They were questions he put to Uckfield an hour later. 'Has that got anything to do with this case?' Uckfield declared with exasperation, his eyes flicking impatiently beyond Horton into the busy incident suite.
Horton's idea had grown and taken shape on the drive back to the station. He didn't much care for it, however, because he wasn't sure how or if his mother fitted into it. Still, he'd have to take a chance on that.
'I think we should spend some time looking closely at Sebastian Gilmore,' he said. 'There's a lot of money around him and I'm not convinced it all comes from fishing.'
'He's built up a big business, why shouldn't he be rich?' Uckfield said, surprised.
'But how did he build up that business and how much did he pay his brother for his share in it? We know that Rowland gave away half a million pounds in 1979 and that's a lot of money for a humble ex-fisherman. Somehow I just can't see it all coming from running a fishing fleet in Portsmouth; remember this was before those lucrative supermarket contracts. What if Sebastian Gilmore was smuggling drugs back in the late 1970s'
'How the hell did you arrive at that!'
Now Horton had Uckfield's full attention and he began to expound his theory. 'It could be the "wrong" Gilmore had tried to put right by entering the church and giving them all his money after his wife and daughter died.'
'But why drugs?'
'It pays the most and you know as well as I do that drugs are comparatively easy to smuggle in by sea, or should I say they were easier in the 1970s. I'd like to ask the economic crime unit to find out exactly how much Sebastian paid his brother for his share of the business, and while they're at it I'd also like an investigation into Rowland Gilmore's and Tom Brundall's finances.' He could see Uckfield looking at him as if he'd gone mad. Horton sat forward. 'Tom Brundall was very wealthy and something of a recluse. He hated that photograph being taken of him; you can see that by the look on his face…'
'What is it?'
But Horton didn't know. There was a flicker of an idea at the back of his mind but before he could grasp hold of it, it had gone. Maybe it had something to do with the money. He said, 'It just doesn't add up for all three of them to have made it good. One maybe, even two of them, but all three, now I call that suspicious.'
Uckfield scratched his armpit. 'Rowland Gilmore could have taken the original pay-off from his brother and invested it, or perhaps he set up another business and made more money.'
'There's no evidence that he did either of those things. So far as we know he bought a house in Wales and a yacht and never lifted a finger again until he entered the Church. So how did he live? Even allowing for the fact that when he sold the house it had appreciated in value, you're talking about 1983 before the prices went sky high. He had sufficient funds not to work.'
Uckfield grunted and Horton took this as consent to continue.
'Then there's Tom Brundall. He jacks in fishing in 1979 and the next thing we know he appears in Guernsey with pots of money. Now he, by all accounts, is a clever investor, but he would have needed a tidy sum to start with.'
'Perhaps he was prudent and a saver.'
'Perhaps,' Horton conceded, but didn't believe it. 'And Sebastian Gilmore? Large house, massive swimming pool, expensive car and boat, a property on the Isle of Wight, and I bet that's not the only one he's got. OK, so he's a good business man but I'd still like the economic crime unit to go through his accounts.'
'Not without more evidence you don't.'
Undeterred, Horton continued. 'Let's say this man they rescued in 1977 was their supplier. They'd gone to meet him when the storm wrecked their plans and as a result Warwick Hassingham dies. That puts the dampers on Rowland Gilmore and Tom Brundall who quit not long afterwards with the money they'd already amassed. Sebastian resumes the smuggling operation with this rescued man, whose name he conveniently can't remember. Everything goes well until whoever our skeleton is shows up, he could be this rescued man aka drug supplier who wants out, or it could be someone Rowland Gilmore has spoken to when studying to be ordained.' And was that someone Anne Schofield had also known? 'He lets slip something about the drugs and eventually he's tracked down to Portsmouth. This person threatens to tell of Rowland's seedy past. Rowland calls either Brundall or his brother and they deal with it, or perhaps Rowland does it himself, luring him to the air-raid shelter and killing him.'
Horton interpreted Uckfield's incredulous look and added, 'Just because Rowland was a vicar it doesn't mean he wasn't capable of killing someone. Frightened men are as dangerous as angry ones.'
Uckfield grudgingly acknowledged that before saying, 'It's a bit far-fetched.'
Ignoring this, Horton said, 'Everything settles down again until Brundall shows up last Tuesday wanting to confess his sins before he dies. He wants to go to his maker with a clean sheet-'
'Cut the poetic stuff.'
Horton smiled. 'Rowland doesn't want to hear the confession; he gets scared that Brundall will tell someone else, so he calls brother Sebastian and asks his advice. Sebastian can't risk Brundall talking to anyone else, and if his alibi checks out, that means he got someone else to silence Brundall, Rowland and Sherbourne — we still need to check his alibi for Anne Schofield — and that someone could be a professional killer as we originally thought, one of his drug suppliers or our mystery man who was saved at sea.'
Uckfield exhaled. 'It's a hell of a leap between a rescued man and a drugs ring.'
Horton sat back and stretched out his long legs, and with a frown he said, 'Maybe, but why didn't Gilmore mention Warwick Hassingham and the accident unless he's got something to hide?'
'Too painful?' Uckfield suggested.
Horton recalled Gilmore's attitude that afternoon when relaying the story of Warwick Hassingham's death. Grudgingly he admitted to himself that Uckfield could be right. Yet he felt there was something there that didn't ring true. He wasn't going to give up on his theory yet.
'I'll contact the Marine Accident Investigation Branch first thing tomorrow and see if I can get the name of the rescued man and then we'll be able to trace him.'
'I think you're way off beam, but as we've got bugger all else to go on, you might as well go ahead.'
Horton could see that Uckfield hadn't bought his theory. He said, 'I could also talk to Customs and Revenue tomorrow; see if they've ever suspected Gilmore or his fishing fleet.'
'No, leave that for DI Dennings. Better give him something to do.'
Horton acquiesced with a secret smile knowing that Uckfield was already rueing the day he'd given in to Dennings and this was just their first case together. But if Horton knew Uckfield then he'd find a way of getting Dennings out of his hair and one which didn't risk his affairs being exposed.
He said, 'It might also be worth checking Gilmore's record with the Marine and Fisheries Agency to see if any of his fishing boats or his premises have ever been inspected by their officers, and if so when? And I'd like to know if any of his boats have been inspected at sea by the Royal Navy's Fishery Protection Squad.'
'If they have, they can't have found anything otherwise we'd know about it and so would the drugs squad.'
'Would we though? Not if Gilmore was clean, and he'd been given a tip-off. Someone on the inside could be involved.'
'OK.' Uckfield held up his hands in capitulation. 'I didn't know you had such an overactive imagination.
'There is another thing…'
Uckfield groaned.
Horton said, 'All fishing vessels over fifteen metres in length have to be fitted with satellite tracking devices, which are monitored from the Fisheries Monitoring Centre in London, so have there been any problems with Gilmore's tracking devices-?'
'You think they could have veered off course and picked up some merchandise?'
'Why not? But some of Gilmore's fleet is under fifteen metres, they don't have tracking devices, so maybe they make the collections. Or perhaps it's nothing to do with drugs and Gilmore is over-fishing and getting away with it.'
Uckfield sat back and stretched his hands behind his head. 'Is there money in that?'
'There's money in anything illegal. Maybe he's forging quotas.'
Uckfield sniffed loudly. 'Dennings can handle the fisheries people as well as Customs and Revenue. But let's get some hard facts first before we go barging in upsetting one of Portsmouth's most successful businessmen and risking bringing down the wrath of the media and his lawyers on us like a heap of heavy shit.'
'Just make sure you tell DI Dennings that,' Horton couldn't miss pointing out. 'I don't think he's the tread softly type.'
Uckfield shifted position. Scowling, he picked up his pen. 'Inspector Dennings knows his job.'
There was a knock on Uckfield's door. Marsden entered smiling.
'Won the lottery, Marsden, and come to give us all a hand out?' snarled Uckfield.
'No, sir.'
'Then wipe that bloody silly grin off your face. We've got four dead people and a bloody skeleton; there's nothing to look so bloody cheerful about.'
'Sorry, sir.' Marsden rearranged his features as best he could but Horton could see he was brimming with some piece of news that he thought critical to the case. 'I've got a positive sighting of Brundall at the cemetery. I showed his photograph around and a woman says she saw him at a grave near her late husband's, only he wasn't at his parents' grave-'
'He was at a man's called Warwick Hassingham,' Horton interjected triumphantly, throwing a glance at Uckfield which said, didn't I tell you there's something here for us in this rescue?
Marsden looked as though someone had stolen his sweets.
Uckfield said, 'That'll teach you to be so sodding cheerful, Marsden. What time was this?'
'About two fifteen. He stayed for ten minutes and then left.'
So Brundall had set out on a trip down memory lane, first to Warwick Hassingham's grave, and later that afternoon to Rowland Gilmore.
Horton said, 'What's the betting he called on Sebastian Gilmore?'But there was a flaw in this, because Sebastian Gilmore said he'd returned to his office shortly after midday and had left almost immediately for his meeting at Tri Fare. Horton could check out the CCTV tapes at the commercial port for Wednesday afternoon, but then he recalled that Gilmores also had their own CCTV. They were certainly worth a look at if he could get hold of them, although he couldn't see Gilmore giving them up without a search warrant.
Horton's phone was ringing as he reached his office and he leapt across his desk to reach for it before it stopped.
'It's Dad,' Cantelli said.
Horton went cold. He could tell immediately by Cantelli's tone that it was bad news. Please no, not that, he prayed. But it was too late for prayers, as Cantelli's next words confirmed.
'He had a massive heart attack. He died at four thirty-five p.m.'