Deadly Waters (17 page)

‘Who told you that?’

‘It’s obvious,’ she dismissed airily.

Horton could see that she was stalling. He wouldn’t mind betting that Tom Edney had discovered it and told her.

‘For someone who claims not to have had much contact with Ms Langley you seem to know a great deal about her private life.’

‘I made it my business to know.’

‘You intended to threaten her with exposure over her affair if she didn’t leave your husband alone.’ He said it as a statement.

She had locked the front door and climbed into the car before she answered. ‘I was going to tell the newspapers. I would have made them see that little Miss Perfect wasn’t so damn perfect after all. Tom doesn’t know I went to see her and I’d rather you didn’t tell him.’

‘I don’t think we’ve got any choice. We must,’ Horton said, winning a scowl from her.

They put Daphne Edney in an interview room and checked into the incident suite. The unit that had gone for Tom Edney reported that he wasn’t at school. The caretaker hadn’t seen Edney leave and none of the officers taking the statements recalled seeing him either. So where had he gone?

‘Perhaps he went for a walk to think things through,’

suggested Cantelli.

Horton had another idea. First though, he asked Cantelli to call the community board and check Edney’s movements for Thursday night. No one had seen hide or hair of him, and there had been no meeting.

‘Why lie about something that is so easy to check out?’

asked Cantelli with a puzzled expression.

Horton had wondered that too. ‘He was in a bit of a state when I saw him. I think it was the first thing that came into his head. And if he wasn’t there, or at home, then where was he? Though I’ve got a feeling I know.’ And he told Cantelli of Dr Woodford’s claim that Langley had thought her deputy head and secretary were having an affair. ‘And that’s where he could be now.’

‘And who can blame him?’ Cantelli muttered. ‘Can’t be much fun living with Mrs Spiteful.’

No, and if Edney was in the habit of seeking comfort from Janet Downton then he had chosen another dominant female whose manner was just as unforgiving as his wife’s. Edney must be a glutton for punishment.

Horton addressed Sergeant Trueman. ‘Where does Janet Downton say she was the night of Langley’s murder?’

Trueman took a moment to look up her statement. ‘At home watching television.’

‘Alone?’

‘So she claims. There’s no Mr Downton. She’s divorced.’

Horton had much less trouble envisaging the large, over-bearing secretary grabbing Langley and punching her, than he had with Daphne Edney in that role. ‘Send a unit round to her house and if Edney’s there get them to bring him in along with Janet Downton.’

‘And if he’s not do you still want Mrs Downton brought in?’

‘No. Cantelli and I will make a house call. Meanwhile I’ll see what Mrs Spiteful has to say about her husband’s ficti-tious alibi. Cantelli, check with PC Seaton to see if Leo Ranson owns a boat.’

Daphne Edney didn’t seem surprised when Horton told her that her husband had lied to them about his whereabouts.

‘He’d been drinking,’ she said. ‘I could smell it on his breath, despite the fact that he’d tried to disguise it with mints.’

‘Was that usual?’

‘Tom isn’t a drinker.’

Leaning forward and fixing his eyes on her, Horton said,

‘But he was drinking that night, why? Did he need Dutch courage for some reason? Perhaps to kill his head teacher.’

Daphne Edney scoffed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Clearly she thought her husband incapable of such an act because there wasn’t even a shadow of doubt in her hard blue eyes.

He said, ‘Have you any idea where your husband had been?’

‘No.’

Horton studied her for a moment and was convinced it was the truth. So she didn’t suspect or know about the affair.

‘You didn’t ask him?’

‘Why should I?’

‘How did he seem?’

She gave an exasperated sigh and raised her eyebrows pointedly. ‘Really, is all this necessary? He was the same as always except he’d had a drink. Maybe that bitch had given him a hard time at school.’

‘He didn’t confide in you?’

‘Of course not.’ She said it vehemently and stared at Horton as though he’d suggested some kind of deviant sexual practice. The Edneys clearly had a marriage where confidences were not shared, yet if that were the case how could she have known how Langley was treating her husband? Maybe she had just read between the lines. Perhaps someone had told her. Or maybe she just hated Jessica Langley because she had stolen the job that should have been her husband’s and robbed her of the cache of being a head teacher’s wife and the increased salary to go with it.

Daphne Edney resolutely stuck to her story that her husband had arrived home just before nine p.m. and had not gone out again that night. As Horton returned to the incident room he thought he wasn’t yet ready to discount the deputy head teacher or his wife or mistress from his list of suspects.

‘Inspector?’

Horton crossed to Trueman.

‘There’s no answer at Mrs Downton’s house. A neighbour says she saw her leaving, with a suitcase, at two thirty this afternoon. Apparently she’s gone to stay with her sister in Devon for the half-term holiday.’

‘And no sign of Tom Edney?’

‘No.’

Horton released Daphne Edney after extracting from her a promise that she, or her husband, call them the moment he returned home.

Back in the incident room, a weary-looking Cantelli called him over.

‘We’ve just got a list of boat owners through from Chichester Marina. Leo Ranson owns an Island Packet, if that means any thing to you.’

It did indeed. Island Packets were large and very expensive yachts. And an Island Packet could easily have transported Langley’s body to the mulberry, after which Ranson could have returned to Chichester Marina. This was interesting. If Daphne Edney was telling the truth about her husband’s whereabouts on the night that Langley was killed then could their killer be Leo Ranson?

Owning a boat though didn’t automatically make it so, but put that together with the fact that Daphne Edney claimed to have seen Ranson go into Langley’s apartment, and that Sparkes Yacht Harbour, where Langley’s car had been found, was nearer to Chichester Marina than the Town Camber and it looked far more appealing. Perhaps Ranson had already moored his yacht at Sparkes Yacht Harbour and after Daphne Edney had disturbed the lovers they decided to drive there for greater privacy.

‘Seaton, check if Ranson’s boat was moored at Sparkes Yacht Harbour or the Town Camber on the Thursday Jessica Langley was killed.’

Somerfield was heading for him.

‘Elaine Tolley has confessed to a brief affair with Eric Morville,’ she said triumphantly. ‘I got the impression it wasn’t a very pleasant experience and one she would rather forget, but for the fact that he comes into the betting shop daily.’

‘What do you mean by unpleasant?’ Horton fetched a beaker of water and crossed to stare at Morville’s name scrawled on the crime board.

‘She wouldn’t say, but reading between the lines, my guess is that Morville liked it rough. A bit too rough for Elaine Tolley. She didn’t think the note was for her. In fact, she didn’t know anything about it until you showed up with it yesterday morning. She was scared that her husband might find out about Morville. Apart from that she knows next to nothing about Eric Morville except that he did have a long-term relationship with someone some years ago. She doesn’t know who, or why it broke up. She says she had a fling with him in a moment of madness, though he could be charming.’

‘Not the Morville I’ve met,’ muttered Horton, turning to Cantelli who looked fit to drop. Horton guessed he didn’t look in too great a shape himself after a sleepless night. ‘Get yourself off home, Barney. You look all in.’

‘What about the big man?’ Cantelli jerked his head at Uckfield’s office.

Horton swivelled to gaze in Uckfield’s direction. He was about to say, ‘Sod the big man,’ when Uckfield replaced his telephone and rose, his expression grave. Horton locked eyes with him and knew immediately it was bad news. ‘On second thoughts, if you can stand up a bit longer, I think you’d better hang on.’

Cantelli groaned.

Uckfield was pulling on his overcoat. He threw open his door and strode across the incident room. It fell silent and all eyes turned on him. ‘We’ve got another body,’ he announced grimly.

Horton’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Where?’

‘Public toilets near the D-Day museum.’

Horton’s stomach churned. Was the location and its connection with the mulberry a coincidence? Somehow his instinct told him not.

He threw Cantelli a glance and read in his expression what he was feeling in the pit of his stomach, and that was that they might just have found the deputy head teacher of the Sir Wilberforce Cutler School.

Saturday: 7 p.m.

Horton stared at the body lying face down in the pool of crimson water and knew immediately from the build and the dark suit that it was Tom Edney. His breath caught in his throat and he felt a mixture of dismay, anger and guilt. Oh, the stupid man; why hadn’t Edney told him what was troubling him? He might have been able to save him. Why hadn’t Horton pressed him harder or taken him in for questioning?

But Horton knew that ruminating on what might have been wouldn’t get him his killer. It had to be Ranson. He was the only one left in the frame, except for Morville, and though Horton disliked the alcoholic he didn’t think Morville was the killer.

But could Ranson really have done this? Horton wondered, surveying the scene. The urinals and walls were spattered with blood; a tap was running into one of the washbasins and the water was trickling over on to the tiled floor. Horton recalled the architect’s fastidious appearance and supercilious manner.

Somehow he just couldn’t see him killing Edney in such a messy manner. Ranson would have been covered in blood.

Then another thought occurred to Horton: could Edney have taken his own life after once again seeing his precious prize of headship being snatched away?

Dr Price interrupted his thoughts. ‘Can’t remember when I last had one of these. His throat’s been cut. Want me to go through his pockets?’

Horton tensed and stared down at the body, which Price had gently eased over far enough for Horton to see the manner of death, but not so far as to disturb the scene before Taylor and his scene of crime officers went to work. ‘No. I know who he is. Could he have done that himself?’

‘Hard for me to say without a proper examination, but I doubt it; there’s no knife in his hand. It could have slid under one of the cubicles I suppose.’ Price straightened up with a grunt. ‘I’d say he’s been dead about two hours, maybe less.

There’s only slight rigor in the neck.’

That long! Horton was surprised that nobody had discovered the body before the cleaner had found him just after sunset at six p.m. when he’d been about to lock up. But then the wet and windy weather had probably kept many indoors.

Had Edney come straight from the school to meet his killer?

Or had Ranson called Edney when he was en route to his home or elsewhere? They would need to check calls to and from the school and Edney’s mobile phone.

They stepped outside and Horton nodded Taylor in.

Divesting himself of the scene suit Horton took a few deep breaths of the clean sea air trying to rid his lungs of the stench of death. It didn’t seem to have much effect; it lingered with him along with the gnawing guilt that he should have prevented this. He was sure that was what Uckfield was thinking; the big man’s face was suitably solemn as Dr Price relayed his findings to him. Cantelli was making a valiant effort to interview the cleaner who had discovered Edney’s body. A para-medic had draped a blanket around his shoulders. To Horton’s eye, Cantelli looked more in need of medical aid than the cleaner.

Cantelli broke off his conversation with the cleaner, and walked slowly towards him, almost as if his body was too heavy to carry. Poor Barney, he should be at home in bed with a hot-water bottle and a stiff whisky, which was where Horton thought he ought to be too recalling how little sleep he’d had over the last few days. Still, sleep would have to wait for just a bit longer because Uckfield was steaming towards him with a face like thunder.

‘Well?’ he declared before Cantelli could open his mouth.

‘Any bright ideas, Inspector?’

Horton told him about Ranson. ‘There’s one stumbling block though in pinning this second murder on Ranson.’

Horton had called the lockmaster at Chichester Marina on his way to the scene of crime to be told that Ranson and his family had gone sailing for the weekend, leaving earlier that morning.

‘Ranson could have returned,’ Uckfield said, like a drowning man clutching a reed.

Horton had thought of that too. ‘Sergeant Elkins of the marine unit is checking that with Oyster Quays, Town Camber, Gosport and Southsea Marina.’ They were all places where Ranson could have moored up and either walked or jogged here, except for Gosport Marina, but he could have caught the ferry across to Oyster Quays and then jogged and walked from there; hailing a taxi would have been too dangerous.

Cantelli said, ‘I can’t see Ranson slitting anyone’s throat dressed in that bow tie, but he does have Wellington boots in his car.’

‘Hunters,’ corrected Horton.

‘Whatever.’ Cantelli shrugged wearily. ‘Perhaps he also has overalls, which he wears on the building site. No one would have looked twice at him going into the toilets wearing overalls and a hard hat. He kills Edney, steps out of the blood-spattered overalls and leaves in his smart suit.’

Cantelli had a point.

Horton said, ‘Ranson’s not the only one with overalls and a hard hat. There are the builders at the school, and that caretaker Neil Cyrus.’

‘Cyrus is clean,’ Cantelli said, just managing to stifle a yawn. ‘I checked; he’s got no previous. I haven’t managed to speak to his last school yet about any break-ins.’

‘Forget the bloody break-ins, we’ve got a homicidal maniac on the loose and the chief constable wants to know when we’re going to catch the bugger,’ roared Uckfield. There was a slight hiatus in activity around them at Uckfield’s outburst.