Read Online Death Surge by Pauline Rowson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Pauline Rowson
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Lord Eames expecting him to do?
The answer was precisely what he had been about to do: try and trace the other two men in the photograph from 1967; request the coroner’s reports and investigation details into the deaths of Zachary Benham, James Royston and Timothy Wilson; re-interview Dr Quentin Amos; and continue with his search for Edward Ballard and the truth behind Jennifer’s disappearance. But if Eames and his colleagues in intelligence had fed him Professor Thurstan Madeley and Dr Quentin Amos then they had a reason for doing so, and that reason was that they wanted him to find either Ballard, Dormand or Mortimer, or the person who had taken the picture. And if all the resources at the disposal of the intelligence services couldn’t locate whoever it was they wanted flushing out, then how the devil could he?
So what if he did nothing? He threw down the pen and sprang up. Turning, he stared out of the window into the almost deserted car park. If he took no action, what would happen next? What would Eames or one of his cronies or even Eames’ daughter throw at him? Perhaps they’d toss him another piece of the past for him to try and fit into the puzzle. And what would that be? To date, he’d been given a reference to Jennifer by a criminal she’d associated with who was now dead; a brooch that had gone missing, as had all pictures of it; Ballard’s photograph from 1967; and Thurstan, Amos and the names of the men in the picture. So what next?
He resumed his seat. No doubt he’d find out, and soon. Abandoning his personal research he called up the details of the arson attack committed by Johnnie and his mates seven years ago. He remembered most of the facts, but he wanted to be sure. He hadn’t investigated it because he’d been seconded to Basingstoke at the time and Cantelli had been working at Gosport. But before he could begin reading, a noise in CID caught his attention and he looked up to see Cantelli enter.
Horton called out to him, and a few moments later Cantelli flopped dejectedly into the seat across from Horton’s desk.
‘The guard can’t remember him. The train was packed, and he didn’t get through all the carriages.’
That wasn’t really surprising. London Waterloo to Portsmouth was a very busy commute. ‘There’s still the fact we can track the ticket, and there’s the security camera footage to view both from the Oyster Quays and the railway station.’
Cantelli hauled himself up. ‘I’ll start running through them now.’
‘Get yourself something to eat and drink first.’
‘I—’
‘You’re no good to anyone if you keel over.’
Cantelli gave a tired smile. ‘Yeah, OK.’
Horton watched him trudge out before returning his attention to his computer screen. The four youths with Johnnie who had been convicted of arson on the Locks Lake Sailing Club were Ryan Spencer, Tyler Godfray, Kyle Proctor and Stuart Jayston; all had been aged sixteen at the time. The sailing club was at the end of a long road that contained mainly residential properties, but on the north side, not far from the end of the road which led down to Langstone Harbour, were the grounds and main entrance to the psychiatric hospital. Locks Lake gave on to Langstone Harbour, to the south of which was Southsea Marina, where Horton lived on his boat. Fortunately, no one had been in the club, which had been in the process of being refurbished, but it had gone up like the clappers because of the paint and other inflammable materials inside, and the fire had spread to the dinghy park outside. It had caused several thousand pounds worth of damage, and it had been a miracle the boys hadn’t been injured or killed. Eye witnesses from the nearby houses had seen youths running away at approximately eleven twenty p.m. They had been arrested as they’d run out of the grounds of the psychiatric hospital by a patrol car on its way to the scene.
Johnnie had instantly confessed. Horton could still see Cantelli’s
The answer was precisely what he had been about to do: try and trace the other two men in the photograph from 1967; request the coroner’s reports and investigation details into the deaths of Zachary Benham, James Royston and Timothy Wilson; re-interview Dr Quentin Amos; and continue with his search for Edward Ballard and the truth behind Jennifer’s disappearance. But if Eames and his colleagues in intelligence had fed him Professor Thurstan Madeley and Dr Quentin Amos then they had a reason for doing so, and that reason was that they wanted him to find either Ballard, Dormand or Mortimer, or the person who had taken the picture. And if all the resources at the disposal of the intelligence services couldn’t locate whoever it was they wanted flushing out, then how the devil could he?
So what if he did nothing? He threw down the pen and sprang up. Turning, he stared out of the window into the almost deserted car park. If he took no action, what would happen next? What would Eames or one of his cronies or even Eames’ daughter throw at him? Perhaps they’d toss him another piece of the past for him to try and fit into the puzzle. And what would that be? To date, he’d been given a reference to Jennifer by a criminal she’d associated with who was now dead; a brooch that had gone missing, as had all pictures of it; Ballard’s photograph from 1967; and Thurstan, Amos and the names of the men in the picture. So what next?
He resumed his seat. No doubt he’d find out, and soon. Abandoning his personal research he called up the details of the arson attack committed by Johnnie and his mates seven years ago. He remembered most of the facts, but he wanted to be sure. He hadn’t investigated it because he’d been seconded to Basingstoke at the time and Cantelli had been working at Gosport. But before he could begin reading, a noise in CID caught his attention and he looked up to see Cantelli enter.
Horton called out to him, and a few moments later Cantelli flopped dejectedly into the seat across from Horton’s desk.
‘The guard can’t remember him. The train was packed, and he didn’t get through all the carriages.’
That wasn’t really surprising. London Waterloo to Portsmouth was a very busy commute. ‘There’s still the fact we can track the ticket, and there’s the security camera footage to view both from the Oyster Quays and the railway station.’
Cantelli hauled himself up. ‘I’ll start running through them now.’
‘Get yourself something to eat and drink first.’
‘I—’
‘You’re no good to anyone if you keel over.’
Cantelli gave a tired smile. ‘Yeah, OK.’
Horton watched him trudge out before returning his attention to his computer screen. The four youths with Johnnie who had been convicted of arson on the Locks Lake Sailing Club were Ryan Spencer, Tyler Godfray, Kyle Proctor and Stuart Jayston; all had been aged sixteen at the time. The sailing club was at the end of a long road that contained mainly residential properties, but on the north side, not far from the end of the road which led down to Langstone Harbour, were the grounds and main entrance to the psychiatric hospital. Locks Lake gave on to Langstone Harbour, to the south of which was Southsea Marina, where Horton lived on his boat. Fortunately, no one had been in the club, which had been in the process of being refurbished, but it had gone up like the clappers because of the paint and other inflammable materials inside, and the fire had spread to the dinghy park outside. It had caused several thousand pounds worth of damage, and it had been a miracle the boys hadn’t been injured or killed. Eye witnesses from the nearby houses had seen youths running away at approximately eleven twenty p.m. They had been arrested as they’d run out of the grounds of the psychiatric hospital by a patrol car on its way to the scene.
Johnnie had instantly confessed. Horton could still see Cantelli’s
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