'There's no sign of any struggle. I suppose it could have been cleaned up,' Elkins suggested. 'Someone would have to be master cleaner of the year to get it looking like this.'

  Horton moved forward into one of the two sleeping cabins. This was clearly Thurlow's. Elkins took the other one. Thurlow's navy blue sailing bag was on the bunk. Horton opened it and peered inside, a couple of pairs of shorts, T shirts, underpants and socks. His shaving gear was still in the toilet bag, which he unzipped. Inside was the usual: toothpaste, razor, aftershave and shaving cream but then his fingers clasped something that wasn't so usual.

  He pulled out a small bottle of tablets. They were prescribed to Roger Thurlow. Hypovase. He wondered what they were for; both Mrs Thurlow and Charles Calthorpe had said that Thurlow didn't have any health problems and although Thurlow might not have told Calthorpe, surely his wife would know if there was something wrong with him? Perhaps they weren't for anything serious and she hadn't thought it worth mentioning? He popped the bottle into a plastic evidence bag. They'd have a word with his GP.

  He continued his search, moving into the tiny bathroom. Only a man's shower gel from the Body Shop, half used, hung in the shower tidy. Above the sink basin was a perspex glass toothbrush holder. He could see no women's toiletries.

  He bent down and pulled open the cupboard under the sink. Inside he found a bottle of household bleach from Waitrose, a tube of bathroom cleaner, and a couple of rags. As he made to straighten up something caught his eye. The bottom of the cupboard was laid with pale blue carpet tiles and he could see in the far right hand corner that one of them had curled slightly. Perhaps the damp had got to it he thought, or maybe the heat. Perhaps it hadn't been laid properly. In a boat costing over £200,000! Somehow he didn't think so.

  He knelt and prised up the edge of the carpet tile. It came up remarkably easily; too easily Horton thought as he reached in and felt his fingers grip something. It was a pile of magazines. At first he thought they must have been used as lining, but what kind of boat fitters would use magazines to line a luxury yacht like this? Stretching forward he gently lifted them out. The front cover of each of the three magazines sported naked couples; one of a man and woman, the other two of women locked in poses that left the reader in no doubt of their main activity. It didn't require any great leap of imagination to guess what was inside the covers.

  He flicked quickly through the pages, though his experience in SID had already primed him for what he would see, hard core porn that would never see the light of day on the top shelves of even the less discerning newsagents. These magazines were distributed privately and were smuggled into the country either from Germany or from Holland. And why he knew that was because they were the same sort of stuff that had been found on Woodard and which had led them to Alpha One and Jarrett.

  He sat back on his heels, his mind racing and his heart pumping a little faster. No, this couldn't be linked to Jarrett; that was too much to hope for, surely? But there was a connection: Culven was both Jarrett's and Thurlow's solicitor; Thurlow's office was a stone's throw from Alpha One. Culven liked being caned; Thurlow was carrying hard-core porn; Jarrett was distributing it. OK, so the last was speculation but there were too many connections to be coincidence. Or was that just wishful thinking on his part? Was he so obsessed that he wanted Culven's death to be connected to Jarrett? He knew what Uckfield would say.

  He heard Elkins give a soft whistle.

  'Get me a large evidence bag,' Horton commanded.

  Elkins returned promptly by which time Horton was back on deck holding the offending articles.

  'Any sign of Thurlow's tender yet?'

  Elkins shook his head. 'No and if it's not marked with the boat's name we might never find it. There are hundreds of dinghies lying around and tons of places it could be.'

  Horton agreed. He called for a forensic team to go aboard Thurlow's boat then walked the few hundred yards to the large modern import control building where he asked to see Tom Maddox, the senior import and marine liaison officer.

  A couple of minutes later Horton was standing in his office watching the cars being driven on to a ferry bound for France. Beyond it he could see the masts of the ships in Horsea Marina. He wondered how Cantelli was getting on.

  Horton said, 'I need you to check out a yacht for me, Tom. Porn's involved.' He saw Maddox eye the evidence bag in his hand but he wasn't going to show it yet.

  'What's she called?' Maddox waved him into >a seat, folded his tall, lean frame into the chair opposite and pushed up his spectacles. 'The Free Spirit. She's in the secure compound.'

  'I can't say I know the name.'

  'Roger Thurlow's the owner. He's missing and we want to question him in connection with murder. You've probably heard about our body on the beach.'

  Maddox swivelled his chair, his craggy features frowning as he thought. 'Thurlow. I don't know the name or the boat. Who's the dead man?'

  'Michael Culven. He had a boat called Otter.'

  'No. Doesn't ring any bells. I'll check them both out but I don't think we've ever stopped them.'

  'Are you still keeping an eye on Jarrett?' Horton didn't really expect an honest answer. What he expected was the same reaction he'd got from Dennings, a warning to stay away.

  Maddox raised his eyebrows but said, 'As far as we can tell he's clean.'

  Horton sat forward. 'You and I both know he's not, Tom. He may not be bringing the porn in himself but he's involved in distributing it.'

  Tom Maddox looked puzzled. 'There's no proof-'.

  'And you know why, because of me.'

  'Look, Andy, we've got enough problems with drugs and illegal immigrants coming in. Jarrett's boat was stopped before Operation Extra and nothing was found on it. We kept an eye on him all the time the operation was live but it was dropped eight months ago.'

  Yeah like me, Horton thought.

  Maddox said, 'We were told it was finished.' 'And you always do what you're told?' Horton quipped.

  Maddox grinned. 'No.'

  'Ok, so this might change your mind.' Horton thrust the bag across the desk. He watched Maddox turn it over and poke at the magazines through the plastic.

  Horton said, 'Tell me where that comes from?' He knew the answer but he wanted to hear Maddox say it.

  'Germany, Holland.' Maddox glanced up. 'What's the connection with Jarrett?' But Horton didn't have to tell him. Maddox answered his own question. 'You think Jarrett is using this guy Thurlow and was using Culven to bring the stuff in?'

  'Looks like it to me.'

  Maddox sat back. Horton watched the thoughts race across his face. Behind the steel framed glasses he saw Maddox's eyes glance back at the porn. Then he pursued his lips together and said. 'OK. What do you want me to do?'

  'Just keep an eye on Jarrett for now. Don't stop him but log his movements. I want to know when he goes out on his boat, who he goes out with and where he goes. I think there's a connection between Culven's death, Thurlow's disappearance and Jarrett but I've got nothing definite at the moment.'

  Maddox nodded.

  Horton said, 'Let's keep this between ourselves, Tom. I was set up once, if Jarrett gets wind of this we'll never find anything.'

  'You can count on me. I always thought that accusation against you was baloney.' Horton walked back to the station feeling that at last he was beginning to get somewhere and not just with Colin Jarrett but Culven's murder. He logged the porn magazines into the incident room and asked for them to be sent for fingerprinting. Then he summoned Marsden.

  'I found these on Thurlow's boat.' He held out the tablets. 'Get along to the GP and find out why Thurlow was taking them.'

  He headed for the canteen where he bought himself a packet of sandwiches and took them to his office. He stared at the telephone and then glanced at his watch. Where was Catherine now? Would she be at work? She often took time off in August to be with Emma during the summer holidays. They had often taken time off together to be with their daughter and to go sailing or camping. His fingers swivelled to the framed photograph on the corner of his desk. He picked it up. He was crouched down behind her, his arms encircling her slender body; they were on the deck of Nutmeg. The wind had caught her hair blowing it across her face and he was laughing. My God, once he had actually laughed. He replaced the photograph and picked up the telephone.

  'Catherine Horton,' he asked.

  'I'm afraid she's not in today. Can anyone else help you?'

  'No thanks.'

  His palms were wet with sweat and his heart was beating rapidly. Should he call her at home? Would it be better to take a chance and go out there? His phone rang. It was Malcolm with his Harley. He made for the car park and took delivery of the machine, back in perfect working order. As Malcolm drove away Cantelli pulled in and he told him about the porn and the tablets. Cantelli said, 'Perhaps that's how Thurlow can afford an expensive boat and that house by smuggling porn.'

  'And Thurlow killed Culven because he got too greedy and asked for more to feed his sexual preferences. Thurlow didn't want to pay up. Culven had become a liability.'

  'And the affair?'

  'Coincidental. We've got access to Culven's finances now. We'll be able to analyse his transactions see how much he paid for his caning and who he paid it too.'

  'Do you think Mrs Thurlow knows about the porn?'

  'She could do. Culven could have told her. How did you get on at the yacht club?'

  'The barman confirmed that Culven and Thurlow were there last Friday lunchtime. He says they used to have lunch together quite often. Culven was also a frequent evening visitor, often for dinner, usually alone, but occasionally with clients. He says Culven was a quiet chap, kept himself to himself, not like Thurlow who seems to be the life and soul of the party. A real Jolly Roger.' Horton saw a smile brighten Cantelli's troubled face for a moment and he knew there was more to come. 'And the barman recalls Culven coming in on Tuesday evening. He was alone. He had a meal and left just after eight thirty.'

  And that was the last time anyone had seen their murdered man alive, except for the murderer, of course.

  'Find out what food they served Tuesday evening and check it with Dr Clayton's findings on stomach contents.'

  'Already done,' said Cantelli waving his notepad.

  'Did Culven tell the barman where he was going?'

  Cantelli raised his bushy eyebrows. 'Do you want jam on it?'

  Horton smiled. Would be nice, he thought.

  CHAPTER 9

  He wasn't smiling an hour later when he was told there was a delay in getting the warrant to obtain Culven's client files and Frances Greywell was refusing to hand them over. She had to protect her firm's reputation and her client's interests, so Cantelli told him after speaking to her on the telephone. Damn, that meant they might not have access to them until Monday morning. Two whole days wasted. They may not have a warrant to extract the files but Horton had sent Walters and another DC into Framptons to question the staff.

  The team questioning Culven's neighbours hadn't unearthed any regular visitors to Culven's house, man or woman, except for his cleaner. Culven's sister was in New Zealand, and apart from her Culven, it appeared, had no family and no friends.

  The fingerprinting unit confirmed the prints on the pornographic magazines matched Roger Thurlow's. After briefing Uckfield Horton handed the magazines over to Dennings and the Vice Squad to trace their origin. Horton said nothing to Uckfield about his visit to Maddox or his ideas that Thurlow and Culven were involved with Jarrett. He doubted Uckfield would appreciate it.

  He felt restless. He tried to settle down to clear some of the paperwork that had been building up but couldn't, and even checking in with Trueman in the incident room didn't ease his agitation. He wanted action, or at least activity, and one that didn't involve reading and shuffling paper. Everything that could be done on the Culven case was being done so he decided to pursue the Thurlow line.

  It was late afternoon when he climbed the steps to the marina office at Horsea Marina. Someone might have seen Thurlow on his boat last Friday, and the lockmaster might have seen him go out. It was worth checking. He showed his warrant card to a young woman with fair hair and a worried expression, and asked to have a word with the lockmaster to check on procedures.

  'Of course,' she agreed with alacrity. 'I hope there's nothing wrong?'

  'No. Just routine,' but he could see she wasn't convinced. 'Do you know the Free Spirit owned by Roger Thurlow?'

  She shook her head. 'No, I haven't been here long. One of the others might know him.' 'Perhaps you could tell me where he keeps his boat?'

  'Yes.' She reached for a file and quickly thumbing through it found the pontoon and berth number.

  He asked for the security number to get on to the pontoon, then she showed him into the lock control room. A bulky balding man with a bird tattoo on the side of his neck was sitting in front of a large cream-coloured console with red and green buttons biting into a sandwich the size of a small loaf.

  To Horton's enquiry he said, 'Are you kidding mate? You couldn't see the end of your nose on Friday evening, and if he went out in that fog then he's a bloody fool. Though a lot of them are when it comes to the water. What happened to you then, get into a fight?'

  'Something like that.' Horton thought he should wear a placard saying, 'I got knocked off my bike.' He gazed across the lock at the houses directly opposite that faced Portchester Lake. It might be worth talking to the occupants.

  'Of course we were on free flow Friday night,' the lockmaster mumbled through a mouthful of bread and ham. 'You know what that is?'

  Horton did. It meant the tide was at the right height to allow a boat to free flow through the lock without having to use the gates. 'What time was this?'

  The lockmaster consulted a chart on his wall. 'Between 06.44 and 09.14 and again between 19.19 and 22.04.'

  If Thurlow had taken his boat out that evening after 19.30 he wouldn't have needed to radio up. That factor, combined with the fog, would have meant he could have slipped out without anyone seeing him. But perhaps he had stayed in the marina overnight and gone out over the weekend?

  'Did you see the Free Spirit at all over the weekend?'

  'Can't say I did. She might have slipped through though. We only log boats out if they're vacating a berth for one or more nights.' 'Can you check,' Horton asked, squeezing the impatience from his voice.

  He consulted a clipboard. 'No, mate, nothing there.'

  Horton could ask Thurlow's fellow berth holders. The radio crackled into life. Below, Horton could see a sleek motorboat edging its way into the lock.

  The lockmaster continued, 'Of course in this hot weather, during the day, the world and his wife are coming in and out of here like it was a motorway service station.'

  Horton knew that. He recalled the days when he, Catherine and Emma had come through here on his father-in-law's yacht. 'Could you give me the free flow times for the weekend until Tuesday evening, please.' He didn't know what relevance it had, probably none, but he might as well have them whilst he was here. He guessed that Thurlow had moored up elsewhere in the Solent.

  The lockmaster stretched out and handed across a long thin leaflet. Then he screwed the paper sandwich bag into a tight ball and tossed it into a bin in the far corner by the open door. Horton said, 'Do you know a Michael Culven, owns a Sealine 25?'

  'What's the name of the boat?'

  'Otter.'

  'Doesn't ring a bell.' Had Culven sold it? Horton left him pushing his buttons and headed back towards the Boardwalk and the bridge head that led on to Thurlow's pontoon. He walked steadily past the gleaming yachts and motorboats looking for occupants, but they were all deserted. He guessed that many of the boat owners would be down from London, and other parts of the country, later that evening in readiness for the weekend sailing. He wondered if he'd ever be able to afford a boat that had more than just one cabin and even possibly a separate head! Uckfield had managed it but then Steve Uckfield had managed most things.

  He came to a halt at the empty berth where the Free Spirit should have been, and couldn't believe his luck! He had wanted a reason to question Jarrett and he'd been given one. Opposite where the Free Spirit should have been was Jarrett's sleek motorboat. Now he was convinced that Thurlow was working with Jarrett and that both were involved in smuggling pornography. He didn't recall seeing Thurlow enter Alpha One, when he and Dennings had been watching it, or Culven come to that, but then Thurlow and Culven didn't need to be members, they both had boats here. It would have been easy to transfer the pornography between them.

  Even better, Jarrett was on board. The hunch that had brought him out here when he should have been reading reports had paid off.

  As he was about to hail Jarrett he emerged from the cabin. As Jarrett took in who he was, Horton saw his eyes flick beyond him, to the car park, as if he was expecting someone.

  'I could call this harassment,' Jarrett said, climbing down on to the pontoon. Obviously Horton wasn't going to be invited on board.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19