A Killing Coast

return. With his heart beating fast Horton watched as the mortuary attendant eased the shorts carefully down the decaying legs. Cantelli gave a low whistle and Horton drew in a sharp breath. He could see exactly what was ‘wrong’ but it was Gaye who expressed it.

‘As I suspected, your she is a he,’ she said brightly, pointing to the genitals.

And a missing man wearing a dress certainly put a new slant on things, thought Horton. It was an opinion Cantelli ventured twenty minutes later as they headed towards Gosport Marina to collect Horton’s Harley. There were no further surprises from the body and no indication either from Dr Clayton of the cause of death. She estimated the man was aged between thirty-five and sixty and that he’d been dead four to five days, which took them back to last Wednesday or Thursday. There was nothing to indicate, at this stage, it was a suspicious death, and although Horton didn’t much care for the fact that the corpse had been wearing a dress there was no law against it.

‘A transvestite?’ Cantelli posed.

The dress wasn’t sexy but then Horton knew it didn’t need to be. ‘Don’t transvestites usually wear women’s underwear? Isn’t that what gives them the buzz, wearing something feminine and sexy close to the skin?’

‘If you say so. Maybe he didn’t have time to put it all on, go the whole hog.’

‘Possibly. But the dress, as you pointed out, Barney, is old-fashioned.’

‘Perhaps it was his mother’s. Depressed over her death he decided to end his life wearing her favourite dress. Or perhaps he liked dressing up, got drunk, went cavorting around the beach on a full moon and thought he’d seen Amphitrite beckon to him from the sea.’

‘Who?’ asked Horton, throwing Cantelli a surprised look.

‘Greek goddess, Queen of the Sea. I thought being a seafaring type you would know that,’ Cantelli grinned. ‘Marie’s got a thing about Greek mythology. Says it’s helping her to write her first fantasy novel.’

Marie, at twelve, was the third of Cantelli’s five children and had recently won a scholarship to a private school where she was blossoming. Horton hoped the same would apply to Emma.

Cantelli said, ‘Or perhaps he was at a fancy dress party and always carried that picture with him, so he put it in the pocket, got pilled up, wandered off and fell into the sea from a cliff.’

In this job, thought Horton, they’d all seen ten incredible things before breakfast so anything was possible. Should there have been keys on the key ring though, he wondered, staring through the rain-soaked windscreen as Cantelli headed past the old town quay at Fareham down towards Gosport. And if so, where were they? Or had he simply carried the fob because of the picture?

‘The girl’s name might be on the reverse of that photograph,’ Cantelli suggested, following Horton’s train of thought.

‘That would be nice.’ Horton didn’t think it would be that simple, though. ‘Send it over to Joliffe and ask if someone in the forensic lab can open it without damaging it. Get a photograph of it first though.’ He called Walters who took an age to answer. ‘I was beginning to think Russell Glenn must have offered you a job as a security officer on his superyacht,’ Horton grumbled.

‘He’s already got one, with muscles like Schwarzenegger.’

‘A broad-shouldered man with cropped hair.’

‘Yeah, how do you know that?’

‘I know a lot of things, Walters, like you’re eating your way through a packet of Hobnobs.’

Walters swallowed noisily. ‘That boat’s bloody huge, Guv. And it’s got this state of the art security system that would make the scum cry.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘Infra sensors in every room-’

‘Cabin,’ corrected Horton.

‘Yeah, and a GPS locator and notification system, which can raise the alarm by all means known to mankind. It’s got an ignition immobilizer security alarm, as well as a marine security system alarm with a siren for every cabin, which is broadcast so loud that everyone will think the three minute warning’s gone off, or so Schwarzenegger claims.’

‘And his real name?’

‘Lloyd.’

‘First or surname?’

‘Dunno. Just said he was called Lloyd.’

Horton sighed. How Walters had got to be a DC was a mystery to them all. ‘Well let’s hope he never has to put it to the test; on my patch at least,’ Horton added, thinking that with the increase in pirate attacks on superyachts and commercial shipping in other less friendly waters Glenn probably needed all the security he could afford, and that was clearly a great deal.

Walters said that the press had been on asking for a statement about the body recovered from the sea. Cantelli could deal with it when he returned. He asked Walters to check for reports of missing men since Wednesday, then tried Bliss’s line with the same result as before, getting her voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message. He’d be back at the station soon.

Cantelli dropped him outside the marina office where Horton asked the manager if he or any of the staff knew anything about the muddy blue van parked there that morning. No one claimed even to have seen it, but when the manager checked the CCTV footage on Horton’s request there it was. It was difficult though to make out the registration number or any occupants, and no one alighted from it, which worried Horton. He headed back to the station with a copy of the footage after leaving instructions he was to be called if anyone saw the van in the marina. He wondered if the CCTV camera at the front of Adrian Stanley’s apartments might have picked up a sighting of it, but then he remembered that the camera was only focused on the gated entrance and front door and not on the promenade.

Bliss’s car was in its allotted spot and Horton hoped he’d be able to get to his office without her accosting him. He stopped off in the canteen realizing it had been some time since he’d last eaten and was paying for his sandwiches when Cantelli appeared.

‘A young woman’s just come in to report her father, Colin Yately, has been missing since Thursday. She heard about the body being found on the news, they didn’t give out the gender, and she’s concerned it could be him,’ he said excitedly.

‘And?’ Horton asked knowing there was more by Cantelli’s expression.

‘She’s the girl in the key fob.’

THREE

Hannah Yately looked up from her plastic cup of tea with a worried frown on her attractive dark features. Her chocolate-brown eyes swivelled between them and must have read something in their expression because her face paled and tears welled up. She was accompanied by a man in his early thirties and both were dressed in the black- suited uniform of the hotel across the road from the station. Even before the man introduced himself as Damien King, Horton saw it on his name badge.

‘It’s Dad, isn’t it? That body in the sea,’ she stammered. The man beside her squeezed her hand and turned an anxious expression on them.

This was the part of the job Horton hated the most, breaking the bad news to relatives, if indeed the man in the mortuary was this girl’s father; just because her picture had been found on the dead man it didn’t mean to say it was him. That could have been planted. But somehow he didn’t think so. And how did you tell a daughter that her father had been found dead wearing a woman’s dress? Simple answer: you didn’t, not until you were sure it was him.

Horton began gently. ‘Why do you think your father is missing, Miss Yately?’

Her troubled eyes flitted to Damien King. Horton guessed he was also her boyfriend as well as a work colleague. King gave an encouraging nod.

‘Dad and I see one another once a fortnight, on a Thursday,’ Hannah began. ‘We go for a meal at Oyster Quays. Dad calls me the Wednesday before just to make sure it’s OK and I haven’t got to work. I said it was fine