Shroud of Evil (12 page)

Uckfield added, ‘The Coroner has been informed and more time has been granted before a formal inquest takes place to allow DCI Bliss to work undercover.’

‘It’s amazing what being a peer of the realm can do,’ Horton muttered.

Uckfield scowled at him and Bliss pursed her lips together. But it was Uckfield who answered. ‘It’s not the fact that the body was discovered on Lord Eames’ property—’

Horton scoffed, drawing another dark look and a deep frown of disapproval from Bliss.

‘But that he is currently undertaking some very delicate trade negotiations in Russia and this could jeopardize them. The media would have a field day. They’d imply he was involved and that would wreck his credibility or at least question it and delay the negotiations, maybe even halt them. It’s taken Lord Eames, the Department of Trade and Industry and the Foreign Office four years to get this far.’

So Eames
was
pulling the strings to get it hushed up. He must have been very annoyed when Mike Danby told him about the corpse. And Eames would know that Danby, an ex-copper, wouldn’t move the body just to please His Lordship. Horton wondered if Eames had asked him to. Eames would also know that Danby would tow the party line and keep quiet over the circumstances of Kenton’s death. He had too much to lose by not doing so. And what if Horton was to mention his beachcomber, Wyndham Lomas? What would Lord Eames do then? But Horton thought he knew the answer to that. He said nothing. He could tell that Bliss was delighted with her high-profile assignment. Had she been chosen because of her connection with Eunice Swallows?
You bet
, thought Horton. But it made sense.

He said, ‘So we sit around until Monday.’

Uckfield glared at him. ‘On Monday there will be a full forensic examination of Jasper Kenton’s car.’

‘And his apartment?’

‘It’s locked and we have the only key to it. It’s not going anywhere tomorrow and it will only raise curiosity if we seal it off with crime-scene tape and post an officer outside. Write up your reports and let Sergeant Trueman have them.’

‘And that’s it?’

Bliss said crisply, ‘I understand that Sergeant Cantelli has a meeting with DI Grimes on Monday morning to discuss the racist attacks on restaurants. I’m hoping that you and your team will get a quick result.’ So it was
his
team now, not
hers
? She really had wangled her way into the Major Crime Team and Uckfield didn’t appear to be protesting. Well he was welcome to the ice maiden. He was being squeezed out. Was that at Lord Eames’ request, he wondered, heading back to his office. At least he didn’t have to disturb Cantelli’s weekend.

At his desk he checked his messages. There was nothing of any great importance and there had been no further attacks on restaurants last night. He hoped it would stay that way tonight. His reports could wait until Monday. No one else seemed in a hurry to do much so why should he? But he settled himself at his desk and called up the databases. First he turned his attention to the beachcomber. As he’d expected there was no record of a Wyndham Lomas that fitted the profile of the beachcomber. The name was false. He was curious as to why Lomas, or whatever his real name was, had gone to the trouble of having cards printed. Was Lomas a con merchant who Kenton had been after, the cards part of his guise to fool people into thinking he was pukka?

He extracted it from his wallet and studied it carefully. There was only the name on it, hardly worth having it printed, but he could see that it had been run off on a computer printer rather than being produced by a professional printing company. Perhaps Lomas added a phone number or email address depending on his scam. He placed the card in an evidence bag and sent it by internal post to Jane Astley in the fingerprint bureau, asking her to let him know if she could get any prints from it that weren’t his.

Next he looked up Brett Veerman, recalling the intelligent, self-assured, calm man with an air of arrogance about him. Veerman had threatened to make a complaint regarding the forcible entry of his apartment, but on reflection, Horton wondered if he would. His protest struck Horton as being an act, almost as though he had been going through the motions expected of him. Maybe he was being fanciful but the more he considered it the less he could dismiss it.

Brett Veerman had no convictions, not even for speeding. Horton wasn’t surprised. He typed Veerman’s name into an Internet search engine and was soon reading about his career. It was pretty impressive stuff. Not that Horton understood it all, but clearly Veerman was a well-respected expert in his field with a string of initials after his name. Horton had no idea what they stood for. He read that Veerman had trained at Southampton Hospital where he had qualified with a distinction in surgery. He was an expert in cataract surgery, the treatment of glaucoma as well as corneal grafts and laser eye surgery. He was a Fellow of the Royal College of Ophthalmologists, and saw private patients in clinics in London and Portsmouth and at both locations also treated NHS patients. He’d pioneered a number of innovative microsurgical instruments, which, Horton thought, must have brought him in a bob or two, and he was much in demand as a guest lecturer around the world. Veerman obviously had a very big reputation to protect and if Kenton had got something dirty on him then perhaps Veerman would go to extreme lengths to protect it.

He switched off his computer, picked up his helmet and jacket and, turning off the light, headed through CID. Then there was Thelma Veerman. An embittered woman. No, not embittered, but cold inside like the house he had seen. He flicked off the light in CID. As though all emotion had been frozen inside her. His mobile phone rang. It was Mike Danby. Horton smiled wryly to himself. He’d been expecting it.

‘Fancy a drink and something to eat?’ Danby asked.

Danby was not one of Horton’s regular drinking partners – in fact no one was except occasionally Uckfield, and that was usually connected with work. Horton no longer drank alcohol anyway, but he was very hungry. There was a reason why Danby had invited him for a drink and Horton knew it wasn’t for the pleasure of his company.

‘I
guess you know why I rang you,’ Danby said, supping at a pint of beer. They had found a table that overlooked the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour. The pub wasn’t at the modern waterfront development of Oyster Quays but in nearby Old Portsmouth – which had sprung up after the Norman Conquest, flourished during the twelfth century, been granted a charter in 1194 by Richard I, had been heavily bombed in the Second World War and developed after the 1960s, and yet still retained many of its ancient buildings and fortifications and its unique view, Horton thought, staring across the harbour entrance at the lights of Gosport opposite. He could see a small motor boat ploughing its way into the harbour through the waves and the rain and behind it the lights on the decks of the Isle of Wight car ferry. He’d ordered home-made steak and ale pie, vegetables and chips. Danby had done the same. The bar in the room behind them was crowded.

Horton said, ‘Maybe you want to offer me a job again, Mike?’

‘Maybe I do. I’d still like you on board.’

‘You don’t sound as certain as you used to,’ Horton answered, watching him carefully over his large Diet Coke. ‘Worried about this murder investigation and that I might have something to do with it?’

‘Of course not.’

‘I’m a cop, remember,’ Horton said lightly. ‘I can read people.’

‘Then you’re reading me wrong,’ Danby said with conviction.

But was he? ‘You’re wondering if I killed and dumped Jasper Kenton’s body on Lord Eames’ property.’

‘I’m not, Andy.’

But maybe someone was. Lord Eames. ‘But you are curious as to what I was doing there yesterday.’

Danby looked surprised but Horton knew it was phoney. ‘Oh, come on, Mike, you know I was there. Did you see me on the CCTV footage which you told Uckfield wasn’t running because there was no one to view it?’ And did Uckfield know he had been at the scene? Horton wondered. But if so then Horton was sure he would have seen it in Uckfield’s expression. Perhaps Uckfield was getting cleverer at hiding his thoughts or perhaps, Horton thought, he was losing his touch.

Danby took a sip of his beer and studied Horton steadily over the rim of his glass. He seemed to be making up his mind about something. After a moment he put down his beer. ‘Richard Eames uses a remote security system. For his estates in Wiltshire and Scotland, and his house in London, he employs a national UK company who have a full control room facility and are able to respond immediately to any intruder alert by not only summoning the police but also by sending security personnel to deal with it.’

‘Costly.’

‘He considers it worth it.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, come on, Andy, you know he’s worth a fortune. He has some very valuable race horses in his stables in Wiltshire, not to mention art, antiques and jewellery in his properties. Then there is always the chance of kidnap and ransom demands.’

‘Agent Harriet Eames seems to have avoided them.’

Suddenly Horton saw something that hadn’t occurred to him before. Harriet Eames at a desk in Europol was fine. On an investigation not so fine. She hadn’t exactly been keeping a low profile recently with her involvement in three investigations, all involving him, the last one in August. Perhaps that was why she had hinted at a discord between her and her father. Daddy didn’t like her being at the sharp end. Not that she’d said as much but he’d seen it in her eyes. Now she was firmly back in The Hague, analysing criminal activity, and maybe she’d been told to keep her head down, or her father had exerted his influence to make sure she did.

From what Danby was saying the amount of security that Lord Eames commanded was serious high-level stuff. Perhaps it was more than property he was concerned about. Perhaps it was his role as an agent for British Intelligence that troubled him the most. And who was protecting him now, Horton wondered, as Danby was here? Who protected the rest of the family, Harriet Eames included? Was she at risk? He felt an uncomfortable stir in his gut. He shelved the thoughts and concentrated on what Danby was saying.

‘For the Isle of Wight property, which is only used for Cowes Week and other major sailing races in and around the Solent, Richard has a system that can be monitored remotely and viewed from his laptop or mobile phone.’

‘But he’s not glued to the screen waiting for an intruder.’

‘No. Sensors pick up anyone approaching the property from all its boundaries and of course entering it and send an alert to Richard’s mobile phone and computer.’

‘And he calls you out.’ Horton recalled what Danby had told them this morning. Horton thought it likely then that Eames had seen him outside his house and on the beach on Friday.

‘Yes, and I can send one or more of my operatives to check it out.’

‘And did you send someone on Friday?’ Horton asked. Was the beachcomber part of Danby’s security team? He seemed too old for that, and too dishevelled, but perhaps that was how he was supposed to appear.

‘No. I only learned you’d been there three hours ago.’

Horton rapidly calculated. After Eames had spoken to the Chief Constable and slowed down the investigation. ‘Why?’

‘Isn’t that what I’m supposed to ask you? Hoping to catch a glimpse of Harriet, were you?’ Danby said, jokingly.

But Horton didn’t respond to the smile. Solemnly he said, ‘Is that what Lord Eames told you to suggest?’

Danby looked annoyed before a broad smile lit his face and touched the penetrating green eyes that had terrified many a suspect in the interview room. With real warmth he said, ‘I’d definitely like to have you working with me, Andy.’

This time Horton returned the smile.

‘Why
were
you there?’

Obviously Eames was keen to find out and Danby had been primed to ask. And that meant Eames had said nothing to the Chief Constable about Horton’s trip.

‘A valuable wrought-iron weather vane donated by Lord Eames to Northwood Abbey was stolen in June. The culprits were apprehended and appeared in court this week, initially pleading not guilty but yesterday they changed their minds and copped to it. I thought someone at the house might like to tell Lord Eames the good news.’

Danby eyed him disbelievingly.

‘I was on my way to the abbey to inform them and thought I’d just drop by to see if anyone was at home. I wasn’t sure if Eames employed a housekeeper.’

‘He doesn’t, not there.’

‘I gathered that.’

Did Danby know he hadn’t tried the intercom? If he did his expression didn’t betray it. But Eames would know it was a lie when Danby relayed this to him. That didn’t bother Horton one bit. He also wondered if Eames had told Danby that he had trekked through the wood and landed up on the beach by the pontoon.

He said, ‘What made Eames ask you to check out the property this morning?’

Danby took a draft of beer before answering. ‘He received another alert at one thirty-three a.m. from the rear of the property but when he viewed the area from his computer he couldn’t see anything and there was no other alert or anything suspicious. He let it go but on waking thought it best for me to take a look. That’s when I found Kenton.’

Had Eames really received an alert at one thirty-three a.m.? If so then the timing could fit with Brett Veerman, except for the fact that it would be very difficult sailing a small dinghy in the dark and rain on to that shore and returning home for two a.m. … In fact Horton thought it highly improbable. But a boat with an engine might be a different matter. And perhaps Veerman had an outboard engine on that dinghy. Had Lord Eames seen and recognized Brett Veerman? Horton made a mental note to check with the Castle Hill Yacht Club in Cowes tomorrow to see if the two men knew each other from there, and how well acquainted they were.

He continued. ‘So this morning you arrived by boat, saw the bundle on the beach and went to investigate and found Jasper Kenton. So far everything tallies with what you told me and Steve Uckfield earlier. But after this it doesn’t. Instead of calling me, you called Richard Eames, understandably, as he is your client. You tell him who the victim is and how you found him. He says he received the alert but had dismissed it as irrelevant—’