up.
Horton shrugged. 'If that's the way you want it. Charge him, Sergeant, then get a car to take him to the station where he can wait for his solicitor to arrive. Of course by then we might be out, and it could be some time before we get to question him. It could even be tomorrow morning…'
'All right, I get the message.' Danesbrook subsided into his seat. 'But I haven't killed anyone.'
'So you keep saying,' Horton said wearily. The man was nervous, and Horton reckoned guilty with a capital G. 'Where were you on the night of the third of January?'
'At home. And before you ask I was alone. You can check with my neighbours; one of them should remember seeing my car parked in the street.'
'You could have used another car to run her down.'
'Well I didn't. I mean I didn't use any car to run her down.'
'How did you get that dent in the passenger door?'
'A woman went into me in the supermarket car park.'
'You have her name and address?'
'Well, no. I told her not to bother.'
'That was generous of you.'
'I said the insurance could pay for it.'
'And lose your no-claims bonus! When did this happen?'
'I can't remember, a fortnight ago, something like that.' Danesbrook was sweating and the stench emanating from him was overpowering that of the smell of beer and food lingering in the pub.
Horton didn't believe him. 'Where were you on Saturday, Sunday and Monday?' Horton heartily wished they had a more definite date for Owen's death.
'I don't know. I can't remember.'
'Suffering from amnesia, are you? It was less than a week ago!'
Danesbrook licked his lips and fiddled with his ponytail. Horton felt like cutting the bloody thing off.
'I was in here, having a drink, shopping, not doing anything special.'
Horton saw fear in his skittering eyes. The man was definitely hiding something. But without that time of death it would be difficult to prove Danesbrook had been killing Owen Carlsson. At a sign from Horton, Cantelli took over.
'What exactly is Wight Earth and Mind?'
'It's a charity — well a project really.' Danesbrook wasn't sure whether to look relieved or scared at the question. 'It will help people suffering from mental illnesses by getting them involved in environmental projects. It was taking longer to set up than I thought.'
Yes, thought Horton, Danesbrook was waiting for father and daughter to die to get his hands on the money. And he'd got tired of waiting.
'Did you kill Sir Christopher?' he asked seductively gently. 'A pillow over his head to end his suffering? It would be understandable in the circumstances. His death and his daughter's could help many others.'
But Danesbrook wasn't rising to the bait. 'No! He was a good man. I wouldn't have done a thing like that. He understood how I… He understood things.'
'Like your mental breakdown while in prison.'
Danesbrook sprang up and screeched, 'I will not be tormented.'
The barmaid looked up and the two elderly men paused in their game of dominoes.
'Sit down,' Horton said firmly.
Danesbrook hovered for a moment then subsided. His shoulders slumped. Here it comes, thought Horton gleefully. Maybe they should caution him and tape this. But too late, Danesbrook was speaking.
'I couldn't stand prison,' he said wearily. 'Tending the gardens and growing things helped me to recover. I told Sir Christopher this. He understood.'
'So much so that he bought you a new car and left you a huge sum of money.'
'I'm not the only one,' Danesbrook mumbled.
'No, but you're the only one with a fake project. The other beneficiaries are hospitals and renowned institutions. And you're the only one who lives on the Isle of Wight.'
Danesbrook licked his lips again. 'I can't help that.'
Did Horton believe him? If he had killed Arina or been involved in her death then surely he would have thought of a better alibi for her time of death. It wouldn't take much to break him, a couple of nights in a cell most probably.
'Did you kill Jonathan Anmore to stop him from squealing about killing Arina for you?
Danesbrook's eyes widened in alarm and horror. 'You're mad.'
'Did you tell Owen about your project?'
Danesbrook blinked and wiped the sweat from his brow. 'No. I met him once, at a talk that… was about wind farms.'
Horton knew that wasn't what Danesbrook had been about to say, but had quickly covered his tracks. 'Surely you would have bent his ear about your project?'
'Well I didn't.'
This seemed to be getting them nowhere. Irritated, Horton gave Cantelli a nod to continue.
'How did you meet Sir Christopher?'
Danesbrook twirled his ponytail with nicotine-stained fingers. 'He had a flat tyre on Brading Down. I offered to help him change it. We got talking. He invited me to Scanaford House; we exchanged ideas. Sir Christopher wanted his name to live on in a worthy cause. He'd seen how the combination of physical work, coupled with the power of nature, worked as a therapy. Things developed from there.'
Horton widened his eyes. 'Jesus! Next you'll be telling us that the earth is flat and that aliens have landed in Utah.'
'It's the bloody truth!'
Danesbrook's indignant tone was genuine enough, but Horton knew it was a lie. The man was a bloody con- artist and possibly a killer.
'Where were you on Wednesday night?' he snapped, referring to the night he and Thea had nearly been fried alive.
'Here. You can check with Maggie.'
Cantelli rose and crossed to the bar.
Danesbrook looked relieved that he had a firm alibi for at least one of the nights Horton had asked about. But there was still Thursday night and Jonathan Anmore's death.
'Where did you go yesterday after you left me at Scanaford House?'
'Home.'
'I thought you had a meeting to attend?'
'I got the dates muddled up. I was at home all afternoon and evening. I cooked something and watched the telly. Some stupid soap was on. I didn't take much notice of it. I fell asleep. Can I go now?'
'No you bloody can't. Not until we've checked your finances and searched your house.'
'You'll need a warrant for that,' Danesbrook said cockily.
'Then we'll get one while you wait in a cell.'
'Hey-'
'And before you say we can't do that either, I'll hold you on a charge of benefit fraud-'
'I want a solicitor.'
'Then you can call one when we get to the station. We'll also take your car in for forensic examination.'
Danesbrook looked like a cornered rat and well he should, thought Horton; he was far from satisfied with the skunk's answers. Leaning forward he said, 'What have you done with Thea Carlsson?' He scrutinized Danesbrook for his reaction. Disappointingly he could see his surprise was genuine.
'Nothing. I don't even know her.'
But Horton wasn't going to give up yet. They'd have another go at him in the interview room. He might crack then, and although Horton could tell by Cantelli's expression that Danesbrook had been in the bar the night of the fire, it didn't mean he hadn't killed or arranged to have killed Arina Sutton, Owen Carlsson and Jonathan Anmore.
