Death Lies Beneath

knife into her back, then pushed her into the water. At a rough estimate she’s been dead between ten to thirteen hours; some time between nine thirty p.m. and twelve thirty a.m. I can be more precise when I do the autopsy, which I’ll do as soon as she’s brought to the mortuary. But I was here last night.’

Uckfield eyed her, surprised. The red Mini that Manley had mentioned, thought Horton. He knew that Gaye Clayton was a sailor like him but he hadn’t known she was a member of the Tipner Sailing Club. No reason why he should know, they’d hardly discussed it. Corpses were more their usual topic of conversation.

Gaye added, ‘I certainly didn’t see her, although I was sailing in the harbour so I might have missed her arrival. But I didn’t see a car parked that I didn’t recognize when I left the sailing club just before ten.’

‘Who else was here?’ asked Uckfield sharply.

‘Your chief constable, for one; Paul Meredew.’

Uckfield’s craggy features registered surprise. Horton hadn’t known Meredew was a sailor but then why should he; he’d barely spoken two words to the new chief on his recent tour of the troops. He’d only been in post five weeks.

Gaye added, ‘Paul Meredew is a new member at the club. The commodore sponsored him; Councillor Dominic Levy.’

‘Christ, it gets worse,’ muttered Uckfield. ‘The chair of the Police Committee and the Chief Constable. Anyone else I should know about at this club last night? The local MP? The Home Secretary?’

Gaye smiled. ‘No, just Paul Meredew, Dominic Levy, Fiona Wright, who’s a radiographer at the hospital, and me; and Richard Bolton, who owns Print Easy, he was behind the bar and he’s also club secretary. There were a few more people in the club earlier having a drink but I don’t know them. You’ll need to check the times with Richard, or look in the log book. We all sign in, and sign out, so that should help, and Richard can give you their contact details.’

Horton said, ‘Did you see anyone sailing around these waters?’

‘There were several yachts and cruisers heading in and out of Horsea Marina to the north and some yachts further out towards Gosport and Fareham in the west. It was a beautiful evening although not much wind for sailing. Fiona and I were on dinghies.’

‘Who was here when you left?’ asked Horton.

‘Councillor Levy, the Chief Constable and Richard.’ Gaye glanced back at the body. ‘It’s a strange place for her to end up given her clothes, which on the surface of it look very expensive. Her jewellery also appears to be genuine. There’s a hat pin, which looks as though it contains a diamond, and probably the reason why the hat stayed in position as she fell. She’s also wearing two dress rings of sapphires and diamonds on her right hand, small diamond earrings and a gold necklace. No watch, though, and no mark where she might have worn one, which suggests she usually either took it off to sunbathe or she didn’t bother wearing one.’

Horton was rapidly trying to recall if she had been wearing a watch in the video. He’d need to check. Uckfield’s phone rang and he moved away to answer it.

‘Is there anything else you can tell us, Dr Clayton?’ asked Horton.

‘Only that she’s probably in her early to mid-forties and the sooner you can move her in this heat the better.’

Horton agreed and thanked her. He nodded Taylor and his team onto the wreck and stepped away from the scene. The silver undertaker’s van had arrived and two police officers were standing by with the awning to cover the area where the body lay and preserve it for further forensic examination. Horton didn’t envy Taylor and his team working under it in this heat.

Uckfield returned with a face like thunder. ‘That was Wonder Boy. He says Sawyer doesn’t recognize the victim and she’s not on file with the Intelligence Directorate as being an associate or girlfriend of Stapleton’s but that doesn’t mean she isn’t connected with him. And Sawyer says, as she could be involved with Woodley’s death, we’re getting Eames.’

‘We’re?’

‘You’re back on the case. It’s official. In fact you’re going to have the pleasure of working with Eames.’

Horton had never heard of him. ‘Who is he?’

‘Europol.’

The law-enforcement agency for Europe. ‘So Sawyer thinks Marty’s connected with a European criminal gang.’

‘Could be connected with King Kong for all they seem to know. You get Agent Eames from the Netherlands and I get DCI Bliss. Yeah, aren’t I the lucky one,’ Uckfield sniped cynically to Horton’s surprised look. ‘Dean wants her to re-examine the interview notes from the Woodley investigation and oversee the re-interviewing of Woodley’s associates.’

There was no mistaking the sour note in Uckfield’s voice, or guessing the unspoken comment which Dean must have voiced, ‘in case you missed anything’. Asking a DCI to check the files of an investigation handled by a detective superintendent was like a kick in the balls. And knowing Uckfield of old, Horton didn’t think he was going to take that lying down, or sitting even. Dean was playing a dangerous game if he thought he could intimidate the big man.

Uckfield continued, ‘Return to the station and pick up Eames-’

‘He’s here already?’ Horton asked puzzled and instantly suspicious.

‘Just arrived.’

From where? Horton had heard of supersonic flight but no one got from the Netherlands that quickly. He could only surmise that Eames must have been working with Sawyer already.

Uckfield said, ‘Check out the funeral party after Woodley’s. If they don’t know the victim then Marty Stapleton is right in the frame along with Reggie Thomas and the rest of Woodley’s scumbag crew. Trueman’s circulating pictures of the victim to all units asking for any sightings of her in and around the area where Woodley was attacked, and at the hospital and the marshes. He’s also sent the video over to the video-enhancement unit for close-up shots of the victim. I’ve told him I want a frame-by-frame analysis of every toerag who attended Woodley’s funeral. I want to know if one of them so much as glanced in the victim’s direction. If a fly landed on Maureen Sholby’s big tits yesterday I want to see it rubbing its legs and its eyes bulging with glee. Marsden’s taking over here. He’s on his way.’

Horton climbed on his Harley and headed back to the station, where no doubt Agent Eames would be waiting for him in the incident suite. Within ten minutes he had parked the Harley and was about to step inside the rear entrance when an attractive blonde woman in her early thirties hailed him.

‘Inspector Horton?’ she asked in an educated voice that Cantelli would have called posh.

‘Yes,’ he answered cagily while rapidly trying to place her. Swiftly he took in her navy blue trousers and striped blue and white blouse. She was carrying a short cream casual jacket. She didn’t look like a social worker but she could be a lawyer, which was worse. No handbag or briefcase, though. Her fair hair was cut short and styled around a clear-skinned fair face with a hint of make-up. And her eyes were confident and a very deep blue.

‘I’m Agent Eames. I’ve been assigned to assist in the investigation.’

Horton took the proffered hand not bothering to disguise his surprise. Uckfield was in for one too. Her grip was firm and her eye contact steady.

Crisply she continued. ‘I’ve got the photographs of the victim from Sergeant Trueman and the address of Amelia Willard’s next of kin from DC Walters: Patricia and Gregory Harlow, 42 Bunyon Road.’

‘Then what are we waiting for?’

She eyed the helmet in his hand and his leather Harley Davidson jacket with a slight frown.

‘Do you have a car, Eames?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Pity,’ he muttered, and catching her smile followed her towards it.

THREE

‘I don’t remember seeing a woman of that description at my aunt’s funeral,’ Patricia Harlow announced