Pauline Rowson - The Suffocating Sea

With Janice in sight, Horton had another thirty-five minutes on the ferry, so he delved into his jacket and took out the somewhat crumpled file on his mother. He studied the statements taken from the casino staff.

There was nothing startling in them, just what a good worker Jennifer was and attractive. The punters loved her. Then one bright copper — thank the Lord for some intelligence in the force — had thought to ask if there had been any one punter in particular. There had been. Horton sat up. Hallelujah! But as he read on his exhilaration turned to disappointment. The witness, Irene Ebury, couldn't recall his name and said that Jennifer had been very coy about him. Was this Irene Ebury still around? Could he find her? The address she had given no longer existed; those houses had been pulled down to make way for the continental ferry port.

He read on. Irene said that Jennifer had first started going out with this man about a year ago. Then he must have vanished from the scene because Jennifer had been mooching around with a face as long as a bloodhound's. Just before her disappearance, though, he must have returned because Jennifer brightened up. She hinted that she was going to chuck in the job, which of course had made the police think that she had run off with lover boy.

His heart gave a lurch at that. Funny thing was though, he read, she kept singing that stupid song — you know the one that Marilyn Monroe sang in some film about diamonds?

Horton felt as though he'd experienced an electric shock. Christ! How the memories flooded back. 'Diamonds are a girl's best friend'. Of course. Holy shit! This was it.

His mind whirred back down the years, his mother singing and dancing around the living room. Him smiling at her, happy because she was happy. She had taken his hands and spun him round, singing 'Diamonds are a girl's best friend'.

Avidly he scoured the report.

She nearly drove us all mad. I reckon lover boy decided to come back and she had to decide whether to go with him and ditch the kid, or stay behind and give up the boyfriend. Poor little bastard didn't stand a chance, and I mean the kid. I've never seen anyone so much in love as was Jennifer was with this man. I don't blame her for being tempted but what mother could leave her own kid?

Horton felt his breath coming quickly. Had this man, who Horton reckoned must be Croxton, returned to kill his mother? He felt cold and hatred filled his veins. He had been right about smuggling, but wrong about the contraband. It wasn't drugs, it was diamonds. And his mother was dead.

His sandwich stayed half eaten on the table before him; the children's noisy squeals and car alarms faded as his mind raced through the facts. Jennifer had met Croxton a year before her disappearance. Warwick had been alive then. After the murder of Warwick Hassingham, Croxton had vanished from the scene because he didn't want the spotlight on him and his illegal business — diamond smuggling. He returned not because he was in love with Jennifer, no, Horton couldn't believe that of a ruthless man like Croxton, but because Jennifer had been bothering Sebastian Gilmore about where Croxton had gone, and why he had gone. Jennifer had become a liability. Horton tested his hypothesis. Croxton had returned to pick up with Jennifer, to lure her away and to kill her.

His heart hammered. He was convinced he was on the right track. According to what Janice Hassingham had said, Horton guessed that Jennifer had once been Warwick's girl, but Croxton had come along and swept her off her feet. Had Croxton killed Warwick because he was in love with Jennifer? Horton doubted it. Rather it was a case of Warwick wanting out of the diamond smuggling being organized by Croxton. They were all in on it, which is how they had made so much money, and somehow David Lynmor, the journalist, had discovered this, confronted Rowland with it, and had also challenged Brundall about it when he was on Russell Newton's boat in Guernsey. As a result Lynmor had been lured to his death in Rowland's air-raid shelter and Jacobs had met with a car accident. Horton suspected Sebastian Gilmore had still been involved in smuggling until his death and if he was about to confess all to the police then perhaps Selina Gilmore, who knew about the smuggling, didn't want it coming out. That would have been motive enough for her to kill her father. And if the square-set man was Selina then she would have entered the warehouse carrying something containing the disguise. He reached for his phone.

'Walters, did Selina go into the warehouse any time during the day carrying a case or carrier bag?'

'No.'

Could she have hidden it before yesterday?

Walters said, 'You wanted to know where she is. She's not at work or home. No one seems to know where she's gone.'

'Find her.' He was about to ring off when he said, 'Did Janice enter the warehouse carrying anything?'

'Only a briefcase.'

Hardly big enough then to carry an overcoat and hat. Then he reconsidered. There were all kinds of briefcases and accountants often used a special kind to carry large files. With a quickening pulse he said, 'Was it a large square one?'

'Yes.'

He rang off as the announcement came for the passengers to return to their cars. Now there was no question of his returning to Portsmouth. He had to stick with Janice Hassingham.

Horton disembarked before her and rode to the top of the exit road where he waited until he saw her car and then slipped into the traffic behind it. It was dark and raining heavily. Only the brightness of the Christmas lights on the houses he rode past illuminated the gloom of the December evening.

She turned right at the traffic lights and Horton, who knew the island well, having spent some time seconded here as a PC, thought she must be heading for Cowes, but she branched off and took the road to the capital of the island, Newport. There she made for Yarmouth.

He kept his distance but didn't let her tail lights out of his sight. She didn't seem to notice she was being followed. Then she was through Yarmouth and heading for Freshwater Bay, where she turned off on to a country road. He hung further back, not wanting to alert her. The road twisted and turned. He eased the Harley round a bend in the country lane and found she'd disappeared.

He drew up. There was nothing but darkness. She couldn't have vanished into thin air. She must have turned off. Then he saw it. It was a track, which led up Tennyson Down. There was nowhere else she could have gone.

Slowly he set off after her. The road climbed towards the cliff top. Any further and he'd be over the edge. Then a tall hedgerow and gate came into view. Beyond it he could see a substantial modern house. Janice's car was on the driveway.

Horton took his mobile phone from his jacket pocket and once again called Trueman.

'Find out who owns Down House, just above Freshwater on Tennyson Down. Call me back as soon as you've got it. And hurry.'

Horton climbed off the Harley and kicked down the stand. The wind was roaring around him, bringing with it the taste of salt and sea spray. There was a light in the downstairs window to his left and another light upstairs. Even through the darkness he could see that the gardens were landscaped and the house, he guessed, must be at least seven bedrooms. It wouldn't come cheap. There was a large triple garage on the right. The doors were closed.

He waited impatiently for Trueman's call, wondering what was going on inside the house but not daring to get closer yet. His phone rang and he answered it almost instantly. But it wasn't Trueman. It was Dr Clayton.

'I can't talk now,' Horton said irritably. 'I'll call you back.'

'I thought you'd like to know what killed Rowland Gilmore,' Gaye responded crisply. Horton could tell he had offended her.