Sparkes Yacht Harbour and once on it you killed her. Why?'
'I haven't killed anyone.' Ranson sat forward. 'Look, I did go to her apartment on Thursday evening, but I was only there a few minutes. I left her there, alive and well. I didn't ask her to meet me anywhere.'
'You had sex and then left her?'
From the post-mortem report Horton knew he hadn't, but he wanted to see Ranson's reaction. The man looked horrified.
'No. I arrived at her flat just after seven thirty. I had hardly been there a few minutes when the doorbell rang and Daphne Edney was hurling abuse at Jessica on the doorstep. Jessica slammed the door on her. She seemed to find it exciting and amusing. I thought things between us were going to be… well, all right. Then her mobile phone rang and everything changed. No, hang on. She had two calls. The first one made her cross.'
Horton was immediately aware that this new information was important, if the architect could be believed. He hoped to God it would give them a lead, because if Ranson wasn't Langley's killer then apart from that betting slip found in Langley's pocket he had sod all left.
'Who was it?' he asked sharply.
'I don't know. I just heard her say, 'You'll get nothing from me. Now piss off.' Then almost immediately her phone rang again. She must have thought it was the same caller but her expression changed.'
'How?'
'It sort of lit up. She rang off and told me something had come up. She couldn't get rid of me quick enough.'
Horton studied the architect. Ranson's eyes were pleading with him to be believed.
'Who was on the phone the second time?'
'I don't know and she didn't say.'
'Male or female voice?'
'I couldn't hear. Jessica moved away. I just heard her say, 'Great.''
'So you were angry at being rejected. You lay in wait for her and then attacked and killed her.'
'No!' Ranson was out of his chair, shouting. 'I went home. Ask my wife, she'll tell you what time I got in.'
'And that was?' asked Cantelli.
'Just after eight thirty. I left Jessica alive and well at eight o'clock.'
Horton studied him closely. He believed him. Ranson hadn't killed Langley or Edney.
'Did you go out again?' asked Cantelli.
'No, why should I?'
Horton suddenly had an idea about Edney's death. Maybe he had been killed because he'd seen Langley's murderer. 'Did you see Tom Edney anywhere in that vicinity on Thursday evening?'
'No.'
Shame. 'You look surprised that he could have been there.'
'He was hardly her favourite person. She used to laugh at how she tormented him. She wasn't always a very nice woman. In fact she could be horrid, but she was kind of addictive and stimulating to be with.'
Horton didn't think Ranson's wife was going to be very pleased to hear that. But Ranson's words had finally unlocked that small niggling thing that had been in the back of his mind since he'd first set eyes on Jessica Langley on the mulberry and then again in the mortuary. It had been the way her hair had been curled on to her forehead on the mulberry. It hadn't been like that in any of the photographs he'd seen of her. 'The Owl and the Pussy-Cat', and 'Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush' weren't the only rhymes their killer had been having fun with — when she was bad she was horrid.
'Did you ever go sailing with her?' he asked.
Ranson looked surprised at the question. 'A couple of times. She was a very competent sailor.'
Horton took the photograph from his pocket. 'Did you take this of Jessica Langley?'
Ranson studied it. 'No.'
'Do you know if she owned a boat?'
'She never said.'
'Did she wear foul-weather sailing clothes when she was on your boat, like these in the photograph? Leggings, jacket…'
'A couple of times, when the weather was rough. They were my wife's,' he said. 'Please don't tell my wife about Jessica. She won't understand.'
'I bet she won't!' Cantelli said with feeling, when Ranson had left and they were in the car. Horton had asked Ranson to call into the station at two thirty that afternoon and make a statement. He had agreed with alacrity in the vain hope that they wouldn't check his movements with his wife. They would, of course.
'Our killer's a real joker, Barney, and it's not Leo Ranson. Langley's body had been arranged on the mulberry, with her dark hair curling on to her forehead. Picking up on our nursery rhyme theme, does anything strike you about that?'
'No.' Cantelli looked blank.
'Can't say I blame you for not getting it. It's taken me long enough.' And Horton chanted: ''There was a little girl/Who wore a little curl/Right in the middle of her forehead/When she was good, she was very, very good- ''
Cantelli finished, ''And when she was bad she was horrid.' Our killer knew her well.'
'Yes. And a woman like Langley would have as many enemies as she would admirers.' But who could have killed her if Ranson was in the clear for murder? Horton had to go back to the beginning. Or did he? There was still that matter of the betting slip. Why had the killer left it in Langley's pocket? What did the message on it mean: Have you forgotten ME? Did it have any significance to the case? Perhaps Morville was telling the truth when he said it had been intended for Elaine Tolley. But what if he was lying, and Jessica Langley had been the intended recipient? That meant Morville knew her. Morville's alibi had checked out: he'd been drinking in the club. But there was something he wasn't telling them and with one trail cold it was time to follow another one.
He also hadn't forgotten about Mickey Johnson and those antiques thefts, and Johnson's missing accomplice, who hadn't yet been found. But that would have to wait just like the break-in at the ex-forces club and the school building site robbery, though he'd keep the latter in mind, in case he was back to his theory that Langley had surprised the robbers at her school and been killed because of it. After Leo Ranson had left her apartment perhaps she had returned to the school to collect something. Or perhaps this second caller had asked her to meet him there, though that was more unlikely. Her caller could have asked Langley to meet him on his boat.
But first Eric Morville. Horton glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was just after midday, and there were three places that Morville could be: the betting shop, the ex-forces club or at home.
'Drop me off on the corner of Corton Court, Barney. I'm going to see if I can get some sense out of Morville. You follow up Ranson's alibi.' If Morville wasn't there then Horton could easily walk to the other two destinations. But he was lucky. Morville was in.
Pauline Rowson
Deadly Waters
Fourteen
U nshaved, and bleary-eyed, Morville looked as though he'd had a heavy night on the tiles. Either that or he had started drinking early, which, judging by the smell on his breath, Horton thought more likely. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw the almost empty whisky bottle on the small table beside Morville's armchair. Beside it was a plate with the remains of bacon rind on it and the yellow stain of what once must have been a fried egg if the smell in the flat was anything to go by.
'I suppose you've come about that bloody betting slip again.' Morville sank heavily into his armchair and began to roll himself a cigarette.
'Well, I haven't come to discuss how Portsmouth are doing in the Premiership.'
'Good. I know sod all about football.'
'But you do know about Jessica Langley?'
'Yeah, you told me you'd found a body.' Morville lit up and inhaled deeply. Horton felt like throwing open a window to let out the smell of cigarette smoke, alcohol and cooking.
Morville continued, 'I heard another schoolteacher's been bumped off. Not doing very well, are you, Inspector. Shouldn't you be out looking for the killer instead of bothering innocent ratepayers like me?'
