carrying a file. She smiled rather nervously at Horton but he could see the curiosity and excitement shining in her eyes. Even if Frances Greywell said nothing, he knew the news would spread around the firm like a bush fire by tomorrow morning, probably had already.
Frances Greywell thanked her. After consulting the file she said, 'Michael has a sister, Maureen Brinkwell, she lives in New Zealand.' She handed a form across to Horton who quickly flicked down the details. Culven was fifty- three, born 8 September, a bachelor and non-smoker who had joined the firm's personal health care plan five years ago. Wouldn't do him much good now, Horton thought.
'Could I have a copy?' he asked.
'Of course.' She made to rise but Horton forestalled her.
'Could I also see Mr Culven's diary?'
'I'll call it up for you. Everyone's diary is on our computer system,' she explained, punching something into her keyboard. 'If you'd like to…'
He rose and moved around the desk to stand next to her. He could smell her soft perfume: light enough to state her femininity without compromising her professionalism.
'Just scroll up or down if you need to see more,' she said, swivelling her face to look up at him. She was very close. She held her position for a moment before straightening up. 'I'll get this copied for you.'
As he sat in her chair he wondered what element of law she specialised in. There was nothing on her desk to give him any clue. What if it were matrimonial? How would he feel telling her about Lucy Richardson? The answer was in the involuntary tensing of his body.
He quickly moved the curser over the diary. There was nothing of interest in it for this week, except the industrial tribunal case, so he went back, an entry caught his eye. Yes! Culven had had a lunchtime appointment with Roger Thurlow at the yacht club at Horsea Marina on Friday, the last day that Thurlow had been seen. He went back further through July and June. There were several appointments with Thurlow, but what also interested him was the number of appointments with Jarrett. Before he had time to digest this the door opened.
Frances Greywell handed him the photostat copy, which he folded and placed in the pocket of his jacket.
'Was Mr Culven, Thurlow's solicitor?'
'Yes.' She tried to hide her surprise and curiosity at the connection.
'And Colin Jarrett's?'
She nodded, now even more perplexed. 'I believe Michael's done… did a lot of work for Mr Jarrett. His business interests have expanded rapidly over the last five years.'
Tell me about it! Hotels, restaurants, gyms and health clubs all along the south coast. He could see that she wanted to ask him why he wanted to know. Before she could he said, 'I'd like a copy of this diary?'
'Of course.' Once again the lawyer she said crisply, 'Which months do you want, inspector?'
'June onwards.'
She moved back into her own seat brushing against him as she went. He thought it was intentional but maybe he was just kidding himself. She was attractive, but he was off women, except for one and she wanted nothing to do with him.
'The printer's in Amanda's office.'
He followed her through, admiring her slender but shapely figure. She had a way of walking, of doing things that said I know who I am, I know what I'm doing and I know what I want.
He said, 'Mr Culven had an appointment at Thurlow's on Friday lunchtime. Any idea what that was about?' He could see that she wanted to ask him about this obsession with Thurlow. She didn't though, probably because she knew he would only blank her out.
She said, 'Janet might know, Michael's secretary, but she only works part time. I'm afraid you've missed her. I can find out for you.'
'Please. I'd also like the paperwork of all the cases that Mr Culven had been working on, say, in the last six months.' That should give him an insight into Jarrett's business affairs. Not that he expected to find anything brazenly illegal but he hadn't spent three years in SID without knowing how to read between the lines. A warm glow of satisfaction spread through him. It had been a good move coming here instead of going to Melissa Thurlow's.
'That's confidential, inspector.'
'I can return with a warrant.'
'Then I suggest you do.'
She handed him the printout of diary dates. After a moment she said, her tone softer, 'You think Michael's death could be work-related?' Now she looked really worried.
'It's too early to say.'
'Of course.' She gave a small frown of irritation at his stock answer.
'Could you lock his office and touch nothing. I'll send a couple of officers along tomorrow, with a warrant.'
She sighed in capitulation. 'When can I announce it to the staff?'
'We'll let you know as soon as we've spoken to his next of kin.'
The heat was intense, as he struck out for the station but he hardly noticed it. He felt buoyed up with optimism. His fingers itched to get hold of Jarrett's files. He wished he could start now. He should have expected her to ask for a warrant, being a solicitor. Still, he could have one by tomorrow.
He turned his mind to the case. By both Frances Greywell's and Miss Filey's accounts of Michael Culven, and judging from what he'd seen of his house, he seemed a very ordinary man, fairly innocuous, certainly not the type to get himself brutally murdered like that. But then there was evidence that he liked being caned and if the letters from Melissa Thurlow were anything to go by he had been a passionate and energetic lover. So perhaps there was a lot more to Michael Culven than met the eye. And the evidence of those letters and Thurlow's disappearance suggested this was a crime of passion, a jealous husband outraged at his wife's infidelity.
Cantelli wasn't back but Marsden was and waiting for him. Horton could see immediately that he'd made a breakthrough on Evans' stabbing. His body was vibrating with excitement. Horton knew the feeling. He'd missed that over the last eight months. Soon though he would experience it again, and he didn't just mean nabbing Evans' attacker, or even Culven's killer though both would be enough to send the adrenaline rushing through his body.
'I think I've tracked down the gatecrasher, sir,' Marsden said. 'The drug squad got hold of some names and I've been checking them out. Stevie Mason fits the description given by those kids who can remember being at the party. I'm just going round to ask John Westover if he knows him, or can recall seeing him.'
'What's Mason's form?' 'Arrested and fined for drug dealing five years ago outside the Sir Wilberforce Cutler Comprehensive. Served two years for assault in a young offenders' institution, released a year ago. Prior to that, in and out of trouble since the age of nine.'
'OK, let's go bring him in.'
Marsden looked surprised. 'I thought I'd see what Westover has to say first.'
'And give Mason time to do a bunk?'
Marsden's fair good-looking face flushed. 'I don't think I've got enough on him yet.'
'And by the time you've got it the whole of the drug network will be buzzing with the news and Mason will have blown. Probably has already.'
'No, he's still in his flat off Queen Street. Somerfield is watching it.'
Horton glanced at his watch. 'Come on then. We'll take a couple of uniformed lads with us. I've got a feeling Mason won't come quietly.' He didn't. With the sixth sense of the criminal fraternity Mason seemed to smell them coming from about six hundred yards away, certainly by the time they stepped out of the lift into the echoing corridor. But on the nineteenth floor of the tower block there was no way out of the flat except through the front door. The lifts and stairs, including the emergency stairs, were blocked by Horton, Marsden and two very large police officers.
Mason, a skinny young man in his early twenties, with bad skin and broken teeth, eyed them with alarm, dashed a panicky glance over his shoulder, saw there was nothing for it but to plunge ahead and came charging at them with a great bellow and a flash of steel in his left hand. But Horton was prepared for it. Sidestepping, he grabbed him roughly, swiftly disarmed him, threw him to the floor, pinned his arms behind him and rubbed his face in the ground.
'He's all yours, Marsden,' he said, leaving the two officers to take over the restraint and Marsden to quote
