Dead Man's Wharf

After a moment Uckfield said tersely, 'I haven't got time for this.' His phone rang. Horton didn't budge. Uckfield reached for it and hissed, 'I'll see what I can find out.'

That was two senior officers Horton had enquiring on his behalf. And two people nosing around might just get him a reaction from Lee or even Superintendent Reine, his boss. When you want to ruffle a few feathers, put a couple of cats amongst the pigeons and wait to see what flies out.

Horton told Cantelli what Trueman had said about Buckland, the shot security officer.

Cantelli frowned, puzzled. 'I don't remember anyone saying he was ex job, but I might have missed or forgotten it.'

That was possible but unlikely as far as Cantelli was concerned. 'You worked with Crampton. What was he like?'

'Fair. A good detective and a good copper. He had a bit of bad luck while he was on the case. His boy got knocked down by a car. He wasn't too badly injured, but I remember Crampton handed the case over to Jempson. By then Peter Ebury was in custody and the case more or less sewn up. Crampton died five years ago. Heart attack. Didn't have much of a retirement, two years.' Cantelli looked troubled. 'And you say he knew Buckland?'

'So Trueman claims.'

'He's probably right then. My memory's not as good as it was.'

Horton scoffed, but he guessed Cantelli had other more personal and pressing things on his mind. 'We'll see what the case notes say.'

'Should be with us later today. There were a lot of resources thrown at that case, I do remember that. But Ebury and Mayfield weren't on the loose for long.'

'There was no doubt they did it?'

'None whatsoever. Caught red-handed.'

So no claims of being framed there. Horton glanced at his watch. It was about time they left for their appointment with Dr Eastwood. As Cantelli headed towards the surgery, Horton said, 'What do you think of our new team member?'

'Seems nice. Bright girl too, and energetic. Walters looked a bit shell-shocked when she marched him off to the Queen's Hotel. She'll keep him on his toes.'

'Pity his poor bloody toes,' Horton muttered, and told him of his suspicions about her appointment.

Cantelli looked surprised, then concerned. 'But why?'

'Maybe someone doesn't want us nosing around Peter Ebury's death.'

'Then why not simply warn us off. DCI Bliss or Superintendent Reine could have ordered us to drop it.' Cantelli dashed him a glance as the penny dropped. 'Bliss did tell you to leave it, and you carried on regardless.'

'Yes. And Bliss must have gone to Reine, probably to complain about my insubordination, or to ask that I be transferred. But someone must already have been in touch with Reine, probably after we'd started asking questions at the prison, and told Reine to let me run with the investigation. It's not a matter of preventing us from nosing around, but wanting us to.'

'If there's something funny about Peter Ebury's death, then why doesn't whoever it is — Special Branch or the Prison Directorate — investigate it themselves?'

Horton stared at the windscreen wipers doing their valiant best to cope with the lashing rain. Cantelli was right. If there was a serious crime being committed in that prison, such as drug smuggling, then declaring Ebury's death as suspicious would mean exposing the prison to the most vigorous investigation, and perhaps someone didn't want that. But that didn't take into account what Dr Clayton might find. If she discovered that Ebury's death was suspicious, then whether the prison liked it or not they'd have to submit to a major investigation. And why let him loose on the case if they wanted it hushed up? No, it didn't make any kind of sense and until it did he'd carry on asking questions. Meanwhile he'd keep an eye on Lee.

'What did Walters get from the nursing home?'

'The staff started drinking at ten o'clock on New Year's Eve and not midnight as Marion Keynes claimed, and she was there drinking with them. None of them saw or heard anything unusual, and Walters couldn't find anyone who went to check on Mrs Ebury or Mrs Kingsway all night. Marion Keynes certainly didn't go up there before midnight but she might have done in the early hours of the morning. She returned to her office, after their little party, but no one can be sure what time this was. It was a fairly quiet night patient-wise, or so they claimed.'

'The poor souls were probably drugged up to the eyeballs,' muttered Horton.

'You think so?' Cantelli said sadly. 'I'd hate to see my mum in a place like that.'

Horton had to admit it wasn't the best nursing home he'd come across, but it wasn't the worst either. They still had some questions to ask about it though, and he thought a call to social services wouldn't be out of place.

'No one noticed that Mrs Ebury's drawer had been broken into either,' Cantelli added, expertly manoeuvring the car into a space about the size of a postage stamp, outside a modern building that proclaimed it was the Southsea Health Centre.

So no help there. They were asked to wait in a brightly lit and well-designed reception that looked more like an architect's office than a doctors' surgery. Horton wasn't complaining about that, or the fact that it was devoid of patients. He hated these places even more than he hated hospitals, and that was saying something. He was just getting impatient when a receptionist showed them into Dr Eastwood's consulting room.

'Can we hurry this up? I have a list of patients to visit.' Eastwood said brusquely, without looking up from his correspondence.

Horton remained silent and gestured to Cantelli to do the same. After a moment Eastwood glanced up. He let out an exasperated sigh and threw down his pen. 'What is it?'

Cantelli said, 'You certified Irene Ebury's death as heart failure. Is that normal with dementia patients?'

'Not always.' Eastwood frowned at them. Horton held the emaciated doctor's hawkish stare impassively until Eastwood was forced to divert it back to Cantelli. He answered in a brisk tone. 'Usually with vascular dementia, the patient suffers a series of mini strokes, each one getting slightly worse and coming more frequently until the patient is very ill and bedridden. Pneumonia sets in and that is often is the cause of death. Mrs Ebury also had a weak heart.'

'Did she ever mention her son or any other relatives to you?' Horton asked.

Eastwood's head shot to Horton. 'No.'

Horton wasn't convinced it was the truth. 'We'd like to see her records.'

'They're confidential.' Eastwood's eyes narrowed in his pinched face.

'It would help us with our inquiries.'

'Which are?' Eastwood said archly.

Horton was glad Eastwood wasn't his doctor. 'We are treating her death as suspicious.'

'You can't honestly believe that! Who would want to kill her?'

Horton had had enough. He felt anger boil up inside him at Eastwood's scornful tone. Now, let's see how you like this, you string of caustic humanity, he thought. 'For all I know, you, Dr Eastwood.'

'How dare you-!'

'And how dare you waste my time,' Horton raged, leaning across the desk. 'You either cooperate or I take you in for questioning.'

'On what grounds?'

'We have a witness who claims Mrs Ebury was killed.' Horton stretched Mrs Kingsway's words to suit his purpose.

'That's ridiculous!' Eastwood gave Horton a stare that was like the frozen plains of Siberia. But if he wanted icy then Horton could give him glacial.

Eastwood rose and began stuffing some records into his case. 'Mrs Keynes called me to the Rest Haven at six a.m. and I arrived there at six thirty. I examined Mrs Ebury and gave the cause of death as heart failure. She had heart problems and high blood pressure.'