' Looks like you've cocked up,' Uckfield said half an hour later. Horton winced inwardly at the accusation and felt guilt rush in to replace reason. 'You should have treated those threatening telephone calls seriously,' Uckfield added.
It was what Superintendent Reine would say, not to mention the media. Horton groaned silently. He hadn't liked Farnsworth, but he hadn't wished for him to turn up here, dead. Had he really got it so wrong? Obviously, he thought, following Uckfield's scowl as it studied the recumbent figure of Farnsworth.
But why Farnsworth? If those threatening calls had been genuine, then the body lying before him should have been Perry Jackson. Was Farnsworth's death nothing to do with those calls, but everything to do with Horton's visit to the sub-aqua club last night? Had Farnsworth known something about Daniel Collins's death and was that why he had left the club hot on their heels with a mobile phone pressed to his ear — to warn Daniel's killer and sign his own death warrant? Or was he simply looking for an excuse to offload his guilt?
Perhaps Farnsworth had also received threatening calls but had chosen to ignore them. Was this a vendetta against the TV divers? Bloody hell, he didn't know. In fact, he was fast coming to the conclusion that he knew bugger all about anything. Maybe he should simply hand everything over to Uckfield and DC Lee. But he didn't like to admit defeat, and he didn't much fancy leaving a case with such a stain on his judgement. Maybe if he hadn't been in such a foul mood when he'd first met Jackson and Farnsworth, brought on by his emotional reunion with his daughter at Heathrow Airport, he might have treated the inci dent more seriously. No. It was pointless speculating and beating himself over the head with guilt. There was still time to get some answers before Saturday. And he was determined he would.
Dr Price had given the time of death as somewhere between twelve to four hours ago. That was a wide margin. But Horton could narrow that down. Farnsworth was still alive at nine thirty-five when he had left the station. Had he come straight here to meet his killer? That would put the time at approximately ten p.m. Or had his killer transported the body here and dumped it in the pit? He couldn't help thinking that if that second breathalyser had proved positive, or if he had questioned Farnsworth, then he might have been alive now. But he'd been caught up with the news about DC Lee, and he hadn't thought that Farnsworth mattered. That was a mistake he was going to have to live with.
'You'd better brief me, fully, but for heaven's sake find somewhere out of this sodding weather,' Uckfield growled, as they stepped outside the tent.
Horton scanned the yard and saw Ryan Oldham giving PC Johns a hard time at the entrance. Johns was capable of handling that. As Uckfield crossed to Dennings, Horton made for Oldham.
He broke the news bluntly. There was no need to tiptoe around men like Oldham.
'What the hell is Farnsworth doing in my yard, dead?' Oldham bellowed.
Long years of listening to liars and cheats had fine-tuned Horton's senses, and he detected something that told him Oldham was familiar with the TV diver.
'You know him?'
'Of course I do. I've seen him on the television.'
There was more, but Horton judged now wasn't the time to push it.
'We'd like the use of an office until the mobile incident suite arrives.'
'Do what you bloody well like — you will anyway. How long will you be?'
'Could be all day.'
Oldham snorted and, shouting to Scott to follow him, stormed off towards a Portakabin.
Horton saw a very wet Cantelli talking to the driver of a lorry, which had just pulled up. If only this bloody rain would stop, he thought, turning and heading for the same Portakabin as Oldham. Not that it made any difference now; he was soaked to the skin.
Uckfield joined him. 'What the hell was Farnsworth doing here?' he demanded, stepping inside.
And that was the million-dollar question that was bugging Horton. The upper reaches of Langstone Harbour, where the tide receded to expose mud and sand, was hardly the place to go diving. If you wanted to discover wrecks and other historical artefacts in the harbour, then you simply waited for the tide to go out.
Horton addressed a woman behind a desk. 'Is there somewhere we can talk in private?' Through the thin partition in the office beyond, Horton could hear Oldham talking to Scott and he wasn't being very complimentary about the police.
'There's the kitchen. It's just through there.'
They'd have to talk quietly, he thought, because it was only in the next room. 'Can we make ourselves a drink?'
'Help yourself.'
Horton flicked on the kettle and spooned coffee into two mugs as he told Uckfield about Daniel Collins's death nearby. He said nothing of Ray Ferris's discovery about DC Lee.
'But Collins's death was an accident,' Uckfield said, obviously irritated.
Now, how do you know that? Horton hadn't mentioned it being an accident, and the road traffic incident report would hardly have landed on the head of the major crime team's desk. Maybe Uckfield had just assumed it. Like hell he had! Someone had told him, and probably at HQ yesterday. He guessed that Uckfield had been summoned there after he'd made some enquiries about DC Lee. A guess that became a conviction when Horton saw a slight shiftiness in Uckfield's eyes.
'Was it an accident?' Horton said evenly. 'It's beginning to look very doubtful. And before you say anything, I've got no hard evidence to support that, just a feeling.' The kettle boiled and Horton turned away. As he poured water into the two mugs, he said casually, 'Did you find out anything about DC Lee?'
'She comes highly recommended by Superintendent Warren.'
'You've spoken to him?' Horton said, once again facing Uckfield.
'Yes. She got involved with an officer there; it all went pear-shaped so he thought a spell away from there and being operational would do her good.'
So Uckfield was sticking with the cover story. Horton handed him his coffee, seeing only Uckfield's usual scowling countenance. But he'd swear on oath that Uckfield was lying.
'You'll have to make a report on why you ignored the threats to Farnsworth's life.'
'He wasn't threatened. It was his co-presenter who got the calls.'
Uckfield dismissed that with a wave of his hand. 'It's the same difference.'
'No, it's not, Steve, and you know it,' Horton was stung to retort. 'And my money's still on it being a publicity stunt.'
'Well, I hope you're right, because if you aren't then this other presenter — what's his name…?'
'Perry Jackson.'
'Could be at risk.'
Horton doubted it, but he remained silent.
After a moment Uckfield said, 'This doesn't look good for you. It's bound to be a high profile case, with Farnsworth being a television personality. We'll get hammered by the press. I'll do my best to cover your backside, but…'
With immaculate timing, saving Uckfield from making a comment that Horton knew would drive him to a cold fury, Cantelli put his head round the door.
'Any chance of a cuppa? My feet are so cold they hurt.'
Uckfield looked about to explode and deny Cantelli's request when his mobile phone rang. Brushing past Cantelli, he exited with a glare at Horton and a 'Yes, sir,' into his mobile phone.
Cantelli let out a breath as Uckfield banged the door on them. He picked up a tea bag and tossed it into a mug. 'I see he's his usual cheerful self. Holiday must have done him good.'
Horton wrapped his frozen fingers around his own mug and took a sip of the hot coffee. 'What did you get?'
'The perimeter wire is intact. The site foreman says the CCTV cameras hardly ever work and even if they do they don't always bother to put a tape in. Last night was no exception. No recording.
The business is doing well and Oldham isn't a bad boss; tough but fair is the consensus. You know where you stand with him is the general opinion.'
Which is more than you do with Uckfield, Horton thought with bitterness. Uckfield would sell his soul, not to mention sacrifice his old friends on the high and mighty altar of promotion.
Cantelli removed the tea bag with a spoon, squeezed it out and left it on the drainer, after looking for and not finding a bin. He spooned in three sugars and stirred. 'I also had a word with Ian Keynes, Marion's husband.'
That must have been the lorry driver that Horton had seen Cantelli talking to.
'When he knew who I was, he accused me of upsetting his wife with our allegations of theft. It was bluster. He's a surly beggar and he was definitely uneasy about something.'
'The nursing home will have to take a back seat for the moment.' Horton didn't like leaving it, but he didn't have a choice. Once Uckfield mobilized his full team, though, Horton might be able to get back to it. By then it would be too late, he'd be on holiday. But how could he sail away, metaphorically and literally, with all this hanging over him? He should be able to and maybe he might have done if it hadn't been for the Intelligence Directorate's involvement.
Cantelli nodded solemnly. Horton could see that he understood, but liked it about as much as he did.
'Could Farnsworth's death be due to natural causes?'
'Is the sun hot?'
Cantelli shivered elaborately. 'Not at the moment.'
Dr Price had removed Farnsworth's hood to reveal a livid mark on the throat. Price wouldn't speculate as to what had made it and neither would he confirm it was the cause of death. He was just there to certify death, he had said tetchily. The rest was down to Dr Clayton. Horton thought it looked as though Farnsworth had been strangled and that, and how the body had been found, had been enough to call in the major crime team.
'Where is the rest of Farnsworth's diving gear: aqua lung, spare regulators, lines, fins? Where's his car?'
'Could be parked at the sailing club next door. Want me to check?'
'I'll do that, and for goodness' sake stop stirring. You'll go through the bottom of that mug.'
Cantelli tapped the spoon on the side and took a sip. 'Maybe he came here by boat.'
The thought had already occurred to Horton. 'Then where is it? Why come here? And who moved that truck, if Oldham is to be believed?'
'You think he's lying?' said Cantelli, blowing on his tea to cool it down.
'Perhaps the reports of the break-ins are phoney to make us think there was an intruder when really Oldham was planning to kill Farnsworth. He knows Farnsworth and I don't think it's just from the television programmes as he claims.'
'But why would he want to kill Farnsworth? And why is Farnsworth dead when it was Perry Jackson who received those threatening telephone calls? They're not even alike; different build, hair and eye colour, so it can't be a question of mistaken identity.'
Horton thought of that hood and mask that had covered Farnsworth's face. The build was wrong, yes, but in the dark, in panic, with the victim wearing a diving suit, maybe the killer struck out and realized afterwards he'd cocked it up. Or there was an alternative. Had Perry Jackson staged those calls and killed his co-presenter? His motive? Perhaps he didn't like Farnsworth getting too much of the limelight.
He said as much to Cantelli, then added, 'You'd better break the news to Corinna Denton and Perry Jackson. Get details of their movements yesterday and last night. And there's that cameraman, Jason Kirkwood. Make sure you talk to him. They're all suspects until we say they're not. And watch closely for Jackson's reaction. I'll send Lee over to the hotel to help you.'
'Is it all right if I go home and change first? I don't think the Queen's Hotel will want me dripping all over their nice posh carpets.'
'Need you ask?'
'What about Uckfield?'
'What about him?'
Cantelli smiled and put down his mug of tea. 'I'm on my way.'
Horton stayed inside the Portakabin long enough to call Lee.
Before he mentioned anything about Farnsworth, he asked her how she had got on at the social services offices.
'Irene Ebury set fire to the council flat where she lived three times. She was a smoker and she'd fall asleep forgetting where she'd left the fag, or she'd leave something on the stove. On the third occasion the neighbours complained and she was referred to social services. A medical report confirmed dementia. She insisted she was fine. She hadn't left anything on the cooker and she would never fall asleep smoking, but she did admit to liking the odd gin or two. Eventually, when she was found at Fratton Station one night in her nightie and dressing gown, she was sent to St James' Hospital for a mental assessment and it was considered that she was a danger to herself and the other residents. The social worker and doctor recommended her to be moved to a specialist nursing home catering for dementia.'
'Who helped her to move?'
'Her social worker, Naomi Bennett, but she doesn't work for social services any more. Shall I locate her?'
'Later.' Horton then told her about Farnsworth's death. There was silence and he wondered for a moment if he'd been talking into thin air. Not going according to your plan, he thought gleefully, before reminding himself that Farnsworth was dead. 'Sergeant Cantelli will meet you at the Queen's Hotel. Wait for him outside.'
Would they pull her off his team now that there was a murder case which would take priority certainly over any investigation he might pursue into the nursing home? But if it was Daniel Collins's death the Intelligence Directorate was really interested in, and not Irene Ebury's, then maybe her boss would leave her where she was, especially if there was a connection with Farnsworth's death. And that connection was the sub-aqua club and the proximity of where the two bodies had been found.
He stepped outside to see that the media had arrived. PC Johns was doing his best to keep them at bay. A member of Oldham's staff must have alerted them. Soon they would be here in their droves.
Horton found Uckfield at the edge of the pit. He told him that he'd dispatched Cantelli and Lee to the Queen's Hotel. 'I'll check the sailing centre car park for Farnsworth's car and if it's not there I'll put out a call for it.'
'I'll brief the press.' Uckfield made to turn away when Taylor hailed them.
'We've found something that will interest you.'
Wondering what it could be, Horton stepped inside the tent with Uckfield and stared at Farnsworth's body, feeling once again that stab of guilt. Taylor had uncovered the legs and arms and as Horton's eyes followed the direction of Taylor's gesture he started with surprise. Three fingers of Farnsworth's left hand were missing. He was damn sure that Farnsworth had had the full complement of digits last night.
'Why the devil do that?' Uckfield voiced Horton's thoughts exactly.
But maybe he could take a guess. 'It could be a jilted lover.' He thought of Daisy Pemberton. Surely she wouldn't be strong enough to have attacked and killed Farnsworth, and he couldn't see her hacking off fingers. 'Or an outraged husband or boyfriend,' he added.
'Then why not just hack off the third finger of the left hand?'
'Maybe it was easier to slice them all off. Especially if the killer was in a hurry.'
Taylor said, 'I can't see them lying around, but they could be in here somewhere.'
'I want a thorough search made of this whole yard, even if it means removing every single grain of gravel.'
Oldham wasn't going to be very pleased about that thought Horton, hoping he wasn't the one to tell him. He stared down at Farnsworth. What had he been doing here and at night? It could hardly have been to steal gravel, even if he was building a patio. And he couldn't have had a secret assignation with another lover, not wearing diving gear. If he could find the answer to that question then he might also have the answer to the second one, which was who had killed him. If they were very lucky then maybe the person whom Farnsworth had called on his mobile phone after leaving the sub-aqua club last night was the killer. Horton hoped so, but he wasn't holding his breath. Nothing was ever that straightforward.