Dead Man's Wharf

'He's not even a good diver,' Daisy said scathingly. 'Not like Daniel, who was also a very talented photographer.'

'I've seen some of his pictures. What was Daniel like?'

Now, down to the real business of his visit here.

'You don't think his death was an accident, do you?' she declared bluntly, holding his gaze. He knew that lying to her, or fobbing her off, wasn't going to get him what he wanted.

'There are certain facts that don't quite add up.'

'Such as?'

'Like him being drunk, though there is an explanation for that. His mother had just told him she'd been diagnosed with breast cancer. Maybe he hit the bottle in his anger and sorrow. Not being used to drinking, it wouldn't have taken much for him to get intoxicated.'

But Daisy was shaking her head. 'No. Daniel wouldn't have reacted like that.'

'Then how would he have behaved?' He was really interested.

'He would have been upset, of course. But Daniel was always very calm and practical. He would have researched every known treatment for breast cancer, organized his mother's care, even drawn up a timetable for her. He would have spoken to the doctors, and made sure she lacked for nothing. He was very thorough, always erring on the side of caution, which was why he was a good buddy on a diving trip. You just knew you'd be OK. Oh, it used to get up my nose sometimes; he'd double and triple check all the equipment. He was almost obsessive about it, like he was about his photography. He was very painstaking.'

Horton recalled Daniel's bedroom and office. Daisy's words bore out what he'd seen there, everything in its place, everything labelled.

'He wasn't an emotional man then?'

'He might have been inside, but he never showed his emotion, to me anyway. He might have done to others. I didn't know him outside this diving club. But I just can't see him getting drunk and then driving a car. If he did have a drink, which I find rather difficult to believe, though even saints are tempted, then he wouldn't have driven, his personality wouldn't have allowed it. It would have been too risky.'

'He might have been too drunk to think rationally.'

'You're wrong. That wouldn't have been Daniel's nature.'

'You seem very certain.'

'I should be. I'm a psychologist.'

He tried to hide his surprise but he wasn't quite quick or clever enough for Daisy Pemberton.

'It's OK,' she said, pushing a hand through her short dark hair and grinning. 'I'm off duty. And I specialize in sports psychology.'

That didn't make any difference to him. A psychologist was a psychologist whatever branch she majored in. And he'd had a bellyful of them as a boy. Enough to put him off for life, which was a pity because he found himself rather attracted to Daisy Pemberton.

After a moment she added, 'Daniel's drink could have been spiked by someone he thought was his friend but who wasn't.'

With deepening interest, Horton saw her eyes flick to Farnsworth. Farnsworth said he hadn't met Daniel. Was he lying or was this Daisy's spite talking?

'Why would someone do that?'

'No idea.' She tossed back the remainder of her wine. Rising, she said, 'Want another?'

'No, thanks.'

'I was thinking of drowning my sorrows, but now I shall celebrate my release from hero worshipping. And I've just seen someone rather interesting walk in.'

Horton watched her cross the room, where she hailed a tall fair man in his late thirties. Horton didn't think Daisy was going to be without a boyfriend for long.

He gave Lee the nod. Outside he breathed in the crisp night air. The temperature had plunged considerably since the morning, but at least it had stopped bloody raining. Zipping up his sailing jacket against a stiff breeze that had veered to the north-east, he walked slowly out of the car park considering what Daisy had said. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that she had deliberately planted the idea of Farnsworth being involved with Daniel's death in his mind. Either as a form of revenge or an experiment to see whether he'd take the bait.

He stared across the road at the masts in Southsea Marina, wishing that all he had to do was slip across there to his boat. Instead he had a twelve-mile drive to Gosport Marina. 'Sorry, guv, couldn't get away,' Lee said, hurrying across the car park and zapping open the car. Climbing in, she continued. 'I checked out the lockers. Daniel didn't have one. I asked Gary Manners, and he said that Daniel had his own dry suits, regulator, masks, fins and snorkel, which he must have kept at home, but he hired the rest of his equipment from the club, which also has its own RIB.'

'And Farnsworth? What did you get from him other than a hand on your back and an invitation to dinner?'

'Which I declined.'

'Pity.'

'There are some sacrifices that one has to make in the name of the job, but spending an evening fending off that self-important creep is one too many.'

'Where's your sense of duty?'

She smiled. 'Apart from spouting on about the diving series, and how much fan mail he receives, all I could get is that he's divorced and lives in Haslemere.'

Which was about an hour's drive from Portsmouth and easily commutable. Horton guessed that Farnsworth had chosen to stay in the Queen's Hotel rather than drive daily for two reasons: one, so that he could spend his nights with Corinna Denton and two to take advantage of the television production company's expense account and indulge in a spot of free luxurious living.

The door of the club opened and Farnsworth stepped out with a mobile phone pressed to his ear. He climbed into his car without noticing them and started it up. Then, still on his phone, he drove out of the car park.

'Do you want me to go after him?' Lee asked.

'No. Call traffic and see if they can get to him whilst he's still using his mobile. Oh, and ask them to breathalyse him.'

That would give Farnsworth publicity all right, but Horton doubted it was the type the golden boy wanted.

'Where was Farnsworth on Christmas Eve?' he asked, when she came off the radio.

'With Daisy Pemberton.'

And it didn't need any stretch of his imagination to guess what they'd been doing. He doubted if attending midnight mass was on their itinerary.

'Did you get anything else on Daniel Collins?'

'No.'

He relayed what Daisy had told him, by which time they'd reached the station where Lee dropped him, before heading off, presumably to her hotel.

Horton stared at the paperwork on his desk, wondering when on earth he was going to have time to tackle it. Tomorrow was the answer, he thought, picking up some files and plonking them in his in-tray. A note fell out and reaching for it Horton saw with excitement that it was a telephone message from Ray Ferris. He had called at seven thirty two, two hours ago, and asked to be called back on his mobile. Checking his office door was tightly shut against the empty CID office, Horton called him from his mobile.

'DC Lee worked in the Operational Planning and Policy Unit,' Ferris said without preamble.

So she was telling the truth, Horton thought, with an edge of disappointment. 'How long for?'

'Six weeks.'

Not long. 'Her boss?'

'Superintendent Warren.'

'OK. Thanks, Ray.' He'd been wrong. It wouldn't be the first time and he was certain it wouldn't be the last either. He was about to ring off when Ferris stalled him.

'That's the official version.'

Horton was suddenly alert.

'Can you talk?' Ferris quickly added. 'And I don't mean in your office.'

Horton rose, his pulse quickening. 'Hang on.' Swiftly he crossed the CID room until he was standing in the empty corridor by the coffee machine. 'And the unofficial one?'