'That sounds like it could take forever.'

  'Possibly, but there's always dental records, if you can find a dentist to identify them, and that might be just as time consuming, given he used a dentist in this country. But I managed to lift some fingerprints and have sent them over to the bureau, and I've extracted DNA so you can try for a match on the DNA database. If he's on it.'

  'We got some hairs from Ben's cabin which could be his, so I'll request samples be taken from Ben's body in the mortuary to check his DNA, but they could possibly be the landslip corpse's, if he was ever there. What else did you get?' Horton asked eagerly, sipping his coffee.

  'He was five feet eleven inches tall, a lean man and, as I said earlier, about mid-sixties. There are no marks on what was left of the skin, which in fact was fairly comprehensive on his back, thighs and calves. That indicates he was buried and wasn't disturbed until you came along. As to how he died, I can confirm he wasn't shot. But you're certainly looking at homicide. He was stabbed in the head.'

  Horton gaped at her.

  'Unusual yes,' she said, taking a sip of her tea. 'Many people think the skull is too tough to be penetrated by an instrument, but it's not. In this case your victim was stabbed in the left temporal region, as you saw, just above the ear. It's an area of the skull that is more susceptible to stab wounds.'

  'Would the killer know that?'

  'He or she might have been lucky, or perhaps it was the only area of the skull that immediately presented itself to the killer. The instrument used was small and round, about one inch where it impacted and tapering down as it penetrated further, about six inches in length. It could have caused an intracranial haemorrhage and death but, in this case, might not necessarily have killed him outright, because I also found perimortem cranial fractures, those caused around the time of death by a heavy blunt instrument, something smallish and round.'

  'So someone stabbed him in the head, the victim fell –'

  'Or was pushed to the ground.'

  'And then he was battered with a round heavy instrument and buried.'

  'Correct.'

  'Not nice.'

  'No.'

  Horton left a brief silence as he considered this and drank his coffee. There had been no heavy instrument like that in Ben's cabin or in Beachwood House, but then if either Halliwell or Ben had killed the landslip corpse they'd have disposed of the murder weapon, or weapons in this case. And there was nothing to say that either man had been the killer.

  'Anything more on time of death?'

  'As I said before, it's difficult to be precise. You're looking at anything up to two months. There's not much more I can tell you, Andy, except he was fairly healthy for his age, no lung or kidney damage, no sign he was poisoned or drugged and no heart disease, unlike your other death, the man in the cabin.'

  'And the owner of Beachwood House.'

  'Want me to review the autopsy reports on both men?'

  Horton said he did, although he didn't think they would spark anything new. They talked more about work. Gaye said she was off to the States in a month's time for a three month Home Office exchange working in Seattle.

  Horton felt disappointed. 'I'll miss you. And I mean both professionally and personally.'

  'Then come over and we'll do some sailing.'

  He smiled. 'I might take you up on that.'

  'I hope you do, Andy,' she said, eyeing him steadily. He felt a little uncomfortable under her gaze. 'You look as though you could do with a change of air and a rest.'

  'Do I look that bad?' he joked.

  'Just a little tired and worn down.' Then she smiled. 'Trust me, I'm a doctor.'

  He returned the smile, though he felt uneasy. 'Well, I sincerely hope I don't become one of your patients.'

  'Me too.'

  'There's a month before you go, plenty of time for us to have dinner together and go sailing here if you fancy it.'

  'I do very much. Just give the command.'

  He said he would after he knew which way the case was going to progress. He might not even be involved with it any further, in which case, if she was free at the weekend, they could sail over to the island then. But Gaye had another engagement. The weekend after that was a possibility. That tentatively agreed, they parted company as the ferry came into Portsmouth and the tannoy announced that passengers were to return to their vehicles. As he made for the station, he wondered if Gaye had wanted to ask him about his research into the fire at the Goldsmith Psychiatric Hospital which they'd discussed in January, and in which Zachary Benham had perished along with twenty-three other men. He felt he was holding out on her, and he didn't want to but years of hiding his feelings and keeping silent about his personal life and problems was a hard habit to break.

  He reported back to Uckfield and requested that he continue to follow up Cedric Halliwell. 'I'd like to see if there are any prints we can lift from Beachwood House and the boat, and re-interview Chilcott, the solicitor. There are a pair of powerful binoculars in the house and you can see Ben's cabin from what was Halliwell's study. If Ben was living there before 1 February, when Halliwell died, then he must have known about him, and I can't believe that Chilcott didn't look through them when he was retrieving the paperwork from the safe, which according to him was scarce.'

  Uckfield gave his permission, adding that he couldn't spare anyone to assist him. 'I've got my hands full with the Trehams robbery.'

  'Any progress?'

  'Nothing. There are no fingerprints, no footprints and no hairs in that study, except those of the dogs who didn't bark because they'd been drugged.'

  'How?'

  'In their meat or drink probably. Victoria Treham wouldn't let us open up her darling Huskies – Botus and Kobi – to analyse their stomach contents. We did examine their shit though. I left that pleasure to the lab. Nothing. It was probably in a drink. There's nothing on the Treham's CCTV over the gates and grounds, not even a shadowy figure, so God alone knows how they got in. Probably materialized out of the mist like Brigadoon, only they weren't wearing kilts, which is about all Mrs Treham can tell us. The description she gave us is worse than useless – two men, tall, well built, Caucasian, she thinks. Not that she saw any flesh so they could have been all colours of the rainbow, and neither did she see their hair, if they had any. She saw only the slits of their eyes through their balaclavas. They spoke gruffly, no accent. And none of the stolen jewellery has surfaced on the internet or with any jewellers. Probably already got the stuff out of the country.'

  'Could it have been an inside job?' posed Horton, sure this must have crossed Uckfield's mind. 'After all, the dogs didn't alert her before they were drugged, and we all know our Sherlock Holmes.'

  'Eh?'

  'The dog that didn't bark in the night.'

  'Oh that.' Uckfield waved it aside. 'No, Mrs Treham was genuinely distressed. I don't think she's faking it. Trueman's checked the Trehams' credit rating and financial situation, and they're loaded. Maurice Treham is a big shot investment banker in the City.'

  As if that made him above suspicion, thought Horton.

  'The hired help's alibi checks out, and she claims never to have seen the safe, which could be a lie. She could have passed the information on to someone, but she seems genuine enough. We're checking out contractors and visitors.' Uckfield shifted a buttock and winced. Retrieving a handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers, he wiped his brow.

  Horton made no comment, but he could see that Uckfield was in pain and trying desperately not to show it. Uckfield gruffly dismissed him, and Horton returned to his office after a quick word with Trueman who told him that Halliwell had never paid UK tax or national insurance because he hadn't lived in the country. He'd also discovered there was no driver's licence in his name, or car registered to him. Horton asked him to check with the Land Registry for the extent of Halliwell's property.

  The CID office was deserted. Both Cantelli and Walters had left for home. Horton rang Cantelli and broke the bad news that he was to accompany him to the island tomorrow and follow up the leads on Halliwell. Horton could have detailed Sergeant Norris on the island to assist him, but he'd much preferred to have Cantelli.

  'I'd better stock up on the seasickness pills then,' Cantelli said resigned.

  'The weather forecast is for a bright calm day.'

  'Huh!'

  Horton smiled. He had no idea of the weather, but he hoped for Cantelli's sake his prophecy would be fulfilled.

  Nine

  Friday

  'You told me it was going to be calm,' Cantelli said when they were on board and easing out of Portsmouth Harbour.

  'This is calm.'

  'It's blowing a gale.'

  'Only a force five.'

  'That's a hurricane.'

  'No, Barney, it isn't. You'll be fine. Drink your tea. Want any breakfast?'

  'And bring it up? No thank you.'

  'Then read through my reports. It'll help take your mind off things while I answer this call. It's Bliss, unless you want to…' he held out his phone.

  'It's you she wants. Not me.'

  Horton answered it. Four minutes later he came off the phone with a sad shake of his head. 'Absence certainly doesn't make the heart grow fonder in her case. She wasn't pleased to learn that two members of her CID team are on a Major Crime Team investigation, but I told her to take that up with Superintendent Uckfield.'

  'I bet she didn't much like that either.'

  'No, and despite us being otherwise engaged, she wants regular updates and results on both the highway robberies and the arson. I told her DC Leonard was following up convicted arsonists recently released, and that Walters had drawn a blank interviewing staff and suppliers unless we check all their alibis which would take a huge amount of time. Thank God there were no highway robberies yesterday. Anything new occur to you on the landslip murder?'

  'Haven't got through all the information yet.'

  'Then I'll leave you in peace.' Horton stepped out on to the deck and found a fairly sheltered spot where he returned some calls from the previous day's messages and watched the promenade slip slowly past them. After he'd finished his calls, he bought himself some breakfast and a coffee, along with a tea for Cantelli, and returned to the sergeant. While he ate, they discussed the case. Cantelli couldn't throw any more light on it than Horton could, save that he thought the house of contrasts interesting and that Chilcott had been economical with the truth.

  Horton's phone rang. He was pleased to see it was Sergeant Elkins.

  'I've spoken to the volunteer, Jason Arlett, at Ryde Inshore Rescue, who boarded Halliwell's boat. Arlett works for Grinstead Marine Engineering in Ryde. He said the call came through at about two p.m. on 1 February. There was a sea mist all day. It was bitterly cold. When they saw the craft, they noted that there was no one at the helm and the engine wasn't running. He thought the owner might have fallen overboard or been taken ill. They hailed the vessel, but there was no answer. They fixed a line to the stern and Jason and a colleague boarded her. They found Halliwell lying face down in the main cabin as though he'd got up from the helm, felt ill and collapsed. They took the boat back to Bembridge. It was low tide so they couldn't get into Ryde marina. A uniformed officer was waiting for them, PC Wetherton, and a paramedic, who wasn't needed, but she confirmed death and the body was taken to the mortuary at St Mary's Hospital Newport.'

  'Anything strike Arlett as unusual?' Horton knew Elkins would have asked that question.

  'No. He said there was a mug on the table, but he can't remember if there were dregs in it. Everything was clean and tidy. No bedding in the for'ard cabin but a sailing jacket on the bunk.'

  'Did Halliwell have a course plotted on the radar?'

  'No.'

  'Any paperwork on board?'

  'Arlett didn't see any, and neither was there a logbook or if there was then it had been put away in one of the lockers. Neither he nor any of his colleagues searched the boat.'

  'What did Halliwell look like?' Horton asked, then quickly added, 'apart from being dead?' before Elkins could make some witty reply.

  'Thinning grey hair, receding at the temples, medium build, mid-sixties, about six foot, lean face, heavily lined. He was wearing deck shoes, casual brown trousers and a navy-blue jumper. Oh, and a good wrist watch, a Tag Heuer. Arlett is observant and he knows his watches, as do I. Tag Heuers don't come cheap. Arlett couldn't see a computer and there wasn't a mobile phone. PC Wetherton went through the pockets but there was nothing remarkable in them, just a wallet. No credit or debit cards, no driver's licence, just two twenty pound notes and a ten pound note. No coins in his pockets either.'

  'House keys?'

  'Only one on the key ring that was in the helm.'

  A list of the contents would have been passed to Chilcott, along with the actual items, all of which would eventually belong to the abbey.

  'I wonder where he was going on a bitterly cold, misty day.'

  'If he was going anywhere, save up or down, depending on how good a boy he'd been in life,' Elkins elaborated.

  'Suicide?'

  'It's a possibility, but not sure how he did it unless he threw the empty bottle of tablets he'd taken over board before passing out? Maybe they brought on a coronary.'

  'The post-mortem didn't find any evidence of drugs in his system.'

  'Then I'm wrong. I usually am. The canopy over the cockpit had been unzipped at the aft but not pulled back. But then it was bitterly cold and misty. I've also spoken to Mr Wakelin who said that Halliwell paid for the boat by a transfer of funds from a bank in Guernsey. He gave me a contact number he had for Halliwell but it's a dead line, as you'd expect.'

  Horton asked Elkins to relay it to Trueman and ask him to check out the number and provider, but Horton suspected it might have been a pay-as-you-go phone as Halliwell hadn't wanted Chilcott the solicitor to have the number. He wondered why.

  He relayed the information to Cantelli.

  'These Tag Heuer watches, how much are they worth?' Cantelli asked.

  'About six thousand pounds.'

  'You're kidding!'

  Horton shook his head. 'Halliwell was a millionaire.'

  'Wonder what happened to it.'

  'We'll ask Chilcott.'

  The solicitor wasn't best pleased to see them some fifty minutes later.

  'I can only spare you half an hour. I have a client appointment at ten,' he said tersely the moment his secretary closed the boardroom door behind them. Cantelli took the seat beside Horton, his pencil poised over his notebook, chewing his gum with a slight frown of concentration. He'd survived the sea crossing without the slightest hint of queasiness. Horton had told him his seasickness was all in the mind. Cantelli had said, 'I'll remind you of that when I'm throwing up on the way back.'

  'Were you surprised at the contrast between the interior and exterior of Beachwood House?' Horton launched without any preliminary exchange.

  Chilcott blinked hard, as though he didn't understand the question. After a moment he shifted and said, 'Well, yes, I was a little.'

  'Would the interior have been like that when Mr Halliwell bought the house?'

  'Definitely not. Jacob Sundridge was ninety-three when he died in 1997, and the property had been neglected for some years before that. In fact, Sundridge didn't live there but in London. It was bought as a holiday retreat, but he hardly ever used it. He had a successful publishing business which his nephew now runs. His estate was left to that nephew, Orion Sundridge, who immediately put Beachwood House up for sale. It took years to offload, not only because of its decaying state, but also because of its position in a landslip area. Insurance is almost impossible to get and extremely expensive if you can get it. I wasn't involved in the sale of the property. But being local, with contacts in the property business, I knew all about it. Orion Sundridge instructed a London agent and his own lawyer in the city.'

  'And Mr Halliwell? Who did he instruct? You have the deeds I take it?'

  'Not yet. They're with a legal firm in Guernsey, Selwyns. I've spoken to them on the phone. They handled the purchase for Mr Halliwell.'

  Then they could be worth talking to, thought Horton. He'd call his old friend, Inspector John Guilbert of the States of Guernsey Police, and ask him to make enquiries about Halliwell. The fact that Halliwell had instructed a Guernsey lawyer could mean he had split his time living between there and the Cayman Islands.

  Chilcott said, 'The current Beachwood House was built in 1937 on the site of the old manor house, which Jacob Sundridge had demolished.'

  'So Halliwell had it completely remodelled inside to his own design. Who did the work for him?'

 

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