Shroud of Evil (6 page)

His thoughts returned to Amos, who had died in August, not from the cancer that had riddled his body but of a heart attack. He’d bequeathed to Horton an envelope which had contained two blank sheets of paper. On the reverse of the envelope there had been a set of numbers – 01.07.05, 5.11.09
–
which could, with some manipulation of the second set, correspond with the longitude and latitude of Haslar Marina in Gosport, which he could now see across the harbour. The marina location was 01.07.05 and 50.47.27
.
If he removed the zero he got five, four plus seven gave him eleven and two plus seven added up to nine, giving the marina location. Except Haslar Marina hadn’t existed in 1978. Then the area had been just sea and shore. Close to it though was the Royal Naval Hospital Haslar, now closed, and the heavily secured Fort Monkton, allegedly a communications training centre for MI5. Had Jennifer been heading there the day she had disappeared? Is that what Amos had wanted him to know?

Secrets and lies, Amos had told him.
‘You might think the days of spies and the Cold War are over and that I’m an old man seeing shadows across every ripple of the sea, but they’re not over; there is always evil below.’
What was the evil that Amos had alluded to?

But perhaps the numbers had no connection with the marina, the hospital or Fort Monkton, Horton thought, finishing off his sandwich. Maybe he was just so keen to find the meaning that he’d grasp at anything. They could be the combination to a safe or a safety deposit box code. A bank account number or dates. Without more information he was floundering. Why hadn’t Amos given him more? A set of numbers was worse than useless without further reference and he had no idea where to look for that.

He tossed back a mouthful of coffee and turned his thoughts to Kenton’s vanishing act. Just because Eunice Swallows was telling him that Kenton had disappeared didn’t mean it was true
.
There had to be a reason why Kenton’s car was parked at Admiralty Towers and so far Brett Veerman seemed the only link.

But maybe Kenton
had
absconded, and simply left his car there in the hope it wouldn’t be discovered for some days. Being a computer expert perhaps he’d been able to access the security code from the car parking company’s computers or had fitted a skimming device to capture the code when someone keyed it in. There was also the possibility that he owned an apartment there – but no, because if he did, he would have parked in his own allotted space and not Roger Watling’s. Was Kenton really missing?

His phone rang. He expected it to be DCI Bliss but with surprise he saw the call was from Mike Danby, a former DCI now running a private security company whose clients included Lord Eames. Horton answered it.

‘Andy, you’d better get over here quick and bring the fat man with you.’

That, in Danby’s code, meant Detective Superintendent Uckfield, head of the Major Crime Team, and there was only one reason why Danby wanted Uckfield.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘Rather
who
is it,’ Danby answered. ‘It’s Jasper Kenton. He’s dead.’

Horton started with surprise. His heart skipped a beat. ‘Where?’ he asked, rising, tossing his paper coffee cup in the bin and hurrying towards his Harley.

‘The Isle of Wight. But for Christ’s sake, Andy, this has got to be handled carefully.’

‘Why?’ Horton asked, puzzled.

‘Because Jasper Kenton is on Lord Eames’ private beach.’

Horton froze with shock. The very beach he’d stood on only yesterday. His heart was pumping fast. His pulse was racing. This couldn’t be true. His head was teeming with questions and above them all was why there, why now, and for God’s sake why Jasper Kenton?

U
ckfield inserted a plump finger in his nose and began to pick it as he stared, frowning, across the shore from the police launch at a bundle covered by a cream cloth lying on the shingle beach some six yards to the west of the pontoon.

On the way across a choppy Solent, Horton had brought Uckfield up to speed about Kenton being reported missing, the finding of his vehicle and his forced entry into Veerman’s apartment. Before leaving The Hard, Horton had also returned to Admiralty Towers and found PC Allen with the locksmith. He’d instructed Allen to take a note of all the vehicles parked at the Admiralty Towers car park. He knew the car park company could probably give them this information but he wasn’t going to take any chances. They’d be checked against the list of residents, which he’d also told Allen to obtain, and that would be checked against a list of Swallows’ clients and those they were investigating, which they would now need to insist upon.

Danby had explained to Horton on the phone that Swallows farmed out its close protection work to him. Horton hadn’t called Eunice Swallows or DCI Bliss, and, surprisingly, Bliss hadn’t rung him after his previous conversation with Ms Swallows. He wanted to make absolutely certain it was the body of Jasper Kenton, although he knew that Danby couldn’t have made a mistake. And if truth be told he didn’t want Bliss on this trip. Uckfield hadn’t insisted she accompany them either. It was Uckfield’s remit anyway
if
Kenton had been murdered. And that was looking more than a strong possibility.

PC Ripley expertly brought the launch to a halt alongside Mike Danby’s new motor cruiser at the end of the pontoon, despite the rising wind. Horton tied up and alighted on to the pontoon, glancing at the solid wooden door and wall bordering Lord Eames’ property, thinking about his visit here yesterday. The questions that had sprung to mind at the shock of Danby’s announcement were still there. Why here? Why now? And why Kenton? He didn’t like the fact that a body had been discovered the day after he’d made a reconnaissance of the area. As a copper he didn’t trust coincidences and yet he knew they happened far more often than acknowledged. Yet this one seemed personal.
If
Maidment and Foreland hadn’t changed their plea to guilty, and
if
he hadn’t taken his unexpected diversion, would Jasper Kenton have still ended up here dead? That was ridiculous though because he’d never seen or heard of Kenton before yesterday. But that jagged feeling between his shoulder blades made him wonder if he was being set up, although why someone should kill Kenton in order to do so was not only puzzling but also incredible and ridiculous. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation for his body being here and the remoteness and privacy of the area were both pretty good reasons. The timing was just unfortunate.

He made to help Beth Tremaine, one of the Scene of Crime Officers, on to the pontoon but she waved aside his assistance with a friendly gesture. Phil Taylor, the other SOCO, clambered off the boat and behind him Jim Clarke, the lanky police photographer, followed suit. Uckfield eased his squat frame off with a grunt. At least they didn’t need to worry about nosy passers-by, Horton thought, as they walked down the pontoon to where Danby was waiting for them on the shore, or securing the crime scene because nobody came this way.
But there had been that beachcomber, Wyndham Lomas.
A fact Horton had kept to himself because disclosing it would mean revealing that he had been here. He wasn’t comfortable with that because he’d need to explain why. What could he say?
I wanted to see the countryside? I was on my way to the ferry?
Bloody funny way to get to the ferry, he could hear Uckfield saying cuttingly. But didn’t he have a perfectly plausible explanation, the news that the weather vane donated by His Lordship would be returned to the abbey? OK, so it was a bit feeble and it didn’t explain why he’d trekked through a small wood to reach the shore, but perhaps he could say he had wondered if he’d find someone at the rear of the property having drawn a blank at the front. He pushed the thought aside for now as they reached the broad-shouldered tall man in his late forties standing at the end of the pontoon. He’d deal with that later when he had more information.

Danby shook Uckfield’s hand and nodded a greeting at Horton. ‘Now do you see what I mean about unwrapping him?’ Danby said, gesturing to the body as they headed towards it, repeating a remark he’d made to Horton on the phone. The tide was still on the rise and would reach the body in about two and a half hours. It wasn’t far from where Horton had exchanged remarks with the beachcomber and he would certainly have seen a body if it had been here yesterday. Had the beachcomber put it here after Horton had left the area? Was that why he had been on the beach? And now Horton came to consider it, how had the beachcomber Lomas got here? Access to this area was extremely limited. Had he trudged through the woods after Horton? Even if he had, Horton couldn’t see how he could have transported a body through it unless it had been conveyed in something like a wheelbarrow, and even then it would have been extremely difficult.

Uckfield sniffed and retrieved a tooth pick from the pocket of his waterproof jacket. To Danby he said, ‘How come you’re here?’ It was a question that Horton had been about to ask although he had guessed the answer, which was confirmed when Danby replied.

‘I came over to check out the property and grounds while Richard’s away. It’s part of our security contract. I saw something lying on the shore as I approached by boat. At first I thought it was rubbish washed up but when I got closer I saw by its shape that it was a body. I went to investigate. I checked to see if the poor sod was alive, which was why I unwrapped part of it. I was gobsmacked when I saw who it was. I called you, Andy, and stayed here to make sure it wasn’t tampered with but nobody comes along this stretch; there are no public footpaths and the land around here is private.’

But two people had been here yesterday: him and Wyndham Lomas. Horton said, ‘When was the last time you saw Jasper Kenton?’

‘Two weeks ago. He had a new client who wanted some close protection work.’

‘Have you spoken to him since?’

But Danby shook his head. ‘No. I emailed him though, to say I’d spoken to the potential client and had given him a quote, which incidentally he accepted yesterday. I was going to tell Jasper on Monday.’ His words had taken them to the body.

Horton stared down at it. All he could see was a crop of black hair and a grey face and dark wide sightless eyes but even with this limited view he recognized it was the man in the photograph that Eunice Swallows had given him. Jasper Kenton. There was no decomposition and no sea life feeding off the soft flesh of the lips and eyes. There was very little smell attached to the body, which meant that Kenton hadn’t been dead for long.

The body was wrapped in what was clearly an old sail cloth, cream coloured and soiled, and was bound at the neck, chest, midriff and ankles by thin white dirty rope of the type used on boats called lines, usually used to secure a boat to a pontoon or attach to an anchor or fender.

Horton confirmed identity, thinking that this time it would be the duty of the Wiltshire police to inform the next of kin – the sister that Eunice Swallows had told him about who lived in Marlborough and who hadn’t been in contact with her brother for some years. Perhaps she wouldn’t be too upset.

Uckfield said, ‘Well it’s not suicide, because he couldn’t have wrapped himself up like a mummy. And it can’t be accidental death either, unless he was practising to be the next Houdini. Get some pictures, Clarke.’

They stepped away from the body as Clarke began to photograph and video it. There wasn’t much that Taylor and Tremaine could do here, thought Horton, except take samples of the shingle and sand around the body in the hope that what they collected might show up on the killer’s clothes or belongings.

Uckfield looked out to sea and then to his right. ‘Where does that go?’

‘To a creek,’ Danby answered. ‘There are woods either side of it. It thins out after about half a mile, giving on to a small field surrounded by trees. There’s no slipway or public access to it. Lord Eames owns the woods on both sides and the land at the top of the creek. I can’t see how anyone could have brought the body in that way. And at low tide it dries out to mud. You’d get well and truly stuck.’

‘And the other side of the pontoon?’ asked Horton, looking west.

‘A tree-lined shore with no public footpaths or access by sea. There are dense woods and the land and shore are owned by Lord Eames right around the coast until you come to the private beach and land belonging to Osborne House, the royal seaside palace where Queen Victoria often stayed with Prince Albert and their nine children.’

‘I don’t need the guided tour or a history lesson,’ grunted Uckfield.

But it was probably the reason why the Eames family had purchased adjoining land years ago. Horton said, ‘Then it seems likely the body was brought in from the Solent by boat.’

With a worried frown Danby said, ‘It could have been washed up on the high tide this morning just after or before two.’

Horton knew Danby didn’t like the thought that Eames’ pontoon had been used by the killer. He’d rather the body had been washed up accidentally because that meant keeping Eames out of the equation. Horton favoured that himself, given his appearance here yesterday, but he said, ‘The body would have sunk.’

‘There might have been an air bubble trapped inside the sail cloth that prevented it from sinking.’

That was possible. Horton said, ‘Is there a connection between Kenton and Lord Eames?’

Uckfield eyed Horton shrewdly. No doubt it was a question he had been about to ask.

‘No.’

‘You asked him?’

‘Yes, and I gave him a description of Kenton but he doesn’t recognize him.’

‘You called Lord Eames before you called me?’

‘Of course.’ Danby’s penetrating green eyes studied Horton evenly.

‘How did he take the news?’

‘He was surprised and shocked, of course. He’s given me full authority to assist all I can. None of the family are here, which is why I am. And the only connection between Jasper Kenton and Lord Eames is me. I know them both, but I didn’t kill Kenton and I didn’t bring his body here and call you.’

‘Never thought you had for a moment, Mike,’ Uckfield answered jovially, but judging by Danby’s dubious glance he clearly wasn’t convinced that Uckfield meant it.