Thoughts rushed through Horton’s mind and paramount in them was the possibility that he’d found another connection between the Willards and Garvard and a more recent one than 2001. Who had given Garvard his radiotherapy treatment? Had it been Fiona Wright, Dr Gaye Clayton’s friend and the woman who had been sailing a dinghy the night Sharon Piper had arrived at the boatyard for her meeting with Gregory Harlow? But he didn’t see Fiona Wright as Sharon’s killer and he certainly didn’t see her as Harlow’s murderer.
With a keen interest he said, ‘Why did he go to Portsmouth for treatment?’
‘There was a problem with the equipment at the hospital here. I don’t know all the details but someone from the medical staff can give you that.’ Kirby tapped into his computer. ‘I can give you the start and finish dates of the treatment but not the exact times of his appointments, the hospital can tell you.’
Kirby handed the printout to Horton. He scanned it briefly before folding it and pushing it in his pocket. ‘Has Garvard named anyone to be notified on his death?’
Kirby again consulted his computer. ‘No.’
Horton rose and thanked him warmly. On his way across the road to the hospital, he rang Trueman and relayed what Kirby had told him. He asked him to find out if Amelia Willard had undergone radiotherapy for her cancer and if so when. He couldn’t see quite how it joined up yet but he was convinced it did.
Trueman said, ‘Eames has reported back. Foxbury has an alibi for Tuesday afternoon and evening and for Thursday night. He was with his wife Thursday night. They had some friends over for supper and it sounds kosher. When Foxbury was showing Marsden and Eames out, away from his wife’s flapping ears, Eames said he grudgingly gave them the name of the woman he was with on Tuesday, and it’s not Sharon Piper. She’s checking her out now.’
So Foxbury looked as though he wasn’t involved. It was a blow. Into his mind flashed Ballard and as quickly he discounted him. He had no reason to believe that Sharon Piper had been anywhere near a boat, except for the ferry that had probably brought her to Portsmouth, and Trueman was still checking that.
The hospital staff, and the prison officer keeping Garvard company, had been told to expect him. Horton was shown swiftly into the bland single room. It had the smell of death about it. The cavernous man on the bed bore no resemblance to the photograph Horton had seen on the police computer of a dark-haired, rugged good-looking man with a square jaw and blue eyes. Garvard appeared to be asleep.
‘He drifts in and out of consciousness,’ the prison officer said quietly. ‘You might have a long wait.’
As it happened Horton didn’t. Perhaps Garvard sensed his presence. Horton pulled up a chair and sat close to Garvard’s emaciated body. The eyes flickered open and took a while to focus, when they did Horton withdrew his warrant card and introduced himself. Garvard smiled weakly. ‘Took your time. Didn’t think you’d make it.’
Horton had to lean closer to the deathly grey face to hear. He steeled himself not to recoil at the smell of death. ‘You could have made it easier,’ he answered, ‘and saved two people from being killed.’
‘Why? She deserved it.’
‘Did she?’
Garvard frowned but he was too weak to show too much emotion or reaction. Horton could see that he was drawing strength from reserves that would soon be exhausted. After this last effort it wouldn’t be long. He needed to get as much information as he could from him on this visit because he knew it would be the final and only time Garvard would speak.
Horton beckoned the prison officer over. ‘Take notes.’
The slim man in his thirties reached for a notepad and pen and Horton silently thanked the heavens that he’d got someone prepared and bright. He nodded to say he was ready. Horton said, ‘Tell me about Ellie.’
Garvard opened his eyes. ‘Sharon killed her.’ His strained voice was barely above a whisper. ‘She was jealous. I loved her.’
Horton could see the effort to speak was costing him dear. He wasn’t without pity or sympathy, but he couldn’t condone what this man had done. He said, ‘I’ll explain and you can correct me when I go wrong and agree where I indicate.’ It wouldn’t hold up in a court of law but this man was never going to go before one again, certainly not in this world.
Garvard nodded fractionally to show he understood.
‘You met Amelia and Edgar Willard when they were on holiday in Spain staying at the villa rented by their niece, Sharon Piper. You were there working a time-share or property scam.’
‘The latter. 1997.’
‘Sharon saw through you immediately as you tried to get money from her, her husband having left her with a house, a boat and a life-insurance policy. You were two of a kind, you both had a desire for money and were clever, crooked and cunning enough to know how to get it from people and then invest it to make more for you rather than the people you conned into giving it to you in the first place.’
‘Yes.’ The word came out as a breath.
‘You even managed to get Edgar Willard to invest in one of your bogus schemes, which effectively took all his savings and eventually forced his widow to sell up and move to a smaller house.’
Garvard gave a slight shake of his head. Horton held the man’s weary pain-filled eyes. And then he realized what Garvard was silently telling him.
‘Or rather Sharon managed to get Edgar to invest in one of your schemes, or was it one of hers?’
Garvard closed his eyes as though to indicate that it was. But was that the truth? Kirby had said that Garvard was manipulative. Perhaps Garvard wanted them to believe Sharon had been the mastermind behind the fraud. The lies went deep in this investigation, just as Ellie and Sharon had ended up, deep under that quay.
He continued, ‘You met Ellie Loman at the Willards’ house when they were celebrating their pearl wedding anniversary. Rawly Willard, Ellie’s work colleague and the man who worshipped the ground she walked on, had invited her. Ellie and you began an affair. She arranged to meet you on Sunday the first of July and you went out on your boat together for the day. Was Sharon with a prospective client tricking him into parting with his money? She was very good at that. A stunningly attractive woman, sexy, convincing.’
Garvard opened his eyes.
Horton knew he’d guessed correctly. So who had Sharon been with that day? Had she managed to con him? And had this man recognized her at the crematorium, or perhaps even before then, when she had arrived in the UK, and killed her for revenge or in a rage when she refused to give back his money? Swiftly he brought his mind back to the man on the hospital bed and the events of that long-ago summer. ‘Sharon knew about your affair. And she knew where you would drop Ellie off after your day out in the Solent? How?’
Garvard shook his head slightly.
‘You don’t know? Perhaps she’d overheard you making arrangements,’ but Horton had another thought. Perhaps someone had told Sharon and that someone was Harry Foxbury because he had seen them leave from the sailing-club jetty or from the quayside in his boatyard. On a Sunday nobody would have been working in the yard but Foxbury could have been there. And perhaps Foxbury told Sharon because he fancied her or had had a fling with her. Horton didn’t think Foxbury would ever have been one of Sharon’s victims because he was too fly for that. But even if he had told Sharon, Foxbury it seemed was in the clear for her murder and hadn’t met her on Tuesday afternoon.
He continued. ‘Sharon went to the boatyard and waited for you to return, staying out of sight until Ellie got off the boat and waved you goodbye. As she made to leave, Sharon stepped out from where she’d been hiding, hit Ellie violently on the back of the head and then pushed her body into the sea. Maybe you turned and saw it, or perhaps when Ellie didn’t show for the next meeting with you, you became suspicious. When Ellie was reported missing you guessed that Sharon had to be behind it.’