Deadly Waters

Grabbing his jacket, he said, 'Let's go see a man about a break-in.'

Cantelli took a drag at his coffee, pulled a face and said, 'Suits me.'

'About time. I thought you lot had forgotten me,' Barry Dunsley complained after Cantelli had flashed his warrant card. Dunsley lifted a hand to the sticking plaster on the right side of his forehead just above his eye as if to remind them he had been wounded in the course of battle.

Horton took Dunsley's injury seriously but somehow couldn't take the man in the same vein. There was a comic element to the steward's performance, as though he was a good actor hamming it up. There was dandruff on Dunsley's shoulders and his round nondescript flabby face blended into a double chin. He was also clearly a man who liked sampling his wares as much as he liked pulling them, judging by the size of his beer gut. How old was he? Late thirties or early forties? Horton couldn't quite tell.

Before Horton or Cantelli could reply to Dunsley's rather peeved accusation, a clatter of buckets announced the cleaning lady. Horton saw the steward's pale blue eyes flicker with irritation.

'Clean the toilets first, please, Mrs Watrow,' he commanded.

'Suit yourself,' she muttered, collecting her bucket and mop and leaving with the maximum amount of noise possible. No love lost there, Horton guessed. Dunsley wasn't the likeable type.

'Tell us what happened, sir,' Cantelli said.

'After working in the bar all evening, I cleared away and went to bed just on midnight. I'm staying in the flat on the top floor while I'm looking after the club-'

'You're not the usual steward then?' asked Cantelli.

'No. He had to go into hospital for open-heart surgery. He won't be back for about three months. Anyway, I was just falling asleep when I heard this noise. I came down to investigate and found the little bleeders in the storeroom behind the bar here. I said something like, "What are you doing?" and they ran out. The next thing I know one of them is taking a swing at me. I pulled at his head, tugged off his balaclava, and then he struck me with something. I can't say what it was, and then they were running away.'

'How many were there?' Horton knew already from the statement, but it was always best to ask again.

'Two.'

'And you think you can identify one of them.'

'You just catch him.'

Cantelli said, 'Perhaps we could arrange for you to come down to the station and look at some photographs.'

'My pleasure.'

Horton said, 'Can you show us where they broke in?'

Dunsley lifted the flap of the bar and they followed him into a small room that led off from it. There was a door leading to the yard where Cantelli had parked the car and where the intruders had entered the premises. The room was stacked with crates of beer, a few barrels, some bottles and boxes of crisps and other savouries. It smelt of damp and stale alcohol. Even Cantelli's potent cough and cold lozenge seemed better than this to Horton.

'Where's the blood?'

'What? Oh, they hit me outside; the rain will have washed it away by now.'

Horton left a second or two's pause as Cantelli crossed to examine the rear door. Then he said: 'Did you see in which direction they ran?'

'No. I was a bit dizzy by then.'

'You say this attack took place at one a.m., so why did you wait until four a.m. to report it?'

'I wasn't thinking straight; well, you don't when you've been knocked on the head,' Dunsley said belligerently. 'I called a taxi to take me to the hospital and it was only when I got back that I realized I hadn't reported it.'

There was a ring of truth to the statement, yet Horton didn't believe it. It was too slick and Dunsley was too defensive. 'Have you any idea who might have done this?'

'Kids from the Wilberforce Cutler, I expect. I heard on the radio that their head teacher has been murdered. Is it true she was found in Langstone Harbour?'

'Did you know her?'

'I knew of her.'

Horton picked up an undertone of disapproval. 'What did you know?'

'Only what I read in the newspapers.'

He was lying. Horton pushed. 'And the gossip that you've heard the other side of the bar.'

Dunsley smiled. 'That they'd given the job to the wrong person. It should have been Tom Edney's, the deputy head. He'd been acting head for nearly a year before Ms Langley arrived. The existing head had been on long-term sick leave with stress.'

No one had told him that! So Edney had even more of a reason to feel bitter and resentful towards Langley. That didn't necessarily make him a murderer, though, but it was beginning to stack up against him.

Dunsley said, 'I felt sorry for Mr Edney. He took over the duties of head on the promise that he'd get it. Then they brought her in.'

'How do you know so much about it? Do you know Mr Edney?'

'A lot of our members have kids and grandchildren at the school. Maybe he will get the job now that she's dead. '

And was that motive enough for Edney to have killed her? Again Horton wondered. Thwarted ambition can do strange things to a man. He considered his own attitude towards Dennings' appointment. At least Dennings hadn't leapfrogged over him to become a DCI, yet. And if he did…

Cantelli, who had finished his examination of the door, said, 'Is that where the burglars entered, sir?' He pointed to the plasterboard across the broken windowpane.

'Yes. They must have reached in and flicked the catch on the door.'

'Why wasn't it bolted?' At the top and bottom were sturdy black metal bolts.

'I forgot.' Dunsley blushed, shuffled his feet and looked uncomfortable. Horton didn't think the insurance company would like that very much.

'Too much to drink the night before, was it, sir?' Cantelli joked with a sneer in his voice.

Dunsley's head came up. His pale eyes flashed anger.

'What about the alarm?' Horton asked.

'We've been having trouble with it. It's a new system. Bailey's installed it about a week ago.'

'You're not from Portsmouth, are you, sir?'

Horton saw Dunsley blink at Cantelli's sudden switch of question.

'No. Plymouth. Why?' The hostility and wariness was back in full force.

'What did you do before you came here?'

'I worked on the cross-channel ferry, though what's that got to do with the break in-'

'Nothing whatsoever,' Cantelli answered brightly. 'I was just interested.' Horton could tell Dunsley was thinking a policeman was never just interested. 'How long have you worked here?'

'A month.'

Horton thought that Dunsley had learnt a great deal about the Sir Wilberforce Cutler School and Tom Edney in that time.

'Thank you, sir.' Cantelli smiled and after a brief hesitation Dunsley returned it.

'Can I get you both a drink?' he asked, in a manner of we're all pals together. They both refused. Horton knew that drinks on the house could lead to small favours returned, like tearing up a speeding ticket, or letting someone off a minor misdemeanour and he didn't want to be in any kind of debt to this man. Horton didn't trust Dunsley as far as he could spit.

In true police officer style Horton waited until he was just leaving before turning back and saying, 'You were serving in the bar all Thursday evening, Mr Dunsley. Did you see Eric Morville in here?'

'Yes, I think so.' Dunsley couldn't disguise his surprise at the question.

Horton raised his eyebrows. 'Was it that crowded?'

'Thursdays are always busy. Yes, Eric was here. When isn't he?' Dunsley laughed. Horton didn't join in and Cantelli remained po-faced. 'He left about closing time. Why do you want to know?'

'Let us know when you're able to come down to the station and look through some photographs.'

Dunsley mumbled a reply.

As Horton climbed in the car, he said, 'What made you ask where he was from?'