Horton held Uckfield's eyes for a moment longer before climbing on to his Harley. So that was the way Steve wanted to play it. So be it. Horton was used to betrayal and disappointment in his life, but that didn't mean to say he was hardened to it. Once he would have said that he could rely on Uckfield, and yet in the last two months he'd been given cause to doubt his friendship, first on their last major case together when Uckfield had believed him capable of murder, and now at his lack of openness and honesty.
Horton called Cantelli.
'I've only just got my pyjamas on,' the sergeant protested.
'Good, I'd hate to think that I'd woken you.'
Sleep would have to wait for both of them, and so too would Mickey Johnson and the antiques thefts. He had a killer to find before Dennings could get so much as a toe inside the major incident room, and the trail started at Vinnakers Betting Shop in Commercial Road.
Two
Friday: 9.10 a.m.
Horton followed the manager's swaying hips through to a small office at the back of the betting shop. She waved him into the seat across a narrow desk scratched and scarred with cup rings and cigarette burns while Cantelli leaned against a battered grey filing cabinet to Horton's right. The room was so heavy with the sickly smell of her perfume that Horton wanted to push open the barred window behind her, though judging by the state of it, he doubted it would budge an inch.
Elaine Tolley flashed him a smile as she settled her ample backside on to a creaking leather chair opposite him and crossed her legs. Horton didn't waste any time with preliminaries. He couldn't afford to. He was damned if he was going to hand this case over to Dennings.
'Mrs Tolley, can you confirm if this is one of your betting slips?' He gave her a photocopy. The original had been sent to the forensic lab.
She took hold of it with bejewelled fingers. He saw that they were stained yellow with nicotine. Her vermillion nail varnish was chipped and her nails bitten.
'Yes, why do you want to know?'
'Do you recognize the handwriting on the back?'
Holding it at a distance she squinted at it. Then sighing heavily she picked up a pair of spectacles from her desk, her gold bracelets rattling and clinking as she settled them on her lined and heavily made-up face. 'Sign of old age,' she said with a smile.
Horton didn't contradict her and Cantelli looked too tired to pour on his usual charm. Horton watched for signs of recognition or surprise as she scrutinized the paper. He saw a slight widening of her eyes and after a moment she pulled off her glasses, and with a puzzled frown said, 'I think it's Eric Morville's writing.'
'Can you tell us where we can find him?' Horton asked.
'At home I guess, though if you wait a couple of hours he'll be along here. What's happened? Why do you want to see him?' She was beginning to look worried.
'Do you know where he lives?'
After a moment's hesitation she said, 'Corton Court, number fourteen.'
That backed on to the ex-forces club, where the break-in had been last night. Not that it had any significance to this case, Horton thought, but it reminded him that he hadn't detailed an officer to go round and interview the steward who had been injured.
Elaine Tolley said, 'Has something happened to Mr Morville?' She fiddled with a pen that had been lying on the desk. By her manner and her wary look, Horton got the impression that she knew this Eric Morville quite well and probably intimately.
'Not that we know of, Mrs Tolley. Does he have any family?'
Her worry frown deepened. 'He's never said.'
'Do you know why he should write that on one of your betting slips?'
'No.'
'Do you have a female customer or member of staff about five foot seven, shoulder length dark hair, mid-forties?'
'No.' She looked alarmed.
'Have you ever seen Mr Morville with a woman who fits that description?'
Her eyes widened and her skin paled as she shifted nervously. 'No. What is all this about? Eric Morville just places his bet, reads his newspaper and watches the telly.'
'Big winners?' interjected Cantelli.
'Hardly,' she said caustically, swivelling her gaze to Cantelli. 'The boss wouldn't like that.'
No, thought Horton, recalling his encounters with Charlie Vinnaker. He was a shrewd businessman in his early sixties, the owner of a chain of amusement arcades and casinos, as well as betting shops. Horton knew that he had been involved in some shady deals but he'd never yet been able to prove it.
Horton terminated the interview without giving her any hint of their line of inquiry despite her efforts to extract it from him. There was nothing here, and he was keen to get away and elicit some answers from Eric Morville. He hoped she wouldn't telephone Morville to alert him of their impending arrival.
Letting out the clutch, Cantelli slipped into the heavy traffic by the railway station. 'What's happening about Mickey Johnson?'
For a moment Horton had forgotten all about him. 'I managed to get WPC Somerfield on to the case before Uckfield grabbed all the decent manpower.'
'Kate will enjoy that. She's a good officer. Maybe she can work her feminine charms on Johnson and get him to open his mouth.'
'Isn't it politically incorrect to say that?'
'Is it?' Cantelli sneezed.
'I hope you're not going to go sick.'
'What, and miss all the fun?' Cantelli said with heavy irony.
Horton threw him a sharp look. Had Cantelli heard about Dennings' appointment? If he had then surely he would have mentioned it. Soon it would be all over the station, and the tongues would start wagging. Damn Uckfield. OK, so Dennings was a good undercover cop, with years of experience working in vice and drugs, but a detective on the major crime team? No. Horton, with his background in CID and experience undercover whilst on specialist investigations, would have been far more suitable. But then, he had to keep telling himself it wasn't about suitability.
He saw Uckfield's choice of Dennings as a criticism of his capabilities both as a detective and a police officer, and he felt sure everyone else would see it as the same. But, he told himself, Cantelli was a friend and a loyal colleague and if he couldn't face it out with Cantelli then how was he going to handle the snide comments and sidelong looks that would swirl around the station like dirty dishwater when everyone knew?
Abruptly he gave Cantelli the news. The sergeant threw him a surprised glance before quickly putting his eyes back on the road. 'I thought that was yours.'
'Yeah, so did I.'
'So why the change of heart?'
'Funnily enough Uckfield didn't take me into his confidence,' Horton replied sarcastically, but silently vowed that Uckfield would. He'd make him.
Cantelli sniffed. 'I suppose it was inevitable. Each to his own.'
'What do you mean?' Horton knew Cantelli didn't much care for Uckfield, and that the feeling was mutual.
'He cuts too many corners-'
'So does Uckfield.'
'That's what I mean. That's why Dennings has got the job, even though you're the best man for it.'
Horton felt warmed and encouraged by Cantelli's loyalty. And perhaps he was right. Strangely enough he found himself defending Dennings. 'We've all done it, Barney.'
'Yeah, but there's cutting corners and shaving them off to fit. Pity the poor bloody DCI who has to play piggy in the middle with those two. What will you do?'
'Stay in CID and worry the life out of you. Can't you go any faster?'
'Not unless this car can fly.'
Horton stared out of the window at the traffic queue. Would there be others in the station who would see this appointment as Cantelli did? Perhaps he was being over sensitive in believing everyone would assume he'd been sidelined because he wasn't good enough. And who would be appointed the DCI on Uckfield's team? With his record Horton guessed promotion was a long way off. Perhaps it would never happen and he'd be stuck a DI for the rest of his career. Would he mind? The answer was in the involuntary tensing of his body, and the feeling of anger swiftly followed by despondency. Once he'd had such high hopes.