He smiled but she didn't return the gesture, not because she was hostile, he thought, but because she was cautious. It was as though she had to hold herself in for fear of saying something that might show her true feelings.
'Rowley was also quiet but in a reserved way, not like Tom, who was so knowledgeable, yet he never bragged about it. He had a great head for figures. I remember him once-' But she stopped as though she was about to confess something important.
'Yes?'
'He was very good at forecasting the stock market.'
That wasn't what she had been about to say, but he let it go.
She added, 'I understand he made a lot of money after leaving the fishing industry. I'm not surprised.'
And maybe she glimpsed a life that she had missed out on. Did she blame her brother for that? He guessed so.
'And Warwick, what was he like?' Horton prompted, watching her carefully. A shadow crossed her face.
'Mad, is how I think most people would describe him. But Warwick was never one for doing the safe thing. Even as a child he used to worry our poor mum half to death with his antics. He was always getting into scrapes. Oh, nothing against the law, he just liked adventure — jumping off the end of the pier and risking his life, that kind of thing. But Warwick always got away with it. It was quite in character for him to try and rescue that man in the middle of a storm. It would never have crossed his mind that he might be swept overboard and drowned.'
She spoke with bitterness and not sadness. Oh, yes, Warwick had cocked up her life, or at least that was how she saw it. And if he was that daring, then maybe he was into smuggling drugs, with the others. What had Janice said? 'He always got away with it.' On 15 August 1977 he hadn't. Horton left a moment's pause before asking, 'How did the others take his death?'
She scowled at her papers, glanced fleetingly at him and away again before saying, 'They were devastated, of course. It took Sebastian days to get Rowley back on the boat, and even Tom didn't seem to have the heart for fishing anymore. He became very withdrawn. I think that was when Rowley first got religious, though the deaths of his daughter and wife were the final blow.'
'How do you know about that?'
Her head came up and she looked directly at him. 'Sebastian told me. I suppose religion gave Rowley some kind of crutch. My mother turned to spiritualism, for all the good it did her. She died within a year of Warwick's death. Our father was already dead. It was just before my twenty-first birthday when Warwick died. Not much to celebrate, Inspector.'
He could see how much she resented her brother's death, and guessed that over the years she had come to blame it (and him) for all her misfortunes. That resentment had spawned bitterness, which had burrowed inside her and taken root so that it had become her crutch.
'How long have you worked for Sebastian Gilmore?'
'Twenty-seven years. He gave me a job as soon as I qualified as an accountant and I've been here ever since.'
'You like it?'
'Sebastian has been very good to me, and with the expansion of his business I've gained promotion. Yes, I like it.'
'Do you recall the man they rescued: Peter Croxton?'
'Not really. He didn't come to the funeral.'
That more or less confirmed what Sebastian had said. So why hadn't Croxton attended the funeral of the man who had risked his life for him, and been killed as a result? There seemed only one explanation to Horton and that was he couldn't afford to be seen in public and with that fishing crew.
There seemed little more Janice could tell him about Warwick's death but there was something else that he needed to explore.
'Did your brother have any girlfriends?'
'A stream of them. They were attracted to him like flies round a dung heap.'
Interesting analogy. People usually said bees round a honey pot. Was that how she saw her brother: he was nothing but a pile of shit and the women ugly flies? Jealousy, bitterness and hatred had eaten away at this woman and looked as if they were still gnawing at her.
'Was there any particular girlfriend at the time of the tragedy?' He could feel his heart racing as he asked the question, and waited for her answer.
'Why do you want to know?' she asked sharply.
'Just routine,' he replied blandly.
She peered at him for a moment longer then, shrugging her shoulders said, 'There was one, a blonde woman; she was just a bit older than me. I don't know what happened to her.'
He felt a quickening of his heartbeat as he asked, 'Can you remember her name?'
'No. There were so many of them.'
He tried to curb his disappointment. 'Have you got a photograph of your brother?'
'No. I destroyed them all after Mum died. His death killed her and I couldn't bear to look at them.'
Pity. There had to be a picture of Warwick Hassingham somewhere and Horton had an idea of where he might find one.
He left her to her e-mails and her files, and on his way out asked both the security man at reception and the one at the gate if they recalled seeing Sebastian Gilmore on Friday night. Both confirmed that Mr Gilmore had left the premises at eight thirty. So that put him in the clear for Anne Schofield's murder. When Horton suggested that seemed very late, both said it was nothing unusual for the boss to be there half the night, or all of it if he expected the fishing fleet. Interesting. Was he waiting for something special to be delivered over and above fish? Or was Horton just hoping?
He made for the library, where he asked to examine the microfiche records of the local newspaper. He felt certain they would have covered the tragedy at sea. He had just settled down to scroll through them when his mobile phone rang. He was tempted to ignore the call but recognized the number as that of his solicitor. His chest went tight as he answered it.
'Can you talk?' Frances Greywell began. Horton heard the uncustomary hesitation in her voice and knew this was bad news. He steeled himself for what he was about to hear.
'What is it?'
'I've had a call from Catherine's solicitor.' The tension inside him hardened into a ball of pain.
'He says that Catherine is refusing you access to Emma on Wednesday on account of it being too dangerous for her to be with you at the moment. I understand that you're on a case where someone has tried to kill you by setting fire to your boat. Is it true?'
She sounded concerned but he ignored that, as disappointment and anger overwhelmed him.
'Hello, are you there?'
He must have grunted because she continued. 'I insisted that this had all been agreed and that Catherine couldn't go back on her word but I'm afraid she can if she has a legitimate reason to think your daughter's life might be in danger.'
Slowly Horton counted to ten, hoping to quell the anger inside him. It didn't help. The anger was still there only now he shifted the focus of it. Who the hell had told Catherine? If it was Uckfield, he'd have him by the balls, superintendent or not.
Finally he found his voice and said, 'Emma will be safe with me.'
'I said that of course, and told him that whatever case you were working on, it could be over by Wednesday, but, Andy…'
It was the first time she had used his Christian name. There was worse to come.
'Emma's gone away for Christmas with Catherine and her parents. They flew out from Gatwick to Cyprus at midday today. I've just got back into the office and found a message from her solicitor. I rang him straightaway. I'm really sorry.'
The bitch! Horton wouldn't mind betting she had planned this all along. Their flights had probably been booked ages ago. Catherine had had no intention of letting him see his daughter over Christmas. Christ, how it hurt.
