'Do what you bloody well like — you will anyway. How long will you be?'
'Could be all day.'
Oldham snorted and, shouting to Scott to follow him, stormed off towards a Portakabin.
Horton saw a very wet Cantelli talking to the driver of a lorry, which had just pulled up. If only this bloody rain would stop, he thought, turning and heading for the same Portakabin as Oldham. Not that it made any difference now; he was soaked to the skin.
Uckfield joined him. 'What the hell was Farnsworth doing here?' he demanded, stepping inside.
And that was the million-dollar question that was bugging Horton. The upper reaches of Langstone Harbour, where the tide receded to expose mud and sand, was hardly the place to go diving. If you wanted to discover wrecks and other historical artefacts in the harbour, then you simply waited for the tide to go out.
Horton addressed a woman behind a desk. 'Is there somewhere we can talk in private?' Through the thin partition in the office beyond, Horton could hear Oldham talking to Scott and he wasn't being very complimentary about the police.
'There's the kitchen. It's just through there.'
They'd have to talk quietly, he thought, because it was only in the next room. 'Can we make ourselves a drink?'
'Help yourself.'
Horton flicked on the kettle and spooned coffee into two mugs as he told Uckfield about Daniel Collins's death nearby. He said nothing of Ray Ferris's discovery about DC Lee.
'But Collins's death was an accident,' Uckfield said, obviously irritated.
Now, how do you know that? Horton hadn't mentioned it being an accident, and the road traffic incident report would hardly have landed on the head of the major crime team's desk. Maybe Uckfield had just assumed it. Like hell he had! Someone had told him, and probably at HQ yesterday. He guessed that Uckfield had been summoned there after he'd made some enquiries about DC Lee. A guess that became a conviction when Horton saw a slight shiftiness in Uckfield's eyes.
'Was it an accident?' Horton said evenly. 'It's beginning to look very doubtful. And before you say anything, I've got no hard evidence to support that, just a feeling.' The kettle boiled and Horton turned away. As he poured water into the two mugs, he said casually, 'Did you find out anything about DC Lee?'
'She comes highly recommended by Superintendent Warren.'
'You've spoken to him?' Horton said, once again facing Uckfield.
'Yes. She got involved with an officer there; it all went pear-shaped so he thought a spell away from there and being operational would do her good.'
So Uckfield was sticking with the cover story. Horton handed him his coffee, seeing only Uckfield's usual scowling countenance. But he'd swear on oath that Uckfield was lying.
'You'll have to make a report on why you ignored the threats to Farnsworth's life.'
'He wasn't threatened. It was his co-presenter who got the calls.'
Uckfield dismissed that with a wave of his hand. 'It's the same difference.'
'No, it's not, Steve, and you know it,' Horton was stung to retort. 'And my money's still on it being a publicity stunt.'
'Well, I hope you're right, because if you aren't then this other presenter — what's his name…?'
'Perry Jackson.'
'Could be at risk.'
Horton doubted it, but he remained silent.
After a moment Uckfield said, 'This doesn't look good for you. It's bound to be a high profile case, with Farnsworth being a television personality. We'll get hammered by the press. I'll do my best to cover your backside, but…'
With immaculate timing, saving Uckfield from making a comment that Horton knew would drive him to a cold fury, Cantelli put his head round the door.
'Any chance of a cuppa? My feet are so cold they hurt.'
Uckfield looked about to explode and deny Cantelli's request when his mobile phone rang. Brushing past Cantelli, he exited with a glare at Horton and a 'Yes, sir,' into his mobile phone.
Cantelli let out a breath as Uckfield banged the door on them. He picked up a tea bag and tossed it into a mug. 'I see he's his usual cheerful self. Holiday must have done him good.'
Horton wrapped his frozen fingers around his own mug and took a sip of the hot coffee. 'What did you get?'
'The perimeter wire is intact. The site foreman says the CCTV cameras hardly ever work and even if they do they don't always bother to put a tape in. Last night was no exception. No recording.
The business is doing well and Oldham isn't a bad boss; tough but fair is the consensus. You know where you stand with him is the general opinion.'
Which is more than you do with Uckfield, Horton thought with bitterness. Uckfield would sell his soul, not to mention sacrifice his old friends on the high and mighty altar of promotion.
Cantelli removed the tea bag with a spoon, squeezed it out and left it on the drainer, after looking for and not finding a bin. He spooned in three sugars and stirred. 'I also had a word with Ian Keynes, Marion's husband.'
That must have been the lorry driver that Horton had seen Cantelli talking to.
'When he knew who I was, he accused me of upsetting his wife with our allegations of theft. It was bluster. He's a surly beggar and he was definitely uneasy about something.'
'The nursing home will have to take a back seat for the moment.' Horton didn't like leaving it, but he didn't have a choice. Once Uckfield mobilized his full team, though, Horton might be able to get back to it. By then it would be too late, he'd be on holiday. But how could he sail away, metaphorically and literally, with all this hanging over him? He should be able to and maybe he might have done if it hadn't been for the Intelligence Directorate's involvement.
Cantelli nodded solemnly. Horton could see that he understood, but liked it about as much as he did.
'Could Farnsworth's death be due to natural causes?'
'Is the sun hot?'
Cantelli shivered elaborately. 'Not at the moment.'
Dr Price had removed Farnsworth's hood to reveal a livid mark on the throat. Price wouldn't speculate as to what had made it and neither would he confirm it was the cause of death. He was just there to certify death, he had said tetchily. The rest was down to Dr Clayton. Horton thought it looked as though Farnsworth had been strangled and that, and how the body had been found, had been enough to call in the major crime team.
'Where is the rest of Farnsworth's diving gear: aqua lung, spare regulators, lines, fins? Where's his car?'
'Could be parked at the sailing club next door. Want me to check?'
'I'll do that, and for goodness' sake stop stirring. You'll go through the bottom of that mug.'
Cantelli tapped the spoon on the side and took a sip. 'Maybe he came here by boat.'
The thought had already occurred to Horton. 'Then where is it? Why come here? And who moved that truck, if Oldham is to be believed?'
'You think he's lying?' said Cantelli, blowing on his tea to cool it down.
'Perhaps the reports of the break-ins are phoney to make us think there was an intruder when really Oldham was planning to kill Farnsworth. He knows Farnsworth and I don't think it's just from the television programmes as he claims.'
'But why would he want to kill Farnsworth? And why is Farnsworth dead when it was Perry Jackson who received those threatening telephone calls? They're not even alike; different build, hair and eye colour, so it can't be a question of mistaken identity.'
Horton thought of that hood and mask that had covered Farnsworth's face. The build was wrong, yes, but in the dark, in panic, with the victim wearing a diving suit, maybe the killer struck out and realized afterwards he'd cocked it up. Or there was an alternative. Had Perry Jackson staged those calls and killed his co-presenter? His motive? Perhaps he didn't like Farnsworth getting too much of the limelight.
He said as much to Cantelli, then added, 'You'd better break the news to Corinna Denton and Perry Jackson. Get details of their movements yesterday and last night. And there's that cameraman, Jason Kirkwood. Make sure you talk to him. They're all suspects until we say they're not. And watch closely for Jackson's reaction. I'll send Lee
