Death Surge (3 page)

Horton looked puzzled, as did Cantelli.

Masefield explained, ‘Xander Andreadis owns the yacht. He decided to send Johnnie Oslow over to make the team up to six, although we were and are quite capable of racing with five.’ There was no mistaking the bitterness in Masefield voice. This was confirmed when he added, ‘Maybe Andreadis thought a bunch of damaged ex-servicemen would run amok on it.’

‘Damaged?’ Horton hadn’t seen any physical signs of that. On the contrary, he’d seen five very fit suntanned men aged between mid-thirties and early forties on-board.

Wearily, Masefield said, ‘Not all damaged servicemen and women are those who lose limbs or who are physically scarred by their experiences.’

Horton got the point. ‘You mean mentally damaged.’

‘Traumatized, yes.’

‘And you?’

‘Yep. Me too. Royal Navy, and that’s all you’re going to get out of me and the others about our service backgrounds. I don’t know theirs and they don’t know mine. It’s part of the deal. We don’t talk about it. We accept each other as we are from the moment we meet, we don’t know about each other’s past, and we don’t ask questions.’

‘So the sailing is therapy.’

‘Yes. I got sick of the system of counselling, of going over and over things, again and again; dredging it up only seemed to make it worse. Sailing, and particularly yacht racing, helped me to put the past behind me, and I thought it would help others. In racing you need to be focused and fit, able to work in a team and respect each other.’

‘A bit like being in the services then.’

‘Yes,’ Masefield answered, evidently surprised that Horton had understood. ‘It’s also dangerous and daring, so you get that adrenalin kick.’

Horton knew that, having raced himself. ‘How did you get on today?’

A shadow of annoyance crossed Masefield’s face. ‘Came second. Crawford’s yacht won.’

And that had been the yacht Harriet Eames had been aboard. No wonder she had looked radiant. Horton had met Rupert Crawford on a couple of occasions. The fact that he was an investment banker was one reason why Horton hadn’t taken to the blonde, aloof and arrogant bastard; the other had been that he had believed he was Harriet Eames’ boyfriend. But perhaps Crawford had been given the elbow in favour of the man she’d greeted so warmly on the pontoon. Horton got the impression that he knew him from somewhere, but he couldn’t place where. He wasn’t about to waste time trying to remember either.

‘So how did you get Andreadis to sponsor you?’

‘I approached him two years ago with the idea, and he liked it.’

Cantelli interjected, ‘How do you know him?’

‘I met him on the sailing circuit.’

And clearly, judging by his expression, that was all Masefield was prepared to tell them.

Cantelli said, ‘Then you know Johnnie?’

But Masefield was shaking his head. ‘No. I’ve never met him. Andreadis told me last Monday that Oslow was coming over. He said he was an experienced sailor and that he not only crewed for him on his Superyacht but also raced on one of his yachts.’

‘But you still resented it,’ put in Horton provokingly.

Masefield eyed him steadily and with a slightly patronizing exasperated air. ‘I didn’t resent it. I just didn’t see that it was necessary.’

‘And did Andreadis say why he was sending Oslow?’

‘Said the experience would be good for him.’

And perhaps he’d said more than that, but again Masefield wasn’t going to divulge what that was. Maybe he didn’t think it worth mentioning, or perhaps he thought it reflected badly on his abilities.

‘So you didn’t phone Johnnie Oslow
or
Xander Andreadis when Johnnie didn’t show up?’

‘I didn’t have Oslow’s mobile number, and I didn’t see any reason to bother Andreadis about it. We sailed back here, went out sailing on Thursday and didn’t get in until late. I had no idea Oslow was missing until Andreadis phoned this morning to wish us luck. He asked how Oslow was getting on and I said he hadn’t arrived.’

‘And Andreadis’s reaction?’ asked Horton before Cantelli could.

‘He was surprised, said he’d make some calls and get back to me. He did about an hour or so later to confirm that Oslow had definitely left Sardinia on Wednesday morning and that Nat Boulton, Andreadis’s skipper on his personal yacht
Calista
, had telephoned Oslow’s family, who said they hadn’t heard from him. Andreadis told me to report it to the police and to keep him informed. But as we were just about to race I telephoned the local police, gave them the gist of it and said I’d call in afterwards. Guess I don’t need to do that now you’re taking the details. Andreadis has obviously called in the big guns. Still, he can do that. No point in having wealth if you can’t use it.’

Again Horton thought he detected a hint of bitterness, but perhaps that was just Masefield’s manner, because the man should certainly be grateful to Andreadis for distributing some of that wealth in his direction by coughing up at least a quarter of a million pounds for this yacht.

Masefield didn’t seem at all concerned about Johnnie’s disappearance, but then as he’d never met him he probably didn’t see any need to worry. In fact, thought Horton, Masefield might even be glad that he hadn’t shown up and that he and his crew didn’t have to worry about a new boy fitting in and disturbing their rhythm.

Horton said, ‘Why didn’t you contact the Portsmouth police? It’s where you had arranged to meet Johnnie Oslow.’

‘I didn’t have their number, and it hardly warranted dialling nine nine nine. The number of the local station is in the marina office. Oslow probably just wanted a free trip home on Andreadis and has either had enough of working for him or is shacked up with a girl.’

‘Is there a reason why he should have had enough of working for Andreadis?’ asked Horton.

Masefield shrugged. ‘He’s young, perhaps he wanted a change. I’ve no idea. I’ve never met him.’

‘So you said.’ Horton held Masefield’s steely gaze and thought he saw a hint of amusement in it. He hoped Cantelli hadn’t seen it, but by his glowering expression and white knuckles gripping the pencil hovering over his notebook he guessed he had. And Horton had the impression that Masefield had registered the reaction and was mildly interested but not enough to comment on it. But he was right about the big guns. No one of Horton’s rank or even Cantelli’s would be allowed to investigate this unless Johnnie was vulnerable, underage, had done something criminal or posed a danger to himself or others.

Horton’s mind flicked back to the disappearance of his mother: she’d only got a PC, and one who he now believed had been bribed into conducting only the skimpiest of investigations. PC Adrian Stanley was dead so Horton couldn’t prove that, but the fact that Stanley had tried to tell him something as he lay dying in hospital recently about a brooch worn by Mrs Stanley, his dead wife, which had since gone missing along with all photographs of it, was suspicious enough for Horton to believe that Stanley had either stolen it from Jennifer’s flat, or been given it as payment for keeping his investigations low key and his mouth shut. Horton doubted the intelligence services would have bribed Stanley with money or jewellery – their methods were bullying and threats – so it was likely that someone else had urged Stanley to keep quiet … and that someone could have been connected with a master criminal code-named Zeus, who DCS Sawyer of the Intelligence Directorate had told Horton he was after, and who Sawyer believed Jennifer had run off with. That theory looked a lot less likely to Horton, however, now he knew about Lord Eames’ involvement.

He said, ‘Where is Andreadis now?’

‘Porto Cervo.’

Cantelli explained, ‘Northern Sardinia on the Costa Smeralda. It’s where all the celebrities and millionaires hang out.’

‘Andreadis is on-board his Superyacht,’ Masefield added.

‘We’ll need his number.’

As Masefield relayed it, Cantelli jotted it down. Horton didn’t think there was much more that Masefield could tell him for now. He asked if they could talk to the rest of the crew.

‘Be my guest.’

As Cantelli went through the same questions they’d asked Masefield, Horton studied the crew. They’d introduced themselves and Horton found himself wondering what acts of war had traumatized each of them. All looked extremely fit and healthy but behind the dark eyes of Craig Weatherby, a muscular man in his early-thirties; Martin Leighton, mid-thirties, sturdily built, brown-eyed with an open face; Declan Saunders, lean, shaven-headed, wide mouth, late-thirties; and Eddie Creed, broad-shouldered, fair-haired and grey-eyed were horrors that Horton could only guess at and barely imagine. He doubted if the sea could completely banish them.

The crew members confirmed what Masefield had told them and denied knowing Johnnie or ever having met him. Their attitude to him joining the crew was indifference. Apart from being curious about their backgrounds, Horton didn’t think there was any point in questioning them further, but as they left he wondered how Johnnie would have fitted in with such an experience-hardened crew, all of whom were at least twelve to fifteen years older than him. He thought Johnnie a strange choice for Andreadis to send to check out his investment – if indeed that had been the reason, and they only had Masefield’s slightly embittered view on that.

They met up with Elkins at the entrance to the marina.

Horton said, ‘We need to find out if Johnnie ever reached Portsmouth.’

Cantelli quickly caught on. ‘You mean he could have gone missing in Sardinia?’

‘Masefield says he left there, but how does he know? How does this Nat Boulton know? Just because he didn’t show up at Oyster Quays doesn’t mean he ever got there. He could have gone missing in London or on the way to Portsmouth. He could have stopped off somewhere to visit someone.’

‘But he wouldn’t miss the sailing, and he wouldn’t risk losing his job by going AWOL,’ Cantelli insisted.

It was out of character, but then Horton hadn’t been close to Johnnie for years. Gently, he said, ‘How do we know that, Barney? He might have been sick of sailing. He might have got tired of working for Andreadis, as Masefield suggested. Or they had a row. He might have been offered another job.’

‘But he would have told his mother,’ Cantelli again insisted.

‘Perhaps he was meaning to and wanted to tell her face to face and is plucking up the courage to do so. I’m just saying we have to explore every option.’

‘Yeah, and one of them could be he’s had an accident,’ Cantelli replied despondently.

‘If he went missing before he reached Portsmouth then we need to check out the hospitals in London, assuming he would have flown into Heathrow or Gatwick and caught the train from London to Portsmouth. Ring through to the station and get someone working on that.’

Cantelli moved away, reaching for his mobile. When he was out of earshot, Elkins, with a worried frown, said, ‘He could have been mugged and his wallet and phone stolen.’

And if he had been, then three days was a long time to be lying somewhere injured. Horton didn’t like to think it was a possible scenario but he knew it was. ‘I’ll get the details of his credit or debit cards and put a stop on them. If someone has used any of them, or tries to use them, then we might be able to pinpoint where an attack could have taken place.’

Elkins’ radio crackled. It was Ripley. ‘Do you need me, Andy, only—’

‘No, you go.’

‘Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.’

Horton heard Elkins ask Ripley to pick him up at Shepards Wharf.

Cantelli came off the phone. ‘PC Allen’s working on it.’

‘Good.’ They headed out into the street. Horton broached the subject about Johnnie’s credit or debit cards.

‘I’ll need to ask Isabella.’

‘Before you call her, I’ll speak to Andreadis. Someone who works for him will be able to give us Johnnie’s bank account details and more information on his travel arrangements. That way we might not have to make Isabella any more worried than she is already. I’ll call him from the station.’ Horton knew that the Greek tycoon would need to call back to check he was who he claimed to be.

Ten minutes later Horton, with Cantelli beside him, was seated at a desk in a small back room of the police station. He punched in the number Masefield had given him and was surprised when the line was answered almost immediately and by Andreadis himself, who announced himself promptly. Horton had envisaged having difficulty contacting him, and Andreadis couldn’t have recognized the telephone number although the UK code might have given him a hint of who was calling.

Andreadis quickly explained, however. ‘Scott called me to say that you were investigating Johnnie’s disappearance, Inspector, and that he’d given you my number. I’ll help all I can.’ He spoke with only a slight trace of accent.

Quickly, Horton flicked the phone on to speaker so that Cantelli could hear. Andreadis declined the invitation to call back to check he was who he claimed to be, so Horton began by asking him to confirm that Johnnie had been due to come to Cowes.

‘Yes. A crew member took him ashore from
Calista
in the tender, early on Wednesday morning. A taxi was waiting to take him to the airport.’

‘And have you or any of your staff heard from him since?’

‘No. My skipper, Nat, made inquiries.’

‘How did Johnnie seem?’

‘Fine, as far as I know.’

But would Andreadis know? ‘He wasn’t worried or excited about coming to Cowes?’

‘He seemed pleased to be going home to see his family.’

‘Was it your idea for Johnnie to come to Cowes?’

‘I agreed it would be good for him to spend some time racing with a different crew.’

‘So he suggested it?’

‘No.’

‘You ordered him to come?’

‘I don’t order anyone,’ Andreadis replied with surprise. But Horton thought he caught a hint of hardness in the voice. And he couldn’t see Andreadis making and holding on to his millions without giving orders. He didn’t know much about him, but that could easily be remedied. Andreadis was saying, ‘It came up in conversation. I can’t remember how exactly, but as I wasn’t racing at Cowes this year, and as Scott was representing me, I thought Johnnie would not only be close to his family, but also that Scott would benefit by having an extra team member. Johnnie was very keen to go.’