'What the devil did you think you were playing at?' Uckfield roared.
I wasn't playing, thought Horton, standing ramrod stiff the other side of the DCI's desk. Who had told Uckfield about his encounter with Jarrett? Not Cantelli, surely?
'Jarrett's complained to the Super. Says you've been harassing him. Is it true?'
He might have guessed that Jarrett would go bellyaching right to the top. 'I spoke to him. I don't call that harassment.'
'Why didn't you ignore him, walk away?'
'Like you would have done?'
'Yes, if it meant keeping my job,' Uckfield quipped
Horton cocked a sceptical eyebrow. After a moment Uckfield let out a sigh and threw himself back in his seat. Running a hand through his hair he said, 'The Super's just waiting for the opportunity to boot you as far away from here as possible, Andy, so why go looking for trouble? I covered up for you, said Jarrett must have misconstrued your words, but I can't keep doing it.'
Horton remained silent. He didn't like the way Uckfield had said that; he didn't need to be reminded that he owed Steve but it was as if he wanted to rub it in. Still he was right. The Super would probably declare a public holiday if he managed to rid the station of what he considered a rotten apple. Anyone who tarnished Reine's image, and subsequently the prospects of him climbing the greasy pole to the top, was about as welcome as a cold in the head. He'd have to tread a bit more carefully and slow down. All the same Jarrett had presented himself, he hadn't gone looking for him. That being so he wasn't about to look any gift horse in the mouth.
Uckfield leaned forward. 'I need you firing on all cylinders, Andy, not with half your mind on that tart Richardson and Alpha One. You know I'm up before the promotion board next Friday and there'll be a place on the new Major Crime Team for you if I get it. So let's get this case of our body on the beach solved quickly and find the little bastard that stabbed Evans. OK?'
'Yes, sir.' At least he wasn't being chucked off the case.
Uckfield waved him into the seat across his immaculately tidy desk. A large fan whirred gently in the corner behind the DCI but it did little to dispel the mid afternoon heat, which hung over the room like an invisible cloak, suffocating and oppressive.
Uckfield said, 'So what did you get on Evans's stabbing from Westover?'
The youth had been reticent to the point of muteness. He had been accompanied by his father and the family solicitor who, between them, had made the boy sound so mild mannered that it made Clark Kent sound like Rambo.
'He says there were gate crashers.'
'And you believe him?'
'Does the Pope believe in contraception?'
Uckfield gave the ghost of a smile. 'So where do we go now?'
'We continue interviewing the other kids, the ones we can find, and try and track down the ones we can't. The drug squad are helping with that. I've seconded Kate Somerfield to work with them.'
'Put Cantelli on it too.'
'I need him working with me, Steve, on the murder. DC Marsden can handle the stabbing investigation. He's quite capable.'
Horton saw Uckfield frown. Marsden was the fast track graduate and blue-eyed boy. 'It'll give him the chance to head up an investigation, under my guidance of course. See what he's made of.'
'I'm not having Evans' stabbing sidelined.'
'I'm not. I'm just utilising manpower,' Horton replied calmly.
Uckfield pursued his lips. 'I'm not sure…'
'Marsden's only waiting to go before the next promotion board. He'll be Chief Constable before any of us.' Horton said tauntingly. Uckfield flashed him a look, which said not before me sunshine.
'OK.' He stretched back in the chair and clasped his hands behind his head. 'Where are we with our beach body?'
Horton pulled at his tie. He'd be cooler in a Turkish bath. 'Did you ask Alison if she knows Mrs Thurlow?'
'She's passed the time of day with her at various flower shows, says she's an expert on fuchsias; me I can't tell geraniums from gladioli. You spoken to anyone in Thurlow's office yet?'
Horton shook his head. 'No point until we confirm our victim is Thurlow.'
'What the hell are Scientific Services playing at? We should have had the fingerprint check ages ago.'
'Computer crash.'
'Bloody things. And where is that pathologist with her report. I thought you said we'd have it this afternoon. Typical bloody woman.'
Horton didn't like to say that Gorringe had been so slow that he made a slug look fast. 'Perhaps she got busy.'
Uckfield already had the telephone in his hand and was punching in the mortuary number. 'Anything more on those cars?'
They'd had an early break, a man walking his dog had called into the mobile unit to report he'd seen four cars in the car park just after nine thirty: a blue Ford, a Toyota, a silver Mercedes and a Mini Cooper. He hadn't got their registration numbers; that would have been too easy, Horton thought.
'Too early, we've only just given it to the local newspaper. They'll run it in tomorrow's edition but the radio station has been pushing it out since just after midday.'
'What do you mean she's left?' As Uckfield barked into the phone, there was a perfunctory knock on the door, and Cantelli poked his head round it.
'Dr Clayton's here.'
'At last.' Uckfield slammed down the phone. 'I was beginning to think you'd forgotten us, doctor.'
'I'm hardly likely to forget you, chief inspector.' There was a glint in her green eyes as she threw herself into the chair beside Horton without waiting to be asked. Horton nodded at Cantelli to stay.
'I believe this is what you've been waiting for.' With a flourish she held out a buff coloured folder.
Uckfield took it and flicked it open. He gave it a cursory glance. 'OK, so tell me what you've found.'
She thrust her short fingers through her spiky auburn hair and said brightly, 'We're obviously still waiting for all the test results but I can confirm our victim died from asphyxiation and that he was beaten after death but not with a stone. A heavy club was used: a thick stick, something wooden anyway. I found fragments of splinters lodged in his brain and his eye sockets.'
Sitting there with her ankle resting over her knee and dressed in combats and t shirt Horton thought she looked more like a PE teacher than a pathologist. And she sounded as if she was discussing a sports injury rather than a post mortem.
'He'd had a meal; I've sent his stomach contents for analysis, but it was only partially digested and hadn't moved to the small intestine. We're still looking at time of death between nine and ten last night. But that's not all…'
She paused and looked at each of them in turn. Horton saw Uckfield glance impatiently at his watch. He could tell Gaye Clayton had noticed it but she was not to be hurried. In that moment he knew what Cantelli had meant earlier about her not being browbeaten.
'He hadn't had sex before he was killed, either straight or anally. But there is something that suggests he likes his sex a little spicier than maybe your average man,' she went on. Now she had all their attention. Horton looked at her eagerly and he saw Uckfield's interest quicken.
'I couldn't see them at first because they were hidden by the marks on his back and legs where he'd been dragged along on the stones, so I enhanced the images on the computer and took another look at the body. That's why I've taken so long to get back to you. I wanted to be sure. It seems your victim was into flagellation. Of course whoever killed him could have beaten him but the marks were not made directly before his death, and they were only on his buttocks.'
Cantelli whistled softly. 'Any idea what he would have been beaten with?'
'I would hazard a guess at a cane, or stick of some kind.' She jumped up. 'Now I must be going. I'm late already.'
No one asked what for.
'His wife?' Uckfield posed, after she'd gone.
Horton considered it for a moment. 'He could have visited a brothel.'
'Check with Vice. And you'd better run the MO through the ACR system, if the computers are working,' he added sarcastically. 'See if there's been a similar murder committed elsewhere in the country.'
'Already done.' What does he think I've been doing all day? Horton wondered. 'There's nothing that matches the way our victim was laid out. Do you want me to talk to Dr Lydeway at the University?'
'No, psychologists are a waste of time.' His phone rang and he snatched it up. 'About time. What? Then whose are they? Bloody great.'
'No match on the fingerprints I take it?' Horton said, disappointed. It wasn't Thurlow. He'd wasted his time at Briarly House this morning. Roger Thurlow, despite his wife's denial, could either have thrown himself overboard or had an accident. Sooner or later his body would be washed up along the south coast. 'No. Whoever he is no one loves him enough to have reported him missing. He's not on criminal records either, so back to bloody square one.'
'We might get something from the DNA unit but that will take a couple of days. I'll follow up this caning lead until we get something better.'
'Yeah, and it had better be soon.'
'Pre interview nerves,' Horton said, when they were out of Uckfield's hearing.
'Do us all a favour if he gets the job. Get him off our backs.'
Horton said nothing about Uckfield's promise to him. 'You telephone Mrs Thurlow with the good news. I'll go and see what Dennings has to say.'
Sergeant Tony Dennings' fifteen stone of muscle seemed to take up the small Vice Squad office on the second floor. He was alone and watching a portable TV and video. He punched the pause button on the remote control and greeted Horton. 'What can I do for you?'
Horton perched himself on the edge of the desk behind Dennings. 'Flagellation, who's into it these days?'
' Anyone, given enough inducement.' Dennings rubbed his large fingers and thumb together.
'Anyone in particular specialise in it?'
Dennings gave the matter some thought. Horton watched his great round face take on a look of deep concentration. There was no hurrying Dennings. He should know because he'd spent some time with him watching Alpha One.
After a while he replied, 'There's a couple of places at Southsea, set back from the seafront, that could be worth a try. Why? Got a taste for it?'
Horton repressed a retort. Maybe Dennings just meant to be funny but it was a bit too close to the mark for him.
'It seems our victim went in for it,' he said evenly, but felt the tightness in his gut that the memories of Lucy and her accusations always aroused. 'Thought it might be worth calling on them to see if they recognise his description.'
Dennings scoffed. 'The only thing they'd recognise apart from his backside is the colour of his money.'
'We've got bugger all else to go on at the moment.'
'If I hear of anything, I'll let you know.'
And that was it. Horton hesitated. Dennings looked at him enquiringly. Time to ask some questions and take a chance of the consequences. If Dennings wanted to squeal to Uckfield or Superintendent Reine then so be it.
'Has there been any word on the street that Jarrett and his exclusive club aren't as squeaky clean as they appear to be.' Horton watched Dennings' reaction closely, but he gave nothing away only shook his great head slowly.
'Not a fucking dickie bird.'
'You are still looking, aren't you?' Horton raised his eyebrows.
'No. Strictly out of bounds.'
'Who says?'
'Our lord and master, Superintendent Reine.'
Reine was in charge of the Vice Squad. He hadn't backed him up and neither had Superintendent Underwood, his boss in the Special Investigations Department. Both had believed Lucy. Why?
'What about Underwood?'
'Retired in May.'
Of course, he'd forgotten.
'Anyway we've got enough trouble out there without going looking for it.' Dennings jerked his head at the video where a woman in her thirties was bound and chained and in the process, it appeared, of having her nipple pierced, very much against her will. 'Picked that amateur video up from a house in Gosport. And there's more like it, worse in fact.'
'It's similar to what was found on Woodard, isn't it?'
Jonathan Woodard had been a company director of a thriving business retailing women's clothing. He'd been found with hundreds of pornographic images downloaded from the Internet as well as DVDs and videos depicting rape, mutilation and torture. Woodard had refused to reveal his sources but he had been a member of Alpha One. His arrest had led to Operation Extra.
'You're not following up the Alpha One connection?' Horton said incredulously.
'Why should we?'
'Well, where did he get the stuff from?' Horton jerked his head in the direction of the video.
Dennings' answer was in his silence.
Horton shook his head with disbelief.
Dennings said, 'You know there was nothing to link Jarrett, or his business, with this.'
'Only because of me. Lucy put paid to that. Why did she wait three days before coming forward with that cock and bull story that I had raped her? She knew that by then there would be no DNA evidence; it was her word against mine and we all know who was believed.'
'You know we have to tread carefully.'
'Oh yeah,' Horton replied sarcastically. 'Then why did she take off as soon as the operation was exposed? There has to be something going on, Tony.'
Dennings shrugged his massive shoulders and returned his attention to the video. 'If Jarrett's soiled we'll get him in the end.'
Horton could see he'd get nothing further from the big man but that didn't mean to say that Dennings didn't know anything. On the contrary, reading between the words, Horton guessed there was quite a bit that Dennings did know and had been told not to say. Not for the first time he wondered whether Dennings was involved with Alpha One. Why hadn't Lucy Richardson picked on Dennings instead of him? He had reached the door before Dennings said with a warning note to his voice, 'Leave him, Andy.'
Horton held his eyes for a moment. He thought he saw genuine concern and maybe behind it a silent plea but his suspicion was confirmed: Dennings wasn't telling the whole truth.
He called Marsden into his office and told him to get up to speed with Evans' stabbing. Marsden looked disappointed at being taken off the beach body case but pleased with being given the lead in his own investigation. Horton knew Walters wouldn't like it, being the senior in terms of years of service and age but Walters would have to put up with it. He returned to the incident room and ran through the reports as they came in from the mobile unit and the teams out questioning the nearby residents. There was nothing that looked of immediate interest. Trueman would see that all the information was fed through the computer and cross-matched.
It was late by the time Horton climbed on his bike. The fog wrapped itself around him like dirty cotton wool. Instead of heading back to the boat though he diverted down Queens Street, towards the Historic Dockyard and the harbour entrance. Oyster Quays seemed as good a place as any to eat.
Parking and locking the Harley in the underground car park he surfaced into the plaza and turned left towards the waterfront where most of the restaurants were, picking one out at random. It was fairly quiet being a Wednesday and the fog had deterred many except the die hard partygoers and holidaymakers. Horton ate his pizza, drank his diet coke and paid his bills, then instead of returning to his bike, he struck out in the grey crepuscular world, until he came to the mall that housed Alpha One.
It looked innocuous enough but what went on behind those closed doors? He'd have given anything to find out. He looked up and wondered if the CCTV camera had picked him out. Who sat in there screening the men as they rang the bell and gave their names to be admitted only if they were on that elite list? He had come here for more than just a meal and a drink — whoever it was would recognise him and tell Jarrett he had been there.
He turned and made his way back to the bike. The fog closed in around him rolling off the sea and enveloping the seafront as he headed home. He could hardly see a thing in front of him. He tried to concentrate on the road ahead, squinting his eyes as though it would help him to see where he was going, but his head was full of Jarrett and Lucy and that letter from the solicitors. If he could prove his innocence would Catherine have him back? If he could just talk to her, reason with her…
He turned into Fort Cumberland Road and as he did there was a roar of an engine behind him. His eyes flicked to his mirrors but it was too late. He wasn't prepared. The car screeched past him with a squeal of rubber and cut him up. Instinctively he swerved and as he did he felt the wheels of the Harley slipping. Desperately he tried to bring the bike under control, his heart was hammering against his ribs. He was losing it. The bike slid along the ground and he was catapulted through the air as though ejected from a canon. Through his mind flashed pictures of Emma, a child mourning the loss of her father; then Catherine's smiling face…
He wrapped his arms around his head. As he hit the hard earth it sucked the breath from his body. He was rolling over and over, down and down. His head was knocking against the tight fitting helmet like a cocktail shaker. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the image of Jarrett's mocking face.