meet someone there, and was looking for them when Woodley’s crowd emerged.’
‘Wearing funeral clothes?’ Eames said, making it clear she thought that unlikely.
‘Why not? She might be in mourning herself, she might have worn them out of respect for her friend or the deceased, or perhaps she simply liked wearing black.’
Eames considered this but Horton could tell by her expression it was a theory she didn’t much care for and Uckfield would probably be of the same opinion. He said, ‘Have you seen the video?’
‘No.’
‘Then I suggest you review it when we get back. Let me know what you think.’
After fetching sandwiches from the canteen Horton headed for CID and an update from Walters on the garage proprietor who had sold the cars to Sholby and Hobbs.
‘It’s owned by a Craig Mellings, aged late thirties. No previous,’ Walters reported.
Horton noted the empty burger container on Walters’s desk and the smell of it lingering in the office, but at least this time Walters had had the sense to open a window.
‘Sholby bought the Mercedes on the twenty-seventh of May and Hobbs the Audi on the first of June.’
Horton rapidly calculated. That was three days and eight days respectively after Woodley’s body had been found. And the robbery at Mason’s had been on the day after the attack on Woodley, which had taken place on Friday twentieth of May. He said, ‘Dig deeper on Mellings and his business. Tell the local cops to keep a discreet eye and ear open but not to do anything. Any news on the metal thefts?’
Walters shook his head. Horton made for the incident suite with his sandwiches, noting on the way that Bliss was in her office with her engaged sign on the door, no doubt poring over the Woodley interview notes looking for a cock-up on Uckfield’s part. Eames was sitting at a desk in the far corner viewing Clarke’s video. Horton exchanged a brief word with Trueman before knocking and entering Uckfield’s office. It was sweltering hot and Uckfield looked as though he was auditioning for a hog roast.
‘Any sign of the victim on the crematorium CCTV?’ Horton asked after reporting back and biting into his sandwich.
‘The cameras cover the front of the chapel, the waiting room and the entrance gate and she only shows up outside the waiting room. There’s no sign of her arriving by car, or any sign of her walking into the crematorium.’
Horton wondered if she’d entered the crematorium from the memorial gardens at the other end to the main entrance, where there were no CCTV cameras.
Uckfield continued. ‘Trueman’s got an officer checking out all the vehicle registrations we can get off the crematorium video in case one of the cars belongs to her, but there was no car left in the overflow car park outside the crematorium overnight. Dean’s spoken to the Chief, who didn’t see the victim at the boatyard, and the only cars he noted were the ones Dr Clayton told us about. He confirms he left the sailing club at ten fifteen with Dominic Levy and Dean’s also spoken to him.’
‘He has been busy,’ muttered Horton.
‘Yeah, busy annoying me by ringing me every five minutes to see if we’ve made any progress,’ Uckfield snarled. ‘Councillor Levy doesn’t recall seeing a woman or a vehicle he didn’t recognize and Dean emailed him her photograph. He claims not to recognize her. Trueman’s contacted Richard Bolton on his mobile. He’s in London. He says the CCTV camera outside the sailing club hasn’t been working for two weeks. He was going to raise it at the next committee meeting.’
Horton cursed.
‘That’s what I said. Bolton can give us a list of who was in the club last night, though. He’ll be back about five thirty and says he’ll go straight to the club and pick it up. He confirms he was the last to leave the sailing club, at ten twenty-five.’ Uckfield gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I’ve been through Clarke’s video so many times my eyeballs ache. She glances at Woodley’s mourners, in fact she more than glances, she stares at the buggers, but whether her expression is one of surprise, bewilderment or annoyance I can’t make out. Maybe video enhancement will give us more.’
‘Is she wearing a watch?’
‘No, but as you said she is carrying a handbag. I’ve applied for a warrant to search Reggie Thomas’s lousy bedsit in case the bastard’s got it stashed away somewhere.’ Uckfield hauled himself up. He turned to the window and pushed at it but it was already open as wide as it would go. ‘Why doesn’t someone fix this bloody air conditioning?’ He turned back grumbling. ‘All winter we freeze and when we damn well need it the bloody thing packs up.’
Horton was inclined to agree. His shirt and trousers were sticking to him and he could feel the sweat on his forehead.
Resuming his seat Uckfield continued. ‘There are no reports of abandoned or burnt-out cars. Trueman’s checked Hampshire and surrounding counties.’
They both knew that didn’t mean the victim’s car hadn’t been abandoned or torched; just that no one had found it yet or had reported it.
Uckfield’s grey eyes narrowed as he considered this. Rising, he swiftly crossed to the door, threw it open and bellowed, ‘Trueman.’ A few seconds later the sergeant appeared.
‘Get the victim’s photograph circulated to Southampton Airport.’
Horton quickly added, ‘And Bournemouth, Heathrow, Gatwick and Stansted.’
‘Circulate her picture to all airports in the south,’ commanded Uckfield. ‘One of the aircrew might remember her, a good-looking woman like that can’t have gone unnoticed.’
Horton refrained from saying that she could easily have been overlooked in such busy airport terminals.
Trueman nodded and disappeared as Eames appeared on the threshold. Horton saw Uckfield give her the once-over but this time there was no leer, and not even the hint of a lustful thought in his bloodshot eyes. Instead his glance was decidedly cool. Maybe his libido was suffering from the heat and overwork and his temper was certainly frayed. Usually the big man fancied anything in a skirt, or trousers come to that, if it was female, breathing and halfway passable. Although Uckfield had admitted to Horton that he drew the line at DCI Lorraine Bliss, adding with a sneer that she aimed her sights higher than a mere detective superintendent. But Horton dismissed Uckfield’s claims that Bliss was having an affair with Dean. He just couldn’t see it.
‘Any thoughts on the video?’ Horton asked Eames, hoping his own expression didn’t betray any lustful thoughts. He had to admit Eames was very attractive.
‘Not one of Woodley’s mourners slips out of sight for a second,’ she answered. ‘The victim doesn’t appear to acknowledge them and she certainly doesn’t speak to them. Neither does she talk to anyone in the Willard funeral party. Could she have known you were filming her? Perhaps she saw the van with the darkened windows and she’d been warned about a possible police presence.’ Clearly by Uckfield’s frown he didn’t like the sound of that. Detecting it, Eames quickly added, ‘I called Cliff Wesley again but he’s still not answering his mobile.’
Uckfield’s phone rang. Eames slipped out but with a wave of his hand, Uckfield indicated for Horton to stay. Into the receiver Uckfield said, ‘Sixty minutes. Yeah, in the conference room.’ Replacing the phone he addressed Horton. ‘I’m arranging a press briefing and if Cliff Wesley shows up I’ll make sure he’s asked if he remembers seeing the victim.’ He consulted his watch. ‘Get over to the mortuary and see what Dr Clayton’s got. If she can give us something that will help identify the victim in the next hour tell her I’ll buy her the most expensive drink on the bloody planet.’
Horton didn’t think that would be much of an incentive. He’d reached the door before Uckfield called out, ‘And take the blonde beauty with you.’
FOUR
‘A few minutes earlier, Inspector, and you could have watched Tom sew her back together,’ Dr Clayton greeted them cheerfully as they stepped into the chilly mortuary. Pulling off the unflattering but practical green plastic cap and running a hand through her spiky auburn hair, she eyed Eames curiously.
