'Where do you keep it, sir?'
Calthorpe looked surprised by the question and then a little annoyed. 'At Sparkes Yacht Harbour, Hayling Island. Why?'
'Did you go out over the weekend?'
'Yes, and before you ask I didn't see Roger. I came back Sunday night.' He picked up his spoon and began fiddling with it. Then seeing Horton's eyes on him he took a deep breath and put the spoon down. 'Look, inspector, I don't know where Roger is. It's most inconvenient of him to go off like this. It's stretched us to the limit…'
Calthorpe looked about to say more then seemed to think better of it. Instead he pressed his lips together, wriggled a little and looked away. Obviously he hadn't spoken to Melissa Thurlow, or had he and that was why he was nervous? Had Melissa Thurlow told him that they suspected her husband of murder?
Horton left a silence, and just when it looked as though Calthorpe could bear it no longer asked, 'Did Mr Thurlow have any worries: health, financial, marital…?'
'Not that I know of,' Calthorpe replied tersely.
'Has he been acting unusually, or was anything disturbing him?'
'Such as?'
'If I knew that I wouldn't need to ask, would I, sir?' Horton replied smiling. Calthorpe didn't seem to like it judging by his expression.
He answered crisply, 'He seemed fine to me. Now I am rather busy…'
'I understand that Michael Culven is the company's solicitor.'
Calthorpe had half risen. 'What's that got to do — '
'Mr Culven had an appointment with Roger Thurlow last Friday lunchtime, at the yacht club at Horsea Marina. Do you know what that meeting was about?'
Calthorpe sat down again. 'I've no idea.'
'Would Mrs Stephens know?' Horton pressed.
'I doubt it,' Calthorpe replied acerbically. ' I really don't see what Culven has to do with Roger-'.
'He is your company lawyer, isn't he?'
'Well, yes, but I leave that sort of thing to Roger and Graham, our accountant and office manager. I'm the creative director, so the running of the business doesn't really concern me apart from the fact that we do good work for our clients. I leave most of the practical elements of running the business to Roger and Graham.'
Horton rose abruptly, surprising Cantelli and relieving Calthorpe. 'Thank you for your time and help, Mr Calthorpe. We won't hold you up any longer. If we could just have a word with Mr Parnham and Mrs Stephens.'
Parnham was out, with the bank manager, so Mrs Stephens told them in her little office. She also told them that she had no idea why Roger had wanted to see Michael Culven.
'I think it was just a social call, they were fairly good friends,' she said stiffly. The door behind her, Horton guessed, led into Thurlow's office. 'Have you any idea where Mr Thurlow might be?'
'No I haven't, inspector,' she replied, eyeing him warily. 'This is simply not like him at all.'
Horton asked her the same question he'd asked Calthorpe, if there had been anything troubling Thurlow, anything on his mind, or if he had been acting out of character, but she was shaking her head before he'd even finished the question.
'No, Roger was fine. There was nothing upsetting him.'
Nevertheless Horton could see there was a great deal upsetting Mrs Stephens. He smiled at her encouragingly and asked: 'When did you last see him?'
'On Friday night. I left here just after five thirty.'
'And he didn't say where he was going over the weekend?'
'Only out on his boat. He said he'd be back.' She hesitated. She seemed to have something more to say but wasn't sure how to say it. She looked at each of them in turn.
'Something troubling you, Mrs Stephens?'
'No. Nothing.' She pressed her lips together as if to prevent them from contradicting her.
Clearly there was something, but it was obvious she wasn't going to tell them what it was. As they made their way back to the car, Cantelli said, 'Calthorpe's a funny little man. Very nervous I thought.'
'Highly strung, artistic type, I expect. I'm going to take a look at Thurlow's boat. You get over to the yacht club, Barney, see what you can find out about this meeting, and if anyone saw either man after last Friday lunchtime.'
His phone rang. It was Trueman.
'There's no evidence of Mrs Thurlow's fingerprints in Culven's house, guv. Only Culven's and Miss Filey's.'
So where had they conducted their affair? At Briarly House? Seemed a bit unlikely that she would risk it there when her husband could come home at any time, and when Culven's place was more appropriate, he being a bachelor. He could hardly see Mrs Thurlow having it away in the back of Culven's Mercedes. And where was the Mercedes? So far there had been no sighting of it.
Cantelli dropped him off at the Continental Ferry Port on his way out of the town. Horton located Sergeant Elkins of the Marine Unit and together they climbed on board the Free Spirit.
'This is exactly as you found it?' he asked Elkins, stepping into the central cabin.
'Yes, sir.'
It was beautifully furnished with soft blue upholstered cushions, which looked as though they had never been sat upon. In front of him was a mahogany table. There was nothing on it. Horton pushed open a door leading down into the galley. On the table there was an earthenware mug, a half drunk bottle of water, a Stanford's All Weather Chart revealing the blue of the Solent and the lighter blue and muddy orange of the Channel of Portsmouth Harbour and on top of the chart, a state of the art digital hand held navigation system, manufactured by Kiltons. There was also a transparent ruler and a slim line gold ballpoint pen.
He crossed to the mug. It contained the dregs of what looked, and smelt, like coffee. Forensic would probably be able to tell him the brand, where the coffee had been grown, ground and sold.
'There's no sign of any struggle. I suppose it could have been cleaned up,' Elkins suggested. 'Someone would have to be master cleaner of the year to get it looking like this.'
Horton moved forward into one of the two sleeping cabins. This was clearly Thurlow's. Elkins took the other one. Thurlow's navy blue sailing bag was on the bunk. Horton opened it and peered inside, a couple of pairs of shorts, T shirts, underpants and socks. His shaving gear was still in the toilet bag, which he unzipped. Inside was the usual: toothpaste, razor, aftershave and shaving cream but then his fingers clasped something that wasn't so usual.
He pulled out a small bottle of tablets. They were prescribed to Roger Thurlow. Hypovase. He wondered what they were for; both Mrs Thurlow and Charles Calthorpe had said that Thurlow didn't have any health problems and although Thurlow might not have told Calthorpe, surely his wife would know if there was something wrong with him? Perhaps they weren't for anything serious and she hadn't thought it worth mentioning? He popped the bottle into a plastic evidence bag. They'd have a word with his GP.
He continued his search, moving into the tiny bathroom. Only a man's shower gel from the Body Shop, half used, hung in the shower tidy. Above the sink basin was a perspex glass toothbrush holder. He could see no women's toiletries.
He bent down and pulled open the cupboard under the sink. Inside he found a bottle of household bleach from Waitrose, a tube of bathroom cleaner, and a couple of rags. As he made to straighten up something caught his eye. The bottom of the cupboard was laid with pale blue carpet tiles and he could see in the far right hand corner that one of them had curled slightly. Perhaps the damp had got to it he thought, or maybe the heat. Perhaps it hadn't been laid properly. In a boat costing over?200,000! Somehow he didn't think so.
He knelt and prised up the edge of the carpet tile. It came up remarkably easily; too easily Horton thought as he reached in and felt his fingers grip something. It was a pile of magazines. At first he thought they must have been used as lining, but what kind of boat fitters would use magazines to line a luxury yacht like this? Stretching forward he gently lifted them out. The front cover of each of the three magazines sported naked couples; one of a man and woman, the other two of women locked in poses that left the reader in no doubt of their main activity. It didn't require any great leap of imagination to guess what was inside the covers.
He flicked quickly through the pages, though his experience in SID had already primed him for what he would
