A Killing Coast

‘Let’s hope the killer telephoned to make the appointment and we can get his number from the phone records,’ Uckfield panted.

If only, thought Horton. ‘One thing’s for certain,’ he said, ‘Yately wouldn’t have gone out wearing his shorts and vest. So wherever he went he undressed and put on that woman’s dress, or his killer made him remove his clothes and put the dress on.’

‘Yately could have been abducted from here during the night wearing his underwear.’

‘If he was he went without a struggle.’

‘How do you know that? The killer could have returned and tidied up the place. He has Yately’s keys. For all we know this place could have been stashed to the rafters with gold bullion before you came here last night.’

Uckfield had a point, though Horton doubted the gold bullion bit. He smiled a greeting at Skinner, while Uckfield gave her the once over, and by the big man’s leer it seemed he liked what he saw, which came as no surprise to Horton. Claire Skinner’s pretty face flushed as Horton swept past her and he nodded a greeting at Beth Tremain, one of the SOCOs, who was in the bathroom. Then, following Uckfield into the small lounge, he found Taylor with his head up the chimney.

Uckfield said, ‘Santa Claus isn’t due for another eight months.’

‘You’d be surprised what we find up chimneys,’ Taylor rejoined, his voice muffled. Then, extracting himself, he said, ‘You’re right, nothing this time, not even a Christmas stocking. Plenty of prints in the room, though.’

‘But not mine. I wore gloves.’

‘Thoughtful of you,’ muttered Uckfield.

Ignoring him, Horton scanned the room; his eyes fell on the narrow desk in front of the small window. Half a dozen steps took him swiftly to it. He registered the photograph frame minus the photograph of Yately and his daughter, which he’d removed, but stared down at the desk, puzzled; that wasn’t the only thing that was missing.

To Taylor, he said, ‘Where are the notes that were here?’

Taylor shook his head while Uckfield said, ‘What notes?’

Horton tried to tell himself it was nothing. ‘They were about the history of Ventnor.’

Uckfield looked bewildered. Horton didn’t blame him. He was confused himself. Why would anyone be interested in them? And how could they have anything to do with the murder of Colin Yately? Simple answer: they couldn’t.

‘They were here last night,’ he said.

‘Can’t see anyone killing a retired postman for that,’ sniffed Uckfield, dismissively, echoing Horton’s thoughts, but the notes had been there. He quickly tried to recall what he’d read, wishing now he’d paid more attention. There’d been something about Ventnor once being a hamlet of fishermen’s cottages with an old mill. Why would someone take that?

Uckfield said, ‘Anything else missing?’

Horton studied the desk and then surveyed the room. ‘It doesn’t look like it, not in here.’

He checked the kitchen. Everything was as he’d left it last night. He returned to the lobby and, with Uckfield and Taylor trailing him, made his way into the bedroom. Everything seemed the same as before: the bed, the chest with the books on it, the telescope. But something was different. Horton swiftly crossed to the telescope. Without touching it he peered into it.

‘This is no time for stargazing,’ Uckfield complained.

Straightening up, Horton said, ‘It’s been moved.’

‘It wasn’t me,’ Taylor said quickly, ‘or Beth.’

‘Where was it facing when you looked through it before?’

Judging by Uckfield’s tone Horton knew he didn’t believe him.

‘Ventnor Haven. The small harbour,’ he added for the benefit of Taylor, who wasn’t a sailor like him and Uckfield, although Uckfield owned a motor boat, not a sailing yacht. ‘But I didn’t focus it in.’

Uckfield said, ‘You could have knocked it after looking through it.’

‘I didn’t touch it.’

‘Maybe the cleaner did.’

Horton knew Uckfield was being facetious. He said, ‘Whoever took the notes could also have adjusted the telescope and, as there is no sign of a forced entry, that suggests either the landlord’s been in here with a master set of keys or he gave a set of keys to someone else, which I doubt, or Yately gave his keys to a friend, relative or neighbour, which would fit with why he removed them from the key ring; he didn’t want to part with the picture of his daughter.’

‘So you’re saying the missing keys have nothing to do with Yately’s murder.’ Uckfield scratched his armpit.

‘It’s possible.’

‘But why didn’t this neighbour or friend collect the notes before today, when Yately’s been dead since Thursday?’

It was a point that Horton had also been considering. And he had an answer. ‘Perhaps whoever it is couldn’t get here until late last night or this morning. They could have been away.’

‘But-’

‘Why did Yately give his keys to someone in the first place? He could have been planning to go on somewhere after meeting his daughter. Perhaps he intended being away for a few days.’

‘With a lover?’

Horton shrugged. ‘In between making these arrangements and meeting his daughter on Thursday, Yately met his killer.’

‘Who was into bondage and women’s clothes,’ sniffed Uckfield. ‘Sounds as though it could have been a sex game gone wrong or a jealous lover tied him up and drowned him.’

Perhaps, but Dr Clayton hadn’t reported that Yately was homosexual.

Uckfield said, ‘Could his daughter have come here after you?’

‘No. She gave us her keys to her father’s apartment and she didn’t say she had two sets. Cantelli can check though.’ Horton reached for his phone.

‘Could have been the ex-wife,’ Uckfield said.

‘Why?’

‘How the hell should I know? We’ll ask her. Get her address from Cantelli.’

‘We need to make sure the landlord hasn’t lost a set of keys or given out a set to someone.’

Uckfield retrieved his phone from the pocket of his camel coat as he stomped out of the bedroom.

‘How’s Hannah Yately taking it?’ Horton asked when Cantelli came on the line.

‘She’s upset and bewildered, as you’d expect, and she claims she’s never seen the dress. I told her it was found with her father, not on him. I didn’t have the heart to break that news to her. She’ll find out soon enough. Her boyfriend is with her. I’m sure neither of them is involved with Yately’s death.’

Horton briefed him about what they’d found in the flat. Cantelli said that neither Hannah nor her boyfriend, Damien, had gone out last night or this morning. They’d been anxiously awaiting any news. Horton said, ‘Have you got Mrs Yately’s address? Uckfield wants to interview her.’

Cantelli relayed it.

Uckfield was in the hall outside the flat on the phone when Horton returned to the small lounge. He asked Taylor if he’d found an address book. It might give them a list of Yately’s friends, but Taylor shook his head. Horton searched but he didn’t find one and neither did he find any scraps of paper with friends’ names or telephone numbers scrawled on it. There were also no old Christmas or birthday cards stashed away. Along with the bank statements he’d seen yesterday he found some utility bills, paid, and the top copy of the last two telephone bills, but no record of the calls made. Trueman would request those. The paperwork would be bagged up and taken back to the major incident suite.

Horton then called Sergeant Norris and explained about the keys.

‘No one’s said anything about having keys to Yately’s apartment but we’ll check.’

Uckfield returned.

‘Let’s talk to the ex-wife and hope she’s not the hysterical kind.’