motive for killing Arina Sutton — money. Owen Carlsson must have recognized him, or worked it out, confronted him with it and Danesbrook had to kill him. No wonder he shot off so quickly when I mentioned Owen's death; the little bastard was guilty as hell.' But that didn't explain why Danesbrook hadn't reacted when Horton had first mentioned Owen's name. Then it clicked — of course! Danesbrook had an accomplice who must have killed Owen Carlsson without Danesbrook's knowledge. And that accomplice could have been Anmore who was in the churchyard waiting to rendezvous with Danesbrook, only Horton had scared him off. Then Danesbrook had gone to Anmore's barn and shoved a pitchfork into him, scared his part in Arina's death would come out. He said as much to Cantelli.
'Could Danesbrook be your arsonist?' asked Cantelli.
Horton thought for a moment. 'I'm not sure. I couldn't see who knocked me out.' And he didn't like to think that a weakling like Danesbrook could have got the better of him, though he'd had the element of surprise. Scraping back his chair, Horton said, 'But Danesbrook could have kidnapped and possibly killed Thea. Come on, Barney; time we had a word with him.'
'Shouldn't we tell the Super?'
'Later.' Horton was already steaming out of the canteen. He wanted all the answers neatly tied up before going to Uckfield. This was more like it. At last they were getting somewhere. Their visit to Laura Rosewood had proved highly fruitful. This case was about good old-fashioned greed and not global environmental concerns.
Cantelli had Danesbrook's address from the vehicle check he'd done earlier. Horton only hoped Danesbrook was at home, perhaps working out how to spend his inheritance.
'There's more,' Cantelli said, on their way to Danesbrook's house in Ryde. 'Four days before Sir Christopher Sutton died he called his solicitor and said he wanted to change his will. Newlands had been due to see Sir Christopher on the day he died.'
It fitted. 'Sutton had discovered that Danesbrook was a fraud and wanted to cut him out.'
'We don't know yet that he is a fraud.'
'Take my word for it; he is,' Horton said firmly. He'd known there was something shifty about the man from the moment he'd set eyes on him, and Laura Rosewood had thought the same. For a year she'd seen him sucking up to Sutton and now they knew why. Horton wondered if Sir Christopher's death hadn't been precipitated by Danesbrook.
Cantelli said, 'Newlands had no idea what Sir Christopher was intending and he says Arina didn't know either, but she did say that her father was very agitated and seemed to go downhill rapidly in the last few days. And there's another thing that's rather curious: Newlands told me that Owen Carlsson visited him three days after Arina's death.'
'To find out about Danesbrook?'
'No. He didn't even ask about the wills. He wanted a list of all the people who had attended Sir Christopher's funeral.'
Horton thought that rather odd too. 'And did Newlands give it to him?'
'Yes, and I've got a copy.' Cantelli pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket as they waited at a set of traffic lights.
Horton scanned it. There were some eminent people on the list judging by the Sir this and Doctor and Professor that. He wondered if Dr Clayton knew any of them, which reminded him about Anmore's autopsy. Had she completed it yet? He'd check after they'd seen Danesbrook. He glanced further down the list and saw Jonathan Anmore's name, along with Bella Westbury, Laura Rosewood and Roy Danesbrook.
Horton said. 'Ask Trueman to find out if Owen Carlsson contacted any of the people on this list, and when and why. Has Newlands given Danesbrook a key to Scanaford House?'
'No.'
'Good. Make sure it stays that way. His car's here,' Horton said, pleased, as Cantelli turned into the narrow street of tiny flat-fronted terraced houses just off the promenade in Ryde.
Cantelli squeezed his hired car into a space halfway up the steep incline and zapped it shut. The rain had ceased and the sun was making brief appearances in a cloud scudding sky. Walking back down the hill, Horton took a glance inside the dark blue saloon. It revealed only a screwed-up newspaper and some parking tickets. He could detect nothing from the dent in the front passenger door but he'd get Forensic on to it.
He pressed his finger on Danesbrook's bell and left it there. No one came. He swore softly.
'He can't have gone far if his car's here,' suggested Cantelli.
But that wasn't necessarily true, thought Horton, because Danesbrook might have caught the hovercraft or catamaran across to the mainland. Disappointed and frustrated he turned away and almost bumped into a lopsided elderly man with a bulbous, wart-ridden nose.
'You looking for Roy?' the old man asked.
'Do you know where we can find him?'
'Not the bailiffs, are you?' He peered at them with watery eyes.
'No.'
'Then you must be police.'
Horton smiled to himself. Had Danesbrook already earned himself a visit from the local police? Or maybe he and Cantelli just looked like coppers.
'You'll find Roy in the bar of the Victoria Arms. Turn sharp right at the end of the road then along about two hundred yards. It's on the corner facing the kiddies play park and the seafront.'
'Thanks.'
'Don't tell him I sent you.' The old man put a key in the door of the neighbouring house and stepped inside.
Horton got the impression he didn't much care for Danesbrook. That made two of them. Three if he counted Laura Rosewood. Horton was rather looking forward to this official interview with the ponytailed man in the cowboy boots, and there would be no scuttling away and evasiveness. No, Horton thought determinedly, this time he'd get the answers even if he had to shake them from him.
THIRTEEN
' Why didn't you tell me you were the police?' Danesbrook demanded angrily, pushing away the half full plate of shepherd's pie after Cantelli had done the introductions and they'd seated themselves opposite him.
Horton could see Danesbrook's mind trawling through their previous conversation in search of anything incriminating he might have said. Not bothering to disguise his distaste for the greasy haired man beside him, Horton said, 'A man with your experience should have spotted one.'
Danesbrook bristled. 'You've been checking up on me. I only used violence for the sake of a cause.'
'Is that why you used it on Arina Sutton and Owen Carlsson? For the sake of your charity?'
'No!'
Horton ought to haul him in, charge him and then badger him into making a confession, but that wasn't his way. But if this man had Thea then every minute could count. 'You're now a very rich man,' he said sneeringly.
Danesbrook shifted nervously. 'I don't personally benefit.'
'No?' Horton leaned forward and said in a soft low voice, 'You inherit a vast sum of money. I call that a very powerful motive for ramming your car into an innocent woman and killing her.'
'I didn't!' Danesbrook's restless eyes scanned the bar as though seeking help but the barmaid was reading a newspaper and the only other customers — two elderly men — were playing dominoes. 'I had nothing to do with Arina's death. And I had no idea what was in her will or Sir Christopher's.'
Horton pulled back, smirking. 'You expect us to believe that?'
'It's the truth and if you're going to make false accusations then you can charge me, and I want my lawyer present.'
'Know your rights, do you? But then you would, having been arrested and convicted for assault. Violence seems to be your style. Maybe you didn't mean to use excessive violence on Owen Carlsson but the gun went off, and he died.'
'This is bloody ridiculous. I haven't shot anyone. And I didn't run over Arina Sutton.' Danesbrook leapt
