entered his head, he couldn't ignore it.
'No one's collected her things. They're still in storage here,' Mrs Northwood said in answer to his question. 'Her son Peter is her next of kin and he's in Kingston prison.'
Horton hid his surprise. That was a Category B lifer, and Category C prison, which meant that Peter Ebury must have committed a very serious crime to be there.
He told himself not to raise his hopes. There would probably be nothing in the old lady's belongings that was useful. But still, he needed to be certain.
Angela Northwood looked surprised at his request to see them. She made as if to protest, then must have thought better of it, because she said, 'They're in the cellar. I'll fetch the keys.'
Perhaps she was too tired to argue, he thought, following her into an office about the size of a broom cupboard, where she took a set of keys from a board behind the door. Locking it again, she said, 'I suppose you're interested because of that son of hers?'
She'd given him a reason. Good. Let her think that. He contrived to look both secretive and knowledgeable. He wasn't sure it convinced her, but she led him to a door under the stairs, which she unlocked.
Horton peered into the gloom and his heart leapt into overdrive. Suddenly the memories of being locked in a cellar in that God-awful children's home rushed in to torment him. He could feel the walls closing in as he followed her down the stairs. His heart was racing and the sweat was pricking his back. He struggled to fight away terror and panic and to ignore the smell of dust, damp and decay. Think of Irene Ebury, think of Emma. Think of anything but that bloody cellar twenty-seven years ago.
'There's not much, just a…that's strange.'
Her voice jolted him back to the present, and swiftly he came up behind her seeing instantly that the drawer had been forcibly opened. Frowning, he scanned the rest of the cellar, his heart gradually settling down as he considered this new puzzle. In the far left hand corner, stacks of incontinence pads were piled high and beside them were a couple of commodes, some walking frames and other medical appliances. He brought his eyes back to rest on the filing cabinet and busted drawer. None of the others had been touched.
He tried to tell himself this was probably a case of petty theft, but in his heart he knew it was more. How much more though? Did Irene Ebury's death and her missing belongings have anything to do with this alleged intruder? But who would want an old lady dead? And what did she have worth stealing? Even more crucial, though, was did it have anything to do with his mother?
For a moment the small voice inside him urged him to walk away and forget he had seen this, to leave it to uniform, but when had he ever listened to reason? He guessed he wasn't about to start now. This was one puzzle that he knew, without any doubt, he had to solve. It might come to nothing, but he couldn't leave that to chance. And neither could he leave it to others to discover something that might just have a connection with his past.
TWO
'Would a member of staff have taken them?' he asked, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.
'If they had, they would have signed them out.'
'Can you check? And send Sergeant Cantelli down here, please.'
Angela Northwood looked about to object, then had second thoughts. As she clattered up the stairs, with enough noise to tell him she disapproved of all this fuss, Horton examined the lock. It was flimsy and wouldn't have taken much to force open. A wrench or other similar tool would have done the job.
Who had keys to this room? He recalled that Mrs Northwood had taken them from the board in her office. She had locked her office door behind her with another set of keys, so whoever had taken Irene Ebury's belongings must have had a key to this basement. The lock on the door hadn't been forced, which meant it must be a member of staff. Or had the cellar door been left open for the thief — this intruder that Mrs Kingsway claimed to have seen?
Hearing footsteps, he turned to see Cantelli descending. 'Any joy?'
'He's quiet enough now and apologetic. What are you doing down here?'
'The cupboard was bare,' Horton said, stepping aside.
Cantelli looked puzzled. Horton quickly explained leaving out the connection between Irene Ebury and his mother.
Cantelli frowned. 'Peter Ebury rings a bell, but I can't recall why.' He peered into the empty drawer. 'Inside job?'
Before Horton couldn't comment, Mrs Northwood returned.
'No one's signed out for Mrs Ebury's belongings.' She looked understandably concerned.
Had someone taken them and forgotten to sign the book? No. That didn't explain why the drawer had been forced open.
'Are the keys to this basement and these cabinets always hanging on that board in your office?' Horton asked.
'Yes.'
'And do all the staff have access to them?'
'Only when my office is open and either I, my relief or the night manager is there. Otherwise the office is locked and if staff want something they have to ask.'
'But you don't accompany them.'
She looked at him as if he were mad. 'Of course not. I'd be up and down these stairs every five minutes. But they don't get the keys to these cabinets without explaining why they want them.'
So, although the staff wouldn't have keys to this cabinet, they could easily have broken into it whilst fetching incontinence pads or a surgical appliance. Horton said, 'Do you have a list of Irene's belongings?'
'In my office.'
'I'd like to see it. In a moment,' he added, preventing her from leaving. 'You mentioned the night manager. Was she on duty when Irene Ebury died?'
'Marion Keynes. Yes. She comes on at six thirty along with the other night staff. But I had to stand in for her last night. She's off sick. And I'm a care assistant down. Wretched woman didn't show up for work yesterday or today, and there's no word from her. It happens in this job, all too often I'm sad to say. I've got an agency nurse in tonight, thank goodness.'
Horton saw Cantelli note this. 'How long had Mrs Ebury been a resident?' he asked.
'Just over two years.'
So, why steal her things now, Horton wondered, when whoever it was must have had ample opportunity to do so over the years? And it must have been recent otherwise that busted lock would either have been reported or repaired.
'When was the last time you checked these drawers?' he asked.
Her fair face creased up in thought. 'A week ago on Sunday, the twenty-eighth of December, when Mrs Jenkins passed away. Mrs Ebury's drawer was locked then.'
Horton made no attempt to hide his surprise or his disapproval at the time lag. 'Mrs Ebury died five days ago-'
She flushed. 'Look, we're short-staffed. I'm rushed off my feet, there was no need to hurry down here and bundle her things up. Her son is hardly coming to claim them.'
No. And how bloody convenient. Horton had a bad feeling about this.
'What was the cause of death?'
'Heart disease. She had high blood pressure and was on medication for that, as well as having Alzheimer's.'
'Who certified death?'
'Our GP: Dr Eastwood.'
'What time did she die?' Horton held her hostile stare.
'I wasn't on duty, remember,' she snapped. 'You'll have to ask Marion, though I doubt she'll know exactly. According to her report, she found Mrs Ebury dead at five thirty a.m. on New Year's Day. She called the doctor
