'

  Cantelli again spoke, 'Did you find a rosary, crucifix or bible in Beachwood House?'

  'No, but as he had left his estate to the Benedictine Abbey, I asked Dom Daniel Briar what I should do. The abbot would have preferred a burial, which is traditional in the Catholic faith.'

  Cantelli nodded.

  'But there was no designated plot for a burial and the abbot wasn't certain Halliwell would have wanted that anyway, given that his original request was not to be either buried or cremated. I persuaded the abbot that it might be better for everyone if a simple cremation took place. The abbot capitulated on the grounds that a service be held for Halliwell first. Dom Daniel Briar spoke to the priest at the Catholic Church in Ryde, and it was arranged that Mr Halliwell's body be taken there for the Funeral Mass. The cremation took place straight afterwards with only myself, the priest from the church in Ryde and Dom Daniel Briar present.'

  Not Ben then, Horton thought, unless he had remained out of sight or had taken up residence in the cabin after Halliwell's death, but the latter seemed unlikely given what the abbot had told him about Ben's work at the abbey. Horton was certain Ben had been living in that cabin at least from May, when he had first approached the abbey asking them to sell his woodcarvings.

  Chilcott said, 'In accordance with the Catholic Church the remains were buried, not scattered, in the abbey grounds.'

  The phone rang and Chilcott swiftly answered it. Replacing the receiver, he said, 'My ten o'clock appointment has arrived. Now, if there's nothing else?'

  'Just copies of all the documentation you have,' answered Horton.

  Chilcott picked up the telephone and gave instructions to his secretary.

  'She'll be a while. If you wait in reception, she'll bring them to you.'

  They obliged. An elderly man was shown into the boardroom by Chilcott himself, who was all smiles and oily pleasantries.

  Five minutes later, Chilcott's secretary, a woman in her early fifties, handed them a buff coloured folder.

  Outside, Cantelli said, 'He's a bit on the defensive side.'

  'Perhaps that's just his manner.'

  'Maybe,' Cantelli dubiously replied, zapping open the car and climbing in.

  'You think he's bent?'

  'My nose does.'

  'Your nose could be right. His description of the watch doesn't match that of Jason Arlett from the inshore rescue team. Let's see what it's listed as in the documentation.' He flipped through the paperwork. 'A Timex valued at fifty pounds. Either Jason Arlett was wrong or Chilcott's manipulated the inventory.'

  'I'd go for the latter.'

  'The watch must have been removed from the body in the mortuary. I wonder what they listed it as. I don't think we'll find that watch in the charity shop, but I'll get Sergeant Norris to follow it up. I'd like to talk to the wine valuers.' Horton flicked through the documentation. 'Wight Barn Wines, Niton.' He relayed the post code and, Cantelli, after punching it into the Sat Nav., pulled away and headed south.

  Horton scanned the valuation report. 'There are some very expensive wines in that cellar.'

  'You mean worth more than a few pounds?'

  'More than a few thousand pounds.'

  'For one bottle of wine?' Cantelli cried incredulously.

  'According to this. There are two bottles each valued at approximately ten thousand pounds.'

  'To drink?' Cantelli exclaimed. 'Seems a waste to me, in one end and out the other with nothing to show for it except a headache.'

  'Not with this wine, Barney. It's not plonk.'

  'I don't believe any wine can be worth that amount of money.'

  'Well, the expert, Mr Charles Nansen, thinks they are. The art expert, Felicity Ellwood, is also based here on the island. But there's no valuation report for those paintings.'

  'Perhaps she hasn't finished valuing them. She could be trying to discover more about them.'

  'Probably. We'll talk to her later. The snooker table is listed here. Value provided by a reputable company. Six thousand pounds,' Horton added, consulting the notes. 'And the piano. Now that is interesting. It's been valued at twenty five thousand pounds.'

  'For a piano!' Cantelli almost veered off the narrow road in his surprise.

  'It's a Yamaha C3X Grand Piano, Polished Ebony.'

  'Oh, well that makes all the difference,' Cantelli said airily.

  Horton smiled. 'No one buys a piano like that for decoration. Halliwell must have been an accomplished pianist. So why didn't Chilcott advertize his client's demise in the appropriate musical periodicals?'

  'Too lazy or too incompetent,' Cantelli summarized.

  'Or didn't want anyone to come forward in case they obtained permission from the abbot to enter the house and could see what was missing.'

  'A piano and snooker table are on the large side to tuck under your jacket,' Cantelli said smiling.

  Horton returned it. 'That watch might not be the only item Peter Chilcott has helped himself to. There might have been other more portable items he could have removed from the property.'

  'Such as the wine.'

  'Sounds more likely than smuggling out a painting, unless it was a small one, although I didn't note any tell-tale gaps. That piano might tell us more about Halliwell. The company who sold it to him must know more about him. It's not the sort of thing you buy online without trying it out. Likewise, the wine cellar. No one goes to that much expense and trouble without knowing his stuff, and that could mean Halliwell was well known in wine circles.'

  'Doesn't get us much further with the landslip corpse.'

  'He could have been a fellow musician or wine lover.'

  'Or artist.'

  'Wrong clothes,' Horton said, thinking of Lomas.

  'Not all artists go around dressed in ripped jeans and tatty T-shirts,' Cantelli said. 'Our landslip corpse could have put on his best suit because he was calling on a wealthy patron.'

  'And ended up dead.'

  'Professional jealousy?'

  'I doubt it, Barney, but you never know. Turn left here.'

  Cantelli did as instructed and, after half a mile, pulled up in front of an impressive manor house constructed in Isle of Wight grey stone, a barn complex and some large signs that informed them they had reached the premises of Wight Barn Wines.

  Ten

  'I was sorry to hear about Mr Halliwell's death,' Charles Nansen said, gesturing them into comfortable leather and chrome seats around a table in the large barn which had been converted into offices. Through the tall windows overlooking the garden and fields, Horton caught a glimpse of the sea in the distance. The other walls of the barn were taken up with large well-executed photographs of wines and of the man seated in front of them, well built, dark-haired, with a beard, deep brown eyes, about mid forty. In most of the photographs he was accompanied by two other men, one of a similar age, the other about ten years older, and a dark-haired woman in her early forties. Nansen's dog, a brown Labrador, took up position by his master's side.

  'You knew Mr Halliwell?' Horton asked hopefully. At last someone who could tell them what the living man was like.

  'Not exactly,' came the disappointing reply. 'He purchased some wines from us. Not rare and vintage wines, like some of those in his excellent cellar, but nevertheless some of superb quality.'

  'Then I take it the two bottles you valued at ten thousand pounds each is not a misprint?'

  Nansen smiled. 'No. They're probably worth even more than that.'

  Cantelli shook his head in bewilderment.

  'The Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, or DRC as collectors like to call it, with the vintage of 1978, is one of the most coveted and expensive French pinot noirs there is. In 2015, one bottle alone was sold at auction by Sothebys for twenty thousand dollars.'

  Cantelli spluttered and turned it into a cough.

  Horton said, 'Do know how he acquired them?'

  Nansen picked at his beard. 'No, and that's the sad and puzzling thing, because Mr Chilcott couldn't find any provenance for any of the wines.'

  'And without this provenance the wine is worth less money?'

  'It will put off the serious investors, but there will still be plenty of buyers who will purchase them, as well as other vintage and excellent wines in his cellar for laying down, or for the pleasure of drinking.'

  'How did Mr Halliwell order his wines from you?' According to Chilcott, Halliwell hadn't a computer or a phone, although he had liaised with the seller of the boat by phone.

  'He turned up here. He only came once, in January. We talked about wines, and I showed him around, then he placed an order, which we delivered.'

  'To Beachwood House?'

  'Yes.'

  'Did he take delivery himself?'

  'I believe so. Tim Jennings, who delivered the wine, will know more about that.' Charles Nansen looked a little perplexed.

  Horton would speak to Jennings. 'What made Mr Halliwell come to you?'

  'He'd heard of our reputation and said that, as he had only recently taken up residence on the island, he thought he'd check us out.'

  That sounded reasonable. 'How did he get here?' Horton asked. This place was hardly on a regular bus route. The narrow road leading down to it was off the beaten track, surrounded by fields and rolling hills. And Halliwell didn't have a car or a licence to drive a hired one.

  'He came by taxi and asked the driver to wait.'

  It would probably be easy to track down the taxi company and its driver on the island, but Horton suspected that Halliwell would have confided nothing.

 

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