A Killing Coast

SIX

It was a view shared by Detective Superintendent Uckfield who expressed it vehemently for the third time in an hour as Horton climbed the stairs behind him to the passenger lounge on the Wightlink car ferry. Horton said nothing. There was no point reiterating what he’d already said in Uckfield’s office earlier about having no evidence to suggest that Yately’s death was suspicious.

‘He was wearing a dress, I call that highly bloody suspicious,’ Uckfield had bellowed.

Horton didn’t point out that it didn’t necessarily follow that Yately had been killed. He’d told both Bliss and Uckfield that he hadn’t had enough evidence to warrant posting a police officer outside the door to Yately’s apartment and another outside the Victorian house for over twenty-four hours until they had the autopsy report, and that a piece of blue-and-white tape alone, saying ‘Crime Scene Do Not Enter’, was hardly going to deter anyone from entering the apartment if they wanted to.

Bliss didn’t back him up. He hadn’t expected her to. When he’d relayed Dr Clayton’s findings to her, she’d accused him of gross incompetence, told him that he should have reported back to her as soon as the body had been found and that she should have made the decision. He didn’t bother reminding her that he had mentioned the body, only she’d been too interested in Project Neptune and his performance targets to listen. Even if she had listened he knew her decision wouldn’t have been any different to his. She was covering her arse in case the investigation went tits up, and if it did then he knew who would carry the can. Him. So nothing new there. She finished her bollocking by telling him that his error of judgement could have seriously hindered the investigation. But Horton was irked that he’d made the wrong decision. Cantelli had told him that hindsight was a wonderful thing.

‘That’s no consolation to Hannah Yately if the delay means her father’s killer goes free,’ Horton had grumbled.

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Andy,’ Cantelli had replied. ‘I bet Bliss and Uckfield would have made the same decision.’

‘Then I should have let them.’ But that wasn’t his way, and a few words of reprimand and threats weren’t going to frighten him. What was done was done, but he wanted to be in on the investigation and discover who had tortured the poor man to death. It was also a matter of professional pride. He wasn’t going to have this evil bastard of a killer laughing at him, because he’d cocked up, and he certainly wasn’t going to have Uckfield’s sidekick, DI Dennings, smirking at him when he returned from a course tomorrow. There was no love lost between him and Dennings, whom Dr Clayton had nicknamed Neanderthal man. He would wet his pants with glee at the thought Horton had made a balls-up.

Uckfield had insisted that he accompany him back to the Island and Yately’s flat, because as Uckfield had said, ‘You’re the only bugger who’s been in it and can tell us if anything’s changed.’ Horton wanted to look at it afresh in light of this macabre discovery. What had he missed last night? There had to be something that would provide some clue as to why someone had tortured and killed the former postman. He sincerely hoped the apartment was as he’d left it but he couldn’t help having an uneasy feeling about those missing keys. And, as he had pointed out to Uckfield, he’d hardly searched Yately’s flat, so wouldn’t know for certain if something had been taken.

Bliss wasn’t very happy about him being whisked away and neither was she pleased when Walters was pulled in to assist Sergeant Trueman in the major crime suite to dig up all the information they could on Colin Yately, while Cantelli and DC Marsden were detailed to break the news to Hannah Yately and to get further information on her father. They were also going to see if she recognized the dress. Horton didn’t envy them having to tell Hannah that her father had been found wearing it. Cantelli was under strict instructions not to mention the restraints, as were they all. Uckfield had said, ‘We keep that to ourselves. It’s not to be released to the media and neither is the fact the victim was wearing a dress.’

As the ferry slipped out of dock, Horton bought coffee and sandwiches for himself and Uckfield, and found Uckfield at the far end of the ferry. Horton hadn’t been surprised that Uckfield had wanted to view Yately’s flat; he was hoping — just as Horton had been last night — that it might give him an insight into the man. Maybe in light of what Gaye Clayton had told him something new might spring to his mind, though he couldn’t see what that could be.

SOCO had been despatched by an earlier ferry and Trueman had informed them that the local police had sealed off the flat and were starting a house-to-house with the photograph Horton had taken, and which Trueman had emailed to Sergeant Norris of the Isle of Wight CID who was leading the inquiry that end.

Biting into his sandwich, Uckfield said, ‘Tell me again what you’ve got.’

For the third time Horton went through what had occurred. He knew that often on retelling people remembered something they’d overlooked the first and second time, but he wasn’t people, he was a policeman, and nothing new had occurred to him.

Uckfield listened while eating and slurping his coffee, with a scowl on his careworn features. His mobile rang just as Horton had finished and clapping it to his ear Uckfield rose, with a ‘Yes sir. On our way over now, sir,’ before he stepped through the door on to the deck.

Horton rang SOCO. Taylor answered.

‘We’ve only just entered the apartment, Inspector. It’s too early to report anything,’ Taylor replied slightly defensively in his usual nasal manner. But Horton heaved a silent sigh of relief that Taylor hadn’t said it had been ransacked. Just to be sure, he asked if there were any signs of a disturbance. Taylor said not. That didn’t mean the killer hadn’t entered the flat using Yately’s keys. And as Yately had been dead for at least five days then the killer had had ample time to go there before Horton had visited it last night. A point he’d made to Uckfield.

What kind of sadistic killer removed keys from a key fob and then neatly put the fob back in a pocket of the dress on a man he intended drowning, wondered Horton, drinking his coffee? The sick kind was the answer. But there had to be a reason.

Eager for action, he rang Sergeant Norris who also had nothing to report. Horton heard the unspoken ‘give us a chance, we’ve only just started’, and tried to curb both his irritation and impatience. He knew that Norris didn’t like him and neither did the man’s boss, DCI Birch, who was fortunately on leave. Horton had put Birch’s nose out of joint a couple of times by resolving cases before the DCI. But Horton wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. He was rather glad though that the desiccated stick insect of a man was on leave. Uckfield was probably glad too because DCI Birch had nearly stitched Uckfield up on a recent case by threatening to tell the former chief constable, Uckfield’s father-in-law, about an extramarital affair. Uckfield returned to his seat and judging by his scowling countenance his mood clearly hadn’t improved.

‘We’re not getting any extra manpower. For Christ’s sake, how am I supposed to run a murder investigation with three men and a dog?’

‘Who’s the dog?’

Uckfield glared at him. ‘I told Wonder Boy this was a brutal, calculated murder and do you know what he said?’

Wonder Boy was the nickname given to Assistant Chief Constable Dean, who had been tipped for the post of chief constable only to find he’d been beaten by a late entrant and an outsider to boot. Horton was betting Dean was in seventh heaven because he could finally exert some power over a once favoured former chief constable’s son-in-law who had previously ignored him. This was going to make for interesting times.

Horton dutifully took up the lead Uckfield had given him, ‘What did he say?’

‘“Do the best you can.” Jesus, I’m not about to sit my ruddy A levels!’

‘You told him that?’

Uckfield sniffed loudly. No, thought Horton, you simply said, ‘yes, sir’, not wanting to cock up your promotion chances.

Uckfield continued. ‘I pointed out that it would be difficult to manage a major crime on the resources I have, but Dean said we’ve all got to pull together in the current climate with government cuts and straitened budgets. I’d like to put him in a sodding straitjacket. Dean’s just echoing Meredew’s corporate claptrap along with this useless government who think we can operate with a piece of string, a tin can and some cardboard cut-outs. Dean says he’ll inform the chief and I’m to keep him fully briefed. Yeah, just so that he can ingratiate himself and claim all the credit, if we solve the case. Why should someone want to tie up and kill a former postman?’ Uckfield said tearing into his sandwich.