He could tell by her voice this was big news. He felt a tremor of excitement as he speculated mentally as to who it could be. As the marshalling steward waved him on board, he said, ‘I’ll be with you in fifty minutes.’
EIGHTEEN
Gaye Clayton sat back twiddling her pen, looking animated and a little smug. ‘Your body in the harbour is Jay Turner, age forty-nine, reported missing by his employer, the International Development Fund, based in London, on the fourth of March. He’d gone on leave on the twentieth of February and was due back on the second of March. The concierge at his London apartment confirmed he last saw Mr Turner at six thirty when he left his exclusive and expensive riverside apartment. That’s my description, not the report’s. I recognized the address.’ She smiled. ‘Want to see what he looked like before he became breakfast, lunch and dinner for the Solent sea life?’
Horton walked around to Gaye’s side of the desk and peered at the image on her laptop computer. He found himself staring at a rather ordinary slender-faced man with light grey eyes, short, straight brown hair, a narrow mouth and an honest expression, if there was such a thing. Jay Turner looked like the man you’d meet behind the counter in the post office or council office.
Quickly he skimmed through the rest of the report. There wasn’t much. Turner was single. The concierge said he hadn’t been carrying any luggage when he’d left and hadn’t said where he was going. Neither had he indicated he’d been going on holiday. Jay Turner didn’t own a car. He had no health problems, or any other problems that anyone knew about. He was a quiet man who was always polite but not overly friendly. Shy, was the concierge’s description. Horton wanted to know more about him, and why he’d washed up on their shore.
‘Does he have any relatives?’ he enquired, thinking with relief that some other policeman would need to break the tragic news to them.
‘No idea, and I doubt you’ll even get the chance to ask.’
Horton stared at her, puzzled. She leant across and scrolled down the page until he saw with surprise exactly what she meant and the reason for her excited manner. The record was flagged, which meant that Jay Turner had been someone very important, not so ordinary and maybe not so honest after all.
Gaye added, ‘The moment he was identified an automatic alert was triggered, but I’ve no idea who it was sent to. No doubt someone will be here soon, or at the station, to ask about your body. They’re probably already on their way.’
Horton wondered who
Gaye said, ‘There’s nothing from the lab yet on the analysis of his clothes, skin or organs, but if he’s that important I doubt
Gaye punched something into her computer and this time Horton found himself examining a computer- enhanced image of Venetia Trotman before her face had been battered. Short dark hair framed a lean, angular face with high cheekbones, dark brown deep-set eyes, a strong, slightly prominent nose and a wide mouth.
‘You’ve done a good job,’ he said admiringly, recalling the woman he’d met last Thursday afternoon.
‘Your detailed description helped, plus what I had to work on from the body. I’ve emailed the photograph to DI Dennings but while I was reconstructing her face on my computer, I wondered if one of my colleagues might be able to tell you more about her. John Lauder’s a forensic anthropologist based in London. I’ve sent the photograph over to him asking if he could come up with a biological profile for her through analysing her skeletal attributes, and the reason I say that is because her appearance struck me as being more European than British or American. Of course that might have no bearing on your case whatsoever, or rather Superintendent Uckfield’s case, but in view of the fact she doesn’t seem to exist in this country I thought it might help.’
‘I’m sure it will. At the moment we’ve got nothing except that key.’ And the foreign caller, he thought.
‘No joy with that?’
‘Not yet.’ Although he hadn’t checked with Trueman today, and by now it was possible he might have more information.
Gaye said, ‘Well, let me know if and when you get more on her. I’m rather curious, and a little sorry for her. Maybe I shouldn’t be. For all I know she could be a mass murderess. But until someone comes to claim her she stays in cold storage. And. .’ Gaye shrugged. ‘I don’t know, call it woman’s intuition, but I rather think she deserves better than that.’
Her words inadvertently conjured up thoughts of his mother. Horton had wondered many times if she were dead and waiting in cold storage for him to claim. There was no national database of unclaimed bodies in the UK so he couldn’t trace his mother that way. The only time they’d be alerted about an unidentified body was if the DNA or fingerprints matched someone on the missing persons database, which was what had happened with Jay Turner. In his mother’s case, though, there were no DNA or fingerprints recorded and none of her belongings left to take them from. There was only Horton himself. He’d not had his DNA run through the missing persons database; maybe he should.
He stared at the photograph of Venetia Trotman and wondered if Gaye Clayton could age the photograph of his mother, which he’d stared at yesterday morning on his computer. He didn’t want it done officially because he’d have to reveal his interest. Maybe Gaye Clayton could also take his DNA and search for a match. He knew he could rely on her discretion not to repeat anything about his mother. He hesitated though. Was he ready for that yet? The answer was no. But there was something she might help with.
Removing from his jacket pocket the piece of paper containing the drawing of the symbol which had been left on the hatch of his boat, he said, ‘Any idea what this means?’
She took it and studied it from several angles before glancing up at him. ‘Is it connected with Venetia Trotman or Jay Turner?’
‘Neither, and I’d rather keep this between ourselves for now.’ That earned him a quizzical raised eyebrow.
She studied the drawing for some seconds more before saying, ‘I’ve never seen it before, but I have a friend, her name’s Perdita, she’s an expert on symbology. Do you want me to ask her what she makes of it?’
He did. It would save him making it official. And although he could have asked the lab to analyse the original for prints and other traces, he reckoned anyone clever enough to deface his Harley and get on to the pontoon without being spotted wasn’t going to be stupid enough to leave his traces all over it.
He headed back to the station, where Walters informed him he had the name of the undertakers who had arranged the funeral last Friday. Horton told him to talk to them tomorrow and visit the cemetery. ‘See if you can find those gravediggers and get a lead on what Rookley was doing in that cemetery, and whether they saw him with anyone.’ To Cantelli he said, ‘Tomorrow we’ll have another chat with Ashley Felton and Matt Boynton. Luke might have said something to them about Natalie’s death, other than what he told Lena Lockhart about it being dark and mentioning water and a gate. He might also have confided in Kelly Masters,’ he added, recalling her sexual appetite and Luke’s enforced celibacy.
‘I managed to corner Olewbo in the canteen. He said he’d sent you an email.’
‘Good.’
Horton had just finished briefing them about Jay Turner when Bliss marched in, trailing two well-built men in dark suits. Swiftly Horton registered their grim expressions and recollected his conversation with Dr Clayton. He was surprised the big boys had arrived so quickly, much quicker than he’d expected, which meant they’d probably come by helicopter. If that was the case, Jay Turner must have been someone extremely important. . or extremely dangerous.
‘Inspector,’ Bliss commanded, sweeping past him into his office. The men in suits hung back until, with a quick glance at Cantelli, Horton followed her.
