Sawyer had been right, someone had shown for Woodley’s funeral, only no one had expected a woman, and no one had paid any attention to her because he’d assumed, probably like Uckfield, that she was there for the funeral following Woodley’s. She still might have been, he rapidly thought, reaching for his phone, but that didn’t explain why she was here, dead. But if she was connected with Woodley then had she been sent to his funeral by Marty Stapleton? Why though, unless Marty really wanted to check that Woodley was dead and cremated, and even then she had arrived too late.
Uckfield cursed vehemently and loudly on receiving the news before emphatically declaring, ‘She can’t be Woodley’s killer.’
‘She might not have been his attacker but she could have picked him up outside the hospital and left him for dead at the marshes.’ On Marty’s instructions? he wondered. Only she didn’t look the type, but then what the hell did he know about her anyway?
Uckfield rang off after saying he’d be there within forty minutes. Horton called Trueman and quickly relayed what had happened, instructing him to notify the police doctor and mobilize the circus.
‘Is Walters in yet?’
‘He was in the canteen when I was there a few minutes ago.’
‘Tell him to skip breakfast. I know it will break his heart but I want him to check around the county for any reports of missing persons.’
He hadn’t seen a ring on the third finger of her left hand, but that didn’t mean anything. Someone might have expected her back last night.
He said, ‘Ask Walters to get the details of the funeral following Woodley’s and we’ll need photographs of the victim from Clarke’s video for circulating to all units.’ He hadn’t needed to tell Trueman that but he said it anyway.
Uniform arrived within minutes and began to set up the outer cordon just beyond the motorway flyover and the inner cordon at the entrance to the boatyard. Horton instructed Seaton and Somerfield to take initial statements from the crane driver, boatman and Manley and his crew. While he waited for Dr Price and the scene of crime officers to arrive, he surveyed the boatyard.
Its isolated position made it an ideal place to leave a body or to commit homicide. Except for the small sailing club next door there were no neighbours. The sea surrounded it on three sides. The fourth was the only road to it. This was the end of the line, which it certainly had been for their lady in black, and if she had driven here then where was her car? And why come here? It was several miles away from the crematorium, but not he had already noted from where most of Woodley’s associates lived.
There were no gates at the entrance to the yard and Somerfield had told him no security patrols. But there must have been people in the sailing club last night; the weather had been too good for there not to have been. And if so then someone might have seen something. He recalled seeing a CCTV camera at the front of the small timber-clad building as he’d driven past it before pulling into the boatyard. There was also one over the dinghy park; perhaps they had recorded the victim’s car arriving, and the killer’s. He crossed to one of the PCs on the inner cordon and asked him to get the contact details of the sailing-club secretary and commodore. As Horton headed back to the body, Manley pigeonholed him. Somerfield threw Horton an apologetic glance.
‘When can my men get back to work?’ Manley demanded irritably.
‘Not for some time, sir.’
‘How long?’ he pressed.
Horton explained they’d have to wait until the police divers had been down to retrieve any evidence and that could take a day or two.
‘I shouldn’t think they’ll find anything. We didn’t even see her when we went down this morning to attach the lines, and she certainly wasn’t there yesterday when we did a thorough check of the area, including that wreck and the others.’
‘Others?’ Horton asked surprised.
‘There’s another wreck on top of the munitions barge. And before you ask we didn’t find anything on that either, and only shells on the munitions barge, which we cleared with the help of the Royal Navy.’
‘What time did you leave last night?’
‘Just after seven thirty.’
‘Did you see anyone when you left?’
‘No. There were a few cars outside the sailing club, though: a Range Rover, a Mercedes, a Ford and a red Mini.’
‘Can you remember the registration numbers?’
‘My days of collecting car numbers are long gone,’ Manley said with disdain.
No matter. They’d get them from the club.
Horton managed to extricate himself from a disgruntled Manley, leaving Somerfield to soothe him, and headed back to the rotting hull. Had the killer hoped the body would sink and then float later and wash up miles away too late to help them track him down? But only if he hadn’t heard or read the local news. Either the killer was stupid, which Horton sincerely hoped because it would make their job easier (and that fitted the profile of many of Woodley’s so-called mates), or he wasn’t local and that would make it far more difficult to trace him. Or perhaps the killer simply didn’t care if the woman’s body was recovered.
He thought of the propeller theft in a boatyard further up the harbour to the west. That had occurred on Monday night, and he wondered if the thieves had been out and about last night. They might have believed there was valuable metal lying around. The victim had arrived and surprised them and they’d killed her and made off in her car. But that didn’t answer why she was here, why she had been at the crematorium and why she was still dressed in her funeral clothes.
Horton arrived at the hulk at the same time the SOCO van drew up inside the inner cordon with Dr Price in his battered Volvo behind it. It took Price a couple of minutes to wriggle his bony frame into a scene suit, a couple more to climb gingerly onto the wreck and one more to declare in his usual alcoholic fug that life was extinct, probably from the knife wound in the back that Horton could see.
Horton had then called the pathologist, Dr Clayton. He wasn’t sure what she’d be able to tell them with the body in situ but he knew it would be a darn sight more than Price even sober could.
‘Fortunately you’ve caught me early, before I’m deep into a cadaver,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ll be there in half an hour, traffic permitting.’
He rang off to see Uckfield’s car pull up.
‘So who the devil is she?’ Uckfield bellowed as he stormed across the boatyard towards Horton.
No idea wasn’t the answer Uckfield wanted but it was the only one Horton had to give. He recalled she’d been carrying a small black handbag with a gold chain on the video and he hoped that it was lodged under her body and contained some ID. He said as much to Uckfield, adding, ‘Did you notice anything suspicious about her on Clarke’s video?’ He hadn’t except for that fact that when Clarke’s camera had surveyed the crematorium after the Woodley crowd had left there had been no sign of her.
‘I haven’t even seen the bloody video,’ Uckfield exploded. ‘Too busy wasting my time reporting to DCS Sawyer and Wonder Boy.’
Horton interpreted that as Assistant Chief Constable Dean.
Uckfield continued, ‘I haven’t told Sawyer yet and Dean’s going to roast my balls over a slow heat if this is connected with Woodley’s murder.’ He leaned over the wreck without touching it and peered at the body, frowning. Straightening up he said, ‘No woman is mentioned on the files I’ve seen connected with Stapleton?’
‘Perhaps that was why she was sent.’
‘
Uckfield brightened up at that. ‘Reggie Thomas.’
‘He doesn’t own a car, or have a driving licence, but we both know that wouldn’t stop him stealing a vehicle. But his alibi for then is rock-solid. When Woodley left the hospital, Reggie was with his probation officer. His alibi for when the assault occurred though is definitely suspect.’
‘Yeah, lying for the likes of Sholby and Hobbs is as natural as breathing.’
