Dead Man's Wharf Part 9

'You'd have thought there was a code amongst them to obstruct the police as much as possible,' Cantelli had said. 'Either that or our friend Eastwood called Mason and warned him.'

'Why would he do that?'

'Because he didn't like you?' volunteered Cantelli cheerfully.

Probably, but Horton wasn't going to lose any sleep over that. So unless Dr Clayton found anything from the autopsy, or they discovered that the belongings of other residents were missing, the investigation would go nowhere.

'There doesn't appear to be anything suspicious about it,' Bob Wellsley answered. He was a solid dependable man, thorough, middle-aged and very experienced. If Wellsley hadn't sniffed out anything, then maybe it was an accident after all.

'His mother's adamant that someone forced him off the road.'

'There were no skid marks on the road and no witnesses have come forward.'

Horton knew that. He had the photographs of the scene spread out on his desk, but they were of the car and none of Daniel Collins because the fire fighters had got him out in the hope that he might still be alive. The front of the car was crumpled, but not as much as Horton had expected, so the impact couldn't have been severe. All the car windows were open.

'Where's the car now?'

'In the compound, sir.'

'Has it been examined?'

Wellsley looked surprised. 'I thought it was a drunk driver.'

'It might still be, but there's an element of doubt.' Horton would get the forensic team on to it. He studied the schematic that Wellsley had drawn. 'So Collins was heading in the direction of Southsea and presumably home. Any idea how fast he was travelling?'

'The absence of skid marks indicates that he wasn't speeding. I would say he simply veered off the road.'

Horton frowned. 'Why veer to the left and up on to the wharf ? He would have had to drive up the slope into the small car park before going over the top. Why not veer to the

right and into the crash barrier?'

'A vehicle could have been travelling northwards. Collins was drunk, thought it was closer than it was, or he was blinded by its headlights, he wrenched the wheel over to his left and ended up bounding up the wharf and over the edge, his reactions dulled by the drink.' Wellesley scratched his nose and added, 'It could have been a bird, perhaps a swan from Salterns Lake, or brent geese flying low, and Collins swerved to avoid them.'

Unlikely, thought Horton, but Wellsley continued. 'There is another theory, not that I go along with it...' He hesitated.

'What?' prompted Horton. He was prepared to go with anything at this stage.

'The ghost.'

He gave Wellsley a sceptical look.

'Yeah, I know, but that part of the road is supposed to be haunted by the victim of a previous traffic accident. Sometimes in the rain and fog, drivers have claimed to see it and there's certainly been more accidents on that stretch of road than anywhere else along it, and more fatalities there than on any other road in Portsmouth.'

'We'll discount the spook. Was there anything inside the car or the boot?'

'Only the usual doc.u.ments, which were rather wet: insurance, MOT certificate, breakdown services details, and the spare wheel and tools in the boot.'

'No mobile phone?'

'No. Could be at the bottom of the sea.'

And the tide went out exposing mud where the incident had occurred. Raising his voice, Horton called, 'Walters! Got a job for you.'

Wellsley left with a grin, guessing what fate Horton had in store for the overweight detective. Horton briefed Walters and countered his grumbles with the advice that he get himself a pair of fisherman's waders. Then he called the scientific services department and asked if they could examine Daniel's car, before turning his thoughts to the interview with the Collinses. There was something bugging him, but he couldn't think what it was, and though he sat for a few minutes trying to grasp it, it still eluded him.

He rose and stared out of the window, watching the rain slanting down on to the overflowing drains in the station car park. Were none of these strands going to hang together? Was he completely off his trolley for even bothering to follow up the Eburys' and Daniel Collins's deaths? Bliss would have thought so. Why hadn't anyone at the Rest Haven mentioned Daniel's death? Perhaps he hadn't been very well liked.

And why hadn't Ray Ferris or Steve Uckfield got back to him with any news on DC Lee? If he could just get it clear in his mind that her secondment was genuine and Bliss's departure a gift from heaven, then he could settle down to trying to solve some of the other hundred and one cases clogging his desk.

His head was thudding. Cantelli was right. He needed to take some time off. Next week he would. He pulled his blinds shut and marched into the CID office, swiftly crossing to Lee. Cantelli was on the phone.

'How are you getting on?'

'Not much so far. Just some rather lovely photographs. We really need to access his e mails and view his Internet record.'

'Leave that for now. Go to the Rest Haven, find out if Daniel Collins was the only male working there and what the staff thought of him. Did he know or ever speak to the owners? Oh, and while you're at it, get some feedback on what the staff think of the owners, Mr Chrystal and his brothers. Also check the register of the residents' belongings with what is in the drawers, see if anything else has gone missing.'

Lee plucked her jacket from the back of her chair and left without protest or comment.

Cantelli came off the phone. 'Ian Keynes is a lorry driver. He's worked for Ryan Oldham for the last eighteen months.'

Horton considered this. 'Oldham's Wharf is less than half a mile from Salterns Wharf, where Daniel died. Years ago Oldham's used to operate out of Salterns.'

'So?'

Cantelli was right. Where did that lead them? Nowhere.

'Neither Marion nor her husband has a criminal record, but their credit rating is very poor. I've just got Marion's previous employment record. I'll start checking it out to see if she left anywhere under a cloud. The Chrystal brothers own four nursing homes in the area including the Rest Haven. The abbreviated accounts at Companies House show a fairly healthy profit. And I've got the Commission of Social Care Inspector Report for the Rest Haven. It's not bad, but like I said before, I wouldn't put my mum there.'

'What's wrong with it?' Horton asked, interested, sitting in Walters' vacant chair.

'The inspector visited unannounced in July last year following a few adverse comments from relatives.' Cantelli briefly consulted his notes. 'He said there wasn't regular supervision of the staff, the residents' social and emotional needs weren't being individually a.s.sessed and new equipment and furnis.h.i.+ng was needed in several of the residents' rooms.'

Horton could back that up by what he'd seen.

'He also said that the delivery, storage and management of medicines needed improving,' continued Cantelli. 'I think it's about time they got another visit.'

'OK, but wait until we've finished our investigations.'

'Oh, and the photographic unit called and said there's nothing they can get from the photocopied photos I gave them of Irene and Peter Ebury. They need the originals.'

And Horton thought they had little chance of getting them. 'Did you make that appointment with Irene's social worker?'

'Yes, but it's not the same one who was handling her case when she moved to the nursing home. She left a year ago. Tomorrow morning, nine thirty.'

Horton rose, glancing at his watch. 'Well, we might not need to keep it if Dr Clayton confirms death by natural causes. Come on, let's see what she has to say.'

They were shown into Dr Clayton's office by Tom, the whistling mortuary a.s.sistant.

'I was just beginning to think you weren't coming,' Gaye greeted them, looking up from her computer screen. She nodded a farewell to Tom and gestured them into the seats across her desk.

Horton was surprised to see that her office was still full of Christmas cards; they were spread out on filing cabinets and blue-tacked to the walls. Christmas seemed like a lifetime ago to him.

She swivelled her chair across from the computer screen. 'First, Peter Ebury, cause of death, respiratory failure. He looked pretty healthy and I wouldn't have thought he would keel over with that, but it's what he died of. I've sent his organs for further tests and I've taken blood samples, but it looks as though he died a natural death and prematurely. Bit of a waste.'

Cantelli said, 'His whole life was a waste.'

So that was the puzzle over Peter Ebury's death solved, thought Horton despondently.

'And Irene Ebury?'

Gaye gently swung her chair round, tapping a pencil against her mouth. 'Irene Ebury was in a poor state: thinning arteries, weak heart, cancer in one of her lungs, and it was a heart attack.'

Although he'd been expecting that news he nevertheless felt a bitter blow of disappointment. He was also annoyed that Dr Eastwood's diagnosis would be borne out.

'Could it have been induced?' he asked, more in hope than antic.i.p.ation.

'You mean brought on by a shock? Possibly. Alternatively she could have been injected with air. Because of her poor health it wouldn't have needed much to cause an embolism, but it would have required a skilled person to inject the air into her by using a syringe.'

Horton brightened up at that. 'She was in a nursing home. Plenty of people there who could have done it.' He was thinking of Marion Keynes.

Gaye raised her eyebrows. 'If she was injected with air then it's almost impossible to detect. I looked for froth around the heart and in the blood vessels, but I couldn't find any.'

So, dead end. He could sign off both these deaths and forget about Lee being sent to keep an eye on him. What an idiot he'd been. 'Looks as though I was wrong on both counts.'

'What about the missing jewellery and the intruder?' Cantelli said.

'Sounds like one of those murder mystery games,' Gaye commented.

Horton said, 'We'll continue to investigate the missing jewellery with Marion Keynes as our prime suspect. As for the intruder ' Horton shook his head 'Mrs Kingsway must have imagined it.'

'And Daniel Collins?'

Was his death simply a tragic accident after all? wondered Horton. Probably, but he might as well ask whilst he was here.

'Your colleague did an autopsy on a Daniel Collins who died on Christmas Eve. His car went over Salterns Wharf. He worked at the nursing home where Irene Ebury died. I've read the autopsy report but wondered if you could tell me anything more about it.'

'I doubt that,' she answered, tapping into the computer. 'Daniel Collins, aged thirty four, drowned. Toby Simmonds did the autopsy. It seems straightforward. His body's been released to the Chapel of Rest. Want me to take another look?'

Horton hesitated, saw the grief-stricken faces of Mr and Mrs Collins and said, 'No.' They'd been through enough already.

'Why the interest? Apart from the nursing home link, that is?'

Horton gave her a brief summary of what Mrs Collins had said. Gaye looked sorrowful. 'I expect she's just finding his death hard to come to terms with.' Her green eyes swivelled to Cantelli. 'And how are you coping, Sergeant?'

Cantelli gave a sad smile. 'I keep telling myself that Dad was old and he'd had a good life, but it doesn't make it easier.'

'No,' she answered quietly, then added, 'Inspector Horton tells me the funeral is on Thursday. I'd like to come if it's OK with you?'

Cantelli brightened up. 'Of course it is. The service is at the cathedral. The Roman Catholic one that is,' he added. 'At twelve thirty. Dad's being buried in Milton cemetery and then it's back to the restaurant in Southsea for the wake.'

Gaye didn't need to ask which restaurant; there was one in Southsea owned by the Cantellis and run by Barney's brother, Tony. Following her promise to be there, they

returned to the car.

'Do we keep digging?' asked Cantelli.Horton thought of that other funeral on Thursday morning. He saw the Collinses' faces when he told them he'd stopped the investigation into Daniel's death. It didn't bear thinking about. They still had Daniel's computer, his car was going to be examined. Walters might return with something from his mud bath and DC Lee could unearth some interesting information from the Rest Haven. He wondered if he'd just seen a pink pig flying overhead. 'For now.'

'Irene Ebury was was Miss Southsea in 1957,' Trueman said, following Horton into his office. He handed over a newspaper cutting. Horton gave a soft whistle. Miss Southsea in 1957,' Trueman said, following Horton into his office. He handed over a newspaper cutting. Horton gave a soft whistle.

Peering over his shoulder, Cantelli said, 'They made real women in those days.'

'Better not let Charlotte hear you say that.'

But Irene had indeed been good-looking, thought Horton, staring at the curvaceous eighteen-year-old. Her long blonde wavy hair curled on to her shoulders, she was wearing a one piece light-coloured swimsuit, which could have been white, but Horton couldn't tell because it was a black and white photograph, and high-heeled court shoes. She was being crowned by a dark-haired man in his late forties wearing a sharp suit. Reading the caption under the newspaper article, Horton saw he was the actor, Dale Bourton.

'Ever heard of him, Barney?' Horton asked.

'He was a heart-throb in the fifties and early sixties, labelled the English Gregory Peck. Starred in a couple of British movies, then seemed to disappear from the scene. I'll look him up on the Internet.'

Horton could see that Trueman had more. He gestured for him to continue.

'She left Portsmouth in 1958 and worked in London at a couple of nightclubs until 1963, then there's no record of employment, or address for her, until she showed up back here in 1973, pregnant with Peter. She never married and she lived in Mile End for a while before being given a council flat in Jensen House.'

Horton started. It was where he had lived with his mother. Here was another connection between the two women, not only had they worked together but they'd lived in the same tower block. And that disturbed him. 'What number?' he asked warily.

'Fifteenth floor. Number one hundred and twenty.'

My G.o.d! The same floor even and a couple of flats down from his childhood home! He looked again at the picture. He couldn't recall Irene Ebury, but then he'd only been a child and more interested in other things, like football. He'd returned to Jensen House before Christmas, trying to retrieve some memory of the day his mother had disappeared. He hadn't been successful in that, but he had found his neighbour of 1978 still living there. Would Mrs Cobden recognize Irene? It was worth asking. He also wouldn't mind pus.h.i.+ng the newspaper cutting underneath Marion Keynes' nose just to show her that Irene hadn't been making it up. And if she hadn't invented that, then maybe Mrs Kingsway hadn't been imagining this intruder either. After what Dr Clayton had told him though, there didn't seem any case to answer. But his copper's sixth sense was twitching worse than a rabbit's nose.

He briefed Trueman on the results of the post-mortems.

'Do you still want me to poke around?' he asked when Horton had finished.

'Only if you haven't got anything better to do.'

Trueman rose. 'Superintendent Uckfield's been out most of the day. I'll squeeze it in when I have time. And it beats wading around in mud.' He jerked his head at the door, smiling. Horton looked up to see a very wet and filthy Walters waddling in carrying a large plastic bag full of what looked like sc.r.a.p metal, drink cans and food cartons. Walters wasn't waving a mobile phone and neither did he look very happy, so Horton guessed he hadn't found it and turned to Cantelli.

'For G.o.d's sake, Barney, stop him from coming any further. The cleaners will have a fit if he trails all that dirt through here.'

'I think they've already probably gone on strike if he's walked through the station like that.'