we’ll find out. I suspect it was a walking break, visiting the places he and his wife had walked when they’d first met.’ Horton recalled the photographs of Abigail and Arthur Lisle in walking clothes at the Brecon Beacons, which he’d seen on the mantelpiece in Lisle’s house.
‘You met Colin Yately. Knocked him unconscious and tied him up. You left him in that house until you could decide how to dispose of him. You had a little time on your hands because Lisle wasn’t due back until Monday.’
‘This really is incredible.’
Uckfield snorted and made to interject, but Horton got there first. ‘On Saturday night you took your fishing boat, which I think we’ll find is moored at Ventnor Haven, around to the bay on the high tide.’ Cantelli had yet to confirm that but Horton could see he had guessed correctly, and the office manager had told them that the day Arthur Lisle had asked to view the archived files Chandler had been out fishing, with a client.
‘You returned to Sarah Walpen’s house and forced Yately down to the shore, where you tortured him into telling you that he’d written notes about Sarah Walpen and what had happened to her. You took his keys off his key fob, leaving him with the picture of his daughter, because you had to give the keys to Arthur Lisle and say that Colin had given them to you. Lisle would have been suspicious if you’d given him the key fob as well because he knew that Yately would never part with the picture of his daughter. You then left him to drown, callously waiting until he had, before hauling him out using the winch on your fishing boat. Then you untied him and left him in an inlet in the small bay while you decided how to dispose of him. You weren’t sure yet whether you needed the body to frame Lisle or Hazleton. Only the body showed up in the Solent, not far from Portsmouth Harbour, and you assumed it had been washed out to sea, but then you didn’t know about the dress.’
Chandler couldn’t hide his surprise quickly enough for Horton not to notice, but said nothing.
Despising the calculating killer in front of him, Horton pressed on. ‘On Monday evening you called on Arthur Lisle, or asked him to come here after hours. You gave him Yately’s keys and asked him to collect Yately’s notes, the camera and briefcase. If anyone saw him it would throw suspicion on him as the killer. You told Lisle to bring them to Sarah’s house, where you said you’d arranged to meet Yately, and the three of you would decide what action to take.’
Horton wished they could shove the gruesome pictures of Lisle’s decomposing body under the solicitor’s nose; maybe they would if Chandler decided to continue with his denials. It might shock him into telling the truth.
Grimly, Horton continued, ‘You killed Lisle, but Hazleton was on one of his little nocturnal jaunts and saw you. That suited you fine. You killed him, stuffed him in the boot of Lisle’s car and drove it to Chale Bay where you ditched it, hoping that we would believe Lisle had done so and then killed himself. You live not far from there.’ He recalled what Cantelli had said:
Uckfield stepped forward. Brusquely he said, ‘You’d better make that call.’
Chandler took a deep breath. ‘There’s been some mistake.’
Horton saw that he’d finally shaken him. Good. He hoped the smug bastard would be shaken a great deal more by the time they’d finished.
‘Tell that to your lawyer,’ Horton snapped, rising.
Uckfield went out into the corridor and called in the uniformed officers waiting there.
Slowly Chandler rose. ‘Victor Hazleton was a snob and a horrible little man. He’d take every chance to rub my nose in the fact he had more money than me. Him, a mere clerk!’
‘That was no reason to kill him,’ snarled Uckfield, as one of the officers took Chandler’s arm.
‘Wasn’t it?’ snapped Chandler. ‘I wasn’t going to have everything I’ve worked for, and my father worked for, brought down by him and his filthy dishonesty. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my practice and my son’s future, not to mention my family’s name.’
‘No, you’ve done that yourself,’ Horton said tightly, as Chandler was led away.
‘Pompous prat,’ Uckfield pronounced after him.
And a ruthless killer; a man who thought he could destroy lives and get away with it, thought Horton.
‘Good result,’ Uckfield rubbed his hands. ‘And we’ve beaten Wonder Boy’s deadline.’ He reached for his phone.
‘There’s Avril Glenn.’
‘Shit. No one’s told her about her husband.’
‘I’ll do that. I know her.’
‘You never said,’ Uckfield said, startled.
‘I’d like to do it before the charity reception tonight.’
‘Christ, I’d forgotten about that. I heard the Chief’s going to it. I’d better come with you.’
‘He won’t be there until later. Might be better though if you called him and briefed him.’
Uckfield brightened at that. A malicious gleam spread across his face. Horton knew what he was thinking. It would be one in the eye for Dean. ‘I’ll do it on the ferry.’
The cold evening air helped to clear Horton’s thumping head. It had been a long day and it wasn’t over yet. ‘What about interviewing Chandler?’ he asked.
‘Tomorrow will do when his brief shows up. Let him stew in a cell overnight. I’ll get him shipped back to the mainland for the questioning and a confession.’
If he’ll make one, thought Horton, heading for the ferry. And even if he didn’t Trueman and the team would dig up the evidence and check Chandler’s movements. And they would show him photographs of Lisle’s body. Horton spared a sorrowful thought for Rachel Salter and for Hannah Yately, before his mind switched to his forthcoming meeting with Avril and the unpleasant task that lay ahead.
TWENTY-THREE
Horton waved his ID at the security guards at the marina office at the top of the pontoon. There were three more than usual and two of them were coppers who tried to avoid his gaze. He headed down to Russell Glenn’s superyacht. Lights blazed from every porthole but there were no guests on board yet. The reception wasn’t due to start for another hour. He’d just managed to catch a ferry, leaving a no doubt fuming Uckfield at the terminal, kicking his heels, or rather cursing vehemently, while waiting for the next sailing. He was glad. He wanted to be alone with Avril when he broke the news.
Climbing on board he didn’t need to show his ID to Walters. ‘Where’s Lloyd?’ he asked.
‘Not sure, haven’t seen him for hours. Mr Danby’s with the skipper, up there?’ Walters jerked his head towards the flybridge. Good. Horton hoped he’d stay there. ‘Not come to fetch me, Guv, have you?’ Walters asked warily.
‘Why would I want you?’
‘Dunno. Good bit of extra money this, wouldn’t want to lose it.’
‘I think you might have to.’ Walters’ face fell, but before he could comment Horton pushed open the glass doors and stepped into the gleaming luxurious lounge where the smell of new leather, mahogany furniture and deep-pile wool carpets greeted him. Beyond it he could catch the faint aroma of food that was no doubt being prepared for the reception. The steward was behind a bar in the far right-hand corner setting out bottles of champagne in ice buckets. He asked Horton to wait while he fetched Mrs Glenn. Horton crossed to the seaward windows and gazed across the harbour at Gosport beyond. It had grown dark. The lights of the harbour and the tower blocks behind it glinted down on them. It made him think about his own childhood gazing across a brightly lit city from the eighteenth floor of their council flat to the dark sea beyond, watching the lights of the boats slowly cross a black horizon with a panicky feeling that he’d be encased in the tower for ever. The memory startled him. The thought that he was alone, afraid and imprisoned caught at his breath and tightened his chest, but before he could explore his feelings the door behind him opened and he spun round to see Avril smiling. She was exquisitely dressed in an expensive, figure-hugging aquamarine-blue evening dress, and immaculately made-up. Her blonde hair shone and her pale-blue eyes greeted him with a friendly smile. It made his heart lurch but this time with disappointment, not excitement or lust.
