Deadly Waters

He had reached the door when Horton, his voice as hard as steel, said, 'We know about your affair with Jessica Langley.'

Ranson froze. His body tensed. Slowly he turned back and scrutinized Horton's face. 'Who told you?'

Horton remained silent.

After a moment Ranson crossed the room and sat in the chair that Horton had earlier vacated. The hostility had vanished and Horton was now looking at a nervous and worried man.

'When did the affair begin?' Cantelli asked.

Ranson tried a last-ditch attempt to give Cantelli a withering look, but it didn't come off and only served to make him look sheepish. Seeing there was nothing for it, Ranson reluctantly capitulated.

'About a month ago. It wasn't really an affair though.'

'Then what was it?' asked Horton.

Ranson pulled out a handkerchief, which he proceeded to wipe his hands with. 'Just a bit of fun. It didn't mean anything.'

Horton could see that Ranson was beginning to rehearse in his mind what he might have to tell his wife. Horton didn't think 'a bit of fun' was going to win her over though.

'I finished it a week ago.'

'Then why did you visit her on the evening of her death?'

'I didn't.'

For Horton, the too swift denial confirmed Daphne Edney's story. He threw the pencil down and slapped his hand on the desk. 'Stop lying to me, Ranson. Two people are dead.'

'Two?'

Horton said sharply, 'Tom Edney was brutally murdered on Saturday night. Where were you between three and seven p.m.' Horton knew of course, but no harm in making Ranson sweat, and he was sweating now.

'You can't think…I didn't have…I didn't even know he was dead.'

Horton contrived to look incredulous. Ranson flushed and mopped his brow with the handkerchief. He was clearly no longer the supercilious architect, but a very anxious and frightened man.

'I went sailing for the weekend with my family to Guernsey. I have witnesses,' he cried with a note of desperation.

'And for Langley's murder,' rapped Horton.

'I was at home with my wife.'

Oh, yeah, thought Horton, pull the other one; it's got bells on.

He said, 'Not according to our witness you weren't. Did you kill her?'

'Of course I didn't,' Ranson declared vehemently.

Did Horton believe him? It didn't look like an act, and the man had gone quite pale, but then Horton had seen some Oscar-winning performances before from murderers. 'You asked Jessica Langley to meet you on your boat at Sparkes Yacht Harbour and once on it you killed her. Why?'

'I haven't killed anyone.' Ranson sat forward. 'Look, I did go to her apartment on Thursday evening, but I was only there a few minutes. I left her there, alive and well. I didn't ask her to meet me anywhere.'

'You had sex and then left her?'

From the post-mortem report Horton knew he hadn't, but he wanted to see Ranson's reaction. The man looked horrified.

'No. I arrived at her flat just after seven thirty. I had hardly been there a few minutes when the doorbell rang and Daphne Edney was hurling abuse at Jessica on the doorstep. Jessica slammed the door on her. She seemed to find it exciting and amusing. I thought things between us were going to be… well, all right. Then her mobile phone rang and everything changed. No, hang on. She had two calls. The first one made her cross.'

Horton was immediately aware that this new information was important, if the architect could be believed. He hoped to God it would give them a lead, because if Ranson wasn't Langley's killer then apart from that betting slip found in Langley's pocket he had sod all left.

'Who was it?' he asked sharply.

'I don't know. I just heard her say, 'You'll get nothing from me. Now piss off.' Then almost immediately her phone rang again. She must have thought it was the same caller but her expression changed.'

'How?'

'It sort of lit up. She rang off and told me something had come up. She couldn't get rid of me quick enough.'

Horton studied the architect. Ranson's eyes were pleading with him to be believed.

'Who was on the phone the second time?'

'I don't know and she didn't say.'

'Male or female voice?'

'I couldn't hear. Jessica moved away. I just heard her say, "Great."'

'So you were angry at being rejected. You lay in wait for her and then attacked and killed her.'

'No!' Ranson was out of his chair, shouting. 'I went home. Ask my wife, she'll tell you what time I got in.'

'And that was?' asked Cantelli.

'Just after eight thirty. I left Jessica alive and well at eight o'clock.'

Horton studied him closely. He believed him. Ranson hadn't killed Langley or Edney.

'Did you go out again?' asked Cantelli.

'No, why should I?'

Horton suddenly had an idea about Edney's death. Maybe he had been killed because he'd seen Langley's murderer. 'Did you see Tom Edney anywhere in that vicinity on Thursday evening?'

'No.'

Shame. 'You look surprised that he could have been there.'

'He was hardly her favourite person. She used to laugh at how she tormented him. She wasn't always a very nice woman. In fact she could be horrid, but she was kind of addictive and stimulating to be with.'

Horton didn't think Ranson's wife was going to be very pleased to hear that. But Ranson's words had finally unlocked that small niggling thing that had been in the back of his mind since he'd first set eyes on Jessica Langley on the mulberry and then again in the mortuary. It had been the way her hair had been curled on to her forehead on the mulberry. It hadn't been like that in any of the photographs he'd seen of her. 'The Owl and the Pussy-Cat', and 'Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush' weren't the only rhymes their killer had been having fun with — when she was bad she was horrid.

'Did you ever go sailing with her?' he asked.

Ranson looked surprised at the question. 'A couple of times. She was a very competent sailor.'

Horton took the photograph from his pocket. 'Did you take this of Jessica Langley?'

Ranson studied it. 'No.'

'Do you know if she owned a boat?'

'She never said.'

'Did she wear foul-weather sailing clothes when she was on your boat, like these in the photograph? Leggings, jacket…'

'A couple of times, when the weather was rough. They were my wife's,' he said. 'Please don't tell my wife about Jessica. She won't understand.'

'I bet she won't!' Cantelli said with feeling, when Ranson had left and they were in the car. Horton had asked Ranson to call into the station at two thirty that afternoon and make a statement. He had agreed with alacrity in the vain hope that they wouldn't check his movements with his wife. They would, of course.

'Our killer's a real joker, Barney, and it's not Leo Ranson. Langley's body had been arranged on the mulberry, with her dark hair curling on to her forehead. Picking up on our nursery rhyme theme, does anything strike you about that?'

'No.' Cantelli looked blank.

'Can't say I blame you for not getting it. It's taken me long enough.' And Horton chanted: '"There was a little girl/Who wore a little curl/Right in the middle of her forehead/When she was good, she was very, very good- "'

Cantelli finished, '"And when she was bad she was horrid." Our killer knew her well.'

'Yes. And a woman like Langley would have as many enemies as she would admirers.' But who could have killed her if Ranson was in the clear for murder? Horton had to go back to the beginning. Or did he? There was still that matter of the betting slip. Why had the killer left it in Langley's pocket? What did the message on it mean: Have you forgotten ME? Did it have any significance to the case? Perhaps Morville was telling the truth when he said it had been intended for Elaine Tolley. But what if he was lying, and Jessica Langley had been the intended recipient? That meant Morville knew her. Morville's alibi had checked out: he'd been drinking in the club. But there was something he wasn't telling them and with one trail cold it was time to follow another one.