Uckfield continued. ‘I’ll give a press briefing tomorrow morning asking for sightings of all three men.’
Horton said, ‘And Lisle’s boat?’
Crisply, Dennings answered, ‘There’s no evidence to say it was used last night but it’s being transported to the same garage where Lisle’s car is and the forensic team will examine it there.’
So that seemed to be everything with the exception of one or two points. On the ferry, out of earshot of the others, Horton called Sergeant Elkins and asked him to liaise with Customs and the Border Agency for any intelligence on smuggling operations and to let Cantelli know if there was anything going on. Then he called Cantelli on his mobile. From the sound of the children’s voices in the background Cantelli was at home. He asked if Walters had turned up anything on Glenn’s crew.
‘I checked with him before I left. There’s nothing known on any of them or on Dominic Keats or Oliver Vernon. Hang on, I’ll just get my notes.’ There was a moment’s pause then Cantelli continued. ‘Keats is a former Royal Navy Commander, left six years ago to become a skipper on a private yacht and then set up the Superyacht Training Academy two years ago. Divorced with three children. His wife lives in Somerset and he has an apartment in Oyster Quays and a yacht on the Hamble. He’s into yacht racing so there’s quite a lot of information about him on the Internet. His business is booming, or so it seems from the latest company records. Oliver Vernon has a Masters Degree in Art History and worked for Landrams, the auctioneers, for three years before becoming a freelance valuer, researcher, lecturer and consultant six years ago. According to his tax record he also seems to be doing well for himself. His address is given as an apartment in London.’
‘And Lloyd?’
‘Ex-commando. Been working for Russell Glenn since he left the army eight years ago.’
That left Russell Glenn.
‘There isn’t much. He joined the Merchant Navy as a Deck Rating, Ordinary Seaman in 1968, working on tankers, and was promoted to Able Seaman in 1972. He then joined Carnival Cruises in 1978 until late 1981.’
‘When in 1978?’
‘December. He left them in October 1981. He was out of the UK until 1985 when he resurfaced as the owner of the Enderby hotel chain and started on his road to riches. Walters says he’s left you some notes and some photographs he printed off the Internet on your desk. Do you want me to carry on looking into his background tomorrow?’
‘No. Sorry, Barney, but you’re coming with me to the Island to talk to Lisle and Hazleton’s former employer. Uckfield’s orders.’
Cantelli groaned. ‘Knew I should have joined the Birmingham force.’
‘The good news is the weather forecast says it’s going to be a fine calm day.’ Horton had no idea if it was but no need to tell Cantelli that.
‘I’ve heard that before,’ Cantelli said with justifiable scepticism. ‘Think I’d better stock up on seasickness pills.’
Horton rang off and stayed on deck as the ferry slipped into the harbour. Lights blazed from the cabins of the superyacht. According to those dates it was possible that Glenn had known Jennifer before joining Carnival Cruises. Horton wondered where Glenn had been living until December 1978, and in addition which ports he’d sailed into while working on the tankers. It could have been Portsmouth if the tankers had been small; otherwise it was far more likely to have been Southampton or the oil refinery there. That didn’t rule out the possibility that Glenn had met Jennifer; Southampton was only twenty-five miles away. Despite his earlier vows to concentrate on the present and the future, he knew he couldn’t let go, particularly in light of the unexpected phone call he’d received from Robin Stanley. What could Adrian Stanley want to tell him? It was pointless speculating. He’d find out soon enough. The announcement came over the Tannoy for all car owners to return to their vehicles as the ship was about to dock.
Dropping Horton at the station, Uckfield told him and his team to be available for a briefing tomorrow morning, and half an hour later Horton was being shown into a small hospital room by a nurse. He apologized for the lateness of his visit. But the nurse wasn’t put out by it. ‘When you’ve only just come on duty this is early,’ she said smiling down with concern on Stanley’s recumbent figure. ‘He’s very troubled and restless, though you wouldn’t think it now. And that’s not helping his recovery. He’s a little difficult to understand, he’s been severely affected by the stroke, but if you listen hard enough and tune yourself in, you’ll get the gist of what he’s saying. If you sit beside him for a while I’m sure he’ll soon realize you’re here.’
Horton sat and stared at the sleeping man. His heart was pumping fast with anticipation of what Stanley might hopefully tell him. Was this the breakthrough he needed? he thought, with a mixture of dread and excitement. Or would it lead to yet another dead end? The sounds of the hospital intruded into the quiet room: the continually bleeping buzzer, a trolley clanging, people murmuring. How long would he have to wait?
His eyes scanned the room taking in a couple of get-well cards and someone, Robin Stanley, Horton assumed, had brought in a few photographs. He’d sounded a kind man on the phone, but voices as well as looks could be deceptive, as he knew only too well. Horton studied the photographs. Propped up on the bedside cabinet was one of a young man and woman with two fair-haired children. That must be Robin and his wife and kids, he thought, picking it up. Nice-looking family. It made him think of Emma, the only family he had left, and he hastily pushed away such thoughts before more nightmares of being isolated from her returned to haunt his waking hours.
Replacing the silver-framed photograph he turned to the one beside it of Adrian Stanley and his late wife. Stanley was in police uniform and his slim, elegant wife wore a mauve dress and jacket with some discreet but impressive jewellery — a necklace and brooch — a big mauve hat, gloves, handbag and shoes. But it was the medal that Stanley was holding that drew Horton’s attention. It was the Queen’s Gallantry Medal and the picture must have been taken at the Palace when Stanley had received it from the Queen. What a proud moment for him and his family.
He turned to study the lean grey-haired man lying in the bed and willed him to wake up. He looked much smaller and older than Horton remembered. Then, as though sensing his gaze, Stanley opened his eyes. Horton’s heart quickened. Stanley seemed almost at once to register who was with him, and Horton thought he saw a hint of relief in the tormented eyes.
‘You were asking for me,’ Horton began gently, easing himself on to the chair beside the bed and praying no one would disturb them.
Stanley moved his head slightly.
‘You wanted to tell me something about Jennifer?’
Again Stanley nodded. Horton’s chest contracted and the sounds of the hospital faded into the far distance.
‘You remembered something?’
Stanley closed his eyes. OK, it was the wrong question. Horton tried again. ‘There was something you didn’t tell me.’
Stanley opened his eyes and again gave that slight movement of his head.
Horton caught his breath. It was as he’d surmised. His body ached with impatience but harassing Stanley wasn’t going to get him the information any faster.
‘About why my mother disappeared?’
But Stanley’s eyes remained shut. Horton thought he’d slipped back into sleep. Shit, this was torture.
He tried again. ‘About who my mother went to meet that day?’
Still nothing. Horton took a breath. What the hell was Stanley trying to tell him? His brain scrambled to think. Stanley moved his head a little to his left but Horton could see it was an effort. His lips were trying to move but the sound was struggling to emerge. Horton tried to be patient.
‘You discovered something and kept silent about it.’