'Like the gear,' Cantelli said, eyeing Horton's clothes.
'We can't all be snazzy dressers like you.'
Cantelli grinned. As the sergeant drove to Fort Cumberland, Horton ate his sandwiches and considered the meagre facts surrounding Farnsworth's death. It didn't get him very far. It was still too early to speculate, even if he had more to speculate with. He wondered how Daisy Pemberton would take the news.
He asked Cantelli if Corinna Denton had mentioned her, but was told she hadn't talked about any other woman in Farnsworth's life except his ex-wife. Cantelli brought the car to a halt at a set of tall iron gates. Beyond them Horton could see the grassy expanse and scattered brick buildings of the eighteenth-century bastioned Fort Cumberland.
Cantelli spoke into the intercom and as they threaded their way through the grounds Horton was transported back to the hot August day two years ago when he'd brought Emma here on one of the Fort's open days. He could smell the dry grass and taste the salt in a gentle sea breeze. He felt her small hand in his as they followed the guide around the buildings and into those dank tunnels where he had tried so desperately hard to hide his fear of being closed in. Then they'd gone for an ice cream along the seafront and a swim. Catherine had been working. He wondered, sadly, if he would ever be allowed to spend such blissful days with his daughter again.
Cantelli drew up in front of a red-brick building that was a much later addition to the original Fort built in 1740. It had guarded the entrance to Langstone Harbour and had been used by the Royal Marines until about twenty-five years ago.
Inside Horton asked to see Nathan Lester and was directed to an office not far from the entrance. He wondered how they could have missed it until he saw that it was actually built into the grassy banks of the fortifications.
There was a bicycle propped up against the bank and a saloon car tucked away almost out of sight of the main road. Horton peered inside the car, grateful that the rain had finally stopped, though the wind wrapped damp fingers around his face. There was nothing inside it to tell him it was Jackson's, but he couldn't see Jackson riding a bicycle.
Cantelli noted the registration number, as was his habit, and Horton pushed open the door and stepped inside a small, narrow office crammed with books and paper, but devoid of human beings. The room smelt unused and damp. He could hear the murmur of voices and made for their direction, pausing to listen at the door before thrusting it open.
The two men inside started in surprise. Perry Jackson swivelled round in his seat, frowning, while the other man, whose wiry frame was dwarfed by the desk at which he was sitting, widened timid eyes in a face that reminded Horton of a squirrel. Horton guessed he was in his mid-forties. His limp brown hair was flecked with grey and his complexion oily and tinged with an almost bluish hue, as though he hadn't properly shaved himself.
Jackson snapped, 'What is it now, Inspector? Can't you see I'm in a meeting?'
The wiry man's nervous expression deepened. Horton waited for Jackson to introduce his companion, but he made no move to do so. 'Mr Nathan Lester?' he enquired.
'Yes. Why? What's wrong?' Lester started like a frightened rabbit.
Irritably, Jackson exclaimed, 'It's not those wretched phone calls again?'
Horton eyed him coldly. Jackson didn't flinch. OK, he'd asked for it. Brusquely Horton said, 'Mr Farnsworth's body was found this morning at Oldham's Wharf. We're treating his death as suspicious.'
There was a stunned silence. Nathan Lester opened his mouth to say something but no sound emerged. He had gone deathly pale, his eyes were wide with astonishment, his face rigid with alarm, whereas Jackson was still frowning. He recovered first.
'Is this a joke? Because if it is-'
'I don't joke about such serious matters, Mr Jackson,' Horton said sternly.
The penny finally dropped. 'Nick's dead?' Jackson repeated, as though trying to take it in.
Lester looked as though he wanted to slide under the desk.
After a short pause, Horton said, 'When was the last time you saw Mr Farnsworth?'
Jackson hesitated before answering, but Horton thought it was more a case of recovering from the shock of the news rather than thinking up a lie. 'About eight o'clock last night. He said he was going to the sub-aqua club.'
'And after that?'
'Back to the hotel, or so I assumed.'
'He said nothing about going to Oldham's Wharf?'
'No. I've no idea what he was doing there.'
'And you, sir?' Horton swivelled his gaze on Lester, who flushed and shook his head. 'When did you last seen Mr Farnsworth?' Horton watched Lester's Adam's apple rise and fall as he gulped.
'Not since before Christmas.'
Horton knew it was a lie. Lester wouldn't look at him. His pale eyes dropped to the file open on his desk and when they lifted they flitted between him and Cantelli and back to Jackson. There was a thin line of perspiration on his upper lip.
'When exactly?' Horton pressed.
'The twenty-second of December. We had a drink in the sub-aqua club.'
Horton could check that. He guessed though that that much was true. But what was Lester not saying? Studying the frightened man, Horton could see there was a lot more. It had been rather fortunate to find Jackson here, he thought, but he reckoned he'd get more out of Lester away from Jackson.
He asked him to wait outside and Lester seemed only too glad to escape. A few moments later Horton could hear Lester moving about in the next office. He'd liked to have sent Cantelli out there to see what he was doing, but he wanted him here observing Jackson and taking notes.
Horton eased his way through the narrow gap between the desk and wall and managed to squeeze his body into the space that Lester had vacated. Cantelli positioned himself to the right of Horton in the corner and took out his notebook.
'Why do you think Mr Farnsworth was killed when those threatening calls were directed at you?' asked Horton.
Jackson's eyes narrowed. 'You can't think Nick's death has anything to do with them?'
'What else are we supposed to think?' Horton replied steadily, thinking come on, time for the truth.
Jackson shifted and sucked in his breath. Horton could see that he'd finally got the point.
'We didn't think you'd take them so seriously. We thought they'd just send a bobby on the beat and we could milk it in the papers.'
'Are you saying that you made those calls?' He'd been right all along, but that didn't minimize the fury he felt.
Jackson had the decency to blush, though his eyes were shining with defiance. 'Nick made the first two, but he swore to me that he didn't make the third or fourth. I didn't believe him.'
And that must have been why they were arguing when he and Cantelli had shown up on Monday.
'The whole thing was Nick's idea,' Jackson said hastily and with distaste. 'He was always coming up with stunts. He said it would make the programme more exciting, and raise our public profile.'
'Oh, I think he's done that all right.'
'I call that remark bad taste and totally out of keeping,' shouted Jackson, springing up. But there was no room for him to do much more.
Horton leaned forward across the desk and gave him an icy stare. 'And I call wasting police time by using schoolboy pranks irresponsible, childish and extremely dangerous. How do we know that his killer didn't read about them in the newspaper and think he'd have a go at fulfilling the prophecy, but he got the wrong diver?'
Jackson went white. Fear hovered in the silence. Horton could hear the wind whistling round the building. After a moment Jackson eased himself back in the chair. When he spoke the belligerent superior tone had vanished and in its place was anxiety. 'You think someone might want to kill me?'
'If the third and fourth calls weren't made by Farnsworth then it's possible. It's also possible that you were the intended victim and not Farnsworth.' Or was Jackson the murderer and using the threatening phone calls to throw the scent off himself? His reactions seemed genuine enough, but that could be play-acting. 'Is there anyone you can think of who would want to kill you?' asked Horton bluntly.
