Some of the fares are like that. They want you to be invisible whilst others want to tell you their life history.'
And vice versa, thought Horton, recalling some of the cab drivers he'd met.
Kingston's bacon sandwich arrived and Horton was rather glad when Kingston spread a liberal helping of brown sauce over it. Its spicy fragrance smothered the smell of roast flesh.
Horton let him take his first bite before he asked, 'How did he seem? Worried, pleased, happy?'
'Anxious, I'd say. He kept tapping his fingers on the door, and craning his neck as if I could get there any faster.'
'How long did you wait for him at the marina?'
'About an hour. Cost him a bob or two, but he didn't seem to mind,' Kingston replied with his mouth full. 'I guess he was loaded. He told me to have a coffee. I said, 'It's your money, mate.' The meter was ticking all the time. I found a cafe that wasn't too posh amongst all those expensive shops and restaurants and when I got back to the cab he showed up five minutes later. I drove him back to the airport. He paid his bill and went off like a good boy.'
'Did he say anything on the return journey?'
'Not a word. He didn't even thank me, though he gave me a ten per cent tip.'
'Thanks enough then seeing as the fare must have been high,' Horton said, caustically.
'Not bad.' Kingston smiled and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin.
'And how did he seem when you drove him back to the airport?'
After taking the last bite of his sandwich, Kingston said, 'Annoyed, rather than worried.'
'Can you describe him?'
'Wore a dark suit. About your height, slim, mid-fifties. Biggish nose and hawk-like eyes.'
It matched the description that Avril had given him with some extra detail. 'And you've no idea of his name?'
Kingston didn't have but Horton knew who would. He turned out of Eastleigh town centre and headed for the airport. At the information desk he showed his ID and asked to speak to the senior security officer. Three-quarters of an hour later he was walking back to his Harley pleased with himself.
He called Uckfield. Maybe he should have telephoned Dennings but he would only relay the information to the superintendent himself and Horton didn't see why Dennings should have the satisfaction of being the bearer of good news.
'Our visitor was on the ten twenty-five a.m. flight from Guernsey to Southampton yesterday,' Horton said, as Uckfield grunted down the line. 'Fortunately the flight wasn't very busy; there were only ten men on board. Three of them flew back to Guernsey from Southampton yesterday: one on the five fifteen flight, and two on the seven fifty flight. As those were the only two flights out of Southampton, and based on the taxi driver's evidence that he had dropped his fare off at the airport at half past one our man has to be the one who caught the earlier flight.' And a brief chat with the check-in girl had confirmed it.
Horton continued, 'He's called Nigel Sherbourne. His flight was booked from an address in St Peter Port, Guernsey, in the name of Sherbourne and Willings Solicitors.'
'He can't be the killer then,' said Uckfield.
'OK, so the timing's wrong for him to have thrown the lighted match on to the boat, because he was back in Guernsey, but he could have loosened the cooker pipe on his arrival. That would have allowed enough time for the gas to build up. Then his accessory comes along, knocks Brundall out and throws the match on board. That's murder in my book.'
'Why would his solicitor wish to kill him?'
'Perhaps he'll tell us if we ask nicely.'
Uckfield sniffed disbelievingly and said, 'I'll get Dennings on to Guernsey.'
On his way to Horsea Marina, Horton thought over this new information. If the solicitor was an accessory to murder then, according to Avril's evidence, Brundall had welcomed him and expected his arrival, so had Sherbourne contacted Brundall on some pretext in order to fly here and loosen the gas cooker pipe, perhaps discovering some urgent papers that needed signing? Or had Brundall summoned the lawyer to Portsmouth? Maybe Brundall had left some urgent unfinished business in Guernsey that couldn't wait until he returned. Or had something occurred here that had prompted Brundall to call his solicitor? Perhaps it was the reason why Brundall had returned to Portsmouth in the first place.
Horton hoped that visiting the scene of the crime might spark some ideas, but when he got there, his brain refused to come up with anything fresh and he saw nothing illuminating except the Christmas lights and decorations on the boardwalk. The mobile incident suite was only just being manoeuvred into place in front of the pontoon where Brundall's boat had been and Horton could see a couple of uniformed officers heading towards the shops to interview the owners.
The morning was already beginning to cloud over after such a promising start, and the water in the marina was turning a dull grey. He felt as though he was missing something important, but couldn't for the life of him think what it was. Mentally he ran through the events of the previous night, but whatever was bugging him, it refused to surface. Perhaps Cantelli would have some ideas. He made to start the bike when his phone rang. It was Cantelli.
'It's Dad. He's had a heart attack. I'm calling from the hospital.'
Horton's heart lurched. He hadn't expected this. No wonder Cantelli hadn't been at the station earlier that morning.
'When?'
'About six thirty this morning he complained about pains in his chest and arm and Mum called the ambulance. Thank God she did, because it saved his life.'
Cantelli's voice was uncharacteristically sombre and Horton thought he detected a shake in it as he spoke. He knew this would hit Barney hard as he was very close to his father. Horton felt anxious for him.
'How is he?' he asked, recalling the wiry little Italian who always had a smile on his face and a gleam in his old eyes.
'The next couple of hours are critical. I don't think I'll be able to make it into work.'
'Sod that,' Horton said crossly. 'Is there anything I can do?'
'Thanks, but no. I'm here with Mum, Isabella, Tony and Charlotte. The kids have gone to school. Marie's on her way from London.'
'Let me know how it goes. And Barney… all the best.' There didn't seem much else he could say.
Four
Horton reported Cantelli's news to Bliss as soon as he arrived back at the station, knowing that Cantelli wouldn't have told her. With Cantelli on compassionate leave, Walters off sick and DC Marsden transferred to the major crime team that left only him, and he was working on the Brundall investigation.
Bliss eyed him coldly as he pointed this out to her. She said she'd have a word with Superintendent Reine about drafting in some uniformed officers to help in CID.
Good luck to her, Horton thought. As far as he was concerned Reine was notoriously weak-willed when it came to fighting his corner with the head of the Operational Command Unit, Chief Superintendent Chievely. Still that was her problem.
He dived into the canteen, bought himself a packet of dubious looking ham and cheese sandwiches and made for the incident suite where he found Dennings frowning at the crime board as if it might suddenly reveal the answer to the mystery provided he stared at it hard and long enough.
'What did Sherbourne have to say?' Horton asked, settling himself at an empty desk opposite Sergeant Trueman who nodded sombrely at him.
'Nothing, because Nigel bloody Sherbourne isn't in his office,' complained Dennings, spinning round and glaring at him. 'His secretary claims he's at a client's, and she'll ask him to call the Guernsey police as soon as he returns. For fuck's sake who does she think she is? And what the hell is Guernsey playing at? I'd have hauled the bastard in, client or no bloody client.'
