'I don't know much about cats.'
'Well, take it from me,' replied Horton, thinking of Bengal, 'given the choice at least one of them would have been in that lounge in front of the stove.'
'You reckon she's taken them to the RSPCA?'
'Either that or she's given them to a neighbour or killed them. Would you say she was capable of killing them, Barney?'
Cantelli peered at the house through the rain-spattered window. After a moment he said, 'Yes. I would.'
Horton shivered an agreement. 'I don't like the fact she had access to Scanaford House between Arina Sutton's death and the funeral. She could have removed anything incriminating, and helped herself to anything she liked. Newlands shouldn't have allowed it.'
'She could be leaving on the proceeds. There's no hint she left the armed forces under a cloud but perhaps she resigned before she was pushed and the army thought it best to hush things up.'
'Get a warrant tomorrow for Scanaford House, or better still see if you can get the keys from Newlands. That'll be quicker, though I expect we're too late anyway.' And that seemed to be the motto for this case. Everything they did or thought about was just that little bit too late.
'Do you want a warrant for here too?' Cantelli jerked his head at Bella's house.
'Might as well, though I doubt it'll yield much. But I want her watched. Call Marsden, he can relieve us. As soon as he arrives we'll pay a visit to Roy Danesbrook. I have a feeling he might be closer to Bella Westbury than she claims.'
'It's late, Andy. He might be asleep.'
'Then we'll just have to wake him up.'
EIGHTEEN
' What do you want now?' Danesbrook demanded irritably.
He wasn't dressed for bed and Horton could hear the television blaring out in the back room. He pushed Danesbrook aside and marched down the narrow hall.
'Hey, you can't do that,' Danesbrook bleated, running after him.
'He just has,' Cantelli said wearily, closing the front door behind him.
Horton surveyed the untidy and shabby room with distaste. It stank of fish and chips, cigarette smoke and body odour. He picked up the remote control and killed the television.
'Who the hell do you think you are marching in here and messing about…?'
Horton swung round, bringing the full force of his glare on Danesbrook.
'I'm tired, I'm angry and I'm sick of your lies. So sit down and answer my questions.'
Danesbrook sat. Cantelli took out his notebook and reached for his pencil from behind his ear. Horton could see him fighting off fatigue. He felt dead on his feet too. But he didn't have time to piss about being nice and waiting for 'office' hours, especially when he knew he was on the right track. The solution was within his grasp, he couldn't let go now. He would ride it until he got there; everything else was just wallpaper. And he knew that the thin man in front of him, in baggy jogging pants and an overlarge and grubby sweatshirt, was the key to the murders. How had an intelligent man like Sutton been taken in by this shyster? And why hadn't Arina Sutton seen through him? But then maybe she had. And it had cost her her life.
He said, 'If you tell me one more lie, I will charge you for murder. Is that clear?' His head was pounding. He knew he was out of order, but the only way to get the information he wanted was to scare this little runt shitless.
Danesbrook swallowed.
Horton took that, and the pungent smell emanating from him, as acquiescence. 'How long have you known Bella Westbury?'
'I-'
'Think very carefully before you answer,' Horton said menacingly. 'And ignore any telephone calls she's made to you in the last twenty minutes telling you to keep your mouth shut. We know she's clearing out. She intends to leave you to carry the can. Oh, I see she didn't tell you that.'
Danesbrook shuffled in his chair, considering it for a brief moment, then said with a resigned shrug, 'We met in 1996.'
'At the Newbury by-pass protest.'
Danesbrook nodded.
Horton had been right. In order to trust Danesbrook, Sir Christopher must have had some kind of testimonial or reference and the only person who could have given that was Bella Westbury, the trusted housekeeper, herself a veteran protester.
He said, 'She was a protester there too.'
Again Danesbrook nodded. And that was one photograph that Bella Westbury hadn't hung on her kitchen wall for two reasons. One, because no wall would be big enough to take all of her protests, and two, because she'd rather keep that one quiet in case someone made the link between her and Danesbrook.
Danesbrook reached for a packet of cigarettes but Horton's glare prevented him from taking one out and lighting it. He said, 'We hit it off immediately.'
'You had an affair.'
'Yes.' Danesbrook fiddled with his ponytail. 'I was married and my wife found out. She slung me out after that. Not that it was a big deal; Valerie was never going to be able to do what she wanted with a bully of a father breathing down her neck all the time. I thought the protest would give her a chance to get out of his clutches but she scuttled back to him in the end, more fool her.'
Horton had difficulty seeing Bella Westbury fancying a weakling like Danesbrook, which meant she started the affair for a reason. She wanted something from Danesbrook and Horton didn't think it was sex. In fact, given her background he knew it wasn't. Sex had just been a tool to extract information.
He said, 'How long did the affair last?'
Danesbrook shrugged, 'A few months. We split up after the protest ended.'
I bet you did, thought Horton, drawing satisfaction from the fact he'd been right. 'And let me guess,' he sneered, 'you didn't meet up again until a year ago, here on the island.'
Danesbrook's eyes jumped to Cantelli and back to Horton. He swallowed hard but said nothing. Horton didn't need him to. A year ago Bella had become Sir Christopher Sutton's housekeeper.
With a harder edge to his voice, Horton continued. 'Then you and Bella Westbury hatched a plan to screw the old boy out of a considerable amount of money. Whose idea was it, yours or Bella's?'
'It wasn't like that.'
Horton thrust his face close to Danesbrook's. 'No? I'll tell you what it was like. You met Bella, she told you about Sir Christopher's career and his interest in the environment, and then the two of you dreamt up the charity scam. Sir Christopher bought you that car and gave you money, but it wasn't enough, so you got him to include you in his will. Then Bella Westbury told you that Arina Sutton had also made a will after the death of her father and had bequeathed her inheritance to the same benefactors her father had given bequests to. The temptation was too great. You got scared that Arina might change her will later, so you and Bella Westbury decided to kill her.'
'No!' Danesbrook protested, alarmed. 'I haven't killed anyone and neither has Bella.'
'Are you sure about that?'
Danesbrook licked his lips, his Adam's apple jumped up and down as his eyes skittered around the room. The sweat was running off his forehead. 'She wouldn't.'
Horton ignored his pathetic denial. 'But Owen Carlsson guessed it was you, or perhaps he recognized that it was your car Bella was driving, as it slammed into Arina's body, so he too had to die.'
'This is crazy.'
'And then it was Jonathan Anmore's turn. Did he overhear you and Bella talking about it?' Suddenly, a worrying thought flashed into his mind: Bella had called on Charlie Anmore. Was it to check that his son hadn't said anything about her and Danesbrook's scam? Was Charlie in danger? He almost broke off from questioning
