'He gave me a business card, but it didn't have any address on it. I had that card checked for fingerprints and there was no match until last Wednesday with an unidentified man in the mortuary. I came over to identify him, thinking I would find Lomas, but it was a completely different man. One we only know by the name of Ben who was found dead in his cabin in Luccombe Bay by a woman called Carina Musgrove who had arrived by boat.'

  She studied him so hard that he felt uneasy and concerned, not for himself but for her. He could see that something troubled her deeply. After a moment she said, 'I heard about the body found in the landslip there. Do you think it is this man called Lomas?'

  'No. I think he could be the real Cedric Halliwell, the owner of the house above the bay, whereas the man found dead on his boat on 1 February posing as Cedric Halliwell was called Michael Paignton, convicted of murder in 1970 and released in 1990. It's possible that your father knew Michael Paignton.' 'How?' she asked shocked, then puzzled. 'Because Paignton could have been a close friend of Lord Eames' brother, and your uncle, Gordon.'

  She looked thoughtful. 'Which is why you're here. You thought my father might know these men. But if he did, what can he tell you about them?'

  Horton shrugged. He sipped his coffee; it was excellent, and she remembered how he took it: black, strong, no sugar.

  'Lomas was sturdy, about six feet with a close-cropped greying beard and short grey hair. Do you recall seeing anyone like that around here?'

  'No. I wasn't here in October.'

  'I'd also like to know if a man called George Caws visited your father in January? Your father's name was given to Caws by Wight Barn Wines who supply Lord Eames with wine for his cellar. They also supplied Cedric Halliwell. We can't trace Caws, but we'd very much like to.'

  'He hasn't mentioned any of these men to me, but then that is probably because he doesn't know them. I will ask him to call you.'

  Would he though?

  There was a moment's silence before she added, 'How is Sergeant Cantelli?'

  'Fine.'

  'And you?'

  'Fine.'

  She smiled. 'Still living on your boat?'

  'Yes.' He didn't know what to say to her, and it seemed she was as equally tongue tied. He always felt awkward when dealing with her. It wasn't her fault who her father was, or that he despised him. But he wished he didn't like her so much. Quickly, he drained his coffee and said he'd better be leaving. She looked slightly taken aback at his abrupt exit but not disappointed. In fact, she looked relieved.

  On his way back to the ferry, he wondered what Eames would make of his conversation with his daughter. Would Eames worry that he was getting closer to the truth behind Jennifer's disappearance, or would Lomas and Paignton prove to be dead ends because Eames and the intelligence services would ensure they were, or because they had nothing to do with Jennifer? Either that or he might end up being the dead end. Surely they wouldn't go to such extremes?

  Would Eames phone him? Perhaps he would delegate that task to his daughter, telling her he had never heard of Lomas, Paignton or George Caws.

  Horton collected the bulky file of paperwork from Sergeant Norris at Newport. Norris said he had checked the contents against the index to make sure it was all there. Chilcott hadn't had time or opportunity to remove anything because Norris had stood over him and his secretary.

  Horton boarded the five o'clock sailing and had reached the entrance to Portsmouth harbour when his phone rang. It was Cantelli.

  'I've got something, Andy,' he said excitedly. 'I know who the landslip victim is and if I were a betting man, I'd put my pension on it. It's not the real Cedric Halliwell but a man called Jerry Carswell.'

  'And who the blazes is he?'

  'I'll tell you when you get here.'

  Eighteen

  'I started by looking into wine thefts,' Cantelli said to Horton and Walters. Bliss had left for a meeting and Cantelli said he hadn't had time to brief her on what he and Walters had discovered. Besides, Cantelli said, he'd wanted to tell Horton first. Horton with a black coffee in front of him listened eagerly.

  'I kept thinking of Nigel Tamar,' Cantelli continued. 'The wine fraudster who we know is not Caws because Tamar is younger, and he's done a bunk abroad. But I considered the fact that Caws could have been trying to pump Nansen for information of where valuable wines were held with the intention of stealing them.'

  'He wouldn't have been able to steal any from Lord Eames' property with Danby's high security system in place,' Horton said. 'I've paid a visit to his Lordship. He was not at home, but his daughter was. She asked after you.'

  'That was nice of her; but then she's a nice girl. Am I allowed to say that? Or am I'm being sexist or politically incorrect?'

  'Probably both,' replied Walters.

  Horton said, 'I don't think Harriet would mind. She might even say you're a nice boy.'

  Cantelli smiled. 'Been a while since I've been called a boy.'

  'Probably even longer since you've been called 'nice' in this job,' Walters muttered.

  'That's true enough. 'Kind' though, which is reward in itself sometimes. Is Harriet on holiday?'

  'She didn't say. I guess so. She said she'd ask her father if Caws had visited him, but I doubt he did.' Horton made no mention of the fact he'd also talked to her about Lomas and Paignton.

  'I agree, because Cedric Halliwell at Beachwood House was a much better target.' Cantelli swallowed some tea before continuing, 'Over the last four years there have been thefts of rare and valuable wines from four private investors, as well as two wine merchants, all of whom had purchased some rare vintages at auction. The same gang committed the crimes. Not on our patch but in London and Surrey. The modus operandi is that someone takes up a presence at the auction, watches who bids for the wine and then manages to overhear, or obtain from one of the officials, details of who has purchased it and where it has gone. Then they case out the joint and steal the wine. The perpetrators of those thefts have been caught and are currently serving time, so it's not our landslip corpse. But it made me wonder if someone else was playing the same game, i.e. George Caws, who was tracking down either Cedric Halliwell or Lord Eames, both of whom Nansen had mentioned to Caws. Either or both could have purchased rare wine at a recent auction.'

  'I can't see Lord Eames doing his own bidding,' Horton said. 'He probably has a relationship with a vintner in London to do that for him. And the bidding is probably done by phone.'

  'Mine and Walters thoughts exactly, and the same could be said for Halliwell but Caws could still have got the name of the buyer from the auction house. Walters and I spilt the list of auction houses who specialize in rare and vintage wines.'

  'That's why I haven't got anything on the piano companies,' Walters quickly explained.

  Cantelli continued, 'I struck lucky. I discovered that Cedric Halliwell had purchased some wine at an auction at Bonhams in London in December, and as you said, Andy, it was by telephone. The wine was shipped to Beachwood House on 7 January.'

  'When Halliwell was in residence, or to be accurate the phoney Halliwell aka Michael Paignton.'

  'Yes. Paignton posing as Halliwell already had access to all the real Halliwell's accounts. The wines are listed on the valuation report. One bottle of Moët & Chandon Champagne Cuvée Dom Pérignon 1975 vintage, which he paid just over a thousand pounds for and a Bordeaux Pétrus again 1975.'

  'Obviously a good year.'

  'An exceedingly good one, that bottle alone set Paignton or rather Halliwell – it was his money – back four thousand pounds. Paignton, posing as Halliwell, bid by telephone so the auctioneer couldn't give me his description, but when I asked her if anyone else had expressed an interest in those wines and regret at not getting them, or had been curious about who had purchased them, she said there had been one man. She remembered him well, a Mr George Caws. He was knowledgeable about wines, about sixty, slim, distinguished looking. A charming man who was most put out that the Champagne Cuvée Dom Pérignon and Bordeaux Pétrus had gone to someone else.'

  'I bet he was. Did he bid for them?'

  'Yes, but he knew he wouldn't get them. He knew exactly when to shake and nod his head.'

  'I'm amazed she can remember him.'

  'It's her business to remember names and faces, she said, when I questioned her on that. Besides, I think George Caws made quite an impression on her. Ms Passmore was concerned when I said we were trying to trace Caws. She told me that she would never divulge a client's details, and I believe her because, if she had, then Caws could have gone straight to Beachwood House without having to bother with Wight Barn Wines. But she admitted it was possible that Caws had learned that the wine had gone to someone living on the Isle of Wight. Caws set about tracing the client, in this case through the most reputable wine merchants on the island, Wight Barn Wines. Once he had the details, he called at Beachwood House using some guise to study it for the best opportunities for theft. Only when he got there, he found his old cellmate Michael Paignton.'

  'Cellmate?' Horton's hand froze as he was about to take a drink.

  'Yes. Caws, or that should be Jerry Carswell, served time in Parkhurst Prison.'

  'Ah.' Horton swallowed his coffee as Cantelli continued:

  'His most recent stretch was from 2002 until he was released last September and, before you say that has nothing to do with Paignton, the stretch he served before that was from 1985 to 1992 in Parkhurst. He should have served eleven years but was released on licence after seven. He was convicted for the theft of highly valuable vintage wines and aggravated burglary. He assaulted the owner who disturbed him in the act. Walters and I think that Carswell, on release this last time, was up to his old tricks again, only he got more than he bargained for. He ended up dead and buried on the cliffside.' Cantelli sat forward and eagerly continued, 'Carswell recognized his old cellmate even after twenty-five years. He knew he was on to a winner. He was talking to another ex-con like himself, one who was living in the lap of luxury. He had a hold over him, which he would exploit to the full. Paignton had something to hide. His prison record.'

  'But from whom?' asked Horton. 'He didn't mix with anyone on the island. He lived like a recluse.'

  'But he didn't want anyone to know about the wealth he'd stolen from the real Halliwell, hence the outside of his house looking decrepit while the inside was luxury. And he left his money to the abbey, probably as an atonement for his wicked ways.'

  'So Paignton kills Jerry Carswell aka Caws and buries him on the cliffside, which means the time of death has to be before 1 February when Paignton was found dead on the boat. His death being from natural causes.'

  Walters said, 'Ben could have killed Carswell.'

  'That's possible, especially if a wood carving implement matches the wound in the victim's skull. Apparently, PC Jennings is a whiz at wood carving and Sergeant Warren's showing him pictures of the wound for his opinion. We need to get hold of Carswell's medical record. If he's had knee surgery and previously broken his leg in two places, as Dr Clayton found for the landslip corpse, then that could go some way to confirming your theory, which I'd say is highly probable. Gaye said the breaks were about twenty years old.'

  'Someone inside might have helped break them,' Walters ventured.

  'Possible, and we might get that from his prison record. Gaye's opinion was the knee surgery on the landslip corpse was conducted about fifteen years ago. So if it is Carswell then perhaps he had the knee op before his second prison stretch.'

  Cantelli said, 'Carswell's last known address is a flat in Southampton. We can check it out. If he answers the door, then Walters and I are way off beam.'

  'Only one way to find out,' Horton said, rising. 'Call on him tomorrow, while you, Walters, can get back on the piano trail. I'll update Uckfield.' Horton's phone rang on the way to the incident suite, and he was pleased to see it was Felice.

  'I'm sorry about the weekend, Andy.'

  'That's fine. How is your father?'

  'A little better now, thank you. I've heard back from the picture framers in Australia. They said that the man they billed for framing the paintings was Cedric Halliwell.'

  'He called in person?'

  'They can't remember. They were framed fifteen years ago and stored at a specialist art depository in Sydney. I've checked with them. They were kept there until last July when they were shipped to Beachwood House.'

  'Thanks.'

  'Oh, and Andy, about showing you over my boat, maybe this weekend?'

  'That would be great,' he answered with eagerness.

  He met Uckfield at the bottom of the stairs, just leaving for home. The Super looked dreadful. His face was grey and creased up as though in pain, and he walked gingerly to the rear entrance.

  'Are you alright, Steve?' Horton asked, seeing that Uckfield was far from alright.

  'Fine,' Uckfield muttered. 'What do you want?'

  Horton fell into step beside him, relaying what Cantelli and Walters had discovered. He wondered how much was sinking in. Uckfield was distracted and breathing heavily. 'I'd like to request access to Carswell's prison record,' Horton said.

  'OK,' Uckfield managed to mutter through gritted teeth as they reached his car.

  Horton was even more worried but, before he could say anything, Uckfield emitted a loud cry, swore vehemently and clutched the right side of his body.

  'Steve!' Horton stepped forward.

  'I'm fine,' Uckfield snarled, breathlessly. 'It's this ruddy stomach bug, it just won't shift.'

  'Maybe you should see a doctor.'

  'Waste of time.'

  'Would you like me to drive you home?'

  'Stop bloody fussing.' Uckfield, with an effort tried to pull himself up. He made to open the door, swayed and was suddenly on the ground, clearly in a great deal of agony. Horton shouted to a uniformed officer who was crossing to the station rear entrance. 'An ambulance! Quick!' Then to Uckfield he said, 'It's OK, Steve, despite what you say you're seeing a doctor now!'

  'Thank Christ for that,' Uckfield hissed and passed out.

  Nineteen

  Wednesday

  'Burst appendix,' Horton relayed to Cantelli on the phone from the hospital the following morning. After going in the ambulance with Uckfield the previous night, Horton had stayed until Alison – Uckfield's wife – had arrived along with her father, the former Chief Constable, who had told him curtly and ungratefully he was no longer needed. Horton had never much cared for Reg Dyer and disliked him even more since he had chosen to believe the false claims of gross misconduct against him that had sealed the end of his marriage and scuppered his promotion chances. This morning before heading for work Horton had made for the hospital and enquired about Uckfield's health.

  'There was a risk of peritonitis, but they say he's going to be OK.'

  'Well that's a relief,' Cantelli said with feeling. Horton could hear a voice in the background. Cantelli continued, 'That's Walters. He says, knowing the Super, he'll still want to run the investigation from his sick bed.'

  'The Assistant Chief Constable will have other ideas and you have one guess who Dean will put in charge.'

  'Bliss,' announced Cantelli. 'Not sure DI Dennings will be pleased about that.'

  'Not sure any of us will be, but she is the senior officer so we'll have to grin and bear it and try and keep out of her ponytail as much as possible. And, if I'm not mistaken, that's her now on the phone I can hear ringing in the background. You'd better update her about Jerry Carswell. Tell her I'll be back shortly. I'm just going to see if I can have a word with Dr Clayton.'

  He was pleased to find Gaye in her office. 'Just writing up the report on Ben's autopsy,' she said, 'but I'm glad you're here because I was about to call you.' She waved him into a seat in her cramped office.

  'That's not the sole reason I'm here.' He told her about Uckfield.

  'Poor man. I'll look in on him.'

  'He'll think you're sizing him up for an autopsy.'

  She smiled. 'I can't imagine him being the best patient in the world.'

  No. But then Horton knew he wouldn't be either. He'd hate it, but sometimes, sadly, you weren't given any choice. 'I think Bliss will be put in charge of the investigation. Did you find anything new from your autopsy on Ben?' he keenly asked.

  'My examination yielded the same results as the other pathologist. Ben died of natural causes.'

  'Oh.'

  'But …'

  'You're not sure?' he asked eagerly.

  She fell silent for a moment. Then, 'There are one or two things that I thought interesting, hence my thoughts of calling you.'

  Horton eyed the petite, freckled, fair-skinned woman across the desk. 'Go on.'

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28