Langley's background. To Walters he designated the task of finding out all he could about Barry Dunsley.
'Does Dunsley have a boat?' Horton asked Trueman, who checked on the computer against the lists they had received.
'Not according to this.'
Shame. But maybe Dunsley hadn't registered his boat with a harbour master. Or perhaps he had an accomplice. Morville? It was possible especially after what Mrs Watrow had told him.
Horton headed for the canteen, bought himself some sandwiches and a coffee and returned to his office with them. He closed his door and stared at the photograph on his desk of Emma. He could call a solicitor now while he had a moment yet he hesitated. It seemed so final. Damn it, it was final, hadn't Catherine made it quite clear their marriage was over.
He took a deep breath and reached for the telephone directory. One particular matrimonial lawyer had sprung to mind and as he punched in Frampton's number he recalled Frances Greywell's crisp efficiency during his last murder case, just after he had returned to duty from his suspension.
He made an appointment with her, via her secretary, for the following Monday; by that time he'd either have solved the case or be relieved of it. Perhaps then he would be able to focus on more personal matters. Last night he had steeled himself to open the three letters from Catherine's solicitor. Each had asked for the details of his own solicitor. The final one had given him a month in which to contact them before a Petition for divorce would be drawn up and issued. His guts churned at the thought of it and angrily he pushed it aside as he considered the case.
Dunsley had lied about his whereabouts on Thursday evening. What connection, if any, did he have with Jessica Langley? Dunsley had talked to them about Tom Edney when he and Cantelli had first called upon him, and had claimed it had been gossip he'd overheard across the bar. But was it? Maybe Dunsley had known Edney.
Where had Dunsley been on Saturday between three and six when Edney was having his throat slit?
There was knock on his door. Cantelli walked in. 'Mrs Ranson confirms her husband arrived home just before eight thirty on the night Langley was killed. She said he was fine, nothing untoward in his manner or appearance, and he didn't go out again. She seemed to be telling the truth. She wanted to know why we were asking. I gave her the usual bollocks about routine but she wasn't convinced. I don't think Leo Ranson's got a very pleasant evening in store when he gets home. I felt sorry for her. She was nice. You should see Ranson's house though. It looked like something out of one of those posh magazines, all glass and angles with wood floors and sleek furniture. You could fit my three-bed semi into two rooms of it.'
Horton's phone rang. It was the desk. He listened, then said to Cantelli, 'Ranson's arrived. Go take his statement, Barney, and let him know you've talked to his wife.' That will teach him to play away from home, Horton thought, though he was thinking of Catherine and her boyfriend.
Horton briefed Uckfield while Cantelli saw to Ranson and, with Uckfield's blessing, which Horton didn't really need, an hour later, he and Cantelli made their way to the ex-forces club. There was however no sign of the steward. Was he ever here? Horton was beginning to wonder.
Cantelli crossed to have a word with the barmaid, the inimitable Doris, whilst Horton made for Mrs Watrow who was sitting with a drink in front of her and a white haired man beside her. After she had introduced the small potbellied man beside her as her husband, Ernie, she said, 'It's bingo night and we like to get in early and grab a good seat.'
There were only about six elderly people in the dilapidated bar room. Maybe the rush came later.
'Mrs Watrow, you told me earlier today that Mr Dunsley wasn't here on the night of the break-in-'
'That weren't no break-in. He did it. Dunsley. He's on the fiddle.'
Those were Horton's sentiments exactly. 'How do you know?'
'Heard him talking to that friend of his lunchtime, just after you'd left.'
'What friend?' Horton's ears pricked up.
'Neil. Don't know his last name.'
Horton felt a warm glow of satisfaction deep inside him. There was one Neil in particular that sprang to mind: Cyrus, the assistant caretaker at the Sir Wilberforce Cutler School. And Horton wouldn't mind betting that he was the Neil in question. There had been something about the caretaker he hadn't liked or trusted. He reckoned his intuition was right, just as it was with Dunsley.
He said, 'What did Dunsley say? Can you remember?'
'That the police have been here asking questions — I told him you'd been round again — and Neil was to keep his nerve. You going to arrest him?' she asked with a gleam in her eyes. 'Serves him right if you do. Gives himself airs and graces, thinks he's better than-'
'Thank you. I think my sergeant wants me.' He hastily extracted himself, and went over to join Cantelli.
'Doris doesn't think Dunsley will be long. His flat's upstairs and she said help yourself when I asked if we could wait up there,' Cantelli said.
The stairs were covered with what once might have been beige cord carpet, but now it was threadbare and dirty. Mrs Watrow's duties obviously didn't extend this far, Horton thought, coming up on to the narrow landing. At the top of the stairs he told Cantelli what Mrs Watrow had said. Then taking out his mobile phone he called in and gave instructions for Neil Cyrus to be brought in for questioning.
'It's my guess they were at the school stealing the building material,' Horton said.
'So Langley could have returned and discovered them.'
She could indeed, thought Horton. And if Dunsley had visited Neil at the school in the past, then that could be how Edney had recognized him, which meant he must also have seen Dunsley with Langley at some stage. Or perhaps Edney had a suspicion that Cyrus was involved in her death, and Cyrus had killed Edney, hence the post- mortem findings that Langley and Edney could have been killed by different people: Dunsley and Cyrus. This was looking good.
Horton gave a cursory search of the bathroom — not much there. Then he entered the living room at the end of the corridor, while Cantelli took the kitchen and bedroom. From the living room Horton could see Morville's flat in Corton Court. He hadn't forgotten him.
He gazed around the room. It was comfortably furnished, though a little overcrowded, with a three-piece suite, a small computer desk in front of the window and a large TV and DVD. On the desk was a computer and beside it some bills from the club and a box file containing invoices and receipts. Horton had a quick flick through but there was nothing of interest. He opened some drawers and found a bank statement; it was a couple of months old and Dunsley was overdrawn. Horton knew that what they were doing here was irregular, and Dunsley could complain, but he wasn't concerned about that. Let the man bleat.
Horton joined Cantelli in Dunsley's bedroom. 'Anything?'
Cantelli shook his head. Horton heard footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later Dunsley appeared.
'What the hell are you doing here?' he exploded.
Horton unfazed, said, 'We'd like to ask you some questions, Mr Dunsley. At the station.'
'Why? I haven't done anything.' Suddenly Dunsley was on the defensive. Horton saw the faint telltale flush of nervousness on Dunsley's neck.
'For a start there's wasting police time by reporting a phoney break-in, not to mention attempting to fraud the insurers.'
Dunsley licked his lips and gave a hesitant smile. 'It was a joke.'
'You have a peculiar sense of humour, Mr Dunsley. Shall we discuss it down at the station?'
Horton gave an ushering movement, as Cantelli eased himself behind Dunsley.
Dunsley said, 'You can't really be taking me in just for that!'
'Shall we go?' Horton didn't leave Dunsley much choice.
The stairs were narrow but Cantelli still managed to squeeze himself beside Dunsley, and put a restraining arm on the steward. Horton brought up the rear.
'It's only a small matter of theft. The insurance company can afford it,' Dunsley said tetchily, after climbing into Cantelli's car. Horton got in beside him.
So Dunsley was going to bluff it out. Or rather he was going to admit to the lesser crime of theft in the hope they'd not discover he was a murderer.
At the station, Cantelli took Dunsley to an interview room, while Horton checked in with Sergeant Trueman.
'Did you get Cyrus?'
