Horton hadn't been invited to take a seat in Uckfield's spacious new office, which was on the far side of the incident suite. Horton guessed that Uckfield was making him stand deliberately as a way of reinforcing the gap in rank between them.
Horton had half a mind to slump casually in the chair this side of the big man's desk, cross his legs and act as he had always done with Uckfield to see what reaction he got. He didn't think Steve had the balls to demand he leap to attention when being addressed by a senior officer but the time for playing games would come later. Maybe once he'd solved this case and rubbed Uckfield's nose in it.
Horton said, 'I've put an officer at the school and Sergeant Trueman is organizing a team to take statements from the staff. Edney's asked them to stay on after school. A car will take him back there after he's formally identified the body.' He glanced at his watch. He had about three-quarters of an hour before he needed to be at the mortuary.
'Well, let's hope it's her, otherwise we're all up shit creek without a paddle, and you and Cantelli won't even have a boat,' snarled Uckfield.
Dismissed, Horton returned to the incident room and the sandwiches, which Cantelli had fetched from the canteen. He crossed to the coffee machine and pressed the button for strong and black.
'Did you get a copy of the Lear poem?' he asked, managing to grab a vacant chair in the heaving incident room and squeeze it alongside Cantelli.
'Yes. There are three verses,' Cantelli answered through a mouthful of bacon sandwich.
Horton peeled back the bread of his own and stared at the ham, cheese and salad before conveying it to his mouth. Peering over Cantelli's shoulder he began to read:
'The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat-'
Cantelli interrupted, 'We're checking for pea-green boats in marinas and in the harbour.'
'There are hundreds of them. My boat is pea-green.' Horton took out his notebook and extracted the photograph he'd taken from Jessica Langley's office. 'I can't see if the boat she's on is pea-green or its name, more's the pity, but by the look of the helm behind her I would say it's a large, modern yacht. And they don't come cheap.'
'Head teachers aren't on a bad screw and Langley had no dependents.'
Cantelli was right. Horton took up the poem, reading aloud again:
'They sailed away, for a year and a day, To the land where the Bong-tree grows.'
Cantelli, finishing his sandwich and wiping his hands with his handkerchief, said, 'Is there such a thing as a Bongtree?'
'I doubt it. Look it up on the Internet; it seems to have the answer to most things.' Except the real questions in life, thought Horton, like who killed Jessica Langley?
'It could be a place: the name of a bar, restaurant or cafe where Langley and her lover met?'
'You don't want to give up on this lover theory, do you, Barney?'
'I can feel it in my Italian blood.'
'Well, I wish you could feel who our owl is. OK, get someone checking.' Horton read:
'And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood With a ring at the end of his nose.'
Cantelli interjected, 'Our athletic youth could have a ring in his nose. You know how kids are into body piercing, these days.'
That was possible, Horton thought, though he couldn't remember seeing him sporting one. Still, he'd only caught a glimpse of the youth under the orange glow of a streetlight and all he could recall was the youth's hollowed face. Aloud he read:
'And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon.'
He sat back and took a long pull at his coffee, hoping it would keep him awake. Cantelli didn't look too clever either. His eyes were sinking deeper into dark hollows.
Horton said, 'There wasn't a moon last night but the mulberry is on Sinah Sands. Does this MO sound like anything you've come across before, Barney?'
Cantelli rubbed a hand across his eyes. 'Not that I can recall.'
'Check it out and also check out Johnson's known associates. See who has been convicted or suspected of house robberies involving antiques or art. Have a word with the specialist investigations unit. They might come up with a couple of names.'
Horton finished the remains of his sandwich and crossed to the large, freely perspiring man in the far corner of the incident room. 'Anything from Langley's bank statements yet, Walters?'
'There's a fair bit of money in her bank and building society accounts. That's as far as I've got.'
'Is there any evidence she owns a boat? Payments to a marina company, the harbour master or a marine mortgage,' Horton explained to Walters' blank stare.
'Not that I can see, just the usual bills.'
'Telephone records?'
'I've given them to Peters.' Walters jerked his head in the direction of a young officer, with an intense expression, and auburn hair, who didn't look much older than nineteen.
'You'd have thought I'd handed him the crown jewels.'
'That's what I like, Walters, enthusiasm. See if some of it can rub off on you.'
He left Walters grumbling, which was nothing new, splashed his face with cold water and found Somerfield in the CID office huddled over a desk reading through some papers.
'Johnson claims this was his first antiques robbery,' Kate Somerfield said, as
Horton perched on the edge of the desk opposite her.
'You believe him?'
'No.'
'Has he said anything worth listening to?' Horton asked in exasperation.
Somerfield's answer was in her expression. 'There were no fingerprints on the holdall or on the boat that matched Johnson's. I guess he kept his gloves on. There are other fingerprints on the boat. I'll see if I can get a match, though I expect they're the owner's. He's a Mr James Martin. He telephoned in half an hour ago to report that his house had been broken into, and I asked him if he had a boat.'
Horton raised his eyebrows. This just wasn't Mickey Johnson's style. So who was pulling his strings? It had to be someone who knew that Mr Martin kept a boat at Town Camber; a fellow boat owner or a neighbour? Perhaps someone who worked with Martin?
'What does this James Martin do for a living?'
'He's retired.'
Bang went that theory, though there were still the other two to explore. 'Do any of the other robbery victims own boats?'
'It's not in the reports. I'll check.'
'If they do find out where they keep them.' It was a possible lead.
'Martin and his wife have only just got back from London,' Somerfield continued, 'They went to a show last night and stayed up in town. The fingerprint bureau are sending someone to Martin's house. I'm just on my way there to interview him.'
Horton let her go, with instructions to keep him informed. Then he grabbed his helmet and his leather jacket from his office and headed for the mortuary where he found Edney pacing the corridor. He was pale and anxious. Horton didn't blame him for that.
'Can we get this over with, Inspector? I've a meeting to attend,' Edney said tetchily.
Horton ignored this. 'I must warn you that you may find this disturbing. She'd been out in the sea air for some time.'
Edney gulped. 'The sea? But I thought she'd been killed in her apartment.'
Horton hadn't said and Edney had assumed. He could see Edney's mind racing with this new information.
'Surely she couldn't have gone sailing last night after… after work?' Edney continued.
Horton was convinced he had been about to say something else but had quickly substituted the word 'work.' Why? Did Edney know her movements?
'You know she sails?'
