Death Surge (11 page)

Johnnie hadn’t met Ryan Spencer.

‘Is there anything else, ‘cos I’m cold, hanging around out here.’

‘In August!’

‘Yeah. Why? You going to arrest me for that?’

If only … Horton held his lairy, hostile glance. He was sick of Ryan Spencer, and by Cantelli’s expression he was too. Abruptly, Horton turned, giving a nod to Cantelli.

When they reached the car Horton turned back, but Ryan Spencer had already slunk into his shabby house.

Cantelli exhaled and let down the car window as though wanting to get the stench of Ryan and his wasted life out of his nostrils. Horton didn’t blame him.

‘Thank God Johnnie got away from that,’ he said, starting the engine but not moving off. ‘And I’ve got you to thank for that, Andy.’

‘The sailing did it, not me. Come on, let’s hope that Tyler Godfray is a little more intelligent and pleasant.’

He might have been if he’d been at home.

‘He’s at work,’ announced his mother, a lean, neat and tidy brunette in her mid forties. Karen Godfray stood in the narrow, spotlessly clean hall in one of the terraced houses not far from the waterfront of Gosport. Horton recalled her from the Magistrates’ Court. She’d sat upright and tight-lipped as she’d listened to the charges against her son and the punishment meted out to him. He remembered Tyler Godfray as being dark-haired and dark-eyed, and that he had avoided looking at his mother.

‘He’s not in trouble, is he?’ she asked sternly rather than anxiously. Horton wondered why she had leapt to that conclusion instead of being alarmed that he might have been involved in an accident, which was the usual assumption of many people when police officers appeared on their doorstep.

He said, ‘We just want to talk to him.’

‘I told Tyler that if he got into trouble with the police again he’d be out on his ear. Not having a dad to discipline him, I’ve had to be strict. It’s not easy bringing up a kid on your own,’ she added defiantly, and a little defensively, thought Horton.

‘What happened to his father?’ he asked out of curiosity, wondering if Tyler had also rebelled following the trauma of his father’s death.

‘He died in an accident on the building site when Tyler was three,’ Karen Godfray answered. ‘A wall fell in on him. Of course I didn’t want Tyler to end up on the sites, but what can you do?’

‘He works in the construction industry?’

‘He’s a painter, went to college after that bit of trouble with Johnnie Oslow, a bad influence, and that useless, worthless article Ryan Spencer. God knows where they are now – prison more than like. And I don’t want to know, and neither does Tyler.’

This wasn’t turning out to be a good morning for them, and particularly not for Cantelli. ‘Can you tell us where to find Tyler, Mrs Godfray?’

She drew herself up and eyed him squarely. ‘I don’t want him bothered at work. His boss might get the wrong idea.’

‘Where is he working, Mrs Godfray?’

She hesitated. Horton waited. After a moment she said grudgingly, ‘Portsmouth, on a house redecoration.’

‘Where exactly?’

‘Old Portsmouth. I don’t know the number. It’s in White Hart Road, not far from the Isle of Wight ferry terminal.’

Horton’s ears pricked up at that, and he sensed Cantelli’s heightened interest. ‘Have you and Tyler ever been abroad on holiday?’

‘Yes. Why? What’s that got to do with anything?’ she asked, surprised.

But Horton wasn’t going to answer that question. He’d leave that for Tyler Godfray. He said, ‘Was Tyler at home on Wednesday night?’

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Of course he was.’

‘All night?’

‘Yes.’

‘What time did he arrive home from work?’

‘Look, what is this?’

‘The time, please, Mrs Godfray.’

In a clipped voice she said, ‘Just before six. Satisfied?’ she added.

Not really, thought Horton, but they might be when they spoke to Tyler.

Cantelli didn’t need telling where to go next. On the way Horton’s mobile rang. It was Sophia, who apologized for not returning his call yesterday. She hadn’t been able to get a signal. Horton didn’t think that was the truth; she just hadn’t wanted her Sunday disturbed. She confirmed that she hadn’t give Scott Masefield or any of his crew Johnnie’s mobile telephone number.

‘Isn’t that a little odd?’ he asked.

‘I didn’t make the arrangements for him to meet Mr Masefield,’ she answered politely. ‘I only booked his travel as Mr Andreadis requested.’

He asked if she had phoned Harriet Eames with that information.

‘No. I called you first.’

Horton said he would ring Harriet to tell her. He did so. Her mobile was on voicemail. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was just after ten. Perhaps she was racing. He left a message relaying what Sophia had said.

The house that Tyler was working at was easy to spot because of the white van outside and the front door being wide open. From inside came noises of a drill, and just as Cantelli was about to call out a man in his mid-fifties, wearing dusty and grimy jeans and a white T-shirt, emerged.

‘Can I help you, guv?’ he said pleasantly.

Cantelli asked if Tyler Godfray was there. Horton thought he caught a brief flash of irritation in the man’s hazel eyes, but was that at being disturbed in his work or because they wanted to talk to Godfray?

‘He’s on the top floor. I’ll fetch him for you. Can I say who wants him?’

Cantelli showed his warrant card and got a slow nod but no comment.

A couple of minutes later a surly young man in his early twenties with thick gelled dark hair, sullen eyes, wearing paint-spattered white overalls joined them.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded sulkily. ‘I’m working.’

Horton wondered if his mother had called or sent him a text to say they were asking questions. ‘I’m very pleased to see that you are, Mr Godfray,’ he began overly polite. ‘Shall we step outside.’

It wasn’t a question. Tyler swaggered out, but he scanned the road nervously and seemed very reluctant to focus on them. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his overalls and shuffled his feet.

‘When did you last see Johnnie Oslow?’

His head came up. ‘Why do you want to know that?’ He eyed Horton warily.

‘I think you’d get back to work a lot quicker if you just answer the question.’

‘Haven’t seen him for years. Not since he dropped us in it.’ The false bravado was back.

‘He dropped you in it!’ Cantelli couldn’t help exclaiming.

Tyler eyed him cockily. ‘Yeah, he went squealing to the police. He got scared. Went running out of that mental hospital like a lunatic.’

‘Yeah, and you all followed him like headless chickens,’ hissed Cantelli.

Tyler’s mouth turned down further, and his eyes narrowed at Cantelli’s tone.

Horton said, ‘Were you working here last Wednesday afternoon?’

‘Course I was.’

‘Did you see Johnnie when he walked past? Maybe you were looking out of the window or were out here having a fag.’

‘I don’t smoke, and I wasn’t looking out of any window. Didn’t know he walked past.’

Truth or a lie? Tyler didn’t look surprised at the question or concerned that he might have been caught out, just moody. ‘It was about four o’clock,’ Horton pressed.

‘I didn’t see him. Like I said, I haven’t seen him for years. Now I’ve got to get back to work.’

But Horton hadn’t finished yet. ‘Been abroad on holiday recently?’

‘No.’ Tyler answered promptly and without surprise at the question, which was a sure-fire sign that mummy had called him and relayed their conversation to her son.

‘That’s not what your mum said.’

‘Yeah, well, you said
recently
,’ Tyler sneered cockily. ‘It was two years ago.’

‘Where?’

‘What’s it to you?’

Horton felt like slapping him. He said nothing, just stared at him.

Tyler shuffled, twitched his shoulders and said, in as lairy a manner as he dared, ‘Some place in Sardinia.’

‘Where?’ rapped Horton.

Tyler flinched. ‘Can’t remember.’

Horton put his face very close to Tyler’s, forcing him to jerk his head back. ‘Try,’ he said menacingly.

‘Badesi. Didn’t like it much, too hot, and the food was crap.’

‘Meet up with Johnnie there?’

‘No.’

Horton thought his answer genuine. Besides, the timescale was too long ago to have any relevance to Johnnie’s recent disappearance.

Tyler added, ‘Like I said I—’

‘Haven’t seen him for years,’ Horton finished wearily. He nodded as if to say he could go. Tyler looked relieved and turned towards the house, but he’d only gone a couple of steps before Horton called him back. ‘Just one more thing, Mr Godfray. How do you get to work?’

‘Eh?’ Tyler turned back.

‘By car?’

‘No. Failed me test.’

‘A motorbike or scooter then?’

‘I catch the ferry from Gosport and someone picks me up this side.’

‘Must be awkward when you have a job further afield.’

‘Someone always collects me from the ferry.’ He made to turn away, but Horton said:

‘When did you last see Ryan Spencer?’

‘Bloody years ago.

‘And Stuart Jayston?’

‘Are you kidding?’

‘No,’ Horton said, perplexed.

‘I work for his dad, Jaystons Building and Decorating.’

‘And does Stuart also work for his father?’

‘No, he thinks he’s the bloody boss.’

They let him return to his work.

Horton said, ‘I think both Ryan and Tyler are telling the truth. They haven’t seen Johnnie. Tyler’s holiday in Sardinia is too long ago to connect with Johnnie’s disappearance, and I can’t see that their paths could have crossed there.’

‘I’m glad about that.’ Cantelli zapped open the car. ‘That just leaves Stuart Jayston.’

And Horton thought they’d get the same result.

B
ut there was no one at the address Horton had for Stuart Jayston. They located the company’s office on an industrial estate on the northern outskirts of Havant, where they were told Gordon Jayston and his wife, Jean, were away until tomorrow and Stuart had gone to a property in the New Forest to take details of a potential new job. No one knew when he’d be back. Horton got the impression from the woman they spoke to that she didn’t much care either. They obtained his mobile phone number, but Horton wanted to interview him face to face. He didn’t leave a message for Stuart to get in touch with them. There was still the possibility that Johnnie could have met up with Stuart or been in contact with him, but that avenue was looking less likely. And Horton would be only too pleased if that was so. He knew Cantelli would be too.

They returned to the station, where Horton reported to Bliss while Cantelli headed for CID to see if anything fresh had come in on Johnnie’s disappearance and if any other crimes had occurred that needed their attention. Horton suspected there would be a few new ones to add to the already outstanding amount that Bliss was bound to remind him about.

Tight-lipped, wearing her customary crisp white shirt, and black skirt, with her light-brown hair scraped back in a ponytail off her narrow unmade face, she jerked her head at the seat across her desk. ‘I’ve reviewed the missing persons file,’ she said crisply. ‘There’s no evidence that Johnnie Oslow is in danger or a danger to the public, he’s not vulnerable, and he’s an adult. Being Sergeant Cantelli’s nephew is not enough to allocate scarce resources to the investigation, especially when we have other priorities.’

‘Such as?’ he answered tightly. Technically speaking she was right, but he didn’t give a toss about technicalities.

‘The other cases that are littering your desk, and the fact that you haven’t written up your report from the last investigation! Detective Superintendent Uckfield has requested it by tonight.’

‘I’d like to put out a public appeal.’

‘It’s too early.’

‘I disagree.’

‘Whether you agree or not is immaterial. If Sergeant Cantelli is too emotionally comprised to do his job then I suggest he take some leave.’

And I suggest you take a flying leap off a long pier.
He made to speak, but she cut him short. ‘That’s all, Inspector.’

Horton marched out, wondering what on earth he’d done to deserve her. He fetched a sandwich and Diet Coke from the canteen and returned to CID where Cantelli shook his head. There was no sign of Walters, which meant he must be at the Wightlink ferry terminal. Horton relayed what Bliss had said, including her refusal to go with a public appeal.

‘So we do nothing,’ Cantelli declared hotly.

‘No. We do everything, but we do it without telling Bliss. I’ve been considering the matter of a public appeal. Although it might throw up some sightings of Johnnie it will also bring out all the loonies and expose you and your family to the media.’ Horton held up his hand to stem Cantelli’s predictable reply. ‘I know you don’t give a damn about that but I was thinking of Isabella, because if we do leak it to the press they’re going to dredge up Johnnie’s previous criminal conviction and all the dirt on that arson attack. I’m not sure they’ll paint him in a glowing light, especially if they put that with the fact he’s left the employ of a millionaire.’

Cantelli winced. He got the picture. ‘They’ll say he’s stolen from Andreadis.’

‘Or something like it. If the press talk to Karen Godfray or, God forbid, Tyler or Ryan, then you can imagine what they’ll come up with.’

Cantelli’s face paled. ‘Ryan would probably say anything if they bunged him a few quid.’

‘And Tyler will probably make himself out to be whiter than the first flakes of snow just to stop his mum from scolding him.’

‘You’re right, Andy. I hadn’t though of that.’

Neither had he until a moment ago. He left Cantelli to write up the interviews they’d conducted that morning and to pull together everything they had on the investigation. When Walters returned and the officers reported back from the Camber, Cantelli would analyse that and add it to the case file. He just hoped that something new would come in that could take them a step forward to finding Johnnie.

Horton rang Andreadis, because he still didn’t have Johnnie’s bank details. Again he got his voicemail. Annoyed at the delay and lack of communication he left a terse message and did the same on Harriet Eames’ voicemail, asking in a slightly facetious tone if she’d mind contacting her friend Xander and chivvying him up. Then he turned his attention to the paper on his desk, where he found a message bearing Walter’s scrawl, which he’d taken at eleven fifteen. A Clive Teckstone had called and asked to be contacted as soon as possible. Horton didn’t know or recognize the name or the telephone number, but the district code told him the call had come from Woking, and that was where Dr Quentin Amos lived. Of course, Amos wasn’t the sole inhabitant of Woking, but Horton couldn’t think of any case he was handling that linked with Woking, fifty miles to the north and out of their territory.