Then there was the connection between Hazleton and Lisle; they’d both worked for the same firm of solicitors and had done so at the same time. If Hazleton had met Abigail Lisle then and had an affair with her it was doubtful her daughter would have known about it. Maybe someone from Uckfield’s team would find out more tomorrow when they visited Wallingford and Chandler. His phone rang. He thought it must be Cantelli, but he didn’t recognize the number so answered it somewhat cautiously.
‘Is that Inspector Horton?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, not recognizing the man’s voice.
‘I’m so glad I’ve got hold of you. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I’m Robin Stanley.’
Horton started at hearing the name. There was only one Stanley he knew.
‘I think you know my father, Adrian.’
‘I do.’ Horton’s mind raced. Why was the son calling him?
‘I found your card in dad’s trouser pocket. He’s had a stroke. He’s in Queen Alexandra hospital. He’s been trying to talk and he’s very agitated because he can’t express himself clearly, but the nurse and I finally worked out what he was trying to say. We believe it’s your name. I think he wants to see you.’
Horton’s heart seemed to skip several beats.
‘I might be completely wrong, Inspector, and I’d hate to waste your time,’ Robin Stanley added hastily, ‘but I wondered if you’d mind calling in to the hospital when you have a moment. I would really appreciate it. It might help him rest more easily. I know I shouldn’t ask but-’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ So much for letting go of the past! No wonder he hadn’t got an answer to his call at Stanley’s apartment this morning. He only hoped Stanley hadn’t been lying ill inside. He didn’t like to think that he might have been able to do something to help him.
It was bad timing for him that Stanley had had a stroke, he thought with a trace of bitterness, before reminding himself that the poor man hadn’t invited one. Had Adrian Stanley really been asking to see him or were they mistaken in his feeble attempts to speak? And if he was struggling to speak then what more could Horton get from the sick man about the disappearance of his mother? Very little he reckoned.
He got the ward number from a grateful Robin Stanley and rang off. Uckfield’s growl brought him up sharply.
‘What are you standing out here for? Looking for a lost ship?’
No, thinking about a lost mother.
Uckfield zapped open his car. ‘Let’s see what Taylor’s found at Hazleton’s house.’
TWELVE
Nothing was the answer. They met Taylor outside who said there was no visible evidence that Hazleton had been killed there. The grounds hadn’t been searched though and that would have to wait until the following day because it would soon be dark, and tomorrow the Walkers would also be brought here to tell them if anything was missing. Also tomorrow, Dr Clayton would tell them how Hazleton had been killed and hopefully give them some indication of what the murder weapon looked like.
Horton and Uckfield made a cursory search of the house.Only one bedroom was in use, with a view out to sea. It was cheaply furnished. There were no antiques here and the carpet was of the bulk standard chain store type, wearing thin in several places. Two of the other three bedrooms were furnished, with a modern divan bed in each and with heavy old-fashioned wardrobes and chests of drawers. The beds were covered with blankets or bedspreads of no particular note, the wardrobes were empty and the chests of drawers lined with brown paper and again empty. The storage heaters were turned off but the rooms had been dusted. The smallest box room was devoid of furniture.
Hazleton’s bedroom yielded nothing much. His clothes, Horton could see by their labels, were expensive and of excellent quality and what jewellery there was looked to be valuable. The bathroom was dated and held all the usual medicines and toiletries, nothing to show that Hazleton suffered from any illness. In fact, by the lack of pills, Horton thought the elderly man must have been very healthy.
They climbed to the observatory. Taylor had given Horton the keys and indicated that one of the larger ones unlocked the door. As they stepped inside, Uckfield gave a low whistle of appreciation. ‘Anything different? Telescope been moved?’
Horton ignored his sarcasm. ‘No.’ The large modern telescope was where Horton had last seen it two days ago on Monday and the antique one was resting in its box on the top of a low cupboard. Horton recalled Hazleton’s lecture on its origins. No doubt it was valuable, like a lot of things in the house. It had been dusted for prints and as Horton picked up the box he thought that Hazleton would have had forty fits at the state of it. He opened it and gently lifted it out while Uckfield wrenched open the cupboard doors.
‘That’s what I like,’ he said. ‘A man with a method; makes our job a lot easier.’
Horton eyed the neatly stacked folders inside the cupboard before turning his attention back to the telescope. He put it to his eye and focused it in. There was a container ship in the distance. Then he pointed it in the direction of the shore.
‘I could do with a hand here when you’ve finished stargazing,’ Uckfield said grumpily.
There weren’t any stars to look at but Horton didn’t correct Uckfield. Replacing the telescope in its box, he took the two files Uckfield handed him: one was marked ‘correspondence’, the other ‘personal information’. Inside the latter Horton found Hazleton’s birth certificate and those of his parents, along with their death certificates. There were a few other personal items but no love letters, photographs, marriage certificate, and no will.
‘According to his birth certificate he was born on the Isle of Wight in November 1932.’
‘His bank balance is healthy,’ said Uckfield, flicking through the statements.
After a cursory glance in the file marked ‘House deeds’, Horton read that the house had been purchased by Victor Hazleton in 1990.
Uckfield said, ‘We’ll take these with us and get a team in tomorrow in case there’s anything else of use stashed away.’
Horton locked up the cupboard and the observatory. Uckfield gave instructions for a unit to remain until they were relieved by another. ‘Don’t want any more telescopes moving in the night or notes being pinched,’ Uckfield added facetiously.
Horton said nothing. They returned to Ventnor and collected Dennings and Marsden. Heading towards the ferry, Uckfield said, ‘Dennings, you’ll head up the investigation over here from tomorrow with DC Marsden. Norris will book you into a bed and breakfast. Trueman will stay in the major incident suite and will be responsible for coordinating both ends of the investigation, which means you,’ Uckfield tossed at Horton beside him, ‘with Sergeant Cantelli, will interview the solicitors, Wallingford and Chandler, tomorrow morning.’
‘What about DCI Bliss?’
‘It’s been agreed,’ Uckfield said tersely. ‘I want Lisle found.’
‘That might be difficult if he’s in the sea.’
‘Then I want the evidence to confirm he killed two men and dressed one of them in his late wife’s dress.’
Horton didn’t think Cantelli was going to be very pleased about his seafaring trip to the Isle of Wight.
Uckfield added, ‘Let’s hope that Dr Clayton can give us something from the autopsy and this fashion expert can tell us something about the dress.’
By the way Uckfield said the word ‘expert’ Horton could tell that he didn’t hold out much hope, but then the big man had an inbuilt distrust of so-called ‘experts’. Horton wasn’t quite so firm in his opinion but he understood Uckfield’s scepticism; they’d heard too many ‘experts’ get criminals off the hook.