'Walters and Lee are here helping to man the phones,' Trueman said. 'They haven't stopped ringing since the superintendent's press call asking for witnesses who might have seen a man on the dual carriageway on Christmas Eve. You wouldn't have thought there would have been that many people out, but I think the whole of Portsmouth must have been wandering up and down that road.'
Horton wondered how DC Lee was liking her stint at manning the phones — not much, he guessed.
'We've not had a chance to get much on Nathan Lester,' Trueman added. 'Except that he's single and lived in Bordon before moving to Portsmouth two years ago. He left the navy in 2004 and started his antiques business here in 2007. There's no record of any employment between those years and Lester wasn't claiming benefit.'
Bordon was a growing town which had sprung up from the army based there. It was twenty-six miles from Portsmouth and thirteen miles from Haslemere, where Farnsworth had lived and worked. Horton wondered if Lester had made contact with Farnsworth when he had been working in Haslemere. Daisy had said that Farnsworth was sick of Nathan following him round like a pet dog, so Horton guessed that it was likely. He also wondered what Lester had done during those three years.
He'd like to find out, but as he crossed his office and viewed the pile of paper on his desk, he knew that he had run out of time to work on this case. He hated leaving unfinished business, a decided drawback in his job — half the cases they handled were unfinished. He'd have to leave the Collins and Farnsworth murders to others. And what about the deaths of the Eburys? What would DC Lee do about that in his absence? he wondered as he clicked open his e-mails, thinking that perhaps he could come in over the weekend. But Uckfield had made it clear last night that he couldn't expect to have regular and prolonged access to Emma if he was working all the hours God sent. If he wanted Emma, then he had to change his working habits, simple as that. And if he wanted that place on the major crime team, with the chance of promotion, he'd have to give up the idea of regular access to Emma. There was no contest.
His phone rang. He was surprised to hear Charlotte's voice.
'Is Barney there, Andy?'
'No. I thought he'd gone home.'
'He was here earlier. He left two hours ago. He promised he'd get back in time for Molly's dance concert, and he's not answering his mobile.'
Something evil crept into the office. Horton felt his stomach go into spasm. It was as if the air quivered with danger and that feeling of a thunderstorm approaching was back with a vengeance.
'Is anything wrong?'
He'd not spoken and yet Charlotte had sensed something in his silence.
'He's probably out on an interview,' he said, hoping the enforced lightness of his tone deceived her. He was eager to get her off the phone and start his enquiries about Cantelli, but she forestalled him.
'Barney seemed very excited about something. He was in the attic looking out his old notebooks; you know, the unofficial ones a lot of police officers keep.'
Horton's pulse began to race. Rapidly his mind made the connections. Cantelli had found some anomaly in the Peter Ebury case notes and had rushed home to check his notes. But why hadn't he returned here? Cantelli must have wanted to check something out.
After trying to reassure Charlotte, which he thought he failed miserably at doing, he rang off and hurried to Cantelli's desk. There was no message on it, but the Peter Ebury file had gone. He called Cantelli's mobile, but just as Charlotte had said all he got was the answer phone. He left a message and then rang through to the front desk.
'Did Sergeant Cantelli say where he was going when he logged out?'
'Home. I asked if he had started working part-time.'
Horton rose and began to pace his office, his mind whirling. After a couple of minutes the space seemed too small to contain him and his anxieties. He'd worked with Cantelli on and off for most of his police career. He was more than a colleague — more than a friend; he was the older brother that Horton had never had. And Horton could feel something was wrong. It simply wasn't like Cantelli not to check in or at least tell him what he was following up.
He swept up his jacket and helmet and swiftly marched down the corridor towards the exit. Any faster and he'd have to break into a run. But valiantly he fought to control his fear and urged himself to think calmly and rationally. Panicking wouldn't find Cantelli and besides, he tried to reassure himself, the sergeant could still stroll into the station chewing his gum with that grin on his face. Then why didn't he believe that.
At the rear entrance he took a surreptitious deep breath and stopped long enough to call the desk and tell them to phone him on his mobile the moment Cantelli showed up. Then he rang Trueman again.
'If Cantelli phones in or turns up get him to call me.'
Horton should have known that a good officer like Trueman would instantly pick up the concern his voice. 'Anything wrong?'
'I don't know.' He relayed what Charlotte had told him.
'Want me to put a call out for him?'
'No, leave it for now. I'll find him.'
'Andy… call in and let me know what's happening.'
Horton heard his warning and unease. 'OK. Don't say anything to Uckfield yet. Is DC Lee still there?'
'Yes. But hold on…'
There was short pause. Then Trueman came back on the line. 'She's just gone in with the super. What's going on, Andy?'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, clearly she's not who she says she is.'
Horton took a breath. 'She's Intelligence Directorate.'
Trueman sniffed. 'I guessed she was one of the funny buggers.'
'How?' Horton asked sharply.
'Because she asked too many intelligent questions. And she's very curious about you.'
'What did you tell her?'
'What do you think?'
'Thanks.' Horton signed off. Now all he had to do was find Cantelli.
TWENTY
Horton made for the sea. It was the only place where he could really think straight. At Old Portsmouth he climbed the ancient walls until he was staring over the battlements across the narrow harbour entrance. There was a stiff moist breeze. He hoped it might help to clear his addled brain. Below him, in the dark, the sea looked like black treacle slurping on to the pebbled beach. With the lights of Gosport to his right, he put himself in Cantelli's shoes. Where the hell had he gone? What was he up to?
His mobile rang. At last. It must be Cantelli. But it wasn't.
'Peter Ebury's blood test,' Dr Clayton announced. 'I found traces of heroin and I can tell you quite categorically that there were no signs in the autopsy of him taking or injecting heroin or any other substance, which means he must have taken it orally.'
Or someone pushed it in his mouth, Horton thought, with a shudder and a rush of adrenalin as he recalled the fight Ebury had had with the prisoner, Ludlow.
'It wouldn't have been a large quantity,' Gaye continued, 'but if it was raw it would have affected the respiratory system enough to kill him, which only a blood analysis will reveal.'
And Horton guessed that the Intelligence Directorate and the prison authorities had been hoping to keep that quiet. No wonder Geoff Welton, the governor, had looked so ill. He must have known that Peter Ebury's death was not a natural one, and heroin smuggling inside a prison was the end of the line as far as his career went.
'Has Cantelli contacted you?'
'No.' She sounded surprised.
'You've not told him or anyone else this?' he asked keenly.
