Pauline Rowson - A Killing Coast

‘And it’s all tax free.’

Vernon pulled a face. ‘That’s not my business.’

No, thought Horton. Tax evasion wasn’t Detective Chief Superintendent Sawyer’s usual remit either, but he could be working alongside other agencies to crack Russell Glenn for it. But Horton suspected that either Glenn was about to purchase some art or antique treasure and Sawyer was keen to get hold of it and those involved in the transaction, or Glenn had something to sell. And perhaps he’d been invited on board to verify that everything, as far as he could see, was above board. He thought of the guest list that Cantelli had shown him earlier and wondered what Walters would discover from checking the names on it. Who was the secret buyer or seller?

Vernon’s voice broke through his thoughts. ‘I recommend that you either move these valuables or make this house rock-solid secure. I won’t say anything but word has a habit of getting out.’

It hadn’t so far but Horton took the point. He said, ‘An officer will drop you back to the Hover terminal when you’re ready, and in time to make sure you’re not late for the auction tonight.’

He nodded at the officer to stay with Vernon and gave him instructions to take written notes. He didn’t want Vernon using a mobile device to record the items for fear it would get out on the Internet. Outside, Horton detailed the other officer to remain there and to be vigilant. Then he called Uckfield, who answered immediately. Horton relayed what Vernon had told him. ‘Better ask the National Gallery in Washington DC if their Raoul Dufy is still hanging there,’ Horton added jokingly. ‘Apart from that it looks as though Hazleton came across these items illegally, either having stolen them or they could have been his rewards for helping in a high-level smuggling operation.’

‘You’re not going to give up on that, are you?’ Uckfield cried in exasperation.

‘Like you’re not going to give up on the theory that Lisle killed Hazleton and Yately because his wife had an affair with them.’

‘At least it explains the dress. Hazleton couldn’t have stolen from the Jenkins estate, because Dennings says Jenkins left everything to two charities and they’ve confirmed they received it. His team’s still checking the rest of the names in that file.’

Horton rang off but Uckfield’s words nudged what had been chewing at the corner of his mind. Checking the rest of the names in that file . Files. His mind flashed to the files he’d seen that morning in the social services office, or rather hadn’t seen. And now he knew what Arthur Lisle had been checking for in that archive file. Of course the names on the front of the archive box tallied with the contents and the office manager’s database, because the file that Lisle had sought had never been put in the box to begin with. Horton smiled. It was so simple. Victor Hazleton had been the office manager in 1980. He had complete control over the archive files. If he had robbed someone’s estate what simpler way to cover it up than to keep the paperwork himself or destroy it so that nobody could check it? Only someone had finally discovered Hazleton’s little secret: Arthur Lisle.

But that didn’t explain how Hazleton had done it, or why he was dead instead of Arthur Lisle. Horton’s excitement subsided. He had felt that he was getting somewhere but he was still up that blind alley. He just hoped and prayed the local historian, Williams, might throw some light on to it.

Horton was shown into a small study crammed with books and papers in a modern house in the middle of undulating countryside not far from the coastal resort of Sandown.

Ian Williams, a lean man in his early fifties, with short light-brown hair, bright intelligent eyes and a cheerful small face, gestured Horton into a seat with a friendly smile. He’d made coffee, over which they talked about a shared interest in a love of the sea and sailing.

‘I heard about Colin Yately’s death on the radio. Terrible. He first contacted me in October last year, again in February, and three weeks ago,’ Williams said, getting down to business.

Horton sat forward, not bothering to disguise his keen interest. ‘Why did he contact you?’

‘He was researching the Island’s history, or more specifically Island families and the people who had shaped it in some way. William Arnold was one such person. He was appointed Collector of Customs at Cowes in 1777; a very hard-working, honest and determined man. He pressed for a faster cutter based at Cowes to stop the smugglers but when he didn’t get one he bought and fitted one out of his own pocket. Through his determination smuggling decreased. Then there was Hans Stanley who bought the Steephill estate to the west of Ventnor in 1770. Stanley was MP for Southampton from 1754 to 1780 and was made Governor of the Isle of Wight for life in 1774.’

‘You told Mr Yately about these people.’

‘Yes, and others, including John Morgan Richards, the tobacco magnate, who bought Steephill Castle in 1903 and continued the tradition of entertaining the rich and famous there.’

Horton felt the stirrings of disappointment. As he bit into a digestive biscuit, he was beginning to think this was a dead end, just as Cantelli’s enquiries into the armed robberies had been. His mind spun back to the call he’d received from Cantelli just before he’d knocked on Williams’ door. Both of the armed robbers that Adrian Stanley had arrested were now dead. So there was no point in pursuing that line and, as Cantelli had said, Adrian Stanley must have been trying to tell him something else. Horton had asked how Walters was getting on with Glenn’s guest list. No one suspicious so far was the result, which was what Horton had expected. He wondered if he should tell Sawyer what he suspected. Not until he’d finished with Ian Williams, and despite liking the man and enjoying his company, he thought he should make that sooner rather than later.

Williams was saying, ‘Mr Yately was also very interested in Dr Arthur Hill Hassall who was sent to Ventnor to convalesce from tuberculosis, which was a killer in the nineteenth century, as you probably know. He was so impressed by the beneficial effect of the mild climate of the Undercliff that he wrote to The Lancet in 1867 advocating the building of a hospital for tuberculosis patients. It was the beginning of a revolutionary and highly effective treatment, but even more effective was the coming of antibiotics in the 1950s which put an end to the hospital.’

Williams sipped his coffee. He looked as though he was getting into his stride and could wax lyrically for hours on the subject, but Horton didn’t have hours. He wanted to get back to the mainland long before the reception to see if DCI Harriet Lee or anyone else from the Intelligence Directorate was lurking on the boardwalk, watching Glenn’s yacht. And he wanted to corner Mike Danby to establish exactly how much he knew about any attempt to buy or sell whatever precious item was going to exchange hands tonight.

‘Mr Yately was also very interested in another prominent family of Ventnor, one which had a considerable influence in transforming it from a small fishing village to a town.’

Horton’s head snapped up, his interest suddenly aroused. They were almost the same words Yately had used in those notes. He sat forward. ‘And they were?’

‘The Walpens, as in the Chine,’ Williams smiled.

The chines, caves and coves of the Isle of Wight. That meant little on its own but Horton felt a pricking sensation between his shoulder blades that told him this had to be relevant, a feeling which deepened when Williams added, ‘In fact, when Mr Yately came to see me for the third time, three weeks ago, it was the Walpens he was particularly interested in.’