'Kids keeping you awake?' Horton grunted. He had to take his anger and frustration out on someone and neither Uckfield, nor Colin bloody Jarrett, the man he held responsible for his wrecked marriage, was there.
'You could say that.' Cantelli indicated right. 'I see we're not invited to the party then?'
'I know why I'm on the outside but what about you?'
Cantelli shrugged. A couple of minutes later he pulled up at the traffic lights and reached for a packet of chewing gum in the space by the hand brake. He offered the packet across to Horton but Horton declined. The lights changed. They turned right and headed away from the case.
'So tell me about Evans,' Horton said, trying to shake off his disgruntled mood. It wasn't easy, but neither was it Cantelli's fault so he shouldn't take it out on him.
'The boy who was holding the party was brought in for questioning but he's a juvenile, fifteen, and he was pilled up to his eyeballs so they didn't get anything out of him last night. His parents are on holiday, they've been contacted and they're on their way back. They fly in from Spain later this morning. The drug squad are involved. Some kids gave their names but most were too out of it and others quickly scarpered.'
'So when can we interview this boy?'
'John Westover. This afternoon, one o'clock. Brian's still unconscious.'
'So not much point going to the hospital.'
'No. I've got a PC there who will call us the moment he comes round.'
Cantelli was heading out of the city. Horton was surprised. They were going in the wrong direction for the station and they'd already passed Hemmings Road, the scene of Evans' stabbing.
'Where are we going?'
'To see a lady.'
Horton raised his eyebrows. 'What lady?'
'One who thinks the body you tripped over this morning is her husband.'
Horton's heart gave a lift. A shiver of excitement ran through him. He couldn't be this lucky, or could he? 'Go on,' he said, hardly daring to hope.
'She hasn't seen him since Friday when he went out on his boat,' Cantelli explained, as they crawled their way through the rush hour traffic. The fog was billowing off the shore to their right making the driving more hazardous than normal and the traffic slower.
'That's five days ago; it's taken her a long time to report him missing. Who is he?'
'Roger Thurlow, runs a marketing and public relations agency, at Oyster Quays.'
Cantelli gave him a swift glance, which Horton interpreted as a warning, but a friendly one. Stay away from Alpha One. From Barney Cantelli, Horton could take it. He was the only one who had believed him when he said he hadn't slept with Lucy Richardson let alone raped her. And that wasn't just out of gratitude for keeping Barney's nephew out of prison five years ago. Barney knew how much his family meant to him and that he would never have risked losing them.
'Why do you think it's him?'
'The description Mrs Thurlow gave fits: late fifties, slim build, greying hair, on the tall side,' Cantelli counted off, stabbing his fingers on the steering wheel. 'And, just before she phoned, I took a call from the Marine Support Unit. They were called out to a deserted motorboat this morning stranded on the East Winner bank. And guess who the owner is?
Horton didn't need to but he said it just to please Cantelli. 'Roger Thurlow.'
'Yep.'
Horton stared out of the insect-spattered window with a smile of satisfaction. Uckfield couldn't stop him now. He'd been given a lead and he was damn sure he was going to follow it up. 'How come you put the two together so quickly?'
Cantelli shrugged and said casually, 'I was walking through reception and heard the desk clerk take the call.'
'Uckfield doesn't know we're going to see her?' He gave a silent crow of victory. Cantelli must have heard the thrill in his voice. He smiled and there was a smug look on his lean, dark face. It was good to be working with Cantelli again.
'I'm not sure if the desk clerk heard me say I was on my way and tell the DCI we might have an ID.'
'Then I'd better tell him-'.
'Before you do, Andy, there's something else you ought to know.'
There always was with Cantelli. 'Yes?'
'Thurlow lives at Briarly House, on the outskirts of Redvins.'
Well, well! That was where Uckfield lived. Redvins was a small village eight miles to the east of Portsmouth and four miles to the north of the coastal village of Emsworth. Horton recalled Uckfield's words, 'Do you know who he is?' He didn't but the DCI might. He called Uckfield, feeling fired up. God had smiled on him and given him a chance, or rather Cantelli had. He wasn't going to let this slip through his fingers. He quickly explained the situation; Uckfield didn't sound too happy about it but there wasn't much he could do.
'I'm waiting for the pathologist to arrive,' Uckfield growled. 'Call me as soon as you've finished interviewing Mrs Thurlow. I've got to brief the Super and I'm giving a press statement at ten.'
Horton switched off and grinned. 'Seems like we just gate crashed the party, Barney.'
CHAPTER 2
By the time they turned into the long gravel drive and pulled up outside Briarly House, the sun had burnt away the fog.
'Nice place,' Cantelli said, climbing out and stretching his hairy forearms into his jacket. 'Can't be short of a bob or two.'
Horton gazed up at the brick and flint period thatched cottage. He wasn't so sure. The house looked neglected, the thatch was yellowing and loose in places, the wooden window frames in need of replacing, and the paint on the heavy wooden door chipped and faded. It was in sharp contrast to the gardens either side of the drive where the grass, although showing signs of suffering from the long hot August, was nevertheless neatly cut. The borders teamed with colourful fuchsias and at either side of the door stood two standard fuchsia plants, a riot of pinks and purples.
It took several stout knocks, a call through the black iron letterbox and a finger pressed permanently on a brass bell, which Horton suspected didn't work, before they got a response. Cantelli had been about to set off round one side of the house in search of its owner when the door opened.
'Mrs Thurlow?' Horton asked.
'Yes?' she replied guardedly, restraining a golden retriever who looked more welcoming than his mistress.
Cantelli eyed him warily, as Horton quickly made the introductions and flashed his warrant card.
'I'm sorry I was in the garden. I must say I didn't expect anyone so promptly. I've not long telephoned.'
She was quite a handsome woman, Horton thought, with good bone structure and cool green eyes. He guessed she was about mid fifties but her tanned and weathered face made her look older. Her grey hair was untidy and she was dressed in shorts and a faded T-shirt that had smears of earth on it.
She stepped back and Horton dipped his head as he stepped through the doorway. The dog barked. Cantelli hesitated.
'It's all right he won't hurt you,' she assured them.
'I've heard that one before,' Cantelli muttered, following her into the coolness of the hall where she let go of the dog's collar. Horton smiled as the animal pointedly ignored him and sniffed around Cantelli.
'He likes you,' he said.
'Glad someone does.' Cantelli reached out a hand and tentatively patted the animal's head. Satisfied the dog trotted off ahead of his mistress and Cantelli heaved a sigh of relief.
Inside there was the same air of neglect as outside. The house smelt musty, the parquet flooring looked in need of polishing, the rugs had been worn almost to a thread, the floral wallpaper was dated and faded and the
